An Aqua Thread (South/Dolphin)

[SinInChaos]

Colin Hummings

All the money saved up from the week and all I want is some stupid thread? I could hear Ellie ranting and fuming at me saying I shouldn't want such frivolous things. But the thread is something so unique that I cannot just pass it up like the simpletons of District Eight. I hardly ever see the spindle on sale, and just a week ago one of the small stores was selling the thread. The mystical and enchanting blue thread that never left my minds eye. Every night and day, my dreams are just bombarded with the aqua color that could fill in the most magnificent scarf. Maybe a shirt? I haven't decided yet, but what I do know is that the thread will be mine.

The way is not clear though. The streets seem to have one or two more Peacekeepers than I remember last, putting me on edge as this small journey continues. I don't see them too often, at least in eye level. I do see them above me occasionally, watching everything that we, the member of District Eight, are doing. But one ground level they make my nerves quake. Just the sight of any misconduct could result in the most severe of punishments. I've seen one boy whipped repeatedly for messing up one of the Peacekeepers uniforms. Just the thought of one imperfection is too much and I have to lean on a wall before pressing forward.

"Why are they even out this early in the day?" I ask aloud, keeping my voice low. "I don't think I've ever seen one of them walking in the streets."

Before I am even aware, I am stopped at the storefront and my mind is consumed with the aqua colored thread again. The perplexing beauty and the genuine perfection bewilder my every movement. I swear the shine changes from my position, whether I am toward the right or toward the back of the thread. Each reflection of light is just another ray for the invention I am making. And whatever it is, this thing must be best. It cannot be just any set of clothes or any form of decorum, this thread has to make one of the most unique things anyone will see in District Eight.

I ask the store owner for the thread and pay him, gleefully stuffing the spindle of thread into the small messenger bag I'm carrying. This is it, all my hopes and dreams in this bag now. Once home, the thread will be put to immediate use and Mom will love whatever I make. Maybe a new dress she can wear for Dad when the two have time together. Maybe a new shirt for Dad so that he can look his best. I doubt Ellie would want anymore gifts from me. I'm probably making her feel so claustrophobic with all the things I make her. The other kids do seem to like the things I make her though. I wish they knew it was me making them instead of assuming Ellie made them herself.

"Well then, I better hurry home."

[Deleted]

I’m a bitch, I’m a loser, baby, maybe I should quit
I’m a jerk, wish I had the money but I can’t find work
I’m a brat, I’m a selfish punk, I really should be smacked
My parents tried until they got divorced
Because I ruined their lives

I been beyond the normal sort of tired lately. There's the tired where you can still function like a normal human being, just a little foggier'n normal, and then there's me, and I'm probably startin' to look like some zombie from the comic books we bring home for Wheels every once in a while. It's been this way for more than a week, up at the crack of dawn to hit the streets with Skid, fleecing folks for everything they got on 'em until sundown, and then I'm lucky to catch a half hour cat nap before I'm crawling out my bedroom window to hit the streets again, my activity something a little worse than pick pocketing. Most nights I been climbing back up the fire escape just as the sky starts to go that murky gray of almost-morning, just enough time to crawl under my covers before Skid's pounding on the door and telling me to get up. And then it all starts over again.

It's not my right to complain, though. Times've gotten lean again and everyone's starting to feel it, the way our bones feel hollow and our bellies start to gnaw on our backbones just to keep themselves alive. It's all Skid and I can do to keep food on the table on a good day, and after a run of bad days that's gotten longer than I can rightly remember I know I ain't got any other choice but to pick up... Double shifts. It's easier to think about what I do when I put it that way. And maybe that's denial, but I ain't got to worry about what helps me sleep at night when I've not been sleeping any more than a few winks at a time anyway.

Skid mostly leaves me to my own devices when we're out combing the street for exposed wallets and loose pocket watches; he'd probably still try to tell me how to do every little thing if he didn't know I'd get right back up in his face and tell him that I ain't a little kid anymore. I been in this business, however shady it is, since I was eye-level with the pockets I was pickin', and nobody's gonna tell me how to do a job I know I'm damn good at. So he goes skulking down some side alley pretty soon after we leave our saggy old apartment building, probably looking for some poor suckers to hustle at a card game instead of sticking to our thieving roots. I guess that's all right, though. Skid's real smart and it'd be a cryin' shame if those smarts didn't get some exercise once in a while. Me? I'm dumber'n a stump, and snatchin' wallets is enough of a mental challenge.

I catch a wavy flash of my own reflection in a shop window as I pass, the polished glass showing a stick-skinny, tree-tall overgrown street urchin of a girl, all protruding bones and threadbare clothes to cover up any pretty she might have stood a chance at having. I can clean up real nice, I know I can, but there ain't a cause for it during the day when nobody's payin' me to look pretty. Still, a little bit of my effort to look nice from last night is still evident, the curls in my hair only just starting to turn lank and messy, the careful eyeliner around pale-gray eyes only a little smudged. I still look like somethin' nearly dead with my knobby wrist bones and bruised shadows from no sleep underneath my eyes, but I'd wager I'm better lookin' than half the rest of the trash you'd find in the gutter. Up ahead at one of the shops I see a boy walking out the door, a brilliant flash in his hand as he tucks a spindle of thread into his bag. Bright-dyed stuff like that's pretty pricey, even in Eight, where we make the stuff. For the price of id I could probably feed one or two of the little ones. Turning away from my almost-reflection, I grin. Thing about stealin' from boys, they're easy to distract. Some flutterin' eyelashes and a pretty face and you can steal the shirt off their back and sell it back to 'em for twice the price before they realize they been robbed.

"Hey there," I grin, all coy and winning in the way I've learned makes people pay attention to you, tossing my hair in a calculated move and jogging the few steps over to him. "You mind helpin' me out? My brother went off somewhere and left me, and I got no idea how to get to work from here. You mind tellin' me which direction the tie-dyin' factory is?"

Sometimes I feel like it ain't fair, takin' things from people who paid for it honest, but sometimes it's a little too easy.

I’m a bad kid and I will survive
Oh I’m a bad kid, don’t know wrong from right
I’m a bad kid and this is my life
One of the bad kids, don’t know wrong from right
This is my life

[SinInChaos]

The enchanting colors of the sky only reminded me of the thread in my small sack. Would mom be mad that I used the money she gave me for some thread? She always said it was more important to worry about our well being than the busy imaginations Ellie and I have. Then again, when in the store, she's always asking us for input on new projects. Should the shirt come with a small overcoat or maybe even a vest? It seems she designs a lot of clothes for those higher ups which only makes me wonder why they aren't shopping in District One. Why are they willing to come to the pits of District Eight to buy some threaded cloth that Mom can put together? Who cares, at least we can get by without worrying too much.

"Hey there"

I'm taken back and almost jump backwards if it weren't for my feet feeling like they were surrounded in cement. What is wrong lately? I keep meeting new people willing to talk to me and my body just tenses up, all the joints lock in place. I don't even think I can instantly reply because of the air in my lungs feeling like boiling water trying to surface through my throat. I can just run home, right?

"You mind helpin' me out? My brother went off somewhere and left me, and I got no idea how to get to work from here. You mind tellin' me which direction the tie-dyin' factory is?"

And then my soul feels a tinge of regret from the thought of running. She just needs help getting somewhere. I still can't really communicate all that well but the heat of my voice will not hurt so bad if I try to form the words. But why wouldn't she know where the factory was? All of the younger kids I know love to head down that way to play nearby. Sometimes one of the workers gives them a few samples of the exotic colors. But just by looking at her I can almost see what is going on. I'm not stupid, just naive. I really hope this doesn't turn the way my gut tells me it will.

The sight is something my Dad would warn Ellie about when walking alone late at night with her friends. He would say watch out for the starved ones, those who look like they need food. Dad would say some have turned to thievery and other acts that would be troubling to a young girl like Ellie. I think he thought I could handle myself though if it came down to me and someone trying to hassle me. I'm not like the other boys anyways. I'm not preoccupied by the thought of a girl or wanting to make myself better with falsified boasts. I just like clothes. I'm a simple boy.

"Sure, no problem," I say my voice almost too cool for even my comfort. I can handle myself if the time comes. "I'll walk you there, just to make sure you get to the factory alright. Hate to see a girl like you get into some trouble on your way down there."

And so I point toward the factory and walk the way there, keeping a calm and collected look on the girl. I think I can do this. No, I can do this.