Take 'em As They Come// Open

[sbeeg]

Charlotte Blair

It is not for the whore
to say "yes, sir" or "no, sir"
Not for the harlot to pick or to chose
or to lead me a dance

I didn't want to go back to work. Despite all my talk, I wasn't sure if I could even do it anymore. The only thing I want to do is wrap myself up in a sweater and listen to Clyde speak. Only you can't buy food with words so here I am, on the ol' street corner again for the first time in a long while. It's stifling outside, so for once I'm grateful my line of work doesn't require a lot of clothes. Still, the humidity in the air is threatening to suffocate me if I stand outside much longer.

Yet there's a part of me that hopes no man takes notice of me under the streetlamp. It's been at least a year since the last time I was on duty and I'm as anxious as I was on my first night way back when. Wasn't that an experience. I was, what? Thirteen? Twelve? It's hard to remember now, even though it wasn't all that long ago. Yet I feel everything as changed, especially after wasting away in the Detention Center. Finally put some meat back on my bones, but my ribs do make an appearance leaning into my skin enough that I could count 'em if I wanted to.

I hear footsteps coming my way but as the figure comes closer I make out the familiar white uniform of a Peacekeeper. Immediately I stumble out of the streetlamp's halo, pressing my back to the concrete wall of the warehouse behind me. A year ago I would called out to him, winked and flirted and maybe even ended the night with my hands full of coins, but not anymore. The last time I picked up a Keeper I got reported. The bastard. If I ever see him again, I'll rip him limb from limb. Helmsby, his name was. Should have known he was crooked the second I laid eyes on 'em. What is it they say? Hindsight is 20/20?

As the clicking of the officer's boots against the side walk fade away I step back into the light, checking my stockings for runners and running a hand through my hair to... well I don't really know what I was trying to do. There was no fixing it that's for sure. The humidity has made it all frizzy and it's gotten so long that I hardly do anything with it these days. Then again you don't have to do your hair to lounge around the house listening to fancy words.

Doubt creeps into my mind, what if this isn't a good pick up spot anymore? What if Keepers have cleared out this part of the District for good? I've been gone from the business for so long I'm not exactly up to date with the going ons within it. Nervously, I begin to chew at my lip and then, remembering I put on lipstick, mentally kick myself for doing so. Sighing, I lean against the lamp post, crossing my arms over my chest. If they come, they come. If they don't... well it won't be the end of the world, right?

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[k!ah]

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[/i]

The air around me hung over me, holding me down- as though it had a mind of its own. My fingers play with the weed in one of the cracks that spread across the cement that I sat upon, tugging at it slightly. I had say in this spot for hours, in this exact same spot, my fingers playing with the many weeds that made home on the cracks and crevices. For hours I have let my mind wandered, letting my body live through things that I had been trying to forget, making me live through the many heart pulling appointments that I had sat through at the hospital. I see my sisters face when the doctors tell her- me- that I am going to die. That I only have a short time left on this earth, breathing in this air, living in this place, this place that I call my home. It was not like I wanted to die, because I didn’t, but did I have a choice? Did I have a choice to live?

No. I didn’t have a choice. The cancer made that decision for me… When it started to rot away my insides. All my life I have been a fighter, fighting the battle that rages on inside me. All my life I have been winning, keeping the most valuable thing in my life on the winning side- life. I am beating the cancer, for now. But how long can a solider fight before exhaustion takes over? How long can a person go on before exhaustion takes over, and once that exhaustion has that person wrapped in its arms, how long do I have to live? Do I get to see that sunrise the next morning? Or is that site of the stars over my head the last thing I see before the darkness that takes over me takes my hand and leads me away from this life? All these questions run through my mind, all day. All night. For as long as I can remember.

Finding the motivation to climb to my feet, I pull my body away from the support of the wall. I was weak, but alive- and for as long as I was alive I was going to continue on with life. I was not going to sit here, sit here and wait to die. Turning towards the night sky, I smile at the stars, the stars that hold the souls of the people that I hold close to my heart. I didn’t know if it was true, that once you die, you become another light in the dark sky, but I believed in it, and after all- wasn’t that all that mattered?

The uneven gait of my footsteps echo around me as I wander down the path, keeping to the spots of light that flood the path foot, due to the street lights that littered the edges. I don’t get far before I come across a figure in the distance. It was a girl, she leaned against a pole, her back towards me. I wasn’t sure if she had seen me, or more like heard me and I wasn’t sure I wanted to stick around and find out either. So in a rush I stumble across the street, seeking the shelter of a building, but as I stepped down onto the road my body was flung forward and I fall to my hands and knees, my amputated stump for a foot, hitting the ground hard. “Fuck.” I curse, trying to struggle to my feet.

It’s like a new adventure
And this is my life
No longer know the girl boy inside
The stranger in my mind

[/i]
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[sbeeg]

Charlotte Blair

Lovely ladies
Going for a song
Got a lot of callers
But they never stay for long

I thought it was supposed to get cooler at night- so what was this bullshit? I'm sweating underneath my tights and I wish I had my short hair again so it would free my shoulders from the stifling blonde prison. Maybe I'll cut it... but Clyde likes my long hair. I'll ask him when I get home, which might be sooner than I anticipated. Where exactly are all the marks tonight? Should have done some walking around before going back to work, then I might be making some money. Of course I can always go home now. It wasn't like I wanted to work anyway. It'd probably hurt. That's what I always heard, that it hurts the first time after a long hiatus. Course I didn't know what the word hiatus meant at the time. Clyde taught it to me a few days ago- "A gap or interruption in space, time, or continuity; a break." I'd taken a vacation, that's for sure. Although I wouldn't call a year in the detention center a pleasure cruise-

The sound of something heavy hitting the pavement behind me catches my attention. Turning I see a lump beside the curb, a person- no a boy fallen onto his hands and knees. Other than that I can't make out much else in the streetlamp's dim glow. "Fuck" the stranger hissed.

"Five bucks for that," I say in my usual flirting work voice. Popping out my hip and pursing my lips, I find it odd how easily I can fall back into working mode. I thought after my weeks with Clyde that working Charlotte would be harder to come by. Now I know it never really leaves you. It's like a scar all over your skin. It can't be washed away with words, it's there forever. Taking a few steps closer I notice that the boy is having a hard time getting to his feet. Being the upstanding whore I am, I rush forward taking one of his hands and wrapping an arm around his shoulders to haul him up to his feet. "Got two left feet there or something, John?"

I could feel the boy's shoulder bones poking out, even his hands felt bony under mine. Suddenly I remember my first day back in District Six after serving my sentence. Near death, every bone visible through thin, pale skin. Clyde didn't even recognize me. So what was wrong with this boy? Could he be one of those morphling addicts? Or something worse? Hopefully he was in need of some fun.

"You lookin' for a good time honey?"

[/color]

[k!ah]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: 49573a; border: D7DD9D solid 5px; width: 500px; height: 181px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 43px 43px][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true] I miss those days and I miss those ways When I got lost in fantasies In a cartoon land of mysteries In a place you won’t grow old in a place you won’t feel cold and I’ll sing

[/i]

I hated looking vulnerable- looking useless and just a dead weight. But sometimes I couldn’t help it, sometimes there was nothing I could do in my power to stop it. Sometimes I just needed help- in things they may be simple things that people do every day. My hands hit the cement and I know I am going to have a problem getting up. It was not easy finding a way to my feet, when one of them were missing. It made it that much harder. I try not flail around too much, but I know that I must look like an idiot, my arms and legs flailing around trying to manoeuvre myself so that I can get to my feet easily. Nice, now I am really going to be able to escape without making a scene

I feel someone’s arms- presumably the girl- slip under me and help me to my feet. My cheeks turn bright red as I try to avoid the girls eyes. I should be the one helping her, not the other way around. Men are supposed to be strong, and handsome, and the ones who are supposed to provide. They are not supposed to be weak and sick and on the death row, that is not what a man is supposed to be. I am not a man, I am a child, a child who never going to be that man he dreamed of being. Once I used to dream of having a family, having someone to love and to hold. I used to dream of watching my children grow old, but I know I will never get to.Maybe it is for the better, this way I will never let someone with my blood be sent into the games to be a puppet for the Capitol.

"Got two left feet there or something, John?" She says, when my feet a planted safely on the ground. I try not to look at her directly in the eye as I pull away from her grasp, embarrassed that she had to help me to my feet. All my life I have been this burden that has been thrown upon the earth, I mean what was the point? Why bother living if you are going to live a life of poverty and then die young?

For the first time I look at the girl, she wore- well not that much, well not as much as someone would be expecting in the chill of nights cold air. Isn’t she cold? is all I can think as I stare at her. I knew for sure that I would be cold if I was the one walking around in a short skirt and holey tights. My eyes travel to her face where a grin played on the girl’s lips, "You lookin' for a good time honey?"

That’s when I realise what her job was. Many people throughout the district had to result to these kind of jobs to earn money these days, it was not that I thought lowly of them and the idea of them selling their bodies, it was more that I felt disgusted in the people who accepted their offers. I felt sick to the stomach that some people who had to stop that low to get money are just not handed the money with a goodbye and their bodies not violated. Is this how my sister got money? did she do this to her body? The thought made my heart beat faster in my chest. If it was her job, selling her body, it was my entire fault; she did it for me, for us in order to get dinner that night. I have always wandered where the money came from, It wasn’t like it grew on trees. I felt sick. It was my fault cause I was so useless.

“Ahh, I am fine, thanks. Oh and thanks for helping me back there… I know… I must have looked so ridiculous, it – sometime- I am not always the most co-ordinated person… It’s not that I don’t find you attractive- cause you are. You are a really pretty girl, I just don’t want to ah… it is- ah yeah, um I just, thanks.” I stumble over my words, not quite sure what to say. I didn’t want to offend her, I just didn’t know the right words to use to tell her that I could never do anything like that to her- even if I had the money.



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