When The Ship Has Sailed [Christian and Etra]

[Will]

I sit in the café holding my cup of coffee. This is probably the first time I've ever even had enough money to buy anything other than the weekly groceries. It's so incredible. To be completely honest, I should have put this money into the family funds, we're barely making it. But the luxury of buying something for pure pleasure was too hard to resist. How could one not find themselves timidly pushing their way through the glass doors. Carefully stepping across the floor up to the counter, where the glowing and shimmering and racket of all the different machines is enough to captivate even the most focused person's attention. How could one not order coffee? It's a luxury. And how can you resist a luxury. Especially when you've never had one? I know how. This coffee is wretched. I want to vomit it up and then throw it in the courier's face. How dare she cheat me out of my money. My hard earned money. The money I used to try to relax. I guess this is what I get for going behind my family's back. For trying to embellish and leaving them out of it. Suddenly this doesn't feel like such a luxury. It feels like a responsibility. The responsibility that comes with money is much too hard to handle. It comes with too much pressure. Is it possible that having no money is actually easier than having money? No. No, that's not possible. Only a poor person like myself would think that. Anybody who is rich enjoys every second of being rich. I'm sure of it. What's not to like. You get to come here whenever you want, buy a hot beverage, and then choke down the oil they poured into your cup while you look out this large glass window at the town center. Maybe they have the window here so you can look at all the people who can't afford to walk in here. Maybe this window is the place where rich people point out poor people and then chuckle as they drink their coffee. I put my head in my hands and stare out the window at the busy district square. I watch as mothers bring their children from shop to shop, I watch as shopkeepers lay out new items which are taking the place of old ones that they have just sold, I watch as the poorest of the district crawl around begging for money or discreetly checking trash cans for food. Some lucky peasants find money that was dropped. I love when that happens. You never truly appreciate unexpected additions to your income until you barely have one. I look back down at my coffee. Do I really want to finish this? It's absolutely horrid. But I suppose if I went through all of this trouble to get it, I might as well not waste it. After all, the worst that could happen is I vomit it all up. Which I'm suspecting might actually taste better than this. I take solace in its warmth, though. After emerging from winter, anything warm feels like a God-sent. I put the cup to my lips and take another sip. My lips purse and my face scrunches up as I force the bile down my throat. I quickly slam the cup back down on the table. There has to be a reason why this is a popular drink. Maybe they just gave me bad coffee. But there has to be something to make it taste better. I turn my head, trying to be discreet about searching for something that might sweeten my coffee. As my eyes dart around the room, quickly scanning each individual feature for something, anything that will help with the taste, I make eye contact. I make eye contact with a boy. I immediately turn my head back around and stare holes through my coffee cup. How embarrassing. I wonder what he could have possibly thought I was doing. But I don't have too long to ponder that because before I know it, he's at my table.

credit to will

mat

[mat]

”Yes, Mother, I’ll be back soon. I just have to run some errands,” I say walking out the door. I had finished my work for the day, so why not do something with the rest of it. Colt did most of it, anyways. Mother always told me I could stop whenever I wanted to, and it would get done. I smile, waving at Father, who actually came out of his room for once. He was screaming loud this morning as he wanted so much work done for the day. I couldn’t blame him, we were behind as it was. I walk down the street. Its breezy, the wind has almost been non-stop this winter. I’ve never known District Five to be this cold in quite some time. At least it has gotten a bit warmer since earlier in the year. However, the cheers about Miss Valfierno winning and the girl from District Five still holding on really helped people get through the winter. My hooded sweatshirt it pretty warm, but the wind blows up in to the exposed spots of my body. Some people say that it gets so cold that a sweatshirt isn’t enough to stay healthy in the cold, but none of them really know anything about science. I just keep walking. I go to the coffee shop, a place where usually only people who had money went to. Most of my friends go there, but as I walk in it seems empty. Usually there are much bigger groups of people, but today most are in little groups in tables far away from others. None of them are really my friends, only a few go to school with me. The smell of coffee brewing makes my mouth burn. It feels as if I could taste it from a mile away (more like five feet). Coffee keeps me going, y’know? I just get it so much it’s hard to stop. It’s like my dad and his alcohol, you can’t stop once you start. I order my coffee burnt as always. Many people say it’s weird that I want my coffee burnt to the pulp. Other people like it differently and it tastes bad in my mouth. It takes two minutes as usual to make the coffee. They put it in a mug. As I pick it up, it heats up my hand right away. At first, I take a sip to make sure it’s the kind I like. If it isn’t, I usually yell at them, but in this case it seems okay, although I’m never sure. One time it may feel right, but minutes later it feels wrong. I go with my gut and turn around. Right as I do, a girl with dark brown eyes stares directly at me, like a hawk. I catch a glimpse of her, but it doesn’t take more than half a second for her to turn around. My heart starts to beat a bit faster, like I had to go to her. I exhale. She sits alone, and you don’t just leave a girl alone like that! I walk over to her, looking outside. There’s so many people struggling out there, yet people like me sit inside a coffee shop every day. ”Y’know, pretending like you didn’t see me doesn’t stop it from happening,” I say with a wink, sitting down across from her.

credit to will

[Will]

I keep my head down. I stare at my coffee as hard as I can. Maybe he won't come over if I just don't look at him. Maybe I never even really made eye contact with him. What if I just thought I did? It is possible. Or maybe he just brushed it off. I don't hear any footsteps. Maybe that means he's sitting down at the counter. Maybe he's one of those guys who flirts with the waitresses or waiters and tries to get some free stuff. I don't know, he looked like he might be the flirtatious type. I wonder how he flirts. Is he dirty? Is he straight forward? Does he just say he likes you? Does he ask you out on a date? Does he try to warm you up first? I wonder if he's nice. Or sweet. I bet he's sweet. I bet he's that kind of bad boy who treats girls really nice. The dream guy. I find myself biting my lower lip with more force than considered comfortable. I quickly relinquish the bite on my lip and look up as I hear a chair squeak and a light shadow pass over the table top. It's the boy. He's much more handsome than I remember. Well, from a quick glance you don't really see too much. He's got close cropped hair and he looks muscular. I'm not sure if I'm blushing or if I just feel this hot anyway. Before I can put too much thought into his presence he tells me, with a small smile painted across his face, "Y’know, pretending like you didn’t see me doesn’t stop it from happening." I was sincerely embarrassed. He had noticed, and it seems like his style of flirting was a bit condescending. Or maybe it was using humor to impress me. A mixture? I look back down at my coffee. I'm not sure how to respond. Maybe if I smile and take a drink, he'll say something again. I quickly snatch up my cup and put it to my lips, which are curved in a smile I can only hope looks flirtatious. I take a sip and swallow, trying to get it to skip over my tongue so I don't have to taste it. Just feel the warmth. Unfortunately, it doesn't work. I put my cup down and a hand to my mouth. I fight back a grimace. I clear my throat and look back at him. How do I respond? Maybe something witty? Should I say something just as witty? Or more witty? Less? I don't know, I'll just say something and hopefully it comes out as distinguishable words, "Worth a shot," I shrug slightly, flashing a smile that may have been slightly too large.

credit to will