we're painted red to fit right in [ems]

[solo]

Riven Fowley

I asked them this morning if I could wear Kennedy's boots. Aster said I couldn't, that they were big and ugly and made me look like a duck. Not to mention they were caked with dirt. Stodgy, I think was the exact word she used.
Stodgy. Adjective. Dull, graceless, inelegant.
To be perfectly honest, I was surprised she even knew the word, and I kindly reminded her that even without the shoes, my feet are big and ugly and make me look like a duck.
Somehow they managed to get me a pair of shoes that fit, a nice set of brown ones with black laces. The problem is, the laces are extremely long, and I keep stepping on them and causing them to come undone. When it gets close to lunch time, I finally decide to double-knot them, and then mentally kick myself for not doing that in the first place. I've probably made myself look like a complete ignoramus in front of these forty-some tributes.
Ignoramus. Noun. Extremely ignorant person.
I glance at the clock. 11:52. Thirty-eight minutes until we are allowed to eat lunch.
My gaze returns to the screen before me, a wide one that takes up the entire span of the table. There's a solid block of blue on the left, and a solid block of red on the right. The silhouettes of perhaps thirty different plants are scattered across the space between these two blocks. I swipe two into the blue box and they stay there. I pause, memorizing the way they look, or at least trying to. I can eat those. I swipe one into the red box, and suddenly there's a buzz that goes off and it falls back in with the other plants. Okay, so it wasn't poisonous. Better safe than sorry though, right?
As I move the electronic plants back and forth, I hum softly to myself, and eventually my grey eyes drift up to watch the tributes around me. I glance down every now and then, my hands continuing to move. Not fast, but not slow either. Calm and precise. I catch sight of a young girl, no older than thirteen, and I feel a pang in my heart. Why did she volunteer? My best guess is that she's deranged. She's kind of cute though.
Deranged. Adjective. Mad, insane.
A better question: Why did I volunteer? My eyebrows knit together, and I turn back to the table. I focus on the plants and try to memorize the fatal ones instead of thinking about the events that led to my death sentence.

THROUGH ALL MY MAKE BELIEVE
THERE'S SOME REALITY

{Word Count: 422}

[d9 kristof parks {ems}]

Ivar Hammerfell Seventeen | Male | District Two

Blue eyes scanned the training center looking from station to station. Most of his time was spent at the weapons learning how to fight when all was lost, yet Ivar didn't feel hopeless. It wasn't something he knew because he knew he had what it took to win. But as he crawled from the weapon stations, he learned he needed to at least attempt the others. Plants were just as important as fighting with swords. Fire starting was needed to boil contaminated water. Trapping to catch something to eat. But was it all really worth it? Would it truly help him survive in the end? What if all the supplies ran out? No amount of plants or fire would save him, however, it was important to survive in the beginning.

Something caught his eye, a girl at the plant station learning as fast as possible. Trial and error was the way to go about it all, and Ivar wanted to know more, yet he didn't feel like moving. His tongue slid across his teeth as he turned away for only a moment. He had to return home alive to show Sigurd that he knew what he was doing. The last he heard was his brother saying goodbye, and that he wouldn't miss him. Ivar was a burden on the shoulder's of his family, and he wanted to prove differently. It was time to show he could reach for the stars and accomplish everything despite his legs holding him back.

Yet as he reached the plants, he tried settling down in front of them, but not once did he pay attention to anything being said. It was boring, and he wanted to try for himself. Trial and error was the only way to learn. Trial and error would teach him in the Capitol while nothing else would. All the lectures in the world went in one ear and out the other. School was always a pain for the crippled teed, but now this wasn't about school. Surviving this was important, and Ivar would destroy the tributes standing in his way regardless of what it took.

He reached for the table, but instead of pulling himself up, he knocked the table over. Plants came crashing down, and he snarled. Of course all he was good at was making himself look like a fool. Sigurd was right - Ivar Hammerfell was just a burden.

[googlefont="Irish Grover:400"]

[solo]

Riven Fowley

My small fingers dance in slow motion across the electronic screen in front of me. I swipe another silhouetteinto the red block, and it stays there. I pause and look at it, memorizing the length of the leaves, their pointy tips, the way they stick out at odd angles and come to a sharp point.
It's then that I hear an unfamiliar sound, something dragged across the floor, short pauses in between. My fingers stop for a split second and I take a peek out of the corner of my eye. Ah yes, the boy from Two. He's younger than me, I think, although he certainly doesn't look it. If he were to stand, he would tower over me. His arms are strong, his gaze steady, his face appearing more like a man's than anything else. I'd be scared of him, if it weren't for the fact that he dragged himself everywhere he went.
I swipe another plant aside, and again get it correct. Every now and then I glance over to the boy who's decided to join me. I don't remember his name, just that he's somehow related to the boy from Two in last year's Games. Or so I think. He's listening to the instructor...no, not listening. He's not taking in a single word. He's staring at the plants in front of him, the real ones, clearly bored and eager to get started.
I allow my gaze to return to the screen in front of me. I've sorted most of the plants already, and I now realize that it's going to be harder than I expected to memorize all thirty-something of them. I'll be stuck here until lunch, that's for sure. I stare at the plants, and suddenly feel the hints of apprehension pulling at my mind, threatening to take over.
Apprehension. Noun. Anxiety or fear that something bad or unpleasant will happen.
I might very well be dead in the next few weeks.
Suddenly, I hear a loud cacophony of noise, and I can't help but look up in surprise.
Cacophony. Noun. A harsh, discordant mixture of sounds.
The boy has knocked over his table, I assume from trying to pull himself up and get a proper look at everything. Plants are everywhere, a few berries rolling away into the corners of the station. I hesitate, unsure what to do. I glance down at my screen and pretend to be focused on that, so he doesn't realize how much I'm thinking about his situation. He's proud, I can assume that from the fact that he hasn't accepted any help, even here in the Capitol where I'm sure he could get himself some crutches or even a wheelchair. From that I can assume that he won't want any help.
"You alright?" Finally deciding on a course of action, I look up, the palms of my hands resting on the edge of the table. I force my face to be unconcerned, for fear he might think I'm trying to be sympathetic. Instead I put on a faint smile. Maybe I'll appear friendly.

THROUGH ALL MY MAKE BELIEVE
THERE'S SOME REALITY

{Word Count: 505}

[d9 kristof parks {ems}]

Ivar Hammerfell Seventeen | Male | District Two

All the plants went everywhere. Berries rolled across the floor as the table fell down on top of him. All that he had worked for was slowly crashing before his very eyes, but this wasn't the end. No, it was only the beginning, and he had to learn to do what the other tributes were capable of. His legs were hindering him from performing to his fullest ability, and he wanted to run away and hide, but Ivar wouldn't hide. He had no reason to. Not when the entire world was waiting for him to make his presence known. Panem would soon watch him, and he didn't need another episode of failing.

Quickly, he looked around hoping nobody saw him, but the trainers were snickering, and Ivar felt his temper rising. A flame grew inside his body, and his face became warm, yet he tried brushing it off. Lashing out would end up costing him, and he didn't want that to happen. Only one thought swarmed through his fragile mind, and he prayed with everything inside that nobody would ask the question. Why volunteer if you knew you couldn't compete? It was a fight for honor, and a chance to restore what was broken, but he knew that it wouldn't happen if he didn't pull himself together.

"You alright?"

The question busted through the door closing him off from the world, and he turned around in every direction until he found the girl within the corner of his eyes. One day he would knock her off the pedestal she was resting on, but until then he had to look away. He took a deep breath trying to calm himself down because he was fine. Nothing was wrong, and nothing would ever compare to the foolishness lingering inside. Only a fool would make a mess. Throughout his life he had made messes when trying to do something. Only this time it was different. But he had time to prove he was more than a stupid mistake.

"Yes, I am fine." He scoffed before throwing the plants and berries to the side. Normally someone may have thanked someone for asking if he was alright, but Ivar had no reason to. Enough rested within his words, and the girl should feel happy he answered. All he wanted was to hide, but warriors didn't hide.

[googlefont="Irish Grover:400"]

[solo]

Riven Fowley

I watch him, taking note of the confusion as he looks around, trying to figure out who posed the question at him. Not very observant, is he? His cheeks are red, embarrassed. Maybe ashamed. I can't quite tell. He's struggling to cover it up, to act like nothing is wrong. How interesting. He doesn't make eye contact with me, and instead swipes away the plants nearest to him.
"Yes, I am fine." he says, his tone contemptuous.
Contemptuous. Adjective. Showing or expressing contempt or disdain; scornful.
I can't help wondering if that is how he always speaks. Scornful, no contractions, like he's above us all. Not exactly in an arrogant way, I don't think. More prideful than anything else. And when I think about it, I suppose pride isn't always a bad thing. I assume it gave him courage.
I look back down at the screen. He's still not looking at me, so I can assume he doesn't want me doing the same. I don't want to appear as if I'm taking in his every move, mocking him, judging. I suppose I am doing the first. But I can always disguise that.
I swipe a few plants aside, look at them, memorize them. If I don't die in the first ten minutes, these are what could keep me alive for days at a time.
Ivar. His name suddenly pops up in my head, and for a second, my hands freeze.
"Ivar, right?" I inquire. My hand hovers a moment, then slides across the screen, my gaze still intent on my work. "Was that your brother last year? Ah, cousin maybe?"
I force myself not to cringe, suddenly realizing that probably wasn't the best question to ask. I don't know anything about his relationship to the former tribute, but chances are he's not too happy about the guy's recent death. Not off to a great start.
"Is he why you volunteered?" Once again my hands stop, and this time I look up, grey eyes trying to find bright blue ones. It's an innocent question, at least in my mind. Perhaps it will make my first question sound a bit kinder.

THROUGH ALL MY MAKE BELIEVE
THERE'S SOME REALITY

{Word Count: 350}

[d9 kristof parks {ems}]

Ivar Hammerfell Seventeen | Male | District Two

Hadn't she heard staring was rude? Yet Ivar turned continuing pushing plants to the side. Trainers snickered at him, and he wondered if they had ever seen such a mess. Volunteering probably wasn't the smartest move in the world, but the crippled teen had a lot to prove. For one, Sigurd needed put in his place. Ivar was tired of listening to that stupid mouth of his. He was tired of the insults. Two, he wanted to prove that he was more than the crippled teen. Soon all of Panem would see just how strong he truly was.

"Ivar, right?"

His eyes shifted towards her locking just beneath her gaze before bouncing away to the plants still remaining on the floor. Someone needed picking them up, and he wasn't up for the job. Yet her questions didn't stop there. More and more filled the air leaving him wonder if she would ever be quiet. Talking about his family and the previous game. It didn't matter who they were, yet they shared the last name. A powerful name. A name Ivar wanted everyone to remember.

But her last question slowly crossed the line. It had nothing to do with Torka, Mason, or Orion. It had nothing to with their last names matching his, yet he kept his mouth shut. Lashing out was wrong, and he knew he needed to stay calm even in the midst of the storm. He turned, his eyes locking on her's. Every word bounced through his skull before flying out his ears. None of them mattered. It was about showing Panem what he was capable of. Showing the world that even crippled teens stand a chance. Surely more were out there. It was about redemption.

"It isn't about him." He stated simply keeping his voice quiet, "It's about me."

[googlefont="Irish Grover:400"]

[solo]

Riven Fowley

I watch him as he answers. Careful, calculated. He's certainly not an open kind of guy, and to be honest, I can't blame him. He's talking to someone who could potentially be trying to kill him in a few days time. A shiver runs down my spine at the thought, and I shove it back into some dark corner of my mind where the boxes are moldy and covered in cobwebs. Things that would mess up the rest of my mind's closet if I pulled them out.
"It isn't about him." he says, voice even and measured so carefully it becomes too precise. "It's about me."
My gaze holds steady for a moment, and then I return to looking at the screen. I can hear him swiping plants aside, but I know without much thought that he's not trying to clean up, and neither are the trainers. Most of them are snickering with each other.
I finish up the exercise I've been working on, and without considering the consequences, I shuffle around the table and bend down to pick up some of the plants. Silently, I set the table back on its feet and place what leaves and berries I can find on top of it.
"I guess you think you've got something to prove." I say simply. I can see already that he's not the type to make friends, so I stop putting my effort into that. I'm not trying to start an argument. I don't bother making eye contact any more, and instead I fiddle around with a spiky-leafed plant, one that I think looks like the silhouette of the fatal one I was looking at earlier. Now I can see the color, and feel the texture of it between my small, pasty fingers.
"You're proud, too." I continue, my tone thoughtful, lighthearted, like I'm trying to recall what seven times eight equals. "You should know that might get in your way."

THROUGH ALL MY MAKE BELIEVE
THERE'S SOME REALITY

{Word Count: 319}

[d9 kristof parks {ems}]

Ivar Hammerfell Seventeen | Male | District Two

Frantic eyes darted from one plant to the other. All the berries had stopped rolling around on the floor, but the laughter coming from the trainers didn't stop. Making a fool of himself wasn't on his bucket list, but what could he do now? Ivar had a lot to prove, but there he was lying on the floor covered in plants and mashed up berries talking to some girl from district ten. It bothered him, yet he refused to show it. She at least wanted to talk. She at least wasn't laughing at him, however, deep inside Ivar swore the entire gym was laughing. It would make sense. A heavy sigh left his chest as he rolled over onto his back. It was too late to pretend like this was supposed to happen, but he would work with it.

Let everyone think I'm a crippled kid with no chance.

The girl spoke, and it was right where Ivar needed it. Happiness radiated from his body as a genuine smile spread across his face. So many times he tried proving himself, and now he wanted to show the world that he was someone they should fear. Any time anyone heard his name, he wanted them to cower in the corner, but right now it wasn't looking good. He didn't volunteer to make friends. He didn't volunteer to find a girlfriend or anything like that. The idea went out his mind, but he wanted to pretend. But Ivar Hammerfell was never good at acting.

"What would a cripple like me have to prove?" He ask keeping his voice low trying to sound slightly upset. "And what does being proud have to do with anything?"

[googlefont="Irish Grover:400"]

[solo]

Riven Fowley

For a second, he almost seems to panic, and I wonder why. Is it possible he's worried that any chance he had of intimidation is gone? Perhaps. But it could always be something else. And then he sighs and rolls over on his back, belly up like some defeated dog. I can almost pity him. Almost.
A broad grin splits across his face, and it does everything to confirm my suspicions. He is proud. And he does have something to prove. I wonder at his demeanor, curiosity aching to get inside his head and understand what's going on in there. I do my best to understand other people, but it's never complete, never perfect. There's always odds and ends missing, pieces that fell out of the jigsaw puzzle and rolled under the couch but now I can't reach them. I can tell what the picture is, I can see all the colors, but there are odd spots of black where color should be. Minute details that I can't figure out unless I find the pieces.
"What would a cripple like me have to prove?" His tone lowers and my brow knits together above my nose. Now he wants something. Pity, probably. It's not that hard to tell. "And what does being proud have to do with anything?"
For a moment, I don't say anything. I collect my thoughts. Deep breath in through my nose, blow it out silently between my teeth. I decide to tread lightly, feeling out the ice beneath my feet, wondering where it will simply creak under my weight and where I will fall through into the frigid waters below.
"Oh gosh, now that you mention it..." I scratch my head, then shrug, hinting at sarcasm. "I guess I couldn't tell you."
Without skipping a beat, I grab a chair from the table next to me and pull it up next to the one I've just cleaned up. I pat the top of it with a small hand. "If it's my pity you want, you could've just asked. I'll show you which one of these'll kill you if you want."

THROUGH ALL MY MAKE BELIEVE
THERE'S SOME REALITY

{Word Count: 348}

[d9 kristof parks {ems}]

Ivar Hammerfell Seventeen | Male | District Two

Pity was a terrible four letter word, and it didn't offer anything Ivar wanted. All he wanted was someone to look at him like he was a normal teen, but in reality he was far from normal. His life turned upside down on a dreadful night, and now he had nowhere to turn. Friends were made as well as foes. A fatal mistake was knocking over the plants while the foolish girl from district ten sat watching. The trainers had finally stopped snickering, but Ivar knew he would become the laughing stock of Panem. Everyone would watch him fail, and his efforts to prove just how good he was will all be for nothing. But what's the point? Why should he give up now? Why would anyone throw away a wonderful piece of work?

He turned towards the girl watching and learning while listening to her words. Sarcasm was the answer, and Ivar knew how to reply despite his sarcasm meter being way off. His definition was probably far different than her's, but maybe, just maybe, it would a take the eyes of him and turn them around to her.

"Only a fool would pity me." He snarled, lips curled back, eyes locked on the pray. "Pity someone like me, and it'll get you killed even if you know what plants will save you." Through gritted teeth, the teen fought his own mind trying to remain calm. Trying to hold back while his blood boiled inside him. Each breath caught in the back of his throat as he closed his eyes. Yet he took slow deep breaths forcing himself to turn it down just a notch. "All I want is a chance to prove myself. To show Panem that even us cripples have a reason to fight when all hope seems lost."

It wasn't wrong asking for help, and he needed to push his pride away. This girl could give him a lifesaving tip if only the crippled teen would take it. It was up to him, and he needed to make this work. One side of his soul fought with the other trying to turn his world around.

There's nothing wrong with asking for help.

He swallowed hard, and took a deep breath -

"But if you're willing, which one of these would heal and which one would kill?"

[googlefont="Irish Grover:400"]

[solo]

Riven Fowley

I watch him expectantly, and he rolls over to lock eyes on me. Slowly but surely, it's getting easier to see inside his head. I can tell at times he tries to act, but he's not very good at it. The boys lips peel back as he speaks. The image of a dog becomes more solid in my mind.
"Only a fool would pity me." he practically growls the words at me. "Pity someone like me, and it'll get you killed even if you know what plants will save you." He clenches his teeth and forces himself to take a few deep breaths. I've got under his skin, it doesn't take a genius to realize that. I have my foot in the door. I'm figuring out where his buttons are. As for whether or not I'll need to know those buttons over the next few days, I don't know yet, but it's always good to have them just in case.
"All I want is a chance to prove myself. To show Panem that even us cripples have a reason to fight when all hope seems lost."
My eyebrow twitches slightly upwards, and a faint smile pulls at the corners of my lips. So I was right all along. He does have something to prove. And, he admitted it surprisingly fast. I had been expecting him to put up a fight, to lash out at me, to let his anger boil over. Either he has decent control over himself or he's just not a fighter. Actually, I have a feeling he's somewhere in between.
He swallows down his pride and takes in a deep breath. "But if you're willing, which one of these would heal and which one would kill?"
I wait a moment, look him in the eye, wondering if he's serious. Is this how he always asks for help? Growls and snarls like a dog, then goes belly up and begs for a treat? Not exactly my favorite kind of person to deal with. Too complicated, too unpredictable.
"Maybe if you stop treating me like a child, I'll consider it." I say, my brow knitting together. "You'll be dead in the first ten minutes if you treat everyone like this." To be honest, I have a feeling he'll be dead in the first ten minutes no matter what. If he doesn't get himself a spot in the Career Pack, I'm sure everyone will see him as an easy target.
Reluctantly, I grab one of the nearest plants and hold it out where he can see. It's small, with tiny round leaves and white berries. "Misteltoe will kill. The berries are poisonous. If I remember right, they grow in the woods."

THROUGH ALL MY MAKE BELIEVE
THERE'S SOME REALITY

{Word Count: 444}

[d9 kristof parks {ems}]

Ivar Hammerfell Seventeen | Male | District Two

A soft chuckle slid from his tongue. This girl was a foolish girl, and Ivar was slowly stalking his prey one by one. His eyes focused on her wondering her next move. Would she tell him a poisonous plant, or would she leave him hanging like many had done before? It wasn't the first time someone wrote him off like nothing but a piece of trash, but right now he walked a fine line treading carefully slowly learning what he could. The training center was the one chance he had, and he wouldn't throw it away.

The girl snapped at him, and Ivar laughed even more. Only a child would believe that, and obviously this girl had no clue on how to deal with someone of his nature. A crippled kid was all he was, yet he was taking the upper hand. Seeing emotions became his ultimate way of life. It gave him something to live for when all hope was lost. And of course she mentioned he would be one of the first to die. It crossed his mind many times, and he weighed the outcome over and over trying to figure out his best move. Dying wasn't on his bucket list until he proved a point.

"You aren't the first person who's told me that." He tried to keep his voice calm and steady while keeping his face clear of emotions, "My own brother said that, and if it happens, then I'll be dead. Nothing will change it." With a shrug of his shoulders, he pretended like nothing was wrong. It didn't matter if people saw him weak, it was the final advice given to him by his trainer back in two. "And if you think this is treating you like a child, you haven't experienced much." He added with a curious grin wondering what she would do next.

Most would walk away.

Yet she still grabbed a plant close by, and told him it was poisonous. Mistletoe was a poisonous plant, and Ivar never understood why. How could something with amazing berries kill a person? It didn't make sense. But the biggest question of all was how would he remember all this when he was thrown into an unknown arena with nobody around to save him? "Thanks for the tip. I appreciate it." The least he could do was be polite despite everything working against him.

All he wanted was to prove Sigurd wrong, and he was slowly on his way to doing so.

[googlefont="Irish Grover:400"]

[solo]

Riven Fowley

He's laughing at me. I don't mind. I stay calm, keep control of myself with ease, unable to be bothered by his amusement. I'm used to it, after all. I've taught myself to keep my head down and ignore any laughter that I come across. Fighting back generally doesn't do much. Not to mention, most people are at their most vulnerable when they think they're in control.
"You aren't the first person who's told me that." His voice remains smooth and he wipes his face of any emotion he had been showing. I wonder what it is he's trying to hide. "My own brother said that, and if it happens, then I'll be dead. Nothing will change it." He shrugs, mentally brushing something off. "And if you think this is treating you like a child, you haven't experienced much."
I have the urge to tell him I've experienced plenty in my life. But, I'm sure it wouldn't get us anywhere, and I'm sure he'd pull out a "I'm-a-cripple-you-have-it-way-better-than-me" card. It wouldn't surprise me. And to be honest, I wouldn't be surprised if he's experienced more than me. But I certainly have experienced my fair share of troubles too.
"Thanks for the tip. I appreciate it."
I raise a brow and grin slightly, clearly amused. My gaze remains on the plants in front of me, my hands sorting through them. "Ah, there we go." I chuckle softly. "You're learning." Of course, I'm referring to his attitude, not his skills with plants. Something tells me he won't remember much of what I say. I'm trying to learn more about him though, so I grab a tiny patch of emerald green mint leaves. "This is mint. You can rub it on bites and stings to ease the pain. You can eat them too, but they're not that filling. At the most it'll ease hunger cramps."

THROUGH ALL MY MAKE BELIEVE
THERE'S SOME REALITY

{Word Count: 308}

[d9 kristof parks {ems}]

Ivar Hammerfell Seventeen | Male | District Two

Apparently saying thank you worked. A sly grin spread across his face as he turned around, eyes locked on the many plants gathered before him. Many were still scattered across the smooth surface of the training center, but that didn't matter to him. Learning about different types of plants didn't make a difference in his eyes - Ivar was using this time to study a fellow tribute. He wanted to learn about her. Figure out where she stood, how she viewed life, if she was smart enough to figure out that this was all an act. It was important to keep the act going because he had so much to learn, and even though plants were boring it offered the perfect start.

It took every ounce of strength lingering inside to keep him from laughing because he wanted to learn. Curiosity killed the cat, and in this case Ivar was the cat awaiting the satisfaction to bring him back. It was beyond his wildest dreams that anyone could learn about all these. How would he remember what a mistletoe looked like when he tried gathering inside the arena? How would he know which ones were poisonous, and which ones were edible? Was there a trick to it?

Was being from district two his fatal flaw?

The girl lifted up a bundle of small green leaves. Mint. Mint was such a delicious flavor residing in hard candies, and Ivar loved how it soothed his stomach when he felt ill. But he never knew the delicate flavor belonged to a plant. How could he?

In district two all he cared for was fighting and learning how to kill. That was his goal, and yet he was trapped in the middle of the gym wondering if it was all a lie. Becoming a lean mean killing machine wasn't all it was made out for not when he needed food in the games. Not when he needed to find a medicinal herb to heal a wound or something.

"Mint, is this the same mint they make candies out of?" He asked with a curious expression, "I could eat those all day long."

[googlefont="Irish Grover:400"]

[solo]

Riven Fowley

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him grinning, and it lights a fire in my belly. It licks at my insides, popping and cracking, threatening to grow and come out where everyone can see. He's arrogant and deceiving and it's starting to bother me. Not because any of it is working, simply because it's annoying to deal with. I stamp down on the flames, calming them but not quite putting them out.
"Mint, is this the same mint they make candies out of?" he looks at me curiously. "I could eat those all day long."
I raise my eyebrows a little as I respond. "I'm sure you could, with all that money you have to spare."
Everyone knows that Ten is one of the poorest districts in Panem. We have so little money, food is expensive, and we often go days without a full three meals. We can't afford things like candies. Especially not enough to eat them all day long.
I remember once, when I was ten, Dad brought home a bit of chocolate for us. Of course, there's a total of seven people in my family, so we all ended up with pieces about the size of a small coin. I remember the taste though, because I'd never had anything like it before. I remember the way it melted on my tongue and lingered on my taste buds for the next hour. I wanted to ask for more but Hendrick told me not to. He said we only got it as a gift from a neighbor because Dad had helped them with a leak in their roof. I don't think I ever tasted chocolate again after that.
I'm pulled away from my thoughts and brought back to the present. Not exactly where I want to be, but what can I do about it?
"Sometimes I wonder what it would be like for someone like you to live in my district for a week." I give a short laugh, like it's a joke. "I'd like to see how long you'd last."

THROUGH ALL MY MAKE BELIEVE
THERE'S SOME REALITY

{Word Count: 340}