.:Midnight in the Garden of Good & Evil:. [Lorenzo & Salome]

[Deleted]

Salome Izar

You are homesick.

It was the silliest of things that broke you. Dinner meant all the gluttonous portions your small body could handle—steaming piles of mashed potatoes, fried chicken, all manner of foods you never even dreamed of—and for dessert, choice of sweets that would live on in fantasies forever. You wonder how any of them fit into their clothes with such rich flavors at their fingertips. Yet you eschewed the chocolate cake. Your palate wanted something lighter, but sweet. An avox hurried from behind one of the tall white columns to present a plate of strawberries, fresh as the day. A single taste triggers you into daydreams, and for a moment, you are back in district eleven.

We’re going to have our own farm. You and your sister Magdalena are barefoot, dressed in your overalls and straw hats, laying in the strawberry patch. The overseer is far enough away; you dawdle for a moment, and pass a strawberry to Magda, rather than put it into your bucket. She grins and hands one back to you—a trade of sorts, lest one of you have to be punished. You take a bite and let the sweetness wash over you. This is home, baking under the hot sun, dirt between your toes. Much like the strawberry, you are tough and resilient. Despite the heat and dust storms, there will always be strawberries. Your mother says they are common as weeds, sometimes threatening to strangle other crops. As common as they are though, they are loved as much for their sweetness as their strength.

You hadn’t noticed the tears before you’re wracked with sobs. They must have thought you such a delicate thing, crying at dessert. But then you don’t much care what others think, do you? You’re halfway to the elevator before you hear a muffled call from the apartment, but it’s too late for you to turn back. You want air—some place that does not feel as though the walls are closing around your body. The elevator hums with doors open, empty. You press a button marked R, and close your eyes, back against the wall. When you open them, the doors slide apart to reveal the bright lights of the city before you, with a whole span of plants dotting the rooftop.

Your few steps are slow, and you kneel down to press a hand against the grass growing below. There are roses climbing up over an arbor, and the gentle trickle of water from a fountain in the distance. You smile, and twist your fingers between the loops of your shoelaces. Your feet find their home in the grass, and you start to walk along the rows of plants. You miss home. It’s entirely normal, and not unreasonable. This is what you had wanted but that does not remove the ache you feel thinking about what was your home. Life is about far more than the grass between your toes; part of happiness comes from the longing you feel for what you cannot have. And yet—you are under the same stars, and the same moon.

You sit on the edge of the fountain. When you were home, it was so much easier living for other people. Now you’ve gone and volunteered for so many, yet will have to live for yourself. Will it kill you? You turn your head at the sound of the elevator, and give as much a smile as you can. Not yet.

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

LORENZO RUINED

After an excruciatingly long dinner, complete with more food than he usually saw in an entire year, Lorenzo strolled up to the Peacekeepers outside the elevator and waited for his thrice daily pat down. "How's it hanging, boys?" He'd realized as soon as he stepped off the train that his reputation had preceded him. They took anything he fashioned into a shiv but they let him board the elevator with one of the dinner forks still in his fist. The tines were so delicate, so sharp, he could use them as a toothpick, which was exactly what he did. Of course, being so perfectly needle point, he could think of a lot of other ways to put the utensil to good use.

For the time being, he picked stray strands of beef from between his crooked teeth.

He didn't bother to push a button. Invariably someone wanted to get off on Five and the rides up and down gave him a chance to put all of the tributes in their districts. There were so many fucking Fours though he almost had to get off when they wanted to board. He caught an elbow in the rib and seriously considered testing the fork's integrity in the tribute's neck. But then they exited and the elevator ghosted all the way to the roof.

He took one look at the trees and the fountain and shook his head. "Why is everything here so fucking extra?" He asked himself, until his gaze snags on Salome's. He jerked his chin at her. "You think all this is necessary?"

[Deleted]

Salome Izar

Why is everything here so fucking extra? A voice carries across the roof, and you turn to face the boy stomping along the grass. He’s angrily grubbing the ground beneath his feet—you can see it even before he reaches the fountain. Your sister has the same sort of walk when she wants to scold you for talking to the wrong boy in the schoolhouse, or leaving her favorite skirt out on the line too long in the sun. An anger threatening to bubble from a spark to a flame if you tell her what she doesn’t want to hear, and sometimes, even if she does. You think all this is necessary? And you sit, a finger dipping into the water. You flick a few drops and shrug your shoulders.

“When they were thinking of this place, I doubt they thought of anything but themselves.” You like the way his nose is a little crooked, and the paleness of his skin. He must not be out in the fields to be quite so white. Which of the boys was he now—you narrow your eyes and think, because there are so many and you’re so tired. Lorenzo. The name forms and you shift along to make space on the edge of the fountain. “But I like this place. It reminds me of home, at least a little bit.” And you realize how silly it sounds, to compare any of this to home.

“Did you come up to get some fresh air?” You smile. It would be nice to keep some company, if only for a little while. “Or are you lost?” But he didn’t walk like someone who was lost. Though walking with a sense of purpose and knowing one’s person were quite different altogether. You pat a hand on the edge of the fountain. “Oye, sit. You are welcome to pass the time if you have nothing better to do.”