among the forgotten {Calla}

[Arrows]

ophelia 
Courtney Parks
District nine

Mirror madness dips into delirious disarray. Voices vibrate for a stage unable to be shared by more than a single soul bathed in the brilliant beauty of sensation's spotlight. Beasts bellow below an innocent illumination shackled to such struggles by the mysteries of her mind. Contenders crumble while claws become christened in stains of shadows, a vice grip grasps center stage blossoming brightly into fruition. Darkness drains into daylight, stage spills away into the riveting rush of life. Freedom flows from the flickering eyes of one newly brought back to reality. 

Beyond the slim shadows of the drawn shades sunset spills over a stumbling city. Denizens of the district drearily drag themselves from endless labor to tireless sleep. Rising from soft sheets blonde vines fall faintly over breathless blue eyes owned by the stage's victor. Fingers furl through fields of beautiful blonde only to produce a gnarled growl. Hands hold a straightener to the hair slaughtering the circular curls quickly before any more distaste draws out of Courtney's mouth. A new face falls within a mirror's sight upon completion, "Much better."

Rose red rampages over the lavish lands of Courtney's lips. Black builds over a world of white known as her skin until a fearsome phantom feels at home in her painted shell. Free fingers follow the outlines of some book who's origin is unknown to her, its pages fall to the floor with a hurl. Smoke suddenly spits from the cigarette lit between the lines of her lips, the toxic treasure lures her into its control. Cells shudder yet addiction acknowledges no defeat,  in a matter of moments only a butt remains as a result. It flies to the floor outside freed from her flick. 

Steps spur movement from within the house, yet only hallowed hearts beam within the broken eyes that spot her. "Be safe at least." A cold cruel glare greets the Adoptive Mother the girl sees as nothing more than soot beneath her shoe. "Don't count on it." A shrug falls from Courtney's frozen shoulder before shoving open the door to the rest of the district. "I'll try not to die." The door slams shattering another piece of the parents she never chose to claim as her own. 

Alone footsteps tap against concrete, desire dwells deeply within Courtney's conscious. Another shot of smoke spills through her throat staining the life she cares not for, laughter lifts from her lonely lips. Although full freedom cruelty creates, pain it also perfects. Several shadows linger along certain streets but none by Courtney's side other than her own. The smoke strikes down such terrible thoughts as music meanders through her newest avenue to enter, she is close. 

Few words are spoken after entering the club. A great glass stolen from some sad little man meets Courtney's mouth while she sits as a shadow in the corner. Petrol purifies her throat as the alcohol is certainly home grown. A couple coughs later she steals a shot from a sucker lost in his imagination, soon sleep will be easier. A smile slips across the strange girl's face, is it fun to be free when there is no one to create chaos with beside you? Her sinful smile hides her thoughts, it always does. 

[tick 12a / calla]

r o w a n ;

It's been a pretty shitty day so far.

But I guess it's always a little give and take since last night's business was booming. Money passing between hands in a steady flow and it had been the best night that the club's had in a while.

Stumbling home as the sun came up, Hazel was up and at the table already, watching me fall into a cold bed through the open door. Her disappointment doesn't mean much when all I can think about is the migraine bleeding through my temples.

Dead to the world until well after noon, victim of a dreamless exhaustion that was very rudely interrupted by the neighbors. Nausea pushes me from the room and the people that live in this dump keep forgetting how thin the walls are.

In the end, I guess it doesn't matter. Messy hair and slept in makeup, I'm just leaving again anyways. Following the street lights and cracks in the pavement towards a sense of security.

A busted neon sign over the door, lights flicker from the club doors onto an empty street. Windows half boarded and painted over to shield hungover eyes and fogged heads, a lasting cloud hangs over the room, hazy from the rush of yesterday. The crowd is thinner tonight, sparse with stragglers who never made their way home and the regulars who practically call this place their own. A steady beat in the background, a distraction thrumming through poison filled veins that fuels the movements of the other girls.

With people passed out on the old couches and sprawled across cushioned chairs, it's not hard to blend in, making quick coin from empty smiles and swaying hips. The owner of the sorry place is usually too high off his ass to care anyways, makes it too easy for us to pocket the shares.

Shrugging off leers and eyes of pity, it's better than starving on the street.

At least, that's what I tell Hazel.

There's the bartenders, the dancers and the girls that work here, not all friends but close enough. There's more of an understanding here, willing to at least look out for each other and they're at least easier to stand than my shitty roommates.

Red lips and a matching slip dress, the familiarity of leather across my shoulders, there's a hum under my skin. Dull and muted, the same day in day out for so long and it's so damn boring.

Hanging by the bar with a cigarette, throwing back drinks bought with money that isn't mine. I take a drag, a long inhalation before releasing the smoke into the air, tendrils curling into the atmosphere and drifting away.

There's a girl sitting off in a corner, a pretty blonde wrapped in shadows and nursing a drink, not a regular from what I can tell. It's odd to see an unfamiliar face in this hovel, a blip in the droning track of my life.

I leave my drink behind, sidling over to her and pulling up a chair. Collapsing down, one leg crosses over the other as I take another drag, head tilted back against the wall and ash flicking to the floorboards. "I don't think I've seen you around before." With a smirk and raised eyebrow, it's a bit cliche, but thinking of something else would take more effort than I'm willing to spare. "Here." I hand the cigarette out to the girl, an offer of cheap lipstick stained tobacco. "You look like you could use a hit."