The air that streams in through the open doors carries familiar smells. Saltwater and fish layered over sand and wisteria. She can taste the ocean in the air and the wind throws her hair back in her face. The ocean is inaudible to her but it must roar. It's the first time in months that she's seen the outside world and it's home. She blinks in the stiff breeze and buries the urge to cry.
Her boot clad feet lift drifts in the sand until she makes it onto more solid surfaces. It's home but it's different. Logically, she knows she could slip away, go home, never return to District Thirteen. She doesn't know why the urge isn't more prominent. It should be all she thinks about, fighting her way back to the Capitol's side or at least her district's side. Does she want to stay in Thirteen? She's startled from her thoughts by a tap on her shoulder and a nudge to the right direction. The next hour is spent helping them map the district. It's only fair. It's only right. The Capitol knows this place inside and out, the fight...the fight should be fair.
Does fair matter? When Thirteen hurt Chuck and the Capitol might hurt someone else and so on. She pulls herself away from the conversation but not by much. She wants to go to the shore but there's fighting. She wants to go visit home but she doesn't have Taria by her side. They'll ask after her. They will. The citizens will recognize her from the propo and they'll stare. They'll wonder. This was a horrible idea.
She claims her lack of wandering is to be nearby to help but really she's just nervous. Her district was rebelling. Rebelling with every inch of its land and every person at its disposal. There was no place for her and her confusion. It still feels like she's a ghost. She walks through a place she once lived and with only the smallest sense of the self that loved it so much she would volunteer herself to spy for it. It's home yet she's detached.
So instead of walking to places well known, she points out the abandoned shacks, filled halfway with sand from the last hurricane. They aren't really a nice place to stay but they're practically deserted and near the outskirts of town. So she stays within their confines mostly, pretending the past doesn't leap at her from every corner. She even smiles and talks to those who come to speak to her.
Sometimes her thoughts catch a hold of her and she wanders too far. There's someone she knows--intimately, barely or just by face--and her legs simply refuse to move. Running hardly seems an option.
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Her boot clad feet lift drifts in the sand until she makes it onto more solid surfaces. It's home but it's different. Logically, she knows she could slip away, go home, never return to District Thirteen. She doesn't know why the urge isn't more prominent. It should be all she thinks about, fighting her way back to the Capitol's side or at least her district's side. Does she want to stay in Thirteen? She's startled from her thoughts by a tap on her shoulder and a nudge to the right direction. The next hour is spent helping them map the district. It's only fair. It's only right. The Capitol knows this place inside and out, the fight...the fight should be fair.
Does fair matter? When Thirteen hurt Chuck and the Capitol might hurt someone else and so on. She pulls herself away from the conversation but not by much. She wants to go to the shore but there's fighting. She wants to go visit home but she doesn't have Taria by her side. They'll ask after her. They will. The citizens will recognize her from the propo and they'll stare. They'll wonder. This was a horrible idea.
She claims her lack of wandering is to be nearby to help but really she's just nervous. Her district was rebelling. Rebelling with every inch of its land and every person at its disposal. There was no place for her and her confusion. It still feels like she's a ghost. She walks through a place she once lived and with only the smallest sense of the self that loved it so much she would volunteer herself to spy for it. It's home yet she's detached.
So instead of walking to places well known, she points out the abandoned shacks, filled halfway with sand from the last hurricane. They aren't really a nice place to stay but they're practically deserted and near the outskirts of town. So she stays within their confines mostly, pretending the past doesn't leap at her from every corner. She even smiles and talks to those who come to speak to her.
Sometimes her thoughts catch a hold of her and she wanders too far. There's someone she knows--intimately, barely or just by face--and her legs simply refuse to move. Running hardly seems an option.