[ xxvii ]. ghost and haunted house

                                    

                                          

                            

                                
                            
                              
                                  
                              
                              
                                
                                  
                                  
                                
                              
                             
                            
                            
                          
                          

                            

                                
                            
                              
                                  
                              
                              
                                
                                  
                                  
                                
                              
                             
                            
                            
                          
                          
you can always bleed a little more.





Memories do not always soften with time /
some grow edges like knives.
THE LACUNA / BARBARA KINGSOLVER

                            

                                
                            
                              
                                  
                              
                              
                                
                                  
                                  
                                
                              
                             
                            
                            
                          
                          
﹙ chapter twenty seven, act two ﹚





city circle, the capitol.
january, 73 att.
                    MARA HAS NEVER THOUGHT VERY HIGHLY OF HER HOME. She's not ashamed, not the way some Capitolites expect her to be whenever she mentions Eleven, but she's hardly proud either. She always wants to leave the bakingly hot fields and sweat soaked orchards while she's there, but starts to miss them the moment the train starts to leave the station. Counts down the days until she can again catch that first glimpse of neat little homes in Victor's Village, however much she may hate them. Now, as she endures the beginning of yet another never-ending evening, she longs for the warmth of Eleven. She can picture the cool water from the pumps, the gentle breeze just strong enough to make the day feel chilly.