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you can always bleed a little more.
As her body rotted in the river, it happened / very slowly, that God forgot about her.
CONCERNING A DROWNED GIRL / BERTOLD BRECHT
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﹙ chapter one, act one﹚ mara cayden.
darkmoor, district eleven. july, 70 att.
THE WIND IS PICKING UP, WHISTLING THROUGH THE GAPS IN THE BUILDINGS. It creates a high pitched whine that sets Mara even further on edge, grinding her teeth as the sound echoes throughout the dirt paths and shabby houses of Zone C. She's only too glad to leave behind the bunched mass of houses, the cries of children whose stomachs will never be full. The sky is a dark shade of grey, a far cry from the usual summer blue, covered in clouds. The ground still holds heat, and burns the feet of those who cannot afford shoes, making her grateful for her sandals that are barely intact. She passes a beggar, bundled in blankets and stick thin, who whispers to himself, loud enough for her to hear.
