//Spin;, Spin;, Spin;, Fall\\ {Open}

//Spin;, Spin;, Spin;, Fall\\ {Open} Mar 20, 2011 17:19:06 GMT -5

Post by Vulnerable on Mar 20, 2011 17:19:06 GMT -5

Nimble fingers on the eye of a sewing needle. Eyes laden down to stare at the careful white fabric being guided through as he weaved. Beauty at its finest, the clothing was going to be a lovely addition to his wardrobe. It had little bits of detail on it here and there, symbols and elements that he had brought up into his clothing. There was something that he left in the clothing that he created that made him want to make even more clothing. A piece of him: a piece of his heart in a very metaphorical sense. It was the only thing besides his family that he could ever have had a chance to love and the only thing he really cared for. He treated it like he was protective it, like he had life and death situations with weaving, sowing, and creation of clothing. He felt as if no one understood his passion, even though many people in District Eight had a similar hobby.

Still, no one seemed to make the connection between sowing and beauty. No one had the feeling that it was truly very important in a place run down by poverty and hunger. People were too into trying to get food to ever stop the smell the roses. But, it wasn't like Ezra cared. In fact, he didn't. People could do whatever they wanted and he could simply be ignorant of them. It was no use talking or looking at people you didn't know unless you had a good reason for it. You had to be careful with humans. They'd always come back to hurt you later and Ezra refused to be the victim of such tricks. He was a trickster himself. He was not the victim of any single person and he made sure of that by continuing his mostly anti social behavior. He never stopped to chat with someone that he saw on the road. He avoided everyone but his sister and his father like the plague. He was simply quiet, always had been. He also didn't show a shred of sadness or sorrow for things that he did to people. He actually found it funny what he would do to people, although his victims may have had a differing opinion.

Abel; the name struck like a cord in the boy's heart. It was the first person that he had had fooled with his tricks. He made him fall in love with him, a deed that would never have been forgiven by Abel himself. Truly, Abel had a gift that Ezra did not. The ability to love and to give love to someone else. Ezra never had this ability. He had, once, tried caring about the people around him but he only failed. Sometimes, he did feel as if he was a bad person for it. For manipulating people and deeming it an activity that had given him thrills many a time. But was it normal for him to go through life like this? What was the point of life if all he could do was lie through everything? People were eventually going to catch on to some of his tricks, even he knew it. But, he continued anyway. After all, it was his main source of the gifts that he had gotten and the fabric that he had received. And he needed more fabric, more color and virtue in his life. He needed to continue making clothes or he would feel like he had died on the inside. Without them, he was nothing. He was dirt, worthless, just a broken liar. For now, he wanted to remain someone of importance: a good crafter.

For a single moment, he looked up from the sewing needle and the material to look up at the cold atmosphere; trying to see the big blue sky beyond the clouds. But he saw nothing. There wasn't a crack in the clouds to even see a hint of blue up there and there was no light shining down onto the frigid ground below. "Hmph," He managed to chug out, wishing that he at least had some light to be able to see the eye of the sewing needle even more clearly. It was a little hard to craft without light. He could have always done it inside though, because of the light fixtures. Still, this was one of those times when he just wanted to take in the fresh air and feel the cold blowing in a breeze through the little amount of hair he had on the top of his head, "Such a bother, it seems." Ezra had spoken with an almost regal tone of voice, as he did when he was being a trickster. But, from all of the manipulation, he had even begun to talk like that when he wasn't trying to manipulate someone. It made him seem charming and trustworthy.

He let out a quiet sigh and got up, being careful with his material and began to walk down the road. He looked around for a bench, a place without shade like the front of the house that he had lived in. A small smirk formed once he had found the appropriate place, going to sit down. It still wasn't really lighted up outside from the overcast above, but it would have to due as he weaved. He also didn't mind the people that watched him as they passed by, minding their own business as much as they could. But, he could see it whenever he looked up. They watched him, traced him. Their eyes were made of fire; could it be envy? Most people knew how to make clothes, but some didn't. Was it possible for someone to be jealous of him in District Eight when people were used to seeing people weaving? No, no, that couldn't be it. Maybe they just wanted to watch. And children were even more pesky. They didn't mind stopping to look and watching. It was entertaining in a world that had very little entertainment what so ever.

But, he paid no mind to those children. Not a single interest in humanity had a place in his heart where he kept anything dear. Humanity; life itself was not one of them. Which could only mean one thing; he did enjoy the attention that he got from other people that he had gotten from making clothes out in public. Sharing a passion was fine; but it wasn't exactly opening your heart to them. Perfect, that's how it should be. And the attention was just a plus. That made him histrionic, though. The attention loving, manipulative person he was, along with being quite the liar. And nothing could change that.