/M E A N D E R I N G/ Down the Beaten Path/ (pika)

H O L M E S - Z A C H A R I A S - P E K K L A R

LIVING - 757575 THINKING - A33636 SPEAKING - 526719
OTHERS SPEAKING - D99700 FLASHBACK - 4E5678

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I am actually extremely happy at this point in time. It is rather odd for me to say that - normally I am upset about one thing or another, be it the fact that I have to work two menial jobs to essentially survive, to the horrible truth that I have a terminal illness, to the little addiction that I have to gambling (and the slighter one to alcohol, but it is not like I can afford it anyways).... Actually happy is probably not the correct term. One may think that being happy means that you are extremely excited and smiling all of the time, and practically bouncing off of walls. Since this is not the case (there are no walls to bounce off of in the meadow), I would classify this emotion as peace, calming, or something of the sort.

Either way, I am rather calm and peaceful as I finally finish the song, the last note slowly fading, being lost to the gentle breeze of winter. I shiver slightly, wishing that my hands could be a tad bit warmer. Sure, I'm wearing makeshift gloves, but they do not cover my fingers, so they do not really provide any protection against the elements. So I am not very comfortable right now. Moving to put my violin back in its case, I accidentally drop the instrument, hearing is land on the ground with a thud. Oh, good lord, please don't be broken, please don't be broken I think. Picking the instrument up, I am most relieved to see that there is not any visible damages, but I must be more careful for now on.

I am just closing the case itself when the wind's breath is particularly strong, and takes a sheet of music along with it. Cursing inwardly, I can only watch as it floats above the fence, and lands in the outside of the districts. I cannot go there, so that last piece... I am never going to be able to play it again... I sigh, and quickly gather up the remaining music, and look at the lone piece of paper one last time, before starting to walk awa-

"Excuse me! What's that instrument you're playing?"

Oh? Somebody was kind enough to actually listen to the violin? I am intrigued that he does not know the name of the instrument, but I am still rather... touched that he bothered to listen to the slightly horrible notes that I was playing. In all honesty, I am not very good - the notes always seem to be too flat or sharp, the vibrato is much to subtle, and I simply hate to play in 3rd position. But he must have found it to be either really nice, or so grotesque that he will want to make sure that he never gives his child a violin for the rest of his life. Either way, it would be a good idea to answer him.

"Oh, this is called a violin. It is a rather old instrument actually... It was around even during the turmoil of North America... This one is rather old, as are most violins these days... This was my father's actually. I don't think many people even know what a violin is anymore, much less know how to make them... But yes, as I stated before, this is a violin. You use a bow to play on the strings, and use your fingers to make the note higher or lower. I'm Holmes, by the way."

After babbling like that, I am a tad bit out of breath, but regardless, his comment has caused me to remember that the sheet is still beyond the fence. I am a tad bit too big to fit through the small spaces between the fence and the ground, so I am sure that I will not be able to retrieve said music. So I simply sigh, and start to slowly walk away.

"Oh um, have a good day, sir."

You know when you go and attempt to have a wonderful day, but it all seems to simply crash down in a single moment, leaving you to wonder why you even bothered to try in the first place? Well hello there, welcome to the world that I'm currently in. Sure, you can call me melodramatic, but that sheet of notes was really one of the only things keeping me from spiraling into some ridiculous addiction of alcohol and a game that is called poker. Well I am already somewhat addicted to it, I assume, so I would really just get more addicted but that's besides the point.

The point is that I was really looking forward to being able to play that piece next week, but now it is gone. Vanished. Well not vanished but I cannot go and get it again, now that it is over the freaking fence. Yes, things like this tend to aggravate me. Losing music is not something that one looks forward to, and it is nearly impossible to find more music. These few precious sheets have been acquired over years and years of hoarding, a bit of stealing, etc. So naturally, I would be upset. Well, until the boy speaks again.

Get my paper back? How? The fence is surely electrocuted (I do not believe the silly rumors floating about that the fence does not work. It is simply ridiculous to think that would be the case.) I turn around, my eyebrows furrowed. What is he talking abou- oh. My mouth must have dropped open, for I can feel the temperature inside of it dropping. Is he really climbing the fence? And is it really not electrocuted? Well, that would explain the occasional hunters who frolic along the path with their bits of squirrel and stuff, but still. It is... probably not unheard of to climb over the fence, but surely illegal.

And now he has the paper, and he is climbing back over and great. He just cut his hand. See what I make people do now? The boy did not need to get his hand cut over a simple piece of paper. And now it is probably infected; who knows what kind of bacteria or fungi or whatever the hell gives you diseases is residing on that piece of metal? But he is back now, and hands me the paper, which I slowly accept, tucking it under my arm. Now the boy - Nathaniel - sounds rather tired or freaked out. Something along that line.

He holds out his hand (thank goodness it's not the one with blood. I already have a disease that is spread through that. I really do not need another), and I gingerly shake it. A smile begins to be created on my face. I mean... It was not that bad, was it? And now I have the music, and we can go and patch up his hand if he allows me to... Yes, I'm... I am, sorry. I am feeling a lot better about the situation.

"Thank you, Nathaniel. I'm... I am sorry but do you mind if I call you Nate? It seems to be easier on the tongue. And we should probably get that hand checked out, because the fence really does not seem to help with infections and whatnot..." I begin to walk away, towards my house (I most definitely cannot afford a trip to the apothecary. Besides, I have some cotton-like things at home, so he can use that, I presume... Unless if he wants to go to the apothecary, then that is a different story), presuming that he is following me. However, I get the strangest sense that I should probably tell him where I am going, so I turn around.

"If you would like to accompany me to get some cotton... umm what is the word... bandages, yes. Some cotton bandages at my house, then you are free to follow me, unless if you would like to go to the apothecary or something, in which case I would accompany you because that seems to be the right thing to do, correct? Helping someone who helped you?"

My hand is still held open, waiting for the boy to either accept or refuse it. In all honestly, I would probably be very happy if he were to accept my offer, because what would happen if he just went home and the wound began to fester and become infected? In District 12, it's best to get help when it's offered, even if it does hurt your pride. Then again, what would I know? I don't have much pride anyways. I'll accept help when it's needed, unless if it really hinders someone else, for then it's just rather inconvenient for them and I really don't want to have to take up their time. Who wants to help someone as impure as I am anyways?

Nobody, that's why. If anything... They'd just want to take advantage of one like myself, if they were that desperate to... For lack of a more mature word I will say relieve themselves. Oh, they've already done it - what's one more going to hurt? That's what they would say. And it makes me feel rather horrible. I get turned off by humanity in general - but not in the way that one might assume I mean by that. What I am trying to say is that humans repulse me sometimes. That their actions can hurt someone else, but they really don't care. They might not help someone, and deep down, they might care. But on the surface, not many people do. Which is why I act the way I do.

At least there's one person ready to lend a hand, whatever the case may be. And he doesn't exactly take my hand, but he agrees to come with me, so that's a step. He puts on a smile which I can just feel is oozing with politeness; I have used the same smile so many times that it is very noticeable now. The same expression, something else flickering in your eyes. That is the sign that you aren't the only thing that they are thinking of, or that perhaps they truly do not mean what they say. So I am a bit uneasy - I have seen that gaze before, in the hungry eyes of citizens who just needed that one thing that was stolen from me.

But I am sure he doesn't mean any harm by that. He is merely needed something for his hand, so that is where we shall go. To my little small shack, which really doesn't have much in it, but I know for a fact that there is a roll of bandages. So I smile, and lead the boy towards my house, violin case in tow. A small clanking noise is heard every time the case lightly hits my thigh, and I wince once when it hits a hard part in my bone - not only did it hurt a bit, but it could have shook the instrument rather badly. It is old. It doesn't take much to break such a thing; I'm lucky that it did not break on me before.

The door creaks open as I push against it. The decaying fibers simply make the dilapidated state of the residence more pronounced, as each step sounds as if you are killing something, with all of the creaking that is going on. My steps are light and quick however, so not a whole lot of noise is made. Added with the fact that I am relatively malnourished, and it is shown that I do not cause a whole lot of noise in this house. I direct Nathaniel... Nate (I do hope he did not mind me calling him that - I talk rather quickly, and Nate is much easier to say) to sit somewhere. I have no chair in the house, so he will have to make do with the bed or something. The bed is clean though, so I hope that he is not too uncomfortable. It is not like he had to suffer anything demoralizing there, so I hope he is alright.

The clean fibers are quickly in my hands (it does not take a lot of effort to find things in here), and I fumble with removing a strand of the bandages from the roll itself. Luckily, it is a somewhat large roll, so I can (sort of) afford to waste a few inches if I mess up, but I would prefer to get it right the first time. For a few seconds, I struggle, but eventually am able to remove the section from the entire bandage roll, which is slightly grey from the coal dust that is always floating about. I cough once before returning to him. "I'm sorry that I do not have any... Ah, decontaminating agents. But don't worry. Ah, we can just use water or something... But for now, it would probably be best to wrap this, or ah..." My gaze falters as I stare at the bandage for a second, and I simply realize one crucial fact.

I do not know what the hell I am doing.