SHILO EVERETT | DISTRICT SIX | FIN

They said he was adorable. (When they weren't bullying him) Some said his dark locks of hair suited him well, others said it was far too dark for him. Regardless, the ashen hair that stays in a neat mess atop of his head had always been dark. And he doesn't even know if he got the trait from his mother or father. It isn't rare for him to style it, because when one has so much time on their hands, they tend to focus on things more carefully. If it doesn't hang loosely in his eyes, then it is pushed out of his face completely. Due to it's wavy, soft texture, it has never been the easiest of things to care for, but he manages fairly well.

Really, everything about his appearance is warm. Radiating brilliance. His olive skin tone goes well with his dark hair, and also makes his eyes seem black in the dark, hiding their chocolate color. His eyes were squinty and almond shaped, even as a child. They seemed to be brighter then, though, more golden than brown, closer to yellow than to brown. As the years went on, and as they witnessed pain and suffering, they darkened enough to be the same shade of black as coal at times. In perfect lighting, his eyes almost look golden once more. (Proof that life still lives within his fragile soul)

The boy's parents called him a pixie so many times whenever he was younger that he believed them. He honestly thought his sharp features- his pointed chin and nose- were that of a mythical creature. One free to do what it pleased, much unlike Shilo Everett. His thin lips are pointed at the ends, and seem to be in a constant scowl. (One of the many reasons people call him stuck up.) A lot of his expressions seem fake, even when they are genuine. They make him look fake as a person.

He's always been one to care about appearances. With all of the extra time he has on his hands, perfecting himself is actually something he has gotten used to attempting. (Even though he never feels he looks his best.) In the time he could spend with friends, he runs. Away. He pushes himself until he can go no further, until his breath burns his throat, and his chest threatens to explode. He carried himself to distances he never thought he'd make it to. Even as his body begs him to stop, as it begs him for relief, it gets stronger. (Maybe one day he'll be strong enough to stand up for himself.) He takes pride in his body, but only whenever he is alone. The hand of judgement already packs too strong a punch for him.

The tips of his fingers have often been so chapped and calloused from his instruments that they have bled. (Usually only in the colder months) However, he has been trying to use the finger caps his mother bought him more, to spare his fingers from feeling the pain more often, so they aren't quite as bad now as they were then. They are still rough to the touch, and probably always will be. He feels weird when he can't feel the keys of his piano fall from his gentle touch, or the strings of his guitar bend under the pressure he puts them under. However, there is only a certain amount his fingers can stand to feel, and since he carries his guitar with him everywhere, he also keeps the caps in his pocket just in case they begin to ache.

He chooses to dress modestly, with long-sleeved plaid shirts, denim pants and sneakers making up the majority of his wardrobe. The nice suits his father bought him sit in the far end of his closet for a reason. He doesn't like to be noticed, and if he could go without wearing sleeves, he would, but his mother reminds him that she raised a gentleman, not a boy, and so he just gives in and wears what she tells him to. After all, it is the least he could do for her, after everything she and his father have done for him.

Anyone who has ever met Shilo knows he is awkward. (Even some people that haven't) The mere thought of socially interaction makes his palms sweaty, and his heart race, because he has no knowledge of how to make friends. Besides, everyone ends up picking on him in the end. Even the few people he spent time building tree houses with as a child eventually caved in and turned against him. So, he learned to never trust. Somewhere along the way, he forgot how to make friends. Of course, professional interaction is far different. (It's strictly business) All of the students he tutors need him. Need his brain, rather.

He understands the pressure they carry, of always needing to be so smart simply because of the district they were born in. (He carried it, too) The only difference is that Shilo can handle he weight, while his students can't. Honestly, he likes the feeling of opening people's eyes, finding a way that clicks for each person. They are the closest things he has to friends, so he learned to cherish them, and help them to the best of his ability early on. After all, if he is ever going to be a decent teacher, he'll need to learn all of the little tricks and twists first.

Shilo's reason for wanting to be a teacher is much deeper than the one he feeds to his parents when they ask. Sure, in ways he does want to help educate for a living, but more so, he wants to protect the kids that are like him. The ones that are afraid every day they walk through the halls. The boy that's afraid of the bull-of-a-man hiding behind the lockers, ready to attack, or the girls in the bathroom, taunting and teasing the girl who has locked herself in the stall as a desperate attempt to escape. He wants to keep people from becoming like him.

When nothing else goes right for him, he always has his music. Always. Usually, he is at home, where he can hide behind his piano, but on the rare occasion that he isn't, he always has his guitar strapped to his back. Honestly, the poor boy would be lost without his music. It serves as both a form of entertainment, and something to relieve stress with. (His escape) The strangest thing isn't how much he depends on his music, it's the fact that he would never let another living soul hear him. Even his own parents have to sneak to hear it, and he has no idea they are doing it. He couldn't count the number of times they begged him to play for them, but his insecurity won't let him. Especially when people as important as his parents are listening. What if he were to mess up? It would just show them that he really wasn't as good as a real child, after all, and he couldn't live with himself if his parents saw that. No matter how true it might be.

For the time he has to be without his music (School, for instance.) he reads. His guitar isn't exactly easy to hide from everyone, but he wouldn't dare bring it with him to class. It would draw way too much attention from everyone. Reading offers escape from reality, when he let's himself be truly indulged in them. When his real world is filled with anger and hatred, it is nice to think there is something more. That, in the end, everything is worth it, and there can always be a happy ending.

The fact that he was born an outsider automatically made him feel different. He was different) When his parents were told they couldn't have their own children, they turned to the only option they had other than growing old without young to raise. Shilo's actual parents were unheard of, other than the obvious fact that they wanted nothing to do with him. They couldn't have died, because then the orphanage would have known where he came from. They simply threw him away. So, from a young age, Shilo was determined to prove to his new parents that he was meant to be with them, that he was good enough for them.

He started playing instruments at an exceptionally young age, partly because he loved music, and partly to gain approval from his new family. The piano was first, there had been one in the orphanage that one of the teachers always played. He had always fancied to hypnotic, painful beauty they created, the elegance and serenity. It made him feel safe in a world that had long been frozen. He actually learned rather quickly for someone his age, his fingers seeming to already have a basic knowledge of what to do. Soon after, he taught himself to play guitar, and while he didn't learn as quickly as he had with the piano, he still loved the mellow tones that bellowed from their strings.

He loved reading, even from a young age. (He preferred books to people, actually.) He often stayed up all night flipping through page after page next to the fire's warm embrace. They actually made him a lot smarter, increasing his vocabulary, his reading speed, and his general intelligence. His social skills only got worse with each book. With each new chapter he felt himself slipping away from other human beings and into the little fantasies his books brought him to. He didn't mind, though. He was okay with it, because people always let him down, books always seemed to have a happy ending.

When Sabryna was born, everyone was shocked, mainly because Shilo's parents weren't supposed to be able to reproduce. Still his sister was a part of his family, and she was quickly adored by everyone around her. (Except Shilo, of course.) His attempts to prove to his parents that he deserved to be in their home grew futile in comparison to their new daughter. Their real one. He knew he was probably just being over dramatic, but being the one that wasn't born into the family was hard. It was a big enough change adding another child into their family in the first place. Another adopted one? He could have handled it. This? No.

Despite his brilliance, he was bullied a lot in school by other boys. He may have just been too sensitive, but it felt like they all were genuine when they called him names and pushed him down. They told the teachers they were only playing and the teachers always believed them. That was why Shilo decided he wanted to become a teacher himself. To save people like himself. He wanted to help them, to keep them safe. And he was going to. He wasn't going to fall for the tricks that his own fell for, he knew what he truth was. So did they, they just didn't care. He did, though. He cared.