Fletcher Spruce | D7 | FIN

Fletcher Spruce

Tall enough to tower a tree although that is seemingly impossible, unless of course it is a baby tree. Surrounded by wooden fortresses, it is likely he makes somewhat of a mirror-image them, especially when he is accompanying them every day. Hacking away at their crusted torso's whack whack whack it does help tone up those bicep muscles. Even being canopied by their leafy sombrero’s doesn’t stop the Sun’s tanning machine attacking his skin, weathered sun beaten tones, as if he's never been inside. All this hard labour comes with a pricey sticky cost, sour tasting sweat, dripping from the brows and soaking the shirts; it’s hard to stay dry even when it isn’t raining.

Eyes reflecting the umber bark he lives alongside, matching his stumbled chin and the short mob living on his temple. Running fine creases under his sunken eyes, hard work has left a mark on his appearance, unlikely to be washed away.

Painting his hands, collections of calluses, his very own personal tough armour. Creeping within the stubble, a smile occasionally presents itself. Hiding beneath the ruby folds of skin, yellow tainted ivories with remnants of last night’s dinner remaining in them. For toothpaste is a commodity in District Seven.

Prancing across his torso, a slim line scar, he says it was from an accident. Hiding his hidden war wounds, old worn shirts, most likely hand me downs from his father.

It is hard to say no, when you’re a yes man.

Following his superiors, he mustn’t be one foot out of line, he must be doing; he musn’t stop. Anything, he must do it, even if he doesn’t agree, even if he doesn’t have the energy. It may just be a fault or even a shining attribute to his life.

Everyone comes to Fletcher with their struggles; he will help or take over. But there is always the few who take this advantage, throwing all their work onto his shoulders. However he won’t drop it, he will place it down when he is done.

A charming smile helps commander these workloads, he too sweet, he is too caring. He just needs to stop and say no. Working in a team with the wooden beasts, has helped Fletcher gain more these workloads, he is around too many people. There isn’t a day when he never has human contact, although he is a sociable animal, he is compelled to ring together a conversation.

Swarming his mind, ambitions,ambitions to have a different life than what he leads. A lumber, it was never his dream, he says yes to a change but it never happens. He has too much pressure on his back to find time to tackle his dreams. Tackling through his soft shield, a stubborn man waits to erupt through tender caring spruce. Thoughts of him saying no, yet his lips always feed a yes. He doesn’t want to be the catcher anymore. He doesn’t want the troubles of others holding him down. He wants to be a no man, even a maybe man.

Being the first of three, it was expected of Fletcher to have some responsibility over his younger siblings. Strung up to be a man, his father dug into him that he must do has he is told, he must do everything. All that stuck in his head, which is why he ended up taking on a full time job as well as helping his mother around the house. Following up behind Fletcher was Spencer, the middle child, the complete opposite of Fletcher. A lazy boy, a one to throw all his responsibilities elsewhere. Lastly, Dexter, little innocent Dexter; the shadowed child.

Following in his father’s footsteps, as well has the majority of District Seven citizens, Fletcher became a lumber. Hacking away at tree’s all day, as well as doctoring them back to health. A tree doctor. Caring for his trees is his main compassion, trimming back the wild branches, as well as putting the diseased ones out of misery.

Throughout his childhood, Fletcher played a game with his younger siblings, usually umpired by Spencer. A simple came of catch. Spencer was the better tosser as he has a much stronger throwing arm, Fletcher is a better catcher he has somewhat good hand-eye coordination, Dexter’s role is to fetch if either one drops it. Many variations of the games played through, sometimes the ball swapping to an axe, resulting in many cut limbs. With the health and safety risks, Fletcher’s parents banned the use of an axe. Spencer thought better of this rule, moving the game to a secluded area. Fletcher worries he may get hurt playing such game but is reluctant to say no and Dexter just follows along as he has nothing better to do.

Having to live under such a demonic dictator of a younger brother, it is hard to get away from the pressure as most of it is from Spencer. Spencer takes most of an advantage over Fletcher’s yes game leaving Fletcher with no hope of changing himself.