the grass is greener [arctic]

Stitch was used to the quiet that was involved with being a loner. Of course, there were some people that he did get along with, but for the most part, he partook only in lonesomeness. Maybe it was because he was done with his heart being broken. Or maybe it was because most of the people that befriended him did it for the wrong reasons. He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. All he really needed was himself at the end of the day. Of course, he had his brother, and he wouldn’t trade that for the world. While his brother didn’t share in the family business, they were still close. His brother was lost though otherwise, not really sure where he fit in around the district. Most of the people in the district seemed lost to Stitch, but then again, Stitch had found himself a long time ago. He knew what he wanted out of life, and that was solitude. He enjoyed the peace and quiet the eight had to offer him, and while his mother did nag him on the regular about god knows what, he still had a lot of time to himself. That was something that he wouldn’t trade for anything. Or something cliché like that.

And when the boy joined him in the tree, he felt like his solitude was being trespassed on, but he wasn’t alarmed by it. Usually Stitch had his walls up, feel like he was in his own box, but there was something about this boy that interested him. Maybe it was the fact that he seemed like he was a lost soul. Maybe it was because there was an air of curiosity about him. He seemed like he had been through enough trauma in his life. More than any normal boy went through. His eyes looked tired, and his words seemed calculated. Stitch could tell that he thought about what he said to most people, a trait that Stitch didn’t care for. There was no reason to act like someone else around him, because Stitch only acted like himself. While he hated a lot of people, he did genuinely think about the good in people. However, the bad always seemed to come out and rip into Stitch’s life more than he wanted, so that was why he was a bit more jaded. Jaded was the only emotion that Stitch knew well after all. Well, that and anger.

Anger wasn’t the right word.

No.

It was resentment.

Resentment for his mother for treating him like he was a pay out more than he was her son. Even worse, Stitch wasn’t even sure if he was a person in his mothers eyes. He was sure that she thought of him as her meal ticket, and while she had her own work to back up her talent, she always paid close attention to his more. She loved the way he could work on things at a much faster rate than she was. She loved that he could move materials in a way that made unique designs that captivated the people that bought them. She knew that she could make a lot of wealth in the capitol. She dealt exclusively sometimes with people who were linked to the capitol, and while they always took a cut, it was always more than enough for her. He could admire her passion, but he hated feeling like a workhorse. He was a seventeen-year-old boy who never had a chance to be so. No. He was someone that worked more than he went out, and while he enjoyed what he did, he didn’t respect it anymore.

And while he could have stopped, he didn’t. He wouldn’t actually. He loved to sew. He loved to create, and he loved it when he did see people wearing his clothes. It brought him a type of joy that couldn’t be created any other way. There was something about watching children of eight walk around in the clothes that he designed, and while they weren’t the cheapest, he knew that people would find ways to acquire them. Sometimes he wished he could travel to the capitol to see what the people there thought of his clothes. Of course, he knew that a lot of them went there, but he didn’t know how well they actually did. His parents never told him, and when he would ask, his mother would simply hush him away and tell him that they did fine. Stitch knew that he wouldn’t be able to compete with designers who lived in the capitol but that didn’t stop him from wondering. They had more resources than him. More fabric. More time and more man power to create. Stitch would get jealous sometimes, but he knew that it wasn’t worth thinking about it too much. It was a fever dream at the end of the day. Something that he knew would never happen. He would be reaped well before he could see his work prosper. At least he would get a chance to get his answer.

And he snapped out of his thoughts once he remembered that the boy was still sitting next to him. He could feel the heat emanating from his body, and Stitch had to try hard not to blush. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of someone that he was just meeting after all. Stitch listened to the words that came out of the boys mouth and he couldn’t help another smile. He felt like he might have been smiling too much. “Glad you love it.” He said, scratching his arm and holding his hand there for a moment, like he was trying to guard himself from what foreign things might come his way. “Um, ive been coming up here for a couple months now? Its not too far from my house, and honestly, I find it to be the quietest place in the district.” Stitch said, trying to answer the question to the best of his ability. He was nervous, which was strange because usually, he was confident around new people. Maybe it was because his mind was racing with ideas. “I usually come up here to see what can inspire me. Collect my muse or something like that.” Stitch said, trying to think of anything to say. He usually wasn’t a mess like this, but maybe it was because of the reaping. He knew that his days might have been numbered, and that soon, he wouldn’t be able to come to this spot anymore.

He had to relish in it as much as he could.







Into nothingness.

"What about you? What brings you out here?" He asked, knowing that he could be prying. Stitch only could hope that maybe he could get a civil answer out of the boy. However, he would understand if he told him that it wasnt his buisness. After all.

It wasnt.