eat your »--h e a r t--> out {Ele}

Talking
Doing
Deep thought
Hearing
In his mind place

Oh how I loath being here. Going to the capitol feels like I'm slipping out of my own skin. It's unnatural after I have become so accustomed to a life spent in the Districts. But every now and then, I must travel to the Capitol, if only to check in with those who consider themselves superior to me. I have enough money to live comfortably in the Capitol, I haven't seen my parents in ages, not since I was sixteen years and one hundred and thirty six days old. No I don't count the days because I regret it, or to celebrate the date. The knowledge of when is just there, in the back of my head, like the knowledge of everything else is. But being here, is wrong, I much prefer my apartment back in One to here, odd, considering this is the city I grew up in.

I walk through the streets now, recognizing some streets, not recognizing others. But it doesn't really matter when you've already memorized the layout anyway. It was one of those things we learned about when I used to work here. There, I point at a street corner, it's where I once was held at gun point. I easily escaped using a length of wire, a cat, and a pair of relatively cheap sunglasses. That had been a fun case, something about a man who murdered his whole family, but was convinced that someone else had done the deed. When the man had died, I personally dissected him myself. It was lovely to see how the man ticked. Like a broken marionette, if you must know. One of his strings seemed to have become unattached.

Now I walk down the same street, hands placed, folded, slipped into the pockets of my pants, bow tie nice and tight. This part of the city, was less government, and more people, and things, and places. I love places and things and people. They tend to liven up an empty street just so, to the point where I feel suffocation coming on, but not alone. In general, the feeling in this part of the capitol feels more intelligent. A smidgen more maybe, okay, maybe a molecule sized speck more. In all honesty, the capitol is full of odd looking idiots, that follow like a sheep to slaughter. Today there is a sense of gloom, some people wear all black, some people have dyed their skin black. Probably another dead tribute or something. Tiny people with tiny lives, doing tiny things live here.

Even the Districts are more vibrant than a place like this, where people starve, dig, eat, and train. All they have to look forward to is the day they turn nineteen. Then they get to struggle onward and upwards, or in some cases down. Lots of fun addictions and things to play with in the districts. It's like someone made a play pen just for me, how cute. I hum slightly under my breath, some tune I'm probably currently composing for the violin, and turn along another street, my feet taking me places that they know, feeling the familiar cobbled, yet smooth road through the soles of my shoes. I walk and walk until I find something interesting.

It doesn't take me very long either. Soon, I come across a young man, maybe seventeen to nineteen years old. This street is relatively empty, and the thing that catches my eye are the scars that run up and down his bare arms. Long pale things, as if he were burnt. but the only way he might have been burnt that way, would be a fire. Fires in the capitol aren't very often, so it must ave been long ago. But still, he has a rugged look about him, as if he doesn't belong, and it's odd, I can spot that, because I don't belong either. He's gesturing at a trashcan. No, not a trashcan, he's gesturing, making the movements one would make if they were talking to another person. Odd, I love odd things. This seems good enough on a slow night of oddities.

Although I'm far from home, I slip down the street like I own it. Even as he begins to walk again, I come the opposite way. He doesn't seem to notice me yet, he's so invested in the conversation he's having with no one. That must be nice. They never have to say stupid things that would make a person wish they would shut up, because they aren't even saying anything. Nothing occupies the space, and therefore, no sound can come from it. So as he begins to pass me, I speak, "Interesting. You're talking to empty space. Why? Does the empty space talk back? Odd."

Talking
Doing
Deep thought
Hearing
In his mind place

”It’s not an empty space.”

I shrug lightly, leaning against the wall, making myself comfortable. I don't know why I'm asking, what has gotten into me. Well alright, I'm me, so of course I'm curious. But most importantly, I am beyond tactless. That's an important aspect to ave as a human being, because you never really know when you're going to need it. For instance, right now, as he stands there and tells me that it isn't an empty space. That's ridiculous, obviously, there is nothing there. Narrowing my eyes, I move away from the wall by arching my back and shoving off. With a certain intent, I move over to the boy, getting rather close. But I don't remember what the rules of personal space are again, so it is of no import.

Prowling around him, I walk all over the place, and jump about, working intently. I love a challenge. I wonder what is wrong with him, or with me, that I cannot see these people that he so obviously is talking to. Lifting ym right hand, I cover one eye and stare expertly around, and then do the same for the other. My eyesight is fine, in fact I have perfect twenty/twenty vision. That's all working fine. Then I stare intently for a minute, noticing where his gaze keeps moving to, after a few moments of watching, I spit at where he keeps looking. The sit hits the ground with a splat, and I immediately move to the spot, waving at the air intently. But there is nothing, and probably never will be.

Backing up, I shake my head slowly. "Crazy? No. I do however think that either your friends have an ability to turn invisible and silent to anyone else, as well as able to be walked through, or there is a chemical reaction in your brain that has allowed you to talk to shades of past people. Have your ever been psychic? Do you feel cold? Are you in a cold spot?" Quickly, I move close to him again, so our faces are only inches away. "Hmm, doesn't feel cold....Do ghosts need to bring cold with them? No, of course not. Has anyone you know died in a fire? These people you talk to, how tall are they, about yay high?" I hold my hand about a foot off the ground and then bounce back up, pacing backwards as I think.

What if the people you are taking to are telepathic messages from the Capitol? What if they have been messing with you all along? Or....or.....what if these people you talk to are completely real?" I take my communication device from my pocket, where it should be on my ear. There is a little screen on it that unfolds. It allows me to look up any citizen I would like to. "Do they have names? Do you have a name? That's polite right, to ask about a name? I'm not certain, I forget." AS I talk at him, I pace, smacking my head every now and then with a sudden thought. it's a stream of brilliance, or it's a stream of stupidity. I like to hear my voice though, either ay it has a nice ring to it. As if in a second thought, I glance up suddenly, only to see completely bewildered eyes. I tend to have that effect. Smiling broadly, I hold out my hand, saying brightly, "Hello! I'm The Detective!"

Talking
Doing
Deep thought
Hearing
In his mind place

"Well, Charlie," I say softly, softer than I normally would because even though the boy can't see it, we've got a delicate one here. He sees people that aren't there. On the other hand I've been told I'm utterly mad, so it might be that these two people are perfectly visible and I'm the one who can't see them. Or if you look at it in the metaphorical sense, he sees people that aren't there, meaning he's a rather kind and thoughtful fellow, whereas I don't see people that aren't there or are there and I really don't give a damn. So really if you look at it, he sees people that are there, and I don't see people at all! Vests says that it's something I really have to work on, which seems sort of silly because in my opinion, they don't quite matter do they? Those little boring people, with their boring little lives. They scurry like ants around nothing. If it weren't so intriguing, I might just squish them under my boot.

"I do have a name, one you'll never learn, I suspect no one ever will really, actually the last person who did and tried to utter it, well let's just say that things didn't go well for him." I dance a bit to the left, hands flapping about as I describe my name in an almost uncertain manner, which isn't a usual thing for me. It's just that I've had my name for so long, and seen so many things, that it might be that I can't even remember the name my own mother used to call me. "If you would like," I say after a minute, almost as if it's taken me a moment to think about it, "No....just call me The Detective. My life is an ongoing investigation of sorts, so there we are, that's my name. Although I notice you're being rude, you haven't introduced me to your friends, why is that? Shy ones? No matter."

As I hold onto his hand my gaze travels up his arm, to look at the scars. They look like they were made from a serious accident, or maybe as if he had been badly burned. With an inquisitive look, I nod at the scars, ad run a finger over one of them. "Where did these come from?" If Vests were here, he might groan and say, "Tactless as usual."

{Idek. Sorry.}