nothing that i need | rook

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The rising sun begins to take its spot overhead, beaming down on me and whoever else is venturing the streets at such an early hour. In the summer, the sun is feared for its plaguing sunburns, but in the winter, it's quite the opposite. It brings us warmth when the day is cold, and for that, I thank the sun. I can forget about the scorching heat that comes with it in the summer and be grateful for the sweet escape it grants us in winter. Especially when you stand directly in its way, like it's a spotlight and its main focus is you. At that moment, the warmth is perplexing, starting at the outside of my body and shimmying its way through the longer I stand there. Not today, though, because the sun is shying behind a cluster of gray clouds. I don't need it, anyways, because whenever I perform, the warmth I gain from just doing what I enjoy filters through my body, warming me more than any star can ever do.

The scarlet door shuts behind me as I make my way to my spot. And that's what it has become over the past years: Mine. Other people may stand there and talk when I'm not present, but I still feel like a piece of me is engraved in the cobblestone beneath my usual setup. I'm usually cooped up in front of a restaurant. When I first settled there, they were a bit annoyed. I couldn't blame them, because all I did was make the outside of their restaurant crowded. After a while, though, they started to realize their sales were going up, and then I was most likely the cause.

These buildings are all too familiar to me. I don't think there's a store here I haven't been inside. Even the odd little umbrella shop. One time, my friend and I went in there for laughs. Ironically enough, we both walked out holding a new umbrella. That just goes to say you can't judge a book by its cover. My guitar is strung over my shoulder like a gun, but I'd never hold a gun. I never want to touch one. I don't know why... I'm just against violence. If anything, I'd fight with music, not bullets. To me... fighting's as pointless as a broken pencil. I've never been in favor of violence or war for no reason in particular, but I don't think my views will ever shift on that.

The cold begins to get to me, somehow making its way past my layers and chilling me to the bone. I clench my fists and walk on like a brave solider. At this moment, there is no need for shimmying my way through and abundance of people, only moving to the side to avoid being hit by a passerby. I think this is how District Five is supposed to me, thin, spread out like butter on toast, yet we all know we belong together. Not the usual chaos that comes with the sun beating overhead, signaling it's noon and people should start working. But, over the years, I've grown accustomed to it, wrapping myself around the idea that District Five is meant to be loud and rambunctious.

Eventually, I get to my spot. A cute little outpost harbored a few feet away from the aforementioned restaurant's door. That way, when people leave, they'll drop their leftover change in my case. At least, that's the plan. It may sound a little... Dirty, but it's not. I'm not forcing them to give me the change in their pocket, but they feel the need to do it, anyways. I swivel my head back and forth, as if I'm about to do something illegal, before pulling my guitar out of its case. I used to use a tuner to make sure all of the strings sound how they should, but overtime, I've become comfortable with each note. The tuner now sits somewhere in my room, and many times I've contemplated over throwing it out or giving it away, but there are too many memories tied to it. Not fantastic, thrilling stories that'll leave people at the edge of their seat, but sentimental memories I couldn't bear to let go of.

Usually, when performing, I'll play a trio of songs and then take a break. My breaks are really just me sipping water and deciding the next three songs to sing. After I sing those three songs, I take another break. Finally, I'll sing three more songs and then be on my way. This usually doesn't take more than a hour, but some days I choose to stay out longer, just for the pure pleasure. I scan the people passing outside, and I'm thankful for the low count. That means, even if the streets become more flooded and overflow like a river, I'm less nervous now and I'll be less nervous later. I place my guitar case on the ground, which is opened like a book, and start strumming my first song.

"Alabama, Arkansas, I do love my ma and pa..."

It starts quietly, but then builds louder and louder. With each note and each word, confidence spritz through my body and sends infectious waves to the rest of me, making my body move in synch with the music, and make me heat up like the sun. This is why I love performing; because it's what makes me happy. I don't do it because my dads tell me to, or because I'll be rewarded with good pay, I do it because it pleases me. I look at the small crowd forming in front of me, and my cheeks blush out of excitement. It always makes me perform better when I know people wanna listen. I finish the song and look up, people start to clap and I grin like an idiot. Looking down at the guitar case, I see I've already gained something, no not as much as usual. I figure it's because of the near-empty streets and go onto the next piece.

"We'll do it all; everything, on our own. We don't need anything or anyone..."

This song is slower than the last one, but I like how it gradually picks up speed, it's like something falling from the sky, going faster and faster until it crashes into the surface. Before I know it, the song's over and I look up. Like we rehearsed it, the crowd starts clapping. I can hear a distinctive difference in this clap, like it's louder and more genuine. I peek down at the guitar case, and see that I've always doubled my money. If this routine picks up, I'll be able to treat myself to some lunch on the way out. I start my third and final song before taking my first break.

"If I were a boy, even just for a day..."

This song is funny. I just don't get why a girl would sing about being a boy. I don't mean that as in: I'm against sex changes. I mean that as in: Who would actually write a song about this? I finish the song and the usual claps are joined by hollers and whistles. The excitement from the crowd leaves me giggling as I sneak a look down at my guitar case. Apparently, the routine did hold up, and I smile as I see more people throwing change in the case. "Thank you," I mouth out to the crowd, before reaching towards the bottle of water. No one would think this would make you thirsty, but it does. And no one would think I'm having fun, having to perform under the pressure of anyone who walks by, but I am.


{ooc: i just... i can explain! i'm sorry this is so long and so horrible... *facepalm* i'd never thought i'd say this, but hopefully my next post is a bit shorter. first song - edward sharpe & the magnetic zeros. second song - snow patrol. third song - alicia keys.}