Arthur Rollei, District 3 | CBD #2 [Done]

Arthur Rollei, D3

Slow, slower still. He watches the world in glimpses of red, different shades while time sears through pages into images. Memories. But more than that—moments, caught in life and turned to treasures. He started taking photos back just before his first reaping. His older brother gave him all the parts to make a little rig that snapped blurred pictures with wavy lines. They spent hours in a basement room by dead of night to develop and develop further still these moments; this was a forbidden, beyond the lines of what his mother and father would ever allow. But Stanley was not seventeen, he was eighteen and beyond the grip of his parents. Arthur adored and worshipped his brother; he would show no fear because art is precious, not something to be erased and worn down by some turn of time.

Feet were a topic of interest. Hands. His blond hair. The skin that showed strains and marks of growth. His own face he hated showing; art was not about himself but the life around him. He collected spare parts from scrapyards and traded work for what he needed. Chemicals were hard to come by but worth the long hours. Years could pass and he grew tall, skinny and fair skinned. Did he smile when girls smiled back? When his mother asked what he would make of his life he would laugh and say make memories so they would shake their heads. There is potential there, between his hands. A skillful eye, seeing beyond and through his subjects.

Stanley lost his studio. Run through by peacekeepers, broken down and torn up. Taken away to be reeducated, to understand that art needed control. Art could not be interpreted in the districts. Arthur was left alone, eighteen and camera in hand.