ATTICUS BERNARD KELLER, DISTRICT ONE

ATTICUS
BERNARD
KELLER .

“BLACKBIRD SINGING IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT”
Take these broken wings and learn to fly.

AGE . I am seventeen.
GENDER . I haven't ever seen myself, but am assured I am male.
DISTRICT . District One.
OCCUPATION . Full time artist.
SEXUALITY . Errr, isn't that a bit forward?
TALKING . Terracotta
DOING . Into
DEEP THOUGHT . Candella
HEARING . Espada Granz
PRETENDING . Smooth Seethe


APPEARANCE .

“ALL YOUR LIFE”
You were only waiting for this moment to arise.

Wow, you are slightly rude aren't you?

I don't know if you noticed, but I can't quite see myself in a mirror. I am legally blind, and can only see rough outlines. Pretty much just enough to be able to navigate and that's it. It's been this way since I was about three, so don't pity me. I guess the only way for me to tell you what I look like, if you're serious about knowing, is telling you what my family says I look like. So it's cool that you can read braille, you must be very clever. The last time my mother measured me, I was a tall six foot, three inches. It's pretty easy to believe because my gangliness is always making my walk into door frames, and it's not just the eye problems. I weigh one hundred and fourty-nine pounds, and sadly enough, have pretty much no muscle. It's difficult to exercise, and why would I want to? My metabolism is too fast I guess, because I eat so much, my mother thinks I have a hollow leg. I just can't get bigger.

My father tells me that I have a mop of blonde hair like his. Mine is always swept over to the side, unless I've just woken up, because then it is more like all over the place. When I feel it, it's soft, and fluffy like the soft down on my snowy owl. I know it's not curly, but completely straight. It's thick and has a life of it's own, if I try and tame it, pieces of it are going to end up sticking all over the place anyway, I'm sure of it. It's wiry, and shape able like a lion's mane, and I often find myself running my hands through it, messing it all up anyway. Sometimes, I weigh it down with fedora, or sweater hood, and it ends up sticking out down by my ears instead. It doesn't help that I like to stick things behind my ear, such as guitar picks and chopsticks. It's just lucky for me that I don't have to look at myself in the mirror I guess.

I like to keep my eyes wide open. It's not like they are clouded over or anything. Apparently they are a rather beautiful marble blue colour, with traces of silver speckles flitting through the gated colour. At least that's what my mother says, so maybe they are actually a terribly dull brown. My mother used to make me wear glasses all the time, as if they could somehow miraculously heal me. I've gotten so used to the weight on the bridge of my nose that I have a thing for wearing frames. I'm pretty sure I have a normal sized nose. I have felt it up before, and it seems classy. When I feel my lips, the lower one seems larger than the other, and when I smile, my face stretches out.

On my forehead, somewhere up there, there is a large, pink scar. It may be covered by my hairline, but I do not know because I can no longer feel it, it is so well worn. I like to run my fingers across it sometimes, I do not know why, maybe for luck, but it gives me comfort. Sometimes it is covered by the sweatband I replace my frames with, just so I can warm my ears up. Because I am so thin, I am cold a lot, and my body temperature just never seems to get warm. I am constantly rubbing my hands together to create friction, or standing with my hands tucked away. I like to spend days tucked inside my great big feather blanket, and lay underneath it completely naked, like the day I was born.

I don't know how I dress. I assume well because my mother lays out my clothes for me. Then again, I have heard that no one wants to be a mamma's boy. She tries to follow the styles of the guys around my age apparently. I don't think she ever quite gets the hang of it. My father wears a lot of plaid I'm told, and I'm a tiny bit suspicious that it is the basicness of my wardrobe as well. I like to stick to jeans, and have a thing for those soft sweaters that girls wear. But the guy type. I'm a guy, and I wear guy clothes. At least, I'm pretty damn sure. I let other people turn themselves into human canvases and dart boards, and am unpierced and unpainted. That I know for sure, and believe me, life is uncertain when you can barely see it.

I can tell you about Barbara at least. She's my Snowy Owl that has been with me for two years now. She's about sixty centimetres long with a one hundred and fourty centimetre wingspan. Mother says that she is mostly white with gray flecks, and she has big round, black eyes. She leaves me dead mice sometimes.

PERSONALITY .

“BLACKBIRD SINGING IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT”
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see.

There is not a whole lot that matters to me in this life. I don't go out much, and I don't have friends, at least not ones in human form. My friends are the animals that live around my house, in the gardens and trees that surround our home. I've always had this affinity for animals, no matter what they are. Maybe it's because they could never gross me out because I cannot see them. It doesn't matter what they are, I love them. I used to come in from playing, carrying a small number of strange creatures. My parents of course, were always flabbergasted with how I even managed to find them, let alone let me pick them up and cuddle them. I guess it is because they can tell that I'm a pretty peaceful person.

My biggest obsession is owls however. I like the way they simply sit and stare. I think I could make an excellent owl just because I am excellent at sitting and doing nothing as well. Well, okay, of course owls do many things. I bet while they stare they are aware of everything. My favourite part of an owl, is the hooting sounds they make, so long and mournful, it sends shivers down my spine. When they hoot at night, I sit at my window and coo back, trying to match them in their beauty. They are kind of the things that got me into singing at least. It's a personal project of mine to replicate that hoot, and I think I might be getting close.

I tend to avoid conflict if I can, which is pretty easy to do in my house. Sometimes I don't see my mother and father for days, my extensive family of owls the only ones to keep me company. It's so backwards that I'm the one locked up in this house because birds are usually the ones in cages. There are a couple of regulars that like to visit for afternoon tea, but Barbara is the only one who stays with me always. She likes to come on my strolls around the house with me, and we play at it being our house alone. We order around the imaginary services and hold wonderful parties with dancing and music. It may seem that I am a little lonely, and I won't lie, I am terribly lonely. but having Barbara with me helps take it away. Sometimes I make believe that I live in a giant cage, with newspaper on the floor, and only seeds to eat. At least sometimes it sure feels that way.

See, my mother was raised to be very religious. It's her only job in life to submit to her lot, and to authority. Her family, although it was a District one family, lived in District Six for a while, and she apparently got mixed up with a cult there. When her family moved back, she was very into the moon, and it's ways. She fasts sometimes for days on end, and she makes me fast with her. I sneak in food when I can, but it's hard to tell when she's guarding the kitchen because damn, she can be quiet when she wants to. It gets to the point where I begin to eat birdseed in desperation. I can't find it in myself to hold it against her, because we all need something to believe in. Unfortunately, it sort of led to my imagination problems. Probably brought on by the delirious lightness from the hunger pangs.

I have trouble telling what is real and what isn't sometimes. Usually when mother is on one of her 'moon' fasts. During those times, Barbara gains a voice, and I imagine I can see her. To explain to you what she looks like, would be like you trying to explain the colour purple to me. In case you wanted to know, I imagine the colour purple to be likened to the smell of candle wax heating up, mixed with the sound of a silent house. Because mother says it is a lady's colour. I also have an embarrassing problem where I imagine a girl, she likes to talk to me, and we play music together. I know it makes me sound sad and desperate, but I'm alright, I have Barbara and my animals.

Something I really enjoy is playing the guitar, and singing. I can't see chords, but I can feel strings, and making up my own songs is fun anyway. Sometimes if a song is easy enough I can teach it to myself by ear, but it gets rather frustrating. I like to sing to Barbara, and sometimes the girl when I'm on one of those moon trips. I feel less alone in the world. Sometimes when you sit down on a bus, you wonder if anyone will choose to sit beside you. I'm always left, hopefully sitting at the back, all alone. Well music makes me feel like I'm on a bus so full of people, and things that I have to press myself against the glass just to have some space, and it's something I like to feel as often as possible. The lyrics I write are all in my head, so you know I must have a good memory.

In fact, sometimes I catch snippets of myself in the wind, and I can remember right up until I was three, and time before that is free space. I'm a bit like an elephant, on the fact that I never forget. It's pretty easy to do so when you never have done much living in the first place I suppose. That's according to my father. I am perfectly comfortable with staying in my room all day, whiling away the hours until I close my eyes to wake up and do it again. I sneak out to go into the gardens still, when I can. My mother likes to keep me on a tighter and tighter leash, due to my eyes. I think it's ridiculous, what's the point in having feet if I can't go places anyway.

There are days when the loneliness erupts and eats away at me, like hot lava cascading throughout my body. I don't think one can truly know what it feels like to be lonely until they have been alone in a crowded room. It aches to hear the chatter around you as you stand solemnly by yourself near the window, forever a wall flower. Insides twist and turn as you realize how truly socially awkward you are, that it has gotten to the point where you no longer even want to talk with anyone, because you would rather be at home, by yourself, where no one can rope you into a conversation. But the stupid thing is that you still want someone to notice you, single you out of the crowd and say, "Ahhhh, Atticus, just who I wanted to talk to." But then you realize that you have been imagining once again, and in all actuality you are such a wallflower that if you were to suddenly fade into the sun worn wallpaper, no one would probably notice.

HISTORY .

“ALL YOUR LIFE”
You were only waiting for this moment to be free.

I led a remarkably boring life as a baby. I spent the normal amount of time in the cradle, and then crawled at the age of one and did not stop motoring along until the accident. I was born to Mr. and Mrs. Jonathon Keller, and apparently led a very happy early life. I was born healthy, and strong, a miracle child. My mother had been having troubles getting pregnant, and had even gone through a miscarriage before having me. My parents were pretty well off at that point too. My father is an actor, and my mother is a rather wealthy business owner, albeit a little bit crazy. I found solace in the woods around my home when my father was away filming, and my mother was busy with her paperwork, and I liked it that way. Things were simple, and I didn't know any better anyway.

Things kind of went down hill when one day my mother took me to my first playground. I was kind of afraid at first, I had never played with anyone but animals before, it was a big step for me. The children there were invested in a game of tag, and before I knew it, I was tagged, it. It was the most fun I had ever had, simply chasing the other children on my little stubby legs. I wasn't tall and gangly until I went through my growth spurt at fifteen you see, but I was still excellent at being clumsy. That's why I am still confused about the fact of what happened. I was running away from a girl with blonde hair, and brown eyes, and suddenly I was tripping over my own two feet as her hand brushed my back in a tag. She was running away already when my head bashed into the side of a pole, and my world went dark, her golden hair and brown irises the last thing I saw.

Well, after that, when I awoke from a coma about a week later, I couldn't quite see. Well, I could make out the outlines of things, so I knew the general locations of items but seeing colours, hues, expressions, and gestures was suddenly not possible. Even the thought of a smile makes me heart yearn for it. The eyes may no longer know, but the body remembers. Well, I bet you can guess what happened after that. My mother became a wild animal of protectiveness. I never left the grounds of my house again really, right up until I was sixteen. The only company I had was the increasing amount of birds coming to sit and eat the birdseed I had tossed all around near the back door. I didn't even get to go to school, my mother was so worried about what else might happen to her darling boy. I couldn't find it in myself to hate her for it though, because some small part of me found myself understanding her fear, and running with it.

I was home schooled, of course. My mother would order books of braille just so I could learn it, and once I was able to fly my fingers across the page, she bought me any book I asked for in braille. I would give her books on poetry, pretending they were required texts, just so I could continue to 'fill my head with nonsense.' I would still go out into the woods, wandering into trees, and listening for squirrels. I won't lie. Sometimes I did get lost, and I did cry a lot, and not only in confusion, but also for things lost. I found myself missing many sights as I got older, and craving the sight of one thing in particular. I knew it was silly, but by the time I was fifteen, and was hopelessly gangly, I found myself wishing to see the girl and her smile.

Sometimes it was to rage at her in anger, and sometimes it was to simply ask to hold her hand. I developed a crush on the only girl I ever knew. It often felt so futile to even dream of it, and I was distracted for some months by the finding of Barbara and the caring of her. When on one of my jaunts, I sort of just started walking, and by the time I realized that I had no idea where I was, it was late. I could feel it in the temperature change, and the way that my vision went almost black in the little to no light. I guess I'll just be honest and tell you that I was pretty terrified, and before you laugh, remember that I can't see. Anyway, the only reason I got out is because I followed the hoot of an owl. It led me along, patiently waiting for me to follow it, until my eyes were blinded with the lights of my house. anyway, she saved my life, at least in my opinion she did, and she quickly began to show the overprotective side she had.

It was as if she suddenly became my new mother, hooting at me when I forgot to feed myself, pecking at my forehead until I got into the shower. As a reason, I sort of figured that maybe I was her new baby owl. It's not unusual for birds to die, and her owl could have died in a number of ways. Point is, I guess that Barbara needed someone to take care of, and I was that something. After that, we were suddenly inseparable. Well, okay, so Barbara rescued me. And of course she leaves me to hunt, and sometimes she gets bored of me because I don't do much. But she's my best friend at least, and it's hard to function without her.

It was at that point that I asked my mother for a guitar as well, so that I could play to the owl like her mother would sing to her. I was lucky to turn out to be rather good at it. I became obsessed with any type of owl at that point, and assigned myself a whole project on what made an owl tick. Something about the way they looked at me threw me off. After the excitement of Barbara had dwindled, I found my thoughts returning to that of the smiling girl, except this time we would hold conversations, and she would ask me to play her a song. I would, and then she would run away and laugh into the woods, I always lose her at that point, or I wake up. But it feels as if I am forever in pursuit of this girl.

ANYTHING ELSE ?

Blackbird fly, Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.

OUT OF CHARACTER .

FACE CLAIM .
CAMERON MITCHELL • ATTICUS BERNARD FINCH

OTHER CHARACTERS ?

Oh, that's right, I have this.

I, ELEGANT .
am seventeen. I have been rping for two years, but I love doing it. I am very into acting, and singing, and I love to read and write. I enjoy meating other people in the c-box. I am also a female, and a Canadian! I really like chocolate look, I wrote something new! Just in case you're interested, 'Elegant' comes from the name of my blog title. In no way am I elegant. hur hur hur.

CODEWORD . odair