Ashes {and} Pictures // (meg)

[SNOWFLAKES [Brik]]

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There’s an exquisite mystery that eludes him and plagues his every waking thought. It’s a curious thing he has named normalcy. Something about it makes him curious as to what it’s really like. What is it truly like to never have to bend to the will of a brain that doesn’t work properly? What is it like to never wake up due to a rogue elbow twitching into the wall next to a bed? What is it like to be able to have control over yourself? Even though he refused to accept it, it was truly a question he would never be able to answer. He would never be able to keep in words that didn’t truly have a place in his vocabulary. He would never be able to keep still. Well, he didn’t move as much as Jace - that was a whole other definition of the word move - but still, there were many a time when he felt a muscle move through his arm, and before he knew it, the calligraphy on the paper below him was just a bunch of scribbled lines. It frustrated him to no end that his fellow peers could live out their lives without any of the stuggles and difficulties it took him to get through one day. It also frustrated him that everybody took advantage of their ability to keep their vocal chords and muscles under control. If he were them, he would be thanking his lucky stars that he was so blessed as not to have something wrong with him.

Even if he begged and pleaded with himself to just keep still, act normal, pretend nothing’s wrong with him, it’s like his brain wanted to totally go against his wishes and he ended up screaming a curse word at the top of his lungs while everybody else slowly turned themselves to the back of the class to see what had screeched the foul language, only to lay eyes on a boy looking down at his mythology books as if nothing had ever happened in the first place. Whispers of ‘asshole’ and his supposed rudeness floated to his ears, but he accepted it, knowing that most of the people that whispered their disapproval didn’t understand that there was something direly wrong with the way his mind was wired.

He remembers the first day of school in District Thirteen. He remembers it was English Literature, and the class was run by Mr. Speks, who was as scary as any man could possibly get. He had this venomous glare and voice, like he would love to just throw the Lewis Carroll books at each and every one of them. Class was going pretty well, Brynn thought, everybody reading their books in the beautiful silence, and then Brynn’s brain decided to put a stop to that right then and there. His vocal cords kicked into action, and before he knew it, he was screaming “Fuck!” at the top of his lungs. Everybody slowly turned around in their seats to stare, and Speks slapped two detention slips on his desk, even though he explained his situation to him after the class was over. But after a couple more instances of this, he supposes it finally clicked with Speks that there is something wrong with Brynn. But that didn’t stop the icy glares that shot his direction every time his mind decided to mess with him. He could almost feel the hatred from the back of the room.

Now, though, he was in Calculus, and they were currently working in groups, even though no actual work was getting done; gossip such as dating and rumors flew around the room. Brynn, however, preferred to work alone, knowing that if he is to actually accomplish anything, he shouldn’t work with them; he knew they would only weigh him down like an anchor weighs down a ship – he would go nowhere. His mechanical pencil danced across the graph paper before him, his brown eyes peering over his glasses to glance at his math book every so often. There is no true need for group work, he thinks bitterly, flipping the glossy page of the textbook over. Group work is as useless as English Literature class. It’s basically an excuse for the teacher to relax. His head twitches to the right, and he hears a couple cracks and pops.

When he’s writing, he sees the graphite streak across the page when his left elbow reaches out, and he strikes some kid – Brynn tries to recall and he believes the kid’s name is Gus or something along the lines – in the rib, and he apologizes hurriedly and erases the traces of grey from the little tiny squares that lay around the page. And that is an example of how to meet someone new, he quipped to himself, once more wishing that he could just fade into the background instead of being ‘that one kids who screams cuss words and gets away with it.’ But he deals, he deals.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, just as his tics always are, he feels his vocal cords act without his own permission, and he lets loose something like a high-pitched squeal that silences the class for a second, but they soon go back to their discussions once they realize it’s him just breaking out the weird act again. “Whore! Bitch!” He quickly composes himself again and shoves down his vocal chord’s need to release words that truly have no belonging in his vocabulary; he was just never a natural cusser in the way it comes to those few kids that cuss like sailors because they think it’s ever so cool and awesome to say fuck like it’s the best thing in the world.

Brynn sighs and shakes his head, pushing his glasses up the bridge of a medium nose, thinking to himself of that mystery he calls normalcy and what it is anyway.

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[meg.]

As it was in the beginning
So shall it be in the end
Give thanks and praise to the Lord and I will feel all right

[/color]
Let's get together and feel all right.[/size]

AUGUSTUS ASQUITH

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Numbers had never particularly interested him. He much preferred words, with their ability to ensnare an audience, to portray a soul, to change minds- for better, or for worse. Words had made him who he was today- those of his father, those of the Bible, those of his own pleas for help- and despite everything, he was quite proud of that person. But numbers, numbers had done nothing for him. Calculus- something he had never, before now, paid any attention too- swirled on the page in front of him. If the class were not compulsory, he would never be here- but rules were rules, and the ink on his forearm was indelible.

His mind wandered to the words he would write tonight. Perhaps he could mention something about numbers, about how the only answer he ever reached through them was the infinite. He only reached the answers he was searching for, after all. At least in scientific subjects, he had some grasp over the fact that the universe could be described in formulas because the universe was perfectly designed.

He always had a good degree of control over himself, and believed in control of himself- his God was guidance and a goal, but not someone who set a path for him. He worked hard to get where he wanted to go, and to do so he could not let go of himself. After all, at the end of the day Augustus wanted nothing more than what he knew was achievable through discipline and the right frame of mind.

The clock dragged seconds on its hands as if they were leaden. Just recently, he had developed an obsession with time. The way that it was all just a perception, the way that what was a year to him could seem a minute to the next person. And, as he aged, the weeks seemed to turn faster and faster, April somehow blending into May, Fourteen now being eighteen and childhood somehow verging on adultery. It scared him a little, that his whole life was running ahead of him, just out of his grip. And if he had lost hold on time, what else was he going to let fall from his clutch?

But right now, there was no problem with time going too fast. Indeed, quite the opposite- unanswered problems long given up on stared blankly up at him, as if they had some special force that made minutes seem like hours. The murmur of the class was that of a cold beehive, lacking energy or motivation. Suddenly, words hit him, cutting through the room’s buzz.

“Whore! Bitch!”

He knew the kid, of course. His handful of geometry lessons had shown him that this was the kid who was different, the one who most just ignored. The stream of cusswords that cascaded like a polluted waterfall from his mouth seemed to hold no real meaning to anyone else, but Gus cringed at them all the same. He had always been taught that those words were sinful, immoral, wrong. Here, their uses were different to those in District One- they were used more freely, but still not as a conversation starter, not like this.

Honestly, Gus wasn’t sure how to respond. He wasn’t going to ignore the boy, because he wasn’t like that- if he could help in anyway, he would. But he didn’t know whether he was being insulted, or summoned in some District Thirteen-fashion that he was uninformed as to. Perhaps the words were not even directed at him, intended to abuse some other class member- and yet, the boy was looking straight at him. In any case, he wanted to clarify at least a little of his uncertainness.

“Sorry, are you, um, talking to me?”

What’s the kid’s problem? He thought, not unkindly but genuinely concerned. Perhaps it was a sickness, a test of his strength. Or maybe a devil within him that he had let get the best of him- Gus had been tested with those a few times now, but had always managed to overcome them. Maybe he was just another one of those stray creatures that Gus found along his road, limping and downtrodden, pleading to be brought back to health.

Perhaps this one, he would be able to fix.

One lesson he had learnt, a fact he was quite proud of, was that everyone was broken. If they didn’t read it on the outside, then their wounds were interior, and that was the most dangerous kind. Cuts that can’t breath quickly become infected, and bad blood taints the whole body. And so, if this boy painted his fractures with his wicked words, then maybe he was one of the lucky few that were whole on the inside.

… sorry.

Let them all pass all their dirty remarks
There is one question I'd really love to ask
Is there a place for the hopeless sinner

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Who has hurt all mankind just to save his own? [/center]
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[SNOWFLAKES [Brik]]

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Brynn actually feels bad for being different sometimes. He knows he can’t control it – something he came to terms with long before he set foot in the underground prison he called ‘home’ – and it’s not all his fault that his brain is wired the way it is. Though when he lashes out at other kids with his arm, he feels bad about it; he truly does, because he is not an asshole like most of the District likes to think. He tries to apologize – and he means it too – but in most cases apologies coming from between his thin lips are meaningless to everybody else. Even though he’s made is clear time and time again that there’s something wrong with him, it’s like they don’t believe him even though the evidence is clear and right in front of them. The only ones that believe him are the understanding people like Jace

So when some kid (Titus? Lucius? No… Augustus, that’s right.) leans into Brynn with a curious expression on his childish features immediately after one of his outbursts, he can almost feel the apologies build at the pit of his stomach, like ounce by ounce lead was building up within him. “Sorry, are you, um, talking to me?” Brynn pushed up his glasses up his nose with a needle-like finger as he glanced at Augustus with a look of both apology and embarrassment on the sharp features of his ghostly white face. He promptly shook his head no beginning with “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to think that. I-I, um, well…” He paused, tapping the eraser of his pencil on the paper, gathering the words to explain his abnormalities. “See, um, well, I have like, a condition that makes me do things I don’t want to do. Like sometimes I say words out loud that I don’t want to or sometimes my arm moves on its own and I didn’t move it myself. It sucks, but whatever. Sorry if you got offended.” Brynn pulled the corners of hip lips to give a smug smile and turned back to his work.

When Gus turned away he shook his head at himself, cursing himself silently for having his condition. Why couldn't the doctors just figure it out already? Sadly because most of them actually believed he was just a kid with ADHD that liked to take advantage of the situation and add some cuss words to the mix. Sometimes, he would catch the death glares after the teachers caught wind of the profanities, but the they wouldn't do anything, just hoping that one day he would grow up and get over himself and someday in the future realize what an ignoramus he was. Like one day he'll have a And that day will never come.

Suddenly, he can feel his vocal chords kicking into action, and he screams "God damn!" at the top of his lungs before clamping a tiny hand around his mouth, holding back a bunch of other curses that would get the word 'asshole' spewed at him, thinking why hadn't I done something horrible back in Two so I could have been Avoxed? Then again, he enjoyed being able to talk and sing when he acted normal, so he knew he should quit with the self-pitying thoughts and just grin and bear it. Like he's had to do every day.

But he'll live.

[/justify]

[meg.]

As it was in the beginning
So shall it be in the end
Give thanks and praise to the Lord and I will feel all right

[/color]
Let's get together and feel all right.[/size]

AUGUSTUS ASQUITH

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On more than one occasion, Augustus had been called ignorant. He, however, didn’t believe this. Just because he, unlike what seemed to be the rest of the world, did not pay close attention to the immoral goings-on of the planet did not mean he was ignorant. He liked to think of himself of comfort-minded, not involving himself in things that he was not involved in. Curse words were a part of this. Their noises were foreign to his ears, words not in his vocabulary. And so, when the kid explained that he couldn’t help the words that came out of his mouth, Gus was shocked. He had no idea that such a condition even existed. Perhaps he didn’t think he was ignorant, but truly, he was.

He pondered what it would be like, to be in the kid’s situation. Words were all he had to hold onto- words that were written, words of the past, but mostly the words that came out of his mouth, and expressed who he was. If he were to loose even that little pleasure? He’d be lost, truly lost. There were some things in his life that his Lord decided, but there were some things that he had the freedom to control. If he lost that, there’d be no reason to keep going, nothing to work towards. His future had not yet been decided, and it was his words that shaped it.

“Oh, um, that’s ok.” He said, trying to ignore the quiver in his stomach and instead focus on water-colour painting a dilute smile onto his face. “Augustus Asq-“

“God damn!”

The smile fell for just a moment, as Gus thought about how much the phrase didn’t make sense. He’d always been taught that God was not damning, God was redemptive- it was human nature that did the damning. He was about to say something, too, only he remembered that the words weren’t of the boy’s doing. He pinned up the grin again, letting teeth poke through his taunt lips, and went to finish his sentence.

“Asquith, Augustus Asquith, fresh out of district one.”

The smile on his face was becoming more genuine, now. Despite everything, there was something about the boy and his apologetic nature that he liked, even if his unwarranted words shocked him. He always liked the oddballs, the ones that he thought he could help in some way. At home, he had spent a lot of time trying to help the kids at church, but that was all about building better relationships, mostly with their parents and with God. This kid, he had real problems, and Gus guessed that they didn’t stop at the swearing. Surely, surely, your mind couldn’t be like that without something else happening to it. Surely, you couldn’t just be born like that, for no reason at all.

Turning back to the black sheet of paper that he was supposed to be plastering with formulas and numbers, Gus let out a sigh. He had no idea what any of this meant.

“Is it just me, or does none of this have any practical application in the real world?” he said, laughing. Learning just for the sake of having knowledge seemed a bit pointless to him. He’d much rather spend time alone with his thoughts, or with other peoples thoughts, than with numbers which he’d never have to use again after his formal education was over. He was pretty certain that he did ten times the learning outside of the classroom than he had ever done inside it.

Let them all pass all their dirty remarks
There is one question I'd really love to ask
Is there a place for the hopeless sinner

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Who has hurt all mankind just to save his own? [/center]
[/size][/blockquote]

[SNOWFLAKES [Brik]]

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Brynn once thought he forgot the definition of the word kindness. It was almost like it was a word of a foreign language he had known by reading a book and knew very vaguely of. But like most small information that appears into someone’s mind, it eventually disappears, and then it reappears again. The boy before him, with his quiet, laidback demeanor and a smile always plastered on his face (except for when it feel a little when Brynn had another outburst. He thought that was a little odd) was almost like the basic embodiment of kindness. He didn’t get upset when Brynn had his vocal tics and accuse him of anything, and was actually very accepting of his difference when he discovered what it was. Brynn didn’t think it suspicious or odd that the guy was so quick to say ‘that’s okay’. He knows he should have, but when you aren’t faced with kindness on a day to day basis, one tends to hold fast to it and accept it for what it may seem to be. Even if it’s faked kindness or true kindness, people like him – the people that rarely ever get it in the first place – they’ll take it for what it looks like.


“Asquith, Augustus Asquith, fresh out of district one.” To be honest, he didn’t look like most of the people from district one, what with their sort of stiff way of holding themselves and seemingly-stuck up way of talking. Nevertheless, Brynn nodded and lifted his lips into a smile that slightly revealed his straight, white teeth. “And I am Brynn Arthyen. Been here for two months out of district two.” Behind his eyes, on the canvas of his imagination, he remembered hopping the fence and traveling for two weeks to get to the underground prison they were currently in at that moment. He also fondly remembered the annoyance on his father’s face when he was trying to hunt and Brynn’s vocal screeches chased away the game that was nearby. He remembers his father having to go out extremely far into the woods to get food while Brynn stayed to get water. He always felt so guilty that he made things difficult, but he couldn’t help it.

He came with only his dad, as his mom had eaten some berries and fallen ill. When he was about to ask Augustus if he came alone (I doubt it. He looks like a pretty scrawny kid to be able to get through the forests alone, in all honesty) but he doesn’t get the chance, cut off by the boy’s slightly high pitched voice. “Is it just me, or does none of this have any practical application in the real world?” he said, laughter bubbling from his lips. Brynn shrugged his shoulders, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“It’s not just you. In all honesty, I think it’s so they can see if people are smart enough to work it out. But in my opinion, all math is good to learn. Anything at all is good to learn, even if it’s something as simple as how to – Damn! – sorry, how to write a poem or whatever.” Brynn shrugs, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a half-grin. His head twitched to the side, two pops ringing in his ears. He shook his head, pushing his glasses up his nose out of habit.

“Anyway, just out of curiosity,” the boy said, twirling his pencil between his thread-like fingers. “Did you come alone from district one, or did you bring family along with you? Oh and also, what’s district one like? Sorry for the – Bitch! – sorry, questions.” His arm twitched out to the side as he looked at the boy with honest interest. This boy Augustus, he was different. Brynn liked different, being different himself.

It’s about time he found someone who was out of the ordinary like himself.

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