nemo porter, [four]. fin
Jan 23, 2024 14:43:21 GMT -5
Post by 🌱 kaitlin. on Jan 23, 2024 14:43:21 GMT -5
when i die, baby,
lay me in the sun.
nemo porter,
seventeen • district four • career
what is the meaning of the name Nemo? The computer lags for a long second, but the boy sitting in front of it does nothing but sit, and wait, his heel tapping rhythmically against the worn carpet beneath his feet. After a few blinks, the search engine's buffering circle disappears, replaced by
The boy skims, eyes moving quickly over the screen. He reads nobody, nobody, nobody, nobody over and over and over again. Until the screen starts blurring and the world starts tipping on its side, until he notices himself leaning so close to the monitor that he can see condensation collecting on the screen where his breath lingered on the glass. He scrolls until he finds something else, only one. Of the valley. The screen cuts to blue, and a small text box pops up, but he knows he saw it. Your five minute session has ended. You can purchase more minutes at the information desk. He spends a long time staring at the screen. Long enough for the little window to disappear, a bouncing District Four emblem dancing between the screen corners. That blinks out too after awhile, and he's left with his reflection in the small box. He looks back at himself as if he's someone else, a stranger in an academy issue blazer. N. Porter peeks out from his shoulder, where the blue thread has been embroidered into the grey fabric to spell out his name. Look a little too close, you can tell the sleeves are a hair too short, and the seams at the back are looking a little worn. They're holding together by a single grey thread, woven with such intricate care it'd left his hand with a cramp for a day and a half. The chair is quiet when he finally pushes away from the desk, the carpet hiding his movements. There's a long way and a short way out of the basement level of the library where all the computers are, and he takes the quickest route familiarly, cutting through a hallway most didn't notice. He'd seen countless people walk right by, too busy with whatever was in their hands, or too busy pretending they didn't see the other people around them because they're scared of a human connection. When you're afraid of the world, it's easy to miss what's right in front of you. He rummages around a bit in the leather bag that he'd brought with him while he walks up the stairs, looking for the book he had to return. It was far from due, but he'd had a hard time sleeping the last few nights, so most of it was copied into his journal, several with bare sketches. He'd complete the bigger pictures when he found them in the wild for himself. "This was a good one," he says with a smile, placing the book gently on the counter at the information desk. "I had no idea there were so many types of sage." All the librarians recognize his smile these days. Even ones that are new, they learn who he is within the week, most first day on the job. Time away from the library is not something he has ever seen fit to make habit of. She slips it away from him with a smile, before holding a finger up. "Wait, just one moment, I know I have it here—" she fiddles with the papers, moves around a stack of books. Ultimately she finds what she's looking for in the middle of another stack, which the boy looks ready to help her move but she sorts it out before letting him. "I have one about different fruits that grow in some of the drier regions, a couple hours up north, past the big bay." "Oh, I've been meaning to hike up there and spend a weekend." "Did you find what you needed on the computer?" She hands off the book and makes a bit of a show of looking around, pulls her glasses down and leans towards the boy. She puts a hand to the side of her mouth, as if to stage whisper. "I could get you another five minutes, no fee if you need." He smiles. He doesn't know if he means it, but he smiles all the same. "I can't today, but I'm going to hold you to that next time, Trish." A blush, an oh, you, an exit that is neither quick nor easy, but anything is better than the shift that awaits him at the garage. He misses the easier days, when he wasn't worried about paying for his spot at school, or how oppressive the quiet was at home. Freeing his bike from the pole he'd looped his chain and padlock around, the cool, whispering wind of fall swirls around him, musses up his dark hair. The way it catches on his eyelashes makes it hard to keep his dark eyes open, and just for a moment, he lets them fall closed as the last legs of sunlight for the day kiss his cheeks. He thinks only of the hold metal beneath his hands, the way the wind distracts the sun. Sometimes all that matters is a moment. Sometimes there's nothing else. |
when i die, baby,
lay me in the sun.
