Simply a Shelf Away {Arrows}

[grim.]

|Riot Chrestoph|
|District One|
|Seventeen|
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Its funny, my thirst for information has landed me in a library I hadn't known ever existed. At least not until I stumbled my way through those doors. The morning was still quiet young, and the brutes if district one still milling about, working up a sweat. I was to tired to train, I refused.

I wouldn't say I was exactly pleased with the discovery of this place. Sure there were plenty of books to read and I'm sure learn a thing or two. But that wasn't the kind of info I was after. I was in need of a wandering soul, thirsting for another broken heart. 

Hunting was only all the more fun when there was prey involved. Perhaps I would find myself a rich boy. I was already about as filthy rich as it came, but a little more spare cash never hurt anyone. I was going to find some dumb, arrogant ass to drain his pockets for me. That would make for an interesting day.

As I scale these long isles of book, stacked upon books. I see a boy, I knew he was rather wealthy. His clothing was of a higher fashion, and his appearance rather dapper. Although I could toss a stone blindly, and I'm sure it would hit someone who had a decent amount of cash. Money wasn't an issue here in District One.

This boy also happened to be rather "attractive". He had dishwasher blonde hair, and deep green eyes. Why not actually get a little pleasure out of this? There was no need for me to bang some short stubby man over the age of fifty, when I could simply find myself enjoying this sweet specimen. 

He looked about my age, perhaps a few years older. But he looked toned, rather dazed even. His eyes were stuck on the pieces of paper in front of him. Was he writing? Who would waste their time on such a petty passing time? There was a whole world to see, and plenty of minds to toy with. 

I approach this boy ever so slowly. I put on my most convincing face, and I take my first swing. "I've never been here before. Do you happen to know anything about it?" I ask running my eyes down his youthful body.


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"The final forming of a person's character lies in their own hands.
"

[Arrows]

Watch	My
Life	Begin

When You are lost in life

Tick. Tick. Tick. A never ending hand leaps from peg to peg as the pen swirls and dances across the paper. the rhythmic thumping of a quiet hear echos from with Dart's heart. His eyes washed over the pages as his hand seemed to take its own life. It continued its mesmerizing dance as the light filtering in from the outside world dared to venture in between the slanted blinds of the library. All was quiet, all was still, all that could be heard was the gentle sound of pen upon paper. The sound of creativity and birth known by all authors.

Dart's free hand ran slowly though his sandy locks as his deep emerald eyes ventured away from his page to the little window adjacent to his desk. A bird filled with exhilarating colors sat upon the sill singing the songs of Spring and of life. It cared not for the darkness and the hate but only for the light and the beauty. It was alive in every way possible. It was native to the world. Humans were not. They were harsh and irrational. They cared not for art or beauty. Now a days all that mattered was blood and fame.

A cacophonous chorus of shouts and grumbled echoed through the prestine stone walls of the district square and through the slightly ajar windows. Slowly Dart swiveled in his chair as his pupils locked on the small silent tv mounted to the library wall. The last two careers laid dead upon the ground as they painted the snow in a ruby scarlet. The boy from three wearing a unicorn headband fled with his axe still dripping from the life of the boy from four. Dart let out another sigh as the dust particles swirled in his disturbance of the still air.

Once more the library returned to its lonely silence as the far off crowds slowly faded into the whispering winds of Panem. Dart's attention shifted back to his pages as the pen continued to flash and dance happily. All was just as it always had been, he was alone working while others worshiped the games. He might be a forced career but the games were of no importance to him. All he desired was to change the world with his words.

From the corner of Dart's eye he watched the golden handle of the library door slant as a shadow castes itself across the mahogany floor boards. Dart didn't even raise as single eyebrow as the door shut slowly and the stranger entered. Whoever they were vanished down one of the various isles as their steps ventured off until only the occasional sound of a page flip and Dart's own writing could be heard through the entire vicinity.

Dart did not let himself get caught up in the presence of another person just like he never did. He just let his brain continue to express its words all across the pages. Eventually fifty pages became seventy and then seventy became a hundred and twelve. It was then while Dart jotted down the beginning of the hundred and thirteenth page that a hand pressed itself gently on the desk right next to his pile of finished papers.

Raising his right eyebrow slightly Dart rolled his eyes. It appeared he had been interrupted by the stranger, who was a man looking at the size of his hand. Slowly Dart gathered and organized all papers perfectly before he wrapped a rubber band around them. He then perfectly laced his closed pen above his right ear just like his OCD wanted. Only then after about five minutes did he stand and gently push his chair beneath the desk and turn towards the boy.

Dart's eyes did not venture anywhere but the visitors face as he slightly cleared his throat which was sore from its lack of use. His hand on the other part felt as though it had been stomped upon by a elephant, but these were things he had grown use to by this point. "Yes I can inform you about this vicinity considering I am its owner." Dart waited a moment before turning to face the rows of shelves filled with his most pleasurable memories and highest prized possessions. "This is a private library I run, as for all the books, motifs, poems, songs, and etc... I wrote all of them."

Remember that books are a new life waiting to be discovered