rosefeather

Page One. Journal One.

january 26th, 2008

my name is fletcher sparrow jones. sparrow like the bird. i think it’s kind of like Passer domesticus, a male house sparrow. cause i live in a house. i kind of love birds which is weird. been looking at them since i was little and studying them since mom bought me a book full of paintings. an audobon book, i think.
anyway. today is my 12th birthday. mom noticed i liked to write and did really well in english class, so she bought me this! my new journal. since she spent money on me and didn’t have to, i thought i would at least make good use of it.

i think that’s really all i have to talk about right now…uhm. mama said that a journal was a place for feelings and things i wanted to remember or didn’t want to remember but needed to talk about. so. i’ll do my best to use this journal for…me? i guess! i’m pretty good at talking about myself. i think. dad tells me to shut up all the time so i guess that means i’m good at talking.

gotta go downstairs now, though! my friend aubri is comin’ over for my birthday. daddy said one friend, and i chose her cause she’s the best.

byebye!

posted 2 years ago on 7/9/2012
posted 2 years ago on 7/9/2012 + 2,143 notes
posted 2 years ago on 7/9/2012 + 4 notes

Introduction || Simon

sensualsimon:

sparrowsandapples:

sensualsimon:

sparrowsandapples:

There were charcoal smudges on his fingertips, smeared up to his wrists and the tops of his hands. Fletcher hunched over further, ankles crossed under the table and rubber soles squeaking as he pushed the pencil down harder. Making something on the thick paper of a yellowing sketchpad darker. Shading. Somehow the sixteen year old had even managed to get the black grit up on his cheek, spread over the redness typically splashed across his cheeks. He was obviously caught up in a muse, focused on his art only. The noise of the lunchroom was hardly affecting him, the arms of a too-large sweater pushed up to his elbows in an attempt to spare it from the mess of his sketch.

Fletcher Jones was a curious character. He had not always been so closed off, not before Junior High. Once upon a time he had been quite social, flitting from friend to friend. But then his life had turned and along with a disease, Fletcher had developed many changes. In behavior, actions, talents and desires. The bullying had started, his self-esteem had dropped, and he had realized he had no sexual interest or romantic interest in women. It had brought everything to a crashing standstill and changed the world as he saw it.

All of the events in his past had led up to days similar to the one he was currently trapped in. Always alone during lunch without a speck of food in sight, hunched over a sketchpad vigorously at work. Although there were some days when he instead had his nose in a book, or was typing anxiously his laptop. Scribbling in a journal. All of them were secluded tasks that were the likely cause of his eyestrain.

They were also all similar in the fact that he did not use lunch for the things one typically would. Socializing and eating.

Simon always love surrounding himself with friends. He loved having all eyes on him, being in the know with everyone. He enjoyed taking pictures of everyone he met. With pictures came stories. Everyone always had such interesting stories to tell, everyone had a different story to tell, different experiences. His camera hung constantly around his neck, ready to capture a moment in time always at the ready. 

It was a rare day when Simon sat off by himself. When he did however, it was spent pasting in photos to one of his many photobook, writing down stories beneath them. His lunch sat next to him. Turkey sandwhich and a cup of coffee, working furiously to get his work done so he could be back with friends again tomorrow. 

When Fletcher finished his drawing he finally pulled back from the curled position he’d held for so long, wincing at the pain of his back after it had been used to the strain. For a while he studied it, occasionally plucking his pencil back out to fix minute details. Imperfections that he always noticed with his keen, critical eye. Harder on himself than he would ever be on anybody else. The hummingbirds on the page below, flitting around cat-tails beside a lake were gorgeous. The young man was actually pleased with himself, for once, and finished the image off with a flourishing signature in the left corner. He hoped his hard work would pay off, since he had been sketching that particular image for an art class assignment.

Finally the brunette looked up, vision a little foggy from staring at pencil lines and paper for so long with no reprieve. The noise of the lunch room came swimming back, bringing with it the bad feelings he typically associated with his school’s setting, completely breaking the spell he went under when he was immersed in his favorite hobbies. Fletcher sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes, shut them for only a moment so he could collect himself. Then he slipped a manilla folder in over his sketch so it would no smear, closed the book, and stuffed it into a worn bag he had been carrying for years.

He barely noticed another man sitting alone, with coffee and a camera. Fletcher tended to try and block out anything that happened in his school. Any of the people he fully expected to bully him and never like him. He did not even notice when a few things tumbled out of a hole in his bag. Pencils, a bird shaped eraser, and a folded up piece of paper with a sketch and a poem. He simply continued on his way, headed towards the outside so he could sit on a bench under a tree and try to soak the warmth of the sun into his being. Collect it and keep the feeling tucked deep inside.

Simon felt well accomplished, he was getting most of the work done that he wanted today and he only had five or so pictures left to go. He should be done by the end of the period. He was about to go work on the next one, when some movement in the corner of his eye stopped him. He had seen the boy sitting around campus before. Always by himself. Never really interacting with anyone else. It made Simon curious. 

He saw some things spill out of the boys bag and made haste to go pick them up. He quickly stuffs the leftover photos into the book and closes it shut, tucking it under his arm. He examines each of the objects, turning the eraser over in his hand. He runs his fingers over the pice of paper before curiosity takes over him and he opens it up. The sketch is beautiful, he had never seen art so well done and detailed as this before. He reads the poem that went with it and he can feel the emotions pouring through it. 

Simon folded it back up, feeling like he had invaded the boys diary and chased after him . He looked around outside for the boy, past all the students chatting and walking about and spotted him under a tree. He went to go stand in front of him and held the objects out. 

“I think you dropped these.” 

It took Fletcher a moment to understand what was happening, and a few seconds more to calculate what had been said. He had flinched with the shadow looming over him, cast by the stranger. He carefully took the items from Simon’s hand and looked up at him, squinting just slightly so that he could try and take in his details. Remember the face attached to a kind gesture he would have never expected from the people who attended his school, always so caught up in themselves. “Thank you,” Fletcher replied, his voice quiet, almost scared and very shy.

He swallowed and then pushed them into a different pocket in his bag. “I guess the hole got a little bigger,” Fletcher mumbled, mainly speaking to himself. He glanced back up at Simon, almost unsure of what to do. He wasn’t used to interacting with others, not in a positive way where they were nice. Fletcher didn’t even expect the new man to linger. “Would…would you like to sit?” It was timid, prepared for rejection.

posted 2 years ago on 7/9/2012 + 5 notes
© sparrowsandapples
posted 2 years ago on 7/9/2012 + 53 notes
posted 2 years ago on 7/9/2012 + 324,949 notes
© soulhunting
tags: #camerawesome

Burn thousands of candles and light up the dark, relax in their smell and don’t feel so stark.

posted 2 years ago on 7/9/2012 + 37 notes
posted 2 years ago on 7/9/2012 + 3 notes

Introduction || Simon

sensualsimon:

sparrowsandapples:

There were charcoal smudges on his fingertips, smeared up to his wrists and the tops of his hands. Fletcher hunched over further, ankles crossed under the table and rubber soles squeaking as he pushed the pencil down harder. Making something on the thick paper of a yellowing sketchpad darker. Shading. Somehow the sixteen year old had even managed to get the black grit up on his cheek, spread over the redness typically splashed across his cheeks. He was obviously caught up in a muse, focused on his art only. The noise of the lunchroom was hardly affecting him, the arms of a too-large sweater pushed up to his elbows in an attempt to spare it from the mess of his sketch.

Fletcher Jones was a curious character. He had not always been so closed off, not before Junior High. Once upon a time he had been quite social, flitting from friend to friend. But then his life had turned and along with a disease, Fletcher had developed many changes. In behavior, actions, talents and desires. The bullying had started, his self-esteem had dropped, and he had realized he had no sexual interest or romantic interest in women. It had brought everything to a crashing standstill and changed the world as he saw it.

All of the events in his past had led up to days similar to the one he was currently trapped in. Always alone during lunch without a speck of food in sight, hunched over a sketchpad vigorously at work. Although there were some days when he instead had his nose in a book, or was typing anxiously his laptop. Scribbling in a journal. All of them were secluded tasks that were the likely cause of his eyestrain.

They were also all similar in the fact that he did not use lunch for the things one typically would. Socializing and eating.

Simon always love surrounding himself with friends. He loved having all eyes on him, being in the know with everyone. He enjoyed taking pictures of everyone he met. With pictures came stories. Everyone always had such interesting stories to tell, everyone had a different story to tell, different experiences. His camera hung constantly around his neck, ready to capture a moment in time always at the ready. 

It was a rare day when Simon sat off by himself. When he did however, it was spent pasting in photos to one of his many photobook, writing down stories beneath them. His lunch sat next to him. Turkey sandwhich and a cup of coffee, working furiously to get his work done so he could be back with friends again tomorrow. 

When Fletcher finished his drawing he finally pulled back from the curled position he’d held for so long, wincing at the pain of his back after it had been used to the strain. For a while he studied it, occasionally plucking his pencil back out to fix minute details. Imperfections that he always noticed with his keen, critical eye. Harder on himself than he would ever be on anybody else. The hummingbirds on the page below, flitting around cat-tails beside a lake were gorgeous. The young man was actually pleased with himself, for once, and finished the image off with a flourishing signature in the left corner. He hoped his hard work would pay off, since he had been sketching that particular image for an art class assignment.

Finally the brunette looked up, vision a little foggy from staring at pencil lines and paper for so long with no reprieve. The noise of the lunch room came swimming back, bringing with it the bad feelings he typically associated with his school’s setting, completely breaking the spell he went under when he was immersed in his favorite hobbies. Fletcher sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes, shut them for only a moment so he could collect himself. Then he slipped a manilla folder in over his sketch so it would no smear, closed the book, and stuffed it into a worn bag he had been carrying for years.

He barely noticed another man sitting alone, with coffee and a camera. Fletcher tended to try and block out anything that happened in his school. Any of the people he fully expected to bully him and never like him. He did not even notice when a few things tumbled out of a hole in his bag. Pencils, a bird shaped eraser, and a folded up piece of paper with a sketch and a poem. He simply continued on his way, headed towards the outside so he could sit on a bench under a tree and try to soak the warmth of the sun into his being. Collect it and keep the feeling tucked deep inside.

posted 2 years ago on 7/9/2012 + 5 notes
© sparrowsandapples
posted 2 years ago on 7/9/2012 + 6,297 notes