Snippet #2721872

“It must be lonely to be a ghost,” Isaac mused, absentmindedly picking a piece of grass off the brown issued pants that matched the brown uniform all those in his encampment wore. “Throwing aimless trinkets just to get the attention of the one’s you loved,” he continued, leaning back so his weight was on his outstretched arms as he gazed at the beautiful sky. “Meanwhile the others are still loving that persons rotting corpse, all the while hating and fearing the nuisance they’ve become as a ghost.”

Taking in a deep breath that smelled of fresh rain and the sweat of those around him, Izzy glanced back down at the garden of vegetables he was tasked of taking care of. Sitting up straighter, he reached out to toy with the green top of the carrot burrowed underneath the soil.

“No wonder some ghosts turn bitter. They just want to be remembered, to be seen by any means possible.” Sighing, he pushed himself up from his previous cross-legged position on the ground, and picked up the watering can. Tilting it so it sprinkled out little droplets of water, not wanting to over do it as it had rained the previous night, he almost missed the passing comment of the green walking behind him who muttered, “dude, you’re so fucking weird.”

Well, maybe next time he wouldn’t eavesdrop on Isaac’s conversations with his plants, not that he wouldn’t have minded the green joining in— but that would never happen. No one here made friends even if Izzy tried.

It wasn’t as if some of the greens and blues around didn’t want to be friendly or partially sociable in a positive way. It was just that the guards never liked it very much. If two people got close, or if a group got close, then they became concerned that they would conspire a way to get free. At least that’s what Izzy thought. It made the most common sense considering the situation.

Whistling a little tune softly, Izzy continued on with his job of watering plants, giving a small smile to any other IAAN kid who looked his way. The struggle of the camps showed on all their faces, as he was sure it showed on his. By no means was life here wonderful. They had no freedom, even if they were allowed outside to do jobs and chores unlike some of the others colours. They could mingle (within reason). Guards were around more, scattered like little seeds, always keeping an eye. The white noise was frequent, if one person stepped out of line, they all suffered the consequences.

If the guard felt like using someone as a punching bag, no one would really stop it until it got to a dangerous point. Sometimes not even then.

Izzy couldn’t remember the past couple of years in his life, no care in the world why. He didn’t care to even think of the life he could remember. This was all he knew now. He had to find a way to survive, to keep uplifted. Talking to his plants was one of the ways he kept himself sane, though he did get a kick to the head and face full of dirt when some of the guards heard him do it. However, that’s not as bad as when he absentmindedly uses his powers. It happened more often than he cared to admit.

Setting the watering can down, Izzy brushed the soil off of his palms and placed his hands on his hips, examining the garden below him. They veggies were growing quite nicely, if he did say so himself. Then again, all the gardens he had attended to over the past three years n this camp had. Of course, if they would get him better and more proper materials, they would grow even better, but beggars can't be choosers. Well... in this case it's more like prisoners can't be choosers. C'est la vie.

Picking up his materials, holding them like an awkward cluttered bay in his hands, Izzy made his way over to on of the supply sheds on the compound yard. He had done his first task for the day. Now it was time to make way and pull various weeds. He didn't mind the chores they assigned really. It kept him busy, even if his hands were extremely rough, calloused, and cut.

Setting his things down in the respective spot, he grabbed a plastic bag that he could throw the weeds into and made it back outside. He stopped, visibly startled, when a little droplet of rain hit him splat on the forehead and dripped down to the tip of his nose. Looking back up at the sky, squinting one eye shut to fend off the clear rays of the sun, he saw rain clouds quickly moving in and the pace of the new rain increased.

Giving a small pout, Izzy mumbled disappointingly, "Oh no, my plants."