Name: It took a very, very long time to find my first subject. Amongst his past two generations, this file is the oldest, and one of the oddest to be honest. I find him in the rain and suddenly feel cold mirroring pressure of dreary clouds blocking out warm sun. He's sitting on a cobblestone wall at the more desolated side of town... an intersection of alleyways.
When he looks at me, I see his eyes as faded marbles. They shine, but with a dead type of light that's almost heartbreaking to watch. Asking my first question, I find that my mouth is chalky.
"Jonah West, is what I'm called," he mumbles in an astray voice. It surprises me, and I vaguely think of a mute trying to speak before they learn sign language.
Age: I watch his eyes lower to stare with excess depression at his scraped knees. The angry red scabs contrast greatly with their pale background, and I wonder where he got them. Asking about his age almost seems wrong, and as I ask anyway, I continue to stare at his knees just like he does. We're both emotional dolls, fixated on pretty beads that didn't really exist.
Jonah seems unfazed by this question, and he tells me as if he's guessing. Even with my doubts, I scribble down "eighteen" onto my soaked paper. It's a wonder how it doesn't rip with how heavy my hand feels.
Gender: I watch his head slightly lift up to meet my following eyes. His own are still disheartened and I wonder if the rain will drive me into the ground with its new weight.
"Male..." he says in an almost flat voice. Such a voice is void of anger, and even though I know there's sadness within it, something else resides with that tone. My step is heavy, I'm surprised that I was actually able to move forward.
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Looks: Jonah continues to look into my eyes, he ignores my question of appearance at first. It seems as though he's seeing something really interesting in my eyes. Watching a movie of sorts. The rain continuing to fall around us is followed by thunder, and the drizzle grows to get thicker. These raindrops streaming down the other's cheeks, they look like tears.
"I'm transparent," Jonah finally says without much emotion as he looks back down to his knees. I can't tell if the expression mocks that of meek nature, or sadness. I've come to think it might be a mixture.
(Starting with Jonah's body type, I'd say that he's got a rather slim figure. I don't know why he's not a skinny boy, being that I'm told he doesn't have a home. Covering this body, without the aches of scrapes, is a very smooth complexion of pale skin. To match this pale color, his hair is a white blonde. In the rain, I could swear I see a silver to these silky locks. They seem to fall into his eyes and flow down his neck to a certain point. With him sitting there, I can't put down a direct height. Yet, even if he's rather short, his eyes look like they've seen over mountains. The very dreary blue orbs look as if they've been left unpolished. That marbled look, that sad look.)
