Eddieroo
Eyes magnified by glasses, shaggy brown hair in his face. Nearly flawless skin stretched into what looks like a smile every time I look up at him. I believe he might be writing of me assuming I’m writing about the moth I’d let in. Now his brown mop flops over to hide his face, seeming deep within transitional thought of transferring thoughts to page. He holds his pencil with a strange grip, and clutched within his left hand. Sniffles are oft heard from his person, then random giggles when we’re in the same room. He goes into a small state of shock, as I’ve seen in past occurrences, whenever a teacher or some such person of higher authority calls out his name. The single syllable “Ed” causes his heart to stop, face pale, though he sings in front of so many people in an audience shrouded in darkness. Or perhaps it’s just that he’s so illuminated by the stage light that everything else seems dark in comparison. He keeps erasing his sheet, then looks up about the room. As our eyes meet I fake a yawn as to not be so suspicious. It is ever so slightly hard to describe something when you’re not looking at it, though with Ed it’s different. Being companions with this odd creature for about three or four years, I can easily describe him. My best friend, my shadow, almost the little brother I have to put up with, though sometimes we bicker like an old married couple (especially when it comes to asking about books). He’s a neutral party, though I’d protect him with my life if need be. He’s a friend, there’s nothing really to say. He’s just Ed.