"Alright, class. We are going to do something different today!" The teacher went behind his desk, pulling out a large, covered tray that looked quite heavy. The students in the class all stared as he pulled the cover off and showed them the contents. "Since we have been painting for the last two weeks, I decided we should take a break and focus on something a little more physical," he said. He began to walk around the room, handing three chunks of clay to each child. Deidara waited patiently. He was in the back of the room, like always. To sit in the front would call attention to himself, and, as the cut on his head reminded him, attention was something he didn't want.
"Ok, class. Please begin. Mold your clay however you want. You have two hours to make something, and by then, you should have at least something worth the time," he said. The kids began in earnest. Deidara stared down at his clay, and then looked at his hands. His mouths grinned up at him, and he grinned back. Taking a piece of clay, he began to mold it. He wanted it to look like a bird, or a stork more precisely. He shaped it, pulling parts and taking some off. After he was done, about an hour had gone by…and what was in his hands was still just a glob of clay. He put it back down, glaring at it. Picking it back up, he began to mold it again. He rationalized with himself that a portrait was far harder and exceedingly more artistic that just molding clay. However, his latest attempt left him grasping at a concept that he had never had to do before. The fact of concentrating on something he could touch, not just visualize. To visualize a piece of artwork and paint it was one thing, but to visualize and have to mold something in your hand was entirely new.
"…I'll never get this, un," he said. He smashed the chunk of clay into a ball, rolling it up again, and began to stretch and pull it. However, he was still not able to make a reasonably well put together piece. He sighed, putting the clay down. He looked despairingly at his hands. If he didn't make something that was incredible, the teacher would make fun of him, and then the class…and that meant more beatings. He looked around. Most of the children were still trying to create something, none of them having used clay before either. With his artistic talents he should be way over the top of those simpletons. He looked down as his hands shook from anxiety.
"You guys are supposed to be helping me out, un," he whispered to his hands, quietly so no one would hear him. His hands panted in answer, and he sighed again. Picking up the clay, he began to mold it again. After about fifteen minutes, he set what looked like a ball with legs on his desk, and sighed, laying his head on the table.
"I wish that it looked like what I wanted it to, un," he said. He put his hands on the table, allowing his mouths to lick the clay. He smiled. They must be hungry. He would have to feed them later during lunch. Suddenly, one of his hands wrapped its tongue around a ball, pulling it in and closing. He gasped.
"Hey, you're not supposed to eat the clay! I'm supposed to be working with it! Spit it out, un!" He whispered hoarsely, but it didn't respond. It just slowly chewed the clay back and forth. Deidara looked at it.
"Well, at least I am getting some use out of it. It's probably better off in my hand than on my desk anyways," he reasoned. Then, his hand gave a small burp, setting the clay on the desk in front of him. Deidara stared at the mess, drool beginning to run onto the desk and onto the floor.
"What am I supposed to do with that crap, un?" he said to himself. He gingerly picked the ball of clay up, trying his best to wipe it off on his shirt. Then, noticed that it was much easier for him to mold it. In fact, in the action of wiping it off, it began to take shape. He looked at the ball for a second, and then began to mold. He closed his eyes, allowing his hands to do the work. When he opened them again, the clay had transformed into a bird.
"Wow, un. That is great!" He set the bird on the desk, looking at the intricate patterns of the wings and beak. Then, to his amazement, the bird turned around, staring back at him. He blinked, and the bird blinked back.
"What is going on, un?" He quickly picked the bird up, and it began preening itself. He looked around the room, and then quickly stuffed the bird into his pocket.
"Ok, class. Time's up. Let's see what you have," said the teacher. He began walking around the room, studying the children's work. Most made small dishes. Easy enough, just flatten a chunk of clay down and you have a plate. Take a ball and make an indent and you have a clay cup. Most had done the works right at the last moment, trying to edge in before the end of time. Deidara scoffed. None of them would ever come close to him in the art department. They could try, but why bother? His art was always going to be better.
"Deidara, you don't have anything. You still just have two lumps of clay," the teacher said when he finally made it to Deidara's desk. Deidara glanced at the floor as the children laughed at him.
"Deidara, you have to work harder. I can't teach you unless you're willing to learn," the teacher said. Deidara wanted to show his bird to him, to the entire class, to let them know how inferior they were comparatively, but he held his peace, still staring at the floor.
"Very well. Deidara, you fail this portion. The rest of you, well done," the teacher said, going back to his seat. The children were still throwing occasional glances and sniggers in his direction, but it didn't matter. He slowly stroked the small, clay bird in his pocket, delighting in the way that it held its head out to be petted. He had finally found a good use for his hands, besides being quite dexterous with a paintbrush. He smiled. He finally had a reason to.
A/N: Redone