|
|
Post by guess2 on Jun 4, 2010 4:03:00 GMT -4
+ ALESDAIR LUAN TORIN +
•••CALL ME ALEC•••
I can't be alone tonight, the slow water laps against the snow and ice,
There's something calling me; there's something human in that voice.
• • •
[/SIZE][/CENTER]
Who was this boy that sat on the edges of society, that didn't smile, didn't look like he was even breathing? What was this broken, injured frame of humanity? What had happened to the picture? He sat there, so innocently, so quietly it was almost impossible to notice him, but you did, of course you noticed him. No great beauty, definitely not, but darker, twisted, broken. He was the glass shattered on the floor that you could not help but step on; the darkness manifesting in the corner that drew your eyes as much as it repulsed it. You looked because it was impossible to miss the smear of sin in the midst of normalcy -- the completely out of sync presence that seemed immovable, that was detached from the flow of time and space. It was as if the universe broke itself apart and flowed around him, instead of through him. He was not part of the connection, he was beyond touch, beyond human emotion.
His heart ticked, ticked, ticked, but it was a mechanical sound that echoed hollowly in his head; he felt nothing but the constant pressure of pain which knotted and coiled about his mechanical, clockwork heart, that squeezed oil through it's tubes and chambers, that forced it to slow, slow, like tar oozing through intricate pipework. He slowed, falling behind until Time shifted forward and left him in the shadow of his own creation. Time moved on, without a backward glance, and Alec, for that was his name, the calling to which he had been deemed worthy, remained stuck, moving, moving, determination turning his tongue into metal. His eyes shifted where they rested heavy-lidded and lazy. They roved beneath the paper thin skin stretched taut over his eyes; shifting, shifting, like a coo-coo clock, watching, judging, dismissing with each little motion of hand and hip.
Everyone moved with life, with vivacity, with the need to push through their life, to strangle it until they were rewarded with everything their heart's desired. With greed they stepped forward, with lust they embraced one another, and Alec simply detached himself from it all. Yes, this boy, this wretched boy of gears and levers, of nuts and bolts, dissembling before the very eyes of the sun and moon, hardened by heat, by cold, by the ignominy of his shame; yes he merely watched, unwilling to step into the fire and live as they did.
There was a sickness in his veins, and he would not share it -- so though his eyes were draw to hands touching hands, toward couples snuggling up against each other, toward the ghost of a smile that trembled on a shy girl's lips, he ignored it. He turned his attention, slow and impossible, toward other physical things. He counted the bolts that kept the table together, counted the number of tacks that were stuffed in the ground; counted how many steps those around him took. He counted, fingers unmoving, body only shifting slightly with each quietly indrawn breath. Nearly dead, nearly stone, only his eyes moved, his head dropped down to his shoulder, lips stilled, unmoving as he stretched himself out; arms stretched out along the edge of the table, legs parted, sprawled forward, slouching, slouching.
Who cared for decorum?
Let them look, and his lips twitch, the first reaction that is quickly deadened. He feels their eyes on him, and can't help but feel darkly amused. Yes, yes, look at him, watch him, know the scars that trace themselves on his skin, that curl from the corner of his ear down the line of his throat and neck. Look at the burn marks peeking out of his shirt, the cuts left from the belt on arms and upper back. His shirt is low collared, bearing these shames, these signs of sin, and he can't help it, and chuckles, his voice low and amused as he reached within his pocket for his lighter, flipping it open and closed, open and closed. Alec's eyes are lazy, filled with languor and boredom as he sits forward, elbows resting on knees as he takes a leaf in his hand, lights it on fire and blows it forward, releasing the stem. It seems to dance in the air as the wind picks it up, as the fire crumples it's shape into dust, spreading embers outward. Again, and again, he follows the pattern, lighting up leaves and sending them on their own viking burial. "Hah," he murmurs, that amusement finally, finally reaching the surface as it ripples through his blue eyes; grease and oil darken the skin between his knuckles, turning it nearly black.
[/SIZE]
word count;; 776
tags;; Trent
OOC;; yay ;3
[/SIZE] |
|
Trent Lawson
Law Enforcement
Grade 10
These colors that you've shined are surely not your best.
Posts: 100
|
Post by Trent Lawson on Jun 4, 2010 20:41:08 GMT -4
TRENT JACOB LAWSON [/font][/size] Feelin' like a freight train
My suggestion is to keep your distance mother***ker
It's just one those days!
right now im dangerous
DAMN RIGHT IM A MANIAC ' ' [/i][/center][/size]
Anger flushed through the teen's veins. Adrenaline pumping. After a good hard run, he was ready for anything. His temper flared and warmed up, he was ready to go. Anything would set him off today. Some days his anger was under better control, but lately it just hadn't been there. Flashbacks from the past made it worse. When he thought about seeing his mother die right in front of him. And he could have caught the guy. If only he wasn't such a wimp back then. Knowing only that the guy was his long lost father, he had no way to track him down. He only knew that the guy had the same chocolate brown eyes as him. Fear, anger and anxiety where all erupting in his blood at the time of the murder. This was the time that changed his life for ever. The time he found out about shape shifting.
That changed somebodys life pretty drastically, y'know? I mean, finding out you could turn into a dog was cool and all, but most people might find it eh.. whats the word.. freaky? Yeah thats it. Demonic? Thats possible. A boy with horrible anger problems that could turn into something with long, sharp teeth? Was that even safe? Nobody was safe when in the same vicinity as Trent. His temper could burst at any given moment. He was a maniac and he knew it. He was explosive and deadly. Not that he would ever kill somebody just for that, but he could send them crying to thier mommies with a broken nose or two. Not that anybody has two noses, but you know what I mean. Trent was like a freigt train, he could destroy anything in his path. Standing at only five foot nine, Trent was strong. He had huge arm muscles and calf muscles. Not the point of grossness, but enough to make any punk back off.
Although he is a total hard ass jerk, he is big on respect. Disrespect him in any way, and you will be writhing on the ground in pain. He knew he was strong and loved to use it to his advantage. One thing he was excellent at was getting himself into trouble. It was just something that happened. He could hold his own in fights, sure, but he was not secretive about it. He got caught by officials a lot. Being a bad boy could be such hard work sometimes.
Trent's dark eyes had a tinge of red with the pure anger and resentment he felt right now. Last time he was here, he beat the crap out of some eigth and ninth graders. Right now, he felt he would rip somebodys head off for giving him a wrong look. Life sucks, concrete's hard, noses break. That was his moto of the day. He wasn't going to take any crap or a dirty look from any kid who thought it was cool to stare or glare. He was ready to take on anybody who got in his way.
Trent moved towards a tree nearby. There was a lot of people out here today, no doubt somebody would piss him off. It had to happen in a large group. Trent walked to the tree and leaned against the large trunk. He folded his arms across his chest, and brooded the surrounding area. His temples where pounding with anger, his fists clenching. He couldn't help the anger and resentment he felt. Something that happened not long ago, still fresh in his mind. This made him constently irritable. Bad thing about a guy like Trent being easily irritable- he would talk somebody's head off if he felt like. He felt like shifting, and just ripping everybody to shreds. Maybe he would feel better after that. But he didn't want to do that, not here. Or more, he did want to, but the little good judgement he had told him to do otherwise.
He would sit here and brood his anger and pain until somebody came along that just happened to look at him wrong. A good fight might take his mind off things. The bomb was set and ready to go off. He glanced to his side, and saw a boy not far off, a little younger than himself, who seemed to have a dark, solemn look upon his face. Trents dark eyes moved away, and looked back to the busy group of people around him. He wished they would all disapeer.
[/size][/color] |
|
|
|
Post by guess2 on Jun 6, 2010 14:01:24 GMT -4
+ ALESDAIR LUAN TORIN +
•••CALL ME ALEC•••
I can't be alone tonight, the slow water laps against the snow and ice,
There's something calling me; there's something human in that voice.
• • •
[/SIZE][/CENTER]
Emotions -- they clashed around, like heavy machinery, drunk and mocking -- aching to slither up around his neck and destroy him from the inside out. With each little leaf that went up in flames, he destroyed the emotion, he lived without it, forcing it into a box that he had made of his heart. Gears ticked and moved, levers twitched and slipped in his body, moving lungs, moving heart, moving head. He did not feel -- or so he said. Alec, miserable, pitiful Alesdair, born of darkness and despair, refused to admit the reason behind his lethargy -- the reason why he moved as if oil had become gritty between his joints. Old, old, too old for this body, his mind felt as if he were ancient in comparison to the years he had lived; the things he had seen, the things he had felt lashed against his back, his heart. Yes, always around in circles, denying the truth, refuting the lies; it didn't matter though, did it? Not at all.
Nothing mattered but this timelessness in which he existed: this absolute nothingness he coveted with both hands outstretched, with the flames which ignited every time he flicked the lighter open, with every leaf that crumpled to dust in the wind and fell to the floor. Boredom, was this truly boredom? He courted it, called to it even as it dragged on, and on.
Yes, let's be nothing. Let's be the shadow, the silence -- let their eyes fall over him and see nothing, please, please. Yet there was a little boy inside of him, a screaming, young boy that ached to be noticed -- this little figment, this little heart buried within the gear head was what caused his obsession, what caused his mind to go blank and his chin to drop down; he twirled the lighter in his hand, but he was gone, gone, his mind casting outward, no...inward. He threw away reason, remembered what he had always told himself he wanted to forget: everything. The reason he was here? I don't want you to ever see Lori again. -- and he smiles, softly, amused by the numbness which follows. Did he truly care? No...no... it was gone -- that ability to love, to hold onto something precious. If you cannot protect it, no point in having it, and so Alec refused to find it.
He lingered in stupidity, in the physicality of his desires -- to hold, to touch, to be touched, but it was a distant echo to what the screaming, thrashing boy inside of him really wanted. It was a far cry from being loved -- but it was better, so much better this way. Why love, if it will be ripped away from you? If it will wither and become twisted, poisonous. The harpy woman in his memory always wore a smile, cynical and spiteful. Who was he? A child belonging to a demon? Another chuckle seemed to burst out from the darkness of his mind, a soft cough of deep satisfaction. If he will be dead, if he will be without love, then it is better this way -- better to have let her suffer watching him live, and reminding her of her bitterness. Oh, terrible boy. Hardly the big bad guy everyone thinks of you, but you don't care, do you? You welcome it with a smile, with mockery glinting hard in your drugged up eyes. Shadows darken his skin, hollowing out something that should appear young -- he is not handsome. He is not perfect.
But what he is? Is himself. With no goodness in himself, Alec shifts over, fingers reaching for a cigarette as he props it between his lips, as he stands, lighting it up. The first hit slips over his skin and into his lungs. Yes, this is better. Be toxic, you fucked up little coward. Let this define you, and not your sin. Let this be who they see you as, and not the truth. Let's cower in madness, shall we? Let's hold our breath under water until the air leaves and you strangle yourself with denial.
He moves slowly, lethargically -- unhurried with shoulders slouched, one hand in his pocket. Dirt smears across his neck and face where he had wiped his hands after a particularly feral pipe went rabid on him. Sin discolors his eyes as he inhales the smoke, let's it sit in his lungs before letting it float outward, outward.
Fingers grew steady, the smog that filled the pipes and tubes in his body shuddering from release as he held onto this precious, venomous moment. Tar filled his breath, filled his eyes with a contempt for human kind, for anyone who was not himself. He smiled as he passed the taller boy, so easy to read, so simplistic. Stupid people. he thinks and snorts in derision, his eyes judging, cold --- but there was a madness there in the circles of his iris, in the trembling reality of pupil. Probably older, he thinks, logically, his eyes slowly skimming down his body and taking another hit. But still... and his smile is mocking, eyebrow rising, so stupid.
Flicking the butt of the cigarette at the up-tight monstrosity, Alec ran his fingers through his hair messily and moved on. I hate stupid people. Liar... liar...liar...
[/SIZE]
word count;; 892
tags;; Trent
OOC;; >__> ' -bursts out laughing-
[/SIZE] |
|
[/center]