Christian Valente
Well-Known Member
- Messages
- 305
- OOC First Name
- Helena
- Wand
- Walnut, 14 ½", Vampire Blood.
A Note ~
Hey y'aaall. Okay, so in English today we had to write a story around the theme of 'Then and Now'.
Since I've been working on Christian's history and biography recently, I was inspired to write mine
about him. So yeah, this is the result.. I thought I'd post it to get some feedback, and also to tide things
over until I've finished his biography. That'll probably take another week, because I'm trying to make
it as detailed and in-depth as possible. Anyway, this story isn't entirely canon, because I had to make
it work for the school task. So yeah, there's no mention of magic or names, but the general idea was
inspired by Christian. But different.
Oh, and Christian's father isn't a fraud on HNZ.. In this story I
just added that because I felt like it. And I wrote it in present tense because I felt like a change from
good ole' past tense.
So yarrhh.. just a quick story that I thought might be a nice introduction to
this character, since I haven't RPed with him yet.</FONT></COLOR>
The boy smiles, but it does not reach his eyes.
He forces his lips upwards, he pauses, and in a flash they have dropped deep into a melancholic frown.
"Okay, that's great," the balding man with the camera coughs, as the figures dissipate into the chattering crowd, leaving the boy alone once more. His eyes are young, but they betray an old soul, one that's seen his share of disappointment and dismay. That's all you ever saw in this city, the city that never slept. Dirt and depression, too, depending where abouts you were.
The purple-nosed, middle-aged man turns to the boy, whose ebony eyes are now glued to the wall, fixated on something that simply isn't there.
"Hey kid, yeah, birthday boy, right?" the man muses, running a liver-spotted hand through wisps of greying hair. The child tears his eyes away from the picture of his father, and stares back with a blank glare.
"I'm eight, I don't need any of this," he gestures to the lavish party, to the plastic-wrapped guests, and the tower of sensible gifts.
The man nods, and shuffles away to join the bow-tie and pearl necklace-wearing hyenas, howling hysterically at nothing in particular.
The boy has had enough. Stealing one last glance at the portrait on the sterilised wall, he grimaces. Yet again, he has been let down by the one that promises the most. The party is all for nothing. He fights through the crowd, and finally reaches his hiding place. The boy's dark eyes lower, and with the click of a bedroom door, his seven-year-old self is no longer.
The door opens, and out steps the boy, having aged ten years. His hypnotic eyes are much the same, but they are shrouded now by dark shadows, due to all of the sleepless nights spent worrying. His once short, ashen brown hair is now unkempt and unclean. The slightly stale aroma of alcohol trails him, as he lazily adjusts his tie.
He steps into a long, black car, and grabs the crinkled newspaper lying next to him. As the vehicle snakes through the busy maze of inner-city streets, the boy opens to the business section, faced with the same still that has haunted the wall of his home for many years.
"FRAUD," the headline screams, and the boy's mind echoes the same sentiment. With tight lips, he tosses the newspaper out of the window, speeding past as the ink runs, gutter water seeping through the pages.
After months of such brash resentment from the media, the time has finally come. The boy stumbles from the car, blinded by flashing lights and angry screams. Microphones are shoved in his face, as he's ushered into the building. He flashes back to a birthday party ten years ago, shocked by the eerie similarities. The only difference from then to now are the greedy shouts replacing the greedy laughter. He glares, unable to comprehend how the same people can be so shallow and changeable. Once again, the boy is alone in a crowd.
"Any words, birthday boy?" a purple-nosed, liver-spotted, middle-aged man sneers, his once friendly camera now malicious and cruel.
"My.. my father is not a fraud," he lies, just managing to force the rehearsed words from his mouth.
After what feels like an eternity, the gavel is dropped in agreement, and the man in the black robe coughs with relief. The sudden sum of money he's come into will easily cover a holiday. Or a mansion. He winks deviously at the defendant, as they erupt into cheers.
The boy's father is now free. Free to disappear and disappoint once more. Hands rush past, patting him on the back in celebration; the same plastic hands that had been turned against him just that morning.
The boy smiles, but it does not reach his eyes.
Hey y'aaall. Okay, so in English today we had to write a story around the theme of 'Then and Now'.
Since I've been working on Christian's history and biography recently, I was inspired to write mine
about him. So yeah, this is the result.. I thought I'd post it to get some feedback, and also to tide things
over until I've finished his biography. That'll probably take another week, because I'm trying to make
it as detailed and in-depth as possible. Anyway, this story isn't entirely canon, because I had to make
it work for the school task. So yeah, there's no mention of magic or names, but the general idea was
inspired by Christian. But different.
Oh, and Christian's father isn't a fraud on HNZ.. In this story Ijust added that because I felt like it. And I wrote it in present tense because I felt like a change from
good ole' past tense.
So yarrhh.. just a quick story that I thought might be a nice introduction tothis character, since I haven't RPed with him yet.</FONT></COLOR>
People Never Change
By Helena
<COLOR color="#000"><FONT font="Georgia">By Helena
The boy smiles, but it does not reach his eyes.
He forces his lips upwards, he pauses, and in a flash they have dropped deep into a melancholic frown.
"Okay, that's great," the balding man with the camera coughs, as the figures dissipate into the chattering crowd, leaving the boy alone once more. His eyes are young, but they betray an old soul, one that's seen his share of disappointment and dismay. That's all you ever saw in this city, the city that never slept. Dirt and depression, too, depending where abouts you were.
The purple-nosed, middle-aged man turns to the boy, whose ebony eyes are now glued to the wall, fixated on something that simply isn't there.
"Hey kid, yeah, birthday boy, right?" the man muses, running a liver-spotted hand through wisps of greying hair. The child tears his eyes away from the picture of his father, and stares back with a blank glare.
"I'm eight, I don't need any of this," he gestures to the lavish party, to the plastic-wrapped guests, and the tower of sensible gifts.
The man nods, and shuffles away to join the bow-tie and pearl necklace-wearing hyenas, howling hysterically at nothing in particular.
The boy has had enough. Stealing one last glance at the portrait on the sterilised wall, he grimaces. Yet again, he has been let down by the one that promises the most. The party is all for nothing. He fights through the crowd, and finally reaches his hiding place. The boy's dark eyes lower, and with the click of a bedroom door, his seven-year-old self is no longer.
The door opens, and out steps the boy, having aged ten years. His hypnotic eyes are much the same, but they are shrouded now by dark shadows, due to all of the sleepless nights spent worrying. His once short, ashen brown hair is now unkempt and unclean. The slightly stale aroma of alcohol trails him, as he lazily adjusts his tie.
He steps into a long, black car, and grabs the crinkled newspaper lying next to him. As the vehicle snakes through the busy maze of inner-city streets, the boy opens to the business section, faced with the same still that has haunted the wall of his home for many years.
"FRAUD," the headline screams, and the boy's mind echoes the same sentiment. With tight lips, he tosses the newspaper out of the window, speeding past as the ink runs, gutter water seeping through the pages.
After months of such brash resentment from the media, the time has finally come. The boy stumbles from the car, blinded by flashing lights and angry screams. Microphones are shoved in his face, as he's ushered into the building. He flashes back to a birthday party ten years ago, shocked by the eerie similarities. The only difference from then to now are the greedy shouts replacing the greedy laughter. He glares, unable to comprehend how the same people can be so shallow and changeable. Once again, the boy is alone in a crowd.
"Any words, birthday boy?" a purple-nosed, liver-spotted, middle-aged man sneers, his once friendly camera now malicious and cruel.
"My.. my father is not a fraud," he lies, just managing to force the rehearsed words from his mouth.
After what feels like an eternity, the gavel is dropped in agreement, and the man in the black robe coughs with relief. The sudden sum of money he's come into will easily cover a holiday. Or a mansion. He winks deviously at the defendant, as they erupt into cheers.
The boy's father is now free. Free to disappear and disappoint once more. Hands rush past, patting him on the back in celebration; the same plastic hands that had been turned against him just that morning.
The boy smiles, but it does not reach his eyes.
i would say...an excellence. I loved it 