sinister kid {jl}
Dec 11, 2014 1:29:38 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Dec 11, 2014 1:29:38 GMT -5
Elijah perales
“Boy there’s snow a fallin’.”
“Sure is, dad.”
“I hate the snow, slows us all down.”
And indeed it did, for when the toes of my boots drudged through the thin layer of powder that dusted the ground, all my hopes for a simple winter did as well. For we tended to score missions on a “pass or fail” basis, and when conditions of weather—rain, storms, snow—got in the way, points tended to tally on the fail side of the spectrum.
It was because of this that I headed out into the cold with a target locked on the ground rather than flesh or bone, and a muffled groan leaves my lips at the chill of the winter wind against my already numb fingertips.
I knew how to kill a man in twenty-six different ways, yet here I was, shovel in hand, mind set on a mundane task sure to accomplish little to nothing at all.
“It’s a simple task, boy--” and here he took a breath, a sigh of annoyance before continuing, “just get it down before sundown, you understand?”
I had nodded, an affirmation that the words he spoke had actually settled in my mind rather than just a fleeting notion. But then again, what I understood and what I followed through with were two completely things, and it wasn’t likely that today would be the day that they merged. In my defense, I did make it through a solid ten minutes of shoveling the drive before losing interest in every aspect of the task, and by the time a small pile had accumulated on the right side of the path, my mind had already wandered to a destination in which I could pass the afternoon, and these locations only had one requirement: there couldn’t be any snow there.
Friends were almost nonexistent (my personality took care of this), but it wasn’t much of a bother, for my father told me that attachments were nothing more than a detriment. A part of me never believed him, for the short memories of toy cars raced down wooden ramps held some weight of joy, but by the time I turned seven, no other evidence was held to the argument, and I could do nothing but to agree to his condition of nothing but acquaintances.
Considering the district’s obsession with bouts of physical strength, the only feasible place to waste the day was the public gym down the road, one of the ones that tended to hold less prominence, for its creaking door and chipped paint didn’t tend to hold to the linoleum floor standards of the rest of the district. That being said, the boy who sat at the front desk was some kind of entertaining, and his sarcastic, shit-eating grin struck a chord of familiarity in my heart in comparison to the primadonna stare of the employees at the before mentioned well-to-do establishments.
It was only a ten minute walk to the place, but the damn snow caused the time to tick to thirteen, and I cursed at the numb pain shooting through my feet as I stomped my feet against the stone steps, ridding myself of the snow that I so desperately wanted to get away from.
That same grin that sparked both love and hate proceeded some remark about my intolerance with the world, and I only toss a flippant glare in the boy’s direction before proceeding into the main hall, feet echoing with an eeriness that calmed my nerves with the thought of being alone.
But there’s generally more than what first impression tells.
For when I turn the corner, I’m met by the sight of two more minds with the same idea, and though I fail to put a name to either of the faces immediately, the recognition sparks in my mind as I stare intently at one of them before taking a few steps in his direction. Elijah Perales, despite the title boy he couldn’t seem to shed, didn’t turn down the chance to prove his might when it was given, and when faced with the opportunity to stick it to a man who couldn’t hold his own in the simplest of trainings, he most certainly didn’t back down.
“Matt, maybe you should put some heart into those punches. Dedication goes a long way, you know?”
No, Elijah Perales didn’t have friends, in fact, he barely had acquaintances.
“Sure is, dad.”
“I hate the snow, slows us all down.”
And indeed it did, for when the toes of my boots drudged through the thin layer of powder that dusted the ground, all my hopes for a simple winter did as well. For we tended to score missions on a “pass or fail” basis, and when conditions of weather—rain, storms, snow—got in the way, points tended to tally on the fail side of the spectrum.
It was because of this that I headed out into the cold with a target locked on the ground rather than flesh or bone, and a muffled groan leaves my lips at the chill of the winter wind against my already numb fingertips.
I knew how to kill a man in twenty-six different ways, yet here I was, shovel in hand, mind set on a mundane task sure to accomplish little to nothing at all.
“It’s a simple task, boy--” and here he took a breath, a sigh of annoyance before continuing, “just get it down before sundown, you understand?”
I had nodded, an affirmation that the words he spoke had actually settled in my mind rather than just a fleeting notion. But then again, what I understood and what I followed through with were two completely things, and it wasn’t likely that today would be the day that they merged. In my defense, I did make it through a solid ten minutes of shoveling the drive before losing interest in every aspect of the task, and by the time a small pile had accumulated on the right side of the path, my mind had already wandered to a destination in which I could pass the afternoon, and these locations only had one requirement: there couldn’t be any snow there.
Friends were almost nonexistent (my personality took care of this), but it wasn’t much of a bother, for my father told me that attachments were nothing more than a detriment. A part of me never believed him, for the short memories of toy cars raced down wooden ramps held some weight of joy, but by the time I turned seven, no other evidence was held to the argument, and I could do nothing but to agree to his condition of nothing but acquaintances.
Considering the district’s obsession with bouts of physical strength, the only feasible place to waste the day was the public gym down the road, one of the ones that tended to hold less prominence, for its creaking door and chipped paint didn’t tend to hold to the linoleum floor standards of the rest of the district. That being said, the boy who sat at the front desk was some kind of entertaining, and his sarcastic, shit-eating grin struck a chord of familiarity in my heart in comparison to the primadonna stare of the employees at the before mentioned well-to-do establishments.
It was only a ten minute walk to the place, but the damn snow caused the time to tick to thirteen, and I cursed at the numb pain shooting through my feet as I stomped my feet against the stone steps, ridding myself of the snow that I so desperately wanted to get away from.
That same grin that sparked both love and hate proceeded some remark about my intolerance with the world, and I only toss a flippant glare in the boy’s direction before proceeding into the main hall, feet echoing with an eeriness that calmed my nerves with the thought of being alone.
But there’s generally more than what first impression tells.
For when I turn the corner, I’m met by the sight of two more minds with the same idea, and though I fail to put a name to either of the faces immediately, the recognition sparks in my mind as I stare intently at one of them before taking a few steps in his direction. Elijah Perales, despite the title boy he couldn’t seem to shed, didn’t turn down the chance to prove his might when it was given, and when faced with the opportunity to stick it to a man who couldn’t hold his own in the simplest of trainings, he most certainly didn’t back down.
“Matt, maybe you should put some heart into those punches. Dedication goes a long way, you know?”
No, Elijah Perales didn’t have friends, in fact, he barely had acquaintances.
table by anzie
