Tuesday, February 5, 2013

His name is Warren.

A sudden blog update!

If you follow me on DeviantART, then you'll know that I'm currently in the middle of something so updates everywhere will be scarce, BUT seeing as I had written something in the past, I though I should upload it just for the heck of it.

A tiny little scene that came to me while shopping for art supplies earlier last month! About some sort of immortal teenage boy.... His name is Warren...

I suppose when you’re lying in a puddle of mud, with cold rain falling down over you, it really puts things in perspective
I was never really good at anything. I was an average student, had normal friends. I didn’t stick out particularly. I had no skills or talents. I wasn’t good at cooking or sports—I was a terrible athlete. I suppose if I had ever put any proper effort into soccer or basketball, I wouldn’t be lying here on the ground with a hole in my chest.
Don’t worry! I am well and alive—at least I think I am.
I heard the sound of heavy soles on gravel, but I didn’t turn to my attacker He was already scared as it is, so I lay there, facing the grey skies. We were in an alley and I saw the top of the buildings shrink further into the sky. There was the faint sound of traffic in the distance, mixed with the scarred whimpering of my attacker. He didn’t mean to stab me of course. He had tried to mug me but I was feeling strangely self-regulating that day so I had retaliated, even after seeing the large knife. It came down on me hard, which had shocked me at first, but then again, the way I had come carelessly after him, even with his hand raised above my head, I suppose he was strong enough to jab a hole in me.
It was strange, laying there and not moving, even though I could have easily gotten up and punched him square in the face. I would have knocked him out too, called the police and have them deal with him. If he ever started screaming about a teenage boy coming back from the dead, they would just think he was crazy.
It sounded like a sound plan, but looking into his terrified eyes, I could see he had not planned on stabbing anyone. He was just cold and wet and in need for a little money.
I would have given it to him too, if it were any other day. I’ve been mugged before.
Today though, my strange rebellious streak had cost me my life—so to speak.
He hovered over me for a few more seconds, and then the knife dropped from his gloved hands. He was visibly shaking all over. It wasn’t long before he kicked his heels and ran off. I couldn’t tell where, from the angle I was in, so I waited until I couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore.
The rain had eased by the time I turned to pick myself up. My school bag was left untouched, but flipped over next to me. My school uniform was soaked in dirt and trash juice, not to mention the hole in my chest. I looked down at my shirt to survey the damage. Amazingly enough, the knife had sliced me right between the folds of my shirt met, leaving a few dangling plastic buttons but no tears.
The hole in my chest was grotesque and I waited for the skin to knit back together. They didn’t and I had assumed it was because the wound was much deeper. It was safe to assume that a bigger wound would take longer to heal.
I picked up my dripping wet school bag and slung it over my shoulder.
I pulled my sweater tighter around my chest to hide the wound and walked through the alley, with the original intent of getting home through a shortcut. I passed a stained glass window that was glazed with brown and green. I saw my sepia reflection and analysed myself.
My tousled hair was orange on my reflection, even though it was light brown and with eyes to match. I looked like an average 15 year old boy. Average in every aspect, but by now it should be obviously that I’m not as average as I’d like to be.
By the time I reached the end of the alley, I couldn’t help but turn to see if my attacker had stuck around or if he decided to run back to rid of my body. There was no sign of him, so I stepped out of the alley and onto the sidewalk where a few people passed, busy with their noses on the screen of their phones.

And that's all I wrote! Perhaps there will be more written shenanigans this year?

Ok back to work!


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