Post by -Riku- on Apr 10, 2011 10:37:16 GMT -5
Mitch Anderson
[atrb=border,0,true][bg=2b2b2b] [style=font-family: georgia; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: 0px; ]My first act of business:Figure out who I am* And the perfection of my frailty, Has been questioned and broken, And I will wait, I'll write another letter to myself- name; Mitch Anderson age; 16 sexuality; straight birthday; January 20th, 1995 ____________________________________________ likes. Mitch certainly likes a couple of things, mainly stuff outdoors. He likes being closed off of people, hence many things he has forgotten and doesn't want to know. The sun, woods, and clean air is what he enjoys most. dislikes. Needles. He hates them, can't stand them for an odd reason. And people in lab coats when they walk by. power. He can see other peoples memories. Yes, some how, he can reach into other peoples heads and unlock their forgotten memories. Not that he is awake, for him it's a swollen nightmare. He must be close, very close, to actually connect. This is perhaps, because of how his molecules and cells were disrupted. They began cloning themselves, a fast way to fix the damage. Mutation began though it was slight. Thus, making his brain much more efficient and is somehow able to do such things. This is just a theory. occupation. Student activities. Nothing really, though before, he used to play soccer. At least, before he came here. Now he just walks the hallways after his nightmares. [/style] |
[atrb=border,0,true][bg=2b2b2b] [style=font-family: georgia; font-size: 20px; letter-spacing: 0px; ]My second act of business: Find out who destroyed my life* personality. Mitch isn't a very out going person if I do say so myself. Before the...operation, he was clearly the smartest kid around. Yes, he was quite the braggart, always showing off his grades. Once he has a plan, he sets that plan into action. He's also persistent. My way or the high way sort of thing. When he came to the school, he kept that same boastful attitude. A show off, but in a nice way. It wasn't like he called anyone idiots, he doesn't see much point. He wouldn't want to get hurt over a petty argument. Oh and something else. He used long words. Big words. Sometimes, just to get what he wants. Other times, no. But then something changed. He became closed off, silent. His grades declined. His life declined. Slowly did he hide. In a shell of lies. He became gloomy, unresponsive, not willing to learn. He shut off from everyone else. His mind was blank, except from those nightmares like tape recorders. Broken in fast forward and pause. appearance. He is pretty tall for his age, and skinny. His skin is a light tan colour, though it would be thought of darker hence of how much he goes outside. His hair is quite scruffy and unkempt, maybe from the lack of enthusiastic attitude. Its an unsettling black that gets lighter near the front bangs. His eyes are a menacing blue, but have become dull from very little sleep. His cheeks have sunken in, creating almost a sickly atmosphere. He wears a high collared, white, long sleeved shirt that is tucked neatly into his pants. Yes, pants, not jeans, dress pants. They are black. The only bit of colour he wears is the yellow faded tie that is hanging loosely around his neck. He has a straight posture thankfully. And he does have good hygienics. The most eye catching thing about him, is the way he talks. His hands flop about, moving, trying to explain something that may not be heard. And his speech is almost fast, as if in a rush. history. All A’s nothing under. Just the way he liked it and it showed. With his chin upright, his eyes blazing with pride, he slapped down that report card triumphantly. His mom peered over her shoulders, her face stoned in boredom. “It’s your report card right?” It was a stupid question, but that was their routine. What could you say? Mitch was the smartest in his grade level, hands down. He was high school level, maybe college. And that wasn’t it, he was striving, he was working his way up to Harvard. He had his mind set and nothing could push him off course. But to be blunt, it would never happen. Why? Well, I’m getting far ahead of myself. Let us start simply, how about a letter. The family was steeping into debt, terrible debt, and no one wanted to tell Mitch. Who would? It would crush his dreams. It would step on it just like a bug. Not pleasant, never pleasant. And for a moment, Mitch took nothing of it. “Yes it’s my report card.” He smiled broadly, pushing back some black hair. The mom frowned, her eyes a blanket of deep nostalgia. “Dear, we need to talk.” Mitch’s once so happy face turned sour. “What do you mean?” He inquired pulling up a chair and sitting on it. The mom sighed, her hand stretching out and held the boys face sweetly but firm. “We don’t have any money, I’m sorry but, we can’t send you to Harvard.” You would probably expect crying or a shout, but no, he was too smart for such things. Instead, he kept a calm composure, even though his heart ached horribly. “Don’t worry,” He spoke, “I’ll just get a scholarship.” And that was it, divide and conquer. He worked furiously, his mind working over time. He studied, he worked, and he filled applications, and on top of that, read countless books. However, as I said, all of this would be worthless, pointless, a waste of time. It was the teacher. Who phone called the FBI of a very intelligent young man. Now as I mentioned, there was a letter. A very important letter, and if I can remember correctly, I could easily tell you what it said. Dear parents of Mitch: We have been informed about your son, and frankly, are interested in enrolling him in our school. His degree of intelligence has come to our attention, and if I must say, we would be pleased if he would join our…group. It is impeccable really; we would be stupid not to ask. He would be sent to our gifted school in Spain, just think of it as a unique field trip. There he would be sleeping in dorms with roommates, have a regular schedule, and visits from top of the line professors. Please acknowledge this and if you want to have further more information, you can contact us. And for a reminder: You’ll be paid an extremely large sum of money. Signature _____________________________ -Ante Negortium staff. It was probably three in the morning when the mother received this letter. It was magnificent, a savior. She held that piece of paper close, breathing in the musty odor. She signed it. The black ink forever staining its yellow faded canvas. “There, how does the uniform feel?” Mitch looked over it, his fingers running over the ridge of the collar. It wasn’t his cup of tea. Very dull and monochrome, it made him feel shut out. A long sleeved, high collard, white shirt was tucked into his black pants. A black tie hanged loosely around his neck, and thank god, it was not tight. Clearly, they had no taste over there. There was a knock on the door, and the mom rushed over to answer it. Two sturdy men with black suits stood still at the doorway. One held out a hand and helped Mitch shove his bags into the car (Though it was almost unwillingly). And off they went, the mother waving her hand as the car disappeared in the distance. The first day of school was a drag. He swept through his classes in a breeze, catching up very quickly. It was almost boring, though he tried to make the best of it. Bit by bit, he made friends. And his roommate wasn't all too bad. It was probably the second week of being here when it happened. It was two o'clock in the morning. Mitch couldn't go to sleep, he was excited. Exams were today, and he was ready. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the door to the room creak open. Quickly sitting up, he pulled the covers to his chest saying, "Who's there?" A figure stopped, but it's eyes, a yellow colour with black slits stared right at him. "I'm warning you," He threated. There was no time for reaction, the figure shot forward, cupping a hand over his mouth and dragging him out into the lonely hallways. He tried fighting back, but gave up, letting his tired body be heaved into a room. There he was shoved into a chair, his wrists held firm by metal bars. In came a man, followed by people in white coats. The man leaned forward, his breath hitting Mitch's face. "I've heard you're a special one." He sounded French. Mitch looked at him shrugging, "Can't say, maybe once you show me your ID, we can sort things out." The man let out a laugh, shaking his head. "Oh no, you won't be seeing an ID from me. When your mom signed that paper, you became my property. You work for me now." Mitch cringed, "I'm a human being, you can't say that. I'm no ones property but my own." The man laughed again, snapping on some gloves. "Dear Mitch, even a smart one like you can't realize something so small. That paper was a contract, you're mine now." And that was when the testing began. Every night, he was hooked up to wires and a piece of paper was held in front of him. Every night he had to work the same problem till his head hurt. And then, it was it. The man rushed into the room, waving a sheet of notebook paper, a wicked smile plastered on his face. "I did it! I did it!" He ran at Mitch, gripping his shoulders, shaking him wildly. "My boy, this is it!" He zipped over to a machine with a keyboard and began punching random numbers and letters in. There was a ding, and suddenly, Mitch couldn't feel himself anymore. All he could see was pictures, bubbles, being popped one by one. What were the pictures? He didn't know. There was an anguished scream, and a bolt of shock ran through his fingers. He gasped, his body shaking. His memories, they were fading. Finally the world shut from him. They failed, the man failed, now he was an accident. Mitch awoke the next morning, his mind blank. Who was he? Where was he? Standing up shakily, he prompted himself against a wall. This was not good. He started flunking school the first week of his memory loss, though he told no one. He began making D's and F's, but told no one. But that wasn't it. The nightmares started coming. A few weeks later he received a letter from a boy named John stating he should come to his party at four. Four? What time is four? Instead Mitch came at seven and stayed in the shadows. So lost, so confused. John sat next to him, looking at him in puzzlement. "You feeling okay?" Mitch nodded, but his eyes were already shutting. It felt like going through a wind tunnel, but very white. There was something at the end but what? He pushed forward, but the wind sought otherwise. He kept going till the end got brighter, or was it darker? But when he did reach the end, he could see a man. Through someone else's eyes. Mitch woke up screaming, his desperation to get out of the room was uncontrollable. He clutched his sides and ran out, hiding under the covers of his bedsheets. He didn't come out for days, the haunting image never left his mind. He was in someone else's body. At that party. family. Macy Anderson- Mom/banker/alive Erik Anderson-Dad/engineer/alive friends. None for now enemies. "The man" Though he doesn't know it yet, or who he even is. love life. ..................no hobbies. Walk around in the hallways. Good way to pass the time. extra. Not really, maybe later. quote. "You gotta move the thing. No not that thing, the other thing." or, "Uh-hm." [/style] |
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