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| This is my life.deal with it | Started by: Marc_Jamieson on Apr 30, '09 05:07 |
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*The weather is unseasonably cold for this time of year in New Orleans. Above the din of every day life, the sound of tolling bells and a funeral dirge float on the city streets. Outside a stone church a crowd of people have come to pay their respects to a well-loved friend. One man in particular stands out. Perhaps it's the copper colored hair that he is sweeping back with his long white fingers. Or maybe it's the expression on his face. For someone so young to look so sad, as though he has lived a lifetime in a few short years, is heart wrenching. He has a roguishly handsome face and stunning bright green eyes. His skin is a translucent white, which makes the small scar under his nose look more pronounced. He is wearing two gold bands on his right hand. One is a plain gold, and the other is a thin band with intricate patterns etched onto its' surface. He is also wearing two rosaries. One is a pearl and opal antique, and the other is a simple onyx and olive wood. The door opens and mourners file in one by one. The boy, Marc, walks up to the casket. No longer able to hide behind his fade he drops to his knees and weeps. He can't even remember the time he cried so hard. H didn't even cry at his parent's funeral and now he couldn't contain the tears that spilled over. He said a few words brokenly and then stood up, removed the pearl and opal rosary, and placed it in her hands. He whispers his goodbyes to his sister. Not related by blood, they shared a bond that was as close as could be and referred to each other as brother and sister whenever they spoke of one another. Another friend comes up behind him and leads him to the front pew so that the priest could begin his eulogy. He hangs his head and thinks back on the events that ultimately led him here, on this path, in this church.* "I remember it all so clearly now. It only happened a few years ago. I lived across town in a small two-bedroom house. I became an only child after my sister died of pneumonia when I was 5. My mom vowed never to have another. I came from a mixed family. My dad was Irish and my mom, Italian. They had met shortly after she had moved to the states. She had disowned her family for ties to the mob. She hated that lifestyle and cursed the gangsters for everything. My mom worked as a librarian. Our house was filled with books and she always had one in her hand. My dad was a blue-collar worker. Everyday mom packed his lunch, kissed him, put his rosary on, and sent him to work. Everyday when he came home he expected to be treated like a king or she would feel his wrath. There wasn't a week that would go by where he didn't yell and curse at her. We lived in a small group of houses filled with immigrant families. Many of them had been there for years. The summers were great; everybody was in each other's business. We cooked, laughed, drank, and ate together. Everybody owned some kind of pet and they ran all over the neighborhood begging scraps of food and lots of love. I had a snow-white rabbit and two cats. My mom screamed the day she found them cut open, their heads planted on the wrought iron fence with a note telling us that we had two days to move. That was a month after we got the first note saying that all tenants in our neighborhood were being forced from their homes so a new hotel could be built. My dad blew his top. He and his father had helped build this neighborhood after they moved from Ireland. There was no way in hell we were going to move and he made his point loud and clear. He held rallies, convinced neighbors not to move, contacted the public officials, and steadfastly refused to move. My mother, being more practical, started packing and had everything ready to go in a week. She said if it came down to it she would leave him to save us. The days ticked by and nothing happened, my dad was convinced that our home would be saved. Then the animals started disappearing. Windows were smashed, things were stolen from yards, and tires were slashed open. The neighborhood was getting uneasy. A new "private investor" had bought out the property and they were making it clear that my dad was getting on their bad side. It was March 16, 1936, the day before my birthday. Mom had informed the principal that I wouldn't be attending school that day. She told them I was ill, but I knew she was trying to get us the hell away from the violence. I had seen her writing a Dear John letter to my dad the night before. I woke up to the sound of screaming and gunfire. It was at our neighbor's house. The husband, Dean, came out of his house in a bathrobe and nightshirt waving a pistol. Three men were standing in the front yard smoking. They had the eviction notice and guns drawn. "It's not till tomorrow!" He screamed. "I have children, you can't do this!" His wife, Colette, came out with the twins. She had a suitcase in hand and the keys to their car. "You have a smart lady there, I'd suggest you move." One of the men said, flicking his cigarette on the lawn. My dad came out with his shotgun ready to fire. "You sons of bitches, get out of my neighborhood" he growled. The boys looked over coolly and blew smoke at him. "Word has it you're a bit of a troublemaker. We don't like trouble" With that they walked away leaving a general feeling of dread in the neighborhood. That afternoon most of the families packed their belongings and left. A few families held out, including mine. That night I heard my parents screaming. My mom was yelling at the top of her lungs in English and Italian. I came out of my room in time to see dad throw the first punch. He wouldn't stop, he was crazy with rage, and I knew he could kill her if I didn't do something. He hit her over and over again. I stepped in front of her and screamed at him to stop. He tried to push me aside while my mom scrambled away to call the cops. I did the only thing that came to my mind and hit my old man across the jaw. The blow stunned him for a minute, and then he broke my nose. The fuzz arrived in time to save me but let him go when he told me that I had disrespected him. He got a warning; I got to go to my bedroom to the sound of him sobbing apologies to my mom. I woke up the next morning to complete silence. My face hurt like hell and I could barely see out of my left eye. I opened my bedroom door and down the dark hallway. Something was wrong, the smell of smoke hung in the air, there was no other noise, and my parents weren't answering my frantic calls. I opened the front door and saw the bodies lying on the lawn. I hit the grass on my knees and stared. They had taken my family from me. I can't remember how long I sat there staring at my dead parents and broken neighborhood. I was just a kid, 16 years old; I had no family, no hope, and nowhere to go. I came out of my stupor in time to head footsteps approaching me from behind. I braced for the blow that I knew was coming. "Who are you?" Asked a voice coolly. I jumped at the sound of it and wiped my bruised face with the sleeve of my ripped shirt. I turned around slowly to see a tall brunette. I swallowed hard and tried to speak but before I could say anything her face twisted violently at the sight of my folks. "Oh God, Christ almighty, Marc?" I recognized who it was; I hadn't seen Kittie since I was 7. She was an old family friend of my dads. She sent Christmas card every year. "I just got back to New Orleans last week," she said. "I came by to surprise your dad." She raked her long fingers through her short wavy curls and cursed. "Sorry hon., what happened?" She asked, still dumbstruck. I gave her the short version and she winced at the more gruesome details. She stood there for a moment more before coming out of her trance. "You got any place to go?" She asked, offering her hand to pick me up. I shook my head and winced as a new wave of pain had shot through my body. "Then I guess I can find a place for you" she said and started walking away. I stared dumbfounded at her and she paused. She looked over at the heads of my pets still skewered on the iron fence and then back at me. "You coming rabbit?" She said with an ironic smirk. "Y-yeah sure" I said and followed her out the gate. As she passed she bent down and picked up my mothers rosary and two small rings up off the ground. They were my Nina and Papa's rings from Italy and the only possession my mother had kept from her old life. My mother was a devout catholic and my father went on holidays. We held a traditional wake for them. All I remember from those next few days I felt an odd sense of peace. I couldn't explain why I felt that way. I just couldn't feel sad. I felt other emotions. i was jealous, I was angry, I felt lost but I just couldn't cry. The tears I was promised never came. The crowd was small at the wake, only a handful of people came by for the viewing. The funeral was even smaller. Besides Kittie and myself there were four other people. I looked at my parent's caskets. The lid on my dads' was shut because his face had been rendered unrecognizable. My mothers, on the other hand, was open and the look on her face made me feel guilty for the feeling of relief I had. I knew she was better off now without my dad smacking her around. I knew this was terrible, my parents had just died, but I felt...relieved. I paid my last respects to them and left them behind. Kittie took me in and raised me as her "brother." She transferred me across town to a new school. I didn't have time to slack off though. Kittie gave me the love, butt kicking, and family I needed. I never lacked for anything I needed but she never spoiled me either. She always had a full house of warmth and friends. Even after I went to bed at night, I would hear them talking into the night, laughing, joking, and staying connected. In school I tried out for the football team. I made the team but not in the way you'd expect. I was adopted as sort of a team "pet." I wore a lucky pair of rabbit ears to each game and we were virtually undefeated those two years. I graduated at the top of my class as well as the school. No one cheered louder than Kittie and all of her friends. The night after, which was my 18th birthday, could not have gone better. We went to Kittie's cafand had a huge feast. Everyone was there and the presents got more lavish with each box. I got a case of my favorite V-8 juice from Vince, a case of Dr. P from Pepper, a fancy gold watch from Adrian, A handsome three piece suit from Brick with matching fedora and tweed newsboy cap, and a very expensive pair of leather shoes with spats from Sewati. Kitties' gift came last. The heavy cherry wood box was tied with a gilt bow. I slowly opened the box and gasped. Inside was a brand new, Browning P-35, with a custom mahogany wood inlay. The look on my face must have been priceless because everyone started laughing. Kittie slipped a leather holster on over my shoulders and Brick clapped me on the back. "Welcome to the Elegido corporation, try not to get shot ok?" That was how I found out about my new "family." And now, a few short months later, we stand together broken, shaken, and unsure of our next move. I know one thing is certain. I may not have been in this business for long, but I plan on making my sister very proud. *The funeral ends and Marc stands up. He and 5 other men pick up the casket to transport it to the waiting hearse. On arrival, they walk by one by one and drop something unique into her grave before walking away. Marc throws in his rabbit ears, blows a kiss, and turns around. The winds icy blast reflect his emptiness on the inside and he walks away wondering what new direction his life will take him now that he truly has no one left.* |
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Drops a small package into the casket My lil brother left this for Kittie in the event anything happened to him. Something about leatards and lemmings ... As far as Elegido being broken, shaken or unsure: motions to have Marc sit on his lap Let me tell you a little story about The Chosen.... |
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| Reply by: Money-B at Apr 30, '09 05:12 | |
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| *sits on a chair next to Money* | |
| Reply by: Marc_Jamieson at May 02, '09 01:31 | |
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