Post by Felix Booker on Sept 6, 2015 2:26:29 GMT -5
(Stats preferably, Constitution and Wisdom seem pretty cool. *wink* *wink* *nudge* *nudge* *fart*)
Felix was running. It was the one thing he was good at. He wasn't a fighter like everyone at that damn high school thought he was. He wasn't a thug, like the damn court thought he was. And he wasn't some intelligent prodigy, like his mom wanted to think he was. He was a runner, literally and figuratively. It was his one talent, thinking back on it, it was his only talent. The one thing he'd always been good at. But that was over now, one fight killed his entire career. Didn't matter that it was self defense; in the courts eyes he was a monster, he was an animal that needed to be tamed. So he ended up at Public Highschool 552. His mom was pissed when she heard the news, as she should be. He was set to compete nationally, and he screwed up hours of dedicated work, and practice, in minutes. All of it gone, completely down the drain. But that wasn't why Felix was running, he had made peace with that more or less . . . mostly less. He had woken up that morning completely unaware of what day it was. Dates never really stuck in Felix's head anyway. They just seemed pointless to him, they were constantly disappearing in time as it flowed forward. Why remember a date, if tomorrow it wouldn't be there until a year later.
Felix threw on a T-shirt and a pair of black jeans, Felix made his way to his crowded living room. He lived with his mom in their apartment. But his cousins, and aunts and uncles were all bunched in there with them. They lived in the same apartment building and came to visit often, much to Felix's chagrin. Just because they were family didn't mean he wanted to see them everyday, or at all for that matter. He stalked into the kitchen, the daily hustle and bustle running in the background of his mind. He reached into the cabinets taking out a bowl of cereal, while simultaneously grabbing milk from the fridge. In moments he was sat down in the living room casually eating his food, instinctively tuning out his family's chatter. He was in no rush, it was the weekend and school was out. His plan was to lounge around his house. But plans ironically, rarely went according to plan.
His mom approached him, that tight sad look she got when she was thinking of something painful. "Felix." She started, already Felix knew something was up, it was the way she said his name. Like it was some type of foreign product you'd find in the super market. He looked at her coolly, mentally preparing himself for whatever came next. "I know you probably don't remember the day it happened, but it's the anniversary of your . . . " She stopped again, seemingly too hurt to continue. He hoped she wouldn't continue. She did, ". . . y-your father, and we're heading down to visit his grave." The air felt heavy, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. His family grew quiet, listening to what was happening, but he didn't care, he tuned out their attentive silence as easily as their repetitive noise. Felix stared back at his mother blankly, showing no visible emotion. He knew it. He had known it since she opened her mouth to speak. The only damn thing that his mother seemed genuinely scared to bring up with him, was his fathers death. He answered quickly and simply, "No." He responded, purposefully masking the emotion in his voice with difficulty. "You promised you would go last year Felix, please." She was pleading with him, she knew he hated that. Usually because he gave in, and did what she wanted. 'Please do these volunteer hours Felix. Please focus on your studies Felix. Please don't hang out with them anymore Felix. Please don't have fun or a social life Felix.' He was sick of it. He wouldn't let her have her way. Not with this. "No. I don't want to." He stuck with simple, short answers, they helped him keep in control of his barely in check emotions. Felix felt his heart hammering in his chest, he didn't know whether to cry or scream, if it came down to it he would probably do both. He stood up, he made as if to head to his room, before his mom grabbed him by the arm, "Felix please, you're going. You said you would." He would have been fine if the conversation stopped there, but of course it didn't. "It's what your father would have wanted." The feelings came back, the raw unchecked emotions flooded through him so intense he didn't know what he was feeling. "HOW WOULD YOU KNOW WHAT A DEAD MAN WOULD FUCKING WANT!" He roared suddenly, forcefully pulling his arm out of his mothers grasp. "You know what I would want?" Felix asked in a way that wasn't a question. "A dad, that wasn't DEAD! An actual family to come back to, not them!" He would sweep his arm, indicating the people around him. He stood breathing heavily, before stomping off to his room. He grabbed his best running shoes, putting them on in a rush. His mom tried to tell him to stay, that they could talk about it. Felix was through with talking though, he needed something to do. He high tailed it out the door, slamming it behind him.
He stood in the apartment buildings third story hallway. Taking a deep breath, he started running. He made his way down the stairs, completely devoid of caution. Sometimes taking them four at a time, sometimes jumping the entire flight with a loud thud. Before he knew it he was out on the busy New York streets, running. He was finally doing what he was good at. He hurried down the sidewalk, roughly jostling people out his way. Normally he wouldn't have dreamed of doing it, but right now, he didn't care. It was early morning, but the streets were as busy as they ever were. As he ran, he felt his thoughts become sharp and more clear, less muddled by his emotions. The memories came back to him, before he knew it was too late to force them away like he always did. He remembered coming home one day, his mom hysterical in tears. And she told him his dad was found dead in an alley. He knew what his dad did wasn't legal, he was ten years old, not stupid. But he didn't think it was the dangerous side of illegal activities. Felix never asked what it was his father did, because getting the answer would make it all real, his death, his profession, everything. He remembered the counseling, the therapy, the constant 'I'm sorry for your loss.' which was met with a withering gaze from Felix. He used any excuse to forget, he tried fighting. But coming home with new cuts and bruises every day didn't put his mom at ease. So he found something else. Humor. It was all he had, his smart ass remarks, and quips that had would become staple to his personality were fueled by grief. It was like running in a way, each joke was like one more step ahead of the grief he would have to deal with. Always one step ahead. Until today, the pain was back, as fresh as the day of his death. He thought he had grown stronger, physically, mentally. He thought he was over it. He was so fucking wrong. As these thoughts went through his head, Felix plodded relentlessly forward, not slackening in his pace. Soon the busy streets and sidewalks, thinned. The clean-ish, buildings and streets, grew more worn, and ruined.
Before he knew it, Felix was in one of the worse parts of town. He didn't care though. Eventually his all out run, slowed, until eventually he was at a walk, gasping for breath. A group of about five young men, stood on a street corner talking amongst themselves as Felix walked past. Probably hustlers, he thought to himself as he continued forward. One of them flicked his head in Felix's direction, they followed after him. Felix was completely and utterly aware of what they planned, but he was beyond reasoning with. Let them come. He would think as he turned into an alley, I'll kill them. It was a dead end, and they were on him. "Hey little man." one of them said, pushing his way to the front. He was the obvious leader, Felix could tell as he watched them listen intently to every word he had to say. "I aint' never seen you around here before bud, you wanna tell me what you're doin' here? And while you're at it how about you hand whatever you gots' in your pockets okay?" The man smiled casually, almost in a friendly manner. Felix glowered at him, before raising his right arm, bringing out his middle finger, flipping the guy the bird. "Fuck. You. I aint' your bud." Felix responded, nothing but malice in his voice. "Who do you think you're talking to!" By some unspoken command the charged him, but Felix was ready. He hit the first one square in the jaw with a haymaker, he was out before he even hit the floor. Two came forward, and rushed him from either side. Felix struck the one on his left with an uppercut to his stomach, doubling the man over before wailing on him a flurry of punches. The one from his right tried to restrain Felix's right arm, to prevent him from hurting his friend. Felix elbowed him in the nose, before starting in on his friend again. Felix was lost in the sheer brutality of it, he found fighting a guilty pleasure, having to hurt someone for his own enjoyment made him feel like shit. But right now, he would indulge himself.
The short one struck him in the back with a retractable baton he must have been carrying on him. Felix turned, taking the baton full force in the face, before kicking him in the abdomen, he fell to his knees dropping his baton. Felix kicked it away before grabbing him by the back of the head, driving his knee into the mans nose. Quickly scanning the scene he saw four bodies on the floor. Where was the last one, he thought. Before he knew it more people piled into the alley. The fifth man had went to get reinforcements. Not counting the ones on the floor, they numbered at around nine. Felix's rage flared again, he ran at them, they ran at him. He floored the first one with a superman punch, his body knocked back into his friends. A few grabbed him, while the other rushed forward at him. Felix swung wildly, not caring about style or finesse, only wanting to beat them all into the ground. He hit one in the jaw, sending his head flying back at an odd angle. Two more hit him in the ribs and the back of the head. Felix did a back kick, nailing one of them in the groin. The other was still on him, he put Felix in a full nelson. The crew jumped at the opportunity, they hit him in the gut, once, twice. One hit him square in the mouth. The hit brought his rage back full force. He drove the back of his skull into the man holding him's nose. The guy let go stumbling backwards, Felix rushed forward into the thick of them. He lost himself in the violence for what seemed like ages. Eventually he found himself worn out and bloody on the floor. He had taken out about ten of them in total, but the numbers overwhelmed him. After they had beaten him, the short one had finally come to, checking his pockets in obvious shock and anger finding only his dingy flip phone. "Why did you fight us if you didn't have any DAMN MONEY!" He kicked Felix in the side, and left with the rest of his group.
He felt like shit. He was a battered fifteen year old kid, in an alley somewhere in New York. What would his dad think of him right now? He couldn't stop the tears anymore, he was tired. Truly tired. Tired of having to fake being strong. He was glad no one at school was there to see him cry. He sat in the alley and cried, remembering the fond memories he had of his father, and his often sage advice. He wondered if his dad was proud of him, if he was somehow watching over him now. Felix remembered something his father always told him, before he left the house sometimes for days at a time. "Sorry I'll be gone for a while, but no matter what happens, no matter what you're doing, remember I'm always proud of you." He would say it with a warm smile, and a twinkle in his eye, as Felix would always think to himself, I want to grow up like him, always without fail. He sat there tears streaming, for an amount of time he didn't know. Reaching into his pocket, Felix called up his mom's number. "I'm uh . . . sorry for everything. I'll be home soon. Let's go to that grave later okay?" He hung up, wiping the tears from his eyes. He sighed deeply, looking up at the now rising sun, his fathers recently remembered words echoed in his head. He left the alley beginning the long walk home. He hadn't made peace with his father passing but . . . it was a start.
Felix was running. It was the one thing he was good at. He wasn't a fighter like everyone at that damn high school thought he was. He wasn't a thug, like the damn court thought he was. And he wasn't some intelligent prodigy, like his mom wanted to think he was. He was a runner, literally and figuratively. It was his one talent, thinking back on it, it was his only talent. The one thing he'd always been good at. But that was over now, one fight killed his entire career. Didn't matter that it was self defense; in the courts eyes he was a monster, he was an animal that needed to be tamed. So he ended up at Public Highschool 552. His mom was pissed when she heard the news, as she should be. He was set to compete nationally, and he screwed up hours of dedicated work, and practice, in minutes. All of it gone, completely down the drain. But that wasn't why Felix was running, he had made peace with that more or less . . . mostly less. He had woken up that morning completely unaware of what day it was. Dates never really stuck in Felix's head anyway. They just seemed pointless to him, they were constantly disappearing in time as it flowed forward. Why remember a date, if tomorrow it wouldn't be there until a year later.
Felix threw on a T-shirt and a pair of black jeans, Felix made his way to his crowded living room. He lived with his mom in their apartment. But his cousins, and aunts and uncles were all bunched in there with them. They lived in the same apartment building and came to visit often, much to Felix's chagrin. Just because they were family didn't mean he wanted to see them everyday, or at all for that matter. He stalked into the kitchen, the daily hustle and bustle running in the background of his mind. He reached into the cabinets taking out a bowl of cereal, while simultaneously grabbing milk from the fridge. In moments he was sat down in the living room casually eating his food, instinctively tuning out his family's chatter. He was in no rush, it was the weekend and school was out. His plan was to lounge around his house. But plans ironically, rarely went according to plan.
His mom approached him, that tight sad look she got when she was thinking of something painful. "Felix." She started, already Felix knew something was up, it was the way she said his name. Like it was some type of foreign product you'd find in the super market. He looked at her coolly, mentally preparing himself for whatever came next. "I know you probably don't remember the day it happened, but it's the anniversary of your . . . " She stopped again, seemingly too hurt to continue. He hoped she wouldn't continue. She did, ". . . y-your father, and we're heading down to visit his grave." The air felt heavy, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. His family grew quiet, listening to what was happening, but he didn't care, he tuned out their attentive silence as easily as their repetitive noise. Felix stared back at his mother blankly, showing no visible emotion. He knew it. He had known it since she opened her mouth to speak. The only damn thing that his mother seemed genuinely scared to bring up with him, was his fathers death. He answered quickly and simply, "No." He responded, purposefully masking the emotion in his voice with difficulty. "You promised you would go last year Felix, please." She was pleading with him, she knew he hated that. Usually because he gave in, and did what she wanted. 'Please do these volunteer hours Felix. Please focus on your studies Felix. Please don't hang out with them anymore Felix. Please don't have fun or a social life Felix.' He was sick of it. He wouldn't let her have her way. Not with this. "No. I don't want to." He stuck with simple, short answers, they helped him keep in control of his barely in check emotions. Felix felt his heart hammering in his chest, he didn't know whether to cry or scream, if it came down to it he would probably do both. He stood up, he made as if to head to his room, before his mom grabbed him by the arm, "Felix please, you're going. You said you would." He would have been fine if the conversation stopped there, but of course it didn't. "It's what your father would have wanted." The feelings came back, the raw unchecked emotions flooded through him so intense he didn't know what he was feeling. "HOW WOULD YOU KNOW WHAT A DEAD MAN WOULD FUCKING WANT!" He roared suddenly, forcefully pulling his arm out of his mothers grasp. "You know what I would want?" Felix asked in a way that wasn't a question. "A dad, that wasn't DEAD! An actual family to come back to, not them!" He would sweep his arm, indicating the people around him. He stood breathing heavily, before stomping off to his room. He grabbed his best running shoes, putting them on in a rush. His mom tried to tell him to stay, that they could talk about it. Felix was through with talking though, he needed something to do. He high tailed it out the door, slamming it behind him.
He stood in the apartment buildings third story hallway. Taking a deep breath, he started running. He made his way down the stairs, completely devoid of caution. Sometimes taking them four at a time, sometimes jumping the entire flight with a loud thud. Before he knew it he was out on the busy New York streets, running. He was finally doing what he was good at. He hurried down the sidewalk, roughly jostling people out his way. Normally he wouldn't have dreamed of doing it, but right now, he didn't care. It was early morning, but the streets were as busy as they ever were. As he ran, he felt his thoughts become sharp and more clear, less muddled by his emotions. The memories came back to him, before he knew it was too late to force them away like he always did. He remembered coming home one day, his mom hysterical in tears. And she told him his dad was found dead in an alley. He knew what his dad did wasn't legal, he was ten years old, not stupid. But he didn't think it was the dangerous side of illegal activities. Felix never asked what it was his father did, because getting the answer would make it all real, his death, his profession, everything. He remembered the counseling, the therapy, the constant 'I'm sorry for your loss.' which was met with a withering gaze from Felix. He used any excuse to forget, he tried fighting. But coming home with new cuts and bruises every day didn't put his mom at ease. So he found something else. Humor. It was all he had, his smart ass remarks, and quips that had would become staple to his personality were fueled by grief. It was like running in a way, each joke was like one more step ahead of the grief he would have to deal with. Always one step ahead. Until today, the pain was back, as fresh as the day of his death. He thought he had grown stronger, physically, mentally. He thought he was over it. He was so fucking wrong. As these thoughts went through his head, Felix plodded relentlessly forward, not slackening in his pace. Soon the busy streets and sidewalks, thinned. The clean-ish, buildings and streets, grew more worn, and ruined.
Before he knew it, Felix was in one of the worse parts of town. He didn't care though. Eventually his all out run, slowed, until eventually he was at a walk, gasping for breath. A group of about five young men, stood on a street corner talking amongst themselves as Felix walked past. Probably hustlers, he thought to himself as he continued forward. One of them flicked his head in Felix's direction, they followed after him. Felix was completely and utterly aware of what they planned, but he was beyond reasoning with. Let them come. He would think as he turned into an alley, I'll kill them. It was a dead end, and they were on him. "Hey little man." one of them said, pushing his way to the front. He was the obvious leader, Felix could tell as he watched them listen intently to every word he had to say. "I aint' never seen you around here before bud, you wanna tell me what you're doin' here? And while you're at it how about you hand whatever you gots' in your pockets okay?" The man smiled casually, almost in a friendly manner. Felix glowered at him, before raising his right arm, bringing out his middle finger, flipping the guy the bird. "Fuck. You. I aint' your bud." Felix responded, nothing but malice in his voice. "Who do you think you're talking to!" By some unspoken command the charged him, but Felix was ready. He hit the first one square in the jaw with a haymaker, he was out before he even hit the floor. Two came forward, and rushed him from either side. Felix struck the one on his left with an uppercut to his stomach, doubling the man over before wailing on him a flurry of punches. The one from his right tried to restrain Felix's right arm, to prevent him from hurting his friend. Felix elbowed him in the nose, before starting in on his friend again. Felix was lost in the sheer brutality of it, he found fighting a guilty pleasure, having to hurt someone for his own enjoyment made him feel like shit. But right now, he would indulge himself.
The short one struck him in the back with a retractable baton he must have been carrying on him. Felix turned, taking the baton full force in the face, before kicking him in the abdomen, he fell to his knees dropping his baton. Felix kicked it away before grabbing him by the back of the head, driving his knee into the mans nose. Quickly scanning the scene he saw four bodies on the floor. Where was the last one, he thought. Before he knew it more people piled into the alley. The fifth man had went to get reinforcements. Not counting the ones on the floor, they numbered at around nine. Felix's rage flared again, he ran at them, they ran at him. He floored the first one with a superman punch, his body knocked back into his friends. A few grabbed him, while the other rushed forward at him. Felix swung wildly, not caring about style or finesse, only wanting to beat them all into the ground. He hit one in the jaw, sending his head flying back at an odd angle. Two more hit him in the ribs and the back of the head. Felix did a back kick, nailing one of them in the groin. The other was still on him, he put Felix in a full nelson. The crew jumped at the opportunity, they hit him in the gut, once, twice. One hit him square in the mouth. The hit brought his rage back full force. He drove the back of his skull into the man holding him's nose. The guy let go stumbling backwards, Felix rushed forward into the thick of them. He lost himself in the violence for what seemed like ages. Eventually he found himself worn out and bloody on the floor. He had taken out about ten of them in total, but the numbers overwhelmed him. After they had beaten him, the short one had finally come to, checking his pockets in obvious shock and anger finding only his dingy flip phone. "Why did you fight us if you didn't have any DAMN MONEY!" He kicked Felix in the side, and left with the rest of his group.
He felt like shit. He was a battered fifteen year old kid, in an alley somewhere in New York. What would his dad think of him right now? He couldn't stop the tears anymore, he was tired. Truly tired. Tired of having to fake being strong. He was glad no one at school was there to see him cry. He sat in the alley and cried, remembering the fond memories he had of his father, and his often sage advice. He wondered if his dad was proud of him, if he was somehow watching over him now. Felix remembered something his father always told him, before he left the house sometimes for days at a time. "Sorry I'll be gone for a while, but no matter what happens, no matter what you're doing, remember I'm always proud of you." He would say it with a warm smile, and a twinkle in his eye, as Felix would always think to himself, I want to grow up like him, always without fail. He sat there tears streaming, for an amount of time he didn't know. Reaching into his pocket, Felix called up his mom's number. "I'm uh . . . sorry for everything. I'll be home soon. Let's go to that grave later okay?" He hung up, wiping the tears from his eyes. He sighed deeply, looking up at the now rising sun, his fathers recently remembered words echoed in his head. He left the alley beginning the long walk home. He hadn't made peace with his father passing but . . . it was a start.
