I.
- Locked due to inactivity on Aug 4, '16 4:18pm
Thread Topic: I.
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Being in silence has never been so painful.
Being alone has never been so loud.
And it started with one word. I.
--
"I do not understand." I muttered. The straight A, natural genius I... Not understanding such a simple thing. It was depressing.
"You as if stupidity is your virtue. Who are you? Who are you?" He said.
My mouth twitched. "I am Grant. Grant Beck-Age 19, Blue eyes, Black hair like the night. Eyes like a hawk, sharp and cunning like a fox, though I dwell in no such trickery. And you have no power over me." It was useless asking who I was... he knew.
"Such a young mind; Innocent and promising... Such a shame it's wasting away."
He spoke lies, for my mind was not wasting away; but rather being controlled... By them. This "he" I speak of, you must not tell him I told you anything... or he might get you too, but he was Nelson. Nelson Whitford actually- though chances are you have not met Nelson. I do not, did not and will never address him as Nelson, for as long as I live.
His long, bony fingers had absolute control of my mind.
Nelson is me, I am not Nelson: Do not mistake, for the sake of humanity.
Sir [I call Nelson "sir"] had friends...Many, many friends. So many "friends" I cannot list them all. The ones I know most are Thomas Newton, Adam Barr, and Wayne Garrett. My personal favourite was Newton; for he was down to earth, intelligent and simple to talk to. Sir made it much harder to talk to his "friends" so I didn't talk to him much, which was very disappointing; though I suppose it could be worse.
The thing is- They are me, I am not them. Once more, it is a crucial thing not to mistake... or else.
(So hows this so far? Should I continue? Hmm.) -
continue~
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It is very nice to meet you, but I cannot waste anymore time. As I sit here in the dark, keeping the candle lit on my desk. As I sit here in the dark, I tell you my story. And no matter how many ask, or how many bribe, you must not tell. Even for the largest sum of money on the Earth, you mustn't tell. It is destined to be a horrific fate to those that tell. I've seen the gruesomeness with my own two eyes. It was scarring, and I cannot bare it.
I am Grant beck, and this is my story.
--
It truly started a very long time ago, when I was a young child, maybe five years of age. My mother and father were not rich, but they had enough money to last. I remember they would fight, A lot. I wasnt sure at the time what it was about, but I soon learned it was about the money and who could spend what. A short time afterward, a few weeks perhaps, my father went into his study room and locked the door. I had knocked and he only yelled at me to go away. I did, you should know. My mother had directed me to go into my room. I curled up against my bed and drew different animals.
All of a sudden, there were two loud bang sounds. I looked up from my sketches, dropping my pencil to the floor. It couldnt have been good. So I sneaked out of my room, down the hallway, past the kitchen, in which my mother was in. She apparently had not heard the noise.
Eventually, I reached my Fathers study. When I tried at it, the knob did in fact turn. I stepped inside, closing the door, clutching my notebook in hand. There was my father, slumped in his chair, a SIG SAUER p250 in his loose grip. His head lay crookedly on his right knee, a puddle of blood under and in his dress shoes - A small hole in his forehead, dripping the thick red liquid.
I dropped the notebook, drawing a gasp, staring at my father. It was the last time I would see him.
And I couldn't believe it.
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