12-10-2018, 07:17 PM
[align=center][div style="borderwidth; width: 500px; padding: 1px; text-align: justify; line-height: 14px; font-size: 9.5pt; font-family:timesnewroman"]Javier has never had a proper Christmas.
Instead, it was filled with unresolved family tensions, his father too filled with sorrow of what he's lost to pay much mind to bringing the spirit. His mother, she tried to do her best. Little reusable gifts under Christmas trees, remnants of what she could find. She was the one who brought his passion to him when his curiosity only was a wisp of what his father presented in pictures and newspaper clippings, where it seems as if he's at his happiest. The one who gave him the materials needed to begin to play, most times by himself as his oldest brother rather sulk in his room than do much else. As Javier got older, he'd become the only one to retain that little part of his father that he lost, baseball outside even the snow, and Javier would pass it on to both his niece and nephew later in life. Bring them that holiday spirit that he'd lacked as a child. It was the least he could do when their father left them as he couldn't bring himself to admit it, even when their mother wanted to. They'd been a nomadic group of four going onto three years now, the stories of his father, mother, and brother nothing but a whisper in the wind. It was important to look forward now, to not dwell on what he's lost.
Only he's losing once again. His niece and nephew, Adam and Stella and their mother, Grace. For awhile, they'd been lucky, the routes they chose usually were the safest. They weren't too familiar with trouble as they were with lacking their basic necessities in survival and so maybe, they did get a little reckless. Wandered into the wrong house with supplies. Got attacked when their back was turned and for what? A can of beans or two? Javier has never really been alone but for protection's sake, he put himself in that position to be; they'd stripped him clean with nothing but his bat, tattered t-shirt and jeans. They'd kicked his ass, the bruises that riddled his body, the black eye the most prominent of all, bound to last him two weeks at the least, his body aching. He'd served as a distraction for his family and now he had no clue as to where they were. He just doesn't think he could handle the idea of losing something twice.
He wants to look for them, but can't under his condition. Blood pools into his eyes every time another wound is reopened and he's managed to strip a corpse of it's old hoodie, but it doesn't do much, especially by nightfall. He's afraid if he doesn't find somewhere to settle soon, he'd be dead and if Grace didn't think he was already, they'd search for him like all of them had searched for his brother, an endless and pathetic cycle all to dawn onto the same conclusion. Admitting his defeat has always been a difficult process for him, he's liked to pain himself through a challenge til' he was all weak-kneed and bloodied, and his brother hated him for that. He did know he wasn't superhuman, though. The times before seemed to just work in his favor with a little bit of effort, but not this. He staggering into snow that nearly reaches his knees and it looks as if the snow isn't letting him any time.
It's the first time he prays like his mother used to, and just by chance he sees a building.
There could be bandits, waiting to prowl on their weakest victims, but he takes it by the slim chance that the world was a little more good than it was bad, that if there was someone in there they would see he has nothing to offer and bring him in out of empathy, waiting to allow himself to be welcomed by whatever person there would be to greet him.
Instead, it was filled with unresolved family tensions, his father too filled with sorrow of what he's lost to pay much mind to bringing the spirit. His mother, she tried to do her best. Little reusable gifts under Christmas trees, remnants of what she could find. She was the one who brought his passion to him when his curiosity only was a wisp of what his father presented in pictures and newspaper clippings, where it seems as if he's at his happiest. The one who gave him the materials needed to begin to play, most times by himself as his oldest brother rather sulk in his room than do much else. As Javier got older, he'd become the only one to retain that little part of his father that he lost, baseball outside even the snow, and Javier would pass it on to both his niece and nephew later in life. Bring them that holiday spirit that he'd lacked as a child. It was the least he could do when their father left them as he couldn't bring himself to admit it, even when their mother wanted to. They'd been a nomadic group of four going onto three years now, the stories of his father, mother, and brother nothing but a whisper in the wind. It was important to look forward now, to not dwell on what he's lost.
Only he's losing once again. His niece and nephew, Adam and Stella and their mother, Grace. For awhile, they'd been lucky, the routes they chose usually were the safest. They weren't too familiar with trouble as they were with lacking their basic necessities in survival and so maybe, they did get a little reckless. Wandered into the wrong house with supplies. Got attacked when their back was turned and for what? A can of beans or two? Javier has never really been alone but for protection's sake, he put himself in that position to be; they'd stripped him clean with nothing but his bat, tattered t-shirt and jeans. They'd kicked his ass, the bruises that riddled his body, the black eye the most prominent of all, bound to last him two weeks at the least, his body aching. He'd served as a distraction for his family and now he had no clue as to where they were. He just doesn't think he could handle the idea of losing something twice.
He wants to look for them, but can't under his condition. Blood pools into his eyes every time another wound is reopened and he's managed to strip a corpse of it's old hoodie, but it doesn't do much, especially by nightfall. He's afraid if he doesn't find somewhere to settle soon, he'd be dead and if Grace didn't think he was already, they'd search for him like all of them had searched for his brother, an endless and pathetic cycle all to dawn onto the same conclusion. Admitting his defeat has always been a difficult process for him, he's liked to pain himself through a challenge til' he was all weak-kneed and bloodied, and his brother hated him for that. He did know he wasn't superhuman, though. The times before seemed to just work in his favor with a little bit of effort, but not this. He staggering into snow that nearly reaches his knees and it looks as if the snow isn't letting him any time.
It's the first time he prays like his mother used to, and just by chance he sees a building.
There could be bandits, waiting to prowl on their weakest victims, but he takes it by the slim chance that the world was a little more good than it was bad, that if there was someone in there they would see he has nothing to offer and bring him in out of empathy, waiting to allow himself to be welcomed by whatever person there would be to greet him.
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: center; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 1.4;"]I'M [I]HIGH AS A PRIVATE JET. â€â€