Post by nathaniel james kastra on Feb 19, 2012 22:52:16 GMT -7
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 380px; height: 400px; background-color: 4f4e4d; -moz-border-radius: 250px; border-radius: 30px 30px 30px 30px; border: 0px solid #414141;] AND I JUST BLAME EVERYTHING ON YOU [/style]AT LEAST YOU KNOW THAT'S WHAT I'M GOOD AT Along a lonely old street in Caroline, laid many houses. Most were single levels, dusty cars sitting in the drive ways, toys strewn on the lawn, grass not carefully cut. The houses had a feeling of rot to them, deterioration. Anyone could see people lived there, but by no means did these people really have money. Children shouted off in the distance, the casual car strolled down the street and sometimes you could hear cars backfiring like gunshots. Just the typical lower class neighbourhood, situated in a happy little town. Though, it wasn't really that happy. Just down this street, on the corner of it and another much like it, sat any house like the rest. Save, for a few things. The front door was wide open, carrying in a chilly breeze, for though winter was soft that year the day still held a chill. A rough wood sign stood on the sidewalk, simply advertising 'BOOKS' in messy cursive. For the house itself, it was a bungalow like the rest, if not smaller, not offering much to whoever lived there. On the front window though, there were scrolled words, neat and effective, reading 'USED BOOKSTORE: Buy and Sell used and new books'. Under that, in less precise writing and drips coming from it, almost as if an afterthought, were more words, this time saying :WE ALSO DO REPAIRS. From the window, you could see a few books lined up along the window shelf, baring more classic titles, none spilled onto their sides. The house was quiet like the rest, only the propped open screen door creaking ever so often in the wind. In through the door, was a short hallway, dark, with not much air. This soon opened up though, or not so much. It lead to a rather small sitting room, or so it looked due to the shelves of books along the walls. It wasn't any grand collection, many seemed over used, unsellable really, sitting derelict on the shelves. But they were there, and one lone chair sitting in an empty corner, covered with dust. Most of the place was covered in dust as well, but the books themselves were pristine. The floor was wood, creaky, and overall it smelt of pine and paper in the store. The room was square in form, but the bookshelves lead more of an interesting shape, leaving a pocket in the far back corner for a partially hidden cashier space. One the counter sat an old cash register, barely better then a regal calculator, and behind it there was barely any room, plus the small space left for anyone to get behind the counter. And here sat a man, looking to be quiet young indeed, but looks aren't everything. He held an old book in his hands, the cover stained, but laminated over. It seemed there was a crack down the back spine, but which had been fixed before covering the book safely. The title page bore that of a monkey on a stool and the words 'A short history of progress'. The boy himself? He seemed shrouded, the lighting in the shop was minimum around the cashier area. The books were able to be seen enough, but the man was like a ghost, head angled into the book, not making a noise or movement save for flipping the pages of the book. Nathan Kastra. Or, Charlie, as his name tag happily pronounced, half hidden under the collar of his shirt. So long since the man had been seen in this town, so much forgotten, or shoved down into the gutters to be forced to be forgotten. Sitting here, just a walk from his old house, his old life, he felt nearly reminiscent. He felt like the was the better man for being here, being able to sit here calmly, again just minutes from the school where he brought the gun. He could almost feel his shadow self here too. The younger Nathan. It was like a different person. He wasn't himself anymore. He enjoyed the alias he was under, it felt so much better. He wanted to leave Nathan behind, the snivelling coward. Charlie, perhaps, could be his new self. He could create endless identities, play with the system, morph himself. He didn't have to be anyone. He wasn't trying to run from his past, oh no. Nathan knew about his past, though, his psychologist said he avoided it too much. Said that he didn't want t dig into himself, see his problems for what they really were. But he was happy, well for the most part content, where he was. He didn't need to dig into himself if he was content with life. Nathan sighed, flipping a page in his book, remembering times long ago. Remembering a girl, being young, when things were so innocent. Oh, the good old days. Before he became a murderer. Just then, Nathan herd the soft sound of footsteps hitting the two creaky floorboards by the door. He didn't look up, taking his time to finish the page he was on, slowly closing the book on his finger. Then, he looked up, knowing from here the customer couldn't quiet see him. But, as the man came into view, a slight flutter hit his chest. Nathan placed the book on the counter, watching the man, knowing very well that this was his brother. tagged - elias | lyrics - runaway | notes - its so good to be back<3 |