Character sketch by SliceandDice

SLICEANDDICE'S BLOG

SliceandDice

Character sketch
Tuesday, March 20, 2007

I wrote this for class, its a scene that describes a character, Her name is Willamina

Strigoy

Some days I think I am insane, I have to be, but then the beast on the fringe on my subconscious tells me not to be silly and wouldn’t it be lovely to go on a hunt. The girls remind me they are very much real as well. They lend me their memories and dreams for a lucid minute, so I experience them clearer than usual and I know that I am sane, in a sense. What I’m experiencing isn’t the by-product of a mental disorder, an artificial reality created disease, drugs or genes; this is my life now and I have to live with that, if this can be called a life.

Those periods of time hurt the most, when I am flooded with thoughts and images I wasn’t there to create but I have to carry now. When I doubt my self and my health. Afterwards I listen to the beast and go out on a hunt. I search through the endless flood of humans; their multicolored auras that hang around them and leave trails for me and assault all my senses, and find a telltale trail of black, follow their ‘scent’ and leave another body for the homicide department.

Those are the few times when I leave my hotel room without changing before or after. Anyone who sees me sees the killer and the girl, who was once alive, and not Angel Lee who they think lives there and who works in a bookstore five days a week. They would never connect me to her either, her being I actually, myself being tall and donning a long war braid and white, paler then snow-white, and the sweet Angel everyone loves is short and fairly noticeably Asian. I take precautions anyways, changing just enough, usually my fingertips, so the police could never track me down.

The last time I had an episode like this, a bad one at least, I almost let the monster take the complete control he wanted, but the girl’s voices whispering in the corners of my mind kept me clear enough to remain in control. I left and went to a bar in what people call the bad side of town, near the warehouse district, where most of the patrons auras where black or turning and went to town. The news the next morning called it ‘The Bicker Massacre’ even though not all of them where riders, and the police upped their search for me. I know I can’t stay here much longer, because of these reports and the police presence. It’s only a matter of time.

I had an episode today; the doubt and the beginning of insanity clouded my mind. The monsters laughed just waiting to take me over permanently. I think I almost lost it, ripped apart the bathroom, but the girls flooded me again, and I snapped out of it. Being remind of life, what was, should have been, could have been, and death can do that. After the headache the memories causes subsided, not as bad as usual actually, I washed the blood from my arms, caused from breaking a cup in my fit, in the shower. As the warm water calmed me down and relaxed my muscles, I felt my face, chest and arms, where scars should have been from the fire that killed six little girls so many years ago. I wonder, for the millionth time, where they went, why me, and when I will finally succumb.

I should be dead and buried at least six feet away form life, but I’m not, only five of the girls are buried like they should have been. I wonder if I was chosen because my body was injured less, the only one that made it out intact, or if there was something wrong with me, something that marked my like my kills. The night when I was nine, and those flames ripped through my best friend’s house, was I destined to die and come back or did I just draw the cosmic short straw. Why am I cursed to see this evil, to have to change myself, using powers I have no clue how I got, and have to be the one who knows how it feels to kill?

I turn off the water and my mind so I don’t have to think about this stuff anymore, why I don’t bleed and die like normal girls, why I don’t feel like normal girls, why I don’t even love like normal girls. I try to fight the questions that race through my mind. I dress in clothes best for a hunt, sexy but easy to move in and dark to hide movement. I grab my tools, knives and ropes. I click off the girl’s voices, my voice and listen to the beast once again, and go out to find someone who deserves to die. As I leave, I try not to think about how this is going to have to be my last kill for a while, it’s getting to dangerous. I leave my room, click off the lights, and lock the door like a responsible young woman and catch my reflection in my window. I stare at the woman there, who could never be normal like other little girls growing up, who’s eyes a rimed by black like the auras of my pray. I walk away before the emotions can catch up with, before I can cry, like a normal little girl would have.

COMMENTS

Wednesday, March 21, 2007 10:56 AM

BLUEEYEDBRIGADIER

Whoa...this is some powerfully emotive stuff, Slice! Definitely could picture all images you put forward in my head, and the struggle your character has between her original self, the voices of the other girls and the beast insider of her...

I must say...this idea is quite brilliant, and I see a lot of potential influences in the character. Dana the Slayer from "Angel"...River..."The Crow" series of movies...Nietzsche

BEB

Wednesday, March 21, 2007 6:35 AM

MSG

Great emotional description, but something experiential like events that led to this would be good too

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