I WROTE SOMETHING FOR SCHOOLS. DONE WITH ALL MY HOMEWORK FOR THE YEAR. OH YEAH. FEELING GOOD. It's kind of odd, but there it is. The formatting got messed up a bit XD
BUNBUROPHELIA
My name is... Not important. It’s not important for the storyline right now. But it might be later. What was, was my thought process. For once I was feeling pretty pleased with myself. “Ah... Yes, yes I think I’ll do it.” I strolled around, talking to my cat. “It’s a fine idea, isn’t it?” I looked in the mirror, a new wig on my head. A new wig, for a new day.“Briliant. I think I’ll go out today.” I grabbed a scarf, then my new trench coat, and pulled on my boots. One by one. I looked in the mirror again. I felt like a shapeshifter, assisted the belife that with a little liquid latex and some stage makeup, anything was possible. This was the start of a new age, could be an age of wonder. If it wasn’t careful, it could turn sour, or rot out too soon. Now I just had to be careful about leaving my house. I heard my footsteps as I walked across the floor. To the door and- The harsh tone of the telephone rang in my ears.
“Who is it?” I said in a neutral voice, not sure of who to be at the moment. If this is who I think it is, I should be Tom. No, Lawrence. No...
“Bill. Bill, is that you?” Good. Glad I wasn’t supposed to be Nancy. I would of messed up the voice for that. “Yes... Yes, it’s Bill. And this is...” I dug my nails into the phone, putting a hat on my head with the other hand.
“It’s grant. You were supposed to meet with us about your community service. You agreed to it on the papers, and without the hours put in now, you’ll have to give up your licence.” I was bored of being Bill anyways. He should of picked that up by now. I hadn't been Bill in four weeks. “When are you available, today would be best.”
“Nah... I’ve got an... appointment today. Can’t make it. Perhaps... Next week?” Or however long it could take to move out of this apartment and get a new number.
“Okay. I’ll call you in a few days. It better be settled by next week.” He hung up. I set the phone back down with a clink and a sigh. Oh well, time to go out. Today was different. I wasn’t just starting someone new, I was going back to a familiar persona. Vincent Castello. I had been him before, when I was hardly more than a kid. I got my first job as Vincent. Oh, how the times change... This time I had a mustache. An older, improved, more refined Vincent. And Vincent had to pretend he had money in his wallet to make it work.
I had already done a few pieces as Vincent, sent photographs of my paintings, and now I was going into a gallery, showing them off, seeing if they’d like my work. It was going good. And if things went bad, well, I always had Tom’s writing career, or even David’s catering buisness. But with all the backup, you could still wind up the loser, alone on a one way street in the end. I tried to shake that notion from my head. I was happy. I was happy and I was proud. I was Vincent Castello. That was who I was. I walked out of the appartment, and down the sidewalk. It was early in the day, a bit cold out, the crystals of ice from the night slowly melting from the moss on the ground. I watched my breath in front of me, like a cloud of smoke in the cool winter air.
“Good, so far.”
I watched the shops open up, sitting at a bench. A few children walking to school, blissfully unaware of what could become of them in a few years, just a few miles off in the city. There would be no running around then, no skipping, no playing. People told you not to mess around. You had to be real. You had to be someone. Not anyone. But as far as they knew, I never did anything out of the blue. I walked on a bit more, the birds had started comming out, singing with their high voices, rhythms you wouldn’t hear if you were rushing about. I just strolled on, feeling the crowds pass by. Rush hour had passed, soon enough. I looked through the shop windows, waiting. I wasn’t quite sure what I was waiting for, but there was something romantic about the idea. Well, what they were doing, warm, inside a bakery, laughing. There were people in there. I was alone and cold. That could change, though. I just had to move on. Yet, I sat there. I wasn’t quite sure why. I watched a couple people walk out. A mother and her boy. Something familiar about the picture, I wasn’t quite sure why. After a while they disapeared from the sidewalks, their thick coats shielding them from the chilling wind had drifted from view. I watched the boy in the bakery. He was putting bread in the oven, brushing off his hands. I knew him once, as Roy. He might remember Roy, but Roy had been gone for three years. He was probably married now, to who knows who.
At least I had my cat Tubbs for company.
I wandered around a bit more, eventually sitting back down at the bench. I stayed there, not sure why. I was a bit hungry, but not hungry enough.
“Mind if we sit down?” I scooted over, not looking up. It was the mother and her boy from before.
“Uncle Skipp!” I heard a young voice say, it was the voice of the child. Did he mean me? I tensed.
“That’s not your Uncle.” The woman said in a hushed tone, embarrassed.
“Mum, it’s uncle skipp!” The child whispered, assuming I couldn’t here him. I pretended not to hear it all. Maybe I could pass for deaf.
“Jimmy, that’s not-” I heard the woman gasp. I remember that gasp.
“Pierrot?” She leaned over, trying to see my face. I slowly got up. Maybe I could run for it. “Pierrot, is that you?” I had to agnowlage her, somehow.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you’re tallking about-” My voice quivered a bit, and she grabbed me by the arm.
“Pierrot! I havn’t seen you in four years- It’s you!” I shrunk at her excited words, mind racing at how to get away. “Please, Pierrot, we could sit down, have some coffee- Or tea- I know you love tea. There’s a great place over at-”
“Please, let me alone-”
“Pierrot, it’s okay- Why did you leave? I wont’ tell anyone else I saw you, just let me talk to you.” I sighed at her words, and stepped back.
“I’m sorry, I’ve really got to go. I’m not who I was.”
“I’m not either- I’m someone else now, too. At least for now. What do you call yourself these days?” I sighed, sitting down.
“Vincent. It dosn’t really matter, though.” I shrugged, and she extended her hand.
“Call me Gwynn.”
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