Reflections: Origins

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic


The second and final installment to "Reflections" A much different time for our main charactor than we seen previously. Revealing a very different side of our disturbed face thief, who remained in
disconnect from reality. viewing something from another angel can sometimes change everything that you believe to had known about it. I do hope youve enjoyed this oddball pasta duo. I most
certainly enjoyed writting them. ?????

Submitted: June 09, 2018

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Submitted: June 09, 2018

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Reflections: Origins by Wessus Matimas

"Are we off to venture again tonight daddy?" The question did not carry the cheerful tone you would expect of a six year old boy who'd spent his life convinced that he were a pirate. No, "Adventure, journey, voyage, these were merely cruel words that Jonathon's father had used to disguise the embarrassing truth. No matter how selfish he was, at the time, he could not bare to be another disappointment in the eyes of his only son. Despite all the pain he inflicted upon Jonathon, constantly tearing him from everything he knew. He desperately clung to the hope that he would remain a hero in the young boy's eyes. But nonetheless, Jonathon was growing tired of these "Ventures", tired of abandoning friends that he had just begun to make. It would not be until several years later that he would learn the truth. His father was no hero. No, Jonathon's father was just a junkie, abusing methamphetamine after heroine had become too expensive of a habit. Constantly having to move from place to place, due to the fact that he could not afford a month's rent, much less provide a stable home for his son.. By the time Jonathon had reached the age of 10, keeping a roof over their heads was no longer one of his father's priorities. The high was far too important. Not once did Jonathon cry as he struggled for warmth in alleyways and under bridges during the cold winter nights. No, Jonathon smiled to himself as he was soothed by the rather impressive tunes of his father's old Galveston acoustic and regardless of their many disadvantages and misfortune. He still felt safe as long as he was with his father and he slept soundly. In contrast, Jonathon's father returns a flame to a  clear glass pipe as he has done countless times before and smiles as he looks down at his sleeping son. Resisting the urge to cough as the chemicals burn his lungs, not wanting to wake jonathon. Knowing he really did have it in him this time. No tears in his eyes, not a shred of guilt left in him as the old pirate walks away.  Jonathon does not die in the street the following morning, nor does he in the following years. No, he lies, steals, kills, does whatever it takes to survive on his own. By the time Jonathon has reached the age of 18, he finds himself glaring into the mirror entranced by his reflection, he loves it, for many reasons. The skin of his final victim sewn firmly in replacement of his face. A thick wod of cash in his pocket, a fine tool to lure a thoughtless junkie, a glass eye a size too small rests somewhat off kilter in his skull. He reaches passed the recently deceased pan handler picking up his fathers old Galveston. Out of it falls a small bag of crystalline white powder. He drops his father's vice into the toilet and presses the silvery button to flush it down. "Was that so hard daddy?"  Tears stream into the blood from the fresh stitches along his jaw. The warm flesh feels nice upon his cheeks. With that old acoustic strapped across his back, leaving his throw bag behind, no longer needing any of its contents. Finally being able to leave those day behind him, Jonathon the pirate, walks away.


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