Post by JUDE CHRISTIAN WARFIELD on Mar 13, 2010 11:47:16 GMT -5
JUDE CHRISTIAN WARFIELD.
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* FEELS JUST LIKE WE'RE LOSING CONTROL.
and if you let go, then i'll let go tonight.[/center]
TELL US ABOUT YOURSELF.
Um, okay right, well first off my name is Jude. If you want to know the whole thing it‘s Jude Christian Warfield. But it‘s just Jude to you, because my hole name is just for me mum when she’s angry at me and is too long other wise. There is no shortening it. I mean how could you even try? As for my disease: they say I have schizophrenia. Well in the simplest terms, and most convenient of definitions, I am a schizophrenic. And if you can tell me where I quoted that from I’ll be your friend. But on with this show. I also have an addition to nicotine, but that’s obviously not why I’m in here. And an addiction to such a nasty thing at such a young age. I know how tragic it is.
I’m sweet sixteen, but someone once told me I have an old soul. Whatever the fuck that means. But I think she was getting at the fact that I act older than I am, or something. I dunno. Right, well I’m obviously a guy, I mean really you could guess that from my name. And I was born on December 9th. I’m average I guess height wise, been told I’m underweight but I don’t starve myself okay. And as far as looks go, the moment I bleached my hair people said I did it just to look like Kyle Burns. Believe me I didn’t, and I guess I look like him now, but I can’t drum for my life. I did it just because I hate my natural hair colour, it’s as simple as that. And just so you all know. I am bi. It’s not because I’m into all the cool, vogue things now. No it’s because I’m legitimately attracted to guys. My first kiss was a boy, and so was my first fuck . But I think I might be getting a little ahead of myself now.
TELL US ABOUT YOUR MEDICAL HISTORY.
[/size][/font]Like I said I‘ve been told I‘m schizophrenic. But I was told that because it was the closest thing the doctors had that fit my description. The thing is I‘m not really “flat“ emotionally, just slo to empathize. But the break down is, I see people for what they really are. What do I mean? Okay I can see if you are an angel or a daemon or in between or whatever. I guess you could say that’s why I don’t get too close to people. Because you see the daemons like to cross-dress. Yeah, they want to be angels so that you’ll trust them. And boy has that fucked me over.
Deamons play tricks, they want to watch you suffer, and the angels are really hard to come by. So far I’ve only found a handful of them and never has one been mine. Well once, you know that boy I said I lost it too. Yeah I truly believe he was the real deal .Never once did his halo slip or his wings start to rot. I say halo, but it’s more of glow around someone. Aura? Sure that. And yes angels can have sex. Why the hell not? I mean it’s one of the deepest forms of affection. Sure it’s a but thrown out the window now. But it still is love in cases.
No I don’t see myself as anything. Guess I’m a bit undecided in that sense. I’ve done too many bad things to be an angel and I’m not bad enough to be a daemon. I’m over sexed and have done drugs but that has never made me a druggy. Well I guess until recently but these bloody meds aren’t my fault. It’s what you fuckers say are to counter my symptoms. I don’t have a fucking cold okay. And for the record they don’t dos shit but make me drowsy and irritable. So I’m a lot meaner than I want to be. I see myself, normally as nice and too much of a romantic. But looks like tat got fucked again. Now I’m just a snippy jack ass.
As for any other problems? I guess I have a high possibility for lung cancer? I’ve smoked since I was thirteen. And I don’t really plan on stopping because you tell me to. At lest I know I have an addiction okay.
HOW CAN WE ACCOMODATE YOU BETTER?
[/size][/font]What am I interested in? Well there is the basics of smoking and having sex every now and again. But I’m a bit deeper than that I promise. To be honest the thing I like doing most is sketching, painting actually. It‘s calming and just a relies. Most people say I should try drumming, just because I tap my pencil all the time. But as said before I have no rhythm on a drum, or at lest I can‘t keep it constant. Though I love music. I just like experiencing it threw art. And any fuck head would be able to tell that if they knew just the slightest about making art.
I like the idea of symmetry and repetition creating a textural pattern witch intern creates rhythm in a piece. I‘m getting a bit too passionate now. Sorry. Anyway, yeah I like to paint and I also like reading. It’s mostly things that can keep me distracted from the paranoia and the fact that everyone here thinks I’m truly a basket case.
It‘s that right there that scares me the most. Being told I‘m wrong about everything, my life, that I‘m crazy. And not getting out of here because I know I‘m right. I just see everyone like they are meant to be and I‘m curtain that everyone is scared of that. It’s not like I’m looking to be some self righteous ass about it. I just want to get out and do my own thing. Let my art speak for me in the world and effect someone’s life for the better. But because I know I’m never getting out even if I do get better it scares the shit out of me that everything I do is going to be left to rot here.
TELL US ABOUT YOUR PAST.
[/size][/font]Well just like any other person I was born to a mother and a father. We lived in London at the time. My mum was a freelance photographer mostly getting jobs at weddings. And my father was part of a graphic designing studio. For that time everything was happy and all. My mum would take care of me most of the time, sense her job was rather inconsistent. It was the day that my dad‘s company went out of business did everything go wrong. When that happened we had to try to live off my mother‘s salary. And that wasn‘t enough. My parents fought under the stress and that‘s when the neglect started happening.
We ended up moving to America, settling down in south Carolina when I was six ad I was put into school. Then I was only seeing brief flashes of odd things that people wouldn‘t normally have, like wings. But there is were my dad found his new job and my mom started making it big as a true photographer. But eventually the company my dad worked for started taking advantage of his willingness to be flexible and they would make him travel a lot, a few times we even had to move. But life went on. All the while I was being left at home alone more and I was starting to see the wings on people more and more frequently. It was never a problem to me and never something I talked about because it was normal. I thought people just knew they had horns so it wasn‘t something for me to bring up.
I was never very unsocial, just a bit nervous. Thought those cross-dressing daemons were the people I ended up being friends with and that when I got into drugs. Yes I pretty much tried all the major ones that a teen can get their hands on but never did I keep up with any of them. It just wasn’t my thing to loose control of myself. And eventually I started to notice something about my friends. Their wings were rotting. And then is when I started to freak out and would not go out as much.
One day my mother noticed me and how I acted different, more I was actually home for dinner. She took it upon herself to pry out what was wrong with me. So the next day we did a little bonding. That is when I opened my big stupid mouth. “Mum why are your wings rotting like all of theirs?” Then my mom started to flip out and I ended up crying and going a little crazy I guess. But who wouldn’t if they just found out that their mother was never really an angel like she should be?
IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE?
[/size][/font]I have nothing else to say really. No more secrets or anything.
THE MASTERMIND BEHIND IT ALL.
[/size][/font]hey, my name is Alice -the boy one-[/color] i have 19[/color] tracks spinning on my record. this is my First[/color] character. i have been roleplaying for a decade at lest[/color]. the password is sillicone, saline, poison, inject me baby[/color].[/font][/size]
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There in the corner on a bench. Just like everyday. Or so it seemed everyday that is were he ended up. But it very well could have just been this day was dragging on longer than all the others. Or it could have just been another room with a different corner. All the rooms were so painfully drab and similar. That must be how everyone felt in here, or at lest the ones that still had half a brain that could still distinguish time and place. But who would need to distinguish time in such a place as this? Two years could be two days and it would make a difference, he would still be “clinically insane”.
Aubry just sat there still in that corner were time seemed to merge into itself. But he was most cretin this was the first time he had actually sat in that particular corner it was just today was duller than the other’s some how. So he sat staring at a small cut on his had just below the small bird that was printed on his skin. It oddly looked like a worm. “Looks like you have some lunch little blue bird,” the boy whisper, words coming out thick.
The bleach blond then sighted letting his hand go limp and his dark brown eyes looked over everyone. It was strange to be in the gymnasium. Somehow the atmosphere was different. Probably because there was actual privilege that went with being in that room. First you had to actually know what you were doing. And I guess it was a place for aggressive people. Aubry wasn’t actually that aggressive, he was too small to hurt most people actually, or so that is what he knew most of the staff thought. Who would think a boy of 5’5” and 120lbs. Could actually do much damage? But the guards that dealt with him knew better. It looked like today was a day that the staff thought Aubry should get out some aggression so that another episode like last night wouldn’t happen.
He stood and stretched placing his hands on his hips and looked at everyone and what they were doing. He could run, play some basket ball, swim, lift weights, but Aubry didn’t want to. He hated how he was given a schedule and could only be in certain rooms when he was told to be and forced in other rooms when he didn’t want to be there. Much like this room on this day. He figured he would make the best of what he could. Maybe if he showed some major improvement with his mood they would allow him his water colours back. That’s really all he wanted to do, sketch and paint. That’s all there was that was enjoyable anymore.
Aubry started to walk around the room now, taking a mental run threw of who was occupying the roo at the time. Some he knew better than others. Then he came upon Absiddy. Aubry didn’t really know him too well. Sure he had seen the boy before, they did enter the asylum around the same time if he remembered correctly. And if anyone Absiddy seemed the most mentally stable so far. But he was part of a small group of the most dangerous inmates.
He stopped walking then just studying the other male. It was odd that Aubry had never talked to Absiddy. He could always blame the Antisocial Personality Disorder, but that was just an excuse. In his twenty years of living he had always let that particular trait of his get in the way. And maybe this could be a way of getting his stuff back. He could talk to Absiddy and be friendly showing that last night was just a flook laps back and they would give him his art back. He let the smallest smile creep up o his face and started to carefully walk towards the other that was easily ten inches taller than him.
“Hello there…um, you’re Absiddy right?” He spoke confidently despite his lack of tact when putting the words together. Aubry sometimes forgot how long he would go without speaking in a normal tone. Most of the time he spoke in whispers to Dante. Only the once a day requirement for therapy made him keep a constant social tone of voice.
He stood about a foot away from the other so he wouldn’t feel so overpowered. His dark eyes watching Absiddy’s movements and a thin, feminine hand tugged at the sleeve that covered part of the artwork that would permanently show who Aubry was. .
Aubry just sat there still in that corner were time seemed to merge into itself. But he was most cretin this was the first time he had actually sat in that particular corner it was just today was duller than the other’s some how. So he sat staring at a small cut on his had just below the small bird that was printed on his skin. It oddly looked like a worm. “Looks like you have some lunch little blue bird,” the boy whisper, words coming out thick.
The bleach blond then sighted letting his hand go limp and his dark brown eyes looked over everyone. It was strange to be in the gymnasium. Somehow the atmosphere was different. Probably because there was actual privilege that went with being in that room. First you had to actually know what you were doing. And I guess it was a place for aggressive people. Aubry wasn’t actually that aggressive, he was too small to hurt most people actually, or so that is what he knew most of the staff thought. Who would think a boy of 5’5” and 120lbs. Could actually do much damage? But the guards that dealt with him knew better. It looked like today was a day that the staff thought Aubry should get out some aggression so that another episode like last night wouldn’t happen.
He stood and stretched placing his hands on his hips and looked at everyone and what they were doing. He could run, play some basket ball, swim, lift weights, but Aubry didn’t want to. He hated how he was given a schedule and could only be in certain rooms when he was told to be and forced in other rooms when he didn’t want to be there. Much like this room on this day. He figured he would make the best of what he could. Maybe if he showed some major improvement with his mood they would allow him his water colours back. That’s really all he wanted to do, sketch and paint. That’s all there was that was enjoyable anymore.
Aubry started to walk around the room now, taking a mental run threw of who was occupying the roo at the time. Some he knew better than others. Then he came upon Absiddy. Aubry didn’t really know him too well. Sure he had seen the boy before, they did enter the asylum around the same time if he remembered correctly. And if anyone Absiddy seemed the most mentally stable so far. But he was part of a small group of the most dangerous inmates.
He stopped walking then just studying the other male. It was odd that Aubry had never talked to Absiddy. He could always blame the Antisocial Personality Disorder, but that was just an excuse. In his twenty years of living he had always let that particular trait of his get in the way. And maybe this could be a way of getting his stuff back. He could talk to Absiddy and be friendly showing that last night was just a flook laps back and they would give him his art back. He let the smallest smile creep up o his face and started to carefully walk towards the other that was easily ten inches taller than him.
“Hello there…um, you’re Absiddy right?” He spoke confidently despite his lack of tact when putting the words together. Aubry sometimes forgot how long he would go without speaking in a normal tone. Most of the time he spoke in whispers to Dante. Only the once a day requirement for therapy made him keep a constant social tone of voice.
He stood about a foot away from the other so he wouldn’t feel so overpowered. His dark eyes watching Absiddy’s movements and a thin, feminine hand tugged at the sleeve that covered part of the artwork that would permanently show who Aubry was. .
