Post by Maxwell Green on May 22, 2007 17:42:05 GMT -5
Jasper Devine walked silently along the dirt path, his muscles tense yet still and calm. He was alone, which was no unusual for the teenage boy. He spent a lot of his days by himself due to the fact he was very quiet. Friendly and pleasant to be around, but quiet and shy, as well. One of the reasons no one really took the time to get to know him. No one really bothered because they didn't really know what he was like. Ah, well. Jasper didn't really mind.
Sometimes he did get lonely, being on his own all the time, but he managed to entertain himself in ways such as these, taking walks, writing, etc. Jasper was quite the amazing writer. He had been writing stories and poems and lyrics since he was very young, as young as seven years old even. It helped him express his feelings, his emotions, his thoughts. Writing poetry and stories helped him express things he could not put into words, or any kind of normal conversation.
Jasper's brown, messy, and poofy-looking hair blew in the cool breeze, falling over his right eye. He shivered slightly, the cold air sinking deep into his bones. The thin layer of clothing he had on did not really supply him with much heat, or protect him against the winter weather. Over his upper body was an old, white U2 concert T-Shirt, which was a faded color now, and more of a cream than a white due to the fact Jasper wore it so often. Underneath it was a white gap T-shirt that was the same as the other -- worn, thin, and faded. Over both of these was a black Tripp NYC Jacket he had borrowed from a friend and never returned, that also looked distressed and ragged. Over his legs was a pair of girl's pants that were a size seven. They were a pair he had stolen from his sister when he had nothing else to wear. His shoes were a pair of Nike Terminators that were very loosely tied. That were once extremely bright white and black, but now they were tattered and faded. A pair of tight mechanics gloves that he had stolen from a gas station when he first came here covered his hands. Jasper had cut the fingers off them since then, however. Around his neck was a thin, black and white scarf, something he always wore, along with his gloves. Around his wrist was a dog tag that was originally supposed to be worn as a necklace, but Jasper had made it into a bracelet by wrapping it around his wrist a few times.
Jasper had very few outfits due to his lack of a permanent shelter and home. This outfit was probably the one he had worn most often since he was here. It was most definitely his favorite, as well. He wasn't sure why; perhaps it was because it was the only set of clothing that he had brought here from France, since all of his other ones, along with the rest of the things in his suitcase, and burned in the plane crash. Jasper felt a pain strike his heart as he thought of that day, that horrible day when he first landed here... He remembered the intense fear that surged through his body, the destruction, the flames, the terror he felt. It made Jasper think that living through such a traumatizing event such as the plane crash was almost as bad as dying in it.
The white war paint that was drawn beneath his eyes over his cheek bones had smeared at the edges as the rain began to fall slowly from the melancholy clouds above Jasper's head. The drops fell on his clothes, sinking into his skin, freezing his body to its core. He inhaled sharply before letting it out with a sigh. His pale face held a placid, peaceful expression as he gazed up at the lush, thriving trees around him. Why couldn't the rest of the world be as beautiful as this?
Jasper continued to walk, losing himself to the colors and beauty that surrounded him. The tall, strong trees that loomed over him gave him a sense of security, as if feeling protected by the storm clouds that hung overhead. The flowers gave him joy, the many different colors brightening his spirits. Despite the rain that had begun to fall, everything still looked so pleasant, to cheerful. Even when the rest of the Earth was in despair, at least nature was still as lovely and lustrous as ever.
Sometimes he did get lonely, being on his own all the time, but he managed to entertain himself in ways such as these, taking walks, writing, etc. Jasper was quite the amazing writer. He had been writing stories and poems and lyrics since he was very young, as young as seven years old even. It helped him express his feelings, his emotions, his thoughts. Writing poetry and stories helped him express things he could not put into words, or any kind of normal conversation.
Jasper's brown, messy, and poofy-looking hair blew in the cool breeze, falling over his right eye. He shivered slightly, the cold air sinking deep into his bones. The thin layer of clothing he had on did not really supply him with much heat, or protect him against the winter weather. Over his upper body was an old, white U2 concert T-Shirt, which was a faded color now, and more of a cream than a white due to the fact Jasper wore it so often. Underneath it was a white gap T-shirt that was the same as the other -- worn, thin, and faded. Over both of these was a black Tripp NYC Jacket he had borrowed from a friend and never returned, that also looked distressed and ragged. Over his legs was a pair of girl's pants that were a size seven. They were a pair he had stolen from his sister when he had nothing else to wear. His shoes were a pair of Nike Terminators that were very loosely tied. That were once extremely bright white and black, but now they were tattered and faded. A pair of tight mechanics gloves that he had stolen from a gas station when he first came here covered his hands. Jasper had cut the fingers off them since then, however. Around his neck was a thin, black and white scarf, something he always wore, along with his gloves. Around his wrist was a dog tag that was originally supposed to be worn as a necklace, but Jasper had made it into a bracelet by wrapping it around his wrist a few times.
Jasper had very few outfits due to his lack of a permanent shelter and home. This outfit was probably the one he had worn most often since he was here. It was most definitely his favorite, as well. He wasn't sure why; perhaps it was because it was the only set of clothing that he had brought here from France, since all of his other ones, along with the rest of the things in his suitcase, and burned in the plane crash. Jasper felt a pain strike his heart as he thought of that day, that horrible day when he first landed here... He remembered the intense fear that surged through his body, the destruction, the flames, the terror he felt. It made Jasper think that living through such a traumatizing event such as the plane crash was almost as bad as dying in it.
The white war paint that was drawn beneath his eyes over his cheek bones had smeared at the edges as the rain began to fall slowly from the melancholy clouds above Jasper's head. The drops fell on his clothes, sinking into his skin, freezing his body to its core. He inhaled sharply before letting it out with a sigh. His pale face held a placid, peaceful expression as he gazed up at the lush, thriving trees around him. Why couldn't the rest of the world be as beautiful as this?
Jasper continued to walk, losing himself to the colors and beauty that surrounded him. The tall, strong trees that loomed over him gave him a sense of security, as if feeling protected by the storm clouds that hung overhead. The flowers gave him joy, the many different colors brightening his spirits. Despite the rain that had begun to fall, everything still looked so pleasant, to cheerful. Even when the rest of the Earth was in despair, at least nature was still as lovely and lustrous as ever.
