Post by Mykael Thomas Jessen on Nov 3, 2009 17:53:18 GMT -5
MYKAEL THOMAS JESSEN
Aim for the burning sun
You're trapped inside
But you can still be free
If time will set you free
But it's a long long way to go
THE BASIC INFO.
"i was born in Biscoe, North Carolina on December 19, 2001, making me 18 years old. my parents named me Blake but these days i prefer my friends to call me Mykael. i'm scene and i'm currently unemployed. i stand at around 5'11" and i'm slender. my hair is blue and thin, my eyes are grey and people say i look like kaiden blake. you might recognise me by my blue hair, ratty clothing, or piercings. i'm undetermined, in case you were wondering, and i'm agnostic. nobody knows I set my life on fire, on purpose...."
THE LIFE STORY.
Blake Thomas Holland, the name given to me on the day of my birth, would remain with me the rest of my life. I was the youngest of five in 1991, my parent'slast born, the baby. I was to be treasured. Of course, all babies grow, all babies age. I was no different. I got older, and by 13, my eldest sibling was graduating, she was ready to face the world on her own, and yet, everything was about her from then on. "Elizabeth did this! She did that, she's going to be this this or this!" After a while you get sick of your older siblings, because they become successful while you're barely skating through school. The Eldest one, Elizabeth, she was a straight 'A' Student through out school with an over the top GPA of 4.5 with all that extra crap she did. The one following, Matthew, he was a big sports man, everything he did was sports, he passed school with a 3.6 and still managed to retain great looks and a full ride to Florida State for Football.
Liz and Matt were brilliant minds, and Johnathon was no different, only slightly smarter then Matthew, and more determined then Luke. John got a full scholarship to Harvard Law, he was determined to be a lawyer, which later, I would have found helpful. Are you sick to your stomach yet? Can you bare anymore brain powe? Well tough shit, because Marcus came next. Marcus, Marcus Marcus. At the age of ten, Mark wanted to be a doctor, at that age, he was bound and determined to try to fix me. I was five years younger then Mark, and he toted me around like a stuffed animal, bandaging me where I didn't have cuts or "owies", checking my heart to make sure it was "bumping". I was his little doll, that was all I was really good for. So how can a family of brilliant minds have a child that couldn't even multiply? Well, theory says I'm adopted, but I know I'm not, my birth was recorded on video, I've seen it.
Rumor ran town that Mom cheated, but really I looked like Dad's mom, so that ran to the ground. What was wrong with me? Nothing, nothing was wrong with me, I was just dumb. I was fucked out of a great life by being the fifth child, the smart genes must have grown tired by then. Five years behind Mark, the aspiring doctor, Marcus Holland. Seven years behind the aspiring Lawyer, Johnathon Holland, nine years behind the star football player, and aspiring athletic director Matthew Holland and 14 years behind Elizabeth Holland, a well known interior designer, I could do nothing, at this rate to make my beloved parents notice me. The only ones who moved out thus far were Elizabeth, 28, he lived in New York, the great New York City and Matt, 23, who lived in Florida, on campus, the Florida Gators Star player.
John, 21, Mark, 19, and I, 14, were still at home with Mom, 52, and Dad, 55. Life was hell for me, constantly getting yelled at for failing school and being a large disappointment to my mother and father. Not being able to live up the their expectations was hard, so hard. I had to do something, they had to be proud of me. I couldn't draw, I couldn't play sports, I was hopeless. One night, I found myself in a slump, thinking of what I could do that they could be proud of. I bleached and dyed my hair that night. I dyed it blue, bright blue. The white bathroom was stained with blue hair dye and blue hand prints, and the shouting of my father stained the air around me. He was pissed beyond all reason about all of it the stains, my hair, everything.
The next thing, was metal. I found an adoration for pain caused by needles and started to pierce my face, beginning with my lip, again, his yelling could be heard through the neighborhood. Therapy. They put me in therapy. For body modifications? Ugh they disgusted me. I couldn't live up to them, so I had to get rid of them. I was in my room that October evening, lighting a joint near the window a friend had brought me while I was being punished for my piercings. The flame flickered in my grey eyes and I knew what I was going to do. I took the batteries from the smoke detectors upstairs and replaced them with dead ones. I took the new batteries with me, to dispose of later. Climbing out the window into the garden, as my room was a makeshift one on the first floor, I took the lighter, lighting it a few times before leaning back through the window, and igniting the carpet. The house went up faster then I thought and I got to watch from a tree in the forest near by. The house filled with smoke and from what I heard, not a one of them made it out.
I moved four cities over to Chestercroft, changed my name and took to the streets.
THE PRESENT DAY.
.
In Chestercroft, everyone had heard about the Holland household, they'd heard about how they found four of the five bodies that were in that house, they've heard how Blake's body was the only one missing. In Chestercroft, they knew it all, except like the rest of the world, they didn't know where Blake Holland was...and they still don't.
Now I'm in Chestercroft, holding down a job, barely. To have a job you have to have a place of residence, but to have a residence you have to have a job. They're starting to catch on to the fact I'm still running the streets of Chestercroft and it's possible they're starting to realize who I really am. From what I hear, Liz is in Chestercroft. She's here to teach a class at the university about some critical interior designing tips or something. If she sees me, I'm dead.
I'm not on as many drugs as the town believes, I live in an abandoned apartment building that they're tearing down soon, meaning I'll have to find a new place to live in this shit hole city. I've not gone to school since I was 14, and it's made my life hell. I've been constantly sick for years day in and day out and I wish I would have incinerated myself in that fire with my family.
Do I feel better now that they're gone? No, it haunts me every day and every night. I wake up from nightmares, when I actually sleep, that someone's set the apartment building on fire. Nothing is actually worth killing someone over...and I wish someone would kill me.
The relentless, nightlife of Chestercroft, you know the older drunk men and women, all know my name, they don't talk of me though, they come to me when they need someone to control, someone to smack around, someone to fuck. They use me like a wash rag, for their every desire, they'll come to me and my building, and sometimes, I'll get to go with them, to their car or home.
There's one girl here, she takes care of me, she doesn't sleep with me, she just takes me in from time to time, makes sure I'm eating properly, and that I stay out of the cops' way, you know, makes sure I'm discrete. I could get in trouble for Arson, Prostitution and Possession of illegal substances, maybe I'd be better off in Jail?
