Post by Robert on Jul 23, 2006 4:58:55 GMT -5
The young boy continued through the halls. No one seemed to want to talk to him. Good. He could offer no conversation to them. Merely keep walking. As always.
Robert's gloomy expression seemed to eminate in a sort of aura around him. A black cloud that just depressed everyone in about a five-foot radius. It was natural. His own emotionless attitude was what other residents of the halls would call "cold". They didn't know how far off they were. By definition, the cold was not to be welcomed. According to all humans, a "cold" attitude was anything that wasn't a "warm" attitude. One could not be in the middle. It was either cold or hot. No warm areas. No luke-warm level of temperature. No matter. If ice kept him away, then it was for the better.
He continued through the halls, hearing the words and seeing the stares. Their judging eyes. Like trying to get him to run away simply by scaring him with their orbs. Little did they know he would gladly run away. He would be more than happy to leave. But, according to the academy, he was to stay away, not run away. They couldn't have that. Not of their boy project. Not of their little training experiment. Not of their human battery.
"Imp!"
Robert's neck was snapped to the side as he fell to the floor, seeing even a small amount of blood from the crushed and sharp can of pop which now began it's descent to the ground. Seemed that was his welcoming to the school. A bloody scratch along the side of his head and a crushed can of blood and coke. Yes, quite a welcoming indeed. But of course, atleast he hadn't touched Robert. That result would have been worse. Much worse.
The boy pushed himself up off the ground and continued on his way, getting only more stares and words aimed at him. None of concern for his wound, of course. Merely judgement. Everyone judging him. The "Freak" as one had so aptly named him. Of course, it was true. He was a freak among regular people, and a freak among magic folk. He couldn't even cast a spell. Not one of a traditional kind at least.
He turned the corner to enter his pit of hatred. More stares. More people placing their food down to look at him and say the words. Everyone hated him. Didn't even try to talk to him and they hated him. It was his reputation. Everyone recognized the face as the "basement kid". The real legend of what they were keeping in solitude for so long. The academy's refuse, as it were. But it didn't matter. As long as he stayed alone, all was fine. All was well done if he stayed by himself. And that didn't seem to be a problem.
He took his seat, a lone seat near no one. The one right in the corner. Robert simply sat there, waiting for the blood flow to either stop or let him become unconscious. Maybe even die. If he was so lucky.
Robert's gloomy expression seemed to eminate in a sort of aura around him. A black cloud that just depressed everyone in about a five-foot radius. It was natural. His own emotionless attitude was what other residents of the halls would call "cold". They didn't know how far off they were. By definition, the cold was not to be welcomed. According to all humans, a "cold" attitude was anything that wasn't a "warm" attitude. One could not be in the middle. It was either cold or hot. No warm areas. No luke-warm level of temperature. No matter. If ice kept him away, then it was for the better.
He continued through the halls, hearing the words and seeing the stares. Their judging eyes. Like trying to get him to run away simply by scaring him with their orbs. Little did they know he would gladly run away. He would be more than happy to leave. But, according to the academy, he was to stay away, not run away. They couldn't have that. Not of their boy project. Not of their little training experiment. Not of their human battery.
"Imp!"
Robert's neck was snapped to the side as he fell to the floor, seeing even a small amount of blood from the crushed and sharp can of pop which now began it's descent to the ground. Seemed that was his welcoming to the school. A bloody scratch along the side of his head and a crushed can of blood and coke. Yes, quite a welcoming indeed. But of course, atleast he hadn't touched Robert. That result would have been worse. Much worse.
The boy pushed himself up off the ground and continued on his way, getting only more stares and words aimed at him. None of concern for his wound, of course. Merely judgement. Everyone judging him. The "Freak" as one had so aptly named him. Of course, it was true. He was a freak among regular people, and a freak among magic folk. He couldn't even cast a spell. Not one of a traditional kind at least.
He turned the corner to enter his pit of hatred. More stares. More people placing their food down to look at him and say the words. Everyone hated him. Didn't even try to talk to him and they hated him. It was his reputation. Everyone recognized the face as the "basement kid". The real legend of what they were keeping in solitude for so long. The academy's refuse, as it were. But it didn't matter. As long as he stayed alone, all was fine. All was well done if he stayed by himself. And that didn't seem to be a problem.
He took his seat, a lone seat near no one. The one right in the corner. Robert simply sat there, waiting for the blood flow to either stop or let him become unconscious. Maybe even die. If he was so lucky.
