Post by Skin on Feb 20, 2007 0:29:44 GMT -5
Angelo traipsed down the hall of the male dorm, flipping through the comic book in his hands. He'd been reading them since he was little, and he wasn't exactly inclined to stop, but sometimes he just couldn't believe how... unrealistic they were. I mean, come on... a dying planet? Or lifting buildings without the use of telekinetic support to keep them together? Please.
When he came to his room, his brow wrinkled slightly and he let the comic flap closed. The door was hanging open, a few inches between it and the frame. He always took the utmost care to close it firmly every time he left; he was used to a large level of privacy, and moving into a mansion where everyone was buddy-buddy wasn't about to change his habits.
Reaching forward, he pushed the wooden door open and stepped into the dark room, walking quickly to the window and drawing up the blinds. Turning around, he sucked in a quick breath and surveyed his room.
Everything was in shambles.
Drawers had been pulled out of his dresser. His closet had been thrown open. His bed was bare.
And everything that he had owned was gone.
There were shreds of cloth strewn across the entire room; the colors were easily identifiable to Angelo as what had formerly been his clothing, his towel, his sheets... everything.
Rushing to his dresser, he pulled open the top drawer and stopped breathing, his heart thumping in his chest. Sitting in the corner of the wooden box was the handgun he'd brought with him, the only reminder of his past life. It didn't even fire anymore, but he'd felt that he had to bring it along, if only to remember the hell that he'd escaped from.
And now someone else knew. And he had a good idea who. Time to wipe the smug grin off that light blue face.
When he came to his room, his brow wrinkled slightly and he let the comic flap closed. The door was hanging open, a few inches between it and the frame. He always took the utmost care to close it firmly every time he left; he was used to a large level of privacy, and moving into a mansion where everyone was buddy-buddy wasn't about to change his habits.
Reaching forward, he pushed the wooden door open and stepped into the dark room, walking quickly to the window and drawing up the blinds. Turning around, he sucked in a quick breath and surveyed his room.
Everything was in shambles.
Drawers had been pulled out of his dresser. His closet had been thrown open. His bed was bare.
And everything that he had owned was gone.
There were shreds of cloth strewn across the entire room; the colors were easily identifiable to Angelo as what had formerly been his clothing, his towel, his sheets... everything.
Rushing to his dresser, he pulled open the top drawer and stopped breathing, his heart thumping in his chest. Sitting in the corner of the wooden box was the handgun he'd brought with him, the only reminder of his past life. It didn't even fire anymore, but he'd felt that he had to bring it along, if only to remember the hell that he'd escaped from.
And now someone else knew. And he had a good idea who. Time to wipe the smug grin off that light blue face.