Post by Alek on Mar 22, 2006 15:05:02 GMT -5
The building was small, but enough for him to be happy with, since his apartment was on the top floor, with the best veiw. Painted a dull white that was splattered with years of weathering, it sat squashed between all the other apartment buildings on the street. It wasn't really a -great- neighborhood, but most of the people got along.
At least, the children did. And there was one reason; Erik. He had lived in the little apartment for over half of his life, and had certainly grown on the younger members of the neighborhood. His front yard always seemed to have someone in it, whether they were calling to him to come out and play a quick round of football, or if the game was already in progress.
Sometimes, though, he chose to be alone. They always knew when this was, because the lights would be off in the upper floor of the building, and all that could be seen was the dull flickering of candles, and the sound of a guitar playing drifted through the windows to waiting ears.
Music was his life, his calling. He even had a band; a small group of buddies from highschool who had stuck together in hopes of hitting it big one day. And now that day would never come; the lead singer had been shot just two days ago. Adam had been Erik's best friend, and now the apartment they had shared was oddly silent.
A quiet sigh escaped thin, pale lips as Erik slowly set his guitar aside, rising from his Indian-style seating on the wooden floor. The curtains were drawn shut in the room, funeral style candles covering every possible surface. Pushing a bit of his dark, chin length hair from his face, he scowled as his fingers became temporarily tangled in the mass of dirty curls. He really needed to get a shower...
All of those mundane little tasks had seemed pointless to him; showering, eating, sleeping. His best friend and brother had died, leaving him stuck here with no one. The rest of the band had moved away after Adam had died, and left Erik to rot.
How nice of them.
Moving towards his bathroom, he turned the shower on, hearing the pipes protest and groan for a moment, before the hot water shot out of the showerhead.
Only fifteen minutes later, he re-emerged, towel wrapped around his too-thin waist as he walked into the room that served as his bedroom. His bed was small, the mattress old, but comfortable. Digging through his dresser for a while, he eventually found some clothes that were decent for public.
Pushing the front door to the apartment building open, Erik stepped outside. A dark blue shirt clung to his thick bicepts and broad shoulders, dark jeans hanging low on his hips to meet black combat boots. Well, at least he was wearing one article of color for the day. Heading for the sidewalk, the twenty-six year old man made his way down the street towards the convenience store. His fridge had finally run out of leftover, cold pizza, and it had become impossible to ignore the incessant sounds his stomach made.
At least, the children did. And there was one reason; Erik. He had lived in the little apartment for over half of his life, and had certainly grown on the younger members of the neighborhood. His front yard always seemed to have someone in it, whether they were calling to him to come out and play a quick round of football, or if the game was already in progress.
Sometimes, though, he chose to be alone. They always knew when this was, because the lights would be off in the upper floor of the building, and all that could be seen was the dull flickering of candles, and the sound of a guitar playing drifted through the windows to waiting ears.
Music was his life, his calling. He even had a band; a small group of buddies from highschool who had stuck together in hopes of hitting it big one day. And now that day would never come; the lead singer had been shot just two days ago. Adam had been Erik's best friend, and now the apartment they had shared was oddly silent.
A quiet sigh escaped thin, pale lips as Erik slowly set his guitar aside, rising from his Indian-style seating on the wooden floor. The curtains were drawn shut in the room, funeral style candles covering every possible surface. Pushing a bit of his dark, chin length hair from his face, he scowled as his fingers became temporarily tangled in the mass of dirty curls. He really needed to get a shower...
All of those mundane little tasks had seemed pointless to him; showering, eating, sleeping. His best friend and brother had died, leaving him stuck here with no one. The rest of the band had moved away after Adam had died, and left Erik to rot.
How nice of them.
Moving towards his bathroom, he turned the shower on, hearing the pipes protest and groan for a moment, before the hot water shot out of the showerhead.
Only fifteen minutes later, he re-emerged, towel wrapped around his too-thin waist as he walked into the room that served as his bedroom. His bed was small, the mattress old, but comfortable. Digging through his dresser for a while, he eventually found some clothes that were decent for public.
Pushing the front door to the apartment building open, Erik stepped outside. A dark blue shirt clung to his thick bicepts and broad shoulders, dark jeans hanging low on his hips to meet black combat boots. Well, at least he was wearing one article of color for the day. Heading for the sidewalk, the twenty-six year old man made his way down the street towards the convenience store. His fridge had finally run out of leftover, cold pizza, and it had become impossible to ignore the incessant sounds his stomach made.