Random Introspective
Amelia and I have quite some history together. She’s four years my junior, though really that’s hardly an accurate measure of anything: She always was advanced for her age, and me? Well, I’m another story altogether. Usually I’m content to just let people make assumptions about me. After all, until recently, I’ve never had much cause to be terribly concerned with how they think of me.
Some people think of me as something of a terror, while others just think of me as an annoyance. All good myth is based on fact, and I’m no exception, honestly, though I do have my benevolent side. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no saint. Nevada police still don’t know who burned down that bar, but that’s mainly because the Judge won’t care that it was an accident. And hey, it’s not like anyone got hurt, so why do time for arson? Sod that.
I got into my first fight when a fellow student discovered I was sleeping with his mother, who just happened to double as my English teacher. That’s how people thought of me: There goes that damned Zukov kid, again, off to rain on some bloke’s parade, and then probably nail their girl when he isn’t looking. And to be honest, I did. I deserved that reputation. I earned it, but even in my youth there was more to me than that.
They never saw the rest, though. The first woman I ever loved wound up homeless and destitute during the course of our first date. How is another story altogether - And I swear, I had nothing to do with that particular mess - but the important bit is where I took her in and helped her get back on her feet. And this was before I was even invested in her, really.
At home, it was just me and Amelia. Well, not literally, but for all intents and purposes. Father is who I inherited my love of good times from, though fortunately my sense of responsibility is entirely my own. I mean, really? What on Earth could possibly compel someone to leave their eleven year old to watch their seven year old for a month while they gallivant across Europe? I’m sure there’s another side to that story somewhere, but damned if I care to ask for it. That’s just how it worked. The maid was around a bit to tend to some of our needs, but for the most part, when things got tough, she and I were all each other had.
And we were there to ensure that things got tough just about as frequently as possible. It was stupid, but bloody hell it was fun.
It’s a pity that nothing last forever.
I nearly committed suicide after that. They call it the coward’s way out, so I guess it really says something about me that when push came to shove, I didn’t have the courage. I obtained a pistol, got good and smashed, and climbed into the shower. It wasn’t for the noise - I had the house to myself, that evening. I just wanted one last shower, and I guess, to some degree, I wanted to spare Noma the tedium of scrubbing the tub. It made sense at the time, but in retrospect, it seems silly, now doesn’t it? Then again, so does pressing a pistol against the bottom of your chin, and waiting for the courage to tense your finger. I waited so long that the shower water began to burn my back.
I still have that Desert Eagle, though I haven’t told a soul why I originally bought it. I’ve even denied having tried, once. I’m not proud of it, but it is what it is.
And now I'm a thirty four year old half-demon super-hero, and she's confined to a mental institution by judicial remand. I didn't see that one coming.
Some people think of me as something of a terror, while others just think of me as an annoyance. All good myth is based on fact, and I’m no exception, honestly, though I do have my benevolent side. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no saint. Nevada police still don’t know who burned down that bar, but that’s mainly because the Judge won’t care that it was an accident. And hey, it’s not like anyone got hurt, so why do time for arson? Sod that.
I got into my first fight when a fellow student discovered I was sleeping with his mother, who just happened to double as my English teacher. That’s how people thought of me: There goes that damned Zukov kid, again, off to rain on some bloke’s parade, and then probably nail their girl when he isn’t looking. And to be honest, I did. I deserved that reputation. I earned it, but even in my youth there was more to me than that.
They never saw the rest, though. The first woman I ever loved wound up homeless and destitute during the course of our first date. How is another story altogether - And I swear, I had nothing to do with that particular mess - but the important bit is where I took her in and helped her get back on her feet. And this was before I was even invested in her, really.
At home, it was just me and Amelia. Well, not literally, but for all intents and purposes. Father is who I inherited my love of good times from, though fortunately my sense of responsibility is entirely my own. I mean, really? What on Earth could possibly compel someone to leave their eleven year old to watch their seven year old for a month while they gallivant across Europe? I’m sure there’s another side to that story somewhere, but damned if I care to ask for it. That’s just how it worked. The maid was around a bit to tend to some of our needs, but for the most part, when things got tough, she and I were all each other had.
And we were there to ensure that things got tough just about as frequently as possible. It was stupid, but bloody hell it was fun.
It’s a pity that nothing last forever.
I nearly committed suicide after that. They call it the coward’s way out, so I guess it really says something about me that when push came to shove, I didn’t have the courage. I obtained a pistol, got good and smashed, and climbed into the shower. It wasn’t for the noise - I had the house to myself, that evening. I just wanted one last shower, and I guess, to some degree, I wanted to spare Noma the tedium of scrubbing the tub. It made sense at the time, but in retrospect, it seems silly, now doesn’t it? Then again, so does pressing a pistol against the bottom of your chin, and waiting for the courage to tense your finger. I waited so long that the shower water began to burn my back.
I still have that Desert Eagle, though I haven’t told a soul why I originally bought it. I’ve even denied having tried, once. I’m not proud of it, but it is what it is.
And now I'm a thirty four year old half-demon super-hero, and she's confined to a mental institution by judicial remand. I didn't see that one coming.