Domicile: Under Reconstruction Part 4
Time passed strangely for Ralph...
For many years, his dream did not return. He completed his probation, then disappeared from Mumsville entirely... then, his mother died. As much as they disagreed, he cried real tears of sorrow at her funeral. No one else came.
When he appeared for his final meeting with his probation officer, he was gaunt and almost feeble. In his original mugshot, there was a tan, savage animal, dangerously alive. In his follow-up mugshot, he was a caged animal, withered from five years in utter captivity, barely clinging to life.
After his mother died, Ralph just lay on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. What was the point in being left to dwell in such a massive, utterly empty house with nothing but painful memories? Of course, Ralph tried to start some routines, but it all seemed so hollow, he always lapsed into deep contemplation, forgetting what he was doing for hours at a time. There were times that, while doing some task, he thought of her, and broke down and cried profusely, even in public. She was the only person who'd cared for him at all, and that made the memory of her hurt all the more. None of their family members came to her funeral to honor her memory, no one else really cared for her... or him. No one. The indifferent world watched their suffering and did nothing.
When the sadness passed, next came waves of irritation, anger, and intense rage.
His body had lost much weight from too little food, and too poor quality of said food. His hair had gone from a beautiful mane to scraggly oily strands that, when he ran his fingers down them, felt wiry and deformed. His nails had taken too much damage from odd jobs he'd taken to help "pay his debt to society", now had strange striations in them, having become unnaturally thick as an adaption. Ralph's whole body seemed contorted in some distortion. Only his eyes still held a glimmer of the spark that had once been a blazing fire. His temper flared at a moment's notice, and he was quick to violence now. He cursed more, often lashed out at strangers, and had taken to punching objects when frustrated, always with his left fist. Gradually, that fist became more of a brutal weapon and less of a hand. Never shy about open contemplation, he now freely talked to himself, often to keep people from bothering him or interfering with his thoughts. He glared at everyone he met on the street, openly intimidating everyone he passed or came into contact with. Sometimes, police presence passed him, but he'd learned how to hold back his rage until they were long gone, and he began to let it seep out gradually in places he could be alone. The land around Balmont estate allowed him full access to his violent emotions, and he "trained" for days at a time, until his mood lightened and he could relax. He took to breaking furniture, shouting, yelling, screaming late in the night. He learned to make his inner flame suddenly flare up at a moment's notice, and it was the only feeling that gave him warmth now that he was alone. For years, this went on, the beast in the night, now dead set against any kind of conformity.
But even beasts can be caught off guard by unexpected events- and in Ralph Balmont's case, such an event was about to change the course of his life entirely, and it came in the form of a letter about someone who was interested in his property.
Click to viewFor many years, his dream did not return. He completed his probation, then disappeared from Mumsville entirely... then, his mother died. As much as they disagreed, he cried real tears of sorrow at her funeral. No one else came.
When he appeared for his final meeting with his probation officer, he was gaunt and almost feeble. In his original mugshot, there was a tan, savage animal, dangerously alive. In his follow-up mugshot, he was a caged animal, withered from five years in utter captivity, barely clinging to life.
After his mother died, Ralph just lay on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. What was the point in being left to dwell in such a massive, utterly empty house with nothing but painful memories? Of course, Ralph tried to start some routines, but it all seemed so hollow, he always lapsed into deep contemplation, forgetting what he was doing for hours at a time. There were times that, while doing some task, he thought of her, and broke down and cried profusely, even in public. She was the only person who'd cared for him at all, and that made the memory of her hurt all the more. None of their family members came to her funeral to honor her memory, no one else really cared for her... or him. No one. The indifferent world watched their suffering and did nothing.
When the sadness passed, next came waves of irritation, anger, and intense rage.
His body had lost much weight from too little food, and too poor quality of said food. His hair had gone from a beautiful mane to scraggly oily strands that, when he ran his fingers down them, felt wiry and deformed. His nails had taken too much damage from odd jobs he'd taken to help "pay his debt to society", now had strange striations in them, having become unnaturally thick as an adaption. Ralph's whole body seemed contorted in some distortion. Only his eyes still held a glimmer of the spark that had once been a blazing fire. His temper flared at a moment's notice, and he was quick to violence now. He cursed more, often lashed out at strangers, and had taken to punching objects when frustrated, always with his left fist. Gradually, that fist became more of a brutal weapon and less of a hand. Never shy about open contemplation, he now freely talked to himself, often to keep people from bothering him or interfering with his thoughts. He glared at everyone he met on the street, openly intimidating everyone he passed or came into contact with. Sometimes, police presence passed him, but he'd learned how to hold back his rage until they were long gone, and he began to let it seep out gradually in places he could be alone. The land around Balmont estate allowed him full access to his violent emotions, and he "trained" for days at a time, until his mood lightened and he could relax. He took to breaking furniture, shouting, yelling, screaming late in the night. He learned to make his inner flame suddenly flare up at a moment's notice, and it was the only feeling that gave him warmth now that he was alone. For years, this went on, the beast in the night, now dead set against any kind of conformity.
But even beasts can be caught off guard by unexpected events- and in Ralph Balmont's case, such an event was about to change the course of his life entirely, and it came in the form of a letter about someone who was interested in his property.