Not that Brent knew who, or what, the man really was. Not a frail, frightened, sad child from a broken family, but a brave, proud rebel, fighting bureaucracy and the man. It was the image he wanted to portray to the world, that he wanted everyone to see. When he had looked in the mirror he was torn at the image. He had smiled at that, making the piercing hole weep a tear of red. They are going to fall at my feet, begging me to do anything to them I want to do. While only partially numbed from a block of ice, the constant pushing of the silver ring had swollen all feeling from his face. Girls are gonna go wild over it, he had thought as he had twisted the ring through his skin. It was healing quite nicely and matched the similar piercing in his eyebrow. He lined his eyes with thick black eyeliner and had pierced his lip himself with a sterling silver ring. He dressed in the same rebellious style as his hair: dark clothes, deliberately planned rips in his black jeans, and frayed laces in his heavy army boots. His eyes were all his mother's, bright blue and expressive, soft and cheerful one moment and harsh and demanding the next. He had dyed away the soft blonde curls he had inherited from his father and turned them into a gothic shock of spiked rebellion. The tall boy's hair was unnaturally black and shiny.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |