Monday, August 17, 2009

05. A Dark Past.

Trevor Marshall didn't always know upper East side Manhattan life, but he always knew city life. He was one of those people that had the stench of alley ways, the buzzing of 24 hour fluorescent lights, and the continuous movement of a city that never sleeps flowing through his veins. His family went way back and had their roots planted during a time when street cars ruled the roads and a beer was a nickel; or so he liked to think. As a child Trevor liked to imagine he had an intricate family legacy full of important men and noble women whose accomplishments were known world wide and maybe even some old money as the cherry to the sweet life that he only heard about in movies, but like most orphan dreams, his got blurrier as he got older and he realized he was meant to just get lost in the shuffle.

It's not to say that he didn't try, but Trevor's aim always kissed the rim of the basket and performed a toilet bowl trick of pretending to sink before regurgitating itself from the net. And so he bounced along hoping that the next person to catch the rebound would be someone he could really score with. But Trevor could only shoot and miss so many times before he gave up and opted for life on the sidelines where he remained until Mr. Marshall and his family with all their wealth and status and chest of hidden gems sired him with a sir name he could call his own. The Marshall family swooped in at just the right time as Trevor had turned towards the creatures of darkness. He roamed the streets evading the world with a hood masking his face and putting up defenses even when no threat appeared. It was in this world that Trevor built his reputation among the street rats that ruled the city when the white collars retired to tuck their children in at night while filling their heads with sweet thoughts and dreams of a world of love and peace and happiness when on the streets below the rancid, despicable breath of the city bellowed and belched itself into the atmosphere clouding the peoples minds with thoughts of horror and savagery that Trevor knew as home. He crouched in dark corners and hid in shadows and began filling journals with the decrepit decay of life as he knew it. Trevor's prose and metaphors highlighted his pain and suffering but also had an underlying theme of hope or so he was told by his English teacher at his fancy new prep school after she bounced back and forth from writing him off as a dark problematic child or declaring him an articulate genius. On his progress reports she described him as 'a promising writer although topics are often troubling.' Trevor who had an unconscious sixth sense to constantly adapt his ways to please others saw right through her comment and began producing subjects about meeting girls or making the team to show he was a normal teen feeling the angst that everyone goes through when at the age of 16 and he portrayed it in the style and artistic manner that he was known for with his pen so his teacher never doubted him again. Although if she had she would have seen that Trevor was a very disturbed child.


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