Post by Deleted on Jan 9, 2014 15:22:55 GMT -8
ZENITHKANEEREDIUS
<<Played by hound>>
Shine a light through an open door
Full Name>>Zenith Kane Eredius
Nicknames>>Zeke. If you cal him anything else, he probably won't realize he's being spoken to.
Age>> May 18; 17
Staff or Student>> student
House>> yellow
Gender>> Male
Sexuality>> pansexual
Face Claim>> ash stymest
Turn away 'cause I need you more
Personality>>Take a young man that used to burn brightly and strip him of everything that was individual and beautiful and right. Take away the things that he loved, make him something he's not. Make him rated PG at best, and then bleach away all of the colors that made him so brilliant. Zeke is a starched set of sheets on a hospital bed, and now he appears as interesting. They changed him. They drained away everything that made him complete. He can barely even write anymore, one of the things that brought him solace when he wasn't... doing so well. When he wasn't doing so well before. Now, Zeke is rarely doing well. He's quiet, mild mannered, and everything you'd want in a student... other than the fact that he refuses to speak up. He doesn't want to talk. He doesn't want to interact. In every way possible, Zeke has shut himself off.
Likes>> guitar & being outside & being around people & not being expected to interact & solitude & sleep & trees & heights & poetry
Dislikes>> being put on the spot & being asked prying questions & strangers & making new friends & coffee that's too dolled up & cherry or grape flavored anything & being kept inside & being alone
Fears>> being hospitalized again, what would happen if he didn't take his meds
Hopes>> for his parents to actually act like he's part of the family, to make something of himself... it doesn't matter how.
Secrets>> he never stopped with the self harm... he just let them think he did so he would be released.
It’s the way I’m feeling I just can’t deny
Appearance>> No one has ever accused Zeke of being the attractive twin. He's shorter than his six-foot tall brother, standing at 5'9"-- short for a boy. Not like it matters all that much, because the combat boots make up for it most of the time. They are worn now, the leather soft and weathered, but he loves them. Jeans and t-shirts pretty well make up most of his wardrobe... all of his wardrobe. His parents stripped it when he left. All of the things that were "offensive," right down to the Bad Religion t-shirt he found at the flea market... gone. He's dropped weight... a lot of weight. The kind of weight you can just tell from the outside. He's a pale creature, though attractive, with dark eyes and dark hair that he keeps long. It's quite the style, to tell you the truth. A lot of the spark is gone, though... most of the spark. A part of him is... kind of gone, now. There are scars... scars everywhere. Scars from the things he put there.
Markings>> Cigarette burns and scars from his knife on his thigh, a few on his midsection... anywhere he didn't think anyone would find them. His ears are also a gauge size 0.
But I’ve gotta let it go
Medical History>> he was hospitalized August 17, 2012... he's what one might call 'unstable.' Anxiety, depression, OCD, ADHD, schizoaffective disorder, and an eating disorder.
Criminal History>> he was caught tagging once.
Full History>> It's funny when you're on the heels of someone else all the time. The contrast between Zeke and his twin brother, Ace, is hysterical. The pair of high school seniors are in entirely different circles, and if you didn't know (of course everyone does, they're from this little tiny town) you'd never guess that they were related. It's not bad being different, right? Until you're the one that's getting all the heat, and your addict of a brother is the one skating under the radar. Until you're the one that's got all eyes on you in the worst way. Zeke was always the one that was full of life and love. Then it happened.
They don't talk about it, and we aren't there yet. Before August 16 of this year, Zeke was a creature that burned bright. Though he lives in Ace's shadow, he's allowed to have something about him that's just as beautiful. A poet, of course. All beautiful people are artists of some sort. He tried his hand at sketching, at singing, at playing acoustic guitar. Zeke's always been rubbish at guitar, but he loves it. There's a certain sex appeal that comes with having an instrument on your lap, and he doesn't have any shame in that. Maybe he does things just to make himself seem more attractive. At least, he used to.
He burned so brightly then and couldn't help it. Bright eyes, brilliant gaze, a man that just loved people. Life. Life was all he needed, the breath in his lungs like a whole new kind of drug. It brought him to life, making his skin sizzle and his head spin. Life and laughter, and that was absolutely perfect. Maybe not particularly smart, but bright. Warm, gentle, able to reach out and touch people. At least the man likes people. Liked people. August 16, the day everything changed... changed everything, to be blunt. Zeke thinks about how he was and how he is, and maybe that's what hurts him so badly. Maybe he hurt himself.
Zeke did hurt himself, but that's another story. No, what he loved best was a different kind of pain. The kind of pain that settles in your bones and in your muscles after you just... dance. He loves to dance. Dance in the way that your parents would frown upon. Sweaty bodies with illegal substances in their bloodstreams, endorphins running rampant. E. E was the best of it, but all sorts of other things came into play. Everything was so vibrant when he was that high. Alive. Life, that was the best of it. Hallucinogenic drugs. Smoke and sweat and glitter thick in his lungs. The glory of Boston not being so far away from Salem... a hop on the commuter rail, and then switch over to the red line and he'd be in the heart of the city. Warehouse after warehouse, party after party. All he needed was the music to bring him to life. If he wasn't close enough to feel the sound waves rattling his teeth, he'd get closer to the source of the sound. That was all he needed. High on life. High on everything.
August 17, 2012. Before that, maybe they'd known. His parents knew, but maybe they didn't care. Maybe they didn't care very much. More likely, Zeke didn't care. He knew that there was something wrong with his head, and maybe there was something wrong with the boy... wrong with him deeply and terribly. August 17, 2012; 3:24 am. Zeke tries to stumble back to the house of his parents six hours before he's expected home. There are mushrooms, angel dust, caffeine pills, and Ativan are running rampant in his system. Zeke is convinced he's dying, and darts out in front of a car that he's convinced will end his suffering. A separated pelvis, three broken ribs, and a complete purge of his system... they found the scabs and scars on his thighs, the cigarette burns he put there, everything he brought upon himself.
They medicated him for everything they could diagnose him with. He doesn't know what it's all called. He does know that they locked him up and they tried to fix him. It was like being brainwashed. It was like having his heart and soul hollowed out and replaced with starched white sheets, fresh computer paper ready for perfect square letters that tell a clean PG story. A boring story. Zeke has been wilting, has been wearing out, has been dying since he's been moved back. A fresh hell. A fresh, clean, new hell. They erased everything he'd learned about how to think and how to feel, and replaced it with a starched version of what they called coping. It took one year, one month, two weeks, twelve hours, and six minutes for him to be released... start to finish.
Zeke is doing the exact opposite. Withering, wilting, dying. Zeke has detached himself, and become nothing more than a shadow. The short leash his parents keep him on now will loosen soon enough, and he won't know how to go back. Human habit keeps his system pumped with the pills in his little tiny pillbox, each day labeled with a boldface letter. It's like an eighty year old woman with the drugs that keep her alive. Zeke's are killing him, slowly but surely. Shattering him day by day, writing a new story in courier new. Starched. Bleached. Reworked and recycled. This is a young man that is sicker than he was when he started, if not just for the fact he's more broken than ever.
All he wants to do is live again.
We found love in a hopeless place
