BATES, ANGELO

[angelo bates]

HEY HEY MY NAME IS ANGELO MEEVUS BATES AND I AM FOURTY YEARS OLD. I'M A HUMAN AND RANK AS THE HOTTEST OLD GUY IN THE CENTURY OF OLD GUYS AND I WAS BORN ON AUGUST SECOND, 1969 IN ENGLAND. MY NATIONALITY IS BRITISH. PEOPLE SAY I LOOK LIKE GARY OLDMAN. THEY ALSO SAY THAT I AM PUSHY, CONTROLLING, CONCEITED, A LITTLE TOO CURIOUS, AND CREEPILY LIKING YOUNGER LADS. TO BE HONEST, I'M BEING PLAYED BY SOPHIE.

NOTE After this I swear he's the last for a while.

CODEWORD IS IT IVORY!?

ROLE PLAY SAMPLE This is actually from a story I was writing but I really want to show you all that I could write different things. It's about a year old, but I really like the idea of this story.

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It was a gloomy day, but it was a comfortable day to be with close friends. They had all decided to wake up early and band together and have some real fun before their last school year. Going to the local beach to chill with friends was always the best way to spend time with a big group. It was a gray day, with clouds looming over, threatening a forecast of rain. Of course, the clouds never went through with its threats, all talk and no action. The casual and playful screams of friends frolicking in the shallow of the water, running through the warm sand, throwing Frisbee's and footballs between one another was a perfect melody.

He smiled softly at the girl who sat on a beach towel, wearing her cutoff shorts and a bright orange bikini top with white hibiscus flowers. A warm smile curved the corners of her pink lips as he sat next to her, their smiles the only conversation for the longest time. Then his strong bright green eyes met her bright vulnerable gray ones. She exhaled, turning her head as her cheeks turned a shade of bright pink away from his intent gaze. He took her hand in his, a wicked grin plastered to his face. Standing, he practically dragged the girl, whom did not protest to the mass of crystal water. For the first time, with him there beside her, she wasn’t afraid of the water.

When they were deep, chest high in the water, the boy pulled the girl against his body and kissed her forehead. Their friends were still playing, paying no mind to the matter at hand. Slowly the boy, with a firm solid grip on the girl’s waist, went under the water. At first she thought it was all fun and games, until she was running out of air. She began to struggle against his grip, but he held on too tight. Soon she’d have to take a breath, the feeling of her lungs about to explode engulfed her and she breathed in. Her lungs filled quickly with the salt water that surrounded her, so soon that there no longer was air in her lungs at all. Her vision became blurry, her eyes slowly blinded, but she could have sworn in her death that she saw that gorgeous boy laughing.

A petite figure abruptly sat erect in the bed she laid in, her breathing coming and going quickly, as if she were running low on air in her lungs. A hand clutched the neck of her over-sized sweater; finally her breathing began to slow. That was the third time this week that she has had a dream such as the one she had that night. Not a dream, more like a continuous flashback in a bad movie reel. She clutched the edge of the bed as she threw her thin legs over the edge, a deep husking sigh escaping her lips. She trudged toward the window, brushing the curtains away, spreading the blinds to take a peek out of the window; every morning that same dream, ever morning the same routine, every morning the same sight. Complete utter solidarity.

Another sigh, she swung the closet doors open to see the same drab outfit, jeans and a plain shirt. Couldn’t this place at least accommodate better fashion? A disappointed huff as she slipped the jeans over her bare legs, deciding to stick with the sweater on her back the made a B-line towards the kitchen. Another bagel, some cream cheese, not that she was complaining. Another gruff sigh as she stepped through the back door out onto the dismal road. Her house was at the corner of a four way street. Across from her the lot accommodated a small memorial building, which green vines had finally engulfed. Dead roses lie on the cracked cement stair as a reminder of thanks to those whom were helped as the building was left to rot. Old tomb stones with flowery borders and gargoyles cracked from erosion.

To her left, an old laundry mat in which the brick had faded from red-maroon to pink, water marks embracing the outer limits of the building, and the once clear glass stained blue. A rotting smell emanated from the building through the barren wasteland that she now lived. Once upon a time this old corroded building once was factory workers busy, filling order of cleaning old uniforms for businesses. Now this building sat alone, a barren wasteland of memories no one remembered. Across from such a building, an old food market with sliding doors rusted at the hinges, encased with dust from the lack of attention it started to receive. No longer a place of importance it was as it laid there slowly decaying.

Surrounding her were many another souls, much like her, trapped; slowly being destroyed by the memory of their undoing, slowly being eaten undead by the very fact that they are now counting on the sound of The Train. Only the immense sound of its whistle was heard through the town, The Ghost Train, which many can only hear. The agonizing sound of its arrival, the sound of hope, the sound of the true end, the sound of something that some may never reach.

She walked until she came to the end, sitting on a bench marked just for her. Before her she could she the life of the others passing by, she sat on a daily basis watching her friends living their life while she sat in Limbo, waiting. She watched as he went on through life as he if didn’t kill her, as if he hadn’t taken her under the surface of the water, as if he didn’t cause her lungs to collapse. How could he live and breathe while she sat dreaming about her death every night? Was she supposed to pretend that it doesn’t hurt her that someone would do that to her? How could she let that feeling go?

She saw her; with her vulnerable gray eyes hold one to everything his blue ones told her as they walked towards the crystal mass. She believed every word as though it was gospel until that very last fragment of time, the last piece of hope she could not grasp until finally she was let go, but it was too late. A single tear fell from her now wise green eyes, which had once shown in a vulnerable gray light, as she watched her killer live life one day at a time. She could feel his regret, she could feel his desire to be in her place, and she almost felt for him. She almost felt sorry for the boy that had gripped so tight to her and wouldn’t let her break through the surface.

Now, now she could breathe on her own. She could finally escape his grip and swim to the surface. She could know fill her lungs with the fresh air that she needed, but now it meant nothing, yet it had to mean something. She observed his every movement, how he no longer went to the beach because he could feel her desire for him to be in the same place as her. He could feel her desire for him to feel that awful feeling that there is no where else to go, that death is your only option, that the only thing she would ever get to hold on to slips right from her hand. She falls, and she keeps falling until she lands softly in a place of complete solidarity.

She finally understood that he wasn’t killing her; he was saving her from herself. He saved her from the pain she would have felt later on in life, the pain that her father kept causing and would have continued to cause. He saved her from the horrible things people said about her and to her. He had saved her from himself. She stood, walking towards the tracks without really knowing what she was doing. She could hear the throng of spirit around her as a warm light spread over her body, the sound of the train closing in, and finally she knew the big deal.

The Ghost Train was a bright light, a warm light that engulfed her body and carried her through a tunnel; and this tunnel was complete bliss. It wasn’t as horrible as many people say it to be, but they wouldn’t really know of the pureness and the peacefulness that she feels unless they were in her place. Now, as the Train carried her to a better place she was truly happy to be where she was in life.

“Thank you, Dayton,” Gwendolyn spoke to her killer, a small smile turning the corners of her pink lips.