Post by vince on Dec 6, 2011 0:10:10 GMT -5
NO TIME TO BE A ROMEO ,
CONSTANTLY NEGLECTING WOMEN BECAUSE SUCCESS IS A LONELY ROAD[/color]
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[/size][/color][/font][/blockquote][/blockquote]Vince Lafiera. Cursive and elegant, the words written in black ink stood out on the stark white page. Vince’s fingertips trailed his name countless times until they grew tired of boredom. He sat back on the hard chair, his hands falling onto his lap. His brown eyes were heavy, making his vision unfocused. Sleep, something he did little of, crept seamlessly into his mind. Last night he had been with a few friends wreacking havoc upon the younger students until the early stages of the night when the moon had just awoken, casting a silvery glow amidst the auburn sky. Today Vince came to the library in hopes of finishing homework that had been given to him a few days ago; however, due to his overall careless attitude, it had been left to the last minute. Vince rarely attended classes, but for some reason he was feeling rather motivated today. Despite his lack of attendance in these classes, he acquired a staggering amount of knowledge over the years. Unlike most of the students his age, he enjoyed reading books and expanding his knowledge on a plethora of topics.
Under strict orders from his professor, Vince was to write an essay about something in the muggle world that he held an interest in. Besides the women, muggles rarely captured his attention. However, his mind wandered on writing about the art that everyone was astounded with. Vince’s eyes tore their gaze away from the page and towards the candle that blurred the darkness; they travelled aimlessly around the library, observing the books, empty chairs and tables and settled on the window. It looked like a church window back at home in Italy, old and precious. His perfect reflection stared out at him, and he saw incipient lilac circles under his eyes, staining his otherwise flawless skin. The circles looked menacing; they reflected a fleeting glimpse of weariness in him that he could not recall seeing before. Constantly sleeping for only three to four hours a night had strained his ability to retain information. He was showing signs of dementia at the age of seventeen; the thought did make him smile.
Vince pushed his chair back and stood, lowering his eyes to the bottle of vodka that sat comfortably between his legs; he had forgotten about it at a time that it was most needed. He held the bottle by the neck, pulled the cap off somewhat forcefully and put it to his mouth. Vince’s lips tasted the liquid first, and in an instant his whole mouth was left wanting more. He studied the partly open door for a moment, vaguely seeing students flutter past. Some briefly peered in to the library and quickly walked away once they realized he was in there. Normally, all it took was one malevolent glance from Vince for people to leave. The advantages of being a Slytherin. The boy took another swing before standing and placing the bottle on his chair. Tucking the chair under the table he walked towards the bookshelves and slipped into the aisle that displayed in small gothic font ‘Art History’; his fingertips caressed the spines of numerous books. His eyes glazed over the book titles and pictures, until one caught his eye. It was a book solely devoted to the Spanish artist Diego Rodriguez Da Silva Velázquez. He pulled the book out and placed it under his arms, walking out the aisle and back towards his table. The book landed with a slight ‘thump’ which echoed throughout the library. The vodka bottle stood stern and appealing again between his legs.
He wondered why he hadn’t picked a book on George Orwell. Orwell possessed a virtuosic command of writing techniques that captured his audiences. Animal Farm, for example, was Orwell’s book about humanity’s flaws; the book appealed to Vince because everything written in it was true, humans were outrageously flawed and the students at Hogwarts were perfect examples. It was only fitting that Orwell obtained his ideas from reality: the Russian revolution and Stalin’s regime, to be more precise. The Russians didn’t realize until later that the new government was another version of the same problem. Vince’s mind pressed on, recalling the book and everything he had learnt from it. He had read it at the age of fourteen after his young tutor with a body of a model and a face to match had given it to him. Vince’s mind now held the chapter about the old pig and how it was supposed to represent Lenin. From the very beginning Lenin’s communist revolution was bound to self-destruct; humanity would never let something like that work. One thing that was instilled in all humans, almost programmed even, was to feel greed. His father had told him that, and it was one thing he was correct about. However, in rare cases there were humans such as Trotsky that genuinely wanted a better life for the people. Trotsky, in that case, was wrong. Vince didn't tolerate people that held different beliefs and opinions from his own.
In a brief period of time, the Slytherin had already skimmed through most of the ancient, dust-covered pages of the book. He turned each page carelessly, rarely considerate of anything that wasn’t his. He read the words ardently, although, it didn’t satisfy his thirst for knowledge. He considered it to be mundane at best. It was a biography of Velázquez, and after every four or five pages there would be an explanation of one of his art works. A novel by George Orwell was looking better by the minute. Nevertheless, Vince took the information in; in an hour he was finished with the assignment and admiring his work. He sat back on his chair content and thoroughly pleased with his paper as he mentally insulted the professors at Hogwarts for not challenging him with a more difficult assignment. Eventually Vince stood up with the book on Velázquez firmly tucked under his left arm, and the bottle of vodka under his right. Deliberately returning the book to the wrong aisle, a sigh of boredom escaped his lips as he walked towards the exit. He desperately needed a nicotine break… but where would he have one? Vince decided against smoking in the boy’s dormitory because the last time he did, a student with asthma was almost sent into the infirmary. He smiled just thinking about being the source of someone’s misery.
Vince walked through the halls and out of the castle, unsure of where exactly it was that he was going. Searching for his cigarettes, a note fell from his coat pocket instead. Ah, yes. It was the letter he found on the floor of the dining hall last week. Apparently an enamored student had written it with their significant other in mind. "When the world is cold, I feel a glow just thinking of you…." he recited mockingly. For a few moments he stared at the letter in his hand, snickering at the pathetic words the student had written. A smile remained perched comfortably on his parted lips, letting the words slip into him, carrying with them the memories of the feeble couple. Vince would never completely surrender his solitude for anyone, and he looked down upon others that did. Love. He laughed at the concept. He deemed it a silly, irresponsible, and weak emotion between two equally weak people. Love was not something he was particularly amiable with, it was vile and only resulted in months, even years of utter misery and unnecessary pain. He couldn’t empathize with anyone that believed in such a gross misconception. It was something he had decided he didn’t need.
Vince was a natural charmer, he always got what he wanted, and when he was done he would leave without looking back, without feeling a thing. He was emotionless and constantly tortured women. He had been the one that broke hearts, never the one to actually fall in love. Vince was happy with the meaningless relationships he shared with girls. These meaningless relationships fulfilled his desires and they never brought the added burden of a headache. Growing close to girls he barely knew was a familiar territory, in fact he preferred not knowing them because knowing names, interests, history only complicated things. Everything was simple; it was when people started learning stuff about each other that things got out of hand. He had no intentions of getting to know people; there weren’t many people that he was close to nor did he want to let anyone in to begin with. People were weak, and he was predisposed to hurting others. His relationships had always involved minimal clothes and talking. When he was done, he never stayed long enough to get to know them.
Although he was known to be impulsive and reckless, a chronic case of laziness delayed him from making copies of this note and posting it on every wall of the castle. Perhaps he could even find the student who wrote it and commence them under his own dictatorship. Great men in his position would have used their time to muse, to be inspired, to philosophize or experience neurotic horror, but he instead used his to inflict harm upon others. Vince knew he wouldn’t stop until someone petitioned his heart to show mercy. As he pushed the entrance doors open, the auburn sun relinquished its claim over the sky, bathing him in sunlight. Tucking the letter back in his pocket until he decided what he would do with it, it occurred to him that he was supposed to meet a certain woman here today. They wrote owls to each other and for some reason, she was under the false impression that she could manipulate him. The woman writing to him said that she was an adult and was certain that Vince already has some knowledge of her existence. He doubted it. If she intrigued him, he would have noticed her by now. Running his fingers through his brown locks, his features were overcome with determination. Proving people wrong was his forte, and her attempts at seducing him would simply provide the entertainment he needed. Grabbing the pack of cigarettes from the back pocket of his pants, he took one with the lighter and put the tip of it into his mouth as he caught it. Holding the cigarette between his thumb and index finger, he took a drag and then exhaled. As the smoke cleared into the sky, he leaned against a nearby tree and waited forhis mystery womanhis distraction to arrive.
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tag , skyanna.
words , 1760.
attire , casual
notes , unleash your inner cougar.