Post by JERICHO LAWRENCE on Jul 19, 2016 18:34:05 GMT -6
there's beauty
in the bleeding
in the bleeding
trying to fit back into civilization after countless years of enduring nothing but survival instincts was a struggle. jericho had grown used to being alone, aside from rhonin and his sadistic ways. it was the alpha's sole purpose, his entire reasoning behind using the island as a training ground. it's surprising just how far one will go in order to ensure their own safety, to make it to another day. some of the others weren't so lucky, vast numbers fading, bodies dropping like flies. in the beginning, jericho could have easily been one of them, if not for rhonin's persistence. the man wanted jer to live, intentions that were unknown at the time. still, that meant nothing more than the fact that jericho suffered far greater than any of the other individuals brought to the island. he was hunted nightly, lycans given his sent, tracking him down in the ultimate game of predator prey. he was tortured more times than he could truly remember, often having passed out from the severe amount of pain inflicted. still, his will to live was far stronger than even he could have imagined.
despite the constant struggles and never-ending obstacles, nothing compared to the difficulty of decisions made. choices that jericho had to now live with. his hands were painted with the blood of his mother, so to speak. it was his finger that pulled the trigger, his decision to take her life, in order to save both his brother and sister. constance was doomed either way, rhonin made that very clear. if left in the alpha's hands, her death would have been nothing short of excruciating torture and suffering. for the longest time, jericho refused to do it, even after hearing about all of the secrets she had been keeping from him. the anger was subsided, pushed away by the fact that she was still his mother, and they were both in danger. knowing that he couldn't help her, it left the kid with an emptiness. even to this day, jericho possessed a darkness inside of him, a darkness that was created by guilt. constance was the first life he had ever taken, but she was far from the last. jericho did what was needed to survive, which meant killing whatever beasts rhonin sent his way. that experience wasn't something you could come back from, at least, not whole.
the man had been molded into someone different entirely over the course of his eight years away, nowhere near the kid that his siblings remembered. jericho was reckless back then, a rebellious teenage with absolutely no regard for others. their curse was meant to be a weakness, and for the longest time, it was. though jericho could make out silhouettes, enough to get by without running into everything around him. now? he had learned to tap into his abilities, powers sparked during his time spent on the island. he was still unable to see, but every other one of his senses kicked into overdrive, heightened to an extreme. he also learned to use sound as an advantage, seeing through the waves created. the only downside to his curse was the fact that he continued to lack what everyone else took for granted. jericho knew his family by their voices, the individual sounds of their heartbeats, their different smells. but, there was never an actual face to put with any of them, he couldn't even begin to picture what they looked like. it may not seem like such a big deal, but when you lose someone close to you, and the only reminder left are photographs... images that can't be seen... it's starts to take a toll. they say that when you lose a loved one, the first memory to fade is the sound of their voice. well, in jericho's case, that's all he had left of his parents. after eight years, he couldn't even recall what they sounded like.
coming home was not an easy decision. a few months had passed since he was taken away from the island, and still he refused to go back to san francisco. instead, jer spent some time in russia, placing as much distance between himself and his family as possible. he wasn't ready to face them, not after everything that happened, and the person he had become... they couldn't see him like that. however, there was no escaping it forever. they thought he was dead, and though it may have just been easier on everyone to keep it that way, his siblings deserved to know that he was still alive. besides, maybe a normal life was something he needed. their company was currently in the hands of a family friend, one that would have no problem in returning it back to its rightful owner. rather than call for a driver, jericho took a cab back to the mansion. after paying the man, he stepped outside, nothing with him but the clothes on his back. it was a strange feeling, being back home. that emotion alone only seemed to grow once he pushed opened the front doors, catching a familiar scent.
despite the constant struggles and never-ending obstacles, nothing compared to the difficulty of decisions made. choices that jericho had to now live with. his hands were painted with the blood of his mother, so to speak. it was his finger that pulled the trigger, his decision to take her life, in order to save both his brother and sister. constance was doomed either way, rhonin made that very clear. if left in the alpha's hands, her death would have been nothing short of excruciating torture and suffering. for the longest time, jericho refused to do it, even after hearing about all of the secrets she had been keeping from him. the anger was subsided, pushed away by the fact that she was still his mother, and they were both in danger. knowing that he couldn't help her, it left the kid with an emptiness. even to this day, jericho possessed a darkness inside of him, a darkness that was created by guilt. constance was the first life he had ever taken, but she was far from the last. jericho did what was needed to survive, which meant killing whatever beasts rhonin sent his way. that experience wasn't something you could come back from, at least, not whole.
the man had been molded into someone different entirely over the course of his eight years away, nowhere near the kid that his siblings remembered. jericho was reckless back then, a rebellious teenage with absolutely no regard for others. their curse was meant to be a weakness, and for the longest time, it was. though jericho could make out silhouettes, enough to get by without running into everything around him. now? he had learned to tap into his abilities, powers sparked during his time spent on the island. he was still unable to see, but every other one of his senses kicked into overdrive, heightened to an extreme. he also learned to use sound as an advantage, seeing through the waves created. the only downside to his curse was the fact that he continued to lack what everyone else took for granted. jericho knew his family by their voices, the individual sounds of their heartbeats, their different smells. but, there was never an actual face to put with any of them, he couldn't even begin to picture what they looked like. it may not seem like such a big deal, but when you lose someone close to you, and the only reminder left are photographs... images that can't be seen... it's starts to take a toll. they say that when you lose a loved one, the first memory to fade is the sound of their voice. well, in jericho's case, that's all he had left of his parents. after eight years, he couldn't even recall what they sounded like.
coming home was not an easy decision. a few months had passed since he was taken away from the island, and still he refused to go back to san francisco. instead, jer spent some time in russia, placing as much distance between himself and his family as possible. he wasn't ready to face them, not after everything that happened, and the person he had become... they couldn't see him like that. however, there was no escaping it forever. they thought he was dead, and though it may have just been easier on everyone to keep it that way, his siblings deserved to know that he was still alive. besides, maybe a normal life was something he needed. their company was currently in the hands of a family friend, one that would have no problem in returning it back to its rightful owner. rather than call for a driver, jericho took a cab back to the mansion. after paying the man, he stepped outside, nothing with him but the clothes on his back. it was a strange feeling, being back home. that emotion alone only seemed to grow once he pushed opened the front doors, catching a familiar scent.