Post by Alex on Jan 22, 2008 21:24:16 GMT
Alex Rutherford leant back in his chair, lowering the papers that were in his hands so they were resting on his leg. For the whole morning he'd had a niggling feeling in the back of his mind, more of an urge, really, to sort through the papers and objects from his past, wanting to freshen his memory so that he never forgot. It was probably nigh-on impossible for him to truly forget but he was scared that he'd lose the memories of good times he'd had over the years so every so often he would take the papers and read through them, letting the nostalgia flood through his mind as his mind's eye recapped various memorable moments.
He had very few from his years before being turned, which wasn't all that surprising given that it was such a small fraction of his life, but he was saddened by it because at the time, he was so sure that his life was perfect. If it wasn't for the pictures he had he'd probably have forgotten the faces of his parents; he hadn't been able to see them after the incident with the Galatea, mainly due to the fact that his funeral had taken place during his absence and he didn't really want to turn up unannounced and cause undue stress on the poor couple. Two people from his past he could never forget were Deacon and Annemarie Eichel; the brother and sister wolves who had saved his life by turning them. For the first few centuries of his existence as a werewolf they had been his foundation, his support through the rough times and growing pains of learning to deal with all the new experiences that came with the condition.
They had been his family in all but blood, the two people he cherished above everything else in the world and he had abandoned them. Even to this day he carries the burden of guilt for leaving them when they needed his help most, all because of his fear of getting into water and never a day passes without thinking of them, wondering if they were okay and if they'd managed to get away and survive. He knew them well enough to know that they'd be okay, and he hoped with everything he could muster that he was right; he clung selfishly to the hope, using it to ease his guilt only by the smallest fraction.
Alex reached into the solid oak trunk in which he keeps the treasured papers and memories, rustling around for a while before bringing out a small cardboard box. Inside was the necklace that Annemarie had given to him many, many years ago; a simple anchor hanging from a white-gold chain. She'd told him that it was only to be used to remind him of the good, never the sad, and so Alex wore it to do just that; to remember the good.
As he tilted the box gently the necklace glinted from the dull light of the lamp beside him and for a few moments he sat there, staring at the necklace as he remembered. Eventually he gently pulled the chain from the box, making sure the chain was without any awkward kinks before undoing the clasp and holding it up by the ends of the chain. He swung the chain over his head so that he could do the clasp up again at the front, then turned it so that it was the right way again. He never really wore the necklace much anymore, but when he did, he found it gave him some comfort from his own thoughts.
With a short sigh Alex picked up the papers from his lap and gathered them together, tidying his room after his trip down memory lane.
He had very few from his years before being turned, which wasn't all that surprising given that it was such a small fraction of his life, but he was saddened by it because at the time, he was so sure that his life was perfect. If it wasn't for the pictures he had he'd probably have forgotten the faces of his parents; he hadn't been able to see them after the incident with the Galatea, mainly due to the fact that his funeral had taken place during his absence and he didn't really want to turn up unannounced and cause undue stress on the poor couple. Two people from his past he could never forget were Deacon and Annemarie Eichel; the brother and sister wolves who had saved his life by turning them. For the first few centuries of his existence as a werewolf they had been his foundation, his support through the rough times and growing pains of learning to deal with all the new experiences that came with the condition.
They had been his family in all but blood, the two people he cherished above everything else in the world and he had abandoned them. Even to this day he carries the burden of guilt for leaving them when they needed his help most, all because of his fear of getting into water and never a day passes without thinking of them, wondering if they were okay and if they'd managed to get away and survive. He knew them well enough to know that they'd be okay, and he hoped with everything he could muster that he was right; he clung selfishly to the hope, using it to ease his guilt only by the smallest fraction.
Alex reached into the solid oak trunk in which he keeps the treasured papers and memories, rustling around for a while before bringing out a small cardboard box. Inside was the necklace that Annemarie had given to him many, many years ago; a simple anchor hanging from a white-gold chain. She'd told him that it was only to be used to remind him of the good, never the sad, and so Alex wore it to do just that; to remember the good.
As he tilted the box gently the necklace glinted from the dull light of the lamp beside him and for a few moments he sat there, staring at the necklace as he remembered. Eventually he gently pulled the chain from the box, making sure the chain was without any awkward kinks before undoing the clasp and holding it up by the ends of the chain. He swung the chain over his head so that he could do the clasp up again at the front, then turned it so that it was the right way again. He never really wore the necklace much anymore, but when he did, he found it gave him some comfort from his own thoughts.
With a short sigh Alex picked up the papers from his lap and gathered them together, tidying his room after his trip down memory lane.