Sketch

Noah's an odd fellow, difficult to understand, even to those who clasp him near. Detached from reality and kept in his own, little world; only upon rare, fleeting periods does he express himself through the medium of artistry. Sketches and sculptures are arts he oft practices, though these aren't  what he's limited to. Theft is always upon his agenda above all else.


History:

Noah was practically the epitome of angst in his youth, often disobedient and closed in too, much like other adolescents.

 “I'm listening.” he spoke, voice placid and lowly projected; it was enough for it to get about the small classroom. A note pad was upon the desk, a half-finished drawing sketched through several horizontal lines. There was a moment of pause, to where he simply curled the ink pen inside of his grasp through and betwixt five of his thin digits.

 “I don't care,” she snapped back, offering but the glint of a sombre, deadpan gaze. “If you're going to draw in my classroom, get out.” Both of her hands smacked against the desk in front and above an uncountable amount of documents, accompanied with but a softened clatter. Pupils in the classroom looked in awe from the teacher, back to Noah, then back to the teacher.

 “I'm listening.” he recited, meeting her gaze with his own. No comfort was held within his momentaneous glimpse, though what lingered in its place was a cold, icy and latent malignity. A sigh pushed itself past clenched teeth, though upon its exit was filtered to a dissatisfied hush of a blare.

 “Get out!”



Noah had an average life, born and raised by both his mother and father. Those that were around him often called him spoilt, for he was a lonesome child.

 The key lodged in the hole and, with a languid twist, he shoved the door open. Flashing lights, peeling walls and stained carpets were the first things that greeted him upon his arrival, followed by the meek voice of his mother.

 “How was school?”

 Steps squashed against the carpet in his lethargic falter as he advanced across a flight of stairs. There was no reply until he ascended to the top.

 “They excluded me.”



Chicago is where he resides currently, away from both of his parents.

They traipsed down the alley, away from unsteady bulbs. Smudged lipstick of a scarlet hue, messy, dark-grey mascara down their cheeks; it looked like they'd gone through some traumatic ordeal prior.

 No remorse, as he tapped his pen against the notepad. The pen started working again, ink leaving its tip like it always should have. Relieved, to a minor degree, though clearly not enough to make change upon the expression etched about his visage.

 There was a smooth line drawn, curved. Not even a second had gone by as his wrists canted to peculiar inclinations to sketch a couple of details. Serrated teeth, rattling tail.

 Thump. The notepad met the application of both his index and middle digit. Only a pregnant silence passed as the snake moved, slithered, then hopped from the page into reality.

 They only made it towards the middle of the alley, before they found their movements halted and stunned. The drawn snake rattled about their svelte frame, binding them in place by wrapping itself around several limbs. They hadn't even seen it coming.

“I'll be quick,” the voice called out, and with it a blurred silhouette emerged from the darkness of the night. “Don't worry.” The jingle of coins and the rattles of notes left her progressively upon those words, until he spun about upon his booted heels and swaggered over rough cobblestones.