Kaya ne savait pas trop pourquoi elle s'était sourie au milieu des oranges, des noirs et des rouges. Il y avait une pensée dans son esprit, mais elle s'est échappée de son souvenir. Elle a essayé encore et encore pour toute référence, tout fondement sur lequel elle pourrait tracer un chemin vers son état actuel, contemporain, mais...
Les verts n'étaient pas là. Ici, les verts étaient en jade et brillants, brillant d'une lumière blanc orange qui n'était pas aussi douce que celle qu'elle rappelait. Ils réfractaient aussi le noir, noir qui se sentait si chaud... mais aussi si frais. Tellement doux, mais la façon dont les petits granules de la noirceur roulaient comme de la boue sous sa peau suggérait le contraire.
Si seulement elle pouvait... se rappeler à quel point c'était dur, avant.
Et elle entendait la voix.
"Je suis parti, alors."
Disparu? Il est parti où? Comment a-t-elle su ce que ça voulait dire? Pourquoi cela serait-il important?
Les granules noirs moulés et accrochés à ses mains comme de la pâte. Elle voulait... Non, elle avait besoin de sentir ce qui était parti. Mais la texture, la consistance qu'elle voulait... ça n'a jamais été tout à fait juste. Trop éponge un moment, trop sèche l'autre. Mais elle a serré le noir, et elle était droite. C'est bon... c'est bon.
Elle n'aimait plus le sentiment, donc elle a décidé de ne pas être abattue. Elle était debout, du moins, mais pas trop loin. Elle voulait rester un peu ici, pour se souvenir de ce qui était parti.
Peut-être qu'elle pourrait oublier ce qui s'est passé maintenant, et continuer sa vie... alors. Mais comment? Tout ce qu'elle sentait, c'est les huiles qui brûlent et le métal qui fond. Les noirs s'évanouissaient à nouveau dans le goudron, et les oranges vives s'évanouissaient encore. Comment s'en est-elle souvenue?
Elle s'est sentie chaude, et son corps s'est enflammé en descente rythmique dans la panique.
Name: George Marshall
Age: 19
Personality: Before his ascension, George was a fun-loving, studious college student. He worked part-time at the school newspaper, made friends and enjoyed his time day-to-day without much worry. He was eager to chase women, with mixed success, and had a core of good friends and an expansive body of friendly acquaintances. He is still highly competitive in everything he does, though fortunately learned at a young age the myriad benefits of sportsmanship and courtesy. He still has a dislike for authority, a strong distaste towards dogmatic beliefs and a lack of open-mindedness, and respects free thought and innovation. He is quick to laugh, and a temper to balance. He is direct, and dislikes beating around the bush in most things. He is always quick to act, preferring to trust his improvisational skills when a problem arises rather than make plans that fall apart at the first unforeseen hurdle. Despite this, in every individual task he does he strives for perfection, sometimes at his detriment, often to his advantage. He considers himself a utilitarian, and judges actions intellectually on the grounds of greatest possible good, but like every human, especially every college sophomore, he often compromises his beliefs for hedonistic reasons. A result of this philosophical position is that he has become rather frugal, to an almost detrimental degree, always searching (or imagining) a better value around the corner. He is, however, not unaware of his failings: George rightfully prides himself on understanding himself, and strives for self-improvement constantly, with typically varying success. George is a paranoid man, and despite his propensity for quick action he spends a great deal of his free time thinking about possible dangers, real or imaginary. He is slow to trust friends, despite the speed at which he makes them, and truly opens up to very few people. He has, currently unbeknownst to him, an affection for power and control, not only for its ability to enable him to do good, but for its ability to assuage his paranoia and let him direct things the way he finds satisfactory.
Interests: He is a military man, through and through. He isn't brave enough to actually fight, not really, but he has a fascination and an excellent knowledge of military matters. He finds history fascinating, especially as it pertains to military matters, and he always tries to not only learn about the intriguing secrets of the past but to apply them to himself in his quest for self-improvement. His hobby, besides engaging in the college social life, is firearms. He loves them, both for their practical applications in protecting himself and acting as a salve for his paranoia, and also just as objects, in the same way someone may love cars or trains (interests George has just never understood, really). He owned several firearms, before his death, and frequently shot with friends and family.
History: Born in rural New Hampshire to moderately wealthy parents, George had a normal life. He went to a good school, made friends, and earned good enough grades to be accepted into a competitive college. He spent his free time playing sports, socializing with his peers, surfing the internet, and reading prolifically. He had a string of short-lived relationships, truncated not by any particular drama but just changing personalities and the tribulations of high-school, and later college, life. He worked part time at a gun store, a job he lauded over his peers who were being paid minimum wage to flip burgers. His quirks arose slowly through his life: like most deep-rooted personality traits, he had no specific triggering event. He was always paranoid, encouraged by his family's old house and his status as an only child. His quest for self-improvement is likely a result of a competitive edge and his parent's insistence on the idea that anyone, if they work hard enough, can achieve great things. His love of firearms and matters military is much more easily traced, to his Great-Uncle, who would not only spoil him rotten for the decade before he died of pancreatic cancer, but would take him shooting on the expansive family property.
Appearance: George is tall and thin. His brown hair varies wildly, cycling from a buzz cut to an untidy nest of hair as he procrastinates getting a haircut. His eyes are wide and brown, his skin tanned several shades darker than its normal pasty complexion. He tries to remain fit, finding that a light jog is an excellent way to dissolve stress, and a good way to let him sate his smoldering paranoia. He has a wide smile that he wears frequently. He dresses in business casual wherever he goes, preferring a casually-worn button up to a t-shirt. He has bad posture, partially a result of his height and a desire to remain near the level of his peers, and partially because of unadulterated laziness. He walks quickly, and frequently catches himself whistling or humming to himself, a habit he wishes he could quit, but so far has not been able to. He is attentive when listening, subdued when silent, and animated when talking on subjects that interest him. He has a personality that alters between blending in and filling the room, and he has learned when to do either, at least among his own peers.
Notes: Partially WIP, I'm not entirely happy with it, and I need to go to sleep. I'll edit tomorrow after class.