Time to kick off Thursday and then drink vats of warm highly caffeinated coffee. Did not sleep well, really want the coffee. So timers set and lets get this day moving.
I like this character. No idea what i am going to do with him, but I like him nonetheless.
Thursday, December 18th: He walked softly.
He walked softly. It marked him out from the others, he knew. He dressed like the others, his feet jammed into the same great black clompety boots. He didn’t clomp however. He walked softly, steps barely registering. He wasn’t sure when that started, or if it consciously started. He didn’t know if he decided to walk softly or if it was just a part of him.
He was quiet in other ways as well. He spoke only when it was necessary but otherwise remained quiet. It made him stand out from the others who tended to be loud and boasting, filling the silence he left behind. He was large enough that no one bothered him about his quietness. He didn’t like to fight was but was strong enough to cause damage if he needed to.
He also wasn’t large enough that the school toughs thought it a challenge. Some of the larger boys were more targets than he was. He was quiet and generally left alone. Many thought him dim.
He knew they didn’t say that, but he saw the look on his teacher’s faces. He turned in papers and received decent marks. During tests, all new teachers seemed to watch him to make certain he wasn’t cheating. He helped them out, wearing short sleeves and presenting freshly washed hands whenever test times came around.
After a time they seemed to accept that he was smarter than he looked.
That he was just quiet.
Often times he thought he might be quiet because no one around him ever was. He had six brothers and they were always talking laughing, clomping. Nothing was ever silent. Four of them snored and two of them even talked in their sleep. His parents were rarely quiet. They argued and made up loudly and often. They chattered with their friends who were also never at a loss for words.
His quietness marked him out with his family and neighbors as much as it did at school. By the time he started school he was known as The Quiet Birch Boy. In fact he was certain some of his neighbors didn’t even know his name. He was often beckoned over with a ‘Hey you, the quiet one,’ then he was tasked with giving a piece of information to one of his parents.
The information was always written down as though some of the neighbors weren’t entirely certain he could talk. He didn’t mind it, when he thought about it, which was rare. It was just his general state of being. Rain was wet, ice was cold and George Birch was quiet.
When he was about ten, he started seeking quiet places. His favorite was a small cave near the beach. It was carved from the rocky outcrop of the shore. Their beach wasn’t like the white sands featured on luxury getaways and travel brochures. Their beach was comprised of rocks of varying sizes, some giant boulders and others tiny pebbles worn smooth by the waves. There was sand too of course.
He knew some of it was from shells the waves ground down on the rocks but thought the rest was bits of rock the water took from the stones.
Ten til Midnight 