The coward's way out

Alexander Collins · 04-02-2011, 10:21 AM

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Word Count: 462
In short; he used to freak out about letting people get to know him when he had no memories. No he's scared someone will recognise him and tell his sister xD And so he ran away and is drinking away his problems Wink

Much time had passed from when he’d fallen during the snow storm; day by day glimmers of memories had been returning to him. At first they were pointless, minor details, but as more and more of whom he was returned to him he gradually began to understand who he was. The more he remembered, the more confident he became of his ‘identity’, but he still hid himself away from others, for he feared if they grew to like him without his memories, would they like him with them?

Stupid as it may seem, for that reasoning he had spoken to hardly anyone from the pack that had saved him and only to one or two strangers outside of the pack. His lip twitched as he resisted smiling; he was nothing but a anti-social coward.

Considering his most recent behaviour, it didn’t come as much of a surprise when he’d remembered enough to know he was a lowlife, whom loved to drink, gamble and laugh in the face of death. Memories flashed through his mind; a lot of his initial responses to various situations had indicated that he was no saint; heck, when he’d first seen his sister he had attempted to hit on her.

A shudder rippled across his body at that memory; he knew that soon he would have to admit to Skye who he was but he had no intention of doing that anytime soon. He didn’t want to disappoint her, for her to know that her brother whom had left for adventure had resulted in so little. He’d reasoned with himself; he wouldn’t tell her until he remembered everything, then he’d decide whether to tell her or not depending on what he remembered. But things weren’t looking all that great.

So what did he do when confronted with such difficulties? He ran. Not far, he’d only wondered off to the shattered coast. But it was far enough to avoid those from Cercatori D’Arte and anyone else. This time he wasn’t running from letting others get to know him, no, he was running from others finding out his identity. Such a simple, silly matter that could be resolved by speaking to Skye; but every time he thought of telling her he found himself running further and faster.

His light paws left a trail In the soft, wet sand. The water, roaring in the wind seemed to be his only company. A light sigh escaped him and he rested upon a nearby rock.

One day, he wouldn’t be unable to run from his problems. But for today, he’d enjoy the sights and sounds of nature. And his flask of vodka that hang from his side. Reaching down, he pulled the flask to his lips and began gulping down the burning liquid.

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