I feel like John Smith. Cookie cut, fixed destiny. Mella, why is it I feel trapped? Gah, Did I just say that? What a terrible thing to say: I feel trapped in my home amongst my loved ones? Perhaps I'm not John Smith at all, maybe I'm a John Doe.
OK so I'm being melodramatic, "liven up Sebastion!" I can hear them now.
I am alive!
The eve of Sebastion's eighteenth birthday. Breezily navigating the chirpy narrow back streets of Alma he made his way to the town's square. His blonded oak hair concreted in a small square afro remained perfectly still as he ran. He was purposely hoping to avoid detection for he knew what they
would do if they
managed to spot him. The closer he got to the square the more dangerous his quest became. 'In and out. Quick as a split.' he thought slyly peeking his head around a cosy cobble corner, squinting his oriental eyes.
Sebastion's feet whirled up a storm as he scrambled through the square not even allowing the dust to settle before colliding with the door to Alma's famous candy shop. The door brushed against an iron bell releasing a jolly jingle that Sebastion always found awakened pleasant memories. A sigh of relief led to restful eyes and a gentle grin, "Hello, _____" he said greeting the shop keeper. The door's stained glass shone brightly on the old crone illuminating her magically. Sebastions caramel skin appeared equally as fantastical.
"Hello, Sebastion. I expect you'll want the usual?" She said, ragged but undeniably welcoming.
"Yes m'am" Sebastion replied politely.
"Here you are." The old crone's hand wobbled as she passed Sebastion a purple satchel of hard candy and curiously a mysterious letter to go along with it.
"What's this?" His expression read puzzled. The shopkeeper cackled eccentrically and returned to the back of the shop closing a velvet curtain behind her. Sebastion pried open the letter to reveal a note written in instantly recognizable scribble.
Don't think you're safe yet!
- W & A
Sebastion was so adamant that he would not fall victim to the prank war this year he was avoiding them
entirely. Just the thought of the previous year's would force him to squirm in delightful disgust. He coveted the note safe in his pocket like a treasure and psyched himself up to enter the battle ground, a smirk unwillingly curling up his cheek. A thud and a jolly jingle as he dashed from the store headed for the sanctuary of the alley ways. Surprised to make it out alive he knew better than to stop and contemplate his luck and hurried along up the winding hill.
Sebastion wondered, 'Is this part of their plan? Gah, psychological warfare!' as he sat sucking on a sour candy on the roof of his home, hawk eyed and playfully paranoid. He brought himself to his feet and formed a megaphone from his hands, "Come on! Enough is enough!" he roared.