Name: Nik Orr
Age: 19
Year of death: 2011
Method of Death: “Got beat up”
Crimes: Assisted in a number of murders and initiated small scale extortions
Weapon:
Backstory: He was born and raised in Alaska by a lower class family, the second child of four, a sickly child and a sorry sight. His father decided that his two younger children were the ones who got to focus on school – they had so much more potential. By the age of eight he had been brought along with his brother to meet father’s new friends. His attendance dipped from a steady “unsatisfactory” to an all-out problem when he became the youngest member of an up-and-coming crime circle.
Father died a few years later, mother didn’t get a new husband. She was already greying, shrinking to a mess of skin and bones, as the little ones began to cry at night. They were so useless, so irksome. And as mother stopped being able to take care of them without their assistance the older brothers decided they should go. Well, the eldest did, but Nik was many things shy of a leader, unlike his brother. So he followed him. The two of them were never bound but finally they were free, with nothing but the faded clothes on their back and a few candy bars in their pockets.
Even the most dangerous lifestyles could become routine – God never gave them much inspiration, except to survive and maybe to thrive a little bit on the side. Brother was tougher, smarter, with a thicker skin and a better stomach. When they left Nik was a frail, cowardly child still used to petty crime like theft. But from that same cowardice rose the most gruesome acts and the most fearless gambles, because he knew he had to force himself to grow up somehow, like every other kid in his small, hostile world of gang members and bloodied alleys. The nightmares came when he slept, which he did very badly and very sparsely. When he woke up he brushed them off, or just forgot, of course.
Prison came as quickly and simply as their freedom did that day eleven years ago. And for a brief period he believed that, behind bars, he’d somehow be safer. Of course, his enemies were not invincible either, and soon he faced some strangers, members of a rival gang, much older, much taller. He felt one punch for stealing that heist, one kick for killing some boss, one shove for that one snitch he had never heard of who had given in and called the cops... And he died quite quickly, as delicate as he really was. In those final moments he saw himself in shades of blue and crimson, of the sky and the sun, until finally he lost the ability to think such beautiful thoughts at all.
Nik Orr died in the purer form than most, in a way, an angel whose wings still shone white despite the blisters and the blood stains: nineteen, barely literate, hardly knowledgeable, underfed, sullenly, violently, and without a struggle to live or to die, maybe because he knew he didn’t have a say in this absurd phenomenon. He hadn’t read any philosopher’s thick tome or gone to debates and spectacles. Nik was just there, meaningless and inconsequential. He didn’t know what he wanted, to live, to die, love or glory – that’s how death just becomes a final happenstance.
Height and Weight: 5’7, 135 poundsSoup Member
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Name: Nik Orr
Age: 19
Year of death: 2011
Method of Death: “Got beat up”
Crimes: Assisted in a number of murders and initiated small scale extortions
Weapon:
Backstory: He was born and raised in Alaska by a lower class family, the second child of four, a sickly child and a sorry sight. His father decided that his two younger children were the ones who got to focus on school – they had so much more potential. By the age of eight he had been brought along with his brother to meet father’s new friends. His attendance dipped from a steady “unsatisfactory” to an all-out problem when he became the youngest member of an up-and-coming crime circle.
Father died a few years later, mother didn’t get a new husband. She was already greying, shrinking to a mess of skin and bones, as the little ones began to cry at night. They were so useless, so irksome. And as mother stopped being able to take care of them without their assistance the older brothers decided they should go. Well, the eldest did, but Nik was many things shy of a leader, unlike his brother. So he followed him. The two of them were never bound but finally they were free, with nothing but the faded clothes on their back and a few candy bars in their pockets.
Even the most dangerous lifestyles could become routine – God never gave them much inspiration, except to survive and maybe to thrive a little bit on the side. Brother was tougher, smarter, with a thicker skin and a better stomach. When they left Nik was a frail, cowardly child still used to petty crime like theft. But from that same cowardice rose the most gruesome acts and the most fearless gambles, because he knew he had to force himself to grow up somehow, like every other kid in his small, hostile world of gang members and bloodied alleys. The nightmares came when he slept, which he did very badly and very sparsely. When he woke up he brushed them off, or just forgot, of course.
Prison came as quickly and simply as their freedom did that day eleven years ago. And for a brief period he believed that, behind bars, he’d somehow be safer. Of course, his enemies were not invincible either, and soon he faced some strangers, members of a rival gang, much older, much taller. He felt one punch for stealing that heist, one kick for killing some boss, one shove for that one snitch he had never heard of who had given in and called the cops... And he died quite quickly, as delicate as he really was. In those final moments he saw himself in shades of blue and crimson, of the sky and the sun, until finally he lost the ability to think such beautiful thoughts at all.
Nik Orr died in the purer form than most, in a way, an angel whose wings still shone white despite the blisters and the blood stains: nineteen, barely literate, hardly knowledgeable, underfed, sullenly, violently, and without a struggle to live or to die, maybe because he knew he didn’t have a say in this absurd phenomenon. He hadn’t read any philosopher’s thick tome or gone to debates and spectacles. Nik was just there, meaningless and inconsequential. He didn’t know what he wanted, to live, to die, love or glory – that’s how death just becomes a final happenstance.
Height and Weight: 5’7, 135 pounds.
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