Post by simonsmith on Jun 13, 2011 23:31:35 GMT -6
SIMONCARTERSMITH
“Well, tell me a little about yourself. What’s your name?”
My name is Simon Carter Smith. I have no nicknames. I feel they are a waste of time, and highly childish. If you can’t be bothered to take the extra millisecond it would take to use my full name, then I can’t be bothered to respond to you. Carter was my grandfather’s name, and in a rare moment of nostalgia, my father chose to name me after a man he could hardly stand. Fitting really, considering my dad’s feelings towards me. As for Simon, well, my mother, the hippy that she was, was a huge Simon and Garfunkel fan. Enough said.
“Next question, how has your High School career gone thus far?”
Fairly well. Grades have never been an issue for me. Frankly, high school curriculum is not challenging in the least, and in most occasions, I’m sure I know more about the subject matter than the teachers. Something that certainly didn’t endear me to them. They seem to expect me to be an idiot though, perhaps they get some sort of validation belittling the opinions of their students, even when they have clearly been outwitted. I can’t tell you for sure, I’m not a psychologist, but I’m fairly certain it’s some kind of transference. I butted heads early on with the staff at my school. But I learned to be what they wanted. It was less hassle pretending to mold into their expectations than to constantly be at war with them.
I started here last year, so at my last ‘normal’ school, I was a Freshman, though I was already taking a few senior level classes at the time. I am not exactly a physically domineering person, and I went to a rather… rough…. High School in DC. I will say, the scrawny pale kid who does well in class is an easy target. For the first few weeks, I was hounded constantly. People learned to leave me be soon enough though. Really, it didn’t take much. Human beings are surprisingly easy to control and manipulate once you figure out what makes them tick. What scares them. And trust me, with a little observation, you can find anything out.
I was only in that school for a year. But I think I made a suitable impression. There are many people there that aren’t soon going to forget me.
“What did you do when you weren't in school? Any hobbies or sports, anything like that?”
Outside of school, I like to keep to myself. I don’t have much use for other people, and maintaining the façade that I cared was a lot of work. I spent my time reading, learning, observing. You could say that I was always studying, just not for any subject that is taught in school. People, annoying as most are, fascinate me. The motivations behind what they do, their quirks and subtle differences.
I spent the majority of my time indoors. I don’t enjoy the outside, it’s too messy. Too chaotic. This is probably the reason for my pale complexion. I much preferred the sanctuary of my home than the outside world.
I suppose it’s fair to say things would have been easier if I was an average teenager who enjoyed doing average teenager things. But I was, and am, anything but average.
“Family and friends are pretty important. Tell me about them. How are your relationships with them?”
Where to begin. I’m sure hearing about my family will send your shrinks into a frenzy. Foaming at the mouth to probe more into it. I’ve already been there, done that. Mental health professionals seem to see my home life as the perfect breeding ground for a sociopath. Yes, that is what they decided to label me. I read my files, I know what they were thinking. My last shrink was actually scared of me. ‘Budding serial killer’ were the exact words she used. Not that I was supposed to know that. Either way, it did give me a sense of satisfaction. Not that I would ever kill anyone. I’ve thought about it, but the process is too messy. But all in all, I can’t argue with the sociopath designation. I’ve done some looking into it, and there are certainly parallels that can be drawn.
I apologize, I got off track there. We were talking about my family. My parents are Julia and Clarence Smith. Looking back, I assume they were happy. It certainly seemed they were. I have an older brother. Marcus, he’s two years older. He is the all American boy. Tall, athletic, popular, likable. Everything I’m not. Something my father is never slow to point out. Despite the fact that Marcus is dumb as a nail, my father insists on praising his every touch down, while berating the ‘faggy little freak’. My nickname amongst my kin. Charming, isn’t it? I don’t feel much for either of them. I simply can’t make myself care about their lives, or what’s happening to them. One of my favourite things about being here, is that I no longer have to act like I do.
What you need to understand about my father is, he is not a good man. He pretends he is, and to strangers, he seems like a perfect working class father. But he isn’t. Never has been. He routinely abused me and my brother for years. As far as I know, Marcus is still dealing with it. Maybe more since I’m no longer there to take my share of the abuse. It was never physical in the sense that he would leave marks on us. Though pain was a part of his operation. It was more about sexual gratification for him. I will spare you the details, since I’m told these sorts of things make most people uncomfortable.
I may have loved my mother, I don’t remember. She’s dead. She died when I was only 4. Murdered during a home invasion. I was there, and witnessed the whole ordeal, or so I’ve been told. My brain has blocked the memories though. Suppression is a wonderful thing. From what I can gather, she was at home, watching me. My father was at work. My brother at school. We didn’t live in the best of neighborhoods, still don’t as a matter of fact. Apparently, two local hoodlums, seeing her alone through an open window, took it as an invitation. They broke in, raped her repeatedly, sliced her up fairly badly, and beat her before one of them cut her throat. They never caught the men, who, while they had no problem murdering an innocent woman, didn’t have it in them to kill a child. My father came home, found my mother dead, and found me, sitting quietly in a pool of her blood. I didn’t speak for a year after the incident.
My father tried to hide this information from me. Like I said, I’ve blocked it out. But I read my shrinks files, I saw it all spelt out there in black and white. Sometimes I think if I close my eyes and concentrate, I can hear her screaming, and the slick sound of a knife slicing through skin. I am fairly sure this is where my aversion to blood comes from.
As for friends, I don’t have any. They are a weakness. I don’t crave social interactions, though I put on a show in public. After the initial troubles in school, I actually was quite well liked. I managed to ‘befriend’ a few older guys, muscle heads with very little between their ears, who were able to convince the bullies to leave me be through a series of very public fights. They became, for lack of a better word, my enforcers. You don’t even want to know what I’ve convinced those morons to do. Let’s just say it’s a good thing no one was caught in those situations. I doubt any of them would be given a second chance if anyone knew. Anyways, back to the point. Like I said, after a bumpy start, I was quite, well, I hesitate to use the word popular, because I rarely socialized outside of school hours, but I was part of the ‘in’ crowd. I often heard how charming people thought I was. This gave me a sense of pride, it showed me that I was playing my part well.
“Thank you for sharing that with me. So those are your family and friends, what about yourself? Describe yourself to me.”
Physically, I am rather unremarkable, though I’ve been told that I am attractive by a few girls. I’m average height, with a slight build, blue eyes and pale skin. My hair is dark, and I prefer to wear it long enough to hide my face. I tend to wear simple clothing, nothing that would make me stand out.
Mentally, well, that is a whole other kettle of fish as they say. I feel perfectly normal. But I know I’m not. I just don’t see things the same way as everyone else. I don’t feel things that I know I should. Sometimes I think I am empty on the inside, cold blooded like a lizard, calculating. Like when God was handing out hearts, he forgot mine.
“Other then the reason your here, at Blackwood Academy, have you had any other issues with law enforcement?”
None whatsoever. I was never caught. I supposed the incident that got me here wasn’t the first of it’s kind, but it was the only time it was connected to me. More often than not, I would have others do things. Live vicariously through them. But until last year, the police had no reason to suspect that I was anything but a perfect, albeit, odd, teenager.
“What is the worst thing you’ve done? Why did you feel the need to do that?”
I don’t really know… If I’m being honest, there is quite a large list I can choose from… What you need to understand is, I’ve hurt people. Not physically per say, but I’ve terrorized them. I don’t think I can pick out one particular event over all the others. They were all bad. I did it because I could. Because I wanted to see the reactions. Because I was bored. Because I am apparently a sociopath. I don’t know. I doubt there is an answer you would be satisfied with. It could be any number of things. How about you mark down in your file what your shrinks here think, and we’ll go with that.
"What the one things you're most proud of?"
Again. I’m not sure. I suppose I could say anytime I get into someone’s head, or under their skin. It’s happened many times, but it does come with a certain sense of accomplishment, knowing that you have someone entirely at your whim, whether it’s through sheer terror, or subtle manipulation. It does warm my cold heart slightly. .
"Other then your trouble with law enforcement, do you have any vices or addictions?"
I smoke. I started in freshman year, one of those activities I was curious about, and I figured would help me fit in. Unfortunately, my body was stronger than my mind in this case, and I’ve developed an addiction. Other than that, no. Drugs and alcohol don’t interest me..
“If you could change one thing about your life what would it be?”
Nothing really. I mean, I could say I wish my mother never died, or that I hadn't gotten caught.. but really, I am content the way I am. And the people here are so much more interesting than the people outside. Plus, I don't need to try as hard here to be normal. People expect you to be a little on the odd side in this place.
“What criminal act got you sent here and who recommended it?”
I am ashamed to say, despite my best attempts to remain purely logical, I do occasionally become a slave to my baser instincts. There was a girl, Robin, and my hormones got the better of me. She was in my class at school. She was tough. I admired her strength, her stoicism. A part of me wanted her. A bigger part of me wanted to break her down. To relish in her defeat, and to watch that hard, proud face give way into fear. She was a challenge.
It started off simple. I got close to her, learned her weaknesses, her fears. Gained her trust. Then turned it against her. If you want to be technical, the police labeled it stalking, harassment, among other things. I just called it fun. To see the colour drain from her face when she received another 'anonymous' letter, to watch her jump at her own shadow, witnessing as she began to be suspicious of everyone around her. It was glorious.
I fear I was a little over dramatic, taking a page from classic thriller movies when I started leaving her 'presents', small tokens. If you think it's easy to catch one robin, let alone a dozen, you're wrong. It was harder still to keep grip on those tiny bodies long enough to snap their necks. But her reaction was worth it. By this time, her parents had already informed the authorities that someone was terrorizing their daughter. I unfortunately hadn't counted on that, and was nabbed as I went to deliver another one of her gifts.
My court appointed lawyer was useless, but the judge seemed to pity me. Thought I was a victim of my circumstances. He suggested rehabilitation here at Blackwoods.
“Do think that you deserve to be here?”
I assume so. Society has dictated that my behaviors were criminal, and this is a place to house criminals. So I am where I belong.
"Tell me about your life before Blackwood Academy contacted you, what led up to your stay here."
My life has been, as I've stated, eventful. I grew up in Washington DC, in a lower class working family. My mother was abused and murdered in front of me at a young age. My father was and is, a drunk. He routinely sexually abused my brother and myself, and continued to do so up until I was sent to Blackwood. I assume my brother is still experiencing it.
I have been forced into more psychologists offices than most people know exist. I have been a 'high risk' for behavioral issues since I was a toddler, and it was the general opinion that it was only a matter of time before I began displaying criminal tendencies.
I am not sure what else you would like to know. I am sure someone will try and dredge up more in any therapy sessions I am forced to attend. Feel free to add those notes to this file.
Smith, Simon, C:
Race: Caucasian
DOB and Age: June 3, 17 years old
Age admitted to Blackwood’s Academy: I was admitted when I was 16, and have been here a year
Grade: Junior
Health issues: No
Other: any other notes about the character
Race: Caucasian
DOB and Age: June 3, 17 years old
Age admitted to Blackwood’s Academy: I was admitted when I was 16, and have been here a year
Grade: Junior
Health issues: No
Other: any other notes about the character
Your name: Sylvie
How you found us:Proboards
Code word in the Rules: Admin edit
Play by: Tom Sturridge
This Application was created by JEZ! A.K.A Two.Last Words. Do not steal or remove credit. Or I will sick my doggy Drako on you. He enjoys biting the butts of others so BEWARE!
