Post by aleksandra louise prescott on Jan 9, 2012 19:28:17 GMT -5
Aleksandra Louise Prescott,
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---------------- MAIN INFO ---------------
FULL NAME, aleksandra louise prescott
NICKNAMES, alex , alek , sandy and prescott.
AGE, nineteen years young.
HOMETOWN, lawrence, kansas.
YEAR, third year, junior.
SUBJECT/JOB, drama and dance.
SEXUALITY, bi-curious.
PLAY BY, shay mitchell.
NICKNAMES, alex , alek , sandy and prescott.
AGE, nineteen years young.
HOMETOWN, lawrence, kansas.
YEAR, third year, junior.
SUBJECT/JOB, drama and dance.
SEXUALITY, bi-curious.
PLAY BY, shay mitchell.
---------------- PERSONALITY ---------------
LIKES, alek's ass is addicted to coffee and has been since the ripe age of twelve. in fact, if a day goes by where this girl hasn't had at least one cup of that dark brown and silky liquid, you can bet your ass she's going to get herself one nasty headache which generally throws her off balance. alek enjoys eating healthy and exercising as well. now, this isn't to say she has an eating disorder, but that she just enjoys taking care of herself. in general, alek enjoys eating fruits and vegetable over candy and junk food, although, she does have a secret weakness for charleston chews, but that will be our little secret. alek's favorite breakfast is pancakes, despite her healthy eating habits and she is also a big smoothie nut. after all, one can't live on coffee alone. alex enjoy juice over soda. in fact, she can't remember a time in her life that she actual enjoyed the sugar filled carbonated beverage. one more food related fact about alexsandra, before we write you a cookbook based on her favorite things to consume, is that she's a vegetarian.
now, we did mention that alexsandra is a big health nut. in fact, she's the healthiest person she knows, but it doesn't all revolve around the way she eats. aleksandra actually loves to exercise. in fact, she's constantly active and it's rumored that the only time she stops moving, is when she's sleeping, exactly eight hours a night, which means, yes, she has a bed time. how else do you expect her to be the sptfire tongued, bright eyed, bushy tailed actress we love so much? now, while it may seem next to impossible for one to be as healthy as aleksandra appears, it's no act. aleksandra hasn't used any medication since she was a child of about six years old. her grandmother introduced her to a world of essential oils and she's been hooked ever since. any ailment that comes her way is cured with a natural essential oil. well, all i can say is they must be something out of houdini's suitcase because i haven't seen her sniffle once since i've known her.
other interests of aleksandra's that don't quite fit in with the above topics are candles, rain, fog, driving, riding her bicycle, puddle jumping, roaming around museums, watching movies, watching cheesy spanish soap operas, the snow (strictly for snow angels, snow forts, snowmen and snowball fights, of course), reading, fireplaces, boys, shopping, giving makeovers to her friends and family, visiting zoos and aquariums, music, lillies, orchids,cupcakes (but never cake) and sunsets as well as sunrises.
DISLIKES, If you're waiting for the part of the story where the actress tells you she hates just about everything about her body and plans to go under the knife to fix it all, you'll be waiting a rather long time. In fact, Aleksandra loves everything about her full c - cup perky breasts, her well toned ass and stomach and is not ashamed of her average and healthy weight and finds herself rather attractive, which isn't to say she lives in a mirror staring at herself all day. She has a dazzling smile and gorgeous eyes and while her feet are a little larger than an average girl her age, she's okay with that as well. Large or not, they happen to be very petite. Now, this isn't to say she doesn't have her little flaws that she could live without for the rest of her life such as that faded scar she has above her left eyebrow from that ugly encounter she had with her drunken father when she was four years old, a daily reminder of how unfortunate she's been in her former life. Aleksandra also hates the birthmark she has on her right shoulder blade that people often say resembles a dinosaur. While she admits that the shape is pretty cool, she is still looking for ways to remove it from her body. The dancing actress has never been a fan of her nose either. Now, it's a good nose and it's not the shape or size of it that bothers her, but rather what it does, such as become stuffed up or leak, much like a waterfall. She would definitely kiss a toad if it meant her nose would stop being such a bitch every winter.
Now, not all of this girl's dislikes have to do with physical features. In fact, Aleksandra, being a vegetarian, is a rather huge animal activist that hates the cruelty and torment of animals. In the very small amount of time she has that's not spent in bettering her future as an actress, Aleksandra often volunteers at the local zoo and at pet shelters to fight against the cruelty against creatures who can't speak for themselves. Along with the topic of cruelty, Aleksandra hates any type of bullying, prejudice, racism or hate any known person has for his fellow man despite who they are. She is a firm believer in equality and voices her opinion when she needs to.
On a less serious note, Aleksandra hates heights, clowns and spiders. She's never been a fan and she can't promise she ever will be. They are just three things she's never taken too, and yes, she will squeal and run away like a little girl flailing her arms.
Alek has never been a fan of licorice and has never been a fan of the majority of junk food that exists in the world. She's much rather have a piece of fruit or a vegetable and she's not pick about which ones you place in front of her, but please don't make it brussel sprouts, beets or radishes.
To avoid a full blown biography, just a few more things Alek hates is the world's sudden reliance on modern technology and their ability to do anything for themselves without the help of a machine, the world sudden loss of creativity (or waste of it), excuses, disorganization, planned events and sitting around not doing anything.
FEARS, aleksandra fears being alone. it's an unfortunate feeling she's had the pleasure of coming face to face with on more than one occasion. after she moved in with her aunt and cousins, she regained her self confidence and surrounded herself with people. if she ever were to become alone again, it would be a severe breaking point for the young actress.
PERSONALITY, Now that you have a small insight into everything that makes Aleksandra up, let's go a little more into detail. I'll describe her in six adjectives, and you just have to sit there and keep up. Ready?
Spoiled. Most actresses are completely and undeniably spoiled in wealth, and while they lead rather lonely lives, it's true that they get everything their heart desires. This isn't Aleksadnra though. It's true that she's an actress, and yes, she is spoiled, but less in money and more in attention. After being ignored for the first six years of her life, Aleksandra was spoiled with love, affection, care and attention. Lots, and lots of attention. While she hated the sympathetic looks and gestures from people, Aleksandra couldn't deny, and still can't, that she loved being in the spotlight, and perhaps that's where she discovered and developed her interest in actually being in the spotlight. While the sympathy faded, her love for being surrounded by others never died, and if you're not giving her attention or you don't notice her walk into a room, believe me, you'll soon be peer pressured into it. She isn't completely self absorbed, in fact, she quite a sweetheart about the whole thing, and that takes away the question about her popularity and why she's so loved. She's loud and she's fun and she's obsessed and addicted to the lime light.
Sarcastic. Most people know when a sarcastic comment has been thrown in their direction, but not everyone is as amazing at it as Alek is. She took courses on it, after all, or at least you'd swear she had. Sarcasm has a certain tone of voice, but Alex has mastered it with so many credits that not everyone catches onto her comments all the time. Of course, this makes it ten times funnier for her and her closest friends. Let's not jump the gun though, Alek is no mean girl, but when some one is that stupid, or lacking that much common sense, let's face it, they deserve to be laughed at.
Organized. With her life, in the form of an iphone 4s, glued to her hand, Alek could tell you what she's doing up to two years from now. Let's not get confused, however, because this trait of hers isn't hypocritical or contradictory to the above statement that says she dislikes planned events. It simply means that if you have an event you'd like her to attend or she has play practice to be at or a play to be in, she's going to know about it, even if she forgets, because her phone conveniently stores all of that information for her. Let's make this clear, Alek is huge on spontaneous and unplanned group gatherings, adventures and dares of all shapes and sizes. Now, planned events and shows aren't the only thing organized in Miss Prescott's life, no. In fact, her closet is color coordinated and hanging from longest garment to shortest. Her shoes are all organized by style and color and everything in her bedroom has a strict home and belonging.
Clumsy. It may seem like an odd trait for both an actress and a dancer, but it's true. Somehow, and ironically, while dancing or acting, Alek finds her inner grace and poise, but take her from the camera's view or off that dance floor, and you can bet your bottom dollar that Alek will find a pole to walk into, a banana peel to slip on, be the helpless victim of a shut door or even trip over her own two feet. It's a puzzle, but it's always who she's been.
Sentimental. She's lost a lot in life, and so it never comes as a surprise when any given person finds out just how sentimental Alek is. She is a true romantic and it is hard for her to give things in her life up. Now, she isn't a pack rat, she knows when it's time to let go of the little things, but as far as things from her childhood go, she's kept them all in a box in her aunt's attic. This doesn't apply only to things though, Aleksandra has remained close with any and all of her ex-boyfriends and she hold each of them close to her heart. She's never lost a friend, mostly because she cherishes all of them and she takes great pride and passion in everything she's done throughout her life. She got a second chance, and she cherishes those small things that most others would take for granted.
Outgoing. Aleksandra is definitely not any type of shy. She'll walk right up to you and start talking. Along with her outgoing personality comes fun, mischievous behavior and shenanigans. She's certainly not afraid of a challenge and she's always down for a good dare. Now, we're not calling her stupid. She's actually extremely intelligent, and let's face it, intelligent people don't do certain things, but up to a certain point, she'll blow you away, keep you on your toes and leave you guessing in an unpredictable way. It's no wonder she has so many fans already. No one knows what she's going to do next.
Now, if this isn't enough for all of you crazy, stalker freaks out there, you're just going to have to stay tuned in to get to know her a little bit better.
now, we did mention that alexsandra is a big health nut. in fact, she's the healthiest person she knows, but it doesn't all revolve around the way she eats. aleksandra actually loves to exercise. in fact, she's constantly active and it's rumored that the only time she stops moving, is when she's sleeping, exactly eight hours a night, which means, yes, she has a bed time. how else do you expect her to be the sptfire tongued, bright eyed, bushy tailed actress we love so much? now, while it may seem next to impossible for one to be as healthy as aleksandra appears, it's no act. aleksandra hasn't used any medication since she was a child of about six years old. her grandmother introduced her to a world of essential oils and she's been hooked ever since. any ailment that comes her way is cured with a natural essential oil. well, all i can say is they must be something out of houdini's suitcase because i haven't seen her sniffle once since i've known her.
other interests of aleksandra's that don't quite fit in with the above topics are candles, rain, fog, driving, riding her bicycle, puddle jumping, roaming around museums, watching movies, watching cheesy spanish soap operas, the snow (strictly for snow angels, snow forts, snowmen and snowball fights, of course), reading, fireplaces, boys, shopping, giving makeovers to her friends and family, visiting zoos and aquariums, music, lillies, orchids,cupcakes (but never cake) and sunsets as well as sunrises.
DISLIKES, If you're waiting for the part of the story where the actress tells you she hates just about everything about her body and plans to go under the knife to fix it all, you'll be waiting a rather long time. In fact, Aleksandra loves everything about her full c - cup perky breasts, her well toned ass and stomach and is not ashamed of her average and healthy weight and finds herself rather attractive, which isn't to say she lives in a mirror staring at herself all day. She has a dazzling smile and gorgeous eyes and while her feet are a little larger than an average girl her age, she's okay with that as well. Large or not, they happen to be very petite. Now, this isn't to say she doesn't have her little flaws that she could live without for the rest of her life such as that faded scar she has above her left eyebrow from that ugly encounter she had with her drunken father when she was four years old, a daily reminder of how unfortunate she's been in her former life. Aleksandra also hates the birthmark she has on her right shoulder blade that people often say resembles a dinosaur. While she admits that the shape is pretty cool, she is still looking for ways to remove it from her body. The dancing actress has never been a fan of her nose either. Now, it's a good nose and it's not the shape or size of it that bothers her, but rather what it does, such as become stuffed up or leak, much like a waterfall. She would definitely kiss a toad if it meant her nose would stop being such a bitch every winter.
Now, not all of this girl's dislikes have to do with physical features. In fact, Aleksandra, being a vegetarian, is a rather huge animal activist that hates the cruelty and torment of animals. In the very small amount of time she has that's not spent in bettering her future as an actress, Aleksandra often volunteers at the local zoo and at pet shelters to fight against the cruelty against creatures who can't speak for themselves. Along with the topic of cruelty, Aleksandra hates any type of bullying, prejudice, racism or hate any known person has for his fellow man despite who they are. She is a firm believer in equality and voices her opinion when she needs to.
On a less serious note, Aleksandra hates heights, clowns and spiders. She's never been a fan and she can't promise she ever will be. They are just three things she's never taken too, and yes, she will squeal and run away like a little girl flailing her arms.
Alek has never been a fan of licorice and has never been a fan of the majority of junk food that exists in the world. She's much rather have a piece of fruit or a vegetable and she's not pick about which ones you place in front of her, but please don't make it brussel sprouts, beets or radishes.
To avoid a full blown biography, just a few more things Alek hates is the world's sudden reliance on modern technology and their ability to do anything for themselves without the help of a machine, the world sudden loss of creativity (or waste of it), excuses, disorganization, planned events and sitting around not doing anything.
FEARS, aleksandra fears being alone. it's an unfortunate feeling she's had the pleasure of coming face to face with on more than one occasion. after she moved in with her aunt and cousins, she regained her self confidence and surrounded herself with people. if she ever were to become alone again, it would be a severe breaking point for the young actress.
PERSONALITY, Now that you have a small insight into everything that makes Aleksandra up, let's go a little more into detail. I'll describe her in six adjectives, and you just have to sit there and keep up. Ready?
Spoiled. Most actresses are completely and undeniably spoiled in wealth, and while they lead rather lonely lives, it's true that they get everything their heart desires. This isn't Aleksadnra though. It's true that she's an actress, and yes, she is spoiled, but less in money and more in attention. After being ignored for the first six years of her life, Aleksandra was spoiled with love, affection, care and attention. Lots, and lots of attention. While she hated the sympathetic looks and gestures from people, Aleksandra couldn't deny, and still can't, that she loved being in the spotlight, and perhaps that's where she discovered and developed her interest in actually being in the spotlight. While the sympathy faded, her love for being surrounded by others never died, and if you're not giving her attention or you don't notice her walk into a room, believe me, you'll soon be peer pressured into it. She isn't completely self absorbed, in fact, she quite a sweetheart about the whole thing, and that takes away the question about her popularity and why she's so loved. She's loud and she's fun and she's obsessed and addicted to the lime light.
Sarcastic. Most people know when a sarcastic comment has been thrown in their direction, but not everyone is as amazing at it as Alek is. She took courses on it, after all, or at least you'd swear she had. Sarcasm has a certain tone of voice, but Alex has mastered it with so many credits that not everyone catches onto her comments all the time. Of course, this makes it ten times funnier for her and her closest friends. Let's not jump the gun though, Alek is no mean girl, but when some one is that stupid, or lacking that much common sense, let's face it, they deserve to be laughed at.
Organized. With her life, in the form of an iphone 4s, glued to her hand, Alek could tell you what she's doing up to two years from now. Let's not get confused, however, because this trait of hers isn't hypocritical or contradictory to the above statement that says she dislikes planned events. It simply means that if you have an event you'd like her to attend or she has play practice to be at or a play to be in, she's going to know about it, even if she forgets, because her phone conveniently stores all of that information for her. Let's make this clear, Alek is huge on spontaneous and unplanned group gatherings, adventures and dares of all shapes and sizes. Now, planned events and shows aren't the only thing organized in Miss Prescott's life, no. In fact, her closet is color coordinated and hanging from longest garment to shortest. Her shoes are all organized by style and color and everything in her bedroom has a strict home and belonging.
Clumsy. It may seem like an odd trait for both an actress and a dancer, but it's true. Somehow, and ironically, while dancing or acting, Alek finds her inner grace and poise, but take her from the camera's view or off that dance floor, and you can bet your bottom dollar that Alek will find a pole to walk into, a banana peel to slip on, be the helpless victim of a shut door or even trip over her own two feet. It's a puzzle, but it's always who she's been.
Sentimental. She's lost a lot in life, and so it never comes as a surprise when any given person finds out just how sentimental Alek is. She is a true romantic and it is hard for her to give things in her life up. Now, she isn't a pack rat, she knows when it's time to let go of the little things, but as far as things from her childhood go, she's kept them all in a box in her aunt's attic. This doesn't apply only to things though, Aleksandra has remained close with any and all of her ex-boyfriends and she hold each of them close to her heart. She's never lost a friend, mostly because she cherishes all of them and she takes great pride and passion in everything she's done throughout her life. She got a second chance, and she cherishes those small things that most others would take for granted.
Outgoing. Aleksandra is definitely not any type of shy. She'll walk right up to you and start talking. Along with her outgoing personality comes fun, mischievous behavior and shenanigans. She's certainly not afraid of a challenge and she's always down for a good dare. Now, we're not calling her stupid. She's actually extremely intelligent, and let's face it, intelligent people don't do certain things, but up to a certain point, she'll blow you away, keep you on your toes and leave you guessing in an unpredictable way. It's no wonder she has so many fans already. No one knows what she's going to do next.
Now, if this isn't enough for all of you crazy, stalker freaks out there, you're just going to have to stay tuned in to get to know her a little bit better.
---------------- HISTORY ---------------
FATHER, dominic xavier prescott, forty eight, criminal, currently locked up.
MOTHER, zalia nicole prescott, thirty six, criminal, currently in hiding.
OTHER FAMILY, Alek lives with her aunt, uncle, and two cousins, however, doesn't really speak about her family. She's made it known that she comes from a rather large family, but never mentioned any names, nor has she mentioned anything about her home life or living conditions at any stage in her life.
HISTORY, The sound of a slow dripping sound could be heard seldomly from the apartment upstairs. It was slow and accompanied by an eerie silence. I waited until there were no other footsteps. I was afraid, and I didn't want them to trace that phone call back to me. If they did, if they knew I called, they could shoot me just as dead as they shot her. Or at least, as dead as I thought they'd shot her. That's what I heard that day. It was about eleven o' clock in the morning and everyone was out for the day. Children had gone to school and parents had gone to work. Everyone else in the building set off on a journey of daily errands or important doings. You might ask what I was doing home, and that's easy, I'm a writer. I remember the day that little girl was left for dead. She was about sixteen years old. I was in a wife beater and a pair of ripped and rugged jeans. I had a pipe in my mouth and the newspaper rolled up in one hand with a cup of coffee in the other. It was a typical day for me until I heard that ruckus upstairs. My computer didn't matter any more and the novel I was writing was a piece of shit. I listened as the girl struggled for her life. There were screams and furniture was shuffled around. Lamps had been broken and there were now a few dents in her wall.
"HELP HER!" That stupid voice in side of me was screaming out to help her but my sock covered feet here plastered to the floor. "ISN'T ANYONE GOING TO FUCKING HELP HER!" I was so frustrated with myself, but I was so scared for my own well being that I just sat there in silence and listened to the murder. I listened because I'm a human, and the average human, despite whether or not you're hearing a murder, is a sitting duck, selfish and proud, waiting for something exciting to happen so we can sit there and do nothing. That poor, pregnant, sixteen year old girl.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
I knew what that sound was. I'd been a fan of horror since I was a child. As soon as I'd known they were gone, I called the police, a frantic mess. Was she dead? Was her baby dead? What had I done. She'd always been a kind girl. She always said hello to me on her way out when I was picking up my newspaper. Why had I just been a coward, sitting down and listening to the whole thing like a coward?
I waited for a few hours before I emerged from that hole of mine. I got into my car and drove to the hospital, and when I got there, she was still unconscious, a blood mess, but there was something missing, something she'd given the name Aleksandra to a few weeks back, the baby she's been so excited about. She was too young for any of this. A baby, a murder, a boyfriend or fiancee or husband..whatever the hell he was to her. He was twelve years older than she was, and he was hungry. He was hungry for any riches he could get his hands on, and she was merely his trophy. At least that's the way it seemed from the outside looking in.
I left that day, sad and miserable, positive that she and Aleksandra were both dead. It was quiet for the next few days. My apartment building became a breeding ground for investigators, detectives and police. It was quiet after that, a brooding husband coming home every night knowing that he's never see his wife and child again. He moved around a lot of furniture and there was a lot of hammering. I couldn't tell what he was doing anymore, but one week later, that pretty little girl came home, carrying something small and fragile in her arms. She was cut up and bruised, a large smile on her face as if nothing had ever happened. As if just a week ago, she hadn't been knocking on death's door.
What the hell had just happened? I had to know. It was itching the writer inside of me.
I never did find out the whole truth, but Aleksandra grew into an adorable little girl. Things started to happen in that apartment, though. It seemed inevitable. It was as if the apartment was possessed, haunted by a poltergeist or demons.
I became obsessed with that little girl. She was so young, and so beautiful, almost flawless. I wasn't interested in her in any type of a predator way, though, please don't think ill of me. I felt more like a guardian to me. She would sit on the front steps of that apartment building when her mother was still getting ready to go out on errands and I would have the most interesting conversations with her. We would talk about her imaginary friend and about how bright the stars were at night. We talked about her favorite bed time stories and about what was happening on her favorite television shows. For a three year old, she was the most intelligent individual I'd ever met. She'd even come downstairs and visit me from time to time, bring me cookies she and her mother would make together, or bring me leftover thanksgiving, christmas and easter feasts because she knew i was home alone. I fell in love with that little girl. She was like a little sister or daughter I'd never have the pleasure of knowing entirely, but I felt lucky all the same. I felt sympathetic for her because of that dreadful apartment she lived in, that haunted mess of painted walls and stained, slightly cracked glass windows that held secrets that would destroy that bright and beautifully painted soul of hers.
She had scrapes, burns and bruises not normal for a girl of three years old. I noticed them when I was playing dolls with her one day. I braided her hair for her and gave her a lollipop, the first of many she'd suck on throughout her life, and told her she was beautiful. She thanked me, gave me a kiss on the cheek and went skipping upstairs to her mother. She'd always been so polite and well mannered. It was June when I noticed that cut above her left eyebrow. asked her about it and she assured me that she's only fallen, and that she'd gotten a boo boo. She had tears in her eyes that she'd hidden rather well and she asked me to kiss her boo boo, make it all better. I did.
That girl left a few months later, moved to Paris to be with her aunt. Her father was arrested, but she never told me why. Of course, it's to be assumed that he'd abused her. Any sane and rational person would have placed the pieces of the puzzle the same way, but when I asked that girl later on in her life, she assured me that she'd only been clumsy, and that her father was placed in jail for entirely different reasons.
Months passed, and then years passed. I finished my novel which wound up coming out entirely different then I'd intended it to. I went on a book tour and was offered more money to right a sequel to that girl's story, a sequel to the real life story of her life that had been fictional all along. It was as if she could make up her whole life's story at the drop of a pin, tell a different story every time some one asked. That little girl, though, that poor girl who'd lost her daughter to Paris sat in that apartment alone for a year, crying and brooding. She disappeared one day. I don't know where or when, but she was gone. She'd left all of her stuff and just disappeared into thin air as if she'd walked through the bermuda triangle.
Life went on, and after my book tour two years later, after refusing to write a sequel, I returned home to that ratty little apartment that I could have upgraded with all of that money I'd made, all of the profits I could have made with a second book. I couldn't write part two, though. First of all, I didn't have part two to write, and second, I don't think I would have had the heart to have written it. I couldn't leave that ratty little apartment either. It was home.
It was Christmas when I received a letter in the mail from an Aleksandra Louise Prescott. It was her. I was nervous and my fingers trembled as I removed the letter from the envelope. I thought she was writing me to tell me she was going to sue me for writing such false things about her family, or that she'd rip my head off for even thinking about using her life a subject for my novel. How dare I state such falsified accounts on blank pages in between the hard binding of a book. She didn't though. She wanted to thank me for giving her a place to escape to when she needed it, for giving her a lollipop and for braiding her hair, and to tell me that while she was uneasy about the topic, that she'd enjoyed my book. She included a photograph of herself in the letter. She was sixteen, just a few years ago. I was just a neighbor, she said, but I'd acted like an older brother, and she'd always cherish those memories.
She used the rest of the letter to tell me what I'd missed in her life. She became a dancer when she was six. She'd been dancing ever since, and when she was twelve, she took up an interest in acting. She was so beautiful, and so talented, and as she proceeded to tell me about her boyfriends and her friends and how high school was treating her, I shed a tear for the happiness she was feeling. She deserved to be happy, that bright, shining ball of energy. She'd gotten everything she deserved in life and more. She'd moved in with her aunt, uncle and cousins in Paris. She'd learned to speak French. She'd had her first kiss in the rain by the eiffel tower and she'd shopped in all of the hottest boutiques.
It's still a mystery, that girl's life, what really went on in that apartment and what happened to her parents. It's a story I'll never justly and truthfully tell. A story that would make millions at the box office. She was just a little girl in a broken world, and she'd found her light. Now every month I wait for that letter in the mail, the letter that updates me on her life, the letter that links me to her world, the letter from Aleksandra.
MOTHER, zalia nicole prescott, thirty six, criminal, currently in hiding.
OTHER FAMILY, Alek lives with her aunt, uncle, and two cousins, however, doesn't really speak about her family. She's made it known that she comes from a rather large family, but never mentioned any names, nor has she mentioned anything about her home life or living conditions at any stage in her life.
HISTORY, The sound of a slow dripping sound could be heard seldomly from the apartment upstairs. It was slow and accompanied by an eerie silence. I waited until there were no other footsteps. I was afraid, and I didn't want them to trace that phone call back to me. If they did, if they knew I called, they could shoot me just as dead as they shot her. Or at least, as dead as I thought they'd shot her. That's what I heard that day. It was about eleven o' clock in the morning and everyone was out for the day. Children had gone to school and parents had gone to work. Everyone else in the building set off on a journey of daily errands or important doings. You might ask what I was doing home, and that's easy, I'm a writer. I remember the day that little girl was left for dead. She was about sixteen years old. I was in a wife beater and a pair of ripped and rugged jeans. I had a pipe in my mouth and the newspaper rolled up in one hand with a cup of coffee in the other. It was a typical day for me until I heard that ruckus upstairs. My computer didn't matter any more and the novel I was writing was a piece of shit. I listened as the girl struggled for her life. There were screams and furniture was shuffled around. Lamps had been broken and there were now a few dents in her wall.
"HELP HER!" That stupid voice in side of me was screaming out to help her but my sock covered feet here plastered to the floor. "ISN'T ANYONE GOING TO FUCKING HELP HER!" I was so frustrated with myself, but I was so scared for my own well being that I just sat there in silence and listened to the murder. I listened because I'm a human, and the average human, despite whether or not you're hearing a murder, is a sitting duck, selfish and proud, waiting for something exciting to happen so we can sit there and do nothing. That poor, pregnant, sixteen year old girl.
Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.
I knew what that sound was. I'd been a fan of horror since I was a child. As soon as I'd known they were gone, I called the police, a frantic mess. Was she dead? Was her baby dead? What had I done. She'd always been a kind girl. She always said hello to me on her way out when I was picking up my newspaper. Why had I just been a coward, sitting down and listening to the whole thing like a coward?
I waited for a few hours before I emerged from that hole of mine. I got into my car and drove to the hospital, and when I got there, she was still unconscious, a blood mess, but there was something missing, something she'd given the name Aleksandra to a few weeks back, the baby she's been so excited about. She was too young for any of this. A baby, a murder, a boyfriend or fiancee or husband..whatever the hell he was to her. He was twelve years older than she was, and he was hungry. He was hungry for any riches he could get his hands on, and she was merely his trophy. At least that's the way it seemed from the outside looking in.
I left that day, sad and miserable, positive that she and Aleksandra were both dead. It was quiet for the next few days. My apartment building became a breeding ground for investigators, detectives and police. It was quiet after that, a brooding husband coming home every night knowing that he's never see his wife and child again. He moved around a lot of furniture and there was a lot of hammering. I couldn't tell what he was doing anymore, but one week later, that pretty little girl came home, carrying something small and fragile in her arms. She was cut up and bruised, a large smile on her face as if nothing had ever happened. As if just a week ago, she hadn't been knocking on death's door.
What the hell had just happened? I had to know. It was itching the writer inside of me.
I never did find out the whole truth, but Aleksandra grew into an adorable little girl. Things started to happen in that apartment, though. It seemed inevitable. It was as if the apartment was possessed, haunted by a poltergeist or demons.
I became obsessed with that little girl. She was so young, and so beautiful, almost flawless. I wasn't interested in her in any type of a predator way, though, please don't think ill of me. I felt more like a guardian to me. She would sit on the front steps of that apartment building when her mother was still getting ready to go out on errands and I would have the most interesting conversations with her. We would talk about her imaginary friend and about how bright the stars were at night. We talked about her favorite bed time stories and about what was happening on her favorite television shows. For a three year old, she was the most intelligent individual I'd ever met. She'd even come downstairs and visit me from time to time, bring me cookies she and her mother would make together, or bring me leftover thanksgiving, christmas and easter feasts because she knew i was home alone. I fell in love with that little girl. She was like a little sister or daughter I'd never have the pleasure of knowing entirely, but I felt lucky all the same. I felt sympathetic for her because of that dreadful apartment she lived in, that haunted mess of painted walls and stained, slightly cracked glass windows that held secrets that would destroy that bright and beautifully painted soul of hers.
She had scrapes, burns and bruises not normal for a girl of three years old. I noticed them when I was playing dolls with her one day. I braided her hair for her and gave her a lollipop, the first of many she'd suck on throughout her life, and told her she was beautiful. She thanked me, gave me a kiss on the cheek and went skipping upstairs to her mother. She'd always been so polite and well mannered. It was June when I noticed that cut above her left eyebrow. asked her about it and she assured me that she's only fallen, and that she'd gotten a boo boo. She had tears in her eyes that she'd hidden rather well and she asked me to kiss her boo boo, make it all better. I did.
That girl left a few months later, moved to Paris to be with her aunt. Her father was arrested, but she never told me why. Of course, it's to be assumed that he'd abused her. Any sane and rational person would have placed the pieces of the puzzle the same way, but when I asked that girl later on in her life, she assured me that she'd only been clumsy, and that her father was placed in jail for entirely different reasons.
Months passed, and then years passed. I finished my novel which wound up coming out entirely different then I'd intended it to. I went on a book tour and was offered more money to right a sequel to that girl's story, a sequel to the real life story of her life that had been fictional all along. It was as if she could make up her whole life's story at the drop of a pin, tell a different story every time some one asked. That little girl, though, that poor girl who'd lost her daughter to Paris sat in that apartment alone for a year, crying and brooding. She disappeared one day. I don't know where or when, but she was gone. She'd left all of her stuff and just disappeared into thin air as if she'd walked through the bermuda triangle.
Life went on, and after my book tour two years later, after refusing to write a sequel, I returned home to that ratty little apartment that I could have upgraded with all of that money I'd made, all of the profits I could have made with a second book. I couldn't write part two, though. First of all, I didn't have part two to write, and second, I don't think I would have had the heart to have written it. I couldn't leave that ratty little apartment either. It was home.
It was Christmas when I received a letter in the mail from an Aleksandra Louise Prescott. It was her. I was nervous and my fingers trembled as I removed the letter from the envelope. I thought she was writing me to tell me she was going to sue me for writing such false things about her family, or that she'd rip my head off for even thinking about using her life a subject for my novel. How dare I state such falsified accounts on blank pages in between the hard binding of a book. She didn't though. She wanted to thank me for giving her a place to escape to when she needed it, for giving her a lollipop and for braiding her hair, and to tell me that while she was uneasy about the topic, that she'd enjoyed my book. She included a photograph of herself in the letter. She was sixteen, just a few years ago. I was just a neighbor, she said, but I'd acted like an older brother, and she'd always cherish those memories.
She used the rest of the letter to tell me what I'd missed in her life. She became a dancer when she was six. She'd been dancing ever since, and when she was twelve, she took up an interest in acting. She was so beautiful, and so talented, and as she proceeded to tell me about her boyfriends and her friends and how high school was treating her, I shed a tear for the happiness she was feeling. She deserved to be happy, that bright, shining ball of energy. She'd gotten everything she deserved in life and more. She'd moved in with her aunt, uncle and cousins in Paris. She'd learned to speak French. She'd had her first kiss in the rain by the eiffel tower and she'd shopped in all of the hottest boutiques.
It's still a mystery, that girl's life, what really went on in that apartment and what happened to her parents. It's a story I'll never justly and truthfully tell. A story that would make millions at the box office. She was just a little girl in a broken world, and she'd found her light. Now every month I wait for that letter in the mail, the letter that updates me on her life, the letter that links me to her world, the letter from Aleksandra.
---------------- ABOUT YOU ---------------
YOUR NAME, pinkley.
CONTACT, pm, please.
OTHER, i'm a really big coffee addict. *nods*
CONTACT, pm, please.
OTHER, i'm a really big coffee addict. *nods*
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Templante made by Alba.
[/size]Templante made by Alba.
