Post by Nova Sandoval on Jun 30, 2013 18:23:05 GMT -8
NOVA CIRCE SANDOVAL NINETEEN CAUCASIAN FREELANCE BISEXUAL SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY YOU CAN FIGHT IT LIKE A DOG HEIGHT: 5'5" WEIGHT: 123lb APPEARANCE: typically not caught in much colour. nova prefers to reflect her inner shadows with palettes of grey, black, and white. she prefers her hair up, but it falls down easily throughout the day and she usually forgets to fix it. she is obsessive about little things, such as the shape of her nails, but completely clueless about the state of her makeup. she has a neurotic tendency to pick at her skin so her upper arms are typically dotted with small red bumps. her ice blue eyes can be penetrating but her intimidating appearance is almost always a false alarm. nova desires drastically to stand out and to reach out but finds that people tend to be wary of her and she is unsure why. IT BROUGHT ME TO MY KNEES LIKES:
DISLIKES:
HABITS:
FEARS:
OVERALL: one pill don't feel a thing. four pills lost in a streamof consciousness, restlessness, breaths caught like glass in the sills, in the cabinets first and last nova gets through most of her days with the help of narcotics and opiates. nursing an incredible distaste for 'normal' jobs, she affords her vice by any means necessary. "freelancing." THEY GOT SCARED AND THEY PUT ME IN HISTORY: SEVEN "sand-dollar!" a play on her name though bitten, no scar (but she wished it would) nova never much liked cats since then. didn't seem important. usually never does. by the age of ELEVEN she couldn't stand to look a mammal in it's eyes. humans were different. she recognised the consciousness. she recognised something deeper than in animals. she has nightmares about dogs, about wolves. the worst ones are when she transforms herself--soulless, lifeless. by the time she's FIFTEEN she can hardly remember these dreams--just the images they bring. first kiss, with a girl. she prefers girls. they're soft. they're understanding. their lips taste sweet and not dirty like the money she got for kissing him when she turned SIXTEEN "just kiss him, nove, c'mon. i'll give you twenty dollars. i'll buy you lunch. it'll be funny." why does her friend want her to do this? fine. it wasn't worth the money. but it starts a pretty pattern so at EIGHTEEN nova finds herself locked in a dark room full of pills, weed and empty whiskey bottles. how the hell could a person live this way? "two years ago, you bitch, you got paid to kiss me? didn't you?" what's in her stomach? anesthetic? poison? is she dying? she doesn't know for three days. she doesn't see anyone for three days but him. she becomes painfully aware of how alone she's always been. no sisters. a brother eleven years younger... how could they ever connect? parents of the away-variety. no girlfriends. no boyfriends. no pets, thank god. just nova. just nova. and now this. "did you think it was funny?" how to breathe? how do you breathe? she's NINETEEN now and she still can't remember... but at least on vicodin she can pretend she doesn't care. she studies social psychology because she feels that it's a shield. she'll never fall into a trip like his again. she'll always be able to read the eyes of men, the lips of women, the motivations of her seniors and the lies of her peers. untrusting. uncouth. and even in youth, there was no place to fall no place at all. when she's TWENTY she swears she'll be all better. at THIRTY it won't even matter at all. at THIRTY-TWO she should be married, at least, to the girl of her dreams. no children. no pets. just life in the seams. at FORTY she and her love will both overdose. make love until they pass out and never wake up. she doesn't consider the vomit and pain. forty's too far away. |