regardless, i have a little piece of writing that's just been sitting on my folder at work. i figured it should be posted somewhere, if not ever read by anyone but myself.
it was the beginning of what was going to be a character study project about my favorite characters on my favorite television shows. i picked one phrase "they'd have nothing to say to one another, anyway" and swore to incorporate it into every little short i wrote, sort of to tie them all together. in the end, i only got one done, and that was for Heroes, for a character study of Sylar:
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Gabriel Gray was a serious boy, quiet and reserved. He’d often fall to the wayside, book in hand while others pushed each other around on the playground, hoping to fade away into the background. Memories of his face pushed into the dirt and horrible nicknames often drowned any good dreams, and his eyes often fought to close, even in the darkest of night.
A grown-up Gabriel Gray was not much more than that; he had the same haircut, same serious eyes, same penchant and devotion to his mother. His brain trained itself to tick like a clock; he found a simple sort of solace in the quiet of his shop. He hid behind glasses and layers of sweaters and the sounds of ticking clocks.
Sylar was sarcastic and an outspoken sort of pensive. He had a smart mouth and a sharp tongue and he reached out and caught everything he ever wanted. He walked like he was the world, not reaching to be a part of it, and he was everything he could ever dream.
And yet, he still wanted more.
Sometimes he stood in front of a mirror and stared at his reflection – at the sharp planes of his face, of the stubble he let grow free and the length of his hair and wondered how he and Gabriel Gray, in truth, were the same person. It wasn’t an often thought, because it was one that made him seethe, but it was truth. Sometimes he just needed the reminder so he knew he couldn’t go back, not ever.
This day, under the darkening sky, he wiped a smudge of blood from his lips in disgust. The body under his feet was quickly cooling in the autumn air, and he was bitter, if not outright annoyed, about how much of a fight this one had put up. The blood, it was his own with splatters of the man at his feet, and it was sticky under his boots.
This day, as he peered down at the body, he imagined it was Gabriel Gray lying in his own blood in a dark alley, all alone except the murderer who’d decimated his already meaningless life. He imagined it was Gabriel Gray he was leaving behind, Gabriel’s blood sticky on his chin.
The next time he’d look into the mirror, he wouldn’t see the trace of the little boy, no, man – he once was. Instead, he’d just see Sylar, powerful and conniving. He should feel sad, he knows, giving up the person he once was – the person who made him who he is – but he doesn’t.
It’s because he knows that if he’d ever met Gabriel Gray now, on the street, they’d have nothing to say to one another, anyway.
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