Post by LUKA CARTER O'NEAL on May 2, 2010 15:28:38 GMT -6
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Luka hadn't really had the time to understand the sort of surroundings he had been thrown into at the school. He was sure that whatever they were, they were going to be completely different from what he was used to. It irked him a little. He had never understood how important money could be and hell, he'd been used to living on his solo wage all of his life. In a way, Luka was one of those guys that was born into the world with just his pride to his name. It was almost as if, metaphorically, his life was embedded with a wealth of nothing, a blank sphere or an empty canvas, except he couldn't even afford the paint to draw his future. This made him feel helpless and made him feel as if whatever he wanted was just inches within his grasp, but the inches would never become smaller and his dream, well his dream would just slip out of his grasp.
He had always wanted to be a musician and it was the only thing he could ever remember being even remotely interested in. Music filled his life with passion, love and it gave him a purpose, it gave his soul and mind a meaning to attend too. As a child, Luka had been surrounded by songs and melodies as it was the only thing he and his family had that didn't cost more than a dime and a bit of spirit. On a weeknights, his parents and his two sisters and he used to sit on their front porch casually humming along and singing to tunes that they had grown up on. These were often nursery rhymes or simple songs that soothed and cleared the mind. He was always the one to supply the base tune, the guitar. Music made him feel complete, almost as if when he was surrounded by the sweet melodic tune of a beat, he couldnt't be reached by anguish or pain and evil, well evil could not penetrate the walls he surrounded himself with when he played and wrote his songs.
It wasn't long before Luka had decided that enough was enough. He needed to releae himself from the place he had hidden himself in over the past few days. His room had become his own isolation unit and all he could remember of outside was that there was night and day. His arms had become sore from playing different notes together in an attempt to make a tune. His performance piece was coming up and hell, his nerves had started to get to him. In order for him to feel less restricted, he had organised a meeting with Jake and Grace, two people who had welcomed him when he had moved here. He was aware that they were close, but he had never really got himself involved with the politics of it all. The beach seemed like te perfect place for them to meet and hell, the sun was out. As he scuffed his flat plimsolls along the floor he waited for them to meet him. He hadn't dressed badly, jeans and a checked shirt with his signature dog tags hanging loosely around his exposed neck. As he rlowered himself to sit on the wall, he took notice of the people around him and waited for a sign of the terrible twosome.
