Title: Through the looking glass

summary: a collection of short pieces all with their own intentions

Age restrictions: R simply for some of the content

Disclaimer: I own all the pieces of work, the characters are from my mind in some way or another

Author's note: These are short, they won't become a story, it's merely me getting the horrible writer's block out with pieces that I am proud of but won't make up anything more.

Enjoy the show

Medicated Drama Queen

Contemplation often makes life miserable. We should act more, think less, and stop watching ourselves live." – Chamfort

You'll have to excuse me if I might seem a bit dreamy, or if my English is a little pathetic. I've spent about ten years learning to speak English at the same time as speaking my own language and it's not hard for the two to give anyone a headache. It's no excuse for my dreamy state of words or the fact I spout quotes from books or poets like a fountain spouts water. I guess the English and French are just naturally romantic and poetic and obsessed with literature and art and love and all the contexts it can be displayed in.

Actually that doesn't seem to say much about me, except maybe give away that I am French, Have been since the day I was born in fact, lived in Paris for much of my life in a city apartment with a pretty little view of the Eiffel tower and several jazz or privately owned café's. I'm pretty accustomed to not shopping in a supermarket or drinking with my dinner, or sitting out on the street with a cup of espresso only, none of this cappuccino crap please, if I wanted hot milk, I would simply ask for it. I'm used to doing things the French way with a hint of class and nostalgia even, but I always believed it was the British who were guilty of nostalgia more than anyone. There is no stuffiness in French, no we don't smell of garlic either, in fact Paris was clean the last time I checked, my family's apartment was supplied with running water all the time and I like to keep on top of the fashion.

Something else you might notice that like a lot of French youths these days I am quite morbid but who wouldn't be when you are in a city built upon centuries of wars and plagues and underneath your very city was the remains of thousands of people? It's all quite fascinating, this mixture of poetry and death that actually makes for clean, sweet air in the very streets of the most romantic city in the world. It's rather bazaar if you think about it but then most countries in Europe (the more famous ones that is) are build upon a structure of death, war and art in some weird way. Italy had Rome and the Renaissance while France had Napoleon and the expressionists or something to that dreary effect.

School for me was in the form of a Catholic school where wearing a cross was actually a fashion statement if you believe in god. You could say I was one of the kids they locked away when it came to prospective parents viewing the place, no one wants to see that their blue eyed, blonde son could turn into some pale faced piece of walking death, or something like that. I've never been blonde myself, well there was that time back when I was about fourteen and it seemed a good idea to bleach my hair platinum blonde just to shock the teachers a little bit. My father loved it, being the true political poet he is even if my mother, the more stable and reliable lawyer thought me quite mad and hated the idea of me hiding my black hair with blonde. But school was alright; I'm not one for large amounts of friends so there was only three of us, all dressed in black (except for the uniform shirt which was actually white) and black hair. I preferred mine short, despite the cliché that came with my fashion sense of men with long hair and girls short hair. I didn't look good with long hair, sort of looked like a girl myself actually and that just didn't do me at all.

There is a lot to know about me, I'm not really one of those depressed Goths or emos or what ever they're called, I just happen to have a rather sobering view on life and all things that make up the world today. I have a thing for bondage but I'm not sure if it's a kink of the fact that I simply am obsessed with drawing bondage, my favourite piece involving a little more than the average amount of duct tape and nudity. I am in love with the human form, all that we have become and in fact I am in love with all things art and literature and philosophical as a true Parisian should be. You're probably finding me rather boring, if a little confusing seeming as I haven't yet said my name or even described my physical form or age.

I'll start with the first and let you all have your fun perhaps taking the piss out of my rather upper class name. I am Benvolio De Marc, yes named after the character from Romeo and Juliet but the wonderful and world famous, Shakespeare. This perhaps give you some hint into the type of family I was born into, hell merely saying what my parents careers were should have given some small hint of the fact that art and poetry and the mere history of it all was one of their obsessions and grew into one of mine. At least I wasn't named Mercutio like my older brother was called; you can imagine the fun that came with that name. So yes, my name is Benvolio De Marc, I won't bother describing what I look like because really it's not that hard to miss me. Just look for the boy that looks like a girl. Again I think I should perhaps say here that anyone with a problem with my appearance should keep it to themselves simply because I cannot change the way I am or the way I look and nor do I wish to. I have never had a problem with the way I've dressed or looked before even though yes, it might seem horribly obvious I am gay if not at least bisexual and that I am not afraid to shove my tongue down any boy's throat. I simply have no fear in showing off in these ways and there isn't anything I won't try as long as it's within reason.

Finally, I'm seventeen. At that age where I'm so close to being out of school and yet not quite old enough to be in college. You're all probably now wondering why I'm not in Paris anymore and the answer is very long but easy to explain.

It started with the fact that money for the school I was in ran out mysteriously and the school was on the verge of bankruptcy when it was revealed that board members had been bleeding the account dry in a form of fraud. All in all the school gained a rather bad reputation and my parents didn't wish for me to remain. At the same time it would seem they found my new love for death and bondage a little worrying which I guess it can be seen that way only I have no intentions of killing anyone or joining the bondage scene myself any time soon, it was blamed on the simple fact that film noir could have that affect on people and over here it's not nearly as easily accessible as it is in Paris. It was apparently time to ship me somewhere else, to New York state where a aunt and uncle live with the same French traditions that were in my home but could make sure I was given a proper American education and steered away from too much of the old death and bondage scene.

Parents these days are so over dramatic, don't you think?

So there you have, it a small glimpse into my mind and what not, I am Benvolio De Marc and it's a pleasure to meet you