Eli Madison

             eva’s lack of humanity didn’t bother her much, not at this point and as she stood in the doorframe of the thrift shop, trying to unlock it. She tried not to seem at unease, black coffee clenched in one hand and struggling with the sticky lock. eva worked the owner today, he was going to keep the place closed out of protest for the monument - one that she hadn’t personally gone to see and wasn’t even going to admit existed. 

                       the blonde didn’t want to pull magic for pity today, she didn’t want anyone to even come by it honestly - she wanted to act as if none of this ever happened… maybe that the only good that she had tied to her wasn’t lost in this ‘accident’, that’s when her key broke in the lock. 

     “ you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” a groan under her breath, pulling back on her lip as she just decided to sit on the windowsill outside the store for a moment. “nothing ever goes right around here.” sipping back on her coffee, folding an arm across her chest to clasp her bicep as she began to walk away from the store, towards the memorial - now was a good a time as ever. 

Eli was standing apart from the others who had stopped to regard the memorial, when he saw a familiar face walking towards him. Eva Castellano. There was something almost magnetic about her and the way she could smooth over the emotions that rippled under his skin. He considered her something close to a friend, but not quite that – a friendship would require that he liked her, had some fondness for her.  Eva has something poisonous about her that puts a bad taste in his mouth, but then again, who is he to judge? He is hardly a good person himself.

The graffiti is reminder enough of that. There are no accidents. He can’t help but think, staring at it, of his mother’s excuses when Eli was just a kid. ‘It was just an accident. He didn’t mean to. Just an accident.’ If there are no accidents, then what did that make him?

Eva looked different, almost, although he couldn’t put his finger on what it is. For a second, he wondered if he should say anything, or leave – like he’d been meaning to do since he got here.

                                                          “Try explaining a life bundled with episodes of this–                                                                                                                   Swallowing mud,                                                                                                                              Swallowing glass, ——————————————————   the smell of blood on the first four knuckles.”

NAME: Eli Madison AGE: Twenty-Five OCCUPATION: Dock Worker FACE CLAIM: AJ Abualrub

what lies within

Some boys are born with rage flitting underneath their skin, seeping into their words and curling their fists at a moment’s notice. Some boys exist with it nestled in their chest, tucked away like dry kindling until the most inconspicuous of sparks sets them ablaze. Eli wasn’t inflicted with this sort of fury from birth; instead, he was born with a crippling inability to communicate. Words were never his forte. Emotions roiled within him, lacking means of expression, eventually fusing into a molten mass of frustration that only knew how to erupt. The anger itself is a side effect- his tried and true method of release. Every smashed plate, every hole in the drywall, every scream echoing in the darkness of an empty parking lot, all it ever boiled down to was steam, and pressure building up in a heart with no vents. Something is always simmering within him; every outburst is just a chemical reaction. His parents did their best, they tried to put a lid on a boy who snapped at every inclination of pity- like most boiling things, he simply overflowed. In school, he was the child that the others didn’t play with. He was the boy who knew little of social grace and gentle motions. In parent-teacher meetings, concerned whispers carried word of his “emotional problems” from ear to ear, and as young as he was, he still noted how every playdate proposal was rejected, every kickball game was abandoned as soon as he got to the park. None of the other children were allowed to spend time with him. That knowledge did not leave him unhurt. Eli’s ability didn’t manifest until he was older- by his teenage years, his anger was something he wore over his shoulders like a beaten leather jacket, familiar as a second skin. He got worse at keeping it in. The slightest of things set him off- when he got angry, he was violent, and nothing was lost in translation. He doesn’t know his own strength, his mother insisted, but their good dishware started to live at her sister’s house. After each seismic incident, he discovered the feeling of relief that came after- like a helium balloon with the air leaking out, his power provided him with an outlet. Eli would spiral back to earth, functional enough to pick up the pieces and sort out the destruction that he had caused.

what lies beneath

Eli’s never considered whether he could be a gentle soul, if something within him been made differently. Some part of him craves peace, craves calm, but instead he regards the world with gritted teeth. Words failed him at a young age, so now he mostly keeps them to himself. The bones in his hands have suffered, but he feels stronger for it; his father once whispered by his ear while bandaging up the shattered bones that when they break, they calcify. When they heal, they leave you stronger than you ever were before. At this point, Eli is convinced that he should feel invincible. His ability of immense strength is one that he regards almost as therapeutic. It cleanses him of his violent energy; destruction is a form of creation, and the outward havoc he wreaks is what saves him from an internal demolition of the worst kind. But the guilt still hangs heavy over his head with the knowledge that his peace comes at a price; these outbursts have done more than break his mother’s fine china, they’ve broken ribs and bent steel and thrown cars six feet across the pavement. As the magic leeches from Colby’s soil, he is losing the security that comes with it- the loss of his strength has made him more unstable and dangerous, more likely to lash out when it feels like the power coiled in his muscles is draining away by the day. It’s only a matter of time until the pressure cooker can’t hold any more steam; whether the explosion will be internal or external, the damage will still be severe.