Memory is VITAL in pulling yourself through a place like Brielle Institute and sometimes, it is not easy... But it is those little shreds of hope that keep us strong and remind us of our ultimate goals and who we are working for. For this task, you will be exploring your characters backgrounds a little more and writing about somebody who is not mentioned in your bio.
Describe one relationship that your character has with somebody that we are unaware of. This could be their best friend, a grandparent, a school teacher - anybody who is likely to spring to mind, whether or not they made a huge impact on them or whether it was somebody they didnât really know at all. How does your character feel when thinking of this person? What kind of memories are brought back? If your character was to see this person inside of Brielle, how might they think or feel?
DETAILS: We will be offering 200 POINTS per post for this one and will be offering a maximum of three different posts, with each post based on a different person from their lives - this person being somebody from their past. We would like this task to be 2-3 paragraphs. This task will end 1st SEPTEMBER !! Please remember to LINK YOUR PARAS TO YOUR POINTS PAGE when you have completed the task and make sure it is tagged correctly !! BHQTASK03 is the tag for this ask !!
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The trouble with Manhattan is that everyoneâs drug of choice is coke. Dante had tried it once, because it was easy to get, and heâd hated the jittery alertness it brought. It might keep you skinny, but it wasnât worth the feelings. Heroin? That was harder to get in The City, but it kept him thin and brought with it a feeling of sweet oblivion that he couldnât get enough of. The issue with it was that he was yet to find anyone in The City that could supply him - he had to go to Queens.
His dealer was known only as Ace, and Ace affectionately called Dante âRichie Richâ. He had to go late at night, because those were Aceâs working hours - the train was quiet, only a few other bodies nearby. Dante quickly silenced his phone as Ace texted confirming that he could pick up. He hated this part; there was always a fucked up party going on at Aceâs, and he just wanted to get his shit and go somewhere quiet. He could feel the eyes on him as he walked the streets. Heâd learned quickly to dress down, because wearing his usual clothes brought too much attention. Too nice - they made him a target.
Wearing a loose grey hoodie and battered old jeans worn through at the knee, he knocked at the door. Heavy bass music thudded even through the wood, and he had to knock a few times before Ace opened the door. His pupils were blown out; he was fucked. âHey hey hey, itâs my man Richie Rich!â He called, pulling Dante into a one armed hug. Dante flinched, hating the contact, but he always tolerated it because he needed Ace more than Ace needed him.
âYou coming in?â He asked, already leading Dante by the arm into the party.Â
âJust passing through.â Dante said, as he always did. Ace exhaled, clearly disappointed. He held a hand out expectantly, brows raised, and Dante shoved a fifty into it.
Tutting, Ace said, âMy man, prices gone up. Itâs gonna be a hundred tonight.
âFuck off,â Dante said immediately, giving Ace a sharp look. âIâm not paying double.â
âBro, you swan in all the way from Manhattan and you wanna tell me you ainât paying for your shit? I know youâre good for it.â
âAnd I know what your H is worth, itâs not a hundred.â
He was ready to walk away - fuck it, heâd find someone else. Everyone was always going on about the opioid epidemic, there must be other dealers out there. But as he tried to turn, Ace grabbed his arm hard enough to hurt, and called over two of his friends.
âHey, guys, Richie Rich over here says my product ainât worth shit. What you think, brothers?â
One of the guys sighed, running a hand up Danteâs arm; it almost felt gentle, but for the fact that he pushed the sleeve of his hoodie up to revealed the mottled track marks up his arms. Ace whistled. âYeah, thatâs what I thought. You wanna do business with me, Rich, ainât nobody else gonna treat you as nice as me.â
Jaw held tense, Dante looked up at the men surrounding him. He was in too deep. Ace had always scared him - he never lingered a moment longer than he could. The man indulged too much in his own product, and he was unstable at the best of times. âOkay. A hundred. Fine.â He reached into his pocket for his wallet, but Ace grabbed his wrist to stop him.
âOh, no, you hurt my feelings now. I know what you really think. Swanning in here like youâre better than us? I donât think so.â He gave his two guys a look, and they grabbed on hard to Danteâs arms.
âLet GOÂ of me, you fucks,â he growled, trying to wriggle free - but it was a feeble attempt. Heâd eaten near enough nothing that day, and he didnât have any fight in him. He saw Ace pulling back for the punch, and squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the air get knocked out of him, and the dull, spreading pain deep in his gut. Heâd been an idiot to think this would end any other way.
The last he saw of Ace was his smiling face looking down on Dante as he was thrown to the curb. Theyâd pummeled him bloody, taken his wallet, and not even given him any product for his trouble. Spitting blood on the ground, Dante swore. Heâd thought he was safe - he might have been a rich boy swimming in deep water, but he was always good for money which was more than most of Aceâs customers could say.
The next few weeks Dante spent half his time looking over his shoulder, in case Ace tracked him down for further retribution. He had always thought that the heroin was just about the weight loss, but he realised quickly that it had become an addiction all on its own when he wasnât put off from using. He just had to find another dealer, fast.
And he did; a less dangerous one.
Still he was frightened, though, that Ace would find him. He wouldnât be surprised to see him in Brielle, because he was going to OD some day, sooner rather than later. If that day came, Dante would be requesting a transfer.
