#johnporter

John Porter, 17

His personality is a crack, revealing the wound left by a departed father. He seejs the strength, a structure upon which to build the muscles of his unsteady masculinity.

His pain is a landscape. He lives within it. It's the air he's breathed since the day his father became a silhouette in the doorway.

He wants to protect his mom. To protect, one needs resources. Rat provides resources. Thus, dependence is disguised as virtue. He betrays not his mother, but his childish understanding of protection, without even noticing the substitution.

His gaze is a defiance at first, with a plea visible behind it. In the end it's an absolute, reflective void in his BMW's roof.

His body is lean, wiry, ready for a strike but not for sustained pressure. It's constantly held with slight tension, like a spring.

His speech is rare, fragmented. He speaks either too loud or almost a whisper. Between these is a silence, where all his pain resides.

John's Tragedy