[Jacob]

*Setting: The room is dark, lit only by black candles. Three of them. They're situated in a triangle, the point facing him. He sits on the floor with his legs crossed and his hands drooped down, resting on his knees. His head is on a slant, with his longish hair hanging infront of his face, and he stares, as if hypnotised, at the flames. Watching them dance and twirl on the top of the candles. Music plays in the background, 'The Fight song' by Marilyn Manson, remixed by Slipknot. It plays, drowning out any of the troubles this child may have. Any problems that may have swamped this Orkhids mind are now slowly dispersing, being ravaged by the instruments in the song, torn apart. And then thrown into a sea of red that infested his mind. His head turns to were the music comes from, it seems to get louder. Marilyn Mansons voice seemingly scratchy and fierce. Reaching into his pocket the child pulls out a small pouch. Its red Velvet, with a small piece of black string wrapped around the top to keep the contents from spilling out. His pale, candle-lit fingers fiddle with the string. Loosening it. Un-wrapping it. And then casting it aside. A slight sigh came from him and he attempted to listen through the music, just to make sure nobody was knocking on his door. There wasn't. Gently he tipped the pouch, catching the small powdery contents that spilled from it. It piled up on his palm and he clenched his fist, feeling the soft substance spill from inbetween his fingers and onto the carpetless floor. Closing his eyes he inhaled deeping, calming his ever-climbing nerves. He opened them again and muttered something under his breath, repeating this again and again until it turned into a mumbled chant. Reaching out his arm and still clenching the substance he hung it over one of the burning candles and slowly let the powder slip out of his grasp. Landing on the flame and making the candle dance more jerkedly. He still chanted, his chants getting louder now. The music stopped, leaving him in pure silence. Leaving him, his chants and the spitting of the candle as the flame was 'attacked'.
*Pffttssssssss*
The other two candles prematurely went out, leaving what seemed to be smoke signals floating to the top of his room. Towards the light fittings. However the candle he was concentrating on still fought the onslaught of powder and with each grain hissed more. He felt something corse through his body, he didn't know if it was fear, anxiety, excitement or something completly different.
*Banging*
His actions were disturbed and he quickly pulled his hand away, thus causing a slight breeze that extinguised the candles life.*

Female voice: "Ethan, Ethan(!) Hurry up and get dressed...We have an oppointment in 15 minutes and we dont want to be seen as un-professional!! Hurry up!!"

He sighed standing up and walking towards the light switch. Turning on the light he then focused his attention on the fireless candles and grasped them by the mid-section. He then stood and stepped over to a small chest of drawers and moved it forwards, revealing an old airvent. The cover was hanging off slightly and the edges were rusted. Stooping down he gently placed all of the candles in the vent. He then moved the drawers back and made sure everything looked normal. He turned and scooped up the remaining dust and the pouch, this, he placed underneathe his matress.
*Banging*

Female voice: "Come on, Ethan!! We have to make a good first impression. It'll go against your future if we turn up late."

He walked upto the door and unlocked it, standing behind it was his mother. A sleek vixen of an Orkhid. Her brown hair was up in a pony-tail and she was dressed in full Soldier uniform. He, however, was dressed in a white T-shirt and combats. His crimson tainted dark brown eyes stared up at his mother. Gently pleading with her to post-pone the interview.

Mother: "Ugh, we're going to have to do something about you hair..."

She flicked the left side of his Oil black hair with the back of her right hand and tutted.

Ethan: "Where's dad...?"

He asked in a slightly pathetic tone of voice and placed his hands in his pockets.

Mother: "Oh, he said he'll meet us there..."

She grasped the tops of his arms and attempted to pull his hands out of his pockets.

Mother: "Remember, answer with 'Sir' or 'Ma'am'. Speak when spoken to and show the utmost respect. And above all, tell the truth. If you lie they will find out when you go to the Chair on Thursday. Ok? I'm sure you'll do fine..."

As much as his mother attempted to make him feel secure and loved, he knew that if she really did love him she wouldn't force him to join the Army and listen to what he wanted to do. But he was the only child and both mother and father wanted to be proud of him and brag about him accordingly. And there wasn't a prouder moment of a parents life then to see their son or daughter climb the ranks, no matter what the risk...