Cole Ballard

[Cole Ballard]

Cole Tristan Ballard
FACE CLAIM: Matthew Healy
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AGE: Twenty
GENDER: Male
ORIENTATION: Unsure
POSITION: Local - Unemployed

POWER: N/A

LIMITATIONS: N/A

SIDE-EFFECTS: N/A

Mama talking that real life...

Picture this, alright. You’re out one night, probably with friends. You’ve had a bit to drink - but that’s okay - cause that’s just what you do when you’re out. Some swarvy looking fuck in a pressed suit comes up to you and says he’ll buy you a drink. It’s not a question, it’s a bit like a statement instead. Like he knows you’re gonna say yes. And he’s pretty, so he’s got that going for him. And you’re a bit over the edge, y’know, so of course you say yes. Cause he seems nice enough and out of every girl in a tight dress in the place, he’s looking at you.

What’s the logical next step? Of course you take him home. You fuck, probably more than once if he’s as keen as you are, right? And then the next morning he’s outta there without a phone number or anything. You just know his name, but at the time, that seemed like enough, didn’t it?

Whatever, right? Cause one night stands just happen all the time, and it’s okay.

Except that nine months later you have a kid. Name him Cole. That’s me.

I've been out here too long alone...

It ain't always easy making ends meet when things are a little strung out. School's school when you're like, seven, and kids are like, naturally little shitheads about things that aren't the same as what they're used to. I lost count of all the times people'd ask me where my dad was, or even where mum was since she had to work so much.

And the interesting thing about being that young, I reckon, is the way everything's so warped to your own needs and your own senses. When some kids are having a laugh cause you're different, it's different, cause they don't get the sort of damage a couple'a clever words'll do for you. Lucky for me, I figured that out quick enough. What's a bit funny then is the idea that the only way little boys sort their shit out is to try knocking each other's block's off. Except they don't know how to punch, right, because they're seven. So you're just a little shit who starts more shit and doesn't know how to finish it.

That is, till you get to bigger grades and deal with more shit. People talk less shit about family shit, but they remember when you used to talk shit, and a lotta people figure out how to hold grudges.

Got in a lot of those fights, I'm saying. And it only ever got worse with age.

Left your sinking heart to drown...

Before everything got crazy - before powers came into play and all that - I think mum got pretty over getting dragged to the school every second week for a black eye or a pack of smuggled cigarettes.

She always used to ask me how come I bother with any of it. It's all bad. It all gets you in trouble, but you're doing it anyway. Some fifteen-year-old punk talking back and getting in dumb scuffles when he could just keep his head down till high school's over. Cause it's not the worst part of life, but it's the part you're stuck in. And I was always good at reading people. Like, she knew that. She knew I could look at a guy and weigh the options and figure out if I was fucked before I even said anything. So what's the point? You're a kid, she used to say; you can't be this bored with life yet.

And then life throws you a lifeline, doesn't it? When you're lucky. Well call me lucky, cause I was fifteen when they shipped me off to Bellefonte. Coulda gone to St. Bethany, cause that's the protocol for kids from London, but where's the fun in that when an exchange is so easy?

At night I'll walk the streets...

They called it Terrakinesis. Sounds as bloody brutal as it actually is. Was. You can do a lot when you've got control of the ground beneath your feet and everyone else's. And when you're a bit of a shit, right, it's a bit hard not to take advantage of it. Or at least, that's what I wanted to do.

When I left, my mum tried her best to remind me that it'd be the kind of clean break that'd be perfect for me. It's like, people peg you for who you are and that's all they give you, so when you get far enough away from it you can be your own person. You can pretty much be whoever you feel like being. So I coasted through the whole thing, from the year I got there to the year they finally let me graduate. Couple of people still give you funny looks when you rock a Mohawk and a couple random looking tattoos, but hey. I liked it here enough to stay; got some shitty job to keep money rolling in. Kept playing guitar on the side - not for a life thing, just for a me sorta thing - and it was all pretty good.

Then the thing happened. What'd they call it? SPRITE, or whatever. That and a shitload of other shit.

Promise to break everybody off...

First, it was the adult thing. When you're over eighteen, you get to start digging into where you came from. Like, you get to put a bit more effort into finding who's your family. Cause your mum can't tell you she'll tell you when you're older when you are older. She knows dad's name perfectly, like she'd only just met him. Except the reason she knows it is cause it's been in lights. It's elevated. He's far above. But he goes around the world every so often for his work; it's how he met her in the first place.

Suddenly I'm following his tracks. He's got some business trip in New York, and I'm saving every dollar I got to get there at the same time. Then it's all just fate. But like I said, I'm lucky.

Stood out the front of his stupid gallery opening for hours. Pissing down snow. After ages he finally comes out, cause the night's dying down and people are leaving. Staring at his smug face dwindling to nothing, cause he's on his own and he's having a smoke. So go over, ask him for a light and even when he looks at me like I'm some shit beneath his shoe, he gives me one anyway. Waves me off.

Except I turn around and name my mum. The city. The date. The bloody bar where he met her. I read up that he's already got kids, so it's the best moment to tell him he's got another one. Since it's tricky business when the last thing you want is a nineteen-year-old scandal from some smartmouth Brit kid who seems so sure of himself, what's the best way to deal with it?

Pay him off. Forever. Apparently, that's dad for you.

Sunbeam stop tugging me...

Then it was the SPRITE thing. It's weird, cause I always knew the ability I had was there, but it's not like I used it all the time. It's not like breathing. It wasn't necessary; I keep trying to remind myself that it sure as fuck isn't worth dying over.

But it's like... It's one of those things where you don't expect it to feel so shitty when something like that goes, cause you lived so much of your life without it. But it's empty. Losing it is like losing an arm, or some stupid shit like that. It wrecks you. I feel like it ruined me.

I guess it left me a bit... Empty. That was six months ago.

And now we're here. Twenty. Not working. Because what's the bloody point in any of it?


SAMPLE: Double rekt

USERNAME: Eddie

AGE GROUP: Twenty-Four

EXPERIENCE: A tenner

WHERE DID YOU FIND US? Mel hooked me

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