Still, it’s good to take stock once in a while, adjust my
mental image – which occasionally insists I am a smallish 12-year old able to
heft a large axe only because adrenaline kicks in when I’m faced with a monster
that wants me dead. I still face those,
but I’m more likely to shoot them or punch them in the face – if they have one.
Axes aren’t particularly handy to carry
and are harder to conceal.
I am no longer small by any measure. I stand somewhere
around 6’3” – at least that’s what it says on my license – and even for my
height, I’m on the heavy side. Mostly muscle with the occasional overlay of
cheeseburger and beer. I tend to burn that off quickly, though, so most
of the time I’m pretty ripped. I don’t stay fit for vanity. I do it for
survival and sanity. Running gives me
time to think, and sometimes the ability to run away is the only thing between
me and impending death. Lifting weights
or hitting the bag gives me the space to not think. Also, there aren’t always monsters available,
but I almost always want to hit things.
It might be easier to explain my propensity for violence if
I wasn’t so damned smart. Again, not vanity.
I never did understand why I should pretend to be less than I am simply
to make other people feel better about their own perceived shortcomings. I’m
the last person to judge someone else’s worth based on socially-accepted criteria,
since those same standards brand me a freak.
Right, I was supposed to be looking at myself in the mirror,
not examining the inside of my head. I
don’t think either one is particularly pretty, but neither is so bad that people shy away. I’m perfectly plain in so many areas that it
sometimes surprises me that I’m just so goddamned special in others. Sure would
be nice if it was the other way around, but my nose has been broken too many
times, and my body is covered with scars – ritual, incidental,
life-altering. Puts some women off, and
some men, too. Funny how a well-placed scar can help end a bar fight before it
begins. Not often, but often enough.
The rest? Brown hair, straight, and a bit too long.
Depending on how much I’ve been in the sun, it might have hints of gold in it.
Not like I pay all that much attention, but girls have said. My eyes are a light brown with a lighter ring
of gold around the edges and tiny green flecks. Again, the source of that knowledge
is female. I don’t stare into my own eyes, for fear of what I might see there.
It’s amazing women are willing to do so, but I’m not arguing. My jaw is strong and usually
scruffy. I’ve been told I have a nice
mouth. I just think it’s wide.
My face looks a little blocky, but the last dude to fit me
for a suit went on about my cheekbones, so I guess they might be attractive.
Who the hell thinks about stuff like that? Besides that guy, obviously. Nate says I look like a Neanderthal, with my
big forehead, but I’m pretty sure he said that just to prove he knows what a
supraorbital ridge is. Granted, when I
have a hangover, I drag myself around and grunt a lot, but I figure that just
makes me male.
Okay, that’s about as much talking about my looks as I can
stand. They’re probably the least
interesting thing about me. Trust me,
you don’t want to know about the most interesting.
___________________
Someone asked what Seth looks like. This was the best he could do for me, the blighter.
___________________
Someone asked what Seth looks like. This was the best he could do for me, the blighter.
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