Post by Guest on Nov 28, 2009 20:04:07 GMT
I'll gladly accept you, great app. 
~Dan
Account E-Mail: stuartscott20@yahoo.co.uk
Name:
Nationality:
What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath?
Character History:
Young Steven was born in the remote area of Pennsylvania, his life was probably depicted as a cold ruthless one. His father- A drunk. Mother? Hypocritical and Hypothetical Female dog. Some sort of behavioral problem had run through the Beckerson family for no remote reason other than "They had it" His life was lived. Shared between four brothers. He was rather the runt of the family. Steven was the skinny one. The one that was picked on. Not that he was picked on in private. But it was a well known fact by the family he was. Only nobody cared to stop it. His life remained pratically uneventful. Steven was always a fighter. The life he lived wasn't exactly easy. It just shaped him to be a cold merciless man. During these young years it would only ever be something simple. Like toys being taken from him, the name calling. Steven wasn't exactly too oblivious to this either. He was a dreamer for a period of this life. The quiet one, not really having anything to say.
But this was a short lived thing. Only when he got to the young age of about 7 is when it really began. A fight, a little scuffle that would in fact change his life. Something so small making such a difference- But he and one of his brothers were fighting yet again. Just like brothers would though. But it only seemed fair that his parents not get involved. It was in their best interests with such viciousness beginning to brew with the nations that their son's 'toughen up'. But as gathered Steven would lose that scuffle. On the ground, crying. What was to be expected of a seven year old boy? But yet his other brothers would seek interest in this. This young boy was in for a homemade hell. Years would pass and life would be lived. Steven would be in school.Yet his brothers were only meters away from him. Such a home-bound school. Steven was old enough to have common sense at the time. He knew what was going on. He knew he couldn't do anything to change that. The feeling of rejection wasn't as discouraged as he thought it would be. Steven would become quieter. Stoic- Only speaking when need be. This even included places like the playground. Steven abhorred the fact of speaking in a period of his life. Barely saying anything unless needed too. This only further drew more trouble to him. The brothers would attempt to make him talk. But this would only ever carry on for so long. His life carried on through turns and turns. Unexpected twists and such.
Soon, time would go by and the boy would become a teenager. Fifteen years of age. Heartless, as some may say. 'Fore tales were spoke. One of the brothers had gone missing but a year ago. Nobody knows, but the finger is invisibly pointed towards Steven. As it happened the other brothers would completely stop talking to him. Ignoring his very existence. Refusing to believe he did exist. This ignorance was brought out from fear. Folks would notice the lack of bruises upon him. The sudden silence on their lips. They had seen something which they dared not speak about. In reality- They had been having a fun day. Picking on the young Steven. But at once- He suddenly began running. Very unlike him. He would usually take it. So out of dying curiosity they followed. Only to find that he'd stopped. Knife profoundly hidden within his clothing. And without warning, began approaching the other boys. One of them stood, unafraid. To receive a knife in his gut. But at that very moment. It was the cruelest thing that Steven had ever said. The warped and merciless mind approaching. Taking his sanity and insanity, meshing them into something new. 'If any of you ever tell on me....I'll kill you too.' And with that, they'd run. Leaving the dying brother and his counterpart alone. The dragging would then commence. The elder boy would never be seen again, along with that knife.
The Hybrid Steven would always be different from that point. The elders would always regard him as 'something different' and 'of another kind' in figurative words. But they failed to realize the understatement of what they actually said. Steven was completely unique. His life seemed unparalleled to most others. He had unique teachings, though the form of which he taught was far from a flattering, innocent one. But yet he loved his new life. You'd much find him with a better smile on his face. At this time he had just left school at fifteen. But then by a contrast of his hypocritical mother of '...You're a waste of time, go get a job- You neet.' Considering her herself had no job. Young Steven would then begin working in a remote place of a butcher house. Only about a week after that statement. It wasn't easy at all getting such a job. But nonetheless he did it and would begin his experience of working with knifes. For the next three years' he'd begin working in that same place. Only helping his very mercy. He would be viewing himself in silence to have a warped mind and all the while- He accepted the fact. Had he the fact of him ever noticed that since that day he had entered a state of psychosis. But only at the age of eighteen did others actually realize this. Even he didn't realize it until his late eighteen years. He had undergone yet another personality change. This time imbued with Hallucinations. Mentions of his brother 'haunting' him. He had the tendency to mutter incoherently at the time. So he'd be taken from his job, taken away to somewhere remote. Where the next two years of his life would be spent trying to keep himself sane. But avast- It worked even by the slither of a string. Steven had come to terms with what he was and just like that it had dissapeared. His outlook on life changed. It was like he had been through puberty since birth. Loud during one time, silent as the dead in another. But it was at this time, mere age of twenty. The mental age of 18, the countries decided it was time. The country had just begun world war II.
Steven Beckerson was then brought back to his home town in Pennsylvania. But this wouldn't last for long. Most of the men had left to join in the war. Which left him to being more susecptible to bullying. Not from just anyone but to women. So only for a month could he take the churning of words inside him. So one month passed and the on track and intact Steven begun his life in the army. At such a lowly rank. But nonetheless it was his paradise- Steven was equal. He wasn't ganged on. He could take the orders, he could take it all. And yet he absloutely loved it. His moral pertaining at this time was a great help to others. His outlook was very optomistic even on the worsest of days. He took every order that was sent to him. Doing them to the best of his abilities while still remaining as a group. You'd think that Steven would smile much more. But instead quite the opposite. Cold looking, stoic, his monotone. These moments would succumb to what Steven is today. His life used to be depicted as Cold, ruthless and stupid. But now...? Ingenious. Steven was going up the ladder every year or two. But it wouldn't be long for him to reach his current position. He'd be the best or so he thought that. Bound by loyalty his work in the Allied forces wouldn't go unnoticed. His reward? Staff Sargent of a group in the allied forces. Seven years to get to that position. A long, hard and grueling one.
Military Rank:
Staff Sargent
Writing Sample:
~Dan
Account E-Mail: stuartscott20@yahoo.co.uk
Name:
Steven Beckerson
Nationality:
American
What Army will Your Character Serve Beneath?
US
Character History:
Young Steven was born in the remote area of Pennsylvania, his life was probably depicted as a cold ruthless one. His father- A drunk. Mother? Hypocritical and Hypothetical Female dog. Some sort of behavioral problem had run through the Beckerson family for no remote reason other than "They had it" His life was lived. Shared between four brothers. He was rather the runt of the family. Steven was the skinny one. The one that was picked on. Not that he was picked on in private. But it was a well known fact by the family he was. Only nobody cared to stop it. His life remained pratically uneventful. Steven was always a fighter. The life he lived wasn't exactly easy. It just shaped him to be a cold merciless man. During these young years it would only ever be something simple. Like toys being taken from him, the name calling. Steven wasn't exactly too oblivious to this either. He was a dreamer for a period of this life. The quiet one, not really having anything to say.
But this was a short lived thing. Only when he got to the young age of about 7 is when it really began. A fight, a little scuffle that would in fact change his life. Something so small making such a difference- But he and one of his brothers were fighting yet again. Just like brothers would though. But it only seemed fair that his parents not get involved. It was in their best interests with such viciousness beginning to brew with the nations that their son's 'toughen up'. But as gathered Steven would lose that scuffle. On the ground, crying. What was to be expected of a seven year old boy? But yet his other brothers would seek interest in this. This young boy was in for a homemade hell. Years would pass and life would be lived. Steven would be in school.Yet his brothers were only meters away from him. Such a home-bound school. Steven was old enough to have common sense at the time. He knew what was going on. He knew he couldn't do anything to change that. The feeling of rejection wasn't as discouraged as he thought it would be. Steven would become quieter. Stoic- Only speaking when need be. This even included places like the playground. Steven abhorred the fact of speaking in a period of his life. Barely saying anything unless needed too. This only further drew more trouble to him. The brothers would attempt to make him talk. But this would only ever carry on for so long. His life carried on through turns and turns. Unexpected twists and such.
Soon, time would go by and the boy would become a teenager. Fifteen years of age. Heartless, as some may say. 'Fore tales were spoke. One of the brothers had gone missing but a year ago. Nobody knows, but the finger is invisibly pointed towards Steven. As it happened the other brothers would completely stop talking to him. Ignoring his very existence. Refusing to believe he did exist. This ignorance was brought out from fear. Folks would notice the lack of bruises upon him. The sudden silence on their lips. They had seen something which they dared not speak about. In reality- They had been having a fun day. Picking on the young Steven. But at once- He suddenly began running. Very unlike him. He would usually take it. So out of dying curiosity they followed. Only to find that he'd stopped. Knife profoundly hidden within his clothing. And without warning, began approaching the other boys. One of them stood, unafraid. To receive a knife in his gut. But at that very moment. It was the cruelest thing that Steven had ever said. The warped and merciless mind approaching. Taking his sanity and insanity, meshing them into something new. 'If any of you ever tell on me....I'll kill you too.' And with that, they'd run. Leaving the dying brother and his counterpart alone. The dragging would then commence. The elder boy would never be seen again, along with that knife.
The Hybrid Steven would always be different from that point. The elders would always regard him as 'something different' and 'of another kind' in figurative words. But they failed to realize the understatement of what they actually said. Steven was completely unique. His life seemed unparalleled to most others. He had unique teachings, though the form of which he taught was far from a flattering, innocent one. But yet he loved his new life. You'd much find him with a better smile on his face. At this time he had just left school at fifteen. But then by a contrast of his hypocritical mother of '...You're a waste of time, go get a job- You neet.' Considering her herself had no job. Young Steven would then begin working in a remote place of a butcher house. Only about a week after that statement. It wasn't easy at all getting such a job. But nonetheless he did it and would begin his experience of working with knifes. For the next three years' he'd begin working in that same place. Only helping his very mercy. He would be viewing himself in silence to have a warped mind and all the while- He accepted the fact. Had he the fact of him ever noticed that since that day he had entered a state of psychosis. But only at the age of eighteen did others actually realize this. Even he didn't realize it until his late eighteen years. He had undergone yet another personality change. This time imbued with Hallucinations. Mentions of his brother 'haunting' him. He had the tendency to mutter incoherently at the time. So he'd be taken from his job, taken away to somewhere remote. Where the next two years of his life would be spent trying to keep himself sane. But avast- It worked even by the slither of a string. Steven had come to terms with what he was and just like that it had dissapeared. His outlook on life changed. It was like he had been through puberty since birth. Loud during one time, silent as the dead in another. But it was at this time, mere age of twenty. The mental age of 18, the countries decided it was time. The country had just begun world war II.
Steven Beckerson was then brought back to his home town in Pennsylvania. But this wouldn't last for long. Most of the men had left to join in the war. Which left him to being more susecptible to bullying. Not from just anyone but to women. So only for a month could he take the churning of words inside him. So one month passed and the on track and intact Steven begun his life in the army. At such a lowly rank. But nonetheless it was his paradise- Steven was equal. He wasn't ganged on. He could take the orders, he could take it all. And yet he absloutely loved it. His moral pertaining at this time was a great help to others. His outlook was very optomistic even on the worsest of days. He took every order that was sent to him. Doing them to the best of his abilities while still remaining as a group. You'd think that Steven would smile much more. But instead quite the opposite. Cold looking, stoic, his monotone. These moments would succumb to what Steven is today. His life used to be depicted as Cold, ruthless and stupid. But now...? Ingenious. Steven was going up the ladder every year or two. But it wouldn't be long for him to reach his current position. He'd be the best or so he thought that. Bound by loyalty his work in the Allied forces wouldn't go unnoticed. His reward? Staff Sargent of a group in the allied forces. Seven years to get to that position. A long, hard and grueling one.
Military Rank:
Staff Sargent
Writing Sample:
His eyes glinted. Wind whisping through the helmet as he crawled through the foliage of the plants. It was a haven of all fields. Exotic plants and so many bushes. Perfect for one to ambush another. But he had the advantage. How? He was Steven Beckerson. His eyes would succumb to the mighty powerful sun. Turning his gaze from it out into the endless terrain. Rustling of his own body. Minimizing the sound to the best of ability while he clutched but air in his hands. Digging his elbows into the ground. Before freezing as a deer would upon entry of the area of a hostility. Seconds would pass. His eyes becoming shifty as he mercilessly drew out his standard issue knife.
Ready to plunge it into the body of anyone willing to face up to him. Seconds turned into minutes. Before Steven would deem in his sane mind that nobody was there. Therefore would begin crawling once more through the foliage. He'd mentally smile, before it was wiped as Steven crawled.
But not before his left eyebrow raised. He had heard cries. Obviously a war torn area. But yet knowing where to go. Straight for the sound. He would have ignored, have it for the person speaking in the English/American language. So he'd look to the right as he crawled. He'd sigh as he got himself into a new area. A desert barren of war. Bodies lay dead. Some Germans, some Americans. One of them laid under the siege of a metal debris. Though Steven wasn't too sure what the metal was from. But the flailing German was screaming. Bottom half in the metal, or rather crushed by it. As he looked he'd sigh even further. The boy wasn't even the age of sixteen. His eyes would droop slightly as his hand raised it to waist level, drawing out the M1 Garand. =/ His facial feature as he'd lay it up, laying the butt on a bit of moss and sliding it along with silence. Beginning to peer down the firm cold steel of the sights.
Three hundred and eighty meters...give or take.
He'd think. Pitying the boy. But this was dissapear almost instantaneously. Not out of hatred for the German. But the fact he was merciless. His finger would slide down the wood as he looked grimly down the sights, feeling the cold sting of steel as it pressed against the trigger.
Click!
Ready to plunge it into the body of anyone willing to face up to him. Seconds turned into minutes. Before Steven would deem in his sane mind that nobody was there. Therefore would begin crawling once more through the foliage. He'd mentally smile, before it was wiped as Steven crawled.
"Time to return to the boys...."
But not before his left eyebrow raised. He had heard cries. Obviously a war torn area. But yet knowing where to go. Straight for the sound. He would have ignored, have it for the person speaking in the English/American language. So he'd look to the right as he crawled. He'd sigh as he got himself into a new area. A desert barren of war. Bodies lay dead. Some Germans, some Americans. One of them laid under the siege of a metal debris. Though Steven wasn't too sure what the metal was from. But the flailing German was screaming. Bottom half in the metal, or rather crushed by it. As he looked he'd sigh even further. The boy wasn't even the age of sixteen. His eyes would droop slightly as his hand raised it to waist level, drawing out the M1 Garand. =/ His facial feature as he'd lay it up, laying the butt on a bit of moss and sliding it along with silence. Beginning to peer down the firm cold steel of the sights.
Three hundred and eighty meters...give or take.
He'd think. Pitying the boy. But this was dissapear almost instantaneously. Not out of hatred for the German. But the fact he was merciless. His finger would slide down the wood as he looked grimly down the sights, feeling the cold sting of steel as it pressed against the trigger.
"You'll thank me for this in another life, kid."
Click!