Metropolis, California was once a prosperous city, inhabited by good-natured people who strived to accomplish their dreams. That idealism is gone, now; the city is polluted. Corrupt CEOs and Drug Lords run rampant throughout the city, poisoning the judicial system.However, there are those who won't stand by and watch their city burn. Some take the law into their own hands; others hold the law in high regard and know that justice has it's place in the city; some just hope the once great city of Metropolis still exists, buried underneath the rubble of corruption.Opening Date: 22.05.14Metropolis is a skeleton roleplay inspired by various comic book universes. Any similarities to Marvel, DC, or other are purely coincidental. This is not a fandom roleplay by any means. sc_online_t(838611,"Vigilantes","b6a990"); Tumblr Users Online Counter
Welcome, Shiloh! You've been accepted as Amelia Kent. Please read the member checklist, make your account and send it in within 24 hours.
OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION:
Name/Alias: Shiloh
Preferred Pronoun: She/Her/Herself
Timezone: MST (Mountain Standard Time)
First Language: French (But I’ve been speaking English since I was five)
Activity Level: I’m on almost every night for a good hour or so, and even more so on weekends. However, I might be a little absent during exam weeks, but I’ll be sure to let you know!
IN CHARACTER INFORMATION:
Desired Character: Amelia Kent
Why do you want to be in this roleplay and what do you think you will be able to bring to it that another applicant might not?
I think one of the biggest things I bring to the table, is my knowledge of psychology and my ability to use this in my writing. I’m studying to be a psychologist at the moment, and when I saw Amelia’s bio, my analytical side was instantly drawn to her. I think the parallel between her and her brother will be fascinating to play out, and I think the way they react to being on their own, survivors of unthinkable abuse and for Amelia, trying to overcome witnessing her parent’s murder, is extremely different. Whilst Isaac leans towards a violent edge that came from killing his parents, in the way I wish to portray Amelia, she is very much broken, and afraid. I want to step away from stereotypical portrayals of victims of abuse, in which their abuse is used simply to make the character more popular, and instead, show the struggles that come with surviving abuse. When I found your roleplay, looked at all of it’s diversity and fascinating plot points, I couldn’t help but want to join!
Any Changes: None at all, Amelia is perfect!
Biography:
Amelia always carried the belief that she was meant to be a punching bag. From the day she was born, that had been her place. Her brother had kicked her in the womb, and she had come out minutes after he had, with red feet marks covering her midsection. By the time she was five, she had already amassed an array of scars that could compare to any boxer out there, but while they contained an arsenal of kicks and punches, she contained one of cigarette burns and belt lashes that had dug just a little bit too deep into her skin. Even in the present, years after she turned an adult, and was given the chance to hit back for the first time in her life, she still allows herself to be knocked around. Her co-workers target her after every bad shift, and she allows them to scream at her, believing it was somehow her fault that their shift was awful. Even her own brother, the one man she thought would understand how it felt to constantly be beaten, yelled at her for being weak, breaking the glasses, and slamming the door of her apartment.
But she never said a word, never let out a cry. She wasn’t necessarily the silent type, in fact, if one got her talking about anything of little importance, she possessed an uncanny ability to make any topic, no matter how boring, a fascinating one. The girl had a natural positivity, and stared at the world with wonder and awe. But years of abuse had smothered any sort of positivity she had once had, and though, her light occasionally peeks through her veil of fear, it never lasts longer than a brief moment. She remains quiet, doesn’t speak unless spoken to, and avoids any sort of confrontation, no matter how small. Even if she did nothing wring, she’ll apologize profusely, bow her head, and retreat. The only moment in which she makes excessive noise, is when she’s in her apartment alone. It is her sanctuary, in which she can scream, bang her fists against walls, and sob until she can cry no more.
She had never been broken as a toddler. Whilst her parents weren’t necessarily the ones who gave her and her brother attention, there was always someone over at their apartment, willing to acknowledge their presence, throw them a ball to waddle after, as though they were dogs. Meth addicts had been the mothers, cocaine users the fathers, and every drug and illegal substance in between, had each taken a turn in raising the twins. And though Amelia was often hungry, and left alone at night, she was content in soaking in any sort of attention she received.
But times grew tough, drugs ran scarce after a period of narcotic euphoria, and by age five, her parents began to unleash their withdrawal-fuelled rage on their children. Her father beat them with whatever they could get their hands on, a book, a frying pan, and at one point, he had even brought a hammer down upon their fragile bones, laughed as the siblings had screeched at the pain. Her mother would simply sit and watch with half-lidded eyes, cigarette hanging out of her mouth, lips quirked into a smirk. By the time Ameila and Isaac reached the age of ten, their bodies were broken beyond repair, two marionettes barely hanging on to their strings.
But the dynamic changed by the time Amelia and Isaac were twelve. Though Amelia to this day would never be able to speak of the horrors Isaac faced behind closed doors, she certainly knew what she had been through. Isaac was no longer beaten, and if he was, it was never to the same severity as Amelia. Her mother had always told her she deserved it. He was a fighter, a real man who knew how to defend himself. He made them proud. She was nothing more than a weakling, a useless creature that most would have disposed of. Her parents convinced her that they were doing her a favour, simply by keeping her alive, and that they owned her blood, no matter if it was them who spilled it. And so when her father creeped under the ratty duvet cover Amelia’s twelve year old body lay under, forced her to bite down on a pillow as he took away her only possession; her virginity, she told herself she deserved it.
The next four years passed as a blur, and she formed her life around a routine. Her father would rape her, and in the morning, her mother would beat her. She would then take three pills, birth control, followed by another tablet which her parents told her ‘took the edge off’, which was in fact ecstasy. For the rest of the day, she would be numb and her mind would wander, caught in a euphoric, drug-fuelled bliss, whilst her father’s friends violated her, her mother’s friends beat her, and her brother tried to protect her. She had grown accustomed to the idea of being worthless, accepted the fact that every horrible thing that occurred to her, was her fault.
Until everything was shot out of proportion. She was being beat one night, after she had arrived home late from school. Her father had been in the process of kicking her head, when her brother shot both him, point blank range, and then proceeded to shoot their mother. She had screamed at him to stop, and that he was a monster. As far as she was concerned, they had been good people. And a brain, half brainwashed by her parents, half strung out on Ecstasy, couldn’t help but rationalize that Isaac was the bad person, not her parents. The last thing she had said to him, before both were separated, was that she hated him.
Years passed, and as Amelia jumped from group home to group home, she began to realize what exactly had happened. She went to counselling, which helped her to forgive her brother for whatever rage she held against him, and learned to love herself, and realize that she mattered. Her grades flew in school, though her social skills were nearly non existent. She graduated with honours, went into nursing, with the intent of helping those who were in her situation. And though she was quiet, easily frightened, and timid, it was the strongest she had been since birth.
Her life now, is as good as Amelia believes it can be. She’s content with her job, has reconnected to her brother, and though they struggle to find the happy medium of a ‘normal sibling relationship’, instead of screaming at each other, they improve every day they see each other. But, Amelia struggles with her mentality. Though she tries to remind herself she matters, she can often hear her parents telling her how worthless she is. She can’t look in a mirror without going into a full blown panic attack at the sight of raised skin and scars that cover her body. She lives in fear, always believes those who are friendly, will hurt her. The only emotion she is capable of processing is anger, and when someone yells at her, she becomes the tight-lipped child, she was raised to be. She knows that only she is capable of putting the broken pieces of her mind back together, but part of her is scared to leave her life as a punching bag.
Writing Sample : FROM ANOTHER ROLEPLAY, IF YOU’D LIKE A PARA SAMPLE OF THE CHARACTER, JUST LET ME KNOW :]
When one thought about life, it became apparent that it was not lived in days or weeks, but by moments. It was said that for seven minutes after your heart stopped pumping blood into your chest, your brain remained conscious. What would the brain think of while the rest of the body lay dormant? The matter was debatable, but most would believe that it would relive key moments. First kiss, wedding day. The moments that shaped you, that made you who you were.
For one young woman, her first defining moment was playing out in her mind. It wasn’t one of happiness or joy, but one of raw, and pure despair. A moment that had left permanent scars not only on her skin, but in her soul. One that stripped away everything from her, the makeup, the clothes, and her false sense that everything was completely fine. It was the most painful moment of her life, yes. But it had been what had shaped her. And as the girl continued to wipe the bar counter, red hair glistening under the lights, she allowed herself to look within herself, and watch the events of her sixteenth birthday.
”Where have you been Jocelyn? It’s five in the morning!”
Her mother stood in front of her, clutching a cup of coffee delicately between her hands, her lips curled downwards as she surveyed her oldest daughter’s appearance. Makeup smeared on her face and a black dress that left nothing to the imagination, and a leather jacket that obviously didn’t belong to her, her daughter looked more like a tramp one picked up on a street corner, than her Jocelyn.
At least that was what Joss assumed her mother thought. After all, her darling mother had uttered those same words right before Joss had left the house at six the day before. There was no way in hell she would have stayed home and celebrated her sweet sixteen with her mother, if her mom could get off the phone long enough to acknowledge her daughter’s presence. She hadn’t seen her mother the entire day, apparently ‘family affairs’ (as written on the messily scrawled note left on the kitchen counter) were more important than the day her first daughter was born. Instead, she had found an envelope with twenty dollars cash, and a card that her mother had used the year before. The least she could’ve done was cross out the ‘15’ on the front of the card. But Joss knew her mom wouldn’t waste her time doing such a trivial thing like that.
Where have I been? Partying with my friends, fucking some guy from Italy, and doing lines of coke off his back. Oh, and using your credit card to buy drinks for the entire club. But you don’t fucking care, do you mom? As long as I stay out of the way while you plan a hit on an innocent civilian, right?
Her thoughts swirled in her mind, but she kept her lips sealed. Instead, she pushed past her mother and headed up the staircase.”Out.” She murmured, avoiding the urge to slap her mother in the face. Ask where she had been when her mom was never home, the nerve of some people.
She felt a hand snake out and grab her arm, pulling her back to the base of the stairs. Her mother stared at her, a fire burning in her eyes that reminded Joss of herself. The eyes narrowed down to slits, was sheer and utter rage. Like mother like daughter she supposed.
”You’ve been drinking, haven’t you? God knows what else you’ve been doing. What else did you do, get a tattoo on your-”
Her mother stopped as she pulled the sleeve of the leather jacket of Joss’ arm. Joss didn’t have to look down to know what she was looking at. A small hole in her arm was the first thing one would notice. But one’s first assumption from a distance would be that her arm had been burnt to a blackened piece of skin. The skin was blistered and blackening, from her bicep to the crook of her elbow. When she had first noticed the hole in her arm, she had to herself she would get it checked. But every time it began to burn, she reminded herself if she went to the doctors, she would be arrested for cocaine use. She left it, covered it with gauze. But as she continued to inject herself, her veins grew scarce. And the only way she could get the high, the one she lived for, was to use the good ol’ hole. And now here it was, skin bubbling and blistered, and a hole in her arm.
”Jocelyn. Why would you ever do such a thing?”
She looked up at her mother as she hastily pulled the sleeve down. Her mother’s once strong look had faded. What replaced her was a broken woman with tear-filled eyes, staring at her daughter with sheer disbelief that her first daughter, her sweet Jocelyn could do such a thing. The strong hands that had held her wrist were replaced with trembling hands.
”Do you want to know why I inject myself with stuff the devil would turn away? Because it’s all I know. I leave the fucking house and do drugs, drink ‘till I pass out, and sleep with strangers because it makes me feel like I’m not alone. And you know what the best fucking part is mom? It’s all your fault.”
Joss’ voice rose considerably, her eyes wild as she felt her high, an injection she had taken right before she had entered the house, fade away. The rage, the pain, everything that came with her low were coming out, and her mother looked terrified. She could feel the tears begin to stream down her face, and her words became a mix between a scream and a sob.
”You’re never home, you left us! You’re not our mother, ever since you went off and joined the fucking Irish mafia, you stopped! And now the only thing I can do is shoot up and pretend that everything is great. Senna and Yvette need you back, I need you back! The day Senna was born, our mother walked out that door and a cold hearted bitch came walking back through those doors!”
Her mother stopped, eyes wide at her daughter’s rage, looking down at her hands. She looked back up at Joss, lips trembling. Her hand reached out to touch her daughter’s cheek.
”Jocel-
Joss cut her off in the only way that seemed logical to her, swinging her fist as hard as she could. The next moments seemed to happen in slow motion, and they replayed in her head as so. The crack of her mother’s nose, her mouther’s jaw agape as blood poured down her face, and the look at her daughter as the Joss was a monster.
Joss watched, tears streaming down her face as she choked on a sob. All she wanted was her mother to hold her, tell her everything was going to be alright.
”Mommy..”
”Go upstairs Jocelyn, please.”
Her mother darted away from her as Jocelyn tried to hug her, and Joss watched as her mother scurried into the bathroom and shut the door with a bang. That was when Jocelyn realized that nothing would ever be the same between her and her mom, and that she indeed, had just broken her mother’s nose. She was surprised by the fact, surprised that she had the strength to do such a thing, surprised that she was capable being so vicious towards someone she loved. But the blood on her hand confirmed it, she had done it.
”Jocey?”
She turned around to see her little sister, Senna, staring at her with wide eyes. Hair falling over her face, and eyelids slowly falling back down, the sight almost made Joss cry.
”You should be asleep right now, Senna.”
”I heard yelling.”
”It’s okay, mom and I just got in a fight because I got home a bit late.”
”Oh, Okay.’’
”Now go back to bed Senna.”
”What about-”
”Mom is fine, go to sleep Senna.”
This was a moment she would never forget. The moment where she realized just how fucked she was. That not only would her arms be scarred for life with the tracks of the needle running over veins, but the scar of a thought that she, Jocelyn O’Reilly, had tore the family apart even more so than it had been.
And as Senna made her way back up the stairs, Joss followed, padding quietly into their shared room and laying down on her bed in the fetal position, muffling her sobs with her pillow to keep from waking Senna up.
After reviewing my work schedule, I've decided to set the opening date for Thursday, May 22. Roleplaying will begin at 6:00 pm Eastern time on that day.
If you have any questions, feel free to send them in.
Moira Bertinelli is thirty-four years old and is currently a Sports Columnist at The Globe. She is neutral. Her faceclaim is Rashida Jones and she is currently open.
Moira was born into a life of luxury, unlike her mother. Her father was a wealthy business man who travelled all over the world and was hardly ever home. Her older brother never gave her the time of day, but her mother was always there for her.
Moira was never passionate about anything until she was in high school; she tried out for her school's field hockey team and fell in love. Ever since, sports have been her life.
Working at the Globe, Moira is surrounded by other passionate people; however, the constant debate of what's good or bad for Metropolis gives her a headache.
Do you have any other faceclaims that you'd accept for Zachary/The Raven?
I'd accept plenty of different faceclaims for Zach! If you have any faceclaims you'd want to play, send in an ask and I'll tell you if I think it fits or not.
Welcome, Opium! You've been accepted as Kayla Storm. Please read the member checklist, make your account and send it in within 24 hours.
OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION:
Name/Alias: Opium
Preferred Pronoun: She/Her
Timezone: EST (NYC)
First Language: English
Activity Level: (Describe in words.) I have no life lol, but I do work. I’ll be on at least one a day for a few hours
IN CHARACTER INFORMATION:
Skeleton Audition Form
Desired Character: Kayla Storm
Why do you want to be in this roleplay and what do you think you will be able to bring to it that another applicant might not? I absolutely I fell in love with the plot right away; it has both of my favorite things, superheroes and a crime driven plot. I’m a huge superhero fan, so a superhero roleplay is perfect. It’s how I first entered the world of roleplay, was with an indie superhero account, and honestly I have not been this excited for a character in years! This entire group just seems amazing!!! I’d love to really flesh out this character develop her personality and story; I already have some headcanons set up for her.
Any Changes: (Please note not all changes will be accepted.) None she’s perf!
Biography: (500-700 words.)
The strive for justice and betterment of her city were ideas that were implemented in Kayla’s head from birth. With her father constantly talking about how great of a city Metropolis could be if it weren’t already filled with the wealthy criminals that seem to have everyone except for him in their fat back pockets. Kayla found her place in the world at a young age; after going to the hospital one day for breaking her arm because she was ran over by a hit-and-run driver, the curly headed five year old knew that she wanted to be a doctor and really help people when they needed help the most.
The young brunette naturally excelled in her studies, achieving valedictorian for both middle school and high school as well as graduating a full two years early, making her family very proud of her. During her freshmen and sophomore year at university Kayla often thought about becoming a politician or lawyer. Debating whether or not that may be a better way of helping people on a grand scale; having the authority and power to influence the city positively sounded amazing. That bubble sadly busted when one of her favorite city council members had been arrested for embezzlement, she soon realized that it was true; most politicians are in fact corrupted either by greed or fear. This just confirmed her childhood dream of becoming a doctor.
Kayla entered as the youngest admitted student to her medical school; she was on top of the world. After victoriously finishing her first year of med school and just turning 21 Kayla went out for drinks with a couple of her friends. The night was young and the young woman was buzzing with excitement. She was a few blocks away from reaching the bar when she was suddenly lifted off the ground by huge muscular arms and gagged. The oversized man punched her in the back of the head knocking her out cold. By the time she woke up, it was too late the damage had been done. Both her virtue and her purse had been taken from her; she was left by a dumpster and watched him walk away like it was nothing.
Initially afraid to say anything in fear that he would go to her address since he had taken her wallet with her ID Kayla slept in a hotel until she found a new place. As the weeks pasted she began to think of the whole incident as a bad dream. That was until the same thing had happened to another young woman, Kayla knew that he wouldn’t stop until he was caught, but she was also smart enough to know that she was too weak to take him out by herself. So she began to train herself and build up her muscle tone, she even signed up for a mixed martial arts class.
After a few more weeks she felt confident enough and began patrolling the area in dark clothing hoping that the day would come where she’d bump into him, and it did. It was a beautiful summer night; Kayla had been patrolling and area near a park that cut through some local clubs and bars, when she heard a muffled cry and what sounded like a struggle. She walked over quietly and diligently, and that’s when she saw it. He was ripping of a woman’s clothes as she laid there bleeding from the back of her head. He had been too preoccupied and comfortable to look around. Kayla walked up behind him “Hey, no means no asshole!” she kicked him in the back of the head before he could do anything, she was small and fast. She began stomping on him losing her train of thought when she heard the woman waking up; she snapped out of it and used the woman’s phone to call the police and treated her head wound. Kayla instructed the woman with what to do for her head before running away.
She felt invigorated, she had caught her perp and helped a woman out, as well as all of the other women that would have been his victims.
Now, a black belt at krav maga and constantly training herself Kayla is half way done with medical school and continues to put away bad guys. She may not be as innocently happy as she once was, but she is now content.
Writing Sample: (450+ words. Third person, past tense. In Character is preferred, but not required.)
THIS A WRITING SAMPL FROM A PAST CHARACTER
The sun was bright—too bright it burned the young woman’s eyes slightly. Using her left hand to cast a shade over her eyes she slowly stood up from the ground. And was immediately knocked right back down by a round house kick, “Never leave yourself open!” yelled an older man in Arabic. He was her teacher for her time in Israel. She had been sent to do some surveillance work on an alleged terrorist group, which turned out to be nothing more than a group of angry old men that enjoyed threatening and scaring their community. Yet Michaela remained in the country because she didn’t have any pressing assignments, plus she loved the scenery. “Are you even trying?!” he yelled at her again, just before she kicked herself up off the ground and punched him square in jaw, the man began to lose his balance taking advantage of his Michaela punched him on his side as she ran behind kicking him in the back of the knee. Now kneeling, she put him in a head lock, just before sneaking her forearm under his chin. After some rustling, a few seconds later the man tapped out.
She let go her grip immediately, helping the man to his feet “Were you even awake?’ she asked teasing him. Michaela had developed a deep intrigue for Krava Maga; a self-defense system developed for military in Israel and Hungary that consists of boxing and numerous mixed martial arts styles as well as wrestling, grappling and realistic fighting training. And they did not discriminate based on gender which was remarkable. Although it had only been a few short weeks, she had moved u to disarming a man with a weapon and incapacitating them. She was exceeding rapidly. Her trainer often complemented her, he once told her that if he would have ever had the misfortune of having a daughter he’d hoped that she’d be something like her both strong and intelligent, easily adaptable.
After her Krav Maga session, the young brunette headed into the market to grab a few things that she needed. She purchased a few fruits and vegetables along with some milk. Once home, or what was her home for the time being, she kicked off her shoes, closed the blinds and undressed. Flicking the fan on now only wearing a gray tank top and a pair of underwear she was truly comfortable. She made her dinner; delicious sautéed shrimp and spinach accompanied by mashed potatoes with of course a cup of red wine. It was time to unwind.
Her feet grazed the floor as she swung them while reading the news on her table. “Why is everything so depressing?” she mumbled to herself, the word truly was a terrifying place to live in.
Welcome, Alyce! You’ve been accepted at Zoe Scott. Please read the member checklist, make your account and send it in within 24 hours.
The changes requested have not been approved. If you wish to discuss this further, I am more than willing to discuss it with you.
OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION:
Name/Alias: Alyce
Preferred Pronoun: She
Timezone: GMT +10:00
First Language: English
Activity Level: (Describe in words.)
IN CHARACTER INFORMATION:
Desired Character: Zoe Scott
Why do you want to be in this roleplay and what do you think you will be able to bring to it that another applicant might not?
Well, after seeing the RP in one of the reviews I decided to hop on just on pure curiosity but I loved what I saw. The plot looks amazing and so the characters are great (with Zoe being one that especially drew me in). I love clever characters, especially those with a dark side. Without blowing my own horn, I hope to bring in a character that is completely relatable, just to keep the whole thing sort of grounded and not go all over our heads with the whole hero and villain thing and not blow everything out of proportion. Just to keep it as realistic, with just enough spunk to make it interesting, cha feel? I mean, Zoe is a completely normal girl just trying to get into collage, her family had mortage, so on and so forth, but the twist with the drugs. It’d be nice to play around with the whole mundaneness of her situation but to add a dark twist with her ‘career’ choice. Especially with her friend ‘Eric Holloway’ being a vigilante, and Zoe selling drugs, I don’t know, it’ll give an interesting dynamic.
Any Changes:
Well her name with the whole Zsophia-but-Zoe-for-short-thing, I mean, most of the ‘changes’ are mentioned in the biography anyway. So if there’s anything you don’t like, would like to take out, or would like to discuss further, just lemme know :))
Biography: (500-700 words.)
Zsophia (though known as Zoe to her friend — well if she only had so many) Scott, was not a name that was known by many, in fact, it was a name barely known by the few. Nor did it hold much significance in the city of Metropolis. Though many could probably tell why. By night, mom was an escort at the ‘gentleman’s’ club downtown, and a compulsive alcoholic by day. Dad wasn’t so impressive either, well, at least she didn’t consider working a ten hour shift as a clerk at some hardware store very impressive, but unlike mom, he fought his inner wars through long breathes of smoke and cigar. Ironic, considering that mom had a great distaste for smoking, and he liquor. But at least they loved each other, well, loved each other enough to stay married anyway. Fights were not a rare event in the Scott house. Zsophia would have laughed at that, not the fighting, but the word ‘house’. “That would be the polite way to say it,” she would have said. At least her sense of humour was a means of keeping herself sane in an otherwise insane household. But with their financial position taken into account, it was a wonder how anyone would be able to stay sane.
There were times where her mom would be passed out senseless on the bed, tear stains mingled with her make up, and dad would be crouched over the piling bills, waiting to be paid. And it were times like these where Zoe would slip out of the confines of her home and off to her job.
Zoe was bright. She was top of her class, the brightest of her age, so it wasn’t strange for everyone to simply assume that her career was somewhere in hospitality or science or something else that had put her intelligence to good use. But time was her enemy, and she had none to spare, she needed money and fast. Now she wasn’t proud of her…career choice, but boy was she good at it. She was quick-witted and shrewd, and with the looks that are genes afforded her, she was very pretty, and with the way that men and boys alike watched her sometimes, she knew that they liked what they saw. Though she didn’t have the most charming of mouths, this would often get her mixed up in with not so pretty situations, and with her choice of occupation it was something that was easier to do than she thought, though her petite body and gymnastic ability aided her in swiftly getting out of a brushing with the law (which she found herself getting involved in on more than one occasion), but with the eviction notice hanging over her family’s head, she had no room for morality. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Besides, who could pass up 300 odd dollars, of pay with a single batch?
Of course, one would assume that her parents (who are in fact good people) would question how she had earned so much on one night’s wage? But like her, they had no time.
The vicious cycle went on, even as she managed to win herself a full scholarship, but a scholarship with a crappy financial aid. Even when her conscience, her morals and her close brushings with the law had told her that what she was doing was wrong, the drug dealing industry was a fast paced train that had no stop for her to get off. She still needed to pay her some of the scholarship to keep her place and mortgage still needed to be paid for her parents to keep the house. Zoe’s mind was painting of shades of grey, consuming her otherwise black and white perceptions of justice. On the contrary to her otherwise happy-go-lucky demeanour, so troubled was she that if you listened closely enough to the sounds behind the door of her dorm at the university, when everyone else was asleep, you’d just be able to catch the muffled sounds of her sobbing into her pillow. Crying to herself of what a mess she was born into. She was not proud of her actions, in fact she found it pitiful and she hated crying, but she was barely twenty one. Still a little girl, but just trying to put on a dress that was much too big for her size.
The irony still played however. Mom had a great distaste for smoking and dad, liquor, but none of them ever had very high respect for drugs. And though Zsophia never had a very high respect for neither smoking nor liquor; drugs were her only means of keeping her family afloat. But the more drugs she sold, the more she wondered if she was going out of her depth.
Writing Sample: (450+ words. Third person, past tense. In Character is preferred, but not required.)
Zsophia Scott was running—no sprinting. Blood pumped to her legs as she forced her strides to become longer, her muscles working harder. She gulped in air as if they were water, fighting for breath as well as feeding her blood with much needed oxygen. A gloved hand fell to her side as she felt a stitch building, for a few precious second she slowed, but with the blaring of police sirens and the vicious snaps of the german shepherds’ jaws she found that the stitch was gone and she could sprint faster. She mentally visualised the path of her escape in her head. In fifty meters she would have to turn to her right, and if she remembered correctly, a few meters from there she would met a wired fence, roughly about two and a half meters in height. She could make it.
Fifty meters on she veered to her right and hauled a mass of empty barrels and wooden crates in her wake. Counting each breathes, she leapt onto the fence, fingers hooked onto the holes as she swung herself over to the other side. The dogs managed to escape the barrels and crates before the police men did, but they couldn’t climb the fence. Fixing the hood of her jacket, which had slightly tipped down, she grinned and sprinted out the alleyway onto the main road. Zoe fingered the packet in her pocket. A pocket that promised her $170 dollars if she got it sold. She started to walk, finding a moment to catch her breath.
“Shit!”
So focused on escaping the policemen with the dogs, she had completely forgotten the policemen in cars. Twice as fast, but not necessarily twice as bright. She could out them. She always did. It was what made her so good at her job. Without much of a pause she sprinted again, this time she veered off to her left and back into the maze of buildings, staying clear from the main road. Again she pulled out her mental map. If she remembered right, which she almost always did, she could take a path that led her straight to campus. What time was it? 5 pm? The time where traffic was at its worst. If she took the right turns, she’d lose the cars for sure.
It was a mix of lefts and rights after that, sliding under pipes and climbing over fences as the blaring of sirens followed, with the barks of dogs and men alike once again following in pursuit. Another day’s work.
Securing her stash into the pocket of her jeans, Zoe stripped off her hoody and gloves, letting it fall in her wake, before she disappeared off into another corner. That should keep the dogs busy for a while. Pulling her mass of tangled curls into a pony tail, she broke onto the main road, weaving through traffic as she arrived at the green glades of the campus. Straight to the oak where her backpack was nestled on of the branches, low enough to reach, but still concealed. She stripped off her jeans, her ‘shirt’ fell into a dress that met her knees, before she shoved it roughly into her pack, and threw it over her shoulders. Her watch red 5:27, just in time for Criminology. She grinned at the irony.
“Hey.” Zoe’s head turned at the voice that had greeted her. A smile fell over her lips. Eric Holloway, one of the little friends she had.
“Hey you,” she greeted in turn, patting down the creases in her dress. He seemed to look past her for a moment. His brows furrowed as he caught the scene behind her. Zoe too turned. The police dog were still chewing on the jacket that she had left behind as the policemen tried to get their attention once more. The police cars had managed to escape traffic and were now wondering aimlessly down the road. Zoe hastily turned back to Eric, biting down on her bottom lip.
“What do you think happened there?”
“You know what,” she said with a smile that bragged innocence, “I haveno idea.”
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