D O R I A N .
The petite child stood in line waiting for his ticket to be punched. It was clear -like in many of the surrounding children accumulated in the area, that famine seemed to get to him first. His cheeks sunken, his eyes no longer portraying the exotic feel they once were touched with, and his conservative clothes now ill-sized and worn from constant day's use. The boy was only six at the time, yet had experienced a lifetime's worth of trauma. His father passed only a year prior; the old habits he tried his hardest to refrain from leading him to his own death. His mother died a few days preparatory to his visit to the train station. Her constant trying to hold a day job and raise three children- the oldest being merely a few days over ten, all in the day's work of attending to the small tenement they were positioned in, and collecting food for the table became tedious for the young woman. She thought more about her children than herself and soon became a prostitute, leaving them behind every night with the reassurance that she would be there in the morning to wake them up for school. To their dismay, one of her clients wanted more from her than just sexual pleasure and ended up taking her life, leaving three children scared and alone in the morning. The boy showed no emotion as he was boarded the train, losing his brother in the process, being sectioned by age in accordance with seating arrangements. He brought his hands up to fix his baseball cap which was trying its best to smooth out his fringed brunette hair, the cap not winning the battle. he quietly took his seat, his feet not even touching the ground, giving him the option to swing his legs back and forth, calming his nervous ticks.
Twenty years passed and if you were to look at that same six-year-old boy loading a train car on that cold November day, you would not see one similarity. Dorian searched for change, although never once venturing out of his comfort zone from the moment he arrived at the foster center for orphans. For over twelve years, Dorian never once longed to be different, knowing that his dreams would be crushed the minute he expressed them. The rules were simple; try and fit in, and don't cause trouble. Those words became Dorian's motto, permanently being etched into his brain as he struggled to find the odds and ends of himself and his future. He had no one to thank but himself when he turned 18, received his papers, and got the hell out of there.
He found joy in the smallest of things that he never knew ceased to exist. He never once got to experience the feeling of raindrops clad to his body, and he never got to experience New York's infamous snowfall. He went from being sectioned off, to be completely free. He was so free, that it began to overwhelm him. The young man found his calling, and through plenty of drawn-out nights, and long shifts with no pay, he was signed with some of the best photographers in the world. His heart began to bleed out onto the photographs he took, his troubled past seeping. photo after photo. No one knew what Dorian's inspiration was, or how he seemed to capture the moments he did, and no one asked. They just continued to buy, and he continued to sell.
WHAT YOU REALLY CAME HERE TO KNOW
NAMEDorian Arellano
AGE Twenty Six
SEXUAL PREFERENCE Homosexual
STATUS Single
THIRD PERSON LITERATE
LONG/ SEMI-LONG REPLIES
