"Because I could not stop for Death, he kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves and immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste, and I had put away my labor, and my leisure too, for his civility.

We passed the school, where children strove at recess, in the ring; We passed the fields of gazing grain, we passed the setting sun.

Or rather, he passed us; The dews grew quivering and chill, for only gossamer my gown, my tippet only tulle.

We paused before a house that seemed a swelling of the ground; The roof was scarcely visible, the cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses' heads were toward eternity."

 

#poetry#death#eternity

Christopher is a product of both disciplined expectations and fluidity. His relaxation comes after his responsibilities every time. When the camp would make fires, he would purposefully avoid them and keep a safe distance away from them. Also, he would often take strolls on the camp grounds at night since he rarely gets peaceful sleep.

studious, charismatic, relaxed, athletic, playful, protective over those who he considers his friends, ambitious, determined, and attentive.

perfectionist when it comes to music, temperamental, reserved upon making acquaintances, closed off emotionally, defensive and secretive about his past, a workaholic when it comes to his music, and often a bit spoiled when it comes to attention. 

the night, graveyards, classical music, floral scents because they remind him of his mother, caramel-flavored coffee, silence, and the evening hours when everyone else has drifted off to sleep.

large crowds, the smell of smoke, cacophany, hot weather, dead flowers, midday when the sun is at its peak in the sky, most forms of alcohol, and pages of books where the corners are folded. 

spending time in nature, playing piano, swimming, practicing battle tactics with a spear, sparring with other campers, and writing songs.

overwhelming flames, achieveing nothing significant within his lifetime, and being separated from those he has come to love. hearing the voices of those who have passed on that he treasured -- death should be the end to avoid causing more pain and reopening wounds.

he aims to be comfortable, yet presentable. you will rarely ever see him in sweat pants or plain t-shirts. rather, he likes to wear jeans or khakis along with printed shirts or button-downs. sometimes, he steps it up with slacks, a simple, white button down and a black tie for more formal occasions along with a matching blazer. 

with his training from his mother and years of practice, he is an excellent pianist. from his father, he has the ability to hear the voices of the dead who have not made their to the underworld.

he is incredibly trusting of motherly figures, and he will go out of his way to ensure their safety. his inner child finds them comforting, and he unconsciously wants to be taken care of since his biological mother no longer can; he was forced out of his childhood. 

 

#tidbits #flaws #piano

"The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven." - John Milton, Paradise Lost. 

Even the prince of Hell has his weaknesses; they manifested in the form of a young, beautiful woman with the voice of a tempting siren. Every night, Hades would hear her lulling call. Her melody was always the same: a somber, tragic tale of her circumstances where she sang to the only constant in her life: the moon. 

Each night, he would await her to begin her song. Without fail, she would wade her way into a clearing, surrounded by flowers and kneel down onto the ground. As she sang, her fingertips danced across the petals of the nearby roses; however, in a momentary flick of carelessness, the pad of her index finger was punctured by a thorn. Her song came to a sudden halt as she tended to the wound. 

With her focus on her fingertip, she nearly didn't hear the rustling of leaves behind her. Her audience of one finally made his presence known. His identity still remained a mystery, but he helped her tend to her minor wound. Thus began their forbidden romance; it started off slowly with a few midnight rendezvous within the clearing, but it began to gain momentum until it reached a boiling point as she had become pregnant with a baby boy. With no actual suitor and potential husband, she was shunned from her home. 

Seeking refuge, Hades arranged it so that she would have a small apartment to herself on Earth, and there, she lived in an entirely new town; she had been given a new beginning, away from the abuse of her father and the manipulation of her family who had tried to marry her off to a wealthy doctor for fame and fortune. 
 

The identity of Christopher's father remained a mystery to him for the majority of his life. Growing up, it didn't seem abnormal to lack a masculine figure in the household. The norm was to come home to just his mother and a student at the piano that she was teaching. Playing the piano was her most lucrative talent that she had mastered over the years, and she was renowned in the town for being a maestro over the keys. Every parent wanting a child prodigy begged her to pencil their child into her schedule, so Christopher had scales burned into his brain from a very young age. 

However, despite the heavy emphasis on music, he learned to love the melodic language. Even more, at night, he could hear just his mother humming to different tunes as she tidied up around the apartment before heading to bed. Without knowing it, she would sing her son to sleep each night. 

As the birds sang outside of his window the next morning, he was greeted with a set of pancakes and bacon being brought into his room atop one of those breakfast-in-bed trays. "Good morning, sunshine." His mother greeted him. It must have been a special day, but he couldn't remember why exactly. Instead of stepping into a trap, he simply avoided questioning the day entirely and thanked her for the meal before giving her a quick peck on the cheek. 

The remainder of his day surrounded his school work. It was tedious, but he was determined to make his mother proud. It was report card day, and as the bell rang to dismiss the students, he bolted towards his apartment which was only a block away; however, as he got closer, his sprint slowed into a walk until he stood in place as though his shoes had been cemented to the sidewalk. Staring up at his apartment building, waves of flames cascaded a dim orange hue down upon him. The report card in his hand slipped out from between his fingers and landed in a puddle of water that was draining into a sewer grate. 

As the flames were exstinguished, so was Christopher's hope. There wasn't a single sign of his mother within the remains of his home. Everything that he had cherished had crumbled into nothing but ash and debris. There he remained, head tilted back, irises fixated on the empty void of an apartment that he had once called home. The only thing keeping it standing were the metal support beams that held the building intact. In one day, he had become orphaned and homeless. 

To be expected, Christopher was taken away from the building and brought into the local social services department to see about where to place him. However, a familiar humming caught his attention as he waited on a bench. Just down the hall, he saw his mother coming towards him. As he jumped up and bolted towards her, tears streaming down his face with his arms outstretched, he ran right through her. It was as though her body was etheral. It was a painful confirmation that the fire had been her demise, but he couldn't understand why he could still her. Perhaps he was imagining things, but she seemed so real. She explained to him everything that she had been hiding from him--his father's identity, how they had met, and why they couldn't be together. None of it made sense, but he trusted his mother. 

As she explained, her strength began to fade. It was as though the only thing tethering her to this plane of existence was the need to protect her son and ensure that he was taken care of. "Chris? Are you okay, bud?" The sudden intrusion of a social worker stole Christopher's attention momentarily. He simply nodded, but as he turned to look back at his mother, she was gone. Perhaps she had gone to visit his father once more. 

Without fail, everything went just as she had explained. Chistopher was escorted to his father's "residence" which was really just a guise for a camp for demigods where he remained for the duration of his adolesence. Once he was of age, he ventured out into the world; however his gifts have remained, and he will often hear the voices of the deceased begging to be released from their ties to this plane.