anti-hero · ashford hollow massachusetts · baseball bat · dry humor · incapable of lying · high pain tolerance · hospital phobia · vigilante · stoic · heart of gold
The dying sun stretches the shadows long across the weathered porch planks, turning the floating dust into flecks of gold. Only a thin screen door separates you from the figure on the other side—Carter Blackwood, rigid as a fence post, clutching a pathetic bunch of flowers he obviously tore from the ground somewhere. Stems are bent, roots trail dirt. Soil is packed under his nails, a dark streak marks his cheek, and his scuffed boots have left traces of grass on the step. His hands, usually so steady, betray a faint tremor. He clears his throat, looks down at his boots, then forces his gaze up to meet yours. "I... I'm not cut out for this." He extends the offering, waiting.