Donovan "Donny" Hendricks
{Post Count: 1}
Current Stats
Offense: 10
Defense: 6
Precision: 6
Endurance: 11
Speed: 8
Fame: 10
With his knees pulled up to his chest, the thin, emaciated teenager seemed hardly larger than a child. His clothes were tattered, stained, and torn, and it was near impossible to tell his natural hair color under all of the dirt and grime. His eyes, which would probably be a brilliant blue when he was in brighter spirits and better health, were a dull gray, and glazed over. It was obvious that he was weak and malnourished – it wouldn’t have surprised any of the people who passed by, sparing him only the briefest of glances, if he hadn’t even the strength to stand.
On a normal day, the streets would be crowded and deafening with the hordes of people hustling and bustling to get to their places of business. Today, however, with the rain pouring down in torrents, nobody seemed willing to linger in the streets. The teenager was the only one who seemed to not be bothered by the rain. He seemed bothered by nothing, as if he were to exhausted to even worry about his own surroundings.
Part of Donavon knew that he should get up. If he were able to make himself presentable, perhaps someone might be more willing to show him a kindness that could save his life. But he was just too tired to try. Weeks of living on the streets, scrounging in garbage for half-rotten vegetables and fruits or stale bread, and sleeping on top of any vents he could find had taken its toll on the boy. He didn’t even want to try to get up. What was the point? He was beginning to learn that life was a cruel joke. If you let yourself stand up, it would just knock you down again.
