Desmond Sycamore: a quite, conniving young man that spent most of his time in solitude. He disliked company for it reminded him of how much he had lost. His real parents were long gone and he had grown up in the comfort of strangers. As much as he would try and convince himself that's all they will ever be. They will never be his real parents; just strangers. Now Desmond wasn't a stupid man or an ignorant one at that. These people had cared for him when no one else would, when it was just him sat alone in the eerie glow of the staircase. But still, it never felt…right and now as a twenty year old man he felt more alone than ever.
Slowly he stood up from his desk and wandered over towards the window. A strong smell of damp hit him as he proceeded to open the dusted curtains. It was winter there and a thick layer of condensation coated the windowpane. Gently, he wiped away a small section with his hand. The image was blurred but he could make out the empty street before him. The clouds twisted in the sky above him like a face in a constant state of grimace. This could have not been more appropriate for how he was feeling. He was a depressed, lonely, isolated man. He was the black sheep of the community and he had not intention to change that. He stood for a few more moments, immersed in the emptiness of the room. Time passed slowly whenever he was concerned but it never bothered him.
He glanced over at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. The long hand stood erect to its shorter, horizontal brother that lay to the right of him. Desmond sighed. The suffocating nature of the same four walls was too much to bear, even for him. He decided a long walk was the only thing that would clear his head. He meandered his way through the hallway of his 'parents' house and headed towards the door.
The cold, bitter wind was a slap in the face as he stepped out into the virgin snow. Beneath every step it gave a distinct crunch as he walked. He continued for about a mile before he came to the centre of the town. There wasn't a soul in sight. Every shop as far as the eye could see bore the same red "closed" sign. This was depressing. A place that would usually be teeming with life now resembled a ghost town. He sighed and continued to walk.
Suddenly, he heard footsteps behind him followed by a small yelp. He turned and saw a few paces back a woman sprawled across the pavement.
"Stupid snow," she muttered under her breath, desperately trying to regain her dignity "Why can't the council just grit it for goodness stake,"
Desmond smirked and wandered towards her.
"Is everything alright Miss?" he asked, still smirking lightly. She frowned at him.
"Yes, everything is just tickety boo," she exclaimed sarcastically, trying and failing to get back to her feet.
"Need a hand?" he said, gesturing his hand to her. There was a short pause and then reluctantly she took it.
Once she had gotten to her feet she brushed the front of her coat free of snow and tucked her silvery blond hair behind her ears.
"Thanks," she said managing a weak smile. She stared at him for a couple of seconds.
"You're Desmond Sycamore aren't you?" she said her smile broadening.
"Yes," he replied cautiously raising an eyebrow.
"I'm Elizabeth," she said holding out her hand "I work for your father,"
There was a short silence. He very rarely ever referenced them as his 'parents' so found it strange when other people did so.
"Pleased to meet you," he said blankly, taking her hand.
They stood in silence for a few moments, an awkward silence. Finally, after what seemed like forever it was broken.
"Well…I've…got to…um," she muttered
"Oh, yes of course," he said hurriedly letting go of her hand.
"Thanks, well I'll see you around," and with that she set off down the road and round a corner. He watched until she was no longer in sight.
"What a perplexing individual," he thought to himself and then continued off in the opposite direction.
