Brudas was more or less your average teenage boy. Yet he had a tragic past. He was abandoned as a baby in a public restroom by his scatterbrained father who took him there to change his nappies. After several years of abuse in an orphanage he was adopted and abused further. Once he had grown into an attractive young man his stepmother kept on sexually harassing him, making passes at him to tug at his wagneresque manhood or cup a feel of his firm like flint buttocks. His cheerful and loving disposition gave him the strength to grin and bear it, knowing that this was the price to pay for his physical beauty.
He had naturally wavy curly hair reaching to his shoulders. It was of an unusual honey blond colour which took upon a lighter hue in the sun. The hair was thick and never tangled and was easy to set, even if he forgot to use hair conditioner. His eyebrows were just the right thickness and width, with tiny transparent hairs above his nose so he did not have to use tweezers as not to look like an unibrow.
His eyes were cerulean, slipping into celeste when he was happy, celadon when pensive and cinereous when angry, casting lighting like slate coloured clouds.
His skin was good, smooth like silk, with no icky acne. He had barely begun to shave his golden stubble, soft like a down pillow.
His body was fit, not too thin and his muscles – although well defined – were not grotesquely exaggerated nor covered with yucky bulging veins. He was not too hairy but still shaved his chest, 'pits and "knob and bollocks". That's what the cool kids did and, while Brudas might had been abused by his elders and shunned by his peers he still was kewl like ... like ... an ice cube! And body hair was despised by magazines for teenagers of both sexes. He was open minded and read those for girls too.
Besides being sexually abused at home by his stepmother and being beaten by his step-father whenever he stepped in to defend the family's three legged dog from that brutal man's boot, Brudas was harassed at school too.
The semi-literate girlfriend-beating jocks sneered at him for being able to read and for respecting female autonomy. In turn the nerds sneered at him for being a dim-witted jock – although actually from a raging envy for his well honed body – calling him words behind his back that he had to check in a dictionary. Catamite, for example.
The pretty popular girls were too dim to notice his inner beauty. Being brainwashed by popular media they were after abusive relationships, and not the Caring Male, hence after flocking to him like bees to honey they dumped him after discovering that he was not interested in one-sided sex. He wanted to give, not only to take. After a nerdy girl told him was as cute as Justin Bieber he stayed away from the visually less attractive ones in glasses too, fearing that he would not survive another compliment of that sort.
His wretched existence, the sole escape from which were his DVD's (bought with money from collecting cans and bottles) of the LotR and Hobbit movies by that genius in portraying human psychology – Peter Jackson, came to end when he stepped off the curb and – blinded by the sun – he did not notice a low fuel economy car, driven by a drunk supporter of anti-immigrant legislation and opponent of same-sex marriage –was ran over in front of Abdularahman's Liquor and Kielbasa Store.
He immediately had an out-of-body experience and, while soaring away from his smashed yet still attractive to look at body, he heard an unearthly, gender non-specific voice:
"Brudas, where do you want to go today?"
His now ethereal yet still full and soft lips whispered:
"Arda."