Damaged, but not broken... The Alarm clock rang it’s cacophonous song. Screeching it’s morning cry like the c**k in the morning sun. But roosters normally weren’t up at this hour, yet He was. That tattered boy Jiro. Sprawled out through the silken sheets of a large four poster bed, hand carved from solid wood. The sun had yet to rise in this early hour but the stars had already began to fade into the deep orange sky. The room was left in a pale twilight, the expensive antiques glimmering in the shadowed room. The room was a piece of art, as was the rest of this mansion that he confined to. The regal rug scratched the bottom of his feet as he lurched from his sheets, immediately their heat dissipated without his warm body and Jiro lost all reason to crawl back into the silks embrace. His hand hit the snooze with small force, quieting the strident racket. The time on the clock flashed 5:02 am. The numbers glowing a pale green. A deep sigh was heaved and Jiro left for the halls, picking up a small towel on his way out the door. Early to bed and early to rise. Something his grandfather had once told him that he took to heart. Start every day is if you meant to.
The halls were still dark, the towering corridor windows were blinded by blood red curtains. Not his choice of color. The pale figure stepped through the hallway, his naked feet echoing the slapping noise through the mansion. Coming to a small door, Jiro had come into a small exercise studio. Part of Jiro routine before breakfast was his daily martial arts practice and yoga. Everyone wishes to be as strong and flexible as Hercules and Gumby combined. GumberCules, I love that guy (for you futurama freaks XP) Generally, an hour was all it took to beat his daily frustrations out of a punching. Martial arts training was an outlet to vent, also a way to defend himself should an incident like that ever happened again. The yoga was more a way to calm his mind after a harsh workout. Reclaim the cool head in which he was famous for. Finishing, Jiro retrieved the small towel he had brought, tilting his head to the right, Jiro ruffled the towel and hair together, the damp golden locks falling elegantly to one side. Jiro tossed the used towel into the corner of the room and left the room.
Back in the hall, the glistening boy walked through the halls again. His sweaty feet making more of a squelching sound as they flopped against the marble floors. A weakness of the young boy was his foot sweat. He’d do anything in his power to prevent any of his friends from taking a sniff of his shoes. Jiro came upon an open door, steam was creeping along the floor. Entering, Jiro began to strip down. His body glistening with the sweat from today’s exercise. The naked boy’s scars and tattoos revealed themselves with each article of clothing removed. All of his clothing tossed on the floor, Jiro waltzed into the large bath. The steam circled the air, breathing it in deeply cleared his head. Though, he was never one to really take the time to enjoy his baths. He was already behind schedule. Quickly scrubbing the scars and tattoos. His stigma forced his to scrubs as hard as he could, the irrational thought that someday these shameful things would wash away with the other filth on his body. His skin glowed a light pink color, the brush had forcibly exfoliated his skin. Tender. The boy’s expression hadn’t changed since the moment he awake, there was noone ever around his home to whom he’d have to put his mask on for.
Drying off, testing his body fat index and weighing himself had become part of his morning routine. All were in satisfactory limits for his scope of progress. Jiro donned a fluffy towel and retreated back to his room. Time for one of the interesting parts of the day. Clothing time. Jiro opened a large door in his room to reveal a large walk in closet. Lined with clothing of all manner of mens flashing, shoe boxes with pictures of their contents sat along another wall. Jiro walked in, flipping through his clothing catalogue mind, trying to decide what to don today. Something about today just said “Italian,” so that of course mean Robert Cavalli. Fishing through his wardrobe, Jiro pulled out a pristine school uniform with. It fit every standard for his school uniform blazer and pants, except this was hand tailored and from a far more prestigious material than any common uniform. The school left shirt color and tie up for interpretation since it wasn't mentioned in the school rules. One day he had to lecture a teacher on the dress code because the man was trying to chew him out. Nothing too flashy otherwise, a light pink french cuffed shirt, Dior, a thin blue tie in a half windsor. A nice pair of oxblood prada lace ups with matching. All of this set, Jiro dressed. Emerging several minutes later looking like he’d jumped out of a mens fashion magazine...for schools.... The next stop of Jiro morning routine was the kitchen. He’d have to make himself lunch and a backup lunch for Yuri. She always forgot something, it was easy when it was something like her lunch. When she misplaced her homework or Wallet or purse or anything of that sort was when Jiro couldn’t help but groan. Lunch was what he always planned for. She owed some 70 000 yen by now. Well, money didn’t really matter much. It was more the principle of the matter, right ?
Jiro barely finished cleaning the kitchen before his tablet PC by the door rang out. IF that thing rang out, it meant he was behind schedule and late. The lunch he made today was rather extravagant, seeing as it was the last day before summer break. Jiro didn’t realize, but he had a slight smirk on his face while he was cooking, thinking of his friends. Rushing out the door, grabbing blaring computer on his way out the door. A black car waited outside his residence. It was quite the expensive taxi service, but they were prompt. Every morning, 7:20. The car sped off in the direction of his school, the young man watching as the people flew by as blurred shapes. Mothers, daughters, fathers and brothers. Salary men to artists. Working mothers to stay at home mothers. This place was awfully crowded at this time of the morning. The PC tablet next to him rang. Looking to it, Jiro spotted the message symbol under the phone program. He read it over, the cute smiley faces and what not. Thinking nothing of it, Jiro deleted the message. He’d be there to meet them soon enough. Several minutes passed and the car came to a rolling stop a few blocks away from the school. He would walk the rest of the way.
Coming around the corner of the school grounds, Jiro spotted a gaggle of students standing next to the entrance. The people he’d come to call friends over the past year had been there waiting for him. It was now time to don the mask known as a smile. Time to express his happiness in meeting them so early in the morning for the festival and to see the play. Jiro didn’t care much for anything, but he did enjoy being around others. It made him feel secure. You could call him the real black sheep of the group, the one emotionally damaged member with scars running deeper than the skin. Besides that, he was the voice of rhyme and reason too the group. A MR. Law and order they would call him. Jiro scampered over quickly to the group. Popping beside the girls, his handbag in tow.
“Not Late yet am I ?”
