Writing 101: (Day 6) A Character-Building Experience

Day Six: A Character-Building Experience

Today’s Prompt: Who’s the most interesting person (or people) you’ve met this year?

Our stories are inevitably linked to the people around us. We are social creatures: from the family members and friends who’ve known us since childhood, to the coworkers, service providers, and strangers who populate our world (and, at times, leave an unexpected mark on us).

Today, write a post focusing on one — or more — of the people that have recently entered your life, and tell us how your narratives intersected. It can be your new partner, your newborn child, or the friendly barista whose real story you’d love to learn (or imagine), or any other person you’ve met for the first time in the past year.

Today’s twist: Turn your post into a character study.

 

I got carried away with a story, but the character study is within the piece…a bit.

Forgotten.

There is no shying away from it, Ronny is a Bastard, as was his father and his father before him. Not that Ronny would ever complain about anyone calling him this, in fact he revels in the fact that over the years he has made anyone who comes into contact with him feel utterly miserable.
There where those who blamed Ronny’s Mother’s, who from the very beginning would do anything an everything for her son. There was one constant rumour that she even carried on wiping his arse well into adult hood, but them you never can trust everything you hear…can you?
Ronny lived with his mum up until she died; on the day of the funeral, Ronny’s sister, Maggie had to step in and get him washed and dressed as he had no idea what to do now his constant servant was dead.
There were no other mourners at the simple funeral other than maggie, Ronnie and Mr. Partridge from the corner shop.
Maggie had popped her head round the doorway of Ronny’s bedsit afterwards but decided best not to step in. The thought of getting tangled in her brother’s life just sent a chill down her spine that stayed with her until she got home and felt her back against her recently polished front-door.
Within a week of his mother’s passing, Ronnie’s flat had quickly disintegrated in to a perfect version of hell on earth: not that Ronny gave a toss, his mother had been a hoarder, leaving Ronny with enough tinned food to keep him going for a good few years to come.
By the ned of the month the flat had become quite rancid, with the majority of the rot coming from Ronnie himself. Had anyone wished to pop in to see Ronnie, not that anyone would particularly know of his existence, then they would have realised that Ronny’s mum had in fact been his main source of cleaning and hygiene. Flies followed Ronny wherever he went, forever feasting on areas he never even contemplated as being of much importance.
With his flat on the very top of ‘Number 19’, no neighbours passed the front door to bear witnesses on the infesting odour that had began to seep from underneath the door.
There was the occasional pizza leaflet dropper but they never got further then pushing an over generous number of leaflets through the main front door. There had been an over zealous Jehovah Witness who had managed to get through the front door with a clutch of Watch Tower Magazine. Even though everyone had slammed the door in his face, something made him stop at the final set of stairs at the top of building, not only the smell but something else that made him realise it was best to just turn a round and go home

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