The Story of Alex

There are somethings that happen in life that is plain weird and uncanny. For example all the Alex's I have ever met have been ridiculously good looking and also (not in a bad way) aware of their beauty. And this got me thinking. What if, this Alex, this character in my script is developed where he is an Adonis but really has no clue. Growing up a true minger like his creator (me) he craves the sort of attention available to heroes in books but rarely available in real life. What if this Alex is a tragic tragic character as his looks do not make up for his obvious geekiness? 

I love this character, he is my faveourite so far. And as the title suggests, this is his story. His background, and how he has been formed into what he is today.

Enjoy xx

The Story of Alex

Once upon a time, long, long ago as the stars burned brightly in the sky a lady screamed and pushed, moaned and groaned and a baby was born. He arrived into the world head first, slipped from the nurses’ arms and fell almost in slow motion onto the floor. A horrified silence ensued as the Mother and Father of the unfortunate infant stared at the nurse wide eyed and open mouthed. The Nurse stared back, a mirror reflection and then as though a secret hand was controlling a remote, everything speeded up. The Mother screamed a little more, digging her nails deeper into her husband’s hand, who, let’s face it, had to take it. It was, after all, his fault she had gone through all this, his fault that she had a 48hour labour and ultimately his fault that the baby had been dropped. The Nurse quickly bent down on all fours and scooped the baby up into her arms and started to wipe him off as though the 3 second rule applied to brand new babies as well as food dropped onto the floor. The Mother continued her screaming the Father held in the searing pain, the medical team ran around pointlessly and just as suddenly as everything had speeded up it all stopped. The invisible hand pressed down once again on the remote as the tiny creature let out a loud wail and began to cry. In slow motion the Nurse, beaming, covered the baby with a fresh white towel and looking at the other beaming staff handed the precious cargo to the Mother. Arms outstretched, sweat covering her forehead she took the baby and held him close, smelling him. Slowly she looked up at her husband, who was also beaming as he now had his hand back, albeit slightly bleeding. The Mother slowly moved the baby pressed against her chest onto her forearm so she could get a good look at her little prince.

Now, this is where it goes a little wrong. Well a little more wrong. You see, unlike other children who solicit happy smiles and tears of joy from brand new parents this baby facing his parents for the first time stared into their disgusted faces. They looked at each other knowing God had played a cruel cruel and the proverbial shit had indeed hit the fan. Poor baby, he was so ugly his parents treated him like a slave as he grew up, forcing him to live alone in the attic and in true Victorian style sweep all day long. The child was neglected and unloved; surviving on the scraps he could find in the kitchen as his parents happily forgot his existence. Dressed in his scrappy hand-me-downs from God knows where he sat beside his window, looked out onto the sprawling garden and wiped fresh tears from his cheeks. It was a Cinderella story, only without the happy ending.

ONLY KIDDING!

Alexander Jeramiah Frederick Jones (yes, that really is his name), was born on December 25^th 1985 to Francesca Frederick (yes, really) and Jonanthan Jones (God really does have a sense of humour). Although little Alex’s arrival into the world was a bumpy beginning he was the apple of his parents eye. Their only child they spoilt him rotten and Alex loved all the attention. He enjoyed a good few normal years of his childhood, looking normal. But one day as the seasons changed and the weather man warned people to watch out for thunderstorms a strange thing happened. Alex looking in the mirror whilst brushing his teeth for bedtime noticed quite a few physical changes. The moon shone coldly, pleased with its fullness as Alex, brush in mouth peered closely at his face. Where there were once two clearly defined eyebrows, now there was one. His new adult teeth were growing crooked and had large gaps. Thickish hair sprouted out of his ears and pulsing spots covered his spots. He was as ugly as a sunset is beautiful.

His parents pretended not to notice, they loved him dearly and unconditionally like in all good stories and films. Alex however, noticed. No one wanted to play with him, he was revolting. He would walk the halls of his school alone, sad and as lonely and tragic as tumbleweed in the desert. Girls would cup their hands over their mouths and whisper as he drifted by, stink lines emitting from his body; he had become The Last Man on Earth. Kissing a rabid dog, according to one game, was far more appealing than kissing him. Craving friends he tried to join in with his fellow rejects, the kids with the bottle glasses and nasty drool on the sides of their faces. They told him he was bringing them all down and as they had a reputation to protect he had to sod off. Poor Alex. But as destiny would have it with not a friend in the world he turned to books. Sitting knees up beside the kind of heater that is illegal these days he would read and read and read. Imitating the characters he would curl up in a blanket with a hot chocolate and completely disappear into the magical world of words and colours. Where animals spoke, and frogs turned to princes. Where young friends solved mysteries and sisters plodded together. A place where good overcame bad and every story had a moral. Alex became adept at mastering long hard quotes until they formed a part of his memories. He began to believe in his stories, in happy endings and prayed to the invisible hand which had manipulated the remote control of time at his birth that his prayers come true.

Then one day, as poor unloved Alexander Jeremiah Frederick Jones now sixteen and still as ugly as sin got dressed for bed he sent his usual prayer to the heavens, and for the first time Alex felt truly happy. As he looked out his bedroom window at the falling snow and the Christmas lights that decorated his neighbourhood indicating that his birthday and the celebration of another famous persons’ birthday was close, he felt light and for some reason delighted. He had never felt this rush before and pulled back the duvet on his bed excited to sleep and start the next day. It was a strange feeling as though something was going to happen. Something exciting and Alex knew as he was in on the secret. He fell asleep and when he awoke the next day, a miracle happened.

The snow had settled over everything like a thick coat of icing, covering the cars and the forgotten bicycles in the neighbours’ garden. Alex breathed a cold cloud onto the glass, wrote his name with his index finger as was his morning ritual and walked to the bathroom. Putting toothpaste onto brush and inserting it into his mouth it quickly fell out and landed toothpaste first onto the floor as Alex screamed as loudly as he could on seeing his reflection. Something had happened. Even to his own eyes he was a changed young man. The nasty puffy beard that looked like an accumulation of belly button fluff which had covered his face in tragic blotches had thickened overnight and looked like a soft manly beard. His eyebrows agreeing it was time to let go had decided to part ways after all these years and he could definitely see the changes in his teeth beneath the train tracks. The comic stink lines were no more, and as Alex raised one arm after the other to smell his pits he smiled knowing, finally he did not stink anymore. His hair was not the unruly fro of his younger days but for some reason has softened into loose, manageable waves. He stared open mouthed; unintentionally impersonating the look of horror his parents and the Nurse had all those years ago as he slipped, ugly slime ball onto the floor with a thud. Alex touched his face, pinched his arm and ran downstairs screaming that his Mum take him to the orthodontist right now, right this instance.

Alex was now a full on hottie, he was an Adonis, girls wanted to be with him and boys wanted to be him. His looks constantly generated third glances, women stopped and stared and men glowered. God was pleased with Alex. He rewarded him for all his years of suffering with the kind of attention Alex had coveted his entire life. But poor Alex, unused to having anyone in his life had no clue what to do. The people he felt closest too, with his intimate knowledge and love of literature were the geeks. They however, unused to having anyone with straight set of teeth hanging out with them told him what they told him all those years ago: Sod off Alex. Poor Alex really did have a bad time with friends. He just didn’t know what to do. The girls that once rejected him now threw themselves at him, but Alex was even worse with girls. An only child, absolutely no friends or anyone to talk to, he did what came naturally; he turned to the written word. Buying as many women’s magazines as was possible with his pocket money he began to read them like Holy Scripture. He subscribed to as many as possible and followed through on everything he could hoping he would be more appealing to the ladies. The ladies however, attracted to his good looks soon got bored of what they perceived as his moody broody character, branded him spineless and or gay (mainly because he never made the first move) and moved onto the kind of bad boys that most girls at that age want. 

So Alex was in a weird in between place. He had the looks he always wanted, he had the physical attention he always wanted but he was still as alone as he had ever been. He stared longingly at the tight circles of friends and just like when he was younger he walked the halls of his school alone. He turned, once again, to his old books, engrossing himself with the stories befriending new characters as his own. Now a young man and one with modelesque features he sat on the edge of his bed, lonely and pained and once again prayed to the Invisible. The usual, simple prayer of his childhood.