Character Introduction

When I was a senior in high school I took a creative writing class, and we had to think of a character and write an introduction for them (in first person). The first line had to be "let me tell you who I am" or something similar. Here is what I came up with. Blarg.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Log:

October 2^nd, 2096

Center of Operations

8:45 a.m.

I am supposed to tell you who I am. When I say "you" apparently that constitutes the fucking air. My therapist is making me do this, this ridiculous chronicle. The therapist that bastard Colonel Hughes is coercing me to go see. Apparently I am insane. Maybe I am. After all, I am denying it.

Who the hell am I, anyway?

Well, let's start with the basics. My name is Gwendolyn Pierce. Not Gwen, or Gwennie, or Gweneth. Gwendolyn. I am twenty-seven years old. I am First Lieutenant in the Covert Operations division of the military. And yes, Hughes does outrank me. For now. Anywho, I live in a three bedroom flat not far from here. And . . .

Ugh. I've grown tired of doing this already.

8:50 a.m.

Forgotten that I'm supposed to be doing this rubbish for at least a half-hour at a time.

Bugger.

I suppose I should tell "you" how I ever got involved in the entangling web that is the military. Well, let's see . . . I grew up without a family, no parents, no siblings, nothing. I survived by stealing. I stole every piece of food, clothing, and money that I could get my grubby little hands on. As I got older, I found a job, eventually, but it was never enough: to eat, to buy sufficient clothes, to live. So I kept stealing. By this time, mind you, I was getting pretty damned good at it. As I grew yet even older, I stole more expensive and more extravagant items. In fact, by the time I was twenty-one years old I was already a world renowned, untouchable thief of priceless items and artifacts. At this point, I had already stolen more inestimable things than I would ever need, so money was not my motive. It had gotten to the point where I stole because I wanted the adrenaline rush. I loved the feeling I got in the pit of my stomach every time I heard of creak behind me, that gut-wrenching, heart-pounding sensation that came with every narrow escape. I loved sneaking around in the dead of night (sometimes in broad daylight, if I was feeling adventurous). And I loved the feeling of success whenever I was holding whatever prized possession I had swiped in my errant hands.

And then I was caught. Those bastards finally got me.

I was essentially offered an ultimatum: Become a dog of the military in Stealth Operations and my record is expunged, I'm a "free" woman, etcetera. Or don't and be killed.

So here I am.

And every day since then I've been shamelessly climbing the rankings of the military ladder, though that bastard Hughes is always infuriatingly one step ahead of me.

Ugh. I hate him. Colonel bastard.

9:26 a.m.

With his stupid . . . that . . . ridiculous smug look he's always got plastered to his face.

9:30 a.m.

Speaking of Hughes, there was something I was supposed to do . . .

9:54 a.m.

Something important . . .

9:58 a.m.

Shit.

Same day

Naval embassy

Noon

Apparently he wanted me to be stationed in the naval branch. They've requested the assistance of our Stealth Operations (that's where I come in). It seems there's some monumental hostage situation going on. Though it seems we don't have any men to contribute, so I've got to round up a few promising naval officers and accompany them on a mission. Probably several of them. Oh joy unbounded.

When I got here I already had a message waiting. A younger officer cornered me when I came through the door.

"Gwendolyn Pierce?"

"That would be me."

"I've got a message here from the Colonel."

It went a little something like this:

My dear little Gwen,

          So I see you've ma

  

I ripped it up after that point.

No one calls me Gwen.

Christ, I hate him.