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Name: <i>Tolek Zajac</i></b><br/><b>Date of Birth:</b><i> February 5, 1993</i><br/><b>Age: </b><i>23</i><br/><b>Height/Weight:</b><i> 5'10," 175lbs</i><br/><b>Eye color:</b><i> Pale Blue</i><br/><b>Hair Color: </b>Golden<i>Brown</i><br/><b>Birthplace: </b><i>Houston, Texas</i><br/><b>Race/Ethnicity: Caucasian, Polish </b><br/><b>Sexual Preference:</b><i> Homosexual</i><br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff99cc"><i>"</i>Hey! This picture is absolutely adorable, Tolek!"</span>piped a jubilant Janah Zajac, holding up<i>the one</i>relaxed photo of Tolek and his Blue Siamese kitten, Nata, who was perfectly perched on his shoulder.<br/><br/>Vexed icy blues honed in on his nettlesome, bratty<i>older</i>sister. It was the seventh time he had to hear and see her face this month. She didn't mind making the thirty-five minute drive to The Woodlands, just twenty-eight miles away from Houston. It wasn't out of love or authentic care, but out of sheer boredom. Not having a father or mother severely put the petite woman at a disadvantage, for she used to be the doting daughter whom everyone loved, except her one and only immediate family member.<br/><br/>For many years Tolek wanted to move away from the foul-stench metropolis. Something about the major city just seemed wrong ever since he was cognizant of his surroundings, of the people there, even members of his own little Polish community.<b>Superficiality.</b>He was done with all that. Even though The Woodlands was more of a hoity-toity region, the difference in landscape took precedence over everything else. His source of income was manageable; he worked as a Photojournalist at<i>The Woodlands Villager. </i>His quirky and creative talents brought unique and interesting perspectives, which landed him the position after he had his interview with the editor-in-chief.<br/><br/>At first he thought about getting a teaching degree, but the internships of shadowing school teachers in good ol' Houston brought back pounding, nightmarish headaches, and embarrassing cat calls from boys and girls alike. He didn't know whether they were doing it to get a rise out of him, but knowing his temper, it was a good decision for him to take himself out of the equation. Not everyone had the patience to have a career like that. The photojournalist position could not have been a better position for the introvert.<br/><br/>The five-foot-ten male grudgingly got up from his leather computer chair and made a beeline toward his sister. He wore a simple, fitted Ash gray crew neck long-sleeve shirt with belted dark denim loose-fit jeans. He didn't get it. Wasn't a phone call enough to check on family members? He didn't need excessive physical badgering at this time of day. It was getting close to nightfall, and the last thing he wanted was for his sister to get into another car accident. She had already accumulated three thus far, and he was not impressed, none one little bit.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffff00">"Siostra, (Sister), I told you not to look at my pictures," </span>he impatiently grabbed the picture right out of her hands while the curves of his lips thin-lined with disapproval.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff99cc">"Co do cholery! (What the hell!). You <i>rarely </i>have any pictures, brother. Do you remember the last time you even took a picture? Probably when we used to live in that old hou--"</span><br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffff00">"Stop bringing up the past!" </span>He snapped and cut her off. He backed her up against one of the walls; his eyes were steel daggers while his arm moved sharply and directly, just missing her face within mere inches. He was already losing his patience with her. She was damn lucky that he had the necessary restraint to refrain from harming her.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffff00">"You've made your stay long enough. You need to go, <b>now."</b></span>His voice was arresting; he became easily perturbed when it came to things of his past. He didn't have any desire to re-open old wounds. But seriously---he wanted her to leave. He was no longer a kid. Self-sufficiency overtook his once immature, innocent nature, forcing him to accept this role of independence and determination. In addition, his optimism plummeted and was replaced with pessimism. Why didn't he believe in himself? Why did he deny himself all those years ago? His guilt was the grim reaper, filtering in cycles and feeding him visions of what once was. He was plagued by his past; he had trouble sleeping at night, especially now. The voices have gotten more prevalent throughout the weeks. Sometimes they stay and linger around, and then at other times, they leave him in temporarily silence.<br/><br/>Luckily, tonight was one of those placid nights. Hopefully, with silly sister out of the way, he could relax and enjoy his solitude with his only companion he needed--a furry one. He had long forgotten about what it was like to date a person. He dismissed dating girls eons ago, and who could blame him after witnessing his own high-maintenance sister and those godawful memories of his "makeover" sessions. She was practically dead to him, and yet, she was the blood-thirsty mosquito that kept coming back, over, and over, and over again. Even though he couldn't stand seeing his only family member, just knowing she was alive was enough for him.<br/><br/>Adult life was not all that glamorous and wondrous as Tolek conceptualized. If things had been a bit different, perhaps his current attitude wouldn't suck so much. Janah was used to his stubborn nature and his grumpy outlook on life. She thought that even if she was there to pester him, even just a little, he wouldn't have to brood and be miserable all by his lonesome self. It only took her the fifth time to realize that he was going to be all right. She gathered her belongings, got out of the tense situation, and without saying another word, she hurried on home.<br/><br/>Good riddance. Tolek inhaled for five seconds then exhaled slowly. Nata came out of her hiding spot, and pranced toward him, mewing softly. With that type of face, Tolek's temper was back to normal as he realized her bowl was empty. He fed her and afterward walked back to his office. Before he was interrupted by his sister, he was busy mapping out a mock layout of a few photos on his software program he took the other night near a local bar. Rumors had been circulating around about sightings of apparitions around that location. Then again, if the main establishment was a bar, drunken fools could have made anything up. People were known to eat that shit up, too. Tolek chuckled underneath his breath and raked his hand back over his messy strands of brown hair. Looked like he needed to get a haircut soon. He was going to call first thing in the morning and request his favorite barber, Marcus, to take care of him. Besides work and a few nearby cafes, Tolek wasn't much of a social butterfly. But he did love the retro atmosphere of the barber shop and could listen to classic rock and Johnny Cash on repeat all day long. Since tomorrow was Sunday, Tolek knew the place would be slow; all the churchgoers had an important date with their Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. But not Tolek. G-d did not save his parents, G-d did not lift his cursed ability for over ten, freaking years. Tolek was aware of the religious nutcases around town, but he certainly didn't project his complete and utter disdain for them. They were just brainwashed, anyway...<br/><br/>Suddenly, a message box popped up on his computer screen. His pale eyes lit up with excitement as he propped one of his arms, fingers curling and scratching underneath his two-day stubble chin. While he enjoyed his solitude, he took great pleasure in finding refuge in TPNC, Texas Paranormal Community, an online community site which specialized in esoteric and paranormal interests. Tolek registered himself a few days ago, ever since he was assigned to report and take pictures near the bar. He noticed the avatar, an actual picture of a man about his age--which he assumed was himself--with beautiful wavy curls of sandy blond hair. Tiers pulled into a half-smirk, eager to read about the message he posted last night, inquiring others to join him on a spooky adventure. With the click of his mouse, his eyes scanned carefully over the response in hopes of obtaining a favorable outcome.