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Oswald "Waly" Fox

"Just because you find that life's not fair, it doesn't mean that you just have to grin and bear it."

0 · 164 views · located in Bluffington, Minnesota

a character in “White Picket Fences and Apple Pie”, as played by ParanormalBoredom


Oswald "Waly" Fox.
23 years.


Empath, capable of absorbing both physical or emotional injuries of any living being via direct physical contact or by jumping into somebody else's dreams who is suffering (mostly soldiers or war victims) and turn them into music capable of inspiring almost any feeling or wish depending on his emotions at the moment of producing them. (Example: If he's sad, he can make children cry and grown-ups get depressed)

Does it matter?

An Oak. Yup...
It's next to his place.

Pre-school teacher, Music teacher.

Entry Log 1
"A long long time ago, I can still remember the music used to make me smile" and nothing would ever fulfill me the way it was able to. For the first eleven or so years of my life, I lived in a peaceful convent in the north east of Italy. Being raised by nuns, my life was filled with prayer and songs about god's love for all his children. Those days were easy and gentle like the warm late-summer breeze that oh so regularly accompanied them. Even back then, the clergies knew that there was something different to me than to the other boys of my group. Whenever I sang the village chapels we used to visit where filled to the brim. Unfortunately, the church wasn't very much pleased by the first rumours of a so-called "Second coming of Jesus" freakin' "Christ". It didn't take a week after the first letter had reached the Vatican and they shipped me off to a boarding school in Germany. All expences graciously covered by the pontif. They didn't want me gone, just in case the rumours were right..., but they sure as hell did not want me turning water into bleeding wine 100 miles around the vatican. That was for sure. The Germans, as lovely a populations as they can be, did have rather strict rules about singing around the school premises. It seemed the church had sent me to a very well secured observation camp and not just to any school. By the time I finished middle school and turned eighteen, the lack of new rumours and a rather long conversation with a bishop that shall remain unnamed led to me being given a nice monthly check from the vatican and an appartment in a city of my choice with less than 200 inhabitants. A bottle of Jäggermeister, a map of the US and a single throwing dart later. Here I am Bluffington, North America.

Entry Log 2
My first dream came when I was nine. It was a little eastern looking girl. In her dream, a giant man wearing a dirty sleeveless shirt and black dirty sweatpants followed her around her ever growing living room. Finally, when he caught her... A part of me knew it was a nightmare. Yet another part knew the nightmare had just begun.It's like losing your first tooth or having your first growth spurt. At first, it hurts like hell. From anger to disbelief, from disbelief to sheer madness. Before I knew it, there I was... Age 13 and already holding a blade in my hand. I guess the process got accelerated by my lack of expressive outlets. Luckily, somebody caught me, a boy, one of my classmates. He went and called a teacher. If she hadn't come. If she hadn't touched my hand at that precise precise instance. Probably she wouldn't have killed herself days later, but that's just how things go sometimes. Learning from your mistakes and understanding your limits. I had understood by the age of thirteen something most people never get to. There is no such thing as evil in this world, only pain.

Entry Log 3
I don't really remember who my parents were, but some inquiries surrounding european myths and legends have led me to believe that they knew exactly what I was from he moment I was born. They probably thought of me as a monstruosity and had no wish in keeping me. In many ways, I should be grateful they left me at the convent and not just at the bottom of a river. I'm sure they think of it as a kind of mercy and I choose to agree with them.

Entry Log 4
Doc, I don't know what to write for you today, give me a fracking break. I got a job alright? It's at the local pre-school. They need a music and theater teacher. It's not a huge pay, but I like it. The children seem to like me, but let's be honest. Their standards rarely go far beyond jokes about dogfarts.

So begins...

Oswald "Waly" Fox's Story

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Character Portrait: Oswald "Waly" Fox
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“Oswald.” I always like the smell of books and humidity. Somewhat bittersweet in a way. Knowing how the humidity is slowly corroding every page while at the same time creating such a great environment to grow for others. “Oswald..” It's easy to feel comfortable in this Hobbit-like living room I am lying in. Personal memo nr. 132: Remember to ask the doctor for his furniture store. I hadn't felt this relaxed in months. The right pillow, the internationals and a bear. Utter paradise. “Oswald?” When were the internationals this year anyway? I still have to check the dates. I hope I can get aways with taking one or two free days. Na'vi better kick those russian fudge's this year. Ever since the globalization of the newbie leagues. It's become impossible to play a single match without them
sons of Putin ruining ingame communication... “Oswald!” Startled, my mind suddenly returns to reality. The doc was sitting on a sofa in front of me. She was in her late thirties and was wearing a very professional pullover that made her look both attractive and distanced at the same time. She's already had three incidents with patients unable to continue therapy, but she keeps doing the same mistake over and over. Somehow, I feel like I'm not the only crazy person in the room. Finally, I answered in a sovereign and courteous voice.
“Excuse me doc, I guess I lost myself in my thoughts. What did you say last?”
Somewhere between perplexed and aghast. She resumed. “I was asking how you felt doing your writing exercises.” A clear and light-hearted smile, unfitting for this situation but an honest response to my inner senses. “I guess,... it felt like writing a fictive story about somebody else's life. In some way or another, it's become harder to differentiate between my own personal experiences and those given to me by god.” Did I failed to mention the Doc is a specialist sent by the Vat to keep an eye on me? Fairly reasonable for guys with Greatest Hits such as: The Spanish Inquisition, The Crusades and The Thirty Year war. To be quite honest, I've grown to see the Doc as a sister rather than anything else. I was clearly her first assignment for the last year or so and she's been nothing if not professional during my visits every month.

...only complaint, it always took her some five to ten minutes to reply to anything I said. Kind of annoying, but what kind of sister isn't?

“I guess that's it for today” After validating my ticket and sending my off with the cordialities every of her patients receive. I was finally off for the day. I went by my usual chinese shack and bought what should be defined as 3 days worth of food. My house was an old 2 story suburban home with clear late victorian elements like a tower on the east side of the house facing some woods. It wasn't very well kept, but it had good karma. The lady I'd bought it from had only asked to be buried in the same grounds next to her husband and I didn't mind having silent neighbors.
“Good afternoon, Bernie! Did you miss me?” The soft breeze of a late afternoon made the leaves on the tree covering the front east side of the porch twirl slightly. After getting half a pack of napkins, a cover for me not to get cold and my laptop, I went back outside and sat with Bernie on my back.
The moment my neck connected to his trunk, a goofie like voice jumped into my head like a thunder turning sand into crystal. “AL!”
“How was your day, brother?” “Shut up and start your toy! The game's about to start!” He was right, the Latin American Championships had preliminary rounds today. “Sunova!” Deos Lox, the best columbian team had been rolled against Terminacion 21, Peru's best shot at winning the finales. Lucky for us, the game wasn't starting for another ten minutes. Bernie, my pet Oak had been introduced to the virtual gaming league I had been a fan of as soon as I'd bought the house a year earlier. For some reason, he was able to get into my head just as much as I was capable of getting into his awareness. Our greatest tradition being me sitting next to him watching games together till it get's late. Bernie had developed quite a relation to the outside world in these months. First, it was a clear addiction to a show called Will and Grace, but then I showed him Lost's pilote episode... The month we watched that show will always be my Vietnam.