New Orleans Greater Metropolitan
Ethan Yuun Nettles
Known by many but unknown to most. A shadow in time, a demon, a ghost. (written by me, do not steal, thx)
Asian/Caucasian, nationality American. 6’0 Apparent age 23.
My Hadabuhjee moved to the island of Kaua’i in the early 1900’s to work on the sugar mill of Koloa. The work was rough with long hours and poor wages but he knew that his future family would have more of a chance here than in Korea where there was constant political conflict. After proving himself a fine laborer for several years he was able to send over for my Halmuhnee and begin his family. My Eomma, Alma, was born on the Koloa plantation in 1913 and was put to work at age 5, learning remedial tasks to care for a home and family. As a young girl of 15 Alma was brought into the home of the Smiths and was able to put her learned skills to use. Several influential families would stop by to visit the Smiths for various political reasons. One of these families were the Nettles. Among them was their 17 year old son Edward. Upon his first meeting of Alma he couldn’t take his eyes off of her and went to great lengths to convince all the families involved that she must return with him to California and become his house maid. Eomma didn’t want to leave the island but Hadabuhjee convinced her that her future lie on the mainland. The families made the arrangements and each were compensated accordingly. Edward had no intention of making Alma a maid but instead waited until they were safely across the sea to tell of his desire to marry her. His family refused the marriage on the grounds that she was not of good stock and that there was enough tension going on with immigrants already. Edward refused to listen to his family and fled the state with her, taking as much of his inheritance as was on hand. They traveled East until they reached New York. Quickly putting his education and money to work, Ethan focused on the import and export of trades. Eomma soon fell in love with Appa and they married. I was born in New York City, August 22nd of 1930. My parents sent me to Korean schools until I was 10. Coming from a wealthy family and being only half Asian I had an advantage over many of the children I grew up with. Because of that I was able to attend the Loyola School of New York and then Columbia University where I studied the Arts. My Eomma, feeling I was becoming too westernized, decided to enroll me in martial arts. I took to the instruction quickly and thoroughly enjoyed my daily practices. It was also the only time I had to spend with my old friends. Many of them were being trained to work their parent’s trade and for those families fortunate enough to own their own business, eventually it take over. As time passed and the obvious differences in lifestyles and education became a factor I stopped going to the Dojo and dropped my friends altogether. During my first year in college, I decided to open up a small studio to teach a couple of Americans martial art techniques on the weekends since they were uncomfortable with going into Chinatown. I invested the money I earned. I graduated from Columbia University and began a career in architecture. I helped design several of the buildings in Manhattan and the money was very good. I left the home of my Eomma and Appa in order to dive full time into my passion of teaching and practicing martial arts. By this time my popularity had grown as an instructor and I already had 7 pupils studying under me. I increased the times available to include a couple of weeknights, making sure it did not interfere with my day job. It was during this time that I met a young man named Richard Montague. He stood apart from other men and I felt intrigued by him. He came only to my weeknight classes and would silently participate, never asking a question or joining in comradery with the others. I would find that I was secretly looking forward to the nights he would visit. Though he never spoke, I felt an odd bond with him that would sound strange, even to me, if I were to admit it out loud. One night after practice when everyone was gathering up their gear, Richard suddenly smiled at me. It was the first time I had seen him smile and I felt a lump form in my throat as my pulse began to quicken. I racked my brain to figure out what would have prompted this uncharacteristic gesture from him but nothing came to mind so I invited him to stay for a cup of coffee. That night I learned much about this strange charismatic man who had been attending my dojo consistently for the past 6 months. Old money, influential in his circles, and an artist. I began to think that was perhaps the connection I felt with him. I could sense the artist in him. He never touched his coffee but instead gave me his life’s story. The night grew late and he left, promising to finish what he left out the next time we met. I couldn’t believe how much I found myself waiting for my next evening class. He didn’t show however and my disappointment was palpable. A month went by without Richard showing up. I used the time to once again examine my brain to figure out why it bothered me so much. I’ve never been close to anyone, and certainly not some rich and unusual American who hardly talked. And yet… It was my 23rd birthday and I decided to cancel classes for the evening. I figured since the night was still young I would visit Chinatown and see how it was fairing, maybe I’d even visit old friends. I never made it there. While in route and lost in thoughts I was grabbed from behind and suddenly felt a piercing pleasure invade my senses. Moments later the sensation stopped and I found myself looking up into the eyes of Richard. My heart was pounding and I was dizzy. I was having a hard time rationalizing what was happening. He bent down to me, a small crooked smile on the corner of his lips. As I began to speak he silenced me by putting his hand gently over my mouth. I knew I was dying and yet I couldn’t fight back. All my training had come to this and I was powerless to lift a finger to my attacker. To Richard. A look of understanding flashed across his face and his smile deepened. Removing his hand he bit into its flesh and then cupped his hand back up to my mouth. Frightened, appalled and filled with unknown desire I began to drink as the blood pooled from the wound, unable to take my eyes from his. I saw he had fangs, I knew this was wrong. There would be a price to pay for this devilry, I knew it all to well. And yet I wanted this, it seemed right. Soon that small trickle of blood was not enough for me. Richard had guessed as much and had already made a larger wound on his wrist. Greedily I took as much as he would give, no longer concerned about the end results. All too soon he pulled away and held me at bay until I could regain my senses. Slowly my world came back into view and I saw Richard for what he really was, a predator. And I, his child.