Israel Valencia

[Israel Valencia]

The easy S T U F F . . .

Name: Israel Julian Valencia
Nickname: Izzy
Age: Sixteen
Member Group: Student
Power(s): Tactile gravity switching.

Israel can walk on walls and ceilings by switching his body’s gravitational pull. He does this through a mixture of concentration and physical effort- he doesn’t have to concentrate to walk along the ceiling, but he cannot sleep up there. He can carry objects up as long as they’re touching him, but if he lets them go or sits them down they will drop. Startling him severely would make him fall. If he were to lose contact with the surface by jumping, he would regain his normal gravitational field. He cannot stay in shifted gravity for longer than three hours.

Side effects include nosebleeds- the heaviness of which are affected by how long he stays in shifted gravity- dizziness, and headaches.

Play By: Avan Jogia

Let it F L O W . . .

Comer, beber y ser feliz, porque mañana moriremos.

Eat, drink, and be happy, for tomorrow we die.

Our setting is Juarez, a city on the Mexican border across from El Paso. It is a thriving city, but a dangerous one. Drug cartels fight over the territory, and violence toward women has skyrocketed thanks to the maquiladoras sprouting up, made by Americans trying to make quality goods from cheap labor. Homicide is common; eight people are killed every day on average. Those are the good days. Over ten years six hundred women have been killed and three thousand have gone missing. It is no paradise, but it is a home- soccer games materialize out of nowhere in empty lots, teenagers taking on the younger kids as they fight for their small victories.

Small victories are all they have.

The main characters of our story are the Valencia family. Abra Valencia, the mother and factory worker- she works at a maquiladora, first shift. When she comes home she stays with her children and cooks dinner for the family. She makes certain everything is running smoothly in the household. Rafael Valencia, her husband, is the main provider for the family- he works double shifts in construction- an ironworker by trade, he bolts together the buildings in Juarez. They have three children, Eziquiel, Israel, and Medina.

At the start of our story, these children are aged ten, five, and one.

Let us begin.

Perro que no camina, no encuentra hueso.

The dog that doesn't walk doesn't find a bone.

From a young age, Israel has had a problem: he loves to spend his allowance money on useless things. Candy, mainly. He is a round child, from all his candy eating. He also likes the TV, and worships it on a regular basis. His sister follows in his footsteps. His brother doesn’t care about his younger siblings and their habits- he has graduated from his childhood and is therefore above them.

One day Israel comes home with a new toy- a rounded wooden contraption on a thin string. His thick fingers have the end of the string looped around his finger, and he knows how this strange apparatus is supposed to work- it goes down, then back up in his hand. He does it and the toy does such- once. After that, it just hangs there, limp. He rolls up the string again and tries once again, with the same result. Thinking the toy is broken, he takes it to his brother, who managed to do it just fine before handing the toy off. Trying again, Israel gets frustrated with his failure and drops the toy on the porch, stomping off to fester in front of the TV.

Coming home from a long and frustrating day at work, Rafael Valencia almost falls flat on his face after stepping on something that slides out underneath him. He finds it is Israel’s newest waste of money, and he stomps off to find his youngest son. A few moments later Israel is standing in front of his father, and the man slaps the toy into his son’s hand with a glare. Abra watches from her place in the kitchen, worrying her lip as her son looks at the toy.

“I don’t care if it takes days, months, or years. There will be no more money for you until you can master that yo-yo, and so help me, it will be done.” When Rafael says something is supposed to get done, it gets done- no exceptions.

Israel was never one to disappoint his father.

Dime con quién andas y te diré quién eres.

Tell me with whom you walk and I will tell you who you are.

Israel is ten now, and his brother is fifteen- he has once again graduated from another stage of childhood and is hanging out with the plethora of older boys in the empty lots, watching kids play soccer rather than joining. Abra doesn’t like her eldest son’s new friends, but there is little she can do- if she tells him not to hang out with them, he does it anyway. Medina is the opposite of her brother- she is shy, but has a few wonderful friends.

Israel has grown thinner and is out of the house more- all his friends want to see his newest yo-yo tricks. Even his brother’s friends admire ‘little Izzy’ and his slick moves with a yo-yo. He excels at garnering attention and never goes anywhere without it in his back pocket. He has transformed from a listless blob on a couch to a smiling, energetic boy. He loves to follow his brother more than anything, trying to look cool around the older boys.

After his eleventh birthday, Israel is approached by a group of his brother’s friends. They admire his new yo-yo stunts and tell him how cool he is. Riding on the wings of their praise, Israel is lured into a question. Would he like to make some money? Then he could buy some cool new yo-yos and maybe help his family out. Israel agrees and the boys give him a cell phone. They tell him that he isn’t allowed to use it except to call the numbers in the phone. If he’s walking around and sees certain types of cars, he has to call the number and tell the other person where they are. Israel is told to call the number if he sees police cars.

He does this for a while, and then asks one of the older boys why he’s doing it. The boy tells him a secret: they want to make the neighborhood safer, so they always want to know where the nearest cop cars are so if someone gets hurt they can go find the car to get help. Israel thinks this is a brilliant idea and he is outside always, looking for cop cars.

Israel does this until he is twelve. His brother is seventeen, and he is still hanging out with those boys. He is different, always coming or going, but never staying. He has elaborate handshakes with the boys he sees on the street. Eight year old Medina has taken a shine to her older brother and is tagging along with him on his trips out to find cop cars. One such trip he is called up on his phone- he is told that today he has to look for a red car with a bunch of guys inside. He is told that these people are gang members that need reported to the cops. In reality, it’s a rival drug cartel, scouting out taken turf.

Scouting for the car, Israel finds it and dials the number, telling his contact where the car is. He takes back alleys and keeps track of it, texting whenever it hits a new street. Just as he’s texting a new street name, he hears gunshots. The cops have arrived! He runs to see, almost forgetting Medina following right behind him. He runs onto the street and is greeted with a chilling sight- two cars are on the street, and their occupants have spilled out onto the pavement. They are the ones firing the guns.

Remembering Medina, Israel grabs his little sister’s hand and calls 066, telling the police what’s going on and where it is as he runs home.

Quien no tiene, perder no puede.

He who doesn't have is unable to lose.

Eziquiel was killed that day in the gunfire. Israel kept the cell phone, afraid to turn it in to the police officer. The next day he received a text from his brother’s gang, one that chilled him to the bone.

‘Tu eres el siguiente.’

Frightened, Israel finally told his parents everything. They were angry with him of course- how could he be so stupid? But there was a bigger problem at hand. They couldn’t call the police- Israel would be put in jail for aiding the gang and if he went to prison he would surely be killed by the gang members on the inside. The only choice they had was to run.

Rafael had a friend from work who knew a coyotaje. A life in the U.S. would be good for them- Rafael could make more money building in Texas than in Juarez, and Abra could get a real job. Medina could go to a good school. It sounded far-fetched, of course. They considered moving deeper into Mexico, but the drug cartels would only chase them. In their panic, they weren’t sure if anything in Mexico was safe.

Not to mention they were worried about their son- following the incident he was having nosebleeds- terrible ones that left him lightheaded and dizzy. He wasn’t eating. They needed to get him to a doctor, a good one.

After paying the smuggler to take them across the border, the Valencia family was put into a supply truck, stuffed in with three other families and various vagrants looking to get into the U.S.A. The truck took them away from the city and into the desert, where the border would be less guarded. From there, they walked.

It was half a day’s journey to the border, and they had to wait until the dead of night to cross. Once the man heard the subtle signal of his comrade on the other side, he sent the families across the fence one group at a time. It had been dug under recently, and it was a tight squeeze for some. Once the families made it to the other side they seemed to vanish into the brush without a sound, like ghosts. The moon hung low in the sky and illuminated the desert when the clouds uncovered it- they had to wait for the clouds to pass in front of it before crossing. The air smelled of sweat and fear. Israel licked his lips and tasted the sand coating them. He held his little sister’s hand and she stared at him, eyes wide. He squeezed her fingers and smiled at her as they lay on the sand, his ear to the ground as they waited for the right moment to cross.

“No te sueltes de mi mano.” He whispered, and she nodded. He would protect her, like how his older brother was supposed to protect him.

The Valencia family was the third to go.

No hay mal que por bien no venga.

There is no bad from which good doesn't come.

It would be nice to say that the Valencia family made it across the border without a hitch and settled into a new life. It would be even nicer to say that they got all they asked for- Israel was kept safe, Medina went to a good school, and Rafael and Abra got good jobs and lived how they wanted to.

But they didn’t.

Israel was the last in line as they ran for the fence, holding onto Medina’s hand as they hit the ground again. Abra pulled herself free of the fence and Rafael followed close behind, his construction worker’s build allowing him to pull himself through without a hitch. They waited in silence as Medina crossed under the fence, still holding her brother’s hand as he scooted along close behind. They could taste their safety.

Then, a pair of floodlights illuminated them.

Abra screamed and dropped like a stone, begging for mercy. Rafael stood like an oak in front of his children, arms outstretched. Medina clung to her brother’s hand- and Israel was still halfway under the fence. He struggled to get out but a booming voice behind the lights told them not to move. He paused for a moment, wondering what they were going to do to him. Would they shove him onto the other side of the fence and leave him behind while his family was taken away? He bet the coyotaje and his partner had already slipped off with the other families. After a moment of deliberation he began to move again, clutching onto the chain link as he pulled himself through.

Just then he felt a twist in his stomach and he pressed his head against the fence. He could feel his weight shift toward it and he wondered for a moment if he was caught on something. He lifted his head and noticed his bangs were falling forward, like his head was down. The cross around his neck was also hanging toward the fence. Climbing out from under it was suddenly easier, like climbing out of a hole.

Someone shouted something at him and he paused, still clinging to the fence. A woman’s stern voice told him to stand up and put his hands in the air. In the glare of the lights he couldn’t see a thing, but he did so- still holding his sister’s hand, even as he stood to his full height and stretched his arms up.

From behind the floodlights, someone muttered a quick prayer. “Madre de Dios.”

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Opening his eyes he looked to his right, then his left- and found his sister staring at him, head turned sideways. Looking as he feet, he realized where exactly he was standing.

He was on the fence.

Cada uno lleva su cruz.

Everyone carries his cross.

It’s been four years since the incident with border patrol, setting off a spark between the government and Hammel. Rafael told the police the whole story of why they were crossing the borders, and somehow Hammel managed to get the Valencia family passports and visas without them needing deported. They were all but happy to do anything the school asked- they loved their son, and the idea of him going to a private school was too good to be true.

Israel is sixteen now. He has friends at Hammel, but none of them know anything about his crossing into the country. All they know is that he is Mexican, and he’s in Hammel. He learned English pretty fast; he speaks it just as fluently as he speaks Spanish. He’s grown comfortable at school- he’s a bit lazy, but smart. He flirts a lot, for the most part, trying to be charming while he messes with his yo-yo.

But late at night when he closes his eyes he flinches- because in the dead silence of his dorm room he can still hear the gunshots; the gunshots that took away his life and his brother. He’s dead and buried, but Israel can hear the bullets that ripped him apart nonetheless.

He can hear them all the way from Mexico.

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Behind the M A S K . . .

Name: Fedora
Age: 18, going on 25.
RP Experience: I roleplayed the start of the world.
How did you find us?: I dunno, I just showed up.

Show your S K I L L S . . .

Blah, blah, blah, and blah. TA-DA, ALL DONE.

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[Admin!]

Accepted!

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You know what to do![/center]