HOW TO SAVE A LIFE ( astrid coolidge )

[Shay Anderson]

A strid J aime C oolidge

medicine's worst nightmare.

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Valkyrie Academy

About The Roleplayer:

|ooc| -sigh- guess who strikes again.
Name: Asia. AKA the serial deleter.
Age: Sixteen. Finally.
Gender: Female.
Years Roleplaying: Eight years too long.
Some Basic Interests: being the official serial character deleter, thank you. <3
my friends.
work.
oh, and bitching about stuff with tess is fun.

About The Character[/b][/size]

Name: Astrid Coolidge.
Alias: Astrid, AJ.
Age: Seventeen.
Gender: Female.
School Year: Eleven ;; Junior.
Art Interest: Modelling and film.
Originated From: New York City, New York.

Parents: Father ;; Jarome Coolidge. Thirty-four.

Mother ;; Jordin {Anderson} Street. deceased. Would be: Thirty-nine.
Siblings: Lance Coolidge ;; Brother. Nineteen.
Xavier Street ;; half-brother. Eightteen.
Nathan Street ;; half-brother. Twenty-one.
Shannon Street ;; half-sister. Eighteen
Relatives: JT Anderson ;; Cousin.
Kelly Anderson ;; Cousin. Sixteen.
Shay Anderson ;; Cousin. Seventeen.
Cornelius Moore ;; Uncle {Unknown}. Thirty-one.
Aislinn Moore ;; Cousin {Unknown} Seventeen.
Christopher Moore ;; Cousin. Twenty-two.
Rodulphus Crawford ;; Cousin. Twenty-nine
|ooc| or something like that. xD

Portrayed By: Keira Knightley.

Picture:

Appearance: For the past decade or so, the media has been the largest influence on mortal’s lives. And what is the most important thing in the media? DING DING DING. You got it! The appearance. When you describe someone else, you just say “she’s thin and blonde.” Not, “she has a great personality! =D” I mean, come on. That’s lame. Someone like Astrid Coolidge was no acception to that rule, written in stone. She was nothing special to look at. You wouldn’t take a second glance at her in passing, probably not even a first glance. Not to say that he was one of those people shunned by today’s society for being painful to look at – even for a split second. However, she wasn’t one of those people automatically envied, or hated, for being absolutely gorgeous. That’s like…Angelina Jolie. And, trust me, this girl was no Angie. I mean, only Angelina Jolie is. Of course…Shiloh looks like her…

And, we all know in a place like Valkyrie Academy, you have to be model-level gorgeous to even be thought about. Look around, people.

Tell me, how often is a girl described by her hair? You tell someone a girl’s hair color first, and there is usually a reason for that. Hair is something that you can define yourself with, and send out whatever image you want. If you want an image of posh sophistication, chances are, you’ll have long, straight hair pulled into a clip. Simple, clean and classy. Or, if you’re going wild and edgy, dye it a weird color like blue and then spike it up into a Mohawk. Once, actually, internationally famous supermodel Gisele was overheard saying, “Never again [will I cut my hair]. Look at me. I’m famous for my hair and my boobs.” What girl doesn’t spend – at least – an hour perfectly her hair in the morning? And, to be completely honest, Astrid Coolidge, no matter how much she denied it, was no different from any other girl. For as long as she could remember, she had sported a healthy mane of hair. In fact, her father has always liked to touch her hair fondly, murmuring softly about his one-time fling’s hair. Judging by the photos Jarome had taken while Jordin visited New York, her father was, indeed, correct. Jordin Anderson-Street, with her laughing smile and clever eyes, had the same long, healthy mane of hair as her American-bred daughter. For as long as she could remember, Astrid’s head of hair had never remained the same for very long. Long with straight-cut bangs, short and spiked, or just past her shoulders. From the style to the color, nothing was consistent. Either way, no girl could be complete without a head of hair, and Astrid certainly liked to abide by that unwritten rule.

It would be terribly cruel to say that Astrid Coolidge was painful to look at. On the other hand, it would be pompous to say that her face belonged on the cover of magazines. As she grew up, there were no relatives to exclaim about her beauty, and no mother to fondly smile and tell her that she was beautiful. After years of staring at herself in the mirror of her hospital room, Astrid had declared herself “different”. Her looks were not something often seen. What she beautiful? She couldn’t really decide. Was she stunning? Her guess was no.

For as long as she could remember, people had always told Astrid that she was the spitting image of her father. Yet, she had never really seen it. Jarome Coolidge, fathering Astrid at only eighteen – Lance, even younger – was someone who looked young. With smooth, pale skin, large eyes and full lips, he rarely was considered his age. As for Astrid, people always declared her to be nineteen or twenty. In combination of her sharp cheekbones, full lips and expressive eyes, it was easy to see why. As for her eyes? They were a part of her body – like many others – she was actually fond of. Her father, Jarome, had been born with the bluest eyes she had ever seen. But they remained dark and empty. Like, during his development, something had happened and his eyes had never finished forming. Her mother, Jordin, on the other hand, always had the eyes people wanted to look at. They were always bright, wide and full of expression. There was always a laughing twinkle in the happy woman’s eyes, which translated into her forgotten daughter. Astrid, finally, had inherited something of her mother besides her hair. When she looked at the two decade old photographs of the high-school Jarome and college-bound Jordin, her eyes were the mirror image of her mother’s. From the almond shaping, to the expressive twinkles to the chocolate brown colors. Unlike many people in her extended family, Astrid’s eyes never masked her emotion. There was no mask she could hide behind. Her eyes were the doorway into the mind of Astrid Jaime Coolidge. Sure you want to go for a ride?

The majority of Valkyrie Academy was tanned. A small minority were of various ethnic backgrounds, giving them different skin tones. Astrid Coolidge was part of the handful of people who were unclassifiable. She didn’t have the skin tone that could blend into snow, but wasn’t the color of sand, either. Like always, this American child was stuck in the middle. Her skin had been flawless for most of her life. As a child, she had that irritating complexion that was constantly dry and itchy. However, as she began to mature and grow into puberty, she seemed to surpass that awful awkward stage of greasy skin and covered in pimples. To this day, actually, her skin remained flawless and had the appearance of being airbrushed. We can just call it good genetics, and then stop there.

Jarome Coolidge was a very tall man, standing at a towering six feet, three inches and was without much body mass. From his memories, Jordin Street could be described as boyish. With her petite stature of five feet, two inches, and small-boned frame, it was easy to see her attraction to men. At a young age, it had become obvious to the sort of physique Astrid would have: the exact same as her brother and father. Growing to an easy five feet, seven and a half inches in the seventh grade, her height had ceased to continue. For awhile, everything was out of balance. For awhile, she was made up of all legs. Until recently, actually, did she finally begin to mature. Her torso mimicking Lance’s, without much a chest, a stretched waist and flat stomach, she had no real objections. However, it was her body half that didn’t agree with the world. With a naturally long torso, it was obvious that she had shorter legs. However, it was her build that held the objections. Easily, you could say she was pear-shaped. With curved hips, and a smaller version of a J-Lo ass, Astrid wasn’t overly pleased with what she had become. Damnit.

At Valkyrie Academy, the majority of the student body dressed fairly well. In slim cut pants, short skirts and trendy items. A handful of people dressed in skinny pants, black shirts and colored hair. Others wore nothing but sweat pants and sweaters. Some girls only dressed in argyle, pearls and flat shoes. A minority of people draped themselves in black, wore only turtlenecks with fedoras and trench coats. A select few only wear business-esque attire out in public: suits, button down shirts and dress pants. Astrid Street, on the other had, was the one who wanted part of the A-list life. As a safety net, the slim girl blended into the background of Valkyrie’s A-listers in their cigarette jeans, blousy tops and spike-heeled shoes. See what Daphne Hayes was wearing last week? You can bet Astrid was seen in something similar the following Monday.





Personality:

[+] The Good ;;
ox. don't read too much into it, sweetheart.

If you had to pick a single personality trait drifting around Valkyrie Academy, what would it be? Most of the time, it would be something along of the lines of ‘angry, bitchy, evil’…that sort of thing, yes? In all honesty, who the hell could really blame you? Seeing as the vast majority of Valkyrie’s student body were angry, bitchy and evil. However, since when has Astrid Coolidge been part of the majority? Ever since she was young, she had done everything she could to please other people – all with an innocent, almost genuine, smile on her face. As time passed, and her reputation known, people would fondly smile at the girl. “Oh, sweet Astrid” was something the old women of New York had began to call her. Even coming to Valkyrie, California, hadn’t tarnished her clean reputation. Unfortunately, how many people wandering VA’s hallways were sweet and soft, simply by nature? Quite possibly the only ones who were are on the bottom of the social ladder, only to be the victims of California-style torment and hazing. Who really wanted that?

Astrid Jaime Coolidge sure as hell never would.

As her time in California increased, Astrid had transformed – and tweaked – her clean, sweet New York image into a cunning sort of sweet.

ox. but stay calm about it.

There are two kinds of people in this world: the ones who know things and the ones who don’t. Most of the time, you’d want to be stuck on the naive side of life. Who wants to know about the terrorist attacks, multiple murders and cruel rapes that happened everyday? Naturally, you would think Astrid would be part of that majority. And, for awhile, she was. Until, at the age of seven, she slipped into the hospital for the first time. Half-living in a severely under-staffed hospital gave her plenty of time to innocently wander the halls. Spying on the emergency room, watching operations from the viewing room and even seeing people die in the intensive care unit had taken that innocence away from her. On the other hand, when you look at the people who know things, how many of them are hyped up with worry? People say that traumatic events or sights have a way of mentally detaching a person, including mellowing them out. After years of watching lives get lost, people who were abused and medical emergencies, Astrid knew she was someone who “knew things.” After years of seeing what could happen, she stopped worry about what might happen. Failing a test didn’t shake her. Getting cheated on never phased her. Like a stone in a world of temperamental clouds, she was calm and cool. Not strung out and worrisome.

ox. remember, patience is its key.

She had always been a trusting girl. She would always be the first person to sit down, and allow every angle of a situation to be said, and then the verdict would be decided. Astrid Coolidge was someone with the knack of being a cheap therapist. She could sit and listen for hours on end. As the conversations would continue, the New York female would never waver her ear for a second. She was someone who could sit, listen and actually hear what the other person was saying. As time passed, this like of listening turned into patience and trust. If someone had a problem, it would be Astrid that they could turn to. Whether said person wanted reassurance, stone cold advice or just a shoulder to cry on, she would be there. There had never been anything that frustrated Astrid to the point of making a scene. Never minded waiting in long lines, standing around for an hour for a table in a crowded restaurant, or even be the only one while another had a mental breakdown.

If someone had a problem, and needed to talk, Astrid would lock them in a room for hours on end, and never budge. Not once. You see? She was the patient one.

[+] The Bad;;
ox. some things in life are so damn addictive.

The vast majority of Earth’s population is dependant on – at least – one thing. Whether that thing be alcohol, drugs or sex, it seems that everyone these days cannot function normally without a hidden, secret pleasure. Name someone who isn’t on Prozac, or doesn’t drink their sorrows away at the bar. However, out of the six and a half billion people on the planet, only a small percentage have addictive personalities. In Astrid’s case, she is one of this small minority. For as long as anyone could remember, there had been something Astrid was addicted to or obsessed with. As a child, it had simply been trivial things. Movies, books or whatever. However, as time passed, her addictions worsened. By the time she was fifteen, it became clear that Astrid Coolidge had a very dangerous addiction to pain killers – most often, morphine. Alcohol was off-limits because of complications with her medication, and sex was foreign to her. Instead of anti-depressants and beer, this New Yorker’s life was ruled by hospital visits, morphine and self-hatred. She became obsessed with body-image in California, only pressing her addictions furthar.

Obsessions can be crippling.

Compulsions can be fatal.

But this kind of addiction is fatal in the sense of living.

ox. even if you have no backbone.

Let’s face it: teenagers lives are ruled by insecurities. With pressure from parents for perfection, pressure from the media to look like perfection and pressure from friends to fit in, it’s a wonder anyone can actually function. However, since coming to California, Astrid’s insecurities only worsened. In combination of her low self-esteem, destructive behaviour and addictive personality, who wouldn’t crash and burn? Upon seeing the upscale lives of Valkyrie’s Elite, Astrid became someone surrounded by pressure and self-doubt. What girl didn’t want to go from zero to hero? From a no body to everyone’s favourite IT girl? Even from chess nerd to beautiful genius? She would settle for anything like that. Instead, Astrid Coolidge got to settle for the spot no one wanted: the gopher. Go for.

Her position to the A-listers of Valkyrie Academy was coffee runs, finishing homework and supplying the alcohol. It was up to her to make unpleasant problems go away. Everyone looked to Astrid to bring someone else down. What position could this be? The one belonging to the unfortunate girl without a backbone. The doormat. The thing you could walk all over with no protests.

She wanted to be a somebody at this new school. If putting her sweet nature, and non-existent backbone to good use, so be it.

ox. keep strong and silent

Admit it, Astrid. You’re just like every other wanna-be blonde in Valkyrie, California. You have body image issues, have mental problems and just want to be loved. Yet, there was always something a little bit different about this New York bred beauty. After spending year after year, hour after hour, under the dull lighting of the local hospital, she had seen more than a few things. People losing their loved ones, patients convulsing and ending up dying, even medical emergencies that could never have been fixed in the first place. Although she had a sweet nature, Astrid had long learned to evade the term “naive”. At the tender age of nine, in fact, she had watched someone get shot right outside of her hospital room window. She had watched as the emergency team desperately tried to stabilize the pretty twenty-something girl in the emergency room. Had even spied her operation, and the doctors who tried desperately – but failed – to save t his woman’s life. From that day on, Astrid felt a certain connection with this stranger who had lost her life much too soon. She visited her during the open part of her memorial service. Had shed tears silently as she lost her life.

Although sweet by nature, and keen to be liked, Astrid Coolidge had seen much too much to remain innocent and naïve her entire life. She had grown a tough skin through her many years in the hospital, and had seen more than anyone should in a life time. But Astrid had made this woman, - this stranger – a silent promise to live the life she couldn’t. Not to let this pretty girl die in vain. She was a strong person, for surviving those battles during surgery, but had never opened her mouth once. So, Astrid honoured that. Strong but silent.

[+] The Ugly ;;
ox. The diseases

Let us all just admit it now, shall we? Nearly everyone living on Earth today has some sort of medical problem. Whether that be something small and trivial like depression, sleep issues or an eating disorder; or something life threatening such as organ failure, cancer or a brain haemorrhage. When it came down to Astrid Coolidge, there was more than a few things wrong with this girl. A positive HIV infection test at the age of sixteen after sharing a tainted needle. Diagnosed with Lupus at age eight. A known hypochondriac. Severely bulimic. A cutter. Was there anything right with this one?

HIV: Human immunodeficiency virus is a retrovirus that can lead to acquired immunodeficiency syndrome (AIDS), a condition in humans in which the immune system begins to fail, leading to life-threatening opportunistic infections. Infection with HIV occurs by the transfer of blood, semen, vaginal fluid, pre-ejaculate, or breast milk. Within these bodily fluids, HIV is present as both free virus particles and virus within infected immune cells. The four major routes of transmission are unprotected sexual intercourse, contaminated needles, and transmission from an infected mother to her baby at birth, or through breast milk.

Lupus: Systemic Lupus Erythematosus (SLE) is a chronic autoimmune disease that can be fatal, though with recent medical advances, fatalities are becoming increasingly rare. As with other autoimmune diseases, the immune system attacks the body’s cells and tissue, resulting in inflammation and tissue damage. SLE can affect any part of the body, but most often harms the heart, joints, skin, lungs, blood vessels, liver, kidneys and nervous system. The course of the disease is unpredictable, with periods of illness (called flares) alternating with remission. Lupus can occur at any age, and is most common in women, particularly of non-European descent.[1] Lupus is treatable symptomatically, mainly with corticosteroids and immunosuppressants, though there is currently no cure. However, many people with Lupus lead long and substantial lives.

Hypochondriac: Hypochondriasis sometimes referred to as health anxiety/health phobia) refers to an excessive preoccupation or worry about having a serious illness. Often, hypochondria persists even after a physician has evaluated a person and reassured him/her that his/her concerns about symptoms do not have an underlying medical basis or, if there is a medical illness, the concerns are far in excess of what is appropriate for the level of disease. Many people suffering from this disorder focus on a particular symptom as the catalyst of their worrying, such as gastro-intestinal problems, palpitations, or muscle fatigue.

Likes: +watching rain storms.
+being alone.
+hospitals.
+Valkyrie's Elite.
+beautiful people.
+high winds.
+dangerous natural disasters.
+classic films.
+old-school horror flicks.
+morphine.
+attention.
+being taken pity on.

Dislikes: -nosy people.
-people finding out her secrets.
-diseases.
-not being liked.
-insanity.
-being bullied or laughed at.
-humiliation.
-sunshine.
-normality.
-routine living.

Flaws:

• lies too much to protect others.
  
• doesn't have much of a backbone.
  
• has low self-esteem.
  
• has a dangerous addiction to morphine.
  
• is a hypochondriac.
  
• is quite the doormat.
  

Secrets:

• is HIV positive.
  
• has the chronic condition, Lupus.
  
• is bulimic.
  
• severe habit of cutting.
  
• is a virgin.
  

Living Situation: The Shaks.

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[Shay Anderson]

History: When she was young, Astrid Jaime Coolidge had – from the outside – what seemed to be a chaotic, but fairly normal life. A rather shady neighbourhood in New York City’s lower west side. A young – much too young – man who took responsibility for his first child at age sixteen, who worked endless hours as a server and bartender. An older brother who, although quiet and unthreatening, was protective and guaranteed safety for his younger sister. For the first seven years of her life, everything seemed okay. A little out of the ordinary, but stable nonetheless. All of the bills were paid for their small, rather rundown, bungalow in New York. Both children did fairly well in school, had good friends and managed to stay out of trouble. What could really go wrong?

Now, nearly a decade later, Astrid could only ask herself one question: what could go right?

You could say it all began shortly after Astrid’s seventh birthday. Her father, Jarome, had stayed the majority of the evening at an upper-class restaurant in Manhattan, serving overly privileged people and their children. Astrid’s older brother, Lance, had been declared her baby-sitter for the evening – if you can count on a nine year-old boy to look after his little sister for more than twenty minutes. It was a cold evening, too. Chilly for the middle of April, and certainly unlike the usual spring weather their dismal neighbourhood got this time of year. The dim lighting in the front living room was dull, almost like it knew something was going to go wrong. The aging clock on the wall about the television amusing the young girl was ticking unnaturally loudly. Like the house sensed something its inhabitants didn’t.

All she really remembered of that day was watching The Road Runner Show, just like she did every evening at seven o’clock sharp. The amusing races between the fictional bird and its obsessed coyote managed to keep her quiet for an hour most days, until the middle of April. She had been laughing at the latest mess-up of sir Wild. E Coyote. Everything had been completely normal, until a blinding pain shot directly into her temple, causing the young child to crash to the floor. The taste of the oatmeal carpeting was an acquired once, with a mixture of spicy sweetness and the scent she knew was home. Even as she went in and out of consciousness, Astrid could feel the scent in her nose, and the spicy sweetness taste in her mouth.

Even the ambulance was something different. The images of the paramedics were blurred, as they worked tirelessly on the little girl. The flashing lights outside the vehicle made her vision blur and dance. Even the siren seemed distant – like it was sounding from somewhere else. Somewhere far away. The pale clamminess belonging to her brother, Lance’s, hand on her arm was even foreign. The soft fingers of the third paramedic’s hand holding her’s tightly were comforting, but different. Like she was experiencing something new. Something she liked.

From the time she was seven years of age, Astrid Coolidge had been in and out of the nearest hospital dozens upon dozens of times. For many months, she experienced strange symptoms of skin rashes, abdominal pain and head aches. Yet, each and every time, the doctors came to the same conclusion: absolutely nothing. Every test was normal, every protein accurate and every symptom disappeared. Besides being frustrating for the medical staff, her father was quickly growing impatient with the sickness of his daughter. However, at a young age of twenty-five raising a nine and seven year old, his hands were severely tied. For nearly eight months, Jarome Coolidge was left in the dark about his daughter’s recurring illnesses and symptoms. Each and every time she was rushed to the emergency room, everything was worse than the time before that. Her pains increased, her medications were higher and the answers were more hidden than ever.

Eight months – thirty-two weeks, two hundred and forty days – was how long Astrid Coolidge stayed under the dingy hospital’s feeble microscope. No matter how many times they tested her blood, everything was normal. The countless time they gave her allergy tests, MRIs and EKGs, everything was ordinary. Every test result was normal. Every potential clue was ruined due to no explanation. For eight long, miserable months, Astrid Jaime Coolidge and her young family were half-living in their small bungalow; the other half was sitting in the hospital waiting room – wanting to know the latest information that got them no closer to solving the immeasurable pain Astrid was beginning to experience. How on earth could something so small turn into something so big and confusing?

Have you ever watched one of those reality-esque medical shows? The ones shown on rarely watched stations like Lifetime or TLC? The situations are entirely real, and the results are entirely fake. How often does an emergency room doctor suddenly get a House and figure out the entire case? More often than not, these eccentric people died because the medical staff figured out their illness just a little too late. There’s this one, actually, Diagnosis X shown on the TLC network. If you watch an episode, just imagine Astrid Coolidge instead of the scared, nameless little girl. Everything was the same as an episode of that fucking television show. The questions, the panic, the endless maze. Everything.

It was a sunny morning, the first in about two weeks. However, the sun was dim – like it was fighting to keep on shining. Like it was asking itself the ending question: what’s the point? Although the sky was clear, with a brilliant blue lighting up New York’s grey cities, there was something off. It was the sort of day that was beautiful in an ugly sort of way. The people of Manhattan had been without natural sunlight in so long, the day was beautiful simply BECAUSE the sun was shining. But the air was thick. The sky was hazy. Like the day had been sitting in that forgotten box over by the heater in the storage room in your basement. It was much too hot, yet comfortable all at the same time. Astrid, at a young eight years old, liked to describe that particular day as “bittersweet beauty.” It was beautiful, but ugly at the same time. The same way a funeral is miserable and reflective, but everyone finds something to smile – and maybe even laugh – about.

The hollow footsteps of the tired doctor approaching the waiting father-daughter duo were nothing new. The dark circles blackening the young man’s brown eyes were nothing of the past. The exhausted expression on his rather handsome face was nothing unexpected – it was expected. For the past eight and a half month, Jarome Coolidge had been taking his young daughter to and from the local hospital for results of tests, various procedures or for another exciting – no pun intended – trip to the emergency room. Astrid Coolidge, on the other hand, had never complained once. The eight year-old girl smiled happily in the car as her young father drove from work, to her school and then back to the hospital for another round of useless information. She had, in fact, grown to like life inside those walls. It was always exciting, there was always something to do, and she always got to meet new and interesting people. The nurses always smiled kindly at her, gently taking her blood and having lively conversations with the sick little girl. The lab technicians would constantly smile privately and shake their heads as they watched the frail female wandering the halls in a patient gown. Even the doctors had learned to adapt to the spying patient. At first, they had hassled her father over Astrid’s constant wandering and poking around – but who doesn’t learn to simply put up with something?

Looking up from the cheaply tiled floor, Jarome Coolidge looked up into the young doctor’s grimly smiling face. Something was definitely different this time. Moving his eyes to look at the paper in Doctor Sanchez’s hands, a questioning look crossed his face. What was going on?

“Jarome, thanks for coming by – but I couldn’t tell you this over the phone. We finally got a positive test result regarding Astrid’s condition.”

“Condition? What’s going on?”

“Her last ANA test was a false-negative, which happens every one in about five thousand times. However, we decided to rerun her basic blood panel which includes ANA, and it came back positive. You see, ninety-five percent of people with the autoimmune condition, Lupus, test for a positive ANA. Lupus is chronic, but can be managed with steroids and careful personal care. This is good news, Jarome. It’s finally over.”

Shortly after her eleventh birthday, Astrid Coolidge had come to terms with herself. She had recently realized that her life wasn’t like anyone else’s – and probably never would be. Each and every morning, she would rise at six-thirty like normal tweens, have breakfast with her family and then scurry off to school. However, three times a day, that little demonic plastic box would appear from her backpack. Three times a day, five or six chalky pills would pour into her miniscule hand. Various steroids, vitamins and other medication to control her condition was the thing that made her different…like chalk and cheese. But still, her life as a hospital patient was far from over. As under control as her Lupus was, like every condition, things could easily go wrong. Mild asthma could instantly turn into a life-threatening attack. A simple headache could result in a seizure and then a diagnosis of a terminal, and inoperable cancerous brain tumour. By the time she was nearing her twelfth birthday, shortly after the terrorist attacks on New York’s twin towers, it happened again. The pain returned, the rashes increased and the nausea greatly amplified itself.

Four and a half weeks were spent in the dingy little New York hospital. Thirty-five odd days spent wandering around the endless hallways, spying the emergency room and watching lives get lost. Three of those weeks were spent, actually, watching a victim of the 9/11 attacks self-healing after the loss of his wife and only child. Twenty-one days watching him through the open window overlooking the Burns Unit.

“It was just a mild attack, Astrid. The doctor says you’re ready to go home.”

“but Nurse Preven!"

The wrinkled skin around the middle-aged nurse’s eyes crinkled slightly as she looked down to the young, hospital-bound child. For the past two and a half years, she had been Miss Coolidge’s primary caretaker. She knew the New York-bred girl trusted her more than any of the other staff in the small hospital, and had managed to use that to her advantage several times before. Like this particular conversation.

“Honey, you’re healthy. Doctor Sanchez is confident that you won’t have another attack because of medication imbalance. If anything does happen, you know I’ll be here.”

Unfortunately, this time, the aging nurse was correct. Astrid’s chronic condition finally became under control once more. No more medication imbalances. No more dangerous side effects. And certainly no more hospital visits. Now, that’s all fine – even Astrid thought so – but while she was leaving for the final time, she discovered something new and interesting. A new medication she had rarely seen used around her. The one hanging in the I.V.s of pain patients, easing their pain into something merely intolerable. As far as she knew, it was a clear liquid that came in small, glass bottles only accessible with a thin needle. The sort of pain killer than, if given in large enough doses, could quite easily kill someone. Ever heard of it? The dictionary defines it as: A powerful narcotic agent with strong analgesic (painkilling) action and other significant effects on the central nervous system. It is dangerously addicting. Morphine is a naturally occurring member of a large chemical class of compounds called alkaloids. Morphine is highly effective in relieving pain. It also inhibits the cough reflex, decreases the desire to eat, and causes constipation. Side effects include impairment of mental performance, euphoria, drowsiness, lethargy, and blurred vision.

Allow five years to pass.

Five boring, uneventful years spent living in the trashy neighbourhoods of New York City’s lower west side. The sort of place with nothing but chain-linked fences, drab clothes lines and drunks hiring prostitutes. Five years, where, Astrid Coolidge went from sweet, unassuming Lupus sufferer to a drug addict who happened to be hopped up on steroids for some random illness. Remember that oh-so appealing clear liquid in those I.V.s? Miss Coolidge managed to try it for the first time. That highly addictive pain killing narcotic that killed so many and helped so few. Morphine. She was a closest case that was highly addicted to morphine. Just peachy.

It was a scene right out of a clichéd movie.

Her bedroom was dark, with the blinds drawn and the noise outside seeming to hum as the liquid continued to flow throughout her body. Her lithe body was clad in nothing but jeans and a black bra. Her gnarly fingers clutched the small, thin needle with its tip tainted with blood – somebody else’s blood. Who the hell is stupid enough to share needles anymore? Apparently miss Astrid Coolidge. Not normally threatening. In this case? Yes.

The paper was clutched in her left hand, the dark browns of her eyes reading the test results over and over again. Like she was in a dream, and time seemed to have stopped. Memories flickered before her eyes, and thoughts filled her sober mind. Why hadn’t she been nicer to that boy? Why hadn’t she helped that old woman cross the street? Things once so trivial now stamped as important in Astrid’s mind – only one question remaining: am I dying?

The envelope had arrived earlier that morning, sitting on the kitchen table carelessly surrounded by bills and useless advertisements. The moment she saw her name imprinted as the addressee, her heart had stopped. For the first time in five years, Astrid Coolidge was worried about her health. As the months had passed since her Lupus diagnosis, she had gotten used to being walking pharmacy. With a mixture of anti-depressants, steroids, vitamins and mood regulators, it was thought provoking about how she hadn’t become addicted to her own medication. Seeing as she took every pill known to man, it left her wide open to shoot up with morphine shots or to down a few too many morphine capsules. Until the time shortly after she turned sixteen, when her addiction took, yet another, turn for the worst: she shared a tainted needle with someone. Someone who happened to be dying of AIDS. Only, this time, her actions had a consequence that could potentially end of her life.
Results for Astrid Coolidge:

Human Immunodeficiency Virus:positive.

Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome: negative.

Astrid Coolidge – at sixteen – was HIV positive with a chance to morph into full blown AIDS.
What sort of teenager tells her parents about her own problems? Especially one like this. How the fuck does a virgin get HIV?

Once her older brother, Lance, landed a scholarship as a part-time student at Valkyrie University in Valkyrie, California, everything changed. She could start over. Not be the Lupus suffering morphine addict: but someone new. Someone who was surrounded by people who didn’t have any idea about her destructive, hospital-bound life. And sure as hell didn’t know a thing about her newest demon.

Welcome to Valkyrie, California, Astrid.

Valkyrie Academy, meet your first HIV positive student.

For The Valkyrie Academy Admin:

[/b][/size]
Read the Rules?: too many times to count.
Name One You Liked: large signatures are SO 2006.
What Makes Your Character Different From The Rest?: the one and only HIV positive at Valkyrie, bitch.
Roleplaying Sample: Dur, no.
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[Shay Anderson]

third time should be the charm, shouldn't it? let's hope so. (:

accepted.