Ever wondered about the extent of our dear Carlisle's life? How he was when he was young, or how he felt about his adventures, human and vampire? The Twilight story of Carlisle wasn't elaborate enough, in my opinion, so this is the story of his life. Starting with the beginning. Enjoy :)
(P.S. I heard a rumor that Peter Facinelli suggested this name? I'm not sure if that's true or not, but I would just like to put it out there that I did make up this title. Thanks.)
(Made by Tami. Thanks again! I love it!)
(Made by Krissie M. Clearwater)
(Made by I LOVE EDWARD!)
(Made by Marissa Rose)
(Made by C.Lautnerr<3)
I awoke with the mood of a terrible night's sleep. I rubbed my eyes with lazy fists, and fell back to try to regain the amount of sleep I had lost. The Pastor had stayed awake late last evening, studying the evils of the world. Occasionally he would swear, cursing the books for their lack of knowledge. Unfortunately, today was a working day.
"Carlisle!" he hollered from the kitchen. "You must get out of bed this instant! I need an errand!"
I groaned at the thought of running around our village, being seen as, "The Pastor's Son." My father yelled once again, and I knew it was moments before he stormed into my room to drag me out the door himself. He was not a man of patience.
I groggily pulled on my casual attire, fit for labor, and slipped on my running shoes. They were deep brown with laces that never seemed to stay tied. I couldn't have wished for anything more valuable to me, besides my scroll collection.
The Pastor placed a book firmly in my hands and bent down to look me in the eye once I got to the kitchen. "You must take this to Mrs. Coulle. She will be expecting you, but you mustn't be late. She will report back to me, and if you are so much as one moment overdue..." he trailed off. We both had knowledge on what would happen at that point, but neither spoke.
"Go along," he commanded, waving me away. His spectacles were hanging on a string around his neck, and he positioned them carefully on his nose. Back to the scripts, I assumed.
I hoisted the book up under my arm and obediently marched out the door. London was bustling in the early morning, and I knew that I would need to weave through crowds as I ran to my task. The morning air was fresh with dew and springtime. I could taste the freshness on my tongue as I breathed it in, and it only made me more eager to start the day, despite my restless sleep. I began to run.
Running in my world wasn't about speed. It wasn't about how fast I could obey my father, and it surely wasn't about showing how useful the pastor's son could be. I knew how useful and dutiful I was to my one family member, whom I often reflected on. It was about freedom, letting go. It was the one time a day where I could express myself in a way that no one but I could understand. I ran for happiness, I ran for hope, and I ran for the prayer of a better future. But, this was all a ten-year-old boy in London could hope for. The chances were slim.
I was assigned to inherit my father's skills of being the Anglican pastor. I knew what people saw in me. They saw potential, and my father saw disappointment. That summed up my world. I was a labored child, helping the church with its missions, as the Pastor called them. I was beginning to learn the evil forces of the world that my father believed in. He considered the existance of witches, werewolves, vampires, and other myths. I observed this fantasy as silly and not feasible in the least bit. But that didn't stop my father.
He burned innocents, accusing them of witchcraft and magic. He led mobs to defeat these creatures, who were really just human beings that were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Every time I would see the victim that was seconds away from my father's torch, I saw the hope diminishing from their eyes. I saw how they thought of family members who would grieve for their loss. I noticed how they clasped their hands for one last prayer, praying to be saved. The prayer never was answered.
And every time, I wept for them.
"Oh, well, if it isn't little Carlisle," Mrs. Coulle spoke as I approached.
I grinned and said, "Delivery from the Pastor, ma'am."
"Well, why would such a handsome boy like you be running errands, when you should be enjoying childhood?" she replied.
This was our usual conversating that we engaged in every time I delivered an object to her. She would compliment me and cherish my visits like the mother I had never known. I loved her dearly.
"Come, come. You must have something to nibble on for your way back home!"
"Apologies, Mrs. Coulle. The Pastor has more tasks for me, and it would just slow down my run," I smiled. "But, thank you."
She nodded and welcomed me back anytime. I considered taking her up on that offer, but it would just create more work for the late hours of tonight. Best be getting back home.
I waved and regained my pace as I sprinted back towards our home. Today was a methodic day. We would plan raid after raid, all day long. It was mandatory for me to attend, but I never got a say in the decisions being made. But, as I always commented to others, it was my father's orders.
"Carlisle, you must come here! You are going to be late if you don't hustle!" the Pastor exclaimed as I entered.
Before speaking to me directly, he mumbled under his breath. "Protestants... what were they thinking?!"
I cleared my throat, hopefully breaking his reverie. He seemed startled and flashed me a stern look, but continued. "We are going hunting tonight."
My hands balled up into fists and I glared fiercely at the floor. I loathed that phrase. These weren't animals, they were Roman Catholics. They were the beings that didn't agree with what my father preached to others. They were the kind souls of our world, and he was going to extinguish their lives.
"I have... somewhere to be, sir," I spoke through my teeth.
"Not anymore. You are aiding me in this raid. I insist. Cancel any inconsequential plans you have," he demanded.
"What is that you're reading?" I asked out of curiousity, and partly to divert the conversation.
"This is the study of evils. Vampires, werewolves, witches, and other spirits that need to be executed," my father muttered.
"I'm a bit surprised," I murmured.
"Why? You think such a pastor shouldn't believe in this rubbish? True, but they are next. After the incorrect religious beliefs, of course. Which is what we are completing tonight. This will be our last raid of the Catholics," he announced.
"Yes, sir," I recited.
"Anyhow, I called you in to send a message to the church. Tell them to rally everyone and prepare to attack tonight. We will finish this job, and move on to bigger and better working skills. Let them know to meet here when the sun is setting, but not a moment after. We will wait for no one."
I nodded, still furious, but abided by my duties. This was not going to be a normal mission. We were seeking the last of the fearful people, their lives ending tonight. The terror known as the Pastor of our village of London, 1644.
I hope you liked it :) This is my first time writing a serious fanfiction. I have written my two other comedies, "April Fool's Gone Bad--Prank Contest---Cullen style" and "Vampire Olympics--Cullen style" and I decided to try something new. Please comment and suggest!!
The Beginning-Part I... above
The Beginning-Part II...
The Discovery-Part I...
The Waking-Part I...
The Waking-Part II...
The Wandering Part I...
The Wandering Part II...
The Employment ...
The Employment Part II...
The Experimentations Part II...