Pelle's body was always cold to the touch, his hair silky straight, skin sickly pale.
He was the perfect image for death, and pelle wouldn't do anything to change that about himself.
Even after years of being beaten bloody because of it. It wasn't just his disturbing deathly look that earned him the beatings. His unsettling love for corpses and road kill was most likely a large attribute to it all.
Pelle loved almost everything about them, the stillness and quiet aura of them made Pelle envious to the core of his being.
One day. One day that will be him, splattered over a surface, blood everywhere in a five foot reach.
There's been not a single time he has made a driver stop suddenly because he thought he saw roadkill. stepping out of the vehicle he bolts to the body that lays lifeless. Picking it up without a care in the world of the diseases he could catch, he smiles picking it up close to his face, breathing in its sickly fumes.
Oh, he just can't wait to relate to dead animal in his hands. Once he gets home, he plans to hurry the process.
