The Riddler

The power of imagination is such that I discover flashes of personality lurking at every corner of conciousness, and just like that, I unearth a fully formed character ripe for action in a story, intensely detailed in appearance and personality.

Whether or not I have a world or a plot in mind for him(or her), the image of him (her) just lingers in my mind while I erase and redefine the scratchy sketchlines of their image and fill them in with colour.


His favourite past-time might have been sauntering aimlessly, for all the aimless sauntering he did day in and day out - a tall lanky figure with his tie casually loosened and the collar turned up in the bracing wind, shirt tails hanging out over his belt and shoes unlaced. He might have borne a marked resemblance to the famous Mr Heathcliff of Wuthering Heights - for he was a sleek-browed gypsy of a man with cocoa coloured skin and acquiline features. His hair drew back from a slight widow's peak, and he would have been handsome if not for the perpetual sullen crease about the slate hard eyes.

Today was no different and he was slouched against the wall of the sports-hall - by the angular juts of his lithe body and the unwelcoming glint in his eyes, he could have been the slumping face of clift.

The other men mingled easily around him, gazes passing over his dark form like they would a pillar, for he was a stark contrast to their burnished blonde hair and freckled white skin. He had none of their well muscled physique and had nearly been punished for that difference.

For all his indolent lazing and wandering, he was faster than he looked, and the whipcord limbs of his body could unfurl and snap at will, driving off his would-be tormentors with a blow and a derisive sneer. On the sports court, he was a danger to player and audience alike, strong as a bear, vicious as a wolverine, and a graceful viper almost half indifferent of the rules. Not that the team could dismiss him, needing his strength and skill.

To his front they slurred out a variation of his last name; to his back they slung vulgarity over obscenity and cursed to prove their unintimidation. In the lucid light of their observation, he was by turns a criminal, a wanton degenerate who bedded men or women or both, heathen rogue - protected only by the sporting interests of a civilised people -

Such is the overwhelmingly memorable image of certain lady strutting about on heels on Aprils Fool's day, gesticulating emphatically in a Michele Obama worthy outfit and waxing eloquent over the bias of gender, gender rights and gender preference in our society, and another of...a certain someone who shall retain anonymity.