Bryon Endochrine

Passing Bryon in the street, you would think of him as a washed-up businessman, if you would think of him at all. Since his embrace he has been wearing a long, dusty-brown trench coat, usually with the collar up to hide his imagined corruption. His hair is darkly blonde and fritzy, and he wears weak, gold-rimmed glasses out of habit. He always seems to have forgotten to shave, as his wide chin is thick with stubble. If you should try to catch his steely blue eyes, you would first have to pry them from the sky or over his shoulder.

Bryon is a child of the city of Dallas, in more ways than one. Born and raised there, his father worked for an insurance firm, and his mother part-time as a secretary. They lived not-quite downtown, between Deep Ellum and Addison, and Bryon learned to love the streets and alleys early on in life. After high school, where he did reasonably well, he worked his way through college mainly as a bartender, majoring in art history. After graduation he got a full-time job at a local paper, writing film and book reviews. A few years later he applied for a job at the Dallas Morning News, which he got. He used the pseudonym surname Endochrine when writing, and spent the next couple of years honing his skills. Bryon enjoyed life and art as best he could, dancing with love and as well as the beautiful. His aspirations were no higher. How could they be?

After his embrace in the arms of Elizabeth Feildric, his cold nighttime has been spent rediscovering his love of art and architecture. Many hours have gone by with sitting on a moonlit rooftop, admiring the marble contours of some monolithic structure. Churches hold a special place in Bryon’s heart, as they bring him both solace and grief. Solace in the memories of childhood mass, safe in the arms of God, but drowning him in the grief of lost humanity and the fall from grace. But sometimes sweet oblivion is to prefer.