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Saturday, May 13th, 2006
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9:08 pm
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so let go
jump in
what you waiting for?
it's alright,
cause there's beauty
in the breakdown.
All of them sat, the motley four staring blankly out the windows of Devon’s white-rusted Falcon. Stranded somewhere in a sea of cement, they lost themselves in pensive thought. Finally:
“Well, shit,” Devon said, with no particular motivation.
“Yeah, seriously.” Valentine responded.
“Does this mean you’re like a bloody fugitive now-Devon? I mean ya’ did kinda kidnap the lil’ bugger…” Tobias added, leaning up from the backseat to interject between the two. He smiled gleefully. It was probably the ecstasy he’d taken the night before, but something about the entire situation just made him excited.
“I didn’t kidnap him! He’s here-” she said, indicating Valentine by pointing.” He’s not duct-taped in the trunk or anything!”
“Yeah, but he IS a minor. Devon, this is stupid, can we please just take him home?” Sebastian finally chimed in, sitting with arms crossed in the backseat.
“NO, we can not take him home! That bitch pops more pills then a geriatric-I’m not leaving him alone with her!” She snapped back, her head whipping around to glare at Sebastian’s passive form.
“Way to talk about me like I’m not here guys.” Valentine announced, monotone.
Sebastian leaned in to meet Devon head on, ignoring Valentine completely. “Look-I don’t want to go to jail! If you’re going to continue on with this intervention, then just drop me off. I just met you and I’m pretty sure I wish I hadn’t”
“I can’t drop you off-you looser. You live above a laundry mat that burned down yesterday! Yeah! I wasn’t going to tell you, but when you were passed out in the backseat last night I was going to leave you on the front porch-but I couldn’t-why else do you think I’ve been dragging your lame-house-DJ-ass around all day?”
“If I’m European-which I am-an’ I’m trashed-does tha’ make me eurotrash..or do I ‘ave to be wearing polyester for tha’? “Tobias squawked from the backseat. It was defiantly the ecstasy.
Sebastian and Devon continued, despite it. “What?! What the hell are you talking about?! My house BURNED DOWN and you didn’t tell me?! What is wrong with you? You people are INSANE!” Sebastian said as he began to gather his things, huffing and beginning to exit the car. “And I don’t not play LAME HOUSE. All of my tracks are imported from Europe!”
“Like me!” Tobias once again injected.
“Where are you going? We’re in the middle of nowhere you twit! You’re just going to get out and what-WALK? Back to your PILE OF ASHES? Just get back in and I’ll take you there, Christ! You don’t have to be a--”
“California.” Valentine stated amongst the chaos.
Everybody stopped short. Sebastian let his hand slip off of the door’s handle. Valentine repeated.
“California.”
“Valentine, babe, what are you talking about?,” Devon took her hand from the steering wheel and put it on Valentine’s head.
“California! My dad-that’s…what he said. He said we should go find…that guy-Scape! In California! That he knew where my mother was!”
“You da’….your da’ tha’s in the mental institution-tha’ one?” Tobias said inquisitively.
“YES. That one-but he…he wouldn’t have just...said it…I mean, he hasn’t even said anything for like...four years!” Valentine’s tone was a little desperate as his gaze darted around the car, seeking approval.
“Your father’s in a mental institution?” Sebastian said flatly.
“Yeah-but that’s totally not the point!”
Devon stared straight ahead, her back teeth grinding habitually as she thought. She filled her lungs and released it as a resolved sigh. ‘Tobias-you got anything to do today?”
“Uhm…the..men….getting’ all me stuff, they’re coming today-you know, the repossession guys. I guess I don’ really need to be there though.” Tobias said as he leaned deeply in the seat, his bare feet hanging loosely out the rear window.
“California.” Devon stated with a small smile towards Valentine. His face flared in a large, child-like smile.
“California!” He replied cheerfully.
“California?!” Sebastian’s voice erupted from the backseat, barley heard of the loud ignition of Devon’s Falcon.
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Saturday, May 14th, 2005
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7:57 pm
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(for Dollie-inspired by the song 'Andy, You're a Star' by The Killers)
On the field I remember you were incredible
Hey shut up, hey shut up, yeah
On the match with the boys, you think you're alone
With the pain that you drain from love
In a car with a girl, promise me she's not your world
Cause Andy, you're a star
Leave your number on the locker and I'll give you a call
Hey shut up, hey shut up, yeah.
Leave your legacy in gold on the plaques that line the hall
Hey shut up, hey shut up, yeah.
Valentine hesitantly slunk into the locker room. Changing before and after gym class had become the most dreadful part of the day. Even more dreadful then every other waking moment he was not in Devon's car, masturbating in the shower or secluded in the safety of his black and blue room listening to old Bauhaus records. His skinny legs protruded from awkwardly fitting jogging shorts, tapering into a pair of decrepied Converse. He had run three extra laps to ensure he'd be alone and as soon as the coast was clear he began to peel off that emotionally constricting uniform he despised. Wedging into a pair of too-tight black denim jeans, he was taken aback when he heard the door slam open. His slim, alabaster torso, still unclothed began to rise and fall in a panicked breath. He heard a loud booming voice ringing through the cement room, fringed by a charmed Aussie accent, "I'll just be a second, 've just got to change!"
Valentine peeked around the corner of the row of lockers-the only divide between him and the impending death-shaped jock-type heading straight towards him. Startled, he quickly moved back by his locker, acting unconvincingly non-chalant and keeping his eyes face forward. The source of the voice rounded the corner, taking a quick up and down of the half naked Valentine and moving past him to his own locker.
It was Sergio, a native Australian, a senior, endlessly popular, unnervingly handsome, soccer player who had singly handedly lead their school to two years of consecutive victories. Valentine scoffed silently to himself as he reviewed these facts in his hairspray clogged mind. Like he even cared. Sergio casually tugged off his shirt. He was statuesque and controlled in his movements. An academic Adonis, sculpted by he intense physical regime he was rumored to have. His deep sapphire blue eyes were as intoxicating as his rugged, masculine smell. Or at least, Valentine had heard. From Devon. That's right. That's what Devon says about him.
The air was still, silent and devastatingly awkward. Valentine, unbeknownst to himself had quit moving altogether, his head heavily weighted and pointing downwards while his eyes helplessly veered off track, watching Sergio shed layer after layer of clothing. Sergio noticed.
'Hey-Zachary, right? That's your name, isn't it?' Sergio said blatantly.
Zachary was Valentine's real name. He cringed when he heard it out loud, especially coming from THOSE lips, with THAT accent. Despite his best efforts, the teachers at his school never agreed to call him Valentine, but he still hated when people called him by his real name. He wasn't that person. Valentine sighed slightly, rolling his eyes out of sight and muttering, 'Ye-yeah.'
'You get a good look, then?' Sergio said simply as he finished dressing and slammed his locker. He moved, slowly towards Valentine, who simply stood. Bewildered. Bewitched.
Finally, he spoke in response, though it didn't sound much like a scentence."I...I don't kn-know what...you are talking about..I was just.."
'Just starin' at me. You ge' a good look then? Like everything you see?' He leaned in, his sun-kissed freckled face only inches from Valentine's own pallid, mascara-ravished complexion.
Valentine got brave. Not very brave, but brave enough to justify his response, 'Y-yes..'
Before he'd even finished the word Sergio used both hands to shove him clean across the room. Valentine's back hit the wall and he tumbled down it like a broken toy solider. He whimpered, re-adjusting and slowly lifting himself up. He didn't dare look up, but just as he began to regain footing, Sergio’s fist collided with that delicate jaw causing him to tumble to all fours again. Once down, he felt a swift kick to his stomach, maybe two, maybe more, but he'd lost count by the time Sergio lifted his small body and pinned it to the wall. He coughed, his pouty lips split and dribbling with a crimson flow of blood. His terrified eyes peered into Sergio’s, each breath shattered by a splitting pain in his torso. Sergio stared for a moment in silence as Valentine's eyes finally overflowed with wet-hot tears. Sergio lifted one hand, keeping the other carefully positioned and keeping Valentine pinned to the wall, his small feet dangling a foot above the ground. That hand moved towards Valentine's battered face, causing him to flinch in avoidance of the impending touch. Much to the tattered toy's surprise, Sergio’s gesture was a gentle, sweet one, his rough hand carefully smudging tears and blood away.
A tense moment followed as Valentine's surprised eyes stared into Sergio’s. After a seeming eternity, there was a slow gradual movement. Valentine could feel Sergio inching closer, their breath beginning to mix as Sergio finally lunged, letting their lips collide in a bloody mess of pent sexual frustration and residual rage from the fight. Their tongues explored, hungrily ravaging as Valentine's arms lifted, looping Sergio’s broad shoulders. Simultaneously, those toothpick thin legs swung upwards, tangling around Sergio’s waist and intertwining tightly around his midsection. Sergio’s sculpted arms engulfed the small boy as balance was lost and in one, slow motion move they fell. Sergio took the most of it, landing flat on his back and in a power shift, Valentine was on top continuing the unbroken kiss even as they landed.
It was only a split second before reality careened back into them and Sergio’s hands sunk into the skin of Valentine's waist, lifting him and literally tossing him to the side. Sergio stood, disoriented, his breath ragged and eyes glazed. He stared at the crumbled Valentine, backing away as fingers slowly drug over his own lips, wiping them free of the stains Valentine's blood had left. He turned and silently darted out the door, leaving Valentine alone.
Valentine stood, carefully, teetering towards the mirrors. He inspected the wounds. A few bruised ribs, a black eye, and the now swollen bloody lip that he attempted to nurse by prodding it. He continued to examine, catching a glimpse of his own eyes. He stared for a moment then watched as his bloodied lips spread into a wide, enamored smile.
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(comment on this)
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| Saturday, February 19th, 2005
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4:39 pm
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They say romance is back in fashion,
and they say that kistch is back in fashion.
Valentine stood, his small frame barely balanced in those high-buckled pirate boots. His teeth gnawed on the gummy-blackened surface of his lips and his faced curled in concentration. His thin arms tangled around him. He stood in the night, ponderous and bathed by the heavenly light of a row of drink machines. Devon emerged from the shadows of the women's bathroom. They were at a rest stop, in whatever backwoods county at whatever ungodly hour of the night. She walked towards him, confused by his pensive stare.
'What?' she asked blatantly.
'I...just don’t' know what to get,' he responded, his voice lost as if the decision were life altering.
'Oh my God. You're pathetic. You really have no idea who you are.' Devon finally said, intercepting him and randomly selecting one of the options for him. Valentine stood, over acting, but still devastated by her comment.
'But. I’m just-it's just soda. I know who I am!' he nearly shouted as she walked back towards the car. He leaned over, grabbing at the can of confection and caffeine. He frowned, and followed after her, 'this is diet! You don't think I'm fat, do you?'
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Monday, January 24th, 2005
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8:14 pm
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I've never been an extrovert
But I'm still breathing.
The generic halls of the generic high school were filled with generic people. They wore the uniforms of the mundane and laughed hysterically over ignorant perverse jokes, undoubtedly at the expense of those around them. The same hairstyles. The same shoes. It was a sea of sameness that Valentine often found himself unable to breath in.
Valentine did not blend in. Valentine was not the same, at least in his eighteen year old head, he was not.
His real name was of course not Valentine. Nevertheless, the title was scribbled all over his spray-painted binders and was branded with ball point pen all over his worn out Converse sneakers. He slumped. His poor posture made him appear even shorter then he actually was, which was very short. His small shoulders were weighted with a backpack full of books. He dressed like a bad regurgitation of something out of a Poppy Z. Brite novel mixed with a New Wave fag-hag hairdo. Tufted up like Robert Smith, tarted up like Madonna. The uncertainty of his identity was reflected in the total lack of coordination between everything he slathered on his tiny frame.
He didn't have to push through the halls. His minute size allowed him to move freely in-between the dreary waves of the mundane ocean. He moved through the halls, past his assigned classroom and straight out the door, but not before enduring a string of taunts from his classmates. The same taunts as the day before, and the day before.
'Hey FAG, where the fuck you going-FAG?' Followed by an echo of laughter.
How original, Valentine thought to himself. Unfortunately his high-school thought-to-speech filters allowed the thought to escape as simply,'Yeah-FUCK YOU!' instead. He sighed in regret and slunk outside. He rolled his eyes. He felt too old to be acting his age. He rounded a corner and wandered off into the clearly marked 'Teacher's Parking' parking lot.
There, crookedly parked across almost three spaces was his saving grace. It was something of a sight, really. A land yacht of a car, it was Devon's rust-spattered, gold-hued Cadilliac, affectionally named 'Big Shirley' after a drunken night involving a transvestite similarly named 'Little Shirley'. Valentine didn't know the full story, and never asked for it. Devon leaned like James Dean against it's exterior, smoking a cigarette in true 'too cool for school' style.
Now Devon, Devon definatly did not blend in, and in her twenty-one year old head, she KNEW she wasn't the same.
She spoke as Valentine approached, fingers slipping her oversized sunglasses down the curve of her nose to get a better look at him. 'What the fuck are you wearing?'
Valentine laughed as he replied, 'Hey, I called you to rescue me-so get on with the resecuing, hag!'
'You look like Little Shirley!' Devon snickered throwing the stil-lit cigarette intentionally in the direction of the school.
'You want to tell me that story so bad, don't you?'
'It's a really damn good story,' she retorted, tugging the sticky door open on the drivers side.
'Yeah, well I'm not interested in the gross sex-lives of senior citizens,' Valentine managed to say through a fit of girlish laughter.
Devon threw him a dirty look. 'Get in the car, you little twat.'
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(comment on this)
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| Sunday, December 26th, 2004
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1:36 am
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(I Also found some VERY old sketches of some of the boys. First: Lexi And Donovan and doodles, Second: Scape and Terri)
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(comment on this)
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12:56 am
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| Thursday, December 23rd, 2004
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2:43 am
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'Is that what YOU were going to do?' What the HELL is that?! Someone DIED there-Scape, I can FEEL it. Someone...someone died there...', Darren retorted in a tone he'd never taken with Scape, slowly trailing into nothing. Scape stopped short, though not surprised by his reaction, it was still hurtful.
(countinued from previous entry)
Darren wetted dry lips, taking short breaths. He anxiously awaited answer, and although suddenly washed with remorse for yelling at Scape, said nothing further. There was a long silence between them. Scape moved to the couch, where he let his massive body fall. He was doubled over himself, elbows to his knees, hands to his head. He drew a long, slow breath, revealing a haunting cofessional upon it's release.
'Terri. Terri died in that room, Darren.'
Darren was quiet a moment before finally joining Scape. He sat close and inquired further with questions he already knew the answer to, 'Your...husband, you mean?' Darren had never pressed the issue. He was curious, but never curious enough to delve into painful memories of those he loved for his own slef indulgence. Scape had never brought it up paticularly, so Darren never pressed. It was a courteous mistake in the making, one that Darren was about to correct as he finally continued,'Scape-wha-'
Scape inturuppted him. 'In my life here, I've made enemies. Not a lot, but enough. None of them..compared to her though,' Scape had explained much of this to Darren. Those fallen into The Under loose memories of their name, and this paticular demon was no exception. Out of all the encounters Scape had had with her, that night would be the final and most violent of them all. He stared at the floor, his masculine hands whiteknuckled in fists. He continued,'She had been..obsessed with me. She was the reason I lost my name. She kidnapped Terri soon after I met him. Everytime she managed to collect a body, she came after me. I...I thought I was rid of her.' He was entirely internalized. He relived each memory with each brief statement. His hands entangled, wringing nervously as he further explained, his voice trembling with tears with every given fact.'She possessed him, Darren. She. She took over his body. And....he was so strong, but she was so much stronger. She ravaged his body-she sliced it open and let him bleed. He fought..so..hard. He just..kept fighting, and I would catch these glimpses of him. We battled her, Terri an I, for hours. In till. I was holding him, on the bed, and he was just..bleeding. HE was just in so much pain-he looked at me and he...he was so strong-' Thick digits engulfed his own chiseled visage. Darren watched, eyes wide and reflective of the devastation he saw in Scape.
(gah. I'll copy more of this later.)
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(comment on this)
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| Saturday, December 18th, 2004
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12:38 am
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Like the naked leads the blind.
I know I'm selfish, I'm unkind.
Sucker love I always find,
Someone to bruise and leave behind.
Scape's soundless sleep was interrupted by a startling jolt. He awoke in a pallid sweat, disoriented for a moment as his lungs worked to settle his tattered breathing. He heaved a deep breath, rough hands lifting to wipe his brow. He sat up, readjusting as he hung his legs from the side of the bed. He had an uneasy feeling even as he began to wake more thoroughly. He rose form the bed, meandering haphazardly through the dark hallway towards the kitchen.
As he reached the kitchen, a sharp knock disrupted the silence. Emerald eyes swept past the kitchen and farther down the hall towards the front door. The knocking came again, this time more aggressive and frantic. Scape's intuition left his nauseated and apprehensive to answer.
But he did.
Readjusting himself, he walked towards the door. He swung it open, interrupting another long string of nerve-wracking rhythmic pounding. His eyes narrowed with confused annoyance. It was the dethroned princess, Brian, swaggering and lopsidedly leaning into his doorway. Their size difference was almost comical, Scape towered over the frail Brit by nearly a foot. Brian looked dreadful. His hair was matted, wet and slick with sweat. His skin was near translucent, reveling tender webbing of overworked blue and red veins just beneath it. He was wearing jeans, apparently leftover after Darren's great evacuation, as they were sizes too big, hanging off of his black and blue hipbones. The denim hems nearly covered his dirty, bare feet, which were caked with a mixture of blood and mud. He was covered from the waist up in a tight fitting hooded sweatshirt. Scape simply stared, appalled more then merciful in till Brian inevitably broke the silence.
'Whhhheere is he?' That nasal voice projected, slurred and uneven in tone.
'What are you doing here.' Scape said more as an accusation then a question. Brian shuffled past him, weaseling his way uninvited into the living room, leaving a trail of dirt in his footsteps across the clean, hardwood floors of Scape's home.
'Do you even know who I am?' Brian asked, a superior tone spilled out of him. His face was dirty and his eyes stared absently at the much taller Angelic.
'I know who you are. Get out.' Scape replied coldly.
'Darren-where is he, aren't you two like fucking or something?'He said, bluntly ignoring the Celestial's request. He stumbled around the room, inspecting items and swaying on unsteady bloodied ballerina toes. Scape simply stood at the open door with an audible, discontented sigh, standing flat footed, thick arms crossed over his bare chest.
'He's NOT here. And even if we were together,which we're not-we would never 'be fucking'. Now get out,' he announced sternly. The velvet warmth of Scape's voice was absent, in it's wake only daggers and ice.
'It's all fucking,' Brian said, denouncing emotion with one swift sentence. 'You jus'..tell yourself..it's love so tha'...you can..justify all the fucking with'ou..feeling..guilt-'His words tumbled from loose lips before they were nothing but an incomprehensible murmur. Lackluster eyes dodged and ducked, skipping in an untraceable pattern around the room. His breath became heavy as he battled to stay level, but finally his dizzying pendulation unlaced him and caused him to plummet towards the floor. Scape, in a knee jerk reaction swiftly intercepted his collision, catching the waifish songstress in a powerful embrace. Scape easily lifted Brian, disappointed in his own inability to let the seemingly intoxicated diva take what was coming to him. In was in his nature, to nurture, and with the contact, he immediately noticed Brian's sweltering temperature. His small body nearly ignighted with feverish heat.
'Sweet Almighty, Brian-what the hell are you on?' He spat out quickly delivering the sickened doll onto the couch. Brian didn't answer, but groaned weakly, his head heavy and limp as it swayed from side to side. His nostrils flared as a slow drip of blood began to expel and trickle across his porcelain flushed skin. He squirmed more on his side, finally rolling onto his back. His head sharply fell to the side, revealing from beneath the folds of dark fabric around his neck, two puncture wounds, still fresh and puckered with swelling. 'WHAT THE HELL IS THIS? WHO DID THIS?' Scape demanded of him as his hands dove to inspected the wound. Brian reacted by weakly dismissing Scape's hands and shaking his head free of the inspection.
'Jus'..some..friends-jus'..some..'he barley managed to spill out.
'Whoever did this to you is NOT your friend, Brian.' Scape lectured as he walked towards the kitchen. He flushed a rag out with ice-cold water. Scape had a violent past with Vampires. His nature wouldn't allow him to judge, but his open avoidance of them, said enough of his opinion. He returned to Brian's side, kneeling and pressing the frigid towel to his damp brow. Brian groaned again, again attempting physically to force Scape's attention off of him. Scape, completely unaffected by his efforts continued to nurse him in till Brian heaved forth, keeling inward onto himself with a soul-shattering cry. Scape was taken aback as he watched Brian recoil into a trembling fetal, holding his stomach and suddenly wailing in pain.
Scape's jaw weakly dropped. He quickly leaned back in, face only inches from Brian's glistening face. He searched desperately for Brian's eyes, finally hands plunged forward, cupping either side of that pretty girlish face, forcing Brian's attention on him. 'BRIAN. DID YOU DRINK FROM HIM-THE VAMPIRE BRIAN, DID YOU DRINK HIS BLOOD?'
Brian's lips curled in a decrepit, sinister smile. His eyes were half-lidded as he explained in ominous detail, whispering,'It was...so hot. He was fucking me, an' he just fuckin' bit his own lip...he kissed me. God-it was hot....isn' it...fucking hot-Scape?'
Scape face fell pale with disgust, he let out a sick sigh, hands roughly releasing Brian's face. His gaze plummeted to the floor. 'He...turned you, and then..abandoned you,'Scape said in a blunt tone only rivaled by his current company's, continuing, 'I never thought there would be a creature with a more warped sense of morality then you, Brian, but it looks like you found one.'
Brian's sarcastic face was flattened by the Angelic's harsh words. His breath grew more ragged as he struggled to sit up, but his limbs were flaccid and unmovable. Those hardened eyes began to glaze, quickly retorting in defense-'He DIDN'T FUCKING ABANDON ME-He DIDN'T LEAVE leave..m-me..' But it was all too much. His exhausted frame buckled under the immense strain of it all, and uncontrollably he spasmed again, leaving him limply sprawled on the couch. Scape was silent for only a moment longer.
'Lie on your back.' Scape said flatly.
Brian's weak eyes fluttered open, his gaze tangled in a morass of thick baked-one mascara. 'Wh-why? You....goin' to fuck me..?'
'I'm going to help you,' Scape announced, taking in a deep, clarifying breath.
Brian's eyes narrowed, though he lacked the strength to throw the nasty gaze towards Scape. His voice cracked as he snarled,'I DON'T Wan' your...help..'m getting wha' I deserve. RIGHT, so leave me THE FUCK ALONE.' His pride was beyond offended, in this state he was left emotionally naked. All he could do was serve up a childish amount of defensive backlash.
Scape stood. 'LOOK. I'm not doing this for YOU, and I'm not doing it for ME. If this is some sort of sick self punishment, it's fine by me. The only person who cares if you're suffering is Darren, because for some completely unknown reason to me, he loved you, and still loves you, and it would destroy him inside to know you were suffering like this, and I'm not going to let you hurt him ANYMORE. I am doing this for Darren, because even if you don't, I love him.' He proceeded swiftly, leaving no room for further adolescent argument. He tugged that blood-caked sweatshirt from Brian's tiny body. Repositioning him, those rag doll extremities laid still where they were put as Scape gingerly rolled him onto his back. Brian's eyes remained half closed, muddy with eyeliner and tears as his defeated glance fell on Scape. Scape met it with a determined breath and announced,'This is going to hurt, Brian. A lot.'
Scape's masculine hands began to trace a path cross Brian's slender torso. Fingers mapped a path of winding veins and intricate systems, leading to a weakened pulse over his left breastbone. His heart. 'It's like a poison, Brian. I have to get it out before it takes full effect,' he explained as those healing hands hovered over the pulsating epicenter. Scape closed his eyes, taking several deep, full breaths. A whitish glow leaked from his hands, long thick digits engulfed in it's whispy, swirling texture. And without warning, Brian's spine arched-drastically and painfully. His small features contoured with the pain, his teeth tightly locked and holding in a whirlwind of devastated screams and howls. It finally escaped as a chortled yell. The skin over his heart began to ripple, puckering at a microscopic level as the power emanating from Scape began to drain each drop of infected blood. It suckled, in micro-beads from individual pores, the blackened, toxic blood. The brownish fiery liquid began to swirl upwards and implant itself into Scape's own hand. It was only a second in tail the whole thing was over, Scape finally toppling as the last of it entered his large body. He fell, weakened and now infected. It would leave him quickly, but not before letting him endure a series of it's symptoms. He managed to heave himself up. Brian had simply passed out from the strain. His body, weakened by constant abuse gave out. Scape teetered a bit, using the wall as support as he meandered pathetically back to his bed. He made it to the foot, collapsing on the floor with a large sound. He too, fell into a state of exhausted unconsciousness.
He awoke in the morning. The venomous invader has been filter out through the night, though he still felt groggy and drained of energy. Brian was gone by the time he'd woken, only a scribbled note and smeared footprints were left of evidence of his presence.
The note, left on the coffee table and written on an empty pack of cigarettes read only, 'Don't Tell Darren.'
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(comment on this)
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| Wednesday, December 15th, 2004
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1:03 am
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I'm Unclean
A Libertine
And Everytime You Vent Your Spleen
I Seem To Loose The Power Of Speech
You're Slipping Slowly From My Reach
You Grow Me LIke An Evergreen
You've Never Seen
The Lonely Me At All.
I Fall.
Without You
I'm Nothing.
Without You
I'm Nothing.
At All.
Cassandra's habitual insomnia was ever-present, even now at four in the morning. She laid quietly in bed, eyes plastered to the stucco ceiling above her. A large, uneven rapping emerged from her door. She blinked to herself a moment, shuffling in her bed as to suggest her disinterest. It was probably some lovesick ex-boyfriend or drunken male friend looking for affection. She was convinced of this fact, even as the second wave of knocking came. Louder this time, and suddenly accompanied by a meek plea. It was Scape. His booming velveteen voice was a hallowed version of itself as it carried through her door into her bedroom.
'Cass. It's...Scape.'
She was immediately out of bed. In nothing but a tattered hair metal tee and undies, she quickly tugged open the thick door of her apartment. And there he was. His posture shattered, he slumped to nearly half his massive size. His head limply hung down, leaving his gaze impenetrably affixed to the floor. Taken aback, Cass gasped and squeezed a concerned whimper out of her tight throat. 'Scape-what...what's going on?'
He didn't answer, but instead simply began to tremble. Cass's face curled with distraught confusion. She had never witnessed Scape like this. He was a broken boy, lost and shivering and she had no idea what to do except demand an explanation for the dramatic shift in mood and demeanor. 'Scape, WHAT is wrong what's going on...where is Terri?' She said as her eyes peered through the empty hallway for the soft spoken geisha that was Scape's husband.
A breath heaved from Scape's lungs and shook in a fit of deeply shielded sobs. His head lifted slowly as if weighted by lead. Searing emerald was dulled by the muddy puddles of would-be tears as his eyes sought hers. There was a sharp silence in which neither of them dared to breath. And without a spoken word, suddenly Cass knew. Her lips pursed as her jaw delicately dropped. Her words were carried on a breath,'Oh God.' was all she could manage. Scape's colossal form simply collapsed against her, uncharacteristically frail, her arms worked to wrap around him. Her breath was ragged as her head lulled back and eyes refocused on the textured ceiling of her apartment building.
From this point on, nothing would be the same.
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(comment on this)
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| Saturday, December 11th, 2004
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3:21 am
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You teach me how to forgive,
it feels all right.
Compassion for your pain,
compassion for mine,
the circle divides.
Outside the rain bombarded the Earth, cascading over the roof of the quaint Japanese style house Scape and Darren occupied. Darren had only recently moved in. Unpacked boxes, unhung platinum records and unwashed clothes somehow found their way into all rooms of the house. All with the exception of one.
Darren had so often been mesmerized by the roped off room. The mystery of it dazzled him. His childlike curiosity oft got the best of him. He had even considered sneaking out of the bedroom late at night to implore further, were it not for the soundless, perfect sleep Scape offered him. Even with the possibility of deceiving Scape, he'd not yet built up the courage to ask him.
Darren was happily transferring boxes from one room to the next. While he had not bothered to unpack them, he seemed to be keen on moving them about at least, as to put forth the image that he was actively doing something. Scape was in the kitchen which was blatantly open to the living room, busy playing homemaker. He chopped and sliced, mixed and sifted. He watched Darren with a sweet smile, pretending to be unaware of Darren's actual lack of progress. Darren proceeded down the hall with a small box in his arms. He stopped at the beginning, the location of that mysterious roped room. It was so lovely, the way it was preserved. A yellow ribbon was woven from the ground up, corseting the door. He stared at it, for a moment, then continued. His footsteps slowed as he began to think. Retracing his steps, he yelled from the hall, 'Scape-there's no more room in the bedroom-why don't I just put it in the front bedroom-ok?' He lowered the box to the ground in front of him, stepping timidly to the interlocked barricade of the door. His fingers gingerly scaled the height of it and he began, every so carefully peeling layers of gold-hued ribbon from his path.
Scape had barely heard was Daz said. It didn't translate for just long enough for Darren's curiosity to take the better of his judgment. The moment his mind played through the words, Scape left his task at hand and immediately bolted into the hallway.
He was too late.
Darren had made it through the last of the ribbon and was now standing, blank faced in front of a horrific blueprint of things past. The door was left gaping, and Darren simply stared.
It was like a post apocalyptic scene. The room's contents were turned upside-down, a dresser dragged to the middle of the room, splayed mirrors littered the floor in an eerie sheen, reflecting what little light existed in the space. The walls, a vibrant shade of saffron yellow were dulled and spliced with what appeared to be claw marks. The most disruptive of all, the disheveled bedclothes were splattered in thick layers of long since dried blood that seemed even now, so alive as his eyes followed it's crackled path onto the floor. It had puddled there, and over time, warped the hardwood under it. It was a scene of great violence, even in it's deafing silence. Darren's breath began to waver, and even without explanation, his tender eyes glazed with a layer of impending tears. He whispered, in a meek, confused tone,'Scape, what...what happened here?'
'Darren! Don't touch anything! Don't even get near there!' Scape said as quickly moved to intercept Darren, standing as a physical blockade between him and the room. Quickly, he slammed the door, sealing in a vicious past he knew was bound to leak through. Darren continued to stare, even though the actual view was gone. Scape searched for his eyes, but Darren shielded his own withering gaze by moving it restlessly about. He took a few short, choppy breaths before quickly moving into the living room. To do what, that was not entirely clear, maybe just to get away from the room, maybe to simply put space in-between him and Scape. Scape soon pursued, aimless spouting something to break the frigid silence that filled the apartment.' Darren-come back. What are you going to do-ignore it?'
'Is that what YOU were going to do?' What the HELL is that?! Someone DIED there-Scape, I can FEEL it. Someone...someone died there...', Darren retorted in a tone he'd never taken with Scape, slowly trailing into nothing. Scape stopped short, though not surprised by his reaction, it was still hurtful.
(tobecontinued)
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| Friday, July 30th, 2004
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1:39 am
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'Is it st-strange of me, to, th-th-think of death so much?' Lexi's tender voice spilled from his thin lips like a withering dream. He never spoke above a whisper, and even that was so fragile it was often nearly shattered by his stutter.
'No,' Cherry replied, he tone much more assured then his,'No, it's not. It's never been something you had to think of before..'
She sat very close, but in truth, they were very far apart.
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China all the way to New York
I can feel the distance getting close
You're right next to me
But I need an airplane
I can feel the DISTANCE as you breathe
Sometimes I think you want me to touch you
How can I when you build a great WALL around you
In your eyes I saw a future together
You just look away in the distance
China decorates our table
Funny how the CRACKS don't seem to show
Pour the wine dear
You say we'll take a holiday
But we never can agree on where to go
Sometimes I think you want me to touch you
How can I when you build a great WALL around you
In your eyes I saw a future together
You just look away in the distance
China all the way to New York
Maybe you got lost in MEXICO
You're right next to me
I think that you can hear me
Funny how the distance learns to grow
Sometimes I think you want me to touch you
How can I when you build a great WALL around you
I can feel the distance
I can feel the distance
I can feel the distance getting close
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1:23 am
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His WICKED
sense of humor
Suggests
EXCITING
sex.
He's Venus
as
a
boy.
Tobias has lived as hard a life as any. Born in Ireland, raised in England then finally shipped to America for school. He dropped out quickly from NYU and pursued a fumbling career in modeling. Famed mostly by his reputation, rather then his body of work he was often called simple a fad in the fashion world. Opinionated, brash, rude but unmistakably charasmatic. Impossible to refuse. He recently retreated from the spolight in an attempt to shed himself of the addictive vices that have followed him his entire life.
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In all of his education, all of his indefinate amount of knowledge, Tobias for the life of him could not figure out why any creator, divine, Almighty or otherwas Omni-present being would create a place as cold as Alaska. He adressed this issue in a series of mummbled obscenities to himself as he stood, smoking on the balcony of the hotel he'd taken up in. Fingers tingled with numbness as they lifted to and from those thick, pillowy lips. His breath spilled out, polluted with smoke and hot against the sub-zero winds brashly beating against him. The glass doors behind him slide open with a loud, unoiled squeal. A younger boy(he looked 16, though Tobias would swear he was of-age) poked his blonde-mopped head out. He was bundled in an excess of sheets and bedding and cried out with delight. 'Christ! You've got this gigantic jacuzzi in your bathroom! That's crazy! Can I take a bath?!' Tobias snickered, and without facing to aknowledge the boy, he smiled plesantly to himself.
'Yeah, knock yerself ou'. Jus' dun bloody drowned! I dun care 'ow hot yer body is, 'M no' going ou' in this weather to bury it!' He pivoted to face the boy, flashing that silver screen smile. It was thanks to that smile Tobias could say such things. He leaned in to deliver a quick, tobacco-ridden kiss to the boy. 'Go on, I'll join ya' soon as I finish this.' And with that the boy slammed the door and happily made his way to the bathroom, shedding layers of bedding along the way. Tobias turned agian, facing the white expanse that was the Alaskan landscape. He let the remenants of that cigarette be taken by the wind, and with hushed tones, repeated to himself the unending question in his mind. 'Wha' the fuck 'm I doing 'ere?'
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Tobias had only recently moved here. He'd turned into only a figment of what he once was. The party prince(ss) reduced to a hermetic looser. Conflicted by his own demons, chased by his illustrious past, blah..blah.
In the end it was all the same trite story, and that's what pissed him off the most. It was obvious he didn't belong here. He'd spent the last of his undeserved fortune buying a quaint place in the suburbs in attempts to shed his skin, and on the strict advice of his PR agent, start anew. He stepped out, dressed only in a pair of over sized Prada sunglasses and ill-fitting sweats he'd stolen once from a girl's apartment floor. They clung for dear life onto those dangerously sharp hipbones. No shoes. No shirt. All fan service. That dirty morass of blond(ish) hair was tugged into two lopsided pigtails, dangling from behind each ear. He meandered forth in an indirect path towards the mailbox, bare feet sinking into the untended grass of his lawn.(Really, how ridiculous that you have a lawn, Tobias..) He approached the mailbox only to be assaulted from the kneecap down by a small, yipping thing that was either a very small dog, or a very large hamster. He exclaimed, quite loudly, 'Fucking Christ-ge' the bloody 'ell offa me!'
His outburst had caused several of the neighbors to stop and stare, but instead of pushing it further, he groaned and scooped the small animal up, checking the tags on it's collar. With a deep breath he set off down the street. Four houses and across to be exact. He held the animal at a considerable distance from himself and made his way to the front door. He managed to smash the doorbell with his elbow, and he stood, and waited impatiently mumbling to himself.
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