Drafts

Her beauty matched her voice. She was the perfect girl. It seemed like she was flawless. Her hair had no split ends. Her skin was crystal clear. Her mind was a different story. She was as demented as they get upon the ages. Death and not likely possibilities crossed her mind at all hours of the night and of the day. She couldn't let anyone see inside her head; oh no. She needed people to see her as perfect on the outside and on the inside. In reality, her insides aren't as her beauty was on the outside.

The wind had picked up that night and was blowing so strongly that it swept through the whole house, sending the settled dust flecks spiralling into the air. Nobody was awake. With the exception of him.

He couldn't sleep.

The letter lay open on his messy desk. The white paper almost luminous in the dark, serving as a constant reminder that he had opened something that he could never close. He had started something that he had to finish.

And she felt like the lights were bleeding into her brain.

jim sturgess.:

This is such a good idea. :cheese:

-

I thought of this in the car today. :shifty

Spencer and Ryan were in love. Not with each other, of course, but they had both found something that held their heart. Spencer loved his dogs, seeing as they seemed like the only thing that wanted to be around him, and Ryan loved old books, with the yellowing pages and black-and-white photography. Spencer was in love with that girl, too, the one he had known forever. The one that didn't know that he existed.

^ I love that. I don't even likee uh..patd? stories, but that's really good ^_^

"You know what the sun looks like?

“He looks like he slit his wrists in the ocean. It's grotesque, I know, but it's true. And the moon... she was just... there, she was just watching him die. It's almost like she had driven him to it, and she's just waiting, waiting so patiently as the blood of the sun spread all over the water. And then-- and then she would take over.

"Of course, the sun always rises the next day, as if his suicide never happened. They're sick like that. And of of course, when dusk comes, he does it again-- and the moon would stil watch, just watch as he dies... a painful, evasive... and kind of exquisite death. And they go on like that-- living and dying and watching and bleeding-- every night.

"Every single night, until the sun runs out of blood or the moon gets sick of watching. Maybe she'll leave, maybe she'll join him... either way, it will end in darkness. Cold, and deep, and black darkness, and they would be no more."

-

Don’t leave…This is right, this is all I’ve lived for.

But the world is cruel, isn’t it?

Just like you.

He can’t keep a secret. The sick whitewash of his coarser memoirs isn’t enough to erase that deceit, the one that tastes like cough mixture and clings to his molars like sour caramel. He’s every synonym for hollow; restless in knowing he’s the keeper of his own deep and dark. Cradling it close to his broken chest, the clatter of his heartbeat seems miles away as numb hands feel for the pale flesh. Grasping at skin, tearing at his surface trying to find the platinum buried beneath shallow skin. ]

Love, hate, suicide,
hypocrite, homocide
_

It's like a chess game.
We are pawns on one's board.
How they decide to act
Is how we choose to move.
_

No one wins or loses
Until we die,
Where the match ends in a tie.

[I found them in an old notebook of mine awhile ago]

“So you’re just gonna go and have sex with him now?” Billie asked despite the massive frog blocking his throat.

“My sex life is none of your concern, Billie.” Adrienne got up and started walking to Al’s house.

Billie followed her and let all of his frustration out.

“You should think about what you’re doing, Adie, because it’s like your first time. And you don’t just…do it with the first person you have lukewarm feelings for. You’re supposed to wait until you’ve found the right person then you have sex.”

Adrienne didn’t say anything. She ignored Billie and kept walking.

“Plus, you don’t even know if Al likes you. He could just be using you for sex.”

Adrienne stopped now. She turned on her heel and stared at Billie as if she never met him before.

“Excuse me…?” She said, in that angry way that women say things when they’re ready to stab a man in the face.

Billie quite felt like a mouse being cornered by a hungry cat. He had only two choices – turn away and run like hell, or turn away and walk home like a pathetic child.

“I think that Al is only using you for sex. He’s an older guy and older guys just don’t date high school girls because they want to. They’re usually using them for sex.”

Billie bit his lower lip and felt his stomach turn when Adrienne laughed. Of course she wouldn’t take what Billie said seriously. He seemed like a jealous kid, and Al won once again.

“You’re just jealous, Billie Joe. You should head home and go to bed, since you have school in the morning.” And with that, she left.

I like it, but don't know what to do with it. :think:

you smile like a light house and i'd crash on the rocks just to see you smile

It's always the same routine. I go on the computer. I double click on Internet Explorer. I wait a few seconds, while it loads. I stare into space. I think about my characters. They technically aren't "mine", they're J.K. Rowling's, I just make them into what I want to be, while still keeping the basic personality that JKR had perfectly set up for me. I decide I need to build up my plot line in my next chapter, considering how filler-ish it's becoming. My readers don't seem to care, but I do.

The page loads, I sign into my email. I have one new message. My favorite writer has updated her story. I wish I could be as good a writer as her. Her story is A Ginny/Ron Story. I know it's incest, but I can't get enough of it.

The chapter is a sex scene. It's very graphic, but there's no censoring on this website, so it comes as no shock.

Her update inspires me, and I start to write my next chapter to my new story. It's a Draco/Harry pairing, like always. I pride myself on my stories, and I judge myself on how well I write that day. If I can produce nothing short of my best, I am disappointed in myself, and often leads to a downcast mood. I begin to think of my life, or lack thereof. My life is on the computer, in the fantasy world of Harry Potter Fan fiction. It's where I lose myself with the love, lust and passion between Harry and Draco. I write what I feel, or what I'd like to feel. It's what I'd give anything to feel.

What Harry and Draco feel is pure, pure love, devotion, and infatuation. All I write is pure fluff. I cannot let them hurt, if they did it would crush me. Sure, they hate each other at first, as they do in all of the books, but they know that they are made for each other. I only wish a boy would feel the same for me.

I fancy me insane, another maniac waiting in line to go to the asylum. They rejected me yesterday, apparently there's no more place; they told me that I would have needed more than one cell, dissociation is never a good thing. Where should they put all of the other me?! No, there's no place in there for me.

Perhaps I should make it a drabble; I wanted it to fit into my main story... but it kinda made the whole chapter lose its structure and its sense.

Yes, I was a jerk for doing that, just saying I didn't have feelings for him anymore, just saying I didn't want to be with him hurt more than probably calling him fat. I actually didn't feel all that bad, I was just worried what people would think of me now. The Betch that dumped him 'cause she didn't know.

'He had a face like a piece of moon rock. glowing at the end of twiglet neck.And the craters scarped into that rock, those craters...well they told a story, his story. A little scar for every choice he didn't make. '

it may still be the start of a drabble but i've never totally found anything to do with it

i don't know what they are. vows, or confessions, or just nothing at all. they're not to or from separate people. i just really don't know.

-

"and this, it aches, like a withering flame, a palm lain upon an open heart with only the best intentions.

we are not allowed to speak, to act on our will; we are tied with strings beyond control, nevertheless we are knotted with each other.

i'll follow you, stay with you, wait for you, into the very gates of hell i once promised, and never once doubted since that moment. hell became your side; did i not burn away? hell became your footsteps, did i not endure?

i'm watching your back, for reasons we alone understand, and it has become wide and broad even with the absence of my gaze. i will never hesistate to let that back fall if need be, and i will never stop regretting ever frame of that picture in my mind. you must have known that when i take you down i will go nowhere but with you. i'm your subordinate, after all.

and this, between us, keeping us together and keeping us apart. i am not so foolish to believe that this would have happened without bullets or sparks from our fingertips or a war's worth of blood on our hands. our mistakes led us to this corruption we are living, but also to each other.

i cannot say i love you, that i want you, that my only wish is to touch you. that will never be allowed of us, of me, for as long as we live. there is no use for lips or games or hearts here, only minds and eyes and hardened souls. wouldn't you know that i gave that to you too?

and so it aches, this longing, that does not even know what it wants to attain. and so it burns, this knowledge, to protect you from no one but me, no one but yourself. and so it kills, this devotion, that i will be wherever you go and we will never be spared the happiness we want to give everyone else. and so it lives, this world, and it will live even without me or you, or we."

***

"and I know it wont be enough, and I know I'm not worth it.
I just want you to stay for the simple happiness that you'll be there, that I wasn't the one who caused you to fade away.

Dust crumbles over the moon and we are bathed in the starlight--the clouds are dead, the rain has fallen, we cannot hide any longer.

I want you, I wanted you and I have always, will always want you.
You can pretend you don't want me but I know I'll always love you.
And that you once loved me too.

So goodbye, if you think this is the right choice.
You always made the wrongs ones, you said before, but I never could stop you.

You were the sun, vibrant and strong and golden, and you caused foolish little winged men chasing after you, melting their wings and kissing their wax goodbye because of you. Up in flames, you put the master of the flames right in their fiery hearts.

You are cruel, you know that? You always prided yourself to be good.
But you knew me, you took me, you bested me--you told me I brought out the best in you, but how that have been, if this is what you turned into?

My sun, abandon me if you wish.
I could never stop you and I would never dream of it.

I will be gone from your memory as quick as the wind shifts the desert sands--
and just like the beast you are I will still never forget you."

This is kinda long, and it was supposed to be an entry for the It's My Birthday and I'll Cry If I Want To writing contest, but I thought it wasn't good enough, and I didn't have a proper ending for it >.<

Andy stared up at the fancy neon-lighted sign above her.

Angels and Kings.

She had always dreamed of getting in there and, hopefully, meeting some of her favorite bands of all time. Fate had it, though, that the moment her 21st birthday came up, her friends surprised her by dragging her butt out of her house, into their car and out here.

"I... love you guys!" she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around them and squeezed the life out of them.

"O-kay, Andy! Don't waste your time thanking us, waste your time on getting wasted in one of the coolest bars ever!" her best friend, Taylor, said, pushing her through the doors and into the already pulsating room.

Lights flashed brightly and music boomed out of large stereos.

Andy's eyes widened. This was - she took note - the best night of her life.

As soon as they had found a table to use the whole night, they began ordering their drinks, excited that, for the first time, the youngest member in their group was finally legal to drink.

"I don't even know what I just ordered," Andy laughed, leaning back on the seat.

"You, my friend, just ordered an alcoholic drink," Lizzie replied, wiggling her eyebrows at her alcohol-deprived friend.

"Okay, let's dance!" Natasha yelled, standing up and pulling her friends away from the booth and towards the dance floor.

The song that was playing sounded very familiar to Andy, it only took her a few more seconds to register what the song was and to sing along.

"I wanna take a ride on your disco stick," she sang, laughing, all the while moving her body to the beat of the song.

"This song is seriously disgusting and green," Lizzie commented, shaking her head as she danced.

"Yeah, but you love Lady Gaga anyway!" Taylor teased, pushing her playfully.

"Tell me who doesn't."

Andy laughed at her two friends raising her arms up in the air and letting out the tension she had been feeling the whole week.

She and her boyfriend had just broken up, but she didn't feel all too heart broken about it. They had been friends their whole lives so it wasn't at all painful when he said he couldn't be with her anymore. It just hurt to know that he had been secretly meeting up with someone behind her back. Where was the trust?

She spun around quickly, still lost in the song, and lost her balance. She ended up slipping backwards and bumping into something, or rather, someone. Her eyes widened as she quickly straightened up and turned around. She stared up at Ryan Ross, guitarist for Panic! At The Disco, and the man whom she had always dreamed of meeting. What a way to meet him - falling into him because she was a careless and clumsy dancer.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry," she quickly apologized to him, feeling her cheeks burn. Her friends noticed that she had stopped dancing and ceased to move too. They went over to her and once they saw who she was apologizing to, a smile crept onto their faces.

"It's okay," he said, in his famous monotonous, couldn't-really-care tone.

She blushed even darker and turned away, trying to push her way through her friends, but they wouldn't let her.

"Today's her birthday!" Taylor told Ryan with much excitement, a grin gracing her face.

"Taylor, shut up," she grumbled to her friend before she was roughly spun around to face Ryan again.

"Really?" he asked, raising his eyebrows in a questioning way.

She nodded smally and chewed on her lip, something she did everytime she was nervous.

And boy, was she nervous.

His face broke into that grin she always fawned over and he greeted her 'happy birthday' before waving goodbye and walking off.

"You... just totally met Ryan fucking Ross!" Natasha exclaimed.

"Y-yeah," she said, fazed.

Had that really happened?

Natasha said it did, but she just couldn't help but doubt still.

"Oh my God, look who's talking to the DJ right now."

Andy turned around and looked over at the DJ. There she saw Ryan Ross whispering into his ear about a certain someone's birthday. The DJ nodded and paused the song that was blasting through the speakers.

Ryan patted his back and looked out to the crowd. His eyes met her and he smiled, waving. Her cheeks blushed furiously again as she waved back shyly.

"Okay, everyone, I just found out from my good friend, Ryan Ross here, that it's someone's birthday tonight. Where is the birthday celebrant?"

"HERE!" Taylor, Lizzie, and Natasha all yelled at once, pointing at Andy whose face had just turned into a tomato.

D=

His eyes are sea glass, smoothed and dulled and worn away by time. Washed up on shore like they've given up and need to rest and breathe and exhale all that saltwater and seaweed. Sand in his glass eyes and sand in his mouth and sand inside of him because he's falling asleep; the Sandman has fed him full of nothing but tiny fucking rocks. It makes him ill. And on the shore he shall sleep.

For he has the book, the book, the book that kept him going. The pages are frayed and worn and tarnished by dirt. Yellow and aged like his grandfather. Tearing at the edges and sort of falling apart at the seams. Full of sand he spit from his mouth. A bit of violence and he kills the ladybug.

:think: Maybe I'll turn it into a oneshot.

They were transient figures in my life for years. None of them stuck around past a few years, by their own making or my father's I'll never know. Three years was the longest, three years of what I, at the time, construed to be a perfect relationship, as perfect as anything between two people could be. I liked her the most. She was older than the others, but not by much, and she'd had two children of her own, older than me, so she knew how to deal with two snarky teenagers desperate for their father's attention.

I suppose I must have run most of them off, nobody wants to have to deal with daddy's little girl fighting for attention. I'm almost certain that it was me who ruined it for her as well, unintentionally, but I'll never know for sure. I used to imagine that one day I'd meet her son again, because I enjoyed his company, and we'd talk about all the things that happened in those three years and try to figure out why it failed together. I'm always the romantic, it seems.

:think: There was more of that bit I've been writing it only in my head, and my memory is pretty poor. Wasn't too brilliant anyway, so -shrug-

God, I have like 789075372653465097 of these. Rarely does anything I write go anywhere.

I have time to catch a flash of pale anemic skin, little hipbones dusted an immature pink, before I wake up screaming, soaked in sweat so thick it could be blood.

You’re my baby boy…

Oh God, oh fuck, I feel waves of peristalsis distorting the walls of my stomach and then I completely lose my shit, barely managing to stagger towards the cramped motel bathroom before I’m heaving my insides into the toilet bowl, flecks of acidic vomit spattering the chipped tiles.

-

Gerard’s kid is cute just shy of creepy, one of those pale, sad-eyed, anemic little boys with too-bright cherry lips that look like they’ve been glazed with blood. Aquamarine veins glint dully through translucent vellum skin, diffusing like watercolor paint to a blood-dampened purple as they creep onto his eyelids, deliquescing down his bare forearms in cold rivulets of blue. A faded t-shirt hides his miniature torso but can’t hide his ribcage, angular corners of bone protruding when he inhales, drawing little hoarse breaths through his mouth rather than his runny nose, raw and red with too many colds or allergies. Jeans torn at the knee hang off his hipbones and pile around his dirty socks, small hands shoved deep in the pockets. Inexplicably, the longer I look at him, the more the bloody gelatin behind my eyes begins to burn; tiredness or exhaustion, maybe.

“Say hi,” Gerard mutters belatedly, pushing him in my direction just a little too roughly, “For fuck’s sake, Parker, say hi to Frankie.”

-

The webcam is on when I wake up, a glass eye staring dully into the shadows of Gerard’s empty hotel room: ___________, curtains hanging motionless and corpselike, the bed a dark rectangle amid a sea of edgeless, indefinite shapes. There is no sound.

ummmm... yeah. :XD

Amazing Thread!

I wrote this almost a year ago, and I still can't think of anything to write, it drives me crazy:

As I sat at my desk with my head on my hands that were formed into fists, I looked straight ahead me to the elevator. I stared as if I was waiting for the doors to open to reveal somebody, but not just anybody but a person that would change my life forever.

I watched as the numbers on the top of the elevator decreased one by one. 22, 21, 20, 19, then there was a small bell, and the small light stayed on number 18. The floor building I was currently in.

I kept my eyes glued and watched as the doors opened to reveal Mel. Her eyes shined like blue moons. She looked through all the people then here eyes landed on mine and she smiled, as she slowly made her way to me.

----
And this one.

There I was sitting on my front porch watching as the sun started to set, the only thing at the moment I really wanted was to see it come up again, I hated the night, its darkness, nothing about it made it special, nothing compared to the sun in my opinion. I sighed and stood up slowly turning around into my house.

I walked in and started my daily routine of lock down. I first locked all eight latches on the door and the walked around the house bolting down all the windows. I didn’t know I was so scared, maybe it was the whole concept about being all alone in a big house, or maybe it was because I was scared of what was in the shadows of the darkness, As I thought about "them" I felt a chill go all through my body. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath then walked into my room, I took off my shoes and laid on my bed and looked up at the ceiling slowly drifting away into a sleep.

Your life is stapled together with secrets and lies, everyone feeding off your latest scandal. You walk up the drive, legs shaking like miniature earthquakes and a full pot of gel harshly shoved into your new, badly dyed short hair. It looks like your mother dressed you this morning - smart black shoes and a waistcoat that looks two sizes too small for you. You’ve got your school bag on one shoulder and your guitar - or possibly bass - bag over the other. You think you’re such a hardcore rock star, and it’s sort of pathetic.

Your friend’s beside you, earphones jammed firmly into his ears and his head turned away from you slightly. You don’t seem to notice; I can tell by the way your hands are flapping around animatedly that you’re telling a story, but he isn’t listening. He’s lost in his own little world, his hipbones protruding from underneath his insanely crisp white shirt and his jeans hanging off his skinny waist.

I'm not sure if I want to do anything with this.