Status: Believe me, my tiny little group of readers, I'm not giving this one up. Updates are going to start surfacing on a regular basis, just lemme get college application stuff out the way first. Kinda important. ::tehe:
The Technicolor Daydreamer; Folie A Deux.
Trois.
Ha.
Double-helixed joker card, dipped in acid and rolled in sugar.
Then a coat of black gloss. And a safety pin through the middle.
That's me.
Tubes, IVs, creepy-looking doctors.
And a near-permanent case of Epstein-Barr's.
As a result, i'm short for my age.Hence the nickname "Frankie Baggins".
I also have "energy level" issues.
Translation: I'm hyper on a regular basis, but my body won't let me burn off the energy.
Poor ickle Fwankie can't go outside.
Can't go play. Run. Skip. jump.
Afford Medicare.
"I'm sorry Frankie, we just don't have the money right now."
"I'm sorry Frankie, you can't do what the other kids are doing."
"I'm sorry Frankie, I don't know where daddy went."
A pub, probably. He came back so drunk he could barely stand--and climbed into my bed instead of mom's. He'd thought I was mom, and just as he'd crawled over to me--gritty, clammy, quaking hands about to paw at my tattered, outgrown pajamas--my mom walked in.
Dear old dad. Frank Anthony Thomas Iero. Senior.
"Frank, don't! He's just a boy!" Slap. Punch. Kick.
Mom's curled on the floor, in a fetal position.
Bang. Crash. Screams. Thuds. Shrieks.
My little sister Lilly, who'd shuffled out of her room to see what the commotion was, took a bullet to the heart. She was four.
Mom had managed to pull herself to her feet, and jumped in front of me when dad pulled the trigger. She's paralyzed now.
As for me, a bullet through the hand. Healed with ease.
Daddy dearest: rest in pieces. Lots of pieces.
The police found me, white as a sheet, in the corner.
Still holding the knife.
Covered in his blood and mine. Crimson stickiness everywhere.
The neighbor broke down the door.
Apparently, she'd called 911 because we were quiet for one.
Well--loud as usual, then quiet.
I like quiet.
So, anyway, now i'm here.And miraculously not in a mental ward.
First day of junior year. And forced to wait outside with the rest of the student body.
Tired, as always. So, so tired. Pale. Sickly.
Clenching my fists, regulating each breath, and concentrating on something. Anything. I need to get out of this crowd.
Converses. Don't know whose feet they're on. Don't care.
Well-worn black and scuffed-up white. Bits of dead, summery grass and hints of mud. Nice, plain, and simple.
Easy to focus on.
Focus, focus, focus. Don't scream, don't twitch, don't shake.
(Panic attack, anyone?)
I can feel every cell in my body ache, yearning for the quiet, uncrowded comfort of home.
Finally, the crackly bell rings.
I rush inside, and take my first gulp of pungent, artificial air.
B.O., strong cologne, and probably asbestos.
Somehow, I manage to drag myself through the mass of students (bumping into torsos and backpacks, at my eye level).
First period.
Second period.
Th--ah, third. Third period. Lunch. A break.
Of course, I sit by myself--sort of. I'm across from some other girl who's sitting alone, as well.
A girl hiding behind her own hair, and reading something in between large bites of whatever's being served today.
She seems almost lost in the novel. It's fairly sized; my mom would joke that I weigh about the same as it.
Smiling at mom's imaginary comment, like a nutcase, Igiggle chuckle out loud.
The girl looks up, one eyebrow raised at the laughing freak in front of her, and we lock eyes for a second.
Hers are...brown, I think? They look...different. Silver-blue-grayish for a fraction of a second when she blinks the first time, then silver-green-gray for a millionth of a second when she blinks a second time, then brown again. Light brown. And ringed with black eyeliner like mine.Oh...she's quite pretty, actually.
All of a sudden, her eyes widened--just barely, I wouldn't have noticed it if I'd blinked--and they darted back to the book.
I scared her. Figures.I'm sorry.
Just then, lunch is dismissed. I'm out and in the hall.
"Hey, freshmeat!"
I roll my eyes at the assumption i'm a novice, and keep walking. It's not worth my time. Junior, idiots. Junior.
Next thing I know, there's two pairs of grubby hands on the back of my neck.
"Look at us when we're talking to you, freshman..."
Wham.
Tiny, shimmering stars cloud my vision in an array of colors.
Oh, that'll leave a mark.
Now, i'm mad.
Bob and weave, right hook.
Both guys manage to get a punch in before I take them on, quickly leaving the pair on the floor and surrounded by a ring of shockedspectators bystanders as I leave.
The slightly pudgy campus officer is en route to the aformentioned scene, jogging by me a few feet further down the hall while wielding a canister of mace.
I feel my cheek swell and sting, the muscles in my hand achingly twitching in shock as I charge all the way to my class unnoticed. There's no cause for alarm; all the teachers and principals are either in their offices, room, or the lounge, smoking and gossiping about the staff and students...or possibly sleeping on the job.
I glance down at my schedule, making sure i've found my class, and walk into the room; my eye catches a dark form sitting alone in the back.
It's the weird-eyed girl, of course. Still reading.
As if she's read my thoughts as well, she peered upwards at me with a brief lip-twitch of recognition.
Well, it beats a frown...
"Sir, take your seat, please..." the nervous-looking teacher's voice wavered.
I slid over to my desk, the one the teacher's pointed to, and plopped down in front of my computer. attempting to catch my breath (winded easily), I sat and watched everyone in silence. Fingers drumming. Chipped black nail polish I couldn't be bothered to remove.
Weird-eyed girl, with permission, excused herself quietly from the room.
I noticed she was about my height when she murmured a brief, unsteady "excuse me" passing by another kid.
Her voice sounded odd...like a person whose voice was used to being louder. It was the outward shell of a voice, as if the ghost of it had been stolen by some strange means. It sounded....not freshmanly. Like a junior. She didn't look like a junior.
i must be too observant for my own good. Or bored. Or both.
Chin resting in the palm of my hand, I was in the middle of counting the ugly gray ceiling tiles across the room when I noticed one of my fingers felt...squishy, for lack of a better description.
Sure enough, there was a reasonable amount of ruby red blood on my hand when I pulled it away.
I didn't think those jocks had broken the skin; apparently they had, and they'd done it pretty well, too. Probably with an overpriced, cheaply made, gaudy class ring.
I sighed, asked to go to the nurse, and was in the hallway in no time, flicking the flimsy pink hall pass inbetween my fingers.
I think i'd scared my teacher, too.
Double-helixed joker card, dipped in acid and rolled in sugar.
Then a coat of black gloss. And a safety pin through the middle.
That's me.
Tubes, IVs, creepy-looking doctors.
And a near-permanent case of Epstein-Barr's.
As a result, i'm short for my age.Hence the nickname "Frankie Baggins".
I also have "energy level" issues.
Translation: I'm hyper on a regular basis, but my body won't let me burn off the energy.
Poor ickle Fwankie can't go outside.
Can't go play. Run. Skip. jump.
Afford Medicare.
"I'm sorry Frankie, we just don't have the money right now."
"I'm sorry Frankie, you can't do what the other kids are doing."
"I'm sorry Frankie, I don't know where daddy went."
A pub, probably. He came back so drunk he could barely stand--and climbed into my bed instead of mom's. He'd thought I was mom, and just as he'd crawled over to me--gritty, clammy, quaking hands about to paw at my tattered, outgrown pajamas--my mom walked in.
Dear old dad. Frank Anthony Thomas Iero. Senior.
"Frank, don't! He's just a boy!" Slap. Punch. Kick.
Mom's curled on the floor, in a fetal position.
Bang. Crash. Screams. Thuds. Shrieks.
My little sister Lilly, who'd shuffled out of her room to see what the commotion was, took a bullet to the heart. She was four.
Mom had managed to pull herself to her feet, and jumped in front of me when dad pulled the trigger. She's paralyzed now.
As for me, a bullet through the hand. Healed with ease.
Daddy dearest: rest in pieces. Lots of pieces.
The police found me, white as a sheet, in the corner.
Still holding the knife.
Covered in his blood and mine. Crimson stickiness everywhere.
The neighbor broke down the door.
Apparently, she'd called 911 because we were quiet for one.
Well--loud as usual, then quiet.
I like quiet.
So, anyway, now i'm here.And miraculously not in a mental ward.
First day of junior year. And forced to wait outside with the rest of the student body.
Tired, as always. So, so tired. Pale. Sickly.
Clenching my fists, regulating each breath, and concentrating on something. Anything. I need to get out of this crowd.
Converses. Don't know whose feet they're on. Don't care.
Well-worn black and scuffed-up white. Bits of dead, summery grass and hints of mud. Nice, plain, and simple.
Easy to focus on.
Focus, focus, focus. Don't scream, don't twitch, don't shake.
(Panic attack, anyone?)
I can feel every cell in my body ache, yearning for the quiet, uncrowded comfort of home.
Finally, the crackly bell rings.
I rush inside, and take my first gulp of pungent, artificial air.
B.O., strong cologne, and probably asbestos.
Somehow, I manage to drag myself through the mass of students (bumping into torsos and backpacks, at my eye level).
First period.
Second period.
Th--ah, third. Third period. Lunch. A break.
Of course, I sit by myself--sort of. I'm across from some other girl who's sitting alone, as well.
A girl hiding behind her own hair, and reading something in between large bites of whatever's being served today.
She seems almost lost in the novel. It's fairly sized; my mom would joke that I weigh about the same as it.
Smiling at mom's imaginary comment, like a nutcase, Igiggle chuckle out loud.
The girl looks up, one eyebrow raised at the laughing freak in front of her, and we lock eyes for a second.
Hers are...brown, I think? They look...different. Silver-blue-grayish for a fraction of a second when she blinks the first time, then silver-green-gray for a millionth of a second when she blinks a second time, then brown again. Light brown. And ringed with black eyeliner like mine.Oh...she's quite pretty, actually.
All of a sudden, her eyes widened--just barely, I wouldn't have noticed it if I'd blinked--and they darted back to the book.
I scared her. Figures.I'm sorry.
Just then, lunch is dismissed. I'm out and in the hall.
"Hey, freshmeat!"
I roll my eyes at the assumption i'm a novice, and keep walking. It's not worth my time. Junior, idiots. Junior.
Next thing I know, there's two pairs of grubby hands on the back of my neck.
"Look at us when we're talking to you, freshman..."
Wham.
Tiny, shimmering stars cloud my vision in an array of colors.
Oh, that'll leave a mark.
Now, i'm mad.
Bob and weave, right hook.
Both guys manage to get a punch in before I take them on, quickly leaving the pair on the floor and surrounded by a ring of shockedspectators bystanders as I leave.
The slightly pudgy campus officer is en route to the aformentioned scene, jogging by me a few feet further down the hall while wielding a canister of mace.
I feel my cheek swell and sting, the muscles in my hand achingly twitching in shock as I charge all the way to my class unnoticed. There's no cause for alarm; all the teachers and principals are either in their offices, room, or the lounge, smoking and gossiping about the staff and students...or possibly sleeping on the job.
I glance down at my schedule, making sure i've found my class, and walk into the room; my eye catches a dark form sitting alone in the back.
It's the weird-eyed girl, of course. Still reading.
As if she's read my thoughts as well, she peered upwards at me with a brief lip-twitch of recognition.
Well, it beats a frown...
"Sir, take your seat, please..." the nervous-looking teacher's voice wavered.
I slid over to my desk, the one the teacher's pointed to, and plopped down in front of my computer. attempting to catch my breath (winded easily), I sat and watched everyone in silence. Fingers drumming. Chipped black nail polish I couldn't be bothered to remove.
Weird-eyed girl, with permission, excused herself quietly from the room.
I noticed she was about my height when she murmured a brief, unsteady "excuse me" passing by another kid.
Her voice sounded odd...like a person whose voice was used to being louder. It was the outward shell of a voice, as if the ghost of it had been stolen by some strange means. It sounded....not freshmanly. Like a junior. She didn't look like a junior.
i must be too observant for my own good. Or bored. Or both.
Chin resting in the palm of my hand, I was in the middle of counting the ugly gray ceiling tiles across the room when I noticed one of my fingers felt...squishy, for lack of a better description.
Sure enough, there was a reasonable amount of ruby red blood on my hand when I pulled it away.
I didn't think those jocks had broken the skin; apparently they had, and they'd done it pretty well, too. Probably with an overpriced, cheaply made, gaudy class ring.
I sighed, asked to go to the nurse, and was in the hallway in no time, flicking the flimsy pink hall pass inbetween my fingers.
I think i'd scared my teacher, too.
♠ ♠ ♠
Terribly sorry for such a long delay.Dedicated to a best friend who's going through a very rough time right now. And her boyfriend.
...Thoughts? <3