Status: On hiatus, slowly building next chapter. I'm sorry for the amount of empty promises, but I really did try to write. This will be back soon, guys =/
Obsessions Of The Teenage Mind (The Media Is At Fault)
Just you and I, your starless eyes remain...
She awakes to the sound of his morning song. The humming calls to her, like an enchanted melody sung graciously by a sea witch enticing sailors into her trap. Another day of celebrity gossip and talking to next door neighbors online. Harleen once again falls into her cruel wonderland of ill fate and distorted popularity, this time taking an accomplice to her electronic little wonderland.
My screen flickers at the sight of her iTunes, what new band does her poor little pet bear now? What teen fetish is she obsessing over now?
My chemical Romance
Well, that’s a new one. Alice just took the pill - the chemical pill. As I explore the walls of her room, I find new features: posters, shirts, albums - all My Chemical Romance. Does she know what this poison does to her mind? Individuality facing extinction. How can one find one’s self when they are trapped in a hopeless bubble of common interest?
I listen closely as she picks up her technological lap dog and dials the eleven digit number which leads her to her friend.
“Hello, Trisha!” Harleen exclaims, her crimped hazel hair sweeping the black shirt stretched over her chest.
“I agree, Frerard is so cute! It’s totally like that song from Parade, erm... This Is How I Disappear!”
What is this ‘Frerard’ business? Frer- ard? Fre- rard? What is the meaning of this!?
The conversation continues, mindless droning about male stars in skinny jeans and a concert in December. They exchange simple goodbyes and chant a small line of two from what appears to be a list of commandments.
Harleen returns to her computerized devil, embracing her talented side, signing onto an art website to upload pictures of splashes and splodges.
Hours pass like years, a giant hourglass is tipped to and fro in front on my very face. It tortures me so, the anticipation of waiting for entertainment. That may seem harsh of me, but I am, after all, a simple clock. I have tired of counting minutes, hours, days… I grow lonely without a protégé. She may not understand the message each of these numbers represent, but I watch over her like a guardian.
Her head falls upon the satin pillow, entering the portal into dream world.
Eyes open, she wakes up to the sound of his morning song, this time simple jazz.
Saxophones beaming through the speakers at her side, creating a hypnotic rhythm irresistible to the human mind. Taking the paintbrush to her eyes, black is smeared across her face, eyes dark and camouflaged in her pupils. Her tones hushed as she jumps between creaking floorboards, dodging them as if they contained quicksand.
This is not usual behavior from such a reserved being. The time is 11 o’clock, 11:34 pm to be specific. By now the Green family is usually fast asleep, locked inside their dream world, not to be let out until 8 o’ clock the following day. I should know, I wake their precious sloth.
The electric dog is parched, it needs fluid. Crying, it reaches for Harleen’s soul. Upon hearing this siren of distress, she drops her eyeliner as if it scolded her, extending the burning hand towards the location of her pained hound. A line now hangs loosely like a thread from her tear ducts, upon discovering this she tickles the stomach of her blackberry, answering its plea for help.
“Hey, yeah, Trish, I’ll be at the concert soon. I just gotta fix up this big smudge down the side of my face, I don’t want the band to see me looking like an idiot!” She lets out a distorted snort at the very thought.
“Yeah, through the window. This is going to be, like, so good! I mean… like, the best!” Once more letting out a disturbing sound, in this case a high pitched giggle. I fear for the future of humanity.
“They don’t know, so yah. See ya, babes, Frerard forever!” There, once again, that word! What could it possibly be?
“Oh, remember, bitch, meet them and I’ll kill you! Loves you!”
I sincerely hope that was a joke.
My screen flickers at the sight of her iTunes, what new band does her poor little pet bear now? What teen fetish is she obsessing over now?
My chemical Romance
Well, that’s a new one. Alice just took the pill - the chemical pill. As I explore the walls of her room, I find new features: posters, shirts, albums - all My Chemical Romance. Does she know what this poison does to her mind? Individuality facing extinction. How can one find one’s self when they are trapped in a hopeless bubble of common interest?
I listen closely as she picks up her technological lap dog and dials the eleven digit number which leads her to her friend.
“Hello, Trisha!” Harleen exclaims, her crimped hazel hair sweeping the black shirt stretched over her chest.
“I agree, Frerard is so cute! It’s totally like that song from Parade, erm... This Is How I Disappear!”
What is this ‘Frerard’ business? Frer- ard? Fre- rard? What is the meaning of this!?
The conversation continues, mindless droning about male stars in skinny jeans and a concert in December. They exchange simple goodbyes and chant a small line of two from what appears to be a list of commandments.
Harleen returns to her computerized devil, embracing her talented side, signing onto an art website to upload pictures of splashes and splodges.
Hours pass like years, a giant hourglass is tipped to and fro in front on my very face. It tortures me so, the anticipation of waiting for entertainment. That may seem harsh of me, but I am, after all, a simple clock. I have tired of counting minutes, hours, days… I grow lonely without a protégé. She may not understand the message each of these numbers represent, but I watch over her like a guardian.
Her head falls upon the satin pillow, entering the portal into dream world.
Eyes open, she wakes up to the sound of his morning song, this time simple jazz.
Saxophones beaming through the speakers at her side, creating a hypnotic rhythm irresistible to the human mind. Taking the paintbrush to her eyes, black is smeared across her face, eyes dark and camouflaged in her pupils. Her tones hushed as she jumps between creaking floorboards, dodging them as if they contained quicksand.
This is not usual behavior from such a reserved being. The time is 11 o’clock, 11:34 pm to be specific. By now the Green family is usually fast asleep, locked inside their dream world, not to be let out until 8 o’ clock the following day. I should know, I wake their precious sloth.
The electric dog is parched, it needs fluid. Crying, it reaches for Harleen’s soul. Upon hearing this siren of distress, she drops her eyeliner as if it scolded her, extending the burning hand towards the location of her pained hound. A line now hangs loosely like a thread from her tear ducts, upon discovering this she tickles the stomach of her blackberry, answering its plea for help.
“Hey, yeah, Trish, I’ll be at the concert soon. I just gotta fix up this big smudge down the side of my face, I don’t want the band to see me looking like an idiot!” She lets out a distorted snort at the very thought.
“Yeah, through the window. This is going to be, like, so good! I mean… like, the best!” Once more letting out a disturbing sound, in this case a high pitched giggle. I fear for the future of humanity.
“They don’t know, so yah. See ya, babes, Frerard forever!” There, once again, that word! What could it possibly be?
“Oh, remember, bitch, meet them and I’ll kill you! Loves you!”
I sincerely hope that was a joke.
♠ ♠ ♠
If there are any grammatical errors, please let me know! =DAlso, I do not mean to offend, but this is solely based on stereotypes and difficulties with the media. Please do not take this too seriously, but you may take messages from it.