Status: I wrote this when I was in seventh grade. Look away.
Far From Home
It's So Fluffy, I might just die.
I woke up feeling like a goddess, my sore’s having died down to a dull throb. Of course, right when I went to sit up, I slammed my head on something above me. “OWW,” I hissed, rubbing my temple. “What the…,” feeling around, I realized I was in some sort of box.
To my right, light leaked in from the edges of a curtain covering the exit. I tapped at it, afraid of what was behind it if I opened it. Finally, I pushed it open, but leaned out too far and took a face plant about 3 feet down onto the floor.
“So much for a perfect landing,” I muttered to myself. I looked up to see that I was sitting in a narrow hallway with 8 square holes on the walls that were used for bunks, and I had fallen from a top bunk.
A raspy laugh came from behind me. I quickly pounced to my feet and turned around, staring face to face with a rather strange looking man. He was somewhat tall, wearing a solid black T-Shirt and tight knee length black pants, with his left arm and leg covered completely in tattoos, but his right side had only a few.
His tattoos weren’t what caught my eye though, it was his hair, black and bushy on top of his head, like an afro. Well, his hair, and his striking grey eyes. “I have to admit, that was a nice landing, right on the face, best way to go,” He chuckled, his voice sounding strained.
“Who are you? And where am I?” I asked, looking around. I seemed to be on a tour bus, judging from the bunks and the small living room area the tattooed man was standing in. “You don’t know who I am? So I guess that means you don’t listen to Hollywood Undead?” The man said, crossing his arms.
My mind went in reverse a few days and remembered reading a text about them. The band Bailey had shown me! Well, the band she had tried to show me. “No, I’m afraid not. My friend told me about them, but I never really got the chance to look them up. Why?” I decided to leave the part about assuming they were devil music out of my story.
“Well, I’m the percussionist. My stage name is Da Kurlzz, but you can call me Matt.” I nodded, my attention focused mainly on his hair. It looked so soft… I almost wanted to ask- “Can I touch it?” He looked taken aback. Did I just say that out loud? “Y-your hair. I-it looks really soft,” I stuttered, my cheeks turning bright red.
He let out a loud laugh. “You don’t know how many fan girls ask me that. You’re lucky I like you, normally I would refuse.” He bent down a little and I moved forward, entangling my fingers in his mane-like hair. “I feel like I’m petting a cloud,” I giggled. “It’s so soft, I might just DIE.” I joked.
The door to the bus swung open and a higher pitched voice boomed, “I’M GONNA CHASE THIS WHISKEY WITH PATRON, I WANNA GIRL IN MY….lap with a Jaeger…bomb.” A brown eyed man in a flat billed hat with a grey hoodie pulled over his head and black skinny jeans stepped onto the bus, staring at Matt and I, Matt being bent over with my hand entwined in his hair.
“Um, we’re back from the store… am I interrupting something?” the man asked. Matt pulled my hand out his hair and stood up straight. “You should meet the rest of the guys, they’re great," He said to me with a smile.
To my right, light leaked in from the edges of a curtain covering the exit. I tapped at it, afraid of what was behind it if I opened it. Finally, I pushed it open, but leaned out too far and took a face plant about 3 feet down onto the floor.
“So much for a perfect landing,” I muttered to myself. I looked up to see that I was sitting in a narrow hallway with 8 square holes on the walls that were used for bunks, and I had fallen from a top bunk.
A raspy laugh came from behind me. I quickly pounced to my feet and turned around, staring face to face with a rather strange looking man. He was somewhat tall, wearing a solid black T-Shirt and tight knee length black pants, with his left arm and leg covered completely in tattoos, but his right side had only a few.
His tattoos weren’t what caught my eye though, it was his hair, black and bushy on top of his head, like an afro. Well, his hair, and his striking grey eyes. “I have to admit, that was a nice landing, right on the face, best way to go,” He chuckled, his voice sounding strained.
“Who are you? And where am I?” I asked, looking around. I seemed to be on a tour bus, judging from the bunks and the small living room area the tattooed man was standing in. “You don’t know who I am? So I guess that means you don’t listen to Hollywood Undead?” The man said, crossing his arms.
My mind went in reverse a few days and remembered reading a text about them. The band Bailey had shown me! Well, the band she had tried to show me. “No, I’m afraid not. My friend told me about them, but I never really got the chance to look them up. Why?” I decided to leave the part about assuming they were devil music out of my story.
“Well, I’m the percussionist. My stage name is Da Kurlzz, but you can call me Matt.” I nodded, my attention focused mainly on his hair. It looked so soft… I almost wanted to ask- “Can I touch it?” He looked taken aback. Did I just say that out loud? “Y-your hair. I-it looks really soft,” I stuttered, my cheeks turning bright red.
He let out a loud laugh. “You don’t know how many fan girls ask me that. You’re lucky I like you, normally I would refuse.” He bent down a little and I moved forward, entangling my fingers in his mane-like hair. “I feel like I’m petting a cloud,” I giggled. “It’s so soft, I might just DIE.” I joked.
The door to the bus swung open and a higher pitched voice boomed, “I’M GONNA CHASE THIS WHISKEY WITH PATRON, I WANNA GIRL IN MY….lap with a Jaeger…bomb.” A brown eyed man in a flat billed hat with a grey hoodie pulled over his head and black skinny jeans stepped onto the bus, staring at Matt and I, Matt being bent over with my hand entwined in his hair.
“Um, we’re back from the store… am I interrupting something?” the man asked. Matt pulled my hand out his hair and stood up straight. “You should meet the rest of the guys, they’re great," He said to me with a smile.