almost famousSee fresh paint up dripping down the baseboard of a wall. It's blue. Teal. Red. Whatever. Whatever color you see, you live in. It's just paint. It's just the way you view everything else. What does the baseboard look like? Flat on the wall. Ridged. Ornate. Nobody knows but you. You with your sea foam green paint and designer baseboard on a wall nobody can give two shits about. But you. It's your wall. Your vision. How you see all those people that don't care what pigment your eyes are in.almost famous in Short Stories More Like This
See that paint smeared. Stained. All over your hand. Up your arm is this paint, whatever color. Maybe a different color. Mixed emotions of rainbows is all you see. It's always the darker color on your skin. Your hands. Up your arm. Purple. Black. Gray. Whatever. Whatever color you sense on your hand, on your skin is the color you see yourself as. Angry. Alive. Breathing. Standing still in the middle of a room. Staring at a blank wall and colored baseboard that nobody can see. Nobody but you.
See the p
This Years ApologiesThe basement is silent. Brendon stands in the center of the room, one hand wrapped around the microphone stand, wrist sore. The other digs into his back pocket, and his head is hung. He can't look at any of them. He might cry if he does. And that hurts. His heart drums hard against his chest, like it's angry at him because he told them. He sighs at the rug. Can somebody please say something? He looks up, pushes the rim of his glasses up his nose. Please? He begs, doesn't want to. Has to.This Years Apologies in General Fiction More Like This
Ryan says When. He's not looking at anything in particular. When are you leaving?
Brendon cringes. He doesn't want to say. It only cements the idea. It feels weird, and it's weird to think, but he likes the idea sloppy and wet. It makes it not so real. Like he can clean it up and everything will be totally fine. Tomorrow Brendon says. I'm leaving tomorrow. I have to go. I need - I need to pack. Just. He pushes his glasses up. Needs contacts so bad.
He pulls Ryan aside. To the wall. It's warm and Ryan i
in glassHe wears eyeglasses. The lenses, they're so thick he might as well bee looking through the bottoms of a couple Mason jars. These huge Mason jar glasses pushed up his nose, tied in thick, black plastic. The frames. They sit heavy on his nose, weighing down, leaving purple indents on either side. A constant broken nose look. He'd push that heavy plastic up until the Mason jar lenses crinkled up his eyelashes. Cut into his cheeks. The pupil of his eye blown up and magnified. Bug-like.in glass in Academic Essays More Like This
The enormous jar-like glasses, he'd even wear to sleep. Sometimes, he would wake up, the eyeglasses half on and half off his face. Crippled against one ear.
Eyeglasses so thick, heavy, so looking-through-the-bottom-of-a-jam-jar, it was the first and the last things people noticed about him. With a defect characteristic, you get little nicknames dubbed on your shoulders. Nicknames you don't know about. He doesn't know about.
Names like The Brain. Einstein. Mad Scientist. Names like Dork. Or Geek. The ever so
. . .call it home. . .she lived at the corner of my brain. . .call it home. . . in Free Verse More Like This
and wore a crow's mask on her face.
when i got all distracted she would say
"i'm bitter and willing my darling, come play."
she perched herself on my eyelids
and delayed my reaction to missing kids.
when i got all miserable she would say
"i can sing, my darling; i can do it all day."
she walked across my veins
and spread her wings in the rain.
when i got all bothered she would say
"i'm willing to follow, and willing to stay."
Actor: treckettand you caught me off guard;Actor: treckett in Fan Fiction More Like This
Will bites the head of his toothbrush, bristles making an odd crushing sound between his molars as his phone buzzes from his nightstand. He sees the little device pitching a fit from his spot in the bathroom, in front of the mirror. He takes the toothbrush back in his hand, and brushes vigorously, trying to ignore the buzzing. He glances back out of the open bathroom door. The phone vibrates again.
Most people tell Will that he doesn't get out enough - especially for an aspiring actor - they tell him he hides out too much. They say he's so pretty and should show his face more often. He could get discovered that way. They all tell him that he's tall and holds it well. They tell him his voice is soothing, and does he sing. Will finds these people to be some of the most annoying he's ever met. He tells them that no, he doesn't sing, hates his voice actually and just really wants to act - he can be a different person that way. It's better that
I Was Just AsleepThe inside of his head, it's what you imagine a working crashed van would be like. Forever on the verge of meeting the end. The scrape of rusting metal, something ugly copper toned and undesriably loud and unsafe. They ask him what he means when he says, "They call me Mr. Goodbye."I Was Just Asleep in General Fiction More Like This
He doesn't know; that tragic something in his head told him to say it. It told him to put a hook in his mouth and be stubborn about being reeled in. Bleed if he has to. The flash of lights and the cash in hand would be the reward enough. That, and the twenty thousand dollar guitar he can break on stage and not think twice about. He's not nearly as messed up as his head makes him out to be.
But there are things he needs to sleep. The voice, the crashed but working vehicle getting him from Point A to Point B needs to shut down for a few hours before he can interpret what it's feeding his ears. A strong melody full of powdered Ambien and headache medicine.
He likes to call that thing Pete. Nobody knows Pete exi
LollipopDreamsTo observe attentively is to remember distinctly. -- Edgar Allan PoeLollipopDreams in General Fiction More Like This
She puts a dent into Travis, is what she does. It doesn't hurt and he doesn't really think too much about it as it happens. It happens too fast. Like lightning. Like a really good tour. So that when the night is over, he's nervous about going back. Real life. Shaken and struck, nerves shot.
Greta almost looks lost. Much smaller without her band, Travis thinks. She always looks like she'll destroy one of them in pictures. Without them, she almost looks bored. Or out of touch. Like her band, her piano is the realm of reality she lives in and this one is something so new to her.
She sits down, her body warm from the heavy Army style jacket she's got thrown over her dress. The colors clash and act out against each other. And it makes Travis scan her entire frame before he looks up at her face. All bright red lips from lipstick and not sticky from gloss. She smiles. And he returns it.
"What's up, Greta?"
Another Word For Wishing//it comes back to me like pieces in a dream i can't remember,Another Word For Wishing in General Fiction More Like This
and i don't think you took a breath from march until september//
To have him alone for once is kind of like living a few years ago all over again. It almost hurts to look him in the eye and not be reminded of Spencer's basement, Ryan's one wrong note that could have cost them everything, and his own more than nervous voice. Being around Pete when it's quiet, when he's staring off somewhere is kind of like living in a dream that makes reality feel unstoppable.
Brendon squints his eyes over the dimming stage lights, and Pete is alone in the front row.
"You know how when you look at stars, and they blink?" Pete crosses his feet under himself, getting more comfortable. His voice echoes slightly. Brendon nods. "They kind of flirt with you until you look at another one? Do you know what I mean?"
"Yeah," Brendon says. "Kind of."
Brendon wants to know the point to all of this, why Pete wanted to meet here. It's too la
all you need is a hareThere were tea blistered fingers surrounding the finished tables, covered in out of season festive napkins and dessert crumbs. The smell of a slipping catheter danced around the chair legs, causing the small dog to whine for its mother. Split open, half empty sugar packets, devoured by the diabetic. The soft fuzzy static of Judy Garland's voice reached into the lobby, where the littlest woman sat hunch backed in her wheelchair, humming along, out of tune, pausing only to whisper rant about her trip to the Kohl's just in the city. The once shining silver handlebars and wheel guards of wheelchairs all look dim with age. some groaning as they haul their occupant from the dining room to the lobby to down one of two halls where their beds and oxygen masks are.all you need is a hare in Academic Essays More Like This
Where they dream.
"They're trying to send me away... They don't want me here."
Where they nightmare.
touch me, babyOh my blueberry dreamtouch me, baby in Free Verse More Like This
Come back to me
I promise not a beg to come
Sky and moon and sun
It's a practiced thing
Circles and a sting
Covered in chocolate
Doused in my affection
My blueberry dream
Don't you see. . .
Come back to me
I'll cut all wires
Stay up at all hours
Just step my way
Just stay, just stay
Push through a crowd
I'll stand or kneel down
Sing out my throat
Behind painted veils
Oh my blueberry dream
Come back to me