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Post by timothy shane brooks on Nov 19, 2010 5:11:53 GMT
is it just enough for you to be, i'm trying
and where i go you will follow - - -
The tattered, worn-out book bag kept hitting my leg as I walked. It's contents were the usual - some textbooks, a couple binders bursting with papers (some dating back to the beginning of the year), a pack or two of cigarettes hidden in a hard-to-find pocket on the inside, and some wrappers littering the bottom of the bag and taking up the rest of the scarce space. Yeah, not interesting. Not interesting at all. But the outside, the sides of the book bag and the flap that folded over the front of it, I had decorated with markers. Peace signs, random words and lyrics. And a bunch of mismatched things hanging off the zippers.
The front door of the library creaked open, triggering some heads to look up from books, homework, or computers. I let the heavy wooden door shut behind me, walking between tall rows of shelves to one of the farthest tables from the door, and also one of the emptiest. The shoulder strap of the book bag was lifted over my head, and I dropped it onto the ground, along with my sweater that I unzipped and pulled off. Time to start my math homework. I sat down in the thick wooden chair, pulled out a binder with "MATH" scribbled across the front in a bright shade of blue. I opened the purple book, flipping to the assigned page. To me, math was fun - it was something that needed all my attention, so it took my mind off of everything else that was bothering me. It soothed me, as weird as that may sound.
My handwriting was a complete mess, scribbly and never staying on the lines. As were my numbers. Carefully, so I could erase it afterward, I wrote his initials in the corner: J.C.L. Those were my favorite initials, the initials of my favorite person. I drew a little heart around them, too. And under that, I wrote a short poem, from an author who I can't remember that name of.
hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all...
A sigh escaped my chest, just staring at the writing, my pencil held between my index and middle finger, tapping the surface of the table rapidly. We had been so close, so fucking close to perfection. Then he had to go and ruin that. Stupid England. Stupid James.
[tags] open!
[words] 410
[lyrics] 'mother may i' - eatmewhilei'mhot!
[notes] the poet who wrote that is emily dickinson. :]
[outfit] this.
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Post by kiara louise foxglove on Nov 21, 2010 16:09:49 GMT
Kiara didn't know why she was heading up to the library, but she was. Taking the stairs slowly, one by one, she almost found the time to take in every last detail of her surroundings. The paintings hung up on the pale walls, created by older, talented students at Bluewater High School, the little status presented behind the glass, the sunlight breaking in through the newly cleaned windows... All these little things, something Kiara liked to call furniture in her home. Yes, Kiara did live in the school, in the dorms. Some students did, some didn't. Kiara had no room mate, and she was a little glad for that reason. No one to wake you up in the middle of the night, no one to interrupt you, or feel the need to constantly fill the silence... Kiara preferred the peace, the quiet. Plus, there was no one to ask her what was wrong when she felt the need to cry.
Kiara wasn't an emo, or a goth, though she did tend to act or appear it sometimes. She'd had a very dark past, and it liked to haunt her in different ways. She hated it when people went moping around because their parents had yelled at them, or they'd just broken up with their idiot boyfriend, or bitch of a girlfriend, because that was nothing at all. Nothing compared to what she had to live with every single day of her miserable life. She hated thinking like that, but she couldn't help it. It was always there. As she reached the top of the stairs, a large, dark wooden door came into view, with the word 'LIBRARY' printed onto a dull golden plate. She blinked at it for a second, at the sudden realisation that some parts of the school were a lot older then the rest. It seemed like the library had been here for centuries and had never been through any major changes. Maybe a few shifts here and there, a few computers and other technology added, but.. Yeah. That was it, really.
The sophomore pushed the door open, and cringed as it creaked so loud, most people felt the need to look over in her direction. She let herself pass through, and walked in any random direction to find something to do. As she did, she spotted a solitary boy who looked really familiar. He was in her year, she knew that, but what was his name again...? She knew she had a few classes with him, but she couldn't remember any of those either. She considered approaching him and striking up a conversation, but then backed out of it as her shyness sunk in right away. Instead, she made her way over to a computer that looked extremely old. She remembered that she had to print an essay off for her history teacher, and got right to it.
As expected, the computer took forever to perform each task. Logging in, opening her documents, finding the essay, printing it out, logging off. It took about ten minutes, when really, it should've taken only one or two. She grabbed the couple sheets of paper, and put them into her blue, patterned folder. When she looked around again, the guy she saw before was still there. She let her gaze linger on him for a few seconds, going through different names in her head. She was sure it was a T... Toby, Thomas, Tom... Tim.. Timmy... TIMOTHY! That was it! Finally, she forced herself to walk over to him, and stand next to the table he was at. "Hey, you're... Timothy, right?" She asked in the lightest, most carefree voice she could manage, "I'm Kiara, I think we have a few classes together.. Is something wrong? You seem kinda upset right there.." God, she felt really idiotic. Why hadn't she walked away when she had the chance?
Naturally, as she became more and more uncomfortable, she dropped her gaze, and suddenly realised she was dressed in all black. Even worse, now she was going to look like an emo freaky person that no one ever seemed to like. She wasn't like that, she always told people that, but still, they judged, without even getting to know her properly. That was mostly the popular people who judged her though, the ones who had nothing better to do than obsess over themselves and judge other people with less friends, or less fame. Stupid popular kids...
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Words: 744
Tags: Timothy Brooks
Lyrics: Dry -- Emilie Autumn
Listening To: Past Praying For -- VersaEmerge
Outfit: Click
Notes: I HOPE THIS POST IS GOOD 4 U. xD
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