Aurora Lili Routledge, or as everyone calls her; Rory, is the twin sister of John B Routledge. With the summer approaching, Rory and John B have made a perfect plan along with their friends; JJ, Pope, and Kie to have a good time, all the time.
With...
We could fight a war for peace... (Ooh woo, I'm a rebel just for kicks, now) Give in to that easy living.. Goodbye to my hopes and dreams. Stop flipping for my enemies.. We could wait until the walls come down (Ooh woo, I'm a rebel just for kicks, now) It's time to give a little to the.. Kids in the middle, but oh 'til it falls Won't bother me...
~~~~
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Third Person Perspective~
THE night hung heavy over the Cut, a brooding darkness that clung to the docks and whispered secrets across the churning waves. The silhouette of a lone figure stood on the edge of the weathered dock, an indistinct form outlined by the dim glow of neon lights and the occasional flicker of distant street lamps. Rory, her silhouette draped in shadows, clutched a beer bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other--her hands slightly trembled as she lit another, inhaling deeply and exhaling a plume of smoke that merged with the night air--the twin trails of smoke and alcohol intertwining into the darkness. Rory's once vibrant eyes now dulled by grief and rage, prowled the streets like a feral cat with a vengeful mission on her mind.
The rhythmic lapping of the waves served as a haunting backdrop to her thoughts. Her twin brother, John B, and his girlfriend, Sarah, lost at sea, falsely accused, dead in the pursuit of justice.
A month had passed since the news shattered her world, a month since she emerged from the hospital—discharged after seizures and panic attacks threatened to drown her in a sea of grief and anger. She had been allowed to leave the hospital against medical advice, the doctors warning her about the fragility of her mental and physical state--seeing as she had to undergo an emergency surgery for her broken ribs and the massive wound on her side--and to bring her heart rate under control from seismic seizures she has that haunting, storming night a month ago. But warnings meant nothing to Rory, now. The world had taken everything from her, and in return, she would take from it.
Rory wasn't one to succumb to the darkness. Instead, she embraced it, wrapped it around her like a protective shroud. The streets buzzed with a frenetic energy as Rory moved with purpose after throwing away the empty beer bottle. The taste of rebellion was intoxicating, and she craved more.
Rory's transformation was evident in her every step—a defiant march against the invisible chains of a world that had taken everything from her. The air crackled with tension as she moved through the shadows, a lone figure on a collision course with authority.
The night was her canvas, and chaos; her art. The Cut, usually a quiet haven for those seeking refuge from the constraints of society, was now a battleground of graffiti, shattered glass, and stolen moments of rebellion. Liquor stores stood as silent witnesses to Rory's rampage, their broken windows a testament to her anger.
