Sad stories

eight

She
She's lying on her bed with her Ipod on full blast.
The door is locked, and curtains are drawn.
On TV is The Notebook
An empty tub of her favourite ice cream lies on the floor.
Smudged with makeup, her fingertips are stained from wiping away her mascara and eyeliner stained tears.
Their last conversation plays in her head.
She thinks to herself, that she'll never get him back.

He
He' s on the edge of  his head, doors locked.
His room is pitch black from the absence of light.
Black Ops is in it's box and controller is on the floor.
There's a hole on the wall from when he punched it earlier.
His headphones are about to burst from how loud the music is.
No one can hear his sobs or see how messy his hair is from running his hand trough it, thinking and thinking he'll never get her back.