death spells ☤ (larry stylinson) [ON HIATUS]

one

it was yet another day in which louis was left feeling aggressive and slightly hungover.

he blamed the world and its awfully shit tricks for his unfortunate fate as he concentrated on trying to roll the fattest spliff known to man. his life had literally unravelled into a huge fucking mess that, instead of trying to get out of, he only seemed to make much worse at any and every given opportunity.

it definitely wasn't his fault though.

there was the dull humming of chat show guests on the television, not so much discussing as ultimately they were just putting fear into the hearts of the world as they formed their own opinions on sham presidents and potential world war threes.

don't get louis wrong, he didn't mind the idea of world war three, at least everyone would probably die, including him, or be involuntarily selected for the army. but fuck that.

for once, louis had a plan. not really one to do with his life, but one in the case of another world war. in which case, if he were to be selected for the army, the first thing he'd do is shoot him self in the face. unsure whether or not he'd be doing it for the sheer pleasure of finally leaving the hellhole known as earth, or to just honour his idol. the man he called god. a shotgun blast to the head, just like kurt cobain.

"shit!" he exclaimed, a frustrated grunt soon following as he peered upon the mess he had created on the table due to his own distractive thoughts. there was no way he was even going to bother trying to scoop the dope and tobacco off the cracked wooden surface, it was just too much work. work he couldn't even comprehend trying to muster in his current state.

maybe later he would, it depends if he was up for it. he chuckled, what a great fucking birthday so far.

fuck. louis gave up even trying, inching away from the table with a heavy sigh in attempts he could maybe suffocate himself in the couch.

anything he could do to escape another december 24th.

what was even so great about birthdays in the first place? louis had no clue. sure why not celebrate another year closer to death because that's such a celebration right?

a dark and exhausting chuckle at his own thoughts. shit, and louis thought he was the morbid one.

"it's insane to even think that donald trump would be a candidate for the presidential race. it just makes you wonder, what is going to happen to obama's america? the work he had put into making the country a much better place?-" louis heard one of the many female panel members proclaim. he nodded along, not even bothering to look at the screen, focusing on rolling.

what would even happen to america? louis dreaded the thought.

"surely, trump would be able to do much better, well that's what i believe anyway." at this, louis focused on the tv. an unmissable scowl on his face recognising the aggravating and intimidating voice he could hear through the low speaker on his television as his own mother's. he absolutely hated having to listen to her political views as a child, he could only imagine what the viewers of her show had to go through on a daily basis. especially listening to her views on the current situation.

a well renowned tv host, occasionally controversial given the fact she had way too many opinions on the topics she would discuss with her colleagues on live tv.

louis' friends had always told him there was a resemblance much deeper than just looks between him and his mother. they were both stubborn, opinionated and much too loud. something the blue eyed boy would usually take as a compliment, but could only take as an insult when used in comparison to her.