This is the story where you're gay for your best friend.
Lots of fillers, jokes, fluff, weird kinks, & akwardness.
Because why not? UwU
Written and co-written by your one and only, @SomeStrangeAuthor & @Spixtystix
A collaboration that wa...
All the cars honking outside in the night, the wave of lights, and the siren here and there - that's New York. New York, the sleepless city. My favorite. Only place I've known really. I was born and raised here, but there are still a few things that surprise me; A robbery at a Strip club, a drunk person beating up a bush, or maybe a dog humping a cat in the middle of the street. That is what takes me by surprise.
Two girls kissing does not. A homeless person? Nah, they're everywhere. Some kid being beaten up in the ally-way just for the fun of gangs is not unusual. But it's a good idea to hang on. I got my whole life ahead of me. I stop thinking all of this when I look up at the T.V. with disgust and cringe.
She was wearing what I liked to call her 'cake-up'. Just a bunch of makeup on her perfect face. I shudder a sigh and try to read the headline without gagging.
"... BELINDA M. OASIS AGAIN. "
There were smaller words below but I knew what they said without having to read them. Stuff about her being rich, how beautiful she is and blah blah blah scandalous stuff. I turn off the T.V. and hopping up off the couch, I head upstairs to my 'room', which is just basically just our attic. Not that I want to sleep downstairs where my dear mother lives and sleeps. Yeah, lot's of sarcasm.
It's much cooler up here though, maybe even a bit too cool, but it's fine. As long as I don't need to sleep downstairs, I'm good.
I open the curtains a little to let in the light. The moons out but I can't really see it as it's hidden by a bunch of clouds. I don't even bother taking off my clothes. I jump on my bed, making it whine in disagreement with my weight. Stupid inconsiderate bed. I'm trying to sleep, but those stupid headlines cloud my mind.
"...Better than ever..." "rich"..."making her way to the top ..""...Model.." "... bastard son".."Money .."
I know I'm not a 'Bastard' son or some snobby ungrateful kid. Though I DO agree with what the internet has to say. I am what they call me. Well...sort of. It's still hella rude and I wouldn't simply call someone some pejorative, even if it is true but I don't care what people call me. I simply don't give a sh*t. I also don't don't care if someones a boy or girl, as long as they can trust me, I can do it, and vice-versa than I'm good. I'll love them.
"Yeah," I think out loud. "In fact, I'm not a f * got. Bitches, I'm THE f * got and you can get fucked with a chainsaw if you have other shit to spew." But if they wanna be technical, they'd be calling me bisexual, though I really don't care for titles and stuff. Not everything needs to be put in a box. Technicalities~ BUt you do you.
I sigh and hit my head on the pillow, once. Twice. Why do I feel so...heavy? I shut my eyes and I'm pissed as a tear falls with no warning, seeping into my pillow. I am not fucking crying. I have nothing to cry about! I'm not dying. I have a place to live in. With food and roof over my head. I have some people I consider friends which I can to talk to...my two cat that I love, but more tears fall and I still feel so lonely.
I have a place to sleep, and books to read. My mom is some-what tolerable and I know she tries. I have literally everything I need! So why? Why fucking dammit?
I fall asleep and try not to keep on crying. They keep falling, like my life is. Slowly and steadily, just easing down. To where? Hell for I care care, even.
This isn't even a life. This is just being. Just being alive. And I really don't like it all that much I realize.
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That totally wasn't more depressing than the last time I wrote it! 🙃 Whew.
Stay safe. Stay healthy. Wash your dang hands (we were taught this stuff in KINDERGARTEN y'all!) annnnd thanks to those couple of people reading this, Yup.
