The Guide to Happiness
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Sometimes I get mad, I guess. I heard that it's not a good thing to hold it in. That's all I do though. I can feel the anger and sadness everyday, chipping away at me. There's nothing I can do about it. It seems as though I'm not even aloud to cry anymore. I feel trapped by my own self. I can't scream, I can't cry. I have nowhere to place all these feelings. I guess I'll do what I always do. I'll try to forget, I'll try to distract myself with trivial thoughts and activities. It may seem like I forget but I never truly do.
The hurt is still there, chipping away at my very being, slowly.
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"Why aren't you scared?" I whine and he laughs. "Come on, you wouldn't dare hurt me with that. It's too risky, and I can get out of this easily, babe." I can tell he's smirking and it's sickening. "Oh yeah? Try." I say confidently and in one swift motion, he has me on the floor. He's now straddling me with both my hands above me and the knife in his hands, pressed lightly against my throat. This turns me on... "I...I stand corrected." I wheeze in laughter, ignoring the massive pain in my head. "Now can you be a nice guy and turn off the music and help me with this pain please?" "That's all I was waiting for, Doll." He smirks and gets off of me, setting the knife on the counter. I roll over, groaning as I make my way to the living room to lay on the couch. Liam Forte and Jasmine Galvin. Opposite, but similar in many ways. The difference? He's a player. Every school has one, and Liam is the one. Moving in to her house shortly after summer has officially started, Jasmine has to deal with the boy who will leave a permanent mark on her life. Kinda immature, I'm no grown ass woman. SLOWLY EDITING. DON'T SHOOT! Follow up: DONE EDITING. YOU MAY DROP YOUR WEAPONS! Follow up to the follow up: NOT REALLY DONE EDITING, BUT KEEP THE FIRE DOWN! I'M WRITING THE SECOND BOOK (the better one, in my opinion) SO MY TIME IS ATE UP.Compleet
Revenge Of The Fat Wallflower|✓
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The Outcast
"Will you just shut up" !!!!! I shouted loudly turning towards her ,she was literally getting on my nerves now "Don't you dare shout at me...You brought me into this mess", She shouted equally loudly at me The pitch of her voice was shattering my eardrums and I was on the verge of literally killing her now.She was so tiny yet hell annoying The bulb to the patience area in my mind suddenly got switched off and I abruptly pushed her into the alley wall bringing our faces real close to both our comfort levels "Listen to me you little brat and listen good...My fuckin patience is hanging on a thin thread so if you want your annoying little self to stay alive and might I add in one piece I suggest you shut your filthy shithole" I whispered in her ear lowly making her shiver knowing already that no doubt the shiver came purely from the fear she felt from me and not anything sexual..Good....She should fear me I wasn't the one to be trusted I wasn't the one to be loved I am not a person you should take lightly I am the one you don't want to mess with I am the one you don't want to piss off if you don't want your existence to be utterly painful I am Dominick Slade And I am The Outcast......Compleet
My Prison Called Life (Bio 1)
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Mess
"I'm not good for you, Scott." I say, my voice sounding louder than it did in my head. Scott rubs his face in exasperation and groans before turning to face me. "Sky, you are. You are and that's why I'm in love with you, because you're good and I hate it because I'm constantly afraid that you'll push me away like you did before, but I love it at the same time because you make me want to be good too, to give a shit about things. Christ, I quit smoking for you and it's been hard but I want to make you happy. Because you are good, and I know because you've been through so much crap and you are still so fucking beautiful, inside and out. If you leave me now I won't be able to cope, please. Please, Sky." At this point his hands are covering mine, kissing them with endless pleads and his eyes are glazed over and impassioned, burning with the fire of a thousand suns, boring into mine as he gives himself to me and I'm utterly overthrown. ******************************************************************* Boys. Make-ups. Break-ups. Parties. Drinking. School. Friends. Enemies. In other words, being 16-going-on-17. Sky Brodie is heading towards the end of Sophomore year in California, dragging along with her an endless bane of uncomfortable predicaments. What do you do when the world is trying to make your life unspeakably miserable? How do you work your way through a Mess?Compleet
Her Wants
I was confident that I would tear the wrapper off. Dad usually does it for me but he wasn't here right now. My first attempt was poor... I tried to open it up again but failed miserably. I was getting very anxious and annoyed. I put my index finger and thumb on both sides of the pop tart wraper like dad does, and pinched it attempting for it to unwrap. But when I looked at it - there was no differace. My skin started crawling and I was getting very hot with anxiety , I was so frustrated and mad that I picked up the pop tart and threw it across the room getting a loud thump in response. "Ugggggghhhhh" I yelled at nothing in particular with tears rolling down my face which blurd my vision. I slid down on the counter still screaming in annoyance. My heart hurt so much , my head was pounding ,my body felt hot. It was like I was fighting with the air around me. I was hurting with no pain.Compleet
Echo of the Past
A few months ago, I bought a mug with gold gilt. On sale. Not a gift either nor because of an occasion to remember by it. Just plain, pretty mug for 15PLN. I drank my coffee from it since. I spat loose tea leaves into it. It never felt particularly significant. An ordinary object. Only when I lost it, I realised its true value. I sat comfortably at my desk one evening. Looking at my phone, I reached to take my song-text notebook. Trivial situation. My clumsy fingers were unable to avoid the mug. They allowed it to topple over, to slip from the desktop. Even though I did not see the split-second occurrence, I felt the pressure of unease. My head painted the trajectory of the fall on its own, the shattering, spillage. The loss. For a millisecond I still had hope, that I would be able to catch the mug, that I would be able to avoid what was about to happen. But I knew I was headed for failure. I don't have any superpowers. I only scalded my fingers. I looked at the mug's new shape for a long while, at the shattered pieces. At the spilling liquid. Our adventure came to an end. Irrevocably. I won't be drinking coffee from it anymore, nor spit tea leaves into it. Well. I shouldn't be sad, it was just a regular mug, just like thousands of others. I grew to like it, it kept me company throughout hundreds of warm drinks. I lost it. I hate this feeling the most. In the moment when I am losing something, I stop in my tracks, I hold my breath. It is always a very intense moment. A short one, but one that gives me the tight unpleasant feeling in my stomach. The feeling of loss is always accompanied by hope. Silly and naïve. Making me believe so strongly, that I can make it. That I will still be able to catch the mug mid-flight. When the feeling is entering the body, crawling into me I realise, how important it was to me. Whether it's Nivan or a stupid mug with gold gilt.Compleet
Who Are You?
*UNDER MAJOR EDITING* PLEASE DON'T READ! IT'S HORRIBLE! I'm trying to fix it. all my life I tried to act to bigger than what I was, never really worked. so I moved to the next thing,my sarcasm. life got better but my brother warned me to watch what I say before I say something to the wrong person. Me being 5 foot, I didn't listen. so when I smashed into a brick wall and seen cold gray eyes staring into my soul my mouth opened on its own. " jesus Christ kid watch it. what even are you?" he stared at me and I opened my fat ass mouth " my next daddy I hope" He glared into my soul as I just registered what I just said " oh fuck my biscuit, SORRY DADDY GOTTA BLAST" as i run past him and into my bakery.Compleet
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