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Apr. 1st, 2009
From Tommy and Melissa.
Apr. 1st, 2009 02:09 pm1. How tall are you barefoot?
5'7 3/4"
2. Have you ever smoked heroin?
No.
3. Do you own a gun?
Yes.
4. Rehab?
No.
5. Do you get nervous before "meeting the parents"?
Can't say that's a problem I've ever had.
( Read more... )
5'7 3/4"
2. Have you ever smoked heroin?
No.
3. Do you own a gun?
Yes.
4. Rehab?
No.
5. Do you get nervous before "meeting the parents"?
Can't say that's a problem I've ever had.
( Read more... )
| You Color Your Life With Vibrant Warmth |
 You are open and adventurous. You're interested in young people and what's new in the world. You don't carry any emotional baggage with you through life. What's done is done, and you've moved on. You start every day fresh. You are optimistic about what's to come. |
| The Part of You That No One Sees is Paranoid |
 You're the type of person who goes along to get along. And you're definitely afraid of rocking the boat. Underneath it all, you fear your world falling apart. You'll put up with a situation that you don't like in fear of changing it. Disruptive and forceful people intimidate you - and sometimes exploit you. |
No. FUCK YOU, meme. I am NOT afraid of rocking the boat. I AM ALL FOR BOAT ROCKING. It's OTHER PEOPLE who won't engage in boat rocking. Fuck. You. Stupid meme.
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girl_ofsecretsShe waited on the front steps.
It was a damn near childish thing to do, but she didn't feel like putting up with questions and explanations and pretending to be civil when she just wanted to break things. And slamming the door behind her was satisfying. She couldn't have done that if she'd waited downstairs for Claire to knock on the door.
So she stalked downstairs and slammed the front door and waited outside on the steps. Aware that it was childish. Just not giving a damn.
It was a damn near childish thing to do, but she didn't feel like putting up with questions and explanations and pretending to be civil when she just wanted to break things. And slamming the door behind her was satisfying. She couldn't have done that if she'd waited downstairs for Claire to knock on the door.
So she stalked downstairs and slammed the front door and waited outside on the steps. Aware that it was childish. Just not giving a damn.
I can't stay on your life support, there's a shortage in the switch,
I can't stay on your morphine, cause its making me itch
I've tried to call the nurse again, but she’s being a little bitch,
I think I'll get outta here
Where I can run just as fast as I can
To the middle of nowhere
To the middle of my frustrated fears
And I swear you're just like a pill
Instead of making me better
You keep making me ill
==================================
All she had to do was walk two blocks.
It was three A.M. and the leeches were still crawling. Hunting. There would be plenty of them still hungry, still searching for a victim, a meal, a kill. Or slinking back to their sunless underground caverns, sated and high from the feeding, from the slaughter.
She could find them. She could feel them out there, feel the itch crawling under her skin, the compulsion to hunt them and to kill them. Even more intense than usual, as though the stretch of time between her last hunt and now had sharpened her senses rather than dull them. She could almost smell the dust and the rot of the undead drifting on the wind...surely that was in her mind, as was the dull, muted foot fall on damp earth in the distance that kept time with the pounding of her heart.
Just two blocks. She could see them in her mind's eye, snarling in laughter as they wound their way through the cemetery. Maybe the wind blowing through her hair as she stood in the middle of the street and stared towards the west would catch her scent and carry it to them. Slayer. There were few scents more intoxicating and mouth-watering than that--and not just a Slayer, a Slayer carrying the purest and most innocent blood, a child, a baby. It would be irresistible. And she could obliterate so much of this in one smooth flurry of movement. Her fears would shatter with a few well placed kicks. The stress would melt away with every swipe of clawed fingers that she dodged. Her anger would vanish in a burst of ash and air, a wooden stake buried in a black and useless heart.
Except that the wind was blowing to the east, and carrying her scent away, and she had to protect that child.
It wasn't worth it. It wasn't worth the risk. It wasn't worth the cost.
It was three A.M. She turned on her heel and crossed the rest of the street, and unlocked her front door.
And went home.
I can't stay on your morphine, cause its making me itch
I've tried to call the nurse again, but she’s being a little bitch,
I think I'll get outta here
Where I can run just as fast as I can
To the middle of nowhere
To the middle of my frustrated fears
And I swear you're just like a pill
Instead of making me better
You keep making me ill
==================================
All she had to do was walk two blocks.
It was three A.M. and the leeches were still crawling. Hunting. There would be plenty of them still hungry, still searching for a victim, a meal, a kill. Or slinking back to their sunless underground caverns, sated and high from the feeding, from the slaughter.
She could find them. She could feel them out there, feel the itch crawling under her skin, the compulsion to hunt them and to kill them. Even more intense than usual, as though the stretch of time between her last hunt and now had sharpened her senses rather than dull them. She could almost smell the dust and the rot of the undead drifting on the wind...surely that was in her mind, as was the dull, muted foot fall on damp earth in the distance that kept time with the pounding of her heart.
Just two blocks. She could see them in her mind's eye, snarling in laughter as they wound their way through the cemetery. Maybe the wind blowing through her hair as she stood in the middle of the street and stared towards the west would catch her scent and carry it to them. Slayer. There were few scents more intoxicating and mouth-watering than that--and not just a Slayer, a Slayer carrying the purest and most innocent blood, a child, a baby. It would be irresistible. And she could obliterate so much of this in one smooth flurry of movement. Her fears would shatter with a few well placed kicks. The stress would melt away with every swipe of clawed fingers that she dodged. Her anger would vanish in a burst of ash and air, a wooden stake buried in a black and useless heart.
Except that the wind was blowing to the east, and carrying her scent away, and she had to protect that child.
It wasn't worth it. It wasn't worth the risk. It wasn't worth the cost.
It was three A.M. She turned on her heel and crossed the rest of the street, and unlocked her front door.
And went home.