- - - I'M LOOKING FOR MY RIGHT

[STORY MORDECAI GUERRERO]

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i'm stupid so please give me brain

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Everything was wrong. Everything he did was wrong. Everything he touched he ruined. Everything that had ever happened to him was his own fault. The whippings. The rapes. All of it. Toni’s death was his own fault. All of it. He couldn’t handle anything right now. He couldn’t handle his life any more. Again. Still. He was confused and alone and broken and didn’t know what to do. A temper tantrum hit him and he picked the canvas board off of the easel it sat on, chucking it across the room with all of the force he currently had. It spun and wobbled in the air like a retarded Frisbee before hitting the wall and falling to the floor. Paint from the canvas got on the floor and the wall. “This is fucking stupid!”

[/color] he cried out with tears blurring his vision as he watched the canvas land on the ground. His hands shook with a combination of frustration and concussion-long-term-effects. “It’s stupid,”[/color] he repeated. Voice shaky and cracking, tears threatening to start pouring down his cheeks. A stubby little leg lifted and kicked the easel over, spilling more paint and water for the brushes on to the ground.

He had nothing left to kick down though. Nothing that wasn’t his own work station. He wanted to throw stuff around but he didn’t dare touch the easels set up for other students. Clay pots would be perfect but he’d get in shit for that. So instead he dropped to the ground and curled his feet into his body. He started ripping the bracelets off of his wrists so little beads and pieces of string scattered the floor in front of him. The pasta shell necklace was ripped off as well and thrown so painted pasta shells flew onto the floor under the tables and work stations. And then he realized what he just did. “No! Arista!”[/color] She had made that for him. She had made it specifically for him with promises that it would keep him safe and protected from all of the bad things in the world. Story fully believed that it would protect him, but not he had gone and broken it.

As he scrambled to pick up the little rainbow colored pasta pieces his sunglasses slid off of his face and on to the floor behind him. His shoes also slipped off and his hoodie was starting to slowly slide down his shoulders. He was a hot mess covered in paint and tears, not even trying to hide his panic from the rest of the school. People had been in and out all Saturday afternoon working on assignments like he had been doing. Someone was bound to come in and find him here but he didn’t care. By now he was sitting cross-legged under one of he table, head ducked so he didn’t hit it. A pile of pasta pieces sat on the crotch of his jeans and he was trying his best to put each one back on the string they had come on. His hands were too shaky and he kept dropping the pasta on to the floor again. “Come on! Work you stupid hands!”[/color] Practically sobbing, hands shaking like a dying ninety year old woman. How wasn’t he in first grade?

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tag: open. words: 550 wearing: this. notes: :C

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[NOAH MAY BLACKTHORN]

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she dreamed of paradise, every time she closed her eyes.

Noah ran a hand through her hair as she walked through the hallways. She was holding her breath trying to see if it would stop her from hearing the thoughts of others, so far it was working since Noah was fully concentrated on not breathing. She had to start breathing again soon though or she would get light headed. Thankfully there wasn’t really anyone around so she wouldn’t have to invade anybody’s head. Noah started to breathe normally again and she headed towards the art rooms. She liked art; it was all in the imagination. Well most of it anyway. But art was a wonderland of adventure; you could create a beautiful masterpiece or a terrifying work of destruction.

Noah heard a commotion from one of the art rooms and she moved closer to investigate. She saw a lot of mess and a boy on the floor trying to pick something up. Noah’s eyebrows pushed together as she opened the door and made her way over to the person on the floor. She saw the tears falling down her face and she bent down onto her knees and started picking up the pieces of pasta. Glancing at the boy she saw his hands were shaking and so she took the pasta pieces from his hands and continued to pick them up from the floor.

Noah was trying very hard not to read the boys mind but it was rather scrambled any way. He was highly distressed and so Noah decided that the best thing to do was comfort the stranger. She picked up the pasta pieces quickly and silently then she looked up at the boy in front of her. The first thought was that he was different. Good different, yet of course everyone was different in this school. But Noah liked this person for some reason. She looked around the room after picking up the pasta pieces. Standing up she placed them on a table and went up to the teacher’s desk searching for a piece of string and some glue.

After finding the piece of string she walked back to the pasta pieces and started to lace the string through the pasta. Noah didn’t like seeing others upset. She would never ignore someone in need; it wouldn’t even cross her mind to keep walking and not look back. “I remember when I was younger I had a friend, Jesse. She made me a pasta necklace. It would always break until I stopped wearing it” Noah didn’t have anything better to say other than that small memory. She kept the necklace in a box that she locked and hid under her bed. She kept her most precious possessions in the box and locked it keeping the key around her neck so that no one could look in the box. It was the one sacred thing she had left in her house. Noah continued to try and fix the necklace. She concentrated on gluing the broken pieces of pasta back together and making sure that the necklace didn’t look too bad.

TAGGED: story | WORDS: 511 | OUTFIT | OOC: hi there ;]

[STORY MORDECAI GUERRERO]

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i'm stupid so please give me brain

Story hated people seeing him cry, not because it was a sign of weakness but because he was so used to getting hit for making a commotion. He wasn’t worth people’s help. He wasn’t worth their time. Their effort. He wasn’t worth anything. He was below dirt and always would be. The broken pieces of what could have been a good young man. There was no chance for him now. He was too broken. The stable and normal person he could have been had been destroyed along with his arm’s nerves and his brain’s functioning and his lungs and his ability to have children. He was worthless. This girl who was helping him was just wasting her time on someone who didn’t matter at all. Why was he even here? Why wasn’t he buried six feet under by now? He just wanted to be dead now so he wasn’t a burden to everyone around him. He couldn’t even get his own hands to work, how would he ever do anything to make him a functioning member of society.

His eyes were puffy and red and his cheeks stained with his tears, face a mess as he was certainly not an attractive crier. All he could do was fumble a few pieces of pasta as a girl started picking them up and moving around. For the time being he stayed under the table, hoping it would keep him safe from whatever punishment he was going to get for making a mess of the art room. Images from his past flashed through his chaotic mind, being ripped out from under the trailer’s kitchen table and dragged by his hair until it was ripped right from his head. Instinctively he wrapped an arm over his head to protect to any hair pulling that might happen and he curled his legs close to his chest. He was sorry. He didn’t mean to make a mess. He didn’t mean to get paint everywhere and break his necklace. He would clean it up.

“P-p-pinkie made it,”

[/color] he stammered through his tears, the arm that wasn’t over his head wiping his face off as he sniffled and breathed in choked air. “It k-k-keeps me safe.”[/color] He truly believed that too, that this necklace would render him invisible to his father if the man ever got out of prison. He couldn’t be touched if he wore this necklace. He could only hope the magic wasn’t destroyed. If she managed to fix it the magic would hopefully still be there. After wiping his face some more with the sleeves of his hoodie he tugged it back up over his shoulders and crawled out from under the table on all fours, sliding into a chair with his head lowered and his hands in his lap. There were still tears but he was calming down slowly. Still chaotic and terrified but growing tired of sobbing. He looked down at his ink covered hands and wiggled his fingers, focusing on the tattoos Arista, Pinkie, gave him rather.

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tag: noah. words: 504 wearing: this. notes: :C

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