Post by kayleigh on Sept 2, 2009 9:41:27 GMT -5
[/color][/center][/blockquote]DANIEL CAMERON HEATH
it started with a low light
" Work It Harder Make It Better
Do It Faster, Makes Us Stronger
More Than Ever Hour After Hour
Work Is Never Over,"
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NEXT THING I KNEW[/color][/blockquote]
they ripped me from my bed
[/b][/color] Daniel Cameron Heath
NICKNAMES: Asshole -- Call me Danny and I will come for you.
GENDER: Male
AGE: 18
SEXUALITY: Straight.
YEAR: Senior
MEMBER GROUP: Cut throat
FACE CLAIM: Brendon Urie
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AND THEN THEY TOOK[/color][/blockquote]
my bloodtype, they left a
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[/b][/color] Right, so you want to know something about me? I'm the sanest fucker in this school. My parents sent me here because of a little incident that involved me, and my best pal Robbie. Let's just say I almost killed him -- almost, again. I didn't kill the fucking idiot. Lesson number one kiddies, the worst punishment for miserable bastards? Let them live. I gave him a few broken bones. Bruise here and there. Blood everywhere, let me add. But he's breathing. Bet you he wishes he died though. Moved far away. Ha, the story still makes me laugh.
2. Alright, maybe I wasn't telling the complete truth. Robbie wasn't exactly the first one I almost killed. I'm a violent guy, forgive me. I've been involved in a lot of shit. And trust me, I'm the last guy on the planet you'd want to get into shit with. I'm pretty much willing to pound anyone who offers -- sometimes, you don't even have to offer. Come up to me, overstep the line and you'll find yourself in the hospital being hooked up to a life support machine. Not that this happened to anyone that I've almost killed yet...well, perhaps it's happened once or twice. Or more.
3. I had a pretty normal childhood. Apart from the fact that my father did the salsa in and out of jail, of course. He turned the straight way after a few years, when I turned fourteen. Unfortunately there, by the time he began the straight and narrow, I began to bend. I fucking blame this all on my parents. They were the ones who sent me in this nuthouse -- this is a fucking hell hole. I'm not a schizo and I eat. I don't belong here. It was their fault. Not mine. If I had a normal father who fucking disciplined me then perhaps, I wouldn't have become such an ass. However, as they say, like father like son. I suppose, I was born to be dug in hell.
4. I'm an asshole. I'm the biggest one on this planet. People are scared of me. Why? Because I can break them in half. I swear a lot. I drink. I'm pretty merciless. I don't soften up. In fact, most people have weaknesses for something, I do not. I don't own a bloody teddy bear that people can steal and blackmail me by. I can do pretty much all I like. Some people say they want me to die and burn in hell. Well listen to this sods, I'm already in hell and if you can think of something more rock bottom than this school -- well, you'll be thinking of my life. I'm about as sadistic, as mysoginistic, and about as pessimistic as it can get. You should get me on a good day.
5. I'm a damn good liar. I lie a lot. For once, I lie to get girls in bed. And I know, that is a little something that may actually shock you. Why would anyone get into bed with someone who has probably more violence than a boxer? Firstly, I'm damn good in it. Secondly, I can charm pretty much anyone. Well, I fucking try anyway. It's not hard. Some, come in fear. I only do one night fun though. I've only dated a certain number of girls and trust me, pretty much all of them are a cause of my boredom. I don't do long relationships.
6. My mom used to get really mad at me when I was younger because I judged people very easily. I was a contradictor. An enjoyer of pain. I don't duck down and help people when they fall over like my mother. No, in fact, I stand there and watch them. It started like that. Now, I tend to kick people while they're down. Sometimes, literally speaking.
7. I started therapy when I was about ten years old. They became very worried at elementary because I drew a picture of a boy holding a gun on a pile of bodies. Apparently, that was bad and that expressing myself in that way was very, very bad indeed. I remember the first time I was asked to sit on a seat and babble on about my 'feelings.' It was very stressful for me, at ten. I thought it was just normal, drawing things like that. But fucking hell. Apparently it wasn't despite the world having that on every sodding cover of video games. So, that was the first time and I remember having hundreds more after. It was a memory I remember because it was the first time I literally shed my true colours. The next day, when I came again, I kicked a chair and smacked my psychiatrist unconscious. My mother moved me to Oregon. And that I supposed, started the cycle of moving around too.
8. I hate this school. I hate most schools but this is the worst one in particular. Why? Because everyone who attends this place is a NUTJOB. The teachers are the same! I've never been very fond of schools but damn, this place is the worst. I don't like anyone. Nope, hate 'em all. Especially the insane. The paranoid -- the bipolar, the whatever. I have issues. But they, they should be moved to a proper institution. To one of those big rooms with pillows for walls.
9. One reason why I don't like school is I never do well in it. I'd never admit to it, of course since I don't plan to survive past twenty with the looks of things however, I'm not an A student. I tend to bypass a C. I don't know why I do badly. I suppose it's just the fucking teachers. They probably think that I don't mind it. I don't care. But it'd be nice to be credited. When I was younger, they thought I had some attention disorder since I couldn't sit still and never ever paid much of my time to the teachers. I wasn't attention deprived. I just didn't like the teacher.
10. My worst quality is probably the fact that I have a very, very short temper. I am very keenly placed on the fact that I judge people before they even talk. It's hypocritical, yes. But that's what I am, a mother-fucking hypocrite. I'm pretty proud of it actually. But you know that's alright. I'm an ass. What else can I be? My mother told me just before she dumped me in here that she could never, ever ask anything more of me. Well, she was damn right. Because I'm pretty sure that if I don't go soon, I'll fucking die in this place.
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STRANGE IMPRESSION
in my head, you know that i was hoping
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whoa there, my name is kayleigh and i happen to be of the female species. i currently have 19 number of candles on my cake but i've got 2 under my belt. i found this quirky site through caution. by the way, you can contact me via pm or through n/a. now i'll show you what i'm made of.
Ashton wasn’t much of an early-bird. In fact, his sleep patterns were very simplistic: sleep late, wake up late. And this was the case on every basis of his day life. The same would really be on his holidays to Greece too. He travelled to Santorini numerous times – more, than he could remember. He would’ve loved to have been localized in the place but his mother’s wants on him staying in education had forced him to take refuge away from the beautiful destination. His parents had been very coerce on the factor that Ashton stayed astray from all distractions that could swerve in between his and his musical career. The career that Ashton didn’t even have yet – however, they were still clear on the fact that Greece was full of alcohol and making their son stay put there would be such a mistake that they’d regret it wholly in a matter of months. And Ash was not in a position to object anymore.
And because of this barrier between him and the band and the environment he loved, Ash took every possibility he could to travel to Greece. The place was wonderful – filled with freedom, women, the night life weren’t bad either and of course, this was where the band was. And really, the band was the only music career he had at the moment. He hadn’t mentioned it very much to his parents as it was a working progress. And they were working well – being in a band had caused his musical knowledge to oppress – however he supposed that being away most of the time did make it quite difficult for everyone. But he was trying from time to time to object and to dissuade his parents however studying in one of Brooklyn’s prestigious – the Blackwood parents weren’t exactly push-overs.
Blue eyes hovered over the rolex tightly, 8:24 am - that was early for Ash. He had been out last night although the memories had been very vague; he remembered drinking… a lot. He had lost things last night, one being ten percent of the dignity he had left and second, well his shirt as he really had no clue where it went. It was very typical indeed (the normal was rolling over in his hotel bed with nothing on at all) so being up at 8 am in the morning was the enigma. He should still be in bed, naïve and very much unaware of what was occurring or what had occurred. He shouldn’t be walking across the dock faultlessly –looking like he was looking for someone. He wasn’t looking for someone at all but he kept looking at his watch for some despondent reason – 8:28 and he’d walk a little bit more. It was strange – perhaps he needed breakfast – his stomach was tight and dry from the liquid he had consumed the night prior – 8:30 am –
Cue, splitting headache. He was on a hang-over most definitely. But one that didn't require him to be so tired. Wincing maddeningly as he tucked his hands into the pocket of his jeans, the man continued to travel across the lengthy board walk. He felt like vomiting really – but after the discovery of this morning’s montage in the ensuite of his hotel room, he really doubted there was anything left to regurgitate. He just felt sick – sicker than he had been. The memories of the night were still very white in his head, and thinking about it made the headache very, very bad indeed. Ash wanted to grab his head and squeeze it to rid of the pain but that was physically impossible of course and he had enough in him to stop that from happening. He wasn’t sure where he was going now.
People were beginning to appear to collect their normal breakfast latte. Ash didn’t feel like eating anymore – the thought of eggs made his appetite vile. He thought of returning to the hotel and sleeping in but the yawns hadn’t come yet. He wasn’t even close to sleepy. The feeling inside of him had welled up to an extent that he wasn’t sure what it was but he didn’t feel good. The migraine was going to get worse if he stopped walking, he was pretty sure of that. Paracetamol. He could get some of those.
Head down, cap on, sunglasses hiding sore, tired eyes, Ashton continued on the walk solely only to find himself being wheeled into the now vibrant push of the crowd. His attention began to drift…and his legs were weakening…Ashton’s inhibitions were gone.
And because of this barrier between him and the band and the environment he loved, Ash took every possibility he could to travel to Greece. The place was wonderful – filled with freedom, women, the night life weren’t bad either and of course, this was where the band was. And really, the band was the only music career he had at the moment. He hadn’t mentioned it very much to his parents as it was a working progress. And they were working well – being in a band had caused his musical knowledge to oppress – however he supposed that being away most of the time did make it quite difficult for everyone. But he was trying from time to time to object and to dissuade his parents however studying in one of Brooklyn’s prestigious – the Blackwood parents weren’t exactly push-overs.
Blue eyes hovered over the rolex tightly, 8:24 am - that was early for Ash. He had been out last night although the memories had been very vague; he remembered drinking… a lot. He had lost things last night, one being ten percent of the dignity he had left and second, well his shirt as he really had no clue where it went. It was very typical indeed (the normal was rolling over in his hotel bed with nothing on at all) so being up at 8 am in the morning was the enigma. He should still be in bed, naïve and very much unaware of what was occurring or what had occurred. He shouldn’t be walking across the dock faultlessly –looking like he was looking for someone. He wasn’t looking for someone at all but he kept looking at his watch for some despondent reason – 8:28 and he’d walk a little bit more. It was strange – perhaps he needed breakfast – his stomach was tight and dry from the liquid he had consumed the night prior – 8:30 am –
Cue, splitting headache. He was on a hang-over most definitely. But one that didn't require him to be so tired. Wincing maddeningly as he tucked his hands into the pocket of his jeans, the man continued to travel across the lengthy board walk. He felt like vomiting really – but after the discovery of this morning’s montage in the ensuite of his hotel room, he really doubted there was anything left to regurgitate. He just felt sick – sicker than he had been. The memories of the night were still very white in his head, and thinking about it made the headache very, very bad indeed. Ash wanted to grab his head and squeeze it to rid of the pain but that was physically impossible of course and he had enough in him to stop that from happening. He wasn’t sure where he was going now.
People were beginning to appear to collect their normal breakfast latte. Ash didn’t feel like eating anymore – the thought of eggs made his appetite vile. He thought of returning to the hotel and sleeping in but the yawns hadn’t come yet. He wasn’t even close to sleepy. The feeling inside of him had welled up to an extent that he wasn’t sure what it was but he didn’t feel good. The migraine was going to get worse if he stopped walking, he was pretty sure of that. Paracetamol. He could get some of those.
Head down, cap on, sunglasses hiding sore, tired eyes, Ashton continued on the walk solely only to find himself being wheeled into the now vibrant push of the crowd. His attention began to drift…and his legs were weakening…Ashton’s inhibitions were gone.
THAT I COULD LEAVE
this starcrossed world behind
this apptemplate was made by chaela and laurel from charcoal eyes, guys, and the titles are from spaceman by the killers
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