|PAGES: «prev 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 next»||REPLY TO THIS THREAD QUICK REPLY START NEW THREAD|
Feb 01, 10 at 10:33pm ^re: [I don't know what to call this] Schizophreak - Writer's Lounge
Log in to remove this advertisement
four ~ my psycho therapist
credit to Paco Engel; he painted this.
People stared and finally some smartass decided a teacher needed to help me out and then it was the coach and he picked me up and I screamed and screamed then I was sitting in the nurse's office on the cot bed thingy panicking and hyperventilating and Collin was there too he was with me until Mommy came and picked me up then we went home and I had a nap and now I have to go see Jessica Varner PhD My Psycho Therapist.
When Mommy and I got home from school and I was breathing properly again, Mommy freaked out even more and said I could go to bed. “You look so tired, sweetie! You need to take a nap right this second!” She ran out of the car and opened my door for me. She helped me up the stairs and I didn't say anything but I did slam the door in her face. I did as I was told and went to sleep.
Now, I am waiting for Jessica Varner PhD in the waiting room. There is another person with my mother and me, a boy who looks Robyn's age. I ponder why he is here, and I come up with this: This boy's name is Farley, he is thirteen years old. He is going through the phase where he wants to become independant, and as soon as he is old enough, he will become an individual and get a tattoo regarding his favorite band, Slipknot. He wants to get his bottom lip pierced with rings, and get an eyebrow piercing as well. His hair is obviously dyed, and he is going through that tough time which is why he is here.
This makes me burst out laughing. I even fall out of the chair. Farley and his mother stare at me, and mine sighs. "Alyx," she says sternly, "Please don't do that."
"But you don't understand!" I scream. I clutch my torso and cackl until I make no sounds at all. My stomach is killing me, it kills me so much that it hurts, and it's so painful it's funny so I just keep laughing until I die right there on the carpet. "You don't see how funny this is!" I wheeze. "It's funny!!! You should have heard it...You should have heard what I was saying! It was FUNNY AS HELL!"
Finally, a secretary comes over and hands me a paper cup filled with water. I don't thank her, but I gulp down the cup until it folds itself in and I laugh when it pops back into place. I then decide to sit with my head on the floor and my lower body in the chair, sitting upside-down. I fold my hands on my chest and smile at the cieling.
After exactly two minutes, Jessica Varner PhD My Psycho Therapist comes in and stares at me. She upside-down smiles at us. "Alyx," she greets me. "How nice to see you again...sitting like that."
"Awesome, isn't it?" I do a backwards sommersault and stand up like a gymnast even though I am not and never will be a gymnast. My Psycho Therapist nods at my mother, meaning she gets to stay here and read magazines until my hour is up. We go into My Psycho Therapist's office and I immediately take my spot in the lounge chair. She gets a note book and flips through the dividers to reach the Alyx Sawhill – Catatonic Schizophrenia area, which is filled with notes about me and my progress since I was diagnosed with It.
"So, how was your first day of school?" My Psycho Therapist asks. "It was yesterday, wasn't it?"
"Yes, it was yesterday," I reply. I start twirling my hair without looking at it. I don't want to know what color it is. I stare at the wall. "It was fine. I like my English teacher. Mr. Lenhart. He looks like a golden retriever. He seems nice but I don't think he understands me no one understands me I hate my math teacher she looks like a bulldog and she is such a bitch."
Jessica Varner nods. "And what makes her a bitch?" She never cares if I swear at her. She, unlike most adults, actually understands the minds of teenagers and children.
"I started laughing in class because I was thinking of something funny and she cussed me out!" I explode. I rip out a single hair from my head and flick it onto the floor. My Psycho Therapist watches it fall to the ground, but she doesn't yell at me for doing that. "Well, she didn't literally cuss me out, but you know what I mean."
Jessica nods. "I see. How was today, then? Was it any better?"
I shake my head no and continue playing with my hair. "Not really. The morning was great. I'm taking Psychology and my teacher, Ms. Carmona seems really great. She's kind of weird, though, in a way. But I like her. French class was cool, too. Madame Whatsherface is nice. Then, at lunch I had to go home."
"Did something happen?"
"Yes." I nod vigourously for ten straight seconds. "There's this guy named Collin. He's in my Math and Psych class, and apparently he's in my Art class, according to The Voices. On the bus earlier, They told me Collin in in my Psych class, and They were right, so I guess when I have art class again and I see him, They will be right. Anyways, Collin is...weird. I think he might have autism or something like that, because he's exciteable and carries a stuffed rabbit named Peter everywhere he goes. He smiles way too much and talks a bit funny. Yesterday, he wanted to have lunch with me, but I was scared and ran into the bathroom to hide.
"Today, I was actually not going to run away. But his rabbit, Peter...I don't know why, but looking at the rabbit made me freak out. HegrabbedmythroatandchokedmeandIcouldn'tbreathe soIfelltothefloorandhyperventilated thenIwentotheofficeandgotsenthomeandItookanap."
"So you were hallucinating," Jessica assumes.
I shake my head. "No!" I yell. "I was not hallucinating! It was real!" I think I'm gonna blooow...No, I'm not.
Jessica nods. She knows arguing with a schizophrenic about their dillusions/hallucinations/voices is completely pointless, because it will only result in a fight. You can't prove a schizophrenic wrong, and they can't prove the other person right. But, of course...
My voices are real. They are real. They are there and They don't seem to have any intentions of leaving me to mess with someone else. It is not a fragment of my imagination. They are real. Real real real real real.
"Have you been taking your medication, Alyx?"
I nod. "Thirty-milligram doses twice a day, I know. They work, but sometimes they take a while to kick in, if it's getting really bad, my disease, I mean."
"Alyx, I really don't like it when you refer to your d—illness as a disease," My Psycho Therapist says in her gentle voice. Before she can continue, I scream at her,
"You were just about to call it a disease!"
"Yes, I was, and I'm sorry about that. But as I was saying, I don't want you to think of yourself as somebody with a disease. Schizophrenia affects you and your mind, as well as the people around you, but schizophrenia is not AIDS. You take your medication when you're supposed to, plus you're a really great girl, Alyx. You can't hide from people. They won't hurt you."
Yes they will! What do you know, you insensitive bitch! You're not the one with a messed up head, are you? No! You are not! Just shut the hell up! You're not helping me at all! Why am I even here? I should be at home, sleeping! All I need is sleep! I do not need you here giving me all this crap that I will not take to heart!
I place my hands over my ears even though Jessica is not saying anything. My fingers tighten on my hair and I'm afraid it will rip out but it doesn't. I am dying to look at it and know what color it is, but They would never allow that. When They first began insulting my appearance, I begged Mommy and Daddy to put a curtain in front of the mirror or else I would break it myself. So they put a curtain in front of the mirror, which you can draw back if you please. It's black, thank God, so I can't see a thing if I stand in front of it.
"Alyx?" Jessica's voice echoes into my ears, ripping through my flesh and bones. "Do you want to end the session early even though we still have forty-five minutes?"
Jessica nods. "All right, then. Let's go and get your mother."
"Leave just I can't?" I ask, exhasperated. My fingers squeeze my brain and pull at my hair again. I shut my eyes and grit my teeth. "Leave to want just I!"
"Okay, okay! Let's go." Jessica stands up and I follow her, my hands still over my ears. We walk out of her office and this means my mother follows Jessica back in. When she comes back out after five minutes, she signals for me to get up so we can go.
When we get to the parking lot I ask, "Can I drive?"
Mom stares at me. "No, you cannot drive."
I stare back at her. "I've driven Dad's truck around before. In a field. Don't you remember? I didn't crash it. Please, Mommy? Just this once?"
She shakes her head no. This is going to take more arguing.
"Mom, come on! I didn't crash Dad's truck, and I won't crash your car! Come on, Mom, please? Just once! I promise I won't let anything happen!"
"What if you get pulled over and a cop asks for your liscence?" Mom asks, hands on hips.
"What if a cop doesn't pull us over and ask me for my liscence?"
She sighs. "Fine. Just this once. When you get a learner's permit or something, feel free to buy your own car and drive it around. And I swear to God, if you even get pulled over, you're grounded!"
Good golly, Mother, I'm terrified.
I roll my eyes, take the keys from her, and climb into the driver's seat for the second time in my life.I put on my seatbelt, find the right key, and put it into the ignition. The car starts, and I shift the gear to R, and I back up. I shift the gear to D, and I am soon on the road. I can feel Mom looking at me, fearing for the worst, but I turn on the radio even though I don't like listening to it. But, I need something to ease the tension. Anything.
Even though I am driving almost perfectly, Mom still covers her face with her hands. I roll my eyes and find the turn signal button on. We have driven this way hundred of times since I first started seeing Jessica Varner PhD My Psychotherapist, and I know the way back home like the back of my hand. The ride is silent with the exception of the radio people talking about the weather and how we're supposed to have a rainstorm next week. Wonderful.
When I pull into our driveway without slamming into Daddy's truck, Mom removes her hands from her face and blinks in surprise. "We made it!" she says excitedly. She makes it sound like I'm a drunk pilot but have landed the plane safely. "You actually drove the car without crashing or getting pulled over! I'm so proud of you, Alyx!"
Whatever. I undo my seatbelt, open the door and practically whip the keys at her. I slam the door, run to the porch and head into the house, leaving Mom sitting there in shock, or whatever the hell she's feeling. I run upstairs without greeting Daddy. I run into my room and turn on my stereo. I don't know what kind of CD is in there but I really need to listen to it. A violin opening plays and I turn up the music as loud as it can go. I fall against the wall, put my hands over my ears and rock back and forth. I do this throughout the whole CD, and a few times Robyn screams at me from the other side of the door to turn it down or else, but my door is locked so she can't do shit to me.
The CD is done playing after the last song, but I don't get up or anything. I close my eyes for a few minutes and when I open them again, I am in a made-up yoga posistion, one foot on the floor, the other behind my head, my hands balancing me, placed on the floor. It doesn't hurt me at all and I don't feel anything. There is a knock on my door.
"Alyx, dinner time!"
"Strectching!" I respond.
"Alyx, you can stretch later! Just eat dinner with us, then you can stretch the night away." Robyn is growing impatient; This means she was sent up here to get me.
"Fine!" I sigh, annoyed, and tumble to the floor. "Damn it! Ow! Fuck!" I pick myself up and limp to the door. I unlock it and Robyn is standing there, tapping her foot on the floor like those TV moms.
"What the hell were you doing in there?" Robyn asks. She heads for the stairs and I follow.
"Stretching," I reply innocently.
"Whatever!" I mock. I roll my eyes and contemplate pushing her down the stairs, but I don't think breaking her neck is worth being interrupted while peacefully stretching.
Dinner tonight is this weird macaroni and cheese casserole Daddy made. It is sprinkled with about fifty pounds of melted cheese on top and reminds me of lasagna. I dig in, suddenly excited. I swing my feet under the chair, kicking Robyn every two seconds. She scoots over, rolling her eyes. I grin and continue eating. Mommy looks at me, raising an eyebrow, then turns to Daddy.
"So, Brian. Alyx drove my car today," she informs him, like it's such a huge deal. "Without crashing it or getting pulled over."
"Wow," Daddy says. He looks at me. "Good job, Al. Maybe you should start taking driving lessons. There's a driving school somewhere in this town, isn't there, Lynda?"
Lynda shrugs. "There should be."
"Yeah, Alyx drove my truck around pretty well when I let her drive it that day," Daddy says. "I'm thinking of buying an SUV in a few months, once I start making more money. They're pretty cheap around here."
"You can buy an SUV in a town as small as this?" Mom asks.
"Why can't I drive?" Robyn asks. "I can drive a go-kart."
"That's not the same as a car, sweetie," Mommy replies. "You're only thirteen, too! Wait three more years."
"Oh, so I'm thirteen and a normal kid but I can't test drive a car, but my sister, who has a disease, called schizo*bleep*ingphrenia and can not operate machinery can drive a car? Bullshit!" Robyn stands up, and her chair falls backwards and hits the ceramic tiles of the kitchen floor. She runs upstairs and I can hear her bedroom door slamming.
Somebody's on her period, hmm?
Mommy sighs. "I knew this would happen when she turned thirteen. Angsty, angsty, angsty! God help me."
Daddy pats her back. "She'll be fine tomorrow, Lynda."
If only he meant that about me.
|posts in thread|
Feb 01, 10 at 10:57pm ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
This is freaking good.
I envy your writing talent. ;~;
Oh, and I caught something.
Homestuck | Tumblr | deviantART | Okami
|posts in thread|
Feb 01, 10 at 11:06pm ^re: [I don't know what to call this] Schizophreak - Writer's Lounge
"Cackle" is a verb/word. it means laughing like a witch. ;D
|posts in thread|
Feb 01, 10 at 11:19pm ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
Just started reading this earlier today. Your writing skill is fantastic! Keep on going :3
Don't Stop Make it Pop
DJ Blow my speakers up
Tonight Ima fight
Till we see the sunlight
|posts in thread|
Feb 02, 10 at 2:29am ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
I didn't get to the fourth chapter yet but all the other chapters are EPIC Marie. And I really enjoy the picture before each of the chapters... it really adds to it.
Btw it took me like five minutes to understand that those jumble of words was psychology xD
|posts in thread|
Feb 03, 10 at 12:36am ^re: [I don't know what to call this] Schizophreak - Writer's Lounge
@Heartless: Thanks broski! That doesn't tell me much but okay XD
@caitlin: Lolol I felt like spelling it out like I did with the first chapter. Thank you bro. <3
The following is not an actual chapter. It's a filler. Idk what to do with chapter five so I just wrote a filler because I wanted to write something today.
|posts in thread|
Feb 03, 10 at 12:36am ^re: [I don't know what to call this] Schizophreak - Writer's Lounge
imaginary (this is not a chapter)
credit to zaferah @ Deviantart
She slams me against the wall and I scream out in pain. I can feel the bruises forming already. We're home alone and she is supposed to be watching me. Watching me. Babysitting me. Not hurting me. Not screaming at me. She's just supposed to mind her own business while I do the same thing.
But instead of doing what she's supposed to, she punches me in the face, hard. I scream. She laughs.
"You little bitch!" she screeches. She throws another punch.
"No!" I scream. Tears pour down my cheeks. "Please!"
"Please what?" She screams. She laughs and laughs. I cry and cry. I fall down and bury my face in my knees. "Get up, freak! Now! UP! GET UP SO I CAN KILL YOU!"
"No!" I shriek. "Nonononononono!"
She grabs my hand and drags me upwards. I fight back. I feel her bones and flesh and everything I hit. I smash her bones into pieces. I am getting rid of her. She knows what I'm doing, so she slaps me across the face. I grab her wrist and twist it twist it twist it. I seethe and I am strong I am strong! I am strong! Finally! I am not weak I am not a mouse I am a cat I am a monster I am strong!
I swear at her and make her leave. She hisses as me like a vampire. I can see her now. She has dark hair, black. Her lips are bloody red and her skin is white as a sheet and she scares me I'm scared now I am scared go away go away! Go away, One! Go mess with someone else! This is not over, you bitch! The way you've been treating me is not nice and you should be in jail!
"You were supposed to be there for me!" I scream. "You're such a bitch! Look what you've done!" I stop hitting her for a few seconds to show her my arm that is bleeding and drying up and is going to scar and everyone is going to blame me for it. There are bloody lines up and down my arm and it hurts so much it doesn't hurt my arm is numb I hope I don't bleed to death. "I hope you suffer more than Thirty-Eight did!"
"Who the hell is Thirty-Eight?"
"You know him perfectly well!"
"Not all of us know each other, you idiot." She snarls and I know she's slowly dying. I'm doing it. It's harder to kill her than to kill Thirty-Eight, but I can do it. I am doing it. I take a knife and stab her where her heart should be. I rip through her heart and take it out and eat it eat it eat it. One screams and falls to the floor and she dies. She bleeds all over my carpet but it's not my responsibility to clean it up.
I take a pillow and bury my face in it. My bleeding arm is probably staining the pretty white fabric but I do not care. I scream and scream and scream my lungs out until I am suffocating. I raise my head to see the last of One twitching and squriming. Her eyes are rolling into the back of her head. She dies. Blood is everywhere. There's literally a huge hole in her chest. She is lifeless and she is fading away. I scream into my pillow some more so I can empty out every memory of One from my screwed-up mind.
Something touches my arm lightly. I gasp and look up. It's only my sister it's only my sister...
"What the hell was going on?" she asks.
I scream into my pillow as a response.
|posts in thread|
Feb 05, 10 at 12:36am ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
u r prob a better writer than Stephenie meyer! More chapters. Also did she really just kill voice one?
I love you. You love me. Together, let's love the world. In fact, we have so much love, we can remove the hate.
|posts in thread|
Feb 07, 10 at 5:46pm ^re: [I don't know what to call this] Schizophreak - Writer's Lounge
^ That's for you to figure out. ;D I would tell you to look at what I titled that filler, but I really don't want to spoil everyone's thoughts. In case you really want me too, though...
Spoiler: look at your own risk
That was a hallucination, but One is indeed killed off.
The next chapter should come either tonight or by Tuesday at the latest. I already know how to finish this story, but I have no idea how many chapters I want to put in it.
|posts in thread|
Feb 07, 10 at 8:32pm ^re: [I don't know what to call this] Schizophreak - Writer's Lounge
five ~ november rain
credit to akzick33 @ deviantart
Two months pass. November is cold, rainy and windy. I guess rain and wind comes a lot before the snow does. That's what happens in Seattle, so I guess it happens in Coldgrove, too. After I killed off One, They had a funeral for her and They have stopped messing with me. Well, They still do mess with me, but not as often as They used to. They still talk to each other, but They rarely talk about One. They respect my feelings now, sort of.
I am doing better in school. We are doing group work in Psychology class and our tables have been put into groups. I sit with Collin, Ashley and Bruce. We have a project on ADHD. I don't talk much in any of my classes, but I do my work like a good girl. Sometimes while I'm working, They talk to me and point out funny things, causing me to laugh. Whenever this happens in Math class, Ms. Carter kicks me out because she does not understand anything. Bitch.
Every day, Collin invites me to sit with him at lunch and I oblige. I just sit and eat my lunch and swallow my pill, while Collin talks and talks and talks. He really likes baseball, and he thinks the Mariners did great this season and he can't wait for April next year when everyone starts playing again. I don't watch baseball and I have nothing to do with it, but I did go to a Mariners game when I was eleven with daddy. We won the game, seven to three. I can't remember who we were playing; I think it was Detriot, but it doesn't matter anymore. I told Collin about that day and he was happy for me.
Today, I go outside for lunch even though it's raining really hard. I am wearing a black tank top and jean shorts even though it is probably only thirty degrees and very windy. Collin follows me outside, saying "Alyx, we should go inside and eat! We'll get sick if we sit out here! Look at you! You're not even wearing a rain jacket! At least stand under my umbrella with me! Please, Alyx? Please stand under my umbrella with me?"
I turn to him, glaring. "Shut up, Collin! Just shut up! I'M NOT COLD!"
He looks genuinely hurt at my outburst. "I'm sorry, Alyx." He clutches Peter closer and looks away from me, but keeps walking beside me. I am heading for the bleachers. There is another couple outside, but they are huddled near the forest, smoking cigarettes, hiding so they won't get caught. I contemplate going up to them and asking if I can have a cig, but they will probably laugh at me and walk away because I bet no one will take me seriously when I am wearing summer clothing when it is cold and rainy and almost winter time.
I lead the way and climb up a few stairs so I am in the middle of the bleachers. I look at the rain falling onto the football field. Before this moment, I've had no idea we have a football team at this school. I know we have cheerleaders, but they always cheer on the basketball teams. I sit on the cold metal and shiver as it touches the skin of my thighs. Collin has his umbrella and Peter in one hand, and his lunch bag in the other. I have my paper bag in my lap and I am staring up at the sky. I close my eyes and let the rain drops pool into my eye sockets.
"Alyx, why did you bring me out here?" Collin asks. He takes a sip from his juice box.
"I felt like it!" I explode. "I fucking felt like it, Collin! Stop asking your Goddamn questions! Maybe I don't want to answer them!"
"I'm sorry." He looks away once again and starts eating. I take out my pill and my can of juice. I open the can, swallow the pill, and wash it down with Minute Maid apple juice. I put my head in my hands and take deep breaths. I can feel Collin watching me. I come back up and look at him straight in the eyes.
"No. I'm sorry." I sigh. "Don't be sorry. I'm sorry. I'm a bitch."
"No you're not!" Collin gasps. He doesn't scold me for swearing at him. Other times, he scolds me like my grandmother would, because Collin does not swear, nor appreciate swearing.
"Yes, I am. Just listen to me." I pause. Collin stares at me. I look out at the football field again. I rub my temples with my fingers. "There's a reason why I sometimes don't talk. Or why I yell at you. Or why I laugh randomly in class. Or why I sometimes stare at nothing for the longest time."
"There is?" Collin asks. He takes another sip of his juice and swings his legs.
I nod. "I have a disease, Collin."
He gasps. "AIDS?"
I don't laugh; I just shake my head no. "Not that kind of disease, Collin. The disease I have is a disease of the mind. It affects you and everyone around you. There are four or so types of the disease I have. I have the catatonic kind. Sometimes, I can't be left alone because you never know when I'm about to strike."
"So you're dangerous?"
"Have you done anything really dangerous?"
I consider telling him about the time I almost killed Robyn, but I decide to tell him a different story. He seems to be my only friend, even if we're the most dysfunctional pair of friends in the whole United States of America. "Yes." There are many stories, but I don't know which one to tell. Just a couple months ago when One was forcing me to self-mutilate? The other week when I ran into the street and almost got hit by a car?
"Like what?" Collin asks. I sigh. I guess Collin really wants to know. I show him my left arm, where three pink scars run up and down from my wrist to the inside of my elbow. Collin gasps. "Did you really do that?"
"I was forced to." I place my right hand over the arm as if it will cover up the lines, but it only covers up half of them. "I have the kind of disease where you hear Voices and you see things. Sometimes your Voices are only a few in population, other times you can have over a hundred of them, like I do. Sometimes they talk to each other about stupid things like the weather or argue with themselves over different things...but sometimes..."
Collin tilts his head to the side, forcing me to go on.
"Sometimes they attack me. They bully me. They make me do things that I shouldn't be doing. I've even numbered all of my voices. The first one, I called her One, but she had a name, Charlotte. She used to be so nice to me, but two months ago I killed her."
Collin gasps and covers his mouth with his fingers. Behind them, he asks, "How?"
"She made me cut myself." I show him my arm again. "I never expected her to do that. I don't remember what her problem was, but she was supposed to be babysitting me when my parents went to the grocery store. My sister wanted to come, but she was supposed to stay with me in the house in case I decided to jump out a window or something.
"Anyways, we were in my room, me and One. She gave me a knife and yelled at me to cut myself or else she would kill me. Now, sometimes, because of my disease, I wish I were dead. Sometimes my disease gets really bad, even when I take my pills, but I get so suicidal sometimes. But when One threatened me, I was really scared. She pushed me against the wall and it hurt so much I did what she told me. Three long cuts up and down my left arm, because I'm right-handed. You don't know how much it bled, Collin! It hurt so much that it didn't hurt at all.
"I was getting really mad and scared at that point. I started screaming at her and I saw what she looked like for the first time in my life since I started hearing voices. She had black hair, skin as white as a sheet, and red, red lips. She looked like an vampire. I started to hit her and she was hitting me back, but after a few blows, I was winning. I took my knife and stabbed her in the chest, where her heart was supposed to be. I ripped her heart out and ate it. I could taste the blood. It was actually really good. It was salty, and I like salty things.
"There was a huge hold in One's chest. She fell onto my carpet and bled everywhere. She was twitching around like she was being electrified. A few seconds later, she died. While she was dying, I was screaming into my pillow to get rid of her. Then, finally, my sister Robyn came in—She probably busted open my door because I always lock it—and when she touched me, I got scared and screamed all over again. When my parents came home, One was gone and my floor was clean."
Collin's green eyes are wide in terror. "Alyx..." he says. "How was the floor clean?"
"I don't know. Maybe she cleaned it up when she went to hell." I snarl at the last word.
"Maybe it was your imagination, then," Collin says. "Floors don't clean themselves up."
I gasp. I clutch my paper bag, then grab Collin's wrists. He shrieks in pain. "Don't you dare say it was my imagination!" I scream. "It was real! It was real real real real real real real! Everything that happens to me is as real as what happens to you! Don't you even try to doubt me!"
"I'm sorry!" Collin shrieks. "I'm sorry Alyx I'm sorry Alyx please let go of me please I'm sorry!" He is on the verge of tears, so I let go. He clutches Peter and nuzzles his face into the fur. I sigh.
"I'm sorry, Collin," I whisper. He can hear me. "See, that's what happens, when I get mad. I grab people and hurt them. I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry. You don't need to forgive me, but—"
"I will," Collin assures me. He smiles. "I forgive you, Alyx. Sometimes I can't help yelling, too."
I give him a thumbs-up. "I still didn't tell you what the name of my disease is called."
He shakes his head no in agreement.
"It's called schizophrenia," I tell him. "And I have the cataontic type. Catatonic schizophrenia."
"Oh." Collin looks at something I don't see. "That's not good."
"Nope. Not really."
"People say I have a condition, too, but they all refuse to tell me what it is. My doctor says it's something that people have and some people who have it are very smart. My mom says I'm very smart! I have lots of As and the teachers like me! Peter's smart, too!" Collin holds up his little friend and grins.
"Asperger Syndrome?" I ask.
Collin shrugs. "No one tells me anything around here!"
"Me neither!" I say. "Maybe we should do something about it!"
Collin high-fives me, and I scoot over to sit under his umbrella. I am no longer mad at him.
Author Edit: Fixed the spelling error of Asperger Syndrome.
Mod Edit: Feb 08, 10 by harvest hunny
|posts in thread|
Feb 09, 10 at 11:23pm ^re: [I don't know what to call this] Schizophreak - Writer's Lounge
six ~ art therapy
credit to ThEnemY @ deviantart
I am soaking wet, but I go into the building after lunch with Collin anyways. I don't have any dry clothes with me, and I don't want to wear my gym clothes, so I just stay the way I am. Collin and I have Art class today, and I have decided I like Art class. Our teacher, Mr. Jackson (Not related to Michael) is a great guy and the Art room is like my heaven, even though I never thought I had a heaven.
We get to class on time and I sit in my usual desk. Mr. Jackson looks at me funny, but then he smiles. The other students hurry in and sit down just as the bell rings. Mr. Jackson nods at us and tells us to continue from where we left off last time. At the beginning of the year, we have all been assigned a year-long project. We are each given a subject, and we have to create art out of it somehow. The subject can be a word, a phrase, a color, an object, anything. Mr. Jackson assigned them to us; We couldn't choose on our own. Besides, I would have had no idea what to choose.
Mr. Jackson assigned me a theme: Help. I was skeptical of my subject at first, but later I felt comfortable. Our first unit was sketching, so I sketched people in jail or stuck in a small place with their facial expression screaming Help! Now, we are focusing on painting with water colors and acrylics, so I find my canvas from the back of the room, prop it up on a stand and find the water color package with my name on it. Mr. Jackson has given every one of his students, all 150 of them their own water color pain set, and it's not the cheap dollar-store kind. I guess he must have an awfully large budget.
I sit down in my chair and look at what I need to add to my painting. Since my theme is Help, I have decided to paint a girl's face with troubled, black eyes. Dark circles underneath, bags. Black hair, ivory skin. I mix the correct colors to touch-up her skin tone. At first, when I began this painting, I thought of making her lips form the word Help, but then decided against it and painted a white square where her mouth should be.
I concentrate for a long time, and after five minutes of stroking my canvas with the brush, I take a break. I look to my left and see Collin working on his painting. His theme is Friendship. His painting is two girls, one black and one white. He has decided to title is painting Ebony and Ivory. It is based off a story he is working on for English class.
Collin looks at me and shows me what he has done with his painting. He has touched up the background behind his two subjects with faces. Dozens and dozens of faces, all laughing. I never knew he could paint something so dark and twisted; Collin is such a happy guy. I eye his painting and nod with approval. "Why did you make such a happy painting so twisted?" I ask him.
"Twisted?" Collin shrieks. He thinks I mean twisted like the painting is sideways. "Where? WHERE? I made everything straight, Alyx! What are you talking about?"
Mr. Jackson reaches our area, as he has been pacing around the room and giving his students feedback on their paintings. To Collin, he says, "Collin, your painting doesn't have to be perfectly straight. Give it some flair. Not everything has to be perfect. Bring your painting to life!"
Collin hesitates, then nods. "Okay, Mr. Jackson."
Mr. Jackson walks over to me and looks at my painting. "Alyx, this is beautiful!" he says. "Even though you're using watercolors, it still stands out. But what's the white square over the girl's mouth supposed to be?"
"There tape of piece a," I respond. Mr. Jackson looks at me funny, so I try to correct myself. "Murder, as defined in common law countries, is the unlawful killing of a human being. A person who commits murder is called a murderer." What the hell am I saying? Mr. Jackson is staring at me now.
"Tape?" he asks, saving me from saying any more stupid things. I nod in relief. "Ah. Well, I don't think anyone will know it's tape just from looking at it. It seems to me like you want to make it look like the tape has been there a long time. Maybe add a bit of shading to it so the tape looks wrinkled. You know what I mean?"
"I'm looking forward to seeing your finished piece then, Alyx."
Mr. Jackson walks away to give feedback to Ashleigh, whose subject is Rainbows. Her current piece is supposed to be a Gay/Lesbian Pride parade. There are lots of rainbow flags in them. Personally, I think she is the best artist in this class. Now I am Alyxandra Leigh Sawhill, art critic. Even though I am not gay, I love her piece and would like to hang it up in my room even though I can't have anything on my walls. When Mr. Jackson is done, I whisper to Ashleigh, "I love your piece."
"Thanks!" she says brightly. She looks at mine and I notice she has written on her arm in permanent marker the name of her girlfriend, Hannah. "Wow," she says, eyeing my picture. "That's...creepy."
"I mean, in the good way. It's like you don't want to look at it too long or else the girl will come out and eat you or something."
I don't frown, but clench my jaw.
"It's kind of twisted...in the dark, deep way. It has meaning, Alice."
"My name is Alyx."
"Alyx. Sorry. It's still really, really deep. Maybe you should add a background to it, unless you want to make it look like the girl is popping out of nowhere."
"Oh. Yeah. That makes sense. Thanks, Ashleigh."
"No problem." Ashleigh goes back to her painting, and so do I. I decide to make the background grey, because of I make it black, it will blend in with the girl's hair, which I do not want. I dab the brush carefully on the white canvas. I then touch-up the hair while the grey dries up. I need a name for this girl.
I stand up and take a few steps back to study my painting. The girl doesn't look like anything. I forget what I look like, but I must look like an Alyx. Collin looks like a Collin, Ashleigh looks like an Ashleigh. My portrait does not have a name. I frown. She looks like a humanoid vampire who badly needs sleep. She looks like she's been raped.
What's a name for a girl that's been raped?
Anybody could get raped.
I think of a book I once read. A girl named Melinda was the protagonist and she was a victim of rape, but I don't like the name Melinda. Back in Seattle in English class when we were focusing on writing, Mrs. Lee told us to give your characters names you like. I think of the names I used to want to give to my children back when I was a normal girl without a disease and a future ahead of her. What were those names again? The girl ones?
Victoria, Madeline, Alyson, Erin, Zoe, Zara, Medusa (Wasn't she supposed to be really ugly?), Claudia, Sarah, Ashlyn, Elisabeth...
This girl doesn't fit in to any of those names. I think of a Gothic name; This girl looks like a goth. Vera? No. This girl looks like she needs sleep, but she is very pretty. Vera is an ugly name. Julia? No, I don't like that name.
Sighing, I go to my desk and leave my painting there for someone to destroy. I put my head in my hands and start ripping my hair out. Mr. Jackson sees that I am going through emotional anguish, so he walks over and I can feel him staring at me. "Alyx, what's the matter?" he asks. "Is it something I can help you with?"
"No!" I explode. I look up at him and glare. I'm not crying but I know my eyes are red because they hurt. "No! No it is not something you can help me with!" Everyone is staring at us. Collin peers at us from the side of his easel. "Collin, get back to your stupid painting! Stop looking at me! All of you!" I am seething now.
"Alyx, breathe," Mr. Jackson says to me. He puts a hand on my shoulders but I slap it away.
"No!" I screech. "You do not get to touch me! I don't need touching!"
Mr. Jackson is taken aback and steps away carefully. I am about to hit him and he knows it. "Alyx, please come outside with me in the hallway. Everyone else, stay in your seats and don't talk so loud I can hear you from outside the door!" Everyone nods and pretends to work on their paintings. I stand up and stagger drunkenly after Mr. Jackson. He closes the door and we are in the hallway. I am hyperventilating. I stand against the lockers as if they will support me up.
"Alyx, are you having a panic attack?" Mr. Jackson asks.
"No, I'm giving birth!" I yell sarcastically. "Yes, I am having a panic attack, Mr. Jackson! What does it look like?"
"Alyx, we need to get you to the office. Now."
"No!" I tell him. "I do not need the office! I'm fine! Just breathe, Alyxandra! Breathe and everything will be okay!" I laugh in a robot voice. "Breathing is always the answer, isn't it? Huh? No, no, no! Jesus is the answer! What are you gonna do now, huh? Take me to some holy-ass temple and get me help that way?" I am going insane.
"Alyx," Mr. Jackson says firmly. "If you don't want to go to the office, that's fine. But taking a walk will help. Just walk with me around the school. If you need a drink, we can stop at a water fountain."
"I think you've Googled 'What to do in case someone is having a panic attack,'" I snarl.
"No. I've taken medical lessons, just in case something is happening. If someone is having a panic attack, they need to seek medical attention."
"I don't need a hospital! The bills! The bills! We can't have that, can we, Alyxandra? No, we can't! This is America and we don't have free health care unlike Canada! Maybe I'll move to Canada! Yeah! Canada!"
"Alyx, calm down. Stop talking and just breathe. Wait here just a second." He steps into a nearby classroom where a teacher has planning time. "Jane, can you cover for me? Thanks!" He comes back to me and we walk. Jane, whoever she may be, looks at us funny and hurries to Mr. Jackson's classroom. "Alyx, what happened?"
"You want to know what happened?" I ask in a voice that belongs to a murderer.
"Too bad!" I say loudly. We are in the main hallway of the school now. The office is nearby, but Mr. Jackson has no intention of dragging me there quite yet. I sit on the nearest bench and put my head in my hands. Mr. Jackson sits beside me. I don't breathe. I'm trying to kill myself and we both know it. I'm going to turn blue I'm going to turn blue.
The rapid heartbeat in my chest escapes my rib cage, or wherever it is, and pops through my skin. It bouces out the door like a cartoon heart would and waves goodbye to me. I open my mouth and shriek, "I can't breathe!"
"In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Do that two times, in and out."
In and out in and out.
"Good. Now do that four times each."
In and out in and out in and out in and out.
"I think you need some fresh air. You're perspirating." Why can't he just say sweating?
We walk out the doors and stand under what is supposed to be a roof. I close my eyes and breathe in and out in and out. I take a few steps forward and feel cold raindrops falling onto my hot and sweaty face. I can breathe now, but my chest is still throbbing. I don't know if my heart is really there or not. I put my hand to my left breast and press down. I feel it pounding against my hand, so my heart is still there.
"Are you okay now, Alyx?"
"Can you tell me what happened?"
"Am I phsyically able?"
"You tell me." He isn't smiling.
"What am I to tell you?"
He is not growing impatient. This is a first. "Alyx, we should go inside now," he says gently.
"Okay." I follow him inside and we sit on the bench again.
"Now, tell me, have you ever had a panic attack before?"
"I see. Did you ever have to go to the hospital for any of them?"
"Yes. But I don't want to go there after panic attacks any more. I can't do that to my parents. We habe health insurance, but it only covers half the bills. And the bills are high because I'm in the hospital frequently."
"Oh. Do you have a medical problem? Surely if you did, the insurance would cover more than half of it if you did."
"I kind of have a medical problem, yes."
"Would you care to tell me what it is?"
We are silent for a minute. I pull my knees to my chest and rest my chin on them. I close my eyes and wonder what time it is. Hopefully I can miss gym class. I don't feel like running around throwing foam balls at people.
"Alyx, tell me what happened," Mr. Jackson urges.
"I can't think of a name!" I gasp. I am going hysterical again. Awesome. "I can't think of a name for my painting!"
"Well, use the subject you're given in the title, if that helps," Mr. Jackson says, but that is not what I mean.
"No! I mean the name of the girl in my painting!" I shriek. "My English teacher at my old school said when naming characters, think of names you like. I thought of names I used to like but none of them fit!" Sobs escape my throat and I bury my face in my thighs.
"Alyx," Mr. Jackson says gently, "is it really important to name the person in your painting?"
"To me it is."
"I don't want her to be a nobody."
"You want to give the girl an identity?" Mr. Jackson asks. Now he's getting somewhere!
"Yes. I just want her to have the perfect name. It's like naming a child. They're going to stick with the name forever unless they hate it and want to change it. I don't want the girl in the painting to not like her name." I cover my ears with my hands.
"Alyx. It's a painting. The girl in the painting is not your child. It's not necessary to give the subject a name."
"You don't understand!" I explode.
Ms. Carmona walks by and stares at us. She enters the office, says something to the secretary, and walks out the other way. I don't know where she is heading.
"I'm going to get you a bottle of water, Alyx," Mr. Jackson says.
"When somebody is having a panic attack, it's not a good idea to leave them alone!" I inform him as he walks towards the nearest vending machines. He inserts four quarters and returns back. He opens the bottle and gives it to me. I take several sips. I feel like pouring the rest onto the floor, but I don't think he will appreciate that. He hands me the cap and I twist it on the bottle until it's closed.
"Nobody understands," I whisper. I cover my ears again and rock back and forth, shutting my eyes. "Nobody understands nobody understands nobody understands...It hurts, Mr. Jackson. It hurts so much."
"Did you hurt yourself?"
"No, no. It hurts. In my head. It hurts so much. You just don't understand how hurt she must feel. She doesn't have a name." My eyes fill with hot tears. I pity the girl in my painting. "She needs to be somebody. She can't be nobody. She was raped, but she needs...she needs...she needs to be heard. I can't believe I'm torturing her like that. I'm putting tape over her mouth, God damn it! She needs to be somebody! I can't let her be me!"
Mr. Jackson's lips are grim. "Is the girl in the painting you?" he asks.
"No!" I shriek.
"I'm sorry if that was offending," he says, genuinely sorry. "I didn't—"
"She's supposed to be the opposite of me. I want her to be somebody. I am nobody." I then bawl uncontrollably into my thighs. I don't think Mr. Jackson knows what to do with me. But that's okay, nobody does.
|posts in thread|
Feb 16, 10 at 4:28am ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
Absolutely amazing. Writers block at the moment? U have not updated in a while.
I love you. You love me. Together, let's love the world. In fact, we have so much love, we can remove the hate.
|posts in thread|
Feb 16, 10 at 4:37am ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
Slightly. I'm working Slowly on the chapter but I have it all planned out. I haven't had access to my laptop over the weekend and i've been busy since I have had access to it...chapter should be up by Wednesday though. (y)
|posts in thread|
Feb 21, 10 at 5:09am ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
I love this story i know it sounds freaky to love it because it's kinda twisted but its really good!
Unless I grip the sword, I cannot protect you.
While gripping the sword, I cannot embrace you.
|posts in thread|
Feb 21, 10 at 5:48pm ^re: Schizophreak [COMPLETED!]
seven ~ would i like some tea?
credit to mamazmeilor @ deviantart
"Please?" Collin begs. "She really, really wants to meet you!"
"Why?" I ask. I sigh. "Collin, I really don't want to."
"You have to, Alyx! My mom really likes you and she thinks it's best if she meets you so she can decide whether you're friend-material or not." Collin holds up Peter. "Please? Even Peter wants you to come. You don't have to stay long. Maybe just for dinner? Please, please, please, Alyx? With a cherry on top?"
I sigh once again and frown. Collin takes this as a yes, and cheers. He takes my hand and starts dragging me down the block. It's a Saturday and he begged me to hang out with him today. It's two in the afternoon, and I would much rather be sleeping and hanging around the house all day. But, Collin called my house just twenty minutes ago, demanding I come out and enjoy the rare sunshine. Mommy told me I had to get some fresh air, so I changed into a bubble jacket, jeans, a scarf, a hat with earflaps, and gloves. It's not even snowing outside, but who knows?
"Collin, I would much rather be sleeping," I say. With my free hand, I adjust my scarf. Collin grins at me and we stop walking once we reach one of the five traffic lights in town. I push the walk button and we wait. "Collin, next time, I'm calling you when you're peacefully asleep just to meet my mother. Just to be fair."
"Okay!" he agrees. "Fair is fair! But I didn't just want you to meet my mom. I wanted you to come over to my house and meet my brother, too. And just hang out with me."
Hang out with you and lose my virginity afterwards? Sure! Sounds awesome!
I don't respond to him, but the Walk signal is showing, so we walk across the street and straight up the block. Collin begins chattering away: "Did you know each major baseball league season consists of one-hundred-sixty-two games?"
"No, I did not know that."
"Well, they begin on the first Sunday in April and sometimes end the first Sunday in October!"
While he is talking, I imagine a shooting star above my head, and letters forming The More You Know! I nod when I have to and wonder if the people passing by in their cars are staring at us. I see my dream car while we walk: A big black van that pedofiles usually drive. I've always wanted something big that I can live in if I decide to hit the road and move out one day. I can put up posters and blast music if I'm in the mood. I could fit a mattress and maybe a mini-fridge in there.
Too bad I don't have my liscence.
"What kind of car do you want to drive, Collin?" I ask him right out of nowhere.
He looks thoughtful, then replies "I don't know. I don't really want to take driving lessons just yet. My mom says I shouldn't drive until I get better in my head, so maybe in a couple of years. I want something small, like a Honda Civic—"
Before he can go on, I burst into laughter. It's the first time in a long time that I'm actually laughing at something funny, and not because of Them. Collin looks at me funny, then smiles. "You're actually laughing!" he says, baffled. "But what's so funny about a Honda Civic?"
"Don't black people drive them? Like, only black people? Aren't Honda Civics the offical cars of black people in this country?" I clutch my sides and continue laughing. Collin, however, does not find this amusing. He's such a great kid, he doesn't have one racist bone in his body. He glares at me, but doesn't walk ahead of me.
After five straight minutes and stomach cramps that feel like contractions, I finally calm down and walk with Collin as if nothing has happened. He chatters on about cars now, and asks me what my dream car is.
"A big black van," I tell him without hesitating. I remember
When I was a normal girl without It, I used to want to drive a Lamborghini. A green one. Green used to be my favorite color, but now I don't even remember the rainbow. Autumn wanted a plain red convertable, which I thought was funny because red is/was such a flashy color. Autumn's hair is/was/how the hell am I supposed to know now? Red with blonde and very curly. I envied it, and she even looked like her name. So many shades of red, orange and yellow, the colors of Autumn.
"Why would you want to drive something like that?" Collin asks, raising an eyebrow.
"The same reason you oh-so-badly want to drive a Honda Civic."
"But you just said big black vans. Hondas are generally small, especially Civics."
I roll my eyes. "Collin, I was being sarcastic."
"Sarcasm expresses insecurity."
"You've obviously been reading Psychology Today, haven't you?"
"And there you go again with your sarcasm, Alyx!" Collin is getting annoyed. "Why do you have to be so mean to me? I've been nice to you ever since the first day of school and all you can give me is sarcasm and a rude attitude and blah blah blah blah blah!"
I smack my hands over my ears and face Collin. "SHUT THE HELL UP!" I scream. I am so loud I can hear my echo even though everything sounds so hollow. "I don't need you screaming at me and telling me every single bad point about myself! It sounds normal for someone to criticise themself, but when someone else says it, it hurts! Don't you know that? Don't you, idiot?"
He stares at me. He doesn't say a thing. Actually, he says so many things without saying a word. He just keeps walking and after three minutes we reach his house. We walk up the pathway and I see a car in the driveway which is made out of dirt. We are in the countryside of Coldgrove.
"Do you have a bus stop nearby here?" I ask Collin, so I am prepared to find a way back home.
Collin doesn't reply.
"Collin, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things. I shouldn't be mean to you. It's just...No, nevermind. Excuses never work, do they?"
He shakes his head no. "They don't work, Alyx. But you only have one excuse; Your schizophrenia. You can't make that an excuse for everything."
"I know. But sometimes it is an actual excuse. I take medication but sometimes it doesn't work. I need higher doses but no one listens to me. They're anti-psychotic pills."
He turns to stare at me.
"You're forgiven. Now let's go inside!"
We head up the porch steps and Collin knocks on the door, which is white. I stand with him and pray that I won't freak out when I meet his mother. Staycoolbreathebeawesomebenormal! Normalnormalnormal! Normalisthesolution!
What is normal, anyways?
The door opens, and I see Collin's mother for the first time. She has Collin's dark hair and piercing green eyes, which look happy but tired at the same time. I can also see where Collin gets his straight teeth from. "Hi, Collin! You must be Alyx."
I nod. "Nice to meet you. You must be Mrs. Ross."
She nods and smiles. "Come inside, guys. It's chilly out there, huh?" She steps back and we step forward. Collin hangs up his coat and dashes upstairs to his room.
"I'm just going to get something!" he yells over his shoulder.
Mrs. Ross takes my coat and hangs it up. "He's probably just going to clean his room, which could take a while." She smiles and laughs a little. "I've heard so much about you, Alyx. Would you like some tea? I just boiled some water before you came, so..."
"Tea would be great, thanks," I say. I've never had tea before in my life, but I have been training myself in case a day like this would ever come. Be polite, and accept offerings even if you don't like it or have never tried it. I follow Mrs. Ross into the kitchen and sit down at the table. It's a cute kitchen, bright yellow walls, white cupboards and white floor tiles.
Mrs. Ross pours hot water into two mugs, finds a box full of teabags and plops them into the cups. She stirs them with spoons and carries them to the table. She sets the plain white mug in front of me, and the polka-dotted one in front of her. There is a jar of sugar in front of me, so I spoon some in and stir endlessly.
"You have a very nice kitchen," I say.
"Thank you. I just had it remodeled last month..." she takes a sip of her tea and looks around. "So, tell me about your friendhsip with Collin."
"We've been friends since the first day of school," I tell her. "He's in a few of my classes and we sit together at lunch every day. I don't know who he sits with in his other classes, though."
"Collin has some trouble making friends," Mrs. Ross says to me in a quiet voice, as if Collin can hear us from upstairs.
"Really?" I ask. "He's a great kid. Very friendly. Why would he have trouble making friends?"
Mrs. Ross sighs, but not in the annoyed way, the sad way. "Have you ever heard of something called Asperger's syndrome, Alyx?"
"I've heard of it, but I don't really know what it is."
"Well, it's associated with autism spectrum disorder, which is why it makes things difficult for people with Asperger's to make friends and they lack proper social interaction skills. People with it also have a fascination with a certain topic. Does Collin ever endlessly go on about baseball?"
"Well, that's Collin's fascination. Other kids could go on about space, math, cars—"
"Collin likes cars."
Mrs. Ross smiles even though I've interrupted her. Bad Alyx, bad!
"Well, he's a boy. Boys always like cars. But Collin's fascination with cars isn't as bad as his baseball one. Anyways, Asperger's isn't something you can totally cure. Collin used to go to to behavioral therapy, but his condition is much better now than it was when he was a kid."
"Did he always like baseball?" I ask. "Or is it a recent fascination?"
"He's always liked baseball," she answers with a smile. "His dad used to take him to Seattle whenever he won tickets from his work to watch a home game. I think Collin has said everything to possibly say about baseball, but somehow he tells me and his brother, Michael, something new about baseball every day."
"He does that with me, too," I reply, smiling back. "It's amazing how much he knows. I've never really thought about baseball too much before, and now it's like I'm the Einstein of it, thanks to Collin...if you know what I mean."
Mrs. Ross nods. "It's really nice of you to be his friend, Alyx. Usually people turn away from him when he says 'Hi, I'm Collin! Can I sit here?' or 'Did you know that Derek Jeter...' I just wanted to thank you, Alyx. He hasn't had a real friend since elementary school."
I haven't had a real friend since I told Autumn I have a disease and have to move to a smaller town. We met in elementary school. We sat beside each other in the third grade and became the best of friends until the tenth grade. Seven years of friendship. It was such a beautiful thing. People thought we were lesbians and/or dating because we were always together, but it didn't bother us. Not one bit.
"It's not a problem," I tell her. "I like Collin, really. He's the greatest friend I've ever had in a long time."
Mrs. Ross grins at me. "Thank you so much, Alyx. I just can't thank you enough."
"Hi, Mom! I'm done cleaning my room can I show it to Alyx now we'll be extra quiet!"
"Of course, Collin," Mrs. Ross says. "Have fun!"
Mrs. Ross takes my cup of un-sipped tea, and I follow Collin up the stairs. We enter his room, which is the first door on the right. The walls are pale blue and covered in baseball posters: Derek Jeter, Babe Ruth and some other guy. His bed has blankets that have planets and outer-space type things printed on them, and Peter is sitting near the pillows. There is a desk below the window where light is shining through, a small televison set in the corner and a beanbag near it, and a long dresser which seems to be a counter. There are a globe, baseball trophy, stereo and a few books sitting on top.
"You have a nice room," I tell him. "It's very clean."
"Sometimes I make a mess in here," he admits. "But I always clean it up as soon as possible."
"Motivation is a good thing."
"I don't really have any motivation, my brain just tells me to clean my room," Collin says.
This is awkward. I am standing in a boy's room. A boy's room.
"Want to play a video game with me?" Collin asks.
"I have a few we can choose from. I have an Xbox. Do you know how to play an Xbox?"
"I've played one before." At Autmn's house when her brother wasn't there. We played Fallout 3. Boy, how I loved that game. I was actually pretty good at it. "Do you have Fallout 3?"
"Yeah! Want to play that one? It's my favorite game!"
We settle into his bean bag, which has enough room for about three people, and Collin hands me a controller. "You can have your own file," he says. "I have my own, and so does my brother."
I turn the Xbox on, and we end up in a world of action, roleplaying, and futuristic stuff. You can play as a girl, so I name my character Alyx. Collin helps me if I get stuck, and there is a lot of "Go go go!" from us throughout the duration of my gameplay. I play for half an hour, then give Collin the controller so he can play from where he left off.
Mrs. Ross brings us a tray with a pitcher of juice, a plate of cookies and two plastic cups. We thank her and she goes back downstairs. Collin plays the game and we eat the cookies and drink the juice as he plays. After almost an hour, he stops playing and turns the Xbox off. "See, Al? This isn't so bad! Aren't you glad you came over?"
"Yeah," I reply. "I am." And that's true. Maybe when I get home I'll ask Mommy and Daddy is we can buy an Xbox 360. I like video games as of now.
|posts in thread|
|[All dates in (PST) time]||Threads List « Next Newest Next Oldest »|
|REPLY TO THIS THREAD QUICK REPLY START NEW THREAD||PAGES: «prev 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 next»|
Powered by neoforums v2.3.5 (Bolieve)
Copyright Neo Era Media, Inc. 1999-2015