jay o2 waster
07-07-2004, 05:21 PM
Ok, so today I had this overwelming compulsion to start writing a story, and this is what i did. tell me if it sucks, or not cause i think i might keep going on it
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------The streets seemed to call out to him, as if they didn't want him there. He had grown use to the feeling and wasn't expecting a warm welcome.
* * *
"Marcus, get your ass up and open this door!" The sound of what could only be his mothers fist raping the door clouded his head.
Mar throws his pillows over his head. "No!"
The voice on the other side of the door softens, "Mar, I promise that this is the last time."
The door swings open and his mother looks up. Looking down on his mother he mutters, "That’s what you said the last three times." It felt strange looking down, he still hasn't gotten used to the fact that he has grown five inches over the summer, and his mother who only stands at five three seems to have shrunk.
"All you do is spend time in that room of yours, don't you want to go out and make some friends." She says it with a new enthusiasm.
"Nope" he says brushing past his mother. And with good reason too, no matter where he goes it is the same. New friends always equal new scars. He has learned to make friends else ware. In his room.
Running down the stairs he stops in front of the fridge. Opens it up grabs a pop and heads back up, ignoring the fact that his mother is still rambling on about the importance of meeting new people. She follows him all the way to the foot of the steps and decides that she is wasting her time, and retreats to the living room to finish folding the clothes.
Mar, walking up the steps, suddenly can't even remember what he was doing in his room when he was interrupted. Oh well, he thinks, it's never really important if you can't remember. Walking past the bathroom and the linen closet he reaches his door. It is blank, he still hasn't put up the random heavy metal pictures that he usually does within the first week of moving into a new house.
He opens the door and it is a breath of fresh air to finally be back to a place that seems welcoming. Laying down he realizes that he hasn't even gotten dressed and was still walking around in his boxers. Getting up seems like such a task for such a little thing as getting dressed and he decides to turn on the TV.
It's not long before he realizes that his mother is pounding on the door again. "What?" He says as he sets the soda on the headboard of his water bed.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------The streets seemed to call out to him, as if they didn't want him there. He had grown use to the feeling and wasn't expecting a warm welcome.
* * *
"Marcus, get your ass up and open this door!" The sound of what could only be his mothers fist raping the door clouded his head.
Mar throws his pillows over his head. "No!"
The voice on the other side of the door softens, "Mar, I promise that this is the last time."
The door swings open and his mother looks up. Looking down on his mother he mutters, "That’s what you said the last three times." It felt strange looking down, he still hasn't gotten used to the fact that he has grown five inches over the summer, and his mother who only stands at five three seems to have shrunk.
"All you do is spend time in that room of yours, don't you want to go out and make some friends." She says it with a new enthusiasm.
"Nope" he says brushing past his mother. And with good reason too, no matter where he goes it is the same. New friends always equal new scars. He has learned to make friends else ware. In his room.
Running down the stairs he stops in front of the fridge. Opens it up grabs a pop and heads back up, ignoring the fact that his mother is still rambling on about the importance of meeting new people. She follows him all the way to the foot of the steps and decides that she is wasting her time, and retreats to the living room to finish folding the clothes.
Mar, walking up the steps, suddenly can't even remember what he was doing in his room when he was interrupted. Oh well, he thinks, it's never really important if you can't remember. Walking past the bathroom and the linen closet he reaches his door. It is blank, he still hasn't put up the random heavy metal pictures that he usually does within the first week of moving into a new house.
He opens the door and it is a breath of fresh air to finally be back to a place that seems welcoming. Laying down he realizes that he hasn't even gotten dressed and was still walking around in his boxers. Getting up seems like such a task for such a little thing as getting dressed and he decides to turn on the TV.
It's not long before he realizes that his mother is pounding on the door again. "What?" He says as he sets the soda on the headboard of his water bed.