The Twilight Saga


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Comment by cσмє ση нσмє on August 27, 2013 at 9:16pm

At 8:51pm on August 3, 2013, ᴄᴀяɴᴀʟ said…

Freedom. There was nothing like. But are we ever really free? That was the question that lingered in the mind of Ingrid Blaise, a woman that had just spent the last 8 months of her life in a secluded rehabilitation centre-- and the 5 before that in a cement box lined with iron bars. Her court ordered sentence at Half-way may have been fulfilled but was she really free of the bonds that bound her? No. Not in the slightest. She was trapped-- stuck in this world-- locked in her own meat suit-- and now, caged by her reputation; forever to be seen as nothing more than an ex-con-- a junkie. Greg had condemned her to a life of foregone judgement. That f****** bastard. Blaise didn't even want to think about that bible basher-- if she ever saw him again, she would bash his head in with that book. Blaise pressed her fingertips against her temple, moving them in a circular motion. God, she needed a smoke.

Raking a hand through her cropped blonde hair she slung her duffle over her shoulder, squinting at rays of light cascading from the retreating sun and casting shadows in the dull greyscale parking lot. The day was nearing it's end and she had yet to acquire a ride back into the city. The city, it'd been so long since she'd seen the towering buildings-- the bright lights. The air, it was to clean out here, no chemicals. She thrived off chemicals, they were the reason she was in this godforsaken place to start with. Not a thing had changed though, all her time at Half-way had been successful at doing was piss 8 months of her life away. Rubbing a hand over her eyes in frustration, a flash of yellow caught her attention from the far side of the lot. A taxi. She would thank the Lord, but she wasn't a believer.

It took Blaise no more than than a few moments to make her way over to the cab, the bittersweet tang of tobacco filling her nostrils as she came to a stop by the driver side window. She had the almost uncontrollable urge to the snatch the cigarette right from between his fingers. She refrained from doing so though, barely.
"I need a ride," She told the driver kneeling down slightly and leaning against the car to better peer in at him, emerald eyes clear and bright. It was an illusion. Those eyes were the doorway to a broken soul-- a darkness that was so very well hidden. "I haven't got any cash though..." She continued, cocking her head to the side ever so slightly. It was true, she was as broke as joke. "I could offer an...alternative payment though." You could take the girl, throw her in jail, toss her in rehab but she would never change. Blaise had been set on the same setting for so long, there nothing else she knew.

Comment by cσмє ση нσмє on August 1, 2013 at 9:44pm

At 8:29pm on July 31, 2013, ɪᴅɪᴏsʏɴᴄʀᴀᴛɪᴄ said…

His eyes seemed to dart all over the place out of pure nervousness, making her face flush just the slightest. Her eyes gazed down his attire and she shook her head, her lips pursing up in amusement. "When you don't fall upon a vision you look upon a muse or a foundation. Sometimes that will guarantee you inspiration or you'll fall flat." She came closer and looked towards the items, her fingers slowly dragging over the nice treasures. "What do you desire most ?" She asked gently before meeting his eyes. Dark on dark. She pressed her lips timidly and cracked an alluring smile, her eyes crinkling at their sides. Her mind worked in various ways. She made every single being. She knew their stories through her story and they all served as muses. She felt the only things that served as importance were things she could generate from art whether it be a painting, or a sculpture, or even the feeling of the atmosphere around her. The muse was just the influence to create something amazing. Something uplifting. Something that lived.
Comment by cσмє ση нσмє on July 28, 2013 at 5:02pm

Jesus christ this girl can write ↓

Comment by cσмє ση нσмє on July 28, 2013 at 5:02pm

ɪᴅɪᴏsʏɴᴄʀᴀᴛɪᴄ said…

Melody's eyes darted towards his hand suddenly and she reached out, shaking his hand lightly before pressing her lips together. "Melody.. Melody Dolmans.." She murmured lightly, her french accent slurring her words together. "And no, I don't own this dump." She laughed lightly before looking around her surrounding and dropping down in a squat as she ran her fingers over his findings. "Before our time people made art through visions.. What is yours ?" She asked curiously before lifting up a large luggage and nearly falling back as a result before gaining her balance, her eyes meeting his gracefully. She cocked her head to the side and ran her tongue over her lips quickly before placing the suitcase back down, realizing his sudden silence. Was she boring him, scaring him, intriguing him. Either one made her feel like a specimen when in fact he was the specimen. "Am I appealing to you ?" She asked suddenly, her feet allowing her to come closer as she hopped over the trash that seemed to come between them. She expected a look of skepticism or a complex answer, both of which she didn't care about. A person's eyes seemed to give away an entire answer for itself.
Comment by cσмє ση нσмє on July 25, 2013 at 7:41pm

At 10:19am on July 25, 2013, ɪᴅɪᴏsʏɴᴄʀᴀᴛɪᴄ said…

"Find me here.. oh speak to me.. I want to-- feel you.. I need to hear you.." Melody sang smoothly as she walked across the stubble and the large heaps of artificial materials. Everyday she seemed to travel somewhere new, somewhere she knew people would not roam because everyone was so far up their asses about themselves and how they'd live with the economic imbalance. It was a sad day for many, but she took no interest in the situation. She was practically homeless half of the time. Oddly enough she chose that path for herself, she didn't blame it on anything really. She went where ever her heart took her, but then again this was her world-- trapped by her schizophrenic mindset. She made every player, every building, every tree, everything except for the art-- whether it be music, paintings, sculptures-- those spoke a reality of their own. A reality she never made. A reality that gave her incomprehensible emotions. Although there were hands and voices of people she created that brought upon such art-- she felt they were testimonies from this ACTUAL REALITY that were transferred to the art makers and it was only for her to read. That was the curse. The way her mind seemed to process everything was so backwards. She knew not of real or fake. Right or wrong. Good or bad/evil. Heaven or Hell. She knew of her way or no way. "..and how can I stand here with you.. and not be--" She stopped suddenly as her eyes caught a figure dumping things into a pile. It was then that the sounds seemed to process. If it weren't for her eyes, she'd pass right by the figure without a look back. "..moved by you.." She finished in a whisper before squinting her eyes, a soft smile creeping onto her lips. This was odd. A man in a junkyard. "Excuse me." She called out softly as she came closer, observing the things in the pile. "May I help you?" She asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.  
Comment by cσмє ση нσмє on July 22, 2013 at 8:03pm

At 12:58am on July 20, 2013, ɪᴅɪᴏsʏɴᴄʀᴀᴛɪᴄ said…

I want him. I want Daniel and Olive FEELS.

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