T R O U B L E . / VESCODY.

new

« Prev
1
Next »

я𝑜𝓈𝑒
Mentor

2,890 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her/they/them
last seen Nov 23, 2023 2:34:11 GMT -5

anyway don't be a stranger

T R O U B L E . / VESCODY. Feb 8, 2016 20:44:38 GMT -5

Post by я𝑜𝓈𝑒 on Feb 8, 2016 20:44:38 GMT -5

s t o r m

would you b l e e d for me?
lick it off my lips
like you n e e d e d me?
would you sit me on a couch?

When the sun sets, I smile. My lips twist crookedly, upwards into my cheek. They are curved, and crude. They are like scars. I watch it sink and choke and struggle- until it surrenders at last to the sky. It is bruised purple by the sun's battered fist, but darkness soon bandages it. By the time every last trace of daylight has been swallowed by the moon and the stars and their child, the darkness, I am already half way out the window, hanging on by my fingers. I am only hanging on by one hand- the other is clutching a beer bottle by the neck. Gaze aimed to the ground, fingers slowly slipping slipping slipping, I let myself fall softly to the ground from the low height of my bedroom window.

I've done this so many times, one would think that I have mastered the art of escape and the art of falling. I would claim that I fall with grace, if I did not have such a clumsy step and fall on my ass nearly every time. (But at least I'm not breaking any bones or bruising any skin.) I'm a klutz, goddammit, not a panther.

Sand sprays onto my jeans, kicked up from its resting place by my feet. When I rise, I dust it all off with a grunt, and take a swig from my drink. Fire rushes down my throat in one heavy stream, but I do not choke against the burn or tip the bottle back to halt its flow. I let it take me, I let it burn.

When I lower the bottle and skip along the streets to the party around the block, I taste alcohol, harsh and sharp, but warm. I do not find it acrid; it is heavenly to me, in a strangely bitter way. Perhaps it is not the taste, but the fire that comes with it.

At this rate, I will be done with the whole bottle by the time I reach the party.

My sneakers make scuffing sounds as I chase pebbles along the winding sidewalks. I pass shops and bars and cafes, all marked with a closed sign and lack of light. My eyes dart across the streets as I walk, keeping time to the steady beat of my heart.

I take another swig of my beer before I see her- before I see them.

And every muscle in my body turns rigid.

There are two figures, hidden in the shadows, between two old buildings with boarded up windows and vines crawling up their sides. One is a girl, tall and elegant, and the other- I cannot make out anything about them other than that they are a creature, with a heartbeat, possibly.

She is midnight. She is mystery, with her shadowy shroud and her turned back, revealing only dark hair, leaking like liquid ebony from her scalp. She faces someone whose body is consumed, head to toe, in darkness- black hoodie, black jeans, black boots. They look like the shadows themselves. They are darkness, if darkness was a person.

They raise all the hairs on the back of my neck to the sky and turn my entire body into a statue made of ice. I feel like a deer in headlights, but fear has wiped my mind clean of solutions, so I just stand there like an idiot and await my death sentence.

I can't fucking breathe.

My lips are glued together by silence: I do not have a death wish. Not even I am reckless enough to sputter a careless greeting. But it is no matter, for my stillness and silence betrays me. I cannot see their eyes- I cannot see anything but their outline- but I know the moment their gaze catches my figure in the dark. I know, because that is the exact moment my heart stops.

And they bolt. They are gone in a blur of shadow, before I can hardly register the sudden movement. My hands ball into fists and my knuckles turn white as chalk as my eyes strain into the dark. I watch the night swallow them.

I inhale sharply, in a half catching my breath, half gasping, as I stare empty of everything but fear and strange curiosity at the girl in shadows. It is as if my mind has gone numb: I wait for the thoughts to race around and around and around in my head, but there is nothing but a hollowness. It rings out cold.

with your fingers in my mouth?
you look so cool when you're reading me
let's cause a little t r o u b l e
oh, you make me feel so weak

Last Edit: Feb 17, 2016 20:47:41 GMT -5 by я𝑜𝓈𝑒

"even stars burn out."

arx
Retired Staff

2,426 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen Apr 23, 2024 12:58:45 GMT -5

literally so gay, doing so many crimes

T R O U B L E . / VESCODY. Feb 10, 2016 0:27:14 GMT -5

Post by arx on Feb 10, 2016 0:27:14 GMT -5

CATALINA VESPOLI.

cross your sorry heart
and h o p e to d i e for me?
would you p i n me to the w a l l?
would you beg or would you crawl?

The droplets seem to simply evaporate from my skin as I run the silk towel across my body, the goosebumps slowly dissipating as I dry. Silk. These people actually have silk fucking towels. I twist my hair up and slip into the robe dangling over the bathroom door, taking time to consider the poster on the back of the door. (Leon Krigel, District 4 heart-throb, Victor of the---) I let my eyes roll into the back of my head while I rip the poster off the door, crumpling it into a neat little ball before tossing it in the toilet. Pathetic. The fact that this is what the future Career tributes of District 4 do---"Fuck's sake."

After swiping a toothbrush and toothpaste from beneath the sink and running a brush through my hair, I take my time running eyeliner delicately across my eyelids and mascara over my lashes. ("The prettier you are, the more you sell. Simple fact of drug dealing, kid.") Not sure how high this guy was when he gave me this advice, but I've never been one to question the thoughts of a person tripping so hard they see unicorns and taste the color blue. I don't question much of anything anymore; I decided morals were overrated a long time ago.

That's why it's so easy sneaking into Career family mansions and using their shower, stealing their clothes and prescription medication—I simply give zero fucks. I suppose it's what the marijuana does to you, suppose it's permanently molded my personality to match that of one long, endless trip. I run my fingers through my hair, wipe the bright red lipstick from the corners of my mouth. ("The prettier you are, the more you sell.") I lean in close to the mirror; my breath fogs the glass. ("How much make-up does it take to hide the pain?") I draw smiley face in the mirror and turn away, just in time to hear the front door open.

My heart jumps into my throat as I glance at the time—'Shit!'—and quickly exchange the robe of the wrinkly clothes from inside my bag. I've only just managed to slip my jeans over over my hips when the bathroom door slams open. ("WHAT THE FUCK!!") Luckily for me I left the window open. Without hesitation and a certain amount of grace and skill, I jump down from the window with ease. I don't bother to pull my shirt from my bag, settling with just my leather jacket and bra against the chill of the encroaching darkness.

("You better run you fucking bitch!")

("Fucking flea-ridden trash!")

I grin because if I don't, I might just cry. Story of my life.

I run until my breathing hitches and the soles of my feet ache as rocks dig painfully into them. I grimace as I pull the stones away, revealing tiny cuts which leave my feet feeling nothing but raw inside my heels. I sigh, glancing at the sky to judge the time. I press my back to the wall, a regular old cigarette to my lips. One small flicker of my lighter against the dark, a deep breath in, and I'm in business. My lungs burn happily. My headache subsides. And I let a grin crawl across my face as a hooded figure rounds the corner.

His hands shake as he hands me the money, the addiction evident in his glassy eyes and heavy breathing. He needs what I have. Poor sucker.

Just as I hand over a few dime bags that he could afford, his eyes dart over my shoulder just as the sound of scuffling feet reach my ears. Fuck. I wait for the ring of a gun to bounce through the small alley, wait for pain to shoot through my body, my blood to splatter across cold asphalt. Instead, I'm greeted only by the sound of feet scurrying farther and farther away. Luckily I got my money for the bastard ran off--

I glare over my shoulder, daggers sharper than any blade every forged. I fully expect to find a rival dealer or frazzled druggy just looking for their next hit. Instead it's only a girl; a real package of innocence, complete with sneakers, wide eyes, and porcelain skin. But I've never been great at choosing my words with calculation—"Trying to ruin my fucking night, princess?"—and the rage simply flies out of my mouth, echoes around us.

Even in the low light I can tell she is one of those pretty girls—long legs, golden hair, luscious lips, bright eyes, enticing smile—with nothing but a head full of air. I take a few steps closer, my heels clacking on the ground, goosebumps inching across my skin. A grin crawls across my face and I pull the cigarette from my lips. I exhale so that the smoke reaches her stock still frame.

I smirk, glancing at the mostly empty bottle in her hand.

"Cute," I say, flicking my cigarette to the ground and pulling a joint from inside my pocket. "But if you really want to party," I raise my eyebrows and stick it gently between her lips. "You gotta go bigger, princess."

stick a needle in your
h u n g r y eyes for me?
let's cause a little t r o u b l e.
oh, you make me feel so weak.

stole this ish from briar xoxo

"I run on the road, long before I dance under the lights."

я𝑜𝓈𝑒
Mentor

2,890 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her/they/them
last seen Nov 23, 2023 2:34:11 GMT -5

anyway don't be a stranger

T R O U B L E . / VESCODY. Feb 10, 2016 19:55:24 GMT -5

Post by я𝑜𝓈𝑒 on Feb 10, 2016 19:55:24 GMT -5

s t o r m

i bet you kiss your k n u c k l e s
right before they touch my cheek
but i've got my mind made up this time
'cause there's a m e n a c e in my bed

Red. That is the color her voice reminds me of. But not red, cruel and lurid, like the blood that dribbles down a mouth swollen from an iron fist. Red, like the sky bloodied by a sinking sun. My muscles relax when she turns, and her eyes run right through me like a sword. Perhaps I should be bleeding, dripping ichor from where her blade cut into me, but there is no wound. My bones become weightless and the night fills me with air.

I suppose it was the shock and the shadows and strange hooded figure that shook me to the core, but fear quickly morphs into wonder. Even when she says, "Trying to ruin my fucking night, princess?" I do not tremble, though the words catch me in a shadow.

There is a cigarette hanging to the side of her lips, now pressed together in silence. They stretch wider and wider into a grin as she steps forward. The soles of her shoes hit the ground and breed a sound like a gunshot bursting through the still air. She moves closer. And closer. And closer- until she is only inches away from me, and I can feel the heat exuding from her pores. Or it is my fire, flaring up in her presence.

She pulls the cigarette from her mouth and pours the smoke into the night with a pucker of her lips, and eyes the bottle in my hand with playful disdain. Its stench, thick and acrid, bites the insides of my nose. I hold my breath until the wind pushes it onward.

"Cute," her voice trails after the plumes of ashen smoke. She throws her cigarette to the ground with a flicker of a hand and pulls a joint from the pocket of her jacket. My eyes zero in on the joint for a few moments, but they quickly bounce back to her. "But if you really want to party," she goes on, with an arch of her brow. There is a pause as she slips the joint in between my lips.

I am frozen. Shock seizes me again- but it is nowhere near fear.

"You gotta go bigger, princess."

There is something about her that draws me in. She is darkness, she is the unknown- two things that have constantly enticed me. I am a fickle creature, a girl who flickers from fearful to curious in a matter of seconds. I feel the danger in my bones, in every fiber of me- it's radiating right off of her, exuding from her very presence. But that's the appeal, isn't it?

My eyes trace hers, and I reach my hand up to pull the joint from my mouth- but only for a moment. There is chaos in my head, a war between me, myself, and I. Part of me screams to follow along with the mystery of a girl I do not even know the name of; part of me advises not to- but it is a whisper against the chorus rising rising rising into a wildfire, and it dies.

Curiosity betrays logic, and I say, "Light it for me, then," and slip the joint back into my mouth.

I do not smile, but my eyes do. They dance with hers, try to catch her gaze and hold it there and let it go again. Like a game.

This is so fucking stupid, but see, that's the joy in it.

can you see his silhouette?
can you see his s i l h o u e t t e ?
can you see his silhouette?
and i've got my mind made up this time

Last Edit: Feb 17, 2016 20:50:28 GMT -5 by я𝑜𝓈𝑒

"even stars burn out."

arx
Retired Staff

2,426 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen Apr 23, 2024 12:58:45 GMT -5

literally so gay, doing so many crimes

T R O U B L E . / VESCODY. Feb 25, 2016 22:28:32 GMT -5

Post by arx on Feb 25, 2016 22:28:32 GMT -5

CATALINA VESPOLI.

cross your sorry heart
and h o p e to d i e for me?
would you p i n me to the w a l l?
would you beg or would you crawl?

I watch her eyes flicker with a dash of rebellion, the fear simply dissipating as she pulls the joint from her mouth. She glances at me; I know I've piqued her interest as she slips the joint back between her lips. ("Light it for me, then.") I take a moment to look her in the eyes and let my own dance across her face. Is she really ready to play? She holds a straight face, but her eyes still reveal her excitement—she's like a child who knows that they are getting away with something mischievous—that I have always been drawn to.

I kill innocence. ('It's for your own good.') It's the only mercy I can afford to give. The sooner you realize that, in this world, there is no such thing as 'pure of heart' or 'kindness,' the better off you'll be. I reach inside my jacket, the leather pulling at my skin. I pull the lighter from the band of my bra, let my thumb glide over the wheel with ease. A flame appears, ready to burn the end of her joint, the inside of her lungs, the last bit of irreproachability within her heart.

I wait for the inevitable cough and splutter of a first timer, trying to think back to the first time I took deep breath of sweet, addictive poison.

('Deep breath, baby girl.')

('Papa, it burns.')

('That's how you know it's working.')

I coughed; the smoke exited through my nostrils, tears sprung to my eyes. But then my mother had tilted my head toward the stars and my head had spun with such force that I fell to the sand in awe. Some of the stars fell, others danced with each other across the pitch black canvas. The sand tickled at my skin; the sound of the waves sounded like it was growing closer and closer. Everything was more beautiful than I had ever thought was possible.

('So, what's it like being twelve, kiddo?')

('Tingly.')

I let the grin on my face grow wider, brighter. The girl in front of me may not be lighting up as a twelfth birthday present, but I may as well show her a good time before the stroke of midnight. Perhaps I could have a new client on my hands. Someone else who claims to need me. Someone.

('It's hospitable to show the newbies a good time, Cat.')

('Good business tactic. Keep's them coming back.')

('There's more to this world than business.')

Old words—memories I thought I had buried long ago—resurface at the oddest of times, greeting me like an old friend each time. I watch her closely, take a step closer so that when she lets the smoke escape her lungs I'll be able to taste it. I take the opportunity to unlace her fingers from the neck of the beer bottle she clings to—"Fair trade, don't you think?"—and press it to my lips, letting the rest of the liquid warm me to the core.

When I come up for air, I can find nothing better to do than smile and let the bottle clatter to the ground.

"And now I'm obligated to show you a good time," I grin and twist away from her, glancing over my shoulder to call back to her. "Come along now, princess. You're spending the night with me."

No returns, no exceptions. That's how I work. If I didn't, I might not have any friends.

stick a needle in your
h u n g r y eyes for me?
let's cause a little t r o u b l e.
oh, you make me feel so weak.

stole this ish from briar xoxo

"I run on the road, long before I dance under the lights."