Justin Hollow - Wanderer
Jan 11, 2012 23:03:37 GMT -5
Post by Serenity on Jan 11, 2012 23:03:37 GMT -5
My eyes are open wide
By the way I made it through the day
I watch the world outside
By the way I'm leaving out today
[/i][/color][/center][/size]By the way I made it through the day
I watch the world outside
By the way I'm leaving out today
Justin Hollow.
Seventeen.
Male.
Wanderer.
Heart Breaker.
That's me.
[/color][/right]I just saw Hayley's comet, she waved
Said: "Why You Always Running In Place?"
Even the man in the moon disappeared
Somewhere in the stratosphere
[/color][/size][/center]Said: "Why You Always Running In Place?"
Even the man in the moon disappeared
Somewhere in the stratosphere
Out of breath, I duck under a fallen tree in the forest, vines hanging loosely off the log. Panting, I press my hand against my mouth, trying to calm down. I can't believe what I had just done. I catch my breath, staring at my backpack, after pulling it from my shoulder. My fingers stumble over the tightly packed zipper. I had just thrown what I could, inside. My shivering fingers shuffle around and suddenly, catch a sharp object. Pulling it out, it's a mirror, or whats left of it. I remember, just 1-2 years ago, my mother stood beside me, holding the whole mirror out, so we could both see into it and, she had hissed into my ear. The memory sends shivers down my spine but, I can't seem to push it away."Look in the hand mirror, baby. Tell mommy just what you see." I can still here the echo as I whimper and cover my ears, eyes squeezing shut. But, the memory floods in anyways.
[A P P E A R A N C E]
I force my eyes open, staring at the glass. Inside my head, I can see inside the mirror, a scene of me just a bit younger, my mother looking from my face to her own.
[/color] "Look in the hand mirror, baby. Tell mommy just what you see." I remember this like it was just yesterday. Newly 16 year old me, my mother standing behind me. I looked into the mirror like I had every year. I have blond hair, cut short. It lifted gently off my my face, falling just above my left eyebrow. Honey-touched, is what I called it, like the sunlight was gently blaring itself through thin honey, illuminating the sugary sweet. My roots were dirty blond, my fathers gift to me. My hair was usually tasseled, yet well cut around my ears. My eyebrows are just as blond as my hair, well spread out but, rather thin, becoming interestingly translucent at the ends, barely arching over my eyes at all. My eyes are a different story. They are an icy blue, making my pupil stand out. My mother would stare me straight in the eyes, a lot and tell me that "eyes are the window to the soul." I guess my soul must be icy and repelling. My eyes are something that usually interest people into commenting, yet something that can make someone melt inside. I could say less about my nose and mouth. My nose is rather big for my head but, it might just be me who thinks that. I resent my lips for being so pink. Girls are supposed to have pink lips. I guess I got that from my mother.
Without having to look in the mirror, I could say I was about 5'11. I haven't grown since I was 16, I suppose. Right up until I was 15, I was always the short kid, usually mistaken as the overly mature young boy, when in reality, I was a perfectly normally mature boy who just happened to be short. Of course my shortness changed, and I shot up, impressing my friends. I wasn't as tall as some lumbering awkward guys but, I'm definitely taller than some guys. I have fair skin, I usually tan it though. I always have the reminder of my tan, when I get noticeably paler during the colder seasons. My skin seems to change at a rather quick pace. I've always found it a bit fascinating but, never alluring as one girl had once told me. I was actually fairly strong but, I guess my body doesn't show as much tone as others, and I look just like any district 4 guy. But, I am strong, it shows at least as my abs, which I'm quite proud of.
Quietly, I place the shard of the broken handheld mirror back in my bag with a thump and a twink. I say the say words out loud as I had in my memories, every time my mother had asked what I had seen in the mirror. "I see a beautiful woman standing beside me." The words come out sounding like I'm droning on in a hypnotized state. Zipping up my bag in one swift movement, I sling it over my shoulder, and duck my head as I stand up and out from under the fallen tree. I smell the familiar smell of fish just faintly and know, I've never been farther than here before. I think back to my mother, always pushing her limits. It was never about me, in that mirror. It was always about her. Always. I take my first step.[/justify]
Tell my mother, tell my father I've done the best I can
To make them realize this is my life, I hope they understand
I'm not angry, I'm just saying
Sometimes goodbye is a second chance
[/i][/center]To make them realize this is my life, I hope they understand
I'm not angry, I'm just saying
Sometimes goodbye is a second chance
[P E R S O N A L I T Y]
Please don't cry one tear for me
I'm not afraid of what I have to say
This is my one and only voice
So listen close, it's only for today
I'm not afraid of what I have to say
This is my one and only voice
So listen close, it's only for today
I keep walking, pulling my plain backpack higher onto my shoulder, I wipe my hair off my for head, for a moment. Who am I kidding? I'm just as bad as my mother. And it was true, to me, at least. With that, my mind starts going onto just who I am and I tick the bad traits off on my fingers, for who knows ones self better than themselves? It was about time I came to this conclusion.
Manipulative. Definitely, a finger goes up. I am manipulative. I'll do what I can to get what I want. It's always been about me, hasn't it? I always use my smooth talking to get the hell out of trouble, procrastinate and make someone get me something, for me. Usually, I just flirt my way through it-- Flirtatious. Another finger goes up and I let out a sigh. I can't even retell or count how many times I've used flirting to get my way. I'm ridiculously flirtatious, damn my mother. I'll flirt with most anything that moves- Even things that don't move. It's like every move I make requires me to show a sign of flirting. And, to the point I hate it, people indeed tell me I'm flirting with them, even when I'm consciously not. I hate my stupid flirt habit. It attracts vile creatures.
Women. The rest of my fingers go up on behalf of women, all ten. I resent women with a passion, ignore the fact I have female acquaintances. Sure, I care enough about them to help or lend a hand but, just being around them in general makes my mood go down. And heaven knows, the population of girls is twice the amount of men, so no matter where I run, there's always a girl. I let my hands rest back down by my sides again, sick of looking at my hands. On the side, I don't trust girls at all. I don't trust anyone in general, thank my bringing for that. My mother always told me not to and, seeing her as a role model as a child, I listened and learned, it's hard to trust these days.
I dwell on the thought, remaining locked in my head. All in all, I'm pretty laid back. I don't usually do things until the last minute- wait, that's procrastination. Well, I procrastinate a lot, indeed but, I am laid back. It takes a lot of get me stressed
I really do enjoy things going my way, hence the fact I'm awkwardly unlucky. No, ridiculously unlucky. If I hope for sun, it's definitely going to rain. Sure, my manipulations work but, for some reason, there's always something off. Speaking of manipulations, I, myself am quite the actor. I grin, maliciously. I love acting, it may as well be my talent. Of course, I never chose my talent, it chose me. I've always been a little more dramatic than most, taking matters into my own hands. But, sadly, this beautiful aspect of me is densely hidden by my lack of showing emotion. I put on a sort of 'mask' when I'm talking to strangers, anyone really. I'm not one to judge at first, I usually get along with people, I just don't portray much emotion.
With the subject of emotion in mind, I find my mind lingering in of what I've done. I've been a pretty good person, over all, yet... There's a part of me I'm quite ashamed of. My dark side. It's a rather vicious side of me, that only comes out in times of horrible measures, and I usually end up like I am currently. I try with every inch of my body to hold this part of me back. I call it my 'Darker Me'. It's like a beast inside me just rips it's way up and suddenly, I'm on attack mode. I tend to lose consciousness while fighting, not literally but, like a hangover, it's all blurry. This part of me is my greatest fear. My emotions get tangled up and it rips at me, making me viciously blood drunk but, not to the extent I'm a crazed cannibal. On a lighter note, I think to myself, ducking under a trees branch and breaking into a light jog. I do have better traits. I've never taken the time to truly accept what my favorite color is, nor animal but, I do have favorites. I love the light of the forest, I love the fish in District Four, I love the songs I used to sing with my old friends, whom I miss. I miss District Four. But, there's no turning back.
I just saw Hayley's comet, she waved
Said: "Why You Alway Running In Place?"
Even the man in the moon disappeared
Somewhere in the stratosphere
Said: "Why You Alway Running In Place?"
Even the man in the moon disappeared
Somewhere in the stratosphere
[H I S T O R Y]
Tell my mother tell my father I've done the best I can
[/size]To make them realize this is my life, I hope they understand
That I'm not angry, I'm just saying
That sometimes goodbye is a second chance[/i][/center]
The whole memory floods my mind and I break out into a full-out run, head ducked down in shame. I'm a terrible person. I know there's no avoiding it and my mind starts giving an unnecessary life story.
It all started before I was born. I knew the story all too well, indeed. My mother, a sweet looking girl, fragile and a beautiful sight to see. Barely out of school and she falls deeply for a handsome, strong man, set on protecting her, also ridiculously in love. One night, their loves goes a little far and, chaos occurs to the gorgeous woman. Her whole life seemed paused by this one thing. And she didn't tell the man because, telling the man you love, something so unbearable that you wish it was a sick joke, is tough. Something that has even a chance of killing you, to the man you love, is definitely something unwanted. I would like to think she kept me because she wanted to, yet I know better. She kept me as a prize. Two beautiful people have a child and the child will be just as gorgeous. I wasn't the perfect beauty they had expected yet, they kept me because of how close I was. Their own little trophy.
Anyways, I remember when I was younger, watching my mother pull at my fathers arms, perfect eyebrows scrunched together in a rather ugly way, mouth a mask of disappointment, shock and what seemed to be fierce anger. My father, shaking his head. He shakes his head, closing his eyes then everything seems to freeze. I remember he pointed to me and shook his head, saying something quietly. I knew they were fighting then, I just couldn't figure out over what until later. They fought numerously, I recall, skipping ahead, then going back to the time the memory takes place. My mother was happy she had managed to give birth and still be in such good shape. Shocked, even. But, my father was never optimistic about my new arrival to the world. Always skeptic about me and my impact. He walked to the door, shaking my mother off his arm roughly. I never saw him again. It's like that face you know by heart for your entire life but, just the most important details are missing, their main face in your memories is gone, is all that's left.
I would always have my mother bringing home men, I remember. Each one of them different. Some muscular, some skinny. I never meddled with her 'work'. As a child, I knew better so, I would play with my friends. My friends would look up to me, an unsure leader, not prepared to help anyone in general, never having experiences before. After my father left, my mother had told me everyday new reasons not to trust someone. An unwilling leader. Proving myself on a higher ground then them, I played my cards right. They never managed to achieve their goal of making me a fool, granting me the popularity they did. I learned sports in school, socialization, education, reading, writing, everything. But, my mother taught me different things, she taught me things a little boy shouldn't know. Of course, I kept to myself, not seeing anything wrong with my mother, my role model, telling me something so I could do it right for once.
My mother taught me the worst of it, as I see now. She would bring men into the house , new ones almost every time. One day, she told me to sit down, after the man left. She told me how I would continue her job when she left me. I needed to find a beautiful girl who looked rich and my mother disturbed my mind, denting my sanity, with dirt. She taught me things, an eleven year old may as well have thrown up over. Taught me things, I 'needed to know'. Little did my mother know, something darker was brewing with in me. Every time I told her that, in the mirror I saw a beautiful woman, every time she taught me where to touch someone to get them to do something, every time I stood, mortified and petrified outside her door while she did naughty things far from what she taught me go a man, a piece of my soul, my very essence died. Not physically but, a bit of my sanity fled, leaving me darker and darker. Depression, some would call it. But, everyone feels depression differently. I guess I buried mine deep inside me and, unleashed it in fits of rage.
It all started when she decided to try to involve me in it, teaching me first hand. She wanted to give me my first experience because she was still 'the most beautiful woman'. I told her no but, she kept coming forth. For wards, pulling at her outfit. I thought she was sick, drunk maybe. But, the scariest part, and it still haunts me right now, was her breath. It was that of one completely sober. There was not a scent of drugs, absolutely none. That's what drove me to beating my mother. She pushed me down, I remember. The next thing I know, I'm breathing heavily and my mother is crying on the floor swearing at me to get out of her god damn house. Telling me to run away. Her broken body, barely hanging onto consciousness. She had blood spread through the front of her shirt, hands over one of her eyes and some blood trickling lightly from her mouth. Her foot was turned in a ridiculously inhuman way. Sickening. I ran to my room, not bothering to do anything about my half dressed mother, lying broken on the floor. I had grabbed the bag, shoving childhood toys, clothes, needs, food, water, soap, anything I could think of and left, slamming the door.
I remember looking back. I knew, deep inside that was it. There was no going back, this was the point of no return.
It all started before I was born. I knew the story all too well, indeed. My mother, a sweet looking girl, fragile and a beautiful sight to see. Barely out of school and she falls deeply for a handsome, strong man, set on protecting her, also ridiculously in love. One night, their loves goes a little far and, chaos occurs to the gorgeous woman. Her whole life seemed paused by this one thing. And she didn't tell the man because, telling the man you love, something so unbearable that you wish it was a sick joke, is tough. Something that has even a chance of killing you, to the man you love, is definitely something unwanted. I would like to think she kept me because she wanted to, yet I know better. She kept me as a prize. Two beautiful people have a child and the child will be just as gorgeous. I wasn't the perfect beauty they had expected yet, they kept me because of how close I was. Their own little trophy.
Anyways, I remember when I was younger, watching my mother pull at my fathers arms, perfect eyebrows scrunched together in a rather ugly way, mouth a mask of disappointment, shock and what seemed to be fierce anger. My father, shaking his head. He shakes his head, closing his eyes then everything seems to freeze. I remember he pointed to me and shook his head, saying something quietly. I knew they were fighting then, I just couldn't figure out over what until later. They fought numerously, I recall, skipping ahead, then going back to the time the memory takes place. My mother was happy she had managed to give birth and still be in such good shape. Shocked, even. But, my father was never optimistic about my new arrival to the world. Always skeptic about me and my impact. He walked to the door, shaking my mother off his arm roughly. I never saw him again. It's like that face you know by heart for your entire life but, just the most important details are missing, their main face in your memories is gone, is all that's left.
I would always have my mother bringing home men, I remember. Each one of them different. Some muscular, some skinny. I never meddled with her 'work'. As a child, I knew better so, I would play with my friends. My friends would look up to me, an unsure leader, not prepared to help anyone in general, never having experiences before. After my father left, my mother had told me everyday new reasons not to trust someone. An unwilling leader. Proving myself on a higher ground then them, I played my cards right. They never managed to achieve their goal of making me a fool, granting me the popularity they did. I learned sports in school, socialization, education, reading, writing, everything. But, my mother taught me different things, she taught me things a little boy shouldn't know. Of course, I kept to myself, not seeing anything wrong with my mother, my role model, telling me something so I could do it right for once.
My mother taught me the worst of it, as I see now. She would bring men into the house , new ones almost every time. One day, she told me to sit down, after the man left. She told me how I would continue her job when she left me. I needed to find a beautiful girl who looked rich and my mother disturbed my mind, denting my sanity, with dirt. She taught me things, an eleven year old may as well have thrown up over. Taught me things, I 'needed to know'. Little did my mother know, something darker was brewing with in me. Every time I told her that, in the mirror I saw a beautiful woman, every time she taught me where to touch someone to get them to do something, every time I stood, mortified and petrified outside her door while she did naughty things far from what she taught me go a man, a piece of my soul, my very essence died. Not physically but, a bit of my sanity fled, leaving me darker and darker. Depression, some would call it. But, everyone feels depression differently. I guess I buried mine deep inside me and, unleashed it in fits of rage.
It all started when she decided to try to involve me in it, teaching me first hand. She wanted to give me my first experience because she was still 'the most beautiful woman'. I told her no but, she kept coming forth. For wards, pulling at her outfit. I thought she was sick, drunk maybe. But, the scariest part, and it still haunts me right now, was her breath. It was that of one completely sober. There was not a scent of drugs, absolutely none. That's what drove me to beating my mother. She pushed me down, I remember. The next thing I know, I'm breathing heavily and my mother is crying on the floor swearing at me to get out of her god damn house. Telling me to run away. Her broken body, barely hanging onto consciousness. She had blood spread through the front of her shirt, hands over one of her eyes and some blood trickling lightly from her mouth. Her foot was turned in a ridiculously inhuman way. Sickening. I ran to my room, not bothering to do anything about my half dressed mother, lying broken on the floor. I had grabbed the bag, shoving childhood toys, clothes, needs, food, water, soap, anything I could think of and left, slamming the door.
I remember looking back. I knew, deep inside that was it. There was no going back, this was the point of no return.
Here is my chance.
[/size]This is my chance.[/size][/i][/center]
~
Tell my mother tell my father that I've done the best I can
To make them realize this is my life, I hope they understand
That I'm not angry, I'm just saying
That sometimes goodbye is a second chance
[/i][/center]To make them realize this is my life, I hope they understand
That I'm not angry, I'm just saying
That sometimes goodbye is a second chance
I let out a sigh, walking through the forest again and scratch at my wrist. I find a rubber-made bracelet, on my wrist. I flip it around and read what it says.
[C O D E W O R D]
oDair
oDair
[C O M M E N T S]
Faceclaim: Alexey Vorobyov
Song: Second Chance - Shine down
Faceclaim: Alexey Vorobyov
Song: Second Chance - Shine down
Sometimes goodbye is a second chance
[/color][/size]Sometimes goodbye is a second chance
Sometimes goodbye is a second chance[/i][/size]
[T H A N K Y O U F O R R E A D I N G][/center][/color]
