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About Literature / Student N W RavenFemale/United States Group :iconlonelypumpkin: LonelyPumpkin
Writing with poise.
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This is a gallery of my attempts to show you the wide assortment of things I find intriguing. Enjoy! Or not, if they don't quite suit your fancy.




The ride home was quiet, despite Frank occasionally nagging me now that he knew I was capable of talking. He just didn't understand the disgusting use of irony he was asking for. Obviously, I would have to talk to tell him why I didn't talk, therefore ruining the entire explanation I was giving. I would literally be talking in circles. And that was an ungrateful waste of oxygen I wasn't even gonna try to justify.

The trip seemed shorter this time. I wasn't sure if that was just because I wasn't in absolute terror this time (I knew he was actually going to bring me home because trust was his endgame; not that he was going to get it, of course.) or because we took a different route. Maybe a mix of both. Either way, it was over before I knew it and we were walking into our respective houses, Frank obnoxiously yelling goodbyes and me blowing him off -- and internally wanting to flip him off -- something I feared would become routine.

I was suddenly mowed down by my dad slamming through the screen door. "Catch'imCatch'imCatch'im!" he yelled, shoving past me. Then, when he noticed whatever he was looking for wasn't there, he angrily swiped off his oven mitt (wait, oven mitt?) and grumbled.

I just stood there, blank-faced, hoping he'd answer my unspoken questioning. After a few seconds, he noticed my face and scratched the back of his neck, patting the oven mitt against his leg. "Ma wanted Frank ovuh fuh dinnuh ta thank 'im."

Dad had grown up in the southern part of Louisiana. Think "Swamp People." Dunno where. Dad didn't talk much about his past. The only way I could tell was the thick accent he still carried. You only heard that kind of rich, deep accent in the swamps. And since he only talked every now and then, he'd kept it just as deep and rich all these years.

Ah, so that explained the oven mitt if Dad was cooking dinner. Dad didn't usually cook; not because of all that gender role crap, just because he wasn't very good at it. Mom had probably left him a detailed set of instructions. She was the only good cook in our family, much like she was the only real talker. I think Jordan could stand a chance at being just as good if he came out of his room for more than just soda and bathroom breaks. In fact, he could--

Wait... Frank...? Oh yeah! Stranger Danger. Ha! His use of that creeper's real name had taken me a second to register when I'd been mentally-- ...calling him the same exact thing all day. Damn. He'd already seeped in there subconsciously, changing my thoughts. From now on, he was Stranger Danger. Period. Nothing else. Especially not--

HOLY--! Inviting him to DINNER?! I practically spat this aloud in shock, but there was no way I was going to use any oxygen sputtering redundant nonsense, especially about Stranger Danger. So...what? It had become social etiquette to invite your friendly neighbourhood would-be serial killers to dinner? Isn’t that just wonderful! Let’s have him come eat some red beans and rice and some steak and potatoes so he’s all healthy and strong enough to kidnap and/or murder our daughter! Yeah, thanks Mom and Dad. Oh, and wait! Since Dad was cooking I’d have to be the one to invite him! Without speaking! Oh yes, I could just say that he was sick and couldn’t come, but my mother would check for herself and probably bring him soup or something and wouldn’t take no for an answer when she did find out the truth. Betty Devereaux was a strong-willed woman capable of anything. No, etiquette had won this battle and I was going to have to actually tromp on over to his house and somehow invite him. Faaaaaaaaantastic.

Before my dad could say a word, I was waving my hand in dismissal (trying to disguise how much it was shaking) and gesturing in a way I hoped got through that I was going over there. My dad gave a shrug and loped inside to check on dinner. As soon as he was gone, I took a deep breath, shifted my not-taken-off-yet backpack on my shoulder and started the daunting trek next door.


It seemed even more abandoned-looking up close. Squeaky torn screen door, rotting porch, and a certain pungent odour to it all confirmed its abandonment. But I knew that lurking somewhere within was the nightmare I had been battling for years. And he was going to be sitting at my kitchen table tonight.

How was I going to go about doing this? Charades, and just hope he understood my gestures? Good plan, actually. Then I could abruptly leave and if he didn’t understand then it would just be that I did ask and he just didn’t come. There we go. Let’s go with that.

With a deep breath, I slowly made my way up the stairs, making sure they didn’t squeak too loudly, and came to stand in front of the screen door. Like a lot of people in Moss Bluff, he only had the screen door closed and locked, giving me a good, even if murky, look inside the house. It was dark and there was no movement on the inside, making me feel like any second the door would open and I would be snatched inside before I would even know what was happening. Okay, I could do this. Just ring the doorbell. The DING DONG was like a funeral bell. It echoed throughout the house, leaving me no room to assume he didn’t hear it. However, there was no movement inside the house. At all. All was still and quiet.

Okaaaaaaaaaay… So what did I do now? I shifted from foot to foot on the creaky porch hoping beyond hope that the worn out wood wouldn’t snap on me. As quietly as I could, I tapped on the metal frame of the screen door. He already hadn’t heard the doorbell, so now I could at least say that I tried both and he didn’t want to answer the door. Of course he didn’t hear my purposely near-silent tapping, so there was still no sound or movement inside the house. Relieved, I turned to slip away down the steps, the scenario of being snatched inside still vivid within my mind.

Keeping one eye on the door the whole time, I scurried across the porch and practically jumped down the steps. I was almost almost home free when one of the stairs let out a dying screech and snapped with a loud crash. Oh no. Oh nonono! There was definitely sound from inside the house now. I just about froze, screaming internally at my body’s inability to move. Just as I was finally able to wrench my foot up to run, and before I could even hear the screen door, there was a hand roughly grasping my arm. I yanked it away, practically hollering in protest as I whipped around to punch the owner of said hand in the jaw. Weakly. I was a goner if I was ever in a fight.

“Toni!” Even through all my protesting, Stranger Danger latched on once again and kept yanking me backward ‘til we were back on the porch and he thought he had me calm. How dare he touch me?! The last time he had, he’d practically kidnapped me! What made this freak think he had the right to even try to touch me?! Now furious, I kept trying to pull away, grunting and squeaking in protest.

With a smug grin on his face, Stranger Danger locked eyes with me and spoke in an almost-childish sing-song “Sorreh. I dun speak cavewoman.”

I snarled at him ferociously and he let me pull away this time, a shit-eating grin splitting his already-creepy face. Angrily, I rushed through the series of gestures I had mentally planned, my hands practically a blur, only for him to cross his arms. “Dun speak Charades, neither.” Stranger Danger leaned against his house, eyeing me with humour, before finally after a few minutes he mock-sighed. “ ‘ow 'bout you jus’ speak like ya did earl’er. Know ya can!” And that sickening grin made its way across his lips again.

No. No! Nuh-uh! There was no way I was wasting any more oxygen on him. He’d already made me once today. It was never going to happen again. I made my stand right then and there, hands on my hips and my still-there bookbag hanging loosely from my shoulders, huffing hair out of my face with a furious exhale.

The popping-out of my hip I guess jostled my bookbag enough for a misplaced pen to tumble out of a side mesh pocket and stick between two gapping boards of the porch. In the midst of the stand-off, with a wall of solid silence between us, the clattering of the pen was painfully loud. We both kind of slowly hung our heads to stare at it like it held some secret solution. It wasn’t until like a minute later that I realized it actually did. Quickly, almost slamming into Stranger Danger, I crouched down and unwedged it from its prison.

Okay, so yeah, I was selfish. And yeah, I was lazy. I could have easily just grabbed a random piece of paper or a notebook out of my bookbag, but damnit, he was gonna work for me to tell him. I didn’t want to stand there in front of him, with that blasted grin still devouring his face, scrounging around in my bookbag while he chuckled at my stupidity. Naw, if he wanted to know, he was gonna work for it. I uncapped the pen with my teeth – and spit the cap at his feet – and made scribbles in the air that I hoped translated to “Get me paper. Now.”

He did eventually catch on, but definitely not in the way I wanted him to. At first, since the grin disappeared, I thought he was actually gonna go get some paper; but then, with barely a glance inside the house, he turned back to me and shrugged. “Dun seem to ‘ave any papuh.” His face was completely serious and so was his tone, but I could feel the goading within all of it: the ploy to get me to speak out of anger.

And angry I was. The anger, however, was pushing me to do the exact opposite of what he wanted, just to spite him. So, angrily, practically scratching into my hand, I scrawled,
on my palm in barely readable writing and shoved it in his face. Before he could question me, I was bounding down the stairs and along the gravel path.

He did call after me, though. “Toni!” he yelled, all seriousness now. “Toni, wait! Are ya askin’ me out?” Oh boy… Oh HECK naw! Right before I could follow through on my plan to give him the one-finger salute so he would get the picture, his tone turned mocking and whiny. “But how’ll I know what time? An’ where?” And then I did follow through with that plan.


Apparently he did eventually figure it out, because a few hours later he was sitting at our small kitchen table, across and one seat to the left of me, tearing ravenously at our chicken fried steak and green beans and baked potatoes. Dad sat at the head of the table, right around the corner from Frank, and Jordan sat to my left, giving me free reign to smack him on the back of the head when he tried to copy Stranger Danger’s caveman style of eating.

My dad, Arnold Devereaux, as I’ve said before, found talking beyond small talk extremely painful; so it wasn’t surprising that he was keeping his mouth full at all times, albeit politely, unlike others at the table.

When he wasn’t trying to act like Stranger Danger, Jordan was shoveling food into his mouth as fast as possible anyway in an effort to leave the table as soon as possible. Dad always took that as a sign he was hungry and begged him to take seconds, though. He should have learned by now that no one leaves the table until we all do.

Speaking of seconds, Stranger Danger was now on his third plate and, after being unsuccessful trying to cut this piece of chicken fried steak, stabbed the whole thing with his fork and brought it to his teeth. Now, Cajuns weren’t known for being the neatest eaters either. In fact, I’d been known to do the same thing with meat. But I would say we kinda all sat there horrified as we watched Stranger Danger tear into the steak like a predator. When he did finally catch on that we were watching, he dropped the steak like he’d been burned and began to scoop up pieces of baked potato and pop them in his mouth.

I was the only one barely touching their food. Sitting at the table with one’s future killer took away a lot of one’s appetite, not to mention the way this particular future killer was eating in and of itself. I stabbed into my steak only to rip up tiny shreds, only ate maybe one green bean at a time, and just kept mixing the now-mushy cheese and sour cream and butter into my baked potato. In fact, I could probably be Jordan today: just abruptly leave the table and lock myself away in my room. But then Mom would be supremely furious, even if she made it home after the dinner she’d planned. Nah, I had to sit here and slowly eat and hope that it would be over soon.

All that could be heard was the clinking of utensils on plates and the smacking of eating. No one at this table was going to talk. I was surprised Creeptacular hadn’t tried. Maybe he was as socially…inadequate as the rest of us.

Jordan sat slumped, bored as usual now that he couldn’t copy Frank for entertainment without me giving him a glare or smack. He was having to suffer just as much as me through this.

Dad was a bit more relaxed now that he knew there wasn’t going to be much talking. He was eating more casually now and not worrying about keeping his mouth full. I was kind of glad he wasn’t one of those dads that would interrogate the guest at a family dinner. I would just about die if that happened.

Stranger Danger, now slowing down on his fourth plate (My word! He was a black hole!), was still eating like a barbarian but was actually tolerable now. And every now and then, when he caught me looking at him or I caught him looking at me and both Dad and Jordan were preoccupied, he’d send me a wink or some other mocking gesture.

Mom’s entrance was a lifesaver.

Betty Devereaux practically slammed through the screen door, already talking as if she’d started her ramble on the way here. “—‘appened to be a rel’tive o’ Vincent’s and she demanded I take a rest, too. She’ll be ‘andlin’ ta bar fuh a while ‘ere now. So I’m ‘ome early! Whatcha make o’ dat? ‘Prises ‘round e’ery cornuh!”

All of us kind of mumbled or hummed in response, our mouths full and still not used to the firework that was Mom in the almost dead silence. I was still so glad she was home early, though. Well, that was until I realized exactly what seat was open and exactly why it was open. Across from me and right next to Stranger Danger? Oh no… This was a strategic move. Darnit, Mom, NO! She ripped off her thin coat (everything Mom did was over exuberant) and threw it over the back of said seat before plopping down and loading up her plate. I looked over just in time to see Jordan gulp the rest of his baked potato and his Sprite, shoving out his chair with an overly loud honk and basically jogging to his room.

“Jordan Elijah…” He stopped in his tracks at Mom’s bellow. The green beans she’d been about to shovel onto her plate started to plop back into the porcelain dish as she froze to dole out judgement. “Plant cho butt back in dat chair ‘fore I do it for ya.” The low rumble turned into a polite voice as she acknowledged the animal next to her. “We have a guest.”

I had already started following Jordan’s lead and risen from my chair to clean my dishes. Before I could backtrack, Mom’s eyes targeted me. “And you—“ she didn’t need to say any more. I was already slumping back down into my seat and resigning myself to a second plate of food. I may as well eat more since I was going to be here a while. Jordan moped back over and did the same. At least I wasn’t alone, right?


Jordan and I had already finished our plates and sat there, waiting to be excused, Jordan almost nodding off between exchanging bored looks and eye rolls with me every time Creeptastic spoke. At least Jordan agreed with me about this guy. I knew someone else had to feel the creepy! Stranger Danger was just about to finish his plate, too. As he took his last bite of his – fourth? fifth? – latest serving of steak, Mom urged him to get "seconds" and kept rambling on about how he needed to eat more or he’d wither away. Dad, Jordan, and I shared an amused glance between us, trying to hide snickers, before Dad softly assured Mom, “I think he’s eaten enough, hun.”

Stranger Danger went practically white with embarrassment, slowly gulping down that last bite. “I’m good, Mrs. Devereaux,” he stated in the most polite voice I had heard from him. That. Little. Suck up!

“Oh, chile. Call me Betty!” No, please don’t. EW. Please, please don’t. Really.

Stranger Danger silently agreed to this. Mom was impossible to say no to.

No. This wasn’t happening. Mom was not getting buddy-buddy with a serial killer. She was not establishing trust with him. She was not plotting to get us together. But then they both giggled like schoolgirls about something, Dad and Jordan shaking their heads, and that second plate raced up my throat.

My chair squealed and the table jolted, making all the plates and glasses clatter, as I shot up from my seat. Mom fixed me with an intensifying stare, so I jabbed my thumb toward the bathroom, grinning sheepishly. She only stared me down, I guess trying to assess whether I was just making excuses to lock myself in my room (which, in all honesty, I probably would have if I didn’t have the kind of mother that would break down the door and lecture me about social etiquette). Eventually, I guess she decided that I was telling the truth because she nodded, albeit unhappily. All the while, I was holding back vomit behind clenched teeth, Stranger Danger’s ever-present smug grin only making it worse.

The moment I saw her head start to nod, I took off for the bathroom, almost flipping over my chair. I hardly had the bathroom door closed before I was worshipping the porcelain throne, chunks of steak and butter and I think what used to be green beans spewing over my lips. Oh, God… It was all coming up. But while my body was focused on completely emptying my stomach, my brain had other ideas. It ran through everything I had learned and experienced throughout the day and just now:

Stranger Danger was now taking me to school every day. Mr. Dupart almost died. Mom was working more. Stranger Danger kidnapped me. Except he took me to my school instead. Correction, our school because apparently he goes there. He followed me into the girls’ bathroom, waited for me, and saw nothing wrong with it. He was trying to earn my trust. He was invited to dinner. He thought I was asking him out. He ate like a barbarian. Jordan was with me on how dangerous and…strange Stranger Danger was. Mom said we used to know each other. I don’t remember him. I doubt he remembers me. Now she’s trying to set us up.

Once I thought maybe the vomit comet had finally ended, I dragged myself to the sink, splashing cold water to cool my face and rinse off my lips, chin, and neck. I finally just ended up dunking my face into the water that had built up (we had unreliable drains). That was a lot to learn and experience in one day. No wonder I had thrown up! It was just the body’s natural reaction when overwhelmed, right?

Needing air desperately, both literally and metaphorically, I pulled my head out of the sink and blindly fiddled around for a hand towel to dry my face. I finally found one inside the cabinet under the sink and practically smothered myself in it. This towel was nice and soft and cozy. This towel was safe. This towel wasn’t going to throw me snide looks across the table while it schmoozed my parents to the point of no return. And then I remembered the main reason I threw up.

The poor cozy, innocent, comforting towel was flung into the air haphazardly as I made another mad dash for the toilet. I’d pretty much already emptied my stomach, though, so I just had to persevere through five minutes of dry heaves before my stomach finally realized there was nothing left to rid my body of.

They trusted him… Oh, GOD! Now they trusted him! They’d never believe me about him now. He’d wormed his way into their approval so they’d never suspect him when I went missing. They’d believe in his innocence, maybe even fight for it, when my body was found. And poor Jordan would be the only one besides Stranger Danger and my ghost to know the truth. They’d never believe Jordan over that disgusting suck-up sitting next to my mom and slowly seeping into their good graces. I was on my own now.

Somehow the thought, although terrifying, was soothing. I didn’t have to rely on anyone else. I had to actually watch out for myself on this one.

After rinsing out my mouth and scrubbing off what remained of my makeup, I finally stepped out of the bathroom and tried to block out the horror wracking my body. Somehow I was able to walk into the kitchen and sit down, all like a normal human being. Apparently I’d taken long enough for everyone to move on to dessert. They all had bowls of ice cream in front of them, but they’d probably be soup by the time they actually ate them since Stranger Danger and my parents seemed more interested in talking.

Once they were all done giggling about whatever they had been talking about, Mom finally turned to me, and Dad and Stranger Danger started trying to scoop their quickly-melting icecream. “Oh, Toni! Ya back. Didn’t know if we’d hafta break down the bat’room door er not!” She kind of glanced around furtively and lowered her voice to ask, “Did dinnah not ‘gree wit’ ya or suntin’? We got Pepto.” I was tempted to yell “Ma!” in embarrassment, but then she’d win. She was wanting me to talk. She was wanting me and her precious “Francis” to bond. Not gonna happen, Mom.

Instead, I thought You could say that, and tried my best to say it on my face. It wasn’t dinner that made me throw up. My mom could read my expression like a book. That came from years of her having to interpret my silence and why I was silent. Apparently, Mom didn’t catch that second part, though. Not that I thought she would. She and Dad were already too far gone.
“Le’s get some icecream down dat t’roat. We got sho fav’rite, butter pecan, an’ ev’r’t’ing. Jordan! Get cho sistah some icecream.”

With a huff, (Everything Jordan was “forced” to do was with a huff. It was like his thing.) Jordan stood up and, like it took all the energy he had, swung his head over to me. “Ya wan’ icecream?” he asked flatly, already bored.

I didn’t relish the thought of being a pecan-and-dairy-loaded machine gun so I slowly shook my head and then busied myself with my placemat. Before I had even finished “answering,” Jordan had flopped back down in his chair and started chopping his icecream down to a milkshake. Mom fixed us both with a disappointed look but didn’t say anything. Until she noticed my hand.

“Wha’s dat?” Her question startled me. I was about ready to look at her in confusion before I noticed the hand I’d written my “invitation” on was the one I was using to pull at my earlobe (something I did when I was irritated) and the palm was facing her. It hadn’t even smudged. CRAP.

When I unknowingly avoided meeting her eyes, she held out her hand. I was expected to put mine in it. CRAAAAP. Slowly, I stretched my slender hand forward and laid it in her huge one. She practically yanked me across the table! Her face seemed to get madder and madder the longer she studied my hand; I’m sure I was a puddle of goop by the time she finally tore her eyes away from my hand and locked them on me. Have I mentioned CRAP?!

With an annoyed tut, she wrenched my hand toward Stranger Danger. “Is this how she invited you?” And you know what that intolerable little suck-up did? He nodded his head with the most solemn pathetic look on his face I’d ever seen! And of course Mom fell for it. She shook her head with a chuckle, still gripping my poor hand to death and dipping my elbow in the green beans. “Shill open up to ya sometahme. Toni here refusin’ ta talk. Mmm… Shill talk sometahme. Jus’ gotta keep tryin’.” No, Mom! You were supposed to be on my side! I simmered in my seat as she released my hand and I cleaned off the green beans.

Stranger Danger looked me over, not ominously or mockingly. In fact, I couldn’t really get a bead on him. He just looked me over and simply stated, “I plan ta.”

Mom had no idea what she had done.
An Urgent Need for Ruin: Chapter Six, Part One
If you want to know what a Cajun accent sounds like:… (Hope you can see the video!)
WHEW. Can I get some praise for actually fighting with this monster enough to give y'all a part one? This chapter is ENORMOUS. But that's a given when it contains A LOT of important stuff. Part two, and possibly a part three, should be coming soon.
Part two will reveal and explain a lot about Frank's (and Toni's) past (and forseeable future!) I hope. Let me know what y'all think of this! Part two is when things get really rollin'.
The crowds, the sights, the rising noise level
Constant stimuli, racing past the boiling point
Conceal the shakes (hidetheshakeshidetheshakeshidetheshakes) the anxious twitch
Stuff the paranoia deep where no one else will see
I don't wanna be here (Idon'twannabehereIDON'TWANNABEHEREGETMEOUTOFHERE)

Stop staring over my shoulder, stop reading what I write!
Get your filthy hands and words away
And learn what personal space is!

The sleeves are too short to cover my hands
The collar is lacking a hood
I have no shield and I've rejected my crutch

Internal pressure and temperature on the rise, sir
The captain refuses to abandon ship


    I won't say I didn't think of throwing myself out the car door. I did. Again and again. It was the afterthought of my brains and guts smeared across the asphalt that froze my hand on the door handle. Or I could survive the drop and end up knocking myself out, only making this easier for him. Or I could survive the fall, not knock myself out, still be hurt though, and run... And he would be in a car.

    Don't call me a coward. I was already afraid for my life. It was just a question of was I willing to end it myself or let him do it for me. And I caved. Was I brave enough to make him crash the truck and probably not stagger away from the crash? Was I willing to kill someone, no matter how evil they may be? No, I wasn't. I wasn't an action movie heroine; I wasn't jacked up enough on adrenaline to murder, even in self-defense; I wasn't the survivor: I was a little girl. Even for all my trumpeting earlier that I was a fighter, I was a little girl.


    His laser focus was contagious. I stared straight ahead at the road, seeing but not seeing. I knew I should be memorizing our route so I could get back home when I – IF I ever – escaped, but I was running on autopilot. I had forfeited control of myself. And, if I was honest, I just didn't have the energy to wrestle it back. After my revelation, control had been sapped away from me. It was like my resolution was this big dam that kept it all in and I'd demolished it with one sure swing.

    I slept on and off. Don't judge me. How can you say you would have acted any differently? We all like to think in some life-or-death situation we'd be the noble main character, but maybe we're all just the extras that are picked off one by one. Maybe we're all just cowards.


    “Up. We're here.” It was a gruff voice, but familiar; I couldn't place it with the unfamiliar tone the person was using. Here? Where's “here?” Everything was murky from sleep, but I could feel the truck stop. Doors creaked open and slammed, rocking me. Eyes still refused to open. And then the world snapped abruptly into focus. There was suddenly gossip and laughing and footsteps. My eyes flew open.

    School. Huh. I read the name in bold letters about a million times but it still didn't make sense. Frank...actually took me here? But there were my classmates running past and leaning on the side of the building, cliques gossiping between themselves, jocks pushing around a group of goth kids who pushed back just as hard. What even...?

    My car door opened and a backpack was held out to me. I hesitated. He couldn't have possibly just taken me to school like he was supposed to. What was with all that kidnapping business then? “You have ta go ta school, Toni.” My name grabs my attention; but more so the gentle way he said it. Almost quiet-like. Like muttering. It didn't fit with the demanding words. I mentally shook myself. Since when had I thought of Frank as anything but dark and harsh?

    Before I could elaborate on my thoughts, I found myself snatching the backpack from his hand and swinging it violently onto my shoulder, making sure to at least whack his truck in the process. This earned me a glare, which I shot right back. Southern boys and their trucks, man... I started to walk with purpose toward the school building when I could feel him keeping pace beside me. Puzzled, I quirked my eyebrow at him, which he answered with a scoff. “Obviously, I have school, too, Toni.” This only left me more confused as he veered ahead of me and turned to face me, walking backwards and studying my perturbed expression. It's then I noticed a backpack on his shoulder. My brain took a while to process all this information. Frank actually took me to school. Frank had been going to my school. How...? Apparently my gaze hardened because I was met with another scoff. “I, um, I try not to be that noticeable. It's actually surprisingly easy.”

    And that was that. He was off through the school doors, blending with the sea of faces like he was obviously so good at.


    I tried to munch on my saltine crackers with interest, but everything that touched my tongue soured on contact. Even the too-much-sugar-too-much-fizz soda seemed bitter. He just had to worm his way into everything. I couldn't even enjoy food anymore because of the likes of Francis Gauthier. I'd searched the cafeteria about a hundred times, but he sure hadn't been kidding about not being noticeable. You'd think by now I'd be attuned to his presence, but he was nowhere to be found. It made me feel like I needed a shower, knowing his eyes were on me but he was a shadow. I had spent the first half of the day super-aware of everyone around me, and knowing that none of them were the creep I wanted to keep an eye on. With the way lunch was going, the second half of the day wasn't shaping up to be much different. Aside from this, it had been the usual: idiots trying to rope me into talking like people trying to goad Buckingham Palace guards (and getting the same amount of success); suffering croaking out an answer or two during class; and, in a show of our most foundational instinct, just trying to survive high school.

    By the end of the day, I was ready to make a quick escape before Stranger Danger could even think of trying to bring me home. Or wherever he wanted to bring me. Here's hoping he would give up looking for me and drive back home while I walked the scenic route. Of course, my bladder had other ideas.

    And that's how I found myself hiding in a bathroom stall after school, hoping Stranger Danger wasn't waiting outside the thin bathroom door. Maybe if I waited here a while he'd give up looking. It was worth a try. I was just about to flush the toilet when the door creaked open and a pair of scuffed and worn-out sneakers entered. Crapcrapcrap...I was not going to come out of this stall now. She'd expect me to engage in gossip, like most girls did in the bathroom. There was no way in heck I was going out there. But then she stopped. And there she stayed, near the sinks, stomping the toe of one of her sneakers to a rhythm only know to her. I stayed as far back in the stall as possible, trying not to draw attention. Why was she waiting? There were at least four other open stalls! Why did I have to give up mine? If she would just pick another then I could wait for her to get done and leave and make my escape.

    But no... Five freakin' minutes passed with that same pair of sneakers in that same freakin' place, tapping that same freakin' faulty rhythm. I was almost to hysterics by this point. It was a stalemate. Fine. I was going to have to give this stall up to her so I could get out of here and to home as quickly as possible. You win, mystery picky female. Thanks for pushing my buttons.

    Before unlocking the stall door, I took a deep breath and mentally repeated a mantra. No eye contact. No eye contact. No eye contact. No eye contact and you'll be fine. Eyes to the ground, I slid the lock open and burst through the door, practically skittering to the sink. Now that I got a better look at those sneakers, they looked eerily familiar. Eh, it was probably a girl that walked by me in class all the time and I just hadn't remembered until I saw them again. Eyes still downcast, I approached the sink.

    Feeling her presence still behind me, I turned the knobs on the faucet. Seriously? She wasn't even going to take the stall now?! I didn't have much time to get angry, though, because a low drawl boomed out, “Didn't know if ya were ever gonna come out.”

    My hand had just happened to be under the soap bottle and I already had a small puddle in my palm. Both went arcing above my head as I jumped in absolute terror. Of course, one drop altered its flight to land smack-dab in my wide-with-fright eye. Trying to block out the stinging pain of soap in my eye, I whirled around with a one-eyed glare and practically squeaked, “What are you doing here?”

    Standing in front of me, a bored expression on his face, was the devil himself: Frank freakin' Gauthier.

“Huh. So it does speak.” Without another word, he lifted himself from the wall, ran a hand through his hair, checking himself in the mirror, and clomped out the door. What the heck had just happened?

    And so began the now-unavoidable ride home. I don't know why I followed him to the truck. I could have made my escape then. Maybe I was so much in shock I couldn't think of an escape plan. Whatever it was, it landed me right back into that truck. And let me guess, he was going to take me home like he could never ever be the serial killer I believed he was. Typical. He was just building up my trust so he could turn on me. But I wasn't being fooled.

An Urgent Need for Ruin: Chapter Five
If you want to know what a Cajun accent sounds like:… (Hope you can see the video!)
Decomposition starts to set within my chest
It's an attack the calcium prison can't prevent
All just post-adolescent fears and deep regret
But it still burns me to the core

The mind's a-whirl with possibilities
That get shot down by flaming arrows of Doubt
And as they twirl my mind's alive again
With latent fear that's threatening to claw its way out

"Kiss and make it better" doesn't work anymore
When Logic rips your soul to shreds
Reality is laughing its cruel chortle again
I don't want to wake until it ends
As the last grains of youth slither between my fingers
I'll wish again that childhood never died
4,759 deviations
As soon as I saw the shy people with multicoloured hair and backpacks, I knew I was in the right place. Deviantart meet-up? YES PLEASE!
Over the river and through the woods, to Sands Expo we goooo! No kidding, though. It took FOREVER to find our way to the Venetian and to find where we were supposed to go once inside. It was quite a trying adventure.
Once FINALLY to Hall C, I wandered around a bit and tried to figure out what to do. I was pretty sure no one I knew was coming and a lot of time was reserved for meet-ups. I was also surrounded by tons of amazing artists drawing with ease while my notebooks rested comfortably in my psuedo-hippie messenger bag. After looking around a bit, I spotted a fellow deviant I suspected was in my own situation. Now, I'm not too good a socializer. In fact, the thought of talking to a stranger makes me queasy. But I swallowed my fear, strode up to her and subject led to subject until we were both walking around the convention and talking like best buds!
This day may not have gone the way I expected, but it turned out much better. Along with all the souvenirs and experience I took away from this convention, I also came away with a new friendship with an UBER-TALENTED Momoko-Kawase . Definitely making this a regular thing.
#CAVE #deviantart


Reprogrammed's Profile Picture
N W Raven
Artist | Student | Literature
United States
Lyricist, Vocalist of Social Insomnia


And now, for something entirely different:

DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

"Death Be Not Proud"
-- by John Donne

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Journal History


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FuneralRoseTeaParty Featured By Owner Jun 16, 2015  New Deviant Student Writer
I just realized your birthday was yesterday! Happy Birthday! Thank you for the watch as well, it means a lot. ^ ~ ^ 
Reprogrammed Featured By Owner Aug 12, 2015  Student Writer
Thank you! I just found this comment. Lol.
birthdays Featured By Owner Jun 15, 2015
:woohoo: :party: :iconcakelickplz: !!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY !!! :iconcakelickplz: :party: :woohoo:

It's June 15th which means it's that time of the year again and your special day is here! We hope you have an awesome day with lots of birthday fun, gifts, happiness and most definitely, lots of cake! Here's to another year!

Many well wishes and love from your friendly birthdays team :love:

Birthdays Team
This birthday greeting was brought to you by: KoudelkaW
Reprogrammed Featured By Owner Jun 16, 2015  Student Writer
Thank you!
Jasperinity Featured By Owner Jun 15, 2015
Happy birthday! :D
Reprogrammed Featured By Owner Jun 16, 2015  Student Writer
Thank you!
Jasperinity Featured By Owner Jun 17, 2015
You're welcome! :3
lintu47 Featured By Owner Jun 15, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Reprogrammed Featured By Owner Jun 16, 2015  Student Writer
Thank you!
birthdays Featured By Owner Jun 18, 2014
:woohoo: :party: :iconcakelickplz: !!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY !!! :iconcakelickplz: :party: :woohoo:

On behalf of the birthdays team, I sincerely apologize that your greeting has arrived late this year.

We hope you had an awesome day with lots of birthday fun, gifts, happiness and most definitely, lots of cake! Here's to another year!

Many well wishes and love from your friendly birthdays team :love:

Birthdays Team
This birthday greeting was brought to you by: KoudelkaW
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