johnny park in eyeball ticklerJohnny Park racked his mind, for answers to the test. Staring at the paper (lined), and trying to do his best.johnny park in eyeball tickler
The week before like the one before was spent in a sleepless distress. Tossing and turning with head growing sore, and twisting his bedspread to mess.
A week ago, in the very early morn’, I saw Johnny go for a run. I guess his plan was to run ‘til worn, and sleep through the rising sun.
Now I’m writing this retelling looking back three weeks prior; So please forgive any truthful rebelling, but do not call me a liar. &n
eyeball ticklerIt started in a little town called Churchill. It was the student-body-wide abhorred exam week. The students in every grade of the Churchill High School were being tested on everything they had been taught and (purportedly) learned/committed to memory so far in the year. Stress was blocking wind pipes, it was so thick in the air. Nowhere was it more abundant than in Mr. Beall’s biology room on January 18th at around thirty minutes after the test had been passed out, and students still sat in their seats filling in little bubbles on little sheets of paper as their studying finally began to pay off. But all was not going well for Erieyeball tickler
quixotic affectionFor the thirteenth time in the last hour, Andrew looked up and over at the drop-dead gorgeous Sheryl Pennecaster. There she sat; tapping her pencil against her desk by keeping it between her index and middle fingers and alternating pressure on either side. The click-clack of the pencil’s ends tapping the wood of the desk would have gone unnoticed as the teacher at the head of the class was unbelievably loud late in the afternoon after he had his noon mocha-latte enema. But nothing involving the picturesque object of Andrew’s affection ever went past him unnoticed. Suddenly—after the bells began ringing in the back of her mind, telling her thaquixotic affection
new day dawning “Wake up! There’s a new day dawning!” Jeremiah peeked his head out from underneath his covers and watched as his mother walked around his room holding a laundry basket under one arm and using the other to pick up all the dirty clothes from off of his floor. Feeling truly embarrassed at the atrocious condition of his room, the seventeen-year-old silently wished that his mother would leave before she stumbled upon anything he didn’t want her knowing about. “Hey mom,” began the teenage sleepyhead, “Do you possibly think you could come back later? I kind of want to go back to sleep.” Mrs. Anne VanBeck lonew day dawning
journal (wed. mar 14, 07 7:36 pm)
Peter Stevens was pronounced dead last night at around 11:30 after getting stabbed by some asshole at his girlfriend's house. An up-and-coming literary mind in the body of a friend willing to go through hell for his buddies.
Rest In Peace, Peter. You will be sorely missed.
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Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a starter home. Choose dental insurance, leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose your future. But why would anyone want to do a thing like that?
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R.I.P. Peter Stevens and Andrew Parker: we'll miss you dearly
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Men fear Death. Wise men fear Life.
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"Sometimes I see her sitting on the rooftop/perched in a lawnchair and staring into the sky/I know that somewhere in some faraway galaxy/that some gray men with telescopes are gazing right into her eyes..." -Grant Hart Books About UFOs
You DO know who I am by the way, right? : D
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Men fear Death. Wise men fear Life.
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"Sometimes I see her sitting on the rooftop/perched in a lawnchair and staring into the sky/I know that somewhere in some faraway galaxy/that some gray men with telescopes are gazing right into her eyes..." -Grant Hart Books About UFOs
It's me, Lord Cry! From before! I returned! It turns out I read the user agreement wrong. They CAN'T still our work. Haha.
It's nice to be back. *Breaths deeply*
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Men fear Death. Wise men fear Life.
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