Water

The water dribbled down my face, sprinkling like rain against my cheeks. It didn't leak from my eyes from sorrowful tears or even tears of joy. The droplets fell from the pipe fed into the wall beside me. Tinglings started to prickle in the tips of my fingers as they hung limply tied above my head. My arms ached and screamed where my shoulder had popped out of my socket. But that had happened hours ago, and although it still ached, it seemed less now. Numbingly, sickingly less.

I had hung there, my feet not even coming close to touching the ground, for at least four hours of consiousness now. It had to have been more than that, though it was hard to tell in a nearly pitch black room. A small needle length sized hole danced in my dazed eyes across the room. whatever I had been given, was still coursing through my system.My matter how hard I fucused I couldn't make the dizzing colors stop their whirling, tossing, and turning as if I was on a ship. I wasn't swaying back and forth, my arm would have told me so. But  my mind was so... disconcerning.

My legs were bare but for a mini skirt that didn't cove much. I had't gotten out of the car more than two steps towards the club before someone put some kind of cloth with an aluring drug over my mouth and I was gone. Blackness had consumed. . . So much blackness. . .

There had been no sound but the dripping and slight spray from the pipe I was hung from. The drugs were slowly drifting away and the pain was taking its place.

An errie creak echoed through the small room I was being held in. A door opened, blinding light entered the room. I couldn't see; I winced as my eyes tried to adjust behind my eyelids and my body swayed, aching and screaming, when I moved.

A silhoutte crossed the floor and stood in front of me. It's head cocked to the side. My eyes blinked and squinted through the beam of light, trying to make out characteristics.

"Help me. . ." I winced at the croaking of my own voice. "Please. . ."

He, the silhoutte, chuckled and brushed a stray hair behind my ear and walked back to the door. The door closed behind him, and I was lost in darkness again. Not even the stay peck of light could be seen from my blinded eyes.

His laugh echoed around and around the walls and constantly came to my ears again and again in the smell red room. I was left alone again, as I would be forever.

Tiffany's story

I remember them only being kind. They were dark brown and gentle. I couldn't tell anyone more than that, because... Well... I couldn't tell anyone. No one would understand what I saw in him. If I told them, then they would want him as well. And I couldn't have that. Compitition isn't something I'm very good at. If I were to show off in any form, I'd be smothered. Whether it was at a sport - which I was never good at - or boys - who never looked - or... Well... Anything.

All I had was the quietness of the books. They were quiet. Not silent. There was even the occational story that screamed. Many cried and I would try to console them, but the words were already down. Nothing could be done to save the poor frightened girl from the menising antagonist. The poor soldier boy had already died and there was nothing, yes nothing, I could do to change it for her.

Sometimes I wished so hard to be able to walk into the story for just a second, for a moment, so I could help the people I had come to love. So many times I wanted to walk into the police station and say, "The guy you're looking for is at 2541 Elms." then simply walk out and see what they would do. So many times...

But they are books.

Their stories are already written. The good guys die in some and win in others. How I wished I could have saved them. If only I could be in the spot right where they needed me. If I could carry a sword and fight off those demons that the antagonist throws at them, I could help save the fair lady and they could live happily ever after instead of him dying three feet away. If only...

There were so many of those.

But again, no. I'm in my time and they are simply in books. I'm the one forced to watch him as he works on his math homework over the pages of my book.

"Are you going to stare at him all day or what?" Konny, my best friend, said and slide into the seat across from me at the library.

"I wasn't staring. I was..." My voice trailed off, not having a good answer. The fact was I was staring and she was the only person to ever think I - tiny, little, insecure me - liked the mysterious one.

"Exactly. So why are you staring at him anyway? Does he have a tattoo or something on his arm you're lookin' at? Because then he would be interesting."

"I...I...I don't know..." I looked down, embarrassed. But no Adam just had these... eyes. There was no explanation. No word in any language that was good enough for them. For him.

"So make up your mind oand do something about it already. Do you like this creep or not?"

"He's not..." Well, if I was being honest with myself people did call him a creep or a psyco. After jumping into class in the middle of a term... After isolating himself at almost every moment... With his dark levi jacket over broad shoulders, smooth fingers that danced as he wrote, straight back that roared with confidence, and boots that were constantly covered in mud... Most people at school figured him to be a gang leader or ex-mofia or something.

"Yeah, this creep has got you hog tied," Konny smiled and shook her head as she gathered up her books. "Let's get out of here, Miss. Lovestruck."

A Starter for One Thing

So I know there are lots of blogs out there and I don't expect anyone to actually read this, so I guess it doesn't really matter. So we'll see how well this turns out. It may all fall into forgotten pieces and die overnight or I could actually have this thing full by the end of... well... It could just be full.

Here's what I'm planning for this thing:
  Probably some of my writing and poems
  Quotes or fun sayings
  And really anything I deem worthy of it.
      Which isn't really saying a lot, because it's a blog. *shrugs*

But so I guess we'll see what this will be like, now won't we. (Look at me, I'm writing to myself.)