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29 days ago
Current Forget it, Jake. It's Chinatown
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29 days ago
I'd like to think I've matured with age but then on weekends I watch cartoons and eat too much sugar cereal in my pajamas so if anything I've stayed the same.
6 likes
1 yr ago
I've watched the trailer for The Marvels a dozen times already you can't stop me I've needed this this is my heroin and my herione. Wordplay.
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1 yr ago
How many times do we have to teach you this lesson, Seabiscuit
7 likes
1 yr ago
If there's anything that brings this community together it is dunking on people who bring their own shit onto themselves. It's like schadenfreude!
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Bio

Look, I got lost on the way to getting some jajangmyeon and it'd be foolish to leave now.

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Room 302 in Beverly Hills High had the best acoustics in the whole building, at least according to Andrew Green. It was anyone’s guess if it were true or not, and really Andy didn’t even think it was. The reality of it was that 302 was tucked in the back corner of the third floor, and no one ever went up there by choice. Andy had been able to secure a key to the room years ago, and he quietly used it as his personal practice space in the mornings and between classes when he managed to sneak away. It was his happy place! The only other person who had a key and wasn’t a staff member was his brother, though Andy was hopeful Ethan wouldn’t bother him this morning. He was in the zone.

He stood in front of a podium at the front of the empty classroom, with his violin tucked behind his neck. Slowly, he plucked at the strings as he found the rhythm of the song. He had heard it a thousand times, maybe even more than a thousand, but hearing wasn’t the same as playing. His brother always called it ‘downloading’ and Andy liked that phrase.

It really did feel like he was downloading the music sometimes! He played the first few notes once, twice, a third time and then it clicked. He had it! His bowstring moved across the violin as his deft fingers slid up and down, pressing down on the different strings to manipulate the instrument to speak the language he wanted it to speak. Quietly, Andy began to sing the lyrics as he played. “I can’t remember anything, can’t tell if this is true or dream…” He did not have a bad voice. Of course he didn’t, his grandmother was the songbird of her generation, but Andy did not sing with his whole chest. He was not offkey, but he wasn’t loud either. There was skill with the way his fingers moved, but his voice was low and almost shaky as he sang and allowed his mind to wander.

“Deep down inside, I feel to scream… this terrible silence stops me…” He shouldn’t have started thinking about things. He got in his own head too often. Andy found himself thinking about the traumatic experience he had, and wondering if he was ungrateful for being so… squishy as a result of something that happened in the past. By birthright, he would have no future problems. He could, and likely would, always get his way. His parents were both in their own way extremely confident individuals. His brother ran the school and would probably run the world when it was all said and done.

So why couldn’t Andy even take control of his own destiny? It was a bit sad, he reasoned, locking himself in a room where no one could hear him so he could practice the music he actually liked in the best way he could: shredding violin covers. In and of itself, that was kind of stupid. He should have had the balls to at least show his family and friends the work he’d done, to show them his passion for music that wasn’t written a hundred years before he was born.

A frown had crept upon his face as he approached the harder part of the song, near the end. Was he pathetic? Maybe, but he wasn’t sure how not to be! Andy wasn’t even able to tell his grandma, who had groomed him carefully for success ever since the incident, that he wanted to show her his covers. How was he supposed to tell her he didn’t even want to play violin? How was he supposed to tell her he wanted to be a rockstar?

He just didn’t have the courage.

Amy Kwon had never met a door that she couldn’t open or a line she couldn’t cross. Before the end of last year, before everything changed, doors just had a habit of opening themselves for her whenever she needed. Hapless members of the student body trying to appeal to her and maybe be acknowledged with a passing word of thanks or, better, a nod of the head as she walked through; now those same people shut the doors in her face like teens running away from a slasher movie villain. But doors were no obstacle for someone with a violent streak and a need to slaughter dumb teenagers and neither were they for someone whose streak ran a little less violent but still as insatiable a lust as blood. But of course, she was getting ahead of herself.

When Amy Kwon walked the halls, she moved in slow motion in the eyes of those not wise enough to turn their heads. The halls of BHHS were like her own personal Red Sea, students parting the way for entirely different reasons than they did when non-pariahs like the Hive walked by. For the populars, students getting out of the way was expected; for Amy, it was out of self preservation. Ever since her big debut at the start of senior year, where she showed up wearing knee high heeled boots and a skirt short enough that simply turning and not moving her leg fast enough would flash onlooking eyes a brief look at the Fruit of Eden, and a top that only technically met the definition of a shirt by way of having holes for head and arms to go through. The disciplinary staff in the slip they gave her said that ‘Strippers had more modesty than Ms. Kwon’s outfit’.

On Pajama Day she wasn’t even allowed to attend class until she went home to change. “I sleep nude, you know.” She was heard saying to the staff that formed a little barricade to protect the eyes of the student body. She didn’t show up naked, of course. She had underwear on. And a short robe. They were silk.

Pushing the envelope and embracing what people thought about her was who Amy was. The pink aegyo princess was dead and the fiery phoenix that turned boys to men and women to jealousy had risen. As was the case today, Amy had little desire to attend class and she had even less to show up at the pep rally later. Who gave a fuck about school pride, about a meaningless football game, about a dance where everyone in attendance was just waiting for it to be over so they could go fumble while putting a condom on and giving someone the most disappointing ride of their life in the backseat of their overpriced ego boosts. She wasn’t even wearing school colors today, but she was wearing black.

As she did most mornings, Amy was wandering the halls like an animalistic predator searching for her meat in the grass. The ones that knew her well knew to give her a wide berth. Those that didn’t would quickly learn that Amy Kwon didn’t chew her food after she finished playing with it: she devoured it whole. As her shoes clacked along the floor, the sound of music wafted to her ears. Well, some would call it music, others would call it the warblings of an instrument beloved only by nerds and those softer than soft serve ice cream. Perfect. The music carried her forward, towards a back corner on the third floor. It grew louder as she came closer, and the singing joined the chorus as Amy licked her deep, perky, ruby red lips. Under her smirk were teeth sharpened to such a fine point that her victims would have their flesh separated from their body as soon as she sank said teeth into them.

Metaphorically, of course.

The door to 302 was locked. But Amy had a bobby pin. And Amy had various skills. No door could keep her out. Or in. The door unlocked after she stimulated the pins and Amy stepped inside, eyes spotting the rabbit in the grass. She’d seen worse. She’d tasted better. But she was hungry. And she was bored. “You shouldn’t be here, little Green. You’re going to be late for class. I didn’t say to stop playing.” Her eyes were narrowed towards Andy as she stood in the doorway, her left leg bent just slightly forward enough to show off more leg under her short, black dress that clung to her body like it was made of leather. “Sing for me.”

When she let herself into the room, Andy immediately came to a halt, with the music stopping abruptly. He knew who was in the room with him, but he wasn’t sure how she’d gotten into the room. “Did you pick the lock?” Did she call him little Green? There were so many questions in his head. It wasn’t even fair to call him the ‘little Green.’ No one ever believed him, but he was almost two inches taller than Ethan was, and he was older too! He did not think Amy would believe him if he said either of those things. Honestly? Andy didn’t think she would go for anything he said. Why was she even here? Would she even answer him?

He didn’t know what to do or say. What would Ethan do in a situation like this? Probably say something cool. Andy had nothing cool to say, and hardly anything interesting to offer. As he stared at her, he dropped his violin to his side and shook his head. “Sing what? I have to know the words.” He tried to deflect as best he could, but he’d never been so close to someone so dangerously attractive before. How was he supposed to act? He felt a burning desire to do what she said, and a smaller voice in the back of his head telling him to tell her to fuck off. Andy had been ignoring that voice for close to decade, and this was no different.

“I’m not really a good singer though.” He said, his eyes darting around the room as he searched for an exit plan. Briefly, he couldn’t help but let his eyes land on her. She really was dangerously attractive. Were there more girls who were that attractive at their school? How could anyone think someone that pretty was a bad girl? Quickly, he put his eyes back on the door.

Unfortunately for Andy, Amy noticed the moment when his eyes wandered just enough to make Amy widen her grin from playful to dangerous. She had spun her little web as soon as she entered the room - of course she had picked the lock - and now the little fly was caught. No escape. No going back. Amy took a single step further into the room, inching her way towards Andy the way a hawk circled its prey before diving in for the kill. “Sing me something romantic. Something that will make my skin shiver in delight. Something that makes a girl want to throw her panties on the stage. Something…sexy.” Every word she spoke was deliberate and every sentence had her stepping closer and closer to Andy. Her tone was like honey but she spoke them like poison; how could something so sweet be so…dangerous?

Andy had never made eye contact with someone for as long as he was holding it with Amy. For a second, his breathing hitched and as his breathing picked up he wondered if he was going to die or have an anxiety attack. Why was she even here!? He locked the door for a reason! It was evil to step inside like this. But he didn’t speak, he just found himself staring at her.

“Don’t think, little Green. Look at me. Look.” She snapped her fingers. The acoustics really were good in this place. “Sing anything that comes to mind when you look at me. Impress me. I’m worth it. Don’t you think?”

In what was considered somewhat groundbreaking for the Green family, Andrew Green had never smoked the devil’s lettuce. And yet, he found himself desperately wanting a joint at that moment. He’d never even been high before, but he’d listened to his father and his brother sing THC’s praises enough that he felt he knew when a puff or seventeen might come in handy. Unfortunately for Andy, when he inhaled, it wasn’t Mary Jane that he took a drag from. It was Amy Kwon, and she smelled… “Whoa. You smell good. Oranges are my favorite.” His cheeks immediately ignited red after he spoke; that was the wrong thing to say from anyone’s perspective he reasoned. He bit his tongue, and wracked his mind looking for songs.

There were a thousand songs about sex. There were a thousand songs about pretty girls. Were there any songs about Amy? He knew so many, yet in that moment it felt like he knew so few. He searched, and searched and he found one. The look of clarity on his face was obvious as he placed the violin on the desk with the sheet music he’d made as an arrangement for One. He went to the supply closet in the room and opened it up, pulling out a guitar case.

This wasn’t really what she asked for, and he knew that. It may not have even been what she wanted. The problem was, the only song he could think of that made him think of Amy wouldn’t work on a violin. “I’m not as practiced on guitar. And please - nevermind.” Andy found himself thinking about warning Amy to not tell his grandma, but then he double guessed himself and figured if he said that to Amy, she might leave. He did not want her to leave under any circumstances. He undid the clasps holding the case closed, and pulled out an acoustic guitar. Only his brother knew about his tendency to practice the instrument, and it had been Ethan’s idea to hide one in the room so he could play it when the mood took him.

And it had taken him. If he were a bit more flowery, he could have said Amy was his muse. He sat down on the desk closest to Amy, carefully placing his feet on the chair to steady himself and brought the guitar to his knee, strumming across the guitar. As he moved his fingers, it took a second for the song to take shape, but this was a song he’d downloaded long ago. When he began the lyrics, it was obvious what the song was.

“Special, you think you’re special, you do
I can see it in your eyes.”

For the first time in his life, Andy tried to sing with his whole chest. It wasn’t easy, but with Amy’s icy gaze and the scent of her orange perfume still in his nostrils, Andy found the motivation to discover the voice he had done his best to hide. Though his eyes darted down to his hands once or twice, he did his best to keep their eyes locked. This was, frankly, the most intimate and sexually charged moment Andy had ever had in his life, and he was more than well aware that anything could fuck it up.

I can see it when you laugh at me,
Look down on me and walk around on me,
Just one more fight… about your leadership.”

He still wasn’t sure it was the kind of song she wanted, but Andy was singing as best he could - still keeping his voice low enough that prying ears might not hear him. He wasn’t sure he could handle it if more than one person were here when he sang.

Amy would be lying if she said she was familiar with the song, but in truth the song itself didn’t matter; what mattered was that Andy Green had known Amy for all of a few minutes and was already willing to serenade her at the snap of a finger. What mattered was that Andy Green behaved. They all behaved. The ones who thought they could turn the page and control Amy were boring. Chest pounding brutes, foot tapping bitches, a legion of losers who thought they could be Captain Saveaho by trying to exert a little social media domination and get Amy on her knees instead of on top where she was comfortable. Amy Kwon didn’t need to be saved. Amy Kwon didn’t want to be saved.

How long would this toy last, she wondered. He didn’t seem as… hardy as some of her other toys, but considering the name that came with this one it was like finding something valuable in mint condition. Little Andy Green… whisper the right words in his ears, give him an intoxicating scent… Amy could utterly ruin this boy and he’d thank her for doing it. The thought alone kept the smile and knowing, narrowed eyes aimed in his direction; he probably thought she was smiling for the song but the only sounds she was hearing were the future cries as Andy experienced a taste of heaven.

It sounded like bedsprings.

“You look better with a guitar than a violin.” Amy spoke as the song tapered off. “Your fingers must be…talented…to make the strings dance like that.” Amy was done being subtle. She draped a hand on Andy’s shoulder, standing just beside him but still standing over him. Her head was lowered and tilted, filling his nostrils with more of that perfume he so clearly liked the smell of. Who knew the devil on the shoulder wore Chanel Coco Mademoiselle? “Do you want to duet with me… little Green?” A deadly whisper, like a viper moments away from sticking its venomous fangs into the throat.

“He doesn’t,” Ethan sharply cut in, hearing the music at the end of the hall and knowing exactly who was playing it. He was the one who knew his brother’s secret and it was Ethan who heard his brother practice. No one else. He stood under the door casing not liking what he was seeing at all. His nostrils flared and his jaw tightened, all while he cracked his knuckles. Amy Kwon had her reputation and it was hard to deny the evidence that clearly showed she was not a good person. His brother didn’t need to be involved with someone malicious and cruel as Amy Kwon and Ethan doubted she was here with good intention. His twin was too inept in the social scene to see that he was prey and he was standing next to someone that wanted to kill him slowly but kill him no less.

Maintaining eye contact, his shoulders tensed, the Alpha of the Elite stormed deeper into the room, approaching his twin and the unexpected acquaintance Andy was making. “Get your hands off of him,” Ethan growled, hovering over the girl, clearly in defense and keeping his attention on his brother. He went from the she-devil to his literal other half. “Andy, seriously. Don’t listen to her. She’s a bitch trying to take you down with her and the last thing you need is to get stuck in a cage with a tiger.” Maybe, just maybe, that analogy would get Andy to think twice. He hoped so because the last thing Ethan Green wanted to do was touch… the devil herself.

“I wasn’t asking you.” Amy hissed towards Ethan without even looking in his direction. Ethan was a nuisance, a distraction, interference on the hunt and unfortunately for Amy it seemed the only thing he cared more about than hooking up with naive girls with loose lips was protecting his brother. The hand on Andy’s shoulder remained firmly in place, gripping a little tighter like her fingers were staking a claim, planting a flag of intent so Ethan would know that this wouldn’t be the end of things. Not if she had her way - and Amy Kwon always had her way in the end. “You can leave now, Ethan. I’m sure you have an STD test to take or something. Maybe a girl to disappoint for three minutes. Run along. Your brother is fine where he is.”

Her attention remained on Andy and a single finger traced from his shoulder up towards his jawline. Amy’s breath was hot on Andy’s skin, a deliberate heat that swam with the residual scent of her perfume. She wanted to intoxicate him with her very being, to make him so drunk on Amy that the only thing he would want was another hit. A single taste. “Isn’t that right, little Green?”

“You’re digging your fingers into my shoulder.” Andy was sensing a lot of tension between his brother and Amy. He wasn’t dense, he knew that Amy didn’t have a good reputation, but he was confused that someone had such a bad reputation his brother didn’t want to interact with them. The tiger comparison, Andy thought, was a little harsh. He threw his shoulder back a bit in an attempt to get Amy’s hand off of his shoulder and it didn’t budge - her fingers just tightened.

Was she for real? Amy was the last person to be talking about STDS. And why was his brother being so… fuck, his parents really did a number on him. No one would think they’re actually twins because there was nothing cool about Andrew Green at all. He was such a nerd. “Bitch please, your vagina has been used more than Google.” Ethan really did not want to put his hands on a girl, even if she was demonic and a whore and evil. His parents taught him that it doesn’t matter how much a girl makes you angry, don’t fucking put your hands on them unless there is consent. At a standstill, the twin took a step back to give the two breathing room. The only person that can actively do something in this moment was shrinking in his seat at the sheer power this girl exuded. Ethan took a deep breath in. He needed to change his method. Exhaling, he apologized, “...Sorry that was uncalled for. Please, can you give me a moment with my brother?” Ethan Green wanted to die.

Amy couldn’t help but to widen her smirk, her eyes flicking once towards Ethan before trailing back to her preferred prey. She didn’t even have to do anything and Ethan Green was saying please. To her. To the she-devil on campus. “I bet that took effort, Ethan. Asking a girl ‘please’. Don’t worry. I won’t tell.” Amy released her grip on Andy and placed her palm on his back, gently nudging him towards Ethan. “Go on, then. Take him. But we both know I’m all he’ll be thinking about. All. Day. Long.” Her words were spoken to Ethan, but they were whispered into Andy’s ear. A parting gift for Andy and a threat for Ethan.

It wasn’t until Amy stopped digging her fingers into Andy’s shoulder that he realized how much he liked it. He took a step forward when she pushed him forward but it was clear even from the way he moved that he was disappointed in the way things were ending up. There was not a lot he could say or do, all he could do was try and make sure that he didn’t forget the scent of her perfume. After he stopped being nudged forward, and was standing beside his brother, Andy spun around to look at Amy and blurted.

“You’re coming to our party, right?”

Ethan grumbled when Andy offered to invite the succubi. Even if he wanted to protest, this was actually a huge milestone for his older brother. Andy was inviting a girl to a party. He was going to have a date. He might get laid. It would be wrong for Ethan to ruin this when all he wanted was his brother to have confidence and for some reason, he was finding it in Amy. Begrudgingly, Ethan followed his brother’s lead, “Tomorrow, after the dance, we’ll have transport ready. It’s at our family’s vineyard. Theme, Risky Business.” He paused for a moment to look at his brother, hoping there was a sign of disgust, or fear, but all he saw in his eyes was how in lust Andy was already with this girl.

Fuck.

Teeth clenched, the King of the school added, “We… would love you to come… and if you like, you can…” He was going to regret this. He definitely was. But Andy was happy. Andy was making progress. Andy was… relaxed. “Ride with us.” At this moment, Ethan could only think about his mom and wondered if she had sound advice for this situation. He doubted it, but still. He wanted to talk to his mom.

An eyebrow raised as Amy listened to the Brothers Green, her perfect poker face unbreaking in the moment. How was it that Ethan came into the music room calling her a bitch and a tiger but now he was practically rolling out the red carpet for her? The way to Ethan was clearly through Andy - an unexpected but certainly welcome side effect. “I’ll be there.” Even if she hadn’t been directly invited, Amy had a wonderful habit of showing up even when she wasn’t invited. “We can talk about that…duet then, little Green.” Even if Andy was leaving with his brother, Amy was confident that her little fly was stuck deeper in the web. Fine. That was fine.

The best meals were the ones you savored.

Her hunt properly interrupted, but certainly not ruined, Amy offered a parting shrug of her shoulders and began the uncomfortably long walk back into the hallway. She didn’t look back at either Ethan or Andy as she walked past and opened the door. She knew that if she did, she would’ve seen Andy leering at her. Possibly Ethan as well. That thought alone helped her maintain that dangerous, ruby lipped smirk as she departed the room, the brothers free of her miasma for the immediate moment.

After he’d watched her leave the room, biting down on his bottom lip the entire time, Andy let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Hey, Ethan.” He asked, finally directly addressing his brother. Andy had no idea what he was doing; he didn’t know what Amy was going to be like, but for the first time in his life, Andrew Green had caught himself thinking with the wrong head. He figured it had something to do with the orange scents she wore. He ran a hand through his hair, and asked the question that had been burning in his mind ever since Ethan had joined the room, “do you have any weed?”

He paused, and then meekly added. “Why did she keep calling me ‘little?’ Doesn’t she know I’m taller than you are?”

Weed was a fantastic idea. Ethan needed weed too after that. “In my locker.” He turned his head toward his twin and furrowed his eyebrows. With a baffled expression, he asked, “You serious right now?” It was rhetorical. He knew Andy was being serious. His older twin was too naive. Too innocent. Too good. “You’re so fucked, bro. Come on, let’s go. Maybe we have enough time to smoke.” He looked at his watch; they didn’t. The bell would go off in five, four, three, two…

The second warning bell went off.

“I mean if you want to skip homeroom, I’m down.” Would his brother agree? Well, if he was into Amy, this could mean a new era for Andy Green. It was 50/50 right now but maybe Andy would live a little. Only time could tell. Unfortunately for Stella, Ethan had his phone on silent so he didn’t see his text from her.

“What? I’ve never done that before. What if Dad gets mad?” Andy asked, turning his head to look at Ethan. After a moment’s thought, he felt like he’d figured it out already. “Dad doesn’t care does he?” He shook his head, and reminded himself of Amy’s voice and the feeling of her breath on his neck and it breathed life to the embers of confidence he’d gained that morning.

“Screw it, let’s skip homeroom.”

Ethan smiled. Internally, his gut was telling him this, meaning Andy and Amy, would be nothing but a disaster, but right now, as they strode out the room and down the hall, none of that mattered. Andy was carrying himself differently and Ethan liked seeing his brother assertive for once, and certain of himself. Greens were all about taking risks and finally Andy was taking them.

“Hell to the yeah! Let’s smoke some weed bro!”

The Brothers Green would not make it to homeroom today.


god fucking dammit



Exit Music (For A Film)

By the time Sara Delgado woke up to a room that was as comfortable and familiar to her as a prison cell, Himani Chakrabarti had been running for a half hour with no destination in mind. Running was one of the only things that made sense to Himani; one foot in front of the other, forward momentum, feet stamping the ground in a quiet affirmation combining with the aching heat of muscles screaming along the skin as if the entire body was announcing to the world that she was alive and here to stay. In another life, Himani would have done well as a cross country runner. Joined a team. Maybe go to the Olympics. Be somebody. But in another life, Himani might not have had to run at all. Everyone ran for different reasons, some for sport, some for exercise, some just because it was a cardio day; Himani ran because it was freedom. Himani ran because if she didn’t, she would drown. Himani ran because she didn’t want to look back. The pain in her legs as she pushed closer to the seven mile mark was nothing compared to what would happen if she didn’t run.

The route Himani took was never the same but she knew the streets and walks like a GPS did. Going left one way led to this location, going right was a dead end, three streets ahead and that was where the nice old couple sat in chairs petting a dog that was almost as old as they were. Himani liked that couple, they always waved at her on the days she passed and Himani always considered stopping to pet the dog, to converse with the old couple, but she never did. She couldn’t stop. Stopping was death. Her pace was as important as the route she took; it didn’t matter how fast she went as long as she was going and she always went to the same place. To the only place where Himani was allowed to smile. To the only place where she was able to smile.

When she ran, her hair was in a ponytail, only a few loose strands draped against her forehead and drifted with the pumping of her legs to bristle against her ears. Himani hated her ears. They were big, goofy, floopy, unpierced, and the only time they were ever visible was when she ran like this. When her hair was freed from the confines of a scrunchie, she made sure it covered her ears. Himani hated her hair. It was long, messy, an ugly shade of brown, unkempt even when she brushed it, and it sometimes got food on it when she ate too quickly because her hair reached all the way to the top of her breast.

What face did she make while running, she wondered. Was her mouth open even more than normal - her stupid overgrown front teeth made it so hard for her to close her lips which was another thing Himani hated, were her eyes wide, nostril flaring, eyebrows bristling? She hated each of those parts of her face. Her eyes were too big. Her nose was too pointed at the tip but too wide in the nostrils. Her eyebrows were too bushy, like Frida Kahlo. Her upper lip was always slightly lifted thanks to those hideous buck teeth. When she ran, those flaws didn’t matter. No one looked good after running for miles and Himani could feel normal for those wonderful times between starting and stopping.

At school, Himani smiled from the first bell until the end of the school day. She laughed. She had people who liked her at least enough to not talk shit about her until she was well out of earshot; of course with her ears she was sure she could hear them from the next state ove. She had people applaud and cheer for her. Well, not her. The Pirate. They loved the Pirate, how he ran in the gym during pep rallies, how he danced by the stands at football games, how he tripped and fell on his big stupid ugly face for a comedy gag. Everyone loved the Pirate and under the Pirate was Himani. Everyone loved Himani.

Except for Himani.



By the time Himani Chakrabarti ran for the sixth mile with legs screaming at her to stop, Sara Delgado was gently folding the bedsheet back under the pillows she had fluffed already. Her mother had taught her the proper way to make a bed and it was an almost zen-like experience to Sara now. Every morning she made her bed, every morning she took a small amount of pride in the making of said bed, and every morning for five minutes she sat on the end of her bed and tried not to cry as she spoke three words to herself under her breath like a meditative mantra. “Today’s your day. Today’s your day. Today’s your day.” At the end of those five minutes the mantra always ended with a slight change of wording. “Tomorrow’s your day…”

Sara’s room was comfortable but cold. The walls were bare except for a single hanging poster of the periodic table, something that Sara didn’t even need hung up anymore - she had learned the table before her sophomore year and had impressed her chemistry teacher by correcting the mistake and mentioning that Seaborgium was 106 and Bohrium was 107, not the other way around and then again for mentioning that Bohrium and Borium were two different things with the latter not even being on the table at all. For the rest of the semester, the chemistry teacher would randomly ask Sara a number and Sara would say the element on the table. Sara thought it was meant to embarrass or humiliate her on the off chance she got it wrong but she never did. For her troubles, all she got was a begrudging A+ on the report card and a revolving door of lab partners who spent labs on their phones while Sara did the experiment, the lab report, and got them a passing grade because of it.

The sun peeked in through the open blinds inside Sara’s room and shined its morning light on the spotless floor that was swept every weekend, the study desk that looked unused other than the numerous post-it notes with platitudes and doodles of a cookie with eyes and hands holding hands with a carton of milk with hands and eyes, and the bookshelf with a bunch of textbooks and study guides organized by subject matter. On the nightstand next to Sara’s bed was her cellphone, a navy blue covered diary, and a clock radio. The only personality to be found in the room was contained solely within the post-it doodles but even they seemed trapped in the diminutive canvas. Trapped in the same way their artist was. The only thing missing from Sara’s room were bars on the window.

Ever since she and her mother moved into this house, owned by Sara’s abuelita, Sara was given the biggest room in the house and all she had to show for it was a neatly made bed every morning. The clock radio buzzed to life with a static hum as the frequency of the morning jazz song (today it was Art Blakey) woke Sara from her five minute mantra, a sniffle punctuating her mumbled words as she slid off the bed and turned off the alarm before scooping her diary and phone into her hands, transferring both to the study desk as she opened her bedroom door (devoid of any poster hangings as well) and stepped her bare feet onto the creaky carpet floor en route to the toothpaste pastel colored bathroom.

Her mother’s towel was still damp as it hung on the towel rack and Sara sighed in realization. Another early shift. Another breakfast alone. Another morning where her only conversation was with the friends in her head who were interested in hearing her talk about the difference between arachnids and insects. It wasn’t always so empty, but with her dad in Mexico for most of her life, her mom taking whatever shifts she could at the hotel, and her abuelita living…elsewhere…Sara hadn’t had a conversation with another person in what seemed like forever. No one to tell her good morning. No one to ask how school was. No one to call and talk with until the sun went down. Nothing. No one. No one except Chipper and Derry, the names she gave to her cookie and milk doodles. They were the best of friends, Chipper and Derry were. Sara was jealous.

At school, Sara got some of the highest grades, tutored, was well on her way to being in the consideration for valedictorian - though she figured that wasn’t guaranteed and that someone more popular but with a worse GPA would get that satisfaction - but that was all she had. Her name at the top of a list no one cared about. Inside her drawer at the study desk was her acceptance letter to Pomona College, underneath which was a pamphlet about financial aid and scholastic scholarships, both of which she had applied for. Yet another list her name was at the top of. What good was being at the top of lists if no one cared? What good was being one of the smartest, academically, at school if teachers still got her name wrong (it was Sah-rah, not Sehr-uh)? Everyone at school had friends. Laughed. Smiled. Didn’t eat lunch in the janitor’s closet. Everyone knew each other in some capacity. Had memories and jokes, gossip and stories, kisses and romances. Everyone, even with their dramas, went to parties and hung out and would look back on these years fondly.

Except for Sara.

While Sara was showering and getting dressed, then getting changed as she double checked the theme of the day, Himani Chakrabarti had finally stopped running. She wasn’t out of breath or even all that tired, but she was in desperate need of water, which was the reason she stopped running. Close by the school, close enough that some students dropped in during lunch periods and still had enough time to spare, was a convenience store. Himani waved to the cashier before going to the cold beverage section, grabbing a water, cracking the top, and drinking half the bottle before grabbing a second one. Cradling the fresh bottle under an arm, Himani brought two fingers to her neck and looked at her wrist. She didn’t have a watch, she’d just seen people do this in medical dramas.

When she stepped outside the convenience store, the drawstring backpack with the FILA logo on the bottom re-slung over her shoulders now that it contained a bottle of water more and four dollars less, the morning heat wafted over her and added another layer of sweat to her forehead and legs. She had been wearing running shorts and a sleeveless, plain blue top. Sweat had formed on her legs, perhaps the only part of herself that she didn’t hate, and she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. She couldn’t go to school like this. Sweaty. Not in school colors for spirit day. But inside her backpack was a small bar of disposable soap, a hotel sized portion of shampoo, and a change of clothes. One of the perks of being the mascot was the school trusting her with a key to the gym storage area where the mascot was stored; that same key got her access to the gym locker rooms which had a shower attached to them.

Every day she ran and every day Himani showered and changed in the school gym locker room. Today would be no different. Himani wasn’t sure if people knew that she treated the showers like they were in her home, but the alternative would be going to school caked in sweat and stench and while she was well aware that some students, definitely underclassmen, would surely be into the idea of smelling a sweaty girl’s armpits or, like, licking sweat because she’d been on the internet, in practice the only thing that happens to a high school girl showing up sweaty and rank is being known as the smelly girl. Himani was many things, and as she looked in the mirror in the bathroom next to the showers, the things she believed herself to be came flooding into her. She was ugly and no matter how much lotion she rubbed on her face she always would be. She had big front teeth and no matter how many times she brushed and gargled and brushed and gargled she would always have them. She had gross hair and even as she brushed and brushed and brushed she always would, but at least it covered her big, floppy, ugly ears. And at least she wouldn’t be the smelly girl.

Himani smiled as she finished brushing her hair and brushing her teeth. The mirror didn’t crack but the girl looking back at her was believably happy. Which meant Himani was genuinely happy. Her enthusiasm for all things BHHS might have been annoying to many, but her enthusiasm in general was earnest. She loved the school. She loved the people. She loved the students. She loved being the mascot. She loved that her outfit for school spirit day was a red t-shirt that she made herself that had BHHS in big, bold, black letters, under which was a picture of her in the mascot costume under which was her graduation year. The back of the shirt had the statement “LET’S SHOW ARRRRR SCHOOL SPIRIT!” with a pirate sword as the exclamation point. Her black shorts just had the BHHS logo on either leg and on her face she stuck four star stickers, one red and one black on each cheek. And on her ugly, frizzly, dirty brown hair she put a red and black bandana - like the one famous pirate Jack Sparrow wore; some of her hair still spilled out from the back, and of course there was still hair to cover her ears.

Homecoming week was the best. It was when Himani was at her most popular because of school spirit being at a school year high. Pep rallies. The game. The dance. She didn’t have a date for the dance, of course she wouldn’t- she wasn’t gorgeous like everyone else, but she loved going to the dance and dancing to the fast songs and swaying like she had someone to dance with on the slow songs. Showing up to school as a cowboy, a hippie, in pajamas…the one week it was cool to show pride and excitement in your future alma mater. As Himani put her jogging clothes in her gym locker and headed for the quad now that students were starting to arrive, she couldn’t help but to smile as wide as ever. In a few hours she’d be in the costume, rallying the crowd, responding to their cheers. Everyone would be there. Everyone would love it. Because everyone loved homecoming week.

Except for Sara.

Sara didn’t even know why she bothered sticking to the theme of the homecoming events. Any effort she put forth went unnoticed and made her question the point of even trying so hard. On Wednesday while people wore cowboy hats, denim jeans, or god forbid the people who wore Cowboy Barbie pink, Sara had a historically accurate outfit based on the Spanish vaqueros complete with sombrero and overly warm sarape and buckskin shoes and woolen bolero jacket. The most she got was a teacher telling students to take their hats off indoors so people behind them could see the blackboard. The janitor was concerned she would overheat, though, which she thought was a nice consideration until he followed it up with the bleak thought that an ambulance called to a high school is never good for anyone, especially if they found one in the janitor’s closet. Sara laughed it off but she was the only one.

Naturally after a week of trying, Sara tried a little less with her outfit today: a red and black striped shirt and a little face paint on her cheek that read ‘BHHS’, only really perceptible if you were looking into her eyes and she assumed that no one would even notice. Nor would they notice that her black pants sort of combined with the striped shirt to give her an almost Freddy Kruger vibe. All she was missing wasthe hat.After checking her outfit in the mirror in the bathroom, Sara returned to her room for the last time that morning in order to put her diary, phone, and the completed homework folder into her backpack all before swapping the main pun drawing that was pinned onto the center of the backpack. Today’s pun? Carrate.

The kitchen was quiet with the only evidence someone had even used it being the coffee mug sitting in the sink with a puddle of water pooled at the bottom. Sara sighed as she took out the items for today’s breakfast. Before, back when her abuelita was still around, she would almost always have some fresh made pan dulce and hot chocolate for Sara; now the only thing greeting Sara were the ingredients she prepped the night before just so she could cook them that much faster. Before, when her mother would miss mornings, Sara would at least have a note telling her to do her best, to have a great day, little words of encouragement or the puzzle section from the newspaper so she could have entertainment while she ate; now there was nothing other than that damn coffee mug.

The only sound in the ktichen for the next twenty minutes was the cooking of oil, potatoes, chorizo, the gentle scrape of a spatula adding peppers and onions, mixing the ingredients, the crackling sizzle of a pan over a medium heat, and the clink of a fork as she placed her chorizo con papas onto a tortilla and ate her breakfast. Water rinsing the plate added to the puddle in the mug and after pausing to say a short prayer by the cross hanging in the living room - something her abuelita did and Sara did simply to respect the home Sara was graciously allowed to live in - Sara was outside and locking the door behind her. She had five minutes to get to the bus stop. Most senior didn’t take the bus to school, but most seniors weren’t Sara Delgado. Her seat on the bus was practically reserved. Right in the front, behind the driver, she sat by the window and her backpack next to her. No matter how full the bus got, no one ever seemed to want to sit next to her.

From the bus window, the outside world looked so pleasant, especially at this time of morning when people were waking up and beginning their commutes or morning exercise. Behind her she could hear people talking about a break up, discussing the progress they made in some video game, saying how they were going to not bother going to the football game tonight so they could catch a movie instead. Dozens of conversations going on all around her and Sara was hearing bits and pieces of all of them. Was this what ghosts felt like? Invisible but present? Chuckling lightly at jokes she wasn’t meant to hear, silently correcting the people comparing homework, checking her own wardrobe when others complemented their friends. The only difference between her and a ghost in this moment was that people got excited at the idea of seeing a ghost.

As the bus roared to a stop and the doors filed open, Sara was the last one to step off - the doors damn near closing even as she was still descending the steps, and she stepped off with a smile. Even if no one knew her name, even if no one ever really thanked her for helping them pass trig or history or chemistry, even if she had to eat another lunch in the janitor’s closet she still smiled as she stepped onto the sidewalk and towards the quad. Sara didn’t know why. She didn’t have much in the way of school spirit and at the rate she was going she wasn’t even going to leave here as anything more than a face in a yearbook that other graduates struggle to even remember one single anecdote about…but still she smiled. She wondered if anyone else smiled as they walked towards school by themselves and promptly shook her head. Why would anyone do that? That was weird. No one other than Sara smiled for no reason, putting on a brave face for as long as it took for it to fade- which in Sara’s case was up until her classmates filed in and brought with them their drama and their conversation and their continued ignoring of Sara Delgado.

Except for Himani.

Himani Chakrabarti was in the quad, leaping in front of arriving students - underclassmen being the majority - and after the heart attack shriek of surprise from the unsuspecting students, she handed them a flier using only her words. “YARRRRR I SEE YOU’RE FLYIN’ THE SCHOOL COLORS. GOOD ON YA, MATEY! YOUR SPIRIT IS REQUESTED AT TODAY’S ASSEMBLY! DON’T MISS IT OR I’LL MAKE YA WALK THE PLANK, LADDIE! YARRRR!” It was early in the morning but that didn’t stop Himani from making sure students started their day having a laugh even if it was at her expense - at least four different students whispered how ‘cringe’ she was being after she moved on to the next group, but Himani didn’t let that stop her. If she let the remarks of other students ruin her mood then she wouldn’t be Himani Chakrabarti. Their words couldn’t hurt her anymore than others already had.

By the time Himani was sure she had gotten to most everyone she saw in the quad, it was almost time for class to begin. The girl with endless energy and school spirit darted up the stairs into the school and up the stairs towards the classroom; she wasn’t supposed to run in the halls but for Himani, running was life and anything else was the opposite. As she made her way to Mr. Phoenix’s class, she said a loud hello to everyone in the classroom - the same way she had to everyone in the quad. Everyone.

Except for Sara.

Sara had noticed Himani running in the quad and got her hopes up that she would be greeted in kind. She even slowed her steps and held her breath when Himani was greeting some sophomores just in the grass as Sara passed them, but after Himani did her piratey song and dance for them, she turned and looked through Sara, sprinting right past Sara in order to greet a group of three. Sara didn’t drop her smile, but it did crack and quiver. Her footsteps regained their speed as she made her way towards the entrance to school.

“Sara!” A voice called behind her and Sara froze. Her head turned with her body to see the face of someone she had tutored. She knew him well because he took three lessons to learn the difference between sin, cosine, and tangent. After all this time he still didn’t know her name?

“It’s…it’s actually pronounced…” Her voice was so quiet and foreign to her own ears that she barely recognized it. When was the last time she heard herself? Her spoken word went unfinished as the guy calling her name waved to a red headed girl who came bouncing over to him. The way they embraced was all Sara needed to see to know that he had the right pronunciation all along. Turning back around, Sara disappeared into the school as she always did. A ghost roaming the halls, scoring high on tests, haunting the janitor’s closet, sitting in the front row in Mr. Phoenix’s class.

Maybe today wasn’t her day after all.


Fab since you’re exceeding six, can you make a new tab for the next six?


Sure can, but if I have another six characters please tell me to stop

I hope the Fallout show doesn't suck
6:45 A.M.
Friday, October 8
Hand Covers Bruise




After the man in the McDonald’s window handed her the familiar bag with the red and yellow logos, Danielle Jones sped away as quickly as a garish yellow Vespa Super Sport could allow. Inside the bag was life and life was getting too expensive for its own good. At this time of morning, when the sun had barely poked its radiant arms into the eyes of a population too bothered to lower the sun visor, everything was still. The roads were hardly ever empty but there were far fewer cars on the road at this time. The ones coming home from a late night shift, the ones heading to their morning shifts, united in spirit and wearing a wardrobe of baggy eyes and exaggerated yawns. Danielle Jones turned out of the McDonald’s and onto the open road, Italian-made engine sputtering along; In the oncoming lane, a bushy headed man of middle age does a double take as the Vespa breezes past. He rubs his eyes. The Vespa is in the rearview, its driver unconcerned.

The breeze whips a gentle lash on Dani’s face, a bagel sandwich with folded egg and sausage barely fit for a dog held between gritted teeth, careful not to take too hard a bite lest the sandwich meet the road. The open air and the lack of protection on the eyes or head give Dani the appearance of a child sticking their open mouth near a fan blowing on its highest setting. Her eyes drip water and her milk chocolate hair blows behind her like it's trying to escape. Dani’s mothers always told her and her sisters to wear protection- they had to clarify they didn’t mean a condom in this case when it came to Addie - but Dani never did. No one has ever looked good in a helmet as they zoomed down the road on a motorcar and Dani wasn’t about to try and go against centuries of documented evidence. The breeze died down as the light ahead drifted to red and for the first time since leaving the golden arches, Dani tasted life. Greasy, overcooked, delicious, beautiful life.

At the stop light, Dani looked around. No pedestrians walking the sidewalk. No other cars around the intersection, the first ray of dawn painting the street in warm tones and she’d never known such loneliness. It brought a smile to her lips. At home, she had a zoo to deal with. Her moms - that had been less difficult to get used to than she thought - had a tendency to buy affection and her sister JJ took advantage enough to have more rodents running around the house than a New York street. Her sister PJ wasn’t a fan and her sister Addie…well, the sounds of silence cut with the percussion of her Vespa engine was much better aurally than whatever salacious sound made up her alarm. Noise was all over her house and while she contributed her fair share - at least half of the PJ rodent screams were because Dani ‘accidentally’ left Big Cheese’s cage open and the mouse crawled into PJ’s bed overnight - she still enjoyed the silence. It hadn’t always been like that. Silence used to destroy her. When she first moved into her current household, after the funeral, she couldn’t sleep without crying and she only cried because being alone in her thoughts, in the quiet of a bedroom, would only make her remember her mother. Her sisters helped. More than they knew. More than she told.

The light turned green but Dani hadn’t even realized until it was turning yellow again and she was zooming on her way. Her breakfast sandwich was a pile of mush in her stomach that would churn into a pile of regret by lunch period. It wasn’t everyday that Dani was so early on the road, but it wasn’t every day that Dani got to be on camera.

Dani turned into the student parking lot as the clock struck close to seven. Her ankle boots stepped onto the asphalt as she shut the engine off and took her first breath of the day. In the corner of her ear she heard the unmistakable call of a raspy ‘Fuck’ and the sound of polyurethane rolling along the ground. For someone who seemed to hate going to school, Dani couldn’t help but to wonder why that girl was here so often. She didn’t acknowledge Everly with anything other than a brief glance in her direction, which was met with a tilt of the head and a kickflip, as if the skater was trying to say ‘look what I can do’ the way a child did when they learned something that was only impressive to an undeveloped mind. Dani didn’t dislike Everly, they’d even worked together and Dani filmed Everly doing tricks, but even Spike Jonze had to move on from shooting music videos and skateboard demos.

Her backpack, inside which was her Lumix camera, was hoisted out of the storage box under her Vespa seat. The long walk to the media wing and Morning Show studio was familiar at this point. After three, soon to be four, years of this place, everything had sort of become routine. Same hallways. Same people. Same sights. Same sounds. Same couples breaking up, fucking up, fucking, and getting back together only to repeat the process because in high school everyone thought with their bodies, not their minds. Dani was no different, other than not having a couple to do the cycle with. Maybe that’s why she turned her head away from the couple on the lawn holding hands before the bell rang. Or maybe she just didn’t want to see them try to eat each other’s faces and call it making out.

The routine was death. She’d read stories how adults with jobs sometimes still woke up in a cold sweat thinking they had homework they forgot to do or a test they didn’t study for and she could believe it. By sophomore year, high school stops feeling like anything other than a four year Stanford prison experiment. There was no greater psychological torture than having to endure math class and being told how important the pythagorean theorem was. A Squared plus B Squared equals Fuck Off. Maybe that's why she did what she did last year. Boredom. An attempt to make every day not feel the same. The Toad Sings prank raised her social stock in school, an unfortunate side effect as she had spent so much time being the silent hero of the Morning Show. The woman behind the camera who made others look good. Directors won awards, sure, but people remembered actors more. That was her place and she was good at it. But even the best directors liked to appear in their own works from time to time.

Her booted feet carried her up the stairs but it was her own tempered excitement that had her practically taking them two at a time. That excitement lasted until she arrived on the floor and saw Jamie - or rather the back of him - rush past and then, a bit further down the hall and engaged in conversation she didn’t want to overhear, were Trixie and Ethan. As Dani continued towards the studio, not giving either the time of day, she couldn’t help but to shake her head.


In Motion

Ethan Green is a fuckboy. I don’t say, or think, that lightly, i think that because it’s true and no one wants to admit it. All the Greens or Greenlocks or whoever are different flavors of fuck from boy to head but anyone who rolls around in a group calling themselves The Elite is in dire need of a reality check.

In case you didn’t know who it is guys like Ethan Green represent, his aunt owns the Seattle Mariners. The baseball team. Because Hailey’s wife wanted season tickets. That’s what people like that do. They remind the world that they have enough money to spit on the little guy and throw him fifty bucks for dry cleaning and act like they’re doing the world a favor.

I mean sure, it’s only baseball and no one watches baseball anymore other than balding, fat dudes in their twenties by way of looking like they’re forty, but it’s the principle of the matter. Kids at this school have a family member who owns a baseball team. Before you start getting it twisted, I’m not jealous. I don’t exactly come from a poor family, but the difference is I carry twenty bucks on me at any given time and people like Ethan Green think a black card gives them the authority to walk around like they’re Zeus.

Well, I mean Ethan Green would probably fuck a swan so I guess there’s truth to that.

I’d sooner subject myself to listening to Himani Chakrabarti for five minutes than spend two in a bathroom with Ethan Green. At least Himani is humble.

Leaving the discussion between Ethan and Trixie in the rear, Dani entered the studio, said good morning to absolutely no one, and placed her bag on an empty seat at a table that had refreshments - stale danish and all - for the crew to enjoy before and after a show. Her co-hosts in crime, Rye and Sully, were having a conversation that seemed almost as heated as the one she passed by in the hall. By her watch, she had minutes to spare, more the fault hers for stopping by McDonald’s rather than eat a donut and run the risk of getting chocolate over her denim jacket.

Rye and Sully are fuckboys too but they’re different from Ethan. Sully doesn’t seem to know that most girls would find a guy like that to be as irresistible as a piece of decadent chocolate cake. A mama’s boy with a body and good with his hands? Powerful weapon in the right hands, we’re all just lucky he’d prefer those hands squeezing a joystick rather than a pair of tits. Rye is a fireman in training or something and everyone knows how people feel about firemen. Well, the ones without beer bellies or porn haircuts anyway. He probably gets around as much as Ethan but I’ve never asked and he’s had the good sense not to boast about it in the studio.

The difference between them and Ethan Green is Rye and Sully have personality beyond whatever it takes to put their dick in something. Maybe I’m biased because Sully brings me coffee sometimes, but Rye and Sully don’t make my skin crawl. Maybe in another life I’d have gotten to know them better than I have but until last year I don’t think anyone knew me as anything other than a camera girl so the road goes both ways.

I don’t want to impose on their conversation, but if I did, I’d probably say that I don’t care who’s having sex with who - other than me having sex with no one which sucks - but that if it ruins the chemistry at the Morning Show then I’ll personally collect their heads and make a necklace from them.

And I don’t mean the ones on their neck. Obviously. That’d be too big for a necklace.

The call for three minutes left came just as Dani closed her compact mirror. What counted as hair and makeup was essentially ‘on your own’ and Dani had to run her hand through her hair to make it less…frizzy from the drive in. Her mothers might have had a point about protection but that didn’t mean she had to follow it.

At the two minute mark, Dani made her way towards the desk and took her seat, immediately propping her feet up on the counter like she was at home. In a way, she was. Her eyes glanced over the copy handed to her and she parsed absolutely none of it. If they expected Dani Jones to go by the script, then they hadn’t known her at all. Half the fun of the Morning Show was trying to get the others to break.

“You know, three creams is a delicacy in some parts of the world.” Dani said to Sully as he handed her her cup of coffee. “Like in….Turkmenistan. You owe an apology to the Turkmen peoples, Sully. I’ll accept it on their behalf. They take credit, debit, or cash.”

The one minute warning had sounded thirty seconds ago and the sign to outsiders that they were going live was lit up. Quiet on the set, the whole spiel. Mr. Wells pointed to Dani. Dani waved back. Mr. Wells sighed. Dani waited until there were five seconds left and they were being counted in before she took her feet off the desk.

She was, after all, a professional.


<Snipped quote by Fabricant451>

You know what's funny people are having a hard time playing the game because they walked into it expecting it to be exactly like Nier.


That is also funny. The game might be fine but I look forward to it being basically a 'forgotten gem' in six months time.






CW: Mention of suicide





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