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Post Reply Through His Eyes
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The Introduction

There was no denying it. The years of wallowing filth, in both mind and body, was taking its toll. There was no fucking denying it. Writhing smoke attacked the air as I toked. Burning flakes stung my lips, but I hardly noticed. I was too tripped out to even raise my head properly. Even when I look back now, I know that I was in bad shape. Oh, how fucking ironic. It’s too late now. If I knew back then what I knew now – as everyone says – I wouldn’t have gone to that fucking concert. But I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything, like all the other kids in the goddamn world. Ignorance is bliss – but that night, ignorance killed all of us and left me to die.
“Stoner,” Mark slammed through the door, bringing in a wave of night air with him and bags of confectionary goods. I raised my head with considerable effort and laughed groggily.
“Welcome back, shitface,” I mumbled, taking another drawling smoke.
He rolled his eyes dramatically and threw the bags onto the kitchen counter. Mark could be such a fucking drama queen sometimes. He was an overweight, twenty-something-year-old, metal head with a bad mohawk that looked as if it was cut by his grandma. I said this to him in a matter of fact tone. He just nodded, exasperated, and ruffled my hair. His glasses glinted evilly in the dim orange lighting of the room and for a moment I thought he was going to kill me with his bag of salt and vinegar chips. Mark was the type to do so. He was also the type who never wore any underwear – just because he was downright sleazy. He never really cared if his fly was undone, which was shit because you could basically see everything if it was. He never got any decent chicks as well, because all he talked about was either his dick or Thor and his fucking hammer. And he wore glasses to boot. He stunk too. But for all his worth, Mark was a brainy fucker, and he did have alot to say.
“Where’s Danny?” he asked, putting the confectionary delights away.
I shrugged and killed the dying stub. The air smelled sweet and my head was spinning lazily.
“You alright to go to the party?”
I nodded.
“How many joints you had since I left?”
“What does it matter to you, princess?”
“Because I’m concerned for your welfare, Jay.”
I threw a pillow at him and it landed twenty centimetres from me.
“I’m driving,” Mark told me as he left the lounge room.
“I think Danny wants to drive,” I called back, getting to my feet.
Danny popped his head around the doorway. “You called?”
I stretched, yawning, and grabbed an empty glass. “Yeah, I was just telling Mark how great you were last night.”
He grinned and raised his eyebrows, “You know it.”
I filled the glass at the kitchen sink and chugged the lot. God that shit made me really thirsty. Unlike some people, I have severe reactions to any sort of drug, medicine, and drink. Give me a bottle of rum and coke and I’m off my face. I dose up on two pills of Neurofen, and I’m unconscious in ten minutes. Same goes for weed – one joint and I’m shitfaced for the whole night.
Danny hung around the kitchen, opening a packet of chips, while I tried to quench my undying thirst. He was nineteen and was studying criminology in an arts degree at Melbourne University. He was into his first year and already hated it. He was slim and tall and all the chicks dug his long brown hair. It was even longer than mine and made him look like a fifteen year old girl– so I thought that the chicks who liked him were either closet gays or bisexual. Danny reckoned they were bi – I begged to differ. He was cool though and he was a decent guy. I suspected that he was gay. At times, he agreed with me.
“So who else is coming to the party?” He sprayed chicken flavoured chips all over the counter and I backed away.
“I think some of Tim’s friends. James might be there and I heard that Jess was bringing Michael along too.”
Danny guffawed, “And Michael will bring his friends, and they will bring theirs and oh my fucking God, who are all these people?”
I threw my cup into the overflowing sink and ran my hands through my hair, closing my heavy eyes.
“You look smashed. You drink before?”
I shook my head, “I’m saving that for the party.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was a Little Mermaid clock that Danny’s girlfriend, Clare, bought for him. Since she visited often, he was obliged to put the damn thing somewhere. Unfortunately for Mark, it was in the kitchen.
“Shit, it’s eleven already.” I grabbed the car keys and threw them at Mark, who caught them just as he sauntered into the lounge. He was wearing a Marilon Manson shirt and a pair of baggy black jeans, his mohawk gelled up, making him look like a rooster. I told him so. He just scuffed my shoulder with his fist and ruffled my hair again. I kicked his shin and escaped to the bathroom where the stench of Mark’s presence lingered. That guy really needed to use more Rexona - or at least more soap.
I splashed my face with cold water and patted myself dry with a clean towel before turning to the fogged up mirror. My eyes were coal black and my pupils were tiny, making me look spazzed out - which I was. I was pale as fuck and I had an unhealthy complexion. At least my hair had a healthy colour – black, black, black as fucking night, black.
I sauntered over to my bedroom – a tiny, claustrophobic tomb with one mattress on the ground and a “97 computer on a broken desk – and threw on a black Parkway Drive t-shirt and some blue skinnies. I fumbled on my grimy pair of red chucks before running a hand through my hair and meeting the guys out at the front.
Mark was already in the blue “97 Ford – the paint peeling and doors rusting – (why is everything in this goddamn house from 1997?) and Danny was in the back, safely away from Mark’s BO. I decided to play it safe as well and sat in the backseat with Danny. Mark started up the car, which gave an unhealthy shudder, before pulling out onto the driveway and onto the deserted night road. Underoath spat out of the player and Mark banged it silent with his fist, growling, “Emo shit,” before glancing back at Danny and me through the rear view mirror. I shrugged and eyed Danny who grinned sheepishly and said, “Dude, I’m Christian.”
“Hey, Mark, isn’t Manson emo as well?” I challenged.
Mark shot daggers through his watery blue eyes and focused back on the road, muttering, “I only listen to his old stuff.”
“And that makes it okay?”
“Yeah, it does,” he said, without much conviction.
“Fucking hypocrite.”
“Fucking shitface.”
“Fucking turn some music on,” Danny banged Mark’s seat, making him swerve a little.
Mark swore and put in a CD, and to Danny’s horror, Dir en Grey pounded out of the shitty stereo.
“No!”
“Yes.”
And so it went for the rest of the journey.
The party was already in full swing when we got there: people already passed out on the lawn, two chicks going at it on the porch, and a guy hassling another in the doorway. Placebo made the place vibrate and throb and the whole scene smelt, felt, sounded, and looked like a big, fat, stoning session.
“Sweet,” Danny grinned and eyed the girls appreciatively.
Mark pounded up to the door, still sore at Danny, and I could tell he was determined to get smashed. We would all be more or less sober in the morning, so why not?
Danny followed, the same thing on his mind, and I tailed him, completing the trio of losers.

“There’s something wrong with you mentally, right?”
I remembered the first time someone had asked me that. It was in tenth grade, when kids started to notice things they never noticed before. Such as who’s a faggot, who likes which teacher, who has bad skin, who’s the slut, and who’s mentally retarded.
I knew that the drugs weren’t helping my case, but as I said, I was vulnerable to drugs so the prescriptions were powerful and my attacks weren’t too bad. Plus, I wasn’t a frequent user. I would only use it around once or twice every fortnight – only when I have to. Like the time Mark walked past me stark naked, or the time when my girlfriend cheated on me – with a chick, or the time when my ex rang me just to tell me how much she hated me.
I raised the spirit up to my lips and swallowed a huge burning mouthful before replying.
“Who’s asking?”
The blonde chick just smiled and picked a strand of hair from her cheek with shy fingers. Her grey eyes were glazed from weed, but she seemed to still be in her right mind – for now.
“Nah, Mark was just telling us back there how you got something wrong with you. I don’t know what but yeah. Nah, it’s okay. I don’t mind.” She giggled and sat down heavily on the floor at my feet. She looked up at me and grinned, waggling her eyebrows. I tried to not look down too much, since her low cut top was flashing everything to the world. I rubbed my chin and glanced over at Mark who was slightly off his face, animatedly telling a story to the gaggle of high teenagers. I drained my cup, crushed it in my hands, and made my way over to the twit.
“Hey look it’s Jay!” Mark grinned and made to ruffle my hair.
I shoved his hand away and threw a hard punch at his fat face. My fist met soft flesh, but it still impacted pretty hard since I heard my knuckles crack as I felt the scrape of hidden cheekbone. His eyes bulged out of their sockets and he staggered back, falling onto his ass, too shocked to even form proper words. The gaggle of teenagers cheered and clapped, the mindless idiots they were, and I spun on my heels and barged my way over to the table of drinks.
The blonde was still there, but she was slowly and unsteadily standing up. She disappeared into the crowd of sweaty, dancing, drunk kids, screaming something about having sex with a door. I stared after her before grabbing an empty cup and pouring myself some bourbon and coke. I felt a hand on my shoulder. Danny grinned at me. He was still sober.
“Hey, come for a walk?” he asked.
I nodded, feeling slightly claustrophobic, and we pushed our way through the crowd, to the front door - where the blonde was lap dancing for the door frame - and we hastily walked out into the cold night air. I drank as I rambled down to the road and Danny walked beside me, silent and shivering from the cold. I was shivering as well, but it was only from the joints that I had earlier in the night. I quaked a little more that I thought was normal and the drink spilled out over my hand. My legs gave way and I sat on the sidewalk, throwing my empty cup to the side. Danny followed suit and grabbed my arm, feeling me shake.
“Enough for tonight?” It wasn’t a question.
I nodded and lay on my back, trying to focus on the stars.






To be continued (For real. I've got another ten chapters. I shall post in installments.)


Hope that wasn't too fucked up for you guys. lol. Sorry I keep writing different stories (and stop finishing them) I have a really short attention span. :(
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Posted 12/10/09
Bla bla bla, quit babbling about yyour different stories and short attention span... u r young, a guy and u are horny.. thats normal.

I dont know how to explain what i think when i read your stuff anymore without repeating myself. And without ending up like William Burrough

I really really really like the realism in your work... Even when writing The Tragic Affair of Just Jay and Angela which was VERY supernatural, everything was ridiculously realistic... you had to believe it was real.

And now this story... again, very real, up to the slightest detail.. I seriously ENVY your talent...... man i could give away my entire library for that

Anyway back to you, spectacular dialogues, out-standing descriptions once again, there is no surprise there... I mean for f**ker sake, look at this:



His glasses glinted evilly in the dim orange lighting of the room and for a moment I thought he was going to kill me with his bag of salt and vinegar chips.

LOL



I kicked his shin and escaped to the bathroom where the stench of Mark’s presence lingered.

ewww.... awesome detail!



My fist met soft flesh, but it still impacted pretty hard since I heard my knuckles crack as I felt the scrape of hidden cheekbone.




and threw on a black Parkway Drive t-shirt and some blue skinnies. I fumbled on my grimy pair of red chucks before running a hand through my hair and meeting the guys out at the front.


the last two is what i call...... REAL!! REAL in CAPS!!

Yuki, i really like you but i also hate you man!
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Posted 12/13/09
LOL aww!! don't hate me.

xD You shouldn't. you have an amazing talent and a totally unique writing style that sets you apart from other writers. i don't believe in good or bad writers, since writing is like music. you have your own unique style and taste.

So don't hate me! xD

and thanks for the comment! i appreciate it! :D

should I keep going?
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Posted 12/13/09 , edited 12/13/09
The Thought

It wasn’t always like this: the mental and physical strain of denying myself the only thing that kids my age should be getting – normalcy. My life wasn’t normal. It never was. At least, it was until that night. The only normal thing about it after then was the futile struggle of living that all humans experience daily.
My “mental illness” disallowed me an entirely normal lifestyle. Although I didn’t think anyone knew what exactly ailed my mentality, the world and my existence held an all too different perspective that norm. The world was a canvas, holding the existences of infinite paintings and colours, swirling masses of blurs and bold armies of strokes and lines. I saw the world as a creation of paint, an art form, all too close to my dimension and all too clear for my eyes. The squalor of daily life was a disturbing and fantastic pattern of day, an intricate detail of action and word that strung together to create society and life. The mere opposition of the aggressive black storm clouds against the delicate glass of clear raindrops held a deeper meaning of existence for me, the action of the rain self destructing upon the soil of the earth led me to a new path, a new foundation of hope, loss, or revelation. Even the action of typing these words upon my keyboard holds an artistic sense: the fall of the fingers, the swish of air through my hands, the soft patter of nail on plastic, the flow and the rhythm of typing, all blurring together into a symphony of creativity, blowing life into the hard black words on the screen.
Even these hard black words hold heavy, heart wrenching meanings. And yet, as I type them, they hold nothing but empty spaces for the eyes that read them.

The morning sun was more bright that I had anticipated; and more painful too. The blood seeping through the wounded clouds cast an eerie hot glow across my body as I slowly opened my eyes. I breathed deeply through my nose, feeling my throat burn, and I turned my head to see Danny lying next to me, his arm splayed across his eyes, his mouth open slightly, and his hair strewn across the pavement underneath him. The grass on the sidewalk served as a substitute for a pillow and the early sun provided an almost uncomfortable heat. I struggled up into a seated position, feeling my head pound, and I groggily glanced around at the scene around me.
The house was dead and silent, in a state of midnight slumber in the dawn light, the subsiding stench of alcohol and smack fading into the soft breezes seeping through the suburban gardens. Only a few bodies lay strewn across various parts of the exterior household – the yellowing front lawn, the flowering bushes under the windows, and the stairs to the front porch – and the only sign of life was the curtains flapping in the breeze, and the hushed murmurs of the very few early risers inside.
I ran a hand through my greasy hair, running my tongue over my cracked lips, and tasting metal in my furry mouth.
I heard the front door creak shut.
A girl around my age with vibrant pink hair was walking down the porch steps, carefully avoiding the unconscious sleeper, holding a black coat tightly around her skinny frame. Following her was an older boy, his shaggy brown hair hanging limply over his eyes and he also stepped around the body, his skater shoes barely making a sound on the rotting wood. The girl was whispering furiously at the boy and in the deathly silence of dawn, I could hear every word.
“…should have told me what time it was! I told you they were coming back this morning! Now I’m fucking screwed.”
The boy gave a weary grunt and the girl shot him a lethal, bloodshot look. She pulled out her mobile and, leaning against the light pole only a few meters away from me, hastily dialled and held the phone to her pierced ear. The boy glanced my way and his eyes widened slightly at the sight of me. I nodded in greeting and he replied likewise. As the girl spoke furiously into the phone, the boy sauntered over and sat down heavily next to me on the sidewalk.
“You slept out here?” He glanced at Danny, who was now muttering something incoherent in his sleep.
“Yeah…” I groaned, drawing my knees up to my chin and rubbing my eyes, feeling fragile and aching deep in my bones.
He smiled sympathetically, his mouth full and wide and his eyes shining a deep, lightning blue. I suddenly felt insecure about my dishevelled appearance and I ran my hands through my hair again, trying to look slightly presentable.
“Some night, huh,” he said.
I nodded.
He gave me a wry smile. “You know Mark? I saw that punch. Looked painful.”
“Unfortunately, we’re house mates.”
“Ah.”
“How do you know Mark?”
“Used to date his sister.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago today.”
I let out a whistle. “So you’re that guy!”
“What guy?”
“Apparently you left his sister to go…take it up the ass with some faggot…quote, unquote.” I shook my head and let out a weary laugh. “For all his macho, homophobic talk, Mark’s quite the faggot himself.”
“I didn’t leave her. It was more like she left me for some dickhead jock, saying I wasn’t adequate enough to satisfy her sexual needs. Or something like that.”
We both smiled.
I turned away, suddenly feeling dizzy, and I closed my eyes, tasting bile in my mouth.
“I’m Peter,” I heard the boy say.
I opened one eye and cocked him a crooked grin. “Jay.”
“Pete! Rachel’s coming to give us a lift! We have to meet her at the bus stop!”
The girl yelled at Peter as she shoved her phone back into her jean pocket, pink hair flying into her green eyes. She saw me and she smiled.
“Hey, you okay down there?”
I nodded, “Just waiting for him to recover.” I threw a look at Danny.
The girl laughed and spun on her heels, rapidly walking down the street. Peter heaved a sigh and slowly stood up, brushing the back of his jeans and hitching them up as he straightened up.
“I gotta go.” He paused and held out a hand. “Give me your phone. I’ll give you my number.”
I fumbled for my phone and handed it to him. I watched him dial in his number, his eyes hidden behind the mess of brown hair as he bowed his head over the phone. He nibbled his lower lip as he dialled, making it look pinker and fuller. He threw his head to the side to clear the hair from his eyes as he handed my phone back. He gave me a grin and he started down the road.
“Give me a text,” he said over his shoulder.
And he was gone.
I stared after them, the road empty and the air growing increasingly warmer. Birds woke and started singing and warbling as the sun rose higher and the sky grew bluer. A car drove sluggishly by; the driver – a young woman in a business suit – looked bemusedly on the scene as she passed by. Just as drove around the corner she gave a long honk on the horn. I let out a loud laugh as I heard several cries of “Shut the hell up!” and “What the fuck?” echo through the house. Soon afterwards, as the birds started flying through the rich blue sky, the house started stirring and a couple of badly hung-over kids stumbled out into the glare of daylight.
“What…”
I glanced over at Danny and saw him sitting up, blinking heavily and running a hand over his face.
“Good morning!” I said brightly, flashing him a grin.
He groaned and his head fell forward onto his chest.
“Come on. I’ve been sitting here like a dumbass for the last twenty minutes, waiting for you to wake.”
“Why didn’t you wake me then?” Danny said hoarsely.
“I learnt my lesson last time I tried to wake you after a party,” I reminded him.
He grinned, “Oh yeah.”
“I thought you didn’t drink?”
He shrugged meekly. “You were all fucked out and I felt like a drink.”
“And you came out here to sleep?”
He shook his head and gave a pained laugh. “I guess so. But I fucking regret it now.”
My phone started vibrating, making me jump, and I answered the call.
“Hello?”
Jay? It’s me, Phoebe.
“Phoebe?” I glanced at Danny, feeling dizzy again.
Yeah…How are you?
“Good. Jesus…Phe! It’s been…how long? Two years?” I tried to stand up, my legs feeling numb and I stretched my limbs, gasping in pain as blood rushed back feeling and mobility.
You okay?
“Yeah, yeah, sorry. But wow! How are you? What are you doing nowadays? You still in school?”
I’m fine. I’m doing a music course down at Vic Uni. It’s pretty good.
“Yeah? Sounds great!”
What about you?
“I’m just bumming around. I’m taking a gap year, thought I’d travel, and ended up not being able to save any money at all.”
I paused. “Wait, why are calling me now? Is something wrong?”
I heard a tired sigh.
Yeah, something’s wrong. I’m sorry I didn’t call you earlier about this…but I need you to do me a favour.
“Sure! What’s up?”
My band got hired to play at a high school formal but our singer fucking bailed on us yesterday. I know this is really sudden…and I know it might bring back shit about Through His Eyes…
The band…
“I don’t know Phe…It’s been a while…”
Please Jay? I’m desperate! And we really need this gig! We’re getting paid well too. If you want, I’ll pick you up tonight? It’ll only take a few hours to get down here, in Woodstone. We can start rehearsing straight away.
I glanced at Danny. He looked at me questioningly, his eyes bloodshot but clear. I lowered my head, my hair falling lightly over my eyes, and I sighed.
“Alright. Fine."
Where do you live?
“Hallow's Pass. Number 1."
Okay. I’ll see you at seven. Thanks for this, Jay.
“It’s okay Phe.”
No it wasn’t.
I hung up and pushed the phone into my pocket. I looked up at Danny and gave him a strained smile.
“That was Phoebe.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah. She wants me to fill in as singer for her band. They got a gig at a formal.”
“But…are you sure? I mean…” Danny trailed off, looking lost and unsure.
I clasped his wrist, gently but firmly. “I’ll be fine.”
I was fine for now. But the memories were returning, stronger and more painful than ever.




To be continued...


BY THE WAY, WHAT'S WITH MY FUCKIN WEIRD OBSESSION WITH THE NAME JAY??? :(

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Posted 12/14/09 , edited 12/14/09
i was gonna ask the same

nice name tho...

FINALLY I MANAGED TO FIND *DRAMATIC MUSIC* ONE (YES ONE!!!) MISTAKE!!!


I paused. “Wait, why are calling me now? Is something wrong?”


There should be a "you" there between "are" and "calling"..............................

Whaaat?
Well thats a mistake!! Not my fault i couldnt find anything else! Its Yuki's fault for always writing like this... without mistakes... i found one tho!!

NOW for the real thing....



...Even the action of typing these words upon my keyboard holds an artistic sense: the fall of the fingers, the swish of air through my hands, the soft patter of nail on plastic, the flow and the rhythm of typing, all blurring together into a symphony of creativity, blowing life into the hard black words on the screen.... ( just... wow... mouth half open and... wow)

...The blood seeping through the wounded clouds cast an eerie hot glow across my body as I slowly opened my eyes... ( i can literally feel the sun over my skin while reading this... and that reddish orange light you see when ur eyes are closed... magnificent...)

...I watched him dial in his number, his eyes hidden behind the mess of brown hair as he bowed his head over the phone. He nibbled his lower lip as he dialled, making it look pinker and fuller. He threw his head to the side to clear the hair from his eyes as he handed my phone back.... ( thats one hell of a tempting description... he seems... delicious )


I am cuuuuriousss *sings to herself* Cuuurious! CUUUUURIIIIOOUUUSSSSS!

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Posted 12/15/09
wow. o.0
i like how this is going.
your descriptions are just simply amazing. and the dialouges were realistic. and elenra was right, its hard finding a flaw in your story but maybe i'm being bias cause i'm into these kind of stories.
all i can say is, continue writing.
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Posted 12/16/09
Yay! Thank you!! :D

Ellie! TRY HARDER! Ofcourse I've made shit loads more mistakes! Stop being so sweet. :D

Thank you for your constant comments though, they really keep me going.

And thanks lockkeyz. I hope you enjoy the next chapter! :)

xx
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Posted 12/16/09 , edited 12/16/09
The Memories

The last time I sang in a band was three years ago. It was the year Phoebe left on a music scholarship to England; the year I met Rosie; the year I fell in love with Hanson; and the year I lost everything and everyone in my life.
I had just turned sixteen and I was celebrating my sixteenth year closer to death by hammering away on my new eight-piece Pearl. It was given to me by my parents, an object of my desire for well over four years – ever since I started playing. I was getting well into a beat I composed for a song me and a friend, Caleb, created a couple of days ago in music, when my mother walked in and held up the phone, trying to yell over the crash of the ride cymbal and the insistent double bass.
“It’s Caleb. He sounds upset,” my mother informed me as she handed the phone over. “And do you have to play this loud at this time of night? Honestly.”
I glanced at her before stopping the ringing of the cymbals with my hands and accepting the phone. She tutted and walked out of the room, taking my sticks with her, before closing the door.
“Cal?”
Jay? Hey mate.
I heard the deep bass of rock music and the sultry noises of an illegal party in the background.
“What up?”
I’m in a bit of a shit I’m afraid…Mate…
“What did you do?” I sat back onto the stool.
I…uh…I’m sort of caught out in this party and I have no ride…
“Don’t you have anyone else to ask?”
It’s not that…Shit I think I’m really fucked up…Uh…you’re the only one I know who has a fucking car…
He did sound fucked up. His voice was deep and hoarse and I could tell he was either smacked or smashed by the way he slurred his words.
“I don’t know…It’s late…Can’t you sleep it out?”
Jay…these people…they aren’t my crowd you know? You gotta get me out of here.
“Wait, who did you go with? Where are you?”
I don’t know…I was party hopping you know…and then my ride ditched me.
“Where are you?”
Camberwell…Hawthorn Road…Shit…Someone’s fighting…
“Cal?”
Come, okay? Get me?
“Fine. You fucking owe me Cal.”
Caleb replied by hanging up.
I sighed and threw the phone down in disgust. Sometimes Caleb’s destructive ways proved to be inconvenient.
I threw the door open and went to my room. The house was silent in contrast to the angry echoes the drums left in my ears, the only sounds coming from the television in the lounge and the dishes banging in the kitchen. I grabbed a Red Paintings shirt and quickly pulled on my black jeans before putting on my hoodie and pulling the hood over my eyes. I pocketed my keys, wallet, and phone as I left the dark cave of my room, inventing a story in my head as I jogged down the stairs. I confronted my mother in the kitchen, an apron tied around her tiny waist and her hair flying around in strands around her deeply lined face. She looked up at me and her eyes instantly betrayed suspicion and exasperation.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Picking up Caleb.”
“Why can’t Caleb’s parents pick their son up?”
I rolled my eyes, “You know how Cal’s folks are.”
She sighed.
“Fine…but be careful. And call me, okay?”
I nodded and gave her a brief kiss before hastily making my way to my car. I quickly got in and started the engine, the cold night air biting at the windows and the overcast sky looking menacing.
“You fucking owe me Cal,” I growled as I drove out onto the empty road.

The party was on fire. I quickly got out of the car and I ran towards the blaze, pushing past screaming party goers who were running from the heat. I squinted against the fumes and the smoke and the heat, acid burning my lips and my nose and the white hot heat eating at my lungs, the smoke tightening my throat. The house was already falling apart and blackening, some people trapped inside, others managing to escape, burning themselves badly as they did so but too shocked to notice. I staggered towards the flames, only seeing red and orange and white and black and smoke, tears streaming down my burning eyes, coughing and screaming out to Caleb.
“Where the fuck are you? Caleb!”
I tried to glance into the windows but all I saw was the angry monstrosity of flames and the powerful licking of hunger and lust, enveloping the wood and the glass, aching and spitting ferociously with vile temper, yet elegant and graceful in its power.
It terrified and entranced me at the same time.
I delved in deeper, feeling bold, feeling horrified, feeling terrified and scared, feeling pain and agony, feeling the utmost fear for my friend, and above all, feeling anger.
And then I blacked out.

I opened my mouth and gasped, almost crying as the air rushed through my throat and into my burning lungs, feeling pain and relief. I forced open my eyes and realised that I was in fact already crying and I felt a heavy, stinging pain as I did so. I then realised that it was raining, the cold raindrops suddenly felt soothing on my burning face, and I felt cold…cold?
I struggled up and saw that I was in an empty park, the only light coming from the flickering streetlamp next to me. I felt hands supporting my shoulders and I saw a boy my age kneeling next to me, his eyes a deep clear blue, his hair a white blonde, and his skin a creamy white, reddened with shock.
“Where…” I swallowed, feeling my throat burn, “…am I?”
The boy looked at me confused. “You’re in Albert Park. I found you here.”
I suddenly remembered.
“The fire,” I said, urgently, “what happened to the fire?”
“What fire?”
“The party! On Hawthorne Road! I was there…and I was looking for Caleb. Is he alright? Caleb?” I started to stand up, struggling to fight off the nausea and the agony that ignited throughout my whole body, making my knees shake and my hands tremble.
The boy stood up also, helping me, his eyes wide and almost wary. “That fire in Camberwell? You were there?”
I nodded. “What happened?”
The boy suddenly looked white. “I’m sorry. But that was over a week ago. Nobody survived it. Everyone…died. But how is that possible? Are you sure you were there?”
I felt dizzy. I swayed and the boy steadied me, looking more and more lost.
“But…” My head was spinning and I felt like throwing up. “I was there. Just a minute ago. I blacked out or something. I was there.”
The boy shook his head. “I think you’re mistaken. When I said that nobody survived the fire, I meant nobody. No-one escaped it. You have to go to the police. Tell them what happened.”
“No.” I grabbed his arm, shaking. “Somehow…I feel that the police won’t believe me. They’ll put me down as suspect or something. I can’t. Not now anyway.”
The world spun and I think I fainted because I opened my eyes and I was in the boy’s arms on the grass, the white flickering of the light in my eyes.
“Do you want to go to the hospital or something?” he asked, softly.
I shook my head, closing my eyes against the momentary bout of dizziness the action caused, and when I opened them again I saw the boy dialling a number on his phone.
“What…?”
“I’m calling Phoebe, my sister. She’ll come pick us up,” he smiled.
“But…” I struggled up and leaned against the light pole. “I’m fine.”
The boy frowned. “You’re coming home with me. You don’t seem fine. And anyway, it’s late.”
I shrugged, defeated and too exhausted to argue or even think.
I half slept as the boy called his sister, his soft murmurings comforting the burning of my body and the chaos in my head.
I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“I’m Hanson by the way,” I heard him say.
I opened one eye, cocked my head, and gave him a half conscious smile.
“Jay.”

I woke up on an old, worn out couch, my shoulders aching, but feeling better and clearer. I craned my head to glance at the old grandfather clock next to the stairs.
It was six in the morning.
I lay back and stared the peeling paint on the ceiling for a few minutes, gathering my thoughts and bearings.
I vaguely remembered getting into an old car and seeing then friendly and pretty face of the Hanson’s sister, Phoebe.
I remembered staggering into the house, already asleep on my feet, and crashing onto the couch.
I also remembered the fire.
How could it have been last week? Last week I was in school, sullen and gloomy about my upcoming seventeenth birthday. How could the fire have been back then, when it was only several hours ago?
Nothing made any sense, but I knew I had to call somebody first to verify the situation.
I grabbed the phone that was on the coffee table next to me and I dialled Caleb’s number.
I felt my mouth go dry and I heard my heart thud as the ringing continued.
And then…
Hello?
It was Caleb’s father.
“Hi…It’s Jay…”
Silence.
Jay? Oh…Jay! We all thought…Are you alright?
“Yes…I’m fine.” I swallowed. “Is Caleb there?”
Another terrible silence.
I’m sorry…Didn’t you hear? He…
I heard a deep sigh, full of such pain and sorrow, and I instantly knew exactly what he was about to say.
He died in the fire, Jay.
Terrified, I stuttered a mortified apology and hastily hung up the phone, not wanting to hear anymore, not wanting to be confronted by anymore pain.
I sat in silence, staring at the phone in my hand, the ticking of the grandfather clock breaking the silence.
He was dead. The fire was a week ago. And I had seven days of my life missing.
What the fuck was happening?
I heard someone walk down the stairs and I dropped the phone onto the table before standing up, cringing a little at my shoulders. I was met by Hanson’s warm steady gaze, deep sea blue, and sparkling with life.
“How do you feel?” He smiled.
“Better, thanks,” I replied, smiling back.
“Do you need anything? Food? Drink?”
I shrugged and shook my head, “No thanks…Um…bathroom?”
“Sure, it’s upstairs. First door to the left.”
“Thanks.”
I paused. Hanson cocked his head, his eyebrows raised. I gave him an embarrassed smile and felt my cheeks grow hot.
“Thanks…for rescuing me.”
Hanson shook his head, “It’s okay…It weirded me out a little though,” he added, his smile turning timid.
I nodded, “Sorry about that.”
“Is it true though?”
I raised my eyebrows this time.
“Were you really there? The fire? I mean, just before you woke up?”
I nodded. “It was more like several hours ago rather than last week.”
“You mean you don’t remember the whole week?”
“Nothing.”
“And your friend? Caleb was it?”
A painful lump formed in my chest and throat, feeling like hot burning coal. I lowered my eyes.
“He’s dead.”
Before Hanson could say anything else, I quickly motioned for the bathroom and hastily went up the stairs, but only after I saw the look of terrible pity and bewilderment flash across his face.

In the bathroom, I was scared at what I saw. My hair was longer than usual, reaching past my shoulders, and it was a mess of dirt and knots. My eyes were large and hazel brown, almost orange, looking freakishly big in my white, sunken face. It looked as if I had come from a concentration camp during the Second World War, bags under my eyes, bruises marring the side of my face, and my face looking haggard and gaunt. My Red Paintings shirt hung off my frame, already big for me and my jeans were baggy.
How could a person change so much in just one week? Was it even possible?
I felt a sense of panic and desperation clutch at my gut. I grabbed my stomach. I wasn’t even hungry. I didn’t feel too bad. I just felt as if I had just recovered from a long marathon race.
I racked my brain, hoping to find some sort of relief or answer.
Nothing.
“Nothing…” I said aloud.
The empty bathroom echoed.

I came out to the kitchen to see Phoebe and Hanson already eating breakfast, the television in the lounge turned to the morning news. I had tried my best to wash my hair and I cut it so that it just reached my shoulders, and I covered the horrible bruising with a large white bandage I found in the medicinal cupboard. Overall, I looked slightly better than I did moments ago.
“Eat something,” Phoebe said, handing me a piece of buttered toast.
I tried a bite but instantly felt nausea rise up into my throat. I shook my head and put it down. She looked at me critically. I had an inkling of what she was thinking.
“Would you like to call your folks?” Hanson offered me the phone, sensing my unease.
“Thanks,” I smiled and avoided Phoebe’s gaze.
“I’m sorry if we’re not very good hosts. Living without adult supervision has dulled our sense of courteousy,” Hanson added.
“Where are they?” I asked, meaning their parents.
“Dead. In a car crash a few years ago. Phoebe’s my legal guardian now,” he said, lightly.
I nodded and excused myself.
I rang my home phone.
Hello?
I cleared my throat.
“Hi mum. It’s me, Jay.”
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And just because I love you guys....

The Interlude

The house was silent when Danny and I opened the door. There was no sign of Mark.
“Where is that fat fuck?” Danny growled, removing his sunglasses and landing heavily on the couch.
I shrugged and checked all the rooms before sitting down next to him.
“I’m hungry,” I declared.
“Good for you,” Danny snorted, his eyes closed and head thrust back.
We sat in silence for a few minutes.
“Is Clare coming today?” I asked.
“Nope.”
“Oh.”
The clock ticked loudly in the background. Danny lifted his head and stared at me, his eyes wide.
“Yes?” I glanced at him, perturbed.
“Are you actually going to do it? I know that phobia of singing of yours has nothing to do with insecurities or false modesty.”
I shot him a weary look and leant back in the couch.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said.
“So why this sudden urge to sing in Phoebe’s band?”
“It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like?”
“I owe her.”
“For what?”
I paused. “I killed her brother.”
Danny stared at me. “Oh.”



To be continued...
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WHAT THE FUCK YUKIIIIIIIIIIII??!?!?!


I want new chapter.. and i want it fast.

These two were fantastic! I am sooo into it, i cant even breath while reading it at the edge of my seat!
I am not gonna joke around trying to find your silly grammer mistakes like i did before... and to be honest i sincerly dont think there IS a mistake within these two chapters beside ur grammer errors if there is any... cus i havent noticed one.

Now i am desperatly counting how many chapters u have posted since u said u had ten chaps ready and i am scared after u posted that ten, then u will drop this story and again, i will have to leave another Jay in the middle of his story...

I loved the "flashback" part... Jay's past... I literally didnt want it to end..
Thank you for this chapter and the extra mini-chap for us

Have an awesome week and Kudos!
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Thanks again! :)

Oh yes I probably will drop it. But after your comment, I might actually keep it going. I still have the mystery to unsolve for the reader, right? :)
I'll try write up as much as I can but with work and everything I am quite busy. :)
But for you - anything I shall do. <3

Here's another for you!

x
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The Revelation

I came home, my mother wept, my father gave me a rough hug, the police questioned me, I was given the okay by the doctors, they offered me a counsellor, I refused, and life went back to a reflection of the norm.
My mother however, felt as though I was mentally fragile due to my amnesia, so she basically left me alone and my father also, though for other reasons.
I took up writing music full time instead of going to school, and through that I somehow managed to come to terms with Caleb’s death.
We were never really close, but his death and the circumstances and events surrounding it affected me deeply and changed me forever.
Through that death however, I found my band, Through His Eyes, and through that I found my happiness – music.
In my music I talked about the only thing that worried me and fascinated me the most: the amnesia. It wasn’t the amnesia itself that fascinated me so much. In fact, it only worked as the trigger to the one thing that changed me quickly over time.
My perception on the world.
And that perception helped me create the intricate lyrics, the strange yet beautiful melodies and chords, the intertwining creation of life and soul through this music. It helped me create. It was my only reason for living.
My band consisted of me on the drums, Hanson on the bass, Phoebe on the guitar, Lisa on the rhythm guitar, and Rosie on the vocals. It turned out that Hanson and Phoebe were amazing musicians, both starting their instruments at the age of three, evidently originated from their parents since they were both artists working together on various musical projects before they died. Lisa, an eighteen year old girl who was taking a gap year before heading to university, answered my advertisement on the internet and she proved to be flawless on the guitar, her enthusiasm for life and sweet smile sparking an instant liking. Rosie was Lisa’s cousin, known for her unique and brilliant voice. She had a pending record deal with a well known label, but she wanted to sing in a band rather than sing solo.
“I don’t take my singing seriously anyway,” she had told me when we first met. “I want to be an actress.”
We all met up one day for a jam in my garage and I gave them the chords and the lyrics to the songs I composed just to warm up.
It was one of the best days of my life.
The music we created was more than anything I had experienced. It wasn’t the music that thrilled me so much – it wasn’t brilliant music – it was rather the fact that we were creating good music, music that came from my heart. The emotions and electrifying passion that we created in that garage was an atmosphere I wanted to explore over and over again. Music was my drug and I was hooked.
After that we practised nearly every day from three in the afternoon to six. Everyone became regulars at my house and my mother found herself cooking dinner for not only three people, but four more hungry teenagers. Instead of getting annoyed, she found herself relived at the sudden social interaction in my life.
The two years of playing in Through His Eyes proved to be the best period of my entire life. I was happy, truly happy.
And happiness is usually hard to find nowadays.

The first gig we played was at an underground club, Fusion, and we were playing for free. We didn’t care though, we were getting exposure.
We had twenty songs perfected but we were only playing four songs that night: Madness, Skylights, Trapdoors and Bourbon, and our title song, Through His Eyes.
I was sweating heavily in the stifling atmosphere next to the moshpit, the crowd already worked up by the last two bands before the one playing now – The Destructives – a heavy metal band, thrashing chords and screaming, growling vocals. There were at least a hundred in the crowd, max a hundred and fifty, and I was nervous and shit. I could tell the others were just as scared as I was. Lisa, Phoebe, and Hanson were strumming silently on their unplugged guitars and bass, their fingers a nervous blur and Rosie was humming, warming up her vocal chords.
I was trying to not vomit.
The last chord screamed out and the crowd went wild, giving the band a final applause and whistling before they left the stage. I breathed deeply through my nose and nodded at the others. We all gathered at the stairs to the stage and the others whispered the set to each other, reminding each other of last minute changes and such.
The singer came off stage first, all sweat and exhilaration. He whooped and patted my shoulder.
“We got ‘em all worked up for you buddy. Have fun up there.”
I nodded and smiled nervously.
When the last band member came off stage, the MC introduced us, queuing our entry onto the stage.
“Let’s kill them,” I told the others and they grinned back.
We took our positions on the stage and I sat behind the large kit, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans before taking up my sticks. All I could see were the stage lights and the vague silhouettes of the crowd. Their chatters and screams were deafening and I heard someone yell, “Hurry the fuck up and play!”
Laughter rippled through the crowd and Rosie obliged. She stepped up to the mike and let out a gut wrenching scream, marking the start of Madness.
As we launched into the song everything disappeared. The crowd screamed back at us approvingly, and suddenly we were in. We had found ourselves in the world of music. They liked us and we definitely liked them.

It had been eleven short months. Over those months the band grew in strength and fanbase. We became popular in demand in every club in town and we were invited to nearly every local EP launch party, label signing celebration, and special club events. We even were offered a touring position with The Destructives – who were now signed onto a local record label – but Rosie refused to tour with a “heavy metal trash band”. The band’s relationship with Rosie was also changing – it was slowly, but surely, self destructing. The fact that she turned down a record deal with the well established record company seemed to eat away at her, causing her to become more irritant and aggressive, struggling harder for dominancy for musical control over the band. We still used my music, as well as anything else that the others brought in, but the band could see that Rosie was becoming tired of using other people’s material as well as her own.
And when she ditched the band at a gig at Fusion one night, we knew that she had left for good.

“I can’t believe she’s doing this to us!”
Lisa ran a hand through her dyed red hair, the colour shocking and vibrant against the darkness of her eyes. Hanson stood silently, strumming his bass in quiet thought, and Phoebe was trying to call Rosie on her phone, furiously punching in the same number again and again. I let out a deep breath and tried to concentrate.
“Okay, calm down. We need to figure this out.”
“Let’s just call it quits. Just tell them our singer’s being a fucking bitch and we can’t play,” Phoebe snarled, hanging up her phone once again.
Hanson looked up at me, his eyes sparkling in the dark smokiness of the club.
“Why don’t you sing?” he said.
I stared at him. “What are you talking about? What about the drums?”
Hanson grabbed my sticks and handed me his bass.
“I know how to play, or have you forgotten? I’m not as good as you but I know the drums for the songs we’re playing tonight. We've all heard you sing when you teach Rosie the vocals to your songs.” He paused. "You're not half bad, Jay."
I shook my head. “Why don’t you sing then? Or Phoebe? Lisa?”
They all gave me incredulous looks and I realized that this was the only solution. I glanced at the bass in my hands. I could play Hanson’s part…only I’d have to simplify it…a lot.
I sighed and nodded. “Fine. But this will impact our reputation. You know that the band is the band with Rosie heading it. Without her…”
“Without her we’re still Through His Eyes.” Hanson finished with a smile.
I glanced at the gathering crowd, the lights dimming and the stage lights brightening. I glanced at the equipment on stage, the expectant and electrifying spark in the air, and the anticipation of the adrenaline rush that all musicians feel up on that stage. I turned back to my band.
“Let’s kill them,” I smiled.
The others grinned back.
We went up onto the stage and the crowd went wild, screaming and whistling at the familiar and regular band.
They fell silent when they realized that I was leading the mike.
“Uh…” I cleared my throat. “We have a change in the line up. Tonight I’ll be doing the vocals and bass…Hanson over there will be filling in for drums…” I paused. “But aside from that we’re still Through His Eyes. And…”
I glanced at the others, queuing them for the first song, Sickness.
“I think…I’ve got…a…SICKNESS!”
I opened my mouth and the gut wrenching scream tore out of my throat, climaxing up to a high, guttural wail.
It was something all together new.
As we launched into the song, I realized something that I had never realized before. The personal sense I got from being there, grinding the audience with my voice, basically fucking them with the intimate amplified vocals, the music rising from within me rather than by my hands, and the soul attached to every single word that left my lips. The emotions that I was forced to draw enlightenment and inspiration from as I sang and the hidden stories I had to weave into the lyrics as the music heightened and died then heightened again.
The audience liked what they heard – it was a different form of the same Through His Eyes. And we liked it too.

We stayed together for another twelve months, getting a new drummer to complete our line up, Greg, a first year university student studying History major, and we were just playing at various gigs nearly every week, making music and just having a great time. Rosie went on to doing a solo project with a major label, releasing a single that reached number forty-five on the Top 100 chart, but she was never heard from again. My confidence grew, as did my voice, and I even started taking vocal lessons to improve. I really believed that things would stay this way, constantly playing gigs, forever playing and creating music in my band that grew to become an extension of my family. I also thought that Hanson would forever be my best friend, providing guidance and firm support in everything we did as a band.
We never really talked about the night he rescued me. He shrugged it off as a breakdown and I never had another attack of amnesia so I soon forgot about it – although I still went to Caleb’s empty grave every chance I got, updating him on the band and the world.
It was a hot night in early December when it all started getting complicated. The simplicity of band life begun to wither into something darker, more sinister, more catastrophic than anything any of us would have foreseen.





To be continued...
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thats all... i want more... i dont know what to write anymore without repeating myself... WRITE MORE!!
Oh man!
Here it comes again!!
This was a ridiculously well written chapter! I read it with eyes like this and a mouth like this .... you see how stupid i look while reading ur story?!?!?!?

do you think i care?!?! i can even drool if necessary Yuki, do something with this talent, i beg you!!
I...
If you dont write at least one book in your life.... I... I.... (oh found one) I will come and find you after we are both dead and make sure u born as a land snail!!!

HMPH!!!
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LOL! I love you Ellie! :)

And ofcourse I'll try appease you!! If I have the patience to actually write a novel...I'd love o ofcourse! SAME GOES FO YOU!

nOW...here's the next one. :)

xxxx
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The Present

It was exactly seven when Phoebe marched up to our door and rapped harshly three times. I was just pulling on my hoodie when Danny answered the door and I heard an amused scream of laughter.
I hurried out to see Danny standing naked at the door, stoned off his head.
“Oh shit!” I laughed and pushed the confused Danny into his room, away from view. He obliged and collapsed onto his bed. I returned to the bemused Phoebe who was leaning against the doorframe, her long blonde hair tied in a loose bun and her lips twisted into a smirk. She held out a plastic bag.
I took it and apologised.
She shrugged and laughed. “I’m a musician, Jay. I see enough nudity.”
I apologised again and I held up the bag questioningly.
“Cookies. I made them myself.”
I grinned and set the bag down on the kitchen table.
“Come in,” I told her. “You want something to drink?”
She shook her head as she closed the door behind her. We grinned at each other for another minute before we rushed towards each other and embraced warmly.
“God, I’ve missed you, kid,” she exclaimed, looking me over affectionately like a mother.
“I’ve missed you too Phe.”
“Do you eat? You look like the time I first met you. Scary and freakish looking.”
I laughed self consciously and tugged at my hoodie. “I’m okay. You okay?”
She sighed and released me, wandering over to the couch and sitting lightly on the arm rest. “I don’t know, Jay. It’s like Through His Eyes again you know?”
I nodded; slightly mortified that she’d bring the band up.
“What have you been doing anyway these days? You still singing?”
I shook my head.
“Why not?”
I stood in silence. She didn’t know about my inability to sing. It was triggered by Hanson’s death. After our last gig, I was never able to release even a single note. I knew it was a psychological problem, but it felt more like a physical one.
“But you will, right? At the formal?”
“I…I can try,” I managed. “I really want to help you, I really do. I really want to sing as well. I’ve always wanted to sing…and I should have told you this before you came all the way down here…but…”
I trailed off, unable to say anything. The words stuck in my throat like stones. I sighed and rubbed my chin.
“He can’t sing ‘cuz he has a phobia of singing.”
Phoebe and I jumped and we saw Danny leaning against the doorway to his room. He still looked smacked, but he seemed to be more sober than before due to the fact that he was now wearing clothes.
Phoebe glanced back at me; her eyes alight with bewilderment, concern, and anger.
Danny cocked a grin at me.
“Is this true? You have a phobia of singing?” Phoebe stood, her hands on her hips and her eyes flashing dangerously.
I nodded mutely and I avoided her gaze, feeling like a naughty schoolboy.
“Is this because of Hanson’s death?”
I cringed, hearing the anger in her voice.
A silence.
And warm arms enveloping me. I glanced up, surprised, and realized that Phoebe was hugging me tightly, her hand rubbing my back, and I suddenly felt like a little kid again.
“That concert. I thought you were being selfish. I should have known,” Phoebe said.
I stayed silent.
“Touching,” said Danny.


To be continued...
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