Roleplayer Guild - Forum Roleplaying Games

WTF?

This is weird, very weird. Random ramblings of what sounds like someone in immense pain that wants to be more, and believes that they are more than a scared animal. Course, the one bolded line, that seems to be so important it had a post on its own. Does this rambler now have a love interest?

Ok, commentary done, continue on.

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Silivalne
Cromine

Those two need your clicks

Interest check for weird roleplay idea! Please look!

Sand is thick and water glistens, when you talk I will always listen

Waves crash and the sun sets, when it comes to you I lay all my bets. My heart is yours and it will always be. Becareful and tender, and always love me

Summer is short and winter is cold. My heart's only secrets are yours to hold. Monday sucks, and tuesday isn't much better. But my heart rejoices when your fingers like feathers dust away my tears and sorrow. When I'm with you I don't worry about tomorrow

Common place and cherished in me. I hold your tears in my heart with glee. My body is full with love for you, just reach in and hide and I'll protect you. Hold me close and never let me die. Concealed within you is where my soul can hide. Many long days I spent without you. Now I can stop thinking about you.

Much to my dismay your heart goes astray. Wandering from my small grasps' reach, I wish I could follow behind your feet. Along the road that you follow I'd give every dime for the promise of the 'morrow with you and me and our lives together. Our lives are different and better forever

Come to me and give me your company and never go away. My love, my baby, be safe. Hide with me from the world we live in. Never worry about today, or yesterday, or the day after today. Be with me and fly away.

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It's times when you begin to talk like this that I realize that it's not the lines between right and wrong, good or evil that begin to blur, but my vision. Being able to tell who is and isn't.

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Yano, I'm compelled to analyse this, word for word, and come to a point where I assume you've probably been high while writing this. However, a small gut feeling in my mind says that that would be extremely rude.

I find this rather interesting. You're really showing some cool writing techniques. I think I might nick a few.

Carry on.

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Unseen so much of the time. I can't sit here much longer or I'll surely die.
My time is melting away an so is my sadness. But if I'm sad. If I am sad, and my sadness goes away, will I still be here?

The corners closing in. The room is now smaller. I've got a fear buried deep inside 'ere. Can't let it out or it'll escape; tear up my dreams and show them I'm a fake.

Eyes roll up. Foot taps a beat. Uncertainty in it's purest heat.
The mind starts to bend as the fists begin to bleed. Leaving it all behind while he walks up the street.

Come, my friends, and follow me. Don't look too close or you'll see my deceit.

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I've decided that I like my character Keith enough to post what little information and story that I have on him.




Name: Keith
Age: 18
Grade Level: freshman
Sex: Male
Hair: brown hair that is clean cut and comes down just past the top of his eyes, which he usually rakes behind his ears.
Eye: olive green with a tinge of yellow?
Height: 5'6
Weight: 140lbs
Build: pretty well balanced, he is a stud, built with strong shoulders and meaty thighs, strong, tight calves. Usually flexing his loose tummy into a six-pack.
Clothing: work boots that resemble combat boots tucked under his dark blue-jean pants with a faded black sleeveless (not a tank-top, the shoulders are wider) shirt with an old faded U.S. army jacket that belonged to his father back in his young military days.

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The open window, a sign that he was free, a sign that told him that he could wander out into the uncut grass of the field just outside. A freedom he had never experienced the first seventeen years of his life. Being home-schooled by his more than caring, paranoid mother. Over-bearing and on the edge of OCD, she barely let him out of the house to visit his family. Maybe it was his over-confident attitude that made her this way. His inability to believe in fears, or even acknowledge them at all, that filled her with fear. So afraid that the delicate existence of her son would be warped by the outside world that she would keep them secluded from the rest of the world. The neighbors had all given her reasons to stay away from them, so childhood relationships were destroyed by the conflicts of the adults who were in charge. Even at church, lines were drawn in the sand. Father had spats with the pastor, who happened to be one of his close friends. Father being the co-pastor made this a scene in mass. Whispers were everywhere, glares and stares, children were conveniently sick or some other half-cocked explanation for why they either weren't attending or just couldn't play in Sunday-school.


Sitting up, what a chore, more than what Keith was willing to do right now, when the floor of the bedroom was so comfortable. The cot, just a mattress on the floor, he had spent the night on lay shoved against the wall. He remembered the days when he would wake up in the kitchen, under the table, or in the living room clinging to the edge of the couch. His sleep-walking was always a spice added to his boring life. Though sleep walking annoyed him when he woke up freezing-ass cold on the hardwood floor of the laundry room, it was a blessing when you needed an excuse for walking in at 4am, the time your dad goes to work. His natural sleep-disorder was also the cause of his mother blocking off the doors and locking the windows if such a happening would ever occur again.

Melissa came around the doorway and spoke with that demanding older-sister voice she had mastered oh-so many years ago. Being the eldest of nine gave her that edge.

"Get out of bed! Damn it, son. Its 8:30am already! Tom will be on my ass if I'm late."


She spun around and stepped over Patrick who grunted and stumbled into the room, his usual coy not showing this morning. The one-year-old fumbled over his own feet towards Keith and slapped down on Keith's stomach, snatching him back to reality. Sitting up and lifting Patrick into his arms, Keith reached for the wrinkled black shirt that seemed just out of reach. He wouldn't be satisfied until he fell over. Standing up and slipping the shirt over one arm, Keith let Patrick wriggle from his arm while he continued to put the shirt over himself. Grabbing his boots and the cap full of pocket-contents he was out the room and into the living room just down the hall. Melissa tossed some chicken strips into the microwave while pouring a glass of orange juice.

'Damn cellphone, just can't wake me anymore.' Keith sighed below his sleepy breaths.

He could remember the days when Missy would drive out of her way to get him for work. He'd wake at 6 am to go to work at 9. God what a child he used to be, what a child he still was! He'd relied on everyone around him for so long that the independence was looking grim. No more would he be able to go to bed and not worry because his mother would wake him for work, or his brother would hear his alarm before he even rolled over. It was all on him now, he was his own person. A person who would be late for work.

Melissa grabbed Patrick and started for the door. Luckily for Keith, he had bathed and slept in his clothes the night before. All he needed was a bite to take out the door. A blue-berry strudel would do. The price he would pay for being late would be the aching pain in his teeth that he would endure from the frozen pastry. Climbing into the back of the old chevy S10 Keith balled himself up so that the seat could have room to squish against Melissa's two purses, a heater, and a diaper bag. She'd click on the radio to hear Linkin Park's 'Shadow Of The Day' play, a song Keith would strangle from their throats if he had to endure it any longer.

The day was a grueling one, like he hadn't experienced since he had started working for his great uncle. The sun was high and bearing down on them heavily. Sweat had dripped generously from under his cap, stinging his eyes more times than his temper would allow him to handle. Working in the direct heat of the sun and jogging back and forth carrying hundreds of pounds of trees and shrubs that the his uncle kept in stock was pulling at his breaking point. Though he was still a greenhorn in most of the actual business, he still had quite allot to keep him busy. Lunch time wouldn't come soon enough. Time crawled by as he sat in the back of house six cleaning hanging baskets, bobbing his head to his mp3 player, ignoring the many nicks and cuts the thorns of this damned plant blessed him with.

His thigh vibrated courtesy of his cellphone. Before he would even pull it from the case on his belt he would know it was Missy calling to see what he wanted for lunch. Sonic had burnt him out on popcorn chicken and strawberry malts, today they'd find some other variant of heart-attack to dine on. Peeling the glove from his right hand, he'd answer his phone to hear the same reply he'd always hear at that time of day.

"Come to the front." Followed by the immediate click.

A bad habit of his sisters' was that she would rarely say good bye before hanging up. One would assume she was always busy by the abrupt ending to every phone call, but Keith knew better by now, she had time to bid farewell.

Keith ran down the narrow isle between the houses and got up to the store, slowing himself as he turned the corner so that he wouldn't be caught running. What a bother, all the his peers got nervous when he ran, so what? He had dropped a tree or two, toppled a cart full of shrubs, or even accidentally sprayed poison on merchandise, he was just trying to make himself a bit more useful! He was twice as coordinated as any of the old-farts that he worked with anyway. For every shrub they had cleaned, he probably cleaned ten.

The instant he entered the small trailer-house they called a store, Melissa got up and walked out, her usual humor by lunch-time. Taking a brisk walk across the gravel drive to the grass where her truck was parked. Keith naturally walked faster because he worked less than her and would have more energy to waste by this time of day. He was exhausted, a word for her current state was one that escaped this author. Keith opened the passenger door of the brown truck and removed the car-seat only to push it behind the seat and into the back of the cab. Sliding into the truck Missy started it and pulled out.

Her usual question was the first to come from her less-than-humored tone.

"where to?"

Keith would pause a second before answering and come back with a statement: 'I'm burnt-out on Sonic.' throwing his hat to the floor and shaking the sweat from his lochs.

"No, just pick a place and lets go, damn it. I'm not in the mood to mess around."

Keith turned and looked out the window for the length of the thick silence. These moments were all to many when it came time for working. Missy was distraught with her life, everything 'fucking sucked' Nothing was ever right for her and she was going nowhere. By her own words. Keith would listen to all her rants, raves, thick-headed half-decisions. Too many times had she vowed to quit working. But she still worked at the hell-hole she knew as the nursery.

'Just drop me off at Macdonald's.' Keith dared to break the silence, his usual course of action.

'I'll call uncle Tom and ask for the day off. Its no big deal, he's running out of work for my inexperienced ass, anyway.' Melissa opened her mouth to say something, but Keith would do something he had never done before, he would stop her.

'No, don't argue, I'll call him an get the day off. You won't have to deal with me, he won't have to look for brainless activities, and I get to lay on my ass. we all win.'

Melissa sat in silence a moment, her eyes slowly moving from one side of the brain to the other, weighing her options.

"Fine" she concluded. "But if you lose your job you're going back to live with mom until college is over."
'Deal.'

Keith relieved the tension by popping in a CD he had burned for her into the player, the soothing bass of 'So cold' by Breaking Benjamin would massage their eardrums the rest of the way.

Missy pulled into the lot and gave Keith a hug, something they weren't afraid of doing, they were both 'dorks' by Missy's standard, anyway. Keith hopped out and jogged over to the building as she waved and drove off. Keith immediately trotted over behind the wooden fence that surrounded the employees-area/dumpster. He was wearing his dad's old U.S. army jacket, and the instant he got around the corner of the fence he would extract a bottle from its depths. The label suspiciously covered by a paper bag that he would roll down.

Keith had taken his first drink the night of Gabby's death, he had done it because he had watched the old westerns where the hero would take a drink before doing something that scared him shitless, now he did it to ease the guilt that weighed his heart down, guilt that hadn't ceased to build up since that night....The night he became a murderer.

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Keith sat outside the door, the flaking yellow paint sprinkled the faded green U.S. army jacket.
A bottle of crown came to his lips and he obliged. He could hear his sister's whimpers on the inside, her boyfriend had gotten upset with her again and she had asked him to take a walk.
He would casually leave the room and take a seat against the door to listen.

He had just turned eighteen and was proudly proclaiming his freedom to his over-bearing parents
when his sister offered to celebrate and let him spend the night. They had always been close and often spent time together. They shared a love for art, being left handed, and the yearning for freedom from the ass-holes they had to deal with. Watching movies on the floor in front of the sofa that adorned the wall oppose to the TV and eating snacks was the depth of their worries until Paul came in.

He started in with just the slouched have-stare he always gave Keith. As if gauging his eyes, wondering what Keith was thinking. Keith read all of this and reveled in it. He had never liked Paul, whether it was the fact that he just looked like a prick, that slouching posture he took with every thing he did, or that he mistreated Melissa, Keith never could wrap himself around Paul.

Melissa and Paul had been dating for a few months before Paul had been abruptly denied Melissa's hand in marriage by their father.
They would get married anyway and ironically it would be Melissa's father who wed them.
The next two years of Melissa's miserable life would be spied upon by her younger brother in an attempt to gain the opportunity to put an end to it. Keith would watch Paul's every move, searching desperately for a false move so that he could have his excuse.

The chance finally came as Keith sat on his behind listening to the sharp whimpers of his adored older sister. Their year-old son's cries wouldn't be comforted, poor little guy, all he wanted was the toy he had thrown from his crib for the attention he would never receive from his father.

Keith downed another swig of the tongue-piercing bitterness that was the contents of the bottle before raising himself up. A moment before he felt his weary hand inch toward the handle of the cheap buck-knife that his sister bought him not two weeks before.
He had expressed an interest in buying one on the way out of the store where the two of them held jobs and Melissa naturally wouldn't let him go another day without it. The cheap blade was only a ten-dollar bill's worth of metal. The sides of the handle would pop off with the first few throws at the old pecan tree in the back yard of his home. Nothing a bit of electrical tape couldn't fix.

Though he remembered his fingers grazing over the semi-slick, tape covered handle of the knife that protruded from the black combat boot that hugged his foot, he couldn't remember if he had taken it out. He rose up, his back sliding against the paint, showering him with partials from the old door. He noticed that the whimpering had come to a abrupt halt. The sound of listening is ironically easy to hear. Two sharp whispers would tell Keith that 'Gabby' (Paul's ridiculous nickname) was headed toward the door.

Keith looked down the stairs of the second story apartment at the sidewalk and parking-lot that sat below him. 'Azalea parks' some small apartments in the middle of nowhere. The sun was setting to the rear of the apartments,casting a mighty shadow over the lot.
The street lights had all buzzed to life and glared on the windows.

Gabby's dark brown eyes appeared through the window before the door opened. Keith stepped to the side just in-time to miss him.

Gabby stepped out and looked around the bottom of the stair-way, his staggering walk told of his drunkenness.
Keith's chest pounded hard, Gabby was three inches from the edge of a fitting death. All Keith had to do was give him the slightest nudge...

Gabby swung around and shocked whimpers could be heard from inside. Melissa had met his gaze as he turned, Keith could only imagine the terror that span her features.
Gabby stepped toward the doorway, unaware that Keith stood behind the door right next to him. Another second ad Gabby would throw his hands over his head in a struggle to remove the headlock that choked the air from his brain.
Keith held as long as his arms would. He felt his feet lift from the ground.
An ex-boxer wouldn't have trouble lifting 140 lbs. Keith batted at Gabby's head with his right fist, more and more blood running from the 35 year-old's face. Keith's feet touched down again and Gabby ducked under his arm and got around behind him. Keith was smaller than most teens his age and dropping down was his only chance.
Gabby barreled down the stairs, grunts and half-cries echoing all the way down.

Keith lay his face down on the first step, the concrete that had just bruised him, would aid the swelling. The cool concrete was interrupted by the cries of the Patrick, the now fatherless infant.
A pool of blood painted the ground all around Paul's head, and had spread to the width of his outstretched arms by the time the neighbors had gutsied-up enough to come outside.

Melissa sat just inside the doorway sitting on the couch, her legs pushed up to her chest like a scared child. Keith lifted his head and turned to her, hers eyes were buried in her favorite Tinker bell pillow, the one Keith had bought for her birthday the year before.
Keith got up and walked over to kneel next to the couch.

'That's not what that's for...'

He said, taking the pillow from her face and lying it in his lap. He sat down next to her and laid her head in his lap, soothing her head with his soft hands, stroking her hair and whispering promises of better things as the police scrambled over the fresh 'accident'.


In the next few months Keith would move in with Melissa, this after her vowing never to rely on another man. Gabby's death would be ruled-out as an accident and nothing more would be said over it.

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Was it suppose to feel like this? Being drunk? This awful pain in his stomach followed by the feeling of having ones' head beat upon with a sledge-hammer. The awful smell that his own mouth fed to his nose was nauseating, horrible, constantly making him feel the need to gag. He had felt this for the last six or seven months, not stopping for any reason. The awful stuff slipped down his throat in place of every breath he didn't need to live. With every drink the red-stained pavement would fade from his mind, the small clomps of flesh would be washed from the stairs, and the soft cries that cut his mind's ears would be consoled.

How long had it been since that night? He couldn't bring himself to think that hard. The liquor making its way from his stomach to his brain, he felt his knees arch under the weight of his body, and his shoulders take an interesting dip from their usual straight, and at-attention posture. The days and weeks had all melted into one-another, weeks turned into days, days turned into minutes, time turned into no time. Not allot of since that made unless one had been in the situation, but Keith could feel himself being torn away with every passing moment, one more second towards the fate he had pushed on someone else before they deserved it.

His head turned towards the employee's entrance. He felt the sole of his boot grind against the sidewalk as he spun on it to face the door, but he wouldn't do anything more than chuck the empty bottle into the dumpster and walk out the gate he had entered. It was suppose to be locked, but with a bunch of zit-faced teenagers running the place, this was the best anyone could expect towards maintenance.

A few staggered steps towards the entrance' general location and Keith would shake his head of the wooziness and step through. He usually composed himself well, but he may have had a bit too much of that bottle, he really didn't understand his own limits yet, if he admitted he had them at all. The inside of the restaurant was a bit cool for Keith's liking, even though he was scorching from standing in the sun, he didn't like the air to be too cool. He felt the hair on his neck stand up like it would if he had just stepped from a steamy shower into the brisk hallway. There wasn't much room to sit, it being saturday meant that the schools would be closed and the students out and about. Keith scanned the room, he noticed Mark, a real shady guy, he had a semi-high profile at school, but Keith didn't know enough about the guy to engage him in conversation, besides, he was already talking to Josie, one of a few, if the only, sets of twins in the whole town. Keith hadn't known her or her brother, but he had had brief talks with them when he met them in town, at the park, or in this very restaurant.

Nick saw an empty table, he bounced off his heel and over to the table to throw his camouflage trucker on it, saving it from anyone who might take it while he ordered his food. Taking a semi-staggered step backwards, Keith spun around and stepped around behind Mark and Josie, taking his place in line. He arrived just in time to hear not only Mark's question, but Josie's response.

"Eh, I'm okay. Confident? Not too sure about that...Maybe indifferent..."

Keith realized that he was thinking out-loud, how embarrassing. Too bad his eyes were too red for him to see the people staring at him, apparently he had spoken louder than normal. Tilting his head back and putting his arms up behind it, he sighed and stared at the menu.

The spicy chicken sandwich....Fuck. This wasn't Wendy's

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How disappointing. How could he have forgotten about the delicious, mouth watering, tongue-pleasing gold that the spicy-chicken sandwich was? How could he have mistaken Macdonald's for Wendy's? How very annoying. Worse, disgusting. His digruntled disposition was a bit more apparent, helped along by his before-lunch drink. He'd roll his eyes and put his hands in his pockets as he stepped up to the counter. The preppy, zit-faced teenage girl that stood at the counter with that paid-off smile wouldn't be able to cheer him up no matter how many extra oil-soaked fries she dumped on his tray. He could feel himself becoming a bit more displeased with every second he stared at the menu.

'-Your order, sir?' She hummed.

Keith's eyes drooped, sliding down to meet her puckered cheeks and glowing smile. Normally he would have opened a regular conversation by now. He could remember the days when he would talk to girls and float off into countless daydreams of how his life would go if he were to have a relationship with the girl in question, he'd imagine their wedding day, how he would raise their children and how he would grow old and treat their grandchildren. He'd go through a daydream with any girl that peaked the slightest interest in him, or he in them.

Unable to escape his frustration -which he really couldn't understand.It was so unlike him to just get angry about something so trivial- He shook his hair loose of the sweat that matted his brow, running a finger across his forhead to insure it didn't go into his eyes. Apparent irritation showing in his blood-shot gaze, he spoke.

'I guess since you guys out-right suck at chicken sandwiches, I'll take a double. And please, hold the crap. No ice in my Dr. Pepper, plenty of ketchup and BBQ sauce with my fries. Can you handle that?'

Keith could feel his mother's fiery palm against his cheek. What had gotten into him? What was different about today that he'd act so rude? He'd been drinking for months now, that couldn't have been the issue. Perhaps an aura? A scent in the air? What was fueling this feeling of detest and disgust?

Keith turned away as the girl scoffed her smile away and turned to shout at the cook. Looking around the building Keith searched for the sore-thumb that would stick out among the happy inhabitants of West-River. The high-school students chattered and gossiped merrily, snuggled together in huddles of factual devisions, neatly assorted into each booth.
Among the cheery, incoherent noise that filled the restaurant, Keith pin-pointed a gloomy feeling that originated at a table that seated three -plus the three that stood over the table. A hefty guy, a small girl, and Mark Sade. Keith hadn't the slightest clue who the men were, the girl was new in town, and David was a mystery.

Keith wouldn't break his stare from the group as he turned his body to reach for the sound of a tray clattering against the counter, the cold eyes of the clerk on his neck. Dropping ten bucks on the counter and gliding over to his table -which sat at a perfect distance from the group, that he could hear everything and have plausible reason for facing their direction- Keith took a seat and unwrapped the burger, enjoying the grease-bag while he waited for someone to speak so he could gauge how much he could hear from where he was.


...Peddling drugs to wealthy children who's parents trust them far too much for their own good....

Interesting. Drugs? Very interesting. Keith had gotten lucky. This small group of people seemed like they'd be worth a bit of eavesdropping to get a chuckle or two. Looks like even the quiet town of West-River had its dark side.

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