Post by Bird-of-Summer on Mar 8, 2011 21:42:59 GMT -7
So one of my previous posts was an eye description so here is the story I used it in. I have ideas where this story will go but it isn't finished yet 
thanks and pleace comment!
Her eyes were paper lanterns, the irises a quiet peridot dimly lit with an off white glow. They brought memories to me, nothing I could fully bring to my recollection as if she was only part of a dream. I could see that almond pair of eyes dancing through the wan thickness of morning fog, twanging with an absent minded lethargy. For some reason the sort-of-memory brings to me indecisive feelings. I don’t seem to remember the mood ever being pleasant or plausible. It appears more as if it were embroidered with apprehension and reimbursed with a weary exuberance. Something was about to break.
She approached me. I was still lost in her eyes as she spoke, “You’ve already succumbed to me.”
“Yes, the very same one,” I sulked with a forced exhale.
Dr. Larson crossed one leg over the other as she briefly jotted something down on the clipboard. I hate this irregular pause when in contact with a counselor, that modest second you seem all alone in a foreign room with the unsettling sound of pen against paper. “Now, Mr. Davis—“
“Please just call me Tex.” It was a nickname I had earned in third grade. I wasn’t predominantly fond of my first name either, so I made it clear that calling me ‘Abel’ was a one way ticket to the nurse’s office with a black eye. Ultimately, everyone just conjured up that it was suitable to call me ‘Texas’ where I had transferred from. Then it evolved to Tex and that’s where I am today. Luckily, I was able to drop the dim-witted accent by fifth grade.
“Okay, Tex, how many times would you say you’ve had this reoccurring dream?”
“Pfft, I don’t know. Few times maybe,” I alleged in a repugnant tone and avoided eye contact as my gaze meandered about the room. It was too plain of a room if you ask me. Walls as pale as sidewalks closing in to create an unyielding secure space. The floor was a frayed grey, carpet as dull as rusting bars of a prison cell. That’s what this place was, a prison cell. Dr. Larson sat in a leather chair, reclined slightly, in the far corner however I was still claustrophobic. This was a go to place for anything but consolation and here I was expected to speak my feelings with an open mind. As hard as it is to believe, I’m not against counseling. They find ways of getting under your skin, pushing through your boundaries and limitations to find the deeper issues that resonate within you. This counselor however, had already predetermined that I had the intellectual maturity the size of a pea the second she first met me and is no help at all. I’m only here because yesterday was the second time I got suspended from my senior year of high school. I guess you could call me the rebel, the jock, or whatever you wanna label it. Just like everyone else in my class, I am a culprit of weed; the only difference between me and the other guys is that I actually get caught. It was just a typical day at East Wood High and being the carefree individual I am I gladly took Ben’s offer on ditching fifth period with some other classmates. There was a substitute in Biology anyway so I might as well spare the poor guy and let him count me absent. Ben, Angela, blahblahblah, a few other cheerleaders and football quarterbacks were all secluded in the downstairs hallway where no one ever really went but the weed addicts and occasionally the janitor who kept to himself. We tried to keep a civilized volume but teenagers plus drugs equals perpetual shouting and spontaneous comments that everyone laughs at when there is no humor intended. The security around here was deprived, the only guard being a woman too old for the job and couldn’t even chase a snail without throwing out her back. But fortuitously, it was her providential day; the day she caught us all. The minute we heard her heels clicking on the stairs, growing louder, reverberating off hallways and overflowing lockers, our immediate instincts were to disperse. However, Ben, much more daring than I, persisted we increase the risk of abrupt suspension a little more.
“Dude, do you know what would be epic?” Ben chortled in a beaming whisper. He was sort of crow like, his back always arched, rather gangly and gawkish, arms dangling at his side like a pair of earrings, and it was almost unfeasible for him to remain silent.
I was even strung with anticipation, hiding behind corners of the brick walls, senses heightened, ready to sprint briskly to safety at any given moment. In the situation, mentally you timelessly remind yourself that consequences are just one mistake away; you remind yourself that what you’re doing is inacceptable and inadequate behavior, but your body is vibrating with trepidation, anxiety and physical aspects overpower your thoughts.
“What?” I questioned second handedly.
“Just follow my lead okay?” I nodded, more like rolled my eyes but Ben only saw what he wanted to see. He took a quick glance backwards and then jumped out into plain sight. Confused, I watched him pull down his pants, now stark naked from his waist down. A grin was spread thinly on his high cheek bones and you could say he was utterly amused with himself. The few people downstairs still attempting to make an anonymous getaway turned their heads and giggled. Ben then retreated down to the opposing hallway, besieging to pull up his pants as he stumbled and fumbled for his footing along the way. Believe me, this was just regular Ben, not the drugs. I on the other hand, was still plastered in my stance. I don’t know why I was surprised. When the security guard turned the corner to meet my hollow stare everything froze. I could have easily outran her, found refuge in the boys bathroom just a few feet out of sight but the astounded, dismayed, wordless expression on her face congested everything inside me like a red traffic light. She was already close enough to clearly identify who I was and it seemed like if I bolted out the room now, I would just look like a coward. She seemed so pitiable and I was succulently surrendering. I stood there until her fingernails coiled around my forearm, pretty much dragging me to the principal’s office, a place that was very familiar to me. As I saw Mr. Rupert’s face it was if I was reuniting with an ancient friend, just dropping by for a visit.
thanks and pleace comment!Her eyes were paper lanterns, the irises a quiet peridot dimly lit with an off white glow. They brought memories to me, nothing I could fully bring to my recollection as if she was only part of a dream. I could see that almond pair of eyes dancing through the wan thickness of morning fog, twanging with an absent minded lethargy. For some reason the sort-of-memory brings to me indecisive feelings. I don’t seem to remember the mood ever being pleasant or plausible. It appears more as if it were embroidered with apprehension and reimbursed with a weary exuberance. Something was about to break.
She approached me. I was still lost in her eyes as she spoke, “You’ve already succumbed to me.”
“Yes, the very same one,” I sulked with a forced exhale.
Dr. Larson crossed one leg over the other as she briefly jotted something down on the clipboard. I hate this irregular pause when in contact with a counselor, that modest second you seem all alone in a foreign room with the unsettling sound of pen against paper. “Now, Mr. Davis—“
“Please just call me Tex.” It was a nickname I had earned in third grade. I wasn’t predominantly fond of my first name either, so I made it clear that calling me ‘Abel’ was a one way ticket to the nurse’s office with a black eye. Ultimately, everyone just conjured up that it was suitable to call me ‘Texas’ where I had transferred from. Then it evolved to Tex and that’s where I am today. Luckily, I was able to drop the dim-witted accent by fifth grade.
“Okay, Tex, how many times would you say you’ve had this reoccurring dream?”
“Pfft, I don’t know. Few times maybe,” I alleged in a repugnant tone and avoided eye contact as my gaze meandered about the room. It was too plain of a room if you ask me. Walls as pale as sidewalks closing in to create an unyielding secure space. The floor was a frayed grey, carpet as dull as rusting bars of a prison cell. That’s what this place was, a prison cell. Dr. Larson sat in a leather chair, reclined slightly, in the far corner however I was still claustrophobic. This was a go to place for anything but consolation and here I was expected to speak my feelings with an open mind. As hard as it is to believe, I’m not against counseling. They find ways of getting under your skin, pushing through your boundaries and limitations to find the deeper issues that resonate within you. This counselor however, had already predetermined that I had the intellectual maturity the size of a pea the second she first met me and is no help at all. I’m only here because yesterday was the second time I got suspended from my senior year of high school. I guess you could call me the rebel, the jock, or whatever you wanna label it. Just like everyone else in my class, I am a culprit of weed; the only difference between me and the other guys is that I actually get caught. It was just a typical day at East Wood High and being the carefree individual I am I gladly took Ben’s offer on ditching fifth period with some other classmates. There was a substitute in Biology anyway so I might as well spare the poor guy and let him count me absent. Ben, Angela, blahblahblah, a few other cheerleaders and football quarterbacks were all secluded in the downstairs hallway where no one ever really went but the weed addicts and occasionally the janitor who kept to himself. We tried to keep a civilized volume but teenagers plus drugs equals perpetual shouting and spontaneous comments that everyone laughs at when there is no humor intended. The security around here was deprived, the only guard being a woman too old for the job and couldn’t even chase a snail without throwing out her back. But fortuitously, it was her providential day; the day she caught us all. The minute we heard her heels clicking on the stairs, growing louder, reverberating off hallways and overflowing lockers, our immediate instincts were to disperse. However, Ben, much more daring than I, persisted we increase the risk of abrupt suspension a little more.
“Dude, do you know what would be epic?” Ben chortled in a beaming whisper. He was sort of crow like, his back always arched, rather gangly and gawkish, arms dangling at his side like a pair of earrings, and it was almost unfeasible for him to remain silent.
I was even strung with anticipation, hiding behind corners of the brick walls, senses heightened, ready to sprint briskly to safety at any given moment. In the situation, mentally you timelessly remind yourself that consequences are just one mistake away; you remind yourself that what you’re doing is inacceptable and inadequate behavior, but your body is vibrating with trepidation, anxiety and physical aspects overpower your thoughts.
“What?” I questioned second handedly.
“Just follow my lead okay?” I nodded, more like rolled my eyes but Ben only saw what he wanted to see. He took a quick glance backwards and then jumped out into plain sight. Confused, I watched him pull down his pants, now stark naked from his waist down. A grin was spread thinly on his high cheek bones and you could say he was utterly amused with himself. The few people downstairs still attempting to make an anonymous getaway turned their heads and giggled. Ben then retreated down to the opposing hallway, besieging to pull up his pants as he stumbled and fumbled for his footing along the way. Believe me, this was just regular Ben, not the drugs. I on the other hand, was still plastered in my stance. I don’t know why I was surprised. When the security guard turned the corner to meet my hollow stare everything froze. I could have easily outran her, found refuge in the boys bathroom just a few feet out of sight but the astounded, dismayed, wordless expression on her face congested everything inside me like a red traffic light. She was already close enough to clearly identify who I was and it seemed like if I bolted out the room now, I would just look like a coward. She seemed so pitiable and I was succulently surrendering. I stood there until her fingernails coiled around my forearm, pretty much dragging me to the principal’s office, a place that was very familiar to me. As I saw Mr. Rupert’s face it was if I was reuniting with an ancient friend, just dropping by for a visit.
