a challenge! and an answer.

important business first.
100th blogpost! oops, this is also codename for i have no life. whops.


anyway.
so someone requested here that a horror story should be written. and while i have absolutely no experience at writing horror (see the perspectives post for more fail), i shall try. to the prompt of "OCD: Wear slippers when you leave the bedroom - otherwise your personality will be overwritten by anyone else who has walked on that carpet. If you scrape against something, you must sweep the bit of your soul that got caught off of it and rub it back into the tear."


answer:
as violet pads into the old dreary mansion, she notices bloodstains on the ground. strange, because number one--nobody's lived here in years and number two--the only other person that should be in here besides her is her younger brother, robert.


"robbie?" she calls. her voice echoes around the high ceilings of the foyer, bouncing back into her ears. a sudden creak grabs her attention, and she accidentally brushes against the nearby windowsill. pain shrieks through her arm. "what the--?" as she turns to look at the offending bruise, she notices that the piece of her where she hit the wood is gone. completely gone. not gone in the sense that there's a cut, but completely and utterly gone. violet is about to scream in surprise when a strong, warm, familiar hand clamps over her mouth. 


"quiet, little girl, let me help you with that," a voice hisses, rough and slimy to violet's ears. another hand (along with an arm) carefully sweeps a bit of something off the windowsill and starts rubbing it back onto her arm. "there, there. you'll be okay now." 


but, of course, violet is now the farthest thing from comforted. as she pries herself from her assailant's grip, she spins around. 


"who are yo--robert?!" 


her brother (or what seems to be her brother) cocks his head jerkily.


"who's robert?" the unfamiliar voice asks, the words falling off of his tongue. 


violet pales. 


"if you're not robert, then who are you?" 


robert's body cracks it's knuckles before the voice answers again. 


"i'm gladys. i killed the last resident of this house before hanging myself on that chandelier." 


robert's finger points up to the ornament. violet's gaze follows, and she jumps when she notices a skeleton dangling from the lights.


"i don't have a body anymore, but since your brother insisted on taking off his socks and shoes, i kindly took his place." gladys uses robert's left hand to gesture at his now bare feet. "if you'd like to join in with the fun, you can take your shoes off too." 


violet slowly shakes her head. 


"sorry, gladys, i can't agree to that. can you... bring my brother back?" 


a cackle leaps out of his mouth, bouncing around the eerie foyer. 


"no can do, violet dearie. you see, whenever someone walks barefoot on the carpet in the lapelle mansion, their sense of self oozes out through their feet and the last person to walk on the floor fills that body with their own personality. frightening, isn't it?" 


there's a silence. violet can only hear her thumping heart. she inches towards the door. 


"i... i have to go." 


"no, no violet, please stay!" 


violet swings the door wide open before robert's body sails across the room, slamming the door resolutely shut. 


"i said, stay." 


violet sinks to the ground, quivering. 


"what... what do you want from me?" 


gladys smirks, distorting robert's usually handsome face. 


"your body." 


violet shakes her head vehemently. 


"no."


gladys growls, the most frightening sound that violet has ever heard. she still lets her hand drift quietly up towards the door handle. she keeps her gaze fixated on gladys to attempt and distract her from the movement.


"what are you waiting for?! take of your shoes!" gladys hisses. she tries to flash a smile, but once she notices violet's hand on the doorknob, her expression turns murderous. suddenly producing robert's pocketknife, she stabs it into violet's hand, pinning it to the door. violet screams. gladys laughs. "please don't leave, violet, i'm so lonely!"

lyrics:the one that got away.

a/n: i do not own this song, credits go to katy perry!

muse:last

le sigh.

muse:
i know that i shouldn't read into it. i really do. but after the phone calls from ___ stop coming, the fond glances and smiles stop lighting up my day, i can't help but suspect that i've done something wrong. but what, really? what have i done? a couple hours on the phone with ___, laughing and being distracted from homework isn't that bad. i get my stuff done regardless--even though i'm up late. it doesn't matter to me... what matters is just being there for ___, just any amount of time with ___.i didn't count ___ on leaving, i didn't count on staying and waiting, i didn't count on any of this changing. i knew that it'd have to end sometime, but i didn't realize that it'd be so soon. i don't want to have a last moment with ___, a last call with ___, a last conversation with ___, a last anything with ___. i want to be ____ first moment, ____ first call, ____ first conversation, ____ first everything. i've never been this for anyone--but for ___ of course i'd try.

ep:people--life's biggest puzzle.

...how powerful. 

too often we take the ones that love us and help us for granted and focus on those that leave us and hurt us. we want those that hurt us and leave us--why? good question. another hard question--why does life's hurts give us our greatest inspirations? 

pining sucks. and i'm too lazy to turn off the song. it's katy perry "the one that got away." now, it doesn't completely truly apply to me, but i still resonate with the emotion of the song. some time eventually, i'd like to go up and do karaoke, but with music that i'm super familiar with. i'm sure it'd turn out like (500) days of summer (except minus the booze) and it wouldn't be very good, but i really can't take it anymore. i want to--no, need to say something.

muse:drying machines

muse:
i push the button to start the dry cycle, and quickly bolt out of the laundry room and up the stairs. it's not that i hate doing laundry, mind you. my laundry machine just has this horrible tendency of screaming at the top of its mechanical lungs and when it does, i can't hear myself think at all. and no, it has nothing to do with the fact that every time i hear the screech, it reminds me of that one phone conversation we had about your laundry machine while i was, ironically, folding my clothes.

"what the heck was that?" i giggled, cellphone cradled between my head and my shoulder. "it sounds like you're toying with a robot or something."

"my laundry machine... it makes noises?"

"sounds like it's trying to sing."

"it so does not!"

i snorted, folding a towel. "whatever you say."

the metallic shrieking shakes me out of my memory as i book it up the stairs. now, i hate doing laundry. the dryer protests and every time i take my clothes out to fold them, i wait for you to not call me.

muse:cucumbers and flirting

if y'all haven't heard j.r.a.'s "by chance (you and i)" please go find it--it's amazing and beautiful. also, "agents of secret stuff." go watch it on youtube. :)

muse:
the lab had run much later than blake had expected. but he got to work with ariana, so he was perfectly content that he was able to spend more time with her. she was just so beautiful, so smart, nice, funny... he was starstruck. but of course when it came to talking to her, he was tongue-tied. as he walked with her out to the student parking lot, he resolved that tonight would be the night that he would talk to her and ask her out. the two were just passing the courtyard when he saw the bench under the tree. he motioned for her to follow him to the nook.

"what's up, blake? i have to get going, you know."

"ari--ariana... hi."

"hey yourself," she replied, giggling. "now, what's up?"

"well... you're beautiful today and... can i have your number? we can go grab some food and eat some cucumbers--why did i say that?" he blushed furiously as she burst into a fit of laughter.

"your rhyming is cute," she gushed, trying to calm herself down.

"your smile is the best thing i've ever seen," he managed to stutter. "it fits you, and it makes me smile too."

it was ariana's turn to blush a deep crimson.

"oh stop it, you," she mumbled happily, slapping his arm. silence echoed between them and the starlight. slowly, though, ariana's hand sneaked towards blake's. "so, dinner..." she started. "you still on for it?"

blake grinned from ear to ear as he took ariana's hand in his.

"sure. let's go."

muse:magnetic

a/n: so i'm not actually in an abusive relationship, i swear. this is on my mind every time i listen to "love the way you lie" by eminem and rihanna. it breaks my heart that relationships like these exist, but they do. ): 
muse:
he hit me again. my cheek is bruised horribly, i don't even want to look at myself in the mirror. i can't cry about it--he'll hit me again. but i know that he loves me, that's enough, right? even though i know that everything else that he says is a lie, he still loves me.

everything was okay, i swear. just about up 'till last week. he had been all high-and-mighty, and i decided to try and talk him down from his pedestal. bad idea. that was the most frightened i'd ever been during a shouting match. the angriest. and i nearly stormed out. i was about down the driveway when he swung the door open.

"baby, come back!"

i couldn't help it. we're like magnets, we have to stay together no matter what. wherever he is, i've got to be--without him, i'm nothing. so of course, i pick my bags up and off the sidewalk and slowly walked back in. i was greeted by a kiss on the forehead, followed by "i love you," stale with the alcohol on his breath. i can't tell him to stop--love is accepting, right? love accepts wrongdoings and hides them under the carpet.

but of course, after one fight, there's bound to be others. they got more and more frequent, which led up to me getting my face bruised like hell. but he apologized--he won't do it again!

"baby, next time i'll show restraint! that's what the drywall's for, right?"

i couldn't help but laugh at that, that's one of the things that i love about him--he always throws in some sort of humor.

...but it's one day later, and i'm out on the sidewalk. and he's watching me, i can tell, and right like that i hear the door snap open.

"baby, come back! take your bags off the sidewalk! come back, please!"

and of course, i'm right back with tears in my eyes, empty "sorries" mumbled into his shirt and he holds me close, "i love you" echoing like one bad punchline. but i love those words--they're what i live for. it doesn't matter how beat up i get, those words are my lifeblood.

---

it's two in the morning, and everything's so hot. i can't move, my hands and feet are tied to the bedposts. somewhere i can hear maniacal laughter and raucous cries. what got me into this? oh right, he said he'd do this. shit.

i was out on the sidewalk for about the eighth time this week, and like a broken record the door is open again and the words "come back!" ring through the neighborhood. but this time, there's a different spin on it. "come back, baby, i love you!" as i'm back in his arms, i hear him muttering, "if you try and fuckin' leave again, i swear i'll tie you to the bed and set this house on fire." 

i didn't count on him following through with that. but he loves me, right? it's getting hotter, and flames are starting to lick the bedpost. my wrists are sweating, and the rope is agonizingly tight. i try to shout, but my mouth is bound. the first jet of fire screams up the rope and starts to gnaw on my wrist. my eyes water, my throat dries, but i can't do anything. he loves you, it's okay, he loves you. i squeeze my eyes shut, and look up towards to the ceiling, trying to divert my attention from the caustic heat. "i love you" is carved on the ceiling, along with a heart. it's all i see before i forget how to breathe.