Hollow Thoughts

just trying this out.

http://brutal_fetish.livejournal.com/11480.html

All the girls I see need help. They seem to need someone there to tell them something good about themselves, or to establish that how they see themselves isn't true. I don't. I speak my mind. I don't need some guy or friend to look at me in a wounded way and berate me for something considered pitiful. I can call myself fat or ugly if I want. What are you going to do? Sew my mouth shut? Splice my tongue? Exactly. You can't sit there and tell me something that I consider truth is a falsity. You have given me no facts to the contrary so hush up and let me be. If I was good enough, I'd have someone who loved me. Who could hold my hand and not try and crush my heart. It's happened before, it'll happen again...and needless to say, my run with love is all out of luck. I may love certain people, but I can shoulder the realization that they don't love me back. And though I may desperately wish that it's weren't the God's honest truth, it is. And wishes never get you anywhere but at your heart's funeral. I know, I've been there. And don't get me wrong, I am most definitely not up on a high horse and calling people out. I'm calling myself out and I don't need any help. And all that calling out has worn me down: emotionally, mentally and physically. My resolve is breaking and I can't help but wonder, at what point does someone realize that another human being thinks highly of them. That they are the absolute world to another person, and that seeing them with a fake, stitched on smile is like a blow to the heart. My world is tumbling down, and for once, I will not be able to catch this angel when he falls.

The other day, I broke down in school. I dropped my head to my desk, hid my bleeding eyes behind strong arms and prayed. I prayed until I was red in the face, with gasping breath and whispered words. But the sad thing is, I didn't pray for myself. I didn't accuse God of mistreating me, or bringing any unneeded cracks of pain into my already broken world. No. All that I have, all that I am given...I deserve. There is not a doubt in my mind that all the pain and suffering that I shoulder near silently does not have my name written all over it. Sure, some of those problems aren't mine, but those names are friends of mine and I will carry what they cannot. But I prayed for him. I cried until my eyes were puffy and eye makeup was smeared, until my voice was hoarse and cracked, and my lips dry from words that I thought I'd never say again. I begged with my Saint, my Grandfather and even God himself to show that kid, to give him SOME sign, that there is someone who cares about him.

Day after day, I watch him shoulder more and more. I watch him bow and I wait for him to break. Only when you break do you see your true friends, when all the plastic ones are gone and the flesh and blood ones are left to clean up the mess. I have watched my world bleed blue and felt my chest constrict at the simple fact that I don't have the ability to talk to him. And most kids under his strain would snap; he doesn't. He's got a little sister to be strong for...and he's got to be strong for me. But of course, I don't tell him this. I will not add another burden to a single soul's already heavy load. I will not allow my problems to become someone else's just because it feels like my heart is being crushed. So instead, I prayed.

I prayed to Michael, to Christopher, to Mary and any other Saint who would hear my cries. I begged and pleaded with the Heavenly Father to show this poor, misbegotten boy that someone out there cared about him. Possibly even loved him. That he may not mean anything to everyone, but that he was almost everything to someone. I prayed that they would give him the strength that they never gave me, that they would cushion all of Life's blows. I even begged and pleaded that my Grandfather would, for once, be someone else's guardian angel. I know that I can absorb the blows, I have before and I will do so for a long time, but Jeff seems to need an extra little help. And I happen to know that angel wings are the best cushions a person down on their luck can ask for.

I have a problem. And not my normal ones either...nor does this one include an obsession. Shock, I know. But rather, it deals with the pathetic excuse for a love life that I sadly claim ownership. I'm okay with having virtually no life outside of school unless you count visiting my grandmother or spending the night with Reagan or going to the library or with my mom to Walmart. Yes, sadly I am just peachy keen with that. What really bothers me is the simple fact that I am nearly always surrounded by boys, when I'm not at home of course, and still don't have a boyfriend. I shouldn't care, my life is great right now. Just...mildly lacking. But I'm used to that. It comes in surges and falls, but normally when it stops lacking everything just sucks. It happened with Bobby and then Adam and of course James. Wow...two actual boyfriends in an entire lifespan of 16 years. I think I'm pretty much below standard. But I suppose I'd rather be below standard rather than far above it and be deemed a whore. At least everything has yet to fall completely to pieces, it's getting there. And if I fall, who'll be there to catch me? Ben? I don't think so. Reagan? Seanna? No, I need someone to be strong for me and not cry with me. I need a hero. And sadly, I do believe them to be in short supply.

So apparently, about 19 weeks ago was my last post. It was around that time when I decided to make a new LiveJournal because of Reagan's on-going issues with her father and step-mother. But you know what I've concluded from 19 long weeks away from depraved_luv and only dealing with brutal_fetish? That I just can't stay away. So brutal_fetish I think will be a specialties page, stories and poems and that sort of stuff. This will be my every day page. Where I shall rant and cry and mourn and do all that other stuff that comes along with teenage angst. Le sigh. Eff this. DONE!

Even though no one ever reads this, I still feel like I should explain.

My friend's dad was pretty much dying, so she came to live with us. So, from Martin Luther King Jr. Day to Feb. 29, I had an adoptive sister. Then her dad got better and wanted her home. So, guess where she went...Home.

I am currently trying to make up for lost time...kinda. Other things are coming first...like ACTs tomorrow and I am so gonna wind up getting a shotty grade. So, I wrote Faithe for a literary club submission, but I dunno if it's too sacrelegious or not. Then I started a new George Washington story...yay him and Lottie. I friggin hate Martha. Then I began a Monk/Stottlemeyer story (squee) That makes me happy.

So I started watching Monk, and I so love Tony Shalhoub and Ted Levine. They make sure a nice couple. And I read The Great Gatsby...hated it. Then I read Saint. It was pretty rockin. And now I'm reading Citizen Washington. God I love it. It is super wicked. (maybe cause it's George, I dunno) I have decided to draw a sketch/drawing of George with Nelson (his valiant steed) from a painting. Kinda don't want to cause it's gonna fail, but I need something to calm me down.

Recently gave up drinking sodas for the most part, I'm down to like one a week. And eight glasses of water a day. I need to lose weight. Big time. This spring break I plan on finishing Scars and trying to finish my Presidental Series.

DAVID MORSE IS GOING TO PLAY GEORGE WASHINGTON IN A MINI-SERIES ON USA STARTING MARCH !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I am so over that.

That should be enough...I hope.

My name is Faithe.

I once was a creature born of hellfire and brimstone, a creature all hard scale and horn, bad temperament and impulsive need to kill, a demon if you will. Then a child was born, and he thought it to be a grand joke to tell his father I was unneeded. Forget Lucifer, I made God’s father what he was. I tore down empires for him and burned fields, destroyed lives and accepted that I was never to be thanked. The child had me banished. I was thrown to Earth and left in my own Purgatory. A demon, which had run Heaven through an oblivious God, stripped in a universe that existed before the one people now know. I have seen eons wax and wane, have watched creatures, far superior to humans, battle for the right to exist and fail. Have watched the incredible death of a failed universe, and the consequential death of a God. And then the brutal rise of a new God, with new rules and new book he called the Bible.

 

I was stripped of my scales, my wings, all of it. All that I was left was an eternity to rot with walking bags of flesh that I had once slain with barely a notion of thought. I was shelled from my being and placed in the soft, weak body of a human. A handsome man, though I never thought it, there was always a graced look of need and the scent of wanting fuming from people near me. A demon dropped in the body of an angel. Oh the irony is great and stinging, let it be known now.

 

I became the reason people feared the dark; I snatched children from the shadows and still God created more. It became a game between us, Good vs. Evil. Then, I let it go. As the world around me evolved, blossoming and blooming because of their need to believe, I sat still and watched. Religion took root and caused blood to flow freely between humans in a constant need to prove themselves to their God. They did my old job for me, or for any being that had replaced me. When destruction slowed, I prodded it along. I was the reason the Crusades began and the fight for Jerusalem, why the Black Hand killed Francis Ferdinand and why Kaiser Wilhelm brought about WWI.

Where people suffered, I lurked and when it grew too much and they were close to being crushed beneath their fear and anguish, when they had lost their faith…I came to them. I shushed them tenderly and saved them, told them I was Faithe…and as I walked away, I sucked their lives from their bodies. I forced the vessels to burst and blood to course freely down their faces.

After a few centuries of playing with God’s own puppets, of turning some of them against him, I decided I would read his rules. The Bible was filled with thoughts I had told his father, in confidentiality, and his father had probably told him on his deathbed. These were the rules I had suggested for the perfect society. It made my blood boil…and God paid a price. I killed the native people of Jerusalem through Hitler. I spoke to him in public places and urged him that Jews and others would wipe out “our” country. I gave birth to WWII. 

 

Then, I no longer had to try. I had planted the seed, and the world was to fail. Just as in every human there is the ability to fail, so is that ability in every Saint, Angel, God or universe that a god may create. My work is done, and no longer do I have to plant the question of God in their head. It all comes down to me. As it should, I designed all worlds before this one, and brought about their ends. So why should I not end this one?

I am the being behind all humans.

And I am the being behind all saints.

Angels hide me behind vast wings.
And Demons hide me behind leering smiles.

I am the being behind the Lord, Jesus Christ.
God hides me behind his Bible.
The truth of religion courses from my veins and into yours.

 

My name is Faithe.

 

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

Oh God. Apparently, you can't take anything sweet into my Physics class. Seriously. Everyone goes pyscho and jumps around and begs for candy. It all started with Jolly Ranchers. Since I'm sick, I wanted something sweet to suck on (sexual sounding, I know) during Thursday because I was having a food's day. So, I had some left on Friday and was eating one in Physics, before class starts because my teacher is a major freak when it comes to food.

So anyway, back to the story. So the kid Jeff comes in and see the bag of Jolly Ranchers and is like OOOOOOOOOOooooooooo big eyes and open mouth. "Can I have one pleeeeeease Ryley?!?!?!" Note to self: Never give kids suspected of ADD/ADHD candy. So I told Emily that they only loved me for my candy and Jeff got all defensive, saying he talked to me like every day. I told him I was kidding and threw one at him, it hit him in the side and skidded across the floor. I got sidetracked with giving Mya one and the next thing I know, I hear feet hitting the floor and Jeff screaming at Brittony.

The kid JUMPED over a friggin desk for a Jolly Rancher, and Brittony still got it. I wanted to make sure he jumped over a desk, so I asked. And he was all "Yeah..." like it happens all the time. If it does, where the hell am I? Anyway, so he bounds over and asks for a blue one...and I gave almost all my blue ones to Ben the day before. Okay, forced him to eat them, but whatever. So Jeff took a purple one, and Mya a watermelon and everyone was happy. Then class started...and we had an "unexpected" firedrill (not really, Papp told us otherwise).

Since finals are next week, taking place on Monday and Tuesday, we've been reviewing. So we come back in from the firedrill, and enter concentration camp. Miss Carbone has been like Hitler meets Stalin and they take over everything and we are the Jews. Which sucks for me, because I'm German and would probably kill myself by sticking my head in a gas oven. Have to stick with the classics. So anyway, back on topic. A little while later, Jeff gets done. And everyone's quiet, with a lot of kids sleeping. And I got out the massive bag of Skittles. 2.8 pounds to be exact, and Jeff's eyes got all wide.

It was awkward because he was kinda stradling his seat and was like OOOOOOOoooooooooo! So here he comes, me and Andrea are talking and he just sidles right up. "Can I have some skittles?" I'm freaking out! I mean seriously! Invasion of space to the extreme. So I'm hunched in my seat and as far over as the arm rest will allow me, clutching at the bag of skittles and trying not to scream. He put his arm around me....PUT HIS FRIGGIN ARM AROUND ME!!! And see, that's important because when we were leaving to go outside for the firedrill, I had a major freak out because Andrea and Windy wouldn't stop poking me, so I screamed at them to stop touching me. So either he doesn't listen, or just thinks it's different with him because he has a penis. But whatever.

So his arm is around my shoulders all chummy like and he's really close to me. Apparently, you can get as close as he was and smell me (according to Ben and Jew who act like I'm a drug and sniff me ALL the bloody time) so that kinda freaked me out too. In this strained voice, and I refused to look at him, I asked if he was touching me, and I could feel the light weight lift off my shoulders and he was like "Not anymore." Then he wanted to know if he could have some skittles, so to get him away, I shoved the bag towards him. Then he decided to be awkward and rape my bag of skittles. That is what it sounded like. I am not even kidding.

He started shushing me and telling me it'd be over in a minute. So he sticks his hand in and grabs some, still shushing me and I'm freaked out because it was REALLY awkward. And as he pulls his hand out is like "There, that wasn't so bad. Didn't even feel it." He goes back a few steps and I look up at him and tell him exactly what I thought of it. "That was AWKWARD." Andrea turned around and was like "It sounded like he was raping you!" So Jeff raped my skittles bag. That's the end of story, but it's funny when I tell it because...I have amazing story-telling skills.

( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )