A Dime a Dance.I'm one of those lady teachers,
a beautiful hostess you know;
One that the palace features,
at exactly a dime a throw.
Hold my hands as I stand on your feet.
We sway to the bittersweet tune,
the phonograph cheering us on.
I don't worry about crushing your toes
safe inside your steel-toed boots.
Ten cents a dance, that's what they pay me,
Gosh how they weigh me down.
I can't see your face in your helmet,
but I know you're smiling.
You have that rhythm about you.
The way your thumb fits in my hand
is all you need to trip the light fantastic.
All that you need is a ticket,
come on, big boy, ten cents a dance.
I watch as the world slips by,
through our fingers it seems.
We mean nothing to it
and it means nothing to us.
As I would spend forever here with you.
I'm here 'till closing time
Dance and be merry it's only a dime.
Please don't put me down just yet
The song hasn't finished
I don't like the view from here
Even though the phonograph died
almost ten long years ago.
The world that went away.It seemed like only yesterday
It was safe to call you mine
Papa's little angel
The seconds we spent
Now my little darling
As we lie here in the rain
All that's left is a choice to make
But let's put aside our feelings
Become strangers once again
Because if I die right here
With my daughter facetoface
There will be so much
You do not understand
Now listen up, my sweetie
My honey angel pie
You must let your father die
If you are to survive
Now hold me close and tell me
That this is not the end
That this will not be just
the world we led astray
but that this will also be
The world that went away.
Persephone.I remember when
you turned the corner last November.
Like I was seeing you for the last time
I waved goodbye again.
The chill in the air was a harsh reminder
of the cold, unforgiving winter ahead.
But I'll sit on this step just one more hour
and hope to see you come 'round -
back home -
And We'll Call It a Night.I walk inside and down two asprin.
My dad asks if I'm hungry.
I nod and sit down.
I tinker with my iPod, then he shoves a plate in front of me.
I didn't want potatoes.
The turkey's cold.
I eat it anyway.
A commercial for a show comes on TV.
I debate on whether or not to stay up to watch it.
He puts a plate of cranberry sauce down.
I get a notification on my iPod.
I look over to read it and spill some gravy.
I pull my plate over to cover it.
The Simpsons comes on TV.
I hunch over my plate a bit more.
He asks if I want some more.
He yells at me for not eating while I was at the movies.
I ignore him.
Someone proposes in a commercial.
I think of my boyfriend.
He takes my plate and puts some more turkey on it.
He complains I eat too much.
I get another notification.
He asks if I took my asprin.
I say no and take two more.
I push out my chair, my dog was sitting behind it.
I say sorry and trudge back upstairs.
Maybe One Day."I'm ugly," He said softly.
"You know you're not."
But he insisted.
Her heart sank a little more each time.
Because there was nothing that meant more to her than he did.
She felt like her opinion wasn't strong enough,
not as strong as it should have been.
But each time he doubted himself
"Need to be better,"
She said the same thing every time.
And he didn't have to agree.
Words Don't Say As Much. So in the kitchen we sat. Well, I sat at the counter and he stood, his mug in hand. My fingers wrapped around my cup to keep them warm, seeing as it was nearing the end of November. I exhaled silently as I stared at the contents of my mug.
"So.." I said softly, looking back up to him. His gaze was fixated on my hand - or more specifically, my wedding band. He looked at it with distaste, but quickly looked up as I began to speak. I knew what he was thinking, and I was thinking the same thing.
I know. I don't know why I wear it, either.
The conversation wasn't going anywhere so we both looked down again. He turned to the coffee pot behind him, pulling the jug out before realizing his mug was full before setting it back down again. Turning half towards me he slipped his cup onto the counter.
"I should go. It's getting late."
1. Choose some of your OCs
2. Make your OCs answer these questions
3. Tag other people
4. Add one question of your own.
1. Ayashia 'Scarlette' Abridorre - Our French 'La Volpe'.
2. Harley Monroe - The bad-mouth teenager.
3. Veronique Faye Dmitri - Our Russian Commander Badass.
And here goes the questions:
-A. How old are you?
Harley: "Eighteen, and lovin' it."
Faye: "Twenty-two. Damnit."
-B. Do you want a hug?
Ayashia: "Ah, why not?"
Harley: "..I'm good."
Faye: "Piss off."
-C. Have any bad habits?
Ayashia: "Being a thief by profession, sure."
Harley: "A'course I do. I drink, I smoke, I /am/ a bad habit."
Faye: "I swear I'ma hurt some'un."
-D. You a virgin?
Ayashia: "Married twice with two kids. Unless I'm the next Mother of God."
Harley: "Not since I turned fourteen."
Faye: "There was a guy a'tha base.. Biggest feet you ever saw. And by feet I mean--"
Ayashia: "We get it. Moving along.~"
-E. Have any kids?
Ayashia: "Two, one on the way, actually."
Silent Hill: Coding. Chapter 1Scrap Metal
I gripped the knife tightly, her hands placed on top of mine.
"I don't like my H," She said. I chuckled.
"Fine, you can have mine," I could feel her smile as I finished speaking. I curved the knife once more and pulled it from the tree. H + H surrounded by a heart now lie embedded in the bark. Pulling my hands back, hers still over mine, I kissed the top of her head before slipping the knife back into the pocket of my jeans.
She turned to face me, her black hair glistened as it captured the last of the setting sun just over the hill where we stood. Her bangs reached down to her icy blue eyes as they stared up at mine from over the rims of her John Lennon styled glasses, which sat upon the tip of her nose. She stood before me, her hands shoved in the pockets of her heavy, black sweatshirt.
Without hesitation, I reached out my arms, wrapping them around her.