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Post by marco levi desaint on Aug 25, 2009 3:12:01 GMT -5
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the hardest part is letting go of your
D R E A M S
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Ever tried to drown yourself? Probably not. Not if you had half a mind. Luckily, neither had Marco DeSaint. Known to all of the school as Saint. Hell, even some of the teachers would slip up and find themselves calling him that. Some of the freshmen would get smart and call him Marco, but that didn't last long; not because Marco would do anything to them, but that was exactly why. Because he wouldn't do anything. He wouldn't say hello, he wouldn't even acknowledge them. It was as if they weren't even there. Saint had grown quite used to ignoring people, that sometimes he would forget to pay attention to them when they did get his name right. But lets get back on topic, shall we? Saint wasn't at the lake to drown himself. He wasn't at the lake to really swim either, though he was debating getting in the water out of sheer boredom. It was almost tempting to jump in a deep end of the lake, not swim but not drown, just to see if the water was as black as it appeared in the night.
Here is how the scene played out. The moon was almost full, bright and shining almost as much light as the sun did; but it was pointing from behind him. Casting a single ray onto the water, making the rest seem black. Black as a coca~cola; or as tears cried by someone with lots of eyeliner on. The grass surrounding the area was crisp, but let off a scent of pure magic. One inhale and you could almost taste the nature better then you could see it. It was a tad wet from the recent rain, but not as bad as it had been. The air was cool from the night time, and gave off a nice breeze; blowing the scent we talked about earlier around. Only animals were out, well, mainly animals. Only a single boy laid on a plaid blanket. Beside him was an acoustic guitar, a notepad, three monsters (one which was open) and pencils. Settled in his lap was a sketchbook; and over his ears were a pair of headphones whose wire was connected to an iPod, playing random music from his playlist. As I'm sure you've guessed already, this boy was Saint; and he was rather enjoying the night so far.
Saint's hand gripped a pencil, sketching out a picture of his brother, JJ, and himself. It was a scene of his brother, the last good memory Saint had of him. JJ was playing with the drums, Saint (as an eight year old) playing the guitar and singing. The brothers were both in the picture, and it made his heart hurt to draw his brother. It was what they were doing right before Saint through the conniption fit, earning both his brother and his father dead. No one knew about this, well, except people he found extremely close; and there were a very select few of those. Maybe two or three at the most. Saint was fighting back tears when he decided it would be best to just write a song instead. Turning off the iPod and removing the white and black headphones that bore a skull on both of the ear parts; he put them and the sketch book off to the side. Closing his eyes for a minute, Saint inhaled the air; then exhaled, his breath shaking slightly. He had to get a hold of himself, it was too public to be crying. Saint grabbed the notebook and the opened monster, taking a swallow from it. He couldn't sleep, if he slept, he would have a horrible dream.
Writing down a few words, he could feel his heart getting lighter. "You and me, we had it all. Concurred the world, just to see you fall." Saint started to sing. "You'll always be on my mind, your voice still soft and kind, but the day that turns to a lie; will be the day I die." Saint wrote down the words, this song had been stuck in his mind for a while now and he never got it down. Grabbing the guitar up, he began to play softly while singing those lyrics. "Why'd you have to leave? Was it all my fault? My tears just wont halt, I'm sorry I killed you; I'm sorry I'll never hear you laugh. I'm sorry that one day I'll pay, I'm sorry that you aren't here instead of me." His voice was more growling then soft; though the lyrics would make you think the song was supposed to be like that. At that moment, Saint was lost in his world of writing; and wouldn't be able to hear if anyone were to walk up. This was the closes thing to dream land Saint had right now.
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WORDcount:: 803
TAGGEDby:: Who ever posts first. No more then one person.
INSPIRATIONmusic:: Murder Was The Case That They Gave Me - LeatherMouth.
OUTFITclothes:: Click
NOTEShere:: 803 is my area code lolol The song he is writing/singing is actually written by me 
CREDITSyo:: Lyrics = Sleep - My Chemical Romance. Icons - Someone on photobucket. Layout - Me, so don't steal.
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