Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > You're Out There Playing Your High Class Games Of Sorrow
You're Out There Playing Your High Class Games Of Sorrow
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Monica's POV:
The sound of raindrops exploding on the top of my umbrella was the only sound I could ear besides my light humming. Yet, it was so light that my voice was like a ghostly echo. My eyes were fixated on a lone star, the rest masked by storm clouds. It reminded me of the cliche that is everyone's life. I was walking aimlessly in the night, following where ever the streetlights guided. My feet glided on the damp pavement, never leaving the two solid yellow lines. I saw two foggy dots of yellow light in the distance, but I pretended that they weren't there. I kept my pace, dead center in the middle of the street, ready to greet the on coming car. Moments later, i was lying on the ground, my skin soaked in blood and water.
Natalie's POV:
I was walking - stumbling home with my crowd. The Cobra crew, one might say. We lived the night life, we were meant for the party. Gabe had his arm around my waist and he kept pulling me in tighter to his side. My eyes stayed on the road, as I was the most sober, and my friends were embarrassing me. Even if it was just us, it was saddening.
"A-aye, Gabe. How about me, and you, and your girl, we - we all have a, uh, a three some!" That was Wentz's pathetic voice, I pretended not to hear.
"Sounds good to me, Pete, but it's not up to me. Ask her." I kept my head hanging.
Pete put is sweaty hand on my shoulder, "How about it, Nat?" I threw my head up and glared at him.
"No!" I snapped, bitterness intended. I hung my head down again.
The rest of the walk was silent. Right foot, left. I didn't expect to trip and fall. I looked over, and I saw a girl. I bit my tongue. My group just kept going, making remarks about how I should get up and leave.
She had short red hair, matted to her face. She was starring at me with wide, green eyes. She was a small girl, no older than 19 years old. She choked up a tiny 'help,' which was barely a whisper.
"You guys," my voice trailed. I was ignored.
"You guys," I was now shouting, and still ignored.
"GET THE FUCK OVER HERE, RIGHT NOW." I got their attention. Gabe ran over, and the others just barely dragged their feet until they saw her.
"Someone called 911," was a comment I heard a few times in the mass of noise. No one did until about an hour afterwords. Drunks usually try to put things into their own hands.
The sound of raindrops exploding on the top of my umbrella was the only sound I could ear besides my light humming. Yet, it was so light that my voice was like a ghostly echo. My eyes were fixated on a lone star, the rest masked by storm clouds. It reminded me of the cliche that is everyone's life. I was walking aimlessly in the night, following where ever the streetlights guided. My feet glided on the damp pavement, never leaving the two solid yellow lines. I saw two foggy dots of yellow light in the distance, but I pretended that they weren't there. I kept my pace, dead center in the middle of the street, ready to greet the on coming car. Moments later, i was lying on the ground, my skin soaked in blood and water.
Natalie's POV:
I was walking - stumbling home with my crowd. The Cobra crew, one might say. We lived the night life, we were meant for the party. Gabe had his arm around my waist and he kept pulling me in tighter to his side. My eyes stayed on the road, as I was the most sober, and my friends were embarrassing me. Even if it was just us, it was saddening.
"A-aye, Gabe. How about me, and you, and your girl, we - we all have a, uh, a three some!" That was Wentz's pathetic voice, I pretended not to hear.
"Sounds good to me, Pete, but it's not up to me. Ask her." I kept my head hanging.
Pete put is sweaty hand on my shoulder, "How about it, Nat?" I threw my head up and glared at him.
"No!" I snapped, bitterness intended. I hung my head down again.
The rest of the walk was silent. Right foot, left. I didn't expect to trip and fall. I looked over, and I saw a girl. I bit my tongue. My group just kept going, making remarks about how I should get up and leave.
She had short red hair, matted to her face. She was starring at me with wide, green eyes. She was a small girl, no older than 19 years old. She choked up a tiny 'help,' which was barely a whisper.
"You guys," my voice trailed. I was ignored.
"You guys," I was now shouting, and still ignored.
"GET THE FUCK OVER HERE, RIGHT NOW." I got their attention. Gabe ran over, and the others just barely dragged their feet until they saw her.
"Someone called 911," was a comment I heard a few times in the mass of noise. No one did until about an hour afterwords. Drunks usually try to put things into their own hands.
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