Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Calm Before The Storm
A Reception Less Than Warm
2 reviewsA new one! i liked how i wrote it, but what matters is what you think! i hope that it's not cliche, i hate cliches. sorry if i've dissapointed you before, please prove me wrong/right by reviewing a...
0Unrated
YOUR POV
You were sipping a coffee at your favorite café ('cause all fanfic writers are major caffeine addicts, lol) and felt someone take a seat on the plushy couch next to you. It sort of irked you cause that guy didn't even ask if he could sit there, he just assumed that you weren't saving that seat for anyone. 'Whatever, I don't take up much room' you figure without looking over at the intruder and kept reading Petals on the Wind.
"Hey, Joe, Andy! Over here!" Okay, if this guy was going to invite some rowdy jerks over to where you weren't bothering anyone, then you were going to have to say something.
"Do you mind? I'm trying to read, and you're annoying the fucking shit out of me," you spit at the guy. He looked at you with a totally shocked expression, kind of like "oh, I'm bothering you that much?"
"Uh, sorry, I guess. You don't have to be such a bitch." HOW DARE HE?! He gave you a cocky smirk at your flustered reaction.
"WHO do you think you ARE?" you slammed your book shut as loud as you could (which is difficult for a three-inch thick paperback) and shot up, quite offended. "I'm not a bitch. I've just got a story," you say dryly, and grab the journal you were writing in a little while ago off the table and stalk out of the café.
Back at your apartment, you wondered why you told him that you had a story. Why were you making an excuse to a stranger about your irritability? He didn't need to know, and further more, didn't care. You shrugged off your chocolate brown suede trench coat and untie the scarlet scarf you crocheted yourself. The answering machine was blinking in the darkness-wintertime in Chicago meant that it gets dark at six, which was the time. Usually you don't mind your apartment being dark and dank, but tonight it was just a reminder of how empty your life was. You didn't really have any close friends, and a boyfriend was nearly out of the question.
You punch the red button on the answering machine and the only message was from your mom, making sure that you got the cookies she sent in the last care package, which is funny because she doesn't believe that you can bake and cook for yourself. Since diabetes runs in your family on Dad's side and his parents both died from it, you were always really careful about what you eat and gave the cookies to a single mother down the hall who has two small children that you baby-sit once in a while. Since you mainly stay away from the bad stuff, you were pretty thin and fit. Your long straight hair hung in a sheet down to your butt, and the color prompted friends to give you "Carrot tops are green, Einstein" shirts.
With a sigh, you fill your teakettle with water and set it on the small gas stove, and turn on the reading lamp next to your personal sofa. "No way that someone will interrupt me now," you thought, flipping through pages to find your spot. The kettle started whistling and you heaved yourself off of your comfy spot to pour some water over a bag of Earl Grey. It had started raining, and the streets tomorrow were going to be pure slush. Great, your boots will be eaten by the salty shit in the gutters.
i'm sorry guys, but i ran out of names! if you have a suggestion for a main character's name, just say something!
You were sipping a coffee at your favorite café ('cause all fanfic writers are major caffeine addicts, lol) and felt someone take a seat on the plushy couch next to you. It sort of irked you cause that guy didn't even ask if he could sit there, he just assumed that you weren't saving that seat for anyone. 'Whatever, I don't take up much room' you figure without looking over at the intruder and kept reading Petals on the Wind.
"Hey, Joe, Andy! Over here!" Okay, if this guy was going to invite some rowdy jerks over to where you weren't bothering anyone, then you were going to have to say something.
"Do you mind? I'm trying to read, and you're annoying the fucking shit out of me," you spit at the guy. He looked at you with a totally shocked expression, kind of like "oh, I'm bothering you that much?"
"Uh, sorry, I guess. You don't have to be such a bitch." HOW DARE HE?! He gave you a cocky smirk at your flustered reaction.
"WHO do you think you ARE?" you slammed your book shut as loud as you could (which is difficult for a three-inch thick paperback) and shot up, quite offended. "I'm not a bitch. I've just got a story," you say dryly, and grab the journal you were writing in a little while ago off the table and stalk out of the café.
Back at your apartment, you wondered why you told him that you had a story. Why were you making an excuse to a stranger about your irritability? He didn't need to know, and further more, didn't care. You shrugged off your chocolate brown suede trench coat and untie the scarlet scarf you crocheted yourself. The answering machine was blinking in the darkness-wintertime in Chicago meant that it gets dark at six, which was the time. Usually you don't mind your apartment being dark and dank, but tonight it was just a reminder of how empty your life was. You didn't really have any close friends, and a boyfriend was nearly out of the question.
You punch the red button on the answering machine and the only message was from your mom, making sure that you got the cookies she sent in the last care package, which is funny because she doesn't believe that you can bake and cook for yourself. Since diabetes runs in your family on Dad's side and his parents both died from it, you were always really careful about what you eat and gave the cookies to a single mother down the hall who has two small children that you baby-sit once in a while. Since you mainly stay away from the bad stuff, you were pretty thin and fit. Your long straight hair hung in a sheet down to your butt, and the color prompted friends to give you "Carrot tops are green, Einstein" shirts.
With a sigh, you fill your teakettle with water and set it on the small gas stove, and turn on the reading lamp next to your personal sofa. "No way that someone will interrupt me now," you thought, flipping through pages to find your spot. The kettle started whistling and you heaved yourself off of your comfy spot to pour some water over a bag of Earl Grey. It had started raining, and the streets tomorrow were going to be pure slush. Great, your boots will be eaten by the salty shit in the gutters.
i'm sorry guys, but i ran out of names! if you have a suggestion for a main character's name, just say something!
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