Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Tall, Dark, and Tattooed
Part Quatre
3 reviewsHarper writes to keep herself crazy, and Blossom makes another appearance.
0Unrated
A.N.- Not so sure if I love this chapter, but I needed to introduce a bit more of Harper. I really hope that's what you guys gain from this:] Oh, and there's a little bit of Blossom in here for all of her fans.
/It's the way cigarettes look between 3 a.m. fingers that remind us of adolescence. Faces and names, sketchy with time, are brought back in the haze of bitter smoke. It's the way we store memories in the basements of our minds, and take them out from time to time to remember. The tomb stones of drug addicts and the folded paper notes from lovers we barely knew, remind us of everything we lost. Snakeskin bangles and tattooed hips and rock 'n roll reminded us that the sun still shone behind the clouds.
That was the way we were. Young and stupid and brave. Some had seen too much of love, some too much of hate. Some knew loneliness like a best friend, or a best enemy.
There was the friction of another's jeans and soft lips on shoulders. We knew what is was to love and lose. We were class-A liars, but that's just the beginning. To the world we were statistics on a TV screen, drop-out royalty, the bullets in a broken gun. We were the lucky penny turned tails up. We always heard how we could've been so much more. But that's not the point is it? There was always someone else to go the extra mile. Society didn't need a few other kids high on dreams, with money in their pockets and nowhere to go.
We remember kids with bloody knuckles and black eyes, unfair fist fights in backyards late at night. They weren't fighting each other but more like themselves, and that strange pull to drive off to somewhere, anywhere else. Fists flew in desperate pleas to get out of this city and start over. We longed for that last year, that final night. For some it never came.
I don't know how I got out. I just started running and didn't look back. It's cold in Chicago this time of year, and hands cupped around cheap plastic lighters bring me back. Back to November nights and fast cars and love. I stop on busy street corners and think about all the people I no longer know. I wonder if they still sit on porches, chain-smoking and drinking to pass the time. And as I get in the back of a yellow-checkered cab I wonder who's still dreaming, and who's now sleeping six feet beneath their shoes./
Harper shut off her computer, fingers throbbing slightly from typing so fast. That's what happens though, when you get such a sudden creative impulse. She brushed a few stray, salty tears from her cheeks distractedly, not having realized she'd been crying.
She glanced up at the clock, startled to see it was already two in the afternoon. Harper wondered absentmindedly if Pete was going to call her soon. Didn't they have a date tonight?
Emmie had awoken that morning, groaning and swearing, with a hangover to end all hangovers. Harper had merely handed her a cup of coffee and some Advil, and reminded Emmie she had work.
"But, God my head's killing me Harp."
"You can't afford to miss work." Harper had reprimanded her, wincing at the motherly tome in her voice.
"Fine. I'll see you after five. Don't leave for your date without me." Emmie had grinned, winking at her best friend before stepping heavily out the door.
Harper's face scrunched up in apprehension at the thought of that night.
"Maybe I should call him..." she speculated out loud, bending to scratch Blossom's head. The finicky feline glanced up at her curiously, winding a furry tail around Harper's jean-clad leg. "No, you're right. I'll just have to wait."
Blossom yawned widely in agreement.
/It's the way cigarettes look between 3 a.m. fingers that remind us of adolescence. Faces and names, sketchy with time, are brought back in the haze of bitter smoke. It's the way we store memories in the basements of our minds, and take them out from time to time to remember. The tomb stones of drug addicts and the folded paper notes from lovers we barely knew, remind us of everything we lost. Snakeskin bangles and tattooed hips and rock 'n roll reminded us that the sun still shone behind the clouds.
That was the way we were. Young and stupid and brave. Some had seen too much of love, some too much of hate. Some knew loneliness like a best friend, or a best enemy.
There was the friction of another's jeans and soft lips on shoulders. We knew what is was to love and lose. We were class-A liars, but that's just the beginning. To the world we were statistics on a TV screen, drop-out royalty, the bullets in a broken gun. We were the lucky penny turned tails up. We always heard how we could've been so much more. But that's not the point is it? There was always someone else to go the extra mile. Society didn't need a few other kids high on dreams, with money in their pockets and nowhere to go.
We remember kids with bloody knuckles and black eyes, unfair fist fights in backyards late at night. They weren't fighting each other but more like themselves, and that strange pull to drive off to somewhere, anywhere else. Fists flew in desperate pleas to get out of this city and start over. We longed for that last year, that final night. For some it never came.
I don't know how I got out. I just started running and didn't look back. It's cold in Chicago this time of year, and hands cupped around cheap plastic lighters bring me back. Back to November nights and fast cars and love. I stop on busy street corners and think about all the people I no longer know. I wonder if they still sit on porches, chain-smoking and drinking to pass the time. And as I get in the back of a yellow-checkered cab I wonder who's still dreaming, and who's now sleeping six feet beneath their shoes./
Harper shut off her computer, fingers throbbing slightly from typing so fast. That's what happens though, when you get such a sudden creative impulse. She brushed a few stray, salty tears from her cheeks distractedly, not having realized she'd been crying.
She glanced up at the clock, startled to see it was already two in the afternoon. Harper wondered absentmindedly if Pete was going to call her soon. Didn't they have a date tonight?
Emmie had awoken that morning, groaning and swearing, with a hangover to end all hangovers. Harper had merely handed her a cup of coffee and some Advil, and reminded Emmie she had work.
"But, God my head's killing me Harp."
"You can't afford to miss work." Harper had reprimanded her, wincing at the motherly tome in her voice.
"Fine. I'll see you after five. Don't leave for your date without me." Emmie had grinned, winking at her best friend before stepping heavily out the door.
Harper's face scrunched up in apprehension at the thought of that night.
"Maybe I should call him..." she speculated out loud, bending to scratch Blossom's head. The finicky feline glanced up at her curiously, winding a furry tail around Harper's jean-clad leg. "No, you're right. I'll just have to wait."
Blossom yawned widely in agreement.
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