murdrum_doyle: (life)
Sometimes I wonder if I even have feelings, but then I feel so wretched that I figure I must. I don't know if it's dichotomous or an outright contradiction: I loathe human contact, but I feel empty without it.

Maybe it's just an utter lack of validation. Do I exist, or don't I? When I'm forgotten, I'm no longer certain if I'm a real human girl. Maybe the reason no one sees me is because I was never here in the first place.

And then one thing will happen to prove my corporeal existence and I feel that I'm sitting atop the world.

It always precludes a fall, and it's the landing that is just as much of a shock every time.
murdrum_doyle: (fiction)
[community profile] daily_prompt #535 "Another child is born, Another race is won, Another dream is shattered, Another day has begun -This World; Zero 7"
[community profile] dailyprompt Prompt for 2011-12-21 "When the time comes"
[community profile] dailyprompt Prompt for 2011-12-22 "What really matters"
[community profile] dailyprompt Prompt for 2011-12-20 "Secret Santa"
CONVERSATION WITH PAULINA
--Sam confronts Pauly about weird behavior
"Look, princess," Sam snapped as she kicked her locker shut. "I'm on to you. I'm this," she gestured with her index finger and thumb, "This close to finding you out. And when I do, you can be sure that your sparkling reputation will be beyond repair."

Paulina scowled at Sam, disdain oozing out of every perfect pore. "You have no idea what you're talking about, freak."

Countering with a smirk, Sam said, "You rigged the box so that I'd be your Covert Commencement partner. So I did a little digging to figure out what to get," --Paulina paled-- "And nobody would ever think to guess what I found out instead. At least," she added in a superior fashion, "they won't until I tell them."

"You little b--"

"But I might be persuaded to forget your little secret if you do just one little thing for me--quid pro quo, see."

Paulina growled. "And what would that be?"

"Leave Dan--I mean, Phantom--alone."

"Not in your wildest dreams, you psycho!"

"Well then, I suppose that I'll just have to make a few calls to the school paper."

"As if. Maybe you just don't understand because he would never give someone as plain as you the time of day, but nothing is worth giving up Phantom."

"Not even jail?"

A pause. "What are you talking about?"

Sam hesitated, completely thrown. "What are you talking about?"

Paulina looked, not uncharacteristically, confused. "The threads, what else?"

Oldies slang, really? Really, Paulina? The hippie headbands were one thing, but there are lines. "Yes, the threads, duds, whatevers. That's what I'm talking about. And you don't seem to know that it's illegal."

"It's not like I put them there! I can just see them--wait a minute. If you know about them, then that means you can see them, too."

"Right," Sam said dryly. "Because I've been following you."

"No, like, no one else can see the threads, like the one that's tied to me and you. It's beyond, like, gross." Sam stared. Rich kids did drugs too, this Sam knew, and they did them hard. But other than the insanity spilling from those waxy, flamingo pink lips, Paulina exhibited no other signs of being high. If only, eh? And Coach Tetslaff only a shout away, at that.

"And. . . What do these threads look like?"

"You said you could see them!"

". . . I think we're on a different subject entirely."

"Oh. Well, whatever, freak. You better not tell anyone about this, comprende?" She turned to leave, flipping her hair in a manner that somehow seemed as disrepectful as flipping the middle finger, although phenomonally more lady-like.

"Wait! Pri-Paulina!" Paulina stopped, glaring with suspicious blue eyes.

"What?" she spat.

"Look, if you're really, seriously in trouble. . . I know people who can help." Blasted sense of rightousness.

Paulina, who had been in the midst of a retort, suddenly stilled. "Phantom" she whispered.

"Um," Sam said, completely weirded out.

Paulina looked around, curls bouncing and the fluffiest, most love stricken expression contorted her face, an expression which sam never wanted pointed in her direction again. Ever. "Phantom!" Paulina said, loud and giggly. "If anyone can save me, it's him!"

"It depends on what the problem is. What's going on?"

"Why would I tell you?"

"Because I'm dating Danny Fenton, and you know how Phantom always. . ."

"Shows up around Fenton! Oh!!" And then she was silent.

"Well, are you going to tell me or not?"

"Of course not. Just tell phantom to meet me at my house. Anytime. He'll know where." Sam chose not to comment. Paulina, superior smirk back in place, turned to leave once more.

Desperate for more information, Sam hurriedly spoke, stopping her enemy in her tracks, "Uh, I dont think so. Either you tell me, or no Phantom. Thats the deal, chica."

Scowling and fists balled, Paulina sent Sam the filthiest glare that she could muster. "Fine," she said. "But put the bench in front of the door, first. I don't want anyone walking in and seeing me talking to you." Privately, Sam thought that blockading the door would appear even more suspicious, but she was not about to say anything.

Grasping the splintery object and careful not to touch any discarded wads of gum, she silently complied with Paulina's demand. Deed done, she dusted off her hands, plopped upon the newly arranged bench and reclined, forcing Paulina to remain standing.

After a considerable amount of disgust and hesitation, Paulina tells her about the threads--
Asks her if she could tell DP, since he follows Danny and Sam is around Danny. . . yeah--
Sam says that she will, but doesn't until much, much later in the story--
Describes different threads, but doesn't understand what they mean--
Sam wonders why her thread is thinner than those of married couples--
Paulina flippantly asks why it even matters, because in a few months they will be off in college and there will be plenty of new, better guys to find--
She then reminds Sam to tell DP and exits, leaving Sam reeling--



murdrum_doyle: (fiction)
[community profile] daily_prompt Prompt #533: "Dynamic"


"Tyler who, Brittany?!"

"Robinson."

"L-m-a-o, he's a random."

The last locker door slammed shut as the girls trickled out of the locker room. So indulged in merry gossip were they that everyone failed to notice a lone figure hidden behind the side of the lockers.

Sam furtively peeked around the corner and made sure that the coast was clear before darting over to locker #118, the gym locker of one Paulina Perfect. Almost violently, she jabbed her hand into her pocket and dug around for her lock pick, then paused. Great, just great. She had a combination lock. How could she possibly. . . .

Oh, ho, ho! Seriously? This was too easy. Let's see, "D" would be "4," so then "A" should be "1" and--a few more snigger-punctuated clicks later, and she was staring at a hot-pink shrine to her boyfriend's alter ego. She plopped her own tattered, black bag on the floor, tore open the zipper, and yanked out the blouse, not taking but half a second to toss the shirt in the locker with as little grace as possible.

Closing the door with more force than necessary, she stepped out into the hallway and prepared to face the rest of the day with full confidence.

And who could blame her? She had no way of knowing the forces she had just set into motion.
murdrum_doyle: (fiction)
[community profile] dailyprompt Prompt for 2011-12-18: "a beautiful yes"


Fangs bared, she channeled her anger at the popular crowd that had just invaded her sanctuary. Sam squeezed her recycled cardboard coffee cup, her glare so intense that she hardly noticed that the drink was beginning to leak. Just look over here, she thought. Look at me. Give me one reason, and you'll never know what hit you, Paulina. That flawless skin of yours will--

"Sam?" Startled and nearly tossing her coffee, she and looked up and met his eyes, those luminous, blue eyes. She felt her stomach tighten with an unfamiliar feeling. Curiously, although she could not identify it, she knew the feeling was very much unwelcome. Sam averted her gaze. Not waiting for an invitation, Danny pulled out a chair and reclined, his innocently concerned stare boring holes into her skull. "You alright? We were coming to pick you up from the community center, but you ran past us like a bat outta hell."

She shifted uncomfortably, and he placed his hand over hers, slightly blushing as he did so. "It's, it's nothing. I just. . . Really needed my caffeine fix! Man, making a difference sure does take a lot out of you!" she enthused, taking a huge sip of her piping-hot coffee. Almost immediately, her cheeks puckered and her widened eyes steamed. Quickly, she gulped the burning liquid down and shot Danny a weak grin. "I am totally awake now."

He laughed. "Cool. In that case, do you want to get out of here? Tucker's waiting for us at the arcade."

"That would be one big, beautiful yes," she said, standing and linking her arm with his.
murdrum_doyle: (fiction)
[community profile] daily_prompt Prompt #532: "Proposal"


"So what's got you all frowny-faced, Starshine? You look like your dog just--" Horror dawned on Kwan's face. "Shi--, that's not what happened, right? Pluto's O.K., I mean, oh, I am so, so sorry, I. . . ." he stopped, grimacing.

This elicited a small, tinkling laugh and was followed by an even smaller sigh. "No, it's just, Paulina, and on top of all this other crap, I just, I dunno." Star's shoulders slumped, and Kwan noticed the neckline of her strapless dress shift downward with her movement.

"Um, well, let's start with what Paulina--" Star's laughed turned bitter.

"What?" Kwan asked, somewhat hesitant. He realized that he had put his foot in it again, but did not quite understand how. "What did I say?"

She stopped laughing enough to say, "Paulina first, typical."

Eyes widening, "No, no, I just meant that whatever she did might be easiest to fix, and--" Star rested a hand on his forearm, halting him with a gentle smile.

"Nah, I get it. Look," her eyes darted about the room, pupils dilating. With unprecedented strength, she grabbed him by the collar and pulled him behind a nearby column. He followed her like a confused puppy. When she was finally satisfied with their level of privacy, she leaned against the streamer-wrapped column and whispered, "She thinks I stole my shirt from her."

"But you're wearing a dress," he said loudly and incredulously, not reading the atmosphere.

"Shhh!" she bit her lip and checked their surroundings, just to be safe. "No, like, she took this shirt that my grandmother gave me--"

"The one that's gone?" She glared at him.

"Yeah--wait, are you talking about the shirt or my grandmother?"

"Um, both?"

"Just shut up and don't interrupt and you'll find out, 'kay? So, like, we were looking at stuff in my closet and she finds this shirt that my grandmother--yesthegrandmotherwhodied--gave me just before she, ya know, kicked it. And it's a really pretty shirt, silk and everything, so of course Paulina takes it and says that she's going to wear it to the formal."

"But she's not wearing a--"

"SHH! And what did I say about interrupting me?"

"Sorry," he whispered sheepishly.

"Right. Anyway, so, like, she spent the night at my house, which is fine because we, like, go to the same school so mom doesn't have a problem. So she puts the shirt in her backpack and just, like, keeps it all squished and wrinkled there all day with all those candy wrappers at the bottom of her bag and it reeks of perfume and urgh. But, yeah, when she got home from school, the blouse was gone. And she's blaming me because she thinks I stole from her and she had to plan a new outfit. It's just so totally not fair, right? Am I right?" she repeated.

Kwan's glazed eyes sparked back to life. "Right! That's, like, totally not fair. But, you know her. She'll probably forget all about it after Dash proposes."

"HE'S GOING TO PROPOSE?" Star screeched. A few heads turned in their direction, but the music was too loud for most of them to comprehend what she had announced.

"Um, I think so. He was saying all this weird stuff earlier, so I asked my sister and she said that's what her husband was like just before he proposed to her."

"Ohhh, my gosh. Who else knows?"

"Well, Dash, me, you, and my sister." Star crossed her arms and tapped her foot, eyes expectantly fixed upon his face. Rubbing the back of his neck, he continued, "And maybe Trixie, and from her Veronica, so probably Tad and Chad, Mr. Lancer, the entire football team. . ."

Sighing, Star dropped her pose.

 

murdrum_doyle: (fiction)
[community profile] daily_prompt Prompt #531: "Rowdy"


Desperately, she rounded on Sam. "How did you even get that? You stole it, didn't you!"

"No, I saw it spilling out of your bag and I--"

"Liar! It was, like, gently folded deep inside my bag, and I would never leave my bag unzipped around creeps like you. Ever. You had to have broken into my house--that's a felony! Or you got your undead minions to get it for you or something. That's, like, probably even more illegal, right?" Paulina said.

"No, I--"

"How exactly did you come by the blouse, Miss Manson?" Paulina's mother intoned.

"Er, that is. . ."


She shook the scenario from her head. That, Sam, is a very good question. If she told anyone about Paulina's doings, then she would have to explain that she skipped a mandatory assembly, disobeyed and lied to a teacher, broke into a classroom, invaded the privacy of her classmates, and even stole from one. Yeah, that would go over well. On the other hand, if Paulina really was involved in something unsavory, then it would not be very difficult to catch her in something again. She just had to be a little more vigilant, maybe tail the popular wh--er, girl--for a while, find some irrefutable but honestly obtained evidence, and bam--everything would be over for little miss perfect.

Sam leaned back in her chair, feet pumping against the edge of her desk, and indulged in a rather villainesque cackle. Yes, all would. . . . she thought, and crashed to the floor with an OOMPH.

"Sammikins? Are you alright sweety? I know how terribly you wanted to go to that dance. . . ."

"I'M FINE, MOTHER," she said, and picked herself up from the floor, victory somewhat tainted.

***

Adolescents crowded the floor, sweaty from dancing and half drunk on excitement and alcohol. Suddenly, the queen of the ball sneezed, and her date balked. "Gesundheit," said her satellite.

"Heh, someone's talking smack about you, Polly." Glaring at Kwan, Paulina snarled a rebuttal that was drowned out by the rowdy throng, dragging Dash behind her.

Left alone, Kwan smiled at the satellite and said, "It's just you and me now, huh."

Ever so faintly, Star returned the smile.
 

murdrum_doyle: (fiction)
[community profile] daily_prompt Prompt #530: "I apologize for the confusion."


"Sorry for the confusion," she murmured demurely. "I saw this spilling out of someone's bag and I simply had to know what label it is." She smoothed her designer skirt, meek smile dropping and a worried frown taking its place. "Only, I couldn't help but feel a little shocked when I saw that this was touting to be Golce & Dabbana. Why, anyone knows that a Golce & Dabbana piece would never, ever use this method of stitching. Ma'm," Sam paused for added drama, "I have reason to believe that your daughter is involved with counterfeit."
 
 "¡Dios mio! My dear, what an accusation. . . ."
 
"I am sure that, should you ask, Paulina would confirm that she had this shirt in her possession." 

"I, I do seem to remember her---Paulina!" she turned her head, calling toward the stairway. Through the gap between Paulina's mom and the door facing, Sam could see Paulina's voluptuous form tripping down the staircase. At her name, she looked up, her mane of dark curls swishing behind her. Her eyes met those of her mother in what was, for once, confusion that was not feigned. Magically, her electric eyes slid from her mother's worried face and aligned with Sam's smirking face. Sam, in response, held the blouse where Paulina could clearly see it, and casually swung it from her pointed index finger. 

Paulina paled, and her mother did not fail to notice. "What--! Get off my door step before someone sees you, freak." 

"Paulina," said her mother, who then moved aside, allowing Sam's body to be seen in her full designer, made-over glory. "That is no way to speak to anyone, much less a concerned classmate. Mama didn't raise you like that." 

"No, Mama," she said, although her heated glare belied her true opinion. Crossing her arms and tossing her hair, she addressed Sam. "What do you want, Manson? And what are you doing with my blouse? You better not have gotten any of your geek germs on it. Do you even know how much that thing costs?" 

Paulina's mother tensed, lips parted, and Sam took the chance to edge in a few words. "A hefty fine and a few years in prison, I would think." 

"What--"

"Relax, they'd probably go easy on you because you're a minor. Oh, no, wait. . . You turned eighteen two weeks ago, didn't you? That's too bad." 

Huffing, she demanded, "What are you talking--" 

"Selling counterfeits is a serious crime, Paulina. I've had this shirt analyzed by experts--which you know I can afford. There's no way this is a genuine Golce & Dabbana." Paulina imitated a fish. 

"It's not mine! I borrowed it from Star," Paulina cried, pleading with her mother.
murdrum_doyle: (fiction)
[community profile] harry100 Prompt #138: An Ending and a Beginning

Severus thought that he must have lived through one crisis too many, because this scene was all too familiar for him to find comfortable. A glass of Ogden's rested in his palm, his feet upon a dingy footrest, and the dying embers of a fire sparked in the hearth. In his eyes were the reflection of the red whiskey bottle, that same red he remembered dancing in her hair.

Tonight he should have been free of her. But he was no fool--

She had died from him years before.
murdrum_doyle: (fiction)
[community profile] muse_prompts Prompt 5/28: Bershon

The nine-year-old's insides were screaming, itching to rip off the maroon lump imprisoning his skin. Every year, several times a year--oh, why did there have to be so many holidays?--it was just a cycle of the same torture. A conglomeration of circus clowns crowded on some relative's lawn, each red head kissing another and pinching the cheek of anyone under the age of twenty.

And once again, Ron found himself becoming a single, unimportant part of one giant red machine. At home he was one of many. But here--here, he was lucky if anyone would remember that he was left by the buffet table. He squeezed his arms around himself, trying to make himself smaller in hope that he may not be trampled upon by the frantic stampede. He wanted to go home. He'd even be nice to Ginny, really, if he could just go home now.

But he couldn't. So Ron would grin his little ears off for the family photos, counting each click of the shutter as he waited for the world to quiet.
murdrum_doyle: (school)

[community profile] daily_prompt Prompt #430: The Chosen

Every college acceptance letter shoved in my mailbox bore some generic congratulations: ". . . You are among the select few. . ." ". . . accomplishments merit acceptance into our family" ". . . we CHOOSE YOU to join our class of 2014. . ."

Dear Colleges:

Who the fish do you think I am, Pikachu? You picked me? Oh, no, no, no, no-No. I chose you. What right has a school--an establishment contingent upon student attendance--to mandate who is and who is not worthy? I sent my repertoire to you. I knew that you would accept me, and then I would chose from you.

Colleges were established to educate those individuals interested in higher learning, not to discriminate between who deserves your mascot on his or her résumé.  How dare you the audacity of assuming that I serve you, you who walks crippled without my tuition and alumna donations?

Some of you hide behind the excuse of research to fuel your elitism--and all the more woe to those who do not. For what good are you if my professor doesn't even have the intention of earning his doctorate?

And don't deny it: some of you set your tuition and fees according to the rank and reach of your prestige. So now even America allows birth circumstances to dictate who steps foot in the future ruling class?

Higher education, straighten your priorities. Students don't exist to inflate your grandeur, you exist to make your students shine.
murdrum_doyle: (fiction)
CHP 1 ) CHP 2 )

{to be continued}
 
murdrum_doyle: (fiction)
I can do better than that, but it'll have to be worth the expense.

Er--

Oh, nothing that requires digging too deep in your pockets.

How much are we talking here?

5000 quid.

I. . . I see.

murdrum_doyle: (life)
And this is life.

I don't know.

I really think that there is something wrong with me-something lurking that I'm scared to unleash.

I'm so scared of it, so ashamed of it, so ignorant about its nature. . . all I can do is ignore it.
murdrum_doyle: (love)
For the past year and a half, I have prided myself on my apathy. Well, in most aspects. Generally, I was just too apathetic to be proud. But when it came to teen "romance," I was an impenetrable wall. I would laugh to myself when my peers discussed the latest shocking breakups and sexcapades. It was so nice to be exempt from the drama.

Oh, bother. I might as well come out and admit it:

I have a crush.

OK? Got it?

I have a big monster crush on someone, and I have no idea why.

I don't think that he is good looking. I do not think that he has what I would consider an ideal bod. Lately, I have discovered that he's not even as smart as he sells himself to be. From my perspective, he has not one good quality (it does not end at what I've just listed).

I've managed to stop hating him, so why am I so attracted to him now?

Perhaps it's just the absence of the burning hatred that I only felt for him--my body cannot adjust to the lack of passion, so it adapts by filling the hole with dreaded attraction.

Just throwing things out there.

Who would have thought that I would become a teen drama llama?
murdrum_doyle: (insecurities)
I wonder why my parents get angry when I cry. Why can't they simply sympathize with me, or, at the least, leave me alone? Why do they have to yell at me and tell me I'm being stupid? Honestly, it's not like I cry all that often. I think that the last time that I seriously broke down into tears was in ninth grade--and I was the only one in the room.

Well, I'm sorry I'm upset that I don't get to have the adolescent period you had. Just because it's over for you obviously means that it's not worth anyone having it. Forgive me for my momentary lapse in judgment. I must be mentally ill, as you so considerately warned. I'll just forget about the situation and become a bag lady one day. Man, I'll have it made! Those single, male hobos better watch out, because there's some hot stuff coming for them!
murdrum_doyle: (insecurities)
I hate my legs. I hate pants, skirts, and dresses. Most of all, I HATE KHAKI PANTS.

Uniforms. Why can't we wear jeans? I mean, we have a dress code with khaki pants, why not just have a jean dress code? Just as simple, easier to afford, and they actually fit.

I have a fat butt, fat thighs, and small waist. Pants are always huge at the waist, hence, I wear a belt, which makes the pants bunch up and make me appear to have man parts.

Plus, stupid blood clots (hereditary) make my legs all blue and freakish. . . . and to think, I'm only almost eighteen. Not ninety. When I'm in college this fall, all the girls will be wearing cute shorts and gym pants. . . I'll be in ugly "curvy" jeans.

:(

What brings all this on? Just a "three hour," unsuccessful khaki hunt from which I only just returned.

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