xpen-fifteen

Hey Sophia bear. I know you have work, but we're going to hang out after. I have a class at five, but once that's done I'm all yours. I smiled as I read the text; I swear to God that I read it more than twenty times over. Even in a depressing, infuriating world there was one person who could make me smile, especially when I didn't want to. That was Marcus. He was your stereotypical boy-next-door kind of guy, particularly to me. He lived just down the road from me since before I could remember being without him, and as little kids we were stuck together like a kid's tongue to a cold pole in the winter time: it was painful, and quite uncomfo

Scott found himself staring at the one person he truly despised, the one person he wised had died in the entirety of the massacre. His unkempt brown hair was always spilling out from his wool hat, and his unshaven face only added to his messy appearance. The various browns and greens of his clothes were tainted with red blood, his eyes bloodshot (although Scott couldn't tell if it was because of fear or from drugs; it could have been either or). Michael Rice stared back at him with his dark green eyes. His older brother stared back at him. "You survived too?" Michael asked. "No. I'm a zombie. I've come to eat you." Scott taunted his broth

I never fully understood why I did my hair in the mornings. Every day I would wake up at 6:30 (even on the weekends) and right away my hair would be done. I showered every night before bed, so it would always be dry and clean for the morning. Still, I never could understand why I did. I could never understand why I kept to the routine of straightening my long brown hair, just to wash it against that night and have to straighten it again the next morning. It seemed rather pointless to me. I still did it, though. The morning before last was like any other; I got up at 6:30 and began to straighten my hair. Just like any other day. I didn't kno