Post by STORY MORDECAI GUERRERO on Apr 13, 2012 5:44:08 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #5C5C5C; true] she's got a smile so sweet it's every little thing for my head down to her feet out of the magazine and i seen her on the tv i love the song she sings cause when i turn her on it's like she singing to me and every word she means like it could be about me (it could be about me) she sounds to me she sounds like sex on the radio gotta admit this feelings legit; Story was one of those “special snowflakes” that elementary school teachers so often spoke about. Those extra special people who needed extra special attention. The biggest difference between Story and any other “special snowflake” was that he thought of himself as the exact opposite. Seventeen years of being told he should have been an abortion meant that he found it hard to believe he could do any good in this world. But today? Today he felt pretty damn good. He felt like he could do something good for once. He felt okay for the first time in a long, long time. It couldn’t remember the last time he had felt remotely hopeful. The last time he had felt anything positive about himself. Like he could do something right. It was surreal to be happy. It was unfamiliar and he wasn’t fully sure what to do with these feelings. The only times he had really felt like this was when he was with Arista, so feeling his content with things when she wasn’t around was new to him. And like most children with something new, like a food, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it or how to react toward it. So the mixed race mutt had opted for the only thing he could really think to do with his pleasure: he had smoked half a blunt (the other half was tucked away somewhere safe) and decided that he was going to paint. He had decided that he didn’t care if the school didn’t like it, they could paint it over if it was such a problem. Plastic and newspapers were laid out over the floor and furniture because he knew he could get messy and didn’t want Ollie mad at him and he had gotten to work with paints he borrowed from the art room. Hand prints were left on the bottles and brushes were scattered about the laid out plastic and papers and a few spills and splatters decorated the covering. Paint was spread up both of his arms, his forehead and cheeks, and even managed to reach his the back of his head. On the left side right over top of his surgery scar, a long and thin strip where hair refused to grow. The paint joined the fabrics of his muscle shirt and jeans and even the shoes he wore. A few tiny splatters on his sunglasses and some on the hoodie he had recently discarded. By this point it was difficult to tell what parts of his body were tattoo and what was simply paint. Slightly glazed eyes that peered out from under the sunglasses and his recently acquired laptop playing Nicki Minaj for the time being. He sang along to the parts that he knew well enough and shook his little rump whenever he remembered that music was even playing. An elaborate silhouette of a tree had been painted on the wall on his side of the dorm, dozens—possibly hundreds—of branches reaching out to each corner. As if the tree was swaying in a strong wind. He had taken a brief break to let it dry a bit before covering his hands in bright colors to add leaves to the swaying tree. He coated his knuckles and fingers so when he made a fist the part of his hand he would punch with would leave a large imprint, reaching up for the highest branch of his painted tree and making a nice big fist imprint for a leaf. “There you go, Toni. The tippy top of the tree flying high,” |
What he hadn’t noticed in his elaborate adventures with his wall and the paint on his hands was that Ollie was back, so when he spun around from his perch on the bedside table to see her he almost fell off of it. Saved himself by hopping. “Cheerilee! Look what I made! You’re just in time to decorate it!”[/color] He was excited beyond reason and the fact that he wasn’t trying to cover the huge scars that the muscle shirt exposed was a big step for him.
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