likesoldiersdo's Journal

ing hell! Bank holidays are the bane of my life.

Well. Not exactly. I mean, I love bank holidays simply for the fact that I can go to the pub on a Sunday night, drink too much beer and then I have another day to recover. That's awesome.

However, the bad part: family at home. I'm used to the family being at work or school when I'm home, so I don't like having to keep the music low, watch what I do when, eat at normal times or have to announce that I'm going out. I don't like to be told what to do and when.


I have to say though that the weather is perfect for today's bank holiday. It's cold, windy, wet and generally a day to stay in with an internet connection and music. I've got a bag of Haribo, the sounds of the Angelic Upstarts and my laptop.

I had to do this as an exercise for English class... only was supposed to write a few sentences on a given topic, and mine was "Anger as a Boiling Liquid".


Her anger built up inside her as emotions threatened to reach boiling point. Fuming, she spat her words out as he stood burning with humiliation. After a moment her anger died down slightly and she stood simmering until he left the room.

In the words of Baz Luhrmann-

Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of '99
Wear Sunscreen.
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be
it. The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by
scientists whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable
than my own meandering experience
I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth;
oh nevermind; you will not understand the power and
beauty of your youth until they have faded.
But trust me, in 20 years you'll look back at photos of yourself
and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before
you and how fabulous you really looked
You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as
effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum.
The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that
never crossed your worried mind;
the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing everyday that scares you

Sing

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts,
don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss

Don't waste your time on jealousy;
sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind
the race is long, and in the end, it's only with yourself.

Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults;
if you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what
you want to do with your life
the most interesting people I know didn't know at 22
what they wanted to do with their lives,
some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don't.

Get plenty of calcium.

Be kind to your knees, you'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't,
maybe you'll have children,maybe you won't,
maybe you'll divorce at 40,
maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary
what ever you do, don't congratulate yourself
too much or berate yourself either
your choices are half chance, so are everybody else's.
Enjoy your body,
use it every way you can
don't be afraid of it, or what other people think of it,
it's the greatest instrument you'll ever own..

Dance…even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room.

Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.

Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents,
you never know when they'll be gone for good.

Be nice to your siblings;
they are the best link to your past
and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go,
but for the precious few you should hold on.
Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle
because the older you get,
the more you need the people you knew when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard;
live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths,
prices will rise,
politicians will philander,
you too will get old,
and when you do you'll fantasize that when you were young
prices were reasonable,
politicians were noble
and children respected their elders.

Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you.
Maybe you have a trust fund,
maybe you have a wealthy spouse;
but you never know when either one might run out.

Don't mess too much with your hair,
or by the time you're 40, it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but,
be patient with those who supply it.
Advice is a form of nostalgia,
dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal,
wiping it off,
painting over the ugly parts and recycling
it for more than it's worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen

Some guy wrote this on MySpace, read this and take it in. This isn't just aimed at guys either...

"I know way too many really beautiful girls who think they don't look good... It hurts... because it's our fault, guys I mean. We make girls feel like they have to be perfect. You know what I mean, flat stomach, huge boobs, round booty, long legs, big lips, and on top of all that, they have to dress like a whore, and be one as well... nobody can measure up to that... and its not fair... because nobody should have to. The little imperfections are what make people special. If everyone was perfect the world would be so boring, variety is what makes life interesting. So guys, stop making girls have to live up to your, I'm sorry, our... deluded fantasy visions of perfection. Stop acting like boys and start being men... realize that women don't exist to fufill our sexual desires. Stop talking to them solely to get with them, be nice to them because you want to be their friend, not because you want to hook up with them. Say nice things about them not to flatter them in hopes that you'll get some, but because you know they like to hear them. In short... we need to grow up and stop acting like freakin retarded little boys"




...seriously, what happened to a litte romance, eh?

She stood by the bus stop, slightly apart from other people. Her hair was long-ish, past shoulder length, and was a kind of golden-brown. At the present, it was curled and hanging loosely. She had warm green eyes that managed to look cold and unwelcoming when she wanted to be left alone.

She was wearing a pair of faded jeans that were torn on both knees, and were slightly loose, almost like the jeans skaters wore. She had three belts around her waist; two metal studded belts and a belt that looked like a huge measuering tape, which was the idea. Her shirt was bearing the name of some old punk band. The leather biker's jacket she wore was ripped in a few places, and was held together with a safety pin or two. It was covered in profanities, the Anarchy symbol, pieces of material with band names on, and buttons with messages or symbols on. She wore alot of studded or spiked jewellery, and her lip was pierced twice in the middle. Her eyes were lined in black eyeliner, which was a tad smudged.

A few people waiting for the bus were either staring at her or edging away from her. If Lorian was aware of this, she didn't show it. She was too absorbed in her music, which was coming from the headphones in her ears. A couple of girls walked past, looking at Lorian as if she was something that shouldn't be allowed to walk in the street, and Lorian gave the girls an even filthier look.
"Bitch." One of them said over her shoulder as the girls kept on walking. Unfazed, Lorian plugged the earphones back into her ears and leaned against the wall of the bus stop.

* * *


Age: 18
  
Tattoos: Not yet
 
Piercings: Lip twice, ears twice on each ear.
 
Siblings: Two older brothers.
 
Hair color: Golden-brown at the mo.
 
Eye color: Green

 

Weakness: Not good at being able to share my feelings and sometimes being too opinionated.
 
Fear: Pain

 

Who is your best friend: Lars
 

 

Do you:

 
Drink: Yes
 
Smoke: Yes
 
Swear: Yes

 

 

Believe in yourself: Sometimes
 
Trust other people easily: Nope
 
Play an instrument: Bass

The pub was dingy and dimly lit, but it was considered a second home to the regulars. From the outside it was just a small-ish pub, with windows in need of a good clean. The front entrance was a double stained-glass window wooden door, with a wooden archway bearing over the door. As one entered the pub, it took a few seconds to get used to the darkness. The first thing that came into view was the bar, of which there was always a few people sitting. The barman, a man well into his forties, was always behind the bar.

There were tables scattered around the room, all old wooden tables which looked as though they were about to break in two at any moment. An archway to the left lead the way to another smaller room which contained a lonely-looking snooker table, and a dartboard. This room was lighter than the rest of the pub, though not much more. There were two windows in this room, one at the front and one at the back of the room, which was next to a door that lead to the "beer garden" as it was called.

Back through to the main area of the pub, and if one walked to the right side of the room this time, there was a small wooden area, which was a small stage. It was only raised about ten centimetres above the ground, but it was good enough for bands to play there. And indeed, one band did regularly play there. Tom, the barman, always allowed this particular band to have their band practices on this stage during the day, which worked well as it provided free entertainment for Tom and the rest of the pub, and allowed the band to practice. Of course, they did sometimes do gigs there in the evenings, for which they were paid.

The terrace out the back, which was named the "Beer Garden", was really just a patio with five table-benches. It was surrounded by a low brick wall so that unless you jumped the wall -which was not the idea- you had to go round to the front of the pub to get in.

"All I wanna do, is have some fun.. I got a feeling I'm not the only-"
"For crying out loud woman, shut up already!"
"Make me, dammit!"
"Oh yeah, so fucking mature!"
"What, and you're not?"
"I'm a lot more mature than you are, woman!"
"I do have a name you know!"

This shouting match was echoed around the small cramped apartment. The two participants of the argument were standing on opposite sides of the room, which was a lounge as well as a kitchen and dining room. The female, a woman with bright red hair and striking green eyes, was sighing in exasperation. The man, a good few years older than the woman, was tall with dark hair that just reached his shoulders. He had his eyebrow and ears pierced, and currently had an annoyed frown on his face.

This was a normal situation in the Holden household. The two people were married, as one might guess, although very young. Amber was just 39, and Bill was 45. They had five children, the oldest being 22 and the youngest being 16.

Amber had been 17 when she met Bill, and two months later she was pregnant. They married in the summer of that year, and 22 years later they were still living like they were still teenagers. The flat was often filled with people as Bill liked to host wild parties, and the while the kids were given alot of freedom to do as they chose, Amber could be very strict with them when she felt the need. 

In the brief silence that followed the argument, the front door opened and a minute later one of their children came through the hallway into the lounge. She was carrying a huge piece of canvas with the beginnings of a piece of artwork on it, and was struggling to carry it. As soon as she got into the lounge she propped it up against a wall and walked over to the fridge, all the while ignoring her parents. She had dark blue hair, short, and at least 11 piercings; 7 earrings, two nose studs, the left side of her lip and her right eyebrow.

"Josie, for cryin' out loud girl do you have to bring that art here all the time?" Bill said suddenly, turning to his daughter.
"Yes, dad, it's my college work." She said, opening the fridge and getting out a carton of juice before pouring a glass.
“Can’t you at least make it small or something?”
“No, dad, I can’t. Gawd.” Josie finished drinking, put the glass in the sink, rolled her eyes and then retreated to her room.
 
Two minutes later, a boy stumbled into the lounge. He was wearing an oversized shirt and boxers, and looked as though he had just woken up. His waist-length hair was tangled and knotted. He slumped onto the couch.
“Where’s Dan?” He asked.
“I don’t know. Guess he stayed out last night.” Amber replied casually, as if it was completely normal for her 16-year-old son to stay out all night without anyone knowing.
 
As if on cue, the front door opened and a boy stepped through it, slamming it shut.
“Alright guys?” He said simply.
“Dan if you’re gonna stay out all night, at least turn your phone off. That pile of shit rang at, like, half two this morning.” The first boy, Chris, said irritably.
“Ah shit, sorry.” Dan said shrugging and then headed to the fridge.
 
“When’s Pink getting home?” Chris asked.
“’Bout half one or something, I think.” Bill said, shrugging. Pink was his and Amber’s first child, and was now 22. He was named after Pink Floyd; both the band and the character in The Wall. Amber sighed.
“Dammit Bill, he’s coming home at half two!” She said, shaking her head before muttering, “Flippin’ hell!”
 
Suddenly there was a shriek, followed by a string of expletives. A sixteen-year-old girl stomped into the lounge.
“I need a shitload of paper towels.” She said sounding annoyed. She had shoulder length slightly wavy hair that was golden brown. Her blue eyes were lined in brown eyeliner and she was wearing a turquoise shirt with a lime green vest top underneath.
“What’ve you done now?” Chris asked, turning around. “Nice shirt by the way.”
”Thanks. I’ve just managed to drop a bottle of water onto that English essay.” Marzipan replied. Her strange name was due to her father, and one could only guess why he chose to name his first daughter so strangely.
 
Soon everything was quiet in the Holden household. The only sounds were the faint noise of Dan’s guitar, and Bill’s frustrated sounds as he tried to glue a photo frame back together. Someone knocked on the front door, and Bill looked at Amber.
“Well, are you going to open the door or not?” He said.
“What do you think I am, your slave?” Amber replied.
“Just open the goddamn door, I’m busy.” Bill said. Amber went and opened the door.
“Yo Mrs Holden, sup? Is Dan here?” A teenager stood in the hallway outside the door.
“Yeah, he’ll be in his room.” Amber replied, letting the boy into the flat. He was wearing baggy clothes – faded jeans and a huge white t-shirt – and white shoes. There was a black cap on his head, tilted at an angle.



 Okay, comment or message me, I'd like to know what y'all though... is it worth me carrying on and making this into a proper story? Lemme know!

"Why not...?"

The three boys stood outside the department store. It was a cold day and the rain was drizzling down. It was almost Christmas, and there were plenty of people bustling down the busy streets, doing last minute shopping. This particular department store boasted bright decorations in the window, and two middle-aged women were struggling to wrap gold tinsel around a tilted Christmas tree.
"So." One of the boys said.
"Well, are we going to do this?" The second boy said, almost impatiently, lifting his cap off his head to scratch an itch.
"Why not?" The third boy said, looking alot less convinced than he sounded. He gave a casual shrug, as if to try and prove he wasn't the slightest bit nervous.

The first boy - the oldest - lead the way into the store. No one gave them a second glance, as it wasn't unusual for teenagers to shop in this store. A large sign told customers that Clothing is on level 1, Electronics is on level 2 and Toys and Children's is on level 3. The three boys made their way to the second level in silence.

When they stepped off the escalator, the boy with the cap headed over to the music section. The other two followed him and began looking at various CDs.
"Right, you wanna do this, guys?" The older one said quietly.
"Sure." The boy in the cap said, shrugging.
"Why not?" The third boy said, for the second time that day.
"Here you go, then." The first boy said, handing him a CD case. The third boy looked at.
"Well go on then, are you going to or not?" The older boy urged, and then, with fumbling hands, the third boy opened the CD case and quickly stuffed the disk into the front pocket of his bag. He looked around nervously, in case anyone had seen him, but no one had. In fact, they were the only ones in the music section, which was hidden from view of any sales people at the tills. The boy in the cap sighed with relief and then the three of them began to leave the shop.

They were almost out of the shop when a security guard came up to them.
"Excuse me, boys, come with me please." Instantly, the boy in the cap and the older boy ran for it, sprinting out of the shop and up the road. A few seconds later, they were lost in the bustling crowd. The thrd boy looked around him, terrified. The guard grabbed hold of his arm and lead him to the back of the shop into a room which had TV screens with CCTV footage on them.

"Thought it would be a good idea to see if you could steal a CD, did you boy? Thought you were being clever did you?" The guard said, almost lazily, as he picked up the phone and dialed for the police. The boy stood there, in shock at what was happening. All this was happening, he could be arrested, and all because of his friends' stupid ideas. Shoplifting; hah, why not?

In Anticipation Of The Night

Hannah stood in front of the mirror, applying a large amount of mascara to her eyelashes, both top and bottom lashes. She put the mascara brush back into the bottle and screwed it tightly shut. Then, she dabbed a little glitter over her eyelids and finally, she applied a light plum lipstick to her lips before stepping back to admire herself in the mirror. For someone who normally looked as though she'd never seen a bottle of mascara before, she really didn't look all that bad. Smiling a little, she turned to the old wooden wardrobe behind her. She opened it and pulled out half of the clothes inside. After briefly sorting through them, she pulled out the clothes she wanted: a short black skirt that her mother would never have approved of, and an off the shoulder top that was exactly the same shade as her lipstick. Silently, she wriggled into the chosen garments and turned back to the mirror. Something was missing. Then her eye caught an old jewellery box her grandmother had given to her when Hannah was just a child. She picked it up and opened it. Inside was an assotment of necklaces and bracelets. Hannah picked out a glittery silver necklace and matching bracelet and put them both on. Perfect, she smiled. She looked just like she went out to dodgy backstreet nightclubs every weekend.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her mobile phone ringing. She leaned across her bed and picked it up off the bedside table.
"Hello?" She said into the phone.
"Hannah, you nearly ready?I got a car ready and waiting to pick you up." The voice on the other end of the line said, sounding slightly impatient. 
"I'm ready. See you soon." Hannah said and ended the call. She dropped her phone onto the bed as she left the room.

Two minutes later, she left the house, closing the door with a quiet click. There was only one car in sight, and Hannah assumed that was the one that was waiting for her. She walked over, barely managing to keep upright in her ridiculously high heels, and opened the passenger door. A man she knew well looked at her from the driver's seat.
"Evening Hannah, you look... nice." He said, barely managing to supress a smile.
"Shut up, Dan! Let's get this operation underway. And not one crack about what I have to wear." Hannah said in reply, getting into the car and fastening her seatbelt. The man said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
"Hey, you shoulda thought about that before you joined the police force!"

This is all based on a writing prompt from RyceBowl:


Write about a town you pass through.


It was a hot summers day, the kind where everything is mellow and happy. I wandered down the deserted high street, my eyes roaming to the shops on both sides of the road. There were only about five shops, but all had colourful window displays. A grocers, butchers, stationery shop, gift shop and a newsagents were the only shops. I was walking through the centre of town. I was feeling dehydrated so I crossed the deserted road and entered the newsagents. The door opened with a clang and the middle-aged woman behind the counter looked up from her magazine. I smiled and she returned to her reading. I ambled up the narrow aisle to the ice cream counter and selected one before taking it up to the till.

I opened the door again, stepping out into the bright sunlight. I looked up at the deep blue sky, which was completely empty of clouds. Then I began walking further down the road as I unwrapped my ice cream. I followed the street until I reached an old crumbling church. It wasn't derelict, but was old. The stained glass windows were coloured with the most brilliant colours I'd ever seen in a church and I couldn't help but look at them for a while. I carried on walking past the church and came to the town graveyard, which was overgrown and yet beautiful. Past the graveyard the road ended at a wooden gate and a dirt track lead the way to a farm, hidden behind the huge green trees and bushes. I read the small wooden sign which told me the name of the farm. The gate was closed and I didn't want to tresspass so I turned and began walking back up to the small inn where I was staying. In the whole time I had been looking around the town, I'd only seen about two people.