Head over to this thread to submit a song for our February 'Love' playlist that we'll be putting on Spotify!

doodles!

Former MemberFormer Member Posts: 1,876,324 The Mix Honorary Guru
Does anyone else just have to draw if there is a blank piece of paper infront of them?

Just because everyone loves doodles! :hyper:

Me thinks there should be a doodle thread where you post your doodles.
Yep its pointless, but meh. And i'm sure theres lost of talented people on this site, and i'm sure B-A will post some tumbleweed drawings. :p

imageee.th.png

:D

Comments

  • Former MemberFormer Member Posts: 1,876,324 The Mix Honorary Guru
    yeah!
  • Former MemberFormer Member Posts: 1,876,324 The Mix Honorary Guru
    Jordan they are good.

    No, see, I don't doodle. I write poems and stories. I'm writting a novel atm- this is the first chapter of it (I've written more though)

    Xx
  • Former MemberFormer Member Posts: 1,876,324 The Mix Honorary Guru
    I'm terrible at drawing so my doodles aren't worth seeing. I've always got to doodle though, usually flowers for some reason!
  • Former MemberFormer Member Posts: 1,876,324 The Mix Honorary Guru
    Anyone actually read my story opening?
    X
  • Former MemberFormer Member Posts: 1,876,324 The Mix Honorary Guru
    Anyone actually read my story opening?
    X

    Sorry I can't read it, haven't got microsoft office yet :(
  • Former MemberFormer Member Posts: 1,876,324 The Mix Honorary Guru
    Fruit Loop wrote: »
    Sorry I can't read it, haven't got microsoft office yet :(

    excuses. here it is
    >

    Chapter one
    Cold

    The spider circled round, filling in every detail of its already complex web. I half watched it out of my bedroom window, and half concentrated on nothing. It was a weird state of mind to be in. In fact, I don’t think it was my mind at all. Whoever’s it was though, I felt sorry for them, it was indeed dreadful.
    I subconsciously checked the wall clock every now and then. Not really taking notice of the time. I don’t really know why I felt the need to check the time, there was no where I needed to be, or anything I needed to do. It was probably just because time is like the ground of all life, it’s always there. You have to move with it, it won’t move for you. Sometimes things in life are unexplainable, I guess, but if you could explain them it would be no fun... not that there is any anyway. Not anymore. If only I could think of a time I had been happy. All memories seemed to be washed from my mind.
    My room was freezing, but I couldn’t pick up my duvet. It was lying on the floor, and I just didn’t feel the need for it. I’ve always hated the saying “you’ll catch your death of cold” as if death is something that can just be caught, like a fly in a web. I began flicking through images of spiders in my head, wondering if I had ever seen them eat. I couldn’t think of a time I actually had, however I had seen them construct webs. And catch things in them...
    I gasped, and realised how sinister my thoughts were becoming. So I turned away from the window, to face the clock, and I just lay. Lay watching the time pass. I wanted nothing more than to lie there, freezing, however weird that may sound? I just wanted to feel something. ANYTHING. Even if it wasn’t particularly nice! There was no way I could feel something positive, so I didn’t bother trying.
    For days I had been laying in that small, dingy, room. I hadn’t slept, I couldn’t. There were things I needed to think about, but I suppressed them to the back of my mind. Concentrating on anything else I could. By now I knew every speck of paint on my walls, every bit of dust. Every smear of dirt. Eventually I ran out of things to think about, and tried to ignore myself. Ignoring other people is easy; ignoring yourself is something different entirely. Almost like committing suicide- cutting yourself off from the world. I could ignore myself know longer, and my mind wandered back to the important subjects. That I didn’t want to think about. You know how at school there is always a lesson you don’t enjoy? Maths? Science? Spanish? Whatever. But this was like one big subject, a lesson I needed to learn, that I would risk my life to skip. I longed, so much, to let my thoughts wander free- but I had to contain them, like animals in a zoo. If I let them roam alone, then they were sure to stumble across something that could provoke me to think of things I’d prefer not to think of.
    I could overlook myself no longer, and my head automatically glanced down. On the wall, at the end of my bed, was a picture. Of me and... Him. I felt something ice cold run down my cheek, my hand moved up to get it off. Tears. I was crying. The thought made me repulsed. Why should I cry at something so stupid? A picture of two people. But, they weren’t two ordinary people. Not to me anyway. One was me, and I don’t think I’m normal in the slightest. The other was Peter. Peter had such green eyes, such a powerful shade. And such shinning, black hair. Always spiked up in exactly the same fashion, with a floppy fringe. He had glistening white teeth, so white it was unbelievable. His face alone was beautiful, by anyone’s standards. But then, when you looked below the collar, his arms where a pale shade of cream (as was the rest of him) he was all one complexion. Perfectly immaculate. In the photograph he was wearing a black, button up, shirt, and skinny red jeans. You couldn’t see his feet, but I remember he wore converse. They were white, very clean, with black laces. Tied in a perfect bow. He had a pinstriped waistcoat on, with a sterling silver pocket watch, tucked neatly into a pocket.
    There was no occasion, Peter always dressed like this. It’s just the way he was. It was so easy to not notice the rest of the picture though, and concentrate only his eyes. They screamed out at you from the photo paper, calling at you to look into them. Peter had a thin line of black eyeliner under each eye, such a contrast to them, but so well blended in. Almost natural looking. His top lip dipped in the middle, like a heart. His lips such a stunning shade of scarlet.
    I sat up, incredibly quickly, and snatched the picture from the wall. I tore it up into a million little pieces, and scattered them across my room. My head spinning as I did so. I turned over, my face in the pillow, and cried. Like I’d never get to cry again. The tears flowed from my eyes, they wouldn’t stop. I screamed a shrill scream, so loudly, I’m certain my window shook. I practically pulled all remaining tears from my eyes, sat back up and started to the calendar. It was April the 13th. I had to get up, I didn’t want to. But it was necessary.
    I slung my pyjamas on the floor, and picked up the crimson shirt that used to be Peters. It still smelled of Peter. I must have sat, for at least 10 minutes, just sniffing that shirt. Reluctantly, I put it on, and buttoned it up. The buttons were round, a deeper red colour than the shirt, and they shinned as if they had been polished. I looked around for my favourite shorts. They were buried under a pile of other, less liked, clothes. I dug around in the pile till I got hold of them. I sat on my bed and put them on. I loved those shorts so much. Black, and very tight. Done up by a zip, and a silver button, with a heart etched in. The stitching on the legs was white, but it went well with matt black. They went to just above my knees, moulded into the perfect shape of my legs. I stood up again, this time to straighten my hair. As the straighteners glided through my purple hair, I caught them on my hand. The burning sensation was painful. It shot through me like a lightning bolt. My hand flinched away in response. But I continued to straighten my hair. Strand by strand. My hair hung below my shoulders, nearing the middle of my back. When I had finished, I began my make-up. Not much mind, I knew it wouldn’t stay on. Just a little bit of waterproof eyeliner. Black, with pink in the corners. I looked at myself in the mirror. Peter would be proud. I opened my wardrobe, and picked up a shoe box. Carefully, I opened it. I peeled away the grey tissue paper, and stared at the shoes inside. I looked down at them, slowly picked each one up, and placed them beside my pillow on the bed. I sat next to them for a minute, and then placed each one on my feet. I glanced down at the deep blue, healed, shoes on my feet. They had pink ribbons as laces, which went through the small holes. I then tied the satin ribbons round my calves, and into a bow. I ran my fingers down my smooth, colourless legs, over the bright pink ribbons. Peter had got me those shoes. I let out a sigh. As I picked up my clutch bag, I opened my bedroom door. I turned and looked into my room, I knew when I got home it wouldn’t feel the same. I shut the door and walked along the corridor, then down the steep stairs. Walking into the living room, I spotted one of my ribbons on the side. It matched the ones in my shoes, so I decided I would tie it into my hair. Just over the top, like an Alice-band. And into a bow underneath my hair. Before I walked out the front door, I took one last quick look in the mirror. I wondered what Peter would think, if it were possible for him to see me now. After that, I picked up my phone and keys, and I walked out the front door.
    As I was walking down the street, I peeked into the windows of other people’s houses. It was early, so most were covered with drapes or curtains. But, as I looked into the few houses that weren’t, I saw families. Families sitting round tables, having conversations, eating breakfast, playing board games. All happy family things to do. When I was a child, never did we sit round a table as a family. It was all chaotic, with my brothers off to work. Often did Peter stay with us, and we both got cared for by my uncle. I grew up surrounded by boys and men, I’ve never lived with another women. Apart from those first few days in hospital with, and I use this word very loosely, mum. I never really wanted a mother figure, because from what I had been told, the women who gave birth to me was nothing more than a bad piece of work. I continued my journey, my thoughts still on the subject of my family. How different would my life of been if I’d lived with her? I began to walk down the little alley way, it was a shortcut. That alley was so long yet so thin, once you had began to walk down it- you felt almost trapped. Especially as you neared the middle, neither end could be seen. For a while, I hadn’t really liked going down that alley, in fact I was still reluctant. Just thinking who could be down there... it sent shivers down my spine. Every time I reached the end of the alley way I would breathe a sigh of relief. As far as I knew, no one had died down there, but the possibility, the fear, was still lurking. I leaned against the wall, at the end of the alley way. I could already see the day in my mind, the day that I was living in now, the day that was happening, the day that I didn’t want and the day that might end up killing me.


    X
  • Former MemberFormer Member Posts: 1,876,324 The Mix Honorary Guru
    I Refuse *shuts Eyes*
  • Former MemberFormer Member Posts: 1,876,324 The Mix Honorary Guru
    I read your ssttooopppiiddd essey XD
    X
  • Former MemberFormer Member Posts: 1,876,324 The Mix Honorary Guru
    I've just read it all, I think it's good! :thumb: I wish I could write like that!
  • Former MemberFormer Member Posts: 1,876,324 The Mix Honorary Guru
    Dude, if I have a *wall* in front of me I have to doodle on it.
    Don't leave me alone with a pen too long unless you're going to give me paper as well - I'll make an absolute mess.
Sign In or Register to comment.