BNE – Triumphant

I was “invited” to a party last night. And I ruined it. I couldn’t be more proud.

Some big, loud, “look at how much money Mum and Da’ make for me” to-do for a chunder head in the dorms. They rented out the whole damned ball-room in town and then turned it into 12 little chambers of under-age drunken debauchery. It was a fancy dress stumbling swagger and everyone came in the expected five costumes they all knew how to make or find.

Girls – Cat, Devil, Angel, Princess.
Boys – Suit like a gangster, American Superhero, Evil Clown, A Girl (SO ORIGINAL)

Imagine the row I caused when I came in, drenched in corn syrup blood (thanks for sending that recipe from the other week by the way @SciFiFreak) with my bone white skull mask turning a deep red as it soaked into every fibre. No one recognized me (not that they would have without the mask) and they all glued themselves to the walls as I stepped through each room.

I gave out hugs to the drunks, leaving my mark on them in big bands of red that looked like a murdered octopus gave them a squeeze. I slid my hands along the walls like a bloody trail of bread crumbs to show my way back. I came up on the stage in the main room and gave a bow to silent and confused partiers then simply hopped out the back with a deep howl.

I don’t even know why I did all that. No one at the school reads this so it’ll just be between me and the internet I suppose. I killed the party in my own little way and I’ve NEVER felt more alive.

Best. Night. Ever.

FEELING – Triumphant
LISTENING TO – Voltaire – The Headless Waltz


The Hope Virus

My Name is Herbert Miles. I’m seventeen years old, and I seem to be the ONLY one in my class that understands how TRULY meaningless this all is.

I’ve lived at Tiburon Academy for four years now … and I’d have gone crazy by now if it wasn’t for the Internet. This is what keeps me truly sane. Tiburon is a prep school that caters to the spawn of the idle rich … Mums and Dad’s too busy skiing the Alps or sunning in Rio to raise their own kids.

Or, in my case … deceased parents and an alcoholic uncle that doesn’t know how to deal with his nephew’s condition.

I founded THE HOPE VIRUS so I’d have a place to talk with people about the way I feel.

So I won’t have to feel so damn … ALONE all the time.

It’s become pretty popular since then. We got mentions on Fark and Digg (probably for the wrong reasons, but whatever).

Nobody at Tiburon even knows who I am. But on here? I can be confident. Assured by others that whatever I feel is okay. That there are plenty of other kids going through the same things.

It’s not perfect … but nothing is.

Nothing … EVER … is.

LISTENING TO – Horrorpops – Dotted with Hearts