- Lady: We were about to have our sixth child, and we longed for a larger home.
- Narrator: Little did they know that these covetous, greedy urges would open a doorway TO HELL!
I want a movie about a kid who just so happens to be born a Classic Gothic Hero, but in modern day. His name would be like Byron Dangerfield or something.
Whenever he has EMOTIONS, there are claps of thunder and lightning. Every time he leans against a piece of furniture, it turns out to open a secret passageway leading to some dark secret, until eventually he’s just like “REALLY, GUYS?” All bad dreams are prophetic, even if it’s just that Starbucks will be out of pumpkin spice syrup the next day. Every girl he talks to swoons a lot and has a tyrannical heavy-browed father who are all played by the same actor. Ravens flock around him.
There are inexplicably paintings with moving eyes and moving suits of armor everywhere he goes, even McDonalds. Every time he moves to a new apartment, there is ALWAYS a screaming woman chained up in the room above his, and she invariably sets the place on fire. He’s so over it.
He has never stood upon a moor(on, on; he has to remember to stop using that preposition, it is archaic and it morbs people out) that was not windswept and dreary. After he lost that fifth coat to strong winds he just gave up on North England entirely.
He has never seen a full moon; not entirely. Whenever he tries, he sees but a bit of it through a veil of brooding clouds and the scraggly branches of leafless trees, clawing at the gloom towards its alabaster glow. They are so much like hands, he thinks; the gnarled, withered fingers of man, that fallen, ragged vagabond, reaching -tremblingly, achingly- for a redemption he shall never reach. He also wishes he could stop thinking up all these ridiculous rambling metaphors and similes about everything he sees or does I mean CHRIST it’s embarrassing just having all this purple prose in his head why him? Why is he tormented so?? Why has God chosen to Afflict him thus??? What crime could be so great tha-
He has to remember the exercises his therapist taught him. Deep Breaths… iiiinnn… ooouut…
He tries not to dwell on the injustice of it all. Dwelling just leads to rants. His natural talent for soliloquy and monologue certainly served him well in the theater(he had to give up on acting though; all those sordid love-triangles, jealousy-fueled murder-suicides, and mysterious disappearances that seemed to follow him from company to company[even to a dinner-theater troupe in Cleavland!] got to be too stressful), but it has sent more than a few friends and lovers backing slowly and wide-eyed for the exit. Apparently, flying into 30 minutes of self-pitying heroic couplet when the plumbing breaks is not considered an acceptable reaction by most people but in his defense how was he supposed to know that?!? Besides, broken pipes are serious business; all this wet could give him consumption! He’s supposed to take that in stride??!!?? Byron is also, unfortunately, rather immune to scientific explanations on such matters |:/
It was a fact as inescapable as the fickleness of God and the faithlessness of humanity; Byron Dangerfield of Ravenwood Manor simply could not catch a break u_u
This is more gorgeous than I could have expected in my wildest dreams.
Ok, I admit it.
This chair MIGHT be better than my dad’s…
The girl in the cube next to me just chucked a plastic spider over the wall between us and it hit my hand.
I shrieked so loud that someone in a totally different section just said “There’s a story behind that…”
Today I met a brindle-coated pug.
Her name was Jojo and she was wearing a floofy blue collar with polka dots.
She looked like the world’s tiniest circus zebra.
Moon of my Life, have you finished that report yet?
Woke up feeling like butts, so I’m lying around working on my Halloween costume, which will consist mostly of a huge temporary tattoo on my back…