Bc Of Metaphor - Tumblr Posts

@lcngdays - pete & remy; the long walk!

Pete's face was calm, that of someone older beyond him, and maybe that's what was scariest.

there was an apathy that only a 17-ish boy could have in his life, where even death is an afterthought to the act of memorial, like the funeral was the cake to him ; death, the disease hidden inside. A lack of existence, an absence, just oblivion. That's what this was, and that's what McVries was going after. Insane, fucking insane, maybe he always has been.

Pete bends down like a broken bulky lawn-chair after it'd been kicked in, tying his shoe all scuffed with mud and grass stains from the rain this morning as they talk. The school was busy as it flooded open like a cracked egg, chattering and loud, the metal fenced gate shuddering with the stampede as they went by, far enough to be comfortable; close enough to be masking. He was calm in the ways he shouldn't be, casual, you can't tell if its a joke or not. — in a way unique to Pete, you know it's not, but you pray it is. a poison that only gets worse, toxins congealing, growing, concentrating in the pouch of your inner cheek ; his fucked up sense of humor.

Remy knew him just long enough to know it's not. That's worse, that you have to question it, question if he's fucking with you, and pray he is in the way it'd make you hate him. He wants you to hate him. He'd wanted it for a long time now. maybe now this'll do it, finally tip you off, break you down.

McVries leans back up, hushed tones all nonchalant on broader shoulders clad in a camo-patterned jacket he's had for as long as you've known him, the striking scar on his tanned face like the beginning of the end; knowing this was coming, but now he was dedicated. It'd only been a few months time since it healed. Something changed. Something never went back.

” I don't. “ he concedes. easily. too easily. it means nothing. ” But I'm just as shit as the people still signin' up for it come registration. “

like stabbing an aching wound, one he knew was torn open for a long time now — sentimental bastard — one he didn't seem to care about, now, when it mattered most. the way it's almost easy conversation is like nausea lining the stomach as Pete grabs his backpack from a puddled bench, sky overcast, his eyes just as sharp. A normal school day, except it's not, except it's not. Apathy — always the reaper — she changed him.

or maybe he just changed.