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Post by MICHEAL "THATCH" THATCHER on Jul 22, 2010 1:35:24 GMT -5
THEY WORK HARD TO BLEND IN
JUST A FEW DIMENSIONS
SO IT SEEMS...[/color][/font][/size] The sun was bright and warm on Thatch's skin. Cool spray blew behind his back, flung off the enormous center fountain by a breeze. He was sitting on the edge of that fountain, an acoustic guitar resting against him. His fingers dexterously picked a Spanish love song off the nylons strings. He sung along to the melody with "ooh"s and "la"s, not knowing any Spanish other than numbers up to ten and foods.
He tapped his foot to the rhythm, eyes shut. He was wearing heavy, military issue boots. He's bought them from a second hand store a couple years back, and they'd seen plenty of use. They made a solid thud against the pavement, setting a base beat to the quick tempo of the song. To his left, his guitar case sat open, a lonely dollar and handful of change lying inside. There was also a red bandanna lying inside, and that was Thatch's. He couldn't write in a straight line very well, so a pity sign saying "Blind, Hungry, 17 years old" wouldn't necessarily have turned out the way he'd intended. It would have looked like a toddler wrote it. So instead he had a bandanna to cover his eyes with. He wasn't in the mood to have something on his face though, it was too warm for that. He would have to make do with talent and good looks alone.
Around him he could hear the few people wandering around, the splashing in the fountain, and conversations. He always smiled when he heard people say something about him, although he would have preferred to have their money do the talking for them. Finishing the song, he paused to solicit himself.
"Support you local rising artists, we are as starving as we say we are! I take requests!"
He strummed loudly, making it up as he went along. He heard someone walk by, a little girl's voice asked for ice cream. He switched his tune to the song "Daughters," singing along to the gentle tune. "so fathers be good to your daughters, daughters will live like you do..." the people paused and moved away, and he sang anyway. "Girls become lovers, who turn into mothers, so mothers be good to your daughters too~..."
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Word Count: 433
Tagged: Open
Notes: First Post! |
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Post by STEVEN RANSOM PARKER on Jul 23, 2010 19:47:15 GMT -5
Steven walked along the walk, hands in his pockets as he took in the day and the people around him. There were several people out and why not it was a nice day. The black of his clothes attracted the sun, but he didn’t mind. As long as the day didn’t get much warmer he would be comfortable.
The day had started uneventfully. Most of stevens days were uneventful. He’d woken up on the couch in the lounge, his mouth tasting like cotton balls and his arm sore having been slung over his eyes most of the night. Steve usually found himself on the couch in the lounge on nights he wasn’t sleeping with someone. He didn’t like sleeping in his bed alone. The thought of an empty bed and cold sheets just wasn’t appealing to him. It wasn’t just because he was a sex addict, it was mostly just because he liked having the body warmth of someone else next to him. Someone he could wrap around and cuddle up next to. He enjoyed that feeling. It didn’t always come with having sex, but a lot of the times people did like that whole after sex cuddle and that’s what he enjoyed.
After stretching himself out he headed back to his room for an ice long shower. The day just wasn’t started until he had his shower and teeth brushed. Usually if he didn’t get that done it was going to be a shitty day. After that he rolled himself a joint had his munchies and practiced on his guitar for a good two hours. His fingers were aching and he rolled himself another joint and decided he needed to get outside. The sun was teasing him through the window, something he’d just noticed. Usually when he was playing his guitar he was in a zone. Not much could puncture it until he got out himself.
So after setting out with no destination he found himself here, the park. He ran a hand through his black hair, knocking the end of his sunglasses so he fixed it. A familiar song hit him then and he turned his eyes wondering over the park till they fell on the tall thin man that was playing. Quirking a brow he made his way over towards the guy, placing his hands in his pockets as he listened, enjoying to the sound. He was pretty good, Sounded good too. When the guy finished he clapped giving him a grin. You’re pretty good..he said. You always play here at the park?he asked. I don’t recall seeing you before…
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Post by MICHEAL "THATCH" THATCHER on Jul 24, 2010 15:07:13 GMT -5
THEY WORK HARD TO BLEND IN
JUST A FEW DIMENSIONS
SO IT SEEMS...[/color][/font][/size] Thatch looked up toward the voice. He actually preferred to look slightly to the left or right of whoever was speaking to him, just because he could hear them that much better than. However people tended to get irritated when he did that, thinking it rude, so he looked straight at Steven. "Thanks. I just come play when I can. This is the first time I've been in this part though." It was true, he usually stayed closer to Northern Downpour. Lately though he'd felt more confident wandering farther away, like into the Park's center rather than the outskirts. His ringers roved the strings, switching c chord to g chord and back, "Have any requests?"
This guy had a certain personality about him that Thatch could pick up easily. Slow, easy voice, and an odd but familiar smell. Past the vacant stare, lack of blinking and slight corneal scarring, it was hard to tell that Thatch was blind. He liked to keep it that way most of the time, so that people didn't try and baby him. Unless of course he was trying to get pity points for cash.
"Do you play?" he asked, shifting the guitar in his lap. It was old and a little faded, but that was just a sign of it's use. That guitar had traveled all over the place, in fact it had been almost everywhere that Thatch had. It was the instrument of meals and the extra bits of cash that allowed him the tiny bit of freedom other teens enjoyed all the time. Now that his board and many meals were free, he was finding he had plenty of extra cash. Not enough to go off on his own, but...enough.
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Word Count: 340
Tagged: Open |
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