The Doll named Kie

In a house on a hill away from the people, placed carefully in a window is a doll named Kie. Made of porcelain fine and white, her lips red like fresh blood, her cheeks extra pink to bring out her marble green eyes which were partially hidden behind black curls. Her hands clasped as best as they could be with dolly hands, her head had been turned to face outside the window at the world. From this window she could see little towns where people were getting ready for festivals, she could see the rising houses in he suburbs, and she could see the City, glistening despite all its grime and scandal. It was in front of this window she sat, watching and waiting, silently though as she was made to be that way.

This doll, Kie, hadn't just been placed in this window by unseen hands. When she had been first brought to the house on the hill, a woman in her twenties owned her. She would talk to the doll, dress it up in various coloured dresses, only the finest purple silks and green brocade satin jackets and when the woman had given birth to a little girl named Jenny, the doll was brought to witness the child's first glimpse of the world. 

The child, Jenny, had reached out with her little baby hands and tugged on the dress, causing a small tear in the fabric. 

"Oh, Jenny!" The woman gasped. And the doll was whisked away, back to her place at the window. Crooked, lopsided, and her dress now torn, the doll didn't care. She was happy to have seen the baby. The woman will come back and place me facing out the window, thought the doll. Then perhaps I can see more pretty children. 

But the woman did not come back for a long time. For six years the doll sat watching the little Jenny grow up, meeting Jenny's lovely hazel eyes with her own seemingly dispassionate green one. Other dolls were brought to the house on the hill, though none as fine as Kie, and every day she told herself, The woman will come back.

One day, while it was raining, the woman returned to the window and the doll. She sighed and picked the doll, cradling it in her arms. She rocked the doll as if it were alive, (which it was in some sense) and unconsciously began to smile. The doll smiled inwardly, I knew she would come back. And as this shared moment between the doll's inner human and the woman's inner child went on, something passed between them. A jolt, a scatter of thoughts and feelings, of pictures real and imagined. The woman gasped, and dropped the doll. 

Oh my, that was an odd sound, thought the doll as her small porcelain face tapped the edge of the leg of the table beneath the window. A crack spread along her faded cheeks as the woman bent down to pick her up. Still a bit shaken, the woman put the doll back in the window and ran to speak to her husband about moving into the City. The doll smiled,  Oh goodie, the City. I've always wanted to see the City.

Two months later the family of the house on the hill moved into the City that glistened despite all its grime and scandal. A week later they were shot down by a boy who was promptly shot by a girl who lived in the apartment upstairs. Lucinda Violet Williams looked in on the family, sighed, closed the door, locked it with a little silver key and drew an X in red chalk across the door. 

"Another one bites the dust." She whispered, as she climbed the stairs back to her apartment.

The doll is not in the apartment. The doll is not in the house on the hill. She fell out of a box while the family was moving in, little Jenny saw, but didn't say anything. She climbed up the stairs to the apartment with her parents and never looked back. The day they were shot, just before the boy arrived, Trina Walsh saw the doll in the gutter, a large crack across her face, a eye missing, and her red lips had lost their luster.  Trina picked up the doll, whose inner human was now on the brink of that soul extinguishing event of death, and wrapped it in her scarf. The boy came by, saw the girl and being in the kind mood he was, pushed her into the gutter, kicking her repeatedly until a little line of blood escaped her lips, staining them the color the doll's had once been.  

The doll is presently nowhere to be found.

If you thought the City was like any other city you may live in or may have heard of, you're very wrong. There's a certain way things are supposed to happen in the City, there are certain rules that must be followed. Consider the City a phase of life we all go through in some shape or form. There are people who pass on by, there are people who stop and visit, and there are those who make a living off the misery, the scandal, and the glitter of the lovely horror that be the City. 

Welcome Home.

Reintroductions, (it's all about moi)

I change personalities like I change clothes, my moods only last as long as a can of coke.

 I panic when situations involve other people, such as relationship status in general, occur without warning. 

I hate the sun, and enjoy cold, windy, blue grey, overcast days. I don't enjoy getting wet.

 I don't have a style that you can label as "Goth" or "Punk", I'm a perfect blend of vintage, mod, goth(lol, really.), punk, pop, everything. 

My friends are figuring out the perfect gift is a giftcard. I won't think they don't care, it would be impossible to figure out what I want for a birthday present.

 I drink coke by the liter, for some reason there is never a shortage of coke in my life, simply because I demand it.

 I seriously go out of my way to make the people I care about happy. 

I love going with people to shop, I love walking around with them, waiting for them to try on clothes. My way of shopping is (silly, don't judge me) look it up online, call and make sure they have it, put it on hold and then go pick it up. I spend a max of two minutes actually at the mall. Note: I rarely ever shop for myself, I can't wear half the things I would like to.)  :( oh well. 

My music is not one genre, or one band at a time. I find music in pairs at a time. Like I found Dresden Dolls and Eisley, Coheed & Cambria and Nine Inch Nails, something like that. I never listen to what people expect me to, except Keeley, Prava, and Jacob seem to just guess right which I love. The more music I have in common with someone the less I like them. Almost as if they have nothing to offer.

I like the idea of reincarnation.

I don't (I don't know) understand my tone when I'm talking to people. So what I think sounds calm, they think I'm yelling. 

I can hear you better when I'm not looking at you. 

If God wanted to punish me in one way it would be to take away my sight. I live through a camera lens. From one picture I can remember how I felt, how people felt, what we said, what interesting thing happened that inspired me to take the picture. 

I feel like the world is my canvas and if it isn't pretty to me, it's not right. I fight to perfect everything I do, to the last second and if I can't put heart into it I simply do not bother. 

I like world history far more than the history of the United States. Why? I like how it all overlaps, how we aren't focusd on one section of history. We all grew together to what we are presently, it seems pointless....nevermind.

I expect disappointment. I always have a back up plan. I never trust people to do what they say they will. I expect people to forget things, things I have asked them not to forget. I expect failure of myself. Which is sad, but I do. That's why I stress about the little details. 

I fail at seeing the big picture.

I have the patience of 12 year old, I can wait a while, but then I skip irritated and go straight to "I'm done waiting, bye."

I love like no other and if I really like you I'm obsessive and affectionate. Another sad trait, the second you push me away, I will never take you back seriously. 

According to Keeley I am a sheep. Baaaaa, call me Wilbur and shoot me.

Oh wait. He was a pig wasn't he? Damn. Call me Daphne, I'll be Daphne the sheep. The grey sheep Keeley, with speckles on mah nose!!! lol, maneuverable, Keeley, maneuverable.

(yes, Keeley, I am a dork, and I love every dorkie second of it)

I really don't think people like me and it isn't till they leave or start to hate me do I start to love them back and truly appreciate their presence.

I love my solitude. I seriously could just live through a screen and never talk to anyone in person again. Save me so much stress. 

My mind is always working, and if I can't actively participate in conversation it means I'm  thinking about you. Lol.

I will always keep your secrets, regardless of our status. You don't have to tell me not to tell anyone. I can hear it in your voice and I can see it in your eyes. 

I'm reading again. Does it show?

omg. negative zero. 

I wish I was a little bit taller

I haven't slept in twenty four hours, which isn't good because i usually sleep 12. How annoying. And not only could I not escape to my happy place of terror and torment, I had nothing to do. For five hours I have been playing a racing game where one level is smashing yourself into oncoming traffic in order to score points.

Really? Why did we buy this?

I found out that if I had such and such time left to live(like 3months, a year, you know significantly less than what's expected) and there was no chance for recovery, I would leave this place so fast. I think, I would even smile. I've already said fuck off to the people here. I simply won't join their reindeer games. But I am a sheep (or so Keeley says) a grey sheep.

Baaaaa, shoot me motherfucker.

I apologize (to no one, since no one reads this with the exception of two people, three, pfft). I usually do not swear. Hardly...it depends. On the people I'm with. You can tell I'm tired, my sentences lack that scent of fresh teenage blood being sacrificed to the gods of society and conformity. Neither of which I worship. I'm more of (or I like to see myself as) "oh, this looks like fun. Oh you like it to? Then we can like it together. yay!" as opposed to a "Oh MY GOD! Everyone else is doing this and if I don't do it, no one will be my friend! My life will be over!!!" I'm know people like that. It's annoying. Apparently, the word "obnoxious" is a grown up word and they simply won't crack open a fucking dictionary (much less fucking look it up online, where they fucking are, all the fucking time...). And

*they can't use a knife and fork properly
*They have never eaten out at decent restaurant with their friends (apparently it isn't cool to actually talk to your friends *cocks head to one side in confusion*)
*The biggest book they've read is size 14-16 font and 200 pages long. What's the book about you may ask? (Because size doesn't define character) It's about little teenage girls stuck in their little teenage bullshit. (i.e. "How could you shop at Forever 21, Tiffany, you're only 14!")
*oh and how could I forget, everything is "bomb" or "nice"....or "not bomb" or it "sucks" (Maybe I shouldn't say anything, my own vocabulary isn't that vast, compared to the people I adore, that's why I read everything and anything, you know, to learn?)

Have you ever seen me tired? It's like a normal person...on crack. I'm actually calm, just ranting letting it all out. So the stupidity doesn't suffocate me tomorrow. But this thought process above, this is how my mind functions, pointless spasms that occasionally give birth to something worth reading.

Wait till you see me mad.

I wish- The Secret Handshake

I can see it in your eyes

I love driving. Correction, I love being driven places. I love being in a car, I love the absolute of silence of some moments when nothing needs to be said. I love being with people in cars.

But I am absolutely terrified of driving. Every time I get behind the wheel, out of the corner of my eye I see a semi ready to smash me into little bloody bits. I clench my fists when we go under overpasses because I'm always waiting for it to collapse. I hate driving myself anywhere, which is why I have put off getting my permit, much less my liscence for so long. I should be driving now. All my friends are. My parents just laugh at first and now are annoyed. I'll have to learn eventually, because I would rather drive than take public transportation. I would rather walk in the rain than take public transportation.

One of my exes almost broke up with me over my contradictions. He said, "I can't date a bipolar disaster." I broke up with him a week later because I couldn't date someone I couldn't trust to stay for any length of time simply for the reason I was myself. I love my contradictions, my strange personality, but I would trade it all just to be like everyone else. To be stable, to not think about some of the things I do because it always pushes people away. I've tried to be like them, normal people, and as much as anyone who reads this who isn't close to me would like to think, there is a vast difference between you and I. (On the surface, since I can't speak of your depth.)

An example? I would get in the car of stranger if it meant getting out of this town. If it meant seeing a different place, doing something different. I would leave everything behind if someone would just come get me. But that won't ever happen. Because:

1. People leave, people change, and I sort of can't live a healthy lifestyle car to car.
2. No one likes me that much to kidnap me. Lol
3. It's sort of...against the law.
4. I have to graduate right?

I don't know. I don't care. I'm going through the motions, I'm wearing all the right expressions. Why couldn't this all happen next year, when two months from now we would be done with everything and could do anything within reason? I can't do this. Live here, with these people, lie to myself everyday. I have a panic attack twice a week now, instead of one every two weeks. Just lies, my parents don't care. They just want to backstab each other as much as humanly possible. I just want to sleep and escape to the world where I can choose to be alone, I can make up the right story, and not be insanely flawed. It's getting harder to trust people, to believe anything anyone says.

Everyone has an angel, someone supporting them. Everyone has a role model, someone to look up to. Everyone has someone they love entirely, completely. What lot did I get stuck with where I had to grow up and never enjoy anything in life? It could be worse. It could be a lot worse, but it's bad now, and I already know, no one is coming to save me.

Smoking is controlled suicide, in that the people who do it know it's bad for them, they know the dangers, but they still do it. But every time they light up, they choose to inhale one more time, to kill off one more branch of bronchioles in their lungs. They could stop, they could say no, they could change. It isn't instant death like jumping from a building, or hanging yourself. It's controlled, slow, and it distracts people for one brief minute from the pain of everything else. At least that's my reason.

Come here boy- Imogen Heap

I need your arms around me. I need to feel your touch.

I look at the people I am close to, the people who want me to come visit, the people who want me to move in with them, people who like my company. And then I look at the people that don't.

I can understand why they don't like me. It's not the them not being my friend part that bothers me. It's the look how happy they are with other people, look how happy they make each other. Ick. It inspires a gross feeling of regret. That if I hadn't made some choices in my life I would have those people by my side instead of others. But then I look at what those people stand for, what those people write, where those people are going with their lives and I wouldn't have been nearly as happy, as strange, as pleased with myself as I am now. I would be someone else that might be floating through life, instead of escaping the rules of logic entirely and showing people a world of my own design.

I've come to terms with some people having to leave my life, they go on to have their own and I was just a phase, a stepping stone. I was and hopefully will be a memory. I like that. I like being remembered. But there are people I couldn't stand to let go of and would fight sharpened fang, and over dramatic nail creations for. There are five people like that in my life now. There used to be more, there used to be less.

In my heart, I no longer belong to this town the way I did freshmen year, or sophomore year. In my heart I'm already gone. I'm going through the motions and except for a few brief touches from people who remind me that I do still exist in this plane, (Keeley, Mika, Tara) I'm looking from a dark room through a cold window. Past the glass are brightly colored people, smiling, dancing, stressing, living. On my side of the glass, in my small room, there is no end to what's behind me. It's not dark because it's scary or foreboding. The future is unclear at the moment, waiting to be lit up by the choices I have yet to make. I'm no longer sad on my side of the glass, I can smile knowing my future is coming, slowly, but coming nonetheless. I am learning to wait and take things for whatever they are.

Can you feel it? We are so close to the end of our journey in this town. We are going to leave and make something of ourselves, all of us. I've picked all the right people to make my future glitter, I've decided who I'm keeping. And I can assure you, wholeheartedly, whatever our futures hold, I am not letting you go, I will not let you destroy yourself. So close

Cake- Never There