AN: Let me know if this sucks. I...Don't really know what the hell I'm doing anymore... And it's becoming aggravating... Just...Tell me something please. Thanks.
The Management
Summer Colors:
ChApTeR oNe: Sunset Resplendence:
"Late summer evenings, I painted a scene," He whispered to himself, dipping his paint brush into the mixed orangey-red paint, splashing more color onto the canvas, "Of the mountains afar, and color of screams," his eyebrows furrowed as he concentrated on the horizon outside his window. It was beautiful. And his painting was coming out nicely.
He then realized he was singing.
"Oh..My.." he whispered to himself again, quirking one eyebrow, "Lets not make a habit of that, now, Jhonen." He put the brush and such down to give his arms a rest. His shoulders and elbows ached.
He walked across the room, staring out the window to the firey sky. It was sunset. He hadn't slept in days. Thank God. It'd been a good few days. But, as always, sleep would come soon. He could feel it. The same feeling he always got before he drifted off to sleep (but never without a fight).
"Music, maybe..." he said. Perhaps he could just beat it for the night, maybe blast himself awake with loud music. Repulsive music. Maybe head-banger music.
I'll put it on in a minute. My arms are killing me.
Or so he thought, then made the mistake of sitting on his seldom-used bed. He flopped back, watching the ceiling fan rotate.
"Oh no..." he said, realizing his body wouldn't allow him to get up.
It was that feeling. That strong feeling of his willpower slipping away. His body so desperately wanted to sleep, but he knew he'd wake up confused, everything in swirls like always upon the awful action of waking. God, he didn't want to sleep. He HATED sleep! With a passion! Waking was torture!
He wished furiously that one of his friends would burst into the room, and pick him up and whisk him away to a theme park full of adrenaline-drenched rides, and candy and coffee and sugar and caffine and assholes. Oh, what he wouldn't do right now for an idiot to poke fun at his hair right now, to stare blatantly and rudely at his blackened eyes (which, incidently, were the result of the current situation he constantly avoided), at anything! Just so he could get angry and wired enough to have to think and make the sophisticated, intellegent come-backs and insults to attack back with. Just to wake him up.
No! No! I left my paints out! They'll dry up! I have to put them away, I have to cover my painting! Did I leave the oven on? Ahh, c'mon! Please! There's so much to do! I have absolutely no time to sleep! C'mon body! GET UP
His mind screamed violently to whatever forces were at work here. But it was no use. His limbs and torso were holding him ransom for rest. And they would not be easily deterred.
Fine. The next time you need something, we'll see if civil disobedience will get it for you.
He then realized he was arguing with a natural bodily function and it would not work.
Pull yourself together. This is ridiculous. Just force yourself up.
He tried to tell himself this, and, upon believing it, strained to lift even and arm. As thin and frail as they were, he could not raise it up enough to see even his big, bony hand and long fingers at the end of the toothpick he called an arm.
No use.
And the worst part of it was, he could feel himself slipping into a slumber. It was like getting teeth slowly pulled without novicaine or sedatives. He could feel it happening, and could do nothing but fear its result. The confusion and aggravation would ensue after waking, he was sure.
"Ah, shit..." he muttered, helplessly, as the darkness consumed him and he went to sleep.
Unfortunately, sleeping was the least of his worries at the moment...
AN: Sorry its so short, but I had to end it there before I gave too much away... Muwahahaha... Reveiw if you wish. Ideas are always welcomed with open arms and seriously considered. :-D