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occasionally subtle
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@arkanetrouville
Eric and Deborahbot 5000 are the two best characters from the movie, and I've never been more grateful that they existed. These two are precious beyond my mind's capacity to explain, and I yearn for the day they get their own spotlight. I fell in love with them the first time they got introduced, and all I've been trying to do as the story progressed is search for them, like, wait, where are they now? Oh look, they're fighting in the background! Oh, they're trying to escape. Aww, look, they're pointing at things. And when the end of the movie came, I just kept waiting for their faces to enter the scene. I was worried that they were going to be abandoned or that they would be thrown away. Thank goodness they stayed with the family. But I want more than that.
I want to see them cook and bake with Linda, take photographs with Aaron, fish and take a hike with Rick, get their own rooms in the Mitchell house, visit Katie in college, and probably help her with her movies. I want to see them grow, explore, and discover themselves and life!
Abigail carries a sketchbook with her all the time, managing to sketch wherever and whenever there's a chance.
She could draw and sketch a scene, a person, or an object within a minute, basically capturing their noteworthy aspects. She once sat by their school building's main stairs and started sketching a distant tree, which caught Emma Mountebank's attention as she passed by her, heading towards one of the classrooms.
Emma spoke to her as if they already knew each other, complimenting Abigail's initial sketch and then giving distant glances at the subject. Abigail was startled and smiled awkwardly as she tried to hide the drawing, forcing her thanks through an off-tuned chuckle. Emma then introduces herself, followed by complimenting her hair. Abigail introduces herself and compliments Emma back by saying her attire is gorgeous.
She asked me what I saw when I touched him; his cold ashen cheeks, face bathed by the sun, eyelids closed. With my lips sewn shut, I looked down; down at my shoes; down at the wet grass; down to the lone ant finding its way back to its nearby group. I wanted to say it.
The voice was begging for my jaws to let loose, to let the thought seep through my teeth.
I want them to know.
I want their eyes to widen, to come close to my face in eagerness, to dig their nails into my skin in desperation for continuation. If she hears, if she finds out, her brows would kiss, and I'd be grinning from ear to ear because there's beauty, so much beauty, so much art and tragedy in the life he made me see.
You, my precious sunkissed greenery, wild and untamed, partnered with the wind, you remind me of the morning's first blinks and rippling water, a sight to see and often misunderstood. From all the analogies, maybe imagery, mostly a table with its contents in disarray. Of paper and writing, ink and torn letters, you are an artist's corner, a scientist's den, the place to be, a comfort and warmth yearned for.
i have always noticed how i have a hard time expressing what i really feel and think. sometimes the words don't make sense, and reading them makes my face sour. or sometimes, i'm too tired to try to write, and so i end up just thinking, and then i'd fall asleep and forget about them the next morning.
I put up with the torment that the sun was imparting on me. The sorrow, the tightening of my chest, the burning sensation as a tear trickled down my sunburned cheek, I felt when I saw your expression as you stared back at me, was infinitely superior to the way it stung my eyes and scorched my face.
I sensed your resentment, the glowing aura-like being that emitted from you.
I could have heard your heart breaking if my hearing had been a hundred times greater. My defeated, weepy eyes were trying so hard not to look at you, not to cry in front of the crowd and make you regret knowing I existed. You shouldn’t have come. You didn't have to see my conceited and shameful stance, with my head held high as if I were about to be honored.
Nothing made me happier than the end of that situation, which had tormented you far more than it had tormented me.
It's something I've dreamed about. Something I'm fully conscious of but do not fully fathom. Something that visits each day and night, when solitude and lapses in time seep into my sentience. I hear it, the encroaching footfall of the things I'm fleeing from, where the world yields stray thoughts a shot to catch up. I'd be relieved for a moment and slow down as the presence felt so distant, an existence obscured. Then it'll suddenly be noticed, now much closer, and I'll have to continue moving. So yesterday night, when I couldn't hear it, assuming.
1/4
I'd run far enough to have it lost, I slept soundly, my head resting on my homely cushions. But comfort can sometimes be deceitful, an ephemeral companion. And so as soon as I let go of my guard, I hear it. Barely audible at first, and then heavy and loud as I patiently wait for fear to get me moving. I had musings about it, believing I've outrun it. And between blinks, I see it. It was there, both in front and beside me, flashing itself. It wasn't pleasant; I felt its rage, and I was well aware of this, but felt compelled to let it transpire.
2/4
As it lay beside me in the room of my psyche's residence, I could hear it mumble. I had no idea what it was. I wasn't even sure what I was running away from. But as it drew nearer, I smelled anguish and despair. Like an embodied essence of melancholy. But I was in the same boat, and all I could do was lie down and wait. I persisted to not look at it, and I'd keep staring at the ceiling, the prosy façade that epitomizes the heavens, although in a pessimistic perspective. Contemplating that if I appeared untroubled, it would go away.
3/4
But it didn't, and patience waned as time passed. Fear can compel you to do things you wouldn't normally consider, but I wasn't concerned at the time. Owing to my distress from all the running, I started blooming agitation. I've kept in mind that nobody has a perpetual existence, but whomever can muster the courage to challenge it sure has cemeteries of missed but unremembered recollections.
4/4
Outrun the Midnight Hour | Psyche Talks
*Nick to Abi after he decapitates her
Bobby: Travis, my pinky got a papercut. It hurts
Bobby: *starts crying*
Travis: You've got to be kidding me.
Travis: *Starts blowing into the wound then giving it kisses*
Kaitlyn: Okay, let's try this one more time.
Kaitlyn: What doesn't kill you...?
Dylan: Makes you stronger.
Ryan: Scars you and traumatizes you for life, leaving you unable to function as a normal human being.
Headcanons for the characters of The Quarry:
Bobby is a pure sweetheart. When he treks through the woods, he places obstacles out of the path, including small rocks or branches that might trip someone. And whenever he does, he smiles, telling himself what a good job he's done.
Travis hates seeing kids biking in the streets at night, and he stops beside them whenever he spots one. He'd scold them and offer to take them home, telling them stories and such throughout the ride, secretly worried. He'd every now and then ride around their home, giving a quick check around their neighborhood.
Nick likes to spend his time fixing their old and forgotten tree house for his younger brother and his friends to play on. And when he's done, he hangs out with them, playing their virtual games and only going out when their mom calls them for dinner.
Laura wakes up early, around 5 or 6 a.m., to jog from her place to their local park. She would bring her earphones and some money, stopping by a store to get breakfast, which she'd bring home to Max, who likes to sleep in till 8 a.m.
Jacob works part time in a car wash, where he's good friends with the owner, who almost treats him as his own son. He also volunteers at their neighborhood daycare, helping with carrying and arranging heavy things as well as playing with the kids.
Dylan is a bookhound, and his room is a mess due to disarrayed fiction and non-fictional literature, both open and stacked. He also has a telescope in his room and a ceiling filled with glow-in-the-dark star stickers.
Kaitlyn likes to spend her time fixing her dad's old car, which he promised she'd have if she fixed it. Whenever she doesn't do that, she goes around driving her motorcycle, sometimes using it to bring and fetch a cousin of hers to school.
Emma has a skill when it comes to surfing, and so whenever they go to the beach, she brings her surfboard and wastes no time catching a wave. She also has a massive love for dogs, to the point where she knows a lot of things about them, from breed to their historical origin.
Abigail likes to bake whenever she's not busy finishing commissioned paintings and sketches. When she bakes, her kitchen is always a mess, as if a tornado has come through, but the results of the baking themselves are always good. After she finishes them, she takes a picture and sends it to her best friend Emma.
Ryan likes to spend his time on his laptop, writing things on his own personal website, which garners adequate attention. He likes to drop in and start conversations with fellow mystery and horror fans, as well as meet up with them to visit some places that give off the chills.