#misery and hell

[furballfaggot]

theres a big bug in my room and i cant find my glasses bc idk what the buf is and i dont eanna risk it bei g a wasp or soem shit

[strawberrysw1tchblad3]

an apt description of my year so far

[guhhhhhhhhhhh]

Took an expired edible last night and never have I had a worse time doing anything ever

[fagrackham]

wow i forgot what it's like to sit with a group of kids your age and discuss the school topic or whatever and have them look at you like youre speaking another language and not know why 🙃

[herbertwest]

A story opener based on a few key words provided by @misery-and-hell

On the eve of their eighteenth birthday, Alyosha got lost, truly lost, for the first time. That’s not to say that they hadn’t been directionally challenged before – they found themselves turned around in cornfields all the time back home. Thus is life in Ohio after all. Though this wasn’t Ohio any longer. Gone now was the corn, gone the skies that seemed to drape over the ground like a weighted blanket, gone the long hours taking photographs of the dark, painting pictures of it, writing love letters to it. All that was gone, for Alyosha had been uprooted, trailing corn silk, and planted in a concrete pot, and that concrete pot was New York City. Alyosha had wandered eagerly, leaving bread-crumb trails of train tickets and loose change, and when the dark failed to rise, caged out by a million lights, Alyosha had no idea where they were. It wasn’t just not knowing – they could always have asked for directions. It was an active presence, something turning them around and practically begging the young artist to capture that hidden place, that little park on the corner of two streets whose signs were missing.