S_HE'S M_iSS P_ERSONALiTY

»It's three fucking am, and you're out and about. It's way too dark for you to see where you're going, but who needs to when you're guided by the light in your soul. Ha, if that were me I'd be lost as a blind cow in a dark cave. Ha, oh the irony of that statement, cuz I'm half blind. That's right, creep up on me on my left side and I'll never know you're coming. I'm helpless in that situation, but in any other situation, I'm rather fine...unless I'm not busy playing pretend. But let's get back to the 'three am' part. Yes, it's three...o'clock...in the morning. And I'm walking down darkened streets, a poor, little, helpless girl, all alone on the cruel streets of Alice Springs. Oh. My. God. What will I do? Oh, that's right. This isn't America, there's no rapist hiding behind that dumpster, no gangster that wants to mug me for what little money I've got on me. Hell while he's at it why not just rape me? Well...that was America, this is Alice Springs...in Australia, on the other side of the world of that horrid place I once upon a time called home. Oh how I remember the first day I came to Alice Springs, it took me twenty-three hours to get to Sydney, then another four to get to Alice Springs's small airport. Needless to say, I suffered jet lag..majorly. I remember barely making it to my new apartment room awake. I remember unpacking, and then the rest is all a blur to me. I think I slept for a few hours...or a whole day. What ever floats your boat and makes you happy. When I woke up from my hibernation, I remember that strong urge for weed, oh yeah, weed. So what did I do on my second day (conscious)? Searched for a dealer. I wasn't quite pleased with the one I found, but hey, when you need your weed, you'll go with what ever you can find. He's been ok to me...I guess. There are times when he forgets to get me what I payed for. But like I said, gotta go with the flow. The rest of the time I've spent loafing around, attending parties, and earning money by sleeping with guys whom I've never met and will probably never meet again. Oh yea, I live an exciting life style, don't I? But any way, that's what I've done since arriving in Alice Springs, Australia.

»It's been raining, and the streets are insanely slick. I hate rain, it makes my hair stand out on end, and makes everything, well, wet. It's like rains some kind of water molecule falling from the clouds in the sky. Huh, if I were the intellectual type, I'd try to figure out how it all worked, but seeing that I've got more pressing matters...I don't. My two-toned eyes are cast down on the glistening streets, dark in the morning hours, but lit up by the passing neon signs of the city. Ah, like America, but with less dangers. I wrap my jacket around my malnourished form, jamming bony hands into the pockets. Slender fingers touch paper, as touch is associated with memory, I feel a scowl form on my face. It's that damned letter informing me that I've been signed up for rehab. I swear, who ever this Blaize person is, he seriously has no business delving into my life. If I wanted to stop my destructive habit, I could do it on my own, I don't need a shrink telling me I can do it. I lift my eyes as my only good eye catches the glint of Basey's General Store's neon sign, proclaiming that it's open twenty-four seven. Right now, I can only hope that they're right, because my jack-ass for a dealer forgot that I payed him and conveniently forgot to give me my dope. Well, damn him, because now I'm wandering the streets praying that Mr. Basey keeps true to his word and works his employees like the lowly dogs they are. As I push open the doors to the store, a bell over head tinkles merrily. God damn that bell, how can it be so happy at this hour? If some one takes a short glance at me they can easily gather that I'm highly sleep deprived, and by the fact that my pupils are slowly becoming un-dilated, that I'm coming of a high. I tumble about the store, blurry eyes not really finding what I need, or want. At one point I pick up a bottle of bleach, I really don't know why, but I do. Satisfied that I've picked up something I shuffle towards the counter. The man standing there looks like he's forty and still lives with his mother. He eyes me curiously and rings up the price of the bleach and asks me if that's all I need. I kinda stare at him blankly and say, Huh? He sighs in a frustrated manner and asks me again. This time, it registers and I mumble, Yea...a pack of cigarettes if you don't mind. He grunts and as he turns to get the pack, he mumbles under his breath, something about minding about having to tend to drunk idiots at three am. I wake up slightly, my temper flying off the handle, Hey there buddy, why don't you learn how to speak to those that earn better money than you? Besides, who cares what you think, you're a lowly cashier, and should thus bow to my every whim. He turns around and glares at me, his voice however, lacks the spite that would have been needed to make me back down from this fight, in fact, he sounds gay...loser, "If your every whim includes you dragging me into bed, I think I'd rather die." I shake my head lethargically and say, No...I don't think I'd do that. First of all, you're probably forty, and I've heard guys over thirty-five are much like riding in a wagon on a bumpy road...not my cup o' tea, second of all you're fucking ugly and I don't see anything in you that would spark my interest, so why don't you just add those cigarettes to that price and call it good so you can get closer to going home to your mother. I guess he sees there's no fighting that brilliant, half-awake logic and does as I asked, though not without the absence of muttering. He shoves the bag of cigarettes and bleach at me and grumbles, "Have a nice day." I pick up my bags and say, Hey, jerk wad. Are you blind? It's three am, the sun's not even up. Learn the difference between night and day why don't ya? Me? A fight starter? NAH! I'm as harmless as a rabid lion around a zebra.

Call her;;
Tori Aldean, bitch
Read it;;
1.145

S_HE'S L_iViNG R_EALiTY

God, what a day. There was something weird going on in the hospital, and more sicknesses were appearing every day. Actually, they had only started to appear today; two cases that were different but some how seemed related. One was a five year old child with liver failure, the other an eighty year old woman who was hemorrhaging. Still, there were a few similar symptoms that were niggling at the back of Blaze's mind. But he could put that out of his mind for a minute, because he was finally off call after an eighteen hour shift. He had stolen maybe an hour of sleep in the on-call room, but now he just felt like going home and going to bed. After all, the hospital had been rather under-staffed lately, and this way everyone got treated. Most of the time anyway. Blaze stepped out of the hospital, grimacing at the slight amount of humidity that permeated the late night (or early morning) air. Instantly he regretted his choice to walk to work for the excesses. He could excesses on his day off, not now. In fact, he had only taken two steps when he remembered he frantic call he had received from his house keeper. Apparently his new dog had gone crazy and clawed at the door frame until there was no paint left. Also, he had chewed up two more pairs of shoes. Great. Not to mention the dumb ass dog was out of food. Again. What in the world had he been thinking when he'd picked up the stray puppy on the side of the road? Well, for one thing he hadn't thought the shaggy scrap of life would grow into a honking monster that was probably at least half Saint Bernard. Yeah, it was that bad. The dog was only three months old and already its paws were the same size as Blaze's considerably large hands, not to mention when he stood on his hind legs he came all the way up to the waist of his six foot plus frame. With a groan Blaze reversed his steps, heading instead toward Basey's General Store, which had been around ever since he could remember.

In he walked, noting the clock on the wall that read an astounding two thirty in the morning. God, could his life get any worse right now? No, he didn't think it could. Blaze staggered to the back of the store, blearily ignoring the most annoying bell in the world. Had it been that long ago he'd stolen it and stuck it somewhere? Where had that been? Oh yeah, the toilet. That had also been the day he'd snuck a mild laxative into the current clerk's morning coffee. That had been the day. That bell had rung every hour on the hour. Blaze headed first for the paint section, the part at the very back of the store, off in an area by itself. Rows and rows of different types of white ranged before him and Blaze let out yet another groan. How could he ever live through this? He crouched for a moment to survey the bottom row of paint cans, sitting cross-legged as his calves protested tiredly, feet aching dreadfully. After that everything went blurry and his head fell back to be pillowed uncomfortably on his arms. He knew he should fight his heavy eye lids, but there was nothing he could do anymore. In mere moments he was asleep, regardless of choice.

Half an hour later a shrill screeching broke through his peaceful nap, causing him to start awake with an unappetizing snort. Kinks worked out of his back in a series of resounding cracks, the after effects of sleeping in a general store. Uncaringly he reached out and grabbed any old cannister of paint, not even glancing at the color. He continued to stumble down the rows, heading indirectly toward the cashier. On the way he grabbed the biggest bag of puppy chow there was, hefting the fifty pound bag onto his shoulder and obscuring his view of the store. By memory he managed to snatch a raw hide bone from the shelves, something else for his dog to chew on. Blaze continued to the counter, unintentionally brushing past one of the others in the store, which was odd because why would there people in a store at three in the morning? Actually, why was he in a store at three in the morning? No matter, he just wanted out. Blaisdell slammed the bag of dog food and the metal can on the counter, tossing the raw hide bone up there as well. Blinking up at the middle-aged cashier he croaked out a request in a voice cracking with exhaustion. "Cigarettes, please." Sure, he knew they were bad for him, but he had gotten addicted in college, and there was no one here to yell at him. Maman and Father were in Melbourne and who knew where Calandra was. Actually, Calandra probably wouldn't care about him actually smoking, but seeing as how he had yelled at her about the nasty habit yesterday, she might be a little miffed.