purplechickenpudding

 Connor Malloy hated his alarm clock possibly more than any other object in his house. Its time never seemed to perfectly align with any other clock in his house, its beeps never failed to reach a pitch that made his ears hurt, and its snooze button seemed to hide from the hand that often came slamming down on it. As often is the case with alarm clocks, Connor's irritations with it were invented from his irritation with its true purpose. Unlike most other alarm clocks, however, Connor's didn't serve the function of announcing that it was morning. It instead announced that the most miserable hours of his life were beginning. Connor didn't wa

"Looks like it's just you and me, Fred..." That one, casual statement played over in Fred's mind all night. "Just you and me." Just her and him. Just the two of them going to the movies...alone. His invite to Wesley, Gunn, and Cordelia was completely forgotten as the two of them walked out of the Hyperion. Struggling to remain calm, she glanced up at him. She was rewarded with one of his rare smiles, though it was hard to say whether it was a blessing or a curse, because that almost made her squeal with excitement. He was not just happy, but he was really looking forward to the night. Even after being in a hell dimension for five years, she

Justification. Derived from the word "justice." It was funny how he now realized that one simple word had been twisted in a way to hide the truth. To make people feel better. So why was it that he now felt his whole life was a lie? Why was it that he now felt worse? Justification. It's not my fault. I didn't do anything wrong. That was okay. Those phrases were born from that one simple word. That one word existed to take away people's feelings of guilt. Maybe it wasn't right, but when it worked, it made him feel good. However, the good feelings the word gave him were nothing compared to the dread and agony he felt when even that word, the wo

The woman I loved... Is dead. But listen to me. We have a story. Love is just a game. But what does that writer feel? Is there something more? I am a painter. Please don't defile my work. You choose its meaning.

I should tell you, I should tell you, I'm so thankful for your life. I should tell you, I should tell you, I'm so grieved by your death. Thank you for your love, Your sweet innocent love for her. The love you shared before I was willing. Your love inspired no jealousy. Thank you for your smile, Though there was no reason to share it. Even though you were suffering too, You always smiled for us. Thank you for your creativity, That's so hard to find these days. You inspired us all in tough times. Odds were against us, but you kept going. I should tell you, I should tell you, We all really miss you. I should tell you, I should

"So, what do you want to do in college?" "I want to go into music." "...oh...really...?" "Yeah. Or theatre." "...oh..." I see the way you look at me, The disapproval in your eyes. I see you don't accept my ways, Your good manners are all lies. You may not trust my destiny. You may think I'm wasting my time. Well, you can tell me I am. Bu that will waste yours more than mine. Yes, I'm going into music. For my job I'm going to write songs. Maybe I won't be very rich. But I don't see how that's so wrong. Everyone tells me to give up. People tell me I won't survive. I'm told I'll never make it. But I've never felt more alive.

Trying to write songs... Why won't she leave me alone? Can't ignore those eyes... We've both got baggage, But life's too short for regrets. No day but today. Zoom in on the world. See how it's made us sell out? How did we get here? You okay, honey? You will be now that I'm here. I'll be your Angel. The name's Collins, man. Type in A-N-G-E-L. And I'll cover you. Hey, I need a stage. Baby, all the world's a stage. Just accept me for me. I'm following rules. But you just disrespect me. What is it you want? I'm trying to help. Give up the Bohemia-- Then you'll see my way.

Dear Johnny, I'm not really sure if you're supposed to be real. It sounds like you might be Mr. Larson. But when I first saw your name, it was in the pages of a script. (By the way, you need to stop swearing.) If you're a musical character, I guess you aren't real... No wait--you're real through me. I have fourteen years. You had weeks. But I still understand your fears. I hear the "tick, ticks." And I stand tensed, waiting for the BOOM. I know people who love music and theatre, like me. But like Michael, many don't understand how much I love it. How could I waste my life on it? Because I made a vow, right here and now... I'm