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peacestix409
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Name: Nic
Location: Michigan, United States
Birthday: 12/11/1985
Gender: Male
Interests: I like to do things like play b-ball and beat up my little brother and play catch with kitty cats (jk I never do that) and Elaine Marie Bradford is cool(she got me started in xanga bless her heart) and drinking apple juice in wine glasses and pretending it's hard alchohol. I try to make life my hobby.
Expertise: Everything
Occupation: Retired
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
Member Since:
9/14/2003
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| When I work out I like to use a lot of my frustration and anger as motivation. Sometimes certain songs get me imagining certain scenarios or stories. I'm sure we all do this to some degree. Listen to "I Do Not Want This" by Nine Inch Nails at (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AKNo3J4daDk&feature=related) to kind-of get in a similar place that I was mentally when I was imagining all of this.
Tina Graham aka Jawbreaker
Teenage girl. Secretive father. Retired from federal job. Secret agent. Taught her to fight.
The girl is beautiful and athletic. Smart and sarcastic. She's growing uncomfortable with the 'prom-queen/miss america' type of role she's assumed because of her likable personality and endless charisma.
She sees a chubby girl in bondage type, black clothing, the kind you get at Hot Topic, the chubby girl is quiet, but a few ugly faced goons brandishing football jerseys (It's game day) start harassing her. They jokingly feign attraction, grabbing at her breasts, squeezing her ass, she resists, but gets backed against some lockers.
The chubby girl breaks her cool and starts shrieking, "Get away! What the fuck do you want from me!" This only emboldens the smelly morons who corner her. Jeers and raucous, dumb laughter fill the hallway as they harass her.
Something snaps in Tina's brain, the well-mannered, passive barriers break as the shrieks of this helpless girl penetrate to the very core of her primitive self, igniting a rage she's never known before.
No need to fight fair, she was outnumbered by three shapeless, giant stooges with all the post adolescent man-rage fueling their animalistic urges.
She has a bat in her hands, a bat she calls "The Jawbreaker." She walks over at a fast, yet controlled pace. Uttering not a single warning. She swings and the bat full force, streaking it through the air like a brown blur striking first at the soft tissue on the back of the head of goon 1 out of 3. He falls into a locker screaming, "Fuck!" dumbly before falling back onto the ground. He curls into the fetal position and throws his hands behind his head cradling the wound now red with stinging hot pain across a wide area.
Goon 2 and 3 turn around in slow-motion. Tina swings jawbreaker rapidly, tearing through the air with a smooth kind of ease, it makes her cerebellum sing.
The bat connects square in the jaw of goon number 2. A loud, deafening crack echoes through the hallway as the force of hardened Ash wood connects with the jutting bone of the jaw as if the skin wasn't even seperating the two.
Goon 2 falls back helpless, moaning. Unable to utter any coherent words as the pain and diminished functionality of his shattered jaw overwhelms any other comprehensible thought.
Goon 3 angrily grabs for the bat in such obvious fashion. Tina easily counters, swinging in an uppercut type motion destined for his balls. The bat swings down in a curving motion like the pindle of a grandfather clock.
Tina's arm flexes as she swings full force right up into goon 3's crotch, crushing all the soft-tissue that it connects with leaving goon 3 weak and helplessly falling to his knees in an ungodly kind of pain the gangly teen will never forget.
Goon 3 falls over writhing in pain and grabbing at his mangled genitalia. The chubby girl stands there stunned with her hands over her neck and her head down cowering against a locker.
She peaks out after a moment of silence broken only by the chorus of 3 teenage morons crying in pain and rolling on the floor praying to god that the unbearable pain will subside as they cradle their wounds. The chubby girl stares at the bat now streaked with blood. She connects with the blank stare of Tina before jolting herself out of a stupor and jumping over goon 2 and running away.
Tina slowly backs away, feeling strangely unaffected like an almost cold confidence and mechanized thought-process analyzing the situation and the 3 easily neutralized threats. Humanity then creeps in and Tina realizes the consequences that may follow.
She throws the blood stained bat in her locker, slams the gray, vented door shut and swiftly walks out of the small circle of students that's growing by little groups of one and two kids as they run up from each of their little corners to stare at the viciously wounded kids.
Goon 1, who took the bat to the back of his head, asks with a whiny, desperate kind of pathetic anger, "What the fuck just happened man?" Goon 2 attempts to speak but only mumbles and then shrieks out as the pain of his broken jaw is too much. A short kid looking on from the circle of students observing spouts excitedly, "I think Tina broke his fucking jaw!" A loud rumble of comments ensue from all the kids watching.
This is the beginning. The becoming of Jawbreaker. | | |
| Hatred as a condition that burns through the helpless feeling.
How many times throughout the day do people take control of the things you need, and fuck them up?
Idiots who had idiot parents with idiot grandparents all in a small and ignorant idiot community breeding multitudes of idiots marching thunderously off a cliff into the pit of meaningless oblivion. The disillusioned masses claw and fight their way through a pile of shit. A redundant yet simple and accurate adjective. Count the times, feel the hatred turn to rage, write it down, burn the page. Feel any better?
Morons grow old too and worm their way into facets of the moronic world some exist in. They control the pivotal things, the necessary things. Hypocritical morons. Entitled morons. Falsely entitled. The anger burns like a mine fire, ash descends slowly from the gray skies, almost peaceful, masking the violent, destructive, flames that are fiercely tearing through all that is good and leaving a charred wasteland. A seething mass of glowing embers, a smoldering consciousness, burning slow and hot, deep down waiting for one breath to explode and consume. | | |
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Go fuck ya destruction running cold, violence through my time I have decays in the emptiness, bitterness grows, poison vines strangling, struggling against empty fists beating, ferocious, tear down them all. Beating hearts, running cold, the fear that starts, meek then bold, it creeps in silent, then unfolds. I couldn't predict, truth be told, I got sick, from the mold, a cheap trick, then it stole, laughing glutton, never full, the hatred sucks, vacuum hole, lifeless particles, flying home. | | |
| Sometimes the words just hop up out of no where, innocence symbolized through imagery of care bears, or something bright and colorful, exploding when I don't dare, look at the magic I've got at my fingertips, planting lips on lips, soft kiss and other quips, saying that and this, lost in bliss, maybe I will miss, the dark clouds that pass by, just like they don't exist. It doesn't make sense, never did, never can, these are the thoughts that are randomly planned, somewhere deep, I didn't even know was real, exploring deep down, finding things that I never feel.
There's no point to any of this. | | |
| I got so #angry I wanted to die. I wanted to destroy my computer. Grip it tightly at the sides and swing it with such force that the impact against the metallic post of my bed causes it to separate into a million random, unidentifiable pieces of plastic and metal that would sprinkle across the room; raining down from the skies like the fiery hail of a bombing raid. I want it to shoot out like a raging shock wave from a nuclear explosion; melting the faces of innocents civilians inside a miles wide radius. It would blow over two-story homes like a house of cards. It would punch the side of a bus, crinkling it, like an angry student punching a locker. They make me feel so small. Is that melodramatic? Yes. Punch the children, trip their grandmas, choke their dogs, burn their tree house. Anything, anything, anything. I can't take the look they give me. I can't make light of the dark and empty ineptitude that I suffer for. These misguided people and their stupid philosophies. The ones who walk on the rest of us to make their way so much easier to the top, to a better place than you'll ever know. High above us, they have no idea what we have to do. The pain we feel, wincing deep down, while we fake pleasantries. While we cover up the fact that they are so out of touch, they have no idea what's really happening beneath them. Even as their foundation collapses and walls fall down around them, they will grasp the maxims blindly, reach for the goals that never exist in reality, but fall into the empty abyss they created with their bland inspiration. Your leadership is a hollow movie set piece, pathetically covering a fearful, #selfish agenda. Your confidence is fake like your reason for existing in our society. N B | | |
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