~Vacant as can be~

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     Another day, another delusional dollar! Boy do I have a treat for you! (Not a literal treat, cause you know, the internet and stuff.)

A continuation! Of my previous, most delicious work of art! Yea I couldn't even convince myself of that. I guess being pessimistic about my work would be a little -- unhelpful.

But no matter! We are here to delve into our daily treat! Enjoy people of the internet far and wide, for you will be pleased by my latest update of my lamest story!

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     The backroom was filled with old propaganda and laminated newspaper articles. Black laced curtains entombed the room, giving it dungeon-like properties. Austin felt his dormant claustrophobic nature bubble to the surface. Blurry doubles accompanied his surroundings.

“We're back on in five, are you ready?” Austin turned to the startling voice. It belonged to one of the set designers. Light, curly blue hair fell lazily over her slumped shoulders. Freckles contaminated her otherwise flawless skin, The bold eye liner defined her hazel tinted pupils. She wore a sparkling black dress and shoes to match.

“Oh god yes, I'm ready.” It didn't take him long to realize how wrong that sounded.

“I mean sure, I'll be right out, just gotta take care of some 'biz.” An awkward squeal was the remnant of a forced laugh that escaped his mouth. Before long crimson blood invaded his pale cheeks.

“Right, anyways, we'll do a routine check up on you every fifteen minutes.” Walking out was the best thing she could have done for him. The patter of high heels hitting the wood paneled floor, fading into nothingness was the signal that he was once again, alone.

He'd forgotten where he was, dry swallowing was accompanied by harsh, rugged coughs. In a matter of moments, his legs gave out and the floor welcomed him swiftly.

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     This is, once again a continuation of the previous story I posted, so scurry along and read the first half if you want to know what the hell is even happening. (That's if you care.)

     I guess I can talk a little more about my day. Fresh clothes can get a person pretty far when it comes to heat exhaustion! If the outside wasn't so damn cold, I would have taken a hoody to school. But of course god didn't care much for my wishes, and once again we get hit by another wonderful blast of cold, calculating divine bullying. So I take my fluffy bundle of joy that is my new winter jacket to school instead.

    The problem here is not the jacket, it's my intelligence. I don't like having loose clothing laying around when I'm working during classes. So I force myself to wear a winter jacket in an air conditioned building.

     Genius, right? But, of course, there is more. (Sadly.) I didn't take into account the big-ass backpack that could conveniently hold this bothersome large jacket.

     In the end, we all learned a lesson, stay out of school, and try not to take me too seriously. 

Better yet, if you have even a slither of brains, you'd turn off this blog and burn your PC. (Kidding.)

   

      The first of many ( or none at all).

     It's not uncommon for a high-school student to spontaneously get into writing. Some may want to invest their dwindling time into video games, sports, love lives. I find that unappealing in a sense. Not because I'm some sort of weird loner, but because I know what I want for my future.

     

     Honestly, it doesn't take much for me to get inspired in a meaningful way. I've been accused of being an "emotional" person, now that could mean many things, but I like to interpret it in my own silly little way. The more "emotional" I am, the more these ideas just rush into my head. I'm in no means a professional writer, but hey, it's always good to try. And that's why I'm starting this blog. Not because I want to be in anyway popular, but present my writing works to whoever is interested/willing to help me out.

    Occasionally, I'll post one of these beauties. If I've had a rough day, I'll start writing some gibberish into this post. If somebody is interested in my ramblings, than more power to you. But if you get off on it... than I'd consider serious mental therapy. So now for the fun part, an introduction... yay. I'm not much of an Introduction kind of guy, but here goes nothing.

    My name, of course, is George, and what follows that is none of your business. I'm your standard Arabian born, fun loving, carrot devouring, good for nothing 16 year old. I was born in the fog filled, lung clogging, slums of Egypt. When I was the ripe old age of 4, my parents decided. "What the heck, let's move to America." And a couple birthdays later, I'm here now typing on this badly configured keyboard. I'm boring myself just writing this stuff, let's get to something more exciting, a badly written story! Brought to you by your favorite new friend!

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     Only moments away before Austin was ready to face the world. Five-star hotels and

complementary Sprites did little to sooth his anticipation.

“We're going live people.” One African women said, peering through the pale – green curtains.

“You ready honey?” The Camerawomen reassured him. Her fingers counted down to zero and the red light transformed into a sea – blue complexity.

“Welcome back! We're joined today by a new guest! The community hero, Austin Jean. His act of courageous valor saved multiple of his high-school peers from a toppled, burning bus.”

 Applause rang through the humid room. The interviewer smiled, satisfied with his strong opening.

Green curtains lined the room, splitting the arranged audience from the techies that resided in the back rooms, controlling the broadcasted chaos. Millions of viewers huddled around their televisions and computers, watching eagerly, waiting for what Austin has to say.

“Thanks for having me.” Small cotton fibers stick out from his plaid shirt. He struggles to find his words, afraid he'll say something unexpected.

“This is ugh... different.” Courteous laughs echo from the audience. Or at least Austin believes they're courteous. He doesn't see himself as a particularly humorous individual.

“Alright, let's start simple and work our way up to the juicy stuff, how 'bout that?”

“Good with me.” Austin follows up.

“So, how old are you again?”

“Sixteen, going onto seventeen next month, but who's counting.”

“Wow, sixteen, that is extraordinary.”

 Bright yellow letters began blinking in the back of the room. He was told it meant they were going into commercial break.

“We'll be right back with Austin, so stay tuned!” The lights in the room dimmed before lighting up again. Possibly some routine check ups on all the lighting equipment.

“Keep it up kid, you're doing fine.” The interviewer whispers into his ear.

“Thanks, but I need a drink, am I allowed to get up?”

“Yea, yea of course.” After a moment of hesitation, Austin finds his way to the water station placed neatly beside a table of pastries in the back.

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     Thank you, thank you. Hold your applause, I know it's not finished, don't sue me. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a mouth-watering ham sandwich that needs accompaniment.