Here's a story I thought of, inspired by the movie Sunshine.
It's NOT about Ryden slash or homosexuality.
I don't know what's it about.
I just felt this... feeling.
This story is deep.
Besides, homophobia is stupid.Stars.
"Do you believe in God?"
We crouched behind the altar an hour before the Wednesday night service, leaning against the base of the cross and sinning.
"Do you believe in God?"
With his face so close to mine, his honey-brown eyes staring into mine, it was so hard to say no.
Ryan took my hands and rested them on his, not giving me the chance to wipe off the sweat. His were cool and smooth, like a rose petal. Mine were cracked and rough as thorns. Even with the Xanax in my system, my heart was racing. My breathing was kiddie-pool shallow and my hands were in Ryan's.
"Maybe one night, we will."
.
That night we laid on the church roof and watched cars speed down the highway. The sky was polluted with light from yellow street lamps and red headlights, smoke from the factory on the other side of the road. To the west, pink and blue and green fluorescent lights from the strip shone. Stars are obsolete in Vegas.
All of Vegas reflects on Ryan's skin. The real sky hides behind the bright lights. Miles and miles of nothing but airplanes and rockets and gases and the moon. Somewhere beyond the strip there are billions of lights that sparkle like the champagne in the casinos and shine brighter than pennies and quarters spilling out of slot machines.
These massive balls of burning gases rest somewhere in Ryan's eyes.
But stars are obsolete in Vegas.
Ryan asks, "Are you afraid of falling?"
Underneath us all I see is cars and pavement, cars and pavement and lights. What if I were to fall? This far above the city, split by gamblers and trophy wives... this far above the city with Ryan at my side, the moment I lost my footing I would grow wings.
"No." He turns away from the skyline and stars straight through my eyes and into my heart.
I'm seeing stars.
"Brendon, can you fly?"
He runs his fingertips down my cheek, and you would've thought he was wearing a silk glove if it weren't for the electricity pulsing through my veins, electricity that can only be a result of skin-on-skin contact. Or lightning. His hand returned to his side and it was like someone had flipped a switch and turned off the sun.
"We'll fly someday."
The word "we" was my compensation.
.
"What's your worst fear?" he asked me, shaking the last drop of Jack Daniel's into his mouth. I don't remember too much about this, except for the headache I had when I woke up.
"Hell." I broke the top of a new bottle and took a swig. Ryan drinks because he can remember all the crazy shit people tell him. I drink so he has crazy shit to remember.
"Why?"
"Because that's where I'm going." He didn't answer immediately. I took it as a sign to take another drink. The gravel I leaned back on cut my palms.
"Me too." He grabbed the Jack Daniels from my hand and poured Skyy vodka into my mouth. Excess alcohol left a wet spot on my shirt.
"Brendon," Ryan took my hands, forcing me to use the dumpster to support myself.
My shirt stuck but I was too busy concentrating on Ryan to care, my darting eyes taking the path his paved. Behind him was a backdrop of what was probably bricks and trees and parked cars; but blurred together, a rainbow.
"Brendon, you're not gonna die alone."
My hands stung like hearts and Ryan's vodka was seeping into my cuts and through my skin.
.
I met him at a strip joint a block away from the church.
Ryan sat in the corner with a notebook and cheap whiskey. He didn't talk to anyone. A blonde with a scarf around her chest tried to give him a lapdance.
We made eye contact as I slipped out the door, clutching a bottle of half-empty vodka.
.
Am I loud and clear, or am I breaking up?
Am I still your charm, or am I just bad luck?
Are we getting close or are we just getting more lost?
I'll show you mine, you show me yours first.
Let's compare scars, I'll tell you whose is worse.
Let's unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words.
Midway between the church and the strip club there's a highway underpass. Next to the underpass is a retention pond. Paper cups from fast-food chains and cigarettes litter the banks, and the stench is something of oil and brake fluid. Ryan's jeans were rolled to the knee and his legs dangled that deep into the water. I don't know whether to watch his fingers or his lips or his eyes.
We live on front porches and swing life away.
We get by just fine here on minimal wage.
If love is a labour I'll slave 'til the end.
I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand.
The Rise Against ballad escaped his lips sounding like perfection. I can't think of any way to describe perfection beside Ryan singing Swing Life Away. Under the layer of gray clouds and kept company by half-eaten McDonald's burgers and styrofoam cups, we could be anywhere.
I've been here so long, think that it's time to move.
Winter's so cold, summer's over too soon.
Let's pack our bags and settle down where palm trees grow.
I've got some friends, some that I hardly know,
But we've had some times I wouldn't trade for the world.
We'd chase these days down with talks of the places that we will go.
Lightning struck and Ryan continued playing. His acoustic guitar was splitting at the bottom, and there were traces of water damage around the neck. Rain pelted down on us. Thunder tried to drown him out but I was deaf to anything that wasn't Ryan.
If love is a labour, I'll slave 'til the end.
I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand.
The sky was no longer gray. It was black and purple and green. Highway traffic was thinning, but Ryan was singing and his voice alone was more effective than any dose of Xanax. He slipped towards the water, until dark brown ran up the threads of his jeans from the murky pond.
It's darker than night ever is in Las Vegas. There's one flash of lightning, as for the shortest second Ryan and his guitar are silhouetted against a yellow-white backdrop. Blindingly bright like staring straight into the sun. Bright white like the stars I'll never see.
...Swing life away.
The next second all I see is the broken neck of a guitar, scorched and floating away from me.
.
May 13, 2007
On Saturday, May 12th, two young men were found by the retention pond off of Highway 72. The body of Ryan Ross, 17, was discovered floating on the pond. Officials say he was killed when lightning struck the water. He died immediately. Brendon Urie, 15, remains in shock but is uninjured. The service for Ross will be held on Friday the 18th.
.
I don't understand why cars still speed down the highway stories underneath me. The streetlamps, the neon lights from the Strip make me want to scream. I want to see the nighttime sky the way it's supposed to be seen. Ryan's eyes are in the stars. But stars are obsolete in Vegas.
Even on a triple dose of Xanax and prescription painkillers, you're too alive for the city not to shut you out.
During the service underneath me, people pray for Ryan's family and Ryan "in heaven". Do I believe in God?
"Yes." There's a response. I turn around and all of Vegas's lights go off for me.
"Ryan?"
He laces our fingers together, makes them fit so perfectly. It's me, he says, I'm here for you.
From the view from the church roof, we can see a black hole. Even mud and asphalt reflect more light than the retention pond.
"Are you afraid of falling?" he asks. We slip closer and closer to the edge of the roof.
I might be legally insane without my Xanax.
Ryan cups my face in his hands and strokes my jaw with his thumb. The contact sends sparks down my spine. It reminds me of lightning. His eyes shine, and he doesn't look at me. He looks into me.
I can feel his breath on my lips when he whispers,
"Brendon, we're going to fly."
And with his hand in mine,
I jump. *** Tomorrow i'm going over to college to work on assignments with a certain donkey and a certain pelican. Though it's work, i'm kind of glad that i'll be actually doing something productive for a change, this weekend instead of lazing around, doing nothing and raiding the fridge. And who knows? It might be fun ;) i want electric blue nailpolish. :(.jpg) I've learnt to treasure all I have. You left me hanging from a thread we once swung from togetherI’ve lick my wounds but I can’t ever see them getting betterSomething’s gotta changeThings cannot stay the same
be inspired by all that you see today. in my case, Capa from Sunshine.
Capa: So if you wake up one morning and it's a particularly beautiful day, you'll know we made it. Labels: inspiration
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Here's a story I thought of, inspired by the movie Sunshine.
It's NOT about Ryden slash or homosexuality.
I don't know what's it about.
I just felt this... feeling.
This story is deep.
Besides, homophobia is stupid.Stars.
"Do you believe in God?"
We crouched behind the altar an hour before the Wednesday night service, leaning against the base of the cross and sinning.
"Do you believe in God?"
With his face so close to mine, his honey-brown eyes staring into mine, it was so hard to say no.
Ryan took my hands and rested them on his, not giving me the chance to wipe off the sweat. His were cool and smooth, like a rose petal. Mine were cracked and rough as thorns. Even with the Xanax in my system, my heart was racing. My breathing was kiddie-pool shallow and my hands were in Ryan's.
"Maybe one night, we will."
.
That night we laid on the church roof and watched cars speed down the highway. The sky was polluted with light from yellow street lamps and red headlights, smoke from the factory on the other side of the road. To the west, pink and blue and green fluorescent lights from the strip shone. Stars are obsolete in Vegas.
All of Vegas reflects on Ryan's skin. The real sky hides behind the bright lights. Miles and miles of nothing but airplanes and rockets and gases and the moon. Somewhere beyond the strip there are billions of lights that sparkle like the champagne in the casinos and shine brighter than pennies and quarters spilling out of slot machines.
These massive balls of burning gases rest somewhere in Ryan's eyes.
But stars are obsolete in Vegas.
Ryan asks, "Are you afraid of falling?"
Underneath us all I see is cars and pavement, cars and pavement and lights. What if I were to fall? This far above the city, split by gamblers and trophy wives... this far above the city with Ryan at my side, the moment I lost my footing I would grow wings.
"No." He turns away from the skyline and stars straight through my eyes and into my heart.
I'm seeing stars.
"Brendon, can you fly?"
He runs his fingertips down my cheek, and you would've thought he was wearing a silk glove if it weren't for the electricity pulsing through my veins, electricity that can only be a result of skin-on-skin contact. Or lightning. His hand returned to his side and it was like someone had flipped a switch and turned off the sun.
"We'll fly someday."
The word "we" was my compensation.
.
"What's your worst fear?" he asked me, shaking the last drop of Jack Daniel's into his mouth. I don't remember too much about this, except for the headache I had when I woke up.
"Hell." I broke the top of a new bottle and took a swig. Ryan drinks because he can remember all the crazy shit people tell him. I drink so he has crazy shit to remember.
"Why?"
"Because that's where I'm going." He didn't answer immediately. I took it as a sign to take another drink. The gravel I leaned back on cut my palms.
"Me too." He grabbed the Jack Daniels from my hand and poured Skyy vodka into my mouth. Excess alcohol left a wet spot on my shirt.
"Brendon," Ryan took my hands, forcing me to use the dumpster to support myself.
My shirt stuck but I was too busy concentrating on Ryan to care, my darting eyes taking the path his paved. Behind him was a backdrop of what was probably bricks and trees and parked cars; but blurred together, a rainbow.
"Brendon, you're not gonna die alone."
My hands stung like hearts and Ryan's vodka was seeping into my cuts and through my skin.
.
I met him at a strip joint a block away from the church.
Ryan sat in the corner with a notebook and cheap whiskey. He didn't talk to anyone. A blonde with a scarf around her chest tried to give him a lapdance.
We made eye contact as I slipped out the door, clutching a bottle of half-empty vodka.
.
Am I loud and clear, or am I breaking up?
Am I still your charm, or am I just bad luck?
Are we getting close or are we just getting more lost?
I'll show you mine, you show me yours first.
Let's compare scars, I'll tell you whose is worse.
Let's unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words.
Midway between the church and the strip club there's a highway underpass. Next to the underpass is a retention pond. Paper cups from fast-food chains and cigarettes litter the banks, and the stench is something of oil and brake fluid. Ryan's jeans were rolled to the knee and his legs dangled that deep into the water. I don't know whether to watch his fingers or his lips or his eyes.
We live on front porches and swing life away.
We get by just fine here on minimal wage.
If love is a labour I'll slave 'til the end.
I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand.
The Rise Against ballad escaped his lips sounding like perfection. I can't think of any way to describe perfection beside Ryan singing Swing Life Away. Under the layer of gray clouds and kept company by half-eaten McDonald's burgers and styrofoam cups, we could be anywhere.
I've been here so long, think that it's time to move.
Winter's so cold, summer's over too soon.
Let's pack our bags and settle down where palm trees grow.
I've got some friends, some that I hardly know,
But we've had some times I wouldn't trade for the world.
We'd chase these days down with talks of the places that we will go.
Lightning struck and Ryan continued playing. His acoustic guitar was splitting at the bottom, and there were traces of water damage around the neck. Rain pelted down on us. Thunder tried to drown him out but I was deaf to anything that wasn't Ryan.
If love is a labour, I'll slave 'til the end.
I won't cross these streets until you hold my hand.
The sky was no longer gray. It was black and purple and green. Highway traffic was thinning, but Ryan was singing and his voice alone was more effective than any dose of Xanax. He slipped towards the water, until dark brown ran up the threads of his jeans from the murky pond.
It's darker than night ever is in Las Vegas. There's one flash of lightning, as for the shortest second Ryan and his guitar are silhouetted against a yellow-white backdrop. Blindingly bright like staring straight into the sun. Bright white like the stars I'll never see.
...Swing life away.
The next second all I see is the broken neck of a guitar, scorched and floating away from me.
.
May 13, 2007
On Saturday, May 12th, two young men were found by the retention pond off of Highway 72. The body of Ryan Ross, 17, was discovered floating on the pond. Officials say he was killed when lightning struck the water. He died immediately. Brendon Urie, 15, remains in shock but is uninjured. The service for Ross will be held on Friday the 18th.
.
I don't understand why cars still speed down the highway stories underneath me. The streetlamps, the neon lights from the Strip make me want to scream. I want to see the nighttime sky the way it's supposed to be seen. Ryan's eyes are in the stars. But stars are obsolete in Vegas.
Even on a triple dose of Xanax and prescription painkillers, you're too alive for the city not to shut you out.
During the service underneath me, people pray for Ryan's family and Ryan "in heaven". Do I believe in God?
"Yes." There's a response. I turn around and all of Vegas's lights go off for me.
"Ryan?"
He laces our fingers together, makes them fit so perfectly. It's me, he says, I'm here for you.
From the view from the church roof, we can see a black hole. Even mud and asphalt reflect more light than the retention pond.
"Are you afraid of falling?" he asks. We slip closer and closer to the edge of the roof.
I might be legally insane without my Xanax.
Ryan cups my face in his hands and strokes my jaw with his thumb. The contact sends sparks down my spine. It reminds me of lightning. His eyes shine, and he doesn't look at me. He looks into me.
I can feel his breath on my lips when he whispers,
"Brendon, we're going to fly."
And with his hand in mine,
I jump.*** Tomorrow i'm going over to college to work on assignments with a certain donkey and a certain pelican. Though it's work, i'm kind of glad that i'll be actually doing something productive for a change, this weekend instead of lazing around, doing nothing and raiding the fridge. And who knows? It might be fun ;) i want electric blue nailpolish. :(I've learnt to treasure all I have. You left me hanging from a thread we once swung from togetherI’ve lick my wounds but I can’t ever see them getting betterSomething’s gotta changeThings cannot stay the same
be inspired by all that you see today. in my case, Capa from Sunshine.
Capa: So if you wake up one morning and it's a particularly beautiful day, you'll know we made it. Labels: inspiration
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