thebong

I don't want to be helped... all the pills you're shoving down my throat is doing nothing but blinding my judgement and giving me false sense of relief... just leave me be, i want nothing more to do with you and your naturally lieing mouth.

Lucien leant over the window’s ledge, allowing his wrist to slack and his open palm to catch the base of his sculptured neck. His mauve eyes held the expression of exhaustion which impaled the corners of his feeble smile, now dwindling into a disconcerted scowl.
He eased his fingers from his chin down to the nape of his masculine neck, rasping the beaded sweat which now clung to the surface of his palm. How irritating was his nights now hampered with the recollections of a deluded past. Slowly Lucien closed his eyes, allowing himself to inhale the fresh lawn’s air which trailed in through the open window. Things seemed peaceful… even if beneath this mask of peace and contentment was the devilish cries of something far more sinister.
 
Chapter One
 
Lucien glanced up, his eyes fixating upon the slender glistening of the crucifix which now wavered elegantly within the morning’s soft breeze. If he dared extend his arm he could doubtlessly grace its polished surface with the carefulness of his touch. The symbol of the lord; a smirk twisted to the corner of his thin pale lips. He could feel the amusement gathering within his throat as the odour of dragon’s blood, a familiar incense, slinked its way beneath the door’s base crack.
‘Senseless old fool,’ he scoffed.
Lucien could never really bring himself to comprehend how this old man assumed he was safe in a realm occupied with nothing but sin. A knock shattered his thoughts. Reith fumbled with the matches and began to quickly light the scented candles placed within every corner of the room.
 
‘Are you up yet?’ The voice trailed in like an old-fashioned whisper. Archer had undoubtedly aged over the years of Reith living there.
‘Yeah, I’m up.’ Lucien tugged the belt around his jeans, pulling the waistline perfectly around his slim figure. He listened and waited for Archer’s footsteps to fade down the hall before he slid on his leather vest, fastening it down the centre, followed by his thick coat decorated with snowy fur around the rim of his hood.
 
It seemed odd, how four years could possibly mould into one. It’d been four years since Archer opened his doors to a child peering up from a sheltered hood, even still to this day, he provides adequately to Lucien’s every needs. It was probably his religious side which forced him to act in such a way to even a stranger, especially that of an orphaned child. Reith just played the innocent, following along with his preacher’s ways and retained his actual reason for being there, a veil unmoveable by anyone but himself.  
 
He headed down the stairwell, being careful to keep his hand running effortlessly down the banister. Lucien recoiled, only just managing to evade touching the glossy cross which now dangled from the banister’s end. Archer tended to move them around without warning… but then again… why would he need to warn someone who allegedly believed so much in his religious ways? Lucien clenched his fingers gently into a ball just above where the cross swayed. With a little more concentration he could undoubtedly dismember the wretched thing and that’d be one less problem he’d be left to face, nevertheless, a mini flare-up would probably cause an unwanted fuss.
 
‘Why must you dress in such dark clothing?’ Archer glanced up from his bowl of porridge. ‘Sometimes I wonder where the communication has gone between you and our father-‘
‘It’s gone nowhere,’ Lucien murmured, a little edge to his tone as he pulled his seat back and lowered himself onto the cushion. ‘I just prefer the darker way, to leave room for the light,’ he smiled, almost restricting his own words. 

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-me just casually sitting at the formal dinner table enjoying my lovely meal with my friends and family- 
mum: -pulls out her phone and starts passing it around the table- 
me: what are you showing them?
mum: just the picture i took of you earlier -when the phone finally comes back to mum she leans over to me and shows it to me- dont you think you look like miss piggy?
me thinking to myself: and here i was thinking i looked pretty on one of the most important days of my life and now i feel like a fat pig.... thanks mum... 
everyone around the table: she does doesnt she? -they all laugh- 
me: -shrinks back down in my seat- 
not only did i have appendicitis that day i had to put up with my self consious agreeing with everyone around me... i had a lovely time and it still gets to me to this day :/

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i've never felt so alone with so many people around me...

Please Read 

Im considering writing a novel based on assassination, comment if you think it's a good idea and what you think i should include in it, such as, love, drama, action, horror. Just know that i will be completely devoted to this including within my descriptions. You wont be dissapointed. :)