3/4/10


“It’s true, it’s fucking true. I can’t fucking believe it either Bill.” Said Jack, worriedly down the phone.

“Well, is that good or bad news?” Billy replied, just as worried.

“FUCKING BAD NEWS! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH GASH I’LL GET AFTER THIS? NOTHING! My fucking life is falling apart here Billy and you fucking know it. Failed Youth are fucking over til this is sorted.” Jack stood still as he realised what he’d just said.

“Excuse me, but since when did you become fucking band leader? Failed Youth finishes when we want it to fucking finish.”

“Failed Youth aren’t Failed Youth without me and you fucking know it Billy.”

“Fuck off; all you do is do a fucking bad job of playing a guitar. We don't need you at all, I don’t fucking need you anymore Jack to be honest. You’re not the same person I used to know.”

“Oh yeah, what’s fucking changed?”

“Your want to actually fucking make a difference, your want to actually write songs that are going to make people feel something, your ability to cope in normal fucking society without shooting up a needle full. Your addicted Jack and it’s to the point you’ve got to get help otherwise you’re going to kill yourself.”

“Yeah, that’s rich coming from you. I might do H but at least I can fucking control it. A line of coke before each show? That’s a fucking addiction. You talk about not being able to cope, you can’t even cope standing on a stage without your precious coke. You’re screwed without me and you know it.”

“You want to bet? Fine. That’s fucking it Jack, piss off out of our lives and go turn into a fucking train wreck. And you take that fucking baby with you, because whether you like it or not that girl isn’t going to get rid of that kid and if you don't sort it out in 9 months time you’re going to be a dad. Just don’t fuck up that kid’s life; it isn’t yours to fuck up.”

“Well what am I meant to do about it?”

“CONDOMS.” Billy said, throwing the phone at the wall and watching it shatter into little shiny metallic pieces onto the oak flooring. Jack on the other hand, simple fell down, face first into his bed. The soft duvet covered his mouth and he screamed a loud FUCK into it.

Then he cried.

OOC: Mind officially blown, nice job man.

5/4/10

He pulled up the hood of his Abercrombie and Fitch hoodie, placing his phone on the table and stuffing his medication into his right pocket. In his bag were three syringes, bag’s of cocaine, bag’s of heroin, bag’s of cannabis and a few LSD tab’s, as well as £10,000 in cash. As he reached the front door, he turned around and looked at his old home. This was it. He took in a deep breath, breathed out, then took out a fag from the B&H’s pack and lit one up. Taking a deep drag, he closed his eyes. Smelling his old life, the air entered his nostrils; then breathed out. Out it went. That was it. This wasn’t his house any longer, it was just a building.

He opened his front door, the usual paparazzi that waited outside would have all gone home by now. Back home to their wife’s, their kid’s, their lives. To them he was just something to parasite off, like leeches. But in a way the agreement is mutual. Without them following him and the band around they wouldn’t get half as much publicity. 50% of a band’s influence and talent is in their ability to perform, and performing doesn’t just stop when you say thank you very much and walk off the stage. It’s 24 hours a day, 7 day’s a week. A constant pantomime. Still, he knew til the day he died nothing he’d ever done had been for other people. Which in a way was good, but he would have maybe liked to have made a slight difference to others’ life’s. Never mind.

It was dark outside, a warm spring night. The only sound was that of the buzz of the city, a fair distance off.

He took out the car key from his pocket and unlocked his black Dodge Ram, and got in the front seat. Putting his bag down next to him, he started the ignition.



ooc: Wow, thanks guy's :) I didn't think I'd get such a positive response, the roleplays not being very long n' all. But I wanted to keep them short, to keep people reading them. There'll be a lot of them, and hopefully at the end I can stick them all together in one big thread for people to read or something. Anyway, this was a bit of a spur of the moment thing but I've got a pretty good storyline here and I'm going to just go with it. :)

9/4/10

Billy's POV.

I rushed around my bedroom; my hand’s running through my hair. I was shitting it. A cigarette hung limply out the left side of my mouth, unlit. I stopped and took out my lighter, igniting the end. I breathed in the smoke, and relaxed.

Where could he be? Jack wasn’t... in a sound mind. His head wasn’t solid. He’d suffered from ADHD for years, and depression. This wasn’t untypical of him to just run off, it was however untypical of him to do it like this. He’d taken everything from his house, not contacted anyone and no one had heard from him for four days. And right now I’m feeling even more like shit, seeing as I was the last one to talk to him and feel bad for what I said on the phone. If he’s done something stupid I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.

Still, this whole thing wasn’t about me was it? It was about him, and how the fuck I’d get him back. I’d thought about contacting the police, but I agreed with myself it was best to leave it until he’d been missing for at least a week. Because contacting the police only to find him drugged up in some London toilet would only lead to trouble for both of us, and of course they’d search my house for him and there were things I’d rather the police didn’t get their hands on. It might sound a bit selfish, but Jack would only do the same with me. Still, I got the impression that this time Jack really wasn’t fucking around, this time it was serious. And now the prick had left a hormonal 25 year old woman to look after, whilst trying to get her to stop shooting up fucking junk. She was in the living room right now, sipping on a cup of Earl Grey. Nice lass, she was, just stuck in a bit of an awkward situation. Well, very awkward. She was just a junkie, a party girl. She liked having fun and rolling with the stars. Luckily, because she was fit she could get away with it. And it just so happened she crossed Jack, and it just so happened they fucked and it just so happened they were both so fucked off their nut’s they forgot protection, and it just so happened that one of Jack’s little spermies wriggled it’s cuntish little self right up her fanny and met in cuntish union with one of her fucking prize eggs.

And now there was another little wanker growing inside her, with a wanker of a father who would never be there for him anyway. Brilliant.

She was probably as worried as I was though, no more easy rich cock for her. This was her life, crumbling before her like a stack of cards. It probably hurt more that she couldn’t party any longer than the fact the dad was a twat. I don't think she had any feeling’s for Jack, I don’t see how she could. I was the only one that had ever loved him and I think that will stay true for the rest of his life. We’d always been best friend’s, somehow. It had always been a cross between hating each other, and being worst enemies, and loving each other and being best friends.

I walked through to the living room and sat on the lush leather sofa opposite her. An old Smash Up! tune was playing on the radio, and the presenter was moaning about how they’d disappeared so early. Outside it was a normal day, thing’s buzzed by, regardless of the situation we were all in. The world always moved on, no matter what your problems were. That always helped me, thinking that. It always kind of soothed me in a way, to know no matter how shit I was feeling the world would carry on turning and the universe would carry on working and nothing actually mattered. It was beautiful. And then she said it.

“Nice tea.” The woman, I should say girl, said. She looked up at me, and smiled a nervous smile. Quavering and shaking. She looked green. Coming off smack was fucking hard. But that, the fact that she was complimenting my fucking tea making skills, that was beautiful.

Fucking beautiful.

3/5/10

Jack leant across the coffee table and picked up the copy of Smash! Gossip. A picture of him and Billy was on the front, and ‘Failed Youth Baby Scandal’ was scrawled above it. He scratched at his chin, where his bristly unshaven beard irritated his skin. His eyes were bunged up with those little crusty bits. He rubbed them in a circular motion with his left fist and tiny crusty bits fell onto the paper. His greasy, unwashed hair was starting to smell and it hung limply across his eyes. He could really do with getting it cut.

He opened up the first page of the magazine and read the article about him. How the fuck they found this stuff out he had no idea. They seemed to be everywhere, every moment of his life. Following him, licking his arse when he was watching and stabbing him the back when he wasn’t. He knew it was just part of it all, part of the game. Part of being a rockstar. You get followed, you get adored, you get loved, but then as soon as you slip up the sick fucks are willing to lick it all up. Doesn’t matter now though, he thought to himself, he was happy here. No one knew where he was, apart from his maid Alessia, lovely lass she was. Aside from his mother, she was the only women he’d ever been close to without wanting to fuck her. She knew everything, he’d told her everything. Aside from Billy, she was the only person he’d ever been able to trust. And now it seemed that Billy had been crossed off that list.

It’s amazing how quickly love can turn to hate. The two, completely opposite ends of the spectrum, yet with one word or one sentence or one action it can completely flip. It’s almost like their exactly the same thing, just a sickly strong emotion felt between two people, whether or not it was that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with them or if you wanted them to stay as far out of your life as you could, you still thought about them 24/7. Jack loved Billy, not in a gay way, but as a brother loves another. It was that close. It was the kind of bond that you’d share until the day you died. It was the kind of bond that could never be broken, it would just manifest itself in a mixture of different emotions. Love had really turned to hate this time. It was his child, yeah it wasn’t planned and he had no emotions for the mother, but still, that was half him. That was his genes, his blood. The only thing that apart from his name no one and no thing could ever steal from him. Yet Billy was trying, the fuck up.

Jack knew about Billy’s secret. Billy couldn’t have kids. He had some funny balls disease thing or something at birth, and it had left him infertile. And now it seemed that since Jack could father a child, yet he was too ‘extreme’ to be a good one, Billy was trying to fucking hijack it. And no one would stop him. Somewhere, in Jacks head, he understood what Billy was doing. He understood that he wasn’t a suitable father and he understood he’d cause the kid more pain if he tried to get involved, but his brain was so clouded with anger and hate that he wasn’t looking at that part of his head. Instead it was focused, solely, on revenge.

And he’d get that revenge, one way or another.

ooc: Aha thanks Bikz :) I have a rough idea where everything's going, but a lot of it's just spur of the moment ideas. And thanks Nimrods :D

17/5/10

Jack sat in the front of his car, looking out through the front window. The horizon blurred into the distance as vast dark shapes drift across the dark blue rippling ocean. The sea breeze battered against the car window as tear drops of rain fell down from the blackened sky. The distant sound of waves crashing against the cliffs of Beachy Head. Jack turned on the radio; Alicia Lena was playing one of her new songs. The car’s air con gently hummed, and the sound of something broken rattled away.

Jack had not come to Beachy Head to kill himself. His intentions, unlike many, were the put him off the idea. He needed to clear his head, and there’s nothing like sitting in a car on Beachy Head to clear your head. It was wear he’d grown up, nearby anyway. This was where he’d gone as a kid on holiday. His dad had been too busy shooting up heroin to give a shit, and so his mum would drive them down in the busted old Peugeot and try and make the best of it. They’d usually camp, right near the old pub where his mum would go and drown her sorrows in a wash of alcohol if things got too tough. A 99 ice cream, fish and chips and Coke, sitting on the aged, decaying bench. Looking out over the sea, with the salty air filling his nostrils.

It’s hard when you go back a place as important to your childhood when you’re older, especially when you’re feeling like this. It was almost difficult to see where he went wrong.

He leaned forward into his hands and let a flood of tears escape from his eyes. They came and they came, a torrential downpour. And as the rain and the wind muted his sound he screamed, at everything. Animalistic, he howled as more tears came. He punched and kicked and screamed, smashing the driver window and showering himself with shards of glass. Ripping his seat belt off he slammed open the door and ran, sprinting as fast as he could through the torrent of the rain, battered by the violent wind. Heading straight for the edge.

He slowed down as he reached it, panting like a hound. His toes poked over the end of the rock, and he looked over the edge at the booming waves. Almost like a soundtrack to the end of the world. The rain hid the last of his tears as they fell down to, into the ocean. He collapsed to his knees, holding his head in his hands.

He just lay there, shivering and freezing cold.

1/6/10

I pulled up outside the house, breathing heavily. The air conditioning wheezing, the crackly, weak signal radio played quietly. The house was nestled deep within a thick wood, in the West Country. It was the whole band’s home away from home, a sanctuary where they’d just come to chill out. There was a mile of the surrounding area bought by the band, to ensure privacy. A great wall ran all around the outside, and an inner wall was on the inside. Topped with vicious barbed wire, it was practically a fortress against all kind of journalist scum.

Each member of the band had a card that allowed them to access the outer and inner walls, so it was easy for me to get in. I knew that the whole band would be in there, so it would be easiest way. Not only that, but it would take at least 30 minutes for emergency services to arrive, but they’d all be dead before they even had the chance to phone anybody. And then they’d just rot.

I opened the car door and looked up at the looming limestone mansion. The pebbles made soft sounds as my leather loafers sunk into them. I felt the gun in my inside pocket, pressing its cold metal against my bare chest. I pulled on a pair of leather gloves, and tied up my shoe laces. I’d cut all my hair off earlier, under the bridge, where I’d burnt all my previous possessions. This was it, I was closing the book. Finishing this life. I wasn’t sure if that was literal or metaphoric.

Walking up to the door, I could hear The Cranberries playing out Zombie loud on the stereo. Approaching the great oak entrance, I pressed my card into one of the slots and the green light pinged on. The door automatically opened. I stepped inside, shutting it behind me and locking it. I took the gun out from my coat, and walked slowly around the corner into the living room, towards the music.

No one was there. The stereo boomed yet no one was in sight. I walked forward more, this time slower and more cautious, nervously looking over my shoulder every few steps. I reached the stereo and flicked the off switch. The music stopped. The whole house was silent for a second.

“Who the fuck turned the music off?” I heard Tim shout, from the next room. I felt my heart skip a beat and I leapt behind the corner, peering round to see if Tim was coming. Sure enough, the 5’6 drummer was walking, grin on his face, joint between his lips and his favourite baseball cap on his head. He also wore a ripped Panic! T-shirt and grey skinny jeans. As he turned the corner, I swung round, landing a hook dead on his chin. Tim collapsed to the floor, crashing into the sofa and then the TV. I leapt on top of him and punched him in the head repeatedly until he coughed up blood, his face a mess. I heard him choke out “Jack” before I punched him one more time, knocking him unconscious. His crimson blood trickled down out his nose and onto the white carpet, soaking it up.

“What the fuck was that?” Shouted Billy, rushing down the stairs. I leapt over the sofa, pulling the gun up and aiming it straight for the centre of his head. Billy came round the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. Sweat trickled down his brown. His face went a deathlike colourless white, his blue eyes blinked quickly. He quivered slightly, gradually lifting his hands up. “Jack... Jack what the fuck his going on?” He asked his voice shaky.

“I’m sorry Billy.” I said, taking a step forward. “Really, I am.” I took another step. “You’re like a brother to me. This won’t feel good, honestly".

“Jack, seriously man, stop fucking around, why are you doing this?” He stepped backwards, into the doorway.

“Because, Billy, I’ve realised that this world doesn’t care about me. Nothing matters. Not about me. Everyone has someone, something for them to cling onto. But me? Na. I’m fucking alone Billy. Do you know how that fucking feels?” I screamed at him, spit hurling towards him. “DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE? To wake up in the morning, surrounded by people you don’t even fucking know, and for them to love you, and adore you, but your still on your own. It doesn’t fucking matter, everything they do, it’s just fucking lies and them trying to get in with you because of what you are. Well fuck that, I can’t fucking deal with it Billy. It used to be me and you man; it used to be me and you.” Tears began flooding from my eyes, blurring the image of Billy.

“Jack! It still is me and you! Like you said, we’re brothers yeah? This isn’t going to solve anything is it?”

“Ha!” I laughed, hysterically. “Me and you? I had something, I would have had something, I was going to have a kid Billy, a fucking child! My own flesh and fucking blood! It would have been MINE. Something in this fucked up world that actually needed me and wanted me to be there. And you were going to take it! Just rip it away from me when I hadn’t even had a chance to fucking give it a go. You didn’t believe in me Billy, I thought you would but you didn’t. You thought I’d fuck up. Well I’ll show you what’s fucked up now!” I pressed the gun against his head, the cold metal quivering against his sweaty forehead.

I began to laugh.

Laugh, laugh.

Cry, cry, cry, cry.

Laugh, laugh, laugh.

HAHAHAHA.HAHAHAA.HAHAHA.HAHAHAHAHAAHHA.




Then darkness.


ooc: Hopefully I nailed the crazyness, next installment will be with you soon.

OOC: I don't really know what to say, how about it's amazingly good.
I wish I could write like that but sadly I can't, have you ever thought about a career as a writer?, I'd probably buy a book by you if it's anywhere near as good as this. I realise that this may seem like I'm joking but I'm deadly serious.
It's really good.

1/6/10 - 2/6/10

Billy’s POV

I blinked my eyes, looking down about Jack’s limp body. Blood was trickling out the back of a cut on the back of his head, the gun resting by the side of him. He was completely still, aside from a shallow breath. Above him stood Saskia, pregnant belly bulging from her pink, cotton shirt. She quivered, a cricket bat was held between her skeletal fingers, her skinny arms swaying with the weight. I could only stay there, stating at Jack. What the fuck had just happened.

I bent over and touched Jack’s neck, trying to feel a pulse. There was a faint signature of a heartbeat, a slow thin one, but a heartbeat all the same. I picked Jack up over my shoulders, and heaved him up the wooden staircase, not saying a word to the traumatised Saskia as she rushed over to the bleeding, becoming-conscious Tim. As I reached Jack’s bedroom, I went and laid him down on his bed, resting his head upon his fluffy white pillow which instantly sucked up the blood. I simply fell back onto my ass, and stared at him. For hours, until I finally fell asleep...

---

Jack’s POV

Opening my groggy eyelids, I surveyed my bedroom. In the corner, Billy lay on his side, head in his hands. It was silent. I could see through an open window that it was dark outside, it must have been around 11. I replayed what had happened earlier over and over in my head. I couldn’t quite understand. I had been planning it for weeks, telling myself I’d do it. And then I actually did. Sure, I was pumped full of drugs, but I still did it, it was a completed action in the past. Done.

Now I had a choice. Either stay, and face the consequences - likely I’d be stuck in some mental home, and then rehab, weaning me off the drugs. Or I could run. Pretty much all I’d ever done is run. And now it seemed like I would have to again. This time, not so much away from the problem, no, now I was running away from the solution. You know when you’ve hit the wall, when the world’s at your feet, people want to help get you off the drugs and straighten up, and you still want it all to end in a big drug filled sex orgy. You know you’ve fucked up somewhere, when the people that love you are the ones your running away from, into the hands of those who don’t.

I got up out of my bed, feeling the sting of the cut on the back of my head. I crept, slowly around the side of the bed and down the staircase. Billy’s card was resting unhidden by the front door, and I took it and opened the door. There was a soft bleeping sound, amplified by the silence around it. I froze. Sweat dripped down my brow. My stomach ached and churned. I stepped outside, into the warm Summer night and then out, out into the woods. Free, again.

I ran and I ran, letting branch after branch, leaf after leaf batter me and cool me with sweet dew resting upon them. The grass came up to my knees, and my bare feet were caked in mud. But still, I was free. I was gone. I smiled, for the first time in weeks.

After about 10 minutes of running, I’d reached the outside gate. I pressed the card in and left the great gates, to find my car waiting outside. I punched through the window, glass shattering ever. I never thought I’d be doing this when I’d blown £70,000 on the thing. Opening up the door from the inside, I took apart the plastic cover underneath the wheel and began hotwiring it. All the while the alarm was beeping, alerting flocks of birds that ascended from their trees. Finally I heard the rev of the engine. Slamming the door shut, I pressed down on the accelerator and drove down the winding wooden path, out into the freedom.

To Beachy Head, then.