Robin Williams was a man who played an undeniably huge part in our childhoods when our eyes were glued to the TV when Jumanji or Mrs Doubtfire were on, and I can’t deny that, although I don’t place any higher importance on a celebrity than anybody else, his death really saddens me. Apparently it was a suicide, brought on by depression. I understand many people are upset at this news, but the responses I’ve read are amazing (see: ridiculous). This is the comments section of an article posted by Daily Mail (although I do admit I regularly read the comments section for bants, this one in particular is perfect for highlighting a problem that exists in society):
1) Apparently fame/fortune deny you the ability to suffer from depression.
Okay, moron, and all other morons who share this view, are you aware that nobody chooses to be depressed? Are you aware that it is an illness? Are you aware that you could be famous or rich and suffer from a physical deformity that is out of your power? Are you therefore also aware that you could have everything you ever want in the world and still suffer from a mental illness? Other people having it “worse off” than you does NOT negate your unhappiness. And never let anybody think it does. It doesn’t matter if people in other countries are being bombed or starved, that does NOT mean you aren’t allowed to be unhappy or suffer from a mental illness. You DO NOT CHOOSE TO SUFFER FROM A DISORDER.
This is probably the most unrealistic vending machine ever. But how useful would a vending machine of protection be?
I’m not talking about condoms or knives.
I mean of people.
(I did say unrealistic.)
These vending machines would be placed along quiet roads, and scattered amongst those that aren’t so quiet for when the odd person strays in this direction at night. No, you can’t stuff people inside a box BUT what if you were to push a button on the machine and immediately a person who is right for your situation appears by your side in no time? Obviously, you wouldn’t have to pay for the service, and for this there would have to be a 24 hour team of ‘protection’ for each area. It’d have to be paid for through tax, but see it as an extension of the police. Of course the police will still be there, but this is for those times where you are unsure if a situation is serious enough to be calling 999.
Its for when you feel like you’re being followed home by a strange man, push a button and soon enough a huge guy or group of women will be by your side or just on the same street, watching and ensuring you’re safe
For when you’re walking home at night and there’s a bunch of rudeboys standing on the corner of the street and its highly likely that they’ll rob you. Push a button and there will be a few people walking down the same street behind you.
This vending machine is basically for the times where nothing has actually happened for you to call for help, but to prevent anything like that happening, and to make you feel safer. You could call a friend or somebody else or not put yourself in that position in the first place, but just in case you can’t.
Unfortunately, I don’t think pepper spray is legal in the UK and I absolutely despise how you’re not allowed to batter a man or woman to death if they try to touch you. (Expect a post about this later).
Anyway. I did say it was unrealistic.
Now playing: I’m Not a Vampire – Falling in Reverse
My eyes jolted open as I felt a strong, tight grip around my neck. I could not breathe and it seems I waited too long to try and move, for something prevented it. I was awake, but I could not control my body. Have my years of believing that I would never be touched by something supernatural betrayed me? My room, already pitch black due to the unforgiving hour and lack of moonlight for where my room was located, was swarming with the blackest shadows darker than pitch black and someone, somebody, something, all of them making the most chilling noises from a mouth or from movement, I dare not even question. Am I dealing with something unlike myself or anyone around me and visible to the world? What is this? I have no time for questions, I can’t breathe.
First, silently, for I would rather nobody woke up and saw this. I became torn between looking for a way out of its grip, and clenching my eyes shut and childishly hoping for it to go away, but the thing, keeping its everlasting and tightening grip on my neck was seemingly sitting on my chest and legs and arms, restricting my breath and depriving me of any movement whatsoever, leading me to choose the former. I kept my eyes open, at the same time trying to avoid looking at what I could not even see. A chill, ridiculously strong feeling of evil had surrounded the entire room, the black shadows emitting ghoulish, deep sounds, banging on the air and sending shrill ringing into my ears. But nobody had come to my room. I gave up, I shouted as I tried to escape the grip of it, however nothing escaped my lips but what sounded to me like the raspy whispering from somebody with a voice long gone. I could see it laughing, but at the same time I could see nothing. I could feel it laughing? It felt less like I was being held down, but more like it had cast a spell on me, freezing my entire body whilst still sitting on my chest, squeezing my neck. I continued to attempt to scream and shout nevertheless, only managing to move one of my toes on each foot, then two, three, four all of them. But that’s all. The noises became louder, sounding like a chorus of demons performing a ritual in a circle around me, and my struggle became larger and all I could try my luck at was praying the evil away. So I prayed whilst still screaming, hoping that somehow a noise would escape my mouth at least and scare the thing away, or somebody would hear and help me. And the noises got louder and it wasn’t working, I felt myself descending into something, falling
Screaming in an empty room, I quickly slapped my hand around my mouth to abruptly stop any remaining noise that I was unwillingly making. Wait I was able to bring my hand up. I looked around. I could make out the dresser, almost, and my reflection. I looked at the time and dropped my head back onto my pillow. It happened again.
Thought I’d do a post about sleep paralysis. This is what it is like for me. Simply put, without the medical jargon, sleep paralysis is when YOU are awake, but your body hasn’t woken up yet, therefore causing a feeling that you are trapped inside your body. The NHS says that “about 6% of the population will experience at least one episode during their lifetime” which is annoying because it’s happened to me about 6 times now. Sleep enough and regularly and you should be fine, it has only really happened to me if I was losing a significant amount of sleep or I was extremely stressed.
FYI if you are ever experiencing sleep paralysis and you want out, do wiggle ya toes, it helps.
FYI #2 I didn’t edit this, I just wrote it and posted it so I apologise if its crap. I’ll review it later.
“Sleep, those little slices of death – how I loathe them.”
– Edgar Allen Poe
WARNING: If you are easily offended, please do not read this.
He spotted her sitting there, he spotted her brushing a strand of hair away and tucking it behind her ear. He spotted her from behind a book about the historical events that took place in South America, something a young boy had left behind on the table. She was staring at her book, her eyebrows furrowed in frustration as she seemingly tried to figure out a puzzle of nonsense on the paper in front of her. He spotted her from 5 tables away, and 3 to the right. She was sitting alone and he spotted her body turn to the right as she greeted a friend and he became enraged with jealousy as he saw that the filthy white converses that approached her belonged to a male. A few words were exchanged, from what he could make out, something about “really good” and “i’ll see you at school” and soon after she was once again alone, perfectly alone. Still watching her, his small dark eyes squinting to get as much of only her in his line of vision as he could.
She was beautiful. Her face was plain and the makeup could make one mistake her for any other whore and by whore he meant girl, but she was beautiful. She was beautiful but she never looked up from the ground, and she never looked up from her book, and she never looked up to see him. She was always looking down, and he memorised how the parting of her hair would be in an awkward zig zag that made him want to slice right down the middle of her head to make it straight again, just like any other girl, make her just like any other girl so she didn’t have to be so god damn beautiful.
It seemed to him that 187 minutes and 58 seconds later she grew tired of studying from her book about the Napoleonic Wars and she slowly packed her things into her bag, leaving the library. He put down his book and followed her out.
The July sun was high in the sky at midday and he was sure to keep no more than 15 feet behind her at all times, edging closer as he knew they were approaching the short dark alley she took every Thursday when she had to walk home between 10am and 4pm. The sun was burning the back of his neck, and he watched as he could almost make out where a drop of sweat had soaked through her top on her lower back, no bigger than a third of his pinky.
And then she tripped.
Being the clumsy, beautiful clumsy fucking girl that she is, she tripped. How perfect. He ran ahead to help her up and she flinched, shocked that somebody was touching her without her permission.
“Oh,” she smiled weakly, “thanks. I’m fine.” She rubbed her ankle before smiling once more and walking off. He hurried after her.
She looked back, her pupils dilated a little and she angled her head by about 5 degrees out of confusion that somebody wanted her company.
“I’m walking the same way. How are you doing?”
Her eyes darted around, avoiding his as they began to walk together in awkward silence.
“Hey you do Spanish, right? I think one of my friends is in your class, Lukas, you know him?”
She looked a little more at ease knowing that this wasn’t just a strange boy with whom she had no connection whatsoever.
“Yeah,” she said. “yeah he’s in my class, how do you know?”
“You have Spanish 4th and 5th lesson on a Wednesday and first on a Friday.”
He was too busy looking at a crow sitting on the wall of the alley they were entering to notice that her eyes had widened, the state of ease she had been in 30 seconds ago disappearing as they entered the alley.
“Hey. I didn’t mean to sound like a stalker, I just know that because Lukas has the same lessons as you…honestly. I think you’re beautiful and I want to get to know you.” He looked down at his shoes while speaking every one of those words, withering in shyness awaiting her response. She stared at him and then back down at her shoes, her grey ballet pumps, and he made the mistake of looking over at her looking down and noticing her wonky hairline and the way her dark locks were catching the sunlight, giving her golden brown highlights.
“That’s very kind of you,” she started, “thank you. But I can’t, I have to go.”
“But you’re so beautiful,” he stopped and frowned, turning towards her. “I want to get to know you.”
“I can’t,” she said, backing away with each step he took towards her.
“You’re so beautiful,” he brushed her hair away from her face, just like she had done in the library. “You’re so damn beautiful,” his hands clamped around her throat as he pushed her against the wall.
“Please,” her arms were frantically pushing against him, against the wall, anything to get him off her.
“But you’re so, so beautiful,” her hair was tangled in the fist he made out of his right hand as he pulled it back to reveal more of her face and leaned in to smell the musky perfume of flowers and vanilla radiating off her as beads of sweat escaped the skin on her forehead. She was struggling against him, stupidly thinking she could just wriggle her way out of his grip because he had little to no muscle mass on him at all, a weedy boy from the offset with sallow skin that made him look unwell, but it was his dark handsome features that just about saved him. He was shaking as he now held two fists of her hair, bringing his head down to her neck, taking a deep breath, scraping his teeth against her gently as she whimpered.
His teeth penetrated her skin and she screamed. His jaw was locked in her flesh as she wailed, kicking and punching at him to get him off her but his hold on her beautiful brown hair was strong and he kicked her in the knee to stop her trying to move. The irony tasting liquid filled his mouth, and rather than unhooking his teeth from her flesh, he clamped his teeth shut inside her neck and ripped it out. Her shriek almost deafened him as she fell, her head being held upright by his grip on her hair. It was matted, it was dull and her parting was straighter than his blurred vision let him believe. He let her drop and pulled out a pocket knife, ramming the blade into her scalp where her hairline met her forehead, dragging it all the way to the back in a perfect straight line and he dropped the knife and she was screaming and her head was down, and she didn’t look up from the ground, and she didn’t look up to see him run away.
HELLO this is my first post, and my second day of freedom from sixth form. Yes. I am FREE. So free. And excited and confused because I’ve been wanting to have an actual blog that isn’t tumblr for a while now. (I’m confused because I don’t really know how to use this after being so used to the simplicity of tumblr, but I should get the hang of it soon.) Expect this blog not to have a particular theme because I’ll be posting about everything. Also expect more words than pictures. A bad habit of an English student which I’ll try to change, I know most people are unfortunately more entertained by pictures rather than words.
Now playing: The Tell-Tale Heart – Strangers to Wolves