original writing
for our coursework, we have to do an original writing piece. our teacher said we can base it off of song lyrics so i chose Whatsername by Green Day. i do hope you enjoy what i have wrote so far. do excuse the spelling mistakes, i'll sort them out later ^__^
enjoy (:
I've been through alot recently. My area isn't the nicest, y'see. I live in the rough parts of Berkley, near Oakland. Incase you may not know where this is, it's San Fransisco, North California. Anyway, back to where I was. Let's take a walk...
It's nice outside today. The sun is out and it's quite warm. Everyone seems to be alright, too. That's a novelty. By the way, I'm James, although, I'd rather be called Jimmy if you don't mind. Back to the story. I've had a bit of a struggle. I move out of my parent's due to, well, me being an utter jerk, really. I'm a really stubborn guy with an attitude that'd get my face slapped constantly. So, I'm running away from a life that I didn't have in the first place, and I find this town called Oakland. And, take this from me, you don't want to move there unless you want to be mugged, beaten up and treaten like dirt on the bottom of your shoe. And here in Oakland, the Land of Thugs, I meet this girl. Never thought I would, thinking that I might of got beaten to death by my "neighbours". I can't remember what she was called though... Shall we call her Whatsername for now? We met at this house party. Not like I was invited. Thought I'd make my face known to this new crowd. We started talking, wait, scratch that. We started slurring words at each other, took some drugs and as the night progressed, we made love. To be honest, it wasn't making love. More of a drunken act, really.
Me and Whatsername carried on seeing each other more frequently after our drunken night of so-called "passion". Things seemed to be going so well. Our routine seemed so perfect. Wake up, drugs, alcohol, sex, sleep, repeat. We'd hang out at this derelict warehouse underneath the freeway with some others.
It didn't last for long. I should of seen it coming really. I saw her with another guy. I hated his guts. I still do now. I can't remember his name. Stupid, Old What's His Face. I think loved her. I might not have told her it either, but I really think I loved her. Through my drunken, stoned and misty eyes, it could of been love. I hadn't done anything wrong in my eyes. Maybe she got bored? No one knows, except for her, of course. So I ran away. Again.
I used to call me and her the Jesus Of Suburbia & Extrodinary Girl. We sounded like superheros. Cheesy, I know. But we were so asphyxiated in marajuana fumes, we didn't care if we looked like a bunch of lunatics. I'd describe her, but unfortunatley, I cannot remember the face. Whatsername seemed pretty awesome when I finally got to know her without a joint or a bottle of beer being attached to her mouth. She might have been the most bad-mouthed young lady you came across, but underneath this partying punk, there was a girl with the most wonderful personality you couldn't dream of. When we finally broke up, I saw a side of her that shouldn't of been exposed. Whatsername wasn't this Extrodinary Girl that I had come to know. Neither was she the superheroine I dreamt of. She was disgusting and utterly vile. Whatsername had clung onto Old What's His Face throughout the abuse she hurled at me. And then it was the final straw. She told me that she didn't even love me. She loved HIM. It was like salt being rubbed into the wounds. All of this time and I was being used. To think, I used to love everything about her.
So, I had packed my belongings and swore that I'd never get my self into anything like that again. I walked for miles and I had no clue where I was. I got drunk everynight and slept in my own vomit in back alleyways. I was living a happier life without her. I thought I couldn't have a nice life without a girl by my side. It was the way I was brought up. Find your girl, marry, have children and have a good paying job. However, being the rebellious teenage guy that I am, I told my parents that I didn't want to be apart of something so cliché and to, well, stick it where the Sun doesn't shine. Even though I had run away from all of it, it was hanging over my head like an evil baby's toy mobile, telling me that I need to drift back into the nightmare called Life. So I carried on walking. I was trying to walk away from the obscene comments that my mind was tormenting me with. I was walking so far, I found myself in the middle of nowhere. A street of broken homes. I called it the Boulevard Of Broken Dreams. Homeless people begging for money that even passers-by couldn't afford to hand over. Every cent and nickel earnt went towards food, drink and a roof over their own head. People were being thrown out of their homes because they couldn't afford the rent. It's like watching a vicious circle of poverty. I knew I couldn't help. I had my own problems to sort out. It felt as if I was waiting for something, or someone. By now, I had completely forgotten about Whatsername and everything that happened in Oakland. I was feeling more and more lonley every second that went by as I walked through what seemed like nothingness. Suddenly I heard a voice from behind me.
"James. Where the hell do you think you're going?" I turned to find out where this voice had come from. No one was following me. Well, not that I know of. I saw a skinny guy who looked very similar to me, like a twin you might say. He had dyed black hair, spiked up into Liberty Spikes hair style and he wore worn out and tight Jeans. "I'm talking to you, Long Face,"
"I - I don't know. I'm trying to find a new way of living, I guess," I replied, still unsure if I was hallucinating this figure.
"Ha!" The spikey haired guy laughed. "In the middle of nowhere? Are you THICK? Like you're going to find a new life in this wasteland,"
"Well, if you're so smart, what do YOU suggest?" An evil grin played upon the skinny punk's face as I asked him this question.
"Follow me," And I obeyed.
I was still uncertain about this guy. He had randomly popped up out of nowehere, quite literally. Or was it the side affects from my drug abuse in the glory days with good ol' Whatsername?
xoxo
enjoy (:
I've been through alot recently. My area isn't the nicest, y'see. I live in the rough parts of Berkley, near Oakland. Incase you may not know where this is, it's San Fransisco, North California. Anyway, back to where I was. Let's take a walk...
It's nice outside today. The sun is out and it's quite warm. Everyone seems to be alright, too. That's a novelty. By the way, I'm James, although, I'd rather be called Jimmy if you don't mind. Back to the story. I've had a bit of a struggle. I move out of my parent's due to, well, me being an utter jerk, really. I'm a really stubborn guy with an attitude that'd get my face slapped constantly. So, I'm running away from a life that I didn't have in the first place, and I find this town called Oakland. And, take this from me, you don't want to move there unless you want to be mugged, beaten up and treaten like dirt on the bottom of your shoe. And here in Oakland, the Land of Thugs, I meet this girl. Never thought I would, thinking that I might of got beaten to death by my "neighbours". I can't remember what she was called though... Shall we call her Whatsername for now? We met at this house party. Not like I was invited. Thought I'd make my face known to this new crowd. We started talking, wait, scratch that. We started slurring words at each other, took some drugs and as the night progressed, we made love. To be honest, it wasn't making love. More of a drunken act, really.
Me and Whatsername carried on seeing each other more frequently after our drunken night of so-called "passion". Things seemed to be going so well. Our routine seemed so perfect. Wake up, drugs, alcohol, sex, sleep, repeat. We'd hang out at this derelict warehouse underneath the freeway with some others.
It didn't last for long. I should of seen it coming really. I saw her with another guy. I hated his guts. I still do now. I can't remember his name. Stupid, Old What's His Face. I think loved her. I might not have told her it either, but I really think I loved her. Through my drunken, stoned and misty eyes, it could of been love. I hadn't done anything wrong in my eyes. Maybe she got bored? No one knows, except for her, of course. So I ran away. Again.
I used to call me and her the Jesus Of Suburbia & Extrodinary Girl. We sounded like superheros. Cheesy, I know. But we were so asphyxiated in marajuana fumes, we didn't care if we looked like a bunch of lunatics. I'd describe her, but unfortunatley, I cannot remember the face. Whatsername seemed pretty awesome when I finally got to know her without a joint or a bottle of beer being attached to her mouth. She might have been the most bad-mouthed young lady you came across, but underneath this partying punk, there was a girl with the most wonderful personality you couldn't dream of. When we finally broke up, I saw a side of her that shouldn't of been exposed. Whatsername wasn't this Extrodinary Girl that I had come to know. Neither was she the superheroine I dreamt of. She was disgusting and utterly vile. Whatsername had clung onto Old What's His Face throughout the abuse she hurled at me. And then it was the final straw. She told me that she didn't even love me. She loved HIM. It was like salt being rubbed into the wounds. All of this time and I was being used. To think, I used to love everything about her.
So, I had packed my belongings and swore that I'd never get my self into anything like that again. I walked for miles and I had no clue where I was. I got drunk everynight and slept in my own vomit in back alleyways. I was living a happier life without her. I thought I couldn't have a nice life without a girl by my side. It was the way I was brought up. Find your girl, marry, have children and have a good paying job. However, being the rebellious teenage guy that I am, I told my parents that I didn't want to be apart of something so cliché and to, well, stick it where the Sun doesn't shine. Even though I had run away from all of it, it was hanging over my head like an evil baby's toy mobile, telling me that I need to drift back into the nightmare called Life. So I carried on walking. I was trying to walk away from the obscene comments that my mind was tormenting me with. I was walking so far, I found myself in the middle of nowhere. A street of broken homes. I called it the Boulevard Of Broken Dreams. Homeless people begging for money that even passers-by couldn't afford to hand over. Every cent and nickel earnt went towards food, drink and a roof over their own head. People were being thrown out of their homes because they couldn't afford the rent. It's like watching a vicious circle of poverty. I knew I couldn't help. I had my own problems to sort out. It felt as if I was waiting for something, or someone. By now, I had completely forgotten about Whatsername and everything that happened in Oakland. I was feeling more and more lonley every second that went by as I walked through what seemed like nothingness. Suddenly I heard a voice from behind me.
"James. Where the hell do you think you're going?" I turned to find out where this voice had come from. No one was following me. Well, not that I know of. I saw a skinny guy who looked very similar to me, like a twin you might say. He had dyed black hair, spiked up into Liberty Spikes hair style and he wore worn out and tight Jeans. "I'm talking to you, Long Face,"
"I - I don't know. I'm trying to find a new way of living, I guess," I replied, still unsure if I was hallucinating this figure.
"Ha!" The spikey haired guy laughed. "In the middle of nowhere? Are you THICK? Like you're going to find a new life in this wasteland,"
"Well, if you're so smart, what do YOU suggest?" An evil grin played upon the skinny punk's face as I asked him this question.
"Follow me," And I obeyed.
I was still uncertain about this guy. He had randomly popped up out of nowehere, quite literally. Or was it the side affects from my drug abuse in the glory days with good ol' Whatsername?
xoxo