Description
In which a boy takes a second glance. (Or) His blue eyes pulled me into a trance, but frightened me lethally, especially when they were surrounded in black paint. His blonde hair was slicked back and his leather jacket pulled the dark out of his eyes. His black boots were embedded in my mind, my memory; their stomping rage was constantly echoing through my eardrums; his deadly look was tattooed behind my eyelids. I love it. He was stalking through the halls, and multiple screams went off every few seconds; and I knew he wouldn't stop, he couldn't stop. So why wasn't I scared to wits when his black clad legs stopped in front of me? Why wasn't I scared when I dragged my eyes up his alarmingly muscular body and locked with his deep blue irises. Why are the shivers that clamper up my back, and the butterflies that tickle my insides so entrancing to me? Why did it excite me when he knelt down and told me to stay, told me to keep my mouth shut and sit nicely for him until he could return? Why did the stern, aggressive look in his eyes send more shivers up my back and ignite something inside of me that I didn't know could be ignited? Why did I listen to him? (started 10/24/16)
P R O L O G U E
