<style type="text/css">
.marsred b {font-weight:bold; color:#411b19; letter-spacing:1px; }
.ooc { font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:10px;}
.marsred p {text-indent:25px;padding:5px 10px;margin:0px;}
.marsred {width:400px;border:1px solid #5f2b2d;background-image:url(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v26/K ... arsred.png);background-position:top center;background-repeat:no-repeat;padding-top:290px;background-color:#df5f4a;text-align:justify;margin:10px;font-family:georgia, serif;font-size:11px;line-height:12px;color:#5f2b2d;}
</style>
I would like this to be backdated to the 20th, one day after the pack meeting. He's singing From Yesterday by 30stm (acoustic version)
I'm a ghost, You're an Angel!!
He was an idiot, an asshole, a tool. He wasn't worth shit, and he absolutely dreaded himself at the moment. Since the day before, at the Amphitheatre, he'd hit a wall that was too tall for him to climb. So instead, he sat at the base of the wall, and just sat there, like an idiot. A lost puppy. A lost cause. A psychopath. Only he would let himself wallow for days in misery. Demotion always sent him in a downward spiral of self-loathing. If he knew how to keep his mouth shut, and his temper in tact, then maybe this wouldn't always happen to him. He felt like a stranger in his home now. He felt like no one wanted him there. He felt like he didn't want to live life anymore, because all he ever did, he fucked up. He knew this, and he wanted it to end. What stopped him? His family. He loved them, and couldn't live without them. They helped bring in the pieces, to where Bartholomew and Hurricane were almost non-existant. Bartholomew came up more than Hurricane, but this was always, but Mars and Bart hadn't had much contact lately so he figured that Bart was just...fading away. He almost hoped that Bart would someday. He wanted Hurricane to go away first though.
Today, he wallowed in his sorrow on the edge of the stage. The stage was something that comforted him. He helped make it, and even in Cali he was always drawn to the stage. It was like home for him. Even here though, he felt...like he was a stranger. He looked at his toes, and he wiggled them boredly before he looked at his lonely white guitar that sat next to him. He sighed lightly and picked up the guitar and placed it on his lap so he could play. Mars hummed lightly, warming up his voice before he started to strum a few chords. He was looking in his head for a song that he wanted to sing, and sooner or later he found one. It started soft, and the notes were quick, as if he'd played this song a million times. Truth was, he probably had. He's a stranger to some, and a vision to none....He can never get enough, enough of the one... For a fortune he'd quit, it's hard to admit, how it ends and begins, on his face is a map of the world. a breath, a slight pause, and then he continued. On his face is a map of the world..A map of the world...A map of the world.. He hit the wrong chord, and he clenched his teeth and started the part he messed up again. The second time around he got it, and he continued. From yesterday, it's coming, From yesterday the fear, from yesterday, it calls him...But he doesn't want to read the message here...
He sang on, and on, his voice intensifing as he got more into the song. At some point he took to closing his eyes, just because he was getting really into the song. For a minute, if just a moment, he lost himself in the song, and he did not notice if he had attracted an audience, or if he was still alone, but he hoped that he was. He played on for the duration of the entire song. It came to be about 4 minutes of him just singing his heart out. The last line of the song made it come to a slow, soft ending, and once he uttered the words "He doesn't want read the message.....Here.." the end of the song came, and he finally opened his bright blue eyes. They seemed truly at peace for a moment, if only that slight moment, before those bright steel eyes were clouded with misery.