EJwhiskers

Dan was panting for breath next to me, his eyes clamped shut. I was fighting for breath myself, my lungs vibrating and blood racing. In the distance the low rumble of a Henry Vacuum Cleaner could be heard, along with the squeeeak-clack of rubber flipflops on marble. Dan's eyes slid open and he examined me - from his easy laugh, I presumed that I looked totally worn out. Which I was. I realised where we were suddenly - we were pressed firmly against lockers, the dials and air vents digging into our backs, our arms. We were in a school hallway, of course, it seems obvious - but that did not stop my stomach from plummeting 7 storeys. Yes, the lo

Your eyes are blue like the ocean, baby, I'm lost out at sea Alyssa's been talking to a girl on the internet. A girl with bright blue eyes and ebony hair longer and thicker than her own ginger bob. It suits her, she thinks. She's always loved long hair, playing with it and plaiting in and tangling it around her fingers. She thins that maybe she'd like to play with Emma's hair. She knows she's like to see her eyes up close, to maybe stare into them and see the seven wonders of the world like a cheesy romance movie. Did the sun just come out or did you smile at me? Emma doesn't like to take pictures of herself and Alyssa feels the same. Neit

Phil curled up on his mattress, the newspaper he had scrounged from a park bench spread open in front of him. It was over a week since Dan had left his world, and despite the fact his stomach was full, despite the fact that the heating was on, despite the fact that he ‘bed’ was less of a squeeze, he still felt rotten. His one true love, his Daniel Howell, had left him. No, Dan had sacrificed himself for Phil and Phil could never forgive himself for that fact. Dan was so good, so chivalrous, and Phil was just pathetic in comparison. The dim light of the candle flickers, throwing strange shadows on the black and white print of the

The stereotypical image, A self esteem dimmage, Skinny earns admiration, Fat is also inspiration. But if you're a middle size, No attention is your prize, A few reminders of chubby, And nobody calls you pretty. People focus on extremes, Picking one of the two teams, Take your pick, thin or fat, Please just remember that The slightly overweight can cry, But they never get posts, why? Because we mean nothing at all, And we feel so very small.

From that small flat up North, where we last left our two lovers, there was the sound of raised voices. The racket was audible throughout the apartment block, yet no one paid any attention – rows were common in this area after all. The church clock chimes 11pm dully in the distance, as the voices continue to rise. Inside the apartment, Dan and Phil stand on opposite sides of their tiny living room, hurling shouts of abuse at one to the other. They look just as sickly and pathetic as last time, clothes with a few more patches than before. Dan, the taller of the two, stands with years in his bloodshot eyes as they continue to scream. Jus

Some people live on the breadline, poverty, whatever you want to call it. Dan and Phil are just 2 of those people. Phil’s meagre wage struggling to keep the two afloat, him working all hours just to try and make ends meet. Hard life for the two lovers. Let’s take a look inside the flat. 2 rooms: living room/kitchen/bedroom and bathroom. Little more than a bedsit really, barely larger of most people’s sitting room for the floor space of the entire flat. No cooker, just a hob and a dodgy microwave scrounged from the tip. It’s temperamental, but it does the job most of the time. No table, just a couple of fold up ikea ch