"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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Viewing Single Post From: Sing A Song Of Sixpence
Rorick Skyve
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Jesus, what a frickin' waste. Cut down in its prime, before ever getting the chance to achieve anything worthwhile. Could have lived a long, fulfilled life, coulda become a lanky-ass acrobat, then escape from its circus and go on to star in Chicken Run. Oh well, wasn't going to happen now.

Aiden raised his fork with an almost dramatic gesture and brought it down with force, impaling the peeled, hard-boiled egg on his plate through its center. "Shit oughta luck, son. Time to put you out of your misery." Chuckling to himself, he went on to dissect his unfortunate victim, or rather, part of his lunch. He was sitting in the cafeteria, legs crossed, drumming on the table with one hand and shoveling niblets of egg into his mouth with the other.

Whole thing still kinda sucked, though. Not only that boring-ass meal, situation in general. He was sitting all by himself, like a lonely little troll, no peeps around for him to chat up. None he wanted to talk to, at least, only a bunch of sad dweebs and slowpokes, no fucking fun. Now to be fair, it was kinda late already, most of his peers already had eaten their lunch in here. His goddamn fault, really, for showing up all last minute like, taking all damn day to take a dump.

With a frustrated groan, he checked his wrist watch. Was it ritalin time yet? Nah, he was still good, all fine, everything a-okeyzies. Once he started getting the shakies, then he had to start worrying. Wouldn't happen though, no way Josť. If there was one thing he was good at, it was not fucking up his medication schedule. Skill came with practice, after all. And he, oh, he sure had plenty of both!

Aiden glanced at his wrist watch again, as if that was going to make time pass quicker. Man, being able to control time would have been the shit, even only for funsies! So many more ways for him to troll the shit out of his little bro, then make it up to him later. Good times rolling, 24/7. Too bad that wasn't going to happen, like, ever. Fun enough to think about, though.

He had almost finished his lunch, save for the remnants of the never-to-be cock aka his egg and some greenstuff, though he wasn't gonna touch that. Fucking cress man, made him sick just looking at that stuff! Distraction would have been nice right about now, even some motherfucking jet crashing through the ceiling, all "Heeeere's Johnny!" like, anything!

He was really fucking bored.
Edited by Rorick Skyve, May 17 2016, 06:13 AM.
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Sing A Song Of Sixpence · Memories from the Past