` FEAR ME DEAR FOR I AM DEATH ! open

[hollis]

IVE GOT A SECRET,

[/font][/color][/b]
it's on the tip of my tongue, the back of my lungs![/center]

MORNING were different now for Hollis. Since he’d arrived in trenton, he’d actually slept. Not on his own accord, but through an injection the nurses at his in-between home administered nightly to a scarred, burned arm. This drug, morphine, caused his entire body to become numb before he slipped into oblivion. Oddly enough, the boy never dreamed. The only thing he remembered from his experience in slumber was seemingly never ending blackness, a dark shroud pulled over his eyes. When he awoke from these hellish nights his head felt as though it was full of water, thoughts sloshing around sloppily against the walls of his skull. Often he felt this way all day, groggy and unable to process thoughts. Maybe that was how they wanted him to be, as it was his thoughts that caused him to do the things that they considered bad. Probably, anyway. But anyway, this day was no different from the rest at all. Hollis awoke from his slumber feeling dizzy, his pale white chest lifting and falling in testy breaths. Sun shone in through his window only barely, as his curtain was drawn in an attempt to make the evening look more atmospheric. He grunted softly to himself, his mind spinning. What day was it? Did he have classes at all? Honestly, unlike most of the other kids in this town, Hollis lived for school. It was a way for him to escape the reckless abandon of the others, to bury himself in a good book on earth and space sciences or biology. He was especially interested in human anatomy, the way bones and muscles and blood and tissue all worked together to create beings. He’d told his councillor, on a rare occasion where he actually spoke to the woman, that he’d like to be a doctor when he graduated. What had she said in response? She’d laughed. As if the words that had come out of his mouth were the stupidest things she’d ever heard. They probably were. Who would trust a cannibal with their heart transplant? A trauma patient? What did they really care? Everyone was dying, anyways. Speeding up the process would do more good then harm. A loud sigh erupted from the lips of the teenager as he sat up in his bed, turning his head painfully to look at the four white walls that surrounded him. His latest diary, a thick book with a black leather cover, lay across his lap in a position that suggest he’d been writing when the nurse had come in to put him to sleep. His body still felt numb. He wished that the morphine didn’t have these crippling effects on him, and wondered why he didn’t get the same sleeping pill that many others got to take voluntarily. Maybe because of his chronic sleepwalking. The things he often did in his sleep were dangerous, and he needed to be completely out of it for these events not to occur. He chewed on his lip ring as he thought of this and was surprised he hadn’t been instructed to take it out the moment he entered the facility. Maybe they valued self expression. If that was true however, why was murder so frowned upon? The ritualistic way that Hollis had been known to gut and hang his victims was looked upon by him and many others as an art rather then a profanity. Without pain and suffering, there would be no art. Had he drawn a picture of the same gruesome scenes, he may have been considered a genius and made thousands upon thousands of dollars. He considered the way he did it much more effective and life changing. He saved souls at the expense of those who could not be saved. He was a hero in a way. No one believed him, though. Even the many people trying to help him thought of him as a pig, he knew they’d read his records. He could tell by the way that they refused to look him in the eyes. Cowards, the lot of them. He wasn’t evil, he was a fucking god, and while they were all burning in hell for defiling him he would be reborn again and again to act out the same bloody scenes. He would save millions of souls. A crooked, almost sinister smile spread across his face and he allowed himself to yawn, stretching his thin arms over his messy head and falling back onto his pillow. The ceiling was nothing but white. Was this an insane asylum, no. The one mistake they’d made was allowing him to do as he pleased. Was he going to die here, forgotten? Probably. That was the worst part.

SEEING

[/color] as it was still summertime, a fact that Hollis had only just been able to comprehend, it was evident that he didn’t have any classes at all. This meant that he had the entire morning to wander about, wishing he was anywhere but here. He could look at each face in the group of lost souls here and know that he was nothing special to any of them. The fact that he’d killed frightened very few of these people, as they’d often done just the same. His past meant nothing to them, just a story for them to laugh or grimace at for a moment before moving on. This meant that he often found himself alone in social situations, broken off from the rest of them. All he needed was himself and his thoughts. Needless to say, he trusted none of these people. They hadn’t earned it. No one on the entire planet had earned it. It was tough being Hollis, because he had no shoulder to cry on. Deep down, he really did need that. Someone who would understand him and hold him and tell him everything would be ok. The reason he hadn’t found such a person was because he was far too afraid to ever admit this fact to anyone. A coward of sorts, inside his own bubble of rage and strength. For some reason though, no one was ever good enough to console him. They were always too human, to able to feel for those who had fallen at his wake. He coughed a few times and sighed, shaking these thoughts from his mind by tossing his hair from side to side. He didn’t want to worry about it at all. His brain couldn’t handle it anyways, as it continued to bash up against the inside of his head in the form of a stew. Closing his eyes he climbed out of his terribly uncomfortable bed, and set off to look for something he could throw over his pale body. To cover himself up. That was really all clothes were for, hiding scars and the things that other people were too afraid to see. Beside his bed was a suitcase, stuffed full of his clothing. He hadn’t bothered to unpack because he didn’t plan on staying long, regardless of what everyone said. He knew that he was smarter then the rest, and he could do it. One way or another, he would get out. Out of this city, out of the clutches of man. Digging through the piles, he settled on a white v-neck and light blue jeans, pulling them on and packing himself in. He hated the way the clothes felt on his skin, but if everyone around here ran around naked there would be far too much crime and rape in a place where they were trying so hard to cover up those parts of people. It wasn’t like people didn’t find other places to have sex, was the staff really that stupid? Clearly they knew that the kids weren’t following the rules, but seeing as they were mostly put here to be out of the way, it didn’t really matter that they weren’t behaving. It had become his job to sit by and watch the others, study their actions and learn from them. They were like human lab rats, carrying out his many experiments. This wasn’t to say that he didn’t like doing the same thing in the real world, but if these delinquents were all he could get for the time being then he would deal with it.

THE[/color] hallways of the boys dorms were painted white, just like the rooms themselves. All around them Hollis could hear the familiar sounds of boys getting out of bed, grunting and groaning and stretching out their long, strong legs. Some emerged from their rooms at the same time as him, books in hand, ready to get something to eat. They gave him glances, some seemingly frightened, as they all knew who he was and what he stood for. They were all scared of him, in one way or another. Murder was one thing, but the moment someone heard the word “cannibal”, the fear seemed to become greater and greater. Hollis simply embraced his fame, smirking in the directions of those who gave him unsure glances. This caused them to cower away and he would laugh to himself and move on. As he entered the common room he picked up a muffin for breakfast and unwrapped it carefully, pulling off a piece and placing it inside his mouth. He thought back to a time where this muffin would be second to a warm human heart, and his mouth salivated at the thought of sinking his teeth into another one of those. He shook his head yet again though, trying to banish such thoughts from his mind. He needed to behave in order to escape. No one could suspect him. He coughed lightly and stepped out of the common room, walking down a flight of stairs, counting each step as he went. He needed to be somewhere where there was fresh air and people to observe. The only place he could think of was the park down the road, so that was where he was headed. By the time he got to the bottom of the steps, he’d counted twenty eight. That was a random number he thought, but it didn’t phase him as he laid his body weight on the heavy door that lead him outside, stumbling onto the gravel pathway before regaining his balance and moving forward. He shoved his hands into his pockets and the warm morning sun beat down on his back, causing his cold skin to boil. The heat was unforgiving. With a soft sigh the boy lowered himself onto a browning patch of grass in the garden and laid himself back onto his back, staring up at the sky and wondering if he’d ever get recognised for his good deeds. If he’d ever make friends. If he’d ever fall in love. Love was something he’d heard of before, written of fondly by geniouses such as Shakespeare and edgar allen poe. They believed in it, so why couldn’t he? Maybe it was just because he’d never felt love before, only respect towards certain people. He knew his mother had never loved him, but she had looked at him as an equal which was all he really asked. He just wanted to fit in sometimes. He wanted friends and lovers and relationships and happiness like everyone else. Just not as much as he wanted hearts.[/blockquote][/size]

[annabel noir chessire]

It Is In My Opinion Only Quantified By
Her Proximity To Heaven And Hell

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The early morning's rays made there way through Annabel's windows and through the long purple drapes pulled over them. She had not slept, again, three months in this town and she still had yet to develop a somewhat regular sleeping pattern. Maybe it was the thoughts of her brother finding her little place of hiding or maybe it was just the fact that she hated the endless nightmares that enveloped her in her sleep. Either way there was Chad involved in one form or another, and the idea of that made Annabel cringe. There had not been much she could do the night before, so she had opted to sit in her room for over ten hours. Holding Lyle's sleek black body, strumming his strings lightly, until around two in the morning. By that time she was to afraid of the possibility of waking her grandmother up, not to say she cared about getting scolded, but she feared being sent back to Manchester. Being sent back to that home where the two people she despised most in the world lived. That was a fate worse than death for Annabel, though she was positive if she were to go back there, her death would be very imaginable, in fact he was probably already planning it as she sat here. She felt useless, vulnerable, helpless, and so many other words that meant the exact same thing. All she could do was sit in this hell hole where she waited out the days, watching others quietly. She knew she had no purpose, at least, no purpose that she could fathom. The only thing she was good for was hiding, and in ways she thought Chad was right, she had no place on this earth. However, she was far to afraid of her own death to ever admit it out loud, strung along by the fact that her fear of her own brother was just as bad, maybe even worse than the fear of her own death. She has sat in her room for another six hours, maybe less, lying on the mahogany floor, staring up at the ceiling. She watched the shadows dance across it, until the sun had finally taken over the last of the shadowed shapes.

Finally getting up, Annabel looked around her room, there was not much to do in the house besides things that lay in her own room, the reason being that it wasn't her house, it belonged to her grandmother who's taste was something from the eighteenth century. The old woman had never even lived in the eighteenth century, but for some reason she liked the idea of having the inside decor very old-fashioned. Annabel had to admit, she rather liked the house, but a few modern things here and there could do the woman some good. She took a few strides to her dresser, trying to find something suitable to wear today. After picking out her clothes she had gone to take a shower and returned to her room fifteen minutes later, dressed in a dark purple plaid button down, black skinny jeans, and dark purple high top converse. If nothing else, she at least had the ability to match clothing particularly well. Letting a long sigh escape her pale lips, she decided to leave her hair down, so the long wavy white locks framed her face. Looking in the one mirror placed in her room, she put on mascara before turning away. Shuffling back to her bed, she reached under and pulled out a black messenger bag. Quickly she grabbed a pen, notebook, and a leather bound book with the works of Emily Dickinson. Stuffing them into the bag, Annabel pulled the bag over her shoulder and walked out of the room, leaving the rest of its contents behind. Walking the hallway, she ended up in the kitchen where she took an apple, and walked out the front door.

The walk to the park was only a few kilometers away, so Annabel decided that was the best place to get away. Plus if her usual place was open, she would be interrupted by fewer people. Sure, she liked to observe her surroundings, but there was a point at which she could not handle the amount, she hated crowds, and since the park was so big it was less likely for one. Finally making it to the entrance of the sanctuary, Annabel walked along it's stoned pathway until taking one of the paths which opened out onto a nice stretch of land with a few benches and an abundance of trees. There were two people besides herself, they seemed to be a couple, with a dog, a husky if she was not mistaken. Anna did not really like Huskies, but then again the only dog she had ever really seen on a regular basis was Calem, her Scottish terrier. After a few minutes of standing, watching the couple, Annabel veered away off towards a tree farther away. Sitting down against it's base, Annabel took the apple from her bag at bit into the scarlet fruit. She ate for a while, in her own little world, for once not worried that Chad would find her, or at least that it would take him a while to find her if he ever were to find out she were in this town. When she was left with the core, Annabel threw it behind her so it would land in the woods. Although she could not finish it off, it was likely there was some animal who would be happy for the meal. She did not bother looking up again to see if anyone else had shown up, there was not really a point to, most people did not give a second glance at the girl. That's how she liked it; why should she let someone she's never known before talk to her in an attempt of becoming at least an acquaintance, if underneath it all, humans had sick intentions that were hidden under multiple lies. She had only met a small few who she could ever trust, one being her mother who was long dead, the other had been her only friend Lawrence, whom she had left in Manchester. For all she knew, she might never see Lawrence again, but perhaps it was for the best. Maybe he had held a large evil or two that had just been hidden so far down in the depths of his sub conscious that Annabel had yet to notice. She was not entirely sure, but she also did not want to find out. Grabbing her bag again, she pulled out the leather bound book and came across the fifty fourth page, having been marked by a single piece of ribbon. Carefully, she pulled the ribbon out and entwined it between her fingers, while begging to read the works of the author for probably the hundredth time.

[hollis]

IVE GOT A SECRET,

[/font][/color][/b]
it's on the tip of my tongue, the back of my lungs![/center]

SUNLIGHT

[/color] is a tricky thing. However vibrant and inviting at first glance, its gruesome intentions soon surface once it is left for the day. Upon regarding it without protection, one’s vision can be lost. If too much time is spent basking in it, a harsh red burn will appear on the skin. Hollis had never been much of a fan of the sun. Although he was Italian, his tendency to burn as opposed to tan was quite great and he was quite aware as this. He could recall long days working outside as a child, his back exposed, spine protruding painfully through his thin skin. He’d been weak then, a slave to the wishes of his elders. For so long, they had owned him. They’d used him as they saw fit, mostly as a tool to get their own selves ahead. They were selfish, vicious beasts. His mother, he remembered her face, drawn in sorrow as she watched her eldest son take every bit of anger his father had pent up for him. She never stopped it of course, her fear binding her to her place on the ground, however he knew she hurt for him. He used to hurt for her, too. He knew what it was like to feel trapped by someone. But he had changed that. As far as he was concerned, he saved her life. Freed her from the cage in which she’d been living. No more did she have the burden of caring for children or her malicious husband. No longer did she have to work long hours to make money in order to feed her family. She was free to do as she pleased. Did he get a thanks in return, though? No. By her, and all who knew him up until that point, he was a monster. A twisted, jaded being slithering through life with terrible intentions. If only they could see it his way. The doctors at the center told him he didn’t have a normal thought process. They said “regular” behaviours would never make sense to him because he wasn’t wired the way a male his age should be. He was born a killer. A cannibal. They didn’t understand how what they were doing had no effect on him, though. Now that it had been hammered into his skull so many times that what he had been doing was horribly wrong, a sin among the most heinous of sins, he lusted after it more then he had when he was in the act. The idea of being rebellious, going against the wishes of those who judged him, appealed to him in ways you and I could never understand. All that they were doing with the endless therapy sessions, the hand-holding and the crying and the drugs upon drugs upon drugs, was fuelling the fire. They would not like what they saw by the end of this, but they would only curse themselves as finally they were realizing that they had it coming. You did not mess with someone like Hollis. When a human being loses their conscience, when they can kill without feeling guilt or remorse, no mercy for their victim, that is when they become scary. Dangerous. Hollis, he hadn’t felt a thing in years. It was nice in a way, to be able to do things without a worry or care. To simply laugh in the face of danger and roll his eyes at the spectacle those around them seemed to constantly be making of themselves. He had never, and would never, be plagued with the usual teenage hardships. break-ups, divorce, friendships ending. He didn’t have any of those things in his life. Relationships were viewed by him as nothing but a distraction. This however is not saying that he didn’t appreciate or possibly envy those who knew romance. He longed for a tragic love, the kind that are written about and cried over again and again. Romeo and Juliet, for instance. Loving someone so deeply, so unconditionally that you would literally give your own life if you were forced to live without him. Did love like this really exist? The male had no idea. The closest thing he’d felt in a long time to love was arousal as he was making an attack. The prospect of killing, gutting and bleeding out his prey had always had a somewhat sexual essence to Hollis. No one had ever gone near him in that way though. With intentions to understand him, to feel him. It wasn’t like he could blame them, but their ignorance only added to his rage. How could they try to understand the deeper parts of him if they’d never truly made an effort? This is why the human race was no more intelligent than a pack of sewer rats, fighting for survival one painful day at a time.

AS[/color] the raven-haired male’s mind began to wander in the piercing heat, it settled on a better time in his past. A time where he’d been free, living the life of a nomad, a gypsy of sorts. He’d somehow found his way across Italy, stopping from time to time and living off the kindness and stupidity of those who allowed him into their homes for a while. He was a stranger to them, for all they knew he was a bright, kind young student looking for work to pay his tuition. Not once did he lie to these people, he simply shrouded the truth with a painful smile and a calm, level voice. They almost never asked his past. More often then not, an elderly woman would pinch the tight skin of his stomach and speak in heavy Italian, telling him he was too thin and that she needed to fatten him up. Ah, how he ate in those days. But through it all, his intentions remained solid. Often, it was the kids who went first. He saved the husbands for the very end, feeling as though they deserved the biggest show. The longest suffering before he put them out of their misery. They would beg and plead with him, shaking their heads and trying to scream. He became frightening when he was at his work. Employed by the giving power, he was born to do what he was doing. One day, when he was worn out and dying, he would be rewarded with high honours. Not just anyone could live his life. It required a remarkable level of dedication, the intolerance of quitters. Often times, people killed without reason. There was rape in this world. There was violence and evil around every corner. Hollis however, did not group himself in with this pack of wolves. His work had purpose. Of course, all these thoughts running through his head were complete insanity. His past, it had left a mark on him. No human being living properly can consciously eat the flesh of others of their own species and think it was okay. This was why he’d been able to plead insanity to his murder charges. He’d never even tried to cover up the fact that he’d done what he did, he was almost proud of his work. Like the body parts he chose to keep, the ones he consumed in various dishes that mirrored his mother’s old recipes, were trophies of a sort. He’d held onto them only to remember the good times, how sensual and lovely the thick crimson felt as it bled from deep wounds and coated his pale skin. The feeling of euphoria it brought to him when he was literally bathing in the blood of his victims was unexplainable, though once in therapy he’d tried to explain in great detail the way it made him feel to his therapist. The only reason he’d shared this information with her was to put her on edge, to help her realize who and what she was in a room with. She was the only one he’d ever really discussed it with in America. It was seldom he opened up to anything aside from his diary, yet even then his words were nothing but petty scribbles on a page. If he could lock hands, lock hearts with another being and transfer the feelings he had into them, they would finally be able to understand why he did what he did. Of course, such a thing is clearly impossible, so Hollis humbly accepted his one option; to be truly and fully alone for his lifetime. Of course this harsh reality was a disappointment to him, but really how could he expect anything else from such a shallow, unhappy planet? How could he expect anyone to love him when all they were willing to accept was that he was a monster? Instead of trying to make them see, he simply obliged to his stereotype. He allowed himself to become what they viewed him as. A frightening, daunting creature. At times, he was such an eerie presence that the nurses had no choice but to place his muzzle over his mouth. This caused him to do nothing but laugh. Did they really think he’d just take a bite out of them then and there? Were they really that thick-skulled? Clearly, they were. No matter though, it was all in good fun for Hollis.

GAZING[/color] lazily at the branches of the tree he’d placed himself under, Hollis happened to turn his head at the exact moment a female placed herself upon the ground only yards away. From where he lay on the grass, he could make out some of the more detailed facids of her appearance. She had long blonde, almost white hair, that fell over her shoulders and spilled down her back. Her hair was so white she was almost ghost-like, and her eyes a crystal blue. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, she looked so pure. Untainted. This was what was drawing him in. Almost immediately he began invisioning her with crimson rolling down her cheeks, staining her hair and clothing. He imagined what she tasted like, probably sweet like the apple she herself was consuming. He found himself licking his lips, his tongue feeling nice against the cool metal of his piercings. It had been a long time since he’d last felt so strongly about touching someone, or something. About attacking her. In his head he pictured the fear in her eyes, the cocky sneer on his dry lips. It was all so perfect the way he imagined it. Shaking his head though, he forced himself to avert his eyes from the girl. He couldn’t be thinking those thoughts, not just then. He’d been doing far too good. His plan had been to get himself out of the system spotlight before he made another move of that nature. They would be less likely to suspect the male. He needed to seclude himself until then. This wasn’t really a problem, as Hollis was never much of a talker. He’d never had a friend, someone he told things to. Of course the police officers at the station had claimed to have had his best interests in mind when they had him in the confessional, however he knew it was simply them playing upon his emotions. He’d admitted to his crimes almost immediately. Why try to hide his life’s work? His pride and joy? That was really what it all was, his “baby” in a sense of the word. A project that was eighteen years in the making. It was like their jobs, yet more valuable. couldn’t they see that? It wouldn’t be long before they would realize the mistake they had made convicting him, and would be knocking on his door begging for redemption. It was then that he would have the last laugh. A sigh escaping his cracked lips, the boy snuck another glance at the girl. Now she was reading, clearly an intellectual being. She reminded him of his sister in a way, the youngest one. A girl he had slain so easily in her sleep that she didn’t even make a sound as she silently died. She had been his first. An energy was radiating off the other girl, so similar to that of the young girl who’s blood he’d spilt so many moons ago. This pleasant realization only made his lust for a taste stronger. Patiance, he told himself. His time would come.[/size][/blockquote]

[annabel noir chessire]

It Is In My Opinion Only Quantified By
Her Proximity To Heaven And Hell

[/font][/color][/center][/size]

'BECAUSE I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school where children played
At wrestling in a ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then ’t is centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses’ heads
Were toward eternity.'

Page seventy six is where Annabel stopped, she did not wished to go further at the moment. Only one poem ever made her stop reading, for every time she got to it, the contemplation was overwhelming. So now, she sat, the closed book in her lap while she thought about those very words Emily Dickinson wrote so many years ago. Even with a photographic memory, Annabel still never felt right if she thought of the words without the book for reference, afraid that the words might change one day, spelling out her fate in words so clear that she would not dare to go against them. Thinking about them now, Annabel still came to the same conclusion, but maybe with just a little bit more clarity than the last time she had read it. However, her views were probably a bit different from those of real English literature experts, and she would never being so daring as to tell someone else her interpretation of the poem. For, in her mind the narrator was her and death was her brother and the concept of it over all was quite a bit varied from that of her instructors in school, at least when she was in Manchester anyways. In her mind it meant that if you don't let death come when it's supposed to then he will come again and make the pain longer and the wait would be the hardest part. It made her feel that it had actually been her time to die a year ago. She had stopped the knife grabbed it in her very hand from stabbing her through the chest, but every time she read the poem she wondered if it was worth it. The nightmares would have ceased to exist if she had just let it happen, if she had not been so afraid of death at the time. However because of it she no longer feared death in the same manner, she only feared death if it was death by the hands of the man. She knew death was imminent but the fact that she was waiting on the slower path which could be shortened by him at any time, made her cringe. It was like saying that trip in thecarriagee with death were to be stopped abruptly and Anna were to fall out and be tramped over by Death's horses. Annabel hoped one day she would be able to read the poem without having to take a break and put the book away, that one day she would no longer worry about the wait; yet she knew just how unlikely it was.

Holding her left palm out so the sun rays that made their way through the trees branches landed on the pale, ghostly skin. Starring at the long jagged scar across the stretch of skin made her smirk, before letting out a small chuckle. Why should she even be allowed to think that way, she knew the fate set out for her, it could not just be changed. Either she would wait out her life knowing that one day her nightmares would become reality once again, Chad would come for her, and when that day came, she was positive she would die; or she would keep waiting with the nightmares for the rest of her life, and even if he never came her insanity would grow. It would grow and grow until one day she no longer gave a damn about anything that happened, every single emotion she still clung onto would be erased and the only thing left would be the silent fear of the awaiting death. there was no way around either fate, and she knew it, that's what made her chuckle, it was odd for someone to chuckle over there impending death, but Annabel had no other choice, it's what her life had come to. Closing her palm, she put it down to her side, she no longer wanted to look at the scarred flesh, she had thought enough about memories and death for the time being, she had to stop or people would begin wondering if she was paralyzed sitting under the tree in silence. Looking at the book on her lap, she picked up the cool leather bound surface and put it in her black messenger bag. Gathering her composure once again, she looked around the clearing of grass and the garden beyond it. Her first skim over she saw that in place of the couple before, a small girl and her father were playing frisbee far off in the distance. But on closer inspection, Annabel saw another being much closer than the other two, lying in the grass. At first, she payed no head, but after a while she swore he was watching her. With that thought in her mind, Annabel took out her notebook and ball point pen, at first she did nothing, just stared at the blank pages. Eventually, that changed and she wrote of her thoughts on the poem today; now that she had gained back her composure she was able to write it quickly and not get caught in the actual meaning of what it was. In between sentences she took quick glances at the guy, for a while he seemed to stop watching, the lustful eyes no longer on her. But by the time she was finished she looked up once more and could swear he was watching her again, his glances were like Chad's when he hadn't been trying to assault her. Except, she wasn't afraid of anyone besides Chad anymore. No, she was intrigued as to why exactly he was watching her like that, and for a while she made it into a game that only she knew they were playing. The game was equivalent to that of a starring contest except it was more just her, as she was just watching him now as he had been. It lasted for a good ten minutes before she finally looked down and put her notebook back in the bag. She was far to intrigued to let this go on without any words transpire, sure she was not talkative in large groups, but if someone caught her interest she was not going to let them leave before she figured out what made them tick, or at least who they were.

Standing up, Bell left her bag under the tree and put her hands in the pockets of her black skinny jeans, she needed to say something. If all they were going to do was stare then eventually she was just going to loose interest, ad that would be like loosing out before she could even learn what she might have gained. Information she may have been able to obtain. Although she was not one for friends she found talking quite acceptable as long as it did not go on and on and lead to numerous days full of it. Because after a while, the layers were bound to unfold, and so far Annabel had been proven right that those deeper layers were full of lies and distrust. Still, she made her way across the grass slowly, taking her time to get to a point where she could look down at him. A minute passed, one slow minute before she finally looked down at him. Upon closer look he had dark hair and skin with much more color than Annabel could even fathom considering how she was unable to tan or even gain color in the slightest. Looking down at him she couldn't help but wonder if he would even respond. If he would say something that intrigued her, or if he was just another bore that she would chose to never even wonder about again. Those were the questions she asked herself before she spoke in the soft tone her voice owned. "Was there a particular reason that game of staring ensued, or was it my mistake in believing you've been watching me for a while now? She chuckled, thinking that it was quite possible he would say that the whole matter had never occured, before adding. "Didn't anyone ever tell you it's not very nice to stare." Annabel raised an eyebrow in question. Even with a stranger she couldn't help the slight sarcasm, however, unlike sometimes when she spoke, she meant her words to be harmless. Hopefully, that would get across to the strange male, or it was quite possible she would be walking away without ever getting an answer. Usually Annabel did not question her impulsiveness when it happened, but when she had to, like now, she always waited till after the event transpired to do anything, just like now. Besides that, she was not about to take back what she had said, that would just be stupid and make her seem like a total and complete idiot. However, after a bit, Annabel backed away just a bit, and sat down with her legs crossed. She did so to make the male informed that she was not going to leave without speaking first. Her need to figure out why he had been looking at her was a bit frightening, but she couldn't help it. For a while, she debated telling him her name right off the bat, but that usually was not the best idea. Added to the fact that she never really could trust people, she was not about to give away her name without figuring out at least a little bit.

Wearing: this