Rating: PG-13 for allusions to sex, prostitution and all that jazz.
Notes: Creative response to Dubliners by James Joyce.
Summary: Meet Martin Finnegan, an aspiring author who fancies himself as the next James Joyce. Caught between his star-crossed love for Cherie, a local prostitute, and persistent rejection from a society that just doesn't appreciate his genius, Martin dreams of what his life could have been if only he'd taken the chance.
( A Bid For Freedom )
Rating: M for lots and lots and LOTS of swearing. Oh, and graphic depictions of drug abuse. Throw in a little non-graphic violence and I think you've got it sorted. ;)
Summary: "Max didn’t want to see Ronnie. Didn’t want to see his miserable self-pitying expression, his baggy prison uniform, his stupid close-cropped haircut."
Notes and Disclaimer: I don't really consider this to be fanfiction. I wrote it for my Crime Fiction class - for our creative response, we were given the option of basing a story on a true crime. It's a more serious effort than my usual fanfic (not that I don't take fanfic seriously :P). That said, it probably ought to be noted that I do not own Escape The Fate, Ronnie Radke or Max Green (worse luck). No slander intended - I'm just trying to get a good mark for English this session.
( As You're Falling Down )
I wrote this for my final Creative Writing exam. I'm posting it exactly as I submitted it, totally unedited and unpolished. We were given a picture of a woman holding a child's hand by the seaside, and we had to write a 2-3 page creative response on it. I got 91.5 on it.
Warning: Suicidal themes
Warnings: Non-consensual sex, violence, substance abuse, mental disorders.
Disclaimer: I do NOT own any of the characters in this story - I'm merely borrowing them, partly for my own enjoyment, partly so that I can (hopefully) pass English with a semi-respectable mark.
Sometimes she writes because the world is bubbling around beneath her skin and she has to get it out, has to show everyone what she's feeling or else she'll explode. There's too much emotion for her slender frame to hold, so she siphons it off into the blank pages until she feels small and light again.
Sometimes she lies awake at night, staring up at the ceiling and imagining that she's incomplete. That the hole in her heart will never be filled, that the things she sees will never be real. She feels hollow, disconnected. She smiles, simply because it is the least sensible thing she can do. Then she wonders whether it might just be the most sensible thing she's done in her life.
As the cold robs her of her digits (for if she can't feel them, they're not there), she laughs grimly inside herself as she realises how hopelessly melodramatic she is. The sound reverberates in her chest, setting her teeth on edge. She doesn't like to think rationally. She believes that by wallowing in her emptiness, she can make herself feel real again.
With her head in the clouds and her cold limbs wrapped in feather blankets, she falls asleep and dreams of strange, dark worlds where nameless shadows chase her ever closer to the border of her sanity. When she wakes up, she chuckles and calls herself a fool, and goes out and lives until the next spell takes her.