idk what uim doing. UhghjgjuhuhhhIm compiiling all of my beeslop
AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BEE SWARM WRITING DUMP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!yeah[]
4/11/25 - stupid thing (ft cool, rad, mentioned music)[]
khbn vhfdxcgfhA short beep sound. The rustling of fabric as he dove his hands into his pocket. Two new messages:
dood
ur hair was like, totes wack 2dae -_-
… He hated him sometimes. The boy sighs and cards one hand through his hair, knocking off his shades as he did so. The pair of already beaten-up sunglasses smacks against his desk.
Another smack! emanates from the window nearby and dear God it’s him, and he’s waving and there’s a sharp-looking sneer plastered on his face and there’s nothing more he wants to do in that moment than run up to the glass and pierce in it a hole with something. Preferably his fist. Or a sharp object. Hopefully he knocked that stupid baseball cap he wore sideways off his head, too.
Groaning, he directs his line of sight back to the clock barely hanging onto the wall in front of him; 4:17.
43 minutes to go.
When he finally finds the energy to unravel his D.I.Y. arm spaghetti, his first action is to check how much time he has to stay here. His second is to check if his oh-so very kind and generous friend is still keeping him company and taunting him by the window.
He’s unsurprised when the outside of the classroom is vacant, and a little disappointed, too. Some company is any company, even when said company was mocking your hair and acting slightly more annoying that he usually was. I think he might be at the concert he wouldn’t shut up about, he thinks, picturing his friend’s excited face as he talked attending one of his idol’s performances for the first time and about how ‘this is his first opportunity to see her in person!”
Yawn. Sure, her music was fine, but for him? He just.. didn’t dig it. He was too occupied with important matters like skipping school and going to seedy whole-grade parties.
The image of the concert ticket his friend bagged flashes in his mind again. 4:30 PM. Pine Tree Venue. A setlist with nine songs (he spotted one of his favorite songs! Baby You Boost My Fields was just too good to ignore). The lone boy lifts up his shades. Rubs his eyes, fidgets with his hands, looks around even though he’ll see nobody else with him. Looking up at the clock on the wall and checking the time for the 70th time couldn’t convince him he hadn’t been there for at least a decade.
A loud thud fills the empty room when he knocks over his long-halfempty bottle of Red Extract (the last one in the vendor, by the way). And he grimaces when the crimson fluid spills all over the floor bottle tumbling at least half a mile from where he knocked it down. Well, at least that’s something he can do with 20 minutes (with individual minutes that feel like 30 each) ayyayayyayayaayayyaygavba
notes; 3 days later this feels a little mid........................... i think its just the plotlessness kicking in