Angst (you had it coming)
The meme says it all 👁👄👁💅(totally not crying while writing this)
Researched:
Henry Emily born in 1945(somewhere there)
William Afton 26 June 1938(doesn't change anything that he's older)
Another fact is that William was born the year before WW2 started and Henry was born exactly on the year it ended ( I like history 👉👈 )
waRnINGs: (read this in your best show host impression)
○angst for hen🐔
○sadness
○blood
○mentions of drugs/addiction
○alcohol
○swearing(Who am I kidding theres always swearing-_-)
???au(oooooooo00000👻 find out)
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Affluenza: by Canon Gray (one of my favorite artist/singers)
This song puts up the vibe once you read.
Now without further a do
Let's begin..
💥PLS TAKE NOTE THAT I'M SOUTH-AFRICAN🇿🇦 AND DOESN'T KNOW HOW AMERICA IS TRUTHFULLY (ONLY FROM MOVIES/SHOWS SO YEAH)💥
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(Might turn this into a book/seires who knows😏)
Leave a message after the beep......
"Hi..mom can you please, come fetch me." Stuttering the troubled teen looks out the vaporized windows of the telephone box; once cleaned, the steamed glass with the hemp of his shirt the boy trys to see from the inside. Rose-wood the street sign stood next to the scrached phone box is emerged into view. Holding it closer to his ear the weeping teenager mutters to the gumed telephone "At Rose-wood road by the bus-stop I-I've done something...that I truly regret"
--1person pov
It's confusing, that I can tell "regret" part. Rewind it back to the end of Summer break 29 June 1963, that day changed everything from where I'm standing and pathetically crying in my mothers arms.
"Sweet heart, but you didn't mean it." My mothers calm tone soothes me; yet it only made me hurl every emotion, every thought, every memory... collapsing to the floor the energy drained from my very existence. "But I had a choice,mom. I had choice to love him, to be with him, not to let him hate himself more than he already does. I screwed up,I can't change what I've already done." With a visible crack in my voice I sink more into the hug, hiding my eyes away from the world.
Calming my mother maneuvers her hand to my chin raising it up so my gaze meets her heart-felt eyes, warmly she dusts the long up-coming strans of hair that gather near my eye-lids. "Honey," she starts off sternly "but what you can change is swipe that frown off your face, last time I'd checked. I didn't raise a blob-fish (no offence to the blob-fish fans) I chuckle at the comment, childishly pulling a face, I attempted to intimidate the slimy miserable blob creature. "You are a funny one ay, now let's get you into the car, we're going home ok" my mom says;holding to the sides of my face, and wiping my tear stained cheeks softly.
The ride home was, long and glum. It was that certain kind of uncomfortable silence, the only sound given was the clogged engine of the old beetle. Though it was way better than to be around a crowd of static strangers at the bus-stop. Eyeballing to the back of my head so rudely. A curly-haired lady; seemed to be a traffic-cop from the neon vest she wore,came and "kindly" asked us to leave as we are creating inevitable bustle on the pavement. Her bushy hair bouced as she bobed her head interrogating us.
The prolonged journey unfortunately ended as the pale yellow car climbed up the drive-way. Switching off the ignition my mother said "Henry, sweetie be careful when you get into the house, you're father is here. I didn't want you to worry after you left for college, you've already got enough with your classes and now this." Sighing she opened the car-door and left to the house. Pouting I stayed crossed armed, not wanting to see that selfish swine of man I should call father. Treating me and my mother to absolute hell on earth. Stealing our money to just sprinkle it generously to other stingy drunken men; gullible, the alcoholic cept on playing and waisting, if he 'ever' won he bought it on drinks and the most posh suit-wear. Tuxedos to silk milken lined shirts, and chelsea boots.
After while on not doing anything, the doors to the house is busted open, revealing a frustrated women with her hands on her hips. Eagle eyes, she gave me the 'seriously' look. Stubbornly I shake my head denying her plans to snake into the house. Growling she marches to my side of the passenger seat. Cheeckly smiling I press down the nobe on the car window.
I'm Henry James Emily and this is my story on how I met the boy who rode wind.
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Boring I know but like I've finally had this idea. Hella short, but I wanted make this chapter today. ;-; I'm sorry
