[align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: andale mono; font-size: 6.5pt; letter-spacing: 2.5px; word-spacing: 1px; line-height: 14px;"]tw. mention of alcohol use, drug use, parental neglect.
The lighter flickered, the same as any person did from time to time.
Boy Carlisle was born Kelly Boyd Carlisle and it appeared that, for the entirety of his comparatively short life, he could not care less about the harsh realities that life had offered him since birth. He was undoubtedly bulletproof, and every comment about his unwashed hair or slovenly taste in clothing ricocheted off of him effortlessly because Kelly Carlisle never cared for the opinion of others. His laugh was erratic and painfully contagious, and he never made an effort to appear manicured for the likes of anyone. Oftentimes, he’d be reminded that he was a pestilent wart on everybody’s asses before Dad would fling an empty can of beer his way. Like water off a duck’s back — Kelly would bear the smuggest closed-lip smile as he’d reflect — and then he’d turn to leave, not without flipping the bird behind Dad’s back on the way out.
He liked it when people thought that he was incapable of vulnerability.
But there was a good reason he dropped the name Kelly in favour of his nickname, Boy. Boy found it easier to hide those vulnerabilities than Kelly ever did.
Boy had been a long-established name derived from Boyd which derived from his name itself, funnily enough. That was usually where nicknames came from. He wasn’t going to preach a fabricated vision from his notorious Steezy philosophy, but... once your friends had come to eventually reveal your true denomination, it would be a crime not to wear it like a badge of honour. Once the Steezies — the best friendship group this world had to offer, Boy would have you know, no bias involved but maybe just a little bit of bias was involved — had trifled with a nickname that had been long in development, it felt as if it were a crime for Boy to revert back to the name Kelly, just because his parents felt that Boy was humiliating as a nickname.
But hey — it wasn’t as if the name Kelly was humiliating enough, right? Kelly’s fine, but Boy most definitely crossed the line. Boy was disgusted with himself for even contemplating the nickname (sarcasm intended)!
Whilst his parents seldom gave a shit about their kids, Boy was more than content with his found family that were also known as his friends. Sometimes his parents would moan, but most of the time they didn’t even care if Boy had left home for days at a time. He was only thirteen when he went off the rails, spending days at a time crashing at friend’s houses and barely speaking to his parents unless they made the once in a lifetime effort to talk. If Boy had never come home one day, he doubted that his parents would even notice. Mom usually had her head down, snorting up a line of white stuff whilst Dad spent twenty five hours a day pissed out of his mind. These were the same parents who barely wept a single tear when Mia decided to run away from home. If only she had brought Kelly with, then maybe he wouldn’t have had to have been thrust headfirst into a great big reality check that yeah, their upbringing was shit and the only way Boy would be able to survive this knowledge was by quietly leaning on his friends for support.
So when they began to find excuses as to why they shouldn’t leave the city with Boy and travel the world in one big adventure, it hit Boy harder than he expected. In retrospect, perhaps he should’ve been a teeny tiny bit more understanding — some of his friends actually had decent parents who’d break to find that their kid had up and left for some dirtbag named Boy Carlisle. For months, Boy travelled the country in search of Mia, met so many awesome people along the way and lived the life that he actually wanted to live.
Except seeing the world all alone was less exciting than doing so with your best friend. At least, for Boy, he was one of the lucky ones. Soon returning to his life was the beautiful Samantha Young. Don’t tell anyone that he used her full name; she hated when people called her Samantha. Sam it was to most, Sammy to Boy. For as long as Boy had a genuine understanding of what it meant to like someone — to like like someone, if you caught his drift — it had always been her. A stupid boy crush on a girl that would forever remain completely out of his league. But, Boy was all right with it. Whilst he’d sit back on the sidelines and watch the way she’d kiss boys that were not him, they were best friends and Boy was happy with that. Sometimes playing it safe was better than risking it all.
What could get better than having a best friend like Sammy Young? The answer is ❝ absolutely nothing ❞, Boy would have you know, actually.
When he left that life behind, he never expected for Sam to eventually follow. Perhaps it was for the fact that their lives were equally as fucked up; neither had nothing to live for back in Boston, especially with a world out there calling their name. A world where, somewhere in it, Boy would be able to find his big sister again. Why would he want to reunite with the woman that left when he needed her the most, some would ask? Well, Boy didn’t have the answer for that yet. Maybe he wanted to ask her why she did it. Maybe he just missed her. He didn’t know, all right?
The lighter flickered when enveloping the end of a joint, just as Boy did from time to time. Because he wasn’t bulletproof. In fact, he was really not at all bulletproof. The opposite, sometimes. He was damaged goods and he was still learning how to make it in a world where he never had much to begin with except for his unwavering integrity and adoration for his friends, his found family.
Today was his seventeenth birthday. Yeah, he was proud of that fact. He was a Leo which didn’t make him the worst star sign. Stall two days and he would’ve been a Virgo which would have royally fucked up any redemption for him. See, he wasn’t entirely a lost cause yet. Even though he was useless at rolling his own joints, Sammy thought she’d surprise him with the greatest birthday gift of all. It wasn’t much but pre-rolling a handful of joints for the clumsy-handed Boy made life so much easier for him when he’d get to lounge in his very, very humble abode. The back door of their beach shack swung open whenever someone didn’t force it to shut until the latch would click, and the exterior’s paint had since flaked off, leaving behind decayed wood which should have been properly treated, Boy would argue.
Lounging in an old wooden beach chair, Boy took a long drag of his joint, satisfied by the result of his lighter before he returned it into the depths of his oversized socks. Somewhere between the sock and the work boot would the lighter sit comfortably until Boy required it again. For now, he wanted to enjoy his seventeenth birthday in style, watching the waves rolling up and down the shoreline as the sun rays dazzled light across the District. ❝ Hey, Sammy. ❞ He sat himself upright so that he could peer over his shoulder to look back towards their shack, slanted smile somewhat disguised by squinting eyes as his gaze lingered on Sam. Soon, he wagged his brows, toying with the joint between his fingertips before he stated, ❝ Wouldn’t wanna miss out on the best joint you’ve ever rolled, amirite? Come watch the waves with me — I feel so old now, is this what the geriatric do all day?! ❞
He made himself comfortable again, looking back out across the ocean again before mumbling to himself, ❝ Couldn’t be me. ❞
The lighter flickered, the same as any person did from time to time.
Boy Carlisle was born Kelly Boyd Carlisle and it appeared that, for the entirety of his comparatively short life, he could not care less about the harsh realities that life had offered him since birth. He was undoubtedly bulletproof, and every comment about his unwashed hair or slovenly taste in clothing ricocheted off of him effortlessly because Kelly Carlisle never cared for the opinion of others. His laugh was erratic and painfully contagious, and he never made an effort to appear manicured for the likes of anyone. Oftentimes, he’d be reminded that he was a pestilent wart on everybody’s asses before Dad would fling an empty can of beer his way. Like water off a duck’s back — Kelly would bear the smuggest closed-lip smile as he’d reflect — and then he’d turn to leave, not without flipping the bird behind Dad’s back on the way out.
He liked it when people thought that he was incapable of vulnerability.
But there was a good reason he dropped the name Kelly in favour of his nickname, Boy. Boy found it easier to hide those vulnerabilities than Kelly ever did.
Boy had been a long-established name derived from Boyd which derived from his name itself, funnily enough. That was usually where nicknames came from. He wasn’t going to preach a fabricated vision from his notorious Steezy philosophy, but... once your friends had come to eventually reveal your true denomination, it would be a crime not to wear it like a badge of honour. Once the Steezies — the best friendship group this world had to offer, Boy would have you know, no bias involved but maybe just a little bit of bias was involved — had trifled with a nickname that had been long in development, it felt as if it were a crime for Boy to revert back to the name Kelly, just because his parents felt that Boy was humiliating as a nickname.
But hey — it wasn’t as if the name Kelly was humiliating enough, right? Kelly’s fine, but Boy most definitely crossed the line. Boy was disgusted with himself for even contemplating the nickname (sarcasm intended)!
Whilst his parents seldom gave a shit about their kids, Boy was more than content with his found family that were also known as his friends. Sometimes his parents would moan, but most of the time they didn’t even care if Boy had left home for days at a time. He was only thirteen when he went off the rails, spending days at a time crashing at friend’s houses and barely speaking to his parents unless they made the once in a lifetime effort to talk. If Boy had never come home one day, he doubted that his parents would even notice. Mom usually had her head down, snorting up a line of white stuff whilst Dad spent twenty five hours a day pissed out of his mind. These were the same parents who barely wept a single tear when Mia decided to run away from home. If only she had brought Kelly with, then maybe he wouldn’t have had to have been thrust headfirst into a great big reality check that yeah, their upbringing was shit and the only way Boy would be able to survive this knowledge was by quietly leaning on his friends for support.
So when they began to find excuses as to why they shouldn’t leave the city with Boy and travel the world in one big adventure, it hit Boy harder than he expected. In retrospect, perhaps he should’ve been a teeny tiny bit more understanding — some of his friends actually had decent parents who’d break to find that their kid had up and left for some dirtbag named Boy Carlisle. For months, Boy travelled the country in search of Mia, met so many awesome people along the way and lived the life that he actually wanted to live.
Except seeing the world all alone was less exciting than doing so with your best friend. At least, for Boy, he was one of the lucky ones. Soon returning to his life was the beautiful Samantha Young. Don’t tell anyone that he used her full name; she hated when people called her Samantha. Sam it was to most, Sammy to Boy. For as long as Boy had a genuine understanding of what it meant to like someone — to like like someone, if you caught his drift — it had always been her. A stupid boy crush on a girl that would forever remain completely out of his league. But, Boy was all right with it. Whilst he’d sit back on the sidelines and watch the way she’d kiss boys that were not him, they were best friends and Boy was happy with that. Sometimes playing it safe was better than risking it all.
What could get better than having a best friend like Sammy Young? The answer is ❝ absolutely nothing ❞, Boy would have you know, actually.
When he left that life behind, he never expected for Sam to eventually follow. Perhaps it was for the fact that their lives were equally as fucked up; neither had nothing to live for back in Boston, especially with a world out there calling their name. A world where, somewhere in it, Boy would be able to find his big sister again. Why would he want to reunite with the woman that left when he needed her the most, some would ask? Well, Boy didn’t have the answer for that yet. Maybe he wanted to ask her why she did it. Maybe he just missed her. He didn’t know, all right?
The lighter flickered when enveloping the end of a joint, just as Boy did from time to time. Because he wasn’t bulletproof. In fact, he was really not at all bulletproof. The opposite, sometimes. He was damaged goods and he was still learning how to make it in a world where he never had much to begin with except for his unwavering integrity and adoration for his friends, his found family.
Today was his seventeenth birthday. Yeah, he was proud of that fact. He was a Leo which didn’t make him the worst star sign. Stall two days and he would’ve been a Virgo which would have royally fucked up any redemption for him. See, he wasn’t entirely a lost cause yet. Even though he was useless at rolling his own joints, Sammy thought she’d surprise him with the greatest birthday gift of all. It wasn’t much but pre-rolling a handful of joints for the clumsy-handed Boy made life so much easier for him when he’d get to lounge in his very, very humble abode. The back door of their beach shack swung open whenever someone didn’t force it to shut until the latch would click, and the exterior’s paint had since flaked off, leaving behind decayed wood which should have been properly treated, Boy would argue.
Lounging in an old wooden beach chair, Boy took a long drag of his joint, satisfied by the result of his lighter before he returned it into the depths of his oversized socks. Somewhere between the sock and the work boot would the lighter sit comfortably until Boy required it again. For now, he wanted to enjoy his seventeenth birthday in style, watching the waves rolling up and down the shoreline as the sun rays dazzled light across the District. ❝ Hey, Sammy. ❞ He sat himself upright so that he could peer over his shoulder to look back towards their shack, slanted smile somewhat disguised by squinting eyes as his gaze lingered on Sam. Soon, he wagged his brows, toying with the joint between his fingertips before he stated, ❝ Wouldn’t wanna miss out on the best joint you’ve ever rolled, amirite? Come watch the waves with me — I feel so old now, is this what the geriatric do all day?! ❞
He made himself comfortable again, looking back out across the ocean again before mumbling to himself, ❝ Couldn’t be me. ❞
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I CALL IT AS I SEE IT, I'M STRAIGHT AS SHOOTERS GO.
[div style="width: 400px; font-family: georgia; text-align: center; font-size: 6pt; line-height: 1; letter-spacing: 2.5px; word-spacing: 1.9px; margin-bottom: 5px;"]I MIGHT INDULGE A LITTLE, I SAID ❝ FUCK IT ❞ LONG AGO.
[div style="width: 400px; font-family: georgia; text-align: center; font-size: 6pt; line-height: 1; letter-spacing: 2.5px; word-spacing: 1.9px; margin-bottom: 5px;"]I MIGHT INDULGE A LITTLE, I SAID ❝ FUCK IT ❞ LONG AGO.