Author: The Intolerance PM
Great, I spelled my label wrong. WHY IS IT IN SHARPIE? Er... That's only supposed to have one "d" and it's not as bad as it looks. Misadventures of an average teen - that's me - embarrassing himself on a daily basis - also me .Rated: Fiction T - English - Humor/Adventure - Chapters: 5 - Words: 4,148 - Reviews: 11 - Favs: 6 - Follows: 8 - Updated: 05-06-12 - Published: 04-29-12 - id: 3018143
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
March 7th, 2010
So. I ask for a drawing tablet for my seventeenth birthday. I get a journal. My mom says it ups sentimentality and invokes creative thoughts. I think that's a load of crap. I wanted a tablet. Well… I guess this thing MIGHT have its perks. Since I was given a journal and not a tablet, I can just write what's happening instead of having to draw a comic about it. That and every time I draw, people think my style looks too much like anime. Jerks.
I guess I better introduce myself. I'm Bastion Pyrite. And don't ask about my name.
"Hey, you mean like Bastion from the NeverEnding Story?" "Oh wow, do you have a book that writes itself?" "Does that make you, like, forty years old? You ARE the original, right?"
I've had enough people asking about my name. If I had a book that wrote itself, I wouldn't be sitting in front of my computer working on it right now. Anyhow. Bastion Pyrite. Sounds simple enough, right? I'm seventeen, tall, a little on the lean side, and I've been classified as a geek. I suppose that if anyone found out about this "diary" journal, I'd be demoted to "momma's boy." When I'm not busy pouring my heart and soul into this… abomination, I'm usually in front of my television with my game systems or out watching my friends get into mischief.
…I only have two friends. And they're brothers. Twins. My God, I have no life. And I hope they aren't reading this. Norbert and Tyson Blackwell, or Ty and Norb, they're under the delusion that they're the world's greatest pair of gamers God's ever given the Earth. That, and they think they… "get all the chicks." Trying to reason with them is almost like trying to imagine the brief second of pain you encounter before a prefrontal lobotomy. It's painful. I guess.
Speaking of girls, there's this REALLY pretty one that I sit behind in class. Her name's Elizabeth Turner. Don't ask about her name, either.
"Hey, you must've been named after Elizabeth from Pirates of the Caribbean!" "Ooh, lucky! I'd LOVE to marry Orlando Bloom!" "I'M TWELVE YEARS OLDER THAN THAT FRAKKIN' MOVIE."
She'll bitch at you like there's no tomorrow if you bring up Kiera Knightley. She's, like, ideal girl material; she's even a gamer. The only problem is that we're stuck in "friend zone" territory. Granted, I didn't grow up with her; I didn't grow up with any of my current friends, as I moved to Texas about three years ago. So now, my current mission is to NOT die at the hands of my twin brother-friends and to eventually convince Liz that I could be a totally ideal boyfriend if I could get my hair unstuck to the walls I tend to find myself clinging to when she's around.
Okay, so I guess that's my introduction. Oh, and about my journal name. I wanted something really cool and catchy, like they do in all the online comics and stuff like that. I chose or P.L (or even Pyrite Point Limitedd) because it sounded catchy and easy to say. When I was writing it on the front of my journal, I misspelled "limited." It was a sharpie. It's a brown journal.
I suppose I'll leave it at that; my mom wants to take my sister and I to the thrift store. They actually have pretty good jackets there from time to time.
Now I'm embarrassed,