The Bird and the Worm.

This kid is a worm. A nervous, tiny, squirming thing filled to the brim with uncertainty. Under constant attack. I wish I could say that since this kid in fact is a worm, he doesn't have feelings. But he does. His emotions run his life. He calls himself a lonely child instead of an only child. The idea of confidence laughs in his vulnerable face.
Hidden inside the shelter of what he thinks he needs to be accepted by his fellow peers, what is supposedly "cool", he trudges through the slushy mud that is the only thing that holds all these school children together. He searches for a safe haven where he can find people to hide between.

This kid is a freaking bird. A sly, swift, vicious girl. She looms over her prey... watching, waiting. She mingles with the right crowds, pushes down everything underneath her as she soars off into a social high. It only takes her seconds to sniff out the faint-hearted, and she's darting towards them, intimidating... capturing... devouring. It makes her feel powerful.

It was purely due to their characteristics that they ended up in her room. She was a bird that played with her food, he was a worm that took stupid risks to survive. He sat on her bed, completely out of place, and slightly terrified. He kept to himself, and tried to imagine being as small as possible, while she attempted to drag him into her ruse with those dark, tauntingly irresistible eyes, and that wickedly inviting smile.
"What's wrong? Haven't you ever been in a girl's room before or someshit?" He felt his stomach flutter as she addressed him. He heard the sneer in her tone, and felt his hands shake and his heart race. He stuttered in a wave of panic. He was supposed to answer, and he had no idea what to say. "Come on... don't be scared!" She was gaining power; it was evident in her voice. She fed off the pure panic perceptible in his fearful round eyes.

---

[unfinished - stay tuned.]

[6/01/10] So I'm reading this after I wrote it like a year ago. I want to find out what happens next, just like some of my friends do. Here goes.

---

She searches around in her pockets, her every slight movement purposeful and casual. Packet of cigarettes. Pink lighter. His dad died from shit-filled lungs, booze and what the world had done to him, all built up and spun around in a blender. His mum took the lid off there were his ashes.

"Want one?" She holds out a Mayfair.

"Y-y..yeah." He swallows. He puts it in his mouth, she lights and he coughs. She smiles, amused and a little disapproving; not unlike a mother watching her five-year-old son finding out what sticking your middle finger up means. He takes it out of his mouth, holding it between his thumb and index finger as if it were a living thing. Maybe a worm.

"You're really boring." She states, then sighs and glances out the window. "Hah look, it's snowing." It was too. Huge round flakes landed on the ground. She looked back at the boy. "It's like God's having a mass wank session." She grins. "Ash here by the way. What you trying to do, burn the freaking house down?" He had been silent for a while. Up 'till this point the worm boy had been sitting on the very edge of her bed staring out the window, trying to breath normally and maybe summon up the courage to tell her he needs to leave. At the sound of her last remark he looked at the cigarette, same place he'd left it in his right hand, burning through fast. The pure white paper of the unburned side was being slowly overtaken and possessed with scarring, charring fire. Fire. Jimi Hendrix. Only Jimi saw him naked.

"I have to go." It was like someone else had said it. He got up and walked out of her room, dizzily stumbling. He made it out the door. He didn't know in which direction the tube station was but he wanted to walk around for a bit.