Tribute to the beautiful Letters and Numbers by NZ artists Computers Want Me Dead: /watch?v=65Qi4nckSwg, youtube.
I'd love for you to watch it before you read this, or if not, simply have it playing in the background.
Was going through my phase of attempting-to-write-more-poetically. This may be the point it actually became good writing and not terrible violation of punctuation, because I've given it the once-over now and it's not nearly as bad as I thought. Changed exactly two semicolons to commas. They're more grammatically correct, but it loses something, I think. (Makes up for it by not being physically painful to look at, though.)
Cannot write Dave Strider, but I tried. I wrote him worse back when I was also going through Too Many Fucks Dialogue Syndrome. I've cleared that out for you now.
Written late April 2011, age 16.
/-/-
You feel your heart pounding, in time with your feet: fast, ecstatic. Early evening sunlight falls upon your figure, running like a madman, as if you never want to stop. You scream your lungs out, throwing your arms into the air, radiating endless energy.
Another powerful shriek starts up behind you. She's a complete mess, with long black hair so utterly bedraggled that now she'll never be able to comb it out. She doesn't care. The two of you run through this meadow, screeching with each other, then at each other. She giggles hysterically, then lets herself slump into the grass, entire body dropping against the earth.
You're now out of breath, heaving next to her, hands on knees. You see a kid with sunglasses, and a girl without sunglasses, both walking at a more moderate pace. The lady smirks, picking up to a jog; the other's mouth only twitches slightly.
As the girl reaches you, cropped blond hair rustling backwards, you squeeze the last of your energy into standing up properly. You shake the sweat out of your eyes; she flicks your hair into a less frumpled shape, elegant sleeve now damp and a bit icky. You crookedly grin at her, and she rolls violet eyes, smiling back.
Jade now sits up again, telling her to scream too. She shakes her head. Jade insists, trying to pout adorably. Rose tells her she looks like a bumpkin. Jade pouts for real, about to argue, but then her eyes lock onto the last kid and she clumsily leaps at him instead.
The boy catches her; she's getting grass and dirt on him too, but neither of them raise attention to it. She looks up at him, through thin circular frames… and tells him to scream. He snorts.
You run up as well, chanting the word with her. He tries to say something snarky, but you take his sunglasses. His eyes widen as he initially grabs for them; he stops, though, lowering his hand, laughing silently. He pushes Jade off him gently, red irises looking into green, then up to the setting sun.
He starts to speak, voice carrying across the field and through the suburb. He's Dave Strider, and these are his bros right here; and as he keeps talking, he raises his voice… he's Dave Strider and if anyone tries fuckin' with any of 'em, they will not even live to see the light of day, ya hear? Yeeaaaahhhhh! he finally cries, the word transmuting into an euphoric roar halfway, finishing with a ringing echo and a dark grin on his face.
Jade bursts into laughter, raising an ear-piercing holler, and he joins her; the only one remaining is to your right, but she's already sporting a resigned smile. You watch as she faces the sunset, and starts to let out a screech of her own… and now you join in, the four of you screaming into the sky, as if nobody'll do anything about it.
Your heart's pounding, and you never want it to stop.