Teenage Wildlife

The Man In My Head


The door slammed shut as she hurried in and threw down her back pack. Her face was already wet with tears and her dark auburn eyes were now tinged with painful red. Her hair was disheveled from fingers curled to tightly.....and the pulling. She just couldn't cope with the problem. They had told her she was manic depressive, and that made things harder to deal with. So maybe she had that to blame. But at that minute, it didn't matter. Pain was pain. She was torn up inside.

Lying lazily in one of the many large and overstuffed armchairs with legs thrown over the arm rest, he watches her, lips full and firm tugged downward ina frown of confusion and upset. His slendor talons for nails claw faintly into the plush fabric of the chair. She'd been hurt...again. He tilts his head back with a drawn out sigh, ash blonde tresses of hair falling back. He hated it when she cried. Deep inside, it hurt him as much as it did her.

She tosses him a fleeting glance before tugging off her shirt and moving down the hallway. He opens an eye..then the other, slits of mismatched blue watching her figure stalk from him. She dissapears into a room, her pants quickly tossed out and slamming into the wall and down to the floor in a rumple. A moment later the sound of running water touches his ears. He waits and then silently stands, shimmery blue cape sliding into place behind him. he gives a tug of his short black jacket, fingers splaying to check the buckle. He knew he looked good. He always looked good. His long legs take him in a few strides to the door of the room she took shelter in. He leans against the frame, eyes roaming over her, half submerged in what must be scolding hot water. Her hair is tied back, falling in a messy sable pony tail and drapping over her shoulder. His expression shifts, caught somewhere between a flash of the affection he held for her, and that ever lasting need to be strong and stern in his feelings.

The tears were his undoing. He watched two flawless tears streak down her face and listens with pain at the ragged whimpering sigh to cross her lips now bright red from knawing. He pushes off the frame, tugs the door close, and diminishes the space between them, sitting lithly on the edge of the bath tub she is currently resting in. He reaches out his hand with certainty, allowing his fingers to wipe aside the tears rested on her cheeks. Her eyes open slightly and she stares off blankly, not seeming to notice him. His fingers caress her face, moving aside damp bits of hair that cling to her. She presses her hand to his, the sound of the water drops falling from her fingertips echoeing in the empty room. her lips part and the first words are spoken.

"he left me jareth..."

And to that, he nods.

"I know"

Not much could be said. No sentimental meanings of life. he knew she wouldn't buy them, and he wasn't one to supply them. She turns her head so her eyes meet his, his hand now brushign her lips, and she kisses his fingers softly.

"I'm sorry. You know i never forget you."

He smiles dimly. This is what happened. He gave her space, let her do as she wished, knowing when she got hurt, when she was alone, she always came back to him. And he welcomed her with open arms and kept her safe until she choce the walk on her own again.

"I know..and you know i will never leave you Sarah"

Her eyes fall shut, her mouth now turned upward into a dreamy smile. She purrs out her next words calmly. She felt so safe with him.

"I love you Jareth"

He admires his princess who never really got away and at the ever living child within her.

"I love you too Sarah"

A knock at the door, and her step-mother sticks her head in.

"Sarah? Sarah i wish you wouldn't throw your clothes and bags on the floor"

She looks up again, staring at the woman.


" Who were you talking to?"

Sarah glances around the empty bathroom.

"No one."

Her step-mother gives her an impatient look, and leaves mumblign somethign about dinner beign near done. Sarah dips down lower into the water. She wasn't sure if she really saw him, if he was ever really there, or even if she ever really talked to him. Maybe he was just in her mind. But noticing the stray owl feather placed perfectly on the counter...she wasn't so sure.

Dead Man Walking


There is a man. Slightly ragged with a sence of humor so blunt and bold it takes lifetimes to respect. His clothes show touches of high class new age fashion over an 'i don't give a fuck' ensemble. He is today. He is a survivor. He is a builder. He has a vision.

Inside of him, there is a man. His hair defies color and his clothes are morbidly beautiful. He lacks class and bites his tounge when he smiles. He is paranoid. He is a cry for attention. He is reborn. He is in your face.

Inside of him, there is a man. His fitted suits are bold and his hair is spun gold. He dances on stage and sings false words. He works to make you smiles and then spits in your tea. He is bored. He is tired. He is pushing. He is a slave. He is dying.

Inside of him, there is a man. He is a fallen angel and he is scared. He walks alone through a world he doesn't understand. He is simply and flawless, like a painting hung on your wall. He is a child. He is innocence. He is untouched. He is beautiful.

Inside of him, there is a man. He is bold and pretty. He glitters in the spot light and wears too much make up. He screams for your praise while flipping you off. He is the monster our parents warned us about. He plays the guitar. He is weird. He is an addiction.

Inside of him, there is a man. His name is David. He wears a thousand masks....but he is the real face. Sometimes, he just looses track.

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This document last updated Sunday, 11-Jun-2000 18:49:02 EDT
Etete Systems