#RIP THAT MY LAPTOP DIED AND I AM TOO CHEAP TO BUY ANOTHER ONE

[fuckyeahalexedler]

@Canucks: Join us in celebrating the career of Alex Edler on Friday, October 11th vs. Philadelphia.

Alex will sign a one-day contract to retire as a Canuck!

[hihoneyimdead]

Post for Friday Night Fights by @promptsforthestrugglingauthor

I’ve never done one of these before, but I also haven’t written anything original in months, so I brought out some new ocs! This was kinda hard but I like these guys and might sneak them into my wip! 

Meet Emerson, known asshole, Smith, known ghost, and Rogers, known coward. 

“What, may I ask, the actual fuck is a Streamy?”

I ignore the question and smack Smith away with a salt-covered hand. Smith skitters backwards with a hiss and a flutter of the curtains and flickering of the lights. Thankfully my laptop isn’t plugged in because there is no way in any of the hells that I can afford a new one. Not after last time.

“Personal space,” I snap, eye twitching. The costs of this operation are going through the roof already, what with the house and the new laptop and the new phone and the new everything because someone refuses to accept that electronics aren’t as dense as they were when he was a kid, like, a billion years ago. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you manners?”

“I was an orphan,” Smith says. 

“Not my problem. Now, listen, get close to me again, and I will call Rogers back in.”

Behind me, he shudders, the room’s temperature dropping a good couple of degrees. Thank God for the summer heat (for once, and never again.) I’m sure that Rogers, miles and miles away tucked under his sorry excuse for a church praying to whatever god he’s worshiping this week, is doing the same. Times like this make me wish I didn’t settle down here, or that I had picked a better haunting ground to steal in the name of fame, fortune, and a future in reality television. I made the active decision, after all, to buy a haunted house. Not only was it infinitely cheaper, but it gave me the ability to capitalize on the haunting with a YouTube series and an incredibly active Twitter account. This is my burden, for worse or for worse, and I brought it upon myself. Though if the gods are really this against me, I should have just stayed in the hospital. At least the ghosts there are competent. 

-

Retirement came easy once I was told I would never walk again. Not like I can go around hunting ghosts and being the hero in a wheelchair, not until I can afford one that doesn’t break down every time I even think about leaving a hardwood surface (because even her extremely generous life insurance can only get so far.) And I had thought at the time that it would be good for me. Running around for so long, it’s tiring. Was tiring. I could go to therapy, finally, or get to work on that novel I’d been planning since middle school. 

And then I saw therapy costs and broke the lead on my pencil every time I tried putting it to paper, seeing her eyes as she-

Rogers told me to start a diary. Helped him when he was down, he said. But he was also curled up under my dining table clutching a bagel to his chest as Smith looked down upon us upside-down through the ceiling, concerned as ever. 

But pencils are bad. Pens are expensive, and they run out of ink too quickly (Smith keeps stealing them to write in his own diary up in the attic where he knows I can’t go and steal them back and also send his ass to the hells where he belongs.) Paper rips, and it cuts, and I don’t like bleeding all too much. But my laptop had a camera, a cheap one that was grainy and shitty and barely picked up audio after so long sitting in a case next to my bed gathering dust. 

-

“So I just stand like... this?” Smith asks, head detached and tucked under his arm. He sticks his tongue out and widens his eyes until they’re, literally, the size of dinner plates.

Rogers, cowering under his hat, shakes his head. “Ah. No? I... Em?”

I roll my eyes and roll over to take Smith’s head and put it under his other arm, poking his eye in the process. He only protests a little. 

“What’s with the face?” I ask, nose wrinkled. “Aren’t you supposed to be, you know, scary?”

“I am.” Smith pouts, notably not scary. 

Smith is the least scary apparition I have ever had the displeasure of dealing with. Not only does he have all of his body parts intact (he died of poisoning, or something, fuck if I know or care), but he also cries when I even mention bringing out the holy water. One time he hid under Rogers’ coat when he came over, much to Rogers’ absolute horror and terror. But he also won’t be exorcised, no matter what I try. It’s annoying. There’s another ghost here somewhere perfect for this, I know, I feel. I can feel them sitting in the storm cellar by where Rogers says the apparent rows of shelves of empty, dusty jars sits. 

Rogers squeaks and pulls his hat lower over his face. “He is, he is! Em, please!”

I roll my eyes and pinch Smith’s cheek. Hard. “Could it kill you to try, you know, being the evil, demonic spirit you are?”

“I’m not evil. And I’m already dead, jackass.”

“Most assuredly dead,” Rogers agrees. 

In the cellar, I can faintly feel the presence floating up to listen, as it has been for the past week and a half as we try and get this pilot episode filmed. 

“Buzzed Feed isn’t going to pick us up if you. Are. Not. Scary!” I snap, pinching Smith’s cheek for emphasis. 

“Do you mean Buzzfeed?” Rogers asks. 

“The fuck is a Buzzfeed?” Smith asks. 

I groan and look to the presence beneath the floorboards. It’s laughing. I hate it. 

“Buzzfeed isn’t into this stuff, dude,” Rogers says. “You’re thinking of Netflix.”

“What’s a Netflix?” Smith asks. 

If she were alive, Sammi would be laughing at us. But she’s not, and I don’t think she would know what a ‘Net flicks’ is, either. 

“Didn’t you die in 2008?” Rogers asks, peeking out from under his hat. 

“1908.”

“Ah.”

“That’s a whole century apart! How did you get that wrong?”

“I’m sorry!”

I push myself back and away from the shitty ghost and the shittier exorcist with a huff, going to retrieve my laptop from its spot on the counter so I can pull up that breathing website (it’s the only good thing Rogers has ever found.) The spirit below follows me. 

Smith coughs, the already-flickering kitchen light going out for half a second, and Rogers screams, and I count down from ten in my mind. I’m not going to run my idiot best friend over. I’m not going to get him to exorcise the key to my future success. We are going to make a television show, I am going to get the royalties, and I am going to bury my sister where she belongs. 

I let out a five-second breath, tuning the two idiots out. It’s going to fine. It’s going to be fine. 

And then the spirit underneath me pushes its way through the floorboards and through my lap and I almost fall out of my chair because-

“What the fuck?” Smith demands. I don’t even have the energy to jump or slap him as he appears by my side, head reattached. He jabs a finger into the other spirit’s chest, literally. “Why are you here?”

“I don’t know.” The other Smith smiles, all teeth, bloody. He’s bloody. 

“Em hates tea,” Rogers unnecessarily says, probably frozen in fear and-slash-or shivering like a shaved penguin where he stands. 

“This is the worst-case scenario,” I say. “Please get out of me before I have a heart attack.”

He doesn’t, so I do.

[iikiryou]

i’m angry all over again over the same petty thing

i want her to just stop touching my phone. it’s not her property. if she wants to use a phone so badly, she can use the one i gave her daughter. she can use the laptop i gave her. i will not let her use my phone anymore. not on a weekend as important as that. i told her i needed it between 6-7pm. she apparently got back “just as soon as i left” WHICH WAS LIKE AT 7:35PM

she said to wait for her but god damn i had no wait to confirm whether or not she was nearby because she hasn’t paid my phone bill after two or three months, despite me letting her use it for several months because she was without her own fucking phone (my phone bill is only $40 god fucking damn if only she was stop wasting it on pointless fucking toys her kids don’t care about) and she has an ATROCIOUS history of being late or completely missing meet ups and appointments due to atrocious memory and inability to pay attention to time. plus she’s not a responsible buyer because she thinks too much on how little she’s spending buy buying cheap items but never realizing that she’s buying A LOT of small items. and she buys groceries and gets gas at the corner store closest to us because it’s a convenient distance at the expense of WAY TOO FUCKING MUCH BECAUSE SHE’S FUCKING LAZY AND IMPATIENT

I HATE HER SPENDING HABITS I HATE THEM I HATE THEM I HATE THEM I HATE THEM I HATE THEM I HATE THEM

I FEEL LIKE I’M TAKING THE HIT FOR THEM BECAUSE SHE OWES ME. SHE OWES ME SO FUCKING MUCH. I FEEL LIKE I’M NEVER GOING TO GET THAT MONEY BACK BECAUSE SHE DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO SPEND. I FEEL LIKE I THREW LIKE $2000 ONTO HER (in which $1300 or $1400 i’m probably only ever going to get back) BECAUSE!!! SHE NEVER HAS MONEY!!!

i don’t want to associate with her anymore i don’t want to waste any more fucking time with her she disgusts me. her lifestyle disgusts me. her stubbornness disgusts me. the way she raises her children disgusts me. her friends disgust me. these people i have to live around 24/7 because of her disgusts me. i want out of it. this decision to live with her instead of my dad because he’s a neglectful, manipulative, stubborn, delusional, disgusting ass was a bad decision. but she’s worse. she’s sooo much worse. i worry for her kids. i wish her kids had different parents tbh. she asked me to make sure her kids didn’t go to their dads’ custody once she died and? um? bitch? i’m only 19 and i’m not raising your fucking kids for you fuck you i didn’t sign up for that life? i don’t even want kids? your kids are cute but holy fuck are they annoying. too much time and dedication and i barely have the motivation to help myself or my bestest friend. i’m too selfish for that. i don’t have enough of the fucking ability to FUCKING CARE.

i just hate her i hate my sister i hate my sister i hate my sister i hate my sister i resent her so much i feel like i have no control in my life. i feel like i had even less control than i did before.

before my depression was rooted in my failure, due to my inability to accomplish anything in college and general anxiety stopping me from progressing. now my depression is rooted in my lack of a future because i feel like she puts a stopped in my ability to do things. i feel like she’ll hold me back. that she’ll be a set back. that she’ll drag me along into her little game. move to oregon? pah! i’m not like her at all.

i don’t make friends like she does. if i move down to oregon i’d die. i don’t bond with family well because i’m picky about people, unlike her i guess. i’m too awkward to try to bond with family. i’ve never learned to to establish a connection with family and cherish it, love it, appreciate it.

i tried and now it’s only brought me anger in frustration, and i only want to isolate myself more and more.

my only good friends live in within driving distance, here in washington. once i separate from them and limit contact with them via online messaging, that’ll be the end of it. i’ll slowly feel ostracize myself because i’ll feel out of place, i’ll feel as if i can no longer connect with them because i know my actions are more interesting than my words to them and our shared interests are so limited that i can’t use that to bond us. even then, that sort of thing would be super awkward because that’s never quite how we kept our friendships. i would lose them due to my own incompetence. i’ve done it before. i’ll do it again. when we move i won’t be in school anymore and making friends will be impossible. i’ll become a hermit. i’ll keep to my room so much i’ll spiral into a deeper depression and probably kill myself. i want to kill myself right now over this pretty fucking anger. i hate this. i hate her.

hello midnight depression. i’m sorry anger brought you here tonight. i want to hur myself for even feeling this unsavory anger but i feel as if i can’t because noah is beside me. they’re too good of a friend for me to do that in their presence. plus writing all this out is making me feel a bit better i guess.

i’m not even that angry. not shaking, not crying. my throat is tight - but the thing is i don’t get angry often. i’ve felt frustrated, on occasions (especially with my younger brother), but i never really got angry with him often. i’ve gotten angry with my dad once, visibly, but god my anger with my sister is so persistent and consistent. i never wished so dearly to tear myself away from someone. i want to rip her out of my life like a leech. sometimes i do really wish she would die.

other times i wish i could just separate myself from this family. mom and dad won’t have to fret about me since i’m just a stubborn, irresponsible rat. i don’t have to associate with my shitty siblings anymore. relying on any of them really ought to be the worst idea on this fucking planet. i was a fool to think my sister had any competence. she may be insecure but she talks with a lot of fucking confidence in the absolute wrong places. other than that the rest of my fucking family barely knows that i exist BECAUSE I BARELY EVER GOT THE CHANCE TO MEET THEM AND LEARN ABOUT THEM OR GROW UP WITH THEM BECAUSE MY IMMEDIATE FAMILY (primarily my parents) ARE ALL STUBBORN, SELFISH ASSHOLES

i don’t want to be here. end game it’d be easiest if i disappeared. there’s only like two and a half people i actually care about right now, and are probably the reasons i’m alive now, particularly because of one.

or if i didn’t have them, i probably would have found another out of desperation - out of the need to find someone to confide into and therefore becoming close to them. end up just like amanda, aj and michaela. and whoever else thought i was trustworthy.

please just let me kill myself. sometimes i wish they’d let me go so i can finally lose those final strands of purpose and have a reason to shamelessly end my life. i could act like an asshole and drive them away, whereas to one i point out my flaws in hopes that they’ll notice and realize how awful i really am. i want to die. i want to die. i want to die.

i’ve contemplated a suicide pact, and told them about it, only because i know they’re suicidal too and i rely on them so much that if they were to say yes i’d probably go through with it.

but they didn’t. instead i’m the reason they’re alive and they’re using that as an excuse to keep persisting.

and it kind of frustrates me, for some reason, knowing that they care so much. i don’t know why that is.