Snow was falling from a dark grey sky at an alarming pace, on the night Camilla awoke from a nightmare. Her skin was covered in a thin layer of sweat; her heart was racing and Camilla’s dark brown fringe suck to her forehead. The sound of screeching tyres and Camilla’s own screams still rang in her ears and she believed she could smell burning rubber.
“Cam you seriously need to pull it together.” Her voice was stern in the darkness, as she stared up at the ceiling. “Every night.”
Taking several slow and deep breaths Camilla tried to return herself to some semblance of normal so she could at least try to get back to sleep.
Across the small village Monroe paced his small bedroom, the well-worn pyjama bottoms were slung low on his hips and his bare feet made dull thuds every time he placed them on the hard wood floor.
Monroe could not stop thinking about Camilla, there was so much that she didn’t know. Rolling his broad shoulders Monroe shook his head and collapsed against his bed. Placing his hands behind his head, Monroe stared at the ceiling and knew that sleep was not going to come for a while, if at all.
The bar was quiet when a snow covered Monroe walked in. His raven black hair was un-brushed and stuck out in all directions, but for some reason Camilla found that she liked it like that.
“Hey, wipe your feet I am not mopping up melted snow as well as beer” Camilla said as with enormous effort she tore her gaze from him and tried to focus on the pint of bitter she was pulling. Monroe obligingly wiped his boots on the thick welcome mat and proceeded to stepped behind the tall dark bar and questioned
“How’s it been?”
“Quiet.” Camilla shrugged and placed the pint in front of the young man opposite her. “Three twenty ...
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...ain” Monroe smiled and placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head.
“I am going to check on the kitchen, if you are going to be okay?”
“Yea I will be fine.” Camilla smiled and tucked a piece of brown hair behind her ear. “I’m just being stupid. T.V turning on when it’s not plugged in, I must be more sleep deprived than I thought.”
Monroe gently patted her arm as he walked passed and headed into the kitchen.
Standing in the cold kitchen Monroe lent against the silver workbench and let out several slow breaths.
“It’s only going to get worse. She has to know.” Running his hands over his face Monroe could not help but feel defeated.
A ringing noise filled Monroe’s ears again and he collapsed to his knees.
“Leave me alone!” He shouted in to the air. “I know! Don’t you think that I am full aware of the fact that today is the day” Squeezing his eyes shut.
The bartender shot him a confused look but obliged, and returned shortly with two drinks. George turned to the seat next to him, in it sat Lennie with his denim coat and black hat. His pale eyes wandered around the room, inspecting nothing in particular.
He explores ideas of Monroe in terms of feminist thinking – examining the debate on whether she was an exploited woman, or a rebel who took control of her own sexuality. Monroe had a clearly complex relationship with her status as a sex symbol. She didn’t want to receive that label from the outside, acted and dressed in a manner that arguably objectified herself, but admitting that if she had to be a symbol, sex wasn’t a bad one to be. He also examined, in detail, the degree of control that Monroe had over her own image and how she was portrayed, and the influence of her sex symbol status over the roles she played, and how it is constructed, breaking down Bus Stop shot-by-shot, teasing her sexuality only to reveal that, unsurprisingly to anyone who’s put one on, getting into a leotard isn’t exactly sexy business
"Now, now that is no story for bedtimes. You will be awake all night with bad dreams."
Her mom came into the room rubbing her eyes. “Is everything ok? What’s going on?”
When he looked up, the dark mysterious clouds told him that they promised to cry more tears tonight. A few more cars flew by. Driving in the dark country tracks, became dangerous when the rain fell. He knew some cars would skid on the curve over the wet ground. Drawing in a deep breath of the pine-perfumed breeze, he rolled his.
As told before, Monroe had a problem with abusing many different types of drugs. She also struggled with depression, and has attempted to kill herself in the past. That night she took her life, she made sure that no one would be able to save her this time, by locking her door so she would not be bothered. According to Dr. Howard Markel the combination of drugs she took was proved to make before forget how much they consumed, which allowed her to ingest more than she thought she took. Her addiction was eventually her downfall, but not everyone still chooses to believe
That makes sense,” Oleander hummed softly, lost in thought. Leaning back, he ran a hand through his hair, feeling at the gray hair near his temples that he never tried to hide despite all the hair color changes he’d done throughout the years.
Goosebumps formed on his arms under his long thin sleeves, and he cursed the palace for being so poorly insulated. If this was how the autumns were, he could hardly imagine how brutal the winters were going to be. The brunette shivered again, though not necessarily because of the
”But I do know I let him down. He’s gone and it’s my fault. What are we going to do Frank?“ Desperation flowing through her words.
"I swear that. That woman is trying to kill me," Jackson exclaimed, walking into his and April's bedroom. Letting out a frustrated sigh, running his hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.
A shrill cry echoed in the mist. I ducked, looking for a sign of movement. The heavy fog and cold storm provided nothing but a blanket, smothering all sight and creating a humid atmosphere. The freezing air continued to whip at my face, relentless and powerful. Our boat, stuck in the boggy water. Again a cry called. Somewhere out there was someone, or something.
Inhale, exhale, pushing another breath into the ether as he slid his arms behind his head, cushioning him as he felt his eyes close in the stillness of the night.
“On another note, are you hungry? I don’t have much, but i’m brewing a new batch of nether wart beer in the kitchen.” Herobrine said as he motioned to the kitchen with his hand.
I brush my eyes awake, feeling the cold seeping in from my window. It’s 9 AM and it’s winter in Minnesota. Feeling sleepy, I stand up and go outside. I love the winter air. It always refreshes my mind and there’s just a cold bite to it that I enjoy. Coming back inside, I boot up my computer, hoping to enjoy it a little before heading out. The winter days swim together, phasing throughout my mind, and I fall asleep again, or I have woken up.
“Stop it Jason, how many times I have to say it? Logan could be here at any time. I don’t want him to see me like this,” she raised her head and saw me. As mine her breath stopped as well.