looking for inspiration {chris}

[neko3]

YOU CAN FEEL THE POUNDING WRAPPED AROUND YOUR CHEST
YAMAMOTOKOUHEI

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NOTHING'S TOO EXCESSIVE WHEN YOU'VE GOT NOTHING LEFT

The black haired male awoke with a startle, of which he did not like especially on a weekend, the time he usually took to effortlessly sleep in. Getting up early was a pest, an unnecessary chore to be precise. The cause of his rude awaken was the modest looking alarm clock that rested on the pine bedside table. For reasons he could not quite grasp at this unsightly day of time, it was set for eight am. Groaning, his rubbed his eyes, sitting upright, wordlessly cursing for forgetting to shut off the alarm the following night.

His slender fingers reached for the switch then pulled his glasses onto the bridge of his nose, pushing them back with his finger. Tilting his head to the side, his gaze met the bedroom, light just slightly pouring through the gap in the pale blue curtains. The male rose softly to his feet, ever wondering what he should be doing today. Quick look towards his study desk had shown him his reports and essays were already done, stacked in neat piles, easy to be sorted later. This made life a whole lot more simple getting all of his word done out of the way. It meant less stress and less falling behind.

College was more difficult than school not that he noticed. He breezed past most of his classes, luckily. It all came natural to him and when his parents sat him down asking what he wanted to do as a career they were gobsmacked. Despite his natural talent for intelligence, Kouhei wanted to do something he loved, which happened to be writing. He was, no less, pushed into college though, not that he minded, literature was an interesting subject indeed.

Now, as he ran his hand though his messy black haired bed head, his eyes shot to the small little heap on his desk. Taking a closer look, he could see that it was the brochure for the Mori Art Museum.. He had been there a few times already in the past though he hadn’t paid much attention as he was often dragged there by school and his parents. He had meaning to take a visit once more, on a personal journey, to find some inspiration for his forth-coming third novel. So maybe today was a good day; especially when all of his school work was now completed. He trudged to his closet and pulled the outfit he was to be wearing, simple pale blue shirt and dark navy blue jeans, nothing to fancy, he wasn’t going with anyone in particular, so blending in with the crowd would be a delight. Shrugging on his clothes, he took his book bag along, slinging over his shoulder, as he pulled on his shoes.

He walked to the bus stop, got on the bus and waited, patiently till he was at his stop. He stepped out carefully, surveying the building from outside. This art gallery spoke of many fine art, which did happen to have. It intrigued him, so this would be an interesting day, even if he were just himself. He didn’t mind the silence it was even welcoming, as too much disruptions put him off. He walked inside the building, without much noise as his shoes softly squeaked on the floor.

"One please”

[/b]he spoke, handing over the money in exchange for his ticket. It wasn’t very cheap, infact it was rather expensive not that he minded, it was worth it, all for his research. As he slid through the entryway into the gallery, his eyes gazed past the various paintings, his fingers lightly racing his chin.

His eyes studied the colourful painting infront of, full of life and contentment. He shook his head swiftly; this was not what he needed. His tale was that to be of exploration of the soul, one person’s struggle through time and hardships. His lips creased up automatically as his eyes captured one big wall piece, the fluidity of the brush strokes captured the scene perfectly as he took out his note book and began to jot down some ideas.


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WE'RE ALL HERE CAUSE WE LOST CONTROL WE'RE ALL HERE CAUSE
WELOSTCONTROL[/size]
WE'RE ALL HERE CAUSE WE LOST CONTROL WE'RE ALL HERE CAUSE[/center]

•tags• Christopher!
•status• al la done!
•comments• bleh sorry for the shirt post
•word count• 500+
•lyrics• DIE TONIGHT, LIVE FOREVER by InnerPartySystem
•credit• AMANDA THE PIRATE * @ CAUTION !

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[DONNAHUE, CHRISTOPHER]

His usual weekend job had called him just as his hand was on the front door to leave his apartment. The hurriedly informed him that he would no be needed today, and that he had the rest of the weekend off. Most people would ask why, he didn't. Instead he snapped the cell phone shut and stood staring that his door. The main reason he'd taken up a second job was to fill up his weekends. He didn't really have any hobbies, no friends, and thus nothing to fill his free time with. So he'd gotten a second job even if he hadn't needed the money. With shrug he returned to the bed room and changed into something comfortable. Black pants of some soft material he didn't know the name of, and a black and gray striped long sleeved tee-shirt. He slipped his bare feet into some sneakers before heading for the door. No way would he lay around his apartment all day. After snatching a coat he headed out locking the door behind him.

Letting his feet lead the way he walked the streets with no real goal destination in mind. In his wanderings he spotted the large building for the art museum. It was as good as place as any to waste some hours. He paid the teller without a word and started going through the rooms. So many of the paintings made him cringe with their bright and vibrant colors. Flowers, children, abstract, modern, print, and on they went. Some using different media such as watercolor or sculptures. But most used pastels, or oil paints, and canvas. Finally he found a painting that didn't make his eyes hurt. He stopped and stared at it taking in the wide strokes, the short ones, the energy used to make such a piece. The hours, or days it took to get to the point where the artist would stand back and declare it finished.

Hand in his pockets he stood head tilted to take in the massive piece. His mind drifted off to things most likely better left alone, but it happened all the same. The silence encased him until the world didn't exist, and his eyes only saw the brush strokes. If he stared hard enough he even caught sight of a stray paint brush thistle lost in the paint. What had the artist been feeling, what had they wanted to get across? Such thoughts attempted to shove away the one's who wanted to come forward. The thoughts that always sprang to the front when he was alone in the silence. People moved around him moving to stand and stare for a moment only to move on a minute or two later. But there he stood staring as if lost.

If time passed he didn't know it, if people came he didn't see them, and people spoke near him he didn't hear them. Their little conversations with each other didn't pertain to him so why pay attention. A tour group even came by and left while he stood there, hands in his pockets staring up at this one painting. At times he was actually thinking about the painting, but mostly his eyes just found it pleasing to focus on. His mind wasn't focused on anything about the outside world, and that suited him just fine. He didn't really care much about the world anyway.

Status: fin, five hundred and sixty-five
Music: It's Over- Jesse McCartney
Tag:Kouhei
Comments:[/size][/color]I thought it was a nice post. ^_^