When I was little, I couldn’t wait to grow up and be a part of this town, to be part of the council, and go to PTA meetings, and bake cupcakes for and casseroles for 4-H potlucks.
Now all I want to do is burn it to the ground, and laugh as the people suffer.
Laugh as they pay for what they have done.
I arrived in front of my old house. All the memories flood back. This town, this home, these people mean nothing to me. Harsh? Yes, but it doesn’t even balance out to what they did to me.
My life ended because of the inhabitants of this town. Now, I’m here for revenge.
Alex was going to town on Orion. He really wasn’t letting anything go; he never did. Orion couldn’t help but feel a little attacked by his brother, but he seldom failed to be, anyway. He sometimes wished he didn’t have a brother.
In the town one finds
not a disparate body of disjointed faces,
nor a disembodied group of places.
One doesn’t find this and that
but one mind, one soul
many voices, but one story told.
Town. Only once a month could I go into this magnificent town. Of course, that was before the I dreaded going into town, before people looked at me with a sickening mixture of disgust and pity.
Before I was burned.
Before I killed my sister.
The town I live in is small and quaint. We have one fire station, and the chief is my dad. He is tall and has gray hair like my cat. I love my cat so much. Her name is Duchess but my brother calls her douche bag, which make no logical sense to me. Metaphor, possibly?
Town. Is it an abstract concept? For some it may be a city with thousands of people, for others, maybe a few buildings huddled together. Maybe a couple small stores, or the biggest clothing franchises in the world.
The town was empty save a small old man rocking in his chair on the front porch. The dry texas air passed smoothly through the plains of the west and quickly exited, almost missing the small clump of houses hidden in the dark. The town was Marfa, Texas, and it seemed that the town had been untouched by the technology age. Stores prefered money and handed out pen and paper receipts, and you knew your neighbors not by their distant wave but their relatives and where their eldest son is living now.
Where people live. There are shops and a hairdresser and a vintage clothing shop. Some restaurants, maybe a few good ones and always at least one overpriced one with mediocre food. Where I might live one day, but maybe not. Cars, playground, gazeebo. The total and complete life of millions lays here. Library. Grocery store. Community meetings.
Mine is too big. I wish it was small. I wish I knew everyone. I’m glad its not huge, and I’m glad its pretty liberal. But I want to be able to walk places. I want people to know me. I’m going to live in a small town when I grow up.
i hate my town. no one understands me. no one knows what i’ve been through, or what i’m thinking. My town is full of crazies, and i can’t wait to get out of this place people call home.
There was a small town. No one lived there because they all had died in a horrible fire. the fire was started by a small child. he didnt know he would kill all those people. he was just having fun. or so he thought. he didnt know what the matches were. hed never seen them before. the next thing he knew, the flames were rising hirgher and there were screams. horrible terrifying screams. and he couldnt stop it. they just grew and grew and grew while he watched everyone he knew die.
When I first started high school, all I wanted was to get out of this town. Now that I look back on it, I couldn’t be more proud of where I come from. This town defined me, helped me grow, and I will be forever thankful for that. I love this town.
It had an amazing atmosphere during the day. The coffee shops filled with chatter, the parks were peaceful, yet when darkness loomed, and the lamp lights shined, it was an entirely new world.
I have always lived in the same damn place. Not that it isn’t a great town, neighborhood, house…but, I feel so stagnant. My life has been characterized by major revelations that I have been sleeping. I wake to the idea that there is so much more than I could imagine from the day before.
god, i can’t wait to get out of this town. it’s so small. so insanely small. i’m surrounded by fields of dead grass, enslaved cows, and nothing else. i miss the city.
the town was quiet and stil as the snow fell tot he ground. The single street lamp flickered as a old coule walked ast hand in hand. It was a small town, filled with history and secrets.
My town is a place nobody knows. It’s full of empty shadows and aimless ghosts. In the dark lurks those who don’t remember; in the light there is an absence of life. Nothing shines, nothing lives: only the weak go on, and the strong give up.
The gray building looks at me with a dazzling face with the lights inside the house emanating from the half opened windows. Inside, I see the silhouette of souls talking about what’s not in their mind, smelling of cheap perfume and eating cheap oysters. The smell of wine emanates from the building, reminiscent of their longing, ever-lost freedom.
An unexplainable urge to flee runs through my mind, and fills me with a vague feeling of nostalgia.
a town is a place where no one understands you. where you might feel alone and no one cares. a town is a place where you need to look outside and realize this is my life and accept it. a town is a place a person should be able to call a home.
Town. Town. Town. I hate this town. I hate this town because it’s core is hollow. There is no life at the center. There’s life around it but nothing really in the center. Maybe the way I feel about this town is a reflection about how I feel towards myself, but that is highly unlikey.
city. small towns. they’re so different aren’t they? in ways, yes. but the people, the people in them don’t change – in the city, there’s just more of them. more annoying bastards. more nosey people. more of everything – culture, food, music, things to do. even though i hate people, god, I love the city.
My town is so nice. I have a lot of friend in this. there’s a lot a shop too. et puis fuckoff je parle francais, ma ville est cool j’habite à Québec, tout l’monde parle Francais pis toute. J’habite dans une banlieue. Il
I went to a town once. It was in the mountains. I remember cobblestone pathways and and shops and eateries all about. I was with my cousin, aunt, uncle and the rest of my family and we had plenty of fun. It was called Whistler.
And then it happened. Just like that. The town had been infected. It went from a boring place teaming with unimportant people and meaningless lives, to a place ridden with disease. And nothing could stop it.
And then it started. The town was infected. It went from being a menial place, teaming with boring people and unimportant lives to a place ridden with disease.
Perfect picket fences lining orderly lanes of pastoral elegance. Rural roads hardly traversed by those who live in the city, a world far away from this rural America. Everything in the placid surroundings screams quaint, cute, precious–as darling as the little white-trimmed storefronts on Main Street. Sleepy summers spent down by the lake catching fish, winters watched through frosted-glass windows as what seems to be the entire town population crowded into one house singing Christmas carols. Charming in every manner.
But of course, nothing can be kept a secret for long.
So now they know that some days, I want nothing more than to burn it all to the ground.
Everybody remembers where he or she grew up. I remember my town being one of the blandest places I’ve ever seen. No circuses, no scandals, no nothing. That’s why, in the summer of 2001, I was bewildered to meet a girl named Carla Rae. No matter how old I get, I can never forget the effect she had on me. I can remember her speech, her mannerisms, even the first food she ate when she came to my town, but I can’t remember what her eyes looked like.
town I grew up in was a shitty town with about fourteen people in in including myself, many people hated me in that town and thought that I was a vampire, they put me infront of a large audience and attempted to stake me. It was the worst experience of my life, I left the town.
i live in a town named la canada i love it very much but there are a lot of women that are all about society. i try to fit in but my mother is terrible and doesn’t let me do any of the fun stuff all of the other girls do with their moms. i try to encourage my mom to meet new people but she doesn’t like our town. if she didn’t like it so much why wouldn’t she want to move?
She left her small town without a word. Only a finger, raised in all its glory, let them know how she felt. It was her first time travelling on her own and she revelled in the thought. When her tyre went flat so too did her ambitions. She returned to the local service station and glumly explained her situation.
“I swear that finger was aimed at Bob from across the road. It’s a funny story really…”
There was a little town in Beckenshire, small and quiet and quaint. The little girl loved it there, it was happy and the people were happy. But the only thing that wasn’t happy was the woods. They were dark and scary and full of tall trees. The little girl wasn’t allowed to go into the woods, they hurt people.
small town, home town. the place where you know the streets and people know your name. everyday hubbub. ability to appreciate the small things. memories. place you pass on the interstate. unforgettable. localities. a place of firsts. a place of lasts. a train runs through it. old houses. new subdivisions. hometown pride.
This town. Yes, the town i grew up in. It fills my brain with such thoughts about who im suppose to be. But really, i can be my own. This town. I am very much sick of.
A lone man walks down the street, the only street that passes through town. IT was midnight. A single streetlamp shines through the snowflakes as the shadowy man passed by my house. I wondered who he was, what brought him here. Was he searching for a lost love’ leaving the bar after a long night of drinking away his problems with his wife’ or perhaps he was visiting relatives from out of town and found it difficult to sleep, fancying a walk.
Town. The place I don’t exactly live in. We have a post office, a town hall. But a functional firestation? and the Police? We borrow from the next town over. We need library cards paid extra for the libraries of the neighboring towns as well. Where are the lemon aid stands? The kids who live just next to each other and don’t have to rely on parental supervision or car rides?
When I was little, I couldn’t wait to grow up and be a part of this town, to be part of the council, and go to PTA meetings, and bake cupcakes for and casseroles for 4-H potlucks.
Now all I want to do is burn it to the ground, and laugh as the people suffer.
Laugh as they pay for what they have done.
I arrived in front of my old house. All the memories flood back. This town, this home, these people mean nothing to me. Harsh? Yes, but it doesn’t even balance out to what they did to me.
My life ended because of the inhabitants of this town. Now, I’m here for revenge.
I’m back to ruin their lives.
Alex was going to town on Orion. He really wasn’t letting anything go; he never did. Orion couldn’t help but feel a little attacked by his brother, but he seldom failed to be, anyway. He sometimes wished he didn’t have a brother.
In the town one finds
not a disparate body of disjointed faces,
nor a disembodied group of places.
One doesn’t find this and that
but one mind, one soul
many voices, but one story told.
Town. Only once a month could I go into this magnificent town. Of course, that was before the I dreaded going into town, before people looked at me with a sickening mixture of disgust and pity.
Before I was burned.
Before I killed my sister.
The town I live in is small and quaint. We have one fire station, and the chief is my dad. He is tall and has gray hair like my cat. I love my cat so much. Her name is Duchess but my brother calls her douche bag, which make no logical sense to me. Metaphor, possibly?
Town. Is it an abstract concept? For some it may be a city with thousands of people, for others, maybe a few buildings huddled together. Maybe a couple small stores, or the biggest clothing franchises in the world.
The town was empty save a small old man rocking in his chair on the front porch. The dry texas air passed smoothly through the plains of the west and quickly exited, almost missing the small clump of houses hidden in the dark. The town was Marfa, Texas, and it seemed that the town had been untouched by the technology age. Stores prefered money and handed out pen and paper receipts, and you knew your neighbors not by their distant wave but their relatives and where their eldest son is living now.
Where people live. There are shops and a hairdresser and a vintage clothing shop. Some restaurants, maybe a few good ones and always at least one overpriced one with mediocre food. Where I might live one day, but maybe not. Cars, playground, gazeebo. The total and complete life of millions lays here. Library. Grocery store. Community meetings.
Mine is too big. I wish it was small. I wish I knew everyone. I’m glad its not huge, and I’m glad its pretty liberal. But I want to be able to walk places. I want people to know me. I’m going to live in a small town when I grow up.
i hate my town. no one understands me. no one knows what i’ve been through, or what i’m thinking. My town is full of crazies, and i can’t wait to get out of this place people call home.
There was a small town. No one lived there because they all had died in a horrible fire. the fire was started by a small child. he didnt know he would kill all those people. he was just having fun. or so he thought. he didnt know what the matches were. hed never seen them before. the next thing he knew, the flames were rising hirgher and there were screams. horrible terrifying screams. and he couldnt stop it. they just grew and grew and grew while he watched everyone he knew die.
When I first started high school, all I wanted was to get out of this town. Now that I look back on it, I couldn’t be more proud of where I come from. This town defined me, helped me grow, and I will be forever thankful for that. I love this town.
It had an amazing atmosphere during the day. The coffee shops filled with chatter, the parks were peaceful, yet when darkness loomed, and the lamp lights shined, it was an entirely new world.
I have always lived in the same damn place. Not that it isn’t a great town, neighborhood, house…but, I feel so stagnant. My life has been characterized by major revelations that I have been sleeping. I wake to the idea that there is so much more than I could imagine from the day before.
god, i can’t wait to get out of this town. it’s so small. so insanely small. i’m surrounded by fields of dead grass, enslaved cows, and nothing else. i miss the city.
the town i live in is called asheville. lots of liberal people, everyone just does and says whatever the fuck they want, and everyone has dreads!
the town was quiet and stil as the snow fell tot he ground. The single street lamp flickered as a old coule walked ast hand in hand. It was a small town, filled with history and secrets.
My town is a place nobody knows. It’s full of empty shadows and aimless ghosts. In the dark lurks those who don’t remember; in the light there is an absence of life. Nothing shines, nothing lives: only the weak go on, and the strong give up.
The gray building looks at me with a dazzling face with the lights inside the house emanating from the half opened windows. Inside, I see the silhouette of souls talking about what’s not in their mind, smelling of cheap perfume and eating cheap oysters. The smell of wine emanates from the building, reminiscent of their longing, ever-lost freedom.
An unexplainable urge to flee runs through my mind, and fills me with a vague feeling of nostalgia.
a town is a place where no one understands you. where you might feel alone and no one cares. a town is a place where you need to look outside and realize this is my life and accept it. a town is a place a person should be able to call a home.
Town. Town. Town. I hate this town. I hate this town because it’s core is hollow. There is no life at the center. There’s life around it but nothing really in the center. Maybe the way I feel about this town is a reflection about how I feel towards myself, but that is highly unlikey.
Downtown is usually a rainy place in the spring. Everything is saturated with colour. People, buildings, cars, lamp posts
city. small towns. they’re so different aren’t they? in ways, yes. but the people, the people in them don’t change – in the city, there’s just more of them. more annoying bastards. more nosey people. more of everything – culture, food, music, things to do. even though i hate people, god, I love the city.
My town is so nice. I have a lot of friend in this. there’s a lot a shop too. et puis fuckoff je parle francais, ma ville est cool j’habite à Québec, tout l’monde parle Francais pis toute. J’habite dans une banlieue. Il
I went to a town once. It was in the mountains. I remember cobblestone pathways and and shops and eateries all about. I was with my cousin, aunt, uncle and the rest of my family and we had plenty of fun. It was called Whistler.
And then it happened. Just like that. The town had been infected. It went from a boring place teaming with unimportant people and meaningless lives, to a place ridden with disease. And nothing could stop it.
My hometown. The place i dont wanna be right now. The links i have with everyone gets me mad. Lameass town. But yet, i am too scared to leave.
And then it started. The town was infected. It went from being a menial place, teaming with boring people and unimportant lives to a place ridden with disease.
there once was a town, out in the dry desert. The inhabbitants were not of the friendly variety, due to lack of civilization.
Perfect picket fences lining orderly lanes of pastoral elegance. Rural roads hardly traversed by those who live in the city, a world far away from this rural America. Everything in the placid surroundings screams quaint, cute, precious–as darling as the little white-trimmed storefronts on Main Street. Sleepy summers spent down by the lake catching fish, winters watched through frosted-glass windows as what seems to be the entire town population crowded into one house singing Christmas carols. Charming in every manner.
But of course, nothing can be kept a secret for long.
So now they know that some days, I want nothing more than to burn it all to the ground.
Everybody remembers where he or she grew up. I remember my town being one of the blandest places I’ve ever seen. No circuses, no scandals, no nothing. That’s why, in the summer of 2001, I was bewildered to meet a girl named Carla Rae. No matter how old I get, I can never forget the effect she had on me. I can remember her speech, her mannerisms, even the first food she ate when she came to my town, but I can’t remember what her eyes looked like.
town I grew up in was a shitty town with about fourteen people in in including myself, many people hated me in that town and thought that I was a vampire, they put me infront of a large audience and attempted to stake me. It was the worst experience of my life, I left the town.
i live in a town named la canada i love it very much but there are a lot of women that are all about society. i try to fit in but my mother is terrible and doesn’t let me do any of the fun stuff all of the other girls do with their moms. i try to encourage my mom to meet new people but she doesn’t like our town. if she didn’t like it so much why wouldn’t she want to move?
She left her small town without a word. Only a finger, raised in all its glory, let them know how she felt. It was her first time travelling on her own and she revelled in the thought. When her tyre went flat so too did her ambitions. She returned to the local service station and glumly explained her situation.
“I swear that finger was aimed at Bob from across the road. It’s a funny story really…”
There was a little town in Beckenshire, small and quiet and quaint. The little girl loved it there, it was happy and the people were happy. But the only thing that wasn’t happy was the woods. They were dark and scary and full of tall trees. The little girl wasn’t allowed to go into the woods, they hurt people.
From the hometown I’ll depart, for I long to be with my heart.
small town, home town. the place where you know the streets and people know your name. everyday hubbub. ability to appreciate the small things. memories. place you pass on the interstate. unforgettable. localities. a place of firsts. a place of lasts. a train runs through it. old houses. new subdivisions. hometown pride.
This town. Yes, the town i grew up in. It fills my brain with such thoughts about who im suppose to be. But really, i can be my own. This town. I am very much sick of.
A lone man walks down the street, the only street that passes through town. IT was midnight. A single streetlamp shines through the snowflakes as the shadowy man passed by my house. I wondered who he was, what brought him here. Was he searching for a lost love’ leaving the bar after a long night of drinking away his problems with his wife’ or perhaps he was visiting relatives from out of town and found it difficult to sleep, fancying a walk.
Town. The place I don’t exactly live in. We have a post office, a town hall. But a functional firestation? and the Police? We borrow from the next town over. We need library cards paid extra for the libraries of the neighboring towns as well. Where are the lemon aid stands? The kids who live just next to each other and don’t have to rely on parental supervision or car rides?