SOME SHIT I WROTE FRESHMAN YEAR

actually not bad
I wanted to write a book called the nature of the inevitable
but I only could see the characters not the plot

here's some of the random writing I did

Candy Says-

“Tonight, we’re gonna play a bittersweet little classic called Candy Says, by The Velvet Underground.”  Andrew strummed a couple times, assuring his guitar was tuned before silencing it again by clapping his palm over the strings.  
“Candy says,” Andrew’s husky voice rung out through the still-chattering room.  Behind the door on the very back wall, Mel collapsed over the edge of the toilet, tears streaming down her face.  
“I’ve come to hate my body, and all that it requires, in this world,” Andrew’s eyes shut as he sang, plucking out the simple chords with about as much thought process as that of his beating heart or rising and falling lungs.  In the restroom in the back, Mel pulled herself from the rim of the toilet and readjusted herself so that she knelt before it, the bathroom her sickly temple and the toilet her outlet of prayer.  Shaking slightly, she jammed her fingers into the back of her throat.

“Candy says, I’d like to know what others discreetly talk about,” The main room had settled.  Everyone’s eyes were on Andrew.  Andrew’s were on Peter.  Peter’s were on the ground.  Mel’s were shut as her body contorted over the porcelain bowl in the back of the building. 


Car Crash
The world had dissolved into a lovely, chaotic mess of swirling coffee-bean-colored hair, wild howls, ringing bursts of laughter, vibrant blurs of neon dashboard lights, and several other small, unextraordinary things that composed an indefinite mosaic of beautiful craziness.  Mel was giggling; I didn’t know what about, but I guess I must’ve been too, for the car rung with a crude tenor chuckle discordantly beneath her bright laugh.  God, I loved her laugh.  She exclaimed something rather suddenly while she reached with fumbling fingers for the blurred, swirling dashboard controls.  At some point, she knocked the button that opened up the sunroof; I didn’t realize until she stepped on my hand trying to stand up out of the top of the car.
“Turn it up!” She yelled, her voice nearly indistinguishable beneath the howl of the wind.
“What?”
“Turn up the music, you dumbass!”  She barked, still laughing.  I grasped at the green glow of the radio in search of the volume dial.  I clicked the knob completely over until the speakers crackled unevenly with whatever station Mel had found.  Something sounding vaguely seventies rock-ish was just barely fading out, replaced by a building guitar riff. 
“Loving you; is it the right thing to do?”  Mel sang, instantly recognizing the song.  “How can I ever change things that I feel?  If I could, I’d give you my world; how can I, when you won’t take it from me?”  Even for how hammered I was, I’d didn’t miss the fact that the universe, as per usual, couldn’t let me go an hour without some form of taunting irony: this time as a Fleetwood Mac classic.
“You can go your own way!”  Mel belted, staggering around and barely staying upright.  Her fingers outstretched into the raw darkness of the night like the tips of an eagle’s wings, feeling for the shifts in the air beneath her feathers.  She looked down at me, quicksilver eyes flashing with an inexplicable wildness that was entirely her own.  All at once, she displayed a deep-seated whimsical recklessness, unendingly hunger for adventure, even a partial insanity—little bits of her being that had always been there, but never this prominent.  She was so incredibly beautiful.  It was only then realized just how irrevocably in love I was with Melanie, and for a second, there was nothing but her and her untamable existence.  Nothing.

Except for the the small Toyota that t-barred the car an instant later.