#but roberta sparrow and her book are crazy
Note
I know you asked me a few days ago to see my Donnie Darko tattoo, then I posted it a day late and I feel like it quickly got lost in my chaos posting but I wanted to make sure you see it :3
Thanks ^.^ I dig the ax 👌
The directors cut to that movie lives rent free in my head 🖤
#the second one provides more insight#but roberta sparrow and her book are crazy#i wish i could read it#like in its entirety#i want to feel that shit in my hands#leather bound#the smell of books#personal#asks
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Donnie Darko (2001) dir. Richard Kelly.
7.4/10
Look at all these minor characters that I know.
This concept of feeling so crazy was such a relatable feel in high school.
Supportive parents.
Memorable Quotes:
““Do you feel alone right now?”
“I don’t know. I mean I’d like to believe I’m not, but I just…I’ve just never seen any proof, so I just don’t debate it any more.””
Spoiler: [About Donnie Darko waking up after falling from his bike. He goes back home to his parents, Eddie and Rose, his little sister, Samantha, and his older sister, Elizabeth. Elizabeth is waiting to see if she got into Harvard and mentions to her family that she’s voting for Dukakis, who their dad is against. Donnie fights with Elizabeth and mentions that she should go to therapy instead of him. Later, his mom asks him where he goes at night and why he stopped taking his pills. Donnie takes his pills that night and sleepwalks out of the house. He hears a voice talk to him and meets the voice from a man in a bunny costume. The man tells him that the world will end at a specific time. Elizabeth sneaks back home and a crash happens, waking everyone up. Donnie wakes up at the golf course and comes home to the police. A jet engine had crashed into his room. The family moves to a hotel. The kids talk about how the people don’t know where the engine came from. Eddie talks with Rose about how their high school classmate died and how Donnie could’ve been talked about like he was. Donnie smokes with some guys at the bus station as the guys make fun of Cherita Chen. She tells them to shut up and Donnie tells the guys to leave her alone. Karen is the English teacher and is currently teaching about Graham Greene’s The Destructors. Donnie explains what he thinks of it until a new student, Gretchen, arrives. She is told to sit next to the cutest boy and sits next to Donnie. Donnie and Eddie are driving and almost crash into Roberta Sparrow, who is in the middle of the road checking her mail. She says something to Donnie. She is also known as Grandma Death. Donnie goes to therapy and talks about Frank, the bunny. The students watch a video about controlling fear by Jim Cunningham. That night, Donnie goes somewhere and swings an axe. Samantha writes a story about the last unicorn. As the kids wait for the bus, they hear that school is closed because of a flooding. The principal sees that the water main is busted and an axe is stuck on the bronze statue of the mascot. Donnie lets the kids at a different bus station know that school is cancelled. Ricky and Seth were harassing Gretchen and she asks Donnie to walk her home. They talk about why she moved here and she mentions her stepdad stabbing her mom and they moved under different names. He asks her out and she agrees. Donnie goes to therapy and Dr. Thurman tries hypnosis on him. He thinks about how often he wants to fuck. Seth puts a knife to Donnie’s neck after thinking he told the cops that Seth caused the flooding. Donnie and his friends talk about the sexuality of the Smurfs. They later watch Grandma Death check the mail over and over. At a PTA meeting, Kitty Farmer wants to ban the book “The Destructors”. She is a teacher and a parent. Donnie talks to Frank from the mirror and learns of time travel. Kitty later teaches about love and fear and when Donnie is brought up to answer a question, he talks about how the prompt is stupid since there is more to life than those two emotions. The prompt involves putting a situation onto the spectrum of love and hate. His was about pocketing the cash in a wallet he finds. His parents are brought in since he tells the teacher to shove it up her ass. Donnie talks to Professor Kenneth about time travel to understand it. He is given the book “The philosophy of Time Travel” written by Roberta Sparrow. He reads it. Donnie talks about everything in therapy and says Roberta told him that every living creature in the world dies alone. He doesn’t want to die alone. As the Superbowl is being watched at home, Donnie notices these forms coming out of every person and how it guides what they’re going to do next. It’s seeing their future visually. He sees his own and follows it to the closet, where he hides his gun. Gretchen talks about sad memories being replaced by nice ones and he wants to kiss her, but she wants it to be more special. Donnie makes Frank as a pumpkin carving for Halloween. Donnie’s parents meet with Dr. Thurman and learns of Frank and
how Donnie experiences things common with paranoid schizophrenics. Donnie later plays games at the arcade talks of his sleepwalking with Gretchen. Jim Cunningham holds an assembly to help everyone with their questions. When Donnie asks his question, he talks of how this is all stupid and he answers the other kids’ questions himself. He talks of Jim being a fraud with Gretchen later and then mentions how he sees things. They go to Roberta’s place and he hears the voice tell him to send her a letter. Professor continues teaching him about time travel, but ultimately stops it and says he could be fired. Karen lets it known that “The Destructors” was banned. Donnie finds Jim’s wallet on the floor and sees his address. For class, Gretchen and Donnie present an invention to help babies form memories earlier through happy images. The teacher brings up an argument and Seth brings up a bad idea and follows it up with Gretchen’s dad being a stabber. She leaves and Donnie apologizes to her about the guys and they kiss. They go to the movies and she falls asleep. He sees Frank and asks him why he wears the suit. He reveals his self and how one eye is shot up. He mentions his name being Frank because it’s his dad’s name and his grandpa’s. Frank shows him the portal on the movie screen and is told to burn it to the ground. The talent show is happening right now and Donnie’s parents are proud of Samantha performing with her friends as Sparkle Motion. At this time, Donnie sets fire to a place and heads back to the theater as Gretchen wakes up. Eddie advises Donnie on life and makes him happier. The news reveals that a fire occurred at a kiddie porn dungeon owned by Cunningham. Karen is fired for having inappropriate teaching methods, but can teach for the remainder of the week. Kitty learns about the news after being such an advocate for Jim’s ways. Karen shows a movie about a bunny and Donnie brings up his argument about not caring about dead rabbits. Gretchen brings up an argument against him. Kitty comes to Rose to ask her to take Sparkle Motion to the competition in Los Angeles since she can’t. She’s going to Cunningham’s arraignment tomorrow to advocate for his defense campaign. Rose goes. Donnie writes a letter to Roberta. He learns of Karen being fired, but talks of how she’s the best teacher. She has the word cellar door written on the board and he asks about it. She mentions a linguist saying those are the most beautiful words. Donnie sees Cherita and tells her that he’ll make things better and she runs away after saying shut up. He sees her drop a journal that has his name and a heart on it. In therapy, he admits to the crimes. He says he has to listen to Frank or he’ll be alone. She talks of how the world could change if he does something and he’d be alone with just Frank. After the hypnosis, she tells him that he’s an agnostic. He gets Elizabeth to agree to a party while Mom and Dad are gone. Gretchen comes over and tells him that her mom is gone. They make out and get undressed. He later follows the form in him and sees the refrigerator whiteboard say that Frank was here and went to get beer. He takes his friends and Gretchen to Grandma Death’s. He goes into the cellar, but is ambushed by Seth and Ricky. He and Gretchen are hurt and brought outside. A car arrives and runs over Gretchen. Seth and Ricky are gone and Frank and some guy come out of the car. Frank is just a regular guy in a bunny suit right now and Donnie shoots him in the eye. The other guy leaves. Roberta tells him that the storm is coming and he must hurry. Donnie takes Gretchen’s body to his home and they take the car away. He watches from afar the storm. His family is on the plane and experience turbulence from the storm. Donnie goes back in time and dies from the jet engine. His family is sad. Frank draws the bunny. Gretchen passes by the home as she learns of the guy who got killed and how she doesn’t know him. She waves hi to Rose.]
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DECLAN DARKO.
college freshmen; nineteen.
charlie heaton.
OPEN.
and, as donnie darko once said:
“I hope that when the world comes to an end, I can breathe a sigh of relief, because there will be so much to look forward to.”
BEFORE THE HEATHERS’ PARTY;
From the outside looking in, it always seemed that Declan Darko had been dodging bullets his entire life. His fractured family consisted of his little sister and his father. It had been just them ever since his mother died in a plane crash when he was in the fourth grade. His father did his best to keep the family contained, he hid his grief well and shouldered both his and his late wife’s roles as parents. It was never smooth sailing for the Darko’s but they were able to keep under the Rosewood rumor mill.
The sleepwalking had started in 8th grade. At first it had been harmless. He would find himself in the bath tub, clutching a bar of soup, or in the middle of the kitchen floor, in the middle of constructing a ham sandwich. It was blamed on hormones. Nothing wrong with Declan. Nothing at all. But then he found himself further and further from his bed. Further and further from his house. Waking up in the Rosewood Shopping Complex parking lot in his pajamas or drooling on the well trimmed grass at the 9th hole at the Rosewood Country Club. He never remembered how he got there.
The embarrassing problem had been ignored, although the locks on the front door had been enforced multiple times, until Donnie woke up from his dream to sirens and smoke. The house had been abandoned for years, an old decrepit shack on the edge of his neighborhood. An old woman, Grandma Death, used to live there. Declan had been found by one of his neighbors in front of the burning house clutching a book in his hand, The Philosophy of Time Travel by Roberta Sparrow.
It took no time at all for the news to spread of Declan’s brush with pyromania and even less time for his father to pull him from school. He was forced to a year at juvenile detention and court mandated therapy as well as revoked driving privileges until he was 21. After that his year passed, Declan kept to himself. While his little sister flourished in dance classes, Declan begrudgingly talked over how he was feeling and what he ate that day to his therapist. His father tried to be supportive, telling him he was far from crazy. But his father had enough on his mind, assimilating his new step-daughter, Dakota Bowie, and her mother into their fucked up family. He did his best to stay out of the way, especially after his dreams had gotten much more intense on his new medications.
He knew enough to keep his dreams to himself, focusing on his makeup work that had piled on and left him a year behind from the rest of his classmates. He enjoyed school. He did alright and upon transferring back to Rosewood his freshmen year, he was told that his standardized test scores were ‘intimidating.’ With his delinquent title behind him, he focused on his routine. School, Therapy, Homework. School, Therapy, Homework. It became easy for him, the balance of his unbalanced emotions. Different pills came with different side effects. Different side effects came with the uneasy looks of his classmates but up until his sophomore year, everything seemed manageable. Still undiagnosed but manageable. Although he possessed an aggression that matched many boys his own age, he was armed with a quick wit, an inquisitive mind, and a sensitivity towards others that usually doesn’t come without an understanding of hardship. He became the talk of the teachers lounge, teachers fresh out of grad school would shake their heads, wide eyed over the things he would say in class. He was polarizing, talking back to teachers that most students feared or loathed. This attitude earned him an expulsion from Rosewood when at an assembly, Declan called Ms. Trunchbull “The Fucking Antichrist” in front of the entire student body.
He started his second semester of his junior year at St. Agnes after another switch in his medications. A new kind antipsychotic was entered into the mix in the form of Gina Ross, who chose the seat next to him in their shared English class. She made Declan more anxious than anything he had been exposed to but he didn’t want to numb that symptom. He delighted in the way the new girl shyly smiled at him and the way she could make him feel like his ticks were just quirks. Something that made him special and not “special.” She understood and was patient with him. She listened to him talk about Grandma Death’s threadbare book he had been reading cover to cover ever since the fire and he listen to her, maybe not understanding everything that she said but lending a non judgemental ear all the same. It scared him, knowing that he would never be normal for her. Knowing that imaginary friends like Frank, the six foot tall bunny rabbit that had been telling him to do things in his dreams wasn’t the only friend he had made that year. He had something to lose now. But Declan would do his best to hold on tight to reality.
DURING THE HEATHERS’ PARTY;
The entire week, Declan had been hearing about the Heathers party. Giggling girls in his Physics class had been passing notes about it while he attempted to copy the diagrams written on the chalkboard. Senior guys high-fived over his head while he was at his locker, ease dropping on their conversation about getting some “Rosewood ass.” The dark haired boy mulled over the possible black eye he would receive when telling them that the ass they were planning on ripping apart that night was just as uninteresting as all their last conquests but had decided against it. Everyone in the tri-county area was apparently invited but he never really paid attention to the open invitation until Gina Ross mentioned it in passing on their way out of English class. The amount of parties he had gone to since he had hit puberty, all before being birthday parties with Star Wars and Power Ranger themes, he could count on one hand. He couldn’t really drink with new medications he had been prescribed. What was the point?
He had found himself agreeing to meet Gina at the party. If she wanted to go, he’d keep her company and make sure she got home safe. He had decided to walk, knowing his newest medication was messing with his eyesight, and he started off toward the party. Things had been looking up for him lately. His grades were doing okay, he hadn’t gotten a detention in weeks, and he hadn’t gotten in any fights since school began. He was meeting a girl at a party, even if it was just his english partner, she was pretty and she knew his name.
He wasn’t sure when he had lost track of time but it was suddenly dark. His vision blurred as the woods thinned and the sound of the Rosewood party filled his ears. He swallowed hard as he heard the distinct sound of Franks voice in the back of his head. Burn it to the ground. He blinked back tears he was unaware of until then and his vision cleared. A car on the edge of the tree line, two girls from his school were struggling with the resident politics teacher. He stood frozen, watching the scene unfold until it was just him and Mr. Novack’s car. Burn it to the ground. The cigarette in his hand found its way through the passenger side window and he watched the smoke start to cloud the interior. The smell of burning leather seats was the last thing he remembered before Gina’s soft hand pulled him away from the inferno and back to reality. She walked back to campus with him in silence, a worried look on her face before kissing his cheek and leaving him on the steps of his dorm. Frank was quiet after that.
alternate faceclaims and prompts.
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DECLAN DARKO.
college freshmen; nineteen.
charlie heaton.
OPEN.
and, as donnie darko once said:
“I hope that when the world comes to an end, I can breathe a sigh of relief, because there will be so much to look forward to.”
BEFORE THE HEATHERS’ PARTY;
From the outside looking in, it always seemed that Declan Darko had been dodging bullets his entire life. His fractured family consisted of his little sister and his father. It had been just them ever since his mother died in a plane crash when he was in the fourth grade. His father did his best to keep the family contained, he hid his grief well and shouldered both his and his late wife’s roles as parents. It was never smooth sailing for the Darko’s but they were able to keep under the Rosewood rumor mill.
The sleepwalking had started in 8th grade. At first it had been harmless. He would find himself in the bath tub, clutching a bar of soup, or in the middle of the kitchen floor, in the middle of constructing a ham sandwich. It was blamed on hormones. Nothing wrong with Declan. Nothing at all. But then he found himself further and further from his bed. Further and further from his house. Waking up in the Rosewood Shopping Complex parking lot in his pajamas or drooling on the well trimmed grass at the 9th hole at the Rosewood Country Club. He never remembered how he got there.
The embarrassing problem had been ignored, although the locks on the front door had been enforced multiple times, until Donnie woke up from his dream to sirens and smoke. The house had been abandoned for years, an old decrepit shack on the edge of his neighborhood. An old woman, Grandma Death, used to live there. Declan had been found by one of his neighbors in front of the burning house clutching a book in his hand, The Philosophy of Time Travel by Roberta Sparrow.
It took no time at all for the news to spread of Declan’s brush with pyromania and even less time for his father to pull him from school. He was forced to a year at juvenile detention and court mandated therapy as well as revoked driving privileges until he was 21. After that his year passed, Declan kept to himself. While his little sister flourished in dance classes, Declan begrudgingly talked over how he was feeling and what he ate that day to his therapist. His father tried to be supportive, telling him he was far from crazy. But his father had enough on his mind, assimilating his new step-daughter, Dakota Bowie, and her mother into their fucked up family. He did his best to stay out of the way, especially after his dreams had gotten much more intense on his new medications.
He knew enough to keep his dreams to himself, focusing on his makeup work that had piled on and left him a year behind from the rest of his classmates. He enjoyed school. He did alright and upon transferring back to Rosewood his freshmen year, he was told that his standardized test scores were ‘intimidating.’ With his delinquent title behind him, he focused on his routine. School, Therapy, Homework. School, Therapy, Homework. It became easy for him, the balance of his unbalanced emotions. Different pills came with different side effects. Different side effects came with the uneasy looks of his classmates but up until his sophomore year, everything seemed manageable. Still undiagnosed but manageable. Although he possessed an aggression that matched many boys his own age, he was armed with a quick wit, an inquisitive mind, and a sensitivity towards others that usually doesn’t come without an understanding of hardship. He became the talk of the teachers lounge, teachers fresh out of grad school would shake their heads, wide eyed over the things he would say in class. He was polarizing, talking back to teachers that most students feared or loathed. This attitude earned him an expulsion from Rosewood when at an assembly, Declan called Ms. Trunchbull “The Fucking Antichrist” in front of the entire student body.
He started his second semester of his junior year at St. Agnes after another switch in his medications. A new kind antipsychotic was entered into the mix in the form of Gina Ross, who chose the seat next to him in their shared English class. She made Declan more anxious than anything he had been exposed to but he didn’t want to numb that symptom. He delighted in the way the new girl shyly smiled at him and the way she could make him feel like his ticks were just quirks. Something that made him special and not “special.” She understood and was patient with him. She listened to him talk about Grandma Death’s threadbare book he had been reading cover to cover ever since the fire and he listen to her, maybe not understanding everything that she said but lending a non judgemental ear all the same. It scared him, knowing that he would never be normal for her. Knowing that imaginary friends like Frank, the six foot tall bunny rabbit that had been telling him to do things in his dreams wasn’t the only friend he had made that year. He had something to lose now. But Declan would do his best to hold on tight to reality.
DURING THE HEATHERS’ PARTY;
The entire week, Declan had been hearing about the Heathers party. Giggling girls in his Physics class had been passing notes about it while he attempted to copy the diagrams written on the chalkboard. Senior guys high-fived over his head while he was at his locker, ease dropping on their conversation about getting some “Rosewood ass.” The dark haired boy mulled over the possible black eye he would receive when telling them that the ass they were planning on ripping apart that night was just as uninteresting as all their last conquests but had decided against it. Everyone in the tri-county area was apparently invited but he never really paid attention to the open invitation until Gina Ross mentioned it in passing on their way out of English class. The amount of parties he had gone to since he had hit puberty, all before being birthday parties with Star Wars and Power Ranger themes, he could count on one hand. He couldn’t really drink with new medications he had been prescribed. What was the point?
He had found himself agreeing to meet Gina at the party. If she wanted to go, he’d keep her company and make sure she got home safe. He had decided to walk, knowing his newest medication was messing with his eyesight, and he started off toward the party. Things had been looking up for him lately. His grades were doing okay, he hadn’t gotten a detention in weeks, and he hadn’t gotten in any fights since school began. He was meeting a girl at a party, even if it was just his english partner, she was pretty and she knew his name.
He wasn’t sure when he had lost track of time but it was suddenly dark. His vision blurred as the woods thinned and the sound of the Rosewood party filled his ears. He swallowed hard as he heard the distinct sound of Franks voice in the back of his head. Burn it to the ground. He blinked back tears he was unaware of until then and his vision cleared. A car on the edge of the tree line, two girls from his school were struggling with the resident politics teacher. He stood frozen, watching the scene unfold until it was just him and Mr. Novack’s car. Burn it to the ground. The cigarette in his hand found its way through the passenger side window and he watched the smoke start to cloud the interior. The smell of burning leather seats was the last thing he remembered before Gina’s soft hand pulled him away from the inferno and back to reality. She walked back to campus with him in silence, a worried look on her face before kissing his cheek and leaving him on the steps of his dorm. Frank was quiet after that.
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DECLAN DARKO.
college freshmen; nineteen.
charlie heaton.
OPEN.
and, as donnie darko once said:
“I hope that when the world comes to an end, I can breathe a sigh of relief, because there will be so much to look forward to.”
BEFORE THE HEATHERS’ PARTY;
From the outside looking in, it always seemed that Declan Darko had been dodging bullets his entire life. His fractured family consisted of his little sister and his father. It had been just them ever since his mother died in a plane crash when he was in the fourth grade. His father did his best to keep the family contained, he hid his grief well and shouldered both his and his late wife’s roles as parents. It was never smooth sailing for the Darko’s but they were able to keep under the Rosewood rumor mill.
The sleepwalking had started in 8th grade. At first it had been harmless. He would find himself in the bath tub, clutching a bar of soup, or in the middle of the kitchen floor, in the middle of constructing a ham sandwich. It was blamed on hormones. Nothing wrong with Declan. Nothing at all. But then he found himself further and further from his bed. Further and further from his house. Waking up in the Rosewood Shopping Complex parking lot in his pajamas or drooling on the well trimmed grass at the 9th hole at the Rosewood Country Club. He never remembered how he got there.
The embarrassing problem had been ignored, although the locks on the front door had been enforced multiple times, until Donnie woke up from his dream to sirens and smoke. The house had been abandoned for years, an old decrepit shack on the edge of his neighborhood. An old woman, Grandma Death, used to live there. Declan had been found by one of his neighbors in front of the burning house clutching a book in his hand, The Philosophy of Time Travel by Roberta Sparrow.
It took no time at all for the news to spread of Declan’s brush with pyromania and even less time for his father to pull him from school. He was forced to a year at juvenile detention and court mandated therapy as well as revoked driving privileges until he was 21. After that his year passed, Declan kept to himself. While his little sister flourished in dance classes, Declan begrudgingly talked over how he was feeling and what he ate that day to his therapist. His father tried to be supportive, telling him he was far from crazy. But his father had enough on his mind, assimilating his new step-daughter, Dakota Bowie, and her mother into their fucked up family. He did his best to stay out of the way, especially after his dreams had gotten much more intense on his new medications.
He knew enough to keep his dreams to himself, focusing on his makeup work that had piled on and left him a year behind from the rest of his classmates. He enjoyed school. He did alright and upon transferring back to Rosewood his freshmen year, he was told that his standardized test scores were ‘intimidating.’ With his delinquent title behind him, he focused on his routine. School, Therapy, Homework. School, Therapy, Homework. It became easy for him, the balance of his unbalanced emotions. Different pills came with different side effects. Different side effects came with the uneasy looks of his classmates but up until his sophomore year, everything seemed manageable. Still undiagnosed but manageable. Although he possessed an aggression that matched many boys his own age, he was armed with a quick wit, an inquisitive mind, and a sensitivity towards others that usually doesn’t come without an understanding of hardship. He became the talk of the teachers lounge, teachers fresh out of grad school would shake their heads, wide eyed over the things he would say in class. He was polarizing, talking back to teachers that most students feared or loathed. This attitude earned him an expulsion from Rosewood when at an assembly, Declan called Ms. Trunchbull “The Fucking Antichrist” in front of the entire student body.
He started his second semester of his junior year at St. Agnes after another switch in his medications. A new kind antipsychotic was entered into the mix in the form of Gina Ross, who chose the seat next to him in their shared English class. She made Declan more anxious than anything he had been exposed to but he didn’t want to numb that symptom. He delighted in the way the new girl shyly smiled at him and the way she could make him feel like his ticks were just quirks. Something that made him special and not “special.” She understood and was patient with him. She listened to him talk about Grandma Death’s threadbare book he had been reading cover to cover ever since the fire and he listen to her, maybe not understanding everything that she said but lending a non judgemental ear all the same. It scared him, knowing that he would never be normal for her. Knowing that imaginary friends like Frank, the six foot tall bunny rabbit that had been telling him to do things in his dreams wasn’t the only friend he had made that year. He had something to lose now. But Declan would do his best to hold on tight to reality.
DURING THE HEATHERS’ PARTY;
The entire week, Declan had been hearing about the Heathers party. Giggling girls in his Physics class had been passing notes about it while he attempted to copy the diagrams written on the chalkboard. Senior guys high-fived over his head while he was at his locker, ease dropping on their conversation about getting some “Rosewood ass.” The dark haired boy mulled over the possible black eye he would receive when telling them that the ass they were planning on ripping apart that night was just as uninteresting as all their last conquests but had decided against it. Everyone in the tri-county area was apparently invited but he never really paid attention to the open invitation until Gina Ross mentioned it in passing on their way out of English class. The amount of parties he had gone to since he had hit puberty, all before being birthday parties with Star Wars and Power Ranger themes, he could count on one hand. He couldn’t really drink with new medications he had been prescribed. What was the point?
He had found himself agreeing to meet Gina at the party. If she wanted to go, he’d keep her company and make sure she got home safe. He had decided to walk, knowing his newest medication was messing with his eyesight, and he started off toward the party. Things had been looking up for him lately. His grades were doing okay, he hadn’t gotten a detention in weeks, and he hadn’t gotten in any fights since school began. He was meeting a girl at a party, even if it was just his english partner, she was pretty and she knew his name.
He wasn’t sure when he had lost track of time but it was suddenly dark. His vision blurred as the woods thinned and the sound of the Rosewood party filled his ears. He swallowed hard as he heard the distinct sound of Franks voice in the back of his head. Burn it to the ground. He blinked back tears he was unaware of until then and his vision cleared. A car on the edge of the tree line, two girls from his school were struggling with the resident politics teacher. He stood frozen, watching the scene unfold until it was just him and Mr. Novack’s car. Burn it to the ground. The cigarette in his hand found its way through the passenger side window and he watched the smoke start to cloud the interior. The smell of burning leather seats was the last thing he remembered before Gina’s soft hand pulled him away from the inferno and back to reality. She walked back to campus with him in silence, a worried look on her face before kissing his cheek and leaving him on the steps of his dorm. Frank was quiet after that.
alternate faceclaims and prompts.
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DECLAN DARKO.
college freshmen; nineteen.
charlie heaton.
OPEN.
and, as donnie darko once said:
“I hope that when the world comes to an end, I can breathe a sigh of relief, because there will be so much to look forward to.”
BEFORE THE HEATHERS’ PARTY;
From the outside looking in, it always seemed that Declan Darko had been dodging bullets his entire life. His fractured family consisted of his little sister and his father. It had been just them ever since his mother died in a plane crash when he was in the fourth grade. His father did his best to keep the family contained, he hid his grief well and shouldered both his and his late wife’s roles as parents. It was never smooth sailing for the Darko’s but they were able to keep under the Rosewood rumor mill.
The sleepwalking had started in 8th grade. At first it had been harmless. He would find himself in the bath tub, clutching a bar of soup, or in the middle of the kitchen floor, in the middle of constructing a ham sandwich. It was blamed on hormones. Nothing wrong with Declan. Nothing at all. But then he found himself further and further from his bed. Further and further from his house. Waking up in the Rosewood Shopping Complex parking lot in his pajamas or drooling on the well trimmed grass at the 9th hole at the Rosewood Country Club. He never remembered how he got there.
The embarrassing problem had been ignored, although the locks on the front door had been enforced multiple times, until Donnie woke up from his dream to sirens and smoke. The house had been abandoned for years, an old decrepit shack on the edge of his neighborhood. An old woman, Grandma Death, used to live there. Declan had been found by one of his neighbors in front of the burning house clutching a book in his hand, The Philosophy of Time Travel by Roberta Sparrow.
It took no time at all for the news to spread of Declan’s brush with pyromania and even less time for his father to pull him from school. He was forced to a year at juvenile detention and court mandated therapy as well as revoked driving privileges until he was 21. After that his year passed, Declan kept to himself. While his little sister flourished in dance classes, Declan begrudgingly talked over how he was feeling and what he ate that day to his therapist. His father tried to be supportive, telling him he was far from crazy. But his father had enough on his mind, assimilating his new step-daughter, Dakota Bowie, and her mother into their fucked up family. He did his best to stay out of the way, especially after his dreams had gotten much more intense on his new medications.
He knew enough to keep his dreams to himself, focusing on his makeup work that had piled on and left him a year behind from the rest of his classmates. He enjoyed school. He did alright and upon transferring back to Rosewood his freshmen year, he was told that his standardized test scores were ‘intimidating.’ With his delinquent title behind him, he focused on his routine. School, Therapy, Homework. School, Therapy, Homework. It became easy for him, the balance of his unbalanced emotions. Different pills came with different side effects. Different side effects came with the uneasy looks of his classmates but up until his sophomore year, everything seemed manageable. Still undiagnosed but manageable. Although he possessed an aggression that matched many boys his own age, he was armed with a quick wit, an inquisitive mind, and a sensitivity towards others that usually doesn’t come without an understanding of hardship. He became the talk of the teachers lounge, teachers fresh out of grad school would shake their heads, wide eyed over the things he would say in class. He was polarizing, talking back to teachers that most students feared or loathed. This attitude earned him an expulsion from Rosewood when at an assembly, Declan called Ms. Trunchbull “The Fucking Antichrist” in front of the entire student body.
He started his second semester of his junior year at St. Agnes after another switch in his medications. A new kind antipsychotic was entered into the mix in the form of Gina Ross, who chose the seat next to him in their shared English class. She made Declan more anxious than anything he had been exposed to but he didn’t want to numb that symptom. He delighted in the way the new girl shyly smiled at him and the way she could make him feel like his ticks were just quirks. Something that made him special and not “special.” She understood and was patient with him. She listened to him talk about Grandma Death’s threadbare book he had been reading cover to cover ever since the fire and he listen to her, maybe not understanding everything that she said but lending a non judgemental ear all the same. It scared him, knowing that he would never be normal for her. Knowing that imaginary friends like Frank, the six foot tall bunny rabbit that had been telling him to do things in his dreams wasn’t the only friend he had made that year. He had something to lose now. But Declan would do his best to hold on tight to reality.
DURING THE HEATHERS’ PARTY;
The entire week, Declan had been hearing about the Heathers party. Giggling girls in his Physics class had been passing notes about it while he attempted to copy the diagrams written on the chalkboard. Senior guys high-fived over his head while he was at his locker, ease dropping on their conversation about getting some “Rosewood ass.” The dark haired boy mulled over the possible black eye he would receive when telling them that the ass they were planning on ripping apart that night was just as uninteresting as all their last conquests but had decided against it. Everyone in the tri-county area was apparently invited but he never really paid attention to the open invitation until Gina Ross mentioned it in passing on their way out of English class. The amount of parties he had gone to since he had hit puberty, all before being birthday parties with Star Wars and Power Ranger themes, he could count on one hand. He couldn’t really drink with new medications he had been prescribed. What was the point?
He had found himself agreeing to meet Gina at the party. If she wanted to go, he’d keep her company and make sure she got home safe. He had decided to walk, knowing his newest medication was messing with his eyesight, and he started off toward the party. Things had been looking up for him lately. His grades were doing okay, he hadn’t gotten a detention in weeks, and he hadn’t gotten in any fights since school began. He was meeting a girl at a party, even if it was just his english partner, she was pretty and she knew his name.
He wasn’t sure when he had lost track of time but it was suddenly dark. His vision blurred as the woods thinned and the sound of the Rosewood party filled his ears. He swallowed hard as he heard the distinct sound of Franks voice in the back of his head. Burn it to the ground. He blinked back tears he was unaware of until then and his vision cleared. A car on the edge of the tree line, two girls from his school were struggling with the resident politics teacher. He stood frozen, watching the scene unfold until it was just him and Mr. Novack’s car. Burn it to the ground. The cigarette in his hand found its way through the passenger side window and he watched the smoke start to cloud the interior. The smell of burning leather seats was the last thing he remembered before Gina’s soft hand pulled him away from the inferno and back to reality. She walked back to campus with him in silence, a worried look on her face before kissing his cheek and leaving him on the steps of his dorm. Frank was quiet after that.
alternate faceclaims and prompts.
0 notes
Photo
DECLAN DARKO.
college freshmen; nineteen.
charlie heaton.
OPEN.
and, as donnie darko once said:
“I hope that when the world comes to an end, I can breathe a sigh of relief, because there will be so much to look forward to.”
BEFORE THE PARTY;
From the outside looking in, it always seemed that Declan Darko had been dodging bullets his entire life. His fractured family consisted of his little sister and his father. It had been just them ever since his mother died in a plane crash when he was in the fourth grade. His father did his best to keep the family contained, he hid his grief well and shouldered both his and his late wife’s roles as parents. It was never smooth sailing for the Darko’s but they were able to keep under the Rosewood rumor mill.
The sleepwalking had started in 8th grade. At first it had been harmless. He would find himself in the bath tub, clutching a bar of soup, or in the middle of the kitchen floor, in the middle of constructing a ham sandwich. It was blamed on hormones. Nothing wrong with Declan. Nothing at all. But then he found himself further and further from his bed. Further and further from his house. Waking up in the Rosewood Shopping Complex parking lot in his pajamas or drooling on the well trimmed grass at the 9th hole at the Rosewood Country Club. He never remembered how he got there.
The embarrassing problem had been ignored, although the locks on the front door had been enforced multiple times, until Donnie woke up from his dream to sirens and smoke. The house had been abandoned for years, an old decrepit shack on the edge of his neighborhood. An old woman, Grandma Death, used to live there. Declan had been found by one of his neighbors in front of the burning house clutching a book in his hand, The Philosophy of Time Travel by Roberta Sparrow.
It took no time at all for the news to spread of Declan’s brush with pyromania and even less time for his father to pull him from school. He was forced to a year at juvenile detention and court mandated therapy as well as revoked driving privileges until he was 21. After that his year passed, Declan kept to himself. While his little sister flourished in dance classes, Declan begrudgingly talked over how he was feeling and what he ate that day to his therapist. His father tried to be supportive, telling him he was far from crazy. But his father had enough on his mind, assimilating his new step-daughter, Dakota Bowie, and her mother into their fucked up family. He did his best to stay out of the way, especially after his dreams had gotten much more intense on his new medications.
He knew enough to keep his dreams to himself, focusing on his makeup work that had piled on and left him a year behind from the rest of his classmates. He enjoyed school. He did alright and upon transferring back to Rosewood his freshmen year, he was told that his standardized test scores were ‘intimidating.’ With his delinquent title behind him, he focused on his routine. School, Therapy, Homework. School, Therapy, Homework. It became easy for him, the balance of his unbalanced emotions. Different pills came with different side effects. Different side effects came with the uneasy looks of his classmates but up until his sophomore year, everything seemed manageable. Still undiagnosed but manageable. Although he possessed an aggression that matched many boys his own age, he was armed with a quick wit, an inquisitive mind, and a sensitivity towards others that usually doesn’t come without an understanding of hardship. He became the talk of the teachers lounge, teachers fresh out of grad school would shake their heads, wide eyed over the things he would say in class. He was polarizing, talking back to teachers that most students feared or loathed. This attitude earned him an expulsion from Rosewood when at an assembly, Declan called Ms. Trunchbull “The Fucking Antichrist” in front of the entire student body.
He started his second semester of his junior year at St. Agnes after another switch in his medications. A new kind antipsychotic was entered into the mix in the form of Gina Ross, who chose the seat next to him in their shared English class. She made Declan more anxious than anything he had been exposed to but he didn’t want to numb that symptom. He delighted in the way the new girl shyly smiled at him and the way she could make him feel like his ticks were just quirks. Something that made him special and not “special.” She understood and was patient with him. She listened to him talk about Grandma Death’s threadbare book he had been reading cover to cover ever since the fire and he listen to her, maybe not understanding everything that she said but lending a non judgemental ear all the same. It scared him, knowing that he would never be normal for her. Knowing that imaginary friends like Frank, the six foot tall bunny rabbit that had been telling him to do things in his dreams wasn’t the only friend he had made that year. He had something to lose now. But Declan would do his best to hold on tight to reality.
DURING THE PARTY;
The entire week, Declan had been hearing about the Heathers party. Giggling girls in his Physics class had been passing notes about it while he attempted to copy the diagrams written on the chalkboard. Senior guys high-fived over his head while he was at his locker, ease dropping on their conversation about getting some “Rosewood ass.” The dark haired boy mulled over the possible black eye he would receive when telling them that the ass they were planning on ripping apart that night was just as uninteresting as all their last conquests but had decided against it. Everyone in the tri-county area was apparently invited but he never really paid attention to the open invitation until Gina Ross mentioned it in passing on their way out of English class. The amount of parties he had gone to since he had hit puberty, all before being birthday parties with Star Wars and Power Ranger themes, he could count on one hand. He couldn’t really drink with new medications he had been prescribed. What was the point?
He had found himself agreeing to meet Gina at the party. If she wanted to go, he’d keep her company and make sure she got home safe. He had decided to walk, knowing his newest medication was messing with his eyesight, and he started off toward the party. Things had been looking up for him lately. His grades were doing okay, he hadn’t gotten a detention in weeks, and he hadn’t gotten in any fights since school began. He was meeting a girl at a party, even if it was just his english partner, she was pretty and she knew his name.
He wasn’t sure when he had lost track of time but it was suddenly dark. His vision blurred as the woods thinned and the sound of the Rosewood party filled his ears. He swallowed hard as he heard the distinct sound of Franks voice in the back of his head. Burn it to the ground. He blinked back tears he was unaware of until then and his vision cleared. A car on the edge of the tree line, two girls from his school were struggling with the resident politics teacher. He stood frozen, watching the scene unfold until it was just him and Mr. Novack’s car. Burn it to the ground. The cigarette in his hand found its way through the passenger side window and he watched the smoke start to cloud the interior. The smell of burning leather seats was the last thing he remembered before Gina’s soft hand pulled him away from the inferno and back to reality. She walked back to campus with him in silence, a worried look on her face before kissing his cheek and leaving him on the steps of his dorm. Frank was quiet after that.
alternate faceclaims and prompts.
0 notes
Photo
DECLAN DARKO.
college freshmen; nineteen.
charlie heaton.
OPEN.
and, as donnie darko once said:
“I hope that when the world comes to an end, I can breathe a sigh of relief, because there will be so much to look forward to.”
BEFORE THE PARTY;
From the outside looking in, it always seemed that Declan Darko had been dodging bullets his entire life. His fractured family consisted of his little sister and his father. It had been just them ever since his mother died in a plane crash when he was in the fourth grade. His father did his best to keep the family contained, he hid his grief well and shouldered both his and his late wife’s roles as parents. It was never smooth sailing for the Darko’s but they were able to keep under the Rosewood rumor mill.
The sleepwalking had started in 8th grade. At first it had been harmless. He would find himself in the bath tub, clutching a bar of soup, or in the middle of the kitchen floor, in the middle of constructing a ham sandwich. It was blamed on hormones. Nothing wrong with Declan. Nothing at all. But then he found himself further and further from his bed. Further and further from his house. Waking up in the Rosewood Shopping Complex parking lot in his pajamas or drooling on the well trimmed grass at the 9th hole at the Rosewood Country Club. He never remembered how he got there.
The embarrassing problem had been ignored, although the locks on the front door had been enforced multiple times, until Donnie woke up from his dream to sirens and smoke. The house had been abandoned for years, an old decrepit shack on the edge of his neighborhood. An old woman, Grandma Death, used to live there. Declan had been found by one of his neighbors in front of the burning house clutching a book in his hand, The Philosophy of Time Travel by Roberta Sparrow.
It took no time at all for the news to spread of Declan’s brush with pyromania and even less time for his father to pull him from school. He was forced to a year at juvenile detention and court mandated therapy as well as revoked driving privileges until he was 21. After that his year passed, Declan kept to himself. While his little sister flourished in dance classes, Declan begrudgingly talked over how he was feeling and what he ate that day to his therapist. His father tried to be supportive, telling him he was far from crazy. But his father had enough on his mind, assimilating his new step-daughter, Dakota Bowie, and her mother into their fucked up family. He did his best to stay out of the way, especially after his dreams had gotten much more intense on his new medications.
He knew enough to keep his dreams to himself, focusing on his makeup work that had piled on and left him a year behind from the rest of his classmates. He enjoyed school. He did alright and upon transferring back to Rosewood his freshmen year, he was told that his standardized test scores were ‘intimidating.’ With his delinquent title behind him, he focused on his routine. School, Therapy, Homework. School, Therapy, Homework. It became easy for him, the balance of his unbalanced emotions. Different pills came with different side effects. Different side effects came with the uneasy looks of his classmates but up until his sophomore year, everything seemed manageable. Still undiagnosed but manageable. Although he possessed an aggression that matched many boys his own age, he was armed with a quick wit, an inquisitive mind, and a sensitivity towards others that usually doesn’t come without an understanding of hardship. He became the talk of the teachers lounge, teachers fresh out of grad school would shake their heads, wide eyed over the things he would say in class. He was polarizing, talking back to teachers that most students feared or loathed. This attitude earned him an expulsion from Rosewood when at an assembly, Declan called Ms. Trunchbull “The Fucking Antichrist” in front of the entire student body.
He started his second semester of his junior year at St. Agnes after another switch in his medications. A new kind antipsychotic was entered into the mix in the form of Gina Ross, who chose the seat next to him in their shared English class. She made Declan more anxious than anything he had been exposed to but he didn’t want to numb that symptom. He delighted in the way the new girl shyly smiled at him and the way she could make him feel like his ticks were just quirks. Something that made him special and not “special.” She understood and was patient with him. She listened to him talk about Grandma Death’s threadbare book he had been reading cover to cover ever since the fire and he listen to her, maybe not understanding everything that she said but lending a non judgemental ear all the same. It scared him, knowing that he would never be normal for her. Knowing that imaginary friends like Frank, the six foot tall bunny rabbit that had been telling him to do things in his dreams wasn’t the only friend he had made that year. He had something to lose now. But Declan would do his best to hold on tight to reality.
DURING THE PARTY;
The entire week, Declan had been hearing about the Heathers party. Giggling girls in his Physics class had been passing notes about it while he attempted to copy the diagrams written on the chalkboard. Senior guys high-fived over his head while he was at his locker, ease dropping on their conversation about getting some “Rosewood ass.” The dark haired boy mulled over the possible black eye he would receive when telling them that the ass they were planning on ripping apart that night was just as uninteresting as all their last conquests but had decided against it. Everyone in the tri-county area was apparently invited but he never really paid attention to the open invitation until Gina Ross mentioned it in passing on their way out of English class. The amount of parties he had gone to since he had hit puberty, all before being birthday parties with Star Wars and Power Ranger themes, he could count on one hand. He couldn’t really drink with new medications he had been prescribed. What was the point?
He had found himself agreeing to meet Gina at the party. If she wanted to go, he’d keep her company and make sure she got home safe. He had decided to walk, knowing his newest medication was messing with his eyesight, and he started off toward the party. Things had been looking up for him lately. His grades were doing okay, he hadn’t gotten a detention in weeks, and he hadn’t gotten in any fights since school began. He was meeting a girl at a party, even if it was just his english partner, she was pretty and she knew his name.
He wasn’t sure when he had lost track of time but it was suddenly dark. His vision blurred as the woods thinned and the sound of the Rosewood party filled his ears. He swallowed hard as he heard the distinct sound of Franks voice in the back of his head. Burn it to the ground. He blinked back tears he was unaware of until then and his vision cleared. A car on the edge of the tree line, two girls from his school were struggling with the resident politics teacher. He stood frozen, watching the scene unfold until it was just him and Mr. Novack’s car. Burn it to the ground. The cigarette in his hand found its way through the passenger side window and he watched the smoke start to cloud the interior. The smell of burning leather seats was the last thing he remembered before Gina’s soft hand pulled him away from the inferno and back to reality. She walked back to campus with him in silence, a worried look on her face before kissing his cheek and leaving him on the steps of his dorm. Frank was quiet after that.
alternate faceclaims and prompts.
0 notes
Photo
DECLAN DARKO.
college freshmen; nineteen.
charlie heaton.
OPEN.
and, as donnie darko once said:
“I hope that when the world comes to an end, I can breathe a sigh of relief, because there will be so much to look forward to.”
BEFORE THE PARTY;
From the outside looking in, it always seemed that Declan Darko had been dodging bullets his entire life. His fractured family consisted of his little sister and his father. It had been just them ever since his mother died in a plane crash when he was in the fourth grade. His father did his best to keep the family contained, he hid his grief well and shouldered both his and his late wife’s roles as parents. It was never smooth sailing for the Darko’s but they were able to keep under the Rosewood rumor mill.
The sleepwalking had started in 8th grade. At first it had been harmless. He would find himself in the bath tub, clutching a bar of soup, or in the middle of the kitchen floor, in the middle of constructing a ham sandwich. It was blamed on hormones. Nothing wrong with Declan. Nothing at all. But then he found himself further and further from his bed. Further and further from his house. Waking up in the Rosewood Shopping Complex parking lot in his pajamas or drooling on the well trimmed grass at the 9th hole at the Rosewood Country Club. He never remembered how he got there.
The embarrassing problem had been ignored, although the locks on the front door had been enforced multiple times, until Donnie woke up from his dream to sirens and smoke. The house had been abandoned for years, an old decrepit shack on the edge of his neighborhood. An old woman, Grandma Death, used to live there. Declan had been found by one of his neighbors in front of the burning house clutching a book in his hand, The Philosophy of Time Travel by Roberta Sparrow.
It took no time at all for the news to spread of Declan’s brush with pyromania and even less time for his father to pull him from school. He was forced to a year at juvenile detention and court mandated therapy as well as revoked driving privileges until he was 21. After that his year passed, Declan kept to himself. While his little sister flourished in dance classes, Declan begrudgingly talked over how he was feeling and what he ate that day to his therapist. His father tried to be supportive, telling him he was far from crazy. But his father had enough on his mind, assimilating his new step-daughter, Dakota Bowie, and her mother into their fucked up family. He did his best to stay out of the way, especially after his dreams had gotten much more intense on his new medications.
He knew enough to keep his dreams to himself, focusing on his makeup work that had piled on and left him a year behind from the rest of his classmates. He enjoyed school. He did alright and upon transferring back to Rosewood his freshmen year, he was told that his standardized test scores were ‘intimidating.’ With his delinquent title behind him, he focused on his routine. School, Therapy, Homework. School, Therapy, Homework. It became easy for him, the balance of his unbalanced emotions. Different pills came with different side effects. Different side effects came with the uneasy looks of his classmates but up until his sophomore year, everything seemed manageable. Still undiagnosed but manageable. Although he possessed an aggression that matched many boys his own age, he was armed with a quick wit, an inquisitive mind, and a sensitivity towards others that usually doesn’t come without an understanding of hardship. He became the talk of the teachers lounge, teachers fresh out of grad school would shake their heads, wide eyed over the things he would say in class. He was polarizing, talking back to teachers that most students feared or loathed. This attitude earned him an expulsion from Rosewood when at an assembly, Declan called Ms. Trunchbull “The Fucking Antichrist” in front of the entire student body.
He started his second semester of his junior year at St. Agnes after another switch in his medications. A new kind antipsychotic was entered into the mix in the form of Gina Ross, who chose the seat next to him in their shared English class. She made Declan more anxious than anything he had been exposed to but he didn’t want to numb that symptom. He delighted in the way the new girl shyly smiled at him and the way she could make him feel like his ticks were just quirks. Something that made him special and not “special.” She understood and was patient with him. She listened to him talk about Grandma Death’s threadbare book he had been reading cover to cover ever since the fire and he listen to her, maybe not understanding everything that she said but lending a non judgemental ear all the same. It scared him, knowing that he would never be normal for her. Knowing that imaginary friends like Frank, the six foot tall bunny rabbit that had been telling him to do things in his dreams wasn’t the only friend he had made that year. He had something to lose now. But Declan would do his best to hold on tight to reality.
DURING THE PARTY;
The entire week, Declan had been hearing about the Heathers party. Giggling girls in his Physics class had been passing notes about it while he attempted to copy the diagrams written on the chalkboard. Senior guys high-fived over his head while he was at his locker, ease dropping on their conversation about getting some “Rosewood ass.” The dark haired boy mulled over the possible black eye he would receive when telling them that the ass they were planning on ripping apart that night was just as uninteresting as all their last conquests but had decided against it. Everyone in the tri-county area was apparently invited but he never really paid attention to the open invitation until Gina Ross mentioned it in passing on their way out of English class. The amount of parties he had gone to since he had hit puberty, all before being birthday parties with Star Wars and Power Ranger themes, he could count on one hand. He couldn’t really drink with new medications he had been prescribed. What was the point?
He had found himself agreeing to meet Gina at the party. If she wanted to go, he’d keep her company and make sure she got home safe. He had decided to walk, knowing his newest medication was messing with his eyesight, and he started off toward the party. Things had been looking up for him lately. His grades were doing okay, he hadn’t gotten a detention in weeks, and he hadn’t gotten in any fights since school began. He was meeting a girl at a party, even if it was just his english partner, she was pretty and she knew his name.
He wasn’t sure when he had lost track of time but it was suddenly dark. His vision blurred as the woods thinned and the sound of the Rosewood party filled his ears. He swallowed hard as he heard the distinct sound of Franks voice in the back of his head. Burn it to the ground. He blinked back tears he was unaware of until then and his vision cleared. A car on the edge of the tree line, two girls from his school were struggling with the resident politics teacher. He stood frozen, watching the scene unfold until it was just him and Mr. Novack’s car. Burn it to the ground. The cigarette in his hand found its way through the passenger side window and he watched the smoke start to cloud the interior. The smell of burning leather seats was the last thing he remembered before Gina’s soft hand pulled him away from the inferno and back to reality. She walked back to campus with him in silence, a worried look on her face before kissing his cheek and leaving him on the steps of his dorm. Frank was quiet after that.
alternate faceclaims and prompts.
0 notes
Photo
DECLAN DARKO.
college freshmen; nineteen.
charlie heaton.
OPEN.
and, as donnie darko once said:
“I hope that when the world comes to an end, I can breathe a sigh of relief, because there will be so much to look forward to.”
BEFORE THE PARTY;
From the outside looking in, it always seemed that Declan Darko had been dodging bullets his entire life. His fractured family consisted of his little sister and his father. It had been just them ever since his mother died in a plane crash when he was in the fourth grade. His father did his best to keep the family contained, he hid his grief well and shouldered both his and his late wife’s roles as parents. It was never smooth sailing for the Darko’s but they were able to keep under the Rosewood rumor mill.
The sleepwalking had started in 8th grade. At first it had been harmless. He would find himself in the bath tub, clutching a bar of soup, or in the middle of the kitchen floor, in the middle of constructing a ham sandwich. It was blamed on hormones. Nothing wrong with Declan. Nothing at all. But then he found himself further and further from his bed. Further and further from his house. Waking up in the Rosewood Shopping Complex parking lot in his pajamas or drooling on the well trimmed grass at the 9th hole at the Rosewood Country Club. He never remembered how he got there.
The embarrassing problem had been ignored, although the locks on the front door had been enforced multiple times, until Donnie woke up from his dream to sirens and smoke. The house had been abandoned for years, an old decrepit shack on the edge of his neighborhood. An old woman, Grandma Death, used to live there. Declan had been found by one of his neighbors in front of the burning house clutching a book in his hand, The Philosophy of Time Travel by Roberta Sparrow.
It took no time at all for the news to spread of Declan’s brush with pyromania and even less time for his father to pull him from school. He was forced to a year at juvenile detention and court mandated therapy as well as revoked driving privileges until he was 21. After that his year passed, Declan kept to himself. While his little sister flourished in dance classes, Declan begrudgingly talked over how he was feeling and what he ate that day to his therapist. His father tried to be supportive, telling him he was far from crazy. But his father had enough on his mind, assimilating his new step-daughter, Dakota Bowie, and her mother into their fucked up family. He did his best to stay out of the way, especially after his dreams had gotten much more intense on his new medications.
He knew enough to keep his dreams to himself, focusing on his makeup work that had piled on and left him a year behind from the rest of his classmates. He enjoyed school. He did alright and upon transferring back to Rosewood his freshmen year, he was told that his standardized test scores were ‘intimidating.’ With his delinquent title behind him, he focused on his routine. School, Therapy, Homework. School, Therapy, Homework. It became easy for him, the balance of his unbalanced emotions. Different pills came with different side effects. Different side effects came with the uneasy looks of his classmates but up until his sophomore year, everything seemed manageable. Still undiagnosed but manageable. Although he possessed an aggression that matched many boys his own age, he was armed with a quick wit, an inquisitive mind, and a sensitivity towards others that usually doesn’t come without an understanding of hardship. He became the talk of the teachers lounge, teachers fresh out of grad school would shake their heads, wide eyed over the things he would say in class. He was polarizing, talking back to teachers that most students feared or loathed. This attitude earned him an expulsion from Rosewood when at an assembly, Declan called Ms. Trunchbull “The Fucking Antichrist” in front of the entire student body.
He started his second semester of his junior year at St. Agnes after another switch in his medications. A new kind antipsychotic was entered into the mix in the form of Gina Ross, who chose the seat next to him in their shared English class. She made Declan more anxious than anything he had been exposed to but he didn’t want to numb that symptom. He delighted in the way the new girl shyly smiled at him and the way she could make him feel like his ticks were just quirks. Something that made him special and not “special.” She understood and was patient with him. She listened to him talk about Grandma Death’s threadbare book he had been reading cover to cover ever since the fire and he listen to her, maybe not understanding everything that she said but lending a non judgemental ear all the same. It scared him, knowing that he would never be normal for her. Knowing that imaginary friends like Frank, the six foot tall bunny rabbit that had been telling him to do things in his dreams wasn’t the only friend he had made that year. He had something to lose now. But Declan would do his best to hold on tight to reality.
DURING THE PARTY;
The entire week, Declan had been hearing about the Heathers party. Giggling girls in his Physics class had been passing notes about it while he attempted to copy the diagrams written on the chalkboard. Senior guys high-fived over his head while he was at his locker, ease dropping on their conversation about getting some “Rosewood ass.” The dark haired boy mulled over the possible black eye he would receive when telling them that the ass they were planning on ripping apart that night was just as uninteresting as all their last conquests but had decided against it. Everyone in the tri-county area was apparently invited but he never really paid attention to the open invitation until Gina Ross mentioned it in passing on their way out of English class. The amount of parties he had gone to since he had hit puberty, all before being birthday parties with Star Wars and Power Ranger themes, he could count on one hand. He couldn’t really drink with new medications he had been prescribed. What was the point?
He had found himself agreeing to meet Gina at the party. If she wanted to go, he’d keep her company and make sure she got home safe. He had decided to walk, knowing his newest medication was messing with his eyesight, and he started off toward the party. Things had been looking up for him lately. His grades were doing okay, he hadn’t gotten a detention in weeks, and he hadn’t gotten in any fights since school began. He was meeting a girl at a party, even if it was just his english partner, she was pretty and she knew his name.
He wasn’t sure when he had lost track of time but it was suddenly dark. His vision blurred as the woods thinned and the sound of the Rosewood party filled his ears. He swallowed hard as he heard the distinct sound of Franks voice in the back of his head. Burn it to the ground. He blinked back tears he was unaware of until then and his vision cleared. A car on the edge of the tree line, two girls from his school were struggling with the resident politics teacher. He stood frozen, watching the scene unfold until it was just him and Mr. Novack’s car. Burn it to the ground. The cigarette in his hand found its way through the passenger side window and he watched the smoke start to cloud the interior. The smell of burning leather seats was the last thing he remembered before Gina’s soft hand pulled him away from the inferno and back to reality. She walked back to campus with him in silence, a worried look on her face before kissing his cheek and leaving him on the steps of his dorm. Frank was quiet after that.
alternate faceclaims and prompts.
0 notes
Photo
DECLAN DARKO.
college freshmen; nineteen.
charlie heaton.
OPEN.
and, as donnie darko once said:
“I hope that when the world comes to an end, I can breathe a sigh of relief, because there will be so much to look forward to.”
BEFORE THE PARTY;
From the outside looking in, it always seemed that Declan Darko had been dodging bullets his entire life. His fractured family consisted of his little sister and his father. It had been just them ever since his mother died in a plane crash when he was in the fourth grade. His father did his best to keep the family contained, he hid his grief well and shouldered both his and his late wife’s roles as parents. It was never smooth sailing for the Darko’s but they were able to keep under the Rosewood rumor mill.
The sleepwalking had started in 8th grade. At first it had been harmless. He would find himself in the bath tub, clutching a bar of soup, or in the middle of the kitchen floor, in the middle of constructing a ham sandwich. It was blamed on hormones. Nothing wrong with Declan. Nothing at all. But then he found himself further and further from his bed. Further and further from his house. Waking up in the Rosewood Shopping Complex parking lot in his pajamas or drooling on the well trimmed grass at the 9th hole at the Rosewood Country Club. He never remembered how he got there.
The embarrassing problem had been ignored, although the locks on the front door had been enforced multiple times, until Donnie woke up from his dream to sirens and smoke. The house had been abandoned for years, an old decrepit shack on the edge of his neighborhood. An old woman, Grandma Death, used to live there. Declan had been found by one of his neighbors in front of the burning house clutching a book in his hand, The Philosophy of Time Travel by Roberta Sparrow.
It took no time at all for the news to spread of Declan’s brush with pyromania and even less time for his father to pull him from school. He was forced to a year at juvenile detention and court mandated therapy as well as revoked driving privileges until he was 21. After that his year passed, Declan kept to himself. While his little sister flourished in dance classes, Declan begrudgingly talked over how he was feeling and what he ate that day to his therapist. His father tried to be supportive, telling him he was far from crazy. But his father had enough on his mind, assimilating his new step-daughter, Dakota Bowie, and her mother into their fucked up family. He did his best to stay out of the way, especially after his dreams had gotten much more intense on his new medications.
He knew enough to keep his dreams to himself, focusing on his makeup work that had piled on and left him a year behind from the rest of his classmates. He enjoyed school. He did alright and upon transferring back to Rosewood his freshmen year, he was told that his standardized test scores were ‘intimidating.’ With his delinquent title behind him, he focused on his routine. School, Therapy, Homework. School, Therapy, Homework. It became easy for him, the balance of his unbalanced emotions. Different pills came with different side effects. Different side effects came with the uneasy looks of his classmates but up until his sophomore year, everything seemed manageable. Still undiagnosed but manageable. Although he possessed an aggression that matched many boys his own age, he was armed with a quick wit, an inquisitive mind, and a sensitivity towards others that usually doesn’t come without an understanding of hardship. He became the talk of the teachers lounge, teachers fresh out of grad school would shake their heads, wide eyed over the things he would say in class. He was polarizing, talking back to teachers that most students feared or loathed. This attitude earned him an expulsion from Rosewood when at an assembly, Declan called Ms. Trunchbull “The Fucking Antichrist” in front of the entire student body.
He started his second semester of his junior year at St. Agnes after another switch in his medications. A new kind antipsychotic was entered into the mix in the form of Gina Ross, who chose the seat next to him in their shared English class. She made Declan more anxious than anything he had been exposed to but he didn’t want to numb that symptom. He delighted in the way the new girl shyly smiled at him and the way she could make him feel like his ticks were just quirks. Something that made him special and not “special.” She understood and was patient with him. She listened to him talk about Grandma Death’s threadbare book he had been reading cover to cover ever since the fire and he listen to her, maybe not understanding everything that she said but lending a non judgemental ear all the same. It scared him, knowing that he would never be normal for her. Knowing that imaginary friends like Frank, the six foot tall bunny rabbit that had been telling him to do things in his dreams wasn’t the only friend he had made that year. He had something to lose now. But Declan would do his best to hold on tight to reality.
DURING THE PARTY;
The entire week, Declan had been hearing about the Heathers party. Giggling girls in his Physics class had been passing notes about it while he attempted to copy the diagrams written on the chalkboard. Senior guys high-fived over his head while he was at his locker, ease dropping on their conversation about getting some “Rosewood ass.” The dark haired boy mulled over the possible black eye he would receive when telling them that the ass they were planning on ripping apart that night was just as uninteresting as all their last conquests but had decided against it. Everyone in the tri-county area was apparently invited but he never really paid attention to the open invitation until Gina Ross mentioned it in passing on their way out of English class. The amount of parties he had gone to since he had hit puberty, all before being birthday parties with Star Wars and Power Ranger themes, he could count on one hand. He couldn’t really drink with new medications he had been prescribed. What was the point?
He had found himself agreeing to meet Gina at the party. If she wanted to go, he’d keep her company and make sure she got home safe. He had decided to walk, knowing his newest medication was messing with his eyesight, and he started off toward the party. Things had been looking up for him lately. His grades were doing okay, he hadn’t gotten a detention in weeks, and he hadn’t gotten in any fights since school began. He was meeting a girl at a party, even if it was just his english partner, she was pretty and she knew his name.
He wasn’t sure when he had lost track of time but it was suddenly dark. His vision blurred as the woods thinned and the sound of the Rosewood party filled his ears. He swallowed hard as he heard the distinct sound of Franks voice in the back of his head. Burn it to the ground. He blinked back tears he was unaware of until then and his vision cleared. A car on the edge of the tree line, two girls from his school were struggling with the resident politics teacher. He stood frozen, watching the scene unfold until it was just him and Mr. Novack’s car. Burn it to the ground. The cigarette in his hand found its way through the passenger side window and he watched the smoke start to cloud the interior. The smell of burning leather seats was the last thing he remembered before Gina’s soft hand pulled him away from the inferno and back to reality. She walked back to campus with him in silence, a worried look on her face before kissing his cheek and leaving him on the steps of his dorm. Frank was quiet after that.
alternate faceclaims and prompts.
0 notes
Photo
DECLAN DARKO.
college freshmen; nineteen.
charlie heaton.
OPEN.
and, as donnie darko once said:
“I hope that when the world comes to an end, I can breathe a sigh of relief, because there will be so much to look forward to.”
BEFORE THE HEATHERS’ PARTY;
From the outside looking in, it always seemed that Declan Darko had been dodging bullets his entire life. His fractured family consisted of his little sister and his father. It had been just them ever since his mother died in a plane crash when he was in the fourth grade. His father did his best to keep the family contained, he hid his grief well and shouldered both his and his late wife’s roles as parents. It was never smooth sailing for the Darko’s but they were able to keep under the Rosewood rumor mill.
The sleepwalking had started in 8th grade. At first it had been harmless. He would find himself in the bath tub, clutching a bar of soup, or in the middle of the kitchen floor, in the middle of constructing a ham sandwich. It was blamed on hormones. Nothing wrong with Declan. Nothing at all. But then he found himself further and further from his bed. Further and further from his house. Waking up in the Rosewood Shopping Complex parking lot in his pajamas or drooling on the well trimmed grass at the 9th hole at the Rosewood Country Club. He never remembered how he got there.
The embarrassing problem had been ignored, although the locks on the front door had been enforced multiple times, until Donnie woke up from his dream to sirens and smoke. The house had been abandoned for years, an old decrepit shack on the edge of his neighborhood. An old woman, Grandma Death, used to live there. Declan had been found by one of his neighbors in front of the burning house clutching a book in his hand, The Philosophy of Time Travel by Roberta Sparrow.
It took no time at all for the news to spread of Declan’s brush with pyromania and even less time for his father to pull him from school. He was forced to a year at juvenile detention and court mandated therapy as well as revoked driving privileges until he was 21. After that his year passed, Declan kept to himself. While his little sister flourished in dance classes, Declan begrudgingly talked over how he was feeling and what he ate that day to his therapist. His father tried to be supportive, telling him he was far from crazy. But his father had enough on his mind, assimilating his new step-daughter, Dakota Bowie, and her mother into their fucked up family. He did his best to stay out of the way, especially after his dreams had gotten much more intense on his new medications.
He knew enough to keep his dreams to himself, focusing on his makeup work that had piled on and left him a year behind from the rest of his classmates. He enjoyed school. He did alright and upon transferring back to Rosewood his freshmen year, he was told that his standardized test scores were ‘intimidating.’ With his delinquent title behind him, he focused on his routine. School, Therapy, Homework. School, Therapy, Homework. It became easy for him, the balance of his unbalanced emotions. Different pills came with different side effects. Different side effects came with the uneasy looks of his classmates but up until his sophomore year, everything seemed manageable. Still undiagnosed but manageable. Although he possessed an aggression that matched many boys his own age, he was armed with a quick wit, an inquisitive mind, and a sensitivity towards others that usually doesn’t come without an understanding of hardship. He became the talk of the teachers lounge, teachers fresh out of grad school would shake their heads, wide eyed over the things he would say in class. He was polarizing, talking back to teachers that most students feared or loathed. This attitude earned him an expulsion from Rosewood when at an assembly, Declan called Ms. Trunchbull “The Fucking Antichrist” in front of the entire student body.
He started his second semester of his junior year at St. Agnes after another switch in his medications. A new kind antipsychotic was entered into the mix in the form of Gina Ross, who chose the seat next to him in their shared English class. She made Declan more anxious than anything he had been exposed to but he didn’t want to numb that symptom. He delighted in the way the new girl shyly smiled at him and the way she could make him feel like his ticks were just quirks. Something that made him special and not “special.” She understood and was patient with him. She listened to him talk about Grandma Death’s threadbare book he had been reading cover to cover ever since the fire and he listen to her, maybe not understanding everything that she said but lending a non judgemental ear all the same. It scared him, knowing that he would never be normal for her. Knowing that imaginary friends like Frank, the six foot tall bunny rabbit that had been telling him to do things in his dreams wasn’t the only friend he had made that year. He had something to lose now. But Declan would do his best to hold on tight to reality.
DURING THE HEATHERS’ PARTY;
The entire week, Declan had been hearing about the Heathers party. Giggling girls in his Physics class had been passing notes about it while he attempted to copy the diagrams written on the chalkboard. Senior guys high-fived over his head while he was at his locker, ease dropping on their conversation about getting some “Rosewood ass.” The dark haired boy mulled over the possible black eye he would receive when telling them that the ass they were planning on ripping apart that night was just as uninteresting as all their last conquests but had decided against it. Everyone in the tri-county area was apparently invited but he never really paid attention to the open invitation until Gina Ross mentioned it in passing on their way out of English class. The amount of parties he had gone to since he had hit puberty, all before being birthday parties with Star Wars and Power Ranger themes, he could count on one hand. He couldn’t really drink with new medications he had been prescribed. What was the point?
He had found himself agreeing to meet Gina at the party. If she wanted to go, he’d keep her company and make sure she got home safe. He had decided to walk, knowing his newest medication was messing with his eyesight, and he started off toward the party. Things had been looking up for him lately. His grades were doing okay, he hadn’t gotten a detention in weeks, and he hadn’t gotten in any fights since school began. He was meeting a girl at a party, even if it was just his english partner, she was pretty and she knew his name.
He wasn’t sure when he had lost track of time but it was suddenly dark. His vision blurred as the woods thinned and the sound of the Rosewood party filled his ears. He swallowed hard as he heard the distinct sound of Franks voice in the back of his head. Burn it to the ground. He blinked back tears he was unaware of until then and his vision cleared. A car on the edge of the tree line, two girls from his school were struggling with the resident politics teacher. He stood frozen, watching the scene unfold until it was just him and Mr. Novack’s car. Burn it to the ground. The cigarette in his hand found its way through the passenger side window and he watched the smoke start to cloud the interior. The smell of burning leather seats was the last thing he remembered before Gina’s soft hand pulled him away from the inferno and back to reality. She walked back to campus with him in silence, a worried look on her face before kissing his cheek and leaving him on the steps of his dorm. Frank was quiet after that.
alternate faceclaims and prompts.
0 notes
Photo
DECLAN DARKO.
college freshmen; nineteen.
charlie heaton.
OPEN.
and, as donnie darko once said:
“I hope that when the world comes to an end, I can breathe a sigh of relief, because there will be so much to look forward to.”
BEFORE THE HEATHERS’ PARTY;
From the outside looking in, it always seemed that Declan Darko had been dodging bullets his entire life. His fractured family consisted of his little sister and his father. It had been just them ever since his mother died in a plane crash when he was in the fourth grade. His father did his best to keep the family contained, he hid his grief well and shouldered both his and his late wife’s roles as parents. It was never smooth sailing for the Darko’s but they were able to keep under the Rosewood rumor mill.
The sleepwalking had started in 8th grade. At first it had been harmless. He would find himself in the bath tub, clutching a bar of soup, or in the middle of the kitchen floor, in the middle of constructing a ham sandwich. It was blamed on hormones. Nothing wrong with Declan. Nothing at all. But then he found himself further and further from his bed. Further and further from his house. Waking up in the Rosewood Shopping Complex parking lot in his pajamas or drooling on the well trimmed grass at the 9th hole at the Rosewood Country Club. He never remembered how he got there.
The embarrassing problem had been ignored, although the locks on the front door had been enforced multiple times, until Donnie woke up from his dream to sirens and smoke. The house had been abandoned for years, an old decrepit shack on the edge of his neighborhood. An old woman, Grandma Death, used to live there. Declan had been found by one of his neighbors in front of the burning house clutching a book in his hand, The Philosophy of Time Travel by Roberta Sparrow.
It took no time at all for the news to spread of Declan’s brush with pyromania and even less time for his father to pull him from school. He was forced to a year at juvenile detention and court mandated therapy as well as revoked driving privileges until he was 21. After that his year passed, Declan kept to himself. While his little sister flourished in dance classes, Declan begrudgingly talked over how he was feeling and what he ate that day to his therapist. His father tried to be supportive, telling him he was far from crazy. But his father had enough on his mind, assimilating his new step-daughter, Dakota Bowie, and her mother into their fucked up family. He did his best to stay out of the way, especially after his dreams had gotten much more intense on his new medications.
He knew enough to keep his dreams to himself, focusing on his makeup work that had piled on and left him a year behind from the rest of his classmates. He enjoyed school. He did alright and upon transferring back to Rosewood his freshmen year, he was told that his standardized test scores were ‘intimidating.’ With his delinquent title behind him, he focused on his routine. School, Therapy, Homework. School, Therapy, Homework. It became easy for him, the balance of his unbalanced emotions. Different pills came with different side effects. Different side effects came with the uneasy looks of his classmates but up until his sophomore year, everything seemed manageable. Still undiagnosed but manageable. Although he possessed an aggression that matched many boys his own age, he was armed with a quick wit, an inquisitive mind, and a sensitivity towards others that usually doesn’t come without an understanding of hardship. He became the talk of the teachers lounge, teachers fresh out of grad school would shake their heads, wide eyed over the things he would say in class. He was polarizing, talking back to teachers that most students feared or loathed. This attitude earned him an expulsion from Rosewood when at an assembly, Declan called Ms. Trunchbull “The Fucking Antichrist” in front of the entire student body.
He started his second semester of his junior year at St. Agnes after another switch in his medications. A new kind antipsychotic was entered into the mix in the form of Gina Ross, who chose the seat next to him in their shared English class. She made Declan more anxious than anything he had been exposed to but he didn’t want to numb that symptom. He delighted in the way the new girl shyly smiled at him and the way she could make him feel like his ticks were just quirks. Something that made him special and not “special.” She understood and was patient with him. She listened to him talk about Grandma Death’s threadbare book he had been reading cover to cover ever since the fire and he listen to her, maybe not understanding everything that she said but lending a non judgemental ear all the same. It scared him, knowing that he would never be normal for her. Knowing that imaginary friends like Frank, the six foot tall bunny rabbit that had been telling him to do things in his dreams wasn’t the only friend he had made that year. He had something to lose now. But Declan would do his best to hold on tight to reality.
DURING THE HEATHERS’ PARTY;
The entire week, Declan had been hearing about the Heathers party. Giggling girls in his Physics class had been passing notes about it while he attempted to copy the diagrams written on the chalkboard. Senior guys high-fived over his head while he was at his locker, ease dropping on their conversation about getting some “Rosewood ass.” The dark haired boy mulled over the possible black eye he would receive when telling them that the ass they were planning on ripping apart that night was just as uninteresting as all their last conquests but had decided against it. Everyone in the tri-county area was apparently invited but he never really paid attention to the open invitation until Gina Ross mentioned it in passing on their way out of English class. The amount of parties he had gone to since he had hit puberty, all before being birthday parties with Star Wars and Power Ranger themes, he could count on one hand. He couldn’t really drink with new medications he had been prescribed. What was the point?
He had found himself agreeing to meet Gina at the party. If she wanted to go, he’d keep her company and make sure she got home safe. He had decided to walk, knowing his newest medication was messing with his eyesight, and he started off toward the party. Things had been looking up for him lately. His grades were doing okay, he hadn’t gotten a detention in weeks, and he hadn’t gotten in any fights since school began. He was meeting a girl at a party, even if it was just his english partner, she was pretty and she knew his name.
He wasn’t sure when he had lost track of time but it was suddenly dark. His vision blurred as the woods thinned and the sound of the Rosewood party filled his ears. He swallowed hard as he heard the distinct sound of Franks voice in the back of his head. Burn it to the ground. He blinked back tears he was unaware of until then and his vision cleared. A car on the edge of the tree line, two girls from his school were struggling with the resident politics teacher. He stood frozen, watching the scene unfold until it was just him and Mr. Novack’s car. Burn it to the ground. The cigarette in his hand found its way through the passenger side window and he watched the smoke start to cloud the interior. The smell of burning leather seats was the last thing he remembered before Gina’s soft hand pulled him away from the inferno and back to reality. She walked back to campus with him in silence, a worried look on her face before kissing his cheek and leaving him on the steps of his dorm. Frank was quiet after that.
alternate faceclaims and prompts.
0 notes
Photo
DECLAN DARKO.
college freshmen; nineteen.
charlie heaton.
OPEN.
and, as donnie darko once said:
“I hope that when the world comes to an end, I can breathe a sigh of relief, because there will be so much to look forward to.”
BEFORE THE HEATHERS’ PARTY;
From the outside looking in, it always seemed that Declan Darko had been dodging bullets his entire life. His fractured family consisted of his little sister and his father. It had been just them ever since his mother died in a plane crash when he was in the fourth grade. His father did his best to keep the family contained, he hid his grief well and shouldered both his and his late wife’s roles as parents. It was never smooth sailing for the Darko’s but they were able to keep under the Rosewood rumor mill.
The sleepwalking had started in 8th grade. At first it had been harmless. He would find himself in the bath tub, clutching a bar of soup, or in the middle of the kitchen floor, in the middle of constructing a ham sandwich. It was blamed on hormones. Nothing wrong with Declan. Nothing at all. But then he found himself further and further from his bed. Further and further from his house. Waking up in the Rosewood Shopping Complex parking lot in his pajamas or drooling on the well trimmed grass at the 9th hole at the Rosewood Country Club. He never remembered how he got there.
The embarrassing problem had been ignored, although the locks on the front door had been enforced multiple times, until Donnie woke up from his dream to sirens and smoke. The house had been abandoned for years, an old decrepit shack on the edge of his neighborhood. An old woman, Grandma Death, used to live there. Declan had been found by one of his neighbors in front of the burning house clutching a book in his hand, The Philosophy of Time Travel by Roberta Sparrow.
It took no time at all for the news to spread of Declan’s brush with pyromania and even less time for his father to pull him from school. He was forced to a year at juvenile detention and court mandated therapy as well as revoked driving privileges until he was 21. After that his year passed, Declan kept to himself. While his little sister flourished in dance classes, Declan begrudgingly talked over how he was feeling and what he ate that day to his therapist. His father tried to be supportive, telling him he was far from crazy. But his father had enough on his mind, assimilating his new step-daughter, Dakota Bowie, and her mother into their fucked up family. He did his best to stay out of the way, especially after his dreams had gotten much more intense on his new medications.
He knew enough to keep his dreams to himself, focusing on his makeup work that had piled on and left him a year behind from the rest of his classmates. He enjoyed school. He did alright and upon transferring back to Rosewood his freshmen year, he was told that his standardized test scores were ‘intimidating.’ With his delinquent title behind him, he focused on his routine. School, Therapy, Homework. School, Therapy, Homework. It became easy for him, the balance of his unbalanced emotions. Different pills came with different side effects. Different side effects came with the uneasy looks of his classmates but up until his sophomore year, everything seemed manageable. Still undiagnosed but manageable. Although he possessed an aggression that matched many boys his own age, he was armed with a quick wit, an inquisitive mind, and a sensitivity towards others that usually doesn’t come without an understanding of hardship. He became the talk of the teachers lounge, teachers fresh out of grad school would shake their heads, wide eyed over the things he would say in class. He was polarizing, talking back to teachers that most students feared or loathed. This attitude earned him an expulsion from Rosewood when at an assembly, Declan called Ms. Trunchbull “The Fucking Antichrist” in front of the entire student body.
He started his second semester of his junior year at St. Agnes after another switch in his medications. A new kind antipsychotic was entered into the mix in the form of Gina Ross, who chose the seat next to him in their shared English class. She made Declan more anxious than anything he had been exposed to but he didn’t want to numb that symptom. He delighted in the way the new girl shyly smiled at him and the way she could make him feel like his ticks were just quirks. Something that made him special and not “special.” She understood and was patient with him. She listened to him talk about Grandma Death’s threadbare book he had been reading cover to cover ever since the fire and he listen to her, maybe not understanding everything that she said but lending a non judgemental ear all the same. It scared him, knowing that he would never be normal for her. Knowing that imaginary friends like Frank, the six foot tall bunny rabbit that had been telling him to do things in his dreams wasn’t the only friend he had made that year. He had something to lose now. But Declan would do his best to hold on tight to reality.
DURING THE HEATHERS’ PARTY;
The entire week, Declan had been hearing about the Heathers party. Giggling girls in his Physics class had been passing notes about it while he attempted to copy the diagrams written on the chalkboard. Senior guys high-fived over his head while he was at his locker, ease dropping on their conversation about getting some “Rosewood ass.” The dark haired boy mulled over the possible black eye he would receive when telling them that the ass they were planning on ripping apart that night was just as uninteresting as all their last conquests but had decided against it. Everyone in the tri-county area was apparently invited but he never really paid attention to the open invitation until Gina Ross mentioned it in passing on their way out of English class. The amount of parties he had gone to since he had hit puberty, all before being birthday parties with Star Wars and Power Ranger themes, he could count on one hand. He couldn’t really drink with new medications he had been prescribed. What was the point?
He had found himself agreeing to meet Gina at the party. If she wanted to go, he’d keep her company and make sure she got home safe. He had decided to walk, knowing his newest medication was messing with his eyesight, and he started off toward the party. Things had been looking up for him lately. His grades were doing okay, he hadn’t gotten a detention in weeks, and he hadn’t gotten in any fights since school began. He was meeting a girl at a party, even if it was just his english partner, she was pretty and she knew his name.
He wasn’t sure when he had lost track of time but it was suddenly dark. His vision blurred as the woods thinned and the sound of the Rosewood party filled his ears. He swallowed hard as he heard the distinct sound of Franks voice in the back of his head. Burn it to the ground. He blinked back tears he was unaware of until then and his vision cleared. A car on the edge of the tree line, two girls from his school were struggling with the resident politics teacher. He stood frozen, watching the scene unfold until it was just him and Mr. Novack’s car. Burn it to the ground. The cigarette in his hand found its way through the passenger side window and he watched the smoke start to cloud the interior. The smell of burning leather seats was the last thing he remembered before Gina’s soft hand pulled him away from the inferno and back to reality. She walked back to campus with him in silence, a worried look on her face before kissing his cheek and leaving him on the steps of his dorm. Frank was quiet after that.
alternate faceclaims and prompts.
0 notes
Photo
DECLAN DARKO.
college freshmen; nineteen.
charlie heaton.
OPEN.
and, as donnie darko once said:
“I hope that when the world comes to an end, I can breathe a sigh of relief, because there will be so much to look forward to.”
BEFORE THE HEATHERS’ PARTY;
From the outside looking in, it always seemed that Declan Darko had been dodging bullets his entire life. His fractured family consisted of his little sister and his father. It had been just them ever since his mother died in a plane crash when he was in the fourth grade. His father did his best to keep the family contained, he hid his grief well and shouldered both his and his late wife’s roles as parents. It was never smooth sailing for the Darko’s but they were able to keep under the Rosewood rumor mill.
The sleepwalking had started in 8th grade. At first it had been harmless. He would find himself in the bath tub, clutching a bar of soup, or in the middle of the kitchen floor, in the middle of constructing a ham sandwich. It was blamed on hormones. Nothing wrong with Declan. Nothing at all. But then he found himself further and further from his bed. Further and further from his house. Waking up in the Rosewood Shopping Complex parking lot in his pajamas or drooling on the well trimmed grass at the 9th hole at the Rosewood Country Club. He never remembered how he got there.
The embarrassing problem had been ignored, although the locks on the front door had been enforced multiple times, until Donnie woke up from his dream to sirens and smoke. The house had been abandoned for years, an old decrepit shack on the edge of his neighborhood. An old woman, Grandma Death, used to live there. Declan had been found by one of his neighbors in front of the burning house clutching a book in his hand, The Philosophy of Time Travel by Roberta Sparrow.
It took no time at all for the news to spread of Declan’s brush with pyromania and even less time for his father to pull him from school. He was forced to a year at juvenile detention and court mandated therapy as well as revoked driving privileges until he was 21. After that his year passed, Declan kept to himself. While his little sister flourished in dance classes, Declan begrudgingly talked over how he was feeling and what he ate that day to his therapist. His father tried to be supportive, telling him he was far from crazy. But his father had enough on his mind, assimilating his new step-daughter, Dakota Bowie, and her mother into their fucked up family. He did his best to stay out of the way, especially after his dreams had gotten much more intense on his new medications.
He knew enough to keep his dreams to himself, focusing on his makeup work that had piled on and left him a year behind from the rest of his classmates. He enjoyed school. He did alright and upon transferring back to Rosewood his freshmen year, he was told that his standardized test scores were ‘intimidating.’ With his delinquent title behind him, he focused on his routine. School, Therapy, Homework. School, Therapy, Homework. It became easy for him, the balance of his unbalanced emotions. Different pills came with different side effects. Different side effects came with the uneasy looks of his classmates but up until his sophomore year, everything seemed manageable. Still undiagnosed but manageable. Although he possessed an aggression that matched many boys his own age, he was armed with a quick wit, an inquisitive mind, and a sensitivity towards others that usually doesn’t come without an understanding of hardship. He became the talk of the teachers lounge, teachers fresh out of grad school would shake their heads, wide eyed over the things he would say in class. He was polarizing, talking back to teachers that most students feared or loathed. This attitude earned him an expulsion from Rosewood when at an assembly, Declan called Ms. Trunchbull “The Fucking Antichrist” in front of the entire student body.
He started his second semester of his junior year at St. Agnes after another switch in his medications. A new kind antipsychotic was entered into the mix in the form of Gina Ross, who chose the seat next to him in their shared English class. She made Declan more anxious than anything he had been exposed to but he didn’t want to numb that symptom. He delighted in the way the new girl shyly smiled at him and the way she could make him feel like his ticks were just quirks. Something that made him special and not “special.” She understood and was patient with him. She listened to him talk about Grandma Death’s threadbare book he had been reading cover to cover ever since the fire and he listen to her, maybe not understanding everything that she said but lending a non judgemental ear all the same. It scared him, knowing that he would never be normal for her. Knowing that imaginary friends like Frank, the six foot tall bunny rabbit that had been telling him to do things in his dreams wasn’t the only friend he had made that year. He had something to lose now. But Declan would do his best to hold on tight to reality.
DURING THE HEATHERS’ PARTY;
The entire week, Declan had been hearing about the Heathers party. Giggling girls in his Physics class had been passing notes about it while he attempted to copy the diagrams written on the chalkboard. Senior guys high-fived over his head while he was at his locker, ease dropping on their conversation about getting some “Rosewood ass.” The dark haired boy mulled over the possible black eye he would receive when telling them that the ass they were planning on ripping apart that night was just as uninteresting as all their last conquests but had decided against it. Everyone in the tri-county area was apparently invited but he never really paid attention to the open invitation until Gina Ross mentioned it in passing on their way out of English class. The amount of parties he had gone to since he had hit puberty, all before being birthday parties with Star Wars and Power Ranger themes, he could count on one hand. He couldn’t really drink with new medications he had been prescribed. What was the point?
He had found himself agreeing to meet Gina at the party. If she wanted to go, he’d keep her company and make sure she got home safe. He had decided to walk, knowing his newest medication was messing with his eyesight, and he started off toward the party. Things had been looking up for him lately. His grades were doing okay, he hadn’t gotten a detention in weeks, and he hadn’t gotten in any fights since school began. He was meeting a girl at a party, even if it was just his english partner, she was pretty and she knew his name.
He wasn’t sure when he had lost track of time but it was suddenly dark. His vision blurred as the woods thinned and the sound of the Rosewood party filled his ears. He swallowed hard as he heard the distinct sound of Franks voice in the back of his head. Burn it to the ground. He blinked back tears he was unaware of until then and his vision cleared. A car on the edge of the tree line, two girls from his school were struggling with the resident politics teacher. He stood frozen, watching the scene unfold until it was just him and Mr. Novack’s car. Burn it to the ground. The cigarette in his hand found its way through the passenger side window and he watched the smoke start to cloud the interior. The smell of burning leather seats was the last thing he remembered before Gina’s soft hand pulled him away from the inferno and back to reality. She walked back to campus with him in silence, a worried look on her face before kissing his cheek and leaving him on the steps of his dorm. Frank was quiet after that.
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Photo
DECLAN DARKO.
college freshmen; nineteen.
charlie heaton.
OPEN.
and, as donnie darko once said:
“I hope that when the world comes to an end, I can breathe a sigh of relief, because there will be so much to look forward to.”
BEFORE THE HEATHERS’ PARTY;
From the outside looking in, it always seemed that Declan Darko had been dodging bullets his entire life. His fractured family consisted of his little sister and his father. It had been just them ever since his mother died in a plane crash when he was in the fourth grade. His father did his best to keep the family contained, he hid his grief well and shouldered both his and his late wife’s roles as parents. It was never smooth sailing for the Darko’s but they were able to keep under the Rosewood rumor mill.
The sleepwalking had started in 8th grade. At first it had been harmless. He would find himself in the bath tub, clutching a bar of soup, or in the middle of the kitchen floor, in the middle of constructing a ham sandwich. It was blamed on hormones. Nothing wrong with Declan. Nothing at all. But then he found himself further and further from his bed. Further and further from his house. Waking up in the Rosewood Shopping Complex parking lot in his pajamas or drooling on the well trimmed grass at the 9th hole at the Rosewood Country Club. He never remembered how he got there.
The embarrassing problem had been ignored, although the locks on the front door had been enforced multiple times, until Donnie woke up from his dream to sirens and smoke. The house had been abandoned for years, an old decrepit shack on the edge of his neighborhood. An old woman, Grandma Death, used to live there. Declan had been found by one of his neighbors in front of the burning house clutching a book in his hand, The Philosophy of Time Travel by Roberta Sparrow.
It took no time at all for the news to spread of Declan’s brush with pyromania and even less time for his father to pull him from school. He was forced to a year at juvenile detention and court mandated therapy as well as revoked driving privileges until he was 21. After that his year passed, Declan kept to himself. While his little sister flourished in dance classes, Declan begrudgingly talked over how he was feeling and what he ate that day to his therapist. His father tried to be supportive, telling him he was far from crazy. But his father had enough on his mind, assimilating his new step-daughter, Dakota Bowie, and her mother into their fucked up family. He did his best to stay out of the way, especially after his dreams had gotten much more intense on his new medications.
He knew enough to keep his dreams to himself, focusing on his makeup work that had piled on and left him a year behind from the rest of his classmates. He enjoyed school. He did alright and upon transferring back to Rosewood his freshmen year, he was told that his standardized test scores were ‘intimidating.’ With his delinquent title behind him, he focused on his routine. School, Therapy, Homework. School, Therapy, Homework. It became easy for him, the balance of his unbalanced emotions. Different pills came with different side effects. Different side effects came with the uneasy looks of his classmates but up until his sophomore year, everything seemed manageable. Still undiagnosed but manageable. Although he possessed an aggression that matched many boys his own age, he was armed with a quick wit, an inquisitive mind, and a sensitivity towards others that usually doesn’t come without an understanding of hardship. He became the talk of the teachers lounge, teachers fresh out of grad school would shake their heads, wide eyed over the things he would say in class. He was polarizing, talking back to teachers that most students feared or loathed. This attitude earned him an expulsion from Rosewood when at an assembly, Declan called Ms. Trunchbull “The Fucking Antichrist” in front of the entire student body.
He started his second semester of his junior year at St. Agnes after another switch in his medications. A new kind antipsychotic was entered into the mix in the form of Gina Ross, who chose the seat next to him in their shared English class. She made Declan more anxious than anything he had been exposed to but he didn’t want to numb that symptom. He delighted in the way the new girl shyly smiled at him and the way she could make him feel like his ticks were just quirks. Something that made him special and not “special.” She understood and was patient with him. She listened to him talk about Grandma Death’s threadbare book he had been reading cover to cover ever since the fire and he listen to her, maybe not understanding everything that she said but lending a non judgemental ear all the same. It scared him, knowing that he would never be normal for her. Knowing that imaginary friends like Frank, the six foot tall bunny rabbit that had been telling him to do things in his dreams wasn’t the only friend he had made that year. He had something to lose now. But Declan would do his best to hold on tight to reality.
DURING THE HEATHERS’ PARTY;
The entire week, Declan had been hearing about the Heathers party. Giggling girls in his Physics class had been passing notes about it while he attempted to copy the diagrams written on the chalkboard. Senior guys high-fived over his head while he was at his locker, ease dropping on their conversation about getting some “Rosewood ass.” The dark haired boy mulled over the possible black eye he would receive when telling them that the ass they were planning on ripping apart that night was just as uninteresting as all their last conquests but had decided against it. Everyone in the tri-county area was apparently invited but he never really paid attention to the open invitation until Gina Ross mentioned it in passing on their way out of English class. The amount of parties he had gone to since he had hit puberty, all before being birthday parties with Star Wars and Power Ranger themes, he could count on one hand. He couldn’t really drink with new medications he had been prescribed. What was the point?
He had found himself agreeing to meet Gina at the party. If she wanted to go, he’d keep her company and make sure she got home safe. He had decided to walk, knowing his newest medication was messing with his eyesight, and he started off toward the party. Things had been looking up for him lately. His grades were doing okay, he hadn’t gotten a detention in weeks, and he hadn’t gotten in any fights since school began. He was meeting a girl at a party, even if it was just his english partner, she was pretty and she knew his name.
He wasn’t sure when he had lost track of time but it was suddenly dark. His vision blurred as the woods thinned and the sound of the Rosewood party filled his ears. He swallowed hard as he heard the distinct sound of Franks voice in the back of his head. Burn it to the ground. He blinked back tears he was unaware of until then and his vision cleared. A car on the edge of the tree line, two girls from his school were struggling with the resident politics teacher. He stood frozen, watching the scene unfold until it was just him and Mr. Novack’s car. Burn it to the ground. The cigarette in his hand found its way through the passenger side window and he watched the smoke start to cloud the interior. The smell of burning leather seats was the last thing he remembered before Gina’s soft hand pulled him away from the inferno and back to reality. She walked back to campus with him in silence, a worried look on her face before kissing his cheek and leaving him on the steps of his dorm. Frank was quiet after that.
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