If someone asked you to help them cheat on a test, would you?
This one is cake.
Depending on my mood, who they are, and their discretion, I’d probably ignore them
What one song best describes you?
How could I possibly know that?
I’d need a sound track
If you were a super hero, who would you be?
There are no famous super heroes that can relate to me
…do my own super heroes count...?
If so, then Malado Man, he is like me but not because blah blah blah
The super hero question really got my noggin joggin. I’m beginning to realize that I’m not as bad a person as I thought, and yet not quite good either. It depends on who you are. If you’re my mom coming home from long days of work to a lazy good for nothing daughter, then I’m pretty much a bad person… or as she bluntly stated in the midst of an argument, an “insolent little child.” … but… if you are a friend on the verge of pointless combustion that can’t be backed by reason… I’m probably the devil in disguise as an angel. I’ll warp my selfishness into something it’s not.
I’m always selfish when it comes to my family, the people who I love the most but for some reason spite on the inside. Generally speaking, I’m not a very good daughter; in fact I’m rather sullen, especially towards my father. In truth I’d rather crawl into bed and nap than go to dinner with him. I know it sounds terrible, but I’m a terrible person, we all are. But we aren’t at the same time; we’re so wholesome we can’t take it.
The human mind is a fickle thing.
If you could choose how you wanted to die, how would it be?
Oh boy, he threw a whammy, the question of questions, the mind-challenger of mind-challengers.
I wouldn’t choose, I’d be cheating myself out of mystery
In truth, that last question was the easiest to answer, because I’ve thought about it a helluva lot more than the other two questions, and I’ve gotten a good idea about my feelings towards it.
It is, as Coach G. said, the ultimate unknown… and I’d think I’d like to keep it that way.
It’s not that Rachel Elaina Lawhorn doesn’t fear death; she just doesn’t daunt on it or wish on ways she’d like to die.
That’s just not how I roll.
“Her wilting heart sank to the bottom of the ocean... the ocean of cold lies that people tell themselves, the ocean of lost causes, of broken and mocked dreams, of shattered chests and gushing hearts, of crying girls and guys who think with their dicks, of solemn victims who got kicked out of their dark corners, of those who live perfect but imperfect lives, of those who have been kidding themselves, of fools who gave their love to demons in disguise, of manifesting hatred that turned to unreciprocated love which dreams by an exploding sunset or mopes during a poignant and emotional twilight; bitter sweet dusk stabbed with mountain peaks and flattered by a collection of sand, where the oceans sorrowful waters dampen the grains. It's really beautiful, if only she could see it from the happy distant safe place. The view is like a painting... but it was too late, her wilting heart sank to the bottom of the ocean."
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