Vicky

[size=1]I correct signs so I can't comment. If I can reach them, that is. But I wouldn't correct someone's blog or personal spelling. It's only things like advertisements and shop signs that deserve to be changed if they're wrong because it makes me feel like I'm in a country of idiots. Also it's fun. I'm going to be a little off-topic but I went through some articles on there and can I ask... why is 'research' and 'study' time being wasted on stuff like, "studies show if you touch it you're more likely to buy it blah blah" and "Kissing eases stress, studies show". O_o. I'm sure there's more important things to study... like... [i]cancer[/i].[/rant][/size]

[size=1]**** YEAH! Actually no, don't change it to that, because I so can't be bothered buying another Union Jack. And I always wanted a chav on a British flag instead =(.[/size]

[size=1]My ex. (No really I only have wires, paperwork, books, hairspray, whiskey for some odd reason, lots of safety pins and computer stuff).[/size]

[size=1]Just a small update to say thanks for the feedback. I haven't had time to write the next chapter but I have the idea all set up... I'm going to aim for Wednesday or Thursday to get this done. Hope you're all still here to read by the time I'm done lol =p.[/size]

[quote name='chibi-master']I don't need an excuse to dislike boys (Let me guess, you're a boy?). Plus, not liking them means I won't be screwing around and getting pregnant with one.[/QUOTE] [size=1]I used to say that too. I went out with a few boys then turned to the light. Never slept with a boy even though I went out with a good few, and you know, it was still quite fun. I wouldn't knock it and believe me, you won't have the same opinion in a few years, haha. You don't have to avoid boys because you don't want to get pregnant. There's a lot of middle aged women out there without children who've probably been there and done that.[/size]

[quote name='chibi-master'] You know, I'm sort of curious as to where the names of some of these drinks derive from...:animedepr (ex. "buttery nipple" WTF?!)[/QUOTE] [size=1]A buttery nipple is not nearly as cool as a screaming multiple orgasm.[/size]

[quote name='Sangome'][SIZE="1"] But yeah. It's a sick, sick story...but to be completely honest, I'm not surprised in the slightest. It's just the decay of our society. [Or theirs. Either or.] [/SIZE][/QUOTE] [size=1]It's a bit too harsh to call it's sick. It's a sad story but no one knows how this is going to turn out. They could be good parents, they might not be. You have to remember all this information is from a [i]newspaper[/i] - I've read stories that glorify the boy and stories that make him out to be a monster. Truth is, none of us know him, or his girlfriend, or probably even the truth - they've got support, benefits and at least they didn't get an abortion, so it's not [i]really[/i] that sick since it's not even played out yet.[/size]

[quote name='Rachmaninoff'] And to semi be on topic, now that I don't follow any religion, my biggest turn off to booze is the smell and expense. It may look like people are having fun getting tipsy, but all I can think is... I don't want to spend my money on it. lol[/QUOTE] [size=1]WKD! It tastes like slush puppy, it's cheap and it's not strong enough to get you falling on your backside.[/size]

[size=1]I've been keeping up with this story. Mostly because it's all over the newspapers around here (and I only read newspapers for the comics or humourous singles pages). There's complaints about the level of sex education but I don't think it's that at all. There's no morals around anymore, pretty much, so you get groups of people (parents and kids) running around sharing that with everyone else. Eventually the influence spreads to the nice people and nice kids - you know, it's like hearing about sex from the bad boy next door and thinking it's all right. I don't know. I know exactly what I mean, I just can't explain it properly. Though I don't think the kid's mother is nice... But I'm pretty damn certain it's not sex education. It also makes me [i]so[/i] proud to be British.[/size]

[size=1]I have new hair! But not a very good picture of it, except the one with a blackhole eye >_< [img]http://img156.imageshack.us/img156/4954/newhairvk0.png[/img] [img]http://photos-b.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v2170/154/44/687095654/n687095654_5907209_7094.jpg[/img] That's a slightly better picture although I'm out of it. For anyone who actually cares, my girlfriend is [i]not[/i] the one sat on me; she's the one in the white sat on someone else >_

[size=1][B]Anarchy in the UK[/B]! What did you expect? I also have [b]Blitzkrieg Bop[/b] as a 'tone for my text messages. My friend also has hold of a 'punk/rock' version of Beethoven's 9th O_o... which I want... Past ringtones: Ka-Boom Ka-Boom by Marilyn Manson Viva la Revolution by the Adicts F--- Emo by Cheap Sex I Kissed a Girl by Katy Perry So What by Pink. Quite a funny mix there really...[/size]

[size=1][b]"27 people died from taking ecstasy this year. 50 people died from swallowing a bee. [i]72[/i] people died from trying to perform DIY in their own home. So why don't we have campaigns like 'BEES: Don't swallow them!' and 'Shelves... just say no'?"[/B] - Andy Parsons. It's so true and I just heard it and laughed to death.[/size]

[size=1]I'm an inspiration! To a [i]drinking[/i] thread! Only I could be proud of that. Errm favourite drinks? Jack Daniels and coke (or just JD straight), Southern Comfort and lemonade (or just straight) and, when drinking pints, Fosters. Oooh yeah. I also like Sambuca and Tequila Sunrise... I could come up with a list of silly things I've done when drunk: [LIST] [*]Pole dancing on the Beacon of Hope (HIV awareness statue lol) [*]My friend bumping down the stairs on her arse because she was in a cast and me joining in so she didn't 'look silly' [*]PJ Party >_

[size=1]Dunno about you lot but mine was pretty good. We had a meal (different place because the goons at the other restaurant didn't put her name down) and then went for a few drinks... ...I say a few but we were all out until about four in the morning haha. The girlfriend liked the lighter and I got a silver necklace =3. And a rose but a petal fell off and Kate (being drunk) decided to throw it halfway across the dance floor because it was 'ruined'. Unfortunately there was a bit of drama but that's only because my girlfriend was drunk. She took it upon herself to have a go at me for every little thing I did (one of them was 'talking to that Welsh bird')... then when we got home she straddled my friend and plucked her eyebrows to nearly non-existence... got really hyper and wouldn't stop laughing at the most [i]inappropriate[/i] times and also tore my shirt open because the buttons were annoying or something O_o. Haha she's so hungover right now so it's good karma, I say. What a great little day it was =D.[/size]

[size=1]I did some thinking about the Catcher, actually, and realised I wasn't too keen on the emotionless characters (it was kind of boring). I wanted to make him very interesting and real. My excuse is that the actual story is set either a few years after or before the introduction so something could have happened to make him change - I'm thinking because I've made him so jitterish that the introduction occurs some time in the future to where the story is set, but it should all come together sooner or later (I can also revisit the Catcher we saw in the intro with a sort of... errm... what is it called? That thing that's the end part of a book, anyway *shrugs*). Thank you again for the reviews and shizznizz. I should have something to add to this by Monday or Tuesday... have a busy weekend, do I ;).[/size]

[quote name='Citric']Seeing as I was born on Friday the 13th, I have no reason to be afraid of it... [/QUOTE] [SIZE=1]Devil Child! Is your first name Jason? Haha, no, I'm kidding. I'm not afraid of Friday the 13th but I'm a natural paranoid mess, so there's always that thing in the back of my head that tells me to stay inside and not talk to anyone so I can't possibly do anything unlucky. My friend is obsessed with Friday the 13th (he's one of those horror-goth-punk things who loves Wednesday 13 far too much and has the biggest collection of B Movies and KFC boxes in his room) so it should be a laugh when he phones me up during the night to tell me one of his legendary stories. Or maybe not this year, since he'll be going to see the movie, most likely. I remember one time in school I shouted "Oh my God! It's Friday the 14th!".[/size]

[size=1]Oh, no, it's still pretty true. I'm [i]dying[/i] to see Allamorph crack and flip out one day. There'll be letters and fullstops everywhere. ...Yeah I'm leaving now. Bed time.[/size]

[size=1]Don't worry about Allamorph. He's about as dangerous as Ned Flanders.[/size]

[size=1][B]Joe:[/B] You know the guy at the bottom of the TV screen who does sign language for deaf people? [B]Me:[/B] Yeaah... [B]Joe:[/B] And you know like he does music videos too? [B]Me:[/B] Yeeeeeees... [B]Joe:[/B] Do you think he can do Dragonforce? Imagine it. Then laugh. Then today/yesterday/some other day: [B]Me:[/B] Sam what would you do if you woke up in a coma? [B]Sam:[/B] Not much... [B]James (overhearing):[/B] Whaat? [B]Vonn (reading out a phone number):[/B] 079123... [B]Me:[/B] *bursts out laughing* [B]Everyone:[/B] What is it? [B]Me:[/b] Haha that's well cool. 123... [B]Joe:[/B] So what would you do Goat if you saw a man bleeding in front of you crying for help?! [B]Me:[/B] Stop laughing and reload? [b]"It's alright Goat you're not going to catch anything off Kate, she's already been checked out... at the dog kennels..."[/B] - My friend Sarah (yes I got violent after this) Like I say. They're 'had to be there' moments. The '123' one I think someone caught on camera because someone from that group always has a camera out. I got some horribly degrading comments about my intelligence...[/size]

[size=1]Thank you again for the interest =). Unfortunately, no matter how many times I read things over I always miss out the mistakes, but hopefully there are none in this chapter. I rather like this one and yes, I [i]had[/i] to put a punk in there =p. Also, a tip for my writing style: when a character appears and their name is mentioned then it becomes very likely they'll be important later on (whether it be appearing again or just by reputation). I do sometimes revisit unnamed characters but they're more like... soundtracks... ...I think you'll see what I mean in a few chapters or somet'. Enjoy! [B]EDIT: Also, is everyone alright with the formatting here? Like the size and font? It's difficult for me to read because it's so big but I understand most people don't like reading small, heh. If anyone finds it uncomfortable I could mess around with the font/size, or even upload the original document in an attachment as well, which I fine quite easy to read (also you can screw around with the sizes and fonts after that if in the word document).[/b][/size] [align=justify][center][b]Chapter I Bigger City[/center][/b] [font=lucida sans]The speakers played some kind of acoustic alternative through the café and the people looked quite relaxed in themselves either in a conversation with their friends, reading the newspaper or gazing out of the window at the busy street just outside Camden Lock. The shop was buzzing but still remained quite enough for his liking, full of steam and coffee smells, something he would have avoided a few weeks ago. It was scarier in the city, full of people and strange sounds, but the Catcher was no new blood to it. The city wasn’t normally his district at all so he didn’t visit a lot and for good reason, too. He was wearing a long and thick coat and a scarf around his neck, not because he was cold, simply because he wanted people to [I]think[/I] he was cold; that was normal, wasn’t it? The idea was to never draw attention to yourself. Always slink in, do you work, and slink out without another word or a footprint left behind. You had to keep it small, even though you were – “Can I sit here?” The Catcher jumped out of his train of thought and banged his knee on the underside of the table. He blinked and cleared his throat with a nod, not making eye contact. “Sorry, there just wasn’t anywhere else to sit.” The lady, he assumed, said. He heard her unfold a newspaper and that was it; no conversation, no lame attempt to grab his attention and no annoyance. The Catcher looked up at her, smiling gratefully. She was quite professional from the Catcher’s point of view. Her hair was black and pulled back into a ponytail and her skin was quite pale with a little make-up added here and there, especially that noticeable red lipstick painted finely on her lips. Her eyes stood out from mascara, a shade of brown that almost looked black like her pinstripe suit and manicured hands that held onto the newspaper firmly. The Catcher was smiling until she caught him looking. He jumped again and banged his other knee, uttering a small ouch. The lady chuckled and placed her newspaper down beside her coffee. “You seem rather interested in me,” she started in such a well-spoken manner, “I’m Katherine.” She smiled at him and the Catcher smiled back a little. He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced (he had never actually liked the taste until one man managed to get him addicted). He didn’t know where to put his eyes so he glanced around for awhile until he noticed, awkwardly, the lady was staring at him. He swallowed nervously. “So you don’t have a name? Am I meant to refer to you as ‘guy’?” He was half tempted to say ‘Catcher would be fine’ until he remembered that keeping a low profile was essential. “Sorry. My head is everywhere. John.” He bowed slightly. “John Smith? John Doe? Plain old John? Come on. You can’t tell me that someone with such a hard to place accent and such angelic features is simply a [I]John[/I]. My sister’s husband is a [I]John[/I]. The waiter who served me this cappuccino is probably a [I]John[/I]. The homeless man down the street is more likely to be a [I]John[/I] than you.” “Well,” the Catcher pursed his lips, “I can be whatever you want me to be.” “Oh you can, can you?” Katherine covered her mouth to contain a wide smile. “You’re charming. Slightly jitterish, but charming.” She glanced down at his hands that were wrapped in bands of leather. “So I take it you do some kind of heavy lifting? Something that requires [I]brilliant[/I] hands?” The Catcher looked down at his hands and only managed to muster a tiny little laugh. He shrugged his shoulders at her. “I don’t do much, really. I’m a…” he thought fast and glanced to the high-street – ‘SHOE REPAIR: Ask this man for details!’ on a large sign held by a peculiar young man – and grinned back at Katherine, “I’m a shoemaker.” She laughed and didn’t hide it this time. “Are you from Camelot?” He frowned. “No?” “Shoemaker? I didn’t even know they existed anymore. I always thought… in fact I [I]know[/I] they build factories over in less economically developed countries in order to make more profit and more shoes.” She raised her eyebrow at him and challenged him to counter it. The Catcher cleared is throat. “Well really I just sort of repair shoes…” “Good. That’s more believable; you’re getting better at lying.” The Catcher nodded. “Thank you… I think…” he glanced to her newspaper. “A little boy’s gone missing,” Katherine elaborated on the paper. “Hm? Oh, yes, front page news. I know. Can I borrow this?” “Sure.” She handed him the newspaper and the Catcher flicked through to the ‘deaths today’ pages. He had only been in London for a few days but he was hoping to see that a few of them had kept their promise to him. As time went by saving people became harder to harder; in the old days, with the others around as well, it was relatively easy to catch people even when you were a million miles away. Now the Catcher had to keep moving from city to city feeling sorry for anyone who off’d themselves while he was away. He didn’t have time to remember the names right then and be upset if it was anyone he knew. Without asking he tore the page out and folded it into his top pocket. “Excuse me? Did you [I]pay[/I] for that?” The Catcher looked up at Katherine and blinked. “Oh! Sorry… here…” he reached into his pocket but found only notes, “…I… I don’t have change. I could buy you a coffee if you want?” She placed one hand under her chin and the other tapping the desk with those long slim nails. Her lips tugged into a smile and the Catcher only looked at her with a nervous disposition; she was tearing him a part with guilt and with that black stare. “You haven’t been in the city that long, have you?” The Catcher shook his head. “No. I normally keep to the countryside, the cliffs and mountains, or small villages at best.” “Why?” “I need to keep a low profile.” She had taken an interest now. “Oh? Really? How [I]interesting[/I]. So what do you really do?” The Catcher grinned his glamorous grin and ran his finger over his coffee cup. He liked this woman - sort of - because she was very solid and very real. She was on her feet and didn’t need his help and probably never would… which was a change, he supposed. He breathed in and prepared himself to make another comment until his body shivered automatically. He stopped. “What’s wrong with you?” The Catcher didn’t know that he was staring very wide eyed into space with his jaw tightly clenched. His expression wasn’t as kind anymore and his hands were holding the coffee mug far too hard. When he snapped himself out of it he leapt up so fast that he knocked the table hard with his lean and massive figure, sending coffee all over Katherine’s pinstripe suit. “What the – hey! Hey come back here!” She jumped up after him. The Catcher was normally so fast that he could have been gone in seconds but in a city, and especially in a coffee place where everyone was suddenly looking at you, he had to tame it a little. He managed to get himself out of the door but a hand gripped onto his shoulder and whirled him violently around to face the angry and wet face of the lady he had just met. “You jerk! This suit cost me a fortune! Look at this! [I]Look[/I]!” The Catcher tried to shrug her off him but she persisted in keeping him stood still. “You better have a good reason for this, buddy!” “Please! I have to go!” He was talking through gritted teeth now and trying desperately to pull himself away from her but she dug her nails in. People had stopped to shoot the dirtiest looks at the Catcher (now who could [I]imagine[/I] that it was the woman who was in the wrong?) and he himself became all too aware of it. He had to move now before it was too late. “I’ll pay for it! I promise! Just let me go!” “Oh no you don’t! What are you, a con artist? Did you swipe my card from my handbag before you ran? Or are you [I]planning[/I] too?” The Catcher had the most bewildered look on his face for a second at the paranoia of this crazy woman. He shook it off quickly when the shiver came down his spine again and twisted around in his jacket; in one quick movement he removed himself from it and darted away from her before she could even yell ‘hey!’, leaving her stood there with his massive coat in her talons. “…bugger.” She swore and clicked her tongue down at the mess on her but went back inside. The people moved on; the Catcher sped away. As soon as he found himself cutting down an alleyway through the buildings he kicked himself into high speed. Straight away he was at the other end of the passage with barely a second between; he kicked up dirt onto his boots and ended up in one spot then the next without a flash, or a sound, or even a glance from anyone else. He looked around and let his senses take over, something that was so deeply tuned into him and so infinitely complicated that there could never be enough pages in the world to describe the feeling. He closed his eyes and breathed in until everything slowed down. He moved so fast through a small crowd of people around an office building staring up into the sky. He rushed past a business man and ruffled his coat with the wind and dived where his senses told him to move. So slow. So slow to the Catcher but fast to everyone else. But the Catcher quickly slammed on his brakes and scrapped his boots to a stop as he watched the scrawny office worker move past the point of no return and make contact with the ground. His body displaced the dirt and dust, his shoulder dislocated straight away in a god awful crack and the rest of his bones followed. The people behind had moved themselves slightly and jolted forward – or back – and the Catcher even saw the sound waves and vibrations moving out from beyond the fallen man’s unfortunate ending. The birds moved off (their senses, too, being more defined than a human beings) and heads turned to what had happened. The Catcher, however, turned [I]his[/I] head before the blood came and closed his eyes tightly, seething through his teeth at the sounds he heard. He stayed like that until the world sped back up. “Oh my God! He almost hit you! Are you alright?” “Jesus, you see tha’?” “There’s blood everywhere! Someone call an ambulance!” “Step outta the way! Get away from ‘im!” The Catcher couldn’t look. He breathed in a shaky breath and stared at his hands with specks of blood on them, the hands that were there to protect and give second chances, the hands that were quick enough to save men from cliffs now painted, to a small degree, with dead man’s blood. A dead man that was meant to be [I]alive[/I] when the Catcher was in town. “Sir, you shouldn’t leave until the police arrive. They may have some questions.” A man shouted over as the Catcher moved away. “Sir!” He ignored them. He wiped his hands over the inside black shirt like an obsessive compulsive who had just shook hands with a tramp and tried to calm his breathing. He wasn’t sure whether he was angry or upset and he knew, he [I]knew[/I] he should have kept his vow and stayed out of the way of the busy urban world. He was no superhero, despite the tales people told about him in the country. He was no saint, or angel, despite the look and demeanour. He was just a man who was given a mission and he couldn’t hear everyone, he couldn’t save every single case – but those he [I]did[/I] hear, those his heart [I]did[/I] zone in on… he was meant to save them. He was meant to give the failed some hope, not [I]be[/I] the failure. [I]“Damn,”[/I] he thought, [I]“damn this place to Hell…”[/I] [center]*[/center] London at night was dangerous and marvellous. The Catcher spent the rest of the day wandering around by himself feeling more down than usual until it had finally turned to night time. Camden was quieter now although the locals who seemed to live by the river were still out and the coffee shop had closed. The Catcher’s eyes became heavy even though he didn’t get tired. He wanted to wipe them but he couldn’t because there was still some blood on his hands and he just didn’t want to smell that. He had missed people before, of course, and his reaction was always the same. Failure. Failure. Failure. In fact he had gotten better at dealing with it and that, above all, upset him the most; the value of life was still the same and so the cost of failure must not go down. He came to another quiet high street on his night travel, defended by closed glass buildings and smoothed by the sound of a poor man’s guitar. His voice was deep and sound giving due respect to every single note in his lyrics with precision that a vocal coach could probably never teach nor master. The Catcher pulled a smile over his face and wandered over to the sound. It was a man who was clearly homeless or squatting with fingerless gloves strumming away on a very old acoustic guitar and a leather jacket to keep him warm. The man’s face was full of stubble and tattoo’s on his neck, along with a piercing here and there to keep the scruffy little Mohawk company. The Catcher put his hand in his pocket for money but then realised he had no change so, instead, he took out the five pound note. “Do you mind if I sit with you?” he asked the man. The old man snapped out of his song playing and a grin came over his face when he was handed the five pound note. “Why sure,” he said with a slight American accent, “you look like you’ve had a bad day, buddy. Here, I’ll sing ya a song. Everyone needs someone ta care for ‘em once in awhile, even if it is just a badly written song from a badly penned homeless bloke.” He chuckled. “No, I don’t think you’re badly penned,” the Catcher said, “I think you’re as happy as you can be with nothing.” Another chuckle. “Nothin’? Well, I’ve got it all up ‘ere, see?” he tapped his head. “Now relax and listen ta the music. Let me sing ya a song.” He strummed on his guitar the same chords from a previous song (some removed and some reversed) and added to it his lyrics. The Catcher tried to listen but his mind went adrift and the old man’s little song was just some kind of soundtrack to all the memories and emotions in the Catcher’s skull… though at least, for a moment, it helped him calm down, helped him gather it back up and realise that he would probably have to go through this all over again someday somewhere else at some other time in some other strange, unbelievable scenario. He sighed into his scarf.[/align][/font]

[size=1]I did a lot of toying with the viewpoint... I was going to have some chapters in first person and others in third but then I decided to refrain from doing it in a confusing style and just keep it in third but always keep the story on the Catcher. So in this style I can still tap into his feelings and what he's thinking but no one else. I didn't actually like my introduction too much because, for me at least, it's quite short and I wanted to do a bit more with it but had to keep it short for myself. I definitely intend for the actual story to be a lot better... in fact, I'm going to work on it now =p. Thank you for the comment Drizzt![/size]

[size=1]Okay. So I came up with this idea, right. It's based in the real world with a twist: this character, called the Catcher, goes around all his life catching people who try to commit suicide (the Catcher comes about referring to him catch people from cliffs, but he also does overdoses and hangings). The story follows the Catcher and all the stories he meets from the suicides, some more important and life changing than others. It's basically all about him and I wrote the introduction a few hours ago, so I wondered what everyone thought of it. It's very much a work in progress but I intend for the actual story to be a looooot better. What does everyone think of the idea?[/size] [align=justify][b][center]Introduction.[/b][/center] [font=lucida sans]I’d had it. Everyone gets to that point where they just don’t want to do it anymore… you don’t want to breathe, you don’t want to think and you certainly, [I]certainly[/I] don’t want to feel. Most people go through being depressed and toy with the idea of letting themselves go… though a lot of us just back out. Things improve a little and they think that it honestly can’t be that bad. Well, if only I had that, perhaps a small improvement every so often or someone there to catch me, then I wouldn’t be considering this. In fact I’m not even considering this; I’m doing it. I’m doing it now and I’m not going to look back. I didn’t care who I hurt because they hurt me and loving me deserves some kind of punishment, though I doubted I was ever loved. I wanted to die and I was going to die. We used to travel to Wales, my brother and I, some years ago. I knew this place well because we would have our picnics up here and play these silly little games. The sun was right above my head without a cloud in sight, gloriously blinding, and the ground below me was like a desert because the grass had been worn away by other youngsters like myself all those years ago. The valley lay below so far down that it was almost like looking into mist when you stared, a small river running right down at the bottom and meandering around the scraggy boulders and mounds. I breathed in probably the sweetest tasting air in my life. It lingered in my throat and cleared my head – I could hear the seagulls now, the wind as well, and the calmest breeze on my face. It was beautiful and almost something that could make you want to live… but no, I wasn’t going to be tempted. I wasn’t going to back away. I’m sure I could recall all my life (since it flashed a little in my eyelids anyway) and convince you this was the right choice but, alas, I won’t; I have nothing to prove to you or anyone else. One step forward and my toes hung off the edge now. Of course I felt nervous so don’t even bother to ask me that. My head was racing at a thousand miles an hour and my heart a million; just one more step and that was it. I never believed in a Heaven or a Hell so I was excited, and equally scared, to see what lay beyond this wretched and corrupt sorry excuse for a world. What was it that sat further than our eyes could ever see? I was about to find out. I couldn’t look down but I couldn’t close my eyes so I turned my back. I wasn’t about to walk away, though. I spread my arms out – ready to be crucified – and titled my head back to the sun and the sky. I pushed my heels back and breathed out the last breath of my life… the slowest and shakiest exhalation I’d ever known. And, with my jaw clenched, I stepped back. It was kind of slow at first. Falling, I mean. I was weightless and moving so slow down and down past the cliff face and further into the end. The wind pulled all my hair over my face and almost tore through my shirt – I plummeted, I fell… and I even think I lingered for a second (someone must have wanted me to see the sun for the last time). Then I turned. Gravity pulled me to face my death; my body spun during the fall and everything became fast and confusing. I could no longer keep my eyes open and the seagulls were gone. The wind was howling in my ears and the force and being thrown down so high was almost tearing me a part, twisting and turning me in the air like a rag doll that nature never cared about. Didn’t take long at all. I went limp and I hit something. I expected it to hurt but I thought, at the time, I had just died straight away and not felt any pain. Death was probably the best experience of my life… it felt so warm. It was like being held by these strong arms in a peaceful place with flowing water below, the sweet smell of grass and trees all around, a gentle breeze in your hair. I could never, ever have felt anything like that while I was alive, I figured, and I loved it so much. I loved to die, I guess. I didn’t open my eyes straight away, instead I let the feeling take hold of me for awhile. Yes. This was what I wanted. To be at peace, to be alone, to be secure with myself. Something I could never have in the world. I smiled and I thought, for a moment, that maybe there was a God and this was my Heaven; I opened my eyes to see it. I expected to see clouds or at least some kind of magnificent multi-coloured-spectrum-sky but instead I saw the kindest face looking down on me. His eyes were this arctic blue colour that boarded on white and his hair, too, seemed almost like snow. His face looked so soft and his expression pleasing, wonderful, even though it didn’t smile at me, just frowned and looked worried. I was convinced his was an angel so I reached out and touched his face. It was so soft that I gasped and he, too, gasped slightly and closed his eyes. He released me from his arms gently and I looked at him in awe, noticing that he was a foot taller than me at least. “Are you… an angel?” He looks at his hands, wrapped around in leather for protection, and then looked back up to me. He shook his head. I stepped back to get a full look at him and gasped in awe again; he wore this glamorous yet dignified mixture of black and white clothing (a white jacket over a black t-shirt) and high boots, slightly muddy, adding to his character just that little bit more. He was radiant and I knew, I [I]knew[/I] that somehow, no matter what he said, he was an angel. “So where is this? Heaven?” He smiled with gracious white teeth. “No. Not yet for you.” I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t understand.” He chuckled at me. “Take a look around.” His voice was so calm and sweet that I had no choice but to obey. I took a look around and saw a river meandering around scraggy boulders and mounds; I saw the ground below, like a desert because the grass had been worn away, and mist here and there. I turned to the cliff I had leapt off and saw it still standing there with the same sun blazing above it and the small breeze attacking its keep. “Right, I get it,” I said thinking I had finally gathered all I needed, “so where’s my body? Do I have to, like, do some sort of deed before I can move on? Like some soul searching?” He closed his eyes and sighed. “No, nothing like that,” “Then what? What’s going on? Is this a dream? Am I in a coma? No, I couldn’t be. No one could survive that!” I pointed to the top of the cliff and laughed nervously from my throat. “You’re not dead.” He replied like he had done this a million times before. “Yeah. So, what, you caught me and I’m alive? Yeah, yeah… yeaaah.” My hands ended up on my hips and I was laughing to the ground. “That’s right. You got it quicker than everyone else.” I look up at him wild-eyed. “What?” “I caught you. You’re not dead.” “[I]What[/I]?” “I caught you and you’re not -” “Right! I heard!” I became angry and pointed at him. “Are you screwing with me? Is this a test? No one could survive that. No one could catch me. No one would [I]want[/I] to catch me! This is probably just some kind of mad dream, so get out of my head and let me be alone! I’m done with this world!” He sighed at me heavily like he was tired of this. There was a look in his eyes that told me he felt sorry for me and that he was sad, and tired, even though his face was so damn kind. Folding his arms he had shook his head and stared at me intently as I breathed with clenched fists. “You weren’t happy in this world?” he asked me. “No. Not even for a moment. I can’t even remember this last time I smiled.” “Why not?” I narrowed my eyes at him again. I was afraid to open up but at the same time I was convinced this was a test, so I would have to speak up. Swallowing my pride I spoke: “I dunno. I guess I never had anyone there for me. Not even family… no one there to give me a lift. No one really wanted me… I was always on my own but around people, so I finally wanted to be alone without the stupid noise around me and the stupid people… I guess I just fell into this really big hole and no one wanted to catch me or get me out.” His chest heaved again. “I caught you.” “Yeah, but I’m dead, and this isn’t real. You’re not a real person and no one could ever catch me from that.” “I can.” He paused and shuffled his feet. “You have a second chance. You said you’ve never smiled in this world but you did when I caught you. If you go around looking for change on the floor for the bus ride home you will never find any, just as looking for people to love and catch you is a rather… dare I say… futile mission. They come to you. Or, I think in your case, they were always there and you can’t see it yet. You just like to push them away with your lovely attitude, young man.” I laughed. “I’m not stupid and I know I’m dead. This is a game that my head is probably playing on me and I’m not going to be fooled. I had no friends in this world and no one really ever did like me.” “Well,” he said with another sigh, “I could give you another lecture… instead I’ll say this: shut up and go home. You’re alive so make the most of it. You want love, give someone some love.” His harshness caught me off guard; he was far too angelic to be firm but he did it anyway. It worked, I supposed, because I stopped my ‘no one loves me’ attitude and I listened to him for a moment. He began to walk away and I found myself walking after him. “Wait, wait,” I swallowed my pride again, “if you’re real, then tell me your name… and we can go out for coffee sometime. I mean, I don’t believe for a second you actually saved me – because that’s impossible – but I guess that means I get another shot, doesn’t it? And if you’ll be my friend, maybe I won’t kill myself again.” I grinned at the last part as if I were luring him into a little trap. He turned to me and frowned. “Life, boy,” he began, “is the most precious thing you’ll ever get. You can go ahead and throw yourself off again because I won’t be there to catch you. And, honestly, if you treat your friends like you do me… then no [I]wonder[/I] you have none.” I blinked. “What?” He shrugged. “Nothing. This is your choice now.” It was. I could not and never will believe that this man had really caught me from the cliff and let me live; I could not and never will believe [I]for a second[/I] that someone would actually go around doing that, time after time convincing people life was worth living. And, above all, I couldn’t believe our brief conversation had managed to change my mind… even when years of arguing with myself had not. “Wait…” I whispered, he turned to me, “what’s your name? I mean… I don’t know how to thank you but… I could give it another shot… you know?” Not a smile from him but not a frown. “You should. Thank you, though, for not taking up so much time. Sometimes it takes months to get people back on their feet.” I smiled. “Yeah… so… who are you?” He stopped then and looked down at the ground biting that pale lip of his and thinking almost sternly. He turned to me, inclined his head like a little puppy and grinned for the first and last time I would ever remember. “Well, I’m the Catcher,” he said to me, “and I caught you, so don’t let me down.” I smiled, again, the biggest smile ever. I had never met such a kind person up until today, the day I was meant to die. So I decided to give it another chance… but the Catcher was always on my mind. He seemed like he had started off so kind and caring and it was slowly wearing away. He had turned to me and told me, so uncharacteristically, to shut up. I saw it in his eyes that he was tired. He must have been sick of trying to convince people to live, trying to convince them not to take their life and make the most of it… but why do it? Why not let people go? This Catcher, you see, sounded like the stuff of fairytales. There was something deep and something horrible, I reckoned, that kept him doing this for us, even though he was so tired. I just wondered… who would be there for the Catcher when he fell?[/align][/font]

[size=1]You'll stop spamming... I won't! (also Mock the Week fans: The band was... Shawaddy Waddy!) [B]"I would have loved to have a gay dad. Do you remember at school, there were always kids saying "My dad's bigger than your dad, my dad will batter your dad!" So what? My dad will shag your dad. And your dad will enjoy it!"[/b] - Frankie Boyle [B][[i]If this is the answer, what is the question: Up To 18 Months[/i]] "How long does it take Abu Hamza to tie his shoelace?"[/B] - Hugh Dennis [B]"And if you have an opinion about this news story, why not keep it to yourself?"[/B] - I forget, haha. Ahahaaaa.[/size]

[size=1]Mock the Week, you say?! Well, I can't remember who said this, but: [B][CENTER]THINGS YOU SHOULDN'T SAY WHEN MEETING THE QUEEN[/CENTER] "...So how did you kill Diana?"[/B] I laughed so hard that slapped myself because it's so [i]horribly[/i] wrong. It's one of those 'I couldn't...' but you laugh anyway moments.[/size]

[size=1]Me and my friends keep ours on Facebook, haha. But they're much funnier if you're there. [B]"Cryin' don't make you emo! Bein' emo makes you emo!"[/B] - Me... O_o [B]"I can't pull a door..."[/B] - Again me. [B]"Special delivery for two DICKHEADS."[/B] - My friend when we sent her off for take way by herself and wouldn't open the door, haha. [B]"Oh wow, I didn't realise Valentine's Day is the same date every year!"[/B] - Silly cockney. [B]"Welcome to Glasgow. Please turn your watch back 25 years."[/B] - Frankie Boyle. [b]"The planet is dying. Recycle your paper bags and use them to suffocate your children!"[/B] - Frankie Boyle. I have so many more from my friends and me but my mind is blank at the moment. Most of them, really, are a 'have to be there' moment.[/size]