Title: Scissors & Tweed
Short Pitch: Seventeen year old “Tweed” is the ultimate slacker. Summer’s begun and he’s got no plans…but even no plans can go wrong….
Link: Scissors & Tweed
Thread Page #: 2
There’s this girl I’ve never really met that I know everything in the world about. Well, most everything. Not the big stuff, I guess. Like what she prayed about when she would cry at her bedside or whether she really believed those prayers might get answered. And I never knew all of the reasons for the crazy things she did. But hey, who really does? I did know other stuff though. The real freaky-deaky shit. Like how she would crack open her father’s disposable razors with a pair of pliers she kept stashed behind her dresser and go to town on herself. Sometimes I think she left her window blinds open that way just so somebody, anybody, me--a guy she’d never really met--would know. Not that she was some kind of attention whore. Just about everybody is some kind of attention whore. Not Scissors, though. And I could testify in court to that since I’m some kind of authority on the girl.
Yeah, I’m pretty much the only person who even knew for the longest time, so I’m pretty certain it wasn’t for attention. And Scissors wasn’t her real name. I didn’t even know her real name for the longest. That doesn’t matter though. Like somebody once said, what’s in a name? Okay, it was Shakespeare. So we all did tenth grade. Big whoop. But he made a good point that time. I mean, ninety-nine point nine of all the people in the world go by whatever name they were given when they were born. And ninety-nine point nine of them had that name picked out while their mother was still smuggling a watermelon. So how’s that work? What’s the chance that anybody’s given name has any hope of really pegging them? Who they really are. None, I’d say. No, the spot-on names, the best names, the names that get it right and truly say something about a person, those are the names that come to them over time, from experience, for a reason.
So I called her Scissors. I could have gone with Razor I guess, but that didn’t really fit. She was too pretty to be a Razor. Sounded too harsh. And besides, I already knew this dumbass who wanted everybody to call him Razor. Except, he spelled it wrong, with an E. So it was Razer. Told you he was a dumbass.
So I knew this girl. Probably--no, not probably…definitely--better than even her own family. And so what if a lot of it was because I watched her through her window? I’m no perv. At least, no more than the next guy. My name’s Tweed. You’ve seen it around, no doubt.
Posted: 20/08/2011 16:10:04