I Look At All the Lonely People - OPEN -

[ashton cole johnson]

All the Lonely People
Where do They All Come From

<sup>Ashton couldn't sleep. He normally didn't sleep much in the first place, he hated it. He didn't like the things he saw when he went to sleep and it didn't help that he had so many room mates. Who knew what he did or said in his sleep. He'd never monitored himself before. Pulling the covers from him, he was dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans. Well for one he definitely wasn't going to wear boxers when there were so many people around him and secondly, he didn't have any pajama pants so jeans was it.

Ashton quietly slid his hand underneath of his mattress. Along the lining there was a slit, and he reached in grabbing his notebook from it. He didn't think anyone knew about the slit, but he wouldn't put it past anyone to check anything. It wasn't as if Ashton had put the slit there, the mattress just got tore at some point he was sure. After pulling it out he looked it over to make sure it hadn't been tampered with. Once he was satisfied he found his shoes pulling them on as well as his cabby hat and then slipped out of the door as quietly as possible.

Growing up, Ashton had needed to sneak out of the house without a sound. As if he was a ghost. He'd gotten pretty good at it. It was strange to think he could be so stealth and quiet at times like that because normally he was one of those kind of awkwardly graceful people. Things that shouldn't be able to work well together that just kind of did. Ashton thought he was far from graceful and anyone that would even think to put that in the same description as him was insane. Then again Ashton usually focused on the fact that he was all sharp angles and to him that just wasn't graceful.

Ashton debated on where to go. It was going on one in the morning and most every place was closed, but he didn't want to go ... some place. He sighed, he needed out. Needed some air. He started walking, he'd figure it out as he walked. Ashton licked his lips, his eyes cast downward. He kept his ears open, watching his peripherals. He was always on guard, who knew what kind of psychotic bastard was waiting in the bushes hoping for some late night worker or partier or something to be heading home to jump them.

Ashton gripped his notebook tighter in his hand. Turning he continued on. Finally when he looked up he found himself near the beach. Well... yeah that sounded pretty damn good. No one was around. It looked like there might have been a hang out earlier, the smell of freshly putout firewood was in the air mixed with the smell of the ocean. Ashton was from Chicago. He was still getting used to the salty air, but it was nice. The air just felt cleaner to him compared to Chicago, something that Ashton was glad about. He tilted his head back to see the sky. The moon was full and high in the sky a little ring around it.

His eyes fell back to the beach, enjoying the way the moonlight lit everything up everything. Things like this... this site. You just couldn't get that anywhere. Maybe coming here wasn't so bad. It was like a fresh start, no one around that he knows. He licked his lips as he found a good spot. The sand had already cooled from the night air. he opened up his notebook. Even with the moonlight he couldn't really read what was in it. It didn't matter though, he never read over what he wrote in there. Well there were maybe two times he read it. The one time he'd read some lyrics, something he didn't remember writing. The second time he thought for sure someone was playing a prank on him. Had stolen his notebook and wrote in it. The only thing was some of it reminded him of his dreams and so instead he just slammed it close and decided not to look at it again.

Ashton usually got into a kind of zone like he wasn't there whenever he wrote in it. He opened up to a blank page, getting comfortable he started to write. IT wasn't long before he went into the zone, unaware of his surroundings as he just started to write, sometimes his pace would quicken, his shoulders hunching a bit more his face drawing together in concentration. Sometimes he would press down so hard it would dent several of the pages. Sometimes his writing looked childish, or hateful or .. really neat in cursive. He never noticed this because he just wrote without actually seeing.

Right now Ashton was writing so hard the tip of his pen was bending, threatening to break. He looked up then, the haze in his honey brow eyes slowly fading and he frowned, dropping the pen to shake his hand out. Fucking... cramp. he muttered using his other hand to rub at his palm and wrist. There was indents on his fingers from the pen. His lips firmed into a thin line and he wiggled his fingers out trying to get them to loosen up. He didn't think he'd been writing all that long, why did it hurt already. He picked up his pen holding it in his hand again, it felt sore.

With a sigh Ashton shook his head and put the pen in the holes of the binding in the notebook, closing the notebook as he did this. He'd take a small brake. His hand was protesting too much and his head was aching. He was sure it was probably from writing in such poor light. That wasn't the case, but he couldn't even think it could be from something other then that, or lack of sleep or, maybe concentrating. He hadn't been concentrating all that much, but you never know.

Ashton set the notebook under his legs and then laid back, arms behind his head. His hands hit the back of his hat making it tip backward and fall to the sand. He grumbled something taking it and moving it to sit beside him before replacing his hands under his head again and closed his eyes, just enjoying the warmth of the night air of California. Really who knew how long he was going to be there, had to enjoy it while he could. He kind of hoped he lived here. Maybe he would... maybe thats something he would just do. Not like he had anything to go back to.</sup>

All the Lonely People
Where do They All Belong

Tagged: OPEN
WORDS: 1146
LYRICS: Eleanore Rigby by The Beatles
Outfit: LINK (none)
Music: No Place Feels Like home by MIDTOWN
NOTES: .. hm... NOPE!
Credit: ME! its not snazzy right now.

[peter bergan walker]

REGRETS ARE WORTHLESS.THE TIME HAS PASSED.
AND NO ONE UNDERSTANDS.AND TO SAY THE LEAST.
the years have been unfair
==================================================

The beach was possibly Peter's favorite place to go. Usually he would take his jack russel terrier, Bogart, down to the beach to get some exercise. This time, though, Peter decided that this would be a trip for him and Eleanor. He found that The beach was one place that he could find that creative flow that he needed so often. Peter didn't waste any time getting ready to go. He slipped on a pair of swimming trunks that were black with a dark red stripe going down the sides. Peter also wore a t-shirt that was the same color as the dark stripe that went down his trunks and a pair of black Vans. Peter jumped on his bed, ruffling Bogart's fur with a smile. Hey, baby boy, I'm gonna take Eleanor down to the beach. I'm gonna bring you back some of that sausage you like, though! Peter placed a kiss on the sleepy dog's head before jumping back up.


Peter turned quickly, gently taking Eleanor by the bridge and headed toward the door. He smiled at a few people as he left the dorm building and headed out into the fresh California air. Seriously, Peter could get used to living in California. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of coming sooner. Peter didn't want to run while he was carrying Eleanor, but he didn't want to go super slow either. He ended up walking at a brisk rate, but not so fast that he would be clumsy and end up dropping Eleanor. That would not be a good thing at all. Peter could only image what it would look like for Eleanor to hit the hard concrete of the side walk that he was walking on. He closed his eyes, slowing down in pace so that he could get the image out of his head. Eleanor was important to him and he didn't need to be thinking of her being hurt.


At least the beach wasn't too far from the dorms. Peter didn't want to have to go far. Peter smiled when he reached the parking lot that was close to the beach. He walked slowly, taking in the appearance of the parking lot and the cars that were in it. As a song writer Peter was unusually perceptive when it came to the environment. The only complex thing to Peter was people. Sometimes he had a hard time with actually reading people the same way he did nature, animals, and colors. It was something Peter felt like he needed to work on. He needed to be able to understand people in order to be able to write about them without sounded stupid or immature about it. He longed to be able to look at someone and just tell by their expression what they were thinking. Most people were not as easy to read as him, though.


Once Peter reached the sand he walked down to a nice spot and sat down. He kicked his shoes off, taking his shirt off as well. Peter was very pale, sporting that Chicago tan... which wasn't much of a tan at all. He had started to get darker though once he started coming out to the beach more often. Still, the paleness of his skin was pretty intense. It was like he was a white glow in the moonlight. Peter held Eleanor in his lap and closed his eyes. He let the slight breeze wash over him as he breathed in the relaxing salt air smell. Finally Peter's fingers began to move. He knew the fret board up and down, left and right, and anyway one could know the fret board. Peter didn't need to look to be able to know what chords he was playing. It was a nice talent, but it was one that he had to work really hard for.


Blackbird by The Beatles had been Peter's song of choice. It was one of his favorite songs to play because it was mainly guitar. Peter picked away until he began to sing along with it. Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly... all your life... As Peter sang he began to hear people walking nearby and that made him nervous. His voice dropped drastically. You were only waiting for this moment to arrive... Peter stopped playing, groaning softly as he placed Eleanor down in front of him. He hadn't finished the song, but it made him so nervous to be watched by a lot of people. Maybe being a famous musician would have to wait... a few twenty years or so...

[ashton cole johnson]

All the Lonely People
Where do They All Come From

<sup>Ashton heard some talking amongst some people at a distance. He started hearing more foot prints. He tensed, but soon they faded. Ashton relaxed a little. Ashton was so relaxed he started to doze. it wasnt until he heard the sound of a guitar playing that his eyes snapped open. When had they come. How did he miss them? Was he sleeping? How long was he like that?

Ashton hated not being alert. He didnt like things getting by him. He couldnt have been out he hadnt been sleeping. Maybe he just zoned so much he didnt hear the footsteps. It was sand, it wasnt easy to hear footprints in the sand. Ashton first felt for his hat, clutching it as he sat up quickly and reached beneath him to make sure his notebook was still there. Okay ... all accounted for.

He turned his head a boy sat not too far from him, up a little bit. The light from the moon accented his whiteness. He glowed. Ashton had a brief thought that he was as pale as a vampire. Maybe he was. It would make sense coming out at this time of night to play.

The song, was nice. The playing good and the voice to match. He tilted his head listening. Ashton was drawn to music even if he tried to deny it. Whoever this was, was good and they liked the beatles. Not to mention good taste in beatles. Most people went for eleanore rigby or hey jude, but he went with Blackbird.

Ashton watched some people pass by probably getting back from a party. The boy seemed to lower his voice and after the next couple of people passed by he stopped. Ashton grabbed his notebook, getting up and making his way over. You know.. you cant expect people not to listen when you're ina public place... no matter what time it is. he commented, his tone dry and monotone. Ashtons voice was a lot deeper then most people would assume. Especially Coming from his skinny frame and cherubic face.

You playin' that cause its what you were taught or because you know a thing or two about the beatles? he asked raising his brow. Ashton brought his knees up, setting the notebook under them and his hat on top of the notebook. He then looped his arms around his knees waiting for his reply. Something about him seemed familiar, though he wasnt sure what. He was sure hed never actually ran into him before, maybe passing in the hall. Maybe.. a classroom. He didnt fully pay attention to the people in his classes, usually having his attention elsewhere.

Ashtons lips thinned and the corners turned down just barely. Maybe if he could see him in the day it would click, but he wasnt sure, he just knew hed never actually met him before but something at the back of his mind kept telling him he knew him from somewhere, maybe.</sup>

All the Lonely People
Where do They All Belong

Tagged: PETER
WORDS: 500
LYRICS: Eleanore Rigby by The Beatles
Outfit: LINK (none)
Music: titanic movie
NOTES: HEY I PMD YOU
Credit: ME! its not snazzy right now.

[peter bergan walker]

REGRETS ARE WORTHLESS.THE TIME HAS PASSED.
AND NO ONE UNDERSTANDS.AND TO SAY THE LEAST.
the years have been unfair
==================================================

Peter didn't expect anyone to approach him. It was nighttime. Most people were aware of the dangers of approaching strangers at night. So Peter was pretty shocked when someone approached him. He kept one hand on Eleanor, fully bent on protecting her. Peter would not let anything happen to his beloved guitar. She was an important part of his life and giving her up was not an option. Eleanor was the one thing Peter would not trust a stranger with. Any day Peter would sit and talk to a strange person with no problem if it were just him and Bogart or just him, but this time Eleanor was involved. Eleanor couldn't exactly defend herself. He looked up as the boy spoke to him. The voice sounded deep and kind of harsh despite how mono-toned it was.

Even though Peter really wanted to reply to the first comment he couldn't. Peter just didn't want to make a big deal about it. He knew that people would hear him when he played in public. That was the reason he was trying. Peter was trying to bust out of his shell of being afraid of people hearing him. He looked down to his Eleanor with a sigh. Most of the time his instincts won over when he tried to play in public. Peter was confident in his playing when he played by himself, but for some reason public settings scared him to death. It just wasn't something that could be helped that much or at least Peter didn't think it could. He was officially convinced that he'd be like that forever and he would never have the chance to be noticed.

The boy continued speaking. He asked a question about whether Peter was taught that or he just knew a thing or two about The Beatles. Peter turned his eyes fully to the boy who sat next to him. "No one taught me how to play so I guess I just know a thing or two... or a lot about The Beatles." Peter answered with a nod. "They're my absolutely my favorite and, well, kind of my inspiration to even pick up a guitar in the first place." Peter had a lot of guitar influences, but The Beatles were the main ones for sure. Now that was something that he didn't mind sharing with a strange guy for sure. Peter could talk about The Beatles and what their music meant to him all night and even the following day probably.

"Eleanor is my guitar's name. She's named after Eleanor Rigby, one of my other favorites by The Beatles." Peter thought for a moment. "But I don't know, I'd have to go with Here Comes the Sun as being my absolute favorite... or maybe While My Guitar Gently Weeps." Peter shook his head with a light laugh. "I don't think George Harrison got enough credit. People act like John and Paul wrote all the songs, but they didn't." Peter could definitely get into talking more about The Beatles. He hoped he wasn't scaring the person off or something though.