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The story is simple.
Depressed boy meets crazy, possibly legally insane, girl at therapy and their whirlwind adventure begins.
Korin and Micha had only one thing in common: they had each discovered the...
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Entertainment:
Make Macaroni picture out of anti-depressants
Change all of Dad's preset stations in his car to polka music
Throw a red sock in with the whites
Find a way to tell Darcy that the mole on her butt looks questionable without her filing charges
The first week of school was interesting to say the least.
Micha didn't return to school, and Dr. Joyce canceled my midweek appointment, so I didn't show up for my Saturday appointment. My floor was covered in the incoherent ramblings that were Micha's backwards and Greek to me sheet music. I had never seen anything like it before, and as hard as I try, I couldn't make heads or tails of it yet. I had only taken seven years of piano lessons and could play rather well, but compared to how Micha played on Monday I was a child playing chopsticks with one hand tied behind their back. Even the most proficient pianist at the Academy couldn't begin to make sense of the sheet music that covered the stage.
Did Micha just randomly scribble out notes and cords? It was a possibility. After she played, she was completely unreachable while stretched out on her stomach writing on everything she should get a hold of. Both of the ink pens that she had holding her hair back had run dry before she finally stopped, seemingly disappointed; her hands, arms, and neck were covered in smudges of ink.
When her pens had run dry she looked up at me and smiled. "Ready to race carriages?" she beamed with a smile and excitement in her eyes.
It was nearly midnight to her surprise and disappointment.
It was getting extremely complicated and fast.
Was Dr. Joyce right? Was being with Micha possibly bad or dangerous for me? Would I be able to handle it emotionally if something went wrong? Hell, could I handle her physically?
That thought caused a smile to tug at my mouth and my cock to twitch slightly, but any attempt at rubbing one out was interrupted by the annoying peppering of something against the window.
"Really?" I groaned, looking at the clock; it was past midnight.
I got up then headed to the window just as another handful of gravel bounced off the glass. I looked down into the darkness and saw a glowing green streak dance across the driveway below.
"What the hell is that?"
There was a flicker of light, a flame in the dark, before the night was illuminated when a string of sparklers flared to life, spelling out 'Viva la Revolution'.
"Micha," I whispered with a smile.
The message burned out as quickly as it flickered to life, rendering the yard black once more.
