Victorious won the Kid's Choice Award for Favourite TV Show!
And it was cancelled, like, six months ago.
The final episode aired in America last month, but it was cancelled six months ago.
And it got the Favourite TV Show award.
That, guys, is what I like to call going out with a bang.
So, congrats to them!
In celebration, here is some writing:
“In our world, everyone is holding a secret. Some want to get it out, some want to bury it within themselves, and some just want it to be normal.”
Ashley looked at the message she’d written onto the piece of paper, what must’ve been three months ago, at least. She took it to her desk and pushed the clutter away and grabbed a pencil, so she could add to it.
“In our world, everyone is holding a secret. Some want to get it out, some want to bury it within themselves, and some just want it to be normal. These secrets become people’s vices, and it destroys them from the inside out. Friends don’t notice. Close friends can only watch as the secret holder drowns themself. And a best friend will dive into the water after them and drag them out. Or, at the very least, keep their heads above the water.”
She then spent the next twenty minutes digging through her bedroom in search of her invisible ink pen. When she found it, she took an old maths exam and wrote on the back of it to test if the ink still worked. As soon as she was certain that it did indeed work, she returned the scrap on her desk and wrote something very carefully underneath the message.
“It’s hard enough to live life with one secret. There are days when it feels like your mind is caving in on itself, but you keep going because life is beautiful. Which is why I admire people with two secrets even more. They feel everything everyone else does- only twice as much.”
Ashley took the paper and tacked it to the bottom of the pin board that resided on the wall of her bedroom. She then waltzed across the room and switched the light off. She lit the special flashlight and smiled when the words appeared on the paper. She flicked the light off again and wandered to her window. She leant of her elbows and rested her head in her hands, sighing as she watched the stars.
* * *
Tyler found himself on the roof of a house, in a mildly familiar neighbourhood. ‘I’ve done it again.’ He thought to himself. He stuck his hands into his pockets bitterly and sat down. There was no point in him trying to go anywhere. Luckily it was dark, so no one would be able to see the strange boy on their neighbour’s rooftop. But, for good measure, he pulled his hood over his head and carefully crawled to the side of the roof- the one that wasn’t facing the street. Rather than putting his hands back in his pockets, he rested them on his knees, which were pulled up to his chest. His feet were tapping out a rhythm on the tiles of the house, and his fingers soon joined in with a counter rhythm. He closed his eyes and thought of his bedroom. His room was small, but tidy. An electric drum kit sat in one corner with a guitar next to it. The walls had various concert posters on them, and his desk was scattered with sheet music. He began humming absentmindedly as he thought. The centre of his desk was devoted to his laptop, which had a sticker of a bass clef on it. He stopped tapping and opened his eyes. He took a deep breath and appeared in his bedroom.
* * *
Hunter was texting someone when the idea hit her. She scrambled to her drawing desk and pulled a piece of blank paper out of a draw while grabbing a pencil out of the jar that had made permanent residence on her desk. She started sketching immediately. She was distracted a few seconds later by her phone vibrating, but she merely tossed it onto her bed in response and kept drawing. A while later- she couldn’t be sure how long- she was done and she was faced with a rough drawing of a boy sitting on a rooftop that wasn’t his, in a grey hoodie. He was sitting in the light of the moon, with his knees close to his chest. Hunter didn’t know how she knew that the rooftop wasn’t his, she just knew. Hunter often found herself drawing things without knowing exactly what she was drawing, but always knowing snippets. She never tried to show anyone her drawings. She told herself it was because she didn’t want the attention. She could tell that the boy didn’t know where he was. She could tell the boy was frustrated. She could tell by the way one of his feet was lifted that he was tapping. No one else could do that, had they tried. They wouldn’t understand.
* * *
Marcus entered the park and looked around carefully. He guessed that no one would be there because of the late hour, but there were occasional parties or gang meetings around here. Other times he would find a graffiti artist working away on the skate park, but most of the time, times like these, the park would be empty. Which meant he was free to get his basketball out from where he’d been hiding it since he found the spot, nearly four years ago. He dug it out from under the roots of the tree, and checked around the park again before he started to dribble the ball over to the hoop. He found himself checking around again before he shot the ball, which hit the backboard and went right through the ring. He jogged over and picked it up and looked around one final time, carefully. Once he was done he put the ball down on the centre of the court.. He wandered around the park, looking for a loose brick somewhere- something that wasn’t hard to find at this park. He found a chuck of cement just under a bridge that ran over a small lake. He picked it up with little effort and pulled a chunk off. He dropped the small chunk and took the larger one with him as he walked onto the bridge. He held it behind his head with both hands, then through it into the lake. It landed with a loud splash at the other end of the body of water. He immediately started walking back to the basketball court, and then proceeded to practice.
* * *
Christa went through the routine in her bedroom over and over, in front of the mirror. She scolded herself throughout. She needed to point her toes more, keep her shoulders back more, and keep her arms strong but expressive. She stopped and walked over to her bed which had her water bottle sitting on it. She took a drink from it and felt the drops of sweat roll down the sides of her head. She shuffled into her bathroom and wiped her face with a hand towel and pressed her forehead against the cool glass of her shower, and sighed on contact. She tilted her head back and wiped her hands on the towel. She went back into her room and wandered back to the empty space in front of the mirrors and stood in the starting position of her dance routine. She closed her eyes, thinking that she may be able to do the whole routine without hitting anything if she has her eyes shut. She hoped she knew it well enough for that. So, she took a deep breath and started to dance. At the end of her routine, when she had successfully not hit anything, she opened her eyes so that she could correct her final position. Only, when she looked in the mirror, she didn’t have a reflection.
‘Huh?’ she grunted. She stood straight- she thought she did, at least- and blinked. She moved forward and touched the mirror, and she suddenly faded back into the image. She pulled her arm back and rubbed her eyes.
‘I must be tired. That must be it. It is getting pretty late. Yes, I’m just tired.’ She thought to herself. She moved into her bathroom and wiped her face again, eying herself in the mirror. Christa was just tired. That was all.
* * *
Ethan ignored his mother’s yells and unchained his bike from the tree in front of his house. He rolled it through the gate of the weak, rusted chain-link fence that was supposedly able to keep intruders out of his home, and out onto the sidewalk. He looked around to make sure no cars were coming, swung his leg over the bike and rode out onto the street, and accelerated do. He knew the area like the back of his hand, so he had no fear of getting lost, even though it was getting dark. He pedalled until he literally couldn’t anymore and he veered off the side of the road and jumped off the bike, letting it roll and then fall on it’s side into the field he had been riding past. He watched the bike sitting there and sighed. Escape. Was it so bad that he wanted to escape?
‘Is that- Is there a person there?’ the voice appeared inside his mind, almost to soft to be understood.
‘Bloody hell, that is a person! How’d they get out here?’ the voice appeared again, only slightly louder. Ethan frowned. Who was speaking?
‘He’s got a bike! A bike! I can’t believe it!’ the voice was louder still. Ethan looked around, and spied what looked like the outline of a person in the distance.
‘Is he lookin’ at me? Nah, he couldn’t be. There’s no way he could know I’m here. Which’ll make it all too easy to steal his ride.’ The voice ended its sentence with what could only be described as a menacing chuckle. Ethan stumbled to his bike, righted it and got it to the road in record time. He halted and swung his leg over the bike and looked back.
‘I see you!’ he shouted. The figure froze.
‘That’s not possible!’ the voice appeared again. Ethan pushed off and rode back home again.
* * *
Ashley could hear the sound of someone humming waft gently to her ears. The sound was coming from somewhere above her. She frowned. She wandered around her house, looking for the culprit of the music, but found no one. There was a faint tapping going with it. She shrugged and returned to her bedroom window, where she could hear the music the most clearly. She didn’t really care where it was coming from, so long as no one was in her house. Not to mention that the music was very nice. Calm and comforting. It got slightly softer, so she listened harder and was met with the humming stopping all together, followed by a deep breath and a tiny whoosh sound.
And, to tie everything off with a bow- Here are some gifs of Liz Gillies tripping on nothing.
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