only time will tell

       None of them expected the game to come back, none of them expected to find out that they had not been alone in their dicey history of backstabbing. White slips of paper and dread had became a piece of tarnished history.

                                                              Until today.

Life after David, after being branded a survivor was a life that was catered to Sydney. She was the only one of the four girls and one of the only ones of her peers to ever speak out about the terrible things that had happened and the press couldn’t get enough. She was elevated to new heights, for the rest of her life she was known as the final girl of Harlington and from the bloody mess of murder and pain that she left behind, she was propelled into infamy that overshadowed almost everyone, her tale of brutal survival at the hands of a serial killer. 

They had all played the game.

 Three schools. Three different stories. One thing in common. Dares.

   One innocent game had became a disease that had spread through the middle class and upper class teenagers of London and taken with it a huge part of their childhood. “You all put one dare in and you all take one out,” was the rule that had broken the ice on a deadly game of truth and dare where the truth would remain hidden until the end. The power. The greed. It had destroyed them all in their own special way.

London, England. The streets are busy, the papers are full of scandal and one slip of paper is about to change everything.

London, England. The streets are busy, the papers are full of scandal and one slip of paper is about to change everything.

This is a song about somebody else So don't worry yourself, worry yourself The devil's right there right there in the details And you don't wanna hurt yourself, hurt yourself Looking too closely

You strike me as a woman who has never been satisfied I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. You forget yourself You’re like me. I’m never satisfied

She had given him a hundred chances. Each one was graced with words that stated he needed time and eyes that said everything else. Time had been granted to him and it passed, day by day, week by week, year by year. It came and it went and the measures grew more and more vast and so did the period in which he could fit into a life that would soon outgrow them both. Perhaps to him time was endless and yet he would never find the right amount of it for the task at hand. Maybe he just didn’t want to.