Writing on the Wall discussion
First Writing Contest
If you have any questions, please ask!
Yay!!!!! I just don't know what to enter in though
A lot of my writing is either really short or embarrassing
A lot of my writing is either really short or embarrassing
Dominique wrote: "Yay!!!!! I just don't know what to enter in though
A lot of my writing is either really short or embarrassing"
Haha :P lol
I bet it's really good! Just enter in whatever (as u can see, there isn't a whole lot of competition as of yet)
;P
A lot of my writing is either really short or embarrassing"
Haha :P lol
I bet it's really good! Just enter in whatever (as u can see, there isn't a whole lot of competition as of yet)
;P
Mod
I HOPE NIT CUZ ME NEITHER SISTAH
Mod
No, it doesn't :) and believe me i know! Because i've been writing a story since last year and i still haven't finished it!
I KNOW!!!!!! I've been writing all my life and I've finished like 5 and they were long at the time but noemi realize that they were really really short and pathetic
I bet they were good!!!
Anyway, is anyone gonna join the contest?!
Anyway, is anyone gonna join the contest?!
Aw thanks. And yes I'd I find something to enter
But i might join, making it three :)
YAY I WANNA READ SOMETHIN YOU'VE WROTE.
Dominique wrote: "Same soooooooooo many"
Okay, now there's an entire folder filled with my writings :)
Okay, now there's an entire folder filled with my writings :)
I'm going to try >.< Can we write a poem or it has to be a story?
Romi wrote: "I'm going to try >.< Can we write a poem or it has to be a story?"
I say stick with a story, there's another topic for poems
I say stick with a story, there's another topic for poems
Kat wrote: "love to write but what topic"
Freewrite
Freewrite
Mr. Telvic's voice rumbled through the classroom, daring you to try and understand what he was talking about. I was hanging on every word, my mind suspended in air and being prodded by the complex words and beautiful concepts, but others weren't so lucky.
Rachel, for instance, was next to me and cracking jokes the entire time, most of which weren't funny and made no sense at all.
"In this part, Hamlet is speaking in soliloquy, so he's speaking his thoughts aloud, without regard of any other listeners," Mr. Telvic says, speeding through his definition of soliloquy as if it was irrelevant to the story. "Hamlet is really questioning the connotation of life, and why there are so many austerities. He wonders if it is even worth continuing—his life—or not." Mr. Telvic talks with such passion, like he is truly interested in the topic at hand. But i knew he'd been teaching for far too many years to still be interested in a topic he probably had memorized. "So, finally, he comes to a conclusion: that the main reason people stay alive is that they fear death and are uncertain as to what lies ahead." He pauses, for effect no doubt, then continues. "And this is probably my favorite part in the entire story, when he utters these six words. To be, or not to be."
I don't think there's anything quite like listening to a good speech. Nothing that gives you goosebumps like a man talking so passionately about such a deep subject.
Until
"To pee, or not to pee, more like it," Rachel whispered, crossing her legs tightly. "I think i'm gonna wet my pants."
And the magic of Mr. Telvic was gone.
"Rae, i told you to go before class," i muttered, trying not to get caught talking in the middle of class.
"Yeah, but i didn't have to go then," she wined, reminding me of my six-year-old sister.
"So raise your hand and ask to go," i recommended.
"Adira, you don't understand. If i do that, then he'll just say 'class is done in ten minutes, you can wait'," she shot back, lowering her voice to mock Mr. Telvic's.
"Yeah, so wait the ten minutes then." The answer seemed pretty simple and easy to me, but then again, i wasn't the one who had to go. I looked over at Rachel, her entire face was screwed up and i think if she squeezed her legs together any further, they were seriously going to fall off. "Oh, come on, you can hold it," i urged her on. She shook her head, face starting to get red.
Mr. Telvic, oblivious to the bathroom issue going on in the back of the room, wasn't making matters any better.
"To be, or not to be," he recited. "That is the question. To be, or not to be." I think the only thing Rachel was hearing was "to pee, or not to pee". I looked at the clock, seven minutes left, she could hold it.
Mr. Telvic's eyes searched the room, smiling, looking for someone to answer the question that was written clearly on his bearded face. His eyes landed on his culprit.
"Rachel," her eyes widened as he called her name, "what do you think this means?" I turned to look at her, opening my mouth— "with your own words, please, not Ms. Brower's," he scolded. I turned away. Well, i tried to help her.
"I..." Rachel was saying, "I think it means... I guess it could.... Hamlet..." She closed her eyes tightly. I could tell it was taking pure willpower just to not pee right in her chair. "Stupid Hamlet," she muttered. We all laughed. "It means..." She finally bolted up from her seat, hand raised high. "I have to pee!"
Laughter bubbled put of every single person in the classroom, except for Mr. Telvic, as she hobbled as quickly as she could out of the classroom and to the bathroom, legs still clenched together. She struggled with the door, but when she got it open, she was out of the classroom faster than lightning.
My cheeks were starting to hurt from the smile splayed across them. The kid across from my desk was laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. There wasn't a whole lot of laughing in English, so i'm sure they'd be thanking Rachel later. I wondered what the world would be like without her in it. Less enjoyable, that's for sure.
~~~<>~~~<>~~~<>~~~
"So how was your pee?" I asked while grinning and handing Rachel her bag. After she'd fled the room, she must have stayed out in the hallway, too embarrassed to come back, so i decided to be nice and bring her her bag.
"Aw, shut up," she replied, grabbing the bag back and lifting it onto her shoulder. She looked around the hallway as she started to walk.
"Looking for a new lover?" I teased, smiling. I followed her down the hallway, heading towards our lockers—they were right next to each other.
"Actually, yes," she replied as she turned the lock, waiting for the click that signified the opening of her locker.
"What? Who?" I asked, spinning my code in as well. 4-14-24. Yeah, it was pretty easy to remember.
She turned to grin at me, her locker forgotten. There was a girlish smile splayed across her face. "There's a new guy starting tomorrow," she practically squealed.
I rolled my eyes. "Is that all?" I asked, shoving my backpack into my locker and grabbing my drama book and binder. I could swear there was a new guy every week, which was probably far from the truth because this town really wasn't that big, and new people weren't exactly a dime a dozen.
"All?!" She asked incredulously, mocking me. "This one is really cute!"
I smirked. "That's what you always say. You've said it for every boy so far. And only one of them ended up actually being cute! And now he's a total druggie."
"Stop being so picky," she told me, mock glaring and trying to stifle a smile. "He was nice—when he wasn't knee deep in pot. You need to lower your standards or you're going to end up alone! With a bunch of stupid cats!" She walked down the hallway with a smile and a wave, the opposite direction of my next class.
"I'm not alone!" I yelled to her. "I have a boyfriend you know!" She just turned around and stuck her tongue out at me, giving her famous 'you-know-what-I-meant' look.
I laughed as i headed down to the auditorium.
My boyfriend's name was Nate. I started out being his math tutor almost two years ago, but the more time we spent together, the more i wanted to be with him. He made me smile, and he made me feel loved—most of the time that is. Sometimes he would get a little weird and possessive, but i guess that's just puberty for you.
A new guy would be nice, i supposed. Hopefully he'd bring exciting change to Jefton High School, so we could have more comic relief than just Rachel.
I walked into drama, the last class of the day, feeling that something was different. Our usually very exciting, bubbly—and gay—director was now slumped down on the stage with his head in his hands. Everyone else was milling around nervously.
I walked up to a boy named Tom, he was a sophomore that was actually a pretty good actor. "What's going on?" I asked, whispering.
He sighed. "Mr. P was just notified that Jarred's in prison."
"What?!" I practically bellowed. Many pairs of eyes landed on me, but i shrugged them off. I was a senior, and therefore—at this moment—superior.
We were just three weeks away from doing a play, and Jared had been the leads love interest. My love interest, that is. It was actually more of a musical, though there were only two songs, and it was written by Mr. P himself. He'd been so proud when he assigned the rolls to Jared and I.
Ug, how could you fail us, Jared? I asked in my head.
"How?" I asked Tom, wearily.
"Someone notified the police that they'd seen Jared tending to a marijuana garden at the very back of his property. The police went to check it out, and sure enough, there it was. He didn't have a license to grow it either, so he got busted," Tom explained. I was turning to walk up to Mr. P, when Tom spoke again. "And you shoulda seen it, Adira. Boatloads of it. Piles of Marijuana; enough to last you a life time." It was creepy. Tom actually had a... longing look in his eyes.
I turned away again, muttering "Stay clean Tommy, stay clean."
Mr. P—yes, unfortunate name, but it was better than his actual last name—no longer had his heads in his hands, but was now yelling at a bunch of freshman to go and get him a coffee.
"They're students, Sir, not maids," i commented, trying to make a joke. At least he tried to smile. I used my arms to pull myself onto the stage, and i sat next to my favorite teacher. He sighed, shaking his head. His brown ponytail brushed across his back. "What are we gonna do?" I asked.
"I have no idea," he whispered, almost to himself. I stared out into the big room, at the rows and rows of maroon movie-theatre type chairs. It was peaceful here, even with the dilemma we were trying to face.
"Well i'm not going to just sit here," i commented, "no, we're gonna do something about this. If Jared wanted to go ruin his life with his pot business, than he can just go ahead, but we need to debut your amazing play, Mr. P." i looked over at him. He seemed to be staring at nothing particular, lost in a sea of thoughts. I wondered if he'd heard me, but then he looked up and said,
"You know what? You're right."
"I often am, Sir," i murmured. I think he laughed, but it was more of a hysterical, nervous laugh than one you'd make if you were happy.
"We'll just find a replacement," he said. "Someone else can play that part. It'll be easy to find someone." In a town as big as a meatball, i highly doubted it'd be that easy, but i wasn't gonna ruin it for Mr. P.
He stood up, brushing of imaginary dust from his pants, and cleared his throat loudly. "Students!" He yelled, getting the attention of everyone in the room. "I'm sorry for my initial response, i was upset and didn't mean to make the issue seem that big. Yes, it's a setback, but a minor one. We can find another person to play Jared's part." Everyone was just staring dumbly around, waiting for Mr. P to continue, which i didn't think he noticed. So i stood up.
"Auditions will be tomorrow after school," i yelled. "From 2:45 to 4:15. Bring your scrips and a good attitude!" Then i waved my hand to signal that my speech was over. I felt a small pat on my back. I turned to see Mr. P smiling at me, respectively.
"Oh, what i'd do without you, Adira," he murmured. I laughed and jumped from the stage.
~~~<>~~~<>~~~<>~~~
My feet killed by the end of practice. All we'd done, the entire time, was dance and decide the choreography. I was exhausted as i walked out into the parking lot.
Nate had football practice after school and it ended right at the time play practice did. So me, not having a car—pathetic, right?—got a ride with him to and from school each day.
I waited by his car for a few minutes before Nate came out of the locker room, blond, shaggy hair wet and dripping. I dropped my backpack on the ground so i could hug him, but he had different ideas. As i leaned in, he grabbed my waist and shoved his head down, shaking it like a wet dog would. Water droplets splashed my face and shirt as i screeched and tried to push him away, but his arm held me captive.
"No!" I yelled, laughing. "Let go of me, you baboon!" After shaking his head a little longer, he looked up and brushed his lips on mine. He started laughing as i dramatically wiped off my wet face. "You're a meany, you know," i mock-sulked.
"But you still love me!" He said, smiling widely. I hadn't actually used the 'L word' on him yet, believing it should be strictly meant for someone special. Not that Nate wasn't special! He was often a great guy, just something.... I didn't know what it was, but something kept me from completely opening my heart to love him.
Rachel, for instance, was next to me and cracking jokes the entire time, most of which weren't funny and made no sense at all.
"In this part, Hamlet is speaking in soliloquy, so he's speaking his thoughts aloud, without regard of any other listeners," Mr. Telvic says, speeding through his definition of soliloquy as if it was irrelevant to the story. "Hamlet is really questioning the connotation of life, and why there are so many austerities. He wonders if it is even worth continuing—his life—or not." Mr. Telvic talks with such passion, like he is truly interested in the topic at hand. But i knew he'd been teaching for far too many years to still be interested in a topic he probably had memorized. "So, finally, he comes to a conclusion: that the main reason people stay alive is that they fear death and are uncertain as to what lies ahead." He pauses, for effect no doubt, then continues. "And this is probably my favorite part in the entire story, when he utters these six words. To be, or not to be."
I don't think there's anything quite like listening to a good speech. Nothing that gives you goosebumps like a man talking so passionately about such a deep subject.
Until
"To pee, or not to pee, more like it," Rachel whispered, crossing her legs tightly. "I think i'm gonna wet my pants."
And the magic of Mr. Telvic was gone.
"Rae, i told you to go before class," i muttered, trying not to get caught talking in the middle of class.
"Yeah, but i didn't have to go then," she wined, reminding me of my six-year-old sister.
"So raise your hand and ask to go," i recommended.
"Adira, you don't understand. If i do that, then he'll just say 'class is done in ten minutes, you can wait'," she shot back, lowering her voice to mock Mr. Telvic's.
"Yeah, so wait the ten minutes then." The answer seemed pretty simple and easy to me, but then again, i wasn't the one who had to go. I looked over at Rachel, her entire face was screwed up and i think if she squeezed her legs together any further, they were seriously going to fall off. "Oh, come on, you can hold it," i urged her on. She shook her head, face starting to get red.
Mr. Telvic, oblivious to the bathroom issue going on in the back of the room, wasn't making matters any better.
"To be, or not to be," he recited. "That is the question. To be, or not to be." I think the only thing Rachel was hearing was "to pee, or not to pee". I looked at the clock, seven minutes left, she could hold it.
Mr. Telvic's eyes searched the room, smiling, looking for someone to answer the question that was written clearly on his bearded face. His eyes landed on his culprit.
"Rachel," her eyes widened as he called her name, "what do you think this means?" I turned to look at her, opening my mouth— "with your own words, please, not Ms. Brower's," he scolded. I turned away. Well, i tried to help her.
"I..." Rachel was saying, "I think it means... I guess it could.... Hamlet..." She closed her eyes tightly. I could tell it was taking pure willpower just to not pee right in her chair. "Stupid Hamlet," she muttered. We all laughed. "It means..." She finally bolted up from her seat, hand raised high. "I have to pee!"
Laughter bubbled put of every single person in the classroom, except for Mr. Telvic, as she hobbled as quickly as she could out of the classroom and to the bathroom, legs still clenched together. She struggled with the door, but when she got it open, she was out of the classroom faster than lightning.
My cheeks were starting to hurt from the smile splayed across them. The kid across from my desk was laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. There wasn't a whole lot of laughing in English, so i'm sure they'd be thanking Rachel later. I wondered what the world would be like without her in it. Less enjoyable, that's for sure.
~~~<>~~~<>~~~<>~~~
"So how was your pee?" I asked while grinning and handing Rachel her bag. After she'd fled the room, she must have stayed out in the hallway, too embarrassed to come back, so i decided to be nice and bring her her bag.
"Aw, shut up," she replied, grabbing the bag back and lifting it onto her shoulder. She looked around the hallway as she started to walk.
"Looking for a new lover?" I teased, smiling. I followed her down the hallway, heading towards our lockers—they were right next to each other.
"Actually, yes," she replied as she turned the lock, waiting for the click that signified the opening of her locker.
"What? Who?" I asked, spinning my code in as well. 4-14-24. Yeah, it was pretty easy to remember.
She turned to grin at me, her locker forgotten. There was a girlish smile splayed across her face. "There's a new guy starting tomorrow," she practically squealed.
I rolled my eyes. "Is that all?" I asked, shoving my backpack into my locker and grabbing my drama book and binder. I could swear there was a new guy every week, which was probably far from the truth because this town really wasn't that big, and new people weren't exactly a dime a dozen.
"All?!" She asked incredulously, mocking me. "This one is really cute!"
I smirked. "That's what you always say. You've said it for every boy so far. And only one of them ended up actually being cute! And now he's a total druggie."
"Stop being so picky," she told me, mock glaring and trying to stifle a smile. "He was nice—when he wasn't knee deep in pot. You need to lower your standards or you're going to end up alone! With a bunch of stupid cats!" She walked down the hallway with a smile and a wave, the opposite direction of my next class.
"I'm not alone!" I yelled to her. "I have a boyfriend you know!" She just turned around and stuck her tongue out at me, giving her famous 'you-know-what-I-meant' look.
I laughed as i headed down to the auditorium.
My boyfriend's name was Nate. I started out being his math tutor almost two years ago, but the more time we spent together, the more i wanted to be with him. He made me smile, and he made me feel loved—most of the time that is. Sometimes he would get a little weird and possessive, but i guess that's just puberty for you.
A new guy would be nice, i supposed. Hopefully he'd bring exciting change to Jefton High School, so we could have more comic relief than just Rachel.
I walked into drama, the last class of the day, feeling that something was different. Our usually very exciting, bubbly—and gay—director was now slumped down on the stage with his head in his hands. Everyone else was milling around nervously.
I walked up to a boy named Tom, he was a sophomore that was actually a pretty good actor. "What's going on?" I asked, whispering.
He sighed. "Mr. P was just notified that Jarred's in prison."
"What?!" I practically bellowed. Many pairs of eyes landed on me, but i shrugged them off. I was a senior, and therefore—at this moment—superior.
We were just three weeks away from doing a play, and Jared had been the leads love interest. My love interest, that is. It was actually more of a musical, though there were only two songs, and it was written by Mr. P himself. He'd been so proud when he assigned the rolls to Jared and I.
Ug, how could you fail us, Jared? I asked in my head.
"How?" I asked Tom, wearily.
"Someone notified the police that they'd seen Jared tending to a marijuana garden at the very back of his property. The police went to check it out, and sure enough, there it was. He didn't have a license to grow it either, so he got busted," Tom explained. I was turning to walk up to Mr. P, when Tom spoke again. "And you shoulda seen it, Adira. Boatloads of it. Piles of Marijuana; enough to last you a life time." It was creepy. Tom actually had a... longing look in his eyes.
I turned away again, muttering "Stay clean Tommy, stay clean."
Mr. P—yes, unfortunate name, but it was better than his actual last name—no longer had his heads in his hands, but was now yelling at a bunch of freshman to go and get him a coffee.
"They're students, Sir, not maids," i commented, trying to make a joke. At least he tried to smile. I used my arms to pull myself onto the stage, and i sat next to my favorite teacher. He sighed, shaking his head. His brown ponytail brushed across his back. "What are we gonna do?" I asked.
"I have no idea," he whispered, almost to himself. I stared out into the big room, at the rows and rows of maroon movie-theatre type chairs. It was peaceful here, even with the dilemma we were trying to face.
"Well i'm not going to just sit here," i commented, "no, we're gonna do something about this. If Jared wanted to go ruin his life with his pot business, than he can just go ahead, but we need to debut your amazing play, Mr. P." i looked over at him. He seemed to be staring at nothing particular, lost in a sea of thoughts. I wondered if he'd heard me, but then he looked up and said,
"You know what? You're right."
"I often am, Sir," i murmured. I think he laughed, but it was more of a hysterical, nervous laugh than one you'd make if you were happy.
"We'll just find a replacement," he said. "Someone else can play that part. It'll be easy to find someone." In a town as big as a meatball, i highly doubted it'd be that easy, but i wasn't gonna ruin it for Mr. P.
He stood up, brushing of imaginary dust from his pants, and cleared his throat loudly. "Students!" He yelled, getting the attention of everyone in the room. "I'm sorry for my initial response, i was upset and didn't mean to make the issue seem that big. Yes, it's a setback, but a minor one. We can find another person to play Jared's part." Everyone was just staring dumbly around, waiting for Mr. P to continue, which i didn't think he noticed. So i stood up.
"Auditions will be tomorrow after school," i yelled. "From 2:45 to 4:15. Bring your scrips and a good attitude!" Then i waved my hand to signal that my speech was over. I felt a small pat on my back. I turned to see Mr. P smiling at me, respectively.
"Oh, what i'd do without you, Adira," he murmured. I laughed and jumped from the stage.
~~~<>~~~<>~~~<>~~~
My feet killed by the end of practice. All we'd done, the entire time, was dance and decide the choreography. I was exhausted as i walked out into the parking lot.
Nate had football practice after school and it ended right at the time play practice did. So me, not having a car—pathetic, right?—got a ride with him to and from school each day.
I waited by his car for a few minutes before Nate came out of the locker room, blond, shaggy hair wet and dripping. I dropped my backpack on the ground so i could hug him, but he had different ideas. As i leaned in, he grabbed my waist and shoved his head down, shaking it like a wet dog would. Water droplets splashed my face and shirt as i screeched and tried to push him away, but his arm held me captive.
"No!" I yelled, laughing. "Let go of me, you baboon!" After shaking his head a little longer, he looked up and brushed his lips on mine. He started laughing as i dramatically wiped off my wet face. "You're a meany, you know," i mock-sulked.
"But you still love me!" He said, smiling widely. I hadn't actually used the 'L word' on him yet, believing it should be strictly meant for someone special. Not that Nate wasn't special! He was often a great guy, just something.... I didn't know what it was, but something kept me from completely opening my heart to love him.
Something about him didn't fit the criteria every romance novel i'd ever read talked about. The nervousness, the heart pounding, the wanting to spend every minute of every day with him. It just wasn't there for me.
I didn't know. Maybe it was just me. Nate seemed perfectly happy with our relationship.
Breaking me out of my thoughts, Nate asked, "So how was your nerd thing?" He always called my play practices nerdy, something that actually slightly offended me.
"Being in the musical is not nerdy," i told him for the one-hundredth time this year, buckling my seat belt. He laughed, turning the key to the car and starting to back out. I stared at his chest. "Put your seatbelt on."
He turned to look at me, a you've-got-to-be-kidding-me look on his face.
"What?" I demanded. "You want to get in an accident and die?" He rolled his eyes. "Please, just put it on."
"No, what are you? My mother?" He asked. "Jeez."
I sighed deeply. I hated when he was like this. "So how was football practice?" I asked on a lighter note. Nate was... Well i forgot what position he was, but i remembered it was important to the team. He loved football.
He let out a string of profanities. I took it as it didn't go as he'd planned.
"It sucked," he hissed. "Stupid coach doesn't know anything." I turned to me, not bothering to even glance at the road as he was driving! "You know what he did?" I shook my head, making sure to watch the road for oncoming traffic. "He told me i had to sit out the game because my throwing isn't 'up to standards'." He used finger quotes, taking his hands completely off the wheel! The car started to swerve into the lane next to ours, someone honked, and i quickly grabbed the wheel and swung us back into the right lane. By this time my heart was pounding, not that Nate seemed to notice. He just yanked my hands off the wheel, telling me to 'not touch his baby'.
"You just almost got us killed," i muttered, crossing my arms over my chest. He just... Sometimes he did things that made me angry, so I started acting like a butt-hole.
"What did you say?" He asked, venomously.
He pulled into my driveway. My brick house stared at me, watching the scene play out. I unbuckled my seat belt, muttering a "nothing", and started to get out of the car.
"No, tell me," Nate demanded, grabbing my arm harshly and squeezing.
"Nothing," i said sweetly, hoping he'd let go of my arm. I leaned back into his car and gave him a kiss. "See ya tomorrow!" I smiled even though i was cringing inside.
I rubbed the sore spot on my arm. There'll be a bruise there tomorrow, i thought to myself. I'd have to wear a long sleeve again.
~~~<>~~~<>~~~<>~~~
Sitting in my room, ice pack on my arm, and phone out, i was struck with a disturbing thought. Not a pleasant thought at all, that's for sure. I almost tried burying the thought in the depths of my brain, but instead figured that confronting the idea would probably be more productive.
See, I was waiting at my phone, homework finished, waiting... For what? A text? I don't know. But then the thought struck me. The disturbing thought.
And the thought—you're probably wondering—was that i had no social life. Absolutely none. Zip. Complete lack of social activity going on at the moment.
I sighed. Rachel would probably be out shopping or something. I already knew why she wouldn't have asked me to come: because i bicker and complain the entire time, and criticize shopping, and shoes, and shirts, and the complete lack of organization in places like Plato's Closet. I mean, don't get me wrong, the store is cool (cheap clothes and all that) but really, color coordinating everything is not going to make it easier to find!
Anyway, i supposed you could say i was a little "down in the dumps" at the moment. So, i did what any natural teenager would do in a situation like this:
After getting dressed in ugly sweats, I dragged me and my injured arm downstairs, to the freezer, and then to the living room. I plopped down onto the plush, leathery couch and turned on the TV.
If you hadn't already guessed, i was sitting on the couch, in all my hormonal misery, with chocolate chip-cookie dough ice cream, and Doctor Who. I get it, normal girls would watch something sappy, like Vampire Diaries or something with romance and all that jazz, but i think it's become pretty clear—after my seventeen years of living—that i wasn't exactly normal.
Doctor Who was exciting, full of fake crap that made you wish you lived in a place like that. In a place where there were really such things as "time lords". Plus i thought Matt Smith was incredibly hot, and Karen Gillan amusing (and accent wicked awesome).
I grew up watching Doctor Who. My dad was a science geek and got me hooked. We had watched every episode together many times. One time, at the fair when i was eight, i saw one of those blue portal-potties and claimed it as my new TARDIS. I remembered screaming in delight and rushing over to it, frantically. I think i yelled something like "TARDIS!! My magical TARDIS! I've found you! Let's search the galaxy". So i yanked the door open, very surprised to see a toilet inside. But i guess i wasn't fazed at the intense smell of cleaning products never actually took away the smell of urine, because i stayed in the portal-potty for about an hour and a half, ignoring my dad's pleading to come out.
Yes, not a normal child at all. But i blame my dad.
I didn't know. Maybe it was just me. Nate seemed perfectly happy with our relationship.
Breaking me out of my thoughts, Nate asked, "So how was your nerd thing?" He always called my play practices nerdy, something that actually slightly offended me.
"Being in the musical is not nerdy," i told him for the one-hundredth time this year, buckling my seat belt. He laughed, turning the key to the car and starting to back out. I stared at his chest. "Put your seatbelt on."
He turned to look at me, a you've-got-to-be-kidding-me look on his face.
"What?" I demanded. "You want to get in an accident and die?" He rolled his eyes. "Please, just put it on."
"No, what are you? My mother?" He asked. "Jeez."
I sighed deeply. I hated when he was like this. "So how was football practice?" I asked on a lighter note. Nate was... Well i forgot what position he was, but i remembered it was important to the team. He loved football.
He let out a string of profanities. I took it as it didn't go as he'd planned.
"It sucked," he hissed. "Stupid coach doesn't know anything." I turned to me, not bothering to even glance at the road as he was driving! "You know what he did?" I shook my head, making sure to watch the road for oncoming traffic. "He told me i had to sit out the game because my throwing isn't 'up to standards'." He used finger quotes, taking his hands completely off the wheel! The car started to swerve into the lane next to ours, someone honked, and i quickly grabbed the wheel and swung us back into the right lane. By this time my heart was pounding, not that Nate seemed to notice. He just yanked my hands off the wheel, telling me to 'not touch his baby'.
"You just almost got us killed," i muttered, crossing my arms over my chest. He just... Sometimes he did things that made me angry, so I started acting like a butt-hole.
"What did you say?" He asked, venomously.
He pulled into my driveway. My brick house stared at me, watching the scene play out. I unbuckled my seat belt, muttering a "nothing", and started to get out of the car.
"No, tell me," Nate demanded, grabbing my arm harshly and squeezing.
"Nothing," i said sweetly, hoping he'd let go of my arm. I leaned back into his car and gave him a kiss. "See ya tomorrow!" I smiled even though i was cringing inside.
I rubbed the sore spot on my arm. There'll be a bruise there tomorrow, i thought to myself. I'd have to wear a long sleeve again.
~~~<>~~~<>~~~<>~~~
Sitting in my room, ice pack on my arm, and phone out, i was struck with a disturbing thought. Not a pleasant thought at all, that's for sure. I almost tried burying the thought in the depths of my brain, but instead figured that confronting the idea would probably be more productive.
See, I was waiting at my phone, homework finished, waiting... For what? A text? I don't know. But then the thought struck me. The disturbing thought.
And the thought—you're probably wondering—was that i had no social life. Absolutely none. Zip. Complete lack of social activity going on at the moment.
I sighed. Rachel would probably be out shopping or something. I already knew why she wouldn't have asked me to come: because i bicker and complain the entire time, and criticize shopping, and shoes, and shirts, and the complete lack of organization in places like Plato's Closet. I mean, don't get me wrong, the store is cool (cheap clothes and all that) but really, color coordinating everything is not going to make it easier to find!
Anyway, i supposed you could say i was a little "down in the dumps" at the moment. So, i did what any natural teenager would do in a situation like this:
After getting dressed in ugly sweats, I dragged me and my injured arm downstairs, to the freezer, and then to the living room. I plopped down onto the plush, leathery couch and turned on the TV.
If you hadn't already guessed, i was sitting on the couch, in all my hormonal misery, with chocolate chip-cookie dough ice cream, and Doctor Who. I get it, normal girls would watch something sappy, like Vampire Diaries or something with romance and all that jazz, but i think it's become pretty clear—after my seventeen years of living—that i wasn't exactly normal.
Doctor Who was exciting, full of fake crap that made you wish you lived in a place like that. In a place where there were really such things as "time lords". Plus i thought Matt Smith was incredibly hot, and Karen Gillan amusing (and accent wicked awesome).
I grew up watching Doctor Who. My dad was a science geek and got me hooked. We had watched every episode together many times. One time, at the fair when i was eight, i saw one of those blue portal-potties and claimed it as my new TARDIS. I remembered screaming in delight and rushing over to it, frantically. I think i yelled something like "TARDIS!! My magical TARDIS! I've found you! Let's search the galaxy". So i yanked the door open, very surprised to see a toilet inside. But i guess i wasn't fazed at the intense smell of cleaning products never actually took away the smell of urine, because i stayed in the portal-potty for about an hour and a half, ignoring my dad's pleading to come out.
Yes, not a normal child at all. But i blame my dad.
Haha, sorry it's so long :P
U don't have to read it all btw
U don't have to read it all btw
Mod
The icy wind that preceeded a snow flurry whipped down the deserted London streets as darkness closed in. The sooty walls of the buildings seemed to lean in, leering like prison walls. In the distance church bells rang out, announcing the hour: It was six o'clock. A carriage rattled past , trailing silence in its wake.
A small figure darted out from a doorway and into the alley. A child, with a cap pulled over her golden curls, dressed in little more than rags. A door slammed on the main street and she jumped. Looking around almost guiltily, she pulled her ratty shawl tight around her shoulders and slumped against the wall, sliding to the icy ground.
Aelin shivered and closed her eyes, trying to block out the ugly dirt piles, the trash bins, the soot. She hated the city, the fear that came with it. Her small hand closed around the silver chain at her neck, feeling along it to find the charm: a music note, a treble clef. The necklace had been her mother's.
A wave of pain swamped her and she stifled a whimper. She was alone now. Her father was dead, had been dead two years. Her mother had died in childbirth. Her guardian was dead. His ham-sized fists would never strike her again. Aelin was alone, cold and hungry in the streets of London.
Sleep eluded her, fear stalking her like a hungry wolf. Hunger gnawed at her stomach and cold pressed in from all sides. Still, at least her guardian's son, Arran, wouldn't find her, because if he did she'd be dead for sure. Arran wanted to sell her body to men, but Aelin could never do that. She wasn't even ten yet, and she hadn't started her monthlies. And when Arran beat her, it was worse than when his father had beaten her.
Morning came, and with it, market day. Hunger plagued Aelin like a swarm of gnats, and the blackened facades of buildings had been dusted with white snow. Oh, how she longed for a hot meal to keep the cold and the hunger at bay for a bit. How she longed for shelter to chase the fear away. The market, with its bustling crowds and stalls of food, beckoned to her. She couldn't stay away.
She slipped from the alley and into the crowd unnoticed, just another ragamuffin child on the streets. She stopped behind a fruit vendor and leaned against the back of the stall, staring hungrily at the piles of fresh fruit. She felt herself reaching for an apple-just one! She would grab it and run. But she snatched her hand back, her heart pounding. She'd sworn to never steal again!
At the far side of the market, a tall, broad-shouldered man observed the girl. As if sensing him, Aelin looked up, blanched and took off running. It was Arran. She ran, weaving through the market, dodging people, carts, children, carriages, stalls and wagons. She broke free of the market and onto the docks, running like her life depended on it, for surely it did. The dark shadows of machinery and buildings loomed over her, the silhouettes of ships pressing towards land standing out through the sooty semi-darkness.
Her worn boots pounded on the cobbles, and heavy footfalls were close behind. Her foot caught in her skirt and she went sprawling, scraping her palms painfully on the ground. A massive hand scooped her up by the waist and held her airborne, about a foot off the ground. Aelin twisted and thrashed, trying to break free, but a nine-year-old's feet are no match against the strength of a man three times her size.
"So, you thought you was stronger 'n me, eh?" Arran demanded, shaking her. "Ya thought ya could just run off'n?" He dropped her to the ground and pressed his foot onto her neck, keeping her from running. "Well, betcha know what happens when lil' girlies misbehave?" He reached into a back pocket and pulled out a bullwhip. Aelin recoiled and he laughed. He raised his arm and brought the whip down again and again, ignoring Aelin's screams. Then, when he tired of whipping, he switched to kicking, removing the foot from her neck to use to strike her in the ribs over and over again.
It took Aelin a moment to realize that he was no longer holding her down, but when she did, she rolled out of his range and scrambled to her feet. She stood for a moment, breathing hard, Arran staring at her. Then, he stepped forward. Aelin stepped back. He raised the whip.
She ran.
R these the only two submissions? Because i need to end this soon
Any more?!?!?!
Any more?!?!?!
McKenzie wrote: "Maybe. Give me a few minutes."
Sweet! :)
Sweet! :)
Wait wait wait I might submit something
AFTER
Joseph let out a loud swear word and ran his hand through his hair.
Stella. His heart started to beat faster just thinking about her. She'd know how to fix this. Fix him.
Yes. Stella. That's where he would go. He would go anywhere she was, unless she didn't want him to. He hoped she wouldn't be repulsed by what they'd done to him. He hoped she wouldn't run away and leave him and hate him and hurt him and rip herself out of his life and be scarred by him forever. He hoped. But hoping was only hope.
He wondered if she would forgive him.
He wondered if she could ever love him like this.
Looking at himself in the mirror, he saw the monster he'd become. The animal they had turned him into. The ruthless killing machine, who never failed to kill. It would be hard to restrain himself from killing her- it would be hard to choose the human instincts- which were to kiss and hold Stella over and over all the time, whisper in her ear- over his new ones. But he would do it. He would never live it down if he killed Stella, even if the living without her didn't kill him. He loved her. With all his human heart. He wasn't making any promises about his wolverine one.
He glanced over at her house. No, she wouldn't be there. He kept on forgetting how much time had passed out here. A sharp pang spread through his stomach. Time. Another reason he could never ever be with Stella. He was years and years younger than her. Would she even recognize him? More importantly, would he recognize her?
He called Stephen's old cell phone number, doubting he would still have that number or phone, and not knowing where either of his sisters were. God, he hoped they wouldn't all freak.
He tugged on his gloves and left the house, not bothering to put a shirt on because he knew it wouldn't fit, not after what they had done to him. He had been big and muscly to start with.
Someone picked up on the fourth ring. It was a girls voice. Shoot.
"Hi. This is... Uh, Joseph. Joseph.... Stella's friend." he wondered if that would be enough or even if this girl knew him or Stella or even Stephen at all.
"Um.... I don't know any Stella's."
"Who is this I am speaking to, may I ask?"
"My name is Mia Jachino."
Joseph swore. "Sorry, sorry. Um... Mia? Do you remember me? I went to..." he winced."High school with you?"
"Joseph, did you say your name was?"
He nodded, forgetting she couldn't see him. Then he said,"Yeah," realizing.
"I don't know any Joseph's or any Stella's. Maybe you have the wrong number."
"No! No, Mia, listen to me! Stella Finn. That girl... Remember, that girl from high school? And I was her best friend Joseph? Brown spiky hair, hazel eyes, tall.... Stella has short dark hair with highlights... Green eyes..."
"Nope, still not ringing any bells."
"Kurtis. That's my last name. Please, please Mia.... I need you to remember...."
"I'm sorry. Maybe you have the wrong number."
"Wait! Mia! Did you ever know an Aven Diquito or a Stephen Finn?"
There was a loud crash from the other end. "Hello? Mia?"
"How do you know about those two boys?" she said in a hushed whisper.
"Aven was Stella's old boyfriend and my friend and Stephen was- is- her brother."
"Oh my God Joseph!Oh my god! Oh my god oh my god!" she just kept saying that over and over until Joseph yelled,"Mia, will you get over it already?! What happened to Stephen and Aven and why did you say you didn't remember me or Stella? And why did you pick up at Stephen's old number?"
"Okay, Joseph, where are you?"
He looked around."I'm not sure." He ran by instinct mostly these days.
"I'm in Tino's, that bar a few blocks away from my old old house."
He nodded. He wasn't really all that familiar with Mia's neighborhood, but he could find his way.
"I'll explain everything to you there." She hesitated."I'm glad you're... Back, Joseph." then she hung up.
He got to Tino's ten minutes later and strolled in, trying to look like he belonged, but it was hard when he was half wolverine- basically very big and bulky. More than an average human- even a buff one.
He could smell the fresh blood in the air and it took everything he had to restrain himself from attacking someone.
Mia spotted him quickly and waved him over. He squeezed into the narrow booth across from her and couldn't help feeling relieved as he finally saw a familiar face, no matter how much older. It was the same as he remembered, only the eyes looked older, and her hair was longer.
"Joseph..." she said softly, gazing at him. "It really is you." she felt the tears welling up in her eyes. It wouldn't be good if her mascara got into her eyes- that would sting and she wouldn't be able to see and she would end up lookin like a half dead raccoon with rabies in front of the forbidden and very very young love of her life.
"What happened to you, though, Joseph? Where did you go? Where have you been?"
He shook his head."I can't tell you that. Just tell me whats going on here."
"A little after you left Stella.... She.... She went crazy. Insane. She went around telling people all these absurd stories-"
"Like what?"
"Like that you were going to rot in hell for some terrible things you'd done to her-"
"I never did anything to her!"
Mia ignored him."She said that you painted her one day- that you painted everything the color of blood. She said stuff like you weren't human and you were going to get killed and that there were two guys that she kept seeing everywhere that seemed to be following her- she thought they were her stalkers- and..."
Mia went on, but all Joseph could think about was that last one and that she had said he wasn't human.
He had been part of the Halfworld, the magical place of torture, cruelty, neglect, and war- not immortal but someone who lived longer than most and who was more athletically gifted... Someone who could do things. Someone whose father was evil and ran the unjust government of the Halfworld and thrown Joseph's own sister into jail. A Suspension Room, really. A place in the human world where less time passed, where it passed as it did in the Halfworld. It could have been two years out here and only one in there. That was why he was so much younger than everyone else, and why a lot had changed. He had gone to war to fight against his mother in the Mirrorworld, his father in the Halfworld, and his stepmother in the Otherworld/Netherworld. He had had to leave Stella, knowing that even if he made it out alive, it was possible that Stella could be dead, that she would forget him, and at the very least that he would be only half of her age.
But now that the time was here, he found that it was a lot more complicated than that, because he was half wolverine now, not part Halfworld. They had removed that part of him and replaced it with wolverine DNA, which was a problem because now he didn't belong in any world or with any crowd. Just Stella. But they couldn't be together now.
"Joseph?" Mia was saying his name and looking concerned "Joseph?"
"Yeah."
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Listen, Mia, I gotta go. It was... Um.... Nice seeing you again."
The pained look that spread across Mia's face surprised him.
"Please! I haven't even told you what happened to Stephen and Aven yet."
Joseph said,"Allright, but hurry up."
"Stella got placed in a mental hospital and-"
Joseph stood up."I need to see her. Stella. I'm sorry. Maybe you can tell me later. Where is Stella now? I really really need to see her."
Mia looked so hurt that it would've made him hug her to make her feel better if he wasn't so worried about Stella."She got released a while ago. Like years and years ago. I don't know where she is. You could try asking the mental hospital or looking her up in my yellow pages."
"Yeah, could I use those?"
Mia bit back a smile. He would have to come back to her house. Ew, she thought, she was being so disgusting. He was only... Well, she didn't know how old he was, but he definitely wasn't the age he was supposed to be, which was twenty six, like her. She couldn't like him. Love him. Be with him. Even if he had wanted that too, which she was sure he didn't, he was still hung up on Stella. With satisfaction, she realized that Stella would be too old for him too.
Mia had changed, but her love for Joseph hadn't. And clearly that would be a problem.
"Of course, Joseph. But-"
He cut her off again."Please. I need to find out now. I need to see her."
Mia felt the jealousy coming on and tried to suppress it. This was absolutely pedophelic."Yeah. Okay. I get it."
She drove him to her house.
He shivered at the memory this house and Mia brought back- a whole collection, of them actually, but only one had actually featured the house.
All he ever did was think about Stella, and it had seemed like he only ever crossed her mind when she wanted a distraction. She came to him when she wanted to enjoy herself, when she wanted to be a kid again. When she wanted to hang out with her best friend. And that was nice and all, but Joseph thought of her as more than a best friend.
He knew that Mia had had a thing for him- he hadn't at the time, but he figured it out pretty soon after- so he felt pretty terrible whenever he talked to her or so much as looked at her.
He and Mia were just a whole mess- and now he felt bad, too, calling her and sitting down to eat with her and then only being concerned about Stella. He knew that she probably still didn't like him, years and years had passed, and they hadn't seen each other in forever, plus there was that awkward age difference. But still. He felt like a jerk.
He quickly found the number that had Stella Finn written next to it and hoped it worked. He used his cell phone, scared that she wouldn't pick up, scared that she would- scared that she wouldn't remember him, or wouldn't believe him, or would reject him, or would be mad at him. The possibilities were endless and quite scary.
The phone rang a few times- enough to make him even more anxious- before someone picked up.
"Hell...o?" a voice said, sounding a little confused, probably by the caller ID. It was Stella's voice. Stella's sweet sweet voice. He almost passed out from relief.
"Stella," he said quietly, disbelief and love and nervousness clouding his tone.
"Wh-H-who-How- what- um..... Who is this?"
His heart crashed. "You may not believe this, but it's Joseph."
"Joseph....."
"Kurtis." It pained him.
"No. I mean..... No. Really. Who is this."
"It is me. It's Joseph Kurtis. I'm back. I'm sorry it took so long, Stell. Please believe me..... Are you okay?"
A short silence followed."Yes, yes, I'm fine, I.... I-" She sounded a little choked up.
"Hey, hey, Stell, don't- look, I'll explain- Where are you?"
She managed to give him an address, a little reluctantly, a little nervously. A little scared. A little hopeful.
He said,"Hey, Mia, I hate to ask this of you, but could you please drive me to this address?"
Joseph let out a loud swear word and ran his hand through his hair.
Stella. His heart started to beat faster just thinking about her. She'd know how to fix this. Fix him.
Yes. Stella. That's where he would go. He would go anywhere she was, unless she didn't want him to. He hoped she wouldn't be repulsed by what they'd done to him. He hoped she wouldn't run away and leave him and hate him and hurt him and rip herself out of his life and be scarred by him forever. He hoped. But hoping was only hope.
He wondered if she would forgive him.
He wondered if she could ever love him like this.
Looking at himself in the mirror, he saw the monster he'd become. The animal they had turned him into. The ruthless killing machine, who never failed to kill. It would be hard to restrain himself from killing her- it would be hard to choose the human instincts- which were to kiss and hold Stella over and over all the time, whisper in her ear- over his new ones. But he would do it. He would never live it down if he killed Stella, even if the living without her didn't kill him. He loved her. With all his human heart. He wasn't making any promises about his wolverine one.
He glanced over at her house. No, she wouldn't be there. He kept on forgetting how much time had passed out here. A sharp pang spread through his stomach. Time. Another reason he could never ever be with Stella. He was years and years younger than her. Would she even recognize him? More importantly, would he recognize her?
He called Stephen's old cell phone number, doubting he would still have that number or phone, and not knowing where either of his sisters were. God, he hoped they wouldn't all freak.
He tugged on his gloves and left the house, not bothering to put a shirt on because he knew it wouldn't fit, not after what they had done to him. He had been big and muscly to start with.
Someone picked up on the fourth ring. It was a girls voice. Shoot.
"Hi. This is... Uh, Joseph. Joseph.... Stella's friend." he wondered if that would be enough or even if this girl knew him or Stella or even Stephen at all.
"Um.... I don't know any Stella's."
"Who is this I am speaking to, may I ask?"
"My name is Mia Jachino."
Joseph swore. "Sorry, sorry. Um... Mia? Do you remember me? I went to..." he winced."High school with you?"
"Joseph, did you say your name was?"
He nodded, forgetting she couldn't see him. Then he said,"Yeah," realizing.
"I don't know any Joseph's or any Stella's. Maybe you have the wrong number."
"No! No, Mia, listen to me! Stella Finn. That girl... Remember, that girl from high school? And I was her best friend Joseph? Brown spiky hair, hazel eyes, tall.... Stella has short dark hair with highlights... Green eyes..."
"Nope, still not ringing any bells."
"Kurtis. That's my last name. Please, please Mia.... I need you to remember...."
"I'm sorry. Maybe you have the wrong number."
"Wait! Mia! Did you ever know an Aven Diquito or a Stephen Finn?"
There was a loud crash from the other end. "Hello? Mia?"
"How do you know about those two boys?" she said in a hushed whisper.
"Aven was Stella's old boyfriend and my friend and Stephen was- is- her brother."
"Oh my God Joseph!Oh my god! Oh my god oh my god!" she just kept saying that over and over until Joseph yelled,"Mia, will you get over it already?! What happened to Stephen and Aven and why did you say you didn't remember me or Stella? And why did you pick up at Stephen's old number?"
"Okay, Joseph, where are you?"
He looked around."I'm not sure." He ran by instinct mostly these days.
"I'm in Tino's, that bar a few blocks away from my old old house."
He nodded. He wasn't really all that familiar with Mia's neighborhood, but he could find his way.
"I'll explain everything to you there." She hesitated."I'm glad you're... Back, Joseph." then she hung up.
He got to Tino's ten minutes later and strolled in, trying to look like he belonged, but it was hard when he was half wolverine- basically very big and bulky. More than an average human- even a buff one.
He could smell the fresh blood in the air and it took everything he had to restrain himself from attacking someone.
Mia spotted him quickly and waved him over. He squeezed into the narrow booth across from her and couldn't help feeling relieved as he finally saw a familiar face, no matter how much older. It was the same as he remembered, only the eyes looked older, and her hair was longer.
"Joseph..." she said softly, gazing at him. "It really is you." she felt the tears welling up in her eyes. It wouldn't be good if her mascara got into her eyes- that would sting and she wouldn't be able to see and she would end up lookin like a half dead raccoon with rabies in front of the forbidden and very very young love of her life.
"What happened to you, though, Joseph? Where did you go? Where have you been?"
He shook his head."I can't tell you that. Just tell me whats going on here."
"A little after you left Stella.... She.... She went crazy. Insane. She went around telling people all these absurd stories-"
"Like what?"
"Like that you were going to rot in hell for some terrible things you'd done to her-"
"I never did anything to her!"
Mia ignored him."She said that you painted her one day- that you painted everything the color of blood. She said stuff like you weren't human and you were going to get killed and that there were two guys that she kept seeing everywhere that seemed to be following her- she thought they were her stalkers- and..."
Mia went on, but all Joseph could think about was that last one and that she had said he wasn't human.
He had been part of the Halfworld, the magical place of torture, cruelty, neglect, and war- not immortal but someone who lived longer than most and who was more athletically gifted... Someone who could do things. Someone whose father was evil and ran the unjust government of the Halfworld and thrown Joseph's own sister into jail. A Suspension Room, really. A place in the human world where less time passed, where it passed as it did in the Halfworld. It could have been two years out here and only one in there. That was why he was so much younger than everyone else, and why a lot had changed. He had gone to war to fight against his mother in the Mirrorworld, his father in the Halfworld, and his stepmother in the Otherworld/Netherworld. He had had to leave Stella, knowing that even if he made it out alive, it was possible that Stella could be dead, that she would forget him, and at the very least that he would be only half of her age.
But now that the time was here, he found that it was a lot more complicated than that, because he was half wolverine now, not part Halfworld. They had removed that part of him and replaced it with wolverine DNA, which was a problem because now he didn't belong in any world or with any crowd. Just Stella. But they couldn't be together now.
"Joseph?" Mia was saying his name and looking concerned "Joseph?"
"Yeah."
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Listen, Mia, I gotta go. It was... Um.... Nice seeing you again."
The pained look that spread across Mia's face surprised him.
"Please! I haven't even told you what happened to Stephen and Aven yet."
Joseph said,"Allright, but hurry up."
"Stella got placed in a mental hospital and-"
Joseph stood up."I need to see her. Stella. I'm sorry. Maybe you can tell me later. Where is Stella now? I really really need to see her."
Mia looked so hurt that it would've made him hug her to make her feel better if he wasn't so worried about Stella."She got released a while ago. Like years and years ago. I don't know where she is. You could try asking the mental hospital or looking her up in my yellow pages."
"Yeah, could I use those?"
Mia bit back a smile. He would have to come back to her house. Ew, she thought, she was being so disgusting. He was only... Well, she didn't know how old he was, but he definitely wasn't the age he was supposed to be, which was twenty six, like her. She couldn't like him. Love him. Be with him. Even if he had wanted that too, which she was sure he didn't, he was still hung up on Stella. With satisfaction, she realized that Stella would be too old for him too.
Mia had changed, but her love for Joseph hadn't. And clearly that would be a problem.
"Of course, Joseph. But-"
He cut her off again."Please. I need to find out now. I need to see her."
Mia felt the jealousy coming on and tried to suppress it. This was absolutely pedophelic."Yeah. Okay. I get it."
She drove him to her house.
He shivered at the memory this house and Mia brought back- a whole collection, of them actually, but only one had actually featured the house.
All he ever did was think about Stella, and it had seemed like he only ever crossed her mind when she wanted a distraction. She came to him when she wanted to enjoy herself, when she wanted to be a kid again. When she wanted to hang out with her best friend. And that was nice and all, but Joseph thought of her as more than a best friend.
He knew that Mia had had a thing for him- he hadn't at the time, but he figured it out pretty soon after- so he felt pretty terrible whenever he talked to her or so much as looked at her.
He and Mia were just a whole mess- and now he felt bad, too, calling her and sitting down to eat with her and then only being concerned about Stella. He knew that she probably still didn't like him, years and years had passed, and they hadn't seen each other in forever, plus there was that awkward age difference. But still. He felt like a jerk.
He quickly found the number that had Stella Finn written next to it and hoped it worked. He used his cell phone, scared that she wouldn't pick up, scared that she would- scared that she wouldn't remember him, or wouldn't believe him, or would reject him, or would be mad at him. The possibilities were endless and quite scary.
The phone rang a few times- enough to make him even more anxious- before someone picked up.
"Hell...o?" a voice said, sounding a little confused, probably by the caller ID. It was Stella's voice. Stella's sweet sweet voice. He almost passed out from relief.
"Stella," he said quietly, disbelief and love and nervousness clouding his tone.
"Wh-H-who-How- what- um..... Who is this?"
His heart crashed. "You may not believe this, but it's Joseph."
"Joseph....."
"Kurtis." It pained him.
"No. I mean..... No. Really. Who is this."
"It is me. It's Joseph Kurtis. I'm back. I'm sorry it took so long, Stell. Please believe me..... Are you okay?"
A short silence followed."Yes, yes, I'm fine, I.... I-" She sounded a little choked up.
"Hey, hey, Stell, don't- look, I'll explain- Where are you?"
She managed to give him an address, a little reluctantly, a little nervously. A little scared. A little hopeful.
He said,"Hey, Mia, I hate to ask this of you, but could you please drive me to this address?"
This is going to be a little long. Sorry. : )
**There will be grammatical errors because I didn't get to proofread it.**
**There will be grammatical errors because I didn't get to proofread it.**
Some might say I’m a little obsessive. So I might be, but I can’t help that I am a perfectionist. Everything has to be right so there is no room for errors or mistakes, which leaves the door wide open for tragedy. Trust me, I’ve had my fair share.
Maybe that was the reason why I woke up at seven o’clock sharp on Saturday to prepare for Allecia Stanford’s memorial service.
Fastening my hair under the hairnet, I proceeded to place a brunette wig over my red curls. With careful precision, I placed contacts on my eyeballs, which colored my irises brown. From there I used more makeup than normal in order to allude to different facial traits and expressions. While my eyes compared my new appearance in the mirror to a recent snapshot of myself, I brushed my hands over my black dress. “Parfait,” I purred in a brilliantly portrayed French accent. Perfect.
Here goes nothing.
Obsessive? I’m not sure. Passionate? Certainly.
***
Despite my firm resolve to remain composed as I joined the black sea of people in the tiny auditorium, my aloofness wavered as the memorial service began at a stroke before nine.
A picture of the deceased woman stood proudly for all to see at the altar. Dozens of bouquets surrounded her beautiful photograph, paying homage to her life.
It seemed as if everyone there had some memory they wanted to share of Allecia Stanford--their friend, relative, teacher. Except for me. My only reason for being at Allecia’s memorial service was to insure that she remained dead.
Yet the wall I had built around my emotions threatened to crack as every member of Allecia’s immediate family crept to the podium, shoulders bent and eyes downcast.
The mother spoke with as much dignity and reserve as she could muster, saying how she knew her daughter was in a better place. The siblings wrapped themselves in their spouses’ embraces as they tearfully said goodbye to their treasured sister.
It’s for the best, I told myself. They would have all died if she hadn’t. And my rationalizing kept me from the brink of emotion intermittence.
Yet when the father rose to stand, his stumbling steps and mumbled sentiments crumbled my stable intentions to pieces.
“Allecia was an amazing woman. She was always bubbly and carefree, singing and dancing as if she didn’t care who saw. She served people daily. She was crazy! She hated mayonnaise, despised seafood, and abhorred molasses.” His voice thickened as his half-hearted laugh reverberated through everyone’s hearts. “She was stubborn, yet passionate. Firm, yet compassionate.” Shining a secret sparkle, his eyes glistened at the fond recollection. He sniffed and continued. “S-sh-e even cried in Dis-ney mov-ies.” For the several moments, everything was quiet as the father tried to reign in his heartfelt emotions. “She was a dear friend to me and a loyal daughter. No one will ever take her place in my heart.”
My heart clenched as he began to weep. Please don’t cry. There was nothing else I could do.
“She was the sunshine to my day, and even though we know we will see her again, our hearts still break with the void she has left inside us all.” As he began to shake, my mother came to loop her arms through his, holding him tight. “I wish I could hold her one more time . . . Kiss her brow. Listen to her voice. And tell her . . . that I . . . that I love her.”
I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. Not when the memorial service ended. Not when the dirt and rain pounded her casket into the ground. Because all of the tears and heartache was my fault. My fault! And I was foolish enough to think that it wouldn’t bother me.
Who wouldn’t be bothered? I wasn’t the one who killed her. Allecia’s death had been a fake, a ploy to keep people from murdering the rest of her family. But how was anyone but me and the morgue’s manager to know it was all staged?
I wasn’t crying for the deceased, I was crying for those who were left behind.
Who wouldn’t be disturbed and prompted to tears? Not every girl gets to see people crying over her dead body. No. I’m one of the lucky few. And I hate it with everything in me.
My mission was completed. I was the dead to world.
Completely alone.
Maybe that was the reason why I woke up at seven o’clock sharp on Saturday to prepare for Allecia Stanford’s memorial service.
Fastening my hair under the hairnet, I proceeded to place a brunette wig over my red curls. With careful precision, I placed contacts on my eyeballs, which colored my irises brown. From there I used more makeup than normal in order to allude to different facial traits and expressions. While my eyes compared my new appearance in the mirror to a recent snapshot of myself, I brushed my hands over my black dress. “Parfait,” I purred in a brilliantly portrayed French accent. Perfect.
Here goes nothing.
Obsessive? I’m not sure. Passionate? Certainly.
***
Despite my firm resolve to remain composed as I joined the black sea of people in the tiny auditorium, my aloofness wavered as the memorial service began at a stroke before nine.
A picture of the deceased woman stood proudly for all to see at the altar. Dozens of bouquets surrounded her beautiful photograph, paying homage to her life.
It seemed as if everyone there had some memory they wanted to share of Allecia Stanford--their friend, relative, teacher. Except for me. My only reason for being at Allecia’s memorial service was to insure that she remained dead.
Yet the wall I had built around my emotions threatened to crack as every member of Allecia’s immediate family crept to the podium, shoulders bent and eyes downcast.
The mother spoke with as much dignity and reserve as she could muster, saying how she knew her daughter was in a better place. The siblings wrapped themselves in their spouses’ embraces as they tearfully said goodbye to their treasured sister.
It’s for the best, I told myself. They would have all died if she hadn’t. And my rationalizing kept me from the brink of emotion intermittence.
Yet when the father rose to stand, his stumbling steps and mumbled sentiments crumbled my stable intentions to pieces.
“Allecia was an amazing woman. She was always bubbly and carefree, singing and dancing as if she didn’t care who saw. She served people daily. She was crazy! She hated mayonnaise, despised seafood, and abhorred molasses.” His voice thickened as his half-hearted laugh reverberated through everyone’s hearts. “She was stubborn, yet passionate. Firm, yet compassionate.” Shining a secret sparkle, his eyes glistened at the fond recollection. He sniffed and continued. “S-sh-e even cried in Dis-ney mov-ies.” For the several moments, everything was quiet as the father tried to reign in his heartfelt emotions. “She was a dear friend to me and a loyal daughter. No one will ever take her place in my heart.”
My heart clenched as he began to weep. Please don’t cry. There was nothing else I could do.
“She was the sunshine to my day, and even though we know we will see her again, our hearts still break with the void she has left inside us all.” As he began to shake, my mother came to loop her arms through his, holding him tight. “I wish I could hold her one more time . . . Kiss her brow. Listen to her voice. And tell her . . . that I . . . that I love her.”
I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. Not when the memorial service ended. Not when the dirt and rain pounded her casket into the ground. Because all of the tears and heartache was my fault. My fault! And I was foolish enough to think that it wouldn’t bother me.
Who wouldn’t be bothered? I wasn’t the one who killed her. Allecia’s death had been a fake, a ploy to keep people from murdering the rest of her family. But how was anyone but me and the morgue’s manager to know it was all staged?
I wasn’t crying for the deceased, I was crying for those who were left behind.
Who wouldn’t be disturbed and prompted to tears? Not every girl gets to see people crying over her dead body. No. I’m one of the lucky few. And I hate it with everything in me.
My mission was completed. I was the dead to world.
Completely alone.
Anna wrote: "Haha, sorry it's so long :P
U don't have to read it all btw"
Good job! You mix humor with interest. Nice twist.
U don't have to read it all btw"
Good job! You mix humor with interest. Nice twist.
Btw there is more of mine but I didn't know how long it was allowed to be
Isobelle wrote: "I'll join"
You're so descriptive! Your writing style is very pretty. You made me really root for the little girl. Great job!
You're so descriptive! Your writing style is very pretty. You made me really root for the little girl. Great job!
Dominique wrote: "Btw there is more of mine but I didn't know how long it was allowed to be"
Anna said there was no limit.
Anna said there was no limit.
Oh ok :))
I plan on reading all of these but I don't have the time rn ;(((
I plan on reading all of these but I don't have the time rn ;(((
Dominique wrote: "Wait wait wait I might submit something"
Nice job! Your story was very character driven. You're also quite literate. Keep it up.
Nice job! Your story was very character driven. You're also quite literate. Keep it up.
Dominique wrote: "Oh ok :))
I plan on reading all of these but I don't have the time rn ;((("
: ) It's okay. I should be doing other things right now . . . but you know how it works.
I plan on reading all of these but I don't have the time rn ;((("
: ) It's okay. I should be doing other things right now . . . but you know how it works.
Yeah hahahah can never get away from this addictive website of people who are fun and understand everything
Dominique wrote: "Yeah hahahah can never get away from this addictive website of people who are fun and understand everything"
Totally! It's very addictive and I'm already a huge procrastinator! It's horrible.
Totally! It's very addictive and I'm already a huge procrastinator! It's horrible.
SAME
I have SOOOOOOOO much homework right now it's not even funny and it's already 8:10 pm
I have SOOOOOOOO much homework right now it's not even funny and it's already 8:10 pm
Dominique wrote: "SAME
I have SOOOOOOOO much homework right now it's not even funny and it's already 8:10 pm"
The story of my LIFE. I have a paper, presentation, and this . . . this mountain of homework! It's a little funny. And what am I doing right now? (no, offense). =D Just proves that I am indeed the worst procrastinator ever.
I have SOOOOOOOO much homework right now it's not even funny and it's already 8:10 pm"
The story of my LIFE. I have a paper, presentation, and this . . . this mountain of homework! It's a little funny. And what am I doing right now? (no, offense). =D Just proves that I am indeed the worst procrastinator ever.
Lol exactly, like I have the most homework I've ever had and I'm just wallowing away my time like a moron
Not that I don't enjoy talking to you, if I didn't love GR so much I wouldn't be on here
1) there is no minimum/maximum
2) your story, for this contest, has to be fiction (other contests may vary depending on the topic)
3) there will be a poll when all this is done, and there will be a winner :) the winner gets to choose the topic of the next contest
The date when this will end is being discussed by the mods (me XD) and will be released when a decision is made (it's hard to get these mods to agree on anything)
Have fun!!!