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JUST STARTED A BLOG! HERE YOU CAN CHECK ALL MY REVIEWS AND MORE!!:DIn Between Writing And Reading
Because we love to Read. Because we love to Write... But sometimes we need a little space in Between
http://inbetweenwritingandreading.blo...
I like the first chapter (Sorry it's the only one I read), but I was wondering if you've ever done dialouge before.
Kat wrote: "I like the first chapter (Sorry it's the only one I read), but I was wondering if you've ever done dialouge before."What do you mean?
Like when characters speak to eachother.BTW- I checked out your blogs. I love it.
Kat wrote: "Like when characters speak to eachother.BTW- I checked out your blogs. I love it."
Thanks ^^
sorry 'bout the dialog, I meant more like a, why'd you ask?
K.A.T (Kismeted Analeptic Tafia) wrote: "Oh. 'Cause you seemed experienced."LOL that's completely Ironical, considering I started reading 2 years ago and writing 1 year ago xD
but thanks... I guess?? ^^
Lol.You started READING 2 years ago? Did you not go to school or something? ((No offense))
K.A.T (Kismeted Analeptic Tafia) wrote: "Lol.You started READING 2 years ago? Did you not go to school or something? ((No offense))"
Non taken. Nop I did went to school, Problem: I live in Mexico... reading is basically a foreign concept here and I'm viewed as the nerd 'cause I read. Neh, Who cares.
But yes I still don't know how I manage to survive all those years without books. (started at 15, I am 17 now :))
That's another thing, we don't have libraries or bookstores with books that are not like, for school.... so basically it sucks, thank God I live right next to San Diego ^^
K.A.T (Kismeted Analeptic Tafia) wrote: ":O Ohmigod! Wow! I did not expect that."LOL ^^, I thought It was common knowledge that Mexicans -well, most of 'em - ain't read nothing but Magazines... and sometimes not even that...
but well, total, Forever is my first formal work, glad to know you liked the chapter though :)
Wow! I know how it is to read a forign language! English is sooo hard!! *testing my spanish* Como esta Ustede? Me llamo Asami. Iguelmente!
(S) Asami Kiyomi 화재 桜 wrote: "Wow! I know how it is to read a forign language! English is sooo hard!! *testing my spanish* Como esta Ustede? Me llamo Asami. Iguelmente!"LOL, I actually find English quite easy, you don't have to worry about accents and to deal with c-s-z when they sound just the same or b-v or j-g. I hate Spanish xDD!
Muy bien, me llamo Judi (Jude's basically my nickname - LOONG story) gracias por preguntar :)
Hate spanish!? haha, i already know three languages but it's some tonto requirment that my school has that you must take another language there! Paco comprende. Me gusta jugar el futbol, dibujar, y la clase de arta!
arte.... Lol Arta basically means pain in the A. xDIn my school they teach us Latin... its like, yeah! it is so essential because everyone goes around the streets talking Latin!
they take it WAY too seriously ^^. I LOVE English, less complicated, and to me, more beautiful :D
I know English.I guess English people are stupid :D (I bet).
I'm learning French next year, though.
I LOVE French... but I struggle WAY to much with pronunciation. I suck xD
lol! go do it kat! I could never get the accent! I should try chinese, lol!
Lol! I have to wait for the class next year :P
Mod
John wrote: "what do you mean you just started reading at 15?! WOW thats crazy. I will try and find the time to actually read this."LOL, in Mexico really reading is almost a foreign concept, I've never had to read a book for school so, yeah, it's scary for me too, I can't believe I lived that long without books ^^
Thanks!
Mod
you started to read at 15!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My reaction with John exactly!!!! OMG!!! you msut be amazingly smart!!!!! GOOO JUDE!!!
(S) Asami Kiyomi 화재 桜 wrote: "you started to read at 15!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My reaction with John exactly!!!! OMG!!! you msut be amazingly smart!!!!! GOOO JUDE!!!"LOL, Thank You! ^^
Forever
Genre: Drama/Tragedy.
Summary: When seventeen year old Evangeline Woods is filled with forever promises, like the promise of her father to stay with her, the promise of a marriage to stay together, of friends growing up and staying side by side, and a boyfriend’s promise to love her, she’s in a moment where everything is perfect, until, in the blink of an eye and a terrible car crash takes all of those promises, all of those forever’s, away, they have all been broken, so now she must go to the place where it all started, Her grandmother‘s house and old town, forget the life she once had, and start a new one, to see if those forever’s can be saved, and to trust herself again. Find family when she thought she’d lost it. Find love when she wasn’t looking. Find friendship when she was in most need, and to find a home, when she had never felt so lost.
Sometimes you need to lose it all, to find everything.
Chapter 1
Six Feet Under
“I'll drop a line, Fall in the grave I've been digging myself, But there's room for two, Six feet under the stars”
-All Time Low, “Six Feet Under The Stars”
I hate it. It’s just so. . .so. . . I hate it, or maybe I don’t, it’s just that, it’s. . . horrible. That’s it. Horrible. Completely hideous and yellow. A whole field of flowers. Yellow, hideous flowers, I think they are buttercups. I’ve now officially decided I hate buttercups. I wonder who would want to take a picture of a whole buttercup field. Their meaning: ingratitude and childishness. So who on earth thought about putting it here? In a whole wall? Or maybe it’s not hideous, maybe it’s just me, and my necessity to hate, to blame, something to point at and say ‘hey you, I don’t like you! You’re attitude and your clothes! They are horrible!’
But since I can’t go around the world doing that, blaming others instead of myself, I’ll hate this wall instead.
I take a glance at my left, then at my right, and it’s all the same, a big mass of black, moving across the room, like lurking shadows, dancing with one another. It’s all been this way for week’s now; I have been wearing this same dress every single day. Black. Just black.
“Evan” the familiar voice of my mother calls my name from behind me, I turn to face her “it’s time”
We start our way outside. The wind is so cold against my skin, it feels like I’ve just been slapped in the face, dark clouds hovering, humidity palpable, the grief everywhere. We make our way to the grave field, I glance at the faces that surround me, the ones that have been here day after day, all of us with the same weight on our shoulders, carrying grief like a winter coat, not knowing when will the cold will go, or if it will. We are all here by the same reason, to watch the people we most loved being buried six feet under. And now it’s my turn. I take a glance at the sky; the furious clouds now completely hover over the cementer, a promise of rain and lighting. As I get closer to the casket, I can start to make out his features. Now soft, peaceful. . . lifeless. . . my father. Suddenly I start to feel this pressure in my chest, like someone is applying really heavy pressure, and I can’t breathe, I can feel the panic rising inside of me, deep breaths, I tell myself, it’s the last one, and even thought I know tomorrow I will be far away from here, I know this will last, that It will accompany me wherever I go, deep under my skin, that it’s never going to fade away. I’m gasping now, i need to breathe, and I can’t seem to get enough air. As I get even closer I start to see flashbacks of the different scenes that have been playing in this same scenario, the same type of casket, different people in them, all gone now. Just yesterday, Em, Clary and Mel had where being buried here, in three identical caskets, together, it’s what they would have wanted, everyone said. They were best friends, it’s how it’s supposed to be. Only they forgot someone was missing, we were four best friend’s, four, and three were now gone, leaving me alone, alone to face and see everything, Clary’s mother falling to her knees in a desperate cry for her only daughter, her husband falling down beside her. Em’s mother stood silence, unmoving, nonspeaking, tears flowing down her cheeks like a river, never ending, unblinking. Mel’s mom wasn’t here she was still in the hospital, In a coma, the doctors said it was most likely she wouldn’t make it. They left me to deal with everything on my own. I should’ve have been there, with them. And the day before, it had been my neighbor and his wife, his pregnant wife. And so on and on a big part of the community, the ones who were in that bus. No one survived. They were all here, asleep. I should have been with them when it happened, I shouldn’t be here, I should be with my dad, with my friends. . . I should.
We take a seat in the chair’s that have been arranged under a tent to cover us from the weather.
Someone is at the front, a man I can’t quite recognize, though I think he worked with my dad. He’s talking about what a great man he had been, what a great father he used to be, what an excellent friend he was, how nice he was. . .was, how, had, was, was, was. . . he will never be again, I turn to look at my father again, at his face, that face that would never open his eyes too look at me, to give me that secret look that meant I could go to the party, but I shouldn’t tell my mother or we would both get in trouble, That face that would never show an emotion again, the purse of his lips when he was upset. That face that will never move his lips to whisper, I love you.
My mother, whom is sitting next to me pat’s my back “Let’s go” she says, motioning for me to go up front and say a few words about my father. I stand up mechanically, my legs moving without my authorization, but as I get closer, and I start to regain control over me, a lump starts to form in my throat, impossible to swallow. What am I supposed to say? It doesn’t matter anymore. He. Is. Gone. He will never come back, he will never be again. What is the point in saying thing’s people already know, thing’s that should have been said while he was alive and at his face, not now that it’s too late for him to hear. I stop walking, my mother notices and turns to look at me “What’s wrong?” she asks.
“No” I whispered, I take step backward “No” the word comes louder this time. And I can’t take it anymore. I start running.
“EVAN!” I my mother yells after me.
“NO!” I shout, I run even faster, leaving my shoes somewhere along the way.
The house isn’t so far, so I just keep moving, never gazing back, never stopping, like time, It only goes and goes. Time. Time that left my dad behind.
While I run, I feel as if I could escape everything, leave it all behind, like a bad dream that can be easily brushed off in the morning, like a coat I can take off when summer comes, like a memory I can bury deep inside me. . . but they always come back.
As soon as the house is in sight I command my legs to move faster, the illusion that my dad will be inside, waiting for me, he’s chest going up and down with every breath he takes, moving along with time. Then rain let’s itself fall with all its force, it’s trying to stop me. I run faster.
“Dad!” I yell, as I hurry up inside “Dad!?” I’m completely soaked, dripping and shaking badly, shivering, not sure if it’s by the weather or the blender of emotions rattling inside of me “Dad. . .?” I whisper, I go up to my room, stopping in the center, not knowing what to do. The realization that no one will answer me, not now, not ever, hits me. Suddenly my own weight it’s too much, and my legs give in, I fall on my knees. There’s nothing else to do, so I just curl myself into a small ball and allow myself to fall into unconsciousness, the last thing I hear is the rain furiously falling against the house.
I open my eyes and see that I’m in my bed, the covers over me, someone must have carried me to the bed. I get up and notice I still have the black dress on, I head to my closet and pull out some pants and an oversize sweater, I go down to the kitchen, I find my grandmother sitting at the island with a cup of coffee on hand, reading a book witch’s title I can’t make out, she turns her head toward me when she hears me coming closer.
“Hey sweetie” she says, giving me a small smile.
“Hey” I say, I go near her and take the seat opposite to her, we stand there for a moment in awkward silence. I take a deep breath “I’m so sorry-“
“Sh. . .” she says putting a finger over my mouth “shush now, its ok sweetie, everything’s ok, nobody will judge or ask” she gives me a reassuring smile.
“Thank you”
Silence falls again over us, after a moment gram readjusts herself on her seat and clears her throat “You do now we leave tomorrow, right?”
Another deep breath “Yeah”
“Have you packed?”
“No. . . do you know what’s mom going to do with dad’s things?”
“No, but I do know that his things are still there and that you can take with you whatever you want, you just have to do It before we go”
“Ok” I stepped away from the island and go back to my bedroom, the walls were painted the light purple I had chosen when I was eleven years old, I have a lot of pictures all over the place, memories, my life. . . or what it used to be, my gaze travels across every inch of it. And I feel lost, what the hell do I pack? Nothing seems worth keeping anymore, will I bring the shattered pieces of my heart? Those are already included. Will I bring the pictures on the wall, the memories, the light purple walls? it hurts too much to even think it. And I am way too old for light purple.
I make my way to my parent’s bedroom and open my dad’s side off the closet, I take out his favorite coat and place it over me, I breathed in the scent of it, it smells like that cheap French perfume witch’s name I can’t pronounce, there is a box with twenty-five more in the basement, apparently in the seventies it was the it, so dad thought it would be cool to buy one hundred. For the rest of his life, he would say
“Dad, that thing is way old, I bet they don’t even make it anymore”
“That’s why it’s so special” he would say “It’s. . . how do you kids call it this day, retro? Vintage?” and I would laugh at my dad’s attempt to sound cool
“Never mind dad, you’re just a vintage man” and then he would laugh.
It smells so much like him. it’s just unfair, I just lost him, and now I’m moving, leaving all the things of him behind, the thing’s that where once part of him, and I’m being forced to forget about him, to leave them all behind. What if I forget? What will it happened when I can’t tell if this, this part of my life, was real?. . . I feel a pang of pain hit me, and I know that I’ll bring my memories and my pain, all the way, till the end.
http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/2...