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#91 PerforatedxHearts

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Posted 16 May 2007 - 02:49 PM

And the Bride Wore Black

Part 1 out of 2 Parts




“What a scandal,” they’d whisper on the streets. The priest who performed at his funeral, the weeping mother of the unlucky boy, murmurs of the townspeople gathered around the City Square. “Poor, poor girl.”
So, was this how it ended? The mother wept, the father remembering, acquaintances patted backs and extended condolences. We’re so sorry for your loss, the words seemed to hold some sort of snicker. And the bride said nothing.
Odd, how many people look so deeply into the end, as if they forgot the beginning. So we look at a life, as ragged and despairing as it may seem, that collapsed- lost all emotion, any feeling, the element of surprise…gone.


*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*



“He loves me,” she giggled, holding up her ring finger. “He loves me sooo much.” The diamond splendor glittered in the pale moonlight, sparkled in what light the burning lantern offered.
“He sure does,” I agreed in monotone. 10 times in a row…and counting.
“Did I tell you? When he proposed, it was like…” she started excitedly, beaming down at the engagement ring.
“You already told me,” I said flatly, interrupting her in an energetic retelling of how clean his shirt was, how elegantly the cake was placed in front of her dinner plate, the exact spot where that ring- that ring, that ring- was nestled into leaves of Godiva- “Godiva! Godiva, Becca!”- and any other detail that simply required explanation.
She stopped abruptly.
“Oh…”
Her voice trailed off. She looked absolutely crestfallen.
The quiet moment was long. I did nothing to stop it. I stood up.
“I have to go now.”
She looked up at me. “All right.”
There was something about that dead voice, dead tone, dead whatever that tugged at my heart long after I had left. She was so weak, I was supposed to be so strong. To not crumble at every despairing critique- unlike her. To be able to shrug off the twitters, the stares, the pointing- unlike her. I was power. She was not.
So how the hell did she get engaged before me? Before me, of all peoples?


*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*



She had always worn this hideous conch shell necklace, the same vomit-green turtleneck sweater. No makeup whatsoever was dabbed on her blemishes, the unmistakable shame of adolescence. It was worse during lunch, so distracting to carry on a decent conversation with a whitehead-covered countenance, where my eyes strayed to constantly.
No wonder she was so elated when Brendon Parker asked her out.
At first, I didn’t think much of it. What was one boy, one geeky boy worth compared to my pile of football players, basketball players, hell, even the track boys- all the males of my choice. It didn’t matter who I dated in the end. I dated them all.
Except for one.
He was the typical “emo-hottie”, one who carried himself with the air of an “undateable” self. Sure, he had the typical future-prostitutes draping themselves over him, but he sort of swatted them away.
I knew. I used to be one of those girls.
I knew the heartbreaking line of, “Let’s just be friends.”
She would be sitting with me, and I would be minding my own business at lunch. He’d catch my eye, raise one finger for me to come to him…
“Go,” she’d say through her mouthful of ham-and-cheese, 500 calorie sandwhich. “Just go ahead.”
And it always happened the same way: me shooting her an apologetic smile, then when I looked back at her from my new spot by him, she wouldn’t be there anymore. I’d feel a twinge of guilt in my chest, which would be quickly forgotten in a record of 6 seconds.
“If you had a second chance for anything, what would you spend it on?” he’d ask during one of our random ‘talks’.
I was itching to say, “You,” but, instead I’d answer with something like, “Her,” and I’d guesture vaguely where she had been sitting.
“her?” he’d repeat. And I’d nod.
So, day after day, lunch always passed like that. My interrogation time.
Soon, the ache of my heart, the illusion that I could have anyone I wanted (shattered), eventually stopped throbbing so wretchedly. It still hurt, but not as much.
I guess everything came as a surprise when out of the blue, she sprung back into my life and blurted out, “Brendon asked me to marry him.”
The tear in my heart severed the more.
“You’re kidding me,” I said faintly, hearing my own voice echo in my ears, my heart stopping. Or pounding.
Whatever it was, it hurt.
“Yeah, we were outside at this coffee shop-“ her chatter kept spilling out in breathless spurts, as if she couldn’t handle her inhaling-exhaling just yet. “-and I leaned forward and he leaned forward and then I looked down since I heard something clink against my plate, and…” she beamed. So proudly, like a mother watching her toddler finally flair and spalsh across the swimming pool, “…and, well, that’s when he asked me to marry him.”
I nodded vaguely. I had stopped listening after “Yeah.” It was like my mind had just automatically shut down, refused to allow comprehension, that dark bubble of dread welling up from the pits of m blackened heart. I swallowed hard. I should be happy for her. Right?
“Becca? Becca? Beeeehhhhcccaa.”
I rose up slowly, gripping the edge of my chair. I couldn’t trust myself to not fall. No one would be there to catch me. “I…I have to go now. Umm….I’ll tell everyone about you two. I’m so happy for you.” As I stood up, the last words rushing out of my mouth, adrenaline seemed to trickle into my veins. My legs stood more firmly, my resolve strengthened. I was preparing to run.
“Becca, wait-“
But I was already running. I was flying, fleeing from truth, fleeing from the brutality of a broken, crumpled heart, the stitches torn again- fleeing from reality.


*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*



Thank you for taking your time to read this. Feedback and other such comments are appreciated. Again, this is part one out of the two parts (simply because I didn't have the time to type it all up >.<). I hope you all enjoyed this.

(Also, this has been moved from the other fiction thread. Hehe. Enjoy.)

--Serena <333
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#92 Stacey+Milo

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Posted 17 May 2007 - 11:00 AM

Okay...
--ClearsThroat--
Well...
I'm a TAD nervous 'cos this is the first one-shot I've written.
So, yeah.
Please review.
I want to know whether I should carry on writing one-shots/short stories.
Thanks.
WARNING: MATURE. DO NOT READ IF YOU FIND SUICIDE, SELF HARM AND/OR DEATH DISTURBING. THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THIS. PLEASE DO NOT COMPLAIN. I HAVE WARNED YOU.

My Freedom
The stormy waters stretched as far as I could see, the crashing waves breaking the nights silence. I licked my lips and tasted the salt in the air, probably the last source of food I would ever have. I knew what I was about to do. Most say that your final moments are lived by your life flashing before your eyes. Mine wasn't. My brain and common sense were trying their hardest to make me change my mind, but I knew it had to be done.

I won't say that I didn't have a choice, because I did. This was my choice. This was what I was going to do.

Remember how you felt when they went a voice said in my ear. Remember? You said yourself you wouldn't wish anyone that pain, not even your worst enemy. But when you jump, when you go, that is what you will be giving everyone who cares about you.

I shook my head. The voice was wrong. No one would care that I was gone. But yes, I admit that I wouldn't wish anyone that pain that I felt when I received the news that she had finally gone through with it. She was found in her bathroom two days after her sixteenth birthday, a razor in her pale hand and cuts along her wrist.

When I heard the news I felt as if part of my soul had been ripped to pieces. Several days after and I was thinner than ever, weighing a tiny 4 stone. I hadn’t eaten since I'd heard. I became more enclosed only saying a 'yes' or 'no' answer and crying at random moments. I would have starved to death if he hadn't have helped.

He came along when I was about to do it. In my opinion, at that time I had no reason to keep on living. I held the razor against my wrist when he ran through the door. I slipped and missed my artery, just cutting the flesh. I gasped as the pain stung at me, and I pressed a paper towel against the wound the bluish paper quickly turning crimson with blood. My blood. Tears stung my eyes as fresh stabs of pain erupted, but I embraced it. It felt good that I could finally control something in my life. Something that I could do on my own and not have anyone interfering. Well, everyone except him.

He had run towards me and held my sobbing body against his chest. He told me it was okay to grieve. He said that it was okay to feel pain, that she had someway betrayed me. He said it was okay to hate her for it. I spent the rest of the night sobbing into his arms. Who would have thought? My own brother, the one who I had argued with for the 16 years of my life was the one to comfort me in my time of need.

We had had a unfortunate childhood, him being cornered by the police every time possible and me watching from the sidelines as my parents missed the most important times of my life because of it. At my parents evening in my final year of school they were down at the police station after he had been accused for assault against a group of boys. At my graduation party they had been on the other side of the country, probably arguing with a judge over how he was innocent in the cannabis possession allegations. At my prom dance I was seen off by my grandparents, my mum and dad having gone 'away' to Cornwall for them to get away from the police phone calls once every other night. I acted as if I didn't mind when they missed my parents evening, I said it was okay that they missed my graduation party, I told my date to the prom that my mother and father were away on work business.

I acted as of I didn’t care. But I did. Every little thing they missed felt as though a knife was being plunged into my heart. Their Cornwall trip was only a week before she had gone through with it. I found out the day after their arrival - when I was suffering from a terrible hangover - that they had crashed with a lorry on the M6. They had died instantly.

The following days people acted soft around me, expecting me to explode at any given moment. But I didn’t. Having not known them for most of my life I couldn’t feel any sympathy. Then she did that and everything that had happened had gone up in flames, the fire licking at my wounds and me grieving not only for her, but finally for my parents and myself. That was when he had comforted me.

When mum and dad died it was if he had finally seen the light. Ever since then he had not been involved with the police once. In an attempt to clear his record he had gone to Iraq to fight in the war. I received a letter around two months after he had departed. Since that night of my failed suicide attempt I had tried my hardest to overcome my pain.

Everyday I was asked by my other friends how I could not be grieving anymore when they still were. They hated to see me happy when she wouldn’t be there to see it too. But I wasn’t happy. I was far from it. I acted strong for them. If I didn't then I would receive sympathy. That would only make things worse. So me and my friends faded apart and I finally started to live on my own free will. I rented an apartment on the other side of town where me and my brother would live when he came back from Iraq for Christmas. It was a month before the festivities began that I received the letter. I braced myself as I read the paper.

We are sorry to say that your brother has been killed in action in the Iraq war. You should be proud. He died a hero.

I almost didn't believe my eyes. Be proud? Be proud that my brother, my only source of comfort, was dead? That was the turning point. A month later, one day before Christmas, I found myself on the cliffs of Cornwall. The place where my parents were killed.

As I was brought back to the present I realised that my life had indeed flashed before my eyes. No one was there anymore. No one was there for me to live for. I stood in my lacy nightgown looking over the edge once more.

My feet were bare and blue, standing out against the white of the snow. White. White for hope. My life was anything but hopeful. I was though. I had been hopeful for months that something would happen. Whether it was that my family would come back or that maybe on my cutting nights that I would slip once more and cut an artery. Neither happened.

So here I found myself on the cliffs, ready to jump into the icy waters below. The icy waters and the jagged rocks. My death. I smiled at the word. The word that would end everything. Looking down at my white scars on my arms one more time I took a deep breath and fell.

My last thought was as I reached my peak before I plummeted to the ground. For a heart renching millisecond, it was as if gravity decided to ignore me and allow me to just lay there in mid air. I remembered with a smile of how the coyote from the cartoon would be falling from a cliff after yet another plan going wrong. He had just enough time to hold up a sign before falling to the floor with a thump. He always seemed to survive and carry his search for the road runner. I was different. I was no cartoon. I only had one life. And finally it was over.

I spread my arms wide. I must have looked like an angel in the air, my white gown billowing around me, my eyes closed as I waited for the impact below. I felt nothing as I hit the water and darkness surrounded me. It had finally come.

My death.

My freedom.



Tadaa.
The End.
Literally.
Please review.
I'd appreciate it muchly.

Stacey
xxx

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#93 Stacey+Milo

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Posted 17 May 2007 - 02:32 PM

by the way, please bare in mind that I'm only 13, so sozzee if it's not that good.
--SheepishSmile--
Yeah..
So...
Bye.
xx


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#94 nina.csi

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Posted 20 May 2007 - 11:26 AM

Wow, Stacey. That was... deep. Is it really your first one shot? That's really good. I like your writing style.

Nina xx

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#95 Stacey+Milo

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Posted 20 May 2007 - 02:03 PM

Thanks Nina!
Cookie for you!
It is indeedy my first one-shot.
I tried to post it on this writers thingy, but I didnt get any comments.
So I decided to post it on here instead.
:)
by the way, it's meant to be deep.
People wonder why someone commits suicide and they don't think of all the things they must be going through.
My friends slightly suicidal and everyday I think that life wouldn't be worth living if she went.
I suppose the girls best friend was based on her...
I know I'm only 13, but still the thoughts enter my head.
I dont want it to be true.
But it is.
Thats life.
Anyhoo, enough of my ramblings.
Thank you for commenting!
:)

Stacey
xxx

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#96 sirena

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Posted 25 May 2007 - 03:48 AM

Very nice. Suicidal thoughts. :lol: Very true too.. since I've had similar thoughts myself, but shh.. don't tell anyone. ;)

Very.. pretty descriptions. And yes, cutting your wrists is one of the stupidest ways to kill yourself. Disgusting and painful. Tsk tsk.

Why did her best friend kill herself anyway?

But.. very nice. (I need new adjectives.) *applause*
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#97 Stacey+Milo

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Posted 25 May 2007 - 06:38 AM

Thanks Sirena!
Me too but if you keep quiet about me, I'll be Shh about you, kaii?
Tbh, I have no idea why the best friend killed herself.
It just flowed onto the paper that way...
Hmm...
I might do another One-Shot in the best friends view...
Hmm...

Stacey
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#98 shadesofgrey

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Posted 30 May 2007 - 07:57 PM

This one shot was based of the song “Here I Stand” by Madina Lake. I recommend you listen to the song after you read it.



Here I Stand


She doesn’t think she could handle this anymore. Always suffocating her, he never let her be herself. She was always the girl that he wanted her to be. She was always playing the roll of the perfect girlfriend like a good little pet.

And she was sick of it.

Of course it was the middle of the night when she decided this; when she was watching him sleeping soundly next to her. It was silent and the only thing that could be heard were her short shallow breaths, while she decided what she had to do.

Being sure not to wake him, she slowly crept out of bed and grabbed her black duffle bag from under the bed.

Stuffing it with clothing, she kept on thinking again exactly what she was trying to do. Was she trying to run away from him? No, if she told him she didn’t want to stay he would let her go. Was she trying to prove something? Was this because of him not being around enough?

Tip toeing into the bathroom she grabbed all of the stuff she needed. Toothbrush? Check. Hair elastics? Check. Tampons? Check.

Stopping to look in the mirror, she took a good look at herself. Messy sweats and a big tshirt, strawberry blond hair hanging around her face, pale as a ghost. Not exactly the best she had ever looked.

She quietly opened the front door and grabbed her keys on the way out. Unlocking her car, she threw the duffle bag in the front seat. Leaning against the car door, she looked at the house and briefly thought about what she was doing.

Not wanting to waste any time, she walked back into the house and turned into the kitchen. Grabbing her Ipod off the charging dock and her cell phone she slipped them into her purse that was sitting on a seat, ready, like it had been waiting for her.

She took a cold bagel from out of the fridge and slipped it into a zip lock bag. Walking slowly into the living room, she checked to see what was there that she needed.

Empting a small basket that held a couple of magazines she tossed in her blue portable DVD player and set all of her favorite CDs next to it. She would come and get those after she got her shoes on. Setting her purse next to the basket, she went into the back room to grab her shoes.

Deciding which pair to bring with her was a hard decision. She slipped on a pair of her most comfortable flip flops and grabbed two pairs of tennis shoes and a pair of heels for the road.

Walking back into the room she stopped dead in her tracks. There he was, next to her DVDs. He looked up at her when she walked in. His brown hair was pulled in wild directions from bed head his green eyes looked confused and hurt. His dark blue boxers were all that he wore and she couldn’t believe he was here in front of her.

She tried opening her mouth to say something. She couldn’t seem to form words.

He just shook his head and pulled his hand through his hair. Walking out of the room, he left her speechless.

Sitting down on the brown couch, she didn’t know if she could think strait. What was he doing?

Coming back in a couple of minutes, he brought back with him a big storage box.

Taking the DVD player out of the basket, he neatly stacked it and all of the DVDs she had laid out into it. He took the extra shoes out of her hands, and put them in the box. He went back into their room, and came back with an armful of her books and her acoustic guitar, in its case. He also stacked the books in the box, and then picked up the box and with the guitar and started walking outside.

Bewildered at what he was doing, she grabbed her purse and keys and followed him out the door, stopping to take one last look at the door leading to their room.

He had opened the trunk to her Jeep and put the box and guitar in the back, and had started the car for her.

He jogged past her back inside. She shook her blond hair out of her eyes, wondering why he hadn’t said anything yet.

Coming back, he took her hand, and led her to the running car. Opening the door for her he slipped something in her hand. Wrapping his hand around the back of her neck, he brought her close and kissed her forehead. Before letting her go, he whispered, “I love you. Be safe.”

He stepped away and went inside the house.

Jumping into the driver’s seat, she sat there, wondering what had just happened.

Uncurling her hands, she saw she had placed a wad of money in her hand, four fifty dollar bills.

Slowly drifting into her lap was a piece of white loose leaf paper. On it, it said four simple words: I’ll love you forever.

It was in his messy, scrawny handwriting, but it was enough to bring tears in her eyes.

She took the keys out of the ignition. Not knowing what to do, she looked at the duffle bag next to her. She had a free getaway. She could go now, be free, be who she wanted to be, her own person.

And her first step in being free is going after a dream she wasn’t about to let go.

Opening the car door and practically jumping out, she sprinted toward the door, looking for the one thing she would need forever.

Turning the door knob she listened for any indication of where to go in the house. She heard some shuffling in the kitchen, so she thought she was safe going in there first.

It was actually in the living room where she ended up finding him, sitting on the couch with his head in his hands.

Running up to him, he stood up and grabbed her in a hug, at just the same time she reached for him.

She could feel him crying, and she was quite sure he could feel her crying too.

His face was buried into her hair, but she heard his quiet whisper, “Why did you come back?”

“I could find exactly what I was looking for, in you.” She said into his shirt.

“And here I stand.”

______________________________________

Hope you guys liked it...

**tibby**
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#99 chrissilai

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Posted 31 May 2007 - 07:55 AM

[mod edit: do not post links to personal sites if they do not meet the terms of this board.]
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#100 medieval_avalon128

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Posted 01 June 2007 - 09:13 AM

^I really like your story. I found the ending particularly touching. Keep up the good work!

~Heidi

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#101 Lauren.X.Angel.X.Blues

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Posted 08 June 2007 - 12:36 PM

My.Oh.My [Nancy Yu] has just logged on



My.Oh.My: Hello?????????



Not_So_Perfect [Amy Ryder] has just logged on



Not_So_Perfect: Yo Nanc!

My.Oh.My: HEEEYYYY AMY!!! What’s up girl?

Not_So_Perfect: Not much Nanc. School is boring my guts out ;P

My.Oh.My: Wait… where’s Claire?



Dragon_XoX_Butterfly [Claire Fannington] has just logged on



Dragon_XoX_Butterfly: Anyone called moi?

Not_So_Perfect: EEK! Claire you’re here. Oh thanks god… I thought you would have forgotten!

Dragon_XoX_Butterfly: Dragon_XoX_Butterfly: You gotta be kidding me Amy. Me? Miss Julia’s birthday? Hello??? Who do you think I am?

My.Oh.My: Erm… people? I think we are missing the actual birthday girl… *narrows eyes*



five_ft_tall_freak [Julia Adamson] has just logged on



five_ft_tall_freak: Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday to Julia, happy birthday to me!

Dragon_XoX_Butterfly: Hahaha… *chokechokechoke*

five_ft_tall_freak: What? It’s my birthday people! Where are my presents? Huh?

My.Oh.My: We’ve got to wait for Maggie, Kelly, Kira and Tia to arrive… then you get your presents!

five_ft_tall_freak: Awww…



PerfectPrincess16 [Tia Morgans] has just logged on



PerfectPrincess16: Yo!



Koolie_Kira_Kooks_Kookies [Kira Lewis] has just logged on



Koolie_Kira_Kooks_Kookies: Hey ladies.

Dragon_XoX_Butterfly: Hey guys! Who are we missing now?

Not_So_Perfect: Hmmm… let me see…Okay! When I say your names you say ‘Hee-Hoo’! Got it? Okay… Nancy?

My.Oh.My: Heeeee-Ho!

Not_So_Perfect: Errr... Thank you! Claire?

Dragon_XoX_Butterfly: Hee-Hoo *grins like an idiot*

Not_So_Perfect: Birthday kid Julia?

five_ft_tall_freak: Hee-Hoo people. How ya doin?

Not_So_Perfect: Tia?

PerfectPrincess16: I still can’t believe we’re saying that after five years but… HEE-HOO!

Not_So_Perfect: Kira?

Koolie_Kira_Kooks_Kookies: Hah! There is no way I’m saying that *glares at Amy’s screen name*

Not_So_Perfect: *murmurs* idiot! Kelly?



Meg*Cabot_ROX [Kelly Carmen] has just logged on



Meg*Cabot_ROX: Sorry I’m late people!

Not_So_Perfect: And… Maggie?

PerfectPrincess16: Hellooooooooooooooooooooooo???????????

five_ft_tall_freak: Hey Maggs! Where are you?



LadyMamaMaggie [Maggie Hills] has just logged on



LadyMamaMaggie: Whoops! Five minutes late… as usual!

My.Oh.My: *rolls eyes*

LadyMamaMaggie: WHAT?!

My.Oh.My: Oh nothing!

Koolie_Kira_Kooks_Kookies: So, guess we’re all here then.

Dragon_XoX_Butterfly: Together.

PerfectPrincess16: After five years.

Meg*Cabot_ROX: For the first time.

five_ft_tall_freak: *silence… creepy, dark, silence…*

Not_So_Perfect: Jules! Don’t do that!

five_ft_tall_freak: fine, fine, fine…

My.Oh.My: You know what guys? This is actually quiet strange…

Not_So_Perfect: I know.

Dragon_XoX_Butterfly: I thought we would never see each other again… even if it was virtual!

five_ft_tall_freak: Yeah… after five log years…

PerfectPrincess16: EEK! You people are making it sound as if it was five HUNDRED years instead of just five!

Koolie_Kira_Kooks_Kookies: Exactly! But it actually HAS been a pretty long time, hasn’t it?

Meg*Cabot_ROX: Yeah… one of you moved to USA, then Germany… Italy, Spain, Japan… oh gosh. We are like totally international now ;P

LadyMamaMaggie: Exactly. But have you people forgotten why we are here?

Meg*Cabot_ROX: To sob, weep and cry?

Koolie_Kira_Kooks_Kookies: …NO!...

My.Oh.My: People!?! It’s Julia’s Sweet Sixteen!

five_ft_tall_freak: Correct Nancy. So, where are my presents?

Dragon_XoX_Butterfly: Oh, bother!

*****

Hope you guys liked it!

:spinstar: Lauren

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#102 Lauren.X.Angel.X.Blues

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Posted 08 June 2007 - 12:37 PM

Whoops! Sorry about the spacing people!

:spinstar: Lauren

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#103 Bella Catarina

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Posted 09 June 2007 - 07:05 AM

I wrote this as practice for a Bluebook Essay Question that was going to be [and was] worth 40 points on my Language Arts Exam. The Fictional Story, Flowers for Algernon, was written in the Sixties by Daniel Keyes and appeared in our Textbook at school. The words in brackets specify a topic that was either discussed in class or an opinion that I was required to give.


Flowers for Algernon
Bluebook Essay Question


Charlie Gordon, 37, is mentally disabled and works at a Plastic Box Company as a janitor. In the beginning of this story, he has been told by his Night School teacher Ms. Kinnian, 34, that he may be useful to some doctors—they may be able to “use him.” After a few tests (he dislikes tests, by the way), he is afraid that they will decide not to “use him” because he does not understand the tests that they give him. However, they do end up deciding to ask his services—Ms. Kinnian had highly recommended him because of how much motivation and hard work he put into learning. She realized how dearly he wanted to be smart. Therefore, it seemed fair that he could become smart. [Discussion]

In previous years the mentally disabled had to go to separate schools than those not mentally disabled. It was almost a form of segregation. Mentally disabled people have also been put in asylums in the past—people feared them. Nowadays most go to normal schools and people attempt to treat them like everyone else. [Discussion]

The doctors, Dr. Strauss and Nemur, play a big part in this story. They are working on an operation that can make animals and humans smarter. One such animal is Algernon, a rat that had his IQ (or Intelligence Quotient) tripled when the doctors operated on him. Charlie is required to “run races” with Algernon, meaning that he tries to win against him to the end of a maze. The same operation is, in turn, given to Charlie. Just as it did to Algernon, Charlie’s IQ is supposed to triple from 68 to over 200.

This is not a thing that will happen overnight—directly following the operation Charlie feels no smarter than he did before. However, while he sleeps a machine teaches him information so when Ms. Kinnian starts to teach him he will learn faster. When she does, she emphasizes spelling and punctuation—Charlie reads an entire Grammar Textbook in one sitting and manages to soak every little bit of the information in it like a sponge.

In the same general time period, Charlie beats Algernon in a race, thus proving further that Charlie is definitely learning. However, improving just this little bit in academics and racing can turn out to start having negative affects. When out with his “friends,” Charlie finally understands that they have been making fun of him all along—that the jokes they cracked were about him. Before the operation took place he did not understand this—he was quite innocent.

Ms. Kinnian now worries about Charlie—she, as well as others, I’m sure, do this—that Charlie will not stay smart. You can tell (or at least I believe it is the following way) that she really is hurting for him—half of her expressing wonder at how much he will learn, the other half expressing sadness at the fact that he may lose this gift. In a way, I think that she loves him—loves him for having experienced what no one else ever did. [Opinion]

Charlie, now above the IQ of an average person, is having nearly the same trouble communicating with others that he had when he was mentally disabled. No one seems to be able to comprehend what he says. Before, he was the one who couldn’t understand. The affect is the same.

I believe, horrible as it may sound, that it may be better to be mentally disabled. These people have naïveté, yes, but seem to be so caring—so loving and innocent of the world’s horrors. [Opinion]

After witnessing firsthand his startling genius, nearly everyone at Donnegan’s Plastic Box Company signs a petition to get him fired. Only one woman doesn’t sign it, and that is because she doesn’t believe in petitioning on principle. Charlie, of course, is deeply hurt by this. He seems to experience this feeling often. [Discussion]

Charlie, ever so smart, is just now realizing that not everyone is perfect—not everyone he knows is the genius he once thought they were. Ms. Kinnian doesn’t understand him very well anymore, and the doctors don’t know everything that Charlie does. He now becomes critical of many people for their faults. As Charlie comes to learn and believe, I believe that no one is the same on the inside as they appear on the outside—it is just impossible. Everyone has something that they want to hide—to shield. Everyone likes to recreate themselves to look a different way towards other people. [Opinion]

However, Charlie is not critical of everyone. After seeing a mentally disabled boy being teased the way he was, he decides that he is the one to find out what will really happen to him—as well as Algernon.

Soon afterwards Algernon begins to decline in health and intelligence. Soon he dies. Charlie is upset—he buries him in his backyard and finally turns in his research to Dr. Strauss. It points conclusively to the fact that he will forget everything he learned.

Charlie, his intelligence completely having disintegrated, asks for his job as janitor back from Mr. Donnegan—he has no means of support any longer. However, it unnerves him that everyone acts so sorry for him. He can’t stand to be with people who knew him while he was smart. Thus upset, he takes a few books and leaves town… reminding his friends in a letter to put flowers on Algernon’s grave.



*

Sure, it is a little boring, but I worked hard on it, getting all my thoughts together... So I thought I'd put it here. :D


Kat :spinstar:
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#104 sirena

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Posted 09 June 2007 - 11:05 AM

Since I did FOA recently for my Language Arts, although we watched the movie instead, I feel that that was pretty well-done. ^_^ And I had to agree that intelligence is a double-edged sword. *nods* Overall, nicely done. A little dry, but I guess that can't be helped. :D
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#105 Lauren.X.Angel.X.Blues

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Posted 10 June 2007 - 09:06 AM

five_ft_tall_freak [Julia Adamson] has just logged on



LadyMamaMaggie [Maggie Hills] has just logged on



oh my god!!! Julia... Maggie... doesn't this sound a BIT fimiliar?

xoxkpxox

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#106 X.Kiki_Kiss.X

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Posted 10 June 2007 - 09:10 AM

Oh gosh wait... this isn't my account... what on Earth just happened there? How come I just posted with Lauren's account??? EEK! This is soooo freaky! I swear guys, I don't even know her but something happened with my computer and suddenly I saw Lauren's name instead of mine... HELP?!?!

xoxkpxox

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#107 Bella Catarina

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Posted 11 June 2007 - 12:02 PM

Since I did FOA recently for my Language Arts, although we watched the movie instead, I feel that that was pretty well-done. ^_^ And I had to agree that intelligence is a double-edged sword. *nods* Overall, nicely done. A little dry, but I guess that can't be helped. :D

Thanks. :D

And yes... It is a little dry, but, as you said, it really couldn't be helped very much. It wasn't a particularly lively sort of story. Sure, it dealed with a topic thoroughly, and things happened often, but it just didn't have much... zing.

I kinda wish we could have watched the movie instead. It took us almost [or at least] a month of Class Periods to read it out loud, when all of us had obviously had the opportunity to read it over 10 times. It was exhasperating.



Kat

PS :

Oh gosh wait... this isn't my account... what on Earth just happened there? How come I just posted with Lauren's account??? EEK! This is soooo freaky! I swear guys, I don't even know her but something happened with my computer and suddenly I saw Lauren's name instead of mine... HELP?!?!

xoxkpxox

Sounds scary. I'd email the administrators, or something.

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#108 MiZunderStuD

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Posted 11 June 2007 - 04:06 PM

This is like the second short story or one-shot i've written. so please be nice.

CC is welcome. Thanks.



Falling for the enemy.

Run ! Just keep running. Don’t look back. What ever you do, don’t look back. She’s too scared to. Too look back and see him chasing her. He’s your enemy. She tells herself over and over and over again. If they find you they’ll kill you. She knows this. But then why does she want go back to him. And even if they don’t kill you, he won’t want you, he only said it to gain your trust so he could what… crush you. Ruin you. Completely break you down. Run! Just run. Don’t think about that. It doesn’t matter, now.

The trees surround her threateningly, as the dark envelopes her, and for once in her short life she’s thankful for darkness, which is hiding her. Leaning her arm on a tree, she lets out a breath. How the hell is she going to get away. She’s stranded in a forest with three men chasing her, 4 including him, with no idea whe… arms wrap themselves around her, one hand on her mouth muffling her gasp. Her back is towards her capturer, but she knows it’s him.
She just knows.

He turns her around in his arms so, she’s facing him. Both his hands are planted firmly on her small waist, stopping her from escaping. Not that she could. He winces at the fear her eyes are holding. She’s never been scared of him, even when they had first captured her, she’d been full of animosity and resentment.

Her eyes bore into his. “ I found her,” he shouts loudly.

Her eyes widen slightly, as they fill up with tears against her will. “She’s heading back towards the cabin,” he continues. Still not breaking eye-contact, he wipes the tears from her face with his thumb.

Collapsing into him, her face buried in the crook of his neck. “You have to get of here, now” He murmurs suddenly, hearing them getting closer. “Are you there wolf” one of them shouts “We can’t find her, she must have come back this way” his voice getting louder, as he approaches. Picking her up bridal style, he runs.

She’s lighter then, when they had first captured her. It was starling how she could love him after, what he had done to her. Laying in his grasp her arms twisted around his neck, so trustingly. He could kill her if he wanted to. She wouldn’t fight back. Kill or cherish. Harm or Protect. That decision had been made the moment he had sent them away from her.

The rain pounds down on them, making her shiver, his arms tighten around her. There catching up to them, there footsteps getting nearer and nearer. Finally coming to a clearing, he sees his motorbike, stood up against a tree. Going over to it, he gets on placing her at the front, she falls back, on to him, barely conscious. Not having the helmets, he starts up the engine as there pursuers run out into the clearing. “What do you think you’re playin at wolf.” “Get back here now.” “Wolf!” He turns back with a smirk, nodding at them, before driving off.


__Aqeelah
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#109 fungirl08

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Posted 15 June 2007 - 12:16 PM

Um, okay, I'm not really sure how this works. Do u just write your story here? Is their a word limit? I really don't understand....
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#110 medieval_avalon128

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Posted 15 June 2007 - 01:09 PM

I don't believe there is a word limit, but your story does need to be a short story. It has to be a one-shot, and you can just post it here and receive feedback from others on it. If you read the first post, it pretty much tells you what you need to know about this thread.
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#111 *Insert Emo SN Here*

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Posted 24 June 2007 - 07:32 PM

Here's a narrative essay I wrote last year for my english class. We were asked to write an essay on a memory of ours and I chose the night a bat flew into my house. I totally freaked out an ran away it was a day before halloween too. Anyways here it is:



Last Journey




It’s a cold October night and the parental units have finally given me permission to go out on my own. After two hours of arguing relentlessly it seemed as if they would never let me out of the house. Thankfully Uncle Ramon convinced them that I was old enough to start my first excursion out into the night life, after all I’m practically 9 years old! The cold wind beats against me as I make my journey through the night. Harmonious sounds fill the air to create a unique song. The sounds of the crickets ease my anxiety of being all alone. Moonlight splatters onto Willow trees and red brick houses creating a vivid picture. My breathing gets heavier as I keep on moving. I decide to find a place to rest my weary bones. Suddenly a tree branch catches my left wing and I am immobilized for a couple of seconds. I start descending quickly towards the hard black pavement. I mutter prayers for help, hoping that my first flight would not be my last.




After mere moments of almost meeting my maker, I find that I am able to flap my left wing again. Each beat becomes more painful than the one before. My parents are going to kill me; there is no way they are ever going to let me out on my own ever again, if I ever get back home alive. Searing knives of pain slice through the weak muscles in my wing. I am about to give up all hope when I see a perfect place to land. I shimmy myself through a narrow opening in a big white wall. It is cold inside but the pain in my wing overrides the need for warmth. After resting for a couple of minutes I decide to head back home before my wing gives out. Unfortunately I forget which way I came in. This certainly is a predicament; there is light coming from both ends of this tunnel. I give up trying to figure out which way I came from and head in any direction. I hear a noise far off in the distance. I must be close, only a few moments and I’ll be whizzing through the night sky.
Instead of emerging into the cool air, I encounter a dead end. Foolish as I am, I push against the wall that is blocking my exit. It doesn’t budge. I push harder. I feel the wall move slightly. I pull back and throw myself against the wall with all my might. The wall collapses under the force of my body and I find my self catapulting towards the ground. I do say I performed quite a number flips and somersaults before landing face front on the floor.




I don’t move for what feels like a lifetime. The pain that had almost gone has returned in both of my wings. I glance up and find an odd creature sitting at a table. It is stuffing its face for what I can only assume to be chocolate. I have tasted a couple of kinds, Dove, Hershey’s and Cadbury, but I found it too sweet for my liking. I was also bouncing off the walls for a fortnight afterwards. There is a pile of silverish metal on the table in front of the creature. I try to move my wings. I accomplish lifting up my left wing completely off the ground when a blood curdling scream bites the air. The noise is coming from the creature at the table which is now moving rather quickly away from it. I hear a slam. What a strange creature.


Suddenly I hear more voices screaming. They are coming from behind. I turn to find two creatures similar to the one at the table frantically jumping and screaming. Fearing being trampled on in their odd rampage, I attempt to move away. I successfully manage to gain two feet of air when a large stick comes hurdling at me. The end of the stick is rather rough and prickly and I quickly double over in pain when it strikes me. The larger of the two creatures is holding the stick. It lifts the stick up high to execute another life threatening blow, but I am too quick for it. A rush of adrenaline enables me to fly away just in time before the second hit almost kills me. I fly around frantically hoping, wishing, praying, that I find a way out of this quirky and strange land.


I do say these creatures lack hospitable attributes. I would never treat guests in my home in such a manner as this. My mother would beat me and lock me up before I even would have the chance to. I doubt these creatures have ever learned of the word respect or have even heard of it for that matter with all this yelling and screaming they’re producing. How uncivilized. The larger creature chases me from corner to corner. My attempts of escape are futile, but at least I’m dodging the immense stick with a great deal of accuracy. Dad has always said my ears were impeccable, comes from his side of the family, or so he claims. Too bad they weren’t of much help in avoiding that tree branch earlier.
Actually this is quite entertaining, watching these pathetic creatures try and whack me with their stick. The smaller one runs off somewhere, no doubt it has given up. Maybe if I keep this up long enough, this moron will stop chasing me and let me get out of this horrid place. I try and look for the tunnel I fell out of earlier. I circle around the ceiling twice in the attempt of making the creature dizzy. After all it’s always worked on Viktor, although Viktor isn’t exactly the strongest or smartest of the bunch. Nevertheless, I continue searching for that tunnel. My gateway to freedom, or imprisonment if my parents ever figure out what’s happened to me.



Alas, I do indeed find it, and beat my wings as fast as they can go. I find that my source of energy is getting low. I’m so close. I feel the creature yelling behind me. Its footsteps vibrating on the ground. Waving its stick in the air in hopes of one more blow to put an end to my short life. I’m almost there, one last push, come on Octavian, the taste of liberation is almost on your lips. Before I even imagine myself out, frolicking in the night, in celebration of my escape, I hear another scream. I look to find the smaller of the creatures holding a small object. It’s shiny and cylindrical. I have never seen the likes of it before and am curious as to its purpose. The larger creature shouts in what sounds like a shout of triumph. I’m oddly confused by this situation and am allured by the shininess of the green object. The larger creature snatches the object from the smaller one. All of a sudden a hissing noise comes out of the object and an unfamiliar mist fills the air. I start gasping for breath. The mist is intoxicating. My breaths become shorter and shorter. Colors spin in my head as an odd feeling of pain rushes through my body like water. My breaths no longer come. All I can feel is the thudding of my racing heart. Thoughts of regret fill my mind. All the things I hoped I could accomplish. Gone. I’m so sorry, Mom, Dad, I love you so much. Slowly it fades as I descend to the ground. Wishing I had chosen to stay home, with the comfort of my family around me. No longer will I be safe in my cave. I land with a thud. One last breath. I am left with the roaring sound of cheers of triumph and thoughts of failure in my ears.

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#112 princessk

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Posted 24 June 2007 - 07:54 PM

Pink Tears

She didn't want to run. Running would make her look frightened, scared, and helpless. It would look as if she was weak. She knew this, and yet she let her feet pick up their pace and slap against the moist sand.

The salty air stung in her eyes and whipped her short brown tresses around her face. It fell into her eyes. Into her mouth. The humid air had caused sweat to form around her hairline and her lip. But she didn't brush away the hair or wipe away the beads of perspiration. She didn't care.

The ties of her bikini were coming loose as her petite frame bounded through the waves and risked exposing herself. It didn't phase her, though. He had seen her. The complete humiliation of that overshadowed anything else.

As the incident came rushing back in her mind, she felt the tears. They started in her throat, and worked their way up until they were tingling with more than salt and sand. But she choked them back. "I'm already desperate for letting him, weak for running. Crying would make me pathetic." And she believed that entirely.

Her legs began to feel heavy, but she pressed on. An athlete, she was not, but anyone who survived what she had could survive a jog on the beach.

She looked down at the surface she was running on. Bermuda's Horseshoe Bay was legendary for its sand. The sand that, as the water hit it, would turn a beautiful, pale pink. Few believe until they see, and that's the way she was. Three days ago, that pink sand was gorgeous to her. Pink had forever been her favorite color, even as a little girl. Now it made her want to vomit. She would never be able to look at the color again without remembering.

Finally, it was too much. She collapsed in the surf and let it engulf her. "Let it drown me. Let me drown." The cool water splashed around her legs, arms, neck, and face, washing away...him. Washing away today. Washing away, physically. But never, ever mentally.

She dragged herself from the caressing ocean and lay on the beach, breathing heavily. Her body was coated in sand. She felt the presence of others around her. Singing, playing, splashing. Being happy. In her heart of hearts, she felt like the feeling of happiness would never come again.

Then it happened. She couldn't hold it anymore, so she let go. Of all emotion, feeling, and grief she was bottling up inside of her. She wasn't weak for doing it. She wasn't to blame. She just let them flow over her flushed cheeks, down her chin, and finally dripping onto the sand.

Her pink tears.
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#113 MaresaKW

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Posted 02 July 2007 - 09:54 PM

I wrote this about a year ago, and I just left it as is. Its short, but its to the point. In case anyone was wondering its about Marilyn Monroe.

She had been sitting by the phone for 3 hours, the house was pitch-black, Marilyn had sat down by the phone while the sun was still shining. She liked the sun, it made her feel like she wasn’t the only lonely woman in the world, because in reality the sun was just a big shining star, something others could look upon and need (like herself) up in a sky filled with small, tiny planets that all wanted to revolve around her but just couldn't give her the love, and happiness she longed for.

It was 10:00pm now, Marilyn decided it was probably a good assumption that the person she hoped would call was not going to, and that she needed to get some rest, thinking this she turned on her lamp in a bedroom fit for a Queen, but with the absence of the King she longed for. She nearly tripped over the pills on the floor while going to the bathroom, the ones that aided her in restless, sleepless nights.

With the thought of her career going down the drain, the threatening phone calls, and the obsession she had of the man she loved and wanted to be with, she hadn't gotten much rest lately.

She put on her robe.

She was in the bathroom now turning on the warm water to her bath; she thought this would make her feel better. She got in, the water glistening off her body like the ocean does the sun. She soaked and hummed her favorite song, she decided she would put the bad thoughts that had been concentrated on for so long to rest for a night and attempt to have a good nights sleep, she went for the pills, then thought "No, I don't need them.”. when suddenly she heard a noise, her hopes shot up, her heart started to race, she ran to the middle of her glamorous home; any girls dream; but there was silence, darkness...nothingness. Just like what she felt in her heart. She ran back to her room. Tears streaming down her face one by one she wiped them, but they kept coming. She screamed, she laughed, and then she called out for her mother, she yelled out for all the men she had loved at one point in her life, but no one came. The darkness she felt within her got deeper until she felt cold, numb, and to the point that death was the only solution to her lonely, life. She pictured herself at peace and loved by all, the dead and the living, she took a breath and with quivering hands reached for the bottle half full of pills, she poured them into her mouth, the taste bitter, and the pills sticking to her throat and tongue as they went down, a last tear rolled down her cheek, the last drop of sunshine left in her, disappeared with a last breath and tear, she smiled because in her last moment she realized. "Ill be remembered...the sun is never forgotten"

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#114 vickiie

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Posted 03 July 2007 - 12:30 PM

My Essay on Global Warming
Global Warming
Adults complain regularly about being stuck in traffic on the way to work in the morning, why are they even in their car? If more people take public transport (not including taxi’s, as those don’t help much) the jams will be cut shorter, what else happens when you take public transport? You do your part to stop global warming! Sure you don’t stop it completely, but you help, you know why? You know how? Because you, are not using a separate car to add to the pollution of our planet, which is one of the factors in global warming. If one bus can fit around lets say thirty people, instead of having thirty vehicles outside causing pollution, it’s wrapped into one. One vehicle causes less pollution than thirty of them, right? Correct.
Another factor of global warming is energy, we’re wasting energy, so while that’s happening, the ice caps are melting and the polar bears, penguins and seals, where are they supposed to go when their homes melt? It’s like our homes bursting into flames, I bet you don’t want that to happen to your house. Did you know, that if we eventually do end up burning and melting all the ice caps, life as we know it will come to an end (if we’re still living, that is) and half of the world will be underwater, while the rest of the world will be suffering from dehydration.
Much good it will be to live underwater if nothing works, you’ll still die and you wont have a nice little grave to get buried, you’ll just rot on the floor while people are trying to cry but they cant because its underwater. Everyone, who is living underwater will probably die at the same time because you cannot hold your breath for your whole entire life, I think you know that when you tried to hold your breath in first grade swimming. So never mind about the whole crying underwater. If your around let’s say ten to thirteen, your probably going to live until your like fifty, if we’re going to go on like this and that just isn’t fair now is it?
So now if you get my message, stop global warming, because hello, who wants to die at the age of fifty? Just imagine those poor babies dying the second their born, oh my.


I dont know if it's any good so please give some feedback!
:heartbeat: Vicky

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#115 the_tall_girl

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Posted 03 July 2007 - 02:41 PM

Not the best essay I've ever written. I wrote it in September so...it's gotta suck. but because I'm bored, I thought I'd post it here.

Xhulia ****
Period 5
September 20, 2007
LA8/ ******

Should Violent Video Games Be Banned?


The debated question for half a decade now is: Should violent video games be banned? It is a question that needs great consideration because these explicit video games harm people in many ways that even the government may not be aware of. Video games not only affect people that are playing and watching them, but also innocent people that had nothing to do to deserve harsh treatment if not death. This form of entertainment may see harmless, but in reality, it is not. Teenagers and people that are playing them for consecutive hours and days, they get influenced and think that that is the ‘cool’ way to act- that’s how everyone else is acting and since I want to be cool, I should start acting like this. But that’s not the problem. The problem is that the influence that they are getting is not positive. Most games these days contain very graphic, pugnacious acts. Another reason why video games need to be banned is because kids are not getting enough exercise. It is a fact that the rate of overweight Americans is increasing more than people dying of tobacco. These video games administer bad portrayals that could lead America in the wrong direction. From racism, to hatred to rebellion to corruption. Administering violent video games is like giving teenagers a free pass to a whole world that not only damages their eye sight, and almost turns them into different people, but could also harm the whole country.

What’s the word of the day? ‘Cool’, right? Teenagers around the world, not just the United States, want to feel welcomed and part of the cold society they live in no matter what it takes. Kids want to fit in, become popular among their peers and simply be sociably accepted. Many youngsters these days would rather starve than go to school without the latest trends. But that’s only the beginning. Kids that live in more dangerous and harsh environment, clothes aren’t what is going to get them ‘in’, oh no. These days, in order to join a gang, they need to steal, or possibly injure another person. Now you may ask, where do they get such ideas? Who starts these gangs that everyone is following? The answer is simple: video games. Video games are the reason why kids feel the need to act cool and do the ‘dude, that’s hot!’ thing. Video games are the first to dispense these violent acts. It could be just one video game artist’s and writer’s imagination, but that becomes someone else’s reality. It may start out with two teenagers playing a violent game over and over again until they’re influenced to act out the scenes in the video game. They go out into a New York alley, let’s say, and they shoot a person because, well, that’s what the guy in Grand Theft Auto did and he looked so tough and cool. The violence that these two kids are causing spreads, because what they’re doing is now the ideal thing to do if they want to be cool. Therefore, this is a vicious pattern that could cause innocent people their lives and negatively influenced kids their freedom by being thrown into a cell. What these video games are also spreading like a virus is sexual activity. The sex rate increases in the Untied States just as violence is. In these video games, not only can you shoot, steal, but most ironically of all you can engage with prostitutes…and then kill them. What kind of lesson are these video games teaching our children?

Another reason why video games really ought to be banned is because the health hazards it can cause. Children and teenagers (under aged may it be added), are risking their health by staring at a television screen full of violence and improper visualizations. If you had to ask video game players about their typical day, it would go something like this; I come home, turn my PlayStation or X-Box on and I play. For how long? Oh not much. Just the usual 3PM to 11PM. Not much indeed. Watching and concentrating on these video games so much could strain your eyes and damage their vision. Sooner or later, glasses are more than necessary. Beside the vision problems that video games can cause, another issue pops up: teenagers and children are not getting enough exercise. Instead of being outside and playing with their friends, they are inside, most likely eating unhealthy foods, and playing video games. By doing so, this could lead to teenagers getting overweight. The rate of people in the United States that are overweight is quite high and increasing by each year. But that’s not the problem. The problem is what obesity could lead to. There are over 300,000 deaths per year because of this. It has become an epidemic caused by technology, most of it by video games. Physical health problems such as increased blood pressure, diabetes, sleep apnea, and asthma are all amplified as a result of obesity or in other words, playing video games all day long and not going outside, getting exercise with their friends. Also, video games should be banned because they are causing teenagers to do poorly in school. They put over five hours a day playing video games and trying to ‘beat the record’ that there is no time left to do homework. Averages go down and kids possibly never even make it to high school. It could be because the dangerous things that they trigger kids to do and the consequences after it by legal means. Video games are something that damage health and mind.

In games like Grand Theft Auto: Vice City very negative messages are spread among teenagers nationwide. In this particular game, racism is taught to young minds among Haitians and Cuban refugees. Gangs fighting with each other based on race until death. There are strong disputes on religion, sex, race and gangs fighting each other over these issues until their whole race is demolished. Teenagers see these and by the amount of time they put into playing the game, it gets in their head that a certain thing should be this way or that. That a certain religion or race should be killed, because after all, that is what these ‘gangsters’ are doing in the video games. A child’s mind is young and easily molded. Once it gets in their head and they believe that a certain thing should really be this way, there is an almost zero chance of clearing that out of their minds. When these teenagers leave their homes or wherever they are paying explicit video games and they go into the real world, they will remember what their video games have taught them; hatred. Sooner or later, there will be gangs of people, uniting and believing that an opposing race/ religion, etc. should be demolished. What will they do? They will act upon these video games and actually harm other people. That is not what America is about. ‘…that all men are created equal’. Where would that go? These gangs might rise, form bigger unions and gangs nationwide. Does America need gangs where they could overthrow the government and possibly turn it totalitarian? Video games offer, not strong opinions, but rather demands. It is basically telling a child that this is a way things should be. The child will take that under their wing and act on it. It’s as simple as that. Equality shattered and fear would take place. The world once had a Hitler. The world doesn’t not need a second one.

So as you can see, video games provide teenagers with negative influence that increase violence and many other things, causing harm to one another and damaging their lives. They come along with many health hazards such as eye sight weariness and obesity. Children do not get enough exercise, therefore gaining much unnecessary weight that could lead to early heart attacks, lung, muscle problem and much more. Death in most cases results from this. These forms of entertainment spread racism, hatred among different religions, gender, etcetera. This all has a great possibility of resulting to deaths, attempts to overthrow the government and overrule. All of this is possible with the influence of video games. The generation’s worst enemy for a brighter future. In conclusion, video games provide negative feedback that children will act on them, whether it’s because they want to be ‘cool’ or that they’ve been brainwashed. So, they should be banished before further damage can take place.

---

five_ft_tall_freak [Julia Adamson] has just logged on



LadyMamaMaggie [Maggie Hills]has just logged on




oh my god!!! Julia... Maggie... doesn't this sound a BIT fimiliar?

xoxkpxox


Lmao! Hi Maaaaggie! Lol That IS kind of weird.. Lol

-Julia


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#116 the_tall_girl

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Posted 03 July 2007 - 03:14 PM

THE stupiest [and only] short story that I wrote last year for English. It sucks. Like, REALLY sucks. It's so stupid. I don't even know why I'm posting it... *shrugs*



The Dragon and the Boy

Created By: Julia N.


The universe did not exist, therefore, instead of planets, there was only a big, empty, black space. However, there was one thing that did exist; a small star upon the big emptiness. On that star lived a small boy and his small dragon .The boy, or the ’creator’ as most people would one day come to know him as, was always wanting to be alone. Este, the dragon was always offering to keep him company. He told the little boy riddles, jokes and made up stories. Even though the boy acted as if were not interested, he listened closely. He was marveled by the idea of Death; that someone could disappear somewhere but not know where they had gone. Of course, these were all made up stories, and at the time, the only two creatures in existence were Este and the boy. Death was unknown.

By hearing Estes’ stories, the little boy got inspired. By each growing day, he found himself looking out at the darkness in front of him and found himself that he wanted to know what pain was. And he was sure that once he knew what it was, he would enjoy it. Enjoy causing it. (Now, in the present day, that’s called a sadism- a psychological disorder.) Realizing that his so- called companion was pure good, he decided to throw him off of the star. He thought that throwing him off would not only show him what Death really was, but would also let him proceed with his plans.

As the boy reached the age of ten, Este became aware of the boys’ lust. Pure evil lust to do something horrible. Este knew as much as the boy wanting to create life and a living environment for those creatures. He also knew that the boy had more power than he realized. Power that could be used either for good or for evil. And seeing how the boy had seemed to have…changed, he concluded that these poor souls that were soon to be created would suffer. But Este was ready to fight evil, even if it meant fighting off the little boy.

The next day, the little boy was ready to throw him of his star. And he did so. He pushed him off. But the dragon smiled and came right up. Dragons, after all, have wings.

“Little boy, did you really thing that you could banish me from your start so fats? I have wings. They allow me to fly. I would have thought you to be a bit more clever than that. Nevertheless, you were the one that created me.”
But his last remarks seemed to have a big effect on the boy. He did not like being called ignorant. And he did not like losing at his own game.

“Foolish creature,” he boomed, “I will banish you. Do you not realize the power that is within me? Who is it that created you? It was I! And just as I have created you, I will destroy you.”

But as much, as the boy tried to get rid of him, the more he failed. His powers were designed to be only used for good, and the boy was yet too young to learn how to use them for harm. It was a few more years, until the boy learned how to reverse his powers. First, he decided that he would create a planet, something for his toys to live in. And he succeeded. He created a huge planet where everything was dark and cold. Then, he created creatures like himself. He decided to make them gentle and good at heart.

Day after day, the dragon was growing more and more restless watching the boy. He did not like the planet he had created. It was cold, as if it had no soul. Este wanted to help them, but he knew that he was too weak. The boy was growing…happier and happier, enjoying the pain of others. The poor creatures in the planet were trying to hard to survive, but the boy made it nearly impossible. There were volcanoes, hurricanes, and large beasts haunting and ripping the poor humans apart.

One day, Este decided that that was enough! His heart would not permit to see any more horrible acts. So Este got very mad, and without thinking, he sunk his claws into the star and sucked all of it’s energy, making him more powerful than the ’Creator’ himself.

“You fool! Just what do you think you are doing?” Asks the boy in outrage.

“Trying to save humanity,” he replies simply.

The boy laughs. “You think you can fight me off? Might I need to remind you that I created them, and you cannot destroy them. They are mine!”

“Oh we’ll see about that.”

With those last words, Este defeats the boy easily. Because as we all know, when good versus evil, the good side always wins. Then with his fire breath, he created warmth for people, by making a huge fire ball to keep them. Then he created the sky, where people would be able to enjoy the stars he would create. He puts a stop to all weather disasters, such as hurricanes and volcanoes. Basically he makes everything bright for everyone. He creates some other planets familiar to the one humans live in. It would keep people guessing for years- trying to find out what existed there. After all, who doesn’t love a good mystery?

Now you may ask, what happened to the boy? Well, since he was always so fond of death and pain, Este made him the leader of the underworld, Hades. Hades- where he would experience the pain he caused everyone else. Este watched over every human, making sure that they would not encounter the distress all over again. Unlike the little boy’s sick way of amusing himself, Este watches over us and fights off any evil forces. Este, the dragon that saved humanity is watching, so beware!

---
*cough* There's a reason why I hate Creative Writing. *scoffs* We had to write something, er, 'creative' that relates to mythology and, um, science. That's the best I could do, I swear!
I've taken an interest in short stories... So I  may write more rather than write new stories and not make it past the third chapter. *scoffs*


-Julia


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#117 b~a~l~l~e~t~g~i~r~l

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Posted 09 July 2007 - 10:35 PM

DEATH DANCE

The principal of the new Clarish town High School, Mr. Best, took the scissors from the mayor and cut the bright red ribbon in front of the school's entrance. I cheered along with the rest of the crowd. The school used to be factory. Manufacturing shampoos and conditiononers. It was renovated and now it was opening again as a High School. A High School which I would soon be attending. When the idea to turn the factory into a school was first proposed I heard there was trouble with the owner of the factory. He wanted to keep his factory, but then he passed away.

I looked at the shining, gold plauque next to the door:

CLARISH TOWN HIGH SCHOOL
FOUNDED BY MAYOR HARRISON IN: 2000
OPENED:2OO7
31 CLARISHAN ROAD
CALIFORNIA
AMERICA


I wondered what the school would be like. I was going to find out on monday.

Principal Best stepped out onto the stage at assembly on Monday. "Welcome students" He said. "I hope that this school year will be a happy one for all of you. I will do my best at my job if you will promise to do your best at being wonderful students".

I was hardly listening, but my best friend Tamsin nudged me and I woke up from my daydream.

"I will now announce the upcoming events we've got to look forwrd to this term" Mr. Best said. I rolled my eyes and started deaming again......Only to be rewarded wih a slap for Tamsin.

"Don't be ridiculous Katie" she said. "This is our FIRST DAY. A teacher could see you and dissmiss you as stupid. Once people dissmiss you as something they often stick to that dissmissal. As you are NOT stupid you know the consequences of that."

I sighed. But I knew she was right so I turned my attention to the principal.

".......To welcome you all, me and the other administration here at Clarish town High have decided to schedule a dance. A sort of 'welcome' dance if you like."

My ears pricked up at that as I am an UTTER party girl and always will be.

"It will be on Tuesday, beginning at 7 p.m and ending at 12 p.m. The dress regulation go as following: girls: formal dress and boys: tuxedo. There! I believe I am done with the announcements. Please proceed to your classes everyone".

***

They decided to hold the dance in the cafeteria. They had taken all of the tables out but three which were laden with snacks and drinks.

It was just as I was reeeeeeeaaaaaaaally starting to enjoy myself that all the lights went out. Silence. Then everyone started screaming. To the right of the cafeteria you could see two bright red eyes and a bright red, grinning mouth.
The mouth let out an evil cackle.

"No I shall get revenge" The mouth said. "Revenge on you people for turning my grandfather's lovely factory into a school instead of passing it down to my son." The mouth smiled again. "aaaah. But NOW I shall get revenge. And what better way to do it than when almost the ENTIRE school is gathered in one room? Aaaah yes. It will be so much easier to kill you all now.......".

Then I had an idea. I took off my heels and ran over to the mouth and eyes. Then I lifted my shoes, one heel pointing into each eye and the plunged them down. Waves of ghost blood spurted from the eyes. Then I pluged one of shoes into the spot where I guessed the ghost's heart would have been if he was alive. I just hoped that he still either HAD a heart or that the place where his heart WOULD have been was still as tender as it had been when he was alive. One of those things must have been true because the mouth and eyes and the rest of the ghost burst into flames, and then there was nothing there. The lights came back on and evryone cheered. The dance continued.


***


I am now the school's hero. But I suppose that is only because I saved the dance from ruin, not because I did anything amazing.


THE END

That story was suck............
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#118 poohtickle123456

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Posted 14 July 2007 - 09:11 AM

Christmas tree
What if a Christmas tree could talk? What would you do? Would you scream your head off like a barking chilwawa. Or would you be all calm and cool about it? This is a story about a Christmas tree who is at first very shy and then it decides it wants to talk to everyone on the face of the planet. Weird huh?

One morning I woke up, rubbed the sleepies from my eyes, and wearily crept down the creeky stairs. I had gotten down the stairs, walked to the kitchen, and then I heard this leery voice say, “Hi, How ya doing? Good Morning!”
I turned around, and looked as if I was dumbfounded. Who was talking to me? My dad was still asleep so who was it? I turned my big, brown, eyes toward the Christmas tree. I saw that our Christmas tree had magically grown eyes, a nose, and a huge mouth. I stared at the tree with huge eyes, and it stared back. The Christmas tree finally said, “What are you staring at? Haven’t you ever seen a talking Christmas tree?”
“No,” I shouted.
Then, I started screaming my head off, like a cat meowing for its food. My dad came running down the stairs, like a wild lion. My dad was like, “ What is up with you screaming soooo loud this early in the morning?”
“Dad, the Christmas tree just talked to me. Look the Christmas tree magically grew eyes, a nose, and a mouth,” I replied kinda freaking out. My dad, with sleepies still in his eyes, looked over at our Christmas tree. The tree, now had no eyes, no nose, and no mouth. “You must be still sleeping because that tree could NOT have talked to you,” he said pointing at the tree.
“Dad, I swear that tree talked to me,” I replied almost screaming. He just shrugged it off like I could really make up a story like that. Yeah, right!!! So, he went into the kitchen to make his coffee. I turned around and the tree said, “Whew, that was close. What did you do that for?”
“What do you mean, what did I do that for? You creeped me out. What are you doing talking to me? Why wouldn’t you talk to me in front of my dad?” I asked.
“I only talk to kids? When you talk about me to your dad, it’s like I never talked. You get it?” he asked.
“Yeah. Sort of,” I replied.
Just then, my dad walked in with a cup of coffee, walked over, and said, “Do you still think that Christmas tree talked to you?” he asked.
“Yes and no. Yes, because I heard the tree actually talk. No, because I know it could never in a lifetime happen,” I replied.
“Well, go get dressed because we have to go grocery shopping,” he said with no enthusiasm.
“Ok,” I said with no excitement in my voice.
So, I went upstairs, put on a bright red sweater and a pair of Aeropostal jeans, brushed my hair and my braces, and went back downstairs. My dad was already downstairs ready to go. We went outside, got into his truck, and left for the store. When we got back, we unloaded the truck, and took it all inside. I went into the living room, while my dad unloaded the groceries.
The Christmas tree said, “How was the shopping?”
“It was all good. So, why exactly are you talking to me?” I asked.
“I don’t know!!! You bought me this way,” he replied back all confused.
“I did?” I questioned.
“Yeah! Of course, you did. How else would I be sitting here and you be standing there talking to me,” the tree replied back.
My dad walked up behind me, but the talking tree did not notice until my dad said, “You were right. The tree does talk.”
The tree was so embarrassed that his face could not just disappear because he was caught talking by my dad. So, the tree said to my dad, “I really don’t normally talk to parents; I mainly talk to the kids. I like to see their eyes light up. So, if I scared you I’m sorry. Please don’t throw me out.”
“I won’t throw you out because I like you to much. But, will you talk in front of other people? Other than just my daughter and I? he asked.
“Sure, I’ll do anything since you’re not throwing me out,” the tree said excitedly.
“Ok. Cool!” my dad said excitedly
So, we introduced the talking tree to many other people that the tree like. I don’t know how or why the tree started talking, but to this day the tree talks to anyone and everyone that walks in our door, Every year that we bring it out, it talks. Please do not call asking me where I got it or if I want to sell it because the answer is no. I love this tree so let it be. If you believe that you’re tree can talk, just like I did, than it will. So, I hope you believe that you’re tree talks too so, have a Merry Christmas from my talking tree to yours.


I know this weird but it is cool. I also know it is not Christmas time but I wrote last December and never had the chance to type it. Sorry!!! Hope you like it!!
~!~Danielle~!~
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#119 b~a~l~l~e~t~g~i~r~l

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Posted 16 July 2007 - 12:40 AM

FORBIDDEN LOVE

England 1880

Lady Madeline Applebee was a pretty young woman, with long blonde hair, blue eyes and soft pale skin. Her father was James Applebee, The King of England, and Madeline was his heir. Though Madeline did not wish upon herself the mighty role of queen, and wished to spend her days writing and visiting the poor, sick people in the village hospital, bringing them flowers, soup, books and even games for the few fortunate people who had strengnth enough to sit up. Two things that she did already - and enjoyed much more than banquets or ribbon cutting e.t.see, but no. It seemed that Madeline had no choice in the matter and would simply have to go along with being queen. She sighed from her bed, her long hair splayed out over the pillow.

She spent the next half hour before sunrise thinking about what vegetables she was going to pick from the garden sh had grown herself to make into soup for the hospital patients.

She got up, dressed and walked out her room. Immediately she was pestered by the servants of her home, Brookland Castle. This always annoyed her. It was not the servants that irritated her. No. They were only doing their job. It was the fact that the servants were there to do her jobs for her while she was perfectly capable of completing them herself. She found this unfair and thought everyone - even royals - should have to do their own jobs themselves. ESPECIALLY if it was them who wanted the end result anyway.
Madeline pushed through the servants and headed out into the castle grounds, then towards her garden. She picked cabbbage, broccoli and runner beans. The she went into the kitchen and made broccoli soup, cabbage and bean soup. The she filled somecrystal bowls with her soup and put lids on them. Then she set out to the hospital.

When she arrived she saw that they had a new patient. And a handsome one at that. He had black hair, blue eyes and an intelligent smile. He smiled this beautiful smile at Madeline when she came into the room. Madeline blushed. "Why hello sir." Madeline said, going over to his bedside. "I see you're new" she continued. "Yes Your Highness" the man replied. " I'm afraid I tripped and broke my arm. But now I see that I am in your fine care that is not such a bad thing now isit?" Madeline blushed again. "And please". The man continued. "Don't call me sir, I am much more content with an informal, Marc". Madeline smiled this time. "Certainly Marc. But you aren't really in my care I simply decide to come to the hospital and bring soup and such........ And I would appreciate a simple Madeline much more that a 'Your Highness'" "Alright Madeline" Said Marc, smiling. "Oh!" Madeline exclaimed. "The soup! I almost forgot. I will be going cold". Madeline opened one of her baskets. "Would you like a bowl Marc?" She asked "yes please" he replied. "Brocolli or cabbage and runner bean?" Madeline asked. "Oh broccoli definetely" Marc replied. "I am allergic to beans, you see".

Every time Madeline visited the hospital, her friendship with Marc grew stronger as they laughed and told stories of their childhood. After a while Madeline found herself gradually falling in love with Marc and looked forward to morning every night as she knew she would then see him.

You can imagine Madeline's grief when she arrived at the hospital one morning to find Marc absent.
She gave the rest of the patients soup and then left, anger and sadness sweeping over her. Why hadn't he told her he was leaving and said goodbye? She was going to miss hime greatly.

That evening there was a knock on the castle door. A butler ran to answer it. Shortly after wards there was a knock on Madeline's door. "Come in" Madeline called, wiping away tears. Tears that were a mixture of anger and grief.
Madeline's door opened and the butler came in. "Your Highness" he said "yes Dominic?" Madeline asked. "There is someone her to see you Your Highness". Dominic informed her. "A young man named Marc I believe". Madeline's heart skipped a beat. She was going to see her love! "Do you wish for me to let him in, Your Highness?" Dominic asked. "Yes! Yes!" Madeline replied happily. "Certainly" Then the butler left. Soon after that, Marc entered. "Madeline, I am so sorry that I did not tell you I was leaving today. I was having such a magical time in your company and completely forgot that my arm was healing-" Madeline noticed that Marc wasn't wearing his sling anymore. "-and that I was scheduled to leave hospital today. Will you forgive me Madeline?" Marc asked. "I most certainly forgive you Marc". Madeline said. "I have been having a magical time in YOUR presence aswell!" "Actually, Madeline" Marc said, nervously. "I have a little more to tell you.....to ask you." "Yes?" Madeline ventured. "Over these past weeks I have felt something for you that I have never felt for anyone I have ever met". Marc coughed. Then continued "Madeline. I am in love with you. That is why I am going to ask you this question". Marc reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a ring box. Mdeline felt her heart beat speed up a little. Marc came and knelt next to the bed, upon the edge of which Madeline was sitting. "Lady Madeline Applebee, my love, will you do me the honour of becoming my bride?" Marc opened the ring box. Inside was a beautiful gold ring with three diamonds upon it. But Madeline wouldn't have minded at all which ring she recieved. She had known what her answer would be before Marc had even asked. Madeline smiled a smile that stretched almost to her ears and showed off her even white teeth. "Yes!" she exclaimed. Then Marc jumped on her and Madeline fell back against her soft bed. She had never felt more happy in her life. Then her and her fiance rolled around on her bed, embracing and pasionately kissing. After a while, Marc brought his head up. "Let's get married in the castl rose garden shall we?" he asked. "Oh Marc that sounds wonderful!" Madeline replied. Then the continued their pasionate embrace.

***

"MY DAUGHTER IS MARRYING A NON-ROYAL??????" King James yelled. "THIS IS SIMPLY NOT GOOD ENOUGH!!!! A MERE COMMONER AS MY DAUGHTERS GROOM??? NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT!" "But father we love each other" Madeline tried to reason. "Love is not as important as dignity my ignorant child and I certainly am keeping my dignity!" They were in one of the castles living areas. King James was sitting on a leather, maroon sofa. Madeline was on the floor, next to the the fire, stroking her dog. "Father, I am marrying Marc and there is nothing you can do about it!" Madeline cried. King James smacked his lips. "I'll make you rethink that" he said. Then he chuckled.

As soon as Madeline returned to her room, Madeline broke down into tears. What was she going to do? She wanted to marry Marc more than anything, but if she did - the King had threatened - her father would cut off all of Madeline's beautiful hair. "What should I do?" Madeline thought to herself "oh what should I do?"

Madeline had come to a decision bt morning, but she would have to let Marc know before they were married as he may not want to marry a hairless girl!

***

The wedding day of Marc Pelidon and Lady Madeline Applbee was a beautiful one. There was an enormous crowd gathered in the royal rose garden. Madeline was wearing a beautiful dress and Marc had just plucked a rose from one of the bushes and pushed it into her hair. But despite all of Madeline's happiness, she felt a touch of sadness. Her hair felt like a friend to her and it would hurt to loose it. But, she thought to herself, I love Marc much more than my hair. Before long it was time for the ceremony. Her brother was to be escorting her up the aisle and as Madeline took Michael's arm she felt a wave of happiness that she had never felt before in her life.

"I now pronounce you: man and wife!" Madeline's happy ears heard the Vicar saying as she stood on the stage next to Marc. "You may kiss the bride!"

After the wedding Madeline's father came up to her. "Dad?" Madeline asked. "I didn't think you'd come!" "Yes, yes. I wouldn't miss this for the world." Madeline didn't know what to say when she remembered that her father was going to cut off her hair, but then the King said something asatonishing: "I have changed my mind about your hair" he said. "Really?" Madeline exclaimed. "Why?" "Because" her father replied. "I have decided that you must love Marc if you were prepared to have your hair cut off so you could marry him. That - I decided - is definetely a wedding to be proud of. Also you with incredibly short hair would have been even more undignified than you having a non-royal husband. And Madeline?" "Yes dad?" Madeline answered. "I am sorry that I tried to change your mind about marrying the man you love bybcutting off your hair. I was really prepared to aswell because I thought if you saw I was serious you would divorce your Marc. I never hoped that I would have to cut off your hair....... Oh well! That is all over now. I hope you and Marc have a wonderful time in this marriage". Then Madelines father pulled his daughter close and embraced her.


THE END


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#120 b~a~l~l~e~t~g~i~r~l

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Posted 17 July 2007 - 05:33 PM

Oh my god! I love Pink Tears. It is so smart, were did you get the idea from? Also, what was she humiliated by?
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#121 iluvmichael!!!

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Posted 24 July 2007 - 10:13 AM

Devastated
I still remember the day I got the news. I had just come home from school. The door was unlocked, but no one was home. I tossed my backpack on the floor by the door and strolled into the kitchen. When I went to get some milk for my Cinnamon Toast Crunch, I saw the note on the fridge. It only said that Mom and Dad were at the hospital, so I figured they had an appointment. I called Dad's cell to see what was up. He told me everything. "Honey, they're still running tests. There's no garuntee that there's anything wrong with her!"
I dropped my bowl and ran to the garage to get my bike.

I sat there in the chair closest to Mom's bed. I remember every detail. I remember my mom sleeping in her cold hospital room. She shivered beneath the thin, yellowy stained sheet, in her pale blue hospital gown. I remember the unusual whiteness of her face, the icy steel of her stare, whenever she was awake anyway. She had already been there for a week, and even though she knew I knew what was going on, she tried so hard to smile for me. Nobody else knew that I knew, or they pretended not to. Everyone pretended she was fine. Their lies were like glass, so easy to see through, and so easily shattered. The doctors would smile at me as they walked by; every time they did I wanted to puke. Even Dad would ask me to leave the room so he and the doctor could speak in private. I was still repectful to the liars; I was a very good actress back then. As soon as I left the room though, my face would go blank and my mind would race. I'd slump myself into one of those noisey plastic chairs outside her room, my jeans would make a funny sound every time, but I wouldn't laugh. How could I?

One morning my brother woke me up instead of my mom. He didn't go to the hospital with us. He was always playing football, so he honestly didn't know how serious this was. He was all ready for school and warned me I was going to be late. I told him I was sick and to go away.
He left me for Dad.

Dad never did come for me, though, and when I finally did get up he'd all ready left for the hospital. I know he meant well leaving me behind, but I never did forgive him for it.

The hospital was only three blocks away, so I saw no harm in walking. My hair was a mess, and I had on yesterdays wrinkled clothes. It took me twenty minutes but I made it there.

When I got there Dad was sitting on the corner of Mom's bed crying. He tried so hard to be strong but it was too much.

Even though Mom was already sleeping, I climbed into her bed and wrapped myself in her arms. "Dad, is she gonna be okay?" I whispered.

When I woke up Rob was in Dad's chair. "Hey... What are you doing here? I mean when did you get here?" I asked clueless.
"I got here this morning. You never got home last night, I was worried, you said you were sick!" He started to get really loud.
"Shhh!" I glanced back at Mom... "Where's Dad?" I was still clueless.
"He went to get some coffee. He didn't sleep again." Rob was calm again.

When Dad came back he had his hands full. He had coffee for him, cereal for Robert, and (guessing) soup for me. He went to hand me the soup when it fell on his foot. "S**t!" he shouted, those were his new 'Congratulations on the big promotion' shoes from Mom. Rob jumped up to grab some paper towels from the bathroom. Too late, Mom woke up from the sound of Dad's angry voice. I got up and cooed her back to sleep.

Rob was always so angry back then. He was always quiet or shouting, no in-between with him. For some reason he only expressed his anger with me, like Dad with him. I never held it against him though. I never took it personal, and maybe one day he'll apologize.

Dad was so tired. He'd pretend to sleep but I'd hear him crying. The walls in that house were so thin I wasn'y allowed to use pushpins.

One day when I came home from school Dad was yelling at someone on the phone. His words were so jumbled I couldn't understand a one. I could see the tears streaming down his cheek; he couldn't stop them anymore, he wouldn't even try. He slammed the phone down and I'm pretty sure it broke. He said something under his breath, I think it was "You said she was getting better." He turned, then, and saw me staring with my eyes filled up with tears. He stood there for only a moment, then he turned back around and walked right out the door without another word. Of course I followed.

He was sitting on the steps with his head in his hands while he was shaking his head. I sat down next to him and put my head on his broad, good-for-crying shoulders and cried with him. He started to talk. I couldn't hear and he knew it so he repeated. "She's gone." He really let loose then.
"I know," I replied.

Her makeup was bad and she wore an ugly black dress with old, discolored lace around the neck. There was a bunch of old people that kept hugging me and saying, "You poor thing... you must be devastated... you'll get through... must be tough." They all smelled like old perfume and by the time we left I did too. I couldn't stop crying and it was really embarrassing. Rob didn't cry, but you could tell he didn't want to be there. Dad... well... I don't know, he was really weird. His chin would quiver but his eyes were blank. Maybe he was thinking. I really don't know.

So Dad sold the house and we moved to New Jersey. I never made any friends there and I lost contact with all of my old ones. Rob dropped out and quit football. Dad was severely depressed but in denial.
Out of this we end up with no mom, a sad dad, a drop out, and an outcast Jersey girl. To this day I do not know what killed my mother.

Mom, wherever you are, if you can hear me... we miss you.




-----
What do you think?
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#122 JubJub_wants_candy

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Posted 24 July 2007 - 10:03 PM

Rocky Problems



Sofia

I hate the Mall’s parking lot! People are so rude. First, I almost get hit by some punk with a little girl in the passenger seat of his crappy 199-who knows when Ford. Then, some black chick runs in front of my car wearing a Rocky Rococo’s uniform mumbling stuff to herself. So, when I finally got into the mall I couldn’t concentrate on my shopping so I went to the food court to get something to eat. ‘Let’s see…’ I thought to myself, ‘…where should I eat? I feel like pizza. Rocky’s is good. I’ll go there!’

As I walked up to the counter to order my small slice of cheese pizza and a small soda I saw that the girl taking orders had bright pink hair. Ugh! I hate it when girls dye their hair bright colors, like pink. Especially because they only do that for attention. Well, at least she’s not the crazy black girl that almost ran into my car.

“I’ll take one small slice of cheese pizza and a small Sprite,” I said gruffly to …Holly. That’s what her nametag said.

“That’ll be $4.98,” Holly replied in an automatic tone. Her pale skin looked especially pale with her pink hair. Now, I, with my tanned island skin would look way better, but like I said pink hair draws attention and I do not need any more attention than I already get.

I handed Pinky $4.98, “Here Pink-I mean-Holly.”

“Whatever, here’s your food,” Pinky rolled her eyes.

“Thanks,” I said and grabbed my food. I started walking away when I saw the crazy black chick. I glared at her and went to sit down.

I couldn’t believe my eyes when I opened my mini pizza box. My pizza was burnt to a crisp and had sausage on it. I could not believe this! I ordered cheese pizza not sausage. Pinky was not going to get away with this!


Holly

Can you believe Miss Island-thang? She has the nerve to call me Pinky! Pinky! Just because I have pink hair doesn’t mean my nickname’s Pinky or I want to be called Pinky. I mean my hair’s only somewhat pink the rest of it’s blonde. I only dyed the tips of my hair pink to see if my mom would notice. My mom’s always up ‘till one a.m. drinking and passing out on the couch and my brother’s never home. He’s always coming and going with his friends. Ever since my dad died and we had to move from our house in Kansas to an apartment in Chicago my life’s gone downhill. Now I support myself and pay for part of our rent with a job at Rocky Rococo’s in a mall food court downtown.

Anyway, I still can’t believe this island chicky-poo had the nerve to call me Pinky. That hurts!

Oh my! Here she comes. Probably came back to apologize for calling me Pinky….ha ha ha! NOT!

“Is this how you people get your kicks? Giving people the wrong orders?” Miss Island-thang said with a deep accent.

I can’t stand people with accents. It’s like, you’re in America learn your English pronunciation. Ugh! Anyway, “Welcome to Rocky’s, how may I help you.

“You can help me to a new pizza!” Miss Thang said.

“Holly? What’s wrong here?” Oh, great. Ashlea heard Miss Thang’s fit and now I was gonna get punished for it!

“I’ll tell you what’s going on! Pinky here-“

“Um, my name’s Holly!” I argued

“Whatever, Holly here gave me a burnt pizza! See!” Miss Thang picked up her pizza but it slipped out of her hands and flew backwards…


Bronson

Why do these things always happen to me? Last week my mom slipped in the kitchen and threw her bowl of Froot Loops with milk at me, and now some crazy chick that pushed me out of my spot in line at Rocky’s throws her burnt pizza at me.

“Oh my goodness! Here are some napkins!” the girl behind the counter with pink streaks said.

“Thanks!” I said.

“Well, are you gonna say anything?” Holly asked the crazy pizza-throwing chick.

“Yeah, sorry for throwing the pizza on you and stuff,” the Mexican or Puerto Rican or whatever she is girl said.

“Sure,” I said and turned my attention to Holly, “Do you know where the bathrooms are?”

“What? Oh yeah, I’ll walk you over there,” Holly said.

“Thanks!” I said to Holly. We walked over to the bathroom. I learned that Holly dyed her hair pink to get attention from her mom and brother. I felt bad for Holly. I mean, I have four parents. A dad, stepmom, mom, and stepdad, and all Holly had was a mom that ignored her.

“Hey, here’s the bathroom,” Holly said awkwardly.

“Yeah, the bathroom…hey do you think I could call you sometime?” I asked Holly.

“Yes! I mean, sure. Here,” Holly wrote down her phone number on a clean napkin and handed it to me.

“Thanks. I guess…I’ll talk to you later,” I said as I headed into the bathroom to clean the pizza sauce off of me.

“Yeah, later,” now it was Holly’s turn to be at a loss for words. We both laughed and walked away. I think I might actually thank the girl that threw her pizza on me. Without her I would have never met Holly.


Ashlea

I rolled out of bed this morning to get dressed quietly. I didn’t want to wake up my roommate. You see I’m a student at the local university and I share an apartment with a fellow student. Anyway, I got out of bed and got dressed for work. I’m the manger of Rocky Rococo’s in the mall food court in downtown Chicago.

After a traffic induced drive to work and almost getting hit by some yuppie in a pink convertible my morning wasn’t going so well. I was working the back all morning helping the high school kids figure out how to cook a pizza when I heard someone yelling out front. I found out that Holly had mixed up an order and gave the same yuppie girl in the convertible a sausage pizza instead of cheese and the cooks burnt the pizza, too. Miss Yuppie was going to show me, but she ended up throwing the pizza on an innocent guy. I sent Holly with the guy to help him clean up and gave Miss Pink Convertible her new pizza and sent her away. On her way out she was screaming at anyone and everyone that looked at her funny. I finally told her to leave and not to come back.

“Welcome to Rocky Rococo’s! What can I get you two cuties today?” I asked a guy with a little girl. The girl smiled shyly. She was holding a Build-A-Bear box and giggled every time she peaked inside.

“Uh, yeah, we’ll take two super slices of the day and two super sodas,” the guy said completely brushing of my comment like it was no big deal.

“Yep, anything else?” I asked.

“Nope,” he said.

“$7.25 please,” I said.

“Here,” he shoved a $10 bill at me.

“I’m sorry about that girl that was yelling before,” I apologized.

“It’s okay,” he said and I knew he meant it. I was about thinking Holly at the moment. I would have to take care of her later.


Tony and Lizzy

“see’mon Liz! We have to go! NOW!” I yelled up the stairs towards Liz’s room.

“I’m coming!” Lizzy yelled. She ran down the steps,” Ready to go Tony?”

“Yeah only for an hour!” I exaggerated.

“Oh, I didn’t take that long. Can we go now? I wanna get to Build-A-Bear!” Liz said impatiently.

“Yes we can go now,” I said, “I just have to leave a note for Rita and Dad.”

“Oh, come on! Liz said rolling her eyes.

“Oh Lizzy! Rita’s not that bad,” I said while setting the note by the phone.

“Whatever let’s go!” Liz said. It was a long ride to the mall, but we got there. We went to Build-A-Bear where Lizzy made none other than a bear, but it was a ballerina bear. Then we were hungry so we got in line at Rocky’s. When we got there, there was some crazy girl arguing with the pink haired cashier. Then some more stuff that I couldn’t see happened and the next thing I knew the crazy island girl was screaming at us. I looked at her funny.

“What are you looking at?” she screamed.

“Tony? Why is that girl so angry?” Liz asked oblivious to her own innocence.

“I don’t know. Probably got a regular soda instead of a diet one!” I said half kidding and half serious.

“Oh,” Lizzy said. Again oblivious.

When we got up to the counter the manager took our order and apologized for the crazy island girl. I said it was okay, and took our food.

“Thank you for today taking me to Build-A-Bear Tony,” Lizzy said.

“Your welcome,” I said. Then we ate and talked and had the best time for the rest of the afternoon.

~~~~~~~~~~

Let me know what you think! :)

~Kayla~
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#123 iluvmichael!!!

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Posted 25 July 2007 - 07:58 AM

Um... well, it was good, but it was kind of offensive.
The 'crazy black chick', the island girl', that needed to 'learn her english pronunciation'! I mean, come on, you can't LEARN to get rid of an accent!!!
It was good, you're a good writer, but those kind of things are kind of holding you back.
But whatever, that's just my opinion...
Just trying to help,
Cheyenne :mgbumblebee:
ps- could you please explain the ending???
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#124 *HONEY*

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Posted 25 July 2007 - 08:04 AM

^ I think the accent part of the story didn't really reflect the author's opinion of accents, just the personality of the character. It's just different perspectivies; not everyone will think alike, and the fact the girl doesn't like foreign accents adds to her depth.

-xx tephy

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#125 cheermeon

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Posted 25 July 2007 - 09:30 AM

Um... well, it was good, but it was kind of offensive.
The 'crazy black chick', the island girl', that needed to 'learn her english pronunciation'! I mean, come on, you can't LEARN to get rid of an accent!!!
It was good, you're a good writer, but those kind of things are kind of holding you back.
But whatever, that's just my opinion...
Just trying to help,
Cheyenne :mgbumblebee:
ps- could you please explain the ending???

The crazy black chick thing was offensive to me as it was to iluvmichael! Please remember that some members on this board are 'black'. and Crazy is a stereotype.
-xx Ash

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#126 JubJub_wants_candy

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Posted 25 July 2007 - 12:01 PM

First of all I want to say thank you for being truly honest with me. I am sorry if I offended anyone. I do not believe in most of these stereotypes, and I am not racist. This story was written for one of my language assignments last year, and the assignment was to portray something that can disturb a community. I chose racism as the subject. I do not believe that all foreign people need to lose their accents (I love accents...I wish I had one), I don't think that people that dye their hair different colors do it just for attention (A lot of people that do that do it to express their creativity and I support that), and lastly, I do not think all african american women are "crazy black chicks". Again I am sorry if I offended anyone, I truly did not mean too. The opinions in my story were the character's opinions and were there to develop their personalities.


As far as the ending to the story...

1) Sofia got her order and was sent away (She threw that huge fit for no reason, she would've gotten her food either way.)
2) Holly and Bronson are dating.
3) Ashlea has a "talk" with Holly saying that it wasn't her fault that Sofia freaked out, but she should've checked the food before she gave it to her
4) Tony and Lizzy ate their food and did some more shopping. Then they went home.

If you have any other questions about the ending or anything else in the story I would be very happy to answer them! :)

~Kayla~
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#127 iluvmichael!!!

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Posted 25 July 2007 - 01:20 PM

Thank you very much for explaining Kayla.
I wasn't trying to be rude or critisize you in any way, it's just that someone very close to me has a very thick accent but she speaks english very clearly and I find her accent beautiful... she is from Haiti (she's my best friends mom and she is like a mom to me too)... plus my friend Hannah has a streak in her hair that she dyes frequently and right now it's blue... and I am half black... (even though I get a little psycho sometimes I'm really NOT crazy)... But thank you for explaining.
Many thanks,
Chey :mgbumblebee:
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#128 Ari-san

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Posted 27 July 2007 - 09:22 AM

(I love accents...I wish I had one)

I just wanted to point out that everyone in the entire world has an accent, so, you definitely have an accent. Just chuck yourself into another country, and you'll see that you stand out ... extremely clearly. :)
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#129 *megan*

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Posted 28 July 2007 - 02:25 PM

here's an offering from me. haven't been around the writing forum for yonks and i'm beginning to get that restless feeling that i get when i'm not in the middle of a good story. does anyone else get it? it's paining me. Anyway, here's my as yet untitled story. please let me know what you think. For anyone who doesn't know, the Big Issue is a non-profit magazine sold by homeless people. They are officially recognised as sellers of it and get a cut of the selling price.


It’s one of those Tuesday evenings that doesn’t quite feel real, somehow. It already feels like Christmas; there’s ice in the air and the concrete is still wet even though it stopped raining hours ago. People walk with their mittened hands cupped over their faces as if that would make the slightest bit of difference.

There’s something about November that makes you want to trot rather than walk, and I can feel myself doing this as I wind my way around the familiar London streets. On the bus I played with the strap of my schoolbag (a novelty Nightmare Before Christmas canvas bag, my prized possession) until it knotted around my wrist and as I walk it knocks against my leg. With the amount of books I’d carry, you’d think I was a proper student. That is, a University student. Not like me, still a lowly Sixth Form student – a faux-student, as my brother says.

As I move to step over a puddle, my phone begins ringing and vibrating simultaneously in my pocket. Embarrassingly enough, I jump, and my foot lands square in the middle of the puddle, soaking scuzzy London water into my shoe. I swear right out loud, because you can do that in London, and pause in the road, trying to dig my phone out of my pocket without dropping my Starbucks cup.

“Hello?” All the scrabbling around, the rush to answer before the phone rang out of rings, has made my voice come out impatient. My mother picks up on it right away.

“Well, there’s no need for that tone, is there?” She never says hello. Only my mother can manage to be and sound so offended by a simple, hurried greeting.

And what can you say to that, anyway? I stand there, dumb, feeling the water soaking up my tights. It’ll have probably reached my knees by the end of this conversation.

“Are you on your way home?” Mum asks finally, after a pause she probably timed. “It’s already dark.”

“Yes,” I turn my head and shake my hand so my sleeve falls slightly and I can see my watch-face. It’s just after five. “Badminton ran over. Cam was trying to organise the schedule for next week.”

“That’s fine. Could you get some fairy lights on the way?”

“Where can I find fairy lights?”

“Chloe, it’s November. You’ll find fairy lights everywhere.”

I look straight across the road. From where I’m standing I can see a pet shop and a branch of HSBC. Somehow I doubt either of those sells fairy lights. I manage to restrain myself from saying this. “Um, okay. I’ll see you later then-”

“Goodbye Chloe.” The beep is in my ear before I even open my mouth. Rolling my eyes, I snap my phone shut and slide it back into my pocket. I move forward to begin walking again, my left leg feels heavy and sodden, my right leg unequally light in comparison. As I walk, my shoe actually squealches.

I take an angry sip of my hot chocolate and send an angry damnation to the gods of the weather that decided to ruin my day just that little bit more. For good measure, I shoot an extra look of ice towards the sky in the general direction of whoever it was that matched me and my mother as family. The absolute last thing I feel like doing now is hunting down some fairy lights.

Still, no one argues with my mother – least of all me – so I double-back on myself and head towards the Argos I passed earlier. I pause automatically outside an independent gift shop which has a fake antique mirror on display to check my reflection. I lean against the wall behind me and take another few sips of hot chocolate. A group of boys run past me, shouting various insults out at each other. They look about fifteen and they barely register me as they go. One of them is distinctly out of place, his hair wild in a scruffy rather than deliberately untamed kind of way, and as he runs after them he has one hand up to his face, holding his glasses in place. As if he feels my judgement, he glances at me as he passes and his foot collides with an uneven cobblestone. His legs are flying out from underneath him before the rest of his body realises what has happened and he tumbles unceremoniously to the concrete, letting out a parrot-like squawk as he goes. I laugh because I can’t help it and I shield my mouth with my cup before he notices. He scurries away and I grin to myself, amused enough to forget my bad mood.

I glance around for anything else to cheer me up even more and spot, to my disappointment, a man selling the Big Issue a few yards away from me. He has his back to me but I can see the magazine by the angle he is holding it, offering it to a middle-aged couple who wrinkle their noses at him as they pass.

“I don’t care about the damn Montegues!”

The voice comes from my left and I jump, thinking it’s directed at me. It isn’t, of course. A business man is striding past me, barking into his mobile – so top of the range it must be Japanese – and gesturing erratically. “They can take their five-year plan and serve it with cornflakes!” A split-second pause. “Yes! Cornflakes! Now get that line on my desk my noon tomorrow, Davis –”

He pauses directly behind the Big Issue seller and puts one finger over his free ear, squinting into the air. I wonder if his battery is dying. “What?”

I look at the two figures, one impeccably dressed, the other in an anorak, standing back to back in the seconds before they register the other’s existence. I wonder if the Big Issue man will try and sell his magazine to the businessman and hope, for his sake, that he doesn’t.

“No, that’s it, Davis. No more excuses. Noon.” The businessman snaps his phone shut with an air of defiance that impresses even me and turns around purposefully.

The Big Issue seller is ready for him, a smile on his face, magazine held out. “Big Issue?”

My heart sinks. I wonder if the businessman is a nose wrinkler, like the couple earlier, or a insult-hurler like the boys, or a simple duck-the-head-and-shake-it-apologetically-non-entity like me.

But no. To my complete astonishment, the businessman shoves his hand in his pocket and pulls out his wallet. The two men exchange words and then he walks off, the Big Issue slung under one arm, curled up behind his briefcase. As I watch, he reaches the corner of the road, pulls out the magazine and hurls it into the bin without a second glance.

I don’t know whether to laugh or gasp.

“Well, he bought it.” I look up at the sound of the seller's voice and see he is smiling wryly at me. “That’s a start, right?”

I smile in embarrassment and duck my head instinctively to scuttle away down the road.

“Hey,” The man’s voice stops me before I’ve taken two strides. “Want one?”

It’s no use. My manners are too drilled into me for me to simply ignore him. I look up reluctantly. The man is holding the magazine in one hand out towards me and as I look at him he jiggles it temptingly and smiles.

“I don’t have any change,” I say.

The man’s smile dims slightly and he pulls the magazine back towards himself. “That’s not true.”

“Yes it is,” I say automatically, stunned, even though it most definitely is not true, as I paid for my hot chocolate with a ten pound note, and the change is nestled comfortably and reassuringly in my jacket pocket.

There’s a long pause. It’s hardly the first time I’ve been offered the Big Issue – hell, I live in London, I hear it every day – and not the first time I’ve turned it down. But no one had ever called me on it before.

“Come on,” The man says finally. “Make my day?”

“That’s not fair,” I reply, offended. “Do you say that to everyone?”

“No, but you seem like a nice girl, and I’ve had a long day and I feel like a chat.”

We stared at each other. The change in my pocket weighs heavily on my conscience and I bite down hard on my lip.

“Have you got somewhere else to be?”

“I need to buy some fairy lights.”

“Will you use your card?”

“No, I’ve got enough change,” I say without thinking, then flush right from the roots of my hair to my toes. “I mean…”

“Funny word isn’t it, change,” The man doesn’t look annoyed; if anything, he seems amused. “Wouldn’t it be nice if the whole world changed a bit?”

I look at him, nonplussed, and reach resignedly into my pocket for the money.

“But that’s no good either.” He says as I hold out a £2 coin, confusing me even more.

“It’s legal tendor,” I protest, because I don’t know what else to say.

“But you’re no better than that businessman,” The man uses the magazine he’s holding to push my money back towards me.

“Why do you care?” I ask in frustration. “You’ll get the money, isn’t that why you do it?”

“Of course that’s why I do it. But I’m feeling inspired today. I want to inspire…” He looks pointedly at the money in my hand, “… change.”

“Why did you pick me?”

“Well, like I said,” The man smiles a surprisingly winning smile. “You seem like a nice girl. Your coffee’s going cold.”

Bemused, I take a sip of the lukewarm liquid. “I don’t get it. It’s not okay to buy the magazine for the sake of giving you money?”

“That’s perfectly okay. But it’s not quite enough. And you know that. That’s why you’re still standing here talking to me.” He leans back slightly and opens the magazine with one hand to a random page. He glances up, “I’m Alan, by the way.”

“I’m Chloe,” I say, inconsequentially.

“See this,” Still smiling, Alan turns the page to an interview with a good looking actor I vaguely recognise, because he’s also on the cover of this month’s Q magazine, which my brother let me read. “This is a good article. It’s interesting, it’s informative, it’s even funny.”

“Okay, I promise I’ll read it,” I say, reaching out.

Alan is still smiling in that I-know-something-you-don’t kind of way which is making head ache. “See, I have this vision for the world. You want to know my vision?”

“Are you really homeless?”

“My vision is, in a nutshell, that one day there’ll be no more homelessness, but there’ll still be the Big Issue.”

I stare at him. “But that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Of course it makes sense.”

“Yeah, it makes logical sense, but why do you care whether people want to read the magazine? The point of it is to help out homeless people.”

“That may be, but the point isn’t to patronise them.”

“It isn’t patronising them! It’s helping-”

“So you give your £1.50, feel good about yourself, and then forget it? Tell yourself you’re being selfless?”

“This is a no-win situation for me.”

“It’s a good magazine, that’s all I’m saying.”

“But when there’s no more homelessness, there’ll be no need for the Big Issue.” I point out in confusion. “It’s a non-profit thing, right? So who’d run it?”

“Okay, let me rephrase.” Alan settles back on his heels and looks up at the dark sky. “People give the money and take the magazine, but so few of them actually care. Just once, I wish someone would pay because they care about the issue of homelessness, not just an I’m-so-selfless pick-me-up, and did other things as well, like go out on tea runs or volunteer at a soup kitchen. And I wouldn’t even mind if you got people who genuinely like the magazine. I just resent pity money.”

“But it’s better than nothing.”

“No, it’s not. Respect is better than nothing. We’re homeless, but we’re still people. My vision is… that we get rid of that pity culture.”

“Are you really homeless?” I ask again.

“Yes.”

“Why? I mean, you don’t…” I trail off, trying to figure out what it is I want to say.

“I don’t seem like your ‘typical’ homeless man, right? I’m not particularly ragged, I don’t stink of booze? I can put a sentence together? I’m pretty nice? If you ever took the time, you’d realise that an awful lot of us don’t fit those stereotypes.”

“Do you live on the streets?”

“No, there’s a fantastic hostel that does a lot for us. That’s how I became a vendor. People who live on the streets are ‘roofless’. Literally, not having a roof. And I became homeless because my company went bust. That’s the short story. Trust me when I say you don’t want to hear the gory details.”

I look at him and he smiles at me. His eyes are sad. “So. Are you going to buy this magazine off me?”

“Would be happy to,” I reply and I finally hand over my money. “And I’ll read every article. Twice. Plus I’ll look into that soup kitchen thing.”

“Will you really?”

“Well, maybe not twice.”

“No, I mean the soup kitchen.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Alan smiles. “You do that.” He hands me the Big Issue and I take it, glance at the cover, and slide it into my bag.

“And I’ll think about that vision of yours, too.” I add.

“Respect not pity.”

“Absolutely.” I smile at him, hold up my hand in an awkward wave, and walk away.

As I walk, it begins drizzling. I come to a stop outside Argos and look up at the bright lights. I realise I’m still holding my Starbucks cup and I launch it at the nearest dustbin, scoring a direct hit.
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#130 *HONEY*

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Posted 29 July 2007 - 05:57 PM

Wow Megan, I really, really loved that short story. Very few short stories actually have a clear message that is transmitted, given the fact that it's short, but you nailed it. :lol:

Nicely done :)

-xx tephy

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#131 Intentlistener

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Posted 01 August 2007 - 01:35 AM

Hey you guys!! Here's my story...all comments appreciated...



Too Late




“Are you okay?”


That’s what Chas Munroe said to me.


I guess he could tell that something was wrong; I hadn’t exactly been subtle about it. Usually people could tell what was on my mind with a single look, but that’s what I have to endure—being the school’s It Girl, apparently, to be that ‘It Girl’, one has to be stupid, helpless, feminine, a bimbo and have a complete incapability to conceal your emotions. That is, when it’s socially acceptable for people to know how I’m feeling. Another thing is, you have to be totally vicious, totally fond of gossip, totally able to recount what bag Victoria Beckham was currently carrying, and totally in control.


So I guess that’s why I put on my famous poker player face.


My first big mistake.


“You look kind of…sick.”


Well. That was a first. First time he got the guts to say what he thinks. Chas was likeable, I guess—not as popular as the jocks, but definitely more so as compared to the computer geeks—but he has a problem…he had never managed to make to the top of the social food chain because of one thing—he was boring.


Really. It was enough to make me wonder why I went out with him in the first place.


“Look, Chas. We need to talk.”


Well. Wasn’t that straight forward. Not exactly subtle either.


The perfect break up line.


He didn’t say anything, but I saw his hands tighten on the steering wheel.


“I—I think we should take a break…you know, this is our senior year…” I paused. “And I really—just want to, you know, build some memories.”


“Sure,” Chas cleared his throat…and for a minute there, I thought I saw a tear slide down his cheek, but I’m sure it was just my imagination. He fumbled inside his chino pockets and pulled out a folded piece of notebook paper. “Can you read this after—after I’ve dropped you off?”


I smiled; glad to have gotten the break up out, then tucked the note into my pocket. “Great, sure…listen Chas, can we still be friends?”


But I never got to finish that sentence.


Because at that moment, a truck came bearing down on us.


Crashing into the driver’s side of the car.




Most people think that the worst part of a car crash is when the other car rams into you. That’s not true.


Well, it probably is true, to the people who didn’t survive to the next day, but in my case, it was the aftermath.


I guess I should explain. Most people reading this probably haven’t been in a car crash.


Well, it’s like this, have you ever read that book about how that girl woke up in hospital and doesn’t know how she got there, and she doesn’t recognizes the woman that came in, saying that she’s her mother. It’s like that for me, but of course I recognizes my mother when I found her by my bed side…I just didn’t know what happened.


I remember what had happened now…yeah, like four hours later…


“Honey?” a woman’s voice whispered in m ear. Gentle, yet with a note that I didn’t like. Almost like…fear. Slightly out of control.


My eyelids flickered open against my will. I had developed this childish thought that if I could delay hearing bad things, then it would be like it never happened. Though, of course, at that time, being the perfect 4.0 student, excitable cheerleader who travels in packs, my worst crisis was having my new eye shadow not match my eye color. I never knew what a real dilemma was.


I was about to find out, though.


“Mom?” I furrowed the eyebrows that I had spent so much money on fixing at the salon. “What’s wrong? You look upset.”


My mother, Jennifer Song, was very attractive for her age, she hardly had any wrinkles, as opposed to the mothers of my other friends, due to all that anti-ageing Dior and Lancôme stuff she slathers on…when I was young, I use to dream of being as pretty as her one day, and finally I achieved that goal that has been fresh in my 8-year old brain and had been granted a permanent compartment in my mind: be as pretty as Mommy. I had never joined my friends in teasing the new freshmen that had had pimples on their faces, or wasn’t clad in Abercrombie&Fitch that had been so popular with the cheerleaders and the jocks. My popularity was hard earned, I know what it was like, coming from the wrong side of the social chain, I remember when I was the little freshman with the glow-in-the-dark braces, spit-ended hair, and, of course, the glasses, before I discovered contacts.


In other words, I was the ‘nerdy Asian chick’ the divine junior varsity cheerleading squad liked to gossip and laugh about whenever they weren’t to busy chattering about who hooked up with who and who was wearing what, I guess I must’ve surprised them when in my sophomore year, I had showed up at school, miraculously developed all the right curves, wearing the latest Burberry outfit and sporting instead of glasses, contacts. And even more so when I tried out for the cheerleading team and made it.


So in other words, I was officially a part of ‘the hood’.


"Sweetheart, I’m so sorry…” Mom looked too sad for words, it was a sort of brokenness that I saw in her that made her seem, the first time, to me, old.


One thing was for sure, she should get a refund for those anti-ageing products that she buys.


“What’s the matter?” I asked her, momentarily forgetting the theory to avoid pain. “What’s wrong?”


“Mrs. Song?” a doctor came into the room, carrying a clipboard. “May I please have a word with your daughter?”


“Of course, Doctor.” My mother got up from her seat, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her suede jacket. That’s how out of it she was. She was the most fashion-obsessed person I ever known, excluding myself. Because you know what water does to suede? Well, it gets ugly.


“Miss Vera Song?” the Doctor smiled at me. The quality that was in my mother’s voice was in his too, but his was laced with tiredness, as if he had seen to many losses to be overly upset my mine. Remind me never to be a doctor.


“Yes.” I swallowed back some tears that had some how bee formed.


“Can you tell me what had happened?”


I closed my eyes. “Me and my boyfriend—friend, Chas Munroe, was driving along the road, I can’t remember which one, when a—a truck came and crashed into us.”


“And?” the Doctor questioned.


I glared at him. “And then I passed out, what do you think?”
He didn’t have the courtesy to look apologetic. “That is all?”


“Yes, Doctor. That is all.” I spat.


“Thank you, Vera, for such an amiable interview.” He turned to leave.


The sarcasm stung, but I decided to ask him one last question.


“Doctor, what happened to Chas?”


He turned around and gave me a look that was so packed with genuine sorrow and regret that it had nearly knocked me over.


“I’m sorry, Vera, Chas died despite our efforts.”


He turned around again and walked out of the room.


I closed my eyes and let the wave of tears cascade down my face, feeling regret and remorse that his last moments had been so filled with rejection.
What have I done?


I cried. It probably wasn’t everyday that a cheerleader in the world cried. I’ve heard that every three seconds a baby was born; it was probably every three months that a cheerleader in the world cried. And that was probably an average.


Finally, after nearly two hours of crying, I remembered the note that Chas had pressed into my hand in his last moments on earth.


I pulled it out of my pocket and read the neat, prominent handwriting, letting it register in my brain and watching a single pearly white tear fall and stain the palely lined notebook paper.



Dear Vera,

Without you, I would die.

Love,

Chas.





Malinna
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#132 b~a~l~l~e~t~g~i~r~l

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Posted 08 August 2007 - 08:49 PM

Um... well, it was good, but it was kind of offensive.
The 'crazy black chick', the island girl', that needed to 'learn her english pronunciation'! I mean, come on, you can't LEARN to get rid of an accent!!!
It was good, you're a good writer, but those kind of things are kind of holding you back.
But whatever, that's just my opinion...
Just trying to help,
Cheyenne :mgbumblebee:
ps- could you please explain the ending???



Personally I don't believe that the author was implying that black people are crazy at all! I can defientely see your point, but I just think that she was descriing the character of this particular person.
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#133 b~a~l~l~e~t~g~i~r~l

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Posted 08 August 2007 - 10:08 PM

I did a poem - which I posted on this site - which has the same sort of story as this.

_________________________________________________________________________

I look at my computerscreen. On it is the black and white print of the accounts I was supposed to be working on. I'm tempted to turn the sound off and play Club Penguin. "Why didn't I go to universty??" I think to myself "Then maybe I could have had a better job than working in this freaking office." I'm actually very lucky. I have a well-paid job with a large office all to myself - but I'm not lucky. I hate my job. More than I hate anything, actually. It's just terrible. I sit at my computer for eight hours every day working my way through endless accounts which I print out and take to my boss. I think of my friends. Clare's a teacher, Jane's a television presenter............ I feel a tsunami of jealousy engulf me. I try to fight it off, but, just like a real tsunami, it's to powerful. I feel like throwing something. I look around my office one of the glas paperweights on my desk would be pefect! I pick it up and-

"Joan?" Mr. Pensham's, my boss's, secretary comes into my office. She sees me holding the paperweight and, looking startled, took a step back. I set the glass ball back down on the desk and forced a smile. I focus all of my mind on getting the tsunami off me.

"Yes, Ms. Lorder?" I ask, politely.

"Have you finished those accounts yet? You've been working on them almost two hours." I start and look at my screen again. I have barely done anything.

"Oh - I - I - I'll be done soon!" I babble. That's another thing that I hate about this job. All of the deadlines........... I keep trying to fight off the wave of jealousy.

"Well you better had be!" Ms. Lorder cries. "Mr. Pensham needs those sheets!"

"I'll be done soon Ms. Lorder" I say.

After I finish the accounts I am allowed to leave. I go out through the glass sliding doors and find myself in the midst of a rainy New York evening. I look around and I all I can see is grey or bright artificial colours. Nothing natural. The sight of the grey offices and flats makes me sad and I walk over to my bright green mini feeling down. And then I see it! A tiny tuft of grass is all it is. But it inspires me.......

The next day I buy the three acres of land that I had seen advertised. I quit my job and hire a plow. Then I start Joan's Garden. Were everything can grow as it pleases with no bars holding it in and forcing it grow into a set shape. I will prune the plants of course, but for the most part they'll be wild!
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#134 b~a~l~l~e~t~g~i~r~l

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Posted 08 August 2007 - 10:19 PM

Oh my gosh Intent Listener! Your stoy Too Late is amazing!
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#135 SairBear

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Posted 09 August 2007 - 03:18 AM

The next day I buy the three acres of land that I had seen advertised. I quit my job and hire a plow. Then I start Joan's Garden. Were everything can grow as it pleases with no bars holding it in and forcing it grow into a set shape. I will prune the plants of course, but for the most part they'll be wild!


nice story... i hope your character actually has the sea change and quits job!!

I had to write a story for english can you tell me what you think?

The Blackout

The wind whistled and howled outside, as I sat at the computer procrastinating, trying to do work but my mind would not let me. My work could wait. Outside was dark and windy - another thunderstorm, there had been a few that week. I was staring out of the window when I realised the power went out. It was very quiet, peaceful almost as though the wind was carrying all my worries away, letting my mind wander. I remembered all the different storms I had been through, one stuck out from when I was 12, still at home before Alex went to college.

I was reading when it happened. I loved reading. It was my favourite past time, letting me escape my life to another world. Darkness fell over the house as the lights went off. The hum of the computer, mutter of television went off leaving the house silent, until an ear-piercing scream came from upstairs, my sister I gathered. She came running downstairs as quickly as possible in pitch black.
“Mum, why have we lost power?”
My sister, Alex was 17 at the time a spitting image of Mum, blue eyes as deep as an ocean, long blonde hair and tall. Mum was sitting at the table with her short grey blonde hair falling into her eyes; she looked tired but frustrated as she stood up to grab a torch and candles.
“Not sure, looks like the whole street has, it should not be too long before its back. Sit down while I get some candles.”

We sat down around the candle light for ages with no one saying anything. I started to smile, if Alex could have seen me more clearly or was paying more attention she would have been annoyed. She was devastated that the power went off. She was listening to music and talking to her friends but now she had to sit down with her family. I loved it, as they were better company than books.
“Do you want to play monopoly?” I asked while looking at the floor. Mum looks up and half smiles, Alex shrugged, running her fingers through her hair.

I was ecstatic. As I ran upstairs and grabbed the game, almost afraid that if I did not grab it fast enough the lights would come back on. I chose the car, Alex wanted it too but said she would ‘prefer a real car’ and chose the dog instead. Mum managed to land on all the best properties first.
“You’ve rigged the dice mum!” Amazingly, both Alex and I agreed on something.
We had heaps of fun that night, I told them about school and my lack of friends.
“Hows school been?” Mum asked me trying to strike up a conversation.
“Alright I guess…” I attempted to avoid the question while staring at my feet.
“You never bring your friends over, I want to meet them” Mum just would not drop the subject of school; I had never truly told them how I hated school.
“Yeah you like never talk about them or even talk for that matter.” Alex wouldn’t understand, she was ‘Miss Popular’ and always on the phone. How would she understand being lonely and unpopular?
“because, no one would listen.” I couldn’t tell them, no matter how much I needed to tell someone. They were never there for me in the past why would they care now.
“We are listening now!” Mum looked at me directly in the eye when saying this, letting her soul, her sadness pour in to me. I could not disappoint her.
“Um yeah I’ll invite them over soon.”
“How about tomorrow afternoon? We should have power tomorrow, gosh I hope so anyway.” Mum inquired.
“Tomorrow?” I started to panic; I didn’t think she would make it so soon.
“Yeah tomorrow”
“Oh tomorrow, umm tomorrow is no good. Sorry! Some other time maybe” I was panicking, my legs were shaking and I was starting to sweat. My pores burst with perspiration.
“Well you can just ask them, never know” My mum started to get suspicious.
“They CAN’T!” At least books did not cause panic like people, I started to doubt my thoughts that people are better company.
“Just ask”
“Come on!” My sister started to join in. They ganged up on me.
“I DON’T HAVE ANY FRIENDS!” I stood up and yelled in the process I managed to knock over the whole monopoly board. The pieces went flying, in a blur of colour. Crash, clunk, clunk they hit the ground; Alex sat there staring at me and started laughing.
“I thought I was the drama queen. Its ok lets pick up the pieces and talk about it.”

I hadn’t told them before as I was afraid they would not be proud of me anymore. They shocked me that night, talking about ways to be friendly and get friends out side of books.
“I never knew you had it so hard” Mum opened up accepting that she had not been there for me. “I haven’t had it that easy but things are starting to improve and it will improve for you to, just wait. My struggles with work and being a single mum are finally becoming ok. Working from home means never leaving the office and I need to come home and be with you I’m so sorry.” Her eyes were bagged and looking wrinkled as she was on the verge of tears but she was so honest, so real. I had never seen that side of my Mum before she let down her boundaries. She looked happy that night in the flickering light and I saw her laugh, something that was very rare. We never talked like that before, well not for years. We were laughing and forgetting we were even playing the game and just talking about everything. Even though we were sitting in the dark, I had never seen more clearly. All those years I had been looking in the dark, never seeing them, for who they are.

All of a sudden, the lights came back on and our laughter ceased. I looked at my family in a new light, a more understanding light. My sister ran off back to the phone to explain why she was cut off and my mother realised she needed to finish her work. The candles were blown out but I continued to sit there for another hour or so, as though if I did not move maybe I could stop time and remain in that moment. A week after that night my sister left for university. We were never the same again as we were that night, when we were together, a family.

The storm was starting to die down. Now years later, that is still the best memory I have of my family. I am still alone, not much different to back then after the blackout, still trying to hold on to my family but being as unsuccessful as if I was holding on to the wind.

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