Ooh baby, don't you know I suffer?

[Supermassive Black Hole--Muse]

So, my NaNoWriMo. The story is this: I see Basil kiss Paula in the mall. That's the first scene.

The next scene? Sixth grade, when he steals my pencil and gives it to Staple.

The next scene? Sixth grade, when Thwin tries to set us up at King of Pizza.

The next scene? Sixth grade, the day I write in my diary that I like him and bemoan that I only have three classes with him.

The next scene? Present. I'm going into shock and quite possibly going insane.

I thought about his eyes. They were dark, stormy, unreadable. The opposite of a safeguard: instead of the anchor keeping me in place, they were the waves ripping my apart.
I thought about his skin. It was smooth and dark, like mocha or cappuccino. I had always thought it was funny because I hated coffee, and his skin was the color of coffee. Ironic.
I thought about his height. He was so tall, towering to six feet, and so skinny, like a beanpole. I had decided long ago that tall+skinny=hot. He was tall, he was skinny. He was hot. He was beautiful.
Beautiful.
Beautiful.
Beautiful.
“Anna…”
I shook my head again, trying to get that word away from me. Beautiful. It was hideous. It ripped me apart.
Beautiful.
Natalie grabbed my wrist and dragged me out of Armani. She pulled me away from the Christmas tree, away from Macy’s and Alan and Paula. She pulled me back to the shiny bench I had started from and forced me to sit down. I stared blankly ahead, not really absorbing anything. Everything was light and noise, meaningless fluff and meaningless drivel, and there was pain—everywhere pain.
“Is she going into shock?”
“I think so.”
Dana’s pale face was in front of me, blocking out the light. “Anna, what’s wrong? Why are you—?”
“She saw Alan,” Natalie said bitterly.
“Wasn’t that the point??”
“She saw Alan with Paula.”
Dana was quite for a moment, then she said, “But she knew he liked her. Why is it a surprise?”
“I guess actually seeing them…together…”
Her, she, he, knew, her, she, them, I, with. Words that were meaningless, words that tangled together in sloppy patterns to give comfort to comfortless creatures. One word stood apart: love. It was the worst of them all.

The next scene? Summer before seventh grade. This one is made up, but it's a very short conversation between me and a friend about how he hates me.

“He hates me.”
“Yeah, he probably does.”
At least she didn’t lie to me. I leaned back against the brick wall, absorbing that word: hate. It was the worst of them all.

The next scene? Seventh grade, first day, when I realize he's in all my classes.

The next scene? Present. We escape the mall and go to Chick-fil-a, where I drown my sorrows in root beer and waffle fries.

The next scene? Sixth grade, an actual diary entry obsessing over him.

The next scene? Present, if I could go back in time...

The next scene? Seventh grade, actual blog entry about when he wrote about 'Milli'.

The next scene? Present. I start my evil plan of telling everyone.

As you can see, there are many flashbacks.

So far, all but one are real. I'm using my Blog Archives and my two diaries as a referense, and the more I read them, the more I want to scream.

Oh, and sorry for all the crappy blogging.