Thursday, July 23, 2009

Pssht.

Damn, I forgot to blog yesterday.

Dream it, live it, love it! Why wait to get something started? The stars are smiling on you now. Get online, get out and about, meet different people and embrace familiar ones. Happy new you!

This is my horoscope for the day. Should I listen to it? Should I look for some unassuming boy buried in a book at Barnes and Noble? (Try saying that three times fast!) I don't think I have the heart for it.
WILL SOMEONE PICK UP THEIR FREAKING PHONE? I DON'T CARE IF I TEXT YOU A LOT; I LIKE TALKING TO PEOPLE!
Of course, everytime I do really want to talk to someone, I chicken out or can't find the words.
[Boys--Ashlee Simpson]
Okay, people are stupid. The official definition of 'popular' is someone who gets along with everyone, but really, the really popular people don't get along with everyone. They're usually bitches. They're tan, thin, and have shiny hair. Even if they're not pretty per se, they're flawless (no acne, perfectly white teeth, never a smudge with makeup). All they're clothes are from a couple of stores (Hollister, Abercrombie, Aeropostale) and they have designer bags. They were they're hair in a high ponytail with a super-thin headband, which, by the way, might be great for sports but looks stupid anywhere else. They all listen to the same music, and it's usually something along the lines of the Jonas Brothers. Much like emos, they're extremely emotional, and get all teary over the stupidest things. If someone wrongs them, even a little bit, they demand justice. They're nails are always perfect. They have perfect handwriting and write in multi-colored markers with hearts around everything. They're jokes are shallow and fake, but they fool people into thinking they're funny (damn, I wish I knew how to do this...). They're conceited. Guys like them.
I've gotta change something. I don't want to be like them, but I don't want to be like me either. I mean, the only thing worse than being popular is not being popular.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

You just never realize it.

I got a haircut today!
One day, at the young age of nine, I almost died.
You see, there is a fairly large road next to the mall that reaches down to where Wegmans now is. There is a small strip of about 5 stores on one side, with a Donato's (now Taco Bell) next to it, in between the mall and Wegmans. Me and my mom were driving down that road. I was playing Nintendogs. I look up.
Another car has come out of the Donato's parking lot, the car of a brown/curly haired young woman. Maybe we were going to fast, or maybe she wasn't looking, but the second I looked away from the DS, her car made contact with ours.
In an instant our little Hyundai was pushed halfway across the road. It all happened too quickly to process any details, but the next second later, my mom was frantically trying to drive the injured car to the opposite side of the road. At the time, I didn't know what was happening. I didn't see any damage in either car and I had just barely realized we were hit.
Miraculously, the car managed to haul itself to the side of the road, where we waited for the police to come. During that time, after turning off my DS, I tried to open the passenger-side door. It opened slightly that stopped, so I had to crawl out my mom's side.
It may seem like just a harmless accident, with no one hurt and nothing really damaged but the door (I never got a good glance at the other car...), but it was more of a miracle than originally thought. You see, the young woman's car hit the firewall almost exactly, at just the right angle, which saved our lives. Six inches to the right, she would've hit the hood and we'd have gone spiraling out of control. Six inches to the left, I would've been crushed and killed almost instantly.
The miracle doesn't stop there. The car was indeed damaged. Besides the door being stuck, it didn't seem to want to move anywhere, particularly not out of the way of the semi-truck that was barreling straight toward us. Somehow, some way, the car got out of the way before dying. I (and my mom) was saved not once, but twice that day.
I was old enough to remember this accident, but hearing it again made it fresh in my memory. Life is so precious, so fragile, held together by the thinnest of threads. If you don't treasure every moment, that thread gets even weaker.
I don't believe in coincidence. Somewhere, someone was looking out for me and my mom. An angel up in heaven saved our lives that day, and for that, I am eternally grateful.

Monday, July 20, 2009

I'll be one tough act to follow. I'll be one tough act to follow. Here today, gone tomorrow. But you never walked a thousand miles.

DAMN IT, MY ENTRY JUST FREAKING DISAPPEARED!
[When I'm Gone--Eminem]
I love Eminem. His music is either heartbreaking or freaking awesome.
The freshman girl,
oh so shy,
sits and watches the sophomore guy.
The sophomore guy,
with his head in a whirl,
sits and watched the junior girl.
The junior girl
in her red sedan,
sits and watched the senior man.
The senior man, all hot and wild,
secretly loves the freshman child.
I love grophs. You never know what you might find. :)
[Beautiful--Eminem]
Today, after I got up, I gave my more *cough* psychotic cat, Mudball, a bath. Now, Muddy is an eight-year-old, pudgy, fairly small (for a full-grown cat), and yet she managed to hang from the cabinets above the sink by her claws.
You see, Mudz hates the sound of water, water on her, being held in one place too long, and she has a whole bunch of really sensitive spots that she doesn't like being touched. Perhaps you see why baths are such cataclysmic events.
My back hurts and I have a headache. But sh*t, I love this song.
Please, please, listen to it, and look at the lyrics.
Byesies!

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Soaked

Giving a cat a bath, my friends, is a sure-fire way to either get sopping, sopping wet or very, very scratched. Luckily, the cat in question (Marco) is a very patient cat when it comes to baths, so I only got sopping wet.
I'm reading City of Bones at Barnes and Noble and I must say, so far I love it. It has all the history behind the main story that really gives a book a sense of purpose, and, as you know, I love works of fantasy. I would definitely check it out. Also, does anyone know who wrote Th1rteen R3asons Why (or something along those lines) because I cannot for the life of me find it at Barnes and Noble.

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Natalie is NOT great.

“One should rather die than be betrayed. There is no deceit in death. It delivers precisely what it has promised. Betrayal, though ... betrayal is the willful slaughter of hope.” – Steven Deitz
“Pray that your loneliness may spur you into finding something to live for, great enough to die for.” – Dag Hammarskjold

I love these quotes.
Drat, I was supposed to save some rice for Mom...X(

Friday, July 17, 2009

Some people just don't understand the phrase "my inspiration has fled me"...

Nat wants me to blog, so, here I am.
If you could have any super power in the world, what would it be? I would read minds. So I wouldn't feel so lonely all the time.
So. Blondie is a complete and utter perv/asshole. Like a bad version of Nick (we all remember him, right?). And Nat seems completely unaware of this...I forwarded her the whole conversation...of course, Basil is an ass too, and I still adore him.
I'm never texting Blondie again.
Speaking of Basil, GUESS WHAT HE DID? GUESSGUESSGUESS!!!! OMG!!!!!!!!!!!11!!!111!1
Bet you thought something good happened. Hah. No. He DELETED me from Facebook. DELETED ME. There are not words to describe that level of hate. And he presumably did it weeks ago, after the whole 'bitchy' incident.
HE FREAKING DELETED ME.
Words can also not describe my rage, and less expectedly, my heartache.
I know he hates me and I know he's an ass. I know he's a player. I know he's not particularly cute or anything. Again, I know he hates me. But I can't let go of him. Not even when it's as patheticly hopeless as it is.
Sigh. I know how ya feel, Nat.
The really, really, really so-depressing-you-need-pills thing is we used to be kinda friends. We TALKED to each other and played around. He told me random stuff. THEN I started liking him and THEN I started acting like a freak. Even last year, when I had all my classes with him, I just...I just wasted everything.
I wish I could tell him this without regretting it. I wish he wouldn't regret me.
Sigh. Depressed entry over. Signing out...now.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Why, I do believe this is actually good. What say you?

Chapter One—The Explosion

“Some things you do because you want to. Some things you do because of the needs of others in your family.”

It was blazing hot and my head itched like mad, but I dared not complain about something so trivial, because it was just so stupid.
After all, I was also starving. I had no home and my family, except for my older brother Tief and younger brother Jaeten, was dead. We were being hunted for no reason and could die at any minute, or be bound and dragged to an imprisonment facility. Jaeten was ill with an unknown disease, probably the common cold, but who knew? And yet I was worried about my scalp itching.
Tief stopped suddenly, and I almost crashed into him. Jaeten bumped into me. He mouthed a ‘sorry’ and looked at our wonderful, wonderful twenty-year-old brother, a.k.a. our savior.
He was scanning the horizon, which was stabbed with the remains of long burned-out hotels. I knew what he was thinking. The remains of civilization could mean food, but it could also mean Rounders. And bombs. And nets and traps. It was dangerous being out in the open, though, too. I was sure we stood out against the blackened earth, with our charred-and-ripped-but-pale clothing. We could always go around the decades-old hotels, or turn back, but we all knew it was more likely that there would be food nearer to buildings, because if the framework survived than maybe some supplies did too.
Or people.
Tief signaled for us to keep moving, and we followed silently. I saw Jaeten looking at our older brother with wonder in his eyes…like he always did. Jaeten idolized Tief, and it wasn’t just because he had no one else to idolize. Without our wise-beyond-his-years brother, we’d very likely be dead. He took care of us after our parents died. He protected us from the soldiers and then the Rounders and stole us food. If he hadn’t managed to get us out of Tampa in time, we’d very likely be dead with the rest of the people trapped in the city.
The thought of all those thousands of people, dead within a few seconds, made my heart sting. President Patterson Darsely might’ve destroyed all the nuclear bombs before England dropped those on us, but regular bombs could kill just as easily, and they most certainly had.
World War 111 killed most of my family, and then the civil war that erupted afterwards killed the rest of it. We were all we had left. I was six when World War 111 ended, eleven when Darsely stamped out the armies set against him and declared the half of the United States that was left to him (which was a little bigger than the original thirteen colonies and included Florida) a united land he named Enta.
The southern got the worst of it, then the western states. The land above New Jersey, however, was the least destroyed, and that’s were Darsely put all the rich people that had survived, like former presidents and celebrities that got lucky and lawyers and everyone who meant something that were still alive. He turned most of the regular folk that survived into an elite fighting force, which certainly gave him an edge when ending the civil war.
Then he had to go and call the rest of us ‘rebels’. Hundreds upon thousands were caught by the Rounders, brought to the imprisonment facilities, tortured, and eventually killed. There was no mercy and no sense. These people were from all around the former United States, not just Enta, but he killed them all the same. There might’ve been a couple hundred rebels who escaped, including me and my brothers.
The Rounders were still there, though. So were the bombs. There was still danger.
“Nala. Do you see that building over there, on the right?” Jaeten’s eyes tightened and he bit his lip, obviously upset that Tief had addressed only me. Ignoring Jaeten’s jealousy, I followed Tief’s pointing finger and saw what he meant. The building was split in half, the upper portion just a skeleton, but the bottom levels were a thick black mass, which suggested something survived within.
I frowned. “It’s probably been cleaned out. It’s kind of hard to miss.”
He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, clearly amused. “You’re absolutely right. But you know that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t check.”
I shrugged off his obvious attempted chance-for-learning moment, since I had heard the same thing many times before. He chuckled softly, so softly in fact that I wasn’t sure if I was meant to hear it.
Jaeten coughed. “It could be booby-trapped.”
Tief nodded, clearly not planning on giving out lessons to our ten-year-old brother. “That’s true of most building.” My little brother looked crushed.
I had to defend him. Tief was being unnecessarily mean. “It’s true that most buildings will be cleaned out already too. You didn’t say anything about that.”
Our leader sighed heavily. He wasn’t going to start arguing, I could tell. Jaeten shot me a thankful look, though, so I didn’t care that our big brother chose to ignore me.
Tief suddenly picked up his pace as he squinted into the distance. “Do you see that?”
I tried to follow his gaze, but saw nothing. We were still very far away from the cluster of hotels. “What?”
He shook his head but didn’t slow down. “I thought I saw something move. A person.”
I swallowed. From Tampa to wherever we where now, probably somewhere in Georgia, we had not met a single person. At least, not one worth getting acquainted with. One young boy had tried to steal our scanty supplies one night, but Tief caught him. I doubted that boy would ever steal again.
“It could be a Rounder,” I warned in a hushed voice. “You don’t know. They have all sorts of tricks up their sleeves. They could be trying to lull us into a false sense of security—”
Tief shook his head, barely paying attention to me, which I imagined gave Jaeten a gratified feeling. “I don’t think it’s a Rounder. They wouldn’t lower themselves to waving their arms to get someone’s attention just to catch them—”
“I don’t even see what you’re talking about,” I interrupted, but as soon as I finished saying it, I did. In the far distance, barely visible since she/he was wearing dark clothes, a figure was waving their arms around madly, obviously trying to get our attention.
Maybe to warn us away.
I doubted Tief would listen to that argument, though. He tried to hide it, but I could tell; he was weary of the same company day in and day out. He longed for more people. He longed for something new to distract him. I sympathized. I imagined it must grow tedious, after awhile, to spend years with no one to talk to but your two younger siblings.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

I am seriously messed up.

I'm saying this because I saw the new Harry Potter movie, and I thought Draco was kinda hot.
Shut up. Just shut up.
Okay, I know he's pretty hideous from the wrong angle, and his hair is white (in the movie at least; not sure about in real life), but I just thought he was kinda hot. KINDA. Just a little.
Because, you see, he's the bad guy, the guy employed by Voldemort to do a horrendous deed, which would be cool enough. Then he feels bad about it. And he regrets. Okay, so maybe he's portrayed as weak and cowardice, but bear with me here. In the movie, he comes across more as scared and confused, which isn't half so bad. And he's kinda cute.
Now I'm trying to create a Draco-like character, but it's just not working. To create a character, I must first create a situation, and nothing is coming to mind. Sigh. Oh well. I'm going to go finish reading the seventh book.
OH NO YOU DON'T! YOU'RE NOT DONE YET!
Okay, so I happened to see Nat's latest entry again, which her response to the first question was: "Guys. Dur." That got me thinking. I really like guys. I always have. I've always been in love with the idea of love and boyfriends and weddings and the like. One time I got extremely depressed because I really, really wanted a boyfriend. But I don't want a guy from the real world, no! Our world, right now, is not a place for love. So what's a girl to do?
Okay, now I really am going to go finish reading the seventh book. Sigh. I need to meet more guys.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

I was tagged by Lizzie! Ya-hoo!

I will now take a break from what I was doing before (writing) to do this (more writing).
What have you been thinking about lately?
Oh, God, don't ask me this. No matter what Lolo says, I have much more than three thoughts a minute. Mostly, I suppose, writing, but that's always on my mind in some form. My most recent story, which has yet to be named. Going to the mall (specifically Charlotte Russe) to do some serious shopping. The $75 I have burning holes in my purse. My birthday, and what I will do for it. Vera. My little families on the Sims 2. Blogging. How no one's ever on Facebook. One of my older, more Narnia-ish stories about a girl named Danielle. Getting a new phone. The Clique. Shopping for school supplies. My pimplish face (ugh). Getting a pedicure. Pens. The 8 button on my phone. The All-American Rejects. My lack of commitment to my poor stories. My friends. Memories. And this is just the stuff I can remember right now. My mind's a maze; my thoughts are murderous zombies who jump out at you.
What's been on your mind?
Wait, isn't this the same question as the first one? Um, murderous zombies.
What are you excited about at the moment?
My rekindled writing talent (and to think, just this morning I was complaining it was gone!). That's kinda major. Oh, and the glorious, beautiful $75 in my purse. Oh, sweet non-brokedness.
When was the last time you made a difference to somebody?
Pssht, I make a difference in everyone I meet. Haha, really though, I hope I made a difference to my friends. DID I, GUYS?
Who are you really happy for at the moment?
I can't say that I am happy for anyone. It's not like anyone has done anything particularly happy-making.
You know what? I'm happy for Liddy. No one knows who that is! Mwahaha!
When was the last time you felt inspired?
I am inspired every waking minute. I believe most writers are.
Not by anything in particular, though. I draw my inspiration from some deep, unknown pool in the back of my brain. What it would be like to venture into the pool...
Wow. Weird answer. I can't be serious for five minutes, can I? :D
If you could be in your dream place at the moment what would you be doing?
I wouldn't be in a place per se, but more of a state of mind. Everything I wrote would come easily and be beautiful and entrancing. The blockage on my Pool of Inspiration would be gone.
Or I'd be in a pool with all of my friends. I'd know how to swim. We'd be cracking inside jokes and sipping lemonade and just enjoying each other's company. I'd be texting MarkyMark and Basil. The sun would be blazing hot, but no one would mind because we were all in the pool and we'd all have lemonade and smoothies. There'd be no clouds and light would just fill the air like it only does on sunny days. Then we'd all have a sleepover, because perfect days should never end.
Or I'd be at a dance, in a beautiful dress. My hair would be up and my face would be completely clear, and hopefully, beautiful. I'd wear high heels that I didn't trip in. I'd be dancing with someone I loved, someone who loved me, and our love would soak into the evening and make the roses just a little redder and the stars just a little brighter. I'd know I could never be unhappy with him, as he could never be unhappy with me, and for just one night, the world would be perfect.
Or I'd be resting my head on top of a great, shaggy dog in front of a cackling fireplace. I'd be in a tan-with-design turtleneck and jeans and I'd be sipping on perfect hot chocolate (which is hard to come by). It would be snowing outside but inside, my house was warm and cozy. I'd be completely safe, completely unafraid.
There are many forms of heaven.
If somebody was describing your personality, what would they say?
Intelligent, witty, shy, mean, sarcastic, deep, violent, pretty sweet. These are the things I've actually been called. I don't know what I am myself.
What are you most proud of?
My intelligence (hey, I'm not being conceited, I really am smart!). My artistic ability (writing included). My mad skillz with debating. There's a lot I'm not proud of, though, but no one ever asks what you're not proud of. I guess no one ever asks what you are proud of either, but hey. Oh, and my blog!
What's been tempting you lately?
The money in my pocket and my desperate want of new clothes. Not a good combination for me. I'm a bit of a stickler, and yet, I love to shop. Contradicting much?
Asking someone if they think I'm pretty. Yeah. Seriously. I'm extremely vain :D
What's been the one most consistent thing in your life?
Throughout my entire life? Being paranoid. Being afraid of disasters and death. Worrying. Notice a pattern here?
What do you love about people? or What do you love about (person’s name)?
I hate people. We're all essentially worthless (no offense, ma best budzzzz! XD). We're vain, selfish, greedy, pig-headed, and ignorant. Now, I don't hate indivuals (well, most of them), but humanity as a whole.
What do I love about Basil? He entrances me. He's so interesting. Everything he does draws me in. I can't wait to see him. I'd rather be near him and in pain than away from him. He's hilarious and so extremely smart.He's so vital. There's something in his eyes that's different from everyone else's.
That's the most I've ever said about that particular subject.
TAGGED: Nat, Lolo, and everyone else on my Awesome People list who happen to see that they were tagged.

And all the things that you never ever told me...and all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me.

Never coming home, never coming home. Should I? Could I? And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me...for all the ghosts that are never gonna............................
[The Ghost of You--My Chemical Romance]
God, I love My Chemical Romance.
You may wonder why I'm blogging today, as opposed to, oh say, nothing. Indeed, there is no real reason. Whatevs.
Nat is right (for once :P). I should do something with my hair! Unfortunately, curling it is not an option (trust me), and I can't seem to find the darn straightener. BAH.
I really, really, really need a haircut. My hair is all frizzy and there's a ton of dead-ends and fly-aways. It's also getting too long for my taste (almost an inch past the shoulder; heresy!). I don't know why I ever grow it back out. It only looks good long.
[Desolation Row--My Chemical Romance]
I can't write anything good anymore! It's like my inspiration (or skill) has jumped out the window. Everything I write sounds like crap, doesn't flow, or sounds like a twelve-year-old's work (which is what it is, but I thought I was better than that). This is the best of my recent work:
Everything was set. Three large brown suitcases were stacked in the back of our gold Kia Sedona, one for each of us. Jeffery’s was the biggest, crammed full of all his brightly colored toys. He giggled happily from his car seat in the middle, waving his pudgy arms at the back of the driver’s seat. Mom, her eyes tired, stared straight ahead, as if she did not see us.
I traced the details of my house on the window; the huge disproportionate roof, the oblong porch that stuck out from one side, the tiny round windows in the top floor. It looked so hollow and empty. Because of its abnormal shape, it wasn’t quick to sell, and Mom was in a hurry. My home for fifteen years was to be demolished the coming Saturday.
The drive to our new house was going to take fourteen hours, crossing through Canada, but Mom wouldn’t just buy plane tickets. She said it would take too long. She, unlike me, wanted to get out of Rockford, Michigan as soon as possible. She was still reeling from the divorce and desperate to escape Dad, who, by an ill twist of fate, was her promoted to her boss a day after divorcing her. Three days after everything became final, she started packing our bags.
I asked her where we were moving. She stopped throwing things in a bag, stood up, and stared at me till I left. At dinner that night, she announced we were finally going to make use of the old house her uncle had left her in his will.
“I thought you said it was too old to be an actual house,” I say, bored. She will probably change her mind by tomorrow. There’s no way we’re moving to Vermont.
Mom shoots me a sharp look. “Mia, I want the utmost cooperation from you. I’m going to busy with arrangements and I need you to watch over Jeffery.”
I look out the window, unafraid. “Why would we move to another cold state? Why not Florida?”
She doesn’t answer. She shakes her head and resumes eating dinner. She never lasts in any sort of discussion. She’s too weak. She’ll change her mind.
Mom had been serious about moving to Vermont. She could’ve gotten another job, but no, we had to move out of the state. I stared bitterly out the window, at my home. It would be gone forever in four days. My childhood, gone in four days.
Jeffery whined from the middle row, his round blue eyes confused.
“’Sokay, Jeffy,” I whispered. Mom must’ve heard me, but she didn’t say anything. She was too defeated to say anything to me. If it came to a fight, which it surely would, I would destroy her.
Strangely, after she had declared we were moving, we stopped fighting. I avoided her because I was furious; she avoided me because she was exhausted. It had been a strangely calm, yet tense, week.
Jeffery continued to whine.
“Throw him a toy, will you, Mia?” She didn’t look at me as she said it. Maybe she was worried our eyes would ignite the screaming match.
Jeffery’s tiny blue elephant, the only toy not in a suitcase somewhere, was shoved into the stuffed glove apartment at last minute, when Mom had realized he had nothing to play with.
He grabbed it as soon as he saw it, and immediately started chewing one of the soft blue ears. Mom saw it in the rearview mirror and sighed.
My home disappeared from sight too soon. I knew I’d never see it again, so I stared at it as long as I could, trying to hold the memory of it in my head. I looked for my bedroom window, but it didn’t come into view till we were turning the corner.
My breath caught in my throat. There was someone standing in the window. Their face peered out at me, cold as stone, with blood red lips and hollow cheeks, and eyes the color of the midnight sky.
And this is some of the best of my old work:
The silence engulfed me, clearing my mind. I didn’t breathe, for fear it would awaken the beast. Awaking the beast would mean death, I was sure.
It was not peaceful, even in sleep. It’s heavy back rumbled as it breathed like an earthquake, its teeth shivered with every breath. I had been taught to fear the teeth…and respect them.
Awaking the beast would mean death. I had to remember that.
Slowly I moved. Just a tiny bit, stopping suddenly in case it showed signs of waking up. The beast remained sleeping. Setting aside my relief, I completed the step closer to its massive hulking body.
A painful, horribly sharp noise burst over head of me. I didn’t have to look to know it was that of the colorful Gayana Bird, the loudest in the forest. In my mind, I saw the bright plumage, a rainbow of colors, always different…the sharp, golden brown beak and talons…the shining white eyes that never blinked.
The monster stirred, very gently, and I froze.
A grumbling sound, like a volcano, erupted from it, shaking the earth with its force. I refused to breathe, in case it would give away my position. I had to complete my mission…death, if I didn’t.
The grumbling stopped, and the beast was still asleep.
Again, I put aside the overwhelming relief and slowly, carefully, raised the sharp glinting spear over it. So close…I could not fail now.
In that moment, I realized I was alone. If I failed…if I missed the heart…no one could save me. This was my orientation. If I did not learn, I would die. It was simple…it was terrifying.
I closed my eyes…they would betray me if I saw the disgusting scene about to unfold. Whether it would be mine or the beasts, blood was about to spill. My one weakness…gore. One of the many reasons my orientation was so much more deadly than others. I had to overcome my fears, or else I could not survive. Only the strongest survived, and I had to.
My eyes did not give me away…my terror did. As I raised the spear higher, I could not fight back the sharp intake of breath as I thought about the impossible task I had been assigned to.
In that one instant, I saw the monster’s horrible blazing eye, red like fire, staring at me.
No, I thought. I’m not going down without a fight. Not like this.
No longer hesitating, I shoved the spear into its chest, praying I would hit the heart.
The red eyes still stared at me, but the looked not angry. Fear tainted them, not rage. I realized that I was so entranced by it, I had forgotten to close my eyes. But it didn’t matter…all I could see was that burning eye staring at me. I could not feel anything except what I saw in that eye…fear, sadness…loneliness. Time froze. Its eyes went blank.
The wind whistled briefly through the trees and almost seemed to say Thank you.
Time restarted.
See the difference? That's not even my best! I have to get good at writing again or I might as well go beg on the street now.

Monday, July 13, 2009

This isn't healthy.

[Stricken--Disturbed]
You must hate that I'm right.
Once again, I am filled with utter contempt for your disgusting cowardice. Why do you think you can manipulate people to believe you? Why do you think you're so extremely smart? No matter what, the truth will always win, and the truth is, I'm right and you're pathetic. Stop pretending you're better than me. You're fake, condescending, cowardly, pompous, and conceited. You try to turn the ones I love against me, and won't acknowledge that you fail. You won't acknowledge that you're wrong in anything. You're a liar and you try to use that as an excuse. There is nothing redeeming about you. You're pathetic and unworthy of my effort.
F*ck off.
[Going Under--Evanescence]
:D
Like, seriously, I have a thing with obsessions. I switch obsessions like other people switch...well, what do you change every week? The most recent have been:
  • Interior decorating and housing/furniture styles.
  • Expensive clothes.
  • Back-to-school shopping (school supplies, not clothes).
  • The Sims 2
  • The Xenon.
  • Article writing (for the school newspaper).

I'm fantastic.

Okay, so for back-to-school, I'm writing an article on: If it had to be one or the other, should music/art or sports be cut? I should get started on that, but most of it I can't do till school starts. I also started one for the Valentine's Day edition (I know, faaaaaaaar away): Can middle schoolers feel love? Fun, no? I started writing it and so far it's just the deep, corny crap I expected. Yahoo!

By the way, not that it's particularly important, but I believe it's the indivual, not the age group, that feels love, and it's a different love for every person.

[Hit the Floor--Linkin Park]

I would, of course, be referring to romantic love. But hey, if you can love your friends and family, can't you love someone as a boyfriend/girlfriend? I think most people would say no because our age throws the term around too much and doesn't realize what it really means. But really, does anyone know what love is?

So, I would update you on my recent going-ons, but there have been none.

I'm going to go browse the Charlotte Russe website for back-to-school ideas.

Sunday, July 12, 2009

And the world thinks that I'm to blame...why can't we see that when we bleed, we bleed the same?

[Map of the Problematique--Muse]
I. LOVE. THE. BEACH.
As you might've guessed, I went to the beach today. I'm not sure how to describe it except as I. LOVE. THE. BEACH. I didn't get burned!
My parents are going to love this entry.
This is a little-known fact, but I love high-end clothes. I love clothes that you see and think "I could never wear that. Only movie stars wear that." Some of my favorite stores include Express, Bebe, Charlotte Russe, BCBGMAXAZRIA, Armani Exchange, Juicy Couture, and Marshall Rousso, which I secretly love despite the fact that they're all for twenty-three-year-olds. The clothes reek fashion, even the ones from Juicy Couture and Marshall Rousso (I never actually went into these stores, but I absolutely adored the clothes on the mannequins in the window).
T-shirts and year-old jeans just aren't cutting it for me anymore. I want to wear the clothes that people see in store windows and stop and stare because they're so fabulous, and then see and actual people and think 'HOLY CRAP THEY LOOK LIKE A MOVIE STAR!'. There are just two problems with that:
  1. I'm not 23, and thus, I don't have a 23-year-old's body.
  2. If I wore these clothes to school, I'd still be stared at, but for a much different reason.

Ah, the horrible suckishness that there are no high-fashion clothes for eigth graders.

http://www.express.com/catalog/product.jsp?productId=19908&parentCategoryId=2&categoryId=444&subCategoryId=470 Damn, it won't let me get a picture. Anyway, this shirt is soooooo hot, and the belt just completes it. I'm not sure if it would be allowed in school, because of the sleeves and the sheerness (even with a tank underneath).

http://www.express.com/catalog/product.jsp?productId=21156&parentCategoryId=2&categoryId=444&subCategoryId=470 I absolutely adore this neckline, and I wish I knew what it was called. The shirt is just so glamorous, but not flashy. I think the sleeves would be okay in school.

http://www.express.com/catalog/product.jsp?productId=20040&parentCategoryId=2&categoryId=444&subCategoryId=456 This outfit is just incredibly classy and fashionable. With tights (no) or dark skinny jeans (yes) like the description says, it would be perfect.

http://www.express.com/catalog/ensemble.jsp?ensembleId=508&parentCategoryId=2&categoryId=4&subCategoryId=440 This entire outfit flows perfectly together. I love the stripes on the shirt and the silver accesories just add something. The only problem is the top of the shirt.

http://www.bebe.com/bebe-Paint-Splattered-Tank-Dress/dp/B001UAA4WI?ie=UTF8&asinSearchPageIndex=9&pf_rd_r=1Y0BTYDG9YHA4K8GYD8N&navAsinList=B001UNM3XS%2CB001OPYKKQ%2CB00226EDKI%2CB001UNNQ52%2CB002APQ6Y2%2CB001R4NHHQ%2CB00243QT88%2CB002AL7YF6%2CB0024QR47U%2CB001UAA4WI%2CB0022685ES%2CB001UX1NNY%2CB0027DK2EC%2CB002268FPM%2CB001VROPT8%2CB001UX3QL6%2CB0024QP6KM%2CB0027QFWB2%2CB00243OQO2%2CB002ALDF4K&node=675941011&pf_rd_s=search-results&field_browse=675941011&searchSize=20&navAsinListIndex=0&pf_rd_t=101&field_availability=0&id=bebe%20Paint%20Splattered%20Tank%20Dress&searchBinNameList=null&store=core&pf_rd_p=482133391&ref=search_results_10&searchNodeID=675941011&pf_rd_i=675941011&field_launch-date=-1y&searchRank=-custom-rank&searchPage=1&pf_rd_m=A2FMOXN01TSNYY Holy shit, this is hot. Unfortunately, so is the rest of the clothes in bebe. They're all very sexy, no?

http://www.charlotterusse.com/product/index.jsp?productId=3676600 Damn. I could wear this.

http://www.charlotterusse.com/product/index.jsp?productId=3676578 I love this neckline, but seriously, no thirteen-year-old could either pull it off or wear it without controversy.

http://www.charlotterusse.com/product/index.jsp?productId=3632337 Dude! Tell me one reason I couldn't wear this to school!

http://www.charlotterusse.com/product/index.jsp?productId=3632236 Good God. I love Charlotte Rousse. There are so many more, but I don't want to waste space, considering how long this entry is gonna be anyway.

http://www.bcbg.com/product/index.jsp?productId=3611535&cp=2769162.2840697&page=3&parentPage=family This. Dress. Is. So. Freaking. Hot.

http://www.armaniexchange.com/product/womens/knit+tops/sequined+grecian+top.do?asc=&sortby=&size=&imageName=2333.10964.6828.042&sizeName= God, I love this store. If the link doesn't work, add the =.

http://www.armaniexchange.com/product/womens/collection/casual/marled+wrap+cardigan.do?asc=&sortby=&size=&imageName=2411.10601.6842.013&sizeName= Holy crap! This is so perfect! I can't even get over how perfect it is!

http://www.armaniexchange.com/product/womens/collection/casual/roll+up+cargo+pant.do?asc=&sortby=&size=&imageName=2102.10938.7761.202&sizeName= I can't even say it. See above.

http://www.armaniexchange.com/product/womens/collection/sophisticated/gold+trim+pencil+skirt.do?asc=&sortby=&size=&imageName=2052.10071.7255.423&sizeName= There is nothing I love quite so much as pencil skirts.

http://www.juicycouture.com/shoponline/women/apparel/dresses/prodT23KJ I don't see how anyone, anywhere, would ever have the oppurtunity to wear this, but still. Wow.

http://www.juicycouture.com/shoponline/women/apparel/topssweaters/knitssweaters/prodT26P9 Need words be said?

And I couldn't find anything from Marshall Rousso, though they looked so incredible at Atlantic City. Oh wellz. Wow, I have expensive taste. I wish I was 23 and could wear this stuff. Oh well. It's Charlotte Russe for me. What are your favorite stores?

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

OHEMJAY!

IT'S THE YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF WHEN I STARTED BLOGGING FO' REAL!!!!!!

HALLELUJAH!!!

It's also my one-hundredth post! Oh, I feel so special!

Celebrate with me! C'mon, don't be shy! RAISE THE ROOF!!!!!

Wooooooooooooooooooooooot!

It's jubilation!
Well, gosh, I better make this post the gosh darn best post I've ever written! Not. It'll probably be short and boring. Whatever.
Actually, I have nothing more to say. My life is boring and empty. *turns away in shame*
It's better than being suicidal, I suppose, but that's kind of irrelevant, now isn't it?
ARGGGGGGGGGGH AOL KEEPS POPPING UP RANDOMLY I FREAKING HATE IT IT NEEDS TO DIE A HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE DEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATH!
That is all.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Dear anonymous,

Weak. Cowardice. Afraid. That's what I think of when I think of you. You truly disgust me. I can't stand being associated you. You're so afraid of a fight...why? Because you know I'd destroy you? Saying you don't want to fight is a pathetic excuse. By God, stand up for what you believe in! Unless I've already trounced you, even before we've started.
Suck it up. I don't care if you're afraid of me. You started this mess, you can't just wade in, especially when I've already dived into the pool. You wanted to get angry, well, fine, I'm angry. Eventually you'll realize it doesn't matter how hard you fight, I'll always win, I'll always come out on top. But that doesn't mean you get to be a coward. It's the fight, dammit!
-
Forgive me. I'm pissed.
I'm not a whore, a liar, a loser, stupid, bitchy, or selfish. Does everyone hate me, or just most people?
99th post!

The Burners

It started out strangely enough, with just one Burner.
Dane never wanted to join. He never wanted to be involved at all with Hem Sharper. He never wanted to be watching the girl he loved/despised cry in a bookstore. But, like everyone else, he had been sucked in before he knew how to get out, and by then it was too late.
Hem Sharper arrived at Brentview High like a tornado, and it changed everyone for good. He wasn't popular, good-looking, kind, and he didn't do sports, yet he received a cult-like following. Dane, a popular boy himself, swore he'd have no part in it.
Dane was approached by Hem directly. Dane had no choice but to concede.
No one understood what Hem was doing, but they did whatever he said regardless, including Dane. Hem said he was looking for 'the right one', whatever that meant, but they all searched for him, including Dane, even when Hem approaches him with a picture of Ara Richards. Like a good follower, Dane obeys his master, and spies on Ara for days before describing her to Hem (as if he'd need to, as if he didn't already know her so well!). Hem, pleased, declared that Ara is 'the one'.
That night, Dane wakes up to the sound of sirens. He rushes to Ara's house, only three streets away, and gapes at the destruction. Flames rip through half her house, melting windows with the obscene heat.
Ara emerges from the flames in hysterics, accusing Dane of setting the fire that destroys half her house. Confused, but suspicious, Dane confronts Hem, who declares that he is officially a Burner...
Follow Ara's descent into madness as Hem turns her mind inside out. Watch Dane's futile battle to save Ara and stop Hem before he destroys another life. Marvel at Hem...the devil, the madman, the sociopath, the genius who keeps one step ahead of them all, controlling them all, driving them all into insanity.
-
Damn, I wish I could write this story.

Shadow

Mia Baxter has never known what a real nightmare is...
It's a week till school starts and a week after her dad cheated on her mom, resulting in a disastrous and rushed divorce. It's not that Mia cares about that...but when her ex-dad gets promoted and becomes her mom's new boss, her mom can't take anymore. That night she announces they're moving to a house her uncle left her in his will.
Two days later, her mom is driving Mia and her baby brother, Jeffery, fourteen hours to the small town of Berkshire, Vermont. Almost immediately, Jeffery starts some strange behaviour, and Mia is stuck with no friends for the entire summer. To make matters worse, her mom is never around anymore, almost as if she's disappeared.
This is not a typical teen-adjustment story. Now it gets ugly...
After two weeks of eerie silence, Jeffery erupts into tears on the kitchen counter. Mia rushes in. Standing over her brother, eyes gaunt and cheeks hollow, is the cursed ghost named Isaiah...
Terrified, Mia slowly starts to reach for a knife, but instead comes face to face with the grotesque demon Lidra. She is sure she's going to die when Isaiah leaps in front of her and vanquishes the demon back to the forbidden attic.
Isaiah explains that he was cursed to remain on Earth for eternity, denied his access to heaven. He wandered around for centuries before discovered the murderous spirits and demons that dwell in this house. He soon devoted his life (death?) to protecting the innocents that lived in the haunted house.
He also has a warning...Lidra and the other monsters are after Mia and Jeffery. They've waited centuries for a young, susceptible body to use as a passage away from the house and back to Earth. Mia and her brother and the perfect hosts for the demons to wreak their havoc. However, Mia's spirit cannot dwell in the body still...she must be killed.
Isaiah quickly becomes Mia's sole friend, protecting her and Jeffery from the demons that want her dead.
It is day-to-day terror for Mia, until her stepsister Lizzy comes to visit for the summer. Suddenly, all the ghosts disappear, including Isaiah. At first, Mia is relieved. Aside from missing Isaiah, she and her brother are finally safe. Even if Lizzy is cruel and she officially has no friends...
Oh, but it's not over yet. Just wait and see what happens next...
Soon, however, Mia begins to suspect something more sinister with the disappearance of the ghosts. Her mom stops leaving voicemails and stops leaving her shoes at the door...all traces of her disappear. Mia's fears are confirmed when she catches Lizzy hanging over Jeffery's crib, knife in hand...
Suddenly it's again a fight to stay alive, and this time, Isaiah cannot save her.

Sunday, July 5, 2009

I tried to do handstands for you, but every time I fell for you. I'm permanently black and blue, permanently blue for you.

[Bruises--Chairlift]
Fireworks are magical.
A noisy field filled with strangers, occasionally glancing at the flashing lights in the distance; the police. Glow sticks parading around on the necks of the anxious children and fun-loving adults. The buzz of thousands of voices is everywhere, old and young, large and small. Children giggle as they toss their magic glow sticks around in the air and chase each other, with the eyes of worried parents on their little backs. Large families spread out on little blankets and lawn chairs, gazing at the sky and at each other.
Suddenly the sky explodes with red, and every heart stops. It can't be called a hush because it's too sudden, too shocking. The first fireworks are quickly followed by more, and more. Multi-colored stars explode and sparkle across the inky black sky, illuminated the smoky skeletons of their used-up predecessors. White and green and blue rain down the sky, sparkling and dancing as they slowly fade and die. They burst, burning our eyes with their glowing outlines and wrenching our ears apart with their deafening booms. For just a moment, every soul wishes the fireworks could stay up there in the sky forever, illuminating the cold night with their explosions of color. Maybe, just maybe the world would be a better place...
Eyes are glued open, absorbing the magical fireworks, the joyous bombs. You cannot blink, you cannot breathe. Chilly wind bites at your bare legs but you can't move, you can't adjust. The explosions in the sky have you frozen in place, struck by the pure joy they exude. Surely, this must be what freedom is about. This must be what we celebrate every year on this unassuming date. Thousands of strangers brought together, as familes and friends and lovers, to witness something incredible and beautiful, something that might be done all the time but means something more on that one night.
There is no rain date for freedom, no saving money on love. There's no shyness in celebration. Imagine the impossibility of it...a community of strangers sharing something so sacred with people they don't know, people they do know; with light splayed across the ground and splattered in the sky, with hope filling the air, with freedom setting the fireworks ablaze.
By God, there's nothing better.
-
Oh my, today was fun. I went to the King of Prussia mall with Lolo! I guess not a lot of particular note happened. I played Barracuda (Heart) on Guitar Hero at a Sony store with a creepy teenager waiting for most of the song to go next, and then commenting that I was on level easy as I walked away. Oh, and we never went into the juniors section at J.C.Penny's. I just realized that.
Lolo doesn't really like Mountain Dew. Hmmph.
After this I'm writing a list of things I want for my birthday on my List Blog (MOM AND DAD). So check that out if you want. Haha.
I finally sold Lolo my Sims 3 (doesn't work on my computer), which brings my total cash up to $69. Oh, the possibilities...
I have the creativity and intelligence of a scientist, but I can't put them together. It's either one or the other. Hmm...
Oh, the joys of fireflies.

Saturday, July 4, 2009

"Yeah, you got lost, but you made your way back home. You sold your soul like a Roman vagabond."

[Losing Touch--The Killers]
The more I listen to this song, the more I like it. Huh.
Happy Independence Day! It's the day we celebrate our independence from, you know, the rest of the world, and we scream, and we stare at colorful explosions in the sky. Oh, and eat barbecue. Lots of barbecue. It's a nice holiday.
It's actually one of my favorite holidays, for one reason: fireworks. I love them 'splosions in the sky! Also, I'm fascinated with the American Revolution and our bloody battle, with both words and guns, to be independent from England. It was a time when people weren't spineless blobs who couldn't be concerned with anything except how it affected them. It was a time when people believed in things and could talk about hope, strength, and happiness without sounding like a dork. It was really just a better time. Just like Greece and Rome in ancient times, just like the Olympic games. There's something powerful and magical about it. Something great. On the Fourth of July we celebrate a time when America really, truly meant something. We were something great. Now what do we stand for? Fat people and terrorist targets? Inept leaders and rap music? Illegal immigrants and lazy schooling? What's great about America now? Can anyone tell me?
Enough overly deep, corny rants! Why do teenagers smell bad?
Basil is three months and five days older than me.

Friday, July 3, 2009

In celebration of the event.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZsuG0YBNlTA I can't stop listening to this song. It's fantastic. I've been listening to it nonstop since I got up this morning!
In celebration of my One Year Anniversary of Bogging (OYAB), I made a new blog! But it's not just any blog! It's a (duhduhduh) LIST BLOG! http://fortegnelse.blogspot.com/ Fortegnelse is Norwegian for 'list', by the way.
Mmmm, Ice Breakers Sours...
I don't have much to say, but there's an insanely long entry from yesterday! It's mostly that long because of the four-page story I stuck in there, but hey, I said more than I am here.
Avast ye, maties! Land ho.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Frustrating ass.

[Wake Up Call--Maroon 5]
Pardon my language, my more sensitive friends.
I would be, of course, referring to Basil. He called me bitchy. Yes, you read right. Bitchy. Like he's one to talk!
Aaron (his status): hmmmm twll me if i should upload some pics of me when i was in 3-4 grade?
Me: Ew, who wants to see pictures of you?
Aaron: hmph.
Me: Haha. Get me something from Hong Kong!
Aaron: stop begging
This is where it gets ugly.
Basil: wow *strawberry* that was so bitchy...
Nat suggested I say: Fuck off. I wasn't talking to you. But heck, I couldn't do that even if I wanted to. So instead I respond with a much watered down:
Me: Excuse me? Um, sorry, but was I talking to you?
We (well, me) were all prepared with a bunch of awesome comebacks, but he decided to ruin the fun.
Basil: watevs.
Gar.
Oh wells. Nat said she'd comment when she got to Tennerset (haha I just made up a name! No. It's Tennessee. Have at her, stalkers!), which will hopefully reignite the battle of wits that loomed so close on the horizon.
Whenever I sign on, I'm practically praying he comments on my status or something, but it never ends well. He thinks I'm a bitch with anger management issues. Well, I'm not a bitch. Take what you will from that.
[Desolation Row--My Chemical Romance]
I could so destroy him if it came to a battle. He cares less and he has more friends, but I could so destroy him. Argh! Stupid Basil!
Holy crap, I was just reading old entries! I really am a bitch when I'm mad...
[The Hand That Feeds--Nine Inch Nails]
So. I think the Blogs of Note thing is a load of crap. Who decides? What do they base it on? I looked at about ten of those and did not see a single blog I found worthy of coming back to. It wasn't interesting. Adults don't know how to be interesting. They can't write well at all. I know plenty of blogs who deserve that award, but they won't get it. Why? They're not well-known and they're run by teenagers. Pssht, down with the system!
I got the cutest shoes ever!!! They're, like, blue flipflops about an inch of the ground. And they were only nine bucks!
[Id Engager--Of Montreal]
I paid them off by cleaning out my mom's car. Eh. So worth it. I never did get a haircut, though...
Hmm. That was rather unrelated.
I AM SO PROUD OF MYSELF! I finally started rewriting the Willow story again. I lost track of the real story and filled it with useless, confusing fluff the first time, but no more! Here's what I have so far:
It was the kind of night Willow’s mother would have loved. New York City was a solid black mass against the pink, then orange, then purple, then blue of the eight o’clock sunset. The air was cold, too cold for flying. Willow, a tiny dot against the rapidly darkening sky, swooped down in a graceful ark and alighted on the first tall building she saw: the Empire State Building.
There she wrapped her crystal-like tan-speckled-with-white wings around herself in an effort to keep warm. This was why she hated winter so much; it got so cold, and it got cold so much faster. She had spent so many nights exactly like this; shivering, terrified, and alone. For seven years she had been trying to survive like this. Ever since she was eight, ever since—she couldn’t think it. She shook back the pain and the memories and closed her eyes. If only she could fall asleep…
Of course, as it always was in large cities, that was impossible. New York was winding down, surrendering to the blanket of night that surrounded them, and yet there was still so much heartache. Mentally, Willow cursed her gift. Her mother could do great things with the Forbidden Magic, but she had been killed before she could teach Willow anything. Now she was stuck with the power she had been born with: to feel the emotion of anyone within a five-mile radius, to absorb their pain as well as their happiness. The most prominent feeling was always sadness, despair, desolation, and without training, Willow could not escape it.
She tucked her head into her wings as well, her tawny brown/blonde hair falling over the outside. Inside her pale cocoon, the tears fell freely. It was so unfair. It was nights like these she craved her mother the most, prayed for her gentle embrace and her soothing voice whisking her tears away, her melodious singing and beautiful smile. Her mother could take away the constant onslaught of pain, could teach Willow how to be strong like her. She was fifteen, but she felt like an eight-year-old again.
Willow shuddered, for an instant picturing the pain in her mother’s eyes as her wings were torn off and her neck was snapped. She could do nothing to save her. No one could. To save her, her mother had forfeited her own life.
It wasn’t worth it.
When finally it was too cold to bear, Willow fell asleep. The numbness took over and she began to dream…dream of that night almost exactly seven years ago.
Willow’s mother set the plate in front of her, smiling. Willow had just lifted her fork when the first scream was heard.
Almost instantly, her mother raced out the door, the little girl following. The mother screamed for her daughter to go back inside when a man punched her, knocking her to the ground. Willow, confused, looked up.
She recognized the man instantly. Leo Ronaldines. Her father, arrested years ago for treason against the royal family. He glowered at her with bloodthirsty eyes.
“Papa,” she whispered, holding out a trembling hand to him.
The man was knocked back suddenly. Willow’s mother screamed, with a violent force the eight-year-old had never heard before, “Stay away from my daughter, you monster!”
Urgently, oblivious to the situation, Willow cried, “Mama, that was papa!”
The mother stared at her daughter in shock, as if she could not believe the tiny girl didn’t know what was going on. The Conspiracy’s were everywhere, killing everyone who tried to fly or fight, setting fire to everything. Screams filled the air and blood painted the town. And yet Willow was only concerned with seeing her father…the leader of the Conspiracy’s…
In her sleep, Willow shuddered violently. She longed to escape this nightmare, but it was sucking her in.
One of the Conspiracy’s grabbed Willow, who instinctively began to attack the man. It was no use…jail had made them hard and strong, impossible for a weak, young eight-year-old to beat.
Willow screamed for her mother, whose eyes were blazing as more Conspiracy’s surrounded them. The traitors knew who these two were; Leo had ordered them to be killed no matter what.
“Close your eyes, Willow!” her mother screamed, but the little girl didn’t. She saw the monstrous lightning erupt from her mother’s fingertips, striking through the Conspiracy’s that surrounded them. They collapsed to the ground. The mother turned and locked eyes with her daughter, who was gaping at her, shocked.
“Run, Willow,” she whispered softly. The Conspiracy that had held the girl was dead as well, his arms completely burned off. Willow could see pain in her mother’s eyes and didn’t move.
Moments later, her mother fell to the ground, writhing in pain. The Forbidden Magic was consuming her. She needed hours to rest after using it to such an extent, but now she didn’t have hours. The Conspiracy’s were closing in.
Willow ran to her mother, tears streaming down her face. She already knew her mother would die. But Willow had the Magic too. Couldn’t she save her?
“Mama,” she whispered. “Mama, I’ll help you.”
“You have to run!” the woman shrieked, in too much pain to try and hide it from her daughter. Willow swallowed, feeling the image of her mother dying being branded onto her brain.
A Conspiracy grabbed her.
Still more surrounded her mother. They grabbed her off the ground, tore off her lovely midnight blue wings. Willow watched the blood drip from the severed wing with too-wide eyes. She heard her mother scream like there was no greater pain in the world.
The mother looked up; saw the fear in her daughter’s eyes, and nothing else. She could feel her daughter’s pain, her terror. She felt nothing else. Only one thought crossed her mind: Willow must live.
With the last bit of energy left in her, she shot her lightning through the Conspiracy that imprisoned her daughter. Almost instantly the Conspiracy holding her bent her head at a ninety-degree-angle, instantly killing her. Now Willow knew what to do. She leapt into the air, unfurling her wings, and took off with the speed of a jet.
Every fairy in Ganea saw her escape, and everyone froze, the Conspiracy’s and the civilians. They watched her shrink and shrink till she was just a dot in the sky. They watched her disappear.
A single tear fell from the sky and landed on her dead mother’s horrified face.

Willow woke up with her face drenched in tears. As if watching her mother be brutally killed once wasn’t enough. As if seeing the home she loved, Ganea, fall to destruction wasn’t enough. As if seeing her father, with such hate in his eyes, destroy everything she held dear wasn’t enough.
Hate surged through her as she thought of Leo. He was a monster, a villain beyond description. Her life’s mission, from the moment she escaped into the human world, was to find him and kill him.
But she couldn’t bring herself to go back to Ganea, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to bring herself to kill Leo, no matter how evil he was. She knew she was powerful enough to, but her mother wouldn’t have wanted it. The only time her mother hurt a fly was when her beloved daughter was in danger.
The dream, though, ignited a new anger within her, a hate to such extent she had never felt before. She wanted someone to die for what the world had done to her, her mother. She wanted Leo to suffer.
With a ferocious hate boiling just under the surface, Willow took off.
She couldn’t even think of someone seeing her on the streets below. Nothing was going to slow her down, not this time. She knew exactly how to get to Ganea from the human world, and it was not a long trip. It was the same path she had taken when she escaped Ganea all those years ago.
Willow could fly extremely fast. The Appalachians were in sight within two minutes. Without hesitating, she dove straight for them, watching the rock speed towards her with grim expectation.
She exploded into the mountain, but there was no pain, no sound, no change. The gray/brown stone slid effortlessly into a slate-gray sky and the otherworldly feeling of being entirely encased in rock was replaced with the chilling feeling of flying through cold, dusky air.
It was quiet below. The entire of Ganea was dark and despondent…not like the world she once knew. The once silver trees that stood throughout the countryside were black and broken and dead, the once blue skies were dark gray with swirling clouds. The entire land was deathly still and silent. The city also looked dead, once beautiful homes, temples, and stables were now in ruin or burned down, and Willow wondered how the fairies lived there.
Why couldn’t they just fly away, though? Why couldn’t they simply spread their wings and fly away? She went down at a slight angle, searching for an answer.
A loud, shocking cry shattered the eerie silence, almost sending Willow plummeting to the ground. Her eyes instantly went to the source of the noise.
A large, heavily-built man was towering over a small child, holding a grotesquely familiar contraption with gleaming blades. The child looked about three…just old enough to fly. The realization dawned on Willow slowly.
She stared at the scene in shock. The man wrenched when of the child’s wings away from it’s back and set the tip of the brown, feathery wing in between the blades. She couldn’t bear to look, but she heard very clearly the child’s bitter cries as the Conspiracy clipped the tips of it’s wings. The noise made her stomach churn. It wouldn’t be long…
Pain shot through her, the same pain that the child was feeling. Pain was coming from all around…every fairy in Ganea was heartbroken. It was overwhelming. It numbed her devastating fury at the same time it fueled it.
Leo would pay for this.
The gleaming white castle (called the Château Blanc) that once housed the royal family of Ganea now glowed with a shadowy light. There were no guards, and why would there be? Leo had nothing to fear. No one would dare take a stand against him. Willow aimed herself towards a window on what might have been the third floor and entered the castle with no difficulty.
The hallways of the castle were nearly twenty feet wide and at least twenty feet high. Willow took a moment to examine the pearly white marble that made up every tile on the ceiling and the floor of the Château Blanc. She had never been inside before; it was breathtaking. The hallway snaked in a circle around the main hall, rising up till they reached the top. A black iron gate kept anyone from falling off (as if that were possible) and intricate columns lined the edge.
Voices interrupted the dead silence in the castle; Willow knew immediately that one of them was Leo’s. She felt anger pierce through her, and it was not only from her hatred of her father. She ducked behind a column.
“I am done with your failures,” Leo hissed, his footsteps heavy against the marble. “For seven years we have spent every resource in finding her! Yet your searches and studies turn up nothing.”
“Please, sir,” a much quieter voice pleaded. “We get leads, but she moves too quickly. She never stays in one place more than a night. She has no contact with anyone, so finding clues to where she’s going is nearly impossible.”
Leo was silent for a moment, considering. Then he spoke, “As long as she lives she is a threat to our order.” Leo and the second man were now rounding the corner, where Willow could see them. She tried to make herself as small as possible behind the column, not sure what to do if she was caught. She knew they must be talking about her…and here she was, only a few feet away from the man trying to kill her.
She wondered for a moment if she could use the Forbidden Magic to make herself invisible, but quickly dismissed the idea. The Magic had drained the life out of her mother, who was highly trained. What could it do to her?
“But…” The other man seemed hesitant. “But, sir…why is she a threat? She never once made a move to suggest she would come to Ganea to defeat you. She’s never done anything threatening or suspicious.”
Leo stopped walking, and the other man did quickly after him. They were out of Willow’s line of vision, and she wouldn’t risk moving to look at them.
“You do not know what she is capable of.” Leo’s voice was low, angry. The other man swallowed. Willow could only guess what her father’s face looked like. For a moment, she felt bad for the unknown man.
It was time. She stepped out from behind the column. Leo and the other man immediately turned to stare at her.
“Who are you?” the other one sputtered, his face red. “You can’t be in here!”
The weak one didn’t even know who she was, but Leo did. Their eyes locked. They had the exact same eyes.
“You killed my mother,” she whispered softly, though rage boiled inside.
He didn’t speak. He only stared at her, his face stone, his eyes cold. He wanted so badly to kill her…but now that she was right in front of him, he was frozen. She wore the same expression he did.
“You killed your wife,” Willow continued, her eyes narrowing.
Pain racked Leo’s body, but he did not show it. His wife…his beloved Emaline…it was cruel that she and his daughter were the only ones who absolutely had to die. They were the only one who could possibly stop him from his master plan.
“Oh, God…” the other man gasped. “Is…is it her? It’s her! Willow!”
“Shut up,” she hissed at him. “Shut up, shut up. Don’t ever say my name!”
It wasn’t so much him saying her name that bothered her, but surely, by now, someone would’ve overheard them. She could hear the footsteps of Leo’s guards pounding up the smooth marble hall. Some were flying.
They appeared the same way Leo and the other man had, but this time Willow was prepared. She froze them with a single look, some in mid-air. She could feel the power coursing through her, making her fingers tingle.
“You killed your wife.” she repeated. Leo’s eyes tightened at the corners.
“I was never married.” he hissed.
The fury was too much. Willow screamed wordlessly, pushing all the pain into him. He cried out from shock, doubling over. Despite herself, Willow smiled cruelly at his pain.
He was silent, but angry. Furious. But Willow was madder. She was losing control of herself. She could feel the pain and anger and fear of every living soul, and it was torturing her. And their pain was his fault.
She stretched out her hand violently, without realizing what was happening. The guards looked on with terrified expressions, still frozen, unable to fight back. Willow could feel power draining from every part of her and shooting out of her finger tips. Lightning was everywhere. The black, ink-like lightning from her fingers, striking them every Conspiracy, just as her mother’s had. Her mother had collapsed from the power of the Forbidden Magic, but Willow was not collapsing. She was enjoying the power, feeding off of it.
There was a flash of light and a ferocious roar. The lightning froze where it was, as if it were solid. Inside, Willow panicked. What was happening? What was wrong?
Gleaming black scales coating the outside of the lightning. Leo screamed, but it was drawn out, like the world was in slow motion. The lightning seemed to concentrate inside the inky scales, still glowing with ferocious light.
-
If you make it through all that, congratulations. Menace (the dragon) is about to born from the lightning. I'm probably gonna change his name, but whatever.
I don't really like the entire scene with Willow killing everyone. I want it to be extremely powerful, because it's really a huge turning point. I mean, she just used the Forbidden Magic to kill people, which is kinda the reason it was forbidden in the first place. It's unstable. She's unstable, really. Since she's untrained, it only comes to her in times of extreme emotion, which is never good. She was so filled with hate for these people, so bitter about her mother being killed and her life pretty much going to hell, that she used the magic she couldn't control to kill them. That's some deep rage right there. Eh. It's hard to make things powerful in third person. I'm much more of a first-y writer. I just don't think I have the skill to portray what was going on in her head throughout that part of the book.
There are seven main characters, though some of them aren't introduced till later in the book:
Willow- Willow was orphaned at eight by the evil group of fairies called Conspiracy's. She is extremely powerful, gifted with the Magic that runs through her family. She has issues with self-doubt and trust, and is constantly confused because she doesn't want to be the only one who can save Ganea. She's emotionally, and oftentimes mentally, unstable. She's in constant pain, which fills her constantly with a bitter rage for anyone who ever wronged her. She is usually either depressed or angry, but is feircely loyal and hasn't yet forgotten how to laugh.
Aden- Best friends with Willow since birth, Aden possesses no Magic but has ulta-fine-tuned senses. He is strong, highly intelligent, but has a blurred sense of right and wrong. Aden is particularly self-centered, doing whatever it takes to survive no matter what cost, which causes him to accept Leo's offer to work for the Conspiracy's and hunt down Willow. Willow and Aden are reuinted early in the book, and under the spotlight of Willow's faltering trust, Aden joins her mission to stop the Conspiracy's along with his dragon, Gemini (who later dies, by the way). Fairly soon he rekindles an old flame for Willow, which pretty much swings his views in a full circle. Now he's only concerned with protecting her and keeping her from the pain he knows she must be feeling, but he still retains valuable information from her and due to a serious character flaw, ends up betraying her again, this time unforgivingly.
Leo- Leo is Willow's father and the leader of the Conspiracy's. Much like Aden, he will do whatever it takes to survive, even if that means killing his wife and daughter, since they are the only ones who can stop him from his master plan. Willow, of course, escapes (you read that), and he throws himself completely into finding her and killing her, which drives him slightly mad. In the beginning, Leo seems tough, evil, and unforgiving, but deep down he is weak and confused. He regrets his sins but in order to keep control, he cannot admit any weakness. He's an extremely fearful man, but he loved his wife and he can't kill his daughter.
Roni- Roni is the only human main character. After nursing Willow back to health after a freak accident, they quickly become best friends. Roni is a little too brave, but loyal and strong. She longs to help Willow in her quest to save the world, but just can't move at the same pace. She's much more positive than Willow but underneath has a terribly sad soul.
Menace (to be renamed)- Menace is the dragon Willow accidently created with the Forbidden Magic. Annoyingly and infinitely wise, he constantly gives advice (usually when it's not wanted) and always seems to hold back when Willow's on her last nerve. He loves Willow like a younger sister and extremely protective of her, but usually trusts her judgement. He is bound to Willow, much like Aden is bound to Gemini, but for different reasons. He's a constant friend to Willow throughout the entire book and never gets angry at her, though he never trusts Aden.
Ilai- Ilai is Willow's long-lost fraternal twin. Seperated at birth, she grew up completely seperate from the Conspiracy's and Ganea. She lived with a kind family who accepted her obscene power and did their best to teach her how to control it. Endlessly calm and patient, Ilai is almost the exact opposite of Willow. She's entirely commited to stopping the Conspiracy's, especially after they kill her adopted family searching for her. Ilai is entirely collected and practically reeks of control, and at the beginning of their relationship she treats Willow more like a younger sister than an equal. Towards the end, though, her weakness is unveiled: she wants desperately to be accepted by Willow and be part of the family. She is often jealous of Roni for being so close to Willow.
Elize- Elize is the beautiful, mysterious (and immortal) Watcher of an ancient library. She guides the band trying to stop the Conspiracy's for a little while, but it is discovered (too late) that she is evil. She was imprisoned in the library by the Queen (of Ganea) of her time after going on a massive killing spree. Elize is not related to Willow in any way, but she is incredibly powerful. She gave the Conspiracy's their power and had been guiding Leo to commit his crimes. There isn't a battle between her and Willow till (oopsie!) Elize kills Aden, which pretty much turns Willow into a completely enraged psycho.
I don't like the ending I had for the first version, so now I don't know how it should end.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Eight more posts till one hundreth post!

And won't that be a gosh darn miracle.
Well, Nat is leaving for her vacation place (undisclosed) in two days, Lolo is still going to be at camp all the time, Silver is at camp in PENNSYLVANIA!, and I don't even know about Ani. She really needs to get a cell phone because I don't like calling house phones to ask someone to hang out. Besides, she's probably at the pool all the time... ME AND ANI AREN'T AS CLOSE FRIENDS ANYMORE!
There. I said it.
Eh. I'm gonna be bored out of my mind all summer. Not that different from all the other summers I've had, but hey.
Eight more days till the anniversary of Cloudy, and my serious blogging! Oh, shiver. I've spent a year (not a full year, but a year) of my life telling complete strangers all the little miniscule details of my life that I would never tell anyone else! Of course, I had blogs before, but they weren't as AWESOME as Cloudy or this one.
That's really all I have to talk about. Hmm.