Final Project (story that I didn' finish because it's already so long)

Getting out of bed has been a chore lately. Leaving the comfort of slumber, and being taken way from dream world, where everything is made of rainbows and gumdrops, and I'm a famous author who lives in the heart of London, and he still loves me. In dream world, his arm are attached to my hip, and his eyes don't wander. But, I don't live dream world; no one lives in dream world. I live in reality, with everybody else, with Charlie.
Ever since I've been alone, I have stopped trying. I used to get up early in the morning to do my hair for Charlie. I hid my eyes under gallons of eyeliner because Charlie liked it. I always dressed my best for Charlie. My whole world revolved around Charlie, but now that he's gone my world revolves around nothing. It's spinning absentmindedly in space with no purpose or goal.
Walking to my car (five minutes late for school because I just don't care anymore), I think about how Carlie is probably just entering cemistry class now. He's probably taking his binder out of his Under Armor backpack, and not even trying to find a pen. He's probably turning around at this very second, asking the beutiful Jennifer Connors for a pen, and she's probably smiling at him because she isn't just the girl who sits behind him in chem. She the other girl.
In a dreamlike stance, I drive to Roosevelt High Shool. I'm so removed that I don't even remember driving there. I do remember parking, though, because I saw Charlies's new Ford Escalade in his usual parking spot. Anything that reminds me of Charlie makes my brain ring like alarm clock, and my heart beat too hard, and my legs turn to jello. And I remember going to my locker because even though it's been weeks now, I still have those pictures of us from the photobooth at the Steamtown Mall. It hurts to look at them, but it hurts even more when I think about taking them down.
"CeCe!" I heard from down the hallway. Crap, I'm really not in the mood for this, I thought to myself. I turned around to face Alvin, and I couldn't help but smile. He's been my best friend ever since the first day of preschool when I was all upset that I forgot my lunch at home and we went 'halfsies' on his peanutbutter and jelly sandwich. When Charlie left me out in the middle of a rainstorm with out a jacket, all my friends left with him. And now I'm here in the middle of the hallway wearing unattractive sweats and a hoodie that's way too big for me, staring at this tall and lanky boy that's running down the hallway.
"CeCe! CeCe! I got it! I got it! We went to the dealer yesterday, and I drove it to school! Come see, come see! It's in the parking lot."
"Ugh," I sigh. "Are you talking about the green El Camino?"
"Yes! I found it in the dealer near Elm Street. It was just there, like it was waiting for me. I swear it was magical. It's like me and this car were meant to be. Me and Sully are going places, literally."
"Al, I told you that naming cars are not cool. Cars are not people, and they do not need names. Especially, if you want to name a car Sully. Nothing should be named Sully."
"CeCe, stop being such a downer. Cars need names because they are apart of the family. You name dogs, and dogs aren't people." We started walking down the hall. I think class started, like, ten minutes ago. Maybe, I should just skip that class altogether. It's just math, anyways.
"Touche," I say.
"You back down so easily. You didn't even put up a fight," he said as he swooped his bangs out of his eyes. "And now that I have a car, you know what that means, right?"
"Alvin, I think that you should go to clas-"
"ROAD TRIP! Road trip, road trip, road trip. It's gonna be great. Just me and you and Sully and the open road. And it's perfect timing. Spring break is next week and that's what spring break is all about. Beaches, beer, and the open road. I need this. Cecilia, you know you need this road trip." As he turned around to walk down the hallway, he turned around and said, "Think about it, CeCe."
I stared at him until he turned to corner. And suddenly I was alone, standing in the middle of the hallway, surrounded by complete silence. Maybe this road trip was all I needed to turn the silence into a symphony, but maybe I don't want a symphony just yet.

That night, lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling and I was think about Alvin and Charlie and Sully and the 'open road.' I was thinking about how when I saw Charlie in study hall and he was chewing on his pen. I always told him that he shouldn't do that because the ink would, one day, explode in his mouth. He didn't listen to me, he didn't care about the ink explosion in the future, and he didn't care about me.
I thought about what this road trip with Alvin would mean. It would mean sleeping in a car, and eating take out, and waiting to get to where we're going, and where are we planning to go, anyways. I don't think that it really matters to Al. He thinks of it more of a journey, and not a destination, which is so clique that it might make me barf. I thought about why I wouldn't go on this trip, and the reasons were infinite (I'd rather be sleeping, and moping, and sleeping some more, and eating ice cream). The reason to go on the trip is beacuse Alvin wants me, too. And when I think about it, sleeping is not a very productive way to spend your time. As I slowly drifted off, I think about Sully, and the infinite number of possiblities.

The days passsed as they have been for a while now, like a world wind of unimportant moments where the highlight is falling asleep for the night, and traveling to the world of dreams. Friday came faster than I expected it to. I began to question the calender. Walking into school, and for the first time in a long time, I wondered what was going to happen today,and for the next few days.

I waited at my locker a little longer than I would have normally, hoping Alvin would be there because deep down in my heart, I want to go with him, but my love for charlie shuts up that part of my heart everytime. He didn't come. Maybe he forgot about the road trip, and maybe he invited someone else, someone who was able to have fun, and not someone who was ging to cry herself to sleep. This was the only thing that I was looking forward to today because it was mystery. Was I going to go on the roadtrip? Only time could tell. I was too disappointed to do anything today, so I went through the back door of the school and dragged my feet all the way to my car. I unlocked to door and laid down the back seats, and fell asleep. I arrived in the world where Charlie loved me more than I loved him.

How long was I sleeping? I really don't know. I could have been for fifteen minutes, or fifteen days. As long was as I was concerned, I was dancing in a garden of roses, dancing with him, and "The Way You Looked Tonight" by Frank Sinatra was playing on loop. That's Charle and me's song. That was the song that we danced to at his cousin, Billy's, wedding. And it was at that time that I knew that I was going to marry him, and I'd love him until we lost our hair, and took ten pills each morning. I woke up to the slow rock of the world around me. It was like it trying to rock me back to sleep, and I didn't deny them of that pleasure. I wanted to be sleeping, anyways. It felt like I've been sleeping for days, months, years. My hibernation ended and my eyes opened, but I was still in my would, and the world was still slowly rocking. So I just lied there thinking about how much I want to go with Alvin, but Charlie is holding me here. Here at school, and here at home, and here sleeping.

I sat up, stretching after months of hibernation. I wonder if school's over yet, and I wonder if night has fallen yet, and I wonder if it's summer yet. "Good Morning." I stared at Alvin with amazement. Is this real? "Alvin!" I screech.
"Yes," he says. I can only see the back of his head, but I know that he's smirking.
"Alvin! Why are you driving my car?"
"We're going on a road trip."
"Alvin! Are you kidding me? WHAT ARE YOU DOING DRIVING MY CAR?! Oh, my god! ALVIN! Take me back! TAKE ME BACK!"
"You want to go back?"
"Yes, Alvin. I want to go back." Is he serious, I thought to myself. Is he seriouly kidnapping me? This is, basically, kidnapping.
"Well, it's going to take, like six hours, but, yeah we can go back."
"You've been driving for six hours? Al, are you kidding me? I've been sleeping for like twelve hours? And you didn't wake me up? For six hours! I don't care how f***ing long it's going to take us to get back. Take me he home, Al."
"CeCe, come one. It's going to be fun, and you've haven't had fun in a long time. I miss the old you that liked to do stuff other than sleep. Come on. Let's do this. Live a little, CeCe."
I jumped into the passenger seat from the back, and looked at Alvin. He looked disappointed in me, like my love for Charlie has affected him or something. "I have," I told me. "And it was brilliant. Yeah. I remember it, it was really good."
"Yeah?" He turned to look at me.
"Yeah, I have!"
"I don't remember it."
"You weren't there."
"I think I was, a long time ago."
"Yeah. It was a long time ago." I think about life before Charlie, which is not as easy as it seems. Was there even life before him? Well, there was late nights at the playground behind my house, and the summer Alvin and I went to seven concerts, and all those times that we played Mario Kart on his GameCube. I remember that I was always Mario and he was always Luigi. I always beat his butt, but it was still so much fun anyways.
"Come on, CeCe. Look at me." His big, brown eyes were staring at me. Teasing me. "Do you really want me to turn around?

I've been driving Sully for the past four hours. It's now 1 AM, and Alvin is sleeping in the passenger seat next to me. He said that he could keep driving, but I could see his eyes twitching with slumber, and, even though he tried his hardest to hide them, I could see his yawns. Now I'm driving in the silence, in the pitch black. Everyone else is in dream world, but I'm in reality. Driving to the shore. I've figured out that we would get there at ten at night. I looked over again at Al. He's leaning against the door, his feet a couple of inches away from my leg. He's been sleeping for a while now, and he's deep in dream world. I wonder where his dream world is. I smile when i think about Al swimming in a bowl of ice cream, or dancing with Megan Fox. I don't think we could ever really guess another person's dream world, though. I would never tell anyone about my dream world because it's a secret palce that takes me to the world I wish I could be. With Charlie. Charlie. Wow. I haven't thought about Charlie in a while. It's been four hours since. Four hours. I think that's a record for me. Even though, I try to hold myself back, I can't help but to think about Charlie, sleeping in bed with his Superman pajama pants, slightly snoring. I wonder where his dream world is. One thing for sure, I know I'm not in it.

"CeCe. I'm getting hungry. I need some breakfast," said Alvin at nine that morning after he woke up. "Think we passed a diner a couple of minutes ago. Let's turn around. " We were driving through a small town, and it was the first town we passes through our whole trip that I know of.
"We can't, Al. We have to keep driving. We are almost to the beach. We can't drive off coarse." My stomach was telling me turn around and get a cheese omelet, but my heart is telling me to keep driving. I need to get to the beach. I know that I'll find something there, but I'm just not sure what it is yet.
"Do you really have to think about whether to turn around or not? Come on. If I don't eat anything soon , I'm going to throw up,and I'll throw up on top of you, and you'll smell like hungry throw up for days, maybe years, and then I'll throw up again."
"Oh my god, you're such a drama queen," I smile.
"Yes, I am. It's like a superpower. Superman can fly, Spiderman can walks on walls, Flash can run at the speed of light, and I can be a drama queen, which I use to get people to do what I want them to do. It's like the force, I swear."
I laugh all the way to the Broadway Diner.

"Yes, I'll have the chocolate chip pancakes with beacon," said Al to the waitress. Her hair was too big for her head, and her lips were too red for ther complextion.
"The chocolate chip pancakes don't come with beacon," she said as she rolled her eyes. I wonder how long she's been working here and how many times she had to tell customers, that"the chocolate chip pancakes don't come with beacon."
"Well, can you just get me a plate of beacon on the side?"
"Sure, how many pancakes did you say you wanted?"
"Um, can I have six?"
"Okay," she said. "And for you?" she said as she looked at me.
"Yeah, I'll have a vegetable omelet."
"Okay, so a vegetable omelet, six chocochip pancakes, and a plate of beacon. Is there anything else?"
"Nope, we're fine."
After she was out of earshot, I glared at Al. "What's wrong with you?" I said.
"What?" he said with his mouth full of whipped cream from his hot chocolate.
"Six pancakes? Seriously? She must think that you're a six thousnd pound man. It's so embarrassing."
"That makes absolutely no sense. First of all, I was able to get into this place in the first place. A six thousand pound man would not be able to get through the door, let alone into this booth. Second of all, would a six thousand pound man have these muscles?" He pulled up his sleeve, and flexed, but there really wasn't anything there.
"Ooo. Look at those guns. How much do you bench? Like three pounds?"
"Excuse you. I bench ten pounds."
"Ha Ha. But seriously, did you see the waitress when you said that you wanted six pancakes. She looked like that happens everyday."
"It probably does. Do you know how fat Americans are?"

Final (Battle)

Wake up to the sound of my alarm.
For the first time in a long time I didn't snoozed
Because today is battle

I ate a a bowl of cereal when I went downstairs.
And for the first time in a long time, I ate breakfast
Because today is battle.

I found my green shirt at the bottom of my bag
And for the first time in a long time I cared about what I wore
Because today is battle.

I found some eye black in the back of the medicine cabinet
And for the first time in... well... ever
I smudged some underneath my eye
Because today is battle.

I laced up my shoes whe precision.
And for the first time in a long time, I was actually excited to go to school
Because today was battle

Final (Battle)

I wish I had a twin. If I had a twin my life would be totally different. If I had a twin then I could do the whole twin switcheroo that happens in movies, and they'd help me out when I don't study for my biology test. It would be like having a clone which is kind of cool but also kind of creepy. I would always have someone to talk to, and I know that she'd understand me because we'd be the same peron. We could help each other picking out clothes because we would have the same fashion sense because we would be the same person. I would never feel scared at night when the night crawlers come because we would share a room. We would laugh at all the same jokes because we would have the same type of humor. She would watch all the same shows that I watch because she would have the same taste in comedy that I have. I would love to have twin. She would give great advice because she has been through everyting that I've been though, and she would understand me best. She would always laugh at my jokes because she would not want to hurt my feelings, and I would do the same for her. She would be my best firend, and I would be hers but I don't have twin, so that won't happen. So, yeah. Sucks for me.

Final (Battle)

It was a rainy Wednesday, and I rolled out of bed, tossed around all of the clothes on my floor looking for my white v neck and jeans. Running out of my house, I grabbed a granola bar. I drove my car 10 miles above the speed limit. I parked, got out of my car, and ran into school.

I knew that something was out of place when a monkey greeted me at the door, talking with in a perfect British accent, and gave me a bran muffin. Hmm....... I thought. The monkey has excellent manners.

I should have been more suspicious when I saw that the walls were covered with granny smith cotton candy, and the librarian was licking it off the walls. That's not sanitary, I thought. As I was walking to the cafeteria to get my daily carton of orange juice, I passed the gym teacher wearing a tutu, and cute little pink tails. The gym teacher is a man.

As I entered the cafeteria, to my surprise, there were no more tables. The tables were replaced with the teacup ride at Disney World. There were five year old purple kids on the ride, yelling like the world was coming to an end. Why are there kindergarteners in a high school, I thought. And why are they purple? I guess I need to find an alternative to orange juice for my daily source of viatmin C.

Walking to my locker I passed a group of girls who were wearing tuxedos with black tinted ray bans. Interesting... Still walking to my lockers I saw thirty baboon sprinting down the hallway with toothbrushes in their little monkey hands. Okay.. this is getting weird.

Oh crap! I get it now! It's wacky day, I realized as looked down at my out ift and realized that I was underdressed for the occasion.

Final (other poem- Irish curse)

To the lady in the food industry who banished us from her diner

I hope you get eaten by a carnivore.
And be denied food when you wanted more.
May you find a ticking bomb in your bed,
And may you find your mother lying dead

May you get in a car accident on the highway
After you are all alone on St. Valentines Day.
And may you lose your dog at a park,
And get eaten by a big white shark.

I hope fall head first into a well,
And be crying as you make your way to hell.
May you swallow a fly when you ride your bike,
And be around too many people you really don’t like.

You’re an evil, evil lady, I thought you should know
Me and my friends will never ever let it go.
You’ll be a story told at every party we attend
And may it be your down fall, your bitter end

Final (other poem)

The days are getting longer
And I need to get out of the quick sand.
I’ve been sinking, and sinking,
For the last four years, and it’s
Time for the final stretch.

The tippy top of my head is sticking
Out of the debris, and it’s the last chance
To escape. I’ve packed my bags, and
My toothbrush is waiting patiently
On top of the sink. It’s the last thing to pack.

My escape plan has been finalized
And when the first ray of light
Shines through my window in the morning,
I won’t be there to see it.

And I will pass the high school, and
I will not turn back.
And I will pass the corner pizzeria, and
I will not turn back.

And I will pass your house, and
I will think about you thinking about me,
And I will not turn back.

And I will think about you staring outside your
Window waiting for me to appear outside
Like when we were kids. But you and I

Both know that those times are done, and
You and I both know that even though
I will think about turning back, I won’t

Do it because even though you are slowly
Sinking into the quick sand of the small
Town lifestyle, I have found away out,
And it’s in Los Angeles.

Final (sonnet)

The morning sunlight comes through the wind pane.
She rolls out of bed after a long night out.
Walking to the sink, she thinks about the rain.
Brush in mouth, she could have lounged about.
Looking for socks, she thinks about the snow.
Pouring coffee, she could’ve gotten frostbite.
Read the funnies, she does not really know
Look for keys, what excuse will she recite?
Stumble to the car, I’m too tired, yo.
Cruise down the highway, she dreads what might occurred
Mosey out of the car, should I have inferred.
Drag my feet to the door of the school
Maybe I should just forget about the cruel
Nothing could be worse than the day before

Final (villanelle)

Let’s make something beautiful with the mess we’ve made,
And we should dance with the trash left out on the street
Running through the night, maybe we were too afraid

To make some lemonade,
Out of burned out dreams and smelly lunchmeat.
Let’s make something beautiful with the mess we’ve made.

We should take this song, that has been overplayed,
And the remembrance of the past and make it sweet.
Running though the night, maybe we were too afraid

To rebuild this burned down arcade
That’s hidden in the shadows the backstreet.
Let’s make something beautiful with the mess we’ve made.

Sprinting down the boulevard, tossing hand grenades
Over our shoulders, our worn down sneakers were hitting the concrete.
We thought; let’s make something beautiful with the mess we’ve made.
Running through the night, maybe we were too afraid.

FInal Project Proposal

For my end of the year project. I want to write one (or two if I have time) short stories about music videos. I have yet to pick the song/s, but that will be the first step. I really liked write a short story about the music video that we did in the beginning of the year so I really want to do another one. The end.

villianelle

Let’s make something beautiful with the mess we’ve made,
And we should dance with the trash left out on the street
Running through the night, maybe we were too afraid

To make some lemonade,
Out of burned out dreams and smelly lunchmeat.
Let’s make something beautiful with the mess we’ve made.

We should take this song, that has been overplayed,
And the remembrance of the past and make it sweet.
Running though the night, maybe we were too afraid

To rebuilt this burned out arcade


(not completed....)

Waiting to Be Remembered

He starts off with nothing.
But as time goes on, he gets more.
His head becomes filled
With the good, with the bad,
With the funny, with the scary
His sub-conscious stores it all.
It’s all in there, even when he thinks it left him.
All the birthdays, and the Christmases.
All the goodnights, and all the good mornings.
Leaving the old, and becoming the new.

With each new step, he receives more.
And more
And more
And more
And the more he has, the more he surprises himself.
And the more shocked he is that he remembers
A stormy night, entering his apartment after a long day at the office
and thinking, “Oh damn,
what the hell am I getting her for her birthday.”

As the Age creeps up on him and scares him in the dark,
He realizes that there is too much to remember what.
To much to store so he will lose some of he doesn’t need anymore,
And store what he will need
Even if he doesn’t know it at the time
But until everything falls out of his ears,
His mind is a clutter mess, waiting to be remembered.

Poetry Out Loud

She Walks in Beauty by Lord Bryon (George Gordon)

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

Response: I like this poem a lot. It does a really good job of putting a picture of the girl in your head. I also like the way it sounds when I read it in my head. It flows really nice, and you can also tell how much the poet likes this girl and thinks that she is beautiful.

Ist Poem (outside adventure)

We are coming out a mess.
We went in squeaky clean but now we are a mess.
It was supposed to be harmless but now we’re a mess.
Our faces are covered in mess.
Our shoes were dipped in mess.
Our spirits were dropped in mess.
We are coming out a mess.

In the movies people come in a mess,
and out not a mess.
But we went in not a mess,
and out a mess.
We are the mess.
People are a mess.
Movies are not mess.
We are the mess.

But maybe being normal is being a mess…

Final 3 posts

I sat in my mother’s house on her hard wood kitchen chairs. I hated Thursdays because Thursdays always meant tea with my mother. She called it “mother daughter bonding.” I guess that it might be a good idea since I only see her once a week because I don’t live with her any more. I live with my dad, and have for the past year. I hate my mom, and I blame her for everything. She ruined everything. She ruined my live. She ruined all of our lives. Our family has to suffer for her mistake. Why couldn’t she just love my dad?

She walked over to the table where I was forced to sit. If you didn’t know her you would think that she was a mom, but not a crazy mom. You would think she was the soccer mom who attended all of our band chorus concerts, and make you chicken noodle soup when you were sick. If you didn’t know you wouldn’t know that she was a home wrecker. “Would you like some tea?” she asked as she sat down. She had a tea pot in her hand the was green.

“I would thank you.” I said. I hoped she could hear the mocking tone in my voice. I hope she could see the roll of my eyes. My dad told me to be nice to her, and I would do anything for my dad because he is all that I have. He’s been my dad, and my mom. He took up where the devil lady left off.

“Careful, it’s hot,” said my mother as she poured some tea into my Snoopy mug.

“I usually prefer iced tea.” I also prefer spending lazy summer days with anybody but my mother, and if it wasn’t for my dad, I would walk out on her right now and throw the scalding hot tea into her face, hoping that it would burn her all the way to hell.

“Mmm. I don’t have any,” she said with a mouth full of tea. She drank it with out milk, without cream, without sugar, and apparently without ice.

“Maybe, I could put ice in this tea,” I said, like she was the stupidest person on the planet, which she was. What else could possibly be the reason that she slept with my biology teacher, when she was supposed to be sleeping with my dad. Stupid? Yes, but I think the real reason she did it was because she’s just a whore.

“But that’s what I’m saying- I don’t have any.” She was reacting to my tone. She was mirroring my attitude. She was starting to get agitated, but I don’t care if I raise her blood pressure. I want her to have a heart attack. I HATE HER I HATE HER I HATE HER!

“Sorry,” I said with emphasis on the ‘orry,’ I jam packed all my anger that I feel towards the woman sitting across from me into that one word. I used all the attitude that I could. After I said it, it had looked like I punched her in the face. She looked taken back, but she would never say anything back to me. She didn’t have it in her.

I stood up and stomped over to the bathroom. I need to calm down because even if it would feel great to punch her in the face, I know that I can’t. I would hurt my dad, too. As I splashed water on my face, I heard a big crash. I peeked out the door, and I saw the green shards spread all over the floor.

New story.......

As I woke up, I looked out my cage to see the living room that I used to know so well. On Sundays, Doug and Bill would come over to watch football. They didn’t have as big of a TV as we did. I guess I wasn’t the only one who was jealous. Bill would bring the beer, and Doug would bring three bags of Cheetos. I remember my wife would always be so anal when it came to us drinking beer on the couches. She was always scared that we would spill, and get Cheeto dust on the pillows, but we never did. The living room was one out of a catalog. The hard wood floors were so shiny that we could see our faces in them. The walls were lined with modern art that never made any sense to me. Why would someone want to paint something that no one would understand? There was one painting on the cream colored walls with three splashes of paint on it. That is not art. It’s a paint spill. There was one couch that was in front of the TV hanging on the wall. The couch was white, which as I have explained, is the most dangerous color. By the orange colored sunlight coming through the window, I could tell that it was morning. I don’t even think that my ex would be awake yet. She always slept late on Mondays. I think that it’s kind of strange that I’m not sleeping with her though. I wonder if she misses me. I heard a creak. I think that’s her. I miss waking up to her in the morning. Her hair would always be pointing upward. I heard another creak. She was definitely awake. She will have to past by my cage to get to the kitchen. I was so excited. “I think I have pancake mix.” I heard her say. Talking to herself? That’s kind of weird. “Pancake mix? Can’t you make the real thing?” I heard another voice say. What’s going on? I saw Doug walk in wearing his boxers toward the kitchen? His hair was totally upright, just like I know that hers was. Are they together? Seriously? Doug? He knew that I was paranoid about her cheating on me, and that I was always so scared that somebody was going to swoop into her life, and steal her from me. How can he do this to me? She’s supposed to be waking up to me, not Doug. Has my best friend been the one I was so scared of all this time? I can take him. He might be better looking than I was, and more muscular, but I was angry, and everybody knows that when you’re mad you gain the strength of two boxers. He betrayed me, and he’s living the life that I wanted, but I can’t live that life because I’M A FRIGGEN PARROT! I started flying around my cage to let out my anger. I was flying violently because that’s how I felt. I wanted to do violent things to Doug. I was flying so hard that the cage almost fell off the table it was on, but instead of the cage falling over, the black wrought iron door creaked open. All these voices in my head were fighting. I should or shouldn’t do it. If I do it, she might hate me. Does she love him? Hell, no. She still loves me. She chose me from all the other birds in that pet store, and that bastard is cheating on my wife. He deserves every bit of what he’s about to get. I shot of my cage at my supposed best friend. At rocket speed, I shot my beak right into Doug’s eye, and I heard a scream. It wasn’t coming from Doug; it was coming from my wife. She was crying over Doug’s body, which was lying limp on the reflective hard wood floors. She was actually crying for him. She never cried for me. This must have really been serious. She must have loved him. He’s still on the floor, and he’s not moving. Oh, god. Did I just hurt my best friend? Oh my God, I can’t believe I just did this. Doug was my football buddy, and I told him everything, and I just shot my dagger into his eye socket. I… I… I got to go. I have to leave. And I flew out the open window, leaving my wife cry over my best friend.

new story....

I was sitting in the café, and waiting. I’m early, but I don’t care. I’ve been thinking about this day all week. I was staring at the wall drinking hot chocolate with a pile of whipped cream on top. It always reminds me of her. We would always go to the corner café about a mile away from the old high school. We’d share a hot coco. She always ate the whipped cream, and she’d get angry at me if I ate it first. She has a way of doing this to me. All the little things remind me of her, and when I starting thinking about her I start remembering all the good times that we had. They start flooding into my brain, and I can’t stop it no matter how much I want it to stop. I started thinking about that time in my kitchen. We were eating my world famous grilled cheese, and listening to the radio. An upbeat song came on, and she stood up, almost in a trance, with a huge smile on her face, and started to dance. I wasn’t sure of what I should do. I laughed at her at first, like she was telling a joke, but she wasn’t. She was just dancing. I told her that if she keeps dancing like that she would break all the china in my kitchen, but I don’t even think she heard me. She was so concentrated on the music. The beat was all around her. She was the beat. She was the rhythm. I did the only other thing I could do. I got up and started dancing with her, but not on her, if you know what I mean. If we were in a night club, we would have gotten kicked out for being too dorky. But we weren’t in a night club. We were in my kitchen, dancing like maniacs. We jumped up and down, disco moves, crazy dances from the 80’s, and our strange version of the jitterbug. I know it sounds awkward, but it strangely wasn’t. If I was in my world, it would have been crazy, and weird, but I wasn’t in my world. I was in her world, a world where dancing like go-go dancers was perfectly normal and a world that I was only allowed in every once in awhile, but it didn’t matter because I loved her. I looked around the café, and the person who invades my dreams too much still wasn’t there. I looked down at my watch, and I remembered all the times that she used to grab my arm, before we were together, just to check the time. She did that the first time I have ever worn watch, and I’ve worn a watch every single day since that day all those years ago. I used to wear it because I wanted her to grab my arm again and check the time, and she always did. I haven’t seen her in five years, so I don’t know why I still wear a watch. Maybe because of habit or maybe because everyday I still wish she would come up behind me and touch my arm to check the time. As I came out of my trance, I heard the bell over the door to the café ring. I looked up from my hot coco. I had taken the table that was the closest to the door. I wanted to see her walk in, it wasn’t her. I ran my hand though my black hair. I was getting nervous that she wouldn’t come when I thought to myself that the first thing she would say to me was that I needed a hair cut. She always liked the buzzed look. Everyone else in the café was living their lives. Laughing too hard, and eating too much. They were talking about the weather, and studying for their crazy math tests, and gossiping about celebrities. They were laughing about what happened the night before, and arguing their opinion over the latest political argument. They were living their lives, and I couldn’t live mine until she arrived, and gave me some closure. It’s been five years since I last saw her. We lived together in an apartment fifteen minutes away from Duke University, where she took writing classes at night, and I took physics classes too early in the morning. We had afternoons together. We ate lunch together at the cafeteria at the university. We would always people watch. We’d make up stories for other people. Some made us laugh, like the one where the man wearing the bright red dress shoes (he was a struggling jugglist), and the woman with the librarian classes (third grade teacher by day, rock and roll groupie by night). But some were sad, like the man that always sat in the corner by himself (lost his job a month ago, but he told his wife that he got a promotion instead). We tried not to make ones like that, but if we were having a bad day we couldn’t really help it. They would just kind of slip out. The day she left was the second day back after Christmas break. I had just gotten back from my class that morning, and when I came back she was gone. All her stuff was gone. There was not even a trace of her left. My first thought was that she was kidnapped, so the first thing I did was call her. I got her voicemail, but I knew that something extremely serious had happened if she left without telling me, and so abruptly. I called again, and six seconds of dial tone later, I heard a shy, soft, “Hello?” “Where did you go? Where are you? Who took you?” I screamed into the phone. The scariest images of her in the truck of a ’87 Cadillac flooded into my brain, but I tried my hardest the ignore it. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. No one took me. I’m back home,” she spoke so softly. It was a side of her that I haven’t really seen before. She sounded timid, and scared. She sounded like she needed a hug. If she hadn’t left with out talking to me first, I could have given her that. “Phew. So, you’re not kidnapped? So if you’re home, why am I here?” It was the first thing that came out of my mind, but instantly regretted. Why couldn’t I have picked on of the thousand of other unanswered questions running through my head? “You’re not here because I don’t want you to be. I need to be alone.” Those words slashed my heard into shreads. I couldn’t even breathe for a few seconds. “But what’s wrong, I mean, you sound so scared, and I don’t know why, and I could help, whatever it is, I can get you through this. We can get through this. Just tell me what’s wrong.” I had so much I had to say, and saying all this hurt me. Just the thought that she was hurting was hurting me. “Everything’s wrong, and I don’t think that it will ever get better, but you can’t help me, so please just promise me that you won’t call back.” I can tell that she was feeling the same thing I was. So much to say, and not enough time, and that saying all of this hurt. She was sobbing through the phone. This wasn’t even the girl that I know. She is so strong, always the one to be fixing the problem, not crying about it. But maybe she was fixing the problem by being home. I had to trust her because it was the only thing that I could do. “Please, just promise me.” “I promise.” The phone went dead, and that’s how I’ve been living for the last few days, dead. I came out of my trance, as I heard the bell over the door ring. And there she was. She looked the same but so different. She still had long, black hair that wore in butterfly clips. And she still had those big eyes, but they were her normal brown eye color. I guess as you get older, you grow out of the greened colored contact lenses. She still had the scar above her right eyebrow from the time that one time when she fell down the two flights of stairs when she was six. Her skin was just as ghostly pale was it had always been. She was still short, even though I always told her that she will have her growth spurt soon. I guess she wasn’t the only one who wasn’t entirely truthful. There was something different about her through, but I couldn’t really put my finger on it. I guess, she looked older, and she carried herself differently. She wasn’t twenty anymore. She looked mature, but she still had a sort of carefree look about her. Maybe it was the worn in jeans she was wearing. She sat across from me, and I didn’t know what to say. We haven’t talked in so long. “Hello, there,” she sang. “Hel…” I started to say, but she cut me off. She looked like she meant business. She was on a mission. “No. Before you even say a word to me, I need to explain to you. I don’t want you to hate me. Do you promise that you won’t say anything until I’m done talking?” This wasn’t the first time that she told me to keep quiet. I nodded, and smiled. I missed her so much. Her sitting across from me seemed unreal. “The reason I wanted to talk to you is because I found my old year book and I saw your picture, and I realized that what I did to you was terrible. Your face always had affected on me.” She smiled at me, and I knew that there won’t be much of this as she goes on. There is no way that her story can end happily. “When I left, and I told you not to call me, I was only thinking of myself. I was selfish, and in all the craziness, I forgot that I wasn’t the only one in that relationship. I had to leave, though, and I had to go through with this on my own. While you were in class all those years ago, I got a call that my mother had been shot.” I was taken back by this and she paused, but I kept my promise like I did before, and I just nodded. “And I needed to be home. I thought that if anything else were to happen, I didn’t want to be miles away. My mother died, and I didn’t even have a chance to say good bye.” She took another deep breath. “At the time the reasonable thing to do was to pack my bags and leave for home. I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to come back with me, and quit college. Even back then, I knew that you’ll have a bright future.” I love how she could smile, even though she is talking about terrible things. “So, I continued my life, and my education at home. I went to the community college near the mall, and I bought an apartment ten minutes away from my dad, and I lived happily, and now you know.” I knew that I was allowed to talk now. “Thanks for telling me.” As, I said those words, I felt a lifetime of worries, and bad thought fly out my ears. I actually felt that I weighed less. “Your welcome. I see you got hot chocolate. Memories, huh. Oh, wow. You left the whipped cream. Do you mind if I…” she said. “I would be offended if you didn’t.” She smiled back at me. Every thing will be okay. I’ll be okay. As she reached for the purple mug, the gold wedding ring on her left hand glistened in the morning sunlight.

Final

As I woke up, I looked out my cage to see the living room that I used to know so well. On Sundays, Doug and Bill would come over to watch football. They didn’t have as big of a TV as we did. I guess I wasn’t the only one who was jealous. Bill would bring the beer, and Doug would bring three bags of Cheetos. I remember my wife would always be so anal when it came to us drinking beer on the couches. She was always scared that we would spill, and get Cheeto dust on the pillows, but we never did.

The living room was one out of a catalog. The hard wood floors were so shiny that we could see our faces in them. The walls were lined with modern art that never made any sense to me. Why would someone want to paint something that no one would understand? There was one painting on the cream colored walls with three splashes of paint on it. That is not art. It’s a paint spill. There was one couch that was in front of the TV hanging on the wall. The couch was white, which as I have explained, is the most dangerous color.

By the orange colored sunlight coming through the window, I could tell that it was morning. I don’t even think that my ex would be awake yet. She always slept late on Mondays. I think that it’s kind of strange that I’m not sleeping with her though. I wonder if she misses me. I heard a creak. I think that’s her. I miss waking up to her in the morning. Her hair would always be pointing upward. I heard another creak. She was definitely awake. She will have to past by my cage to get to the kitchen. I was so excited.

“I think I have pancake mix.” I heard her say. Talking to herself? That’s kind of weird.

“Pancake mix? Can’t you make the real thing?” I heard another voice say. What’s going on?

I saw Doug walk in wearing his boxers toward the kitchen? His hair was totally upright, just like I know that hers was. Are they together? Seriously? Doug? He knew that I was paranoid about her cheating on me, and that I was always so scared that somebody was going to swoop into her life, and steal her from me. How can he do this to me? She’s supposed to be waking up to me, not Doug. Has my best friend been the one I was so scared of all this time? I can take him. He might be better looking than I was, and more muscular, but I was angry, and everybody knows that when you’re mad you gain the strength of two boxers. He betrayed me, and he’s living the life that I wanted, but I can’t live that life because I’M A FRIGGEN PARROT!

I started flying around my cage to let out my anger. I was flying violently because that’s how I felt. I wanted to do violent things to Doug. I was flying so hard that the cage almost fell off the table it was on, but instead of the cage falling over, the black wrought iron door creaked open.

All these voices in my head were fighting. I should or shouldn’t do it. If I do it, she might hate me. Does she love him? Hell, no. She still loves me. She chose me from all the other birds in that pet store, and that bastard is cheating on my wife. He deserves every bit of what he’s about to get.

I shot of my cage at my supposed best friend. At rocket speed, I shot my beak right into Doug’s eye, and I heard a scream. It wasn’t coming from Doug; it was coming from my wife. She was crying over Doug’s body, which was lying limp on the reflective hard wood floors.

She was actually crying for him. She never cried for me. This must have really been serious. She must have loved him. He’s still on the floor, and he’s not moving. Oh, god. Did I just hurt my best friend? Oh my God, I can’t believe I just did this. Doug was my football buddy, and I told him everything, and I just shot my dagger into his eye socket. I… I… I got to go. I have to leave. And I flew out the open window, leaving my wife cry over my best friend.

Final

Hey Soul Sister…

I was sitting in the café, and waiting. I’m early, but I don’t care. I’ve been thinking about this day all week. I was staring at the wall drinking hot chocolate with a pile of whipped cream on top. It always reminds me of her. We would always go to the corner café about a mile away from the old high school. We’d share a hot coco. She always ate the whipped cream, and she’d get angry at me if I ate it first. She has a way of doing this to me. All the little things remind me of her, and when I starting thinking about her I start remembering all the good times that we had. They start flooding into my brain, and I can’t stop it no matter how much I want it to stop.

I started thinking about that time in my kitchen. We were eating my world famous grilled cheese, and listening to the radio. An upbeat song came on, and she stood up, almost in a trance, with a huge smile on her face, and started to dance. I wasn’t sure of what I should do. I laughed at her at first, like she was telling a joke, but she wasn’t. She was just dancing. I told her that if she keeps dancing like that she would break all the china in my kitchen, but I don’t even think she heard me. She was so concentrated on the music. The beat was all around her. She was the beat. She was the rhythm. I did the only other thing I could do. I got up and started dancing with her, but not on her, if you know what I mean. If we were in a night club, we would have gotten kicked out for being too dorky. But we weren’t in a night club. We were in my kitchen, dancing like maniacs. We jumped up and down, disco moves, crazy dances from the 80’s, and our strange version of the jitterbug. I know it sounds awkward, but it strangely wasn’t. If I was in my world, it would have been crazy, and weird, but I wasn’t in my world. I was in her world, a world where dancing like go-go dancers was perfectly normal and a world that I was only allowed in every once in awhile, but it didn’t matter because I loved her.

I looked around the café, and the person who invades my dreams too much still wasn’t there. I looked down at my watch, and I remembered all the times that she used to grab my arm, before we were together, just to check the time. She did that the first time I have ever worn watch, and I’ve worn a watch every single day since that day all those years ago. I used to wear it because I wanted her to grab my arm again and check the time, and she always did. I haven’t seen her in five years, so I don’t know why I still wear a watch. Maybe because of habit or maybe because everyday I still wish she would come up behind me and touch my arm to check the time.

As I came out of my trance, I heard the bell over the door to the café ring. I looked up from my hot coco. I had taken the table that was the closest to the door. I wanted to see her walk in, it wasn’t her. I ran my hand though my black hair. I was getting nervous that she wouldn’t come when I thought to myself that the first thing she would say to me was that I needed a hair cut. She always liked the buzzed look.

Everyone else in the café was living their lives. Laughing too hard, and eating too much. They were talking about the weather, and studying for their crazy math tests, and gossiping about celebrities. They were laughing about what happened the night before, and arguing their opinion over the latest political argument. They were living their lives, and I couldn’t live mine until she arrived, and gave me some closure.
It’s been five years since I last saw her. We lived together in an apartment fifteen minutes away from Duke University, where she took writing classes at night, and I took physics classes too early in the morning. We had afternoons together. We ate lunch together at the cafeteria at the university. We would always people watch. We’d make up stories for other people. Some made us laugh, like the one where the man wearing the bright red dress shoes (he was a struggling jugglist), and the woman with the librarian classes (third grade teacher by day, rock and roll groupie by night). But some were sad, like the man that always sat in the corner by himself (lost his job a month ago, but he told his wife that he got a promotion instead). We tried not to make ones like that, but if we were having a bad day we couldn’t really help it. They would just kind of slip out.

The day she left was the second day back after Christmas break. I had just gotten back from my class that morning, and when I came back she was gone. All her stuff was gone. There was not even a trace of her left. My first thought was that she was kidnapped, so the first thing I did was call her. I got her voicemail, but I knew that something extremely serious had happened if she left without telling me, and so abruptly. I called again, and six seconds of dial tone later, I heard a shy, soft, “Hello?”

“Where did you go? Where are you? Who took you?” I screamed into the phone. The scariest images of her in the truck of a ’87 Cadillac flooded into my brain, but I tried my hardest the ignore it.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry. No one took me. I’m back home,” she spoke so softly. It was a side of her that I haven’t really seen before. She sounded timid, and scared. She sounded like she needed a hug. If she hadn’t left with out talking to me first, I could have given her that.
“Phew. So, you’re not kidnapped? So if you’re home, why am I here?” It was the first thing that came out of my mind, but instantly regretted. Why couldn’t I have picked on of the thousand of other unanswered questions running through my head?
“You’re not here because I don’t want you to be. I need to be alone.” Those words slashed my heard into shreads. I couldn’t even breathe for a few seconds.
“But what’s wrong, I mean, you sound so scared, and I don’t know why, and I could help, whatever it is, I can get you through this. We can get through this. Just tell me what’s wrong.” I had so much I had to say, and saying all this hurt me. Just the thought that she was hurting was hurting me.
“Everything’s wrong, and I don’t think that it will ever get better, but you can’t help me, so please just promise me that you won’t call back.” I can tell that she was feeling the same thing I was. So much to say, and not enough time, and that saying all of this hurt. She was sobbing through the phone. This wasn’t even the girl that I know. She is so strong, always the one to be fixing the problem, not crying about it. But maybe she was fixing the problem by being home. I had to trust her because it was the only thing that I could do. “Please, just promise me.”
“I promise.” The phone went dead, and that’s how I’ve been living for the last few days, dead.

I came out of my trance, as I heard the bell over the door ring. And there she was. She looked the same but so different. She still had long, black hair that wore in butterfly clips. And she still had those big eyes, but they were her normal brown eye color. I guess as you get older, you grow out of the greened colored contact lenses. She still had the scar above her right eyebrow from the time that one time when she fell down the two flights of stairs when she was six. Her skin was just as ghostly pale was it had always been. She was still short, even though I always told her that she will have her growth spurt soon. I guess she wasn’t the only one who wasn’t entirely truthful. There was something different about her through, but I couldn’t really put my finger on it. I guess, she looked older, and she carried herself differently. She wasn’t twenty anymore. She looked mature, but she still had a sort of carefree look about her. Maybe it was the worn in jeans she was wearing.
She sat across from me, and I didn’t know what to say. We haven’t talked in so long. “Hello, there,” she sang.
“Hel…” I started to say, but she cut me off. She looked like she meant business. She was on a mission.
“No. Before you even say a word to me, I need to explain to you. I don’t want you to hate me. Do you promise that you won’t say anything until I’m done talking?”
This wasn’t the first time that she told me to keep quiet. I nodded, and smiled. I missed her so much. Her sitting across from me seemed unreal.
“The reason I wanted to talk to you is because I found my old year book and I saw your picture, and I realized that what I did to you was terrible. Your face always had affected on me.” She smiled at me, and I knew that there won’t be much of this as she goes on. There is no way that her story can end happily. “When I left, and I told you not to call me, I was only thinking of myself. I was selfish, and in all the craziness, I forgot that I wasn’t the only one in that relationship. I had to leave, though, and I had to go through with this on my own. While you were in class all those years ago, I got a call that my mother had been shot.” I was taken back by this and she paused, but I kept my promise like I did before, and I just nodded. “And I needed to be home. I thought that if anything else were to happen, I didn’t want to be miles away. My mother died, and I didn’t even have a chance to say good bye.”
She took another deep breath. “At the time the reasonable thing to do was to pack my bags and leave for home. I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to come back with me, and quit college. Even back then, I knew that you’ll have a bright future.” I love how she could smile, even though she is talking about terrible things. “So, I continued my life, and my education at home. I went to the community college near the mall, and I bought an apartment ten minutes away from my dad, and I lived happily, and now you know.”
I knew that I was allowed to talk now. “Thanks for telling me.” As, I said those words, I felt a lifetime of worries, and bad thought fly out my ears. I actually felt that I weighed less.
“Your welcome. I see you got hot chocolate. Memories, huh. Oh, wow. You left the whipped cream. Do you mind if I…” she said.
“I would be offended if you didn’t.” She smiled back at me. Every thing will be okay. I’ll be okay. As she reached for the purple mug, the gold wedding ring on her left hand glistened in the morning sunlight.

How to Become a Writer response

The story was really interesting. It was a story about writing, but it was more of a story about the girl saying the story. She sounds really angry about how frustrating writing is. The story explains that you can't just becomes a writer. You have to work and work to become a published author, and most people don't get published. Francie worked for years and everybody was telling her, basically, that her stories were crappy. But she kept on trying, even when her mother didn't believe that writing was her true calling. In the beginning of the story she was so enthusiastic about writing, and made up the most creative stories. Towards the end she was really discoaraged. She thought a lady getting on a bus would be a good story line. She stopped being creative, and losing hope.

First Draft

Hey Soul Sister…

I was sitting in the café, and waiting. I’m early, but I don’t care. I’ve been thinking about this day all week. I was staring at the wall drinking hot chocolate with a pile of whipped cream on top. It always reminds me of her. We would always go to the corner café about a mile away from the old high school. We’d share a hot coco. She always ate the whipped cream, and she’s get angry at me if I ate it first. She has a way of doing this to me. All the little things remind me of her, and when I starting thinking about her I start remembering all the good times that we had. They start flooding into my brain, and I can’t stop it no matter how much I want it to stop.

I started thinking about that time in my kitchen. We were eating my world famous grilled cheese, and listening to the radio. An upbeat song came on, and she stood up, almost in a trance, with a huge smile on her face, and started to dance. I wasn’t sure of what I should do. I laughed at her at first, like she was telling a joke, but she wasn’t. She was just dancing. I told her that if she keeps dancing like that she would break all the china in my kitchen, but I don’t even think she heard me. She was so concentrated on the music. The beat was all around her. She was the beat. She was the rhythm. I did the only other thing I could do. I got up and started dancing with her, but not on her, if you know what I mean. If we were in a night club, we would have gotten kicked out for being too dorky. But we we’re in a night club, we were in my kitchen, dancing like maniacs. We jumped up and down, disco moves, crazy dances from the 80’s, and our strange version of the jitterbug. I know it sounds awkward, but it strangely wasn’t. If I was in my world, it would have been crazy, and weird, but I wasn’t in my world. I was in her world, a world where dancing like go-go dancers was perfectly normal and a world that I was only allowed in every once in awhile, but it didn’t matter because I loved her.

I looked around the café, and the person who invades my dreams too much still wasn’t here. I looked down at my watch, and I remembered all the times that she used to grab my arm, before we were together, just to check the time. She did that the first time I have ever worn watch, and I’ve worn a watch every single day since that day all those years ago. I used to wear it because I wanted her to grab my arm again and check the time, and she always did. I haven’t seen her in five years, so I don’t know no why I still wear a watch. Maybe because of habit or maybe because everyday I still wish she would come up behind me and touch my arm to check the time.

As I came out of my trance, I heard the bell over the door to the café ring. I looked up from my hot coco. I had taken the table that was the closest to the door. I wanted to see her walk in, it wasn’t her. I ran my hand though my black hair. I was getting nervous that she wouldn’t come when I thought to myself that the first thing she would say to me was that I needed a hair cut. She always liked the buzzed look.

Everyone else in the café was living their lives. Laughing too hard, and eating too much. They were talking about the weather, and studying for their crazy math tests, and gossiping about celebrities. They were laughing about what happened the night before, and arguing their opinion over the latest political argument. They were living their lives, and I couldn’t live mine until she arrived, and gave me some closure.
It’s been five years since I last saw her. We lived together in an apartment fifteen minutes away from Duke University, where she took writing classes at night, and I took physics classes too early in the morning. We had afternoons together. We ate lunch together at the cafeteria at the university. We would always people watch. We’d make up stories for other people. Some made us laugh, like the one where the man wearing the bright red dress shoes (he was a struggling jugglist), and the woman with the librarian classes (third grade teacher by day, rock and roll groupie by night). But some were sad, like the man that always sat in the corner by himself (lost his job a month ago, but he told his wife that he got a promotion instead). We tried not to make ones like that, but if we were having a bad day we couldn’t really help it. They would just kind of slip out.

The day she left was the second day back after Christmas break. I had just gotten back from my class that morning, and when I came back she was gone. All her stuff was gone. There was not even a trace of her left. My first thought was that she was kidnapped, so the first thing I did was call her. I got her voicemail, but I knew that something extremely serious had happened if she left without telling me, and so abruptly. I called again, and six seconds of dial tone later, I heard a shy, soft, “Hello?”

“Where did you go? Where are you? Who took you?” I screamed into the phone. The scariest images of her in the truck of a ’87 Cadillac flooded into my brain, but I tried my hardest the ignore it.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry. No one took me. I’m back home,” she spoke so softly. It was a side of her that I haven’t really seen before. She sounded timid, and scared. She sounded like she needed a hug. If she hadn’t left with out talking to me first, I could have given her that.
“Phew. So, you’re not kidnapped? So if you’re home, why am I here?” It was the first thing that came out of my mind, but instantly regretted. Why couldn’t I have picked on of the thousand of other unanswered questions running through my head.
“You’re not here because I don’t want you to be. I need to be alone.” Those words slashed my heard into shreads. I couldn’t even breathe for a few seconds.
“But what’s wrong, I mean, you sound so scared, and I don’t know why, and I could help, what every it is, I can get you through this. We can get through this. Just tell me what’s wrong.” I had so much I had to say, and saying all this hurt me. Just the thought that she was hurting was hurting me.
“Everything’s wrong, and I don’t think that it will ever get better, but you can’t help me, so please just promise me that you won’t call back.” I can tell that she was feeling the same thing I was. So much to say, and not enough time, and that saying all of this hurt. She was sobbing through the phone. This wasn’t even the girl that I know. She is so strong, always the one to be fixing the problem, not crying about it. But maybe she was fixing the problem by being home. I had to trust her because it was the only thing that I could do. “Please, just promise me.”
“I promise.” The phone went dead, and that’s how I’ve been living for the last few days, dead.

I came out of my trance, as I heard the bell over the door ring. And there she was. She looked the same but so different. She still had long, black hair that wore in butterfly clips. And she still had those big eyes, but they were her normal brown eye color. I guess as you get older, you grow out of the greened colored contact lenses. She still had the scar above her right eyebrow from the time that one time when she fell down the two flights of stairs when she was six. Her skin was just as ghostly pale was it had always been. Being Irish does have its disadvantages. She was still short, even though I always told her that she will have a growth spurt soon. I guess she wasn’t the only one who wasn’t entirely truthful. There was something different about her through, but I couldn’t really put my finger on it. I guess, she looked older, and she carried herself differently. She wasn’t twenty anymore. She looked mature, but she still had a sort of carefree look about her. Maybe it was the worn in jeans she was wearing.
She sat across from me, and I didn’t know what to say. We haven’t talked in so long. “Hello, there,” she sang.
“Hel…” I started to say, but she cut me off. She looked like she meant business. She was on a mission.
“No. Before you even say a word to me, I need to explain to you. I don’t want you to hate me. Do you promise that you won’t say anything until I’m done talking?”
This wasn’t the first time that she told me to keep quiet. I nodded, and smiled. I missed her so much. Her sitting across from me seemed unreal.
“The reason I wanted to talk to you is because I found my old year book and I saw your picture, and I realized that what I did to you was terrible. Your face always had affected on me.” She smiled at me, and I knew that there won’t be much of this as she goes on. There is no way that her story can end happily. “When I left, and I told you not to call me, I was only thinking of myself. I was selfish, and in all the craziness, I forgot that I wasn’t the only one in that relationship. I had to leave, though, and I had to go through with this on my own. While you were in class all those years ago, I got a call that my mother had been shot.” I was taken back by this and she paused, but I kept my promise like I did before, and I just nodded. “And I needed to be home. I thought that if anything else were to happen, I didn’t want to be miles away. My mother died, and I didn’t even have a chance to say good bye.”
She took another deep breath. “At the time the reasonable thing to do was to pack my bags and leave for home. I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to come back with me, and quit college. Even back then, I knew that you’ll have a bright future.” I love how she could smile, even though she is talking about terrible things. “So, I continued my life, and my education at home. I went to the community college near the mall, and I bought an apartment ten minutes away from my dad, and I lived happily, and now you know.”
I knew that I was allowed to talk now. “Thanks for telling me.” As, I said those words, I felt a lifetime of worries, and bad thought fly out my ears. I actually felt that I weighed less.
“Your welcome. I see you got hot chocolate. Memories, huh. Oh, wow. You left the whipped cream. Do you mind if I…” she said.
“I would be offended if you didn’t.” She smiled back at me. Every thing will be okay. I’ll be okay. As she reached for the purple mug, the gold wedding ring on her left hand glistened in the morning sunlight.

Music Video Story- Hey Soul Sister by Train

Hey Soul Sister…

I was sitting in the café, and waiting. I’m early, but I don’t care. I’ve been thinking about this day all week. I was staring at the wall drinking hot chocolate with a pile of whipped cream on top. It always reminds me of her. We would always go to the corner café about a way from the old high school. We’d share a hot coco. She always ate the whipped cream, and she’s get angry at me if I ate it first. She has away of doing this to me. All the little things remind me of her, and when I starting thinking about her I start remembering all the good times that we had. They start flooding into my brain, and I can’t stop it no matter how much I want it to stop.

I started thinking about that time in my kitchen. We were eating my world famous grilled cheese, and listening to the radio. An upbeat song came on, and she stood up, almost in a trance, with a huge smile on her face, and started to dance. I wasn’t sure of what I should do. I laughed at her at first, like she was telling a joke, but she wasn’t. She was just dancing. I told her that if she keeps dancing like that she would break all the china in my kitchen, but I don’t even think she heard me. She was so concentrated on the music. The beat was all around her. She was the beat. She was the rhythm. I did the only other thing I could do. I got up and started dancing with her, but not on her, if you know what I mean. If we were in a night club, we would have gotten kicked out for being too dorky. But we we’re in a night club, we were in my kitchen, dancing like maniacs. We jumped up and down, disco moves, crazy dancing from the 80’s, and our strange version of the jitterbug. I know it sounds awkward, but it strangely wasn’t. If I was in my world, I would have been crazy, and weird, but I wasn’t in my world. I was in her world, a world were dancing like go-go dancers was perfectly normal and a world that I was only allowed in every ounce in awhile, but it didn’t matter because I loved her.

I looked around the café, and the person who invade me dreams too much still wasn’t here. I looked down at my watch, and I remembered all the times that she used to grab my arm, before we were together, just to check the time. She did that the first time I have ever worn watch, and I’ve worn a watch every single day since that day all those years ago. I used to wear it because I wanted to grab my arm again and check the time, and she always did. I haven’t seen or heard from her in over five years, so I don’t know no why I still wear a watch. Maybe because of habit or maybe because everyday I still wish she would come up behind me and touch my arm to check the time.

As I came out of my trance, I heard the bell over the door to the café ring. It wasn’t her.

Introduction

My name is Kristen Bianco, and I like to think that I'm outgoing, but I'm really not, and an interesting thing about me is that I can say the alphabet backwards really really fast. I wonder if there is a job that you need to be qualified in saying the alphabet backwards. Maybe like someone who makes dictionaries, or something like that, but that would be a boring job. I think a job were you don't really have to do anything sounds like a good job. There is this job and all you have to do is grade icecream favors on their greatness. The thing that sucks about this job is that you are not allowed to swallow it. You have you swirl it around your mouth, and then spit it out. That is just evil. Anyways, I signed up for this course because I really like writing, and in English we don't do enough fun writing, and want to do more of it. Reading is fine, but I'd rather not read the really boring books that we are forced to read for english. The kind of writing that I like the most is poetry because there are really no rules. It can be anything you want it to be. There isn't really a structur that needs to be followed. The one that I don't really like memoirs because they are really boring to write because we have to tell you truth, and can't make up stuff to make it more interesting. I like to read the back of cereal boxes, and novels, I guess. Right now, I'm reading Dear John by Nicholas Sparks. It's about the saddest book I've ever read. Don't read it unless you feel like crying a river. The End.... or is it (insert dramatic music here).