Chapter 2 of Untitled Story

Seeing as it's only been a few minutes since I posted the first chapter, this story is still currently untitled. But, here's the second chapter!

Chapter 2

So, you might be wondering why a 14-year-old girl, who comes from a family with a fine enough reputation, an IQ “off the charts!” (according to my prescription-drugged-up guidance counselor, who punctuated that too cheery remark with an awkward fist pump thingy she obviously thought all the cool kids were doing, having seen it on Saved by the Bell reruns or something. Yeah, not so much, hon), all that, would be running away from home. To which I say, I’m not running away, I’m going to.

Yup, I can see you now. Maybe you’re chuckling to yourself knowingly and shaking your head wisely, recalling memories of when you were a “kiddo”, seeing how I’m adorably naive and all that. Not it.

I guess why I’m doing all this- actually, I know- is because I had to get out of that 2-star, 2-inch town, so small that you could stick all its inhabitants- even Fat Sal- into an envelope and mail it for a buck 40. Everyone was so in your business and in your face. There were no secrets, you were never alone. And that bugged me (now there’s the Understatement of the Year).

I couldn’t hide so much as a grade on my algebra quiz. I tried the squeaky clean, preptastic thing a bit- even had the outfit. With the argyle knee socks, pastel sweaters. It was so boring. I don’t know why so many OK that as the People You Should Be Like.

That was, at least, until I met Luke. Luke helped me be what I am today- tough, sure. And some other things, too.

At night, he’d come up to my window, tapping it. I’d hop out, and we’d run like little kids- or criminals- to wherever. He’s the one that taught me the art of Stealing.

I remember the lessons well- at first he got it for me, little romantic present-y type things- a fun size candy bar here, a plastic pharmacy rose there. Just for a thrill. But then it was everything.

Eventually, he got bored with our life of alleged love and definite debauchery, switched it out for multiple girlfriends (after all, he needed more than one fool to do the dirty work) and alternate forms of recreation. Eventually, it got him killed in a motorcycle accident- yes, he had a motorcycle. No comment on the predictability- which was blamed on alcohol. All I can do is shrug it off and think how very “Toy Soldiers” my life is.

(Title in the works)

Hey all! I'm finally going back to writing stories again- this one is about a girl named Mellie who runs away, and meets Charlie, an adorable vagrant, and they eventually fall in love- but it isn't necessarily a love story. If you have any ideas for a title, I'd appreciate. Hope you enjoy this first chapter, I writing the second as we speak!

Chapter 1
My mom always said I had a wild streak in me, a spirit that made me unable to stay anywhere. And, seeing what I’m doing right now, I guess she was right (I hate that).

What I’m doing right now, by the way, is getting on the 6 a.m. bus to… well, wherever, to do, whatever. I didn’t plan that far, really. I don’t even know if they’ll let me on- all I have is one of those ancient Metro Tokens for the bus- do they take those anymore?

Oh well, too late too worry now, I guess. I make a quick double check of my inventory- mp3? Check. I had to take it with me- it reminded me of my “boyfriend” (ex now, I guess, seeing as I’m leaving and never coming back… oops. Maybe I should have said bye?), Chuck. Also, it had all my CDs anyways. He always was a mooch. Me taking his ipod is just him paying his dues.

Next… a little suitcase of Mom’s- her favorite, but she’s so scared of everything she’ll never go anywhere enough to use it. In it a few t-shirts (all of which belong to my sister- not anymore!), a few hundred bucks from my brother’s “secret” stash (honestly, the only thing secret about it is that he doesn’t know I know where it is), makeup (I’m not a “girly-girl” or whatever like my sisters, but I do enjoy not looking like total junk a lot) and some odds and ends. I’m good to go, I guess.

I swing my legs as I sit on the bench, sticky with some unidentifiable muck, and hope that my mousy hair and slightly ratty outfit are enough to stave away this dodgy-looking guy to my left, and keep me generally unnoticed. He looks like his hobbies include long walks on the beach, baking, and storing dismembered limbs in his basement, judging by that freaky glint in his eye as he looks at me. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all, huh?


So, there it is :) It's a little rough still, I know, but I've got big plans for this story and Mary! Again, ideas for title are muchly appreciated, and if you think something should be changed I'd appreciate that kind of criticism too :) . I'm done with the second chapter, going to post it.

Rumblings: A Poem

I have ideas for stories and whatnot, but I can't get them right. I'm trying though, promise! But for now I just write poetry :P This one I got the idea from something in Liar, by Justine Larbalestier. Then Going Bovine by Libba Bray... reading is good! :S :)

A poem
A heart beats in your chest,
At least I think so- it’s rather sadistic if there one lies-
It’s restless, stubborn, writhing-
Turning so that it
Shimmies, sways, rocks, rolls,
Tumbles, crumbles, knocking clear off
Hope, that thing with feathers that perches on the human soul
(by the way, do you have one of those too?
If you do it’s been dangerously soulless lately)
It squawks and tumbles
Breaking its wings so Hope has no hope.
It would almost be comical had it not been
You and your trembles.
Your inconstant heart, ever changing in a manner indiscernible to even you,
Gray and dirty
Brings pain to my heart-
My constant heart,
This same one that somehow still holds
To its constant love of your inconstance.
Ack, sorry it's so mopy! See, I'm not even like that. It's just what comes to my brain or w/e. Wow I sound like a geek, bye :D

Aspirations: A Poem

Hey, another poem! With every one I do I feel less lame about it :)

You always talk about
Your hopeswishesdreams
A wistful look in your eye.

But that’s all you have, isn't it?-
These hopes and wishes and dreams.
They aren’t tanglible- they float
Around the skies, taunting you
Just when it seems you have them caught,
That the world is in your hands to be molded
Into your life,
They shimmy away without a backward glance.

But it isn’t your fault, you say.
It’s them, the ideas that float away.
But I don’t see you reaching
For that ladder by your side!
I don’t see you asking-
Is it only for lack of pride-
Or too much?


Before I post this poem, while it is slightly based on some people of my past, I'm not crumbling. Promise. I got a phone call and my friend was all upset, and I got- jazzhands- inspired of whatever :P :)

You fall to pieces
Every time, over something simple
And every time,
I’m there with sense and sensibility,
Calming rationality,
Picking up the pieces
And making it all better.
The human Band-Aid you only think you need,
Stepping on eggshells everywhere she goes around you, turning her grimaces into grins.

But what will you do
When I
Fall apart someday?
It’s happening now,
I’m crumbling like the great city of Rome-
Once strong but crumbling and tumbling to ruins-
Falling apart.
Do you even see it?
If you do, do you care?

When we’re both nothing but dust,
Lying on the floor
What will you do then?

Because let me tell you-
Things will collapse,
Things will break.
Things will fall to the floor
And just…
They won’t survive.

So while you watch it all
Bear with me, thrive,
Watch as the things that fell apart
Gather themselves together
And survive.

I feel a smidge dorky, but this is fun.

The Pains of Being Pure At Heart

Heylo! I wrote a poem for English today... I wrote one first that was actually NOT an epic fail called We Will Become Silhouettes- after one of my favorite songs by The Postal Service (Death Cab for Cutie's Ben Gifford plus Jen from, er, another band I can't remember? Awesome!)- about music. Only to find that NOOOOO I had to write a "lemonade poem"- something showing the good and bad sides of something. My teacher gave me an outline for it. It's one of those ones that basically stifle creativity by telling you what to do on each line. BUT, I did what I could and am now presenting to you my poem! It's named after a band I found on a podcast, Indiefeed. Their song Come Saturday is great BTW.

The Pains of Being Pure At Heart: A Lemonade Poem

It was the best and worst of life- youth.

Condescension, Patronism, Saracasm, Sardoniscism, Deprecation-
All these tones that hurt you so, yet you don't know why-

Everything being new, magical, and amazing-

Laboring of a single letter of your name, rehearsing over and over, tongue poking out in concentration, bringing it to the kindergarten teacher so proudly, only to be chastised, "No tails!"-

Feeling so grown up when you accomplish something on your own-

The pains and pleasures of being pure at heart are
the best and worst of youth.

(P.S. Sorry the top thingy was longer! xD)

Hey, Looky What I Found!

I was cleaning my room the other day, and I found a journal, all tattered and obvs. having seen better days, with a widdle pwecious puddy cat on it. I looked inside it and it's a writing journal I made when I was like 9! SO fun to see what I wrote as a kid, and mock it thusly.

Some of it, I was pretty impressed with though- like, most of the notebook was devoted to a fictional city I created, "Kensington". I was seriously anal retenive about it, too- I made maps, laws, shops, and little flyers for the shops about sales and their inventory... pretty impressive for a little kid :P ;)

And then I found my very first literary "wor of art" (emphasis on the quotation marks!). It's this whole miniseries of short stories I made, called Candy and Bama. No paragraphs, awful sorting, but it was pretty fun to mock. Maybe I'll post it if I can remember where I put the notebook (I didn't clean so well, you see....)

And then another series called On Cloud Nine.

Ah, youth. To be so ignorant and fleeting, completely and blissfully ignorant of the laws of text again.