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4:57pm Feb 18 2010
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Normal User
Posts: 192
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Hey everyone! Sorry this isn't a chapter, I just wanted to let you know that I realized something. Just because I'm starting another better story, does not mean I'm abandoning my old one. Its better for my writing, too. I can give this story all I got, no distractions. I have the first scene in my head right now, and it will not be as sad as the other one. It's gonna be more touchy and funny, showing the evil sister-in-law to be, overly happy parents who don't understand you, and jerks who cheat on your best friend. Enjoy when I finally post it!
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7:44pm Feb 18 2010
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Posts: 1,120
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*pees in pants* EEEEEEEE! *punches and runs away*
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5:04pm Feb 19 2010 (last edited on 5:05pm Feb 19 2010)
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Normal User
Posts: 192
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Hey guys. Sorry this isn't much, I haven't written a lot yet. Please don't judge me by the beginning, I stink at them :( I'm trying to improve, but it's really hard. Chapter 1 One kiss One slap One dare And my life was changed forever I was watching my front door closely, tilting my head and paying close attention to it, as if it would do a magic trick. In the background, I could hear my mother watching Housewives while she cooked dinner. The sweet aroma of chicken frontage was tracing through the house. I glanced over at the digital clock on the kitchen stove. 7:45. Mitchell, my brother, was exactly seven minutes late. He called me at seven-twenty-eight saying he was only ten minutes away. And now it’s been seventeen minutes. “Mom!” I groaned running my bracelets up and down my arm as they clinked together. “When is he going to get home?” My mother turned to face me. Her ex
pression was difficult to read, but she almost looked disappointed in me. “Larissa,” she sighed my name, grabbing a dish towel and wiping her hands, “I told you, traffic lights and other cars do exist.” I scoffed at her when I spoke. My mother, for some insane, unknown alien reason, had always treated me like I belonged in a mental institution. She would speak slowly whenever we would have a conversation, use little words, and point out obvious things. It was like she expected me to be delusional. “What, is it a crime that I want to see my older brother? And… I’m hoping that he broke up with that awful creature titled Maryanne. God, she was such a-” “Larissa!” My mother yelled, putting her hands on her hips just like I do. With her blonde hair in a perfect bun and her Hot Momma apron on, she did not look like the least of a threat to me. “Do not say that. Maryanne is a fine young lady, and you should be, too! She makes your brother happy, right? Isn’t that all that matters? I stood up from the bar stool and pushed it against the counter. Upstairs, I could hear screeching and slamming. My father was rearranging Mitchell’s room. Every time he would rearrange something in the house, either a piece of the furniture or him would break. My mother was obviously oblivious that she asked a question, since she turned around, whistling, and began to shake some pepper in the sauce bowl. Her hips were swaying along with More Than A Feeling, which was playing loudly over by the computer. “Carin!” My dad yelled from upstairs. “Come help me, quick! I don’t know how much longer I can hold this dresser.” My mother muttered a colorful word under her breath as she untied her apron and threw it on the counter. She trudged upstairs, not really worried all that much about my father’s back problems, and left me alone with the pasta and sauce. I leaned against the counter, contemplating what I was going to say to Mitchell when he returned home. Part of me was tempted to just go right out and ask him if he was still with her, but I knew either way that me saying that would hurt his feelings. It would make him angry that I despised his girlfriend so much, or rush back all the pain of their break-up. In my mind, I was desperately hoping that the second option was the one to be afraid of. Maryanne was beautiful. She was rich. She was perfection. But she was also a *****. When I first met her, at the beach two years ago, my brother and her were walking hand-in-hand, barefoot, on the s*censored*. Her black hair was swaying with the wind, as well as her blue and white sundress, and my brother was carrying both their shoes with his other hand. He had called me twenty minutes before, telling me that I should go to the beach because he had a surprise for me. When I saw Maryanne, she looked so pretty, so sweet, so caring, so right for Mitchell. Man was I wrong. The second she spoke to me, by veins automatically swelled up with a burning sensation of hatred. She had this tone in her voice, this snotty little princess tone that gave the feeling she needed a good slap. And the way she looked at me, it was like I was my brother’s ex-girlfriend and she expected me to try to kiss him. Her body was placed securely in front of his, and every time I would try to hug Mitchell, she would “accidentally” bump either him or me away. How someone as incredible as my brother could stay even a day with someone as ugly as that girl left me speechless. He was immature. She was overly sophisticated. He liked beer. She liked champagne. He was dirty and trashy. She was preppy and flawless. It was as if Mitchell’s complete contrast randomly showed up in his life and is trying to push everyone else out of it. I hated her. I hated her more than I ever hated anyone in my life. Whenever I did ask Mitchell about Maryanne, though, he would just take his arm and pat me on the back, saying “Haven’t you ever heard that opposites attract?” My thoughts were interrupted when the rumbling of a car engine grew louder and louder. Outside, I could see the headlights of Mitchell’s red Elantra 2003 in the driveway. “He’s here!” I yelled up the stairs as the car door slammed and I could hear my brother’s footsteps. The door opened and there stood Mitchell, grinning like an idiot with a bag of potato chips in his hand along with his car keys. His blonde hair was tussled around from the wind, and his green button-up shirt was missing the top two buttons. His jeans were ripped, and his hands were sweaty. It was brother, definitely. “Why are you eating potato chips?” I asked him, smiling, as he leaned against the door frame. “You do know that mom spent hours cooking the perfect chicken frontage for you.” He took another handful of chips and stuffed it in his mouth. Crumbs were already scattered on the Welcome mat. “Larissa,” he winked at me and pointed his finger at his chest, “My name is Mitchell. I am a guy. Guys like to eat. Guys like food. Guys don’t get tired food. So shut your mouth so I can give you a hug.” “I don’t know,” I cautiously stepped back and he followed me, “I’m not sure if I want those greasy, sweaty hands all over me.” By the time I was done talking, his arms were already locked around me and the bag of potato chips was pressed against my back. Mitchell rocked us back and forth like he did so many times before, and he smelt like gasoline. I didn’t realize until that exact instant how much of me went missing with my brother. |
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7:00pm Feb 19 2010
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Posts: 1,120
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7:14pm Feb 20 2010
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Normal User
Posts: 192
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bored....again......so here it goes.......bump
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8:57am Feb 21 2010
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Normal User
Posts: 1,009
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You ARE back!! Yay!!!!! Jen is writing!!! (good) Lol. Just kidding! Well..... LOL!
 "Monsters are real. Ghosts are too. They live inside us and sometimes they win." ~Stephen King |
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5:57pm Feb 21 2010
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Normal User
Posts: 192
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I just want everyone to know, my groove is back on!!! *Does a cheesy happy dance* I'll post more soon! And tell me if you can see a difference. Oh, I changed my girl's name to Tonni. I thought it fit her better :) |
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7:07pm Feb 21 2010
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Posts: 1,120
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*stabs jen* popopjksl (insanely awesome bump)
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8:25pm Feb 22 2010 (last edited on 8:29pm Feb 22 2010)
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Normal User
Posts: 192
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some more of I Dare You. The story is progressing decently so far. A little bit of innapropriatness :) (sp?) Nothing above PG.... yet ;) Mitchell rocked us back and forth like he did so many times before, and he smelt like gasoline. I breathed in deeply, censoring the smell that Mitchell always seemed to have with him. � We hugged each other for a few minutes before we finally went into the kitchen. Mitchell hung up his keys in his normal spot, right in between the phone and the coffee maker, which was cheerfully gurgling like it did every dinner hour. Mitchell started strolling around the room, running his fingers over the corners of the counters, the coffee maker, and the chairs. He seemed to be searching for something different, as if he expected the house to suddenly change in the three months he was gone. And as I watched him stare steadily at each and every inch of my house, from the tan tiled floors to the cracks in the ceilings, I realized that he looked at me the exact same way. Like he thought I would just transform into a whole knew person because of the lack of his presence. I sat there for a good three minutes, observing my brother renaissance on the house he had lived in for fourteen years. I suddenly found myself doing the same thing. On the counter, right next to the sink and beside the towel rack, there was a “zigzag” crack that was about three inches long. My mother and I, at the time when we had the special connection where we would do practically every living activity together, were chopping up Bell Peppers. She showed me the proper way to place the pepper upside down so that the stem was pressed against the cutting board, and that you have to put the knife in the exact center of the pepper, angling it slightly outward and gently pushing down. I, being the clumsy person that I was and still am, paid the least bit of attention to what I was doing and ended up having the knife off the pepper, off the cutting board, and scraping against the counter. My mother’s face, at the time, put me in the fear of hell getting set loose, but now it only amused me. She looked as if I cut myself bloody-murder rather than just the counter; her jaw dropped to the floor, eyes bulking out of their sockets, and her breath heaving and raspy. Mitchell, as if he read my mind, glanced over to that memorable scar on the stone counter and gave me a quick, barely noticeable smirk. I crossed my arms over my chest defensively. “Shut up,” I told him, “I was eleven.” He just smiled. “So,” he said, when the comforting silence started fading into awkwardness, “Do you still play the guitar?” I started tilting my head, watching the small strips of liquid dropping in the coffee maker. I could feel Mitchell’s eyes on me. “It’s been three months, not three years. Of course I still play the guitar.” “Well good,” he opened the fridge and grabbed a can of Coke, “You’re good at it.” “I know.” My mother yelled something about being down in one minute as my dad made a groaning noise of pain. I noticed, as I scanned my brother for no particular reason, a green squiggle underneath his shirtsleeve. Mitchell never seemed like one to get a tattoo, I thought to myself. Without be too obvious, I slowly bent my head down to get a less vague glimpse of his mysterious and possible tattoo. When he saw me staring at him, his eyes darted down to his arm and he automatically turned the other way. �� “So,” my mother said to Mitchell as she placed the stuff shells on the table. “How was Boston?” Mitchell automatically took a spoonful of stuffed shells and splat it on his plate. A few pieces fell on the tablemat and he silently picked them up. “It was um…” he looked at my mother with worried eyes, “Nice? I guess. I mean, it’s not like I’ve never been there before.” My father took a sip of his coffee. I could never understand what seemed attractive about having coffee at dinner, but my parents did it anyway. “Sure, you’ve been there. But as a tourist. Mitch, three months is a long, long time. You must have really gotten to know Boston by then.” Mitchell looked at me as if he were waiting for me to say something. He rolled his eyes when I didn’t. “Me and Maryanne went to see Play On at the Big Apple Circus with her nephew. And we went to Bell-in-Hand Tavern. That’s really the only thing worth telling.” My mother sighed. I could tell she was hungry for more information. She always had the tendency to want to swim in Mitchell and mine’s life, no matter how many times we pushed her away. And at certain points, when one of us would get dull rather than audacious, she would just sigh like she did now, and leave the subject closed, but a hint of it open for more opportunities. I always theorized to myself that she believed s*censored*iness or attitude meant that someone was hiding something. She was too blind in her own beliefs that she couldn’t even see what she was doing to everyone else. My father, on the other hand, could really care less most of the time. He would attempt to take the smallest hint of attention, asking questions without really caring for an answer and nodding his head silently whenever my mother would demand him to back her up on something related to my brother or I. Everyone in my family might as well been checked off on a clipboard. We all had our advantages, our disadvantages, our straight out personalities, and our purpose in the house. Mitchell was the fun and cheery one, the person who could brighten anyone’s day with a joke, the one that always blasted the music. My mother was the one who turned the music down low, trying to contemplate on why teenagers must always “stretch out of line” with everything they do. And my father was the spectator, the person who stood on the sidelines and watched everything p*censored* by before his eyes as he lay there, calm and content, staying within view but away from danger. I wasn’t quite sure where I stood in my family. Maybe I was the s*censored*y one who could cause a fight, the girl who always had high opinions and stated them but never did anything with her objectives. I shrugged. My mother lifted her napkin from her lap and dabbed it softly on her face. She was fussy. “How is Maryanne?” “Actually, that’s what I want to talk to you about,” Mitchell said, placing his fork down on his plate and fidgeting with his shirt collar. “I have something I want to tell you. About Maryanne and I, I mean.” A leap of hope appeared in my heart as I managed to imagine the smooth and delicate words sliding out of his mouth; we broke up. A smile was already crept along my face as I took in a deep breath to take in the miracle that the wicked witch of the west was finally crumbled down by the house of my brother’s lost love. Maybe I should have felt guilty for her, but Maryanne was quite the looker. She’d bounce back within a week. And Mitchell, he could finally find himself a pretty, smart- “We’re getting married.” � My leap tumbled down. And I realized I had three choices; 1.)Run away crying and never come back2.)Beat the crap out of Mitchell and tell him what an idiot he is3.)Put on a cheesy happy face and pretend to be proud while deep down my blood was boiling to the point where it’s on fire.� It was silent for a dreadful ten seconds. I listened to the clock ticking and tocking as my parent’s expressions rapidly transform from confusion, to anger, to sadness, to confusion again, and then towards- Happiness? “Mitchell!” My mother screamed, standing up and running around the table to give him a teddy-bear hug. He awkwardly returned it, his hands looking robotic as he slowly bent them around her. “Oh my God! I am so proud of you! When did this happen? Who proposed? Was it romantic?� I mean, we have wedding plans, and hiring a caterer, and setting a church! Where’s the wedding going to be? Here, in California? Or in Boston with Maryanne’s family? You know what, you should have it at the beach,” my mother was already at the computer, shuffling through piles of papers until she finally got a phone book. She began flipping through the pages as if her life depended on it. “That would be incredible! And you know what, Tonnie could-” Mitchell walked over to my mother and gently closed the phone book. He placed his hand over hers as disappointment drowned over her face. “Mom, relax. You’re gonna give me a heart attack, for God’s sake,” He ran his hand through blonde hair. They were shaking. “I proposed and-” “You didn’t tell me? Mitchell, how could you?” “Can I speak? Listen, I really wanted it to be a surprise. I didn’t want to get your hopes up and then crush them if she said no-” “Honey, how could a girl say no to you?” “Mom!” Mitchell glanced over urgently at my father and he did nothing but take an easy sip of his coffee. He didn’t seem fazed by the wedding announcement at all. “Please! Let me speak. I didn’t want to tell you until it was official. And I proposed to Maryanne at exactly midnight,” his face changed suddenly. His eyes were staring slightly up as if he was in a dream, and his head was bent into his shoulder. “We were under the stars. She was wearing this sexy red dress that only reached her beautiful mid-thighs, and her hair was spun into-” “Huh, gay.” I mumbled into my bread and butter. Mitchell glared over at my direction, although it didn’t reach his eyes. My father suddenly ended up next to me, one hand expanded on my shoulder, rubbing it, and his other gripping his coffee mug. His expression was bland and emotionless. “Shut up,” my brother said, “Well, anyway, she said yes. And that’s it. No plans. No nothing. Although, she is staying at a motel over in Maybell, and I was wondering if she could stay here with us…?” “Of course!” My mother exclaimed, jumping up and down like a little child just as my father put is finger up to oppose. I paid him an apologetic glance as he looked at me and shook his head. My mother, although a wonderful person, could also make you want to smack all the enthusiasm out of her. “I mean, she will be your wife…” She stretched out the word and punched Mitchell in the arm with both fists, “Soon, you’ll two will be sharing a house, a life, and… oh god, a bed.” She turned strict all of a sudden. “Mitchell Hammilton, Maryanne is staying on that couch! No sharing a bed, and absolutely no sex!” My father came around and put his hand on Mitchell’s shoulder. “Have you two…?” Mitchell turned as red as my mother’s lipstick. He looked around the house, as if searching for a magic spell that could release him from this awkward conversation. I didn’t realize until a minute later that I was doing the exact same thing. “No dad,” he hissed to my father, grinding his teeth and rolling his eyes. “Maryanne believes in waiting.” Both my parents’ faces brightened up like the stars. ����������� I guess I have to go with number three. |
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12:51pm Feb 23 2010
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Normal User
Posts: 1,009
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I LOVE IT!!!! You are amazing!!!!
"Monsters are real. Ghosts are too. They live inside us and sometimes they win." ~Stephen King |
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1:59pm Feb 23 2010
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Normal User
Posts: 1,009
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OMG, guess what? 14Brokenmirrors has an Ebilia named Larissa. LOL. Although she has her for 1mil
"Monsters are real. Ghosts are too. They live inside us and sometimes they win." ~Stephen King |
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6:18pm Feb 27 2010
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Normal User
Posts: 192
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Hey everyone! I juust want to let you guys know that I am completely rewriting everything I posted on here. I reread through everything, and it is just plain old sloppy and unplanned. The plot will not change, but I am going to try and make the writing more smooth sailing. Thanks and sorry :)
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5:07pm Feb 28 2010
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Normal User
Posts: 1,009
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Aw! Thats to bad, I really liked it so far!
"Monsters are real. Ghosts are too. They live inside us and sometimes they win." ~Stephen King |
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7:45pm Feb 28 2010
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Normal User
Posts: 54
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omg its SOOOOOO GOOOD JEN!!!
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7:42pm Mar 1 2010 (last edited on 3:28pm Mar 2 2010)
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Normal User
Posts: 192
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Hey guys! I rewrote chapter 1.... Changed it back to first person. Chapter 1 I placed my cheek on the kitchen table, my dark auburn hair gliding along the back of my neck. In the far distance of my concentration, I could hear the sound of pots and pans clattering in the kitchen where my mother, Denise, was frantically trying to prepare the perfect stuffing and mashed potatoes for my brother. The chicken was cooking leisurely in the roaster, but my interest, I could feel, was elsewhere. I tilted my head in every direction, staring at the faded front door as if waiting for it to do a trick. Mitchell had been late fifteen minutes ago. My mother had been unprepared twenty-five minutes ago. My mother had been stuck in traffic thirty minutes ago. I had been waiting impatiently forty-five minutes ago. This family, I thought, had been deformed a hundred years ago. The coffee maker, which was happily gurgling every dinner for the past seven years since my dad had decided to give a “Dinner With Coffee” specialty try, was sitting in it’s normal spot, next to the refrigeration, beside the worn out Mama’s Kitchen breadbox. I glared over at it, the stupid noise was giving me migraine. “Tonni,” my mother said, strings of her dark brown hair falling out of her loosely put ponytail. She had always looked like she belonged in high school; bright, energetic brown eyes, pin straight thick hair, not a single crease in the face and always looking thin. My brother and I had always secretly wondered where a guy like ourfather picked up a girl like our mom. “Are you really going to wear that for your brother’s arrival?” I looked down sheepishly at my worn out light jeans and oversized Marlington High School sweatshirt. I ran my hand over the navy blue fabric and neon yellow letters, tracing my fingers over the school symbol, a Bengal tiger it’s mouth opened painfully wide as it prepared to roar. “I like it,” I told her, still gazing over at the front door, “It’s comfortable. And come one, it’s Mitchell we’re talking about here. The guy whose only shirt designs are mustard stains and spaghetti sauce. I doubt he’ll care at all.” My mother slapped down the potholder on the corner of the stove and placed her hand on her hip. I would have known that gesture anywhere. It seemed like- it was- the absolute only thing my mother and I had in common. Everything about us was different. She was white and I was black. “You’re brother may not care,” she spoke slowly, as if speaking some foreign language, “But I do.” “It’s not you’re arrival, mom.” “Come on, Tonni, what about it me?” There it goes again. That one line. What about me? My mother had used that four worded phrase ever since I had turned fourteen, right when we started building a bridge of differences between us. It was the only thing that could bring me down, the only breakage in my decisions. And my mom knew that whenever she stated those simple words, she would win, no matter what. She loved it. I hated it. I mumbled a snobby “Whatever,” as I pushed myself out of the chair and trudged upstairs. Through the semi-circle window that stood against the wall in the middle of the stairs, I could see the headlights of my father’s red Mazda pulling up into the driveway. I sighed, not even slightly interested in my dad’s return home from road hell, and continued up into my room. I glanced at herself in the mirror and made a fake, cheesy smile, I knew she needed to save for my parents’ sake. It was our little “routine” as I liked to call it to my best friend, Taylor. Parents set up dinner. Parents ask daughter how day was. Daughter smiled sheepishly and pretend like the world was bright and colorful and complete perfection. Daughter would get too wry and parents would begin a scolding. Daughter would get angry. Mother would plant the famous line. Daughter would shut her mouth. |
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2:38pm Mar 2 2010
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Normal User
Posts: 1,009
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I mean- its great! Absolutly fantastic! However- I liked first person better. I seemed to be in the story more. I think you would be better off with first person. For this story at least. But, I really do love it! Maybe you can start adding on to the original story. You dont have to listen to me, (no one does anyway) but it might be better off.You can always be safe then sorry! :-)
"Monsters are real. Ghosts are too. They live inside us and sometimes they win." ~Stephen King |
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8:27pm Mar 9 2010
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Normal User
Posts: 192
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Hey guys. I'm probably not gonna post anything on here anymore. I'm too stubborn and have restarted this story over 6 times already. My writing is really dry and not impressivee (as shown above), so I just need to fix it.
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3:54pm Mar 15 2010
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Normal User
Posts: 192
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Hey guys, i rewrote my story 8 times, and I am not doing it again! Haha, I will post the beginning soon :)
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8:25pm Mar 21 2010
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Normal User
Posts: 192
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hello everyone! I am SO SO SO SO SO sorry i haven't posted! my idiot laptop decided it would be fun to shut down one night and hibernate for over a week. That little electrical piece of dirt. Well anyway, my laptop is currently still in hiding and my dad is going to try to fix it. I hope he does. If he can't, I probably will get a new laptop, but then all my writing would be completely and utterly gone :( Again, sorry! But this truly was not me slacking off by any means! |
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1:24pm Mar 27 2010
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Normal User
Posts: 192
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My laptop is fixed!! And all my stuff is saved!! That's the good news.... But the bad news is that microsoft word isn't installed yet so I can't work on my stories or post them yet :( My dad said he will install it as soon as possible |
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