Lipstick Answers

I am going to tell you right now I am no expert & please don’t be a jerk about what you think. Sorry if I make grammatical errors. I will love your comments because I am trying to get better at writing. This is only my first chapter so forgive me if it doesn’t make sense. I am using { that symbol because I am not sure how to do italics on here for thoughts.
Twilight settled atop of the rocky mountains giving the sky a purple hue. The earth let out a gentle sigh for the day was almost done; in the courtyard, red roses, yellow tulips, & other wild flowers waved to the sky. As the moon climbed the sky, frogs, crickets, & other creatures came out to fill the night with singing. A mosquito buzzed on by & landed on a black leather coat. Vergil flicked it off of his shoulder & back into the sky.
Patiently, Vergil waited for Saren, the leader of the Veronan army, who was supposed to give him some orders. Once again he looked down on to the town of Verona, its lights sliced through the night, however you could not hear its inhabitants. He walked over to the turlte fountain in the center of the courtyard.
{Damn, I am getting bored. Maybe it’s a good thing if Saren doesn’t show up, he is always giving me the crappy clean up jobs. Even if I am a spy I deserve better, after the morron considers me his best soldier.}
The gate flew open behind Vergil & it hit a statue. Saren stomped in with his black hair all over his pale face. “Ah, there you are!” Saren said with a low growl. “I need you to dispose of a demon for me.”
{Wow a real job, I wonder if this demon is just a fat hideous person. I will probably just ditch this place if it is.}
Saren reached into his black pants & handed Vergil a piece of paper, “This is the address where the thing lives & it goes by the name of Eve. It may seem harmless, but it is pretty vicious & needs to be taken care of before it kills.”
{Yes Sherlock I am going to have a cup of tea with this demon. I should do the world a favor & just get rid of him here & now.}
“Are you up to it,” Saren asked, as if there were another option.
“Yes, Sir,” Vergil replied. Quickly he left before he could change his mind about killing Saren. “That would be an intresting match, that half god, more like demon, & against my half demon self,” Vergil laughed to himself.
“Where is Eve?” Dave, the singer of Krotch Rockets, yelled from atop of the small stage in Eve’s livingroom.
Eve stopped talking to one of her friends & suddenly got up to go to the kitchen because she knew Dave was going to sing.
“Sarah get her! She is making a run for it,” Jeff siad after grabbing the mike from Dave. The kitchen door came open & Sarah stood there with crossed arms & a silly scowl behind her brown hair.
“ha what are you going to do tickle me?” Eve mocked tossing back her strawberry blonde pig tails.
“No I am going to bribe you!” she smiled holding up a bar.
“What is that?” Eve sniffed.
“It is chocolate, but not just any chocolate it has a little rum in it since you are twenty one,” Sarah grinned holding the bar high above her head.
“I will bite your arm off if you don’t hand it over!” Eve demanded & followed Sarah through her twenty gusts up to the stage. “Okay, I am here, now give it.”
“You really are pathetic,” Sarah laughed.
“Song first,” Dave teased. Even though Eve was dressed pretty cool with her black & red plaid skirt, black tank top, & combat boots, she still managed to get hot. Her cheeks even felt hot as tehy sung to her. Sarah did not sing, instead she laughed at the fact that Eve was as read as the lipstick she was wearing.
“Mine!” Eve lunged at the bar & clung it to her chest.
When she tried to sneak off stage Jeff pulled her back, “You can’t go yet.” He handed up a giant green box.
‘Alright, I’ll stay as long as you don’t sing to me again.” Most of Eve’s gifts were alcoholic or some cool CDs & afterward most of her friends left because they had some exams tomorrow for some college class. Today it was May fifteen so it wasn’t quite summer & Eve didn’t finish her sophmore year until June. For a while Sarah & Eve chatted on the porch about anything & everything until Eve began to grow weary. “Well I need ot hit the sack,” Eve yawned.
“What, don’t be such a pansy,” Sarah said.
“I may be a pansy, but you my friend are an elder berry,” she laughed back.
“You win this time. Well I will see you later,” Sarah replied & before she left she had to get the last joke in. “Oh & I ordered you a couple of male strippers.”
“They better not be fat.”
“Of course not, they are fat & ugly.”
“Goodnight.”
Wen Eve got inside, she began to pick up the plastic cups that were al over the counter. It is a good thing her friends weren’t total animals when it came to parties. As Eve went to pick up the last bit

im just going to give you some bits to read, not a whole chapter. i tried copy & pasting about a page & a half of four different parts before, & only the first & half of the second part came out. lol didnt know there was a limit to how much u cud write for ur question.
anyway, be brutal.
okay, here goes:
BIT #1…
At the door, Mabel pulled a ring of keys out from under her doormat & fumbled around with them until finally opening the door. Molly got off of Mabel once inside the house & made herself comfortable on the couch. Mabel locked the door once more.
“Is it really necessary to lock the door?”
“We wouldn’t want you running away, now would we?” a rough male voice spoke.
Molly whipped around to see a man dressed in all black staring at her malevolently. A cruel smile was on his wolf-like features. His teeth were sharp & pointy like an animal’s, & his irises were black. A cloak bathed most of his face in shadow, making him all the more wicked.
“Don’t be scared pumpkin. We don’t bite.” He flashed his wolf smile at her. The pointy teeth were mocking & deadly all at once.
“At least not now, anyway. Traebon wants you in one piece, & it wouldn’t go down too well if we disobeyed.” Another man appeared beside the first one. He had brown stubble, unlike the first man, who was clean-shaven. Molly noticed for the first time that there were not two pairs of onyx eyes staring at her; there were six, each scattered in corners of the room. Up until now, Molly had not noticed them.
“What’s the matter? Dog got your tongue?”
Molly was too frozen with fear to tell him that it was ‘cat’, not ‘dog’.
“Come on, get up. Traebon needs us back by dawn tomorrow.” The first man prodded her forcefully; she stumbled backwards into the coffee table.
Mustering up all her courage, Molly asked, “Who are you?”
“Does it really matter?”
“It does if you want me to come with you.”
The first man chuckled. “Feisty, aren’t you? Look, I hate to burst your bubble, but you’re coming with us whether you like it or not. We could take you forcefully, or you could come along nice & easy.”
“I want to know who you are.” Molly insisted. “If you’re going to kidnap me, you might as well introduce yourselves.”
“Just shove her in the sack & get it over with, Damien!” a female growled from a corner. Molly turned to see a pin straight bleached blonde woman sitting around the kitchen table. Another man sat next to her, hand on her knee. She was dressed the same as everyone else, with the exception of red lipstick covering her full lips.
“I’m sorry, Hollie, did Traebon make you the leader of this mission?”
Hollie said nothing, but glared warningly at him
BIT #2…
Life in the castle was slow & uneventful for Molly. The first few days were horrible. Since she was not allowed outside of her room, Molly would sit in a corner, body facing the wall, sobbing as quietly as she could manage. Zoe hadn’t said anything. In fact, there had been no complaint from Zoe. Molly almost thought they had released her, or given her another room away from Molly. But when she turned around, she saw Zoe seated at the desk, scribbling on some paper. Then she would face the wall once more & continue crying.
Molly cried for a number of reasons. She cried because of hysteria, & she cried because she missed her old life. She cried because her parents had made her move into Eureka. She also cried because she knew, from the bottom of her fearful heart, that at any moment of the day Damien could kick the door open & tell her that Traebon had finally decided what to do with her. But mostly, she cried because she was just plain sad.
That was how the first days were. Nothing special. Just tears from Molly, & a lot of writing from Zoe. But soon, Molly realized that no one would be coming to get her anytime soon. She fell into a pattern. She would sleep through breakfast, which came at nine, & wake around lunch. A servant would come in with a silver tray of food & take away the empty breakfast tray that Zoe devoured alone every morning. After lunch someone would fetch them for some activity outside. There would be several guards watching from the shadows, not to mention the dozens of red eyes peering at her from the bushes. Molly found ways to entertain herself, either by sunbathing or writing poems under the shade of the trees.
After a couple of hours outside, the leading guard would hustle them back to their rooms. Molly & Zoe would have fifteen minutes to freshen up before going down the stone steps to eat dinner with Traebon & his best men.
it probably makes no sense. just read it, rate it 1/10, tell me how interesting it sounds, & what the problems were. everything is subject to change, as any writing should be until it gets published. if it helps, my story is a fantasy.
anyway, thanks in advance for all of ur support! when i get it published, im definitely mentioning yahoo answers in my acknowledgeme

1.
I brushed my teeth, sleepily, & rinsed my mouth. I put the brush back in its place, & splashed water on my face & forced my eyes open.
****. Another pimple had developed over night on my forehead. I rubbed the spot, making the pimple red.
Shuddering with the scary thought of the pimple, I left the bathroom, & headed up to my room. I went into my closet, & brought out my outfit of the day: a white semi-transparent cotton shirt, & a pair of black skinny jeans.
I matched it with red lipstick, & eyeliner & long lash mascara. My black bra showed through my lacy white shirt. Perfect! That should get all the hot guys’ attentions.
I went down to breakfast, after finishing the look with a purple Gucci tote. I tossed it on the sofa, & sat down at the dining table, where my step mother, Janice, was buttering a toast. She eyed me disdainfully.
“What are you wearing, Sarah”?” she asked, pointing the butter knife at me.
I looked down at myself. “What’s wrong with it?”
She looked at me as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the whole world. “Your black bra is showing through your white shirt!” she pointed out. “Can you please sober up a bit?”
I rolled my eyes. “Come on, Janice!” I said. “Get with it. This is in the vogue right now.”
Janice took a deep breath. Then she said, “I wish you would stop dressing like a total skank.” The last part came out as a whisper, but I caught it with my sharp ears, anyway.
“And I wish you would stop butting in my life, & keep out.” I tried to keep the words sugar coated, of course, but it was simply impossible to keep the hatred for her off my voice.
She was worse than an evil stepmother you read about in fairy tales. Because she was not exactly evil. She was somewhat annoying, & would never stop advising me about the way I dress. And I could never eat breakfast in peace until I dressed like Virgin Mary.
“You need to listen to Janice,” said my dad.
Did I mention the part where my dad butts in? The only solution now is that I carry my bowl of cereal to the backyard & eat in the company of our dim witted Labrador, Dolce, whom I really have a hard time to keep away from sniffing my bowl. I have to scream really loud at him before he would back off.
Then I picked up the bowl & headed off the backyard as per my usual routine. Kirsten & Mark, my eight year old step siblings were arguing, or rather screaming, about the channel dad had tuned the TV to. Mark yelled in my ear, “HBO!”
“Back off!” I snarled, & exited the room for some peace of mind.
I sat down on the porch steps, & ate my cornflakes. When I was finished, I dumped the bowl in the kitchen sink for the maid to clean it later on.
Then I grabbed my tote & twenty five dollars of allowance of the day. I took my red Mercedes Benz SL-Class keys & went into the garage. The four cars stood in a line.
I got into my Merc, & revved. I nearly hit the lamp post near the house, but I seldom cared, as this is the way I always drive, & have been driving for three years now. Until now, the lamp post has not suffered any kind of injury at all.
I drove to my school – St. Stephen’s Academy. I got a parking spot, & parked my car there.
I hoisted the tote on my shoulder, & walked up the huge stone steps. The school was one of the best in the whole of Miami.
I went over to my locker. The next locker to mine belonged to my best friend, Jessica Masterson. She was there, reading something.
I sneaked over to her, & said in her ear, “Boo!”
As usual, she just gave me her bored look, & told me to stop yelling every time I saw her, because it did not affect her at all.
“What are you reading?” I snatched the paper out of her hands. It was covered in pink little hearts. Sick, I tell you.
Jessica was a lesbian. But thankfully, she never, ever tried anything sexual with me, though I doubt she does not have any feelings about me. Yuck! She knew I was totally heterosexual.
“Ooh!” I teased her. “Love letter!”
The letter was from Sophia Burton, another notorious lesbo. I handed back it back to Jess. I could not read it much, on account the writing was overlapped with pink crayon.
“Thrilling, isn’t it?” Jess said dryly. “God, it was just one kiss. She wants to sleep with me already! Can you please explain me why? She’s not even very good looking!”
I don’t understand the chemistry between homosexuals, so I was the last person to know the reason why Sophia wanted to **** my best friend. Go ask a homosexual, I wanted to say.
“I am throwing a sleepover,” she said, tearing the letter. “It’s on for tonight. Lots of girls. You’re on the top of my list, of course. Don’t worry, most of the girls have their own boyfriends.”
I laughed. “I’ll come – even if it was an all lesbo party. But would have just made it sure that I would be sleeping in another room, of course.”
“So, see ya tonight,” Jess said. “And wear those pink pyjamas, please! I love them.”

The Happy Hangover
Jack wakes up with a huge hangover after attending his company’s Christmas Party. Jack is not normally a drinker, but the drinks didn’t taste like alcohol at all. He didn’t even remember how he got home from the party. As bad as he was feeling, he wondered if he did something wrong.
Jack had to force himself to open his eyes, & the first thing he sees is a couple of aspirins next to a glass of water on the side table. And, next to them, a single red rose! Jack sits up & sees his clothing in front of him, all clean & pressed. He looks around the room & sees that it is in perfect order, spotlessly clean. So is the rest of the house.
He takes the aspirins, cringes when he sees a huge black eye staring back at him in the bathroom mirror. Then he notices a note hanging on the corner of the mirror written in red with little hearts on it & a kiss mark from his wife in lipstick: “Honey, breakfast is on the stove, I left early to get groceries to make your favorite dinner tonight. I love you, darling! Love, Jillian”
He stumbles into the kitchen & sure enough, there is a hot breakfast, steaming hot coffee, & the morning newspaper all waiting for him. His son is also at the table, eating. Jack asks, “Son… what happened last night?”
“Well, you came home after 3 in the morning, drunk & out of your mind. You fell over the coffee table & broke it, & then you puked in the hallway, & got that black eye when you ran into the door.”
Confused, he asked his son, “So, why is everything in such perfect order & so clean? I have a rose, & breakfast is on the table waiting for me?”
His son replies, “Oh THAT! Well, Mom dragged you to the bedroom, & when she tried to take your pants off, you screamed,’Leave me alone, I’m married!’”

“so i saw this movie on tv the other night.” i was telling my best friend Topanga, who was untangling her short, layered redish brown hair out of the chain of her new hello kitty necklace. “i only watched the first 10 min. of it though. it was incredibly stupid.” Topanga didnt look up but she answered back “i saw a movie too. made me hate my life more than i already do.” i stared, watching her so concentrated on that dang necklace. so i began to talk again “yeah, the movie made me feel the same wa…” “i hate movie’s that have that perfect family, & how they get along! its so unrealistic, makes you feel like crap! pointing out the flaws in your family, like you didnt know how screwed up your own life is already!! gah! stupid hair, get out!!” she interupted. i watched in silence thinking over her words carefully. for once she’s right. that doesnt happen very often, so i’ll ignoledge her later for it.
you see, the movie we’re talking about beggins like this.
the movie starts with the chirping of birds, happy music, & the sound of happy laughter from afar. then it zero’s in on one house, one family, to one person, each second, in different rooms. the house is nicer than the rest, the family is proper & cheerful, & each room is spotless.
the mother. dressed in a pink patterned blue flowered dress that goes down to the ground, covering her mathcing heels, with the off white frilly apron around her waist. hair has a perm, with each blonde curl in place,just above the shoulder, with hair spray. hardly any eye makeup but with hot pink lipstick, & the only jewelry she’s wearing is her white pearl earings, matching pearl necklace & that 18 carrot diamond ring on her left hand. happily cooking away, making no mess what so ever.
2 children. every happy family has a boy & a girl, & to top it all off, a well trained puppy. the son & daughter are wearing matching blue & pink short sleeved shirts & navy blue shorts. playing nicely together outside in the front yard with their golden retriever puppy.
the happy go lucky father. black hair trimed nicely to match his shoes. he gets up, puts his tan suit on, then puts that silky red tie on, that he just got for fathers day, grabs his dark brown suit case & dances down the stairs while whistling his own theme song. dances into the kitchen, almost bumping into his wife with a hot pan in her hands, they kiss, laugh it off, grabs some coffee then he’s back dancing & whistling to the front door. he dances out side, gets hit with the ball his kids threw, looks at the stain on his new silky red tie, smiles, gets in his car & drives to work. as he gets to work, he’s still dancing & whistling, everyone waves ‘hi’ to him, the stain on his silky red tie is mysterously gone, does what he does, then drives home. he comes home with energy, & yep, still dancing & whistling, eats a four course meal with his perfect wife, perfect children, & perfect dog. nothing in his world is going to crash. but if it does, he still will think of the brighter side, & will still be dancing & whistling to his own theme song.
its people like him & movies like this, that put others to shame. this si the real world! if there was any body like that guy, garuntee, he would be shot. people escape reality with music, movies as crappy as that one, books, video games, etc…. but when you actually sit down & talk about your reality with others & listen to where their coming from, everyone thinks the same “i hav it worse” or “noone understands my situation until it happens to them” or even sometimes “glad i’m not that guy” but what we dont get is how to use our stories & others as a learning tool for our own advantages. my life is not like that movie, i’ll try to explain.
my days dont start out with chirping birds, happy music, nor happy laughter from afar. my house isnt the nices from the rest, my family is not proper & far from cheerful, & each room has its own personality that matches the brown, non-vacummed, stained carpet.
my mother. dresses in what she pleases, from sweat pannts & a holey shirt, to a long solid colored dress. hair is not styled, with the exception of her bangs that she’s had since, she could remember. each short grey hair matching her personality, as of now, only grows to the shoulder length with the rest of her dark colored dyed hair. always wearing that diamond necklace from her first husband, never wears a wedding ring, since she is divorced twice. but to tell you the truth, her third time, will NOT be a charmer. stopped cooking & goes to work then comes home argueing till she goes to bed early.
5 children. she should have thought this through. 4 boys & one girl. the 2 oldest live on their own, happily married, with the oldest having a baby. the other 3, live in the house. we wear what we please, from long jean pants, to our basketball shorts. we do not play nicely & niether does our wild hardly trained puppy.
my father. wasnt there, didnt care. my past & history not my present or future

This is my beginning of my story. It’s not my real name it is all fictional but any tips or comments would be appreciated Thanks all!
Adrenaline races through my body as the blade neatly slices through my light coffee colored skin, blood rushing to the scene of my committed crime. This hasn’t been the first time I’ve committed this offense, I can’t remember the first time I did it. The only thing I remember is how relaxed it made me feel as I watched my very own blood trickle down my arm, creating a sensation that nobody but us, self injurers would ever understand. After two more cuts, I stop for a moment admiring my artwork or my “real” tattoos as I call them. A few silent moments have now passed & the blood has subsided. I feel so much better now, like a strong release of emotions have been set free my body.
Metaphorically, my body is a prison. Emotions & I are the prisoners trapped within my body, I being punished for a crime that I did not commit. Nor do I even know what it is. My emotions have just been released from this body, the only way that I knew how.
After I wash the blade & put it away I silently pull my black colored long-sleeved arms down. Letting them hide my shameful secret, a secret that only I, Amber Loraine Dawson am supposed to know. After doing so, I unlock my bathroom door & slip back into the real world.
As I walk into the kitchen I notice that the whole family has sat down to breakfast. Melanie, my little sister is carefully spreading peanut butter on her toast, making sure to get every inch covered without getting her fingers messy. Dad is sitting quietly reading the newspaper & drinking his coffee. He is wearing his suit & tie that was just washed & ironed yesterday. Today he’s going to court to defend his clients. This is his job as a lawyer, trying to stand up for people thought to have committed crimes, so that day by day there will be one or two fewer criminals to be served a lengthy sentence. And mom is painting an easel. Blue skies, Green grass… yadda, yadda, yadda, a perfect world. Looking at my family for a moment it seems like the three of them would make a perfect family. The second I walk in, the perfect family is gone & chaos takes over.
“Amber go change into something different.” Mom says to me “I will not let you go to school dressed like that” I stop pouring my juice & look up at my mom. My brown eyes looking her straight in the eyes “Like what?” I dare, testing to see how far she will let me go before giving me a well deserved smack across the face. I know very well what she means. The black eye liner, the dark plum colored lipstick, the dark clothes & the black nail polish that I so neatly applied to my fingernails. “Amber you are dressed like a goth. Your mother & I will not accept that. We don’t like that look on anyone, especially our sixteen year old child.” My dad tries reason. Well mom & dad welcome to the real world it isn’t all sunshine & roses anymore I want to scream. I refuse to let my parents win this one. Without even bothering to put the cap back on the juice or put it away, I grab my schoolbooks off of the table, put on my Chuck Taylor Converse shoes & walk out the door making sure it slams loudly behind me. This is my reply to my parent’s response. You don’t have to accept it, I think to myself, nobody does.

Adrenaline races through my body as the blade neatly slices through my light coffee colored skin, blood rushing to the scene of my committed crime. This hasn’t been the first time I’ve committed this offense, I can’t remember the first time I did it. The only thing I remember is how relaxed it made me feel as I watched my very own blood trickle down my arm, creating a sensation that nobody but us, self injurers would ever understand. After two more cuts, I stop for a moment admiring my artwork or my “real” tattoos as I call them. A few silent moments have now passed & the blood has subsided. I feel so much better now, like a strong release of emotions have been set free my body.
Metaphorically, my body is a prison. Emotions & I are the prisoners trapped within my body, I being punished for a crime that I did not commit. Nor do I even know what it is. My emotions have just been released from this body, the only way that I knew how.
After I wash the blade & put it away I silently pull my black colored long-sleeved arms down. Letting them hide my shameful secret, a secret that only I, Amber Loraine Dawson am supposed to know. After doing so, I unlock my bathroom door & slip back into the real world.
As I walk into the kitchen I notice that the whole family has sat down to breakfast. Melanie, my little sister is carefully spreading peanut butter on her toast, making sure to get every inch covered without getting her fingers messy. Dad is sitting quietly reading the newspaper & drinking his coffee. He is wearing his suit & tie that was just washed & ironed yesterday. Today he’s going to court to defend his clients. This is his job as a lawyer, trying to stand up for people thought to have committed crimes, so that day by day there will be one or two fewer criminals to be served a lengthy sentence. And mom is painting an easel. Blue skies, Green grass… yadda, yadda, yadda, a perfect world. Looking at my family for a moment it seems like the three of them would make a perfect family. The second I walk in, the perfect family is gone & chaos takes over.
“Amber go change into something different.” Mom says to me “I will not let you go to school dressed like that” I stop pouring my juice & look up at my mom. My brown eyes looking her straight in the eyes “Like what?” I dare, testing to see how far she will let me go before giving me a well deserved smack across the face. I know very well what she means. The black eye liner, the dark plum colored lipstick, the dark clothes & the black nail polish that I so neatly applied to my fingernails. “Amber don’t get smart, you are dressed like a goth. Your mother & I will not accept that. We don’t like that look on anyone, especially our sixteen year old child.” dad tries reason. Well mom & dad welcome to the real world it isn’t all sunshine & roses anymore I want to scream. I refuse to let my parents win this one. Without even bothering to put the cap back on the juice or put it away, I grab my schoolbooks off of the table, put on my Chuck Taylor Converse shoes & walk out the door making sure it slams loudly behind me. This is my reply to my parent’s response. You don’t have to accept it, I think to myself, nobody does.

It’s sort of based on my life. Sort of. Bear in mind i’m on my mum’s yahoo & I’m only 10 years old.
I glared out of my bedroom window. The day was cold, dull with rain. Just how I like it, I thought to myself. I glanced out the window for a last few seconds then tumbled onto my bed & shoved twilight into the DVD player-quickly but carefully, as I had done this so many times I could do it with one hand & blindfolded. I settled into the film, mouthing every word, just like I had done the other 50 times I’d seen it. When the film finished, I took the disc from the player & put it back in it’s case. I was obsessed with twilight, & in love with one of it’s main characters-Edward Cullen. I stared at the DVD case with his unbelievebly perfect face on & stroked it carefully. I sighed, as I would never get to do this in real life. I sighed again & made my way downstairs.
“Morning, Mum,” I yawned.
“Morning, hun, nice sleep? Nice twilight screening? Again?” She replied. I laughed, & nodded. Same routine. Every morning..I laughed again-this time to myself. I sighed deeply & shrugged my shoulders. Walking over to the 5 1/2 ft long mirror, I grimaced at the horrible reflection of myself. Too tanned. Hair a horrible ash blonde. Of course, my hair was a normal blonde to everybody else,perfectly normal. But to me, it was just…eurgh. I so wanted my hair like Alice-(Edward Cullen’s foster sister)-It was a reddish dark brown colour, gelled & cut into a short pixie spikey look. I groaned at my 14 year old self. Obviously, my Mum heard.
“Lauren, would you stop looking at yourself like you are a pile of dirt that nobody wants to clean up. You are perfectly fine, & you know that!”
“Mm.” I replied. Of course I wanted to turn around & scream at her, ‘I am surely NOT perfectly fine, do I look like a vampire to you?!’ But, I knew I was better than that, so I slumped to the bathroom & brushed my teeth. I hopped in the shower, & when I was dry, I popped on some plain white underwear & opened one of my draws. I grabbed one of the three bottles of sunblock & plastered it all over my face & body. I know, it was raining outside, but sunrays still get through & there was no way I was getting a tan. Once it was dry, I padded white shimmer face powder all over every single part of my body. I took the twilight soundtrack & put it into my cd player, & started singing along with it. As I was doing so, I rummaged through my closet for my Alice Cullen outfit. I’d spent weeks down the town centre trying to find one just like Alice’s, & I would not give up. I’d finally found one, & that was the one I want to wear. “Aha.” I whispered, & laid a slate grey/silvery coloured dress on my bed. I pulled out the matching darker grey long sleeved shrug & also put it on the bed. I pulled down the built in ironing board from my wall & turned the iron on & started ironing. When I’d finished, I put it all back away & I slipped the dress over my head & stroked it down. I got closer to my mirror & applied a minimum amount of mascara, then smoothly put on my blood red lipstick. I brushed my just under the shoulder length hair & tonged my hair so it went slightly wavy. Thats my daily look done. I laid on my bed, relaxing listening to The River Flows In You- Yiruma when the buzzing & loud noise of my phone startled me. I ran to my cd player & turned the volume down so it was just a background noise. I answered my phone & laid on my belly on my bed.
“Hello?” I asked.
“Hi Lauren,” The caller said. I immediately recognized her voice-My best friend Lizzie.
“Oh, hi Lizzie,” I replied.
“Hey, do you wanna come round? I’m having a sleepover tonight with a few mates from school. I was thinking you could come round now & help me set up?”
“I’ll ask now, 2 seconds” I replied. “Mum!! Can I sleep at Lizzies & go round there now?!” There was silence for a few seconds.
“Yeah, course, get your stuff ready!” Mum answered.
“Yeah I’m allowed. I’ll just pack my stuff & I will be on my way,” I said in a normal volume to Lizzie.
“Great, I’ll see you in a min!”
“Bye,”
“Bye!”
I fumbled around in my closet to find pyjamas & jeans & a top. This is OK, I thought, & slung all of it in a bag. I picked up my makeup, sunblock, tongs & a toothbrush & put them all in there too. I shoved my phone in my pocket & skipped downstairs.

A man who smelled like a distillery flopped on a subway seat next to a priest. The man’s tie was stained, his face was plastered with red lipstick, & half empty bottle of gin was sticking out of his torn coat pocket. He opened his newpaper & began reading. After a few minutes, the disheveled guy turned to the priest & asked. ” Say, father, what causes arthritis?”
” Mister, it’s caused by loose living, being with cheap, wicked women, too much alcohol & a contempt for your fellow man.”
” Well I’ll be.” the drunk murmured, returned to his paper.
The priest, thinking about what he had said, nudged the man & apologized. ” I’m very sorry, I didn’t mean to come so strong. How long have had arthritis?”
” I don’t have it father, I was just reading here that the Pope does.”

The party was totally fab. Nearly three hundred of us graduating seniors, plus everyone’s plus one. Guys in fancy suits & shiny shoes stayed near the bar, ordering virgin margaritas, & later spiking them with vodka. Girls in thousands of dollars worth of couture danced tipsily on the huge dance floor. I was in the centre of the girls, dancing with my best friend, Belle, & my boyfriend, Nate. Until they left me alone on the dance floor.
Dehydrated, I left the dance floor, looking for Belle & Nate. I headed toward a dark corner near the restrooms, fully intentding to redo my lipstick & leave. I trip over two entangled bodies, & found them to be Belle & Nate. Angry, I took my lipstick from my red quilted Chanel clutch, & applied it as I stormed out of the hotels grand ballroom.
I wasn’t even drunk. Not even near slightly tipsy. Even so, on my way home from that party, I died.

Jack wakes up with a huge hangover after attending his company’s Christmas Party.
Jack is not normally a drinker, but the drinks didn’t taste like alcohol at all. He didn’t even remember how he got home from the party. As bad as he was feeling, he wondered if he did something wrong.
Jack had to force himself to open his eyes, & the first thing he sees is a couple of aspirins next to a glass of water on the side table. And, next to them, a single red rose!
Jack sits up & sees his clothing in front of him, all clean & pressed.
He looks around the room & sees that it is in perfect order, spotlessly clean. So is the rest of the house.
He takes the aspirins, cringes when he sees a huge black eye staring back at ! him in the bathroom mirror.
Then he notices a note hanging on the corner of the mirror written in red with little hearts on it & a kiss mark from his wife in lipstick:
“Honey, breakfast is on the stove, I left early to get groceries to make you your favorite dinner tonight. I love you, darling! Love, Jillian”
He stumbles to the kitchen & sure enough, there is hot breakfast, steaming hot coffee & the morning newspaper. His son is also at the table, eating.
Jack asks, “Son… what happened last night?”
“Well, you came home after 3 A.M. , drunk & out of your mind. You fell over the coffee table & broke it, & then you puked in the hallway, & got that black eye when you ran into the door.”
Confused, he asked his son, “So, why is everything in such perfect order & so clean? I have a rose, & breakfast is on the table waiting for me?”
His son replies, “Oh THAT!… Mom dragged you to the bedroom, & when she tried to take your pants off, you screamed, “Leave me alone, I’m married!!”
Broken Coffee Table $239.99
Hot Breakfast $4.20
Two Aspirins $.38
Saying the right thing, at the right time . . PRICELESS…!!!

So, I’ve picked a randon page out of my story, & put it up here. Please don’t criticize my grammer & spelling, I know that there are mistakes. Tell me what you DO like, as well as the parts you really don’t. THANKS!!
“I’m not sure how to describe her. You know the nursery rhyme about Little Bo Peep?”
“Um, Yeah.”
The doors reopened. “That’s my mom, minus the spider.”
Leo raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
We got to my apartment quickly; it wasn’t far from the agency. Nyx had been right about the rain. Every drop of water that touched my skin sent a tingle down my spine & sureness to my step. Leo wanted to take the elevator but I convinced him that the fire escape was a better idea; I couldn’t handle seeing Joseph as sweet as he was.
“We could’ve flown.” He grumbled, when I accidentally kicked him in the face. Eventually we reached the top platform & I hoisted myself through the bathroom window. Leo followed, but made way too much noise.
I heard my Isadora’s voice hesitantly call out, “Julie?”
I took a deep breath & opened my bathroom door, then my bedroom door. I’d expected to see her, wearing her usual red lipstick & Chanel suit but what I found almost made me scream. She was makeup free & wearing a nightgown. She had a black eye & her hands were tied behind her back. There were two men standing above her, one of them was pointing a Glok at her.
“I’m here.” I said, working hard to keep my voice even.
Tears streaked her face.
The man turned to me, the gun with him. His face was brutal & scarred. He was muscular & boxy, not much taller than Leo.
“The infamous Julie Blacktree.”
“Wrong, Clio Proud.”
I pulled my knife out. I wasn’t afraid of his gun.
I heard Leo’s knife come out of his scabbard, which made me feel better.
The man just laughed. “I don’t take kindly to one of my men being killed. My mind flashed to Felix O’Tay.
“He deserved what he got.”
The man laughed, a sickening sound. “Did he insult the little brat? Did the big scary man hurt your feelings?”
I took three steps forward, inches from him.
“I’m not afraid of you. I wasn’t afraid of that imbecile either.”
He slapped me hard across the face. Isadora gasped. I’d never give him the satisfaction of showing my pain. I just laughed. “Do it again. I dare you, see if I care.”
He tried to but I ducked low, stabbing his foot.
“Leo, now!” I yelled.
The man I’d stabbed started swearing quite loudly while Leo stabbed the other guy in the chest. He fell instantly like a toy solider. The man shot me. It hit me right where my heart was & it felt like someone flicking me. The man stared at me in shock. I grinned & pounced, my sword tip was inches away from his heart when I heard his gun fire again. I knew I had to kill him first. I pushed it deep into his heart & twisted. He fell, grasping for it. I turned quickly. Leo was still standing. Isadora! I ran to her & heard her whisper, “Julie!”
I held her hand tight. Scarlet blood was spreading from a wound in her left shoulder.
“I’m here, I’m here.” I said softly. I could see a light fading from behind her eyes.
She opened her mouth but no sound came out, just a trickle of blood. I could see her lips mouth the words “I’m sorry.” Then her eyes fixed on mine & her fingers went limp in my hand.
“No!” I yelled. The tears were coming fast. Pouring down my cheeks. I hugged her tight but as I did she began to fade, turning to air. Where she had been there was a pearl necklace that she always slept in. I felt Leo crouch by my side & I tried to wipe away the tears but they kept on coming.
“It’s ok to cry.” He said quietly.
I tried to find my voice while forcing the tears back.
“No. I’m not weak.”
“No you’re not.”
“Only the weak cry.” I whispered, snatching the pearls up & latching them around my neck. They felt warm against my collarbone. The heat of her life was still in them, even though it had disappeared in her. I ran through my bed & bathroom, hopping back onto the ledge. There was a railing around the platform & I climbed onto it. I stood perfectly still, the rain beating down against my face. Leo climbed out & joined me. We stood there, balancing on our heels. I held my sword up, letting the rain wash away the man’s blood. I heard Leo say my name but it was far away. It was all way too far away to think about. I let a strangled sob escape from my lips & I jumped.

When Michael woke up, his alluring wife, Elisa, was already in the Nautical galley, cooking his breakfast. When he walked in the scullery, wearing simply a pair of red boxers, she smiled politely & placed a layer before him, on the kitchen listing. ‘‘Eggs,’’ Michael said rudely. ‘‘Eggs. I had eggs for breakfast yesterday morning, Elisa. And the morning before. And the morning before. Is it unsuitable for you to cook something that isn’t eggs?’’ ‘‘Well, I…’’ She stuttered. Michael grabbed the face & threw it against the fence. He then grabbed Elisa’s arm & threw the frail lady on the floor, next to their cat’s edibles bowl. He ran upstairs, whilst his helpmeet, with blood in her gob, managed to get up. A few minutes later, he ran back downstairs, wearing his house suit, & leftist without saying goodbye. Elisa cried as the man she loved so dear left. ‘‘Oh, Katherine,’’ Elisa heard herself say, as their trifling, orange cat came out of the area running. ‘‘You are my only adherent.’’
-
It was nearly twelve o’clock noon & Elisa was sitting in the Nautical galley, staring at the chalk-white wall. She could still soup the blood in her gateway, since she felt too depressed to go con her teeth. What will I do? She asked herself, crying. Michael was always hurting her. And it was outmoded to make him pay. But how could she? She touched her desire. After all, she was carrying their nipper. And Michael didn’t distinguish it yet. I have to steal some well-to-do, Elisa trifle. What is keeping me here? All I have are my thoughts. My many thoughts. She intern her eyes & for a assist, a brief, gruff second, she was twenty years in the whilom. Norway. Iceland. Sweden. Maryland. Portion her neighbour set her Christmas tree. Treatise glasses. Losing her virginity to a Danish man. She smiled. I have my youth, too. Perhaps it will be a little young lady. She had always wanted a hardly any girl. Or a boy. She remembered her nephew. He had died a few years earlier.
-
She ran up the stairs & grabbed a hanger. I cannot keep the indulge, she thought. It’s… It’s Michael’s. She had cogitation about it all afternoon. It’s too much. I don’t scarceness to be associated to Michael anymore. I am leaving. I am affluent to my mother’s. She ran downstairs, holding the wire hanger. It’s habits. She opened her legs & shoved it interior her vagina, shaking it. The tribulation was unbearable. She was screaming. ‘‘Oh, God!’’ The neighbours heard her bemoan many times. All of a sudden, she pulled the wire hanger out & something was seconded to it. She felt a zip on her cheek. It was Michael’s babe in arms. Michael’s issue. Michael’s blood & his genes. Thankfully it was disused now. She placed it on the larder table, sat down before it, & watched it carefully, as though she was waiting for it to move. She touched it gently with her fingers. She smiled. Michael doesn’t like the meals I cook up him, she thought. Let’s see if he likes that.
-
When Michael walked in the lineage later that day, he smelled a rather odd scent, one he had never smelled before. What on Dirt, he thought. Elisa was wearing a prolonged, black accoutre & her hair was curled. She was wearing red lipstick & yellow stilettos. ‘‘Salutary evening, Michael,’’ she said. ‘‘Sit down.’’ She placed a portion before him, smiling. Oh, she deliberating, if only he knew it’s his own newborn… She tried not to mock at. She sat down in front of him, on a chair, the Nautical galley table between them. ‘‘Aren’t you active to eat?’’ Michael asked. ‘‘I already ate,’’ Elisa said. He took a gnaw. ‘‘This is delectable,’’ he exclaimed. ‘‘What is it?’’ ‘‘Veal,’’ she replied dryly, slowly slipping her foot out of her stiletto. It went up Michael’s leg, touched his thigh, & his create, large penis, which she started, using the tip of her toes, massaging. He started smiling. ‘‘Are you teasing me?’’ He asked. ‘‘Why, yes, I am, Michael,’’ she replied. Michael in a flash grabbed the scullery table & threw it against the bulkhead; the meal she had spout most of the afternoon cooking splashed all over the larder floor. He jumped on her. She hew down off her chair. Like two animals, they started making disposition. Screaming & yelling & penetrating each other. Elisa moaned with gratification as Michael’s thickset lips found her tyrannical nipples. For a few minutes, they made honey. Once it was over, they stayed on the conquer, Michael’s immense arms around Elisa’s neck. ‘‘Intermission,’’ she said. She slowly crawled at the other end of the scullery & picked up, with her eat one’s heart out fingers, the particular course of Michael’s dish. ‘‘Start the ball rolling your mouth,’’ she said. He obeyed. She placed his newborn on his tongue. ‘‘Swallow it,’’ she whispered. Once again, he obeyed.
-
The next morning, Elisa bursting her stuff & red before Michael woke up. He never knew he had, the round-the-clock before, eaten his own son.

When Michael woke up, his alluring wife, Elisa, was already in the Nautical galley, cooking his breakfast. When he walked in the scullery, wearing simply a pair of red boxers, she smiled politely & placed a layer before him, on the kitchen listing. ‘‘Eggs,’’ Michael said rudely. ‘‘Eggs. I had eggs for breakfast yesterday morning, Elisa. And the morning before. And the morning before. Is it unsuitable for you to cook something that isn’t eggs?’’ ‘‘Well, I…’’ She stuttered. Michael grabbed the face & threw it against the fence. He then grabbed Elisa’s arm & threw the frail lady on the floor, next to their cat’s edibles bowl. He ran upstairs, whilst his helpmeet, with blood in her gob, managed to get up. A few minutes later, he ran back downstairs, wearing his house suit, & leftist without saying goodbye. Elisa cried as the man she loved so dear left. ‘‘Oh, Katherine,’’ Elisa heard herself say, as their trifling, orange cat came out of the area running. ‘‘You are my only adherent.’’
-
It was nearly twelve o’clock noon & Elisa was sitting in the Nautical galley, staring at the chalk-white wall. She could still soup the blood in her gateway, since she felt too depressed to go con her teeth. What will I do? She asked herself, crying. Michael was always hurting her. And it was outmoded to make him pay. But how could she? She touched her desire. After all, she was carrying their nipper. And Michael didn’t distinguish it yet. I have to steal some well-to-do, Elisa trifle. What is keeping me here? All I have are my thoughts. My many thoughts. She intern her eyes & for a assist, a brief, gruff second, she was twenty years in the whilom. Norway. Iceland. Sweden. Maryland. Portion her neighbour set her Christmas tree. Treatise glasses. Losing her virginity to a Danish man. She smiled. I have my youth, too. Perhaps it will be a little young lady. She had always wanted a hardly any girl. Or a boy. She remembered her nephew. He had died a few years earlier.
-
She ran up the stairs & grabbed a hanger. I cannot keep the indulge, she thought. It’s… It’s Michael’s. She had cogitation about it all afternoon. It’s too much. I don’t scarceness to be associated to Michael anymore. I am leaving. I am affluent to my mother’s. She ran downstairs, holding the wire hanger. It’s habits. She opened her legs & shoved it interior her vagina, shaking it. The tribulation was unbearable. She was screaming. ‘‘Oh, God!’’ The neighbours heard her bemoan many times. All of a sudden, she pulled the wire hanger out & something was seconded to it. She felt a zip on her cheek. It was Michael’s babe in arms. Michael’s issue. Michael’s blood & his genes. Thankfully it was disused now. She placed it on the larder table, sat down before it, & watched it carefully, as though she was waiting for it to move. She touched it gently with her fingers. She smiled. Michael doesn’t like the meals I cook up him, she thought. Let’s see if he likes that.
-
When Michael walked in the lineage later that day, he smelled a rather odd scent, one he had never smelled before. What on Dirt, he thought. Elisa was wearing a prolonged, black accoutre & her hair was curled. She was wearing red lipstick & yellow stilettos. ‘‘Salutary evening, Michael,’’ she said. ‘‘Sit down.’’ She placed a portion before him, smiling. Oh, she deliberating, if only he knew it’s his own newborn… She tried not to mock at. She sat down in front of him, on a chair, the Nautical galley table between them. ‘‘Aren’t you active to eat?’’ Michael asked. ‘‘I already ate,’’ Elisa said. He took a gnaw. ‘‘This is delectable,’’ he exclaimed. ‘‘What is it?’’ ‘‘Veal,’’ she replied dryly, slowly slipping her foot out of her stiletto. It went up Michael’s leg, touched his thigh, & his create, large penis, which she started, using the tip of her toes, massaging. He started smiling. ‘‘Are you teasing me?’’ He asked. ‘‘Why, yes, I am, Michael,’’ she replied. Michael in a flash grabbed the scullery table & threw it against the bulkhead; the meal she had spout most of the afternoon cooking splashed all over the larder floor. He jumped on her. She hew down off her chair. Like two animals, they started making disposition. Screaming & yelling & penetrating each other. Elisa moaned with gratification as Michael’s thickset lips found her tyrannical nipples. For a few minutes, they made honey. Once it was over, they stayed on the conquer, Michael’s immense arms around Elisa’s neck. ‘‘Intermission,’’ she said. She slowly crawled at the other end of the scullery & picked up, with her eat one’s heart out fingers, the particular course of Michael’s dish. ‘‘Start the ball rolling your mouth,’’ she said. He obeyed. She placed his newborn on his tongue. ‘‘Swallow it,’’ she whispered. Once again, he obeyed.
-
The next morning, Elisa bursting her stuff & red before Michael woke up. He never knew he had, the round-the-clock before, eaten his own son.

When Michael woke up, his alluring wife, Elisa, was already in the Nautical galley, cooking his breakfast. When he walked in the scullery, wearing simply a pair of red boxers, she smiled politely & placed a layer before him, on the kitchen listing. ‘‘Eggs,’’ Michael said rudely. ‘‘Eggs. I had eggs for breakfast yesterday morning, Elisa. And the morning before. And the morning before. Is it unsuitable for you to cook something that isn’t eggs?’’ ‘‘Well, I…’’ She stuttered. Michael grabbed the face & threw it against the fence. He then grabbed Elisa’s arm & threw the frail lady on the floor, next to their cat’s edibles bowl. He ran upstairs, whilst his helpmeet, with blood in her gob, managed to get up. A few minutes later, he ran back downstairs, wearing his house suit, & leftist without saying goodbye. Elisa cried as the man she loved so dear left. ‘‘Oh, Katherine,’’ Elisa heard herself say, as their trifling, orange cat came out of the area running. ‘‘You are my only adherent.’’
-
It was nearly twelve o’clock noon & Elisa was sitting in the Nautical galley, staring at the chalk-white wall. She could still soup the blood in her gateway, since she felt too depressed to go con her teeth. What will I do? She asked herself, crying. Michael was always hurting her. And it was outmoded to make him pay. But how could she? She touched her desire. After all, she was carrying their nipper. And Michael didn’t distinguish it yet. I have to steal some well-to-do, Elisa trifle. What is keeping me here? All I have are my thoughts. My many thoughts. She intern her eyes & for a assist, a brief, gruff second, she was twenty years in the whilom. Norway. Iceland. Sweden. Maryland. Portion her neighbour set her Christmas tree. Treatise glasses. Losing her virginity to a Danish man. She smiled. I have my youth, too. Perhaps it will be a little young lady. She had always wanted a hardly any girl. Or a boy. She remembered her nephew. He had died a few years earlier.
-
She ran up the stairs & grabbed a hanger. I cannot keep the indulge, she thought. It’s… It’s Michael’s. She had cogitation about it all afternoon. It’s too much. I don’t scarceness to be associated to Michael anymore. I am leaving. I am affluent to my mother’s. She ran downstairs, holding the wire hanger. It’s habits. She opened her legs & shoved it interior her vagina, shaking it. The tribulation was unbearable. She was screaming. ‘‘Oh, God!’’ The neighbours heard her bemoan many times. All of a sudden, she pulled the wire hanger out & something was seconded to it. She felt a zip on her cheek. It was Michael’s babe in arms. Michael’s issue. Michael’s blood & his genes. Thankfully it was disused now. She placed it on the larder table, sat down before it, & watched it carefully, as though she was waiting for it to move. She touched it gently with her fingers. She smiled. Michael doesn’t like the meals I cook up him, she thought. Let’s see if he likes that.
-
When Michael walked in the lineage later that day, he smelled a rather odd scent, one he had never smelled before. What on Dirt, he thought. Elisa was wearing a prolonged, black accoutre & her hair was curled. She was wearing red lipstick & yellow stilettos. ‘‘Salutary evening, Michael,’’ she said. ‘‘Sit down.’’ She placed a portion before him, smiling. Oh, she deliberating, if only he knew it’s his own newborn… She tried not to mock at. She sat down in front of him, on a chair, the Nautical galley table between them. ‘‘Aren’t you active to eat?’’ Michael asked. ‘‘I already ate,’’ Elisa said. He took a gnaw. ‘‘This is delectable,’’ he exclaimed. ‘‘What is it?’’ ‘‘Veal,’’ she replied dryly, slowly slipping her foot out of her stiletto. It went up Michael’s leg, touched his thigh, & his create, large penis, which she started, using the tip of her toes, massaging. He started smiling. ‘‘Are you teasing me?’’ He asked. ‘‘Why, yes, I am, Michael,’’ she replied. Michael in a flash grabbed the scullery table & threw it against the bulkhead; the meal she had spout most of the afternoon cooking splashed all over the larder floor. He jumped on her. She hew down off her chair. Like two animals, they started making disposition. Screaming & yelling & penetrating each other. Elisa moaned with gratification as Michael’s thickset lips found her tyrannical nipples. For a few minutes, they made honey. Once it was over, they stayed on the conquer, Michael’s immense arms around Elisa’s neck. ‘‘Intermission,’’ she said. She slowly crawled at the other end of the scullery & picked up, with her eat one’s heart out fingers, the particular course of Michael’s dish. ‘‘Start the ball rolling your mouth,’’ she said. He obeyed. She placed his newborn on his tongue. ‘‘Swallow it,’’ she whispered. Once again, he obeyed.
-
The next morning, Elisa bursting her stuff & red before Michael woke up. He never knew he had, the round-the-clock before, eaten his own son.

A certain school was faced with a unique problem.A number of girls were begining to use lipstick n would put it on in the toilets.That was fine,but after they put it on they would then press their lips to the mirrors leavin dozens of little lip prints.
Every night the janitor would remove them n the next day the girls would put them back.
Finally the principal decided somethin had to be done.She called all the girls to the toilets n met them there with the janitor.
She explained that all these lip prints were causing a major problem for the person who had to clean the mirrors every night.
To demonstrate how difficult it had been to clean the mirrors,she asked the janitor to show the girls how much effort was required.
He took out a long handled squeegee,dipped it into the toilet,and cleaned a mirror with it.
Priceless!!
Since then,there have been no lip prints on the mirrors..
There are teachers….and then there are educators.

The man’s grin is less the result of circumstance than dreams or madness. His buttonless shirt, with one sleeve missing, hangs outside the waist of his baggy trousers. Carefully plaited dreadlocks bespeak a better time, long ago. As he crosses Manhattan’s Seventy-ninth Street, his gait is the shuffle of the forgotten ones held in place by gravity rather than plans. On the corner of Madison Avenue, he stops before a blond baby in an Aprica stroller. The baby’s mother waits for the light to change & her hands close tighter on the stroller’s handle as she sees the man approach.
The others on the corner, five men & women waiting for the crosstown bus, look away. They daydream a bit & gaze into the weak rays of November light. A man with a briefcase lifts & lowers the shiny toes of his right shoe, watching the light reflect, trying to catch & balance it, as if he could hold & make it his, to ease the heavy gray of coming January, February, March. The winter months that will send snow around the feet, calves, & knees of the grinning man as he heads for the shelter of Grand Central or Pennsylvania Station.
But for now, in this last gasp of autumn warmth, he is still. His eyes fix on the baby. The mother removes her purse from her shoulder & rummages through its contents: lipstick, a lace handkerchief, an address book. She finds what she’s looking for & passes a folded dollar over her child’s head to the man who stands & stares even though the light has changed & traffic navigates around his hips.
His hands continue to angle at his sides. He does not know his part. He does not know that acceptance of the gift & gratitude are what makes this transaction complete. The baby, weary of the unwavering stare, pulls its blanket over its head. The man does not look away. Like a bridegroom waiting at the altar, his eyes pierce the white veil.
The mother grows impatient & pushes the stroller before her, bearing the dollar like a cross. Finally, a black hand rises & closes around green.
Was it fear or compassion that motivated the gift?
Up the avenue, at Ninety-first Street, thee is a small French bread shop where you can sit & eat a buttery, overpriced croissant & wash it down with rich cappuccino. Twice when I have stopped here to stave hunger or stay the cold, twice as I have sat & read & felt the warm rush of hot coffee & milk, an old man has wandered in & stood inside the entrance. He wears a stained blanket pulled up to his chin, & a woolen hood pulled down to his gray, bushy eyebrows. As he stands, the scent of stale cigarettes & urine fills the small, overheated room.
The owner of the shop, a moody French woman, emerges from the kitchen with steaming coffee in a Styrofoam cup, & a small paper bag of . . . of what? Yesterday’s bread? Today’s croissant? He accepts the offering as silently as he came, & is gone.
Twice I have witnessed this, & twice I have wondered, what compels this woman to feed this man? Pity? Care? Compassion? Or does she simply want to rid her shop of his troublesome presence? If expulsion were her motivation she would not reward his arrival with gifts of food. Most proprietors do not. They chase the homeless from their midsts with expletives & threats.
As winter approaches, the mayor of New York City is moving the homeless off the streets & into Bellevue Hospital. The New York Civil Liberties Union is watchful. They question whether the rights of these people who live in our parks & doorways are being violated by involuntary hospitalization.
I think the mayor’s notation is humane, but I fear it is something else as well. Raw humanity offends our sensibilities. We want to protect ourselves from an awareness of rags with voices that make no sense & scream forth in inarticulate rage. We do not wish to be reminded of the tentative state of our own well-being & sanity. And so, the trouble-some presence is removed from the awareness of the electorate.
Like other cities, there is much about Manhattan now that resembles Dickensian London. Ladies in high-heeled shoes pick their way through poverty & madness. Yu hear more cocktail party complaint than usual, “I just can’t take New York anymore.” Our citizens dream of the open spaces of Wyoming, the manicured exclusivity of Hobe Sound.
And yet, it may be that these are the conditions that finally give birth to empathy, the mother of compression. We cannot deny the existence of the helpless as their presence grows. It is impossible to insulate ourselves against what is at our very doorstep. I don’t believe that one is born compassionate. Compassion is not a character trait like a sunny disposition. It must be learned, & it is learned by having adversity at our windows, coming through the gates of our yards, the walls of our towns, adversity that becomes so familiar that we begin to identify & empathize with it.
For the ancient Greeks, drama taught & reinfor

The limousine glided through the mist like a ship in a harbour. If it had been daytime, people would have pointed & maybe even waved, but 5 am was too early to recognize a small town celebrity. The passenger of the long black car was glad that no one was up; he had made the early trip on purpose. No one would see him drive off, without a goodbye or even a tear. No one would see his tears.
The woman beside him adjusted the strap of one of her red sandals. A sash was missing from her obviously designer dress, or had it even been there? He could not remember. She opened her sequined purse & pulled out a lipstick, applied it, & carefully replaced it. She sighed. He was being too quiet, she thought. But she knew why.
They had gone to school together their whole lives. Though they had not always been friends, they always seemed to find each other, & last night had been no different. She hated seeing him this way, but it was the way he had been for many years. Two years ago she had gone to Los Angeles to visit him. He seemed happy, almost as if he had forgotten the whole thing altogether, but she should have known better. Three months after her visit, his attempted suicide was all over the news. His maid had walked in on him on the floor, pill bottles & blood all over the carpet. She had called 911, & he lived to see another pain filled two years, with scars on his wrists to prove it. And now his ten year class reunion. She had half expected him not to show up. But he came, a model on each arm & obviously drunk. Years of alcoholism & heartbreak showed on his face.
“Dan.” she said “Go see her.”. He looked into her eyes & she thought she saw tears, but he turned away. “Stop the car.” he said. He got out, lit up a cigarette, & stood there for a while, smoking in silence. She peered out of the car at the man who was only half of himself, feeling sorry for him. He got back into the car, spoke to the driver, & then sat back down next to her. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Margaret.”
The car started to move again, but it didn’t drive towards the highway. Instead it took a dusty old road, up a hill, to a church overlooking the ocean below. A rusty iron fence bordered a cemetery filled with crooked white crosses, & leaning tombstones. He got out of the car & walked to the far corner of the cemetery. It was a beautiful cemetery, unlike most. It was high up on a cliff & overlooked the ocean for miles. The sun had started to peek through the mist. It looked as if it would be a sunny day after all. He walked up to a headstone. It looked as if it had been taken care of very well. A bouquet of wilted flowers lay across it. He moved them, & read the name. He said it over & over in his mind before finally closing his eyes & whispering it out loud “Eliza”. A wind swept over his face. “Dan.” He turned around. A woman stood there. She was more beautiful than he remembered. Her black hair fell on her shoulders in curls, & her blue-green eyes stared at him lovingly. One hand was on her stomach. She was 7 months pregnant. He walked over to her & caressed her face. He didn’t want to believe it was her, just encase he had to lose her again. He took her face in his hands & kissed her, but she pulled away. “I’m sorry I left, I never should have gone. I should have realized that you were more important than anything. I should never have listened to that man. I…the crash…the baby…” She started to walk towards the ocean, but stopped at the edge of the cliff. “None of that matters.” she said. She smiled into his face.
A truck driver was the first to the scene of the accident. Right away he called 911 on his cell phone. He went up to the car. It was too late for the driver. He was pinned against the steering wheel, his head rested on a picture of his late wife. He went around the side of the car & opened the door. A woman in a red dress turned to him. Her head was bleeding, but other than that she seemed fine. It was the man she was next to who needed the most help. He was laid out on the seat, & the woman had his head cradled in her lap. He was mumbling & his breath was shallow, he was obviously dying. “Have you called for help?” she asked, & the truck driver nodded. She leaned closer to his face, trying to hear what he was saying. “Margaret” he whispered “I’m going to see her.”

The witch was brewing away angrily.
“I really need those scales!” she screamed, sprinkling her evil black fairy dust in the potion. She took a piece of fish & threw it at her specially bred lava alligators. Then, she took another one & threw it at Super Barbie who was tied up in the corner of her cavern. The fish landed on Barbie’s face.
“Like Oh my Gosh! You just like totallly ruined my hair! First you like wrinkl my like brand new sundress & now you like, do this! OH my gosh!” complained Barbie in her Valley Girl voice, “You know you’ll like totally like never get away with this.
“Shut up!” screamed the fairy witch in anger, “eventually your mermaid friends will try to save you & I can get their scales. Then I can rule the world with my Magic Evil Tissues!”
“You know since you like ruined my like clothes you could at least like let me borrow some of you like clothes! There like so totally cute! It would also be like so totally awesome if you could give me some haire & beauty tips! I just love your style!” commented the Barbie casually not aware then the witch was steaming with fury. Its really peculiar that Super Barbie of all people would admire the faerie witch’s style. Barbie was beautiful with bleach blonde hair pulled bakc into a perfect pontyail. Here face was blemish free. As hard as you ever tried you could never find anything wrong with Barbie’s face.She was like the perfect supermodel.
On the other hand, the witch had short bright & shiny lavender hair. She was always wearing & orange hat to match her long orange dress. The dress had so many ruffles you could barely see the purple trimming. She wore magic red pumps & her face was long & narrow with a gentle tint of green. She always wore bright red lipstick to match her shoes.
The witch was part fairy. Nobody knows what color her wings are because she is ashamed of having such pure blood running through her veins so she hides her wings under her dress. Her dream since a child is to take over the world.
————————————–…
Hayden & Lillian both knew they had to save Barbie & not have their scales taken. If the witch got ahold of their scales the end of the world would come. The Magic Evil Tissues would dominate. Hayden, who was one of the witche’s distant cousins throuh fairy blood knew every weakness the witch had & every trick she might pull.
Hayden & Lillian kept swimming along around the witch’s secret underwater cavern looking for an entrance. They looked through the glass & saw Barbie tied up in the corner.
Lillian, who was part elf, noticed that tiny pieces of coral were embedded into the glas. Since normal elves had control over plants, mermaid-elves had control over sea plants.
Lillian focused all her energy on the coral & the glass burst into tiny little pieces.
:You!” the witch shrieked grabbing her Evil magic meatball. she threw it at Hayden hitting her in the back. It quickly turned to acid burning her.
Blood was streaming bdhind Barbie, Hayden & Lillian as they swam away.
“We should like so toatallly hurry ub before the like mongoose sharks like sniff your like totally gross blood!” warned Barbie looking back at the witch furiously shaking her fist at the girls.
“Mongoose Sharks? Those things have been extinct for years! How did that witch get her hands on mongoose sharks?” explained Lillian suspiciously.
“I don’t know! Do I like look like I like know? I would likd so totally like tell you if I like knew!” answered Barbie bitterly.
“Let’s get you back to your sandcastle & get you cleaned up. When was the last time you fed you pirrhanna?” Lillian aske Hayden.
I’m only 12 & this is the first few pages of a story I started writing. I know it really wierd so don’t criticize me on that. Do you have any tips or suggestions?

Like the first entry, but with a very different setting. Complete this “modern fairytale” with a twist, or simply with very good ideas.
Not once upon a time, not even in a faraway kingdom, there was a young woman. She wasn’t a princess, she was rather a girl of modern times, a spoiled, glamorous bimbo. Dinah, was her name, kept herself confined to a shallow kind of life, centered on apperances more than anything else. She dreamt to become a model, but she really lacked any quality, aside from her natural grace & a bombshell body. She was mean, catty & spiteful. She had no female friends: no one would ever bond with a selfcentered, vain bimbo, & other bimbos simply envied her for her beauty. She had no male friends, only some “friend with benefits”, & lots of short lived relationships. Nothing that could last.
Dinah one night got herself invited to a masked ball. She wanted to be the prettiest, so she got herself a sexy witch outfit, flattering & quite revealing. She wanted a special lipstick, but her favourite beauty shop was closed. She ran into a small boutique, one she never heard of before. There, the shop keeper, a mature, but still beautiful woman, older than her but of undetectable age, proposed to her a brilliant shade of red. “You’ll be the fairest of them all. And, hopefully, in a few months you’ll learn the true meaning of it”. Dinah, in the very rude fashion she reserved to everyone didn’t deem worth of her appreciations, bought the lipstick, & put it in her purse. She applied the final touches of her makeup, & she went to the ball.
As predicted, she was really the prettiest. And she found company that night. She awoke in someone’s else home, after night of passion, and, finding her beau awake, tried to tell him some compliment from the night. “mmmfgh! Mmmnn!”, she just managed to utter.
She then ran at the mirror: even if her face was apparently as pretty as ever, her lips were now brilliant red, not even a smudge on her lipstick, & moreover, when she tried to open her mouth, she found a wall of flesh & skin covering her teeth, effectively acting as a gag…
Now go on