How on earth is this complete? there's no conclusion what so ever

You can have number 16 if you want. That's the one I gave myself but I didn't really like the genres. My challenge was number 6. You never said anything about that.

So I thought you'd find it funny when I told you I started a fire today at work and had to call the fire department...

Are you allergic to getting on? It's summer, I'm up all hours of the nights, even when it seems like nobody else is. Blah. Get on. Yeah!

I never not allowed anon reviews. FP must have fucked with my account. I didn't even change it and suddenly you can give anon reviews? Huh. And which story are you talking about? Because right now, I'm rewriting Forrester's. So are you talking about Rossi or Adelaide? Anyway, you should get on messenger every once and a while now that I have time, or when you're on, you can send messages to my phone if I'm not on. It's not hard. For some reason my phone has an email. Hahaha.

Hmm, well, so I kind of got a little bit bored, and me, being a visual learner, decided to make a website for Rossi's story. So far, I only have the header down. I'll get to the coding later. But what I'm going to do is like "interview" each character throughout the story so I can better get a grip on them and such, and then give them their own webpage and make a collage of things that represent them. And maybe write tidbits that don't get featured in the story.

If you're bored the link to the header type thingy is h t t p :// southern-comfort.webs . com/undefined/socolay . png (take out the spaces)

Anyway, you should tell me what your other account is going to be because I am running out of things to read and I promise I won't be mean.

and i still think it's that goddamn raincoat account because every time it updates you send me a goddamn message.

well see, here's the thing. i posted something on a different account of mine, and people were all, 'use more descriptions cause i'm all whiny.' so i did. but it still needs lots of editing.

tell me what your other account is, or i might just freak out on you. yeah. see how you like that.

Is raincoat your other account so I can just start spamming that? By the way, I almost didn't write anything today because everything was trying to give me writers block. But then I sat down and wrote. It's not that good, but at least I got something. And for that, I get to torture you with it. Haha. I'm doing a cliche story because I want to and I don't like the ones I've read. so here you go...
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Halifax and Neppa had thought it was their duties, as my undying loyal friends, to kidnap me from the 'drolls' from the walk-in linen closet I called my studio in the apartment I shared with Neppa. Thus, I found myself banned from drinking any Southern Comfort, or from partaking in any illicit activities involving the use of cannabis. Even the Spanish bartender Tavo was told to audit any orders I made.

The only items I had to keep me company was the pair of red, crocodile skin stilettos my feet currently occupied, and the dry apple martini I was swirling around with my left hand. With the heels, I planned to hopefully sprain, or break an ankle whilst pretending to dance in hopes I'd finally have a reason to chuck them in the trash. I'd only been wearing them an hour, and already I could feel the blisters forming on my heels and toes. Leave it to Neppa to pick a non functioning accessory in the name of fashion.

With the martini, I hoped to save as much of the vile liquid as possible in case the chance to throw it at an annoying bogan arose. My liquor of choice was Absinthe, but as I had no one to smuggle it in along other fine, European imports, for me, the next in line fell to Southern Comfort. Those two liquids, along with the occasional smoking of a joint, were the only real way to stimulate my muse.

If I listen closely and free my mind, I find that the canvas will actually talk to me. It tells me what it wants me to paint, it shows me the cautious blends of colors. If I don't listen, all I've got is a disappointed canvas, a waste of paint, a high from turpentine, and a piece of shit portrait which isn't even good enough to go in the trash.

Looking around the small, cramped cantina, I searched out the small, homosexual boy in pink hot pants. It didn't take me long to spot his white, pasty skin amongst the dark, swarthy skin of five Spaniards he'd surrounded himself in. Letting out a sigh, I knew there'd be no way to get his attention when he was on the prowl for a 'spicy Latino.'

Instead, I turned back to Tavo, who was dressed in a rather ridiculous matador uniform. "He's not your type," I shouted over the music when I noticed the bartender's gaze was focused on the same subject mine had previously been. Surprised, his gaze snapped back to mine.

"And why do you say this, /senorita/?" he asked in a somewhat high voice while drying a glass with a rag.

I looked down at my martini, fearful to take a sip. I'd taken swig earlier, when Neppa, pushed the drink into my hand, only to find myself resisting the urge to gag. If bulimia was ever on my to do list, all I'd need was a nice big swallow of the martini to purge my system of any food.

Pushing up the strap of my slinky, metallic shirt back onto my shoulder, I leaned forward, across the bar, and pushed the martini glass towards Tavo. "How about we make a deal," I said, eyeing the bottle of sweet whiskey behind him. "I'll answer three questions about Halifax for three shots of Southern Comfort."

He glanced back at Halifax surrounded by his group of Spanish man-whores, then to Neppa, coyly flirting with yet another group of men as she twirled her blonde hair between her fingers. Finally, his gaze landed back on me. "You drive a hard bargain, flaquita."

I closed my eyes for a brief second, already able to taste the liquid on my tongue and lips.

"Deal." His voice shook, and he held out his hand.

I shook it, and gave him a brief smile. "You're a good man."

"More like a pushover," he muttered, setting down the glass he just dried, and poured three fingers of Southern Comfort. Taking a deep breath, I licked my lips, and shifted in my seat to ensure neither Neppa nor Halifax would have a chance to see what I was drinking.

"Questions?" I said, my voice already a bit uplifted as I took my first sip of the warm liquid, warding off the urge to down it all in a single motion.

Neppa had practically banned any whiskey from the house, only allowing rum and the occasional tequila, claiming my dependence on it in efforts to paint was a one way ticket to the Touscal Rehabilitation Centre. Exactly one month had passed since I moved out of my parents house and had my last drop of whiskey. Needless to say, I hadn't been able to paint a single thing save for the moments Halifax managed to smuggle in cannabis while Neppa was at work. However, it's much easier to concentrate when drunk than with little leprechauns taking nose dives off your head and onto the canvas.

"Why hot pants?" he asked, bemused by Halifax's cheap rendition of a pole dance.

Using air quotes, I recited one of Halifax's catchphrases, "It's a market out there, and you've got to sell yourself." Prostitutes were highly respected by Halifax as he considered them the ultimate tools of marketing. They didn't just market an item, they marketed their bodies, and the streets were a less than cherishing environment. In reality, Halifax wished he could be a prostitute.

I took another sip, and sat the glass back down on a napkin. "Next..." I waited for Tavo to answer as a man, not much older than me, maybe in his early twenties, with cropped hair and a black eye, ordered a cosmopolitan. I snorted at his choice, and he narrowed his eyes at me.

"I can see why you have that black eye," I quipped, "ordering a martini."

Narrowing his eyes at me, he pointed to the martini glass Tavo left in front of me, and the unbuttoned cuff of his shirt rode up, exposing several cuts, along with fresh and old bruises. "And what do you call that?" His voice was deep, scratchy, and the darkness it imposed sent chills down my exposed back.

"A drink a friend should never force upon their friend."

haha i spelled carousel wrong in that version. ops

Hm, so I decided to give Rossi alcohol poisoning. Here's the result, what do you think?

- - - - - - - - - -

The alcohol seared my stomach, engulfing my body in a torrent of flames. I could no longer feel my skin, under the impression the flames had seared away

the body encasing. Was I a hideous, walking skeleton--entrails no longer bound in place, lost as I staggered along?

World a blur, I focused on the spinning moon. Games--it was playing. Utilizing my skeletal hands, I shielded my face from the moon, peeking through the slits

of my fingers every few seconds, waiting for the moon to fall off the caroselle it was riding. A flame of bile rushed up my throat. The force of the eruption sent

my body reeling into overgrown hedges to my right.

Stabbing me between the ribs, the branch encouraged another round of heaving as my body sought to expel the fire within. Falling to the ground in sheer

exhaustion, I clutched at the patch of crab grass, for it looked sturdier than the rest, and hoped the earth did not fall out beneath me.

I called out for help, unable to lift my head from the ground. Grass rooted itself over my bones, and I tried to scream as the earth engulfed my body. I was its

sacrifice. A mockery to be made for the foolishness of humanity. My veins sank towards the ground, infused with lead.

/Was I dying?/ The thought fluttered through my mind.

/Of course./ Came the reply of Mother Nature. Her tall, glowing figured hovered above my body, the luminescence scorching my eyes. A mutated firefly. Long,

acidic hair slipped across her shoulder, showering what was left of my exposed body in acid rain. The rain burrowed deep holes into my bones, as a termite

burrows into wood. At seventeen, my remains would look as if I had suffered from osteoporosis throughout my limited years.

The pain was much worse than the fire, but my body did not register any reactions. Thriving life around me seemed but a mere echo. Already I was

experiencing detachment from the threads that bound me to humanity.

Mentally, I snipped the last thread, and Roslyn Blanche Curie was no more.

Alrighty, I wrote another tid bit for Rossi's story. I'm not writing it in order. I'm writing the scenes that pop into my head as I have a very vague idea as to where it's going. IDK all of it seems a bit different from my normal writing. Do you remember the first piece I sent you? Well check your reviews if you don't. Anyway, here's the other piece. It's near the end, I think. IDK yet.

- - - -

Violently, I shook in an uncontrollable, epileptic state, as I fought to hold back the sobs wreaking havoc on my body. Weakness. Loss of control. All of my focus was directed at masking the obvious. I couldn't allow anyone to observe me in such a state of disarray--so I cowered, locked in the bathroom stall of insecurities. I sought a release, something unobtainable. I was too stubborn.

The thick, odorous air burned my swollen eyes which had yet to release the tears locked in the barrel behind my eye sockets. Tears pressed against the back of my eyes, searching for an escape. I fought with an extended effort to rid my eyes of the vile fluid leaking through the orifices.

I snapped my eyes shut, unwilling to lose the battle. Another spasm crept through the depths of my body and I tightly grasped the edges of the toilet seat for fear of succumbing.

A fresh wave of sound flooded the bathroom. Creaking door. High pitched giggles. Running water. My ears began to ring as the sounds promoted the mutiny my body held against the futility of my mind. I whimpered and clutched at the white, plastic seat until my knuckles changed colors and popped from the pressure I exerted on them.

The running of the water stopped. The giggles died. And the footsteps fled. A shaky sigh escaped my thin, cracked lips, and I slid off the seat, succumbing to exhaustion at last. Slumping against the red, stall barrier, I lifted the flood gates, and let the tears fall. I cried like I hadn't cried in years--and I hadn't. My body trembled and my throat ached.

I stayed there, all through third period, finally uncaring as to whether anyone would recognize me as the source of the pain-filled sounds. Never had I experienced such disgust with myself. Pitiful.

He had managed to reduced an infallible force to a heap of decaying compost with a single look that expressed more emotion and disappointment than I had thought possible. In the process of trying to break through his defenses, he had broken through mine without me noticing in the slightest bit. He drove a wedge through my life , effortlessly off setting the stability I had worked years to achieve.

Hate. Oh how I'd wanted to hate him more than anything for causing me to spend an hour in the bathroom stall crying over a misogynist, let alone a man. The more I tried to hate him, the more I ended up hating myself.

"Rossi?" a tentative, small voice spoke through the stall door. Surprised, my head snapped up and hit the side of the stall. In my weakened state of disarray, I hadn't heard the steps of the intruder, let alone notice the pink ballet slippers standing outside my stall door.

Letting out a groan, I tried to ignore the ache consuming my body. Using the palms of my hands, I attempted to wipe away the mascara I was sure that extended down the length of my face. Sniffing, I cleared my nasal passage and ran a hand through my hair, noticing for the first time it had grown several inches longer than I normally allowed.

I stood up, legs a bit wobbly. "One second," I croaked in my hoarse voice. Taking a moment to regain my composure, I unlocked the stall door, and stood in the doorway.

Chiffon's small, round face looked back at me, along with an ever present blush. She smiled meekly, and I attempted to return it. I assumed my facial expression resembled a scowl, but her face brightened regardless.

Reaching into the pocket of her olive jacket, she pulled out a wad of tissues. "I thought you might need these," she said softly. "Vulcan told me what happened."

I sniffled and took the tissues appreciatively. "Oh?" Glancing over her shoulder, I stared into the mirror and observed the crumpled mess before me. I looked more horrible than I had thought. Normally, my appearance was professional, crisp, and clean cut. But today, my clothes were wrinkled, my hair frizzy, and my face looked like the victim of a clown.

I laughed at the thought.

Chiffon's hands twitched at her side before she grabbed my hands and patted them. "I meant to come as soon as I heard," she was suddenly apologetic and guilt marred her features, "but Vulcan said it would be best if I waited until Physics was over."

"It's okay," I assured her, suddenly glad she didn't witness the loss of my composure.

"Are you sure?" she tried not to beg, her hands tightening on mine. "Friends are supposed to support each other, and--and I feel like I f-failed you."

I shook my head, and my nappy hair did not bounce as it did when cared for properly. For the past week, I had let my appearance go, uncaring for the first time about my presentation.

"You've been a great friend," my voice still hoarse.

She shuddered and I looked at her questioningly, willing her to provide an explanation. "I don't think I could have dealt with everything in the calm manner you did. Anytime someone would have tried to talk to me, I'm sure I would have broken down. But you--" her eyes met mine, and I could hear the seriousness in her voice, "you showed them all your bravery and strength."

I rubbed my hand across my hot, moist cheek. "Right now, I feel anything but."

"Don't," ordered Chiffon, and I straightened my posture and tossed the soiled tissues in the trash along with the other paper wastes. She motioned me towards the door, giving me a little push when my stubbornness set in. "Show them all how strong you are."

Once she outside the bathroom, I froze. To my left, anxiously pacing back and forth, was Vulcan. He stopped when he saw me. Took a cautious step forward, extended his arm, and brushed away a stray tear with his thumb.

Hahahaha. I'm not Jewish. If anything, my friends make fun of Jewish people. I just felt like having a Jewish character because they're all so temperamental and act like it's your fault they were the targets of nazi's. There's this one Jewish guy they call Jake The Snake who freaks out when they study nazi germany. Haha.

Anyway, from the way my mind has been working, it seems as if I'm more likely to finish this story rather than Adelaide's. Actually, I was thinking over some stuff in that story whilst (that word always reminds me of whistling. huh. and I bet I used it wrong but I wanted to use it. So there.) at work one day. And I almost considered changing the plot completely.

So it would go as follows:

Adelaide has ADD. Her parents are divorced, but her mother got custody of Fielding and her father got custody of her because her mother couldn't afford the medication for her 'special' needs.

So Adelaide hasn't really seen or talked to her mother in about five years. She was twelve when the divorce happened. So for the last five years, she's lived with her father, and her uncle Robbie. Her father never really forced her to take her medication and stuff, so that's why she's weird. Robbie claims it's a 'Character builder'. But then, her father meets this woman called Sabina and they decide to get married. Sabina wants her own family, not someone's left overs, so she tells Adelaide's father that he needs to decide between her or his daughter and brother.

He sends Adelaide and Robbie to live with her mother. He tells her mother he will give her $1500 monthly if he takes in Robbie to and it should cover the medication and caretaking costs.

Only problem is, Adelaide's mother goes all crazy and tries to make her all normal. Robbie tries to mellow her mother out and such but then she gives him a lesson on responsibility.

And I dunno what else. What do you think?

For Rossi's story, I haven't quite got such a concrete idea. I keep flip flopping and it's making it really hard to plot something out.

I know Rossi is going to be a self-absorbed bitch who's only interested in ensuring her future. I think I'm either going to make it so Beau's mother either left the family or committed suicide. But basically, Rossi is a vindictive bitch who lets out all of his skeletons.

Oh, I know she's going to get expelled from that school in the end because she's had too many strikes

Anyways, I don't know what else. But I have been somewhat inspired to try writing a werewolf story again but I spose I need to work on one project at a time and keep focused.

What have you been working on?

O o o o. It's my last week of school until christmas break. But lucky me, I get to go to hickville Arkansas for Christmas, complete with incest and southern accents.

You know, for the story you have very few reviews for, do you want me to spam it so people think you're awesome? By the way, it's your summaries. You have to make them generic if you want people to review. Remember the ages that we're dealing with here.

Anyway, I need to go try and produce something productive, but it's oh so easy just to avoid it.

Do you want to help me recreate the officathon thingy? Lol. It's just been abandoned and everything...

I got bored with the other version of Rossi's story, so I kinda quit the NANOWRIMO. HAHA. I AM A QUITTER.

Anyway, I wrote a new version of it, so imma show you the first bit. I think I'm gonna make some chapters really short and others longer and I don't think I'm going to post it right away. I've got some ideas in mind for Rossi's story now, unlike before. But anyway, what do you think of this tidbit?

Oh, and if it copies funny, that's not my fault.

Oh. Did you see twilight?
-
In a angry haste, I stomped down the asbestos-tiled halls of Daebury High in the red, crocodile pumps I often wore to make a dramatic entrance. The slapping of my heels scuffed the unwaxed floors and alerted bystanders within a fifty feet radius of my impending approach.

Attempting to be humorous, a lanky senior with the blackest hair I had ever seen, stuck his dirty tennis shoe in my direct path, hoping to catch my off guard as I continued on my death march. Those clamoring the halls held their breath, waiting in anticipation for me to trip over his threadbare shoes. Instead of tripping as expected, I merely lifted my shoe and shoved the heel down full force onto his shoe.

The thin, canvas material clearly didn't provide his foot with enough protection from my fury as a yelp of pain escaped his mouth. His equivalent would have been a dog with it's tail ran over.

Pivoting, I quickly searched the comedian's face, mentally complementing his clear, blue eyes. My eyes left his face, and I glanced outside, noticing the school's caretaker had taken a lunch break from trimming the towering shrubs. I scoured over his face again and snarled, "Well, what do you have to say for yourself?"

He was speechless, twisting his lip ring, seeking words which could battle the venom in mine. Settling with a simple statement, he relaxed his posture, and acted casual, careless, and unaffected. "I'm Vulcan, and you just broke my foot." His tone was even with no hint of pain marring it.

I shrugged and examined my red, manicured nails nonchalantly. "Feet heal." Out of my peripheral vision, I saw a freshman girl engrossed in a heading straight towards me. I steadied myself for the attack. Everyone, it seemed, was out to stop me from slaughtering my brother, Pierre.

Grabbing the freshman by the shoulder, Vulcan pulled her out of my way. There was no question in my mind as to how I would have reacted if she bumped me. Her forehead would have met my palm, and her butt would have came in contact with the ground.

The girl let out a yelp similar to his, and finally looked up from her book. She blushed and tried to shield her face with her hair. Vulcan addressed the girl, "Careful Chiffon, this girl is a human wrecking ball. She would have crushed your body if you bumped into her."

A heat wave rose up Chiffon's neck, settling in the tips of her ears. Turning to me, she smiled meekly. "I'm sorry," she said softly pushing a strand of her blonde hair behind her ears.

Stiffly, I nodded. My pride wouldn't allow me to tell the small girl it was alright. Bumping into me would have been her fault, no matter how deeply engrossed she was with her, and she would have had to deal with the consequences.

She smiled again, trying to make an atonement. She backed up away from me and slipped through the throng of people at a very quick pace. /Smart/ I thought /avoiding my wrath/.

Running a hand through my chin-length, auburn bob, I focused on Vulcan. He was rather tall, too skinny to be appealing, and his hair, at a closer look, was obviously died as his brown roots were starting to grow out. His eyes, on the other hand, appeared almost exotic as they tipped upward as they fanned out. The light blue hue adorning them was as clear as glass, and I could see almost myself getting lost in them. Almost.

A smile lit up his face as he caught me staring. I prayed, for his own safety, he had learnt to keep his mouth shut when dealing with temperamental people. Releasing a sigh, I stared at the dusty window seal behind his broad shoulder. Noticing my tactics, he put a finger under my chin--I cringed at the contact--and forced me to look at him.

"Now was that so hard," he muttered, a smile still on his face.

My voice was flat. "Torturous." He laughed, it was deeper than expected, and it sent a vibration throughout my body. I glanced at my feet and realized I still hadn't removed my heel from his foot.

Unabashed, I repositioned myself so my foot wasn't on his any longer. Vulcan narrowed his eyes at me and raised an eyebrow. I ignored his look, suddenly tired of him. A loud ringing emanated throughout the hall, and I looked around, noticing it had already emptied.

My temper flared, mad that he and that girl had made me miss my chance to slaughter my brother. I let out a strangled scream, and shoved the odd boy blocking my path.

I ground my teeth. "You are an invalid," I seethed.

He held up his hands in defense. "What did I do?" His bewilderment sent another flood of angry thoughts through my head. "You're the one that very nearly took off my foot."

"You--" I poked his chest, "made me miss the chance I had to slaughter Pierre."

"Pierre?"

I clinched a handful of my hair, considering yanking out a handful as I would often do in times of stress, leaving me with bald spots I'd have to cleverly cover. Vulcan carefully unraveled my hand from my hair.

"Perry Curie," I clarified.

Eyes widening in recognition, he said in a calming voice, "He almost always skips sixth period. I can guarantee he'll be at Wrigleys."

My body tensed up, and I could feel the air around me grow cold. "Is that so," I said, rolling up my sleeves. Forgetting my crude manners, I spat, "I'm Rossi Curie, by the way."

Before Vulcan had a chance to respond, I began stomping down the halls once again, making my way towards the west parking lot. Before this day was over, I was most likely going find the need to invest in a new pair of heels, and possibly a gun.

I'd always enjoyed the blood bath scenes in action movies. Perhaps I could recreate my own.

-

So I've been trying to write again actually. It's hard to get back into it, but now, as before, my school notebooks are covered in random lines and phrases for my stories like they used to be, so maybe I'll be able to write again?

Sorry I haven't written. I've been procrastinating. Yes. That's it. Duh. But you need to write something new on this account because it's boring me. Hear that, you're boring me.

Are you working on any other full length projects?

Oh, how did you get the plot with the one you already wrote. Seriously, how did you just not quit in the middle. Eh?

Well pokies is a riddiculous word. And you still haven't convinced me it's not your story. For one, the girl is a bitch like you stated. The story has already been written previously. And it's clearly your writing style. I might have to look up that song just to look it up though. Oh, and if there is a song about thunder boxes you must inform me. Or I'll write one myself. By the way, we should do more with that. It was fun. And idiotic. But fun. Everybody loves the pokies here. We have a city dedicated to it.

Why would I come after you? I can't afford to go after you. The australians in our class have really thick accents. But it's definitely not as bad as the yugoslavic guy. It's funny because he goes 'In my country we study hard. We study real hard. I spend two hours studying hard on this website. Your country doesn't know about studying hard. We study hard. You know where Yugoslavia is? No? By Croatia. You know where Croatia is? In my country we study hard.'

Wow I wrote even more today. Haha. Although I suppose that doesn't really mean much because I got a late start. I considered just not doing it even after I signed up, but then I sat down, wrote, and it worked. I haven't been able to write at least 10 words in one sitting for a long time. And now, instead of 10, I'm writing 20 before I have to go to work. I'll probably have to write more on the weekends as I'm behind by like two days. Oops.

Actually, Pierre is Roslyn's brother. So you are a sick person. Yeah. You are.

Pathetic. You are. Yes. I write all the dialogue first and then write around it now. It like serves as an outline and that's the only way I have been able to function. Crazy. What you need to do is picture the conversations in your head, say them aloud, and see what's awkward. If the person is an awkward person, just use it. If they aren't revise it.

I WANT TO READ SOMETHING OF YOURS. YOU ARE A MEANIE.

Roslyn's story is going to be full of slang and americanisms because it's easier for me to write it that way. I can actually write more and quickly. And with this contest, I'm not trying to make everything perfect. It's a good set up I have going on.

Why is your computer censored? I'm tired of all the *. Just put spaces in the letters.

Actually, I've been writing it into notepad and then I transfer it into a word document and it goes all wonky. Dunno why. But it does.