Hey all! I'm Jillian Harker. No, that is not my real name, but that's alright. I'm a high school senior, and I looooove to write! I mostly pump out short romance stories, other than Bulletproof and another novella I wrote a few years back. That one, I'm sorry to say, will NOT be on here for specific reasons... mainly because I haven't finished editing it. I also write poetry... sort of. It's mainly thoughts scattered on paper. Writers liscence ftw! (That's 'for the win' for all you normal people out there.)

Other than writing, I enjoy singing (So much that I want to go to college for it), hanging out and doing nothing, reading (Twilight saga ftw!), playing videogames (My current obsession is Zelda: Twilight Princess) and sleeping (zzzzzzz). More often than not, you will find me sitting at my computer either surfing the web or typing more of my story. (:

Music would be another important part of my life (It's a close third, next to singing and writing). I mostly listen to mainstream music and some stuff no one has ever heard of, but hey, that's me. Some of my favorites are Eric Hutchinson, Kerli, Sam Sparro, The Summer Set, Jesse McCartney (I'm a MAJOR fangirl), Ashley Tisdale and Vanessa Hudgens (Hoorah for Disney!).

Well, it's time for me to sign off. Oh, and if you would like to contact me:
AIM = watdaprblmis15 (: Just tell me you're from FP and I won't be confused.

What you are about to read is what would be on the back of the book cover for my story Bulletproof. Check it out below!

“Get away from me!”

Stumbling and breathing heavily, I sprinted through the woods into my backyard. I cried out as I tripped over a large branch that had been blown down by the storm. Hair a mess and clothes soaking wet, I closed my eyes and curled up into a ball. Maybe if I wished hard enough, everything would go back to the way it was supposed to be - back to the way things were before I met him.

"Elise, please...”

I heard him whisper to me from the edge of the forest. After all he’d done to me; he expected me to just get up and walk back to him and forgive him with open arms. That was never going to happen; I would never let it happen.

“Don’t touch me,” I said as I felt a hand approach my shoulder. I heard him recoil with a silent hiss and I lifted my head to look at him.

"You don’t get it,” I said through tears, “I’m not like you, Gabriel, I’m nothing like you.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, like what I was saying was hurting me more than it was hurting him. I opened my eyes once more and stared into his. They were questioning and concerned, the two characteristics I really did not want to see right now. I pushed myself up into a standing position, my blistering and scraped hands stinging in the mud. I could feel that my clothes were stained with mud and rain water, but I didn’t care. I only wanted to get my point across, and if I didn’t do it now, I feared I would never have the guts to do it again. I gathered up all the courage I could muster and shivered in the cold wind.

“I’m not bulletproof.”