This month i'm giving up my precious sleep to participate in something called NaNoWriMo. They talk about having backups as an important part to reaching the minimum words, so why not get critiqued on it as well? :) Note: this is just spellchecked- not at all edited otherwise, because that's what you do in December after you kill yourself writing this. If you wanna join, go to I believe. It's only the 6th! Yeah! I'm already behind XD. But only three days, I can still do this. Yeppers. Doing okay actually. I will be posting it when i have the chance. Here's the first chapter (one chapter a day for a shorter book than usual- about four or six pages per chapter. So weird).

November First: Preface to the Prequel

It was 3AM on December 23rd. Des was gone, Trey was sleeping, and Blair sat alone on the kitchen counter. She held a fork in between her fingers, and a little cake with a lone candle was sitting at her palms. Sighing, she set the utensil down.

There was hardly anyone left at the party, and no one was awake for that matter. Except her, of course. Had it been up to her, she would be long asleep by this time. Usually her parties went until dawn, but today, she couldn't stand it. His face that echoed, the lies, the pain, and the utter humiliation of the previous day's events.

She looked at her fingers, empty fingers, and looked away. Anything but that second finger where a ring should have been, but was missing and reminding her. Of it all.

Blair shook her head. He didn't deserve her. She was stronger than he was. She was a better person than he was. She didn't want to be married to him anyway.

Who was she kidding? Of course she wanted to. Des had held her shoulders earlier, looking at her hard. "You will get the world a more, he'll get nothing. You should get the world. He should get his face kicked in. Remember that." Des always knew when she didn't believe something, when her lies fell transparent. And she had been saying it over and over.

She read somewhere that if you say something enough, lie to yourself enough, eventually you'll believe it and it will be true. So far, it wasn't working though.

The house was a mess. Her OCD gnawed at her mind…the urge to go and straighten that pillow laying askew, or tilt the picture frame back in place. Her spices were out of order in the cupboard, the CD's were in the wrong cases, and her perfectly divided M&M's (By color) were just a big puddle of rainbow circles.

Those were just to name a few. Instinctively, she got a piece of notebook paper and a pen, and began a list of all the things that her OCD hated at the moment. And then, she stopped.

It was rare of Blair to stop halfway through a list. Once she began, she never ending, but today…it just drove her to the brink of tears. She wished Des had been able to stay. Why did he have to drive Fayln home? There was a guest room; she wouldn't have minded the fourteen year old staying the night. Blair really needed someone to talk to right now.

Or not talk to, whatever worked.

Even rarer than stopping a list, Blair crumpled it into a ball. Then she un-crumpled it. Then she tore it up, pretending it was Prince. Rip- how dare he? Rip- what a jerk. Rip- I can't, rip- I can't, rip- he's gone.

The papers fluttered like snow, which had just began to fall outside the window. It was pretty. There had been none up until now, none at the start of December. None a week ago. None yesterday, on her golden birthday. But like it was symbolizing a new, fresh start, it fell today.

And therefore, she needed to believe it was a new start. Pushing her plate away, she wiped her dress down, and threw the door to her room open. There was a pile of Red Solo Cups on the floor and plates spilling onto the carpet. Taking ten minuets to hastily throw it all into the hallway, she stood in her room.

Judy crawled out from under her bed and licked a puddle of nacho cheese carefully. This stupid, silly little thing made her smile.

Her phone rang from her bed. She answered it.

"Scar." She breathed into the receiver.

"You're okay, right? I shouldn't have left you." Her best female friend murmured.

"I'm fine. I answered the phone." Blair sighed, finding this a logical response. Scarlett Austin gave a clicking sound under her breath, one of displeasure.

"It's 3 AM. You should be sleeping. I hoped you wouldn't answer." Scarlett said.

"There's a house to clean, things to do, old things to donate to charity-,"

"Prince's things?" Scarlett asked, "Wait, are you giving away that letter jacket?" She questioned. Blair was walking to the closet, and pulled out the colored, oversized jacket.

"I was planning to. I have no use for it anymore. Why, did you want it?" Blair breathed in the smell, and realized that the overpowering axe he always wore made her sick. She didn't want to see it anymore. But she wasn't ready to quite see someone else walk around in it. At least, not anyone she knew.

"Too soon to ask?" Scarlett asked, and there was silence, "Nope. Never mind. I never said anything, okay?"

"You already did." Blair dropped the jacket on the floor.

"Blair-bear, c'mon. It was stupid comment. I'm just bad at this. Give it away, I don't care." Scarlett's voice whined, and Blair shook her head. Scarlett couldn't see her right now, thank god.

It seemed that everything hit her with a force of a thousand bricks. Until she looked at that jacked, which made her want to be sick, everything had been flighty like a dream. Nothing had seemed real at all, until she looked at the jacket.

"If you want it, it will be on sale at the local Goodwill." Blair said emotionlessly. If she put anything into her voice, she'd begin to cry. Her eyes were already blurring, "Look, I need to go. I have tons to do." She hung up without waiting for her friend's reply, and then just sat on her bed.

Her phone rang repeatedly, but she turned it off. She noticed a paper sticking from a large notebook, with the words 'Forever, love Prince' on the edge. Savagely, she pulled it out to tear it apart.

But, she noticed a glossy edge of a picture that came out with it. Pulling the notebook onto her lap, she flipped it open to retrieve the picture, setting the love letter aside.

Guilt caught in her throat, and she let out a wheezy breath. The picture had been folded and held so many times that a spider web of lines crossed through it, almost marring the image below.

On the back side of the cover, in curly letters and silver sharpie, she'd written "My Very Best Friend Forever' and that's where the picture had been taped. It wasn't Des, it wasn't Scarlett, nor was it Trey or Prince or anyone who'd been at the party.

It was the boy, who had truly been her best friend, who'd she'd never felt anything for. In the long run, she'd had been smart if she had.

His hair gleamed like chocolate, eyes twin fires of amber, and smiled shyly at her camera. Childhood innocence tinged the edged of the picture, a fresh breath of air that she'd forgotten about. The picture whispered comforts and said, "it's okay, I'm still here, Queenie."

But he wasn't. And she felt terrible. That she hadn't given him the time of day in years, or visited him at all. Maybe if he'd made a bigger effort, she wouldn't have forgotten, but she had been otherwise preoccupied. He never trusted Prince either. And never had his instincts failed him, but she'd written him off as jealous.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She spoke to no one, just words murmured in her mind over and over and over, until they spilled from her lips.

She turned the picture over, saw her ten-year-old handwriting, and whispered his name. She was transported to a happier time, back when she was thirteen before everything turned sour. Before life turned her into an adult, and things never were the same.

Around her, life began to begin again in the house. It was nearly 4AM now, and Trey could be heard shuffling around. He gave the occasional cuss, and the fridge door opened as he fumbled for breakfast. He got up extremely early each morning so he could sketch the new day.

The birds chirped outside her window, frost painting flowers across the glass. The sun began to rise, warm tendrils of rouge and ginger weaving across her horizon. It was beautiful, an earthy simple beauty that moved her.

Looking back down at the picture, she remembered the way he loved sunrises. Each morning, at the cabin, how he'd wake and sit with his hot chocolate. When Blair asked why, he replied, "It reminds me life moves on. It's constant. Every day the sun rises, every night it sets. Without fail it continues." It was his reassurance like her lists upon lists upon lists were.

She got duct tape from her desk, and taped it down so she could never loose this picture again. If she hadn't seen it, it may have slipped between her mattress and bed. She may have not seen it for years!

She looked on the first page of the notebook. In little kid handwriting, she saw the first list she'd ever written.

Diaries, who needed diaries?

Blair had her lists. Beginning at the age of five, they went through her life. For anything important, it was created into a list. For unimportant things too, but those were soon torn from the notebook.

She began to delve into lists she hadn't read in years. Usually, she wasn't one to go back and remisic. But she felt gosh darn nostalgic today, and just wanted a little reassurance herself.

There were about thirty or so that she'd found important enough to keep in the purple notebook. Each greeted her like an old friend. There was the good, the bad, the hidden, and the obvious. Each one was a story, each one it's own tale.

A flood of memories greeted her as she looked at the titles, and she tore a fresh page out. On the top she wrote

"THE MOST IMPORTANT LISTS I'VE EVER MADE." Then, she wrote the age and the title of the first page, set her new list aside, and began to read the first list she made.