Nope. Nice try, but no. TRY AGAIN, SHALL WE? Something beginning with... F ;3 GO!
...Shhhhh..... HOW THE HELL DID YOU GE- Wrong.
Wrong Wrong ****ing wrong. Bitches, ya'll are pathetic. Try another. I spy with my rather little eye, something beginning with... ...A Go.
With my not-so-little-eye... Something beginning with C. Go.
Xaale, you seem to have matured since the last picture you took. You're growing to be a pretty girl, with almost perfect teeth. ...Awesome shizzle :3 Rissy, I'm stealing your top, the shirt on top of it, the headband, your monroe piercing, and possibly your full wardrobe. Be afraid.
Phase Six Breakdown, takedown. “The most terrible poverty is loneliness and the feeling of being unloved.” Mother Teresa “Hey sweetie...” I instantly recoiled from his hand. He was still evil, no matter how many wires and machines he was holding onto. Despite being my father, he still addressed me as ‘the kid.’ This name, after seven years, grew to be a bit of a customary thing in my home. Hello, my name is Emilia Halson, but you can just call me ‘the kid.’ Because I do LOVE being called that name day in, day out. Yeah, that would go down well when I make new friends. “Have you told the kid?” He rasped. It took me a moment to figure out what he said; even the heart monitor had a stronger voice than he had, and the only noise that thing made was a single, weak beep. “No...” My mom replied, dabbing her cheeks and looking down at me. She gave me a smile, which unto this day will forever remain engraved into my memory banks. She seemed different. I can’t quite place my finger on what her smile held, but it wasn’t the distraught, pain-stricken feelings that I – or anyone else, for that matter – would have anticipated. She seemed quite relieved. The sadness that she mocked before my father did not match the emotion in her deep chestnut eyes. She was a liar. A pedigree breed of the lying kind. It was on that day that I had realised this fact, and not once have I forgot it. In each doubting moment, in each detailed explanation as to why she had said something wrong, done something stupid, or covered up for my dad’s past mistakes, that smile crosses my mind. That smile killed the trust I had in her. Murdered it in cold blood. Strung it up and stabbed it. Set it alight and burned it. Led it to an endless pit, and left it to die. *** Granted the fact that the flesh of my limbs had not seen the light of the nurses office, and the vast majority of my time spent out of class was engaged in conversation on the field of our school or cooked up in the dining hall, I had no trouble convincing Nurse Fitzgerald that everything was fine at the moment, and my stomach cramps were genuine. Of course, this was a natural thing. I was female after all, and it comes as a seventh sense - sixth being multi-tasking – to be melodramatic about everything some way or another. My mind argued amongst itself; one side of me felt horrid for lying, or at least knowing the reason why I felt so ill, but acted oblivious to it, and the other side edged me further, wanting me to get an escape. “If she hadn’t ignored my 23 calls, then maybe we wouldn’t be in this situation.” I sighed, tapping my cold fingers against the wall. “Yes, perhaps so, but what use will going home do?” A contradiction, indeed. But this point made did nothing to sway my thoughts. “At least the several hundred people in the dining hall wouldn’t be acting as an audience if we’re at home.” “Why not just retreat to the toilet until lessons begin again? It’s only half an hour, maybe less.” “Oh, and have 30 people who actually know us, see the state we’re in?” “It’s smaller than several hundred.” “No audience is better than any audience-” “You’re quiet, dear.” Words smothered in concern, and topped off with a charming Irish accent, awoken me from the innards of my mind. “I just feel sick, miss.” I grumbled back, slumping into my chair. “Well, your mother said she would be here soon.” With a smile, the grey haired nurse sat herself down opposite me. I flashed a weak smile, but nothing obviously false. “Emma, I would like to ask you a small question.” She explained, laying her hand on mine. Her skin, crinkled like old, slightly tanned parcel paper, felt cold compared to the chalk surface of my own. I didn’t pull away, but if I had the chance, I would have most certainly took my hand away to a safe distance. “Emma, are you eating?” *** The engine of our overused jeep broke the silence that settled itself between my mother and me. She was angry. I just knew she was. I could see it in her eyes when she looked in my direction. She didn’t want me home today. The door to the house cracked open, allowing my senses to bathe in the comforting smell of home – otherwise known as a concoction of burnt toast, dog hairs, and stale smoke. Lovely. “So... You’re sick?” My mom’s accusing tone felt like straws being slid into my ears. Not just normal straws, but the type that you get with the kiddie drinks; the small, thin ones that have really sharps ends to them. Ouch. “Yeah...” I mumbled back, glancing up into her eyes like a puppy that had previously been brutally kicked. “What type of ‘sick’ are you?” “What do you mean?” “There are a couple of types of sick.” “Such as?” “Emotionally. Physically. Depressive-” “Okay, okay, I get it.” I snapped slightly, sighing as she fell silent. “Well?” “Physically. I threw up in the toilet at school. I think I’m getting the flu or something.” “Liar.” I sighed. My facade was dying.
I...I don't understand at all. ._. Someone googled the equation.
Oh my jesus, I hate numbers. is it... m = 0.5?
-Opening Credits: Black horse and a cherry tree - KT Tunstall -Waking Up: Saving Me - Nickelback -First Day of School: Still figuring out - Elliot Minor (Jesus, that fits) -Falling in Love: A kind of magic - Queen (again, so so fitting._ -Fight Scene: Saturday night's alright for fighting - Nickelback (seriously, I am not cheating) -Breaking Up: Just like heaven - katie Melua -Make Up: Party Hard - Andrew Wk -Secret Love: The Bird and The Worm - Owl City (quite fitting, again) -Life's OK: Somebody to love - queen -Mental Breakdown: Breaking my own hear - Duffy -Driving Scene: Blood Sugar - Pendulum -Flashback: The Rumour - You Me At Six -Happy Dance: Truth - Seether -Regrets: Cave In - Owl City -Long Night Alone: Weightless - All Time Low -Final Battle: So Is The Sun - World Column -Death Scene: Last call to NYC - Elliot Minor -Funeral: When it rains - Paramore -End Credits: Pieces - Sum 41 Aharhar
trizzlleeeeeeeee avvy: Nice concept, but lacking in quality. 6/10 Siggy: Same, but a little too big, hun D: 6/10
Phase Five Crumbling “Emma?” I heard my mom’s croaky voice call from the kitchen. The house phone had just been taken back to its rightful spot in the hallway; I had heard her feet shuffle across the thick carpet, and back to the linoleum flooring again. “Yes?” “Will you come here a second please?” I rose from the sofa, leaving my favourite cartoon behind me with slight reluctance. I sat down, brushing the rolled up, used tissues aside from the counter as I slumped my arms against it. “What’s wrong, mommy?” I asked casually. “It’s your dad, Emma...” “What about him?” “We need to go and see him tonight.” “But I thought we were going to see him tomorrow, mom?” “Yes, well, he’s going to be busy tomorrow, and the doctors said we could see him now.” “But I was going to paint a picture for him tomorrow morning so I could show him...” “Just forget about the picture. Go and get your coat and shoes on.” I hadn’t realised how much traffic was on the roads leading to James Cook Hospital until we were weaving between each passing car. I swear my heart stopped at least twice before we finally came to a halt. *** “Why are the weighing scales left in the middle of the bathroom, Emma?” I glanced up at my mom, forcing a lump of dried mash-potato down my throat. I was surprised that it slid down with ease; an abrupt lump had swelled into my windpipe, suddenly making it hard to breathe. “I-I don’t know.” Oh sweet Jesus. I stammered. If that wasn’t the biggest giveaway that I was lying, I don’t know what the hell is. “Yes you do, young lady. And you’re going to tell me now.” My mom’s voice turned stern, her eyes narrowing slightly into a glare. “Why were you using the bathroom scales?” “I was weighing the dog.” I lied again, setting my silverware onto my plate, signifying the end of another horrid meal. “More like you were weighing yourself, you little liar.” “Is there a sudden law against me weighing myself?” “I don’t want you getting obsessed.” “I’m not obsessed.” “How much weight have you lost? Hmm?” A silence shook the atmosphere of the kitchen. I stood up from my chair and walked towards the hallway. “Don’t ever ask me that again.” I finally answered, swallowing back the swelling bulge in my throat. *** “Her service was amazing, you know.” Samantha explained, her voice as high and airy, hands waving and animated as ever. “Really.” I kept my voice low, dismissing all emotion that threatened to disrupt the bleakness in my tone. “Yeah, it was great. The flowers and wreaths left at the crematorium were just... wow.” “Sounds thrilling.” “Can you believe that?” “...Believe what?” “The way she died? I mean, I didn’t even know that someone could have a stroke just like that.” “Mhm.” “What is a stroke, anyway? Isn’t it something to do with their head?” “I have no idea. I don’t even want to kn-” “Or is it their lungs?” I muttered a slight curse under my breath, rising from my seat and glaring at Mrs. Owen, my biology teacher. “May I be excused to the nurse?” “Of course, Emma. Are you okay?” The slam of the door behind me held the answer she wished for, a shuddering ‘no’ echoing through the corridor as the door hit the wooden frame. I slumped to the floor. Staring at the ceiling in despair, I noticed how time seemed to fly when thought took over me. I couldn’t help but to be consumed by this fear that soon, somebody would walk in on this mess. This lonesome, pathetic, tainted mess curled into the corner of a restroom, willing for a hole to open up and devour her. Cheeks stained with attempts at cosmetics, flooded away by self-pitying sobs and cries for hope, leaving a blackened trail behind. My scarlet-encrusted fingertips probed by bag, landing finally on my mobile phone. My numb hands fumbled on the keys, jabbing in the numbers as my breathing increased. My heart faltered as I pressed ‘dial’.
Oh it's no problem at all, love. I'm happy to answer any questions you want, any time.
I think that it would be harder for me to sustain the standards I work at if I did not have experience to back my emotions with, or the emotions...
I would think that the situations that I am involved in are quite strong attributes to my writing, yes.
To be honest with you, I don't know what drives me to write this way. I get an image in my head - or a scene, story, etc. - and I want the world...
Ah. I see. What would you like to know?
Well, I'm here to speak with. Is something wrong?
For once, I don't want to be alone when pushing through things. My bucket is on the verge of overflowing, and I doubt that I'll be able to let it...
Everything seems to be wrong right now. I'm glad you're doing good ;] I feel like a surge of emotion is bringing my mind to new levels of...
Thanks, love. I'm quite blergh at the moment. And yourself?
