RIP Daddy.

I hate Avril, but this song makes me cry everytime I hear it.

I always needed time on my own
I never thought I'd need you there when I cry
And the days felt like years when I'm alone
And the bed where you lie
Is made up on your side

When you walk away
I count the steps that you take
Did you see how much I need you right now?

When you're gone
The pieces of my heart are missing you
When you're gone
The face I came to know is missing too
When you're gone
The words I need to hear to always get me through the day
And make it OK
I miss you

I've never felt this way before
Everything that I do
Reminds me of you
And the clothes you left
they lie on my floor
And they smell just like you
I love the things that you do

When you walk away
I count the steps that you take

Did you see how much I need you right now?

When you're gone
The pieces of my heart are missing you
When you're gone
The face I came to know is missing too
And when you're gone
The words I need to hear to always get me through the day
And make it OK
I miss you

We were made for each other
Out here forever
I know we were
Yeah Yeah

All I ever wanted it was for you to know
Everything I do I give my heart and soul
I can hardly breathe, I need to feel you here with me

When you're gone
The pieces of my heart are missing you
When you're gone
The face I came to know is missing too
When you're gone
The words I need to hear will always get me through the day
And make it OK
I miss you

(no subject)

But now they tell me that you're in a better place
But where did you go? (But where did you go?)
And I swear sometimes you're watching over me
Still I'd give the world for the chance
Just to see your face again
Still I pretend that you're still standing by
To show me wrong from right
Never got a chance to say goodbye

I miss you daddy.
Rest in Peace.
  • Current Music
    Juno Soundtrack

(no subject)

He stared at the Black Tube of Death while she attempted to force the thin, equally black stick onto his face - specifally, his eye lids. Yes, folks, this was Liquid Eye Liner, and he wasn't into it. She had tried for almost three days to get the dark substance onto him, but he simply refused. Now he was seeing there was no other way to deal with it but agree, and hope he could make it to the bathroom without his mother (Or worse, his grandmother) noticing.

"Pwease, Thomas?" She begged quietly, rubbing her nose onto his neck. He quivered, but shook his head none the less.

"No, Mawie..." He pushed her away.

Sitting dejected on his lap, she stared at the bottle in frustration. She didn't see the big deal - one of her male friends wore lipstick, for Gods sake! How bad could a little eye liner be?!

"Pwease..." She tried again, moving closer. "You can take it off!"

"You said it was hard to get off," He pointed out, reserecting the words she had spoken the night before.

"Not while it's wet," She neglected to say, of course, that it smeared while it was wet and burned like hell if he would have gotten it in his eyes.

He didn't need to know that right now.

"Then what's the point?!"

"It'd bring out the green in your eyes!" It was true; his eyes were a green/gray color, with an unusual ring of brown directly in the center, and eye liner would make them fully stand out behind his thin rimmed purple framed glasses.

"My green if fully out, thank you very much."

She tried a different

(no subject)

+++The Mentor+++

Written on January 8, 1986


Another one got caught today, it's all over the papers. "Teenager Arrested in Computer Crime Scandal", "Hacker Arrested after Bank Tampering"...

Damn kids. They're all alike.

But did you, in your three-piece psychology and 1950's technobrain, ever take a look behind the eyes of the hacker? Did you ever wonder what made him tick, what forces shaped him, what may have molded him?

I am a hacker, enter my world...

Mine is a world that begins with school... I'm smarter than most of the other kids, this crap they teach us bores me...

Damn underachiever. They're all alike.

I'm in junior high or high school. I've listened to teachers explain for the fifteenth time how to reduce a fraction. I understand it. "No, Ms. Smith, I didn't show my work. I did it in my head..."

Damn kid. Probably copied it. They're all alike.

I made a discovery today. I found a computer. Wait a second, this is cool. It does what I want it to. If it makes a mistake, it's because I screwed it up. Not because it doesn't like me...
Or feels threatened by me...
Or thinks I'm a smart ass...
Or doesn't like teaching and shouldn't be here...

Damn kid. All he does is play games. They're all alike.

And then it happened... a door opened to a world... rushing through the phone line like heroin through an addict's veins, an electronic pulse is sent out, a refuge from the day-to-day incompetencies is sought... a board is found. "This is it... this is where I belong..."

I know everyone here... even if I've never met them, never talked to them, may never hear from them again... I know you all...

Damn kid. Tying up the phone line again. They're all alike...

You bet your ass we're all alike... we've been spoon-fed baby food at school when we hungered for steak... the bits of meat that you did let slip through were pre-chewed and tasteless. We've been dominated by sadists, or ignored by the apathetic. The few that had something to teach found us willing pupils, but those few are like drops of water in the desert.

This is our world now... the world of the electron and the switch, the beauty of the baud. We make use of a service already existing without paying for what could be dirt-cheap if it wasn't run by profiteering gluttons, and you call us criminals.
We explore... and you call us criminals.
We seek after knowledge... and you call us criminals.
We exist without skin color, without nationality, without
religious bias... and you call us criminals.
You build atomic bombs, you wage wars, you murder, cheat, and lie to us and try to make us believe it's for our own good, yet we're the criminals.

Yes, I am a criminal. My crime is that of curiosity. My crime is that of judging people by what they say and think, not what they look like. My crime is that of outsmarting you, something that you will never forgive me for.

I am a hacker, and this is my manifesto. You may stop this individual, but you can't stop us all... after all, we're all alike.

+++The Mentor+++

(no subject)

"Mr. Alder? Care to pay attention?" Mark glanced up at the round lump in front of him.

Mrs. Facer.

"Can you tell me the answer?" He glanced at the board, where the problem was written out.

"Fifty two hundred and seven." He hated math - his teacher treated him like a child, even though he got 100% in it. The fake lighting burned his eyes, and he wished it wasn't against the school rules to wear sunglasses. Thick sunglasses.
Very thick sunglasses.

"Correct." She said through gritted teeth. It pained her when Mark was correct - which was always.

"I know." He muttered, turning back to his mindless doodle.


"Bonjour my love." Luke said, pulling open the door. A towel was draped over his right arm, and he wore a clean button down blue shirt.

"Whats the ocasion?" Twylyte asked nervously, hoping she didn't forget their aniversery.

"None." His lips met hers momentarily - the taste of spices was left on them - and motioned for her to sit. "Our love?" His lip turned up in a smile. "We just need some 'us' time. Sit! I'll be back." He jogged off to the small kitchen, and she eyed the living room.

He had clearly cleaned - it sparkled so much she wanted to sheild her eyes - and everything was perfectly in order.

Draping herself across the small couch, she let her head roll back, her eye droop closed.

"Diner is served." She sat up quickly, and eyed the plate that was sitting on the coffee table. He pulled two long-stemmed glasses from his back pocket, and she inwardly sighed.

No avoiding sex this time.


"Hi honey," The drunken voice met her ears before she actually saw her mothers face.

"H-h-hi mom." Jess stuttered, her eyes glued to the floor. She smoothed her jeans.

"Jess? Can you help me with this?" Sean called upstairs. Jess took the chance and bolted up the staircase, glad she didn't have to talk to her mother.

"Thanks." Jess said to her brother, who was trying to pick up the pennies that had scattered on the wood floor.

"Anytime. Seriously, though, I need help." Jess considered smiling, before abandoning the idea and dropping to her knee's, picking the scattered collection up off the floor.


"Mark, change your clothes. We're going out to eat." What a nice woman. Mark mused sourly.

"Mom, I don't want to go." He argued, inching towards the hallway. Towards his darkness.

"I don't care." She snapped. "You're going. Get changed." He sighed.

"Mother, I can't. I have my science project to work on, it's due tomorrow. I totally forgot," He hoped she bought his lie.

"Fine." She snapped. "Your father and I will go alone, then. Go work on your project." He almost broke into a run as he hurried to his room. The darkness pressed against him comfortingly as he closed the door behind him.

His book bag was abandoned by the door as he fell face first, but was unpleasantly surprised when he didn't land on his bed, but instead hit his head on an edge.

"Shit," He muttered, rubbing the throbbing point. He crawled to the door, and flicked on a light switch. The room was dimly lit with black lights that were fastened along the ceiling. His room wasn't the way he had left it, and he cursed his mother.

His bed was in the corner, instead of the middle, and his dresser was what he had hit his head on. Nothing was how he left it, and nothing was how he liked it.


"Where are you going?" Her insides curled at his voice.

"I don't feel good." She lied, pulling her shirt over her head.

"You called your dad, right? You don't have to be home until tomorrow!" Luke protested, his hands finding her waist.

"I'm sorry, Luke, I just don't feel good." He sighed.

"It's alright, baby." He kissed her shoulder.

She left silently, hoping he would fall back asleep soon. It wasn't like she didn't love him, but somehow, she wanted more. He was everything she should hope for -- in college, good looking, had his own apartment and had a wealthy family.

But she wanted more from him. From herself. From life.

She was going to drive home, but instead found herself heading towards Twist 'Ems, an all-night coffee shop. She didn't feel like going home, explaining to her father why she had come back and trying to get to sleep -- she didn't want to deal with it.

"Out late," The chubby man commented as she stepped up to the counter.

"A bit." She rubbed her hands together for warmth. "Can I have a cinamon twist, and uh..." She scanned the small menu. "A hot chocolate." He nodded.

"Comin' right up," He said, a kind smile on his pudgy face. She pulled a five dollar bill from her pocket, and set it on the counter. "Here ya are." She sat down in a booth, and ate her doughnut slowly. She couldn't help but wondering why she felt so alone, and why she wasn't happy with the man she thought she loved.

I do love him. I do.


He sat in the middle of his bedroom, a triumphant smile upon his face. After working for two hours, he had gotten everything back exactly the way it was.

"Mark?" His mother opened the door to his room.

"Knock much?" He asked sourly, wishing she would just leave him alone.

"Your father isn't home, do you know where he is?" She pushed a piece of her short, fluffed brown hair from her face, and he noticed how old she looked. Wrinkles were at the edges of her eyes, makeup not quite covering the deep circles under them.

"How would I know?" Mark growled before he could stop himself.

"I thought he might have said something to you." She snapped back, slamming his door closed. He pressed his face in the pillow.

Sorry, Mom, He thought sadly. I don't mean to be such a bad son. The phone rang, cutting his thoughts off.

"Hello?" He asked lazily, barely bringing his head up.

"Mark?" The voice was deeper then Jess's, and she was the only one besides his parents who knew his phone number.

"Yeah," He said warily.

"It's Sean." Mark's heart did backflips, and he sat up quickly.


"Yeah, I need your help. It's Jess..." Mark forced back a sigh. It was only wishful thinking that Sean was calling to talk to him.

"What's wrong?" Mark asked, pulling his fingers through his hair.

"She's... I don't know." He admitted. "She's not right."

"I'll be there as soon as I can." Mark promised.

"Thanks, Mark. I really appreciate it." Mark closed his eyes for a second, a tingling sensation filling him.

"Anytime." He managed to push out, before ending the phone call. Falling back against his bed, he wished that Sean would call for him, not because of Jess.


He grabbed his sweat shirt, and hurried out his door, tossing the phone on his bed. It bounced off, landing hard on the floor.


The comforting smell of her closet made her want to fall asleep, to lay her head down on her knee's and pretent to not be there, but she forced herself to keep awake. Her brother was outside the door, but had given up on begging her to come out.

She could hear the faint sound of his radio from his room, and his steady, deep breathing.

The loud creak of her window was followed by a rustle of curtains.


"What are you doing?" Sean asked. She knew what he was doing without even seeing -- shutting off the lights, and closing the curtains.

"I don't like light." He explained. "My eyes are sensative." Sean grunted a reply, but she didn't hear it. She stared at the bit of dirt on the edges of her black and red tennis shoes. She wondered how it got there

"Jess?" Mark's familar voice met her ears, but she made no reply, staring intently at the piece of dirt. "Jess, come out... please?" The door rattled gently, before sliding open.

"Leave me alone." She whispered. Mark crouched down to her level.

"Please, Jess, come out." He held his hand to her. She pressed herself against the rough wall.


"I wont hurt you, you know." He said soothingly. Her eyes darted from his lips, to his hand, not looking into his eyes. She hated looking people in their eyes. "I wouldn't hurt you, Jess, not ever." She didn't respond.

"Jess, you're my baby sister," Sean put in. She jumped. "I wouldn't hurt you ever." She peered over Mark's shoulder.

"Jess, come out." She nervously took his hand, crawling out. Her eyes darted rapidly around the room.

"What's wrong?"

Don't Know Me

The Porcaline God.

Thats what I've heard it called. The Porcaline God.

It makes it easier to toss your insides out if you think of it like that. Like praying to your God, the holy one I guess. I've never called it anything other then the crapper, really. I try not to make my disorder more human, more natural. Because I know it's a disorder. I know I'm sick. I know I shouldn't be this way yet I continue to heave what food I do eat into the toliet.

You know, I don't even think girls who are anorexic are that pretty. I hate the way hip bones look sticking out of a woman, how ugly rib bones make a girl, but I cannot begin to explain the the thrill I feel when I first wake up in the morning and see the hollow space between my hips, see the way my stomach looks, as if it's caving into itself. The way you can see every bone in my spine when I bend over is thrilling, and the music I can make on my hip bones creates a morbid tune.

I know you think I'm sick. You think I should get help. I know you, sitting there, shaking your head in disgust while you stuff your fat face with Ding Dongs and Twinkies. You think you're better then me. I know you do, don't try to lie about it. I know you think, right now, that I'm just sick fuck who needs a good long therapy sesion. Just some want-to-be model who thinks if she can get skinny enough, she can walk that runway with Tyra Banks and Kate Moss.


I'm not like them. You don't know me. Don't judge me. I don't want to be a model - I want to go to MIT and make something of myself. I don't shop at American Eagle and party with my oh-so-hot friends. I'm not like them.

You don't know what it's like. To stare at yourself and hear your best friend tell you that you're ugly, you're fat. You don't know what it's like to feel so worthless that you can't get out of bed in the morning, can't bring yourself to do anything productive. You don't know what it's like to hear people tell you you're thin, you're skinny, and then be told you're fat and ugly and won't ammount to anything.
You don't know what it's like to be me.

Don't think you can label me. Put a stamp on me. You can't.

-Not quite done. Need's editing and tweaking.

Just something I've been fiddling with

"Is your homework done?"

First day at school, home only ten minutes, that’s what he has to say to his only daughter.

Is your homework done.

"Yes father." Her voice sounded distant to her ears, strange, like another said it but it came from her mouth.

"Good." He all-but-grunted. She waited until she could hear his footsteps no more before she relaxed. The tension in her spine spilling out like a popped balloon, leaving her draped across her chair, closely resembling a rag doll.


What a depressing place. She had the vague thought that Home was supposed to be somewhere comfortable, somewhere happy. She couldn't remember what had sparked that odd thought, but pushed it to the back of her mind as quickly as it came. Home wasn't a happy place. Home never was.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. She ignored the phone, deciding that even if she wanted to pick up the plastic thing, she wouldn't be able to. The life had been sucked from her, leaving her dry. Bare.

"Twylyte, pick up the damned phone." Her father yelled from somewhere near the front of the house.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring Ring. Rin-

"Hello?" Her voice held the same distant quality as it did before, and she hoped she wouldn't have to hear it long.

"Is Twylyte there?" A male voice asked. She fell back into her chair again.

"Who's this?"


Laughter came up the stairs like waves, a pleasant sound of people enjoying themselves - or pretending to, at least - over drinks, but Jess wanted no part of the fun.

Her closet smelled of cheap air freshener and fabric softener, with an underlying smell of fake leather boots and nail polish remover. A heavy blanket covered everything but her head, which looked odd and out of place, surrounded by clothes as it was. She felt out of place.

The bedroom door opened, and she stiffened.

"Jess?" Her brother. She saw his towering 6'2, 245 pound frame through the slats of the closet door. He went straight to the door, and she cursed him silently for knowing her so well.

"Jess. Come out of the closet." She pulled her knee's closer to her chest, hoping to disappear into herself.
Into the wall.

"Jess. Please?' She shook her head stubbornly. "You can't let mom find you like this." She darted her eyes nervously around the closet, before pushing the blanket from her body. He helped her out of her dark cubby hole, and closed the door behind her.

"Jess, what’s wrong?" She sat on the edge of her bed, ready to run at any moment. Staring at her hands, she opened her mouth to speak.

"You have to come, Twylyte." Luke argued.

"I don't think I can." Her voice was muffled from the pillow. She had faint hopes of smothering herself when she laid on the bed, but abandoned them quickly, deciding she would never actually be able to do it. She lay face down in her pillow.

"Please? I didn't get to see you all day." That was the thing she hated about Luke. He was persistent.

And she was in no mood what so ever to argue.

"Fine." She pushed the Off button before she had time to change her mind, and tossed it to the end of her bed.

What have I gotten myself into.


The room was dark.

The ceiling looked dark.

The walls looked dark.

"Mark? Sweetie? Are you in there?" His mother called.

"No." The door opened, and his mother pushed her head in. Just her head, as if afraid she would be sucked into the darkness that consumed the room.
The boy.

"Dinners almost ready." She said, a strained, forced smile was on her lips. She tried so hard to be a good mother.

"I'm not hungry."

"Mark, sweetie, you have to-"

"I said I'm not hungry." He growled, turning in his bed. She pursed her cherry-painted lips unhappy, but closed the door. He stared at the wall.


It was dark.

It was hard to figure out what was the window and what was the wall, but he squinted just enough to define them. The glass had been painted black, and heavy curtains hung, keeping out what light attempted to get inside.

Dark. Thats all he wanted.


The laughter she so despised was louder here, in her kitchen. Her ever-pestering brother Sean was behind her, making sure she didn't run like she so wanted to.

"Hi Jess." Her mother greeted her, only slightly drunk.

"H-Hi." She said quietly. Her thoughts were fuzzy, as if a fog lay over her mind, but she wondered hazily how long it would take of not speaking to forget the English language. She wished she could, just so she wouldn't have to talk to anyone.

"How was school sweetie?" Her mother ruffled the top of her head, and left the room, not waiting for an answer. Jess leaned against the cool counter, legs feeling like Jell-O.

"See? That wasn't so hard." Sean said simply. He handed her a cold soda, and she took it thankfully.

Wasn't hard for you. She thought sourly. Not for you. Never for you.

"Hi." He held the door open for her, and she slid in. The smell of Italian cooking and costly male perfume hit her, but she had no time to notice anything else, for Luke swept her into his arms and planted a kiss on her lips. His hands were cold against her skin, and she resisted the urge to pull away.

"Hey Lyte." He kissed her once more, before walking arrogantly into the kitchen. She toyed momentarily with the idea of just leaving - the door was right there - but followed his thin figure instead.

The house looked odd to Twylyte's eyes, but she wasn't sure what was wrong. She had been in this house over a hundred times, but something was... off.

"Come on." He took her hand in his cold ones and pulled her into his small room. It was cold here, too. Candles were lit around the dresser, but he pulled her onto his bed.

"How was the first day of school?" He asked, not sounding one bit interested in anything she had to say. The red and white candles flickered, but she forced herself to look at him.


A green light came on his phone, pushing into the darkness. It shined like a beacon, and he grabbed it before it could ring.

"Hello?" He sat up, his wood floors feeling odd against bare feet.


"Hey Jess." He rubbed his already sore head.

"Want to hang out?" He squeezed his eyes shut, though there was little difference between the darkness around him and the darkness of the back of his eye lids.

"Sure. Over there?" He cursed himself for agreeing - he just wanted to be alone. In the dark. Alone.

"Sure." Her voice was meek, as always. He wondered if she talked at all when she was at her house.

"Be there in ten." He turned the phone off. The green numbers seemed bright to his eyes, and he put it back, face down.

He rubbed his head again, and fell back into his bed.

Back into the darkness.

His kisses were soft and gentle, caressing, caring. She wished for nothing more then to leave his arms, to escape. Be anywhere. Anywhere but where she was at.

A timer dinged in the kitchen - she thought it her savior. He groaned, sounding tired.

"I'll be right back, Babe." He said, kissing her one last time before vaulting off the bed and hurrying out of the bedroom. She laid there for a long moment, staring at the flickering of the candles on the dresser. She checked her watch - eight-oh-two. Three. Eight-oh-three. Time to go.

"Luke," She started, her voice scratchy from their kissing. He was stiring something in a small, metal pot, and she wondered what he was cooking. He used to cook her all sorts of meals, but that was before. Before the sex. The commitment.

"Hm?" He tasted something red from the spoon, and added more brown sugar. Spegetti. Simple. Nothing like it used to be.

"I've got to go. I told my dad I'd be home early." He groaned again - she wondered why he did it so much. It wasn't attractive. He leaned against the counter, looking so unhappy that she couldn't meet his eyes.

"But... I made dinner." His voice almost sent her into a fit of tears -- guilt riddled her insides, a knot growing in her stomach. She hated lying to him. Whats worse? The lying, or the sex? She pushed the voice to the back of her mind.

"I'm sorry... I... I didn't know." She answered lamely. He snaked his arms around her waist and pulled her into him.

"I know. I should have told you." He kissed her, and she kissed him back half-heartedly. On the way home, she wondered if this was what she had to look forward to for the rest of her life. Speggetti and avoiding sex.

How depressing.

Finishing the granolia bar he had snitched from the kitchen before leaving, Mark eyed the side of Jess's house. Cracking his knuckes, he cursed her for taking the attic bedroom and started up the brick sides.

It wasn't hard - his fingers were rough from climbing it so much - but the worse part was the sun. The light beat against his back, and when he looked up to find the next finger hole, it would sear his eyes.

After a few minutes of careful climbing - and almost falling off - he reached her window. It was unlocked, as always, and he slid in easily, landing on her bed and closing it behind him. The room was empty, of course, but the startled russle of a blanket from the closet told him exactly where Jess was. After closing the blinds on her three windows, and turning off all the lights, he laid on her bed.

"You can come out, Jess." He said, flipping the small red and purple tv on. The door hesitantly opened, and she crawled out, her short, blonde streaked hair only slightly frizzy.

"Hey Mark." She said, carefully closing the door behind her. He set the remote down after turning it to VH1 - something about an old rock group, one of his favorites - and turned to face her. She was leaning against the metal door, as if it pained her to leave her small cubby. It probably did, he mused. Jess spent more time in the closet then his tennis shoes did.

"Hey. Whats up?" They made idle chit chat for quite some time - talking about how Jess's school day was, and how his was, what teachers they got and how horrible the lunch food was. The normal BS. Eventually, her brother Sean came in, most likely to check on her. He did that a lot - he cared for his little sister. Mark's stomach renched, hands trembled.

"Hey Mark, I didn't see you come in." Sean greeted him, noting that Jess wasn't in the closet.

"Window." Mark answered. Jess and Mark had been friends for a long time - long enough for Sean to know that Mark refused to use front doors. No one, not even Mark most of the time, knew why, but he didn't use them.

"Still coming in that way? Well, why don't you stay for dinner. Kate's passed out in her room already, so I ordered Chinese. Had a feeling you'd show up, so I got you a sweet and sour chicken. It's here." Mark's stomach renched again, and he cursed it. It did that around Sean a lot - Mark had odd feelings towards the brother of his best friend, feelings he couldn't (and didn't) want to think about, let alone explain.

"Is everyone gone?" Jess asked shakily, eyes darting from Mark to Sean. She hated people she didn't know.

"Everyone but us." He agreed, and lumbered his way out of the room. Mark watched him walk wisfully, and wished for half the muscle that Sean had, instead of the stringy fat he had. Too much fat.

Jess started towards the door, before realizing Mark wasn't following her.

"Are..." She paused, gathering her thoughts. Her words. "Are you coming?" Mark twitched, and turned off VH1.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm coming." He wouldn't pass up a chance to be near Sean, even for only a few minutes. He wished he didn't think about Sean that way. Wished woman were as attractive as Sean was.

The morning sun light stung her eyes, and Jess wondered why she had bothered opening the blinds after Mark had left.

"Jess?" Perfect timing. "Time to get up." Her brother shook her gently.

"I'm up." She complained quietly, rolling from her bed to prove her point. Sean caught her just before she hit her head on the dresser - not the first time she would have done it.

"Not quite. I've taken my shower, so you can use it." She nodded distantly, her mind still clogged with the dreams of the night before. Of knives and running and fighting. Of guns and dragons and feirce beasts that would have put fear into the most couragous man. She hated her dreams - they scared her. She kept herself up as long as possible, with books, movies, video games, everything. It didn't really work well, but she tried. It would be easier if she could be like Mark. He never slept.

She stumbled into the bathroom and flicked the light on, before deciding against it and turning it off again. It had burned her eyes, just like the sun had.

It was going to be another long day.

He could never tell morning from night. In his room, there was no morning. No night. It was one constant day, strung out over an infinity. The only semblance of time itself was school, which was a waste of time, if someone asked him. He knew everything they taught him - he had learned it in pre-k, practicly. He should be in college already. Shoulda Coulda Woulda. He snarled at himself.

"I think that the family should go out to eat tonight, Mark." His mother told him as he came into the kitchen. Good Morning to you, too. He thought sourly.

"Ok. Have fun." He grabbed another granolia bar, the main thing he ate, and made a bee line for the back door.

"You're going." She said so sternly he paused in mid step.

"I don't want to."

"I don't care." He cursed under his breath.

"Bye, mom." He grumbled, closing the door behind him before she could say anything.

Damnit. I don't want to go to a stupid dinner. I don't want to go anywhere.


A pleasant sound of crickets chirping shook her concentration. It took a moment before she realized it was her cell phone.

"Hello?" She crouched down, trying to keep her voice low. Jason, her art teacher, didn't seem to notice or care, and she was thankful.

"Hey Twylyte." His voice was was a knife ripping through her insides.

"Luke! I'm in class!" She hissed.

"I know. Can you come over after school? I'll make dinner." She cringed.

"Can I call you after class?" Half the class was glaring at her. She wished she could hide under the tables.

"Fine." He sounded upset. She winced. "Love you." She hesitated, wondering how long he'd wait to hear her answer.

"You too." She flipped her phone closed. "Sorry..." She added meakly to the angry stares. She glanced back at her half-formed picture of the girl she had saw walking in the rain a few days ago, and her face twisted in a grimce. Picking up another shade of grey pencil, she stared re working the puddle at her feet.

I love him. Don't I? Of course. Of course I love him. Of course...

(no subject)

First part of Chapter Four

The cup felt warm under my hands, it’s contents smelling spicy and sweet. The latte burned my tongue when I sipped it, but I didn’t complain as it heated my body.

The coffee shop was small, painted in festive purples, yellows, and blues. Small round tables with sayings stenciled in lavender dotted the floor. A small boy sat at one table, eyes wide as he watched his large chocolate doughnut being passed around between his parents and grandparents until there was only half left, which clearly wasn’t as good as a full doughnut (He ate it anyway, naturally. What five year old in their right mind would pass up chocolate?).

I searched for the reason of why I had come in here, and faintly remembered thinking it would help me write the three chapters that I was supposed to send to Jason an hour and a half ago. Figured it’d help dodge his angry calls, too.

The white screen blinked out into a screen saver – brightly colored pipes creating dizzying twists against a black background – and I shook myself. I touched the mouse pad, and my word possessing program smiled sarcastically at me, a painful reminder that I needed to write.

I felt my mind drift to the woman. Her voice was so amazing, her eyes were stunning.

My fingers moved across the keys before I could think about what I was doing, creating a basic character sketch of her. Without really intending to, I started a fresh chapter, twisting the plot with her in it. This wasn’t supposed to be how it was written – old Greg didn’t have love in his sights any more then I did – but I wrote it anyway, fully intending to delete it after I was done.

An hour and three Eggnog Latte’s later, I had finished a record amount of seven chapters, almost all of them around her. My fingers were sore, eyes stung, and I sent off three of the chapters before closing it and leaving the café, which had so pleasantly put up with me. Not many did.

Three rings, four rings, five rings – answering machine.

Buried my head and thoughts deeper into the pillow and blocked out the message. If they didn’t have the common courtesy to call at a decent damn hour, I didn’t want to talk to them.

Reminded myself to unplug the phone before I went to bed the next night just before I fell into the black hole called sleep.
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