55
Post by CountingStars on May 28, 2010 18:03:19 GMT -8
Title: "Hello"
Background: I wrote this awhile ago, but never finished. Figured that I should post it, so... here it is.
Work:
‘’Ugh!’’ I screamed as I threw my brush down.
It was impossible to get these knots out of my hair. I just flipped it into a messy ponytail. It took me about 10 minutes to get it to look like something that actually took me 10 minutes. I looked into the body mirror in my bedroom and put the brush gently in front of the mirror. My reflection looked well, tan, of course. That’s what you get when you live in Florida. My blonde hair looked like it was about to fall out of a ponytail, so I tightened and pinned it to the back of my hair. It looked more of a bun now than a ponytail.
I had brown eyes, and people always called them so beautiful. I mean just because you don’t see a blonde every day with brown eyes, doesn’t mean that you have to attack them with comments, like "Oh my gosh! Your eyes are just gorgeous. Where does you get them from?’’ It gets annoying, even if you like getting compliments on how beautiful and flawless you are- I don’t need people telling me that whenever I step outside the house.
I hauled my backpack off my bed-it was filled with books and homework-and dashed down the stairs. I ran my hands against the wooden staircase banner on my way down. It felt so nice again my warm hands. The entire house was a red-brown color that fit nicely with the spiraling stairs and antiques. Sometimes it smelt really bad in here because dirt collected all over the place.
I opened up the cabinets when I reached the red-brown kitchen with white tiled floors, and brown cabinets that had black framing. I reached in but felt no pop tarts. I looked everywhere and then realized my mother never bought them this week and I would have to starve myself every morning now, because I only ate pop tarts for breakfast. I hated cereal, and eggs. They made me sick.
I wrote ‘pop tarts’ on the shopping list and then put the pen back where it should be-right on the microwave. If I forgot to write it again, my mother wouldn’t buy them. I was hopeful for this. No breakfast today. Or for the rest of the week for that matter. This just plain out sucks. Really, I thought it was the most important meal of the day. So now, if I have to run seven miles in gym class, I’m going to need to pull an energy bar out of my bag.
I sighed and pulled on my sneakers. I walked out the door with key in hand, and locked it. Before I could even think about walking down the street to school, I had to take out the garbage. The stinky rolling object lay near the back of the house filled with three bags of white garbage bags that stunk like an animal that just died. When the garbage can was finally in front of the house, I took out my hand sanitizer and used it. When I started walking down the street, I got about five feet before I heard the door open or close. I couldn’t tell from the sound. My feet skidded to a stop which burnt the bottom of my heels, and I turned around. Kasey, my younger sister, was running after me, lunch box in hand. Screaming my full name as if I had abandoned her. Her backpack bounced up and down as she ran across the sidewalk, her new shoes making a click, tick, click, tick sound. Her eyes were red and tears were streaming down her small, pale, little face. I frowned at her, and shook my head.
She slowed to a pace, and her brown hair-which was in pigtails-bounced. She was very pale, even though we did live in Florida. When she got within two millimeters of me, I started to walk again. She was talking to me about some stupid book she was reading in the third grade. It was like… I don’t even remember, that’s how much I wasn’t listening to her.
We finally got to her school, and when she left, it was like fifteen pounds falling off my shoulders. I skipped down the streets, almost getting hit by cars and old people jiggling as they jogged down the streets. When I finally reached school after 50 thousand years, a big banner hung from the school. My mouth dropped open, and my head spun. The words on the banner read, INTERNET SAFETY WEEK! In big bold, italic letters.
I marched with a kind of slump to it, into my homeroom classroom. I didn’t even bother to go to my locker, knowing that I wouldn’t need anything for this class period. Forty-five minutes of hell. I would rather be going out with Robert Pattinson then doing this for a few weeks. Mr. Faulte walked into the classroom, his hair was the only awesome thing about him. It was, I don’t know… A marshmellow that was black.
"Miss Parker, would you like to tell me why you are so mad? You know I don’t tolerate that,’’ he told me, his bangs like a waterfall, "You should really be energetic about this week!’’
"It's internet safety week,’’ I murmured, "and you know that I hate it with a passion.’’
He shook his head and began class. He asked for a volunteer to help him with his first session of the week, not giving out your last name or first on the internet. I plainly think this is stupid, because even if I said, "Oh hey, my name is Alexandrea,’’ I’m sure they wouldn’t say, "She totally lives in Florida.’’ Seriously? This week needs a makeover more than the principal does.
But, I still raised my hand to help him out. A few other people did too, and he called on me. I made my way slowly, drawing attention. Everybody stared at me. Some people even giggled, calling me self-centered and a klutz, because on my way up, I tripped. Giggles erupted through the classroom, and Mr. Faulte silenced them with a hush that probably boomed threw the entire hallway.
"Alexandrea, you get an AIM message, asking for your first and last name. What exactly would you do? Details, details please,’’ his voice boomed.
"I don’t tell them anything. I don’t even respond to the message. I would close out, and block them from my list,’’ I said, then I realized I had forgotten something, "But before I close it, I would hit report.’’
He smiled approvingly, and went on and on with asking stupid little questions like that. When I re-entered my seat, I stared at the clock waiting for it to ring, so I could finally move on with my life. I had way better things to do than this. The bell rang, filling my ears with the best sound in the world. The rest of the day passed as a blur, and my head spun the rest of the day. When school ended, I zoomed out of homeroom, and down the front steps. Kasey took the bus in the afternoon, but I enjoyed walking. I was addicted to the computer, I could say, so I walked instead of taking that really long bus ride with my sister talking to me about books. The book freak was going to her friends until my mom got home, which was eight. Plus, my dad was going to be working untill midnight. My mom didn’t approve of me being on the computer all the time, so I had to sneak around. What an amazing day I had right before me!
I shoved my key into the front door and ran up into my room. Underneath my bunk bed, my laptop sat there, waiting for me to turn it on. I put it on the bottom bunk and then I threw my backpack on the rocking chair in the corner. It matched my red or maroon walls that matched the antique house perfectly. My warm little room had two window seats with nice drapes hanging over them. As I locked the door, my head spun with the delights of getting on the computer.
The computer made a humming noise as it came alive, and it asked me for my username and password, to make sure I was the actual owner. I typed in, Monkeys as my username on this software, and seven dots popped up in password box. A noise from my computer welcomed me with waiting arms, and internet. The internet browser, google, was just a plain little thing that I could search stuff. Up in the address bar, I typed in whccc.vbulletin.com. The site's front page warmed me inside, and a smile stretched across my face. I logged in, with the name people know me by online, Alex!?.
I went down on the bar that was near the start button and I clicked the two arrows that expanded it. I clicked on my AIM button, and the sign in came up. Automatic logon made all these pop-ups and ads cover my screen. I x-ed them all out, and underneath my name, stood a blank empty gray box. I wrote in, Nathaniel Spitzner. I was going to write Mr. Fogelman, but I decided that Nathaniel was better. He was from one of my favorite books, No More Dead Dogs.
The name LetItRockxxGirl popped up on my online buddies list, with a hi inside of a quotation bubble. Before I could even click on her name, a box with a message that said, ‘’xxAprilFoolsxx has sent you a message but she is not on your contacts list. Would you like to answer the message?’’ I clicked yes, because it might be one of my friends with a new screename and they forgot to tell me about it. A heavy sigh escaped my mouth.
XxAprilFoolsxx: Hello, I am the AIM stalker.
XxAprilFoolsxx: What is your name? First and last, please.
I laughed like crazy. Mr. Faulte couldn’t play a joke on me. Last year he drove up to me in a car and asked me if I wanted a ride for Safety Week. My eye roll was mastered, and I proved that to myself. I so knew it was him, so another sigh escaped my lips as I typed in the answer to my little stalker's question.
Background: I wrote this awhile ago, but never finished. Figured that I should post it, so... here it is.
Work:
Chapter One;
‘’Ugh!’’ I screamed as I threw my brush down.
It was impossible to get these knots out of my hair. I just flipped it into a messy ponytail. It took me about 10 minutes to get it to look like something that actually took me 10 minutes. I looked into the body mirror in my bedroom and put the brush gently in front of the mirror. My reflection looked well, tan, of course. That’s what you get when you live in Florida. My blonde hair looked like it was about to fall out of a ponytail, so I tightened and pinned it to the back of my hair. It looked more of a bun now than a ponytail.
I had brown eyes, and people always called them so beautiful. I mean just because you don’t see a blonde every day with brown eyes, doesn’t mean that you have to attack them with comments, like "Oh my gosh! Your eyes are just gorgeous. Where does you get them from?’’ It gets annoying, even if you like getting compliments on how beautiful and flawless you are- I don’t need people telling me that whenever I step outside the house.
I hauled my backpack off my bed-it was filled with books and homework-and dashed down the stairs. I ran my hands against the wooden staircase banner on my way down. It felt so nice again my warm hands. The entire house was a red-brown color that fit nicely with the spiraling stairs and antiques. Sometimes it smelt really bad in here because dirt collected all over the place.
I opened up the cabinets when I reached the red-brown kitchen with white tiled floors, and brown cabinets that had black framing. I reached in but felt no pop tarts. I looked everywhere and then realized my mother never bought them this week and I would have to starve myself every morning now, because I only ate pop tarts for breakfast. I hated cereal, and eggs. They made me sick.
I wrote ‘pop tarts’ on the shopping list and then put the pen back where it should be-right on the microwave. If I forgot to write it again, my mother wouldn’t buy them. I was hopeful for this. No breakfast today. Or for the rest of the week for that matter. This just plain out sucks. Really, I thought it was the most important meal of the day. So now, if I have to run seven miles in gym class, I’m going to need to pull an energy bar out of my bag.
I sighed and pulled on my sneakers. I walked out the door with key in hand, and locked it. Before I could even think about walking down the street to school, I had to take out the garbage. The stinky rolling object lay near the back of the house filled with three bags of white garbage bags that stunk like an animal that just died. When the garbage can was finally in front of the house, I took out my hand sanitizer and used it. When I started walking down the street, I got about five feet before I heard the door open or close. I couldn’t tell from the sound. My feet skidded to a stop which burnt the bottom of my heels, and I turned around. Kasey, my younger sister, was running after me, lunch box in hand. Screaming my full name as if I had abandoned her. Her backpack bounced up and down as she ran across the sidewalk, her new shoes making a click, tick, click, tick sound. Her eyes were red and tears were streaming down her small, pale, little face. I frowned at her, and shook my head.
She slowed to a pace, and her brown hair-which was in pigtails-bounced. She was very pale, even though we did live in Florida. When she got within two millimeters of me, I started to walk again. She was talking to me about some stupid book she was reading in the third grade. It was like… I don’t even remember, that’s how much I wasn’t listening to her.
We finally got to her school, and when she left, it was like fifteen pounds falling off my shoulders. I skipped down the streets, almost getting hit by cars and old people jiggling as they jogged down the streets. When I finally reached school after 50 thousand years, a big banner hung from the school. My mouth dropped open, and my head spun. The words on the banner read, INTERNET SAFETY WEEK! In big bold, italic letters.
I marched with a kind of slump to it, into my homeroom classroom. I didn’t even bother to go to my locker, knowing that I wouldn’t need anything for this class period. Forty-five minutes of hell. I would rather be going out with Robert Pattinson then doing this for a few weeks. Mr. Faulte walked into the classroom, his hair was the only awesome thing about him. It was, I don’t know… A marshmellow that was black.
"Miss Parker, would you like to tell me why you are so mad? You know I don’t tolerate that,’’ he told me, his bangs like a waterfall, "You should really be energetic about this week!’’
"It's internet safety week,’’ I murmured, "and you know that I hate it with a passion.’’
He shook his head and began class. He asked for a volunteer to help him with his first session of the week, not giving out your last name or first on the internet. I plainly think this is stupid, because even if I said, "Oh hey, my name is Alexandrea,’’ I’m sure they wouldn’t say, "She totally lives in Florida.’’ Seriously? This week needs a makeover more than the principal does.
But, I still raised my hand to help him out. A few other people did too, and he called on me. I made my way slowly, drawing attention. Everybody stared at me. Some people even giggled, calling me self-centered and a klutz, because on my way up, I tripped. Giggles erupted through the classroom, and Mr. Faulte silenced them with a hush that probably boomed threw the entire hallway.
"Alexandrea, you get an AIM message, asking for your first and last name. What exactly would you do? Details, details please,’’ his voice boomed.
"I don’t tell them anything. I don’t even respond to the message. I would close out, and block them from my list,’’ I said, then I realized I had forgotten something, "But before I close it, I would hit report.’’
He smiled approvingly, and went on and on with asking stupid little questions like that. When I re-entered my seat, I stared at the clock waiting for it to ring, so I could finally move on with my life. I had way better things to do than this. The bell rang, filling my ears with the best sound in the world. The rest of the day passed as a blur, and my head spun the rest of the day. When school ended, I zoomed out of homeroom, and down the front steps. Kasey took the bus in the afternoon, but I enjoyed walking. I was addicted to the computer, I could say, so I walked instead of taking that really long bus ride with my sister talking to me about books. The book freak was going to her friends until my mom got home, which was eight. Plus, my dad was going to be working untill midnight. My mom didn’t approve of me being on the computer all the time, so I had to sneak around. What an amazing day I had right before me!
I shoved my key into the front door and ran up into my room. Underneath my bunk bed, my laptop sat there, waiting for me to turn it on. I put it on the bottom bunk and then I threw my backpack on the rocking chair in the corner. It matched my red or maroon walls that matched the antique house perfectly. My warm little room had two window seats with nice drapes hanging over them. As I locked the door, my head spun with the delights of getting on the computer.
The computer made a humming noise as it came alive, and it asked me for my username and password, to make sure I was the actual owner. I typed in, Monkeys as my username on this software, and seven dots popped up in password box. A noise from my computer welcomed me with waiting arms, and internet. The internet browser, google, was just a plain little thing that I could search stuff. Up in the address bar, I typed in whccc.vbulletin.com. The site's front page warmed me inside, and a smile stretched across my face. I logged in, with the name people know me by online, Alex!?.
I went down on the bar that was near the start button and I clicked the two arrows that expanded it. I clicked on my AIM button, and the sign in came up. Automatic logon made all these pop-ups and ads cover my screen. I x-ed them all out, and underneath my name, stood a blank empty gray box. I wrote in, Nathaniel Spitzner. I was going to write Mr. Fogelman, but I decided that Nathaniel was better. He was from one of my favorite books, No More Dead Dogs.
The name LetItRockxxGirl popped up on my online buddies list, with a hi inside of a quotation bubble. Before I could even click on her name, a box with a message that said, ‘’xxAprilFoolsxx has sent you a message but she is not on your contacts list. Would you like to answer the message?’’ I clicked yes, because it might be one of my friends with a new screename and they forgot to tell me about it. A heavy sigh escaped my mouth.
XxAprilFoolsxx: Hello, I am the AIM stalker.
XxAprilFoolsxx: What is your name? First and last, please.
I laughed like crazy. Mr. Faulte couldn’t play a joke on me. Last year he drove up to me in a car and asked me if I wanted a ride for Safety Week. My eye roll was mastered, and I proved that to myself. I so knew it was him, so another sigh escaped my lips as I typed in the answer to my little stalker's question.
20
