What’s happening to me? Wanna know? Really? Well, it’s been a boring month, save for our school excursion to Mysore (which was fffffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!) during which I realized that I can bargain better than anyone I know. Believe me. With five hundred bucks I bought a purse, a wallet, a watch, two japanese fans, a second hand copy of Twilight (the first edition. with the apple, not edward and bella), two pretty parasols, a Ganapati idol made of grains, two bottles of juice, two glass bead bracelets, two pairs of anklets and a set of postcards. Nice, heh?
Well, anyway I got back and school reopened. It’s senior year already! God, I cant BELIEVE it. Just months of school life left! And then…no more blue ribbons, bus trips, lush green campus….jeez! The size of the textbooks are of course, terrible. I cant lift my Chem text (serious) and I’m no petite ballerina, so guess.
Oooohhh, yeah. My favorite writing music of the month is Taylor Swift’s LOVE STORY, and Evanescence’s GOING UNDER, and Mandy Moore’s ONLY HOPE because I’m writing a fairy tale-ish story, ROMANS A CLEF, which is really really very sweet. Maybe I’ll put a sneak preview at the end of this post.
My read of the month is Kelley Armstrong’s OTHERWORLD books, I’m trying to read all of them….
What else? Hmmmmmmmm……………
THat would do for now.
A preview: ROMANS A CLEF
The plain white sheets of paper terrify Sarah. Nothing else terrifies her more. She glares at them, and if looks can burn, that stack of good quality white paper would be an inferno. Her black eyes rove over them. The pen shakes in her hand.
I can’t. I can’t anymore.
He watches her from the window, his eyes cold. They are sort of luminous, his eyes, unnatural. His gaze moves to the pen in her hand. Behind him, the rain falls in sheets, spraying into the room. He does not flinch from the water. Stands there, unfazed, unmoved.
You have to, he says. His voice is icy. Cold, like everything is, these days. Cold and uncompassionate. She gives him a pleading glance.
Leave me alone. Go away.
His eyes burn. Never, he says.
She shivers, raises her hand, and puts it to the paper. She can’t write, her hand is shaking too much. She feels tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.
Write. Write my words. He scoffs, looking back at the rain falling.
Is this your retribution? She asks, trying to sound brave, but faltering.
He smiles, a wicked smile that has her shaking again.
Oh, no. I’m just warming up.
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