That One Word: Part II

Seth leaned against the chipped orange lockers, waiting for Alex to come waltzing out of the bathroom. Removing sharpie from your forehead was harder than originally anticipated. Seth rolled his eyes and walked down the brightly lit hall to the vending machines, inserting a painfully smoothed dollar bill and watching dazedly as a hot cheetos bag fell from its little cage.

“Is Alex really gay?

That One Word: Part I

“Pick a card, any card.

Amelia and I walked around the park 3 or 4 times before we were satisfied with getting to know each other. I carefully explained that I had no sister and etc, and she gave me a more detailed version of her bio.
At the second or third time around the lake my hand was twitching its way towards hers, but she, maybe, conveniently avoided it by pointing out a turtle in the water.
I stuffed my hand in the pocket of my jacket as I watched her smile apoligetically.My face burned and she avoided looking at me until the blush passed. I realized it wasnt accidental.

NOTE TO SETH FROM ALEX

First of all, Seth, let me say that I love you. Don’t worry, I know how much you hate it when I say that (which is why I do; you do know me, don’t you?). And I know you’ll hate me even more when you see this, but I have to tell it—I can’t keep everything inside me anymore with the tale running cold in my veins. You don’t want me to, I know (despite all my reassurances that no one cares), but it’s really not your say.

So, pardon me from being blunt and cruel, but this is for your own good. And mine, hopefully.

"I think I'll...I think I should go with plum." I say indefinately from the chair at the hairdresser's.
"Ooh, my god, totally. You had something like that before, right?" Katy is looking at me from the mirror and her eyes are glowing.
"It was darker."
She smiles and nods. I stare at the floor for a while. I wonder if she's the kind of person who would get wierd if I told her I was gay. Not that it mattered. I payed 60 dollars for my last haircut. My dad wont be letting me come here too much more often than I have...if anything, less. I didn't have to worry about Katy's thoughts on the matter.

i had an interveiw and i got the job so i'm happy now thanks for listening

If anyone is interested, I posted a character sketch that I recently wrote over on my blog tonight. The piece is called "The Cuddler" and is available here. I know I keep talking about writing on here and other places, so here's something you can actually read, since I keep the novel under wraps for the most part.

Hey,,,
I am a new person to
this...I am only 15 turning
16!!! I am so board...I do
like guys ... My perfect guy
blond hair,not fat,dont smoke,
and dont drink..I am going to
get going ...
Buh Bye

A few people mentioned that it might be an idea to continue on with this story: Brushing her hair... so I wrote some more. I'm not sure of it though; any tips, ideas, or thoughts? This one is called, Throwing Him Out.

But things are changing with her; perhaps she is developing a sense of right and wrong; a moral conscience, so to speak. And so, this time, she throws him out of her bed, after showing him all the joys of her apartment; beginning and ending in her bedroom after a calorie filled takeaway meal on her balcony, laughing as they dropped food over the edge onto the road.

This was a paper I wrote for school for a very open-ended assignment.

Redefining Dignity

In their quick glances in the hall, in their glittering eyes and no-toothed smiles, she sees laughter and malice. Who does she think she is? What does she think she’s doing? How could she even think that, want that? Ew. She’s dirt, psychotic dirt that they grind into the ground with our smiles-that-would-be-smirks, their thoughts unspoken but playing loud, loud in her head because she thought them once too. Grind it all into nothing and it will go away.

So here's chapter two..

I don't know if i'm going to post the rest on Oasis simply because i don't
know how long it might take to finish it, but if i don't and you're
interested then just get in touch with me and i'll send you whatever i've
got. ^-^

--------------------Arrows in the Sun: Chapter Two-----------------------

The sudden rush of people had caught Jason off guard and before he knew it he had been swept off to some opposite corner of the club. Amidst the flashing lights, the people dancing and the music that was blaring he was quickly disoriented and after a few minutes he had almost given up any hope of finding Page before the end of the night. He would have used his cell-phone, but he doubted she would have heard it ringing over the music.

Okay so i'm working on a new short story ^-^

It's going to follow along the same lines as my older one (Shine Empty
Soul) did. It's kinda a romance soap opera thing, the main characters of
course being gay/lesbians. It's mostly about high school relationships,
the typical fantasy dream date kind of deal that i suppose most of us
wish would happen to us lol.

Anyway, if you decide to read, then enjoy :)

So I went to my job today at the church and I saw the Opus Dei priest talking with our main priest about who did what. So my priest said that the church is cleaned and manteined by me and that seemed to piss off the Opus Dei priest. I think he had some girl problems as a kid...or as Jay puts it really, really jealous of the fact that I and the other workers are born female. Jay is a little bit whacked in the head for a 13-year-old boy who hits on his friends even though they beat him up every time...but that is how I met him and got him to join the GSA youth group.

Today I was at church, about to enter a planning meeting for a possible GSA at this church. I was expecting that a new priest was coming to help, but I just didn't know from where. Well I was going into the closet were me and a few of the others were going to meet (Kind of ironic, meeting in a closet to start a GSA). So as I was just about to go in I saw the new priest, he was creepy, but still out of curiousity I asked him where he came from and what order he was.

My curtains are closed. Yet they brush aside (for a moment) just enough to let a sliver of light slip quietly over my face and into my sight. Across and over and into my space and I am blinded and awoken.
And I hate being awoken.
Fumbling for glasses they tip off the nightstand and crash to the floor with a sound that is magnified into a thousand shooting needles puncturing my head.
And I hate hangovers.

They had just finished their evening meal; tension crammed the kitchen as Mrs. Timble cleared the table, her eyes fixed on the plates and leftover food. Mr. Timble sat lazily at the end of the table, while lighting a smoke and bathing his throat in bourbon. He looked darkly at her colorful dress, printed with various flowers, and surveyed. He could tell that she was nervous as she balanced a pile of cups and plates over to the sink. They had both been drinking plenty enough and empty bottles stood stacked into the corner of the damp kitchen. Her tiny feet tripped carefully over the floor: she was heading directly toward a sphere of slippery droplets. She tumbled. The cups dived heavily to the ground at a bat of an eyelid, covering the floor in smashed fractions of glass.