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A touched overrated ch.2~Roses~ POV
"Miss Rosalie. Up." I groaned at the only sentence my maid could put together.
The words that meant I'd have to move.
Of course it wasn't the wonderful mother that I had never had the pleasure to spend more than an hour with. Unless you could the nine months I was in her stomach, and the twelve hours I spent getting away from her. She was probably in Rome, completing her weekly shopping trip. And daddykins was probably in Beijing with some crucial business deal that would take months.
And me, at the second week of high school. What fun.
I trudged past expensive flourishing into my walk-in closet, stopping along the way to brush my teeth. Yes, I had a walk-in closet as big as Anne's room, no offense to her. Either way, half of the clothes in here are Anne's. Or claimed by Anne. My mum liked to buy me clothes, which Anne managed to fit into quite nicely. The only thing she bought me that I actually wore were the headbands and the flats. And even then I had to censor out the d
A Touch OveratedI'm bored.
I sunk lower into my chair, thanking what I believed to be a nonexistent God that we were able to choose our own seats. Wait for it... Aim... Aim... Fire!
A crumpled white paper sailed through the air and hit my best friend of four years, Rose. She broke out of her daze and glared at me, picking the paper off of the floor.
"Feel free to paint whatever you like. Canvases are at the back of the room."
Conversation broke out wildly as everyone made their way to the back to pick up the cheap canvases.
"I'm bored? That's it?" Rose asked, picking up a canvas almost as big as she was.
"I'm only saying what I feel." I said dramatically, swinging a canvas back and forth in my hands.
"I still can't believe that you made me take art."
"Would you rather have taken music?" I asked with a smirk, "Show off those magical skills of the string?"
She glared at me before dipping her fingers into her paints and attempting to color my face.
"Shove off." I glared, swatting away her colorful hands.
Convulsive Ch.3Come on. He wrapped my arm around his shoulders and led me to the bathroom.
He grabbed a towel and pressed it against my nose.
Jeez you really did a number on it.
It wasnt me.
I thought because you kept muttering I fell on the concrete over and over again in your sleep.
Yeah that happened earlier. Crap!
Then how did this happen then?
My boyfriend hit me. I dropped my head
Did he do the other stuff on your face or was that the concrete? he knew what a lie the concrete accident was.
No that would be my Dad.
You poor thing. He was still dabbing my face.
Its no big deal its been happening since I was little.
I think it started when I was eight right after my mom died.
He looked at me with concern and placed his hand on my cheek.
I looked into his brown eyes he seemed so different. When I looked into Ad
Convulsive Ch.2The hospital would be full and they would ask me how this happened. So instead
1 2 3 crack. Is it bad that I know how to set my nose?
I pressed my hoodie against my nose to try to stop the bleeding.
My house was probably filled with drunken men so I walked and walked until my legs felt like collapsing. I stopped in an ally and settled myself against a brick wall.
Tears started to lull me to sleep.
Is she alive? I felt some one poke me
I screamed, Where am I?
I guess she is.
Where am I? What did you do to me? I glared at the one with long black hair leaning over me.
Your at our house, and I didnt do anything to you I dont know about Gee. The other one with black rimmed glasses said in a teasing tone.
I did nothing to you. The first one backed up away from me.
Who are you two?
I am Mikey. The one in glasses muttered
I Gerard call me gee. The long h
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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