Somewhat Longer than Four Post-its.

Here is a story I wrote today. A painfully obvious code, I think. I won't give any background about it, though. It may not be the best of stories, I think it's lacking in certain spots, but hey, I wrote it on the back of a post-it note

"You look awful smug," Jarrow said.

"I'm not smug," Enola said. "I'm ecstatic."

The man raised his eyebrows. "You're ecstatic because when you were drunk last night, you wrote a love letter to a girl you don't even like. Brilliant."

"It's not like that!"

"I thought you gave up on girls anyway."

"Oh, god, Jarrow. Don't make me sound straight. It wasn't even a love letter, anyway."

"And this seemed like a good idea?"

Enola just smiled. "Anything seems like a good idea when you're drunk."

"You still are, aren't you?"

"Nope. Just drunk off the thought of her."

The man just stared.

"I'm a psycho, I know."

I wrote another short story, also about Jarrow and Nol, but it's a little more dramatic than the above. Okay, a lot more dramatic. It's rated at least pg-13, maybe R, for one use of the "f" word (fun). And if you take into account the sexuality of the MC's, it's rated at least NC-25. (Although I seriously don't understand why that matters. Has anyone seen Torchwood? I saw it on Youtube, and I couldn't believe they could show that on TV!)

Ahem, anyway. The story. I was about two or three quarters finished with it, when it literally smacked me in the head. It wasn't just some dramatic incident between them, but a code. A sneaky, accidental code. (Personal antidote that most people should skip over due to content: Once, I was hitting myself in the leg with a hammer, thinking about how, though it hurt like heck, the pain was only temporary. All pain is only temporary. Suddenly I realized that "all pain" meant just that, and not just physical. I felt so much better.)

Okay, back to the story. Basically, without trying to spoil it, Enola and her friend S'mo are talking about their friend Jarrow, who has been acting strange. S'mo knows, and is willing to share, but Enola wants Jarrow to tell her. But S'mo gives her a hint, having to do with how people cover up their problems.

So, an unspecified time later, Nol goes home early from "work." (It's a long story about that, trust me.) The other "roommates" (S'mo, from above, and Ginny, the girl from the above story) are still working, but Jarrow had the day off. It's a hot day. And Jarrow is wearing a long sleeved shirt.

She mentions that he has been wearing long sleeves a lot lately. He points out the importance of modesty. She points out that he used to always wear t-shirts around that house. When she mentioned that she used to wear long sleeves all the time (apparently she doesn't anymore) and he interrupts that he is not a cutter.

And Enola says that sometimes people hide things. Or to protect themselves. Sometimes it's something tangible. And sometimes it's not.

(That particular part, about using sleeves to hide something intangible comes from my hatred of people assuming I wear long sleeves year round to hide my scars. I have nothing to be ashamed of. The reason for my fears is something intangible.)

Anyhoo. There's something of a struggle that I'll kind of skip, but then Nol finds out what Jarrow is hiding. An abusive relationship.

I can't remember off the top of my head what the code ... oh yeah. Never mind. I do remember. It has to do with keeping secrets, and all you have to do is tell somebody what's wrong. Even if they already know what's wrong, they can't do anything about it unless you speak up. Which is ambiguous, I hope.

John Barrowman, and the Sharp, Annoying Piano

Would you dance
if I asked you to dance?
Would you run
and never look back?
Would you cry
if you saw me cry?
And would you save my soul, tonight?

Would you tremble
if I touched your lips?
Would you laugh?
Oh please tell me this.
Now would you die
for the one you loved?
Hold me in your arms, tonight.

I can be your hero, baby.
I can kiss away the pain.
I will stand by you forever.
You can take my breath away.

Would you swear
that you'll always be mine?
Or would you lie?
would you run and hide?
Am I in too deep?
Have I lost my mind?
I don't care...
You're here tonight.

I can be your hero, baby.
I can kiss away the pain.
I will stand by you forever.
You can take my breath away.

Oh, I just want to hold you.
I just want to hold you.
Am I in too deep?
Have I lost my mind?
I don't care...
You're here tonight.

I can be your hero, baby.
I can kiss away the pain.
I will stand by your forever.
You can take my breath away.

I can be your hero.
I can kiss away the pain.
And I will stand by you forever.
You can take my breath away.
You can take my breath away.

I can be your hero.

There's Something I Want to Say

But I'd never say it to her face 'cause then she'd beat me ...

Oh, look, an intermission:

She says she really loves me
"I love you!" she says
She says she really cares
"I care! I care!"
She says that I'm her hero
"My hero!" she says
I'm perfect, she swears
"You're perfect, goddammit."
She says that if we parted
"We parted," she says
She says that she'd be sick
(She grunts determinately while slitting her wrists)
She says she's mine forever
"Forever!" she says
I gotta get outta here quick



End of intermission.

I don't understand why you're never there for me. I don't mean 24 hours a day, or anything like that. But is once in awhile, when I'm going fucking crazy, too much to ask? I was there for you when you needed me. You never mean the things you say.

I'm Never Going to be Good Enough for You

(A/N: This is part two. The beginning of the story is below, which is kind of weird.)

"We're combining nations," Teefer said, chin quivering slightly.

"Oh," I said.

"We're taking over the army and military aspect, and Fernheaven is taking over the goverenment."

"Oh," I said again, shocked.

"Yeah. Our government was going into anachery anyway."

"That's good, then, about Fernhaven."

Her head dropped. "I'm disappointed."

"I know you're disappointed."

"I was the girl that owned a city. But I wasn't good enough. No matter how hard I tried, everything went wrong. Nothing I did was enough. And everybody's going to know."

The girl who owned a city? I wondered. There were no cities anymore! She didn't even rule the nation we lived in. She was only the ambassador.

"It was all I really wanted."

"Don't you think you're being a little dramatic?" I asked. "After all, it was because of Lola's folks, not something personal."

She glared at me. "I wish."

(A/N: I'm still not finished, though this is the end of the "story." There's a part that I want to do from Teef's POV, but I'll work on it later.)

Sometimes You can Still Loose, Even If You Really Try

It was a dark, stormy night. Except that it wasn't really night. It was actually just after sunrise. So it wasn't really dark either, it was dawn. Nor was it stormy. It hardly ever rained in the first place, and especially not at the start of summer.

Though I was still tired, I forced myself into the kitchen, and started the coffee. I squinted, trying to block out the already-too-bright sunlight streaming through the window.
I glanced into the living room. There was the Teefer, sitting criss-crossed on the floor, reading a magazine. She looked casual, composed, more so than the previous night.


I'd never seen her cry before. But when I got home that night, I heard sobbing coming from the bedroom. Undignified sobbing, undoubtedly the worst noise in the world. It was though she wanted to scream, but wouldn't allow herself to. Though I wanted to turn around and leave, I couldn't. Instead, I went in.

And there she was, sitting on the bed, both hands in her tear-plastered hair. Her face was not tear-stained, it was soaked.

I was flabbergasted by her appearance. She had always been even-tempered, almost stoic.

I couldn't even begin to guess what was wrong. I couldn't even ask.

A moment before my hand reached out to comfort her, she noticed me. The Teefer took a deep breath, ceasing her crying immediately, though her chin still quivered. She rubbed her eyes several times, smearing

Unable to speak, she laid down on her side, away from me.

Somehow, I must have fallen asleep. I woke up in the empty spot on the bed.

I wondered if she'd even slept at all. I opened my mouth to get her attention. Nothing came out, and I realized that she was focusing too hard on the magazine.

"Good morning," I finally said.

She glanced up at me.

"What was the meeting about?" I asked. That had to be it. Something that happened at the meeting. New Betterham and Fernheaven officials had gotten together, though the topic was confidential.

"LOLA," she answered, going back to her magazine.

I blinked. "Your daughter?"

"No, the idiots who gave birth to her. The Lost Americans. 'League Of the Lost Americans.'"

"Aren't those the guys with the trains?"

"Yeah. They've got a huge following out East. Basically, they're a huge army. Their sole purpose in life is to fight nations, loot the supplies, and imprison any survivors. With every nation they attack, their army gets stronger."

"But if they're out East--"

"Believe me, they are coming our way at an impressive rate, considering the circumstances. What you have to understand is, unlike the rouges, loners, and wild cards, LOLA is a serious threat to our nation. We don't have nearly the manpower that they do -- nor the infrastructure."

"Wh- What are we going to do?"

She muttered something. When I asked her to repeat herself, she looked up, though she still wouldn't meet my eyes.

(TBC)

Quote

From the story I'm working on currently. I wanted to make the main character a lot like my best friend. She describes her "normal" life (as it was before the apocalypse):

Like most people, I grew up, and got a job that I only hated on Mondays. And Tuesdays. And pretty much every day I had to be there.

The Meaning of Friendship

I bought this picture frame at my favorite store last Saturday. It only cost a dollar. I tried to put it back, because it's way too sentimental. But as I read it, I couldn't help but smile, because I realized that by the definition, I didn't have any friends. So I bought it.

(Smills?)

Fantasies Come True

I had a dream last night that was exactly like the song Fantasies Come True.

Okay, not "exactly." But it was about this girl I really like. And we were dating. Secretly, of course. It involved jogging, finding coins (and the nicest thing anyone ever did for me), compliments, butterflies (the metaphorical kind, that you would get in your stomach) and french fries.

It made me really sad when I woke up, because it's not true. But it was a nice dream.