Hello there everyone! If you know me you know that I am not a Twilight fan. In fact I really dislike the series. Often I get the challenge from some of the nuttier fans to "write something better; I'd like to see you try!" So well, this is it. The first step was to replace the main character, sort of an experimental thing. I created a character (with help from my friend Tudor1 who is doing this same type of story) and shall form the Twilight universe around her. She will NOT do the same things as Bella, because, let's face it, Bella is weak and complains too much without any action to show for all the words spewing out of her mouth at a constant rate. Some of the characters will act differently in certain situations because having a new person creates changes, and sometimes the things they do are also just plain annoying. A lot of the story that I find unnecessary will be abridged, and trust me, I am not Stephanie Meyer. I actually like to have main characters that take names and whoop ass.

So please read and evaluate before randomly bashing me because I don't like the series. Kay? Kay. Let's begin…

Miranda, or more commonly Mirra, Holdwin. Normally people would call someone like me a "problem child" or "troubled." I don't like those names, plain and simple. Sometimes I do wonder about death, and what happens. Not only the after, but the before part too. If there is some god out there, why make us so fragile? Doesn't he care that his creations destroy each other on a daily basis?

Frankly I'd rather live than die. But if I had to die, I'd want to be doing something valiant. Like the knights of old and their chivalry. Maybe I'd die saving some old lady who's about to get hit by a Hummer. Or maybe I'd die in the place of someone dear to me. Either way, I would rather just stay alive. Breathing.

But death isn't something I think about on a daily basis. Suicide has often crossed my mind, but never in the means of actually going through with it. It's more just a general speculation on why people do the things they do. Maybe I was just born for psychology. Or maybe I've just seen so much of the dark side that I wonder why people ever turn from the light. (That sounds like a bad Star Wars reference, I know.)

I've been in near death situations before, trust me. After meeting him, I should have guessed the number of those would increase. Why would a god make a precious creation so fragile?

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"Ah," Charlie sighed, leaning against his police car. I wondered why he would decide that his niece was best off being taken home in a vehicle like that. I felt like I was being arrested.

"Feel that fresh morning air," he said to me, taking the last of my bags, other than the tote I had slung over my shoulder. I wouldn't let him touch it; too many important things were in there. Photos of my dad, mostly. Some of the pictures I had to steal from my mother, who had kept them from me. He got released from jail on good merit. He was a genuine nice guy, where as my mom was a flaming bitch. Dad looked happy with his new family in the few pictures I had. I would be too much to handle, so off to uncle Charlie's it was for me.

Forks isn't too bad of a town, as long as you enjoy dark skies and water. You also have to be ready for the occasional cutlery joke from your friends. Most of all, you have to like the color green. Mostly because that is all you see once you get there. The drive is a while from the Seattle airport, but you can tell once you're there. Everything gets all weird from there on out. Especially when all these people you've never seen before in your life know at least half of your entire history.

"Hey, Unkie Charles," I said, leaning forward from the back of the car, "The police car is cool and all, but I kind of don't feel right riding to school everyday in it. It takes the jail metaphor a bit too far for my taste. I have some money that my mom had been keeping from me for her booze and I should have enough if I buy a car that's used…"

"Nonsense Miranda!" Charlie burst. He didn't seem to care about the use of my old nickname for him, but I did care about the use of my given name.

"It's Mirra, Charlie."

"Mirror, right. Listen, I kind of jumped the gun and got you a car already. It could use some work but it could make time for you to catch up with the Blacks!" he said enthusiastically. I was instantly confused.

"Catch up with who?"

"The Blacks; Jacob and his father. You remember them, don't you? Your father used to bring you back here and you would always play with Jacob. They live on the reservation not too far from here."

"Sorry," I apologized, not completely recognizing why, "I just don't remember much of this place. Just that it's green and rainy. Rainy and green." Charlie looked a bit disappointed. I could tell he must have really liked the Black family.

"Oh well, it doesn't really matter all that much. He's a few years younger than you anyway. The reason I mentioned them though is because they were the ones that gave us the car," he explained, eyes moving off the road for a moment to see how I was taking all of this.

"By 'gave' do you mean, free? As in no charge what so ever?" I questioned.

"Well, Billy Black is making me pay him with some free cable whenever he comes over to watch a game with me, but otherwise it's a free truck."

"Truck?" I had perked up at the word. I mentally crossed my fingers for a monster truck so I could crush whatever Porches or Volvos I saw in my way.

"Yeah. She's an old thing, probably made around the sixties, but she still runs. I want you to save for college first, and a new car second. If it stops running, I promise I'll buy you a new one," my uncle said, smiling. It was strange that he would smile at the prospect of spending money we both knew he did not have. I guess it was just the offer that made him smile, proud of his own generosity. I didn't question it for too long though, I had a truck, and it ran. I could worry about miles per gallon and making money for gas later.

Finally the house came into site. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms; it sure beat sleeping on a pull out couch because my mom couldn't afford an apartment that was actually made for two. Forks was no New York City. The most danger you could get into was tripping over a stray twig or a nasty paper cut. Yet, over the years, I'd learned that danger loved to play games with me. I had scars, mental and physical, due to my danger magnetism, so I was used to getting myself into trouble. I figured it would at least be lower key of danger in the small town.

My room had been designed by Charlie. I'm sure my uncle had gotten every teen magazine on the planet to figure out how to arrange everything. Except he'd forgotten I was not by any means an ordinary teen girl. Still I swallowed the hollow feeling the room gave me and put on a smile.

"It's cute," I agreed with my inner child. My inner child loved the lavender rose wall paper. It loved having all the old photos of me Charlie had that I would rather not look at displayed on nearly every wall. It adored the old paper mache unicorn I'd left for him so many years back and the stuffed animals he'd kept from when my father was sent to jail and I had to get rid of it all because of the move to the city. Most of all, my inner child was pleased with the more than half empty bookcase filled with Dr. Seuss (I loved those books like a mathlete loves numbers) and Nancy Drew. I knew Charlie's ex-wife was the one who read those as a child, so I understood why he'd pass them on to me.

"Do you really like it?" he asked, seeming a bit nervous. He had probably figured that the term goth would apply to me just by seeing what I wore, and was slowly realizing that he should've painted the walls black and put candles all around the room instead. Somehow that just wasn't really my style either. Too expected. I could handle most of it as long as he let me paint over the wallpaper and replace the sheets and pillows on the bed (They were purple and pink. Reminiscent of Barbie. Can you blame me?)

"Yes," I decided. "I'll probably spice it up a bit, but nothing too wild." I didn't want to scare him by telling him I had incense already in one of my many bags and was planning on using it whenever I needed to be calm. He'd probably worry about the smoke messing with my head or that I'd be performing some odd ritual up in there.

"Good. I just want you to be happy Miranda."

"Mirra," I reminded him.

"Right, right…" he said. "There's a left over burger with some fries in the fridge if you're hungry. I've never been much of a cook but I hear fast food is good with you."

"I'm not too picky. But I pick up things fast so if the Home Ec. class is better than my old school I might try my hand at cooking once in a while." He smiled. I guessed the last time he had a home cooked meal was when one of the neighbors decided to feed him. Poor guy, a lone bachelor. Now with a teen girl in the house I figured any dating he would even think of doing would slow to a halt.

"Well, it's late, so turn in soon, okay?" he said softly, gripping the door like a life line.

"Yeah, I might have some jet lag. Don't be bothered by my sleeping schedule. I promise to be quiet until I adjust." He merely nodded. The door closed slowly as if Charlie thought it would fall off the hinges if he closed it any faster. Once I heard the last of his footsteps down the stairs, I double checked to make sure the door was closed tight.

I reached into my bag and took out all of my clothes. I knew I'd stick out like a sore thumb in Forks High. They'd probably all be perfect, molded children, fresh off the conveyor belt. They might have some odd small town lingo I'd have to adjust to, and insist that I was so pale and thin, meaning I obviously needed more time in the sun and more food in my belly. I just blame genes and a metabolism faster than Michael Phelps.

Once I was satisfied with the arrangement of the various corset tops and ripped black jeans, I managed the makeup. That didn't take long at all, so soon I had to pop out my laptop and align it perfectly on the bright white desk like someone with OCD. Once I was done unpacking everything I could find, I plopped on the bed. Not tired at all. I ended up staring at the ceiling while listening to "The Birthday Massacre" until morning.

"Damn," I whispered. I fixed my long black hair into a braid and washed my face before covering every square inch in gobs of makeup. I put on a black lace top with purple striped arm warmers and tight purple Tripp pants. Over that I wore a short sleeve Lip Service hoodie with a large bat. Combat boots were a must, plus a studded belt, then down the stairs I went.

I was positive I was a sight for Charlie's tired eyes. He nearly jumped three feet as I wandered into the kitchen.

"Jeez, Mirra, you're wearing that?" he questioned. I formed my wine colored lips into a displeased frown. As much as I enjoyed his shock and fright I was not about to change into khakis and an Abercrombie and Fitch tee.

"You sound like my mother," I said in disgust. He shook his head, bewildered. Relating anyone to my mother is obviously not a positive comment, unless you're complimenting their drinking skills.

"I'm just saying, maybe you should tone it down for the first day." I begged myself not to slyly reply, "This is toned down. Tomorrow's outfit is chains and all leather gear."

Rather, I heard someone with a voice just like mine reply, "This is my favorite outfit." Charlie had to accept it; he wanted to be on my good side. He took out a yellow folder and handed it to me as I chugged down some fresh OJ.

"These are some forms for school. Hand them in to the main office when you arrive." I took the folder and grabbed the bag he'd shown me last night. It was a basic black Jansport backpack, filled with run-of-the-mill school supplies and a few extra "just in case." I'd dress everything up to my whim later.

"Leaving already?" he asked. I almost stayed, feeling so bad that I was leaving this guy alone for another day of his almost insignificant existence. But the smell he'd left from trying to cook eggs for me and desperate need to get out of any enclosed space pushed me forward.

"I want to get a nice look around. See if there's any hardware stores around here for my room. Do you want me to pick something up on my way back?" I said.

"No, no, just get something nice for yourself Mirra." At least he wasn't calling me "Mirror" anymore.

I'll stop here for now. Please, no one make references to My Immortal in their reviews. I'd die, just DIE. D:

Oh, and be nice. I might have a different opinion on the story but America allows freedom of religion. (In case that doesn't make sense to you: religion - something one believes in and follows devotedly; a point or matter of ethics or conscience.)