p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="ce89c1adabc5e8de0aa702ff088afa74"I'm going back to school very soon. I guess that'll have its ups and downs all on it's own. My parents are out on some trip for the day and I'm up stairs watching one of my favorite movies:Dracula. You know, the Francis Ford Coppola one. And I say one of my favorite movies because I've watched and loved so many films in my life, that it's sorta become a hobby to write about them. I don't think I could possibly pick anumber one movie though. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="0469db71232c612395c58f3d8824149b"Well anyway, not only will I be starting school soon, but I'll also be moving to a new house soon. In uh, a few days maybe? I guess it depends on when our new house is all st up. Can't say I'm too happy about this though, I've spenta huge chunk of my child hood in this house. Even before my dad moved us into it. My dad also spent his child hood here. My great grandmother, also my favorite grandmother, lived here. So I'm pretty attached to the place. Especially the back yard and my room. I love our back yard, it's a wide open space with a garden and all a few really nice trees. At night, I like to go outside and lie in the grass while listening to all my favorite music from my phone. It also makes nice running space. Most people, like my girlfriend and my family think I'm physically lazy, and they are almost right, but when I'm in a good mood, I like to run and think outside. It really is one of my favorite things to do. So, I already know that no matter where we move now, it'll never have the back yard that I have now. Oh, and my room. Despite being kind of a shy loner and only having like maybe two friends over in my whole time if living here, a lot of things have happened in this room. I've watched all my favorite movies in here, read all my favorite books, had a major heart break here, made art work, and did naughty messy things here with my girl friend that would make my parents have a heart attack if they'd known about it. But these are only things I haven't told my companions yet. Okay, my friends. But more on them later. Oh yeah, by the way my name is Elizabeth and I'm sixteen years old. Starting in a few weeks I'll be in my second year of high school. I know it seems typical, but I really do have alack of faith in my intelligence. I'm surprised with myself that I even made it this far in my education. Oh, it sounds like my parents are home. Or maybe it was just a noise from our old creaky house? Sometimes I can't tell the difference. Maybe my hearing has weakened from all the damage I've had to my ears due to the loud music I listen to. Yes, I decide it must be my parents. After all I think I hear their voices. Yes, it must be them. But I don't go down to see them right away. But, I guess I should, since I have to take some laundry down stairs and get some coke. I pause my movie. as much as I don't want to, and head down stairs. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="98701c9ae6a3e2038080e0e99f508647"Minutes later /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="236135f6ac45fd0958b97e46769d4126"Yes, they're home, but things didn't go well, and something awful has happened. I mean it must besomething less of nothing than terrible, it's only in my nature to always assume that. I'm not happy about this, but I've been informed that my father has to discuss some "things" with me. I asked if I did something wrong, (well, more like proclaimed "I didn't do it!") and according to my mom, I wasn't in any sorta trouble. But I do know what that means then. My father and my step-motherare breaking the link that kept them together. I hope that's not the case though, because I'd grown pretty comfortable with the living arrangement of my dad, and his girl friend. My "step-mother." /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="55e4bae967f6dab2f34da531096760ed"I haven't checked my phone for messages in a while, but I'm still griping it tightly in my left hand. And I know who's about to message me any minute though. One of person who messages never tire me, but never satisfy me either. I long for those messages. I guess it's a bitter sweet situation. Here I am, strolling through useless thoughts of emotion and nostalgia, while my father is about to discuss some things with me that will define our future. I should have a clear, reasonable, and non-emotional state of mind. Or maybe he'll change his mind and not speak to me at all. My father is kinda just like that. He doesn't like to open up about things. To distract myself from my current situation, I check my phone for messages. Aneisha. Her message reads, 'What do you love about me?' br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /So I answered-well, more like questioned 'What the hell are you talking about?' /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="4a9e789e522aa2190075f1d0b8c983ac"You could say we haven't gotten along well, Aniesha, (who is my girl friend and best friend) and I. Oh, I think I hear my dad. I wonder if he'll speak to me? Anyway, she messages me, 'What I just asked.' I attempt to question her, but I know at the end this is all pointless since she won't give me any real answers. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="57776ddb3ad2a8be00b566faae7d9e2d"A bit later/p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="5f68d063a87cf610e74dd78195e93d73"I am back, and long story short, my dad is going away for a little while. Mainly because he's in a little trouble for some stuff he didand he needs to be kept in check. No, not jail, and no, he didn'y murder anyone-well, actually he might have but that's not why he's in troubel. He's just going to rehab for substance abuse. It's nothing I haven't grown up with anyway. But I'd rather not talk about it anyway. So anyway, Aniesha textes me, 'Because I want to know.' br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /'And why should I answer?' I ask feeling a tug at the fist sized organ in my chest. br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /'Cause I asked.' Well she chose a very unbalanced time to ask, and I'm not in the best of mood after hearing about my dad and having to not finish my movie. I also don't have the best opinion of her right now. But if I text her that, (you figure it out if I wasn't smart enough or not to know not to) she'll only question what that means. Or it'll just shut her up. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="59edfd6ad962676654d24bf8c9537648"I kinda wanna forget this last hour and a half, and take a nap. I know that would be great but I couldn't right now anyway, as it happens every summer, I'm wide awake all night and sleeping my ass off in the after noons. My days and nights are as mixed up an afro-asian person. Aniesha messages me, 'I'm done' and I snap back 'Well, it was nice knowing you too.' And what does she expect? First she ignores me most of the summer to hang out with her ex boyfriends, then she textes me with a cold question that might as well be a knife, opening up old wounds. Did she really expect me to say something nice? What is it? Is she trying to brain wash me into thinking nicely of her so I can forget what an ass she's been so she doesn't have to admit it-/p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="f9c15c48d0ec76c714411daaba2279a9"'I wanna break up.' She textes me. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="9a2725a2c472ac320629ed6ad258bbe5"'For a great reason, I'm sure.' I force myself to reply after letting her words sink into my mind. I need a mental break. I need to read some fanfiction or something. I should face this, talk to her, but for some reason I don't. I kinda have a habit of bottling my emotions up. It can get a person places though, if you shut your feelings off and pretend they aren't there, you get over things easily and move on. For the time being. br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /'Just like that really?'she says. What does she want me to do? Get on my knees and beg her not to leave me? Utter bullshit. I don't know how to feel about this. She seems pretty set on breaking up, and I see no reason to stop her. Maybe...no. No tears. I do not allow myself to cry, not even over my girl friend. So, here it is. The ship has sunk, in a really weird way. But it's nothing I guess. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="d41d8cd98f00b204e9800998ecf8427e" /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="0469db71232c612395c58f3d8824149b"Well anyway, not only will I be starting school soon, but I'll also be moving to a new house soon. In uh, a few days maybe? I guess it depends on when our new house is all st up. Can't say I'm too happy about this though, I've spenta huge chunk of my child hood in this house. Even before my dad moved us into it. My dad also spent his child hood here. My great grandmother, also my favorite grandmother, lived here. So I'm pretty attached to the place. Especially the back yard and my room. I love our back yard, it's a wide open space with a garden and all a few really nice trees. At night, I like to go outside and lie in the grass while listening to all my favorite music from my phone. It also makes nice running space. Most people, like my girlfriend and my family think I'm physically lazy, and they are almost right, but when I'm in a good mood, I like to run and think outside. It really is one of my favorite things to do. So, I already know that no matter where we move now, it'll never have the back yard that I have now. Oh, and my room. Despite being kind of a shy loner and only having like maybe two friends over in my whole time if living here, a lot of things have happened in this room. I've watched all my favorite movies in here, read all my favorite books, had a major heart break here, made art work, and did naughty messy things here with my girl friend that would make my parents have a heart attack if they'd known about it. But these are only things I haven't told my companions yet. Okay, my friends. But more on them later. Oh yeah, by the way my name is Elizabeth and I'm sixteen years old. Starting in a few weeks I'll be in my second year of high school. I know it seems typical, but I really do have alack of faith in my intelligence. I'm surprised with myself that I even made it this far in my education. Oh, it sounds like my parents are home. Or maybe it was just a noise from our old creaky house? Sometimes I can't tell the difference. Maybe my hearing has weakened from all the damage I've had to my ears due to the loud music I listen to. Yes, I decide it must be my parents. After all I think I hear their voices. Yes, it must be them. But I don't go down to see them right away. But, I guess I should, since I have to take some laundry down stairs and get some coke. I pause my movie. as much as I don't want to, and head down stairs. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="98701c9ae6a3e2038080e0e99f508647"Minutes later /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="236135f6ac45fd0958b97e46769d4126"Yes, they're home, but things didn't go well, and something awful has happened. I mean it must besomething less of nothing than terrible, it's only in my nature to always assume that. I'm not happy about this, but I've been informed that my father has to discuss some "things" with me. I asked if I did something wrong, (well, more like proclaimed "I didn't do it!") and according to my mom, I wasn't in any sorta trouble. But I do know what that means then. My father and my step-motherare breaking the link that kept them together. I hope that's not the case though, because I'd grown pretty comfortable with the living arrangement of my dad, and his girl friend. My "step-mother." /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="55e4bae967f6dab2f34da531096760ed"I haven't checked my phone for messages in a while, but I'm still griping it tightly in my left hand. And I know who's about to message me any minute though. One of person who messages never tire me, but never satisfy me either. I long for those messages. I guess it's a bitter sweet situation. Here I am, strolling through useless thoughts of emotion and nostalgia, while my father is about to discuss some things with me that will define our future. I should have a clear, reasonable, and non-emotional state of mind. Or maybe he'll change his mind and not speak to me at all. My father is kinda just like that. He doesn't like to open up about things. To distract myself from my current situation, I check my phone for messages. Aneisha. Her message reads, 'What do you love about me?' br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /So I answered-well, more like questioned 'What the hell are you talking about?' /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="4a9e789e522aa2190075f1d0b8c983ac"You could say we haven't gotten along well, Aniesha, (who is my girl friend and best friend) and I. Oh, I think I hear my dad. I wonder if he'll speak to me? Anyway, she messages me, 'What I just asked.' I attempt to question her, but I know at the end this is all pointless since she won't give me any real answers. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="57776ddb3ad2a8be00b566faae7d9e2d"A bit later/p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="5f68d063a87cf610e74dd78195e93d73"I am back, and long story short, my dad is going away for a little while. Mainly because he's in a little trouble for some stuff he didand he needs to be kept in check. No, not jail, and no, he didn'y murder anyone-well, actually he might have but that's not why he's in troubel. He's just going to rehab for substance abuse. It's nothing I haven't grown up with anyway. But I'd rather not talk about it anyway. So anyway, Aniesha textes me, 'Because I want to know.' br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /'And why should I answer?' I ask feeling a tug at the fist sized organ in my chest. br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /'Cause I asked.' Well she chose a very unbalanced time to ask, and I'm not in the best of mood after hearing about my dad and having to not finish my movie. I also don't have the best opinion of her right now. But if I text her that, (you figure it out if I wasn't smart enough or not to know not to) she'll only question what that means. Or it'll just shut her up. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="59edfd6ad962676654d24bf8c9537648"I kinda wanna forget this last hour and a half, and take a nap. I know that would be great but I couldn't right now anyway, as it happens every summer, I'm wide awake all night and sleeping my ass off in the after noons. My days and nights are as mixed up an afro-asian person. Aniesha messages me, 'I'm done' and I snap back 'Well, it was nice knowing you too.' And what does she expect? First she ignores me most of the summer to hang out with her ex boyfriends, then she textes me with a cold question that might as well be a knife, opening up old wounds. Did she really expect me to say something nice? What is it? Is she trying to brain wash me into thinking nicely of her so I can forget what an ass she's been so she doesn't have to admit it-/p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="f9c15c48d0ec76c714411daaba2279a9"'I wanna break up.' She textes me. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="9a2725a2c472ac320629ed6ad258bbe5"'For a great reason, I'm sure.' I force myself to reply after letting her words sink into my mind. I need a mental break. I need to read some fanfiction or something. I should face this, talk to her, but for some reason I don't. I kinda have a habit of bottling my emotions up. It can get a person places though, if you shut your feelings off and pretend they aren't there, you get over things easily and move on. For the time being. br style="box-sizing: border-box;" /'Just like that really?'she says. What does she want me to do? Get on my knees and beg her not to leave me? Utter bullshit. I don't know how to feel about this. She seems pretty set on breaking up, and I see no reason to stop her. Maybe...no. No tears. I do not allow myself to cry, not even over my girl friend. So, here it is. The ship has sunk, in a really weird way. But it's nothing I guess. /p
p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px 0px 24px; font-family: 'Source Sans Pro', 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 24px; font-size: 18px; padding: 0px; color: #555555;" data-p-id="d41d8cd98f00b204e9800998ecf8427e" /p