Alright pooky-doodle-bums. I have returned from the dead to mock the hellish monster that is Stephenie Meyer and her minion readers. I'd say that I hope I don't offend anyone, but, frankly, I hope very much to offend rabid Twilight fans. All those fans or non-fans pleasantly disposed to a (more or less) friendly joke are welcome. I'll try to play nice, and try to be at least creative in what I'm sure will be labeled my rampant unoriginality.
Disclaimer: If Twilight were mine, I would be simultaneously extremely rich, and utterly ashamed of myself. Stephenie Meyer can have it.
Oh, and yes, I did read the book, so don't even start. The first one anyway. I stopped reading the second one because it made my soul bite chunks out of itself, then spit them into a blender and make soul-chunk smoothies. But I will continue reading if I get that far in my spoof, I promise.
Prologue
Gert had never thought much about how she was going to die. In fact, Gert had never thought much about anything, especially in the last few months.
But now that she was thinking about it, Gert thought that she would prefer to die in a meadow. A meadow was a happy place. And Gert wanted her death to be happy.
Her beautiful brow crinkled in confusion over the concept of happy death. And it crinkled still more as Gert pondered whether crinkled was perhaps the best dictional choice to describe her look of confusion. It was a confusing confusion. So confusing, in fact, that Gert forgot what she was confused about.
Now what had she been thinking of?
Oh right, death. Yes. She wanted her death to be happy. Daisies, sunshine, rainbows, and unicorns were preferable, but she would take a plain meadow any day, just because she was unselfish like that.
The man across the room from her was staring at her. This reminded Gert that she was about to die, and that made her rather sad. But this had been her choice, and she wouldn't regret it.
Neither would she regret the many fateful decisions she had made recently, before and during her residence in the sleepy town called Spoons. In a way, it had all been worthwhile. At the moment, that way was eluding her, but that was soon to be a moot point.
As the man before her stepped forward, Gert knew she was dead.
Oh yes, I am indeed going through the book systematically. You bastards are reaping the benefits of my renewed pain and agony. Congrats.
I wouldn't expect much by way of brilliance (or anything above mediocrity) from this. Any little rays I manage are pure luck. Please also do not expect me to keep to my own sorry canon. I have no plan for this, it will be made up on the fly, and I'm sure Gert & Co. will develop numerous dissociated identities. You have been forewarned.
Tell me if you love it, tell me if you hate it, either way I'll get a giggle! And if anyone has suggestions, requests, legitimate criticism etc. by all means lob them my way.