Hi A/N: Attention all readers! This is satire. I actually did enjoy the books very much, but there are some things too ridiculous to let pass without parody. I don't mean to offend anyone, or Stephanie Meyer, who owns these characters. Thanks, Tegildess.

The Twilight Diaries

By Isabella Swan

I lay supine on the floor, watching the man walk casually forward to torture then murder me. I guess it doesn't matter. I'm pretty careless with my safety, and I like to start my memoirs with a cliffhanger that won't be cleared up for about 400 painful pages reminiscent of mediocre fanfiction with plot twists so easy to see through, a caveman could do it. As you can tell, my writing style is kind of amateur too. But what can you expect? I'm a ditzy teenage girl in love. sigh In any case, I'm going to die a very noble death here, and in a couple dozen chapters of soppy romance, you may just find out why...

Hi. My name is Isabella Swan, but I prefer to be called Bella. The name's just a tad darker that way, and I am truly a tormented personality. For example:

My parents divorced when I was fairly young, mainly because my mom got too depressed living in Forks (where she could never see the sun) to make any effort to work out her as-yet-undisclosed marital problems (I gather it had to do with not seeing the sun, which is a very logical reason to split up a family) with Charlie– pardon, my dad. She just hated Forks too much.

I hate Forks too, and not just because it's a creepy name for a town. I think– and I'm smart so I have the right to say this, and get indignant later if you doubt my intelligence– that the name is probably a metaphor for my life, and a subtle foreshadowing of the hard choices I'm going to have to make regarding my future while living there.

Anyway, I'm such a self-sacrificing person (as you'll see in a much more dramatic fashion later) that I decided to give up my happy, sunny life in Phoenix, AZ to come live with Charlie– pardon, my dad– in Forks. This way, my Mom can follow around my minor league baseball step dad Phil, whom she robbed from a cradle.

Basically, I'm pretty ambivalent about my own happiness. And why shouldn't I be? Even though I've lived in a fairly sunny climate most of my life, I don't tan. I look sallow all the time, have straight brown hair, and wear jeans and flannel shirts or tan sweaters that make me look like a clone of that Cullen boy, Edward. In laymen's terms– I'm just ordinary in the looks department. And my lackluster physical identity doesn't stop there–

I pretty much never learned how to walk. It must have been the trauma of the divorce, because I've never met anyone clumsier than myself. I trip on perfectly smooth, flat surfaces, and literally have to watch my feet while I walk. I don't tell anyone this, but sometimes I guide my steps in my head: left, right, left– no! Watch out! Gradual turn approaching! Okay– maintain, maintain... good. Right, left, right, left. I generally don't share that information. I mean, it's way more embarrassing than the idea that people would actually believe I could possibly break four ribs and a leg by tripping down a hotel staircase and falling out the window. Yet believe it they do...

So, I'm a plain Jane klutz, essentially. And the worst part of it is that, practically the first day I arrived at Forks High School, every guy in a mile-wide radius was following me around like a devoted retriever. Ugh. How annoying. I'm not even sure why that happens. I'm just such an ordinary girl, and yet these guys are getting into fights trying to walk me to my next class. Maybe it's the allure of my strawberry shampoo. Oh well. There's at least one guy who doesn't like me in Forks. Too bad he's the only one who dazzles me.

That's Edward Cullen. He's basically a bronze-haired god who sits at the Beautiful People table. The fact that they never eat and are pretty much the school pariahs doesn't really bother me– Edward gave me this really frustrated look at lunch once, I was sure we had a moment. Nevertheless, he was really rude after he sniffed me one time in Biology. Why would he be so mean? He doesn't even know me! He actually tried to switch out of that class, and I'm sure it has something to do with me. sniff I know, I know. He saved me from being crushed by a car, and then saved me again from getting gang-raped and murdered, but that's not what counts. What counts is that he's always staring at me from his shiny silver Volvo and then completely ignores me in class. It's so unfair! I love him– I really do! And he just dazzles me.

It doesn't bother me at all that he's probably anorexic, possibly albino, and always skips school when the sun comes out, or that the local Native Americans shun his family. What do they know? They aren't welcome here anyway– ever heard of a little thing called Manifest Destiny? And I don't even care that he's probably not human and really a blood-drinking monster five times my age. What matters is that I love him, and I don't know how he feels about me.

Sometimes, I think my vampire theory must be wrong and that he's just schizophrenic. I mean, sometimes he'll be so sweet– saving my life and all– and other times he'll just completely ignore me, or make cryptic remarks like "You should stay away from me." Of course, I don't take any of that seriously. He's just playing hard to catch, right? Oh, but how he dazzles me.

The best day of my life was when I found out that he really did like me. He told me that he watches me through my window every night, and I think that's just so sweet. It's like that Clay Aiken song "If I was Invisible." He's not a stalker– he's just devoted.

Anyway, we were finally dating, and I had fun riding on his back while he raced through the woods at Warp 9, and then puking afterwards. Then he'd go lay in the grass and I'd watch how his skin sparkled. Sparkled. I mean, if I was an epileptic, in the sun, Edward could induce a seizure... though, he already does make my heart stop (literally!) when he brushes his stony fingers against mine. Then, he'd read people's minds and tell me what they were thinking. It's really fun. The mark of a good relationship is when there are no secrets between the two, and that's totally true for me and Edward. It's kind of like in 1984, when the telescreens would listen if anyone was sleep-talking about Big Brother, and then the secret police would go and then throw them in the Ministry of Love. Edward's viselike, ice-cold marble death-grip is my Ministry of Love, if you know what I mean. giggle

But all good things must end– at least for me, because I'm not immortal (dammit!). Some creepy Tracker vampire caught my scent and decided to hold my mom hostage to get to me, because my strawberry shampoo (or rusty blood smell) is just that irresistible. Of course, it wasn't really my mom– just an old home video– but I didn't really care. As I told you, I'm pretty ambivalent about my happiness.

Anyway, after Edward's family pretty much put their lives on the line to save me (all except Rosalie, the ho), I decided to give my own life up to save the ones I love. Pretty noble, I know. And in the meantime, I unexpectedly uncovered the secret of Alice Cullen's lost memories, which was a plot point bothering me ever since Edward started making dazzlingly frustrated facial expressions whenever I would mention her.

So, I was basically all set to die on film (the Tracker had set up a camera, like some hot-shot terrorist) when I heard this low growling. I figured I was in Heaven, because my perfect Heaven would be the place where I can watch my beloved make threatening guttural noises all day long, but it was just Edward calling me up from the deep comatose waters of a near-death experience so he could suck some poison out of my hand. I really wished he wouldn't. More than anything, I want to be a Child of Darkness and prowl the woods killing angry grizzly bears and mountain lions with my Edward. Oh well, it wasn't to be...

Plot denouement here. Alice fabricates some material evidence (in some places, they call that obstruction of justice, but human laws don't apply to the Cullens, silly); Rosalie still doesn't like me– the skank; I freak out over an IV.

When I finally got out of the hospital, wearing a bulky leg cast, Alice and Edward somehow managed to get me all dressed up with stilettos (well, one stiletto, at least) and a corsage without me guessing that I was going to Prom. Silly me– I figured it was going to some satanic vampire initiation ceremony. I was pretty disappointed, but, Lord, does that black suit complement Edward's pale, bloodless complexion or what?

Boy, I wish he would eat me.