Disclaimer- Lord of the Rings belongs to JRR Tolkien, and everyone willing to pay him royalties. I only own my character. I don't even own Angelica, who is, sadly enough, an actual person.
Purple glitter nail polish. Four layers. Is that how this all got started? Oy. Something like that. Maybe it's just my natural charisma. More oy.
It was rather pretty.
I just got bored. So I spent half-an-hour slathering on the polish. I had no idea that half-an-hour spent inhaling fumes would lead to a blow-out with a prep, which somehow lead to . . . Middle Earth?
Call it a dream. Call it insanity. Call it too much time over the nail brush.
All I know is . . . I still have the scars.
Yes, and the rock. I know, I'm a horrible thief. It was just sitting there! Besides, I'm pretty sure Elrond knew I took it, and he never said anything!
Confused? Good. You need to be somewhat addled to take this seriously.
So you know about the nail polish. It all started with the nail polish. Pretty things have always made me act . . . odd. Not usual odd, like reciting poetry, but insane odd, like if I don't destroy its prettiness, I will not live.
I didn't want to destroy the nail polish.
So I decided to end my life.
As I was walking toward Spanish, I spotted a Volkswagen Beetle. I was walking behind a prep. You can imagine what happened next . . .
"Ahaha! Slugbug candy apple red!"
The prep screamed, and spun around, clutching her 'slugged' shoulder.
"Whoa, you're ugly." I really did have a death wish. For a moment she couldn't speak. I waited for the return insult, wearing an expression that my brother has dubbed the "butter-won't-melt-in-her-mouth" expression. My youth group leader hates it. The prep, Angelica, didn't like it much either. In fact, it bugged her so much that all should could say was, "Who the hell do you think you are?!"
I took a bow, knowing I would regret this for the rest of my very short life. "I am the Clearseer, and I rule all I survey!"
She regained enough of her composure to look haughty, but before she could make any uppity remarks, I made one of my own.
"You know, a plastic surgeon could clear that right up for you."
"What?!"
"That look on your face, like you've got a stinkbug superglued to your nose."
"Why you little . . . jew!"
I ignored the remark as I am, in fact, Jewish. It's rather a weak jab.
"Of course, if my face looked like that, I would probably have a similar expression." These tactics only work, of course, because I had caught Angelica off guard, and because Linn-Mar High is not known for its especially intelligent blondes. All you have to do is dye your hair blond, and your IQ drops about twenty to a hundred points. The natural blondes are actually smarter.1
Right about now her face was contorting into the grotesque. All that eye-makeup was not helping. Are they trying to make their eyes look like they're sinking into their skull? Of course, I shouldn't insult her appearance, since I am decidedly less than Cover Girl. Getting rid of the dark circles and a few(dozen)pounds would probably solve it, but thanks to my weirdo eyes, I shall forever be strange looking.
Angelica decided that the time for words had ended, and struck out with a typical bitch-slap. Having spent fifteen of my sixteen years on this earth with at least one brother(and their highly aggressive friends), I was used to far worse, and able to evade even more, so it was quick work to dodge under her blow and vault over the handrail of the extremely superfluous four steps that led to the not-much-lower level. However, Angelica was out for blood, and despite the usual clumsiness of our cheerleaders(I have seen them walk straight into pillars, eyes open, looking right ahead), she was rather athletic, and vaulted right after me. I dove under the stairs, and had only a moment to wonder why I was doing so, since the area under the stairs is bricked off, but instead of shattering my skull across stone-and-mortar, I flew into the darkness, Angelica screaming behind me.
1 No offense to any blondes reading this(unless you are actually from Linn-Mar High, in which case you deserve it).
Purple glitter nail polish. Four layers. Is that how this all got started? Oy. Something like that. Maybe it's just my natural charisma. More oy.
It was rather pretty.
I just got bored. So I spent half-an-hour slathering on the polish. I had no idea that half-an-hour spent inhaling fumes would lead to a blow-out with a prep, which somehow lead to . . . Middle Earth?
Call it a dream. Call it insanity. Call it too much time over the nail brush.
All I know is . . . I still have the scars.
Yes, and the rock. I know, I'm a horrible thief. It was just sitting there! Besides, I'm pretty sure Elrond knew I took it, and he never said anything!
Confused? Good. You need to be somewhat addled to take this seriously.
So you know about the nail polish. It all started with the nail polish. Pretty things have always made me act . . . odd. Not usual odd, like reciting poetry, but insane odd, like if I don't destroy its prettiness, I will not live.
I didn't want to destroy the nail polish.
So I decided to end my life.
As I was walking toward Spanish, I spotted a Volkswagen Beetle. I was walking behind a prep. You can imagine what happened next . . .
"Ahaha! Slugbug candy apple red!"
The prep screamed, and spun around, clutching her 'slugged' shoulder.
"Whoa, you're ugly." I really did have a death wish. For a moment she couldn't speak. I waited for the return insult, wearing an expression that my brother has dubbed the "butter-won't-melt-in-her-mouth" expression. My youth group leader hates it. The prep, Angelica, didn't like it much either. In fact, it bugged her so much that all should could say was, "Who the hell do you think you are?!"
I took a bow, knowing I would regret this for the rest of my very short life. "I am the Clearseer, and I rule all I survey!"
She regained enough of her composure to look haughty, but before she could make any uppity remarks, I made one of my own.
"You know, a plastic surgeon could clear that right up for you."
"What?!"
"That look on your face, like you've got a stinkbug superglued to your nose."
"Why you little . . . jew!"
I ignored the remark as I am, in fact, Jewish. It's rather a weak jab.
"Of course, if my face looked like that, I would probably have a similar expression." These tactics only work, of course, because I had caught Angelica off guard, and because Linn-Mar High is not known for its especially intelligent blondes. All you have to do is dye your hair blond, and your IQ drops about twenty to a hundred points. The natural blondes are actually smarter.1
Right about now her face was contorting into the grotesque. All that eye-makeup was not helping. Are they trying to make their eyes look like they're sinking into their skull? Of course, I shouldn't insult her appearance, since I am decidedly less than Cover Girl. Getting rid of the dark circles and a few(dozen)pounds would probably solve it, but thanks to my weirdo eyes, I shall forever be strange looking.
Angelica decided that the time for words had ended, and struck out with a typical bitch-slap. Having spent fifteen of my sixteen years on this earth with at least one brother(and their highly aggressive friends), I was used to far worse, and able to evade even more, so it was quick work to dodge under her blow and vault over the handrail of the extremely superfluous four steps that led to the not-much-lower level. However, Angelica was out for blood, and despite the usual clumsiness of our cheerleaders(I have seen them walk straight into pillars, eyes open, looking right ahead), she was rather athletic, and vaulted right after me. I dove under the stairs, and had only a moment to wonder why I was doing so, since the area under the stairs is bricked off, but instead of shattering my skull across stone-and-mortar, I flew into the darkness, Angelica screaming behind me.
1 No offense to any blondes reading this(unless you are actually from Linn-Mar High, in which case you deserve it).