Crylight
Twilight and all its lucrative yet horrible rights reserved to Stephenie Meyer and Summit Entertainment. The author asks the reader to consider the horrible power of consumers to turn terrible books into a billion-dollar industry.
We obtain a glimpse of the dangerous events that will occupy the climax of the novel.
I'd never given much thought to how I would die, though I've had reason enough to in the past few months. I'd always imagined I'd be the victim of some mass act of anonymous violence or some torturous cannibalistic holocaust like those savage people in those Wal-Mart places or the Golden Globes after party. Or maybe someone would kill me; my biology teacher tried to bash my head in with a microscope but that's cause I'm such a nerd and I'm way too smart for him because I've done all of this at my old school.
The vampire looked at me from across the dance studio, watching me. "Bella," he said. "Hello?" And so the vampire sauntered forward to kill me. He looked really angry: angrier than my father had been when he realized I was going to live with him. "Bella, why'd you even cometo Forks?" He knew I hated it more than human social contact; so why did I even come? That was stupid though because my father doesn't understand my immensely mature decisions. I imagined Edward-imagined him coming up to me; looking at me with his amber eyes; smiling at me; and then we'd be back in Forks, walking from Trig to Lunch, just how it used to of trying to save myself, I set my lips into a hard line and passively avoided changing or ameliorating my situation; that wouldn't be fair to nature. I waited and watched.
1
Bella Swan discusses her blossoming romance with the mysterious vampire Edward Cullen, with her friend Jessica.
"Hi, my name is Bella Swan, and I…I…I…just, I…I…I can't, I just, just now, uh, you wouldn't, no you wouldn't understand, I…I'm like, in love with—you know, this is, just—" I breathe in heavily; Edward can't breathe and I can, just another obstacle in our love—"this is gonna sound really…I don't even know why I'm explaining, you know? Forget it—I'm done—we are so, just, no, no, you can't leave me, no, I'll die if you leave, please, don't do this to me, just no! You can't, you can't do this to me; you're my everything I…just…I just…I'm in love, in love, I…I'm in love with…w-w-with a-a vampire…You know—no." Edward was the love of my life—how could I abandon him?
Jessica said: "Fine, let's go talk about us walking from Trig to Lunch for twelve pages."
Relieved to be off the subject, I said, "Cool." I set my lips into a hard line and started thinking of my truck. We watched a movie in Bio so I just stared at Edward and read Roman de la Rose backwards in its original Latin because that's what we did at my old school and I'm like, super smart. I set my lips into a hard line when it's Gym. I'm like, such a nerd and really bad at sports. I looked at the sky for an hour (it's grey) and try to avoid human social contact while wondering why I had no real friends. Inside my truck I dried my hair with my hands for three hours and in a crowd of three hundred people, running, I saw Edward. Then I went grocery shopping, setting my lips into a hard line. I thought about how super hot it would be if Edwardwas there as I walked from Trig to Lunch….Walked from Lunch to Spanish….Through my unexplained bouts of depression and strange decisions….to talking like a dyslexic Dan Quayle. I suddenly fell in love with him for some reason and went for a strange walk in the woods while reading Wuthering Heights because that's my fave book. At bedtime—my lips set in a hard line—I thought about how weird my room was and thought about seeing Edward while walking from Trig to Lunch. That would be hot because he was hot and was like, mooning over me.
I fell asleep, my lips set into a hard line while thinking about Edward and my dad's weird quilts—I set my lips into a hard line so I didn't think about the hallway from Trig to Lunch. "I…I…" I whispered over and over, downing Tylenol PM as rain lashed the roof like Edward was lashing my heart.
2
It snows at Forks High School, and Mike Newton, a potential suitor for Bella, and some other boys start a snowball fight, which Bella bemoans.
Today, it snowed—starting during Biology (so I stared at Edward's copper-amber-yellow-orange-magnesium-deoxyribonucleic acid-filled eyes and set my lips into a hard line while staring at him)—and since I hated everything fun, I hated snow. Mike, the hot-ish guy who was clearly into me but I kept pushing him away, started a snowball fight; while comparing him to a dog—I hated dogs, too—I wondered why he hadn't asked me out. I was sending him all the right signals. Groaning, I set my lips into a hard line and walked from Trig to Lunch.
3
Bella and her friends Jessica and Angela go shopping for dresses in Port Angeles; Edward appears uninvited, and Jessica becomes nervous when Edward meets Bella—alone—for dinner.
On Saturday, all of my besties and I went to Port Angeles to do something but I wasn't really sure what because I'm always caught up in the moment. My friends went shopping but I hung out in bookstores; I'm like, such a nerd and everything. It turned out Edward followed us to Seattle even though we didn't invite him which I thought was endearing. Jessica seemed nervous—that's because that skank doesn't understand our love.
"Hey, Bella," Edward said; he met us by his silver-starry-cobalt-metallic Volvo and looks at me with his copper-amber-yellow eyes like burning fire looking into my soul. I set my lips into a hard line. I was always so composed in school—because I was like so smart; walking from Trig to Lunch; getting weird stomachaches and randomly stopping so everyone behind me stops and trips and falls. Edward drove me crazy.
4
Bella gets excited over her new calendar and imparts her wisdom.
November
December
January
March
April
May
June
"If I keep doing this can I boost the page count?" -Stephenie Meyer
"Sure, I'm getting laid off tomorrow." -Agent
"WHY DOES NO ONE CARE ABOUT ME ANYMORE?" -KRISTEN STEWART
5
Forks' woods are full of mystery, and Bella decides to investigate them, whatever it takes.
My dad was like, super protective of me, so he's always watching my back. There was this Indian Reservation in Forks for all the Native Americans, including Billy Black, an old, kind man who gave me my free dirty disgusting rat-feces filled, garbagey truck that I absolutely lovedeven though it tried to drive me off a cliff once. He sold my horribly made filthy truck to Charlie, with all its maggots and although it smelled like vomit and the Centers for Disease Control tried to take it away, it was my baby and I often thought about it while walking from Trig to Lunch.
Anyway, a lot of weird stuff had transpired; weirder than when someone in school tried to give me an exorcism because they couldn't help but assist "beavers possessed by evil demons."Apparently people were talking about a killing thing: something that was just eating people alive. I've seen worse when I picked up Snooki's book in one of the many hipster bookstores I frequented because Barnes and Noble was for squares and my bookstores threw burning copies of Queens of the Stone Age and Françoise Hardy vinyl tracks while blasting Portlandia on tube televisions. I was too cool for what everyone else was doing which disappointed all of my friends because they always wanted me to join in and help with their homework because I wassuch a nerd; lol. I was also a gamer girl so I was wondering why no one wanted to like, marry me on Xbox Live.
So, I was very smart and decided I was going to go into the killing woods because I was daring and I didn't listen to anyone because I, like out-of-control teenagers on Maury, was going to do it anyway, and ain't nobody was gonna stop me from, well, not having a baby, but risking my life. My dad would stop me, I knew, but I didn't care. I set my lips into a hard line, resolved (like when I came to Forks) to make a mature decision that would be explained in a book about my exploits in full without leaving the reader to wonder why a four-book series was written off of something that really shouldn't have happened.
"Char-Dad?" I asked Charlie as I took out a bowl of cereal and methodically ingested it, thinking about Edward's amber-copper-magnesium-deoxyribonucleic-filled eyes. "Can I...I...you know...g-g-g-go into...the...?" I spent an hour trying to figure out how my father got over to me so fast from across the kitchen, and asked him ten thousand questions. "...the woods?" I was incomplete command of the situation, like whenever I was around Mike. (By the way, he was so into me but didn't ask me out. I thought guys found it endearing when you tried to decapitate them on monkey bars, kick them in the face, and then file a restraining order until, in your words, "he wants to come back to his home," while making a sensual face and causing all the witnessesto throw up at the obscene mental picture you created. By the way, after that day, PDA rates had plummeted. Planned-Parenthood-Super-Bella away!) Charlie would still of course say no.
"I know it's dangerous but, can-"
"Sure, I don't care," Charlie said, shoving me into the cabinet with all his fatherly love and then going outside to get his fishing gear even though we're under a Tornado Warning. He was just, overwhelmed by my maturity, I thought, even though Charlie was laughing so hard and creating some sort of effigy of me-probably of the child I once was, before my transformationinto the super mature Bella Swan I am right now. When he burned it, it was so symbolic of my transformation that even the normally unsettling tribal dance he did was endearing.
I headed out into the woods, with my adultness, Jane Eyre, and Charlie's diary, which I swiped from his room. I set my lips into a hard line and read.
June 9, 2008
I hate my daughter [he probably meant how fast I was growing up; he must have just forgotten to add the apostrophe, maturity, and then the phrase, "it means she's moving on, and I love her"].
June 10, 2008
Oh, for the love of God, I'll do something anything, for Social Services to just take this algae eater brat away [I'm not sure what to make of that. Maybe this is from his dream diary...].
June 11, 2008
Please let something run her over. She keeps obsessing about this boy that doesn't like her. He says she talks like her voicebox is sitting on a massage chair and she could break her face bones because she moves them around so much. I go fishing a lot; I can't stand being around her.
OK, that one was a little bit off-color….
I set my lips into a hard line and—like it was just the walk from Trig to Lunch; from my room to the bathroom to down fifteen Tylenol PMs—I confidently walked into the forest.