A/N: Hello, my darling fans. I've decided to thank you all up here, because
I feel like it and I am the almighty author therefore I can ::laughs at you
and your simple mind; then remembers you're going to read her story:: oh,
yes. You're okay too. Ahem, anyway, I'm just warning you this chapter
contains a little self mutilation, language (that's a given with me), and
homosexuality. Yes, thought I'd give my little lambs a heads up ::stares at
the innocent ones adoringly:: oh, right. Moving on.
Thank you to:
Love-fool: Yahoo! You rock!
Bonjour-french-bread: you rock monkeys, girl. Boy. Whatever. lol anyway thanks for the compliments and I'll update ASAP (as I just did).
Kris721: I hope you didn't fall off your seat, because a hurt butt doesn't read fan fics well. Thank you bunches!!
KT the Shimmer Skank: Thanks a lot! It's a compliment coming from you, because Less Than Beautiful is my favorite fan fic of all time. lol I noticed the vocabulary thing too, AFTER I wrote it. I don't edit my stuff, because that seems so. perfectionist-like. It's just me, who swallowed a dictionary two years ago. I'm afraid it is not as angst-y as I hoped it would be, but that's because I have ::cough:: Disney ISSUES. Glad you "dug" it.
Bigg_fan: Glad you liked it. I know it is hard to understand, but, in case you didn't read up there, I read the dictionary for pleasure when I was eight through ten because I thought I was so cool. I used the word gaudy every day, and ever got in a fight with my friend just so I could call her clothing gaudy. Which it WASN'T. I also like to write the way I think, which is random and confusing and metaphorical. It takes a lot of analysis skills to read it, so be proud to like it!
Pink Princess: Thank you! I'm glad you took an interest. I was reading the site, and I'm so incredibly sick of L/G fics. I mean, sure they're cute, and it's obvious on the show they will get together, but COME ON. There are only so many times a couple can get together. I'd like to write about characters who people don't generally write mainly about (as you'd find out if you read my other stories lol) but I settled for Miranda because. . . I'm weird. Thanks again.
Keeponwritin: Thank you. I'm glad to know someone else has been searching for them. lol smart stuff about the disclaimer, but I like to make sure because. Let's see. We'll use the "I'm weird" excuse again. I'm paranoid too. I'll try to continue, as long as I am inspired.
Read on, my fellow funkadelics!
March 11
There's this really ugly dress my mom used to make me wear to family reunions. I'd sit there on picnic benches, staring at the insane people walking around, occasionally hugging or kissing me, and all I could think was "God, this is an ugly dress". I felt so STUPID. I'd stared blindly into the orange cotton, running my fingers over the tiny flowers in a less than affectionate way. That's how I feel sometimes. Like I'm wearing this hideous gown and everyone is LAUGHING at me. I don't feel I need to be perfect, but it would be nice all the same. It's like that dream where you're naked in front of the class and there's nothing you can do about it. I still have that dress. It doesn't fit me anymore.
I fiddled with my bracelets, letting Janet Jackson blast through my headphones. I couldn't hear any voices, but I could feel them. There were tremors on the grounds. Well, not literally really, but there was this negative vibe or something. With my ear drums practically bursting, I couldn't think about much. But Gordo, of course. It wasn't a voluntary action, I just thought about him like my heart beats. I recalled vaguely studying involuntary muscles in school. I spent most of that period of my life swooning over Ethan Craft. I wondered if there was such thing as involuntary thoughts. Probably. It's like dreams. You don't WANT to picture your grandparents In leather thongs, but if it happens, it happens.
I pulled my headphones off suddenly. A dead ringing erupted in my ears. They weren't fighting anymore, I assumed. This was either because they got sick of fighting or killed each other off. I decided it would be a good idea to check.
Leaving the comforts of my bedroom and the soft glow of the computer monitor, I treaded quietly towards the parent's bedroom. The door was open a crack. I leaned against the wall outside, searching to catch words in the air.
"How am I ever going to tell Miranda?," I heard my father whisper in concern. My stomach lurched as I peered through the crack. They sat on the bed, kind of relaxed for people who were just screaming at each other.
"Same way you told me," Mom laughed a bitter sort of laugh. I closed my eyes in a sort of wince. I didn't want to hear this, but I had to. I was craving to find out what it was, but I really, REALLY didn't want to know. I was torn. I was torn so many ways in so many places! I hugged my sweater tighter to my body and listened.
"There's something wrong with just blurting out in the middle of an argument to your child that you've found someone else," He paused. "And that someone else is a man." My mouth went instantly dry. I didn't just hear that. I didn't just hear that. I stared blankly at the teal wall, trying to think of what he really said. And yet, there was nothing. I felt my blood rush and my emotions race. The confusion I already suffered from doubled. I stood up quickly and stumbled to the bathroom, dizzy. I opened the medicine cabinet mindlessly, searching for a cure. But there was none. I couldn't cure something that wasn't mine. I couldn't cure my father's feelings.
It's times like these I wish I was a VCR. Then I could rewind over and over again and live in the past.
There's something about blood pumping through your head that leads you to a state of almost oblivion. The cool tile was nice against my sizzling skin, and it was almost pleasant. I wasn't thinking about other people's reactions, though it did cross my mind. I was just thinking about how confusing life is when my body started walking towards the kitchen.
I had no motivation to move expect the fiery anger underneath my state of nothingness. I couldn't recall why I was anger, but it seemed important. My dad is gay. That's something to be mad about, right? Was it really?
The truth is, I was more mad at myself. This new discovery was harmful and dangerous. While I didn't need to be perfect for myself, I NEEDED to be perfect for Gordo. Having a homosexual in the family and having a temper tantrum about it was not going to help. Step one was to hide this juicy fact. It was a large crumb of gossip people would love to eat up, licking the plate clean. Gordo, especially, would never know. I laughed in a sort of hysterical way. No one would have to know. That's good.
Step two was harder. Carry on with no sign of anger or depression. I'd act like I had never heard it; yeah, that's right. As far as I know, my parents are just a pair of regular, HETEROSEXUAL quarreling people. Nothing unusual. My need to cover up what was not revealed was verging on an obsession just in the last seconds. A few seconds changed my life completely.
But how could I possibly control my anger? I leaned against the kitchen table, biting my lip hard. Every once and a while I would pace back and forth, clutching my forehead in pain. Pain. I sighed the word curiously under my breath.
I stared at the steak knife glinting at me from the table.
No, I thought fiercely. I was already IN pain. It wouldn't help me get out. I wasn't some....some depressed...depressed FREAK who cut themselves! No!
The knife continued to glint, almost winking at me. It was tempting me. It was killing me with temptation. It would work, I thought helplessly. I can work through it!
I quickly grabbed it. I sat down and observed it first. It was shining off the kitchen light, like a mirror. I looked at myself in it. I realized there were tears streaming down my cheeks. It was almost HIDEOUS. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't perfect for Gordo.
Motivated, I pushed my sweater sleeve up dramatically, as though I was about to do some big theatrical performance. I swallowed and slowly placed the shining blade my skin. I moved it slowly, and lifted it up, stinging. Scarlet tears ran down my skin, and I swallowed again, staring at the bloody skin. I didn't make a sound, putting the knife slowly into the sink and washing. My arm felt heavy, with guilt almost. I blotted the blood mindlessly with a paper towel, contemplating what I just did. What came from here? I closed my eyes. Nothing. And that's just what I wanted. Nothing.
Thank you to:
Love-fool: Yahoo! You rock!
Bonjour-french-bread: you rock monkeys, girl. Boy. Whatever. lol anyway thanks for the compliments and I'll update ASAP (as I just did).
Kris721: I hope you didn't fall off your seat, because a hurt butt doesn't read fan fics well. Thank you bunches!!
KT the Shimmer Skank: Thanks a lot! It's a compliment coming from you, because Less Than Beautiful is my favorite fan fic of all time. lol I noticed the vocabulary thing too, AFTER I wrote it. I don't edit my stuff, because that seems so. perfectionist-like. It's just me, who swallowed a dictionary two years ago. I'm afraid it is not as angst-y as I hoped it would be, but that's because I have ::cough:: Disney ISSUES. Glad you "dug" it.
Bigg_fan: Glad you liked it. I know it is hard to understand, but, in case you didn't read up there, I read the dictionary for pleasure when I was eight through ten because I thought I was so cool. I used the word gaudy every day, and ever got in a fight with my friend just so I could call her clothing gaudy. Which it WASN'T. I also like to write the way I think, which is random and confusing and metaphorical. It takes a lot of analysis skills to read it, so be proud to like it!
Pink Princess: Thank you! I'm glad you took an interest. I was reading the site, and I'm so incredibly sick of L/G fics. I mean, sure they're cute, and it's obvious on the show they will get together, but COME ON. There are only so many times a couple can get together. I'd like to write about characters who people don't generally write mainly about (as you'd find out if you read my other stories lol) but I settled for Miranda because. . . I'm weird. Thanks again.
Keeponwritin: Thank you. I'm glad to know someone else has been searching for them. lol smart stuff about the disclaimer, but I like to make sure because. Let's see. We'll use the "I'm weird" excuse again. I'm paranoid too. I'll try to continue, as long as I am inspired.
Read on, my fellow funkadelics!
March 11
There's this really ugly dress my mom used to make me wear to family reunions. I'd sit there on picnic benches, staring at the insane people walking around, occasionally hugging or kissing me, and all I could think was "God, this is an ugly dress". I felt so STUPID. I'd stared blindly into the orange cotton, running my fingers over the tiny flowers in a less than affectionate way. That's how I feel sometimes. Like I'm wearing this hideous gown and everyone is LAUGHING at me. I don't feel I need to be perfect, but it would be nice all the same. It's like that dream where you're naked in front of the class and there's nothing you can do about it. I still have that dress. It doesn't fit me anymore.
I fiddled with my bracelets, letting Janet Jackson blast through my headphones. I couldn't hear any voices, but I could feel them. There were tremors on the grounds. Well, not literally really, but there was this negative vibe or something. With my ear drums practically bursting, I couldn't think about much. But Gordo, of course. It wasn't a voluntary action, I just thought about him like my heart beats. I recalled vaguely studying involuntary muscles in school. I spent most of that period of my life swooning over Ethan Craft. I wondered if there was such thing as involuntary thoughts. Probably. It's like dreams. You don't WANT to picture your grandparents In leather thongs, but if it happens, it happens.
I pulled my headphones off suddenly. A dead ringing erupted in my ears. They weren't fighting anymore, I assumed. This was either because they got sick of fighting or killed each other off. I decided it would be a good idea to check.
Leaving the comforts of my bedroom and the soft glow of the computer monitor, I treaded quietly towards the parent's bedroom. The door was open a crack. I leaned against the wall outside, searching to catch words in the air.
"How am I ever going to tell Miranda?," I heard my father whisper in concern. My stomach lurched as I peered through the crack. They sat on the bed, kind of relaxed for people who were just screaming at each other.
"Same way you told me," Mom laughed a bitter sort of laugh. I closed my eyes in a sort of wince. I didn't want to hear this, but I had to. I was craving to find out what it was, but I really, REALLY didn't want to know. I was torn. I was torn so many ways in so many places! I hugged my sweater tighter to my body and listened.
"There's something wrong with just blurting out in the middle of an argument to your child that you've found someone else," He paused. "And that someone else is a man." My mouth went instantly dry. I didn't just hear that. I didn't just hear that. I stared blankly at the teal wall, trying to think of what he really said. And yet, there was nothing. I felt my blood rush and my emotions race. The confusion I already suffered from doubled. I stood up quickly and stumbled to the bathroom, dizzy. I opened the medicine cabinet mindlessly, searching for a cure. But there was none. I couldn't cure something that wasn't mine. I couldn't cure my father's feelings.
It's times like these I wish I was a VCR. Then I could rewind over and over again and live in the past.
There's something about blood pumping through your head that leads you to a state of almost oblivion. The cool tile was nice against my sizzling skin, and it was almost pleasant. I wasn't thinking about other people's reactions, though it did cross my mind. I was just thinking about how confusing life is when my body started walking towards the kitchen.
I had no motivation to move expect the fiery anger underneath my state of nothingness. I couldn't recall why I was anger, but it seemed important. My dad is gay. That's something to be mad about, right? Was it really?
The truth is, I was more mad at myself. This new discovery was harmful and dangerous. While I didn't need to be perfect for myself, I NEEDED to be perfect for Gordo. Having a homosexual in the family and having a temper tantrum about it was not going to help. Step one was to hide this juicy fact. It was a large crumb of gossip people would love to eat up, licking the plate clean. Gordo, especially, would never know. I laughed in a sort of hysterical way. No one would have to know. That's good.
Step two was harder. Carry on with no sign of anger or depression. I'd act like I had never heard it; yeah, that's right. As far as I know, my parents are just a pair of regular, HETEROSEXUAL quarreling people. Nothing unusual. My need to cover up what was not revealed was verging on an obsession just in the last seconds. A few seconds changed my life completely.
But how could I possibly control my anger? I leaned against the kitchen table, biting my lip hard. Every once and a while I would pace back and forth, clutching my forehead in pain. Pain. I sighed the word curiously under my breath.
I stared at the steak knife glinting at me from the table.
No, I thought fiercely. I was already IN pain. It wouldn't help me get out. I wasn't some....some depressed...depressed FREAK who cut themselves! No!
The knife continued to glint, almost winking at me. It was tempting me. It was killing me with temptation. It would work, I thought helplessly. I can work through it!
I quickly grabbed it. I sat down and observed it first. It was shining off the kitchen light, like a mirror. I looked at myself in it. I realized there were tears streaming down my cheeks. It was almost HIDEOUS. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't perfect for Gordo.
Motivated, I pushed my sweater sleeve up dramatically, as though I was about to do some big theatrical performance. I swallowed and slowly placed the shining blade my skin. I moved it slowly, and lifted it up, stinging. Scarlet tears ran down my skin, and I swallowed again, staring at the bloody skin. I didn't make a sound, putting the knife slowly into the sink and washing. My arm felt heavy, with guilt almost. I blotted the blood mindlessly with a paper towel, contemplating what I just did. What came from here? I closed my eyes. Nothing. And that's just what I wanted. Nothing.