~Incoherency~
Hallinan's Household 231.17.55
She had been waiting 72 hours for this.
Groggily, she sat up, rubbed her aching back, and smacked her alarm clock. She glanced at her digital watch.
2:34 A.M.
Terrific. It's already tomorrow.
She turned slowly, almost painfully around, making her blankets scrunch into a ball. She faced her collection of clocks that have been given to her for each birthday. One stood out among the rest, with a hideously deformed silhouette dumped on top of what seemed like a circle, stabbing the shadowy room.
Her hand hovered hesitantly over it. Upon closer examination, the clump was revealed as a sleeping Pooh bear. With his large rump poking in the air.
A creative idea, really, her voice mumbled. A slumbering media icon designed for little kids, "dreaming dreams of hunny". Laid gently upon a clock. The voice became impatient, which usually wasn't a very good sign. The company was so excited about Winnie the Pooh, they even misspelled "honey"...!
Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and a secret resentment against him welled up. She tried hard to overcome this sudden onslaught of emotions by drinking the glass of tap water on her nightstand. Still, her thoughts ranted on.
How dare you sleep when your mistress is sleep-deprived, caffeine-driven, and anxious for computer results! How dare you, you miserable little git! If you were not so inanimate, I would tear you into pieces!
Nothing helped. Not even thoughts of success drove away her fury. Foaly had once said that she resembled Opal in certain minute ways. "That's a compliment, by the way. Feistiness isn't bad, really..."
Someone who didn't know better would say that she was a goddamn computer genius.
But it wasn't her computer skills.
Koboi, if out of Howler's Peak, could instantly defeat her programs in any language, including the Mud People's growing favorite, Perl. Then again, Koboi could beat virtually anyone at anything related to computers, seeing her former monopolizing reign in the world of faerie technology.
No. It wasn't sarcasm either. Apparently, she could be "very tender at times".
Excuse me, but this is sentimentally...nauseating. Tender? To describe her?
What was it then?
It was a terrible statement. A statement so terrible, it stood out in her fuming mind, like an error in some history textbook.
It was her thirst for learning.
Only, Foaly had said it like her thirst for "knowing" or whatever.
And for once, she had gotten extremely annoyed with the centaur. She was not a person who gets annoyed easily. Foaly was actually one creature she seemed to love to be around with.
It was as if she was floundered and disgusted that he had acted out of his personality. Or maybe she was embarrassed. Either way, that moment away from his usual sardonic nature took her aback.
Her hand returned to the bear. This time, without faltering, she smacked Pooh's behind as hard as she could.
After all, when Aunt Maggie the infamous insomniac was here, it had frightened the hell out of her with its obnoxious noises. At the wrong times, of course.
Besides, there is no need for her mum to know about her program. Well, all right, not hers. Foaly's. He'd been kind enough to lend her it.
Slowly, she crept out of bed and toward the computer room, carelessly toppling over a neatly stacked group of floppy disks. She squinted at the veiling darkness, inspecting the disks. Even in a cluttered heap, she could instantly recognize the mark of her little sister. The disks were arranged by their color, in a descending, rainbow order.
Her heart jumped several beats. Richard of York gave battle in vain.
There might have been a breach. There might have been a breach...
Oh shit.
A year ago, "Miri, gimme another!" was the response after receiving a factoring problem. Miriena made sure to include irregular fractions, pi, and even a few complex numbers to confuse Mollie. All her traps were evaded.
Miri honestly expected her younger sister prove the Riemann Hypothesis someday. Accidentally, as always.
Mollie's been in here before.
Not that it's any surprise to her that Mollie has been in the computer room. After all, the computer room was not private; Miri's dad delights in trading stocks with his Charles Schwab account, and Miri's mum enjoys reading "latest news flashes" from unreliable internet sources.
Mollie's been here millions of times. But the disks...that was a different matter...
Miriena rose to flick on the light, once again relieved that light travels soundlessly.
It was her sole compulsion to worry about the lighting in her house, especially during Christmas celebrations, and when no one but Lilac was home.
She always half-expected for light to emit a noise when it traveled. On rainy days, the "sound" as always a spontaneous screech. On sunny days, it could be that light really clicks when it moves...
Miri sat promptly down at the revolving chair. Below her, a dignified, almost aristocratic, meow! sliced through her thoughts.
Surprised, Miriena stood up to see an indignant, white kitten on the chair.
"Lilac! You silly kitten..."
Once again, Lilac retorted indignantly, pouncing off the black, leathery furniture, which made it turn slightly before Miri resumed her focus on the computer.
With unusual trepidation, her fingers pressed F6, and then Ctrl+Alt+7823.
The computer, beginning to revive from a five hour doze, blacked out and spat out a blue screen, divided into multiple frames.
A light smile touched Miri's lips.
It quickly disappeared. Despite enormous efforts, she could not get the computer to respond to her commands. She smacked the Esc button repeatedly, hoping that, though the routes were disabled, this key would still operate correctly.
If Miri looked up five minutes before, she would have seen the error message that had been flashing rather persistently. At 2:47 A.M. she glanced up in horror:
FATAL ERROR 17.8 HAS OCCURRED. PLEASE TERMINATE ALL PROGRAMS IMMEDIATELY. OTHERWISE A COMPLETE WIPE OF THE HARD-DRIVE MAY TAKE PLACE.
"D'Arvit!" she swore, catching herself by surprise of her liberal Gnommish use.
She pressed her nose on the screen, her eyes narrowed to shield a sun that was not there. Her face hopelessly slid down, something she had seen all too much in dramatic, cliché movies of angst.
She had been waiting 72 hours for this.
Failure.
At the precise moment, a shrill bleep interrupted her trembling body. Miri turned around to see the black, irregular outline of the tiny, irregular figure, still in its mocking, irregular shape.
The last time she cried was during a mathematics competition.
Then, now.
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[] If you liked this -
Please read before proceeding...
However, you can skip this " disclaimer". ::rolls eyes:: Someday! Someday I'll prove all of you wrong!
1) I *used* to own Artemis Fowl. I've given it up now because everyone said I didn't. So now, I had to surrender it to Eoin Colfer, who is the [cough] supposedly [double plus uncough] rightful owner. All the money goes to him too. Disappearing or no. I hold no responsibility.
Weird...No one has ever protested that I own my own characters. But they glare at me when I say I own Artemis Fowl, which is [my] Eoin's character too...
2) You will understand the title and summary later in the story =P
3) You haven't read below yet.
Instead of how most authors/authoresses tell you how much their own character is "not a Mary-Sue", I am here to proclaim loudly that my character IS A MARY-SUE.
This is not a second-chance thing. This is my first time on this particular fic.
I have mixed feelings about this piece. One, I thought I improved with tense-changes. Two, I really enjoyed this setup. Three, though I love it, as I love all my writings [except ones that are forced out of me], I must admit I dislike it for the very fact that my OC is a Mary Sue. But letting that go would ruin the setup, which I like and do not wish to change.
Ah, call me young and naïve and still have much to learn, which, of course I am an amateur, but I highly doubt it's the youngess and want-for-things-to-be perfect that is refusing - Four: I am willing to face fanfic readers fully and admit all my errors. Perhaps that was what I was aiming at.
If you can't stand the idea of reading a Mary Sue at all, please leave at once. My intention is not to cause anyone gloom or abhorrence in their day from reading my story.
I am so confused on what to think of this story, I would gladly welcome – in fact encourage flames!
BURN HER! BURN HER AT THE STAKE!!![sounds like Lemony Snicket, eh?]
Is perfectly fine. Please, FLAME this piece. Don't even give me all the "This fic has potential if only you stopped writing the Mary Sue" trash. I know it. But I want to write it. I am the authoress of my piece. I do as I wish, against most wishes of other people.
This is not reverse psychology. This is the insanity of a 13-year-old girl unleashed at its worst.
Guess what. If it looks like shit. It might very well [meant to] be shit.
You have been warned.
~~~
On lighter matters, I would like to extend my gratification to Madeleine Bennett who spent the entire choir period helping me pick out names, Sarah [apellido preferred to be undisclosed] for her support and also last-name-adjustings, and Alexandra Hudson for simply reading it, and giving out plot ideas like having Mulch marry one of the celebrities in my story.
As always, I appreciate any comments. As long as they are not falsely wrought to ignite some reaction from me.
PS [un chiste for those who know me and is in my Bio class]: AND THEY CAN'T SEE US.