Hey. This is hezziebob. Depending on whether or nor you read our stuff (those who don't usually: Grrrrrrrr!) you will know that we have a French teacher we don't like too much (just to clue you in, don't like too much hate) well anyways, here is a Mr. (we can't put your name on the net in case it's illegal) update. I know you don't actually care and those of you who do care don't actually care that much but we have things to say so live with it. So anyways. Last lesson, I had a new strategy. Don't speak to him, don't chew gum, don't pass notes, don't talk (much) and do work (some, mainly concerning aubergines but ah well) and hey hey! He only ridiculed me once in the whole hour. This is progress. I got to listen to his conversation with the people around us concerning the pros and cons of Metallica and the subtle difference between a mosher and a mosh mosh person. Très amusant. This strategy may be staying. Except the whole "no notes" thing. They are my life support in school Mr (we can't put your name on the net in case it's illegal). Hey hey. I'm gonna pass the laptop to Ally now. She's waiting patiently while I write wait… 218 words (219) of (220) authors (221) notes (222).

Yep. That's me. Patient as ever. So yeah. This is Ally by the way. Evilated French teacher is now called Mr. Efty. This is for 'Evilated French teacher' with a 'y' on the end because I'm in that kind of a mood. Hi sir! I'll say hi in case you're like, a closet fanfic addict. (God forbid). OK. I'm gonna start giving you review topics. These are what you must comment on when you review. (Well, the story too but…). Hm. Today's topic will be…pigeons. Pigeon's rock. You can tell us about your encounters with pigeons, your favourite colour, and variety of pigeon, whatever you like. All is welcome to do with the world of pigeons. I suppose it's only fair that I start it off. My little brother Robert was chasing a pigeon and it was trying to fly away from the evil little human and when it took off it hit an old woman. Hehe. I laughed. She scowled. Wasn't too good. Twas rather like the film called the Birds where the lady gets attacked by a load of seagulls and it got banned for being scary. Ooh! I'll have to tell you about the Seagull Dance next time. Tehe. Hey! I've got a little randomized fact for you. Did you know that pigeons are the direct descendants of the dinosaurs? So yeah. Your turn! (But read the story first though.) Um, oh yeah, the story.

They stood outside watching Grace's mom being lowered into the ground. She glanced over at the headstone across. Adam's mom. They had asked for the plot specially. Adam. The tears rolled down his face. Grace didn't know whom the tears were for. Grace could still remember the first time she saw him after Sarah died. She had never dreamed the situation would reverse itself. Everyone said it, "Adam must know what you're going through, you can talk to him."

Crap. All of it. It's completely different. And if nothing else, Adam got a letter. What do I get? A memory of a childhood that sucked. So many things I'll never get to say... I hate you. You screwed up my life. Even I love you. That hurts. It hurts so much I can't sleep and I scream when nobody hears me and I can't breathe and I can't eat and each second suffocates me because I can't look forward and I can't look back and I don't know what to do anymore and I got home yesterday and she wasn't there and I needed her to be there and I didn't care if she was drunk I just needed her to be there and I walked in and I couldn't smell sick and she wasn't crashed out on the sofa and she wasn't in bed and she wasn't anywhere and I couldn't cry because I couldn't think and I couldn't look back and I can't look forward and my thoughts are trying to strangle me and I want them to succeed to take the pain away and I want to die but I don't want to die and I don't know what I want and nothing makes sense any more.

"Grace?" Joan was behind her. The service had just finished.

"What do you want Girardi?" She said, not particularly bothered with the answer.

"Listen. Grace, I'm sorry, honestly I am and I shouldn't have said what I did and-"

"Just leave it okay? I don't wanna talk about it. Leave me alone."

"Grace? I…"

"Yeah, sorry, I've already heard it Joan, I get it."

Joan walked off leaving Grace alone by her mom's grave.

"I needed you mom. I needed you for the first time ever and you weren't there. Jeez this sucks. They all say that I'll learn to live without you and that the pain will go away. But it won't mom. It won't because you're not here. You never have been and…you never will be. You're gone. And you're not coming back." Grace got up. She traced her mom's name with her fingers, as if to say good bye, and left.

Alright be sympathetic with us now guys (this is Hezzie by the ways) School has been really hectic right now and their talking about exams and yada yada yada and I still can't remember what pie equals except that it's 3 something and if it comes up on a non calc paper then I'm screwed. So anyway, it's now officially morning and we have to be up and out in a scarily small number of hours and we're dropping from exhaustion and we've hit the floor from the sugar highs and I've hurt my shoulder and Al hurt her leg (a few days ago but I'm sure it still hurts, wait I'll ask her…

Ally shrugs then says, "Uh ok then." Points to screen then clocks on, "Am I, like, screaming in agony over it?" Ah, I love scripts in general…)

So here's where it gets good… we have really big holidays coming in a few weeks and if need be I will get Al to move in (she sleeps in a separate bed, ugh, you dirty minded people) for a week so we can deliver you something substantial for this story. We're not out of ideas we're just soooo tired. And we did start this at like, 1 o'clock, we haven't been up all night writing what… 3 paragraphs? Take pity on us? And roll on with the pigeon reviews. I know how mean this seems. Sorry. We will make it up to you. (Wow this AN makes me feel important… getting off the subject, again Hez. Sorry. Talking to myself, you understand. Unless you don't, in which case, you don't.) This is longer than the whole piece of writing twice over isn't it? Ah well. Buh bye 4 now.