Hello, my name is EvelioandZgroup. You know, re-watching Carrie (or rereading it) you find out how dated it was. In the book, you learn that some words and phrases don't hold up very wall, even some paragraph structures and how the style doesn't work entirely as well, but that goes towards its nostalgia and charm, like the original 1976 classic (not the 2013 remake), where the prom scene shows some bad choreography, but it sticks to you like gum and is very hard to remove. Overall, they've left their imprint on our culture as horror classics and Carrie as a horror icon.

This is where myth argument comes in with Penny. You know, when we all thought that she was just gonna come out as a deer and that's it. And nobody wanted to write a story about what if she cracked her shell and be left with embarrassed results... I was the guy who thought he called it. But I was wrong.

Yeah, I'll give the creators credit for at least giving Penny a more distinct and visual personality. It actually adds up to her popularity and even how she acts... Why the rest of her family hides in their shells is anyone's guess. Regardless, I decided to remake Under the Shell since the shame lives on until I do something about it.

SO, will I make Penny that shape-shifting-fairy? Fuck no! Why? Changing Homer's words, I wanted Penny to be a deer and I'm gonna get Penny as a deer. The real reason is because I owe the readers at least something to go for. I mean, this story wasn't finished, and like The Dark Night of the Soul, it's dated, but left its mark. Under the Shell will do so to, under a dated idea with a timeless feel. Or something. I don't know.

I hope you guys enjoy what I'm doing for you all. I'm currently working on four stories, nearing the end of Intermission, starting up Carrie, remaking Why I Love Him, and now finishing what I started with Under the Shell. Take care, and keep reading for me. Who knows what I'll remake next. Send me suggestions if you think there's a story buried by false starts that deserve to be discovered again. Enjoy.

Under the Shell

By

EvelioandZgroup

1

I guess it goes without saying how one has to hide by instinct, not by choice. I just got back from my psychiatrist, and I was told to transfer back to my school counselor Mr. Small. I tried to worl with him, but he couldn't find anything wrong with me. He says I'm just too worried. That's it. I go to Mr. Quentin and he says I have some massive issues. I feel like I'm just being ripped off by both of them. One that isn't open to the public isn't very helpful and the latter could just be saying what I want to hear for money. I gave up, but my dad really wants to help me. He says he wants me to be happy.

"Who knows," he said, driving me back home, "maybe I'll let you talk to that Watterson fellow." He laughed, and I knew he wasn't serious. He didn't like Gumball very much. I guess it's because he feels Gumball isn't good enough for his "little girl".

Mistakes. I feel like I was one. Maybe because I've been too depressed to really see it in a different perspective. I look at someone and I see misery, jealousy, envy (or just jealousy), sad. I just wish I knew what was wrong. Maybe there's nothing wrong with me. Maybe I just want some problems, something to argue about.

So I've been told I'm miss perfect and everyone wants to be me. But they say this with envy, and I shutter in fear. I get scared when someone tells me these things. Should I? It all just contradicts each other. Maybe that's why I need help. I'm just a maze unwilling to comprise an exit.

My dad asked me if I wanted something to eat on the way home. Burgers, fries, maybe some chicken nuggets from Joyful Burger. How about some ice cream instead?

What can I say? My dad cares about me. I refused but when we stoped at the nearest gas station, he asked if I wanted some chips or soda.

"Why not both?" I said, and he smiled. He brought me hot chips (not extra hot, though) and a 72 oz big-ass soda. And only $2.

We were driving home as I was reading a paperback novel called Split Track. I started at the first ten pages, and to be honest it seemed like dribble. I liked how we go back and see the main character gorge about the people he knew, but I don't know.

I always liked the thought of writing. To tell a story about fictional events concerning fictional characters that engrosses you in a story. Whether it's predictable, it's the characters we focus on. How they enrich our lives like candy. But it's what kind of candy you eat. Some taste good, but get old. Some are great, but too rare and expensive. And some are just right, like Goldilocks, like clockwork. I guess that's just me.

We pulled over to the curb as my dad parked the car and asked me if I was okay.

I said yes, but he turned over and said to say it to his face. I knew he thought I was lying, thinking I was just covering up some deeper emotional issues that I just didn't want to discuss about. But I'm not, and I say it to his face that I'm okay, adding a smile.

He smiled back and said to look after the car while he went to get my mom and sister. He told me It was a surprise.

I waited, but I wanted to get something to read. I didn't want to read the book I had, I wanted something else. Something new, something drastic, something—

Out of nowhere, a car crashed my dad's minivan. It collided towards another and my head hit the seat hard, but I saw something else. The minivan had all the windows, even the windshield, broke on impact. I felt woozy and out of focus. I turned around and my vision started to become shaky and I saw the door look smaller. It looked like it was badly squeezed in. I saw someone coming after me, but it looked like they were coming from the ceiling, but we were outside. The car flipped over, but I felt sleepy. I closed my eyes, and waited for this to all blow over.