So, considering how I'm an idiot who has too much homework for me to even update what I'm supposed to, I decided it would be a brilliant idea to enter a contest whose formal due date is a week when I'm out of state. Smart, right?

Then again, it's funny the inspiration you get when you do something stupid. And they gave an assigned topic too -- the beach -- which is something that, under normal circumstances I would never, ever, in a million years choose to write about. But it's good for you, you know? Expanding boundaries and all.

And so, I present (written in under two days, so probably a bit sketchy, but I had ideas) Here and Now. However, I'm not providing a link with that. It's posted in two spots: on my Fictionpress as that is where I would normally put such a story and on my Mibba as that is where the runners of the contest prefer it. I have links to both sites on here. I'll leave it to you to choose your favorite, if you wish to read it at all.

And now, I should probably go back to my homework. . .

Huzzah for updates!

Again last night I seem to have been bitten my the muse of mine that took such joy in fleeing for so long. Alas, it's not exactly what I've been promising. I'm not very good with promises in writing anymore, am I? Right, should stop that. Anyhow, it's another one of those things I like to call fragments. Which is kind of easier to write because it's smaller and there's less of a chance for me to lose my sense of direction. Plus, it doesn't take me away from the homework that I really should be doing (but probably won't be, oops?) for as long as something else would.

And I know I should really work on some of those other updates, because I'll never be able to write something decent until I get those ideas cluttering my mind free. But, what you know, I'm an idiot. And actually rather proud of that sometimes. . .

Right, so, before I lose where I was going: Folded in Print, the fragment now accessible on my Fictionpress. Although, to be honest, I find myself pathetic in it, in that I've resorted to something found entirely upon my own bookshelf instead of my own head. Which, if you read it you might understand. And, no, it most certainly does not imply plagiarism. I still hate hate it, though.

The Bitter Slice

Bwah.

In the middle of the night last night (because, but of course, I'm an idiot and an insomniac) I stumbled across yet another idea for a random story. I still have to update the three ongoing stories I have for friends, and I refuse to give up the lesbian story, plus another I tried to start almost a year ago now. Alas, I won't tell the ideas behind either of the other two for fear that they may never be completed.

I'm only somewhere within the fourth chapter in my APUSH homework. I have six total, plus that bloody essay. And then there's still that time we'll be in Virginia taken out of my possible work time. And, it's just. . . Summer's definitely fading.

And I'm simply full of disappointments, aren't I?

It probably doesn't help that I keep buying books to distract myself with. I have four currently, two bought just today, to read--plus a book of poems and another book that my friend wants me to borrow. And I do this knowingly, when I should be doing my homework. Finishing that so that I can write a bloody increment and appease my mind.

I'm a fool, though, aren't I? Just a fatuous, pusillanimous poltroon. And it's all my fault.

Doubtful, Very Doubtful.

...I wonder how well my ongoing absence from writing is going. Or, better worded, how many people want to kill me yet. I remember having promised a lesbian based story a considerable long while ago now? Well, you see, I did actually start that! Only then I couldn't finish it...

It just doesn't sound right anymore, the way I was going about writing it. If that makes sense? And then, I just can't write anything lately, it seems. And that includes my APUSH homework, which has an ever dwindling timestamp on it. If anything, I really should do that.

Alas, that's not the point of this post. If anyone actually reads when I continue to rant on about my bumbling and ever-confused mind, that is.

It's just, if someone were allegedly the person another worried most about disappointing, you would expect that person to work hard to be certain they don't disappoint said someone, right? Which is why, of course, it's only an allegedly. Why you can never believe anything anyone says, friend or not. It never really works out that well in the end, does it?

The thing is, I don't trust very well. Everyone around me knows this. And she's be edgy around me lately for it, I know, because I don't trust her as much as my best friend. But how could anyone honestly expect so much, anyhow? From someone who can barely trust to trust them as much as someone they've known for years? It just doesn't that way. Especially upon demand. And just look what happens when I'm stupid enough to finally begin trusting someone else.

I think it was really more of an excuse, anyhow. More than anything else, at least. Because it first came up when she was dumped, used basically, and given no reason. Disappointing me--or believing so, not being able to lend me his book, at least that's a reason. That's a solid fact that you can beat yourself up over. When there's no reason? Just think what that does to the head. And then, of course, once something is said--and not only to me, but to my best friend as well, that I'm the one she worries most about disappointing... Well, then you kind of have to stick to it, don't you? Or, at least try not to go against it verbally.

Except, it's hardly believable. If that were true, if anyone ever meant what they said, then when you command a person to fetch their best friend and go to your house, would you not be there? Or wouldn't you fear in the least that maybe you would instilling anger, a bitter grudge, disappointment? It doesn't hold up. It doesn't make sense. It burns and boils in my head.

And now I really am disappointed.

But we still had to go, follow to where she was. Listen to her list of tactics. Attempts to buy over, hold a grudge back, subtle torture tactics. And then, to have the idea that she could then force her little pet, her creeper, her friend. Yes a veneer I could do, stand up to it I probably should have, but what teenager is fatuous enough to throw a proper tantrum in the middle of the mall?

And not only that, but in forcing us to go to the mall she made us go with her father, her dipsomaniac father. Her father, when many times before I had refused before her face ever stepping in a care with him. I'm smarter than that, aren't I? No, I would never get in a car with a drunk. And yet I did. What choice did I have? No matter what, I was at her house. No matter what I decided to do, he was my ride. And I couldn't escape it.

Even worse, on the way back (there were four of us, as she had another one of our friends with her at the mall already) her sister was in the car with her father already. The four of us had to cram into the back, unseatbelted, squished. I felt unsafe. Illegal. Terrified. I was practically begging a cop to spot us in my mind, to pull us over.

Am I really the person she worries most about disappointing? Doubtful, very doubtful. Or else she knows very little about me after all.