27 November 2012
"She sits with her back to me, the girl with the brown hair, that hangs in chocolate ringlets down to her waist." I type quickly. Here, we only have the computers available for an hour each day, and it's been about forty-five minutes here at the university for the disabled and mentally ill. But don't get the wrong idea... I'm not mentally ill-or disabled. Not that that is a bad thing... It's just that I just want you to underst- what am I doing? I'm rambling on and on to no one. Who the hell is in my head reading my thoughts? Oh yeah no one. My god you are insane! Maybe you do belong in here... Anyway, back to my fake interview... I'm living here like as an internship. My family established this university generations ago and they want me to become, I don't even know! I'm only fifteen, but I guess they want to start me young. Maybe it's like as principle, or maybe just a guide, or teacher even! To be honest, I'd love to become a writer, but that'd never happen. So instead I'm just here, typing away on some ancient computer trying to write about love.Which in my opinion is impossible because how can you write about love if you've never been in it? But that's the theme for Mrs. Newberry's class essay. "Write a short story, minimum of four paragraphs. It must be on the following subjects: Love, horror. Pick one. It's due in one week." The computer room (Here we call it 'the lab') has been swamped the past four days, so this is the first I've been able to begin. My friend-correction, best friend Misty says that I need more practice describing things. Last time I saw her she said that I should practice by describing myself. so here goes:
My name is Lucille, and I'm fifteen. I'm 5,1 with platinum blonde hair. And by platinum, I mean so blonde and light that it could be considered gray. Yeah-I know, it's weird... Anyway my features have been described as pixie like I guess, I'm very small- As you might've been able to tell from my hight. My hair reaches down to a shocking just above my ear! Well, on one side. The other side is just barely touching my shoulder. It might sound crazy now,but it looks wicked cool! My average outfit would be a black t-shirt, black jeans, and some funky random colored jacket, red maybe or purple. With converse and chunky jewelry. As you may have noticed, I'm far from average.
Then Misty would blurt out something like, "Now describe the desk!" or, "Now describe my hair!" or maybe even, "Now describe my face!" And normally I would. I'd say something like... "The desk is white, with black, orange, yellow, purple, and green paint splatters on it. We painted it last summer. While simultaneously painting the brick wall behind it." then she and I would erupt in giggles. Then I would go on: "Your hair is the most beautiful color I'v ever seen. It's red, and orange, and yellow! It's the color of autumn and the sun combined. Breathtakingly beautiful." I'd gush, trying my best to fake a british accent. (and failing miserably...) (she had natural fire engine red hair.) "Now for your face..." I'd take a pause to think... "It is also rather lovely... Your lips are cherry red, and your nose is just perfect. Your eyes I don't know... YOU HAVE TO TAKE OFF THE SUNGLASSES!" I'd screech then pounce on her. Grabbing on to her glasses and ripping them off her face. I would gasp, and gawk at her eyes. "Your eyes are the most beautiful blue. An even lighter baby blue, that makes them stunning!" I'd gush. Oh, so maybe I should've told you... Misty is blind.
Opuss № I