'Well', I thought, looking into the mirror, 'it's not a total disaster.'
My hair was tangled and wet, apart from its usual brown, straight, plain-Jane style. This was gonna be a mess to fix. Why did I beg Mom to let me grow it long? The swampy mess of my hair was past my shoulder blades.
My face was smeared with mascara that dripped down my cheeks. I looked at myself, and wanted to cry.
It was only a couple hours ago that I had climbed down from my bedroom window to meet Kale and Dan and Lindsay. It was only two hours ago that we had gone (illegally, I might add) to the closed pier and hung around. Why had my raging hormones told me to gather what rebelliousness I had left? I didn't even really like them. I only hung out with them to piss Dad off.
Anyway, it was only an hour after arriving at the pier that Kale decided to be funny and push me in the water.
Lindsay was pissed. She helped me out of the water, checked me for injuries, and punched Kale really hard in the stomach. We got in her car, and she took me home.
I was sure Dad heard me come in. He was just saving the punishment and lecture until the morning.
I didn't care. I went to my room, stopping at the mirror. And, wow, here we are.
Like I said, I wanted to cry. I felt stupid for sneaking out. I felt ugly, my makeup dripping and my hair a tangled mess. You know, I always thought my face was really plain. Except my eyes. I had plain brown hair, a plain nose, a plain mouth, and plain pale skin. But my eyes weren't plain. They were a kind of blue-green, streaky and, well, pretty. Pinch me if I brag.
So I really didn't have the stomach to sleep. I couldn't. I decided to spend the last of my freedom before I got grounded.
I turned on my computer, going to my favorite site. It was a Lord of the Rings fan fiction site.
Now, I know what you are thinking. Oh, great, another dork in fake pointy ears and who bugs all her friends by talking to them in Elvish.
Nope, not me. I mean, I read the books, saw the movies, and read Tolkien's other works (Simarillion, The Hobbit, ect.) but it never became a major hobby.
My real hobby was telling pathetic Mary-Sue authors to give up writing. I loved it. Man, these people were pathetic! I mean, shit, these people model their Mary-Sues after themselves (or so they think). Every sad Mary-Sue story I could read, I did.
So I got my bag, unzipping it and taking out a super copy of the Trilogy. I needed to do my research to truly enjoy pointing out every little imperfection in their stories.
The Fellowship of the Princess I read on a particular story's title, by Jenna1227.
Well, Ms. Jenna1227, let's see who we have today. Perhaps a fawning peredhil in need of rescuing by Legolas? Or maybe a beautiful sorceress who snags the attention of Aragorn? Pfffaaa… I can be so mean sometimes.
I scrolled down to the description. We have liftoff!
And I quote:
"'I am Princess Morwenna of the land of Lendrenor. I have come to help you on your quest. For the fate of your ring is tied with that of my kingdom'"
Blah, blah, blah…
"Her eyes were the deepest shade of blue, matching her shimmering dress. Her hair was long and golden. She looked to be someone of great kindness and wisdom. About her finger was a ring of power, wrought in mithril."
Oh, God. Shoot me now. I scrolled down and read some more. It seemed that within two days she had Legolas eating out of the palm of her hand. Gee, how unusual and charismatic. (Within this story you will notice my sarcastic comments. I try. Really I do. It's just that I can't control my mouth/thoughts. My shrink says I need more help than he can give. Unfortunately for him, the thing I gave was hell. wink wink).
Anyway, I pressed the review button. It didn't work. I pressed it again. Still didn't. I succeeded in giving my index finger a helluva cramp. In one last move I swore and slammed my fist on the mouse.
And then it went dark.