So this is what yew've all been waiting for.
New stuff for me, I've never done angst or any of that stuff, so be patient with me, and I LOVE CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM!!!
And I'm sorry this isn't more meaty, but trust me, it gets all protein-ed up here in the next little bit.
BEAR WITH ME. ON A WHITE FUR RUG. NEXT TO A FIREPLACE. MAYBE WRAPPED IN A FLANNEL BLANKIE. AND A CUP OF BAILEY'S WITH A SPLASH OF COFFEE.
Yeah. Something like that.
ALSO. I'm a fucking college student. I have taken on a FUCK ton of work. If yew beg, I'll wait longer to update. and trust me. I am procrastinate extraoridinaire.
MAD UPS to mah beta, dead inside. She fucking rocks my shit to make it the best ever. And AMELIA (smellyia) gurl, i cannot express the gratitude that I have fer yew. It makes me want to knit yew a sweater from wormsilk with the litter 'M' on it to match yer pompoms that yew shake in mah face when I say I suck . . . at writing. bc we all know that I am a good sucker. Better than a Blow-Pop. ---oh the possibilities for an innuendo. but i'll let it alone. FOR NOW.
This is for all my gchat 'gina's: WITHTHEfuckingVAMPSOFCOURSE, JANDfuckingCO, CfuckingDUNBAR, RIAfuckingLIE (ily4l), OCD_fuckingINDEED, ACIRfuckingAMOS, ANGfuckingEL, BETHAfuckingBOO, GUINEAfuckingPIGBARBIE, BITTENfuckingEV, KfuckingHOAR, GUSTARIfuckingANA, LIMfuckingONA, LIONSfuckingLAMB, RfuckingEAH12, SARAHfuckingJAYNE. all yew bitches. yew really do hold places on mah body. a little boob, a little labia, a smidge of the nipple, mah lips, ya know. the basics. lolz.
Wiffout furzer adeiu, ze story.
First snow of the season.
The forest beds were covered in a light blanket of pristine snow; the leaves had finished their turning and were now starting to fall, occasionally spoiling and disrupting the constant white flow that graced the earth early this morning.
Oak Falls, Washington looked as if it had fallen out of a Thomas Kinkade painting. The townspeople ran all amuck, buying presents for their loved ones in anticipation for the coming holidays. The seemingly constant silent rush enticed throughout the small sleepy town was a picture that would have made the people of Pleasantville a little nauseous. Oak Falls prided itself on being a settlement that thrived on its marina, small businesses and hole-in-the-wall diners, the streets patrolled by only a police force of 50 men.
The town lies about two hours north of Seattle, and about a half hour away on I-5 from the Canadian border. Its quaint little fishing town mentality is one if it's signatures, no use for a vehicle except in the winter when the roads are slicked with ice and snow. In the summer, the townsfolk use their bikes claiming that 'there is no use in a car when you have two perfectly good legs.'
With a population of fewer than two thousand people, everyone knew everyone's business: a gracious blessing and a horrid curse.
The home of Edward and Bella Cullen was situated at the end of Semblance Circle, the fifth house on the block. It held a rambunctious six-year-old, Everett; his mother, Bella; and his father, Edward. The three were among the few young families that lived in Oak Falls. The house itself was a small cobblestone home; mall white fenced porch on the left side, and to add some finesse, Bella had painted a red door. All it needed was a thatched roof and it would be Little House on the Prairie.
Edward worked for the county, always reviewing the county owned lands, attempting to make room for more inhabitants. With the false security of a God complex, he deemed which land is not suitable for building upon or he had the ability to build-up land that could be salvaged and any other projects that come with the title "Zoning Commissioner". Always a sucker for a heart-felt 'please' Edward ended up doing a lot more work that what he had anticipated when taking on the job. His boss, Harry Clearwater, was always one to use this tid-bit of information to his advantage.
Bella stayed home and enjoyed writing to keep her day busy; some say that she had the promise of being a new Jody Picoult. She managed to land a publishing deal for two books. One of which is hot off the press and waiting for her signature on the first copy, the other, she had just begun writing. Bella usually seemed busy with well, everything. Writing, being Everett's mother, an active volunteer in the PTA and the three time "Best Chili Recipe" title holder, Bella lived the life she always dreamed for.
Everett, the precocious six year old, was one of a kind. He dressed according to his mood and what kind of hero or character he wished to be. One day a police officer, another a doctor, later on a cowboy, or an Indian or firefighter. The child's imagination was relentless and Bella, good dedicated mother, always trying to make his "costumes" as realistic as possible in order to pacify his mood swings
Gazing upon them, they are the picturesque family.
Edward drove down Semblance Circle, in the family's new Audi Q7 SUV, complete with towing package for Oak Falls' unpredictable weather. He shifted happily, humming to the background sound of Iron and Wine playing, conjuring the sweet image of his wife and son waiting for him at home. After his long day at work, seeing his beautiful wife's smile and his son's exuberance was just what he needed.
Edward pulled into their home, sat in his car, and watched his wife flit around the house, probably telling Everett that he needed to clean up the kitchen table from his annual Letter to Santa. In intensive concentration, Everett showed habitual signs of his mother and father, furrowed brow, little hands grasping at the roots of his hair, while simultaneously sucking and chewing on his bottom lip. He always insisted on making homemade construction cards for Santa, complete with paper snowflakes, foam designs of white snowman's, a drawn bulbous head with antlers and a red pom-pom nose for Rudolf. This year was no exception; he started early stating that "I can add to it when I find stuff that I want. That way, I have a better chance of getting everything."
Edward smirked and sprung up onto the porch with a renewed vigor, anxious to hold the woman with whom he was irrevocably in love, and to swing his son around and hear about his day at school: which girls he kissed on the playground at recess and what the daily saying from Aesop's Fables that he learned.
The family was the epitome living example of Norman Rockwell's work, complete with the looks of blissful love, admiration, and total and utter happiness.
But when past collides with present, the happy reality loses its rose-colored glasses, and things truly come into focus.
Yeah, that's it. Hopefully the chapter will be up on sunday. depends on if I get the time to do it.
Do it. Do it.
Sorry, dodgeball reference.
. . .
gimme some gratification.