Hey! So here is this totally awesome story idea I literally just thought of. For the record, my inspiration came from listening to the song Run by Snow Patrol. For any of you who are not familiar with that band, listen to them, they are incredible. Also, if you have ever seen the trailer for Charlie St. Cloud, the last song that plays, the one saying "Light up", is Run.

So back to my idea....

It's about a teenage girl. She is a total....mmmhhhmmm..... "witch". She's incredibly mean and doesn't care at all about anyone's feelings. One girl in particular she made fun of more than anyone else. She trashed talked her on the internet, played horrible pranks on her in school, and was just plain out a hideous person. Anyone, she comes to school one day to find out that this girl had committed suicide and is now dead. Instead of caring, she just kind of shrugs and thinks "I had nothing to do with it." And then, one day, she's gets an email that says "Don't think. Just print, read, follow, and listen."

And in the letter is a map with arrows. She follows the directions until she gets to a field surrounded by woods. And there's this groups of rocks piled one on top of each other. And the directions say "dig here". When she digs, she finds a box. Inside the box is a letter saying stuff like she needs to learn a lesson, and her life can be changed if she listens to her. And everyday, she gets, in some way (like locker or notebooks or mail or email) a story told about the girl, and directions of things she must do to change her life around.

Throughout the story, the main girl realizes the value of people and how no one is worth more than anyone else. She is drowned in guilt and regret, but also shadowed with a sense of hope that she can become a better person.

Like it? Hate it? Want to use it? But just remember.... GIVE ME SOME CREDIT FOR THE IDEA!!!

I LOVE THAT BOOK! It's so beautiful! And yes, my storyline is similar to that one, but definetaly not the same. My plot is more about changing who you are and the value of a person and not as much about suicide. Anyway, I can't guarantee you as the writer just yet, but there is a good chance. Just either post or send me an Rmail of a piece you wrote (please no more than 3 pages) and I'll get back to you. Thanks :)

Hey. I got into a "zone" and I just had to write a piece for this story. If anyone is confused about how to write it, this may help you. Keep in mind, however, that this is around the point where the character hits rock bottom. In the beginning, the main girl needs to be confident, fearless, horrible, and plain out cruel. Just make sure she changes drastically throughout the story.

Back to the piece.....

There is a knock at my door. I know it’s my mom. She has been on my case lately ever since she saw me throwing out all the stuff in my room. And even though she tends to be the kind of person who denies pain, who pretends like everything is still standing when it’s actually crumbling down, eventually she comes to a point where pretending everything is okay won’t work any more. Because not only is the truth in clear sight, but it’s staring right out at you, and there’s nothing else in the world to see.

            “Molly?” her voice is sincere, heartfelt. She’s not just trying to get me to shut up so she can go and continue on with her crazy, fun-filled life that I used to have. She actually cares, and I can feel my chest ripping because I know that no matter what I do, I will never be able to fully satisfy her.

            My voice is muffled because my head is squished against my pillow. “Leave me alone,” I say, and I’m suddenly wishing my pillow could just suck me in and drown me in anything at all, anything that wasn’t where I am now.

            She knocks again, “Honey, please. Let’s talk. I love you.”

            I don’t say anything. She’s calling me honey, telling me loves me, treating me like a princess. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve to be loved. What I deserved is to be hated, and tortured, and thrown into the gutter with no one to cry to. I deserve to be abandoned and ignored like Annie had, even when she didn’t.

            The door creaks open. “Molly, I had four siblings when I was younger. I know how to unlock doors. You can’t escape me.”

            But I have been. I’ve been doing a pretty good job until you barely opened your eyes.

            Her footsteps creep across my room until I feel weight being pressed against the bed. She begins to stroke my arm, her nails barely brushing against my fair skin, over and over, up and down.

            I can’t take it. Being loved. It hurts too much.

            “Stop,” I say, and even though my voice is quiet, the message is blustering.

            “Talk to me.”

            “No.”

            “Why not?”

            “I don’t deserve you.”

            She stands up harshly, and the air is drenched with tenseness. The way I thought the words were weren’t at all like I had said them.

            “What is that supposed to mean?”

            When I lift my face from my pillow, my hideous face masked in beauty, I feel wetness on my cheeks. I didn’t even realize I was crying. I guess that’s what it’s like when you’re in so much agony- you become numb. The pain is there but the reactions aren’t. 

            “What I meant to say,” My voice cracks, and my throat is dry, burning, “Is that you don’t deserve me.”

            My mom sighs and sits back down. She takes her thumb and gently brushes my tears away, even though there is no point. When I looked at myself in the mirror the other day, I had dark lines running down my eyes from so many hours, nights, endless amounts of time crying. I never cried. Well, I did, but it was usually because of some really sad romance movie, or something. Crying for that and crying for something….real-they can’t even relate.

            She shushes me, softly, so softly that it seems like she’s afraid I might break like gl*censored* with one harsh tone. “Oh honey,” She looks across my room and out the window. It’s mid-afternoon, and the beach is crowded with people, running across the sand, jumping in the water, relaxing against their towels, tanning. I used to go to the beach everyday, no matter how much homework I had, not matter how crappy the weather was. I loved the beach. It’s like, no matter how much things have changed, you can always count on the waves to keep coming. One always follows the other. They always have and they always will. But now I don’t like it anymore. It’s so perfect, so beautiful, that I’m afraid it suddenly won’t be real anymore.

            “Sweetheart,” she says after a moment, “It’s okay to feel down on yourself. You’re sixteen for God’s sake. There’s nothing wrong with feeling a little bit insecure every once in a while. Even a beautiful girl like you-”

            “’I’M NOT BEAUTIFUL!”

            She rubs her hand against my hair. Her eyes are filling up with tears, but despite that, I can tell she’s doing it again- denying to herself, masking up a large problem with a smaller one. The tears are more frustration and less true fear.

            “Yes, you are. What’s the matter? You’ve been so down lately, cooped up in yourself and not talking to anyone. Is something wrong?”

            Yes, mom. Something is wrong. Everything. I just found out that an innocent girl killed herself because of me. I just realized how ugly and terrible of a person I really am. I just figured out that I don’t deserve this life. Everything hurts, mom, every move I make, every breath I take, and it hurts so bad I don’t think I can take it anymore. Take away the pain. Please, make it go away. I don’t want to ever feel this kind of torture again.

            But I can’t say it.

            “I’m fine. It’s just…drama. You know how high school is.”

            My mom looks at me, right through me. Part of me feels relieved, but everywhere else wishes she truly understood. “Are you sure?”

            She’s questioning me.

            This is good.

            No. No. This is very bad.

            “Yes,” I say, and it’s even though it’s my voice saying it I feel like someone else is speaking. “I’m fine.”

            My mom sighs in relief. The fight is over. The walls aren’t shaking anymore. Everything is back to how it used to be.

            And I wish with all my heart it isn’t.

Love it? Hate it? Let me know!

Hey. I got into a "zone" and I just had to write a piece for this story. If anyone is confused about how to write it, this may help you. Keep in mind, however, that this is around the point where the character hits rock bottom. In the beginning, the main girl needs to be confident, fearless, horrible, and plain out cruel. Just make sure she changes drastically throughout the story.

Back to the piece.....

There is a knock at my door. I know it’s my mom. She has been on my case lately ever since she saw me throwing out all the stuff in my room. And even though she tends to be the kind of person who denies pain, who pretends like everything is still standing when it’s actually crumbling down, eventually she comes to a point where pretending everything is okay won’t work any more. Because not only is the truth in clear sight, but it’s staring right out at you, and there’s nothing else in the world to see.

            “Molly?” her voice is sincere, heartfelt. She’s not just trying to get me to shut up so she can go and continue on with her crazy, fun-filled life that I used to have. She actually cares, and I can feel my chest ripping because I know that no matter what I do, I will never be able to fully satisfy her.

            My voice is muffled because my head is squished against my pillow. “Leave me alone,” I say, and I’m suddenly wishing my pillow could just suck me in and drown me in anything at all, anything that wasn’t where I am now.

            She knocks again, “Honey, please. Let’s talk. I love you.”

            I don’t say anything. She’s calling me honey, telling me loves me, treating me like a princess. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve to be loved. What I deserved is to be hated, and tortured, and thrown into the gutter with no one to cry to. I deserve to be abandoned and ignored like Annie had, even when she didn’t.

            The door creaks open. “Molly, I had four siblings when I was younger. I know how to unlock doors. You can’t escape me.”

            But I have been. I’ve been doing a pretty good job until you barely opened your eyes.

            Her footsteps creep across my room until I feel weight being pressed against the bed. She begins to stroke my arm, her nails barely brushing against my fair skin, over and over, up and down.

            I can’t take it. Being loved. It hurts too much.

            “Stop,” I say, and even though my voice is quiet, the message is blustering.

            “Talk to me.”

            “No.”

            “Why not?”

            “I don’t deserve you.”

            She stands up harshly, and the air is drenched with tenseness. The way I thought the words were weren’t at all like I had said them.

            “What is that supposed to mean?”

            When I lift my face from my pillow, my hideous face masked in beauty, I feel wetness on my cheeks. I didn’t even realize I was crying. I guess that’s what it’s like when you’re in so much agony- you become numb. The pain is there but the reactions aren’t. 

            “What I meant to say,” My voice cracks, and my throat is dry, burning, “Is that you don’t deserve me.”

            My mom sighs and sits back down. She takes her thumb and gently brushes my tears away, even though there is no point. When I looked at myself in the mirror the other day, I had dark lines running down my eyes from so many hours, nights, endless amounts of time crying. I never cried. Well, I did, but it was usually because of some really sad romance movie, or something. Crying for that and crying for something….real-they can’t even relate.

            She shushes me, softly, so softly that it seems like she’s afraid I might break like gl*censored* with one harsh tone. “Oh honey,” She looks across my room and out the window. It’s mid-afternoon, and the beach is crowded with people, running across the sand, jumping in the water, relaxing against their towels, tanning. I used to go to the beach everyday, no matter how much homework I had, not matter how crappy the weather was. I loved the beach. It’s like, no matter how much things have changed, you can always count on the waves to keep coming. One always follows the other. They always have and they always will. But now I don’t like it anymore. It’s so perfect, so beautiful, that I’m afraid it suddenly won’t be real anymore.

            “Sweetheart,” she says after a moment, “It’s okay to feel down on yourself. You’re sixteen for God’s sake. There’s nothing wrong with feeling a little bit insecure every once in a while. Even a beautiful girl like you-”

            “’I’M NOT BEAUTIFUL!”

            She rubs her hand against my hair. Her eyes are filling up with tears, but despite that, I can tell she’s doing it again- denying to herself, masking up a large problem with a smaller one. The tears are more frustration and less true fear.

            “Yes, you are. What’s the matter? You’ve been so down lately, cooped up in yourself and not talking to anyone. Is something wrong?”

            Yes, mom. Something is wrong. Everything. I just found out that an innocent girl killed herself because of me. I just realized how ugly and terrible of a person I really am. I just figured out that I don’t deserve this life. Everything hurts, mom, every move I make, every breath I take, and it hurts so bad I don’t think I can take it anymore. Take away the pain. Please, make it go away. I don’t want to ever feel this kind of torture again.

            But I can’t say it.

            “I’m fine. It’s just…drama. You know how high school is.”

            My mom looks at me, right through me. Part of me feels relieved, but everywhere else wishes she truly understood. “Are you sure?”

            She’s questioning me.

            This is good.

            No. No. This is very bad.

            “Yes,” I say, and it’s even though it’s my voice saying it I feel like someone else is speaking. “I’m fine.”

            My mom sighs in relief. The fight is over. The walls aren’t shaking anymore. Everything is back to how it used to be.

            And I wish with all my heart it isn’t.

Love it? Hate it? Let me know!

Oh.... WOW! I loved your peice, Luvsarahdessen!! (remember me??)