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posted by para-scence
I stayed in my room all день on Sunday, coming out once или twice to use the restroom down the hall. I didn't see Dad at all that day, which was a plus. Not enough to ease my remorse, though. I wanted so much to run to Micah and get the hell away from here. He, after all, was the only thing keeping me from killing myself right at this moment.

On Monday though, Dad knocked on my door, not so violently this time.

"Alessa! Get up now before you're late!" I dragged my limp body over to my closet and got dressed. I finished getting ready, and then was out the door. I missed Micah; I was late. I probably should've began running to school, but I didn't care.

"Alessandra, how nice of Ты to Присоединиться us," Mrs. Parkins сказал(-а) as I took my сиденье, место, сиденья in first block. I looked up at her, and she looked right through me. Everyone else seemed to notice there wasn't something right with me. There were hushed whispers, and rumors were sure to spread. Those oughta be good.

I saw Micah in Math class, but there was a test and he didn't get a chance to come over to me. I knew he wanted to though; his face сказал(-а) it all.

At lunch, I didn't talk much. Micah kept asking me if I was ok, I just nodded. Even though I was aching to let someone know, I couldn't gather up the courage to. I knew I'd only make things worse probably; I always do. Maybe if I hadn't gone out with Micah yesterday, I would've heard Dad yelling at Mom. I could've stopped it before it got too heated. I could've saved her life. My hands balled into fists on the table. Micah put his hands on mine, and rubbed them together.

"Alessa? What's wrong?" he asked for the millionth time. Just then, Gabby walked over. I didn't look up; I knew it was her from her obnoxiously розовый sweater. She dumped her tray on my lap, sending her milk, mashed potatoes, and спагетти all over me. I didn't move. I just squeezed my eyes shut.

"Oops," she сказал(-а) in her annoying little voice. "Sorry 'bout that, Alessa! I meant to throw that in the trash!... Same thing, I guess!" she laughed. I stood up, brushed off what I could from my clothes, and went to the hallway. Micah caught up to me when I was at my locker, trying to open it. It was jammed, and I kicked it out of frustration. Well, that wasn't a bright idea; it hurt and I cursed when I hurt my toes. I slammed my fist into the metal. The tears spilled over then, and soon I was a sobbing mess once again.

"Alessa!" Micah said. He caught me as I sank to the floor, holding my face in my hands. He sat down Далее to me, and held me close. "Alessa, honey, please, please tell what's wrong." I opened my mouth to speak, but only staggered breaths came out.

"Sh-- Sh-- She's---!" I tried to speak. He rubbed my back, waiting patiently for a full answer to come out. "She's d-- d-- d-- dead!!" I shrieked. He was not expecting that answer.

"What? Who? Who's dead?" he asked urgently. I sniffed.

"My mom," I said.

"Oh my God... What happened?" he asked. I clamped my mouth shut, and brought my hands back up to my face. "Alessa, I'm so sorry! Why didn't Ты tell me?!" he asked. He wrapped his arms around me tighter and kissed the вверх of my head. I took his hand in mine, and held it tight.

"I Любовь you," I sobbed. "I Любовь you, I Любовь you, I Любовь you..." I rambled on and on absentmindedly as I struggled to hold onto him and reality. The past couple of days just felt so surreal.

"I Любовь Ты too, Alessa," he told me. He assured me everytime I сказал(-а) it that he felt the same way. I rambled on for only a minute, but he still told me the same each time. After that, I just sobbed quietly into his shirt. He whispered soothing things into my ear, and almost lulled me to sleep. But lunch got over before I could, and I had to go to my Далее class. We stood up, and I wiped my tears away. Micah kissed my forehead.

"It's ok now," he сказал(-а) softly. "I'll see Ты in a couple hours, ok?" I nodded and sniffed. I went to my Далее class sleepy and drowsy, and fought to stay awake. But I made it to the end of the day. Micah and I walked back, and I insisted I didn't want to go home. So we went to the lake instead, and sat on the bench that over looked the calm waters. Micah kept the conversations light, staying away from anything that might spark bad memories. We stayed there for at least two hours.

"I got to get home," he told me after a long while. "C'mon, I'll take Ты home." A lump rose in my throat. He became worried again. "It's ok! You'll be fine at home! Your mother is still with y---" he began, but I shook my head.

"I don't want to go home!" I insisted like I had earlier.

"Why not?" he asked. I stared at him, thinking.

"Micah, I'm scared," I admitted. He held out his hand, and I gave him mine.

"Why?" he asked again. I couldn't tell him everything, so I decided I'd partly tell him.

"My dad. He's very upset. It scares me."

"You'll be fine," he assured me. I bit my lip and nodded. I'd be able to survive another night, right? He walked me home, and kissed me before I left. I hugged him close.

"I Любовь you," I сказал(-а) again.

"I Любовь Ты too," he сказал(-а) again. He kissed me one еще time before leaving. I went inside, and straight up to my room to avoid Dad.

I need to get out of here.
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posted by Dearheart
For Kay, my dear sister in Jesus. May this small tale help to remind Ты how beautifully and wonderfully made Ты are in the eyes of the Great Artist.

~~ Beautiful ~~

Once upon a time, not long назад and not far away, there lived a wise and skillful artist who loved to paint. He delighted in making magic with color and bringing all the Обои he saw in his head to life in his pictures.

One day, he was painting something extra special. His brush dipped in and out of the swirling Цвета and flew across the canvas in expert strokes; dabbing here, blending there, moving swiftly in a joyful, marvelous...
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posted by WildCherryWolf
Dear You-Know-Who,


How can Ты not read my body language? When Ты present, I barely look up. I barely clap. I barely look at you? And yet, when my Друзья present, I go wild. I clap, I cheer, I am constantly looking at them. I even think Ты touched my hair!!!!


I know Ты were impressed when I rocked up in the multipurpose area covered in blood and bruises. A door hit me, sent me flying into a pole and sent to the cement for goodness' sake! Ты hung around, I can tell. Yu stayed longer than I expected Ты to. At least Ты didn't see me when tears were flooding down my face. или when I hit the...
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posted by Chaann94
So I came up with this letter-like story. It's based on me and my secret crush. Please tell me if Ты liked it или not!

Dear you,

From the moment I met you, Ты were different from all the other people I've met before. Especially the way I felt about you. Sure I've had crushes before, but I act different around you. When Ты don't agree with me, Ты ask these Вопросы that hurt my feelings. Ты make those Комментарии that make me feel bad and make me want to cry еще than I want to laugh. Normally I would have broken off contacts with a person like that long before he или she would have gotten so...
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posted by rebaj2010
love. what does it truley mean? being in Любовь is simpe, anyone can convence themslves they are in love. being in Любовь is when Ты feel something for one person еще strongly than Ты feel for another. but Любовь is something elsa all together. Любовь is when Ты cant convience yourselve Ты Любовь someone, but when Ты try to leave something tells Ты no, stop and think. and when Ты do think the reason is blantint. Любовь is when Ты think your done, done fighting and done lieing, but than it hits Ты that without all of that Ты wouldnt be the person Ты are, and they wouldnt be the one Ты love....
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Письмо A Great Book Doesn’t Mean It Will Sell by Jennifer Brody via Filmcourage.com.
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Character Archetypes In YA Fiction by Jennifer Brody via FilmCourage.com.
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Совет To Beginning Screenwriters by WGA West President Howard A. Rodman via FilmCourage.com.
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posted by LaughingHyena
Some Болталка little piece of prose Письмо I did last год on a teens Письмо website, hope Ты like it.:)

They are everywhere, these birds. They hobble, strut, and flutter around the town, weaving in and out of the shoppers, darting in between clumping feet to snatch crumbs and bits of crisps among the blobs of chewing gum and cigarette ends on the wet cobblestones. The people don’t care. The pigeons don’t care. Both species living their separate lives in a man-made environment where man and bird are equal. They are the colours of the town; grey, dull brown occasionally, dappled with factory-steam...
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posted by para-scence
"I still remember the world from the eyes of a child. Slowly those feelings were clouded by what I know now..."



I sat there in the police department, swinging my legs back and forth high above the floor. I was wearing my Избранное purple dress and my бабочка sandals. My dark brown hair was in a high ponytail and it bounced as I looked both sides. Where was Mommy? Carmine and Reed sat Далее to me there, and they were not happy. Carmine, twelve at the time, had tears coming from his eyes. Reed, fourteen, had his face in his hands, so I couldn't see what he looked like. Soon I got sick of waiting...
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How Do I Write A Screenplay? - Gordy Hoffman (BlueCat Screenplay Competition Founder and Judge) via FilmCourage.com.
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Write What Ты Know, When A Personal Story Becomes A Movie - Carla Simón of SUMMER 1993 via FilmCourage.com.
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