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A Beginning of SortsIf anything could be said of 1214 Boonsbury Avenue it was that the occupants were loud, cheery, and immensely overpopulated with children, or so it seemed. They quite surpassed their neighbors, who had two or three then left it at that. Everyone in the small town of Herington shared one idea of this family, they were just plain odd. Apparently they were a rich family, living in a big house (and believe me, 1214 Boonsbury Avenue was a big house), sending their children away to a boarding school, having constant get-togethers with people living far away, and traveling a lot themselves.
Though they were obviously outgoing, nobody really knew anything about them except their surname: Potter, a painstakingly normal name for such an eccentric group of people. The rest of the gossip about the Potters were simply assumptions made by various events. Some said that they thought the family owned an owl farm while others would reply, you idiot, who's ever heard of an owl farm? But even the latter
15 MinutesMillions of seconds pulsed through my veins. The roar of the crowd was enough to distract a wandering mind yet I was not distracted. My phone sat upon my lap like a diseased guest and I stared at with feverish, disgusted awe.
Inside, my mind was panicking, flashing so many things in front of my eyes that I could no longer tell if I saw anything at all.
I thought about the scars, mental and physical, twisting and turning, criss-crossing and swirling, like some sadistic tattoo.
I thought about the small black words spilling off the screen, slipping through my fingers.
I thought about her family, too, and my blood pumped even faster. It pumped words and feelings.
So much Rage
I sat there as pale and motionless as a glass eyed doll, inwardly roaring
So much panic
I thought about myself, my own mistake.
It took me 15 fucking minutes to realize something was wrong.
15 minutes of first, second, third, homerun
15 minutes of salty French fries and 5
Moving OnIt was not by chance that Margaret Batchelder found herself once more in the company of her ex-husband, Larry Moore. He had planned this encounter and she knew it. Marge sipped her double latte through pursed lips, resisting the urge to just get up and walk away.
"So, Margie, how are you doing?" Larry said, comfortably as he brushed the last few crumbs from his apple turnover off the table... As if purposefully meeting his ex-wife at a café to drink coffee and "chat" after months of not giving her the time of day was completely normal... As if they were back to square one, sophomore year of high school, when they first began dating. It was too good to last, Margaret told herself. That's why it ended so soon... Too good to last...
"Margie?" Larry repeated, his voice crashing through Margaret's stupor.
"It's Marge," she said, a little harsher than she meant. Larry sat back in his chair, unable to hide the wounded look on his face. Well... What did he expect? He was the one who had l
Beautiful Ugly: Chapter FourTwo days later, we packed up and left under the pretense that I had summer homework to finish. I really just wanted to get away from the penetrating gazes at the beach; the ones that made me wrap a towel around my body and wish that I had a one piece. The car ride home was surprisingly normal. As soon as we arrived, I went into the house and stayed there. For two weeks, I didn't go outside. I sat on my bed trying to reassure myself that I was imagining things but nothing helped. I was too scared. But I couldn't hide away for the rest of my life. Summer break ended and with it, the security of staying home.
The night before the first day of school, I barely slept a wink. In the morning, I rolled out of bed and tried to make myself as unappealing as possible. I skipped my daily shower and make up. Instead, I slipped into some sweatpants and a baggy shirt and tied my hair into a sloppy ponytail. I glanced into the mirror and almost cried. I looked ugly. Everyone would see that I was ugly.
Beautiful Ugly: Chapter Three"Astrid has done a lot of ignorant things in her life, but this is the worst," Mika said, angrily staring at the sand. "I have yet to forgive her." I shifted, uncomfortably, not sure what to say or do. I'm not exactly the best comforter in the world. Words slip out of my mouth when I don't mean them to. And usually, I jumble up what I'm trying to say and make people feel worse. Luckily, I was saved from responding. Mika glanced away from the sand and met my gaze. He smiled, sympathetically and I couldn't help thinking how pretty his eyes looked in the sun.
"The spell works in the same way a love potion does," Mika said, changing the subject. "It doesn't change the way you look but how others perceive you. Everything about you suddenly becomes almost unbearably attractive." His eyes travelled down my body causing my cheeks to burn. He realized what he was doing and immediately looked away. "It doesn't just affect your appearance either."
"Let me guess," I replied, as sarcasti
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More