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Author:  poplers [ Sun Dec 23, 2007 10:42 pm ]
Post subject:  Adelaide

Writer's Corner: I don't feel well. Nothing goes correctly ever. ._. I want to get out of this world, and this is my plea to do so. :(

<center>And so I bring you Adelaide.

Chapter 1.</center>

Adelaide wrote:
The dog rested on her shoe. Its front paws sat limply on her shoelaces and his head drooped and then rested on her laces as well, in between his paws.

She was fifteen. The dog was fourteen. She had so much to live for. He lived for her. She looked off her front porch, where she was sitting.
“This town ain’t gonna do it for me, Spike.” She told the dog. Of course, the dog had no reaction, but instead he just meekly lifted his head up and put it back down.

The girl looked at the trees, at the road, at her house, at the small Appalachian Mountains in the distance and didn’t feel at home. She wanted more, she wanted life, she wanted love, but she knew she couldn’t find it in this small town.

The largest house in town wasn’t hers; it was the Baker’s down the street. At about three-thousand square feet, the girl thought that it was oversized and large for just a house. Every time she passed it, she thought ‘Stupid warehouse’ to herself. Of course, in the town next door, the houses were even smaller than hers, the largest being fifteen-hundred square feet.

Her house was the same size of the largest house in the other town. It had a porch with steps and columns on either side of those steps. Just behind the steps were two windows and a door. The door was solid wood and let in no light. The knob was worn and so was the bell on the front. Behind the door was a small room, complete with old hardwood flooring.

If you followed the hardwood flooring to the back of the house, you’d meet up with the short oak counters that inhabit their small kitchen. And at the moment, there were two people in the kitchen, talking about the girl.

“What will we do?” Her mother asked to her father while stirring the spaghetti in the copper pot on the stove.

“Beats me, let’s just call her in.” Her father said.

He was tall, but had a beer belly and a ratty white t-shirt on. His hair looked like it’d never meet a comb. His teeth looked like they’d never meet a brush. And his clothes looked like they would never meet a washing machine. His shoes were always untied and his face was always dirty. Whenever he was asked to clean up for the neighbors or to tidy his hair he would say, “I basically live in the coal mines and its dark down there! No-one can see me there!” he would usually storm out after those words, and no-one knew why.

“Adelaide! Adelaide! Get in here!” He called out towards his daughter, unaware that she was sitting five feet in front of him, petting Spike. Her hand solemnly clenched the porch as she stood up and walked past her father. No sense of emotion graced her face when she thought or spoke of her father. She walked past him as if she were a ghost, almost floating past him, and Spike followed, obviously not as ghost-like, as he was a sloppy dog, but he still attempted to be graceful.

She walked on the wooden floors and entered the kitchen, a soft patter of paws following her every step. She grabbed a plate of spaghetti and sat down. Adelaide grasped her fork in her hand and quickly jabbed at the pasta.
Her father sat down across from her and her mother sat in between them, just as always. It seemed that every fight in the family existed between her father and herself, and he mother was always in the middle. Adelaide grabbed her knife and began cutting up her long stringy noodles aggressively, her eyes glaring at her father. Meanwhile her father was simply taking each bite slowly, almost meticulously choosing between the better noodles. Even though he was eating slowly, each bite threw another knife at Adelaide’s heart. Adelaide and her father seemed to never get along. Each fight they had was over something small or something large, but each fight was just as important as the last.

“We have… ahem, something to tell you, Addie.” Adelaide’s mother said to her, trying to break the awkward silence.

“Mmm?” Adelaide mumbled behind her spaghetti filled mouth.

“Well . . . what we mean to say is, uhm, well,” Her mother said, fumbling her words and becoming disgruntled with herself. “What I mean to say is, that your father and I, are, well, getting a…separation.” She said, releasing a large breath afterwards.

“Okay.” Adelaide said. And with that, she left the room, fork still in hand.

Author:  Crimson [ Sun Dec 23, 2007 11:40 pm ]
Post subject: 

I don't feel well. Nothing goes correctly ever. ._. I want to get out of this world, and this is my plea to do so. :(

That worries me more than anything fictional I've ever read, no matter how gruesome or twisted it was. Don't do anything silly, alright?

Moving on, I don't have too many issues with your story; especially since I tend to focus on are technical issues. I will say that I think your ending could have been a little better. I think I would have liked it more if she just remained seated instead of getting up and walking away. Or, if she had been walking to begin and just left the room. That's a little more of a personal preference though, I think.

Author:  poplers [ Sun Dec 23, 2007 11:52 pm ]
Post subject: 

Crimson wrote:
I don't feel well. Nothing goes correctly ever. ._. I want to get out of this world, and this is my plea to do so. :(

That worries me more than anything fictional I've ever read, no matter how gruesome or twisted it was. Don't do anything silly, alright?

lol no, it's not a suicide note, i wasn't even contemplating it xD. i was just saying that i'm sick of a lot of people for a lot of reasons, and i want to get out of this world of rude people and horrible friends. xD no suicide here. :p

Author:  Psyches [ Sun Dec 23, 2007 11:58 pm ]
Post subject: 

Wanting to escape the problems of the real world and so writing about a made up one that you can control is a perfectly normal way to cope with emotions.

And this story is wonderful. Good work.


I like Adelaide. Though I'm a little jealous. I wish my parents had seperated instead of just pretended my father wasn't cheating on my mother. Almost thirty years on and they still pretend everything's all happy. Stupid gits. And they wonder why I spend significantly less on them than anyone else at xmas time.

Author:  poplers [ Mon Dec 24, 2007 4:34 pm ]
Post subject: 

Writer's Corner: Sh' sh' shouldn't need anyone. Shouldn't need anyone. Just scared of being alone. But by the time you figure this out, I'm already gone.

<center>Chapter 2.</center>

Adelaide wrote:
She clenched the fork and almost broke it. Her anger was apparent on her face when she looked in the mirror. She was now in her room and on her bed. The floor-length mirror in front of her gave her a nice perspective of herself, unlike her friends, the mirror never lied. It showed her greatest flaws as well as her smallest. The mirror was more than a device to make one-self look better, to her, it told her the truth.

When she looked in the mirror, she saw long red hair. Her hair was wavy and drooped over the side of her bed and hit the floor. Her hair, when standing, reached just below her shoulders. The red tone in her hair was somber and conservative, it gave her face a nice frame for viewing, but it mainly served a nuisance to Adelaide.

“Addie! Would you please come down here?” Her mother asked from the stairs below Adelaide’s room.

It was the next day and Adelaide found herself on the floor, next to her fork. Her bed was messy and she was too lazy to clean it. The leftover spaghetti was soon consumed by Spike who just woke up.

“Please come down soon sweetie!” Her mother yelped from below once more.

Adelaide cringed at the word. This simple word, often used as a term of affection, made Adelaide cringe. It was a word that her father used towards her mother all the time, ‘wash the dishes sweetie, comb my hair sweetie, find an ottoman for me, sweetie, I need to prop my feet up,’ but worst of all, ‘sweetie, I love you.’ Adelaide cringed at the word because it was a fallacy, a fragment of falsehood slipping into her mother’s everyday vocabulary.

Adelaide did not want to come down. Her mind sank into the rug that she was laying on, and she did not want to leave it. She wanted out. Out of this whole divorce, out of South Carolina, and lastly, out of her life. She did not mean death, but she simply wanted out of the world that she inhabited, the world that surrounded her, she wanted something surreal, something great, something engaging but that something wasn’t located in a poor town in South Carolina.

Her brain sunk further, her mind drifted away from the practical and into imagination. She thought of great things, like a way to hop out of her ceiling, a new form of a banana, and a new food group. Well, those are great things to her. To others, she always thought of silly stuff, things like flying balloons made of spoons and fur weren’t important to the everyday man, but to Adelaide, it was genius.

Her imagination worked like this:

<center>Step 1) Insert everyday item.

Step 2) Everyday item goes through a transition

Step 3) The finished product arrives.</center>

Usually, each item went through the process about four or five times before completion but all were magnificent in her mind, a lot of work or not.

Adelaide was awoken quickly by Spike. His slobbering face covering her arm, he began to lick her, and his tongue was as rough as sandpaper. Adelaide never knew why Spike licked her, whether it was out of love, or out of taste; but she always chose love. She usually chose love when it came to choices, hence why her grades were deplorable. She usually chose a date over studying or hanging out over homework. But Adelaide didn’t mind that she had bad grades, after all, she wasn’t really interested in numbers to begin with. She was interested in art.

“Honey come down this is the last call!” Her mother rang once more in her high pitched voice.

“Okay, okay!” Adelaide said, rolling her eyes and hopping up. She passed the fork along her way to her dresser and pulled on a Gamecocks sweatshirt.

She slowly made her way downstairs, careful to make every step squeak loudly. She wanted to spite her father and set his temper off and once she hit the last step, she did so with ease. ‘Squueeaakk’ The final step groaned as she firmly planted her foot on it.

Her dad rose like a fire with oil. His face was red like a ripe tomato and his fists were clenched around his utensils.

“Why do you always have to mess up our damn stairs Addie?” He screamed at her, but Adelaide didn’t back down, she never did.

“First of all, it’s Adelaide, the name my mother gave to me. Second of all, I wasn’t messing them up, Spike was walking with me and you know how heavy he gets, and third of all, you’re lucky your room is on this floor, otherwise the stairs would be broken. You have something on your shirt.” And with that, Adelaide walked out of the house and onto the porch.

The morning was always the best time for Adelaide: no mosquitoes. She walked off the three steps on the porch and onto the grass below. In front of her was a road, and then a sidewalk on the opposite side, and then trees. Many trees lined this road as Adelaide’s house was on the outskirts of the town. Past those trees were the Appalachian Mountains, old and covered.

The mountains cradled Adelaide’s town and the peaks were used for the ‘uppity folk’ as her dad used to call them. She saw the houses looking out from the mountain. Large eyes taking in the scenery from their glass facades, Adelaide was always scared that they would slip and fall off the mountain; they usually didn’t. These eyes upon the mountain looked down upon the town, literally and figuratively. When Adelaide looked upon those houses she always thought what it would be like to look through their windows and see the smallness of her life, of which she inhabited.

The colors on the trees were changing and Adelaide, when she was younger, believed that the trees were rotting and thus the change of color. The yellows and oranges looked like a fire ravaged the trees, but the leaves kept the color. They looked like God became enraged and showed that anger upon the leaves of the trees, and thus the falling. The flowers in her yard were wilting and drooping to the ground, the tulips looked like they were extremely sad, and they frowned as Adelaide passed them.

Her father came back outside and looked around on the front porch, but Adelaide was nowhere to be found.

Author:  Thunder_dude7 [ Mon Dec 24, 2007 6:49 pm ]
Post subject: 


That was very good, keep it up.

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