Prologue
Me falling in “love” with a person could be compared to a shark eating a human being. It’s sitting there, just dangling in front of you. You shrug and say to yourself, “Might as well.” You put all this energy into it and all you get is a lousy leg and maybe a lost eyeball depending on the human being you are dealing with. But the feeling it gives you to eat that human being (if we are still speaking in shark terms) is so worth it and you can’t stop until you are eventually hunted and killed. Now speaking in me terms is I cannot get enough of the falling. I crave that crush. I wouldn’t call myself boy crazy at all. I am in fact a very picky human being. Therefore the men I tend to fall for don’t fall back. This has become a serious issue for me.
My name is Ruby McAllister and I am a hopeless romantic.
(Above is an insert from Ruby McAllister’s diary. (Yes she has a diary, there’s nothing wrong with that))
Ruby has dug herself a hole of depression and thrown herself into it. The girl has fallen for a boy who doesn’t even glance back at her. She can’t understand what has happened. She smiles every single time she orders her drink and he always smiles back. She thought it was something special they shared. Turns out he smiles at everyone and not only that but he often gives other people extra flavor in their drinks for free. He’s simply a nice guy, not a guy that likes her.
It all started with childhood. It isn’t often that a person grows up with parents that are absolutely in love with each other. This is a terrible environment to rear a child in. The child grows up thinking it’s normal to find someone you genuinely want to spend the rest of your life with. Not only that but she watched Disney princess movies like it kept her lungs from collapsing, almost as if it were her oxygen.
As Ruby grew she didn’t know how to do things normally. She had no older siblings to teach her the ropes of crushes. And her parents, well they were no help at all. They were one of those unreal couples that saw each other and just clicked. They were puzzle pieces that were lost all their life until they found on another and fit. They were the cliché “my life didn’t start until I met you”. In other words, if you believe in it or not, soul mates. The advice they gave her was this, “You’ll find him and you’ll know.”
The problem with this is that that’s not how things work for most of the human population, but she didn’t know, how could she know?
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
V Day
Barbara. Age 23. Status single. The date is Valentine's day aka February 14th.
She hates how everyone pretends that they don't care it's V day. Because they do. They are all liars if they say they don't. Come on, we're all human beings.
She sits and ponders with her hand directly under the chin because she feels like it's the only appropriate pondering position. If she was to use the word ponder in her brain she made it a consequence of her thought to be in the pondering position. Ponder this. Ponder that. Blah blah ponder.
She is single on this day so she gives herself persmission to be unhappy. SHE HAS AN EXCUSE LET HER BE! She refused any party invitations for any single awareness party where people bring their single friends and try to set them up with one another. Everyone if they are desperate enough will find someone. She hated weird situations and she simply could not do it to herself purposefully. Her dignity was still intact and she planned to keep it there... sort of.
Barbara loved the F book. A week or so before V day she decided to be innovative in a way that she knew wasn't going to be usefull because nobody reads those little notes you make about yourself, but it wasn't for everyone (although she was posting it publically in hopes her friends would read it) she was doing it for HER.SELF....ish.
She typed the words with her eyes closed because for some reason it made her feel better.
IF YOU ARE THE FOLLOWING YOU SHOULD PROBABLY BE DATING BARBARA HARRIS.
(she knew it was stupid because well non of her facebook friends would qualify but... maybe, just maybe they would know someone who did and would eventually fall insanely in love with her).
It went like this:
1.Have blonde hair (natural of course) and be one of those guys who can pull off long haircuts until they are in their 30's because that's cool and totally the sexy surfer look.
2. There's something about dark eyes, they are so much more mysterious. Unless you have those crazy steal blue eyes those are nice too.
3. Wear those shoes that sort of look like soccer shoes but they aren't obviously because then you'd look like an idiot and make weird noises everywhere you went.
4. Play soccer. Soccer legs are great.
5.Be a surfer.
6.A foreigner would be prime. Like an Australian which would fit very well with the blonde surfer.
7. Like girls even though they have an old lady name.
8. Permit Barbara to go to Ryan Gosling movies by herself, no question asked, that's just how it is.
9. Vests are a must.
10. Piano skills are grande.... (like a grande piano).
11. Cook mexican food like a mexican.
12. Like it when the person you sleep next to occasionally accidently punches you.
13. Be insanely romantic that even a girl wouldn't think that the situation you would put her in would only happen in a movie created for women written by a woman directed by a woman starring ryan gosling.
14.You could be Ryan Gosling, obviously the foreign part wouldn't matter at this point.
15. Bring girls cupcakes when they are PMSing like an insane person.
16. Drive a convertable (it doesn't even have to be a nice one)
17. Wear ray ban sunglasses.
18.Own a motorcycle that isn't a harly.
This went on until she hit 100. Then she became very embarrassed but then realized nobody reads those so it didn't even matter.
V Day came now and nobody has F booked her and said they found her one true love named Australian Ryan Gosling. She didn't really think it would happen. What do you think this is? A fictional world?
So her V Day turned into Vagina day.
She rented all the Ryan Gosling movies she knew didn't depress her and also mixed in some Brad Pitt and Antanio Banderis in there. She bought her favorite ice cream and ate it using brownies as her spoon. After 8 straight hours of hot man watching she did 50 jumping jacks and 10 push ups.
She glanced at her phone which had a message from her stupid friend Halli who had a Valentine's date:
OMG this is the best date ever.
Barbara replied:
Oh yeah well he wasn't Ryan Gosling, so that sucks.
She immediatly felt better and hoped Halli realized that her date wasn't Ryan Gosling so it really did suck.
She hates how everyone pretends that they don't care it's V day. Because they do. They are all liars if they say they don't. Come on, we're all human beings.
She sits and ponders with her hand directly under the chin because she feels like it's the only appropriate pondering position. If she was to use the word ponder in her brain she made it a consequence of her thought to be in the pondering position. Ponder this. Ponder that. Blah blah ponder.
She is single on this day so she gives herself persmission to be unhappy. SHE HAS AN EXCUSE LET HER BE! She refused any party invitations for any single awareness party where people bring their single friends and try to set them up with one another. Everyone if they are desperate enough will find someone. She hated weird situations and she simply could not do it to herself purposefully. Her dignity was still intact and she planned to keep it there... sort of.
Barbara loved the F book. A week or so before V day she decided to be innovative in a way that she knew wasn't going to be usefull because nobody reads those little notes you make about yourself, but it wasn't for everyone (although she was posting it publically in hopes her friends would read it) she was doing it for HER.SELF....ish.
She typed the words with her eyes closed because for some reason it made her feel better.
IF YOU ARE THE FOLLOWING YOU SHOULD PROBABLY BE DATING BARBARA HARRIS.
(she knew it was stupid because well non of her facebook friends would qualify but... maybe, just maybe they would know someone who did and would eventually fall insanely in love with her).
It went like this:
1.Have blonde hair (natural of course) and be one of those guys who can pull off long haircuts until they are in their 30's because that's cool and totally the sexy surfer look.
2. There's something about dark eyes, they are so much more mysterious. Unless you have those crazy steal blue eyes those are nice too.
3. Wear those shoes that sort of look like soccer shoes but they aren't obviously because then you'd look like an idiot and make weird noises everywhere you went.
4. Play soccer. Soccer legs are great.
5.Be a surfer.
6.A foreigner would be prime. Like an Australian which would fit very well with the blonde surfer.
7. Like girls even though they have an old lady name.
8. Permit Barbara to go to Ryan Gosling movies by herself, no question asked, that's just how it is.
9. Vests are a must.
10. Piano skills are grande.... (like a grande piano).
11. Cook mexican food like a mexican.
12. Like it when the person you sleep next to occasionally accidently punches you.
13. Be insanely romantic that even a girl wouldn't think that the situation you would put her in would only happen in a movie created for women written by a woman directed by a woman starring ryan gosling.
14.You could be Ryan Gosling, obviously the foreign part wouldn't matter at this point.
15. Bring girls cupcakes when they are PMSing like an insane person.
16. Drive a convertable (it doesn't even have to be a nice one)
17. Wear ray ban sunglasses.
18.Own a motorcycle that isn't a harly.
This went on until she hit 100. Then she became very embarrassed but then realized nobody reads those so it didn't even matter.
V Day came now and nobody has F booked her and said they found her one true love named Australian Ryan Gosling. She didn't really think it would happen. What do you think this is? A fictional world?
So her V Day turned into Vagina day.
She rented all the Ryan Gosling movies she knew didn't depress her and also mixed in some Brad Pitt and Antanio Banderis in there. She bought her favorite ice cream and ate it using brownies as her spoon. After 8 straight hours of hot man watching she did 50 jumping jacks and 10 push ups.
She glanced at her phone which had a message from her stupid friend Halli who had a Valentine's date:
OMG this is the best date ever.
Barbara replied:
Oh yeah well he wasn't Ryan Gosling, so that sucks.
She immediatly felt better and hoped Halli realized that her date wasn't Ryan Gosling so it really did suck.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Bea and Wally. EP. 2 Milk and Guns.
When I sleep it's for like an hour and then I wake up. It's a ridiculous cycle that drives me insane. It's probably because of the experiments on my mother when she was pregnant with me. I guess it's what I get for the exchange of my greatness. Because being this great comes with a price. I toot my own horn often, but only to myself, not like Wally. That kid, he's simply ridiculous.
It's three in the morning and Wally jumps through my window, and by Wally I mean the Watcher. There's a difference. Wally is sort of okay. The Watcher is an ass hat. Wally is the one who holds the door open for you when you have bags of groceries and The Watcher is the one who gives you that wicked smile while the elevator doors closes and probably waves at you too. Bitch.
"What are you doing in here? I could've been with someone or something!"
I can see his stupid smirk through his ridiculous mask.
"Good one Bea."
He sits on my bed. Sometimes I wish he'd come to my house in regular Wally pajamas. I wonder what they would be like.
"Hey..." Okay so it's true, it's almost unthinkable for me to be with anyone. I may be really good at bad guy beat down, but catching a so called "catch" well that's not really my forte. Pretty much life isn't really my forte. The only thing I'm good at is breathing and being Beatrice the night owl who catches the creeps, not so much the girl who goes out and socializes and gets the guys and that sort of stuff. Who needs that when you are me?
"Here," Wally hands me a drink. I look at it and then at him and take a small sip, "Are you trying to kill me?" I ask.
I have two weaknesses. Guns because they will kill me and milk because it makes me violently ill.
"What?" he asks,"It's a latte, it's not poison."
I raised an eyebrow,"With milk? Yeah. Thanks. Lactose intollerant genius," I walk to my bathroom and pour out the beverage.
"Can I ask you something Beatrice?"
"No."
"Are you scared you'll never have a normal life? Do you ever wonder if you'll ever get married and have children? Do you ever sit there and ask yourself if it will ever be possible? Is it like all the old comic books where you can't ever be with anyone because there's always the threat of them getting hurt? Do you get what I'm saying?" he asks with his brilliant presence.
It's weird but it's something I think about constantly, but you never tell someone you don't trust that. His brain seems to be almost identical to mine in that way. I have this intense need to throw up, but I hold it down.
"No. I don't," lies.
"Oh."
"Yeah you are pretty weird," I let out a fake laugh.
"Really," it is not a question. He knows I'm lying.
"We should probably go, you know, scouting for bad people and stuff....." I itch my head in nervousness.
"You know, I am the one with the costume but I feel like you're the one trying to hide from everything. It's weird. I wouldn't say I'm the weird one," he puts on his mask with a smile.
We find ourselves in our new lair. Yes "our" new lair. I had this thing inside me that sort of needed to have a little more reassurance that I wouldn't be dead at the age of 20, so thus I have agreed to work with the guy. It took everything I had to say I would. I almost vomited in seven times before I officially agreed and I eventually had to write it down on a note because I couldn't say the words. I guess it's ridiculous but I'm an independent.
He lies on an abandoned table throwing a yo-yo of all things. I hate yo-yos.
"Will you stop please!" I grab it out of his hand and throw it across the room and it breaks in half. I smile wickedly, "A yo-yo? Really?"
He sighs, it has no effect on him whatsoever, "Wouldn't it be so easy if we just liked each other? We wouldn't even have to worry about the other one most of the time. Both of us are pretty capable of taking care of ourselves if someone tried to kill us or whatever people do," he sits up and takes off his mask because he, for some reason, thinks he needs to wear it at all moments when we're in the lair, but I suppose right now is an exception.
"Why do you keep saying this weird stuff. It creeps me out," I stand away from him because looking at him makes me cringe.
"I'm just saying. I know it would never happen, I was just saying how much easier our lives would be. I am not saying we should. Okay? So stop being awkward."
"No, you stop being awkward," I turn around and Wally is too close. He smiles and lets out a chuckle, "I'm just kidding," he steps back.
The thing about guns is that they are much worse then milk. Milk makes me want to throw up. Guns make things really painful. You'd rather not breath then feel the pain.
Wally and I rush to the first scene of the night. I feel like it's way to early for a drug bust, but people try to throw curve balls, I don't know why, probably because they are idiotic fools that think that they won't get caught if they do it an hour earlier then they did it before. (Good one guys.)
It's so dark everywhere but we can't be obvious so we have no light. I can hardly see anything, I don't understand how anyone can get anything done around here. I begin to pace because I am easily bored. I need stimulationn. Don't throw me in the dark and say wait here. I begin to wander a bit. The Watcher (because that is what he now, he is no longer Wally) stands his ground, silently. He won't talk to me at all.
"Alright I am going crazy," I whisper and wander off to scout the location.
They never tell you when you witness someone being almost dead (or you THINKING they are almost dead) that you see their life flash before your eyes.
A gun rings through the air. I freeze in my spot and almost wiz my pants. I don't think Wally or The Watcher would use his gun unless it is a one hundred percent need for it. I sprint in the direction from which the noise came. I am not calm and collected, I am frantic. I have trained myself for situations but there's this thing called being a human and everything you've once known goes out the window and all you do is panic. That's how I am at this moment.
I see Wally on the ground and I immediatly point and stun the man who was running down the alley way. I know there has to be more so I stand over Wally checking each possible hiding spot. I take down three more in the matter of minutes.
I take a deep breath and look down at The Watcher and take off his mask. His face is wet with sweat. This is when it happens, his life flashing before my eyes. He was supposed to get married with a girl that has like beautiful dark hair that blows in the wind appropriately and never gets stuck in her red lipstick. He was supposed to have babies, lots of them, at least three, and all of them would have his blue eyes. He was supposed to have the house with the fence and the dog. I am the one who will never be happy with that sort of life, but he would be. I should be the one shot, because I can almost predict this is how I will go.
I quickly drop to my hands and knee and look for the spot where he's been shot. There is two in the shoulder. So most likely no death. He rolls over and throws up on my shoes. It's gross but I'm relieved.
I look up and let out a breath of tension.
"Thank god. You idiot you got shot," I say stepping away from the vomit and deciding to lay next to him, "Don't worry the ambulance is coming."
"Good," he says in a wincing voice.
"Yeah, you can't get out of having those blue eyed babies. It would most likely cause damage to the world."
"What are you talking about?"
"Oh. Nothing."
It's three in the morning and Wally jumps through my window, and by Wally I mean the Watcher. There's a difference. Wally is sort of okay. The Watcher is an ass hat. Wally is the one who holds the door open for you when you have bags of groceries and The Watcher is the one who gives you that wicked smile while the elevator doors closes and probably waves at you too. Bitch.
"What are you doing in here? I could've been with someone or something!"
I can see his stupid smirk through his ridiculous mask.
"Good one Bea."
He sits on my bed. Sometimes I wish he'd come to my house in regular Wally pajamas. I wonder what they would be like.
"Hey..." Okay so it's true, it's almost unthinkable for me to be with anyone. I may be really good at bad guy beat down, but catching a so called "catch" well that's not really my forte. Pretty much life isn't really my forte. The only thing I'm good at is breathing and being Beatrice the night owl who catches the creeps, not so much the girl who goes out and socializes and gets the guys and that sort of stuff. Who needs that when you are me?
"Here," Wally hands me a drink. I look at it and then at him and take a small sip, "Are you trying to kill me?" I ask.
I have two weaknesses. Guns because they will kill me and milk because it makes me violently ill.
"What?" he asks,"It's a latte, it's not poison."
I raised an eyebrow,"With milk? Yeah. Thanks. Lactose intollerant genius," I walk to my bathroom and pour out the beverage.
"Can I ask you something Beatrice?"
"No."
"Are you scared you'll never have a normal life? Do you ever wonder if you'll ever get married and have children? Do you ever sit there and ask yourself if it will ever be possible? Is it like all the old comic books where you can't ever be with anyone because there's always the threat of them getting hurt? Do you get what I'm saying?" he asks with his brilliant presence.
It's weird but it's something I think about constantly, but you never tell someone you don't trust that. His brain seems to be almost identical to mine in that way. I have this intense need to throw up, but I hold it down.
"No. I don't," lies.
"Oh."
"Yeah you are pretty weird," I let out a fake laugh.
"Really," it is not a question. He knows I'm lying.
"We should probably go, you know, scouting for bad people and stuff....." I itch my head in nervousness.
"You know, I am the one with the costume but I feel like you're the one trying to hide from everything. It's weird. I wouldn't say I'm the weird one," he puts on his mask with a smile.
We find ourselves in our new lair. Yes "our" new lair. I had this thing inside me that sort of needed to have a little more reassurance that I wouldn't be dead at the age of 20, so thus I have agreed to work with the guy. It took everything I had to say I would. I almost vomited in seven times before I officially agreed and I eventually had to write it down on a note because I couldn't say the words. I guess it's ridiculous but I'm an independent.
He lies on an abandoned table throwing a yo-yo of all things. I hate yo-yos.
"Will you stop please!" I grab it out of his hand and throw it across the room and it breaks in half. I smile wickedly, "A yo-yo? Really?"
He sighs, it has no effect on him whatsoever, "Wouldn't it be so easy if we just liked each other? We wouldn't even have to worry about the other one most of the time. Both of us are pretty capable of taking care of ourselves if someone tried to kill us or whatever people do," he sits up and takes off his mask because he, for some reason, thinks he needs to wear it at all moments when we're in the lair, but I suppose right now is an exception.
"Why do you keep saying this weird stuff. It creeps me out," I stand away from him because looking at him makes me cringe.
"I'm just saying. I know it would never happen, I was just saying how much easier our lives would be. I am not saying we should. Okay? So stop being awkward."
"No, you stop being awkward," I turn around and Wally is too close. He smiles and lets out a chuckle, "I'm just kidding," he steps back.
The thing about guns is that they are much worse then milk. Milk makes me want to throw up. Guns make things really painful. You'd rather not breath then feel the pain.
Wally and I rush to the first scene of the night. I feel like it's way to early for a drug bust, but people try to throw curve balls, I don't know why, probably because they are idiotic fools that think that they won't get caught if they do it an hour earlier then they did it before. (Good one guys.)
It's so dark everywhere but we can't be obvious so we have no light. I can hardly see anything, I don't understand how anyone can get anything done around here. I begin to pace because I am easily bored. I need stimulationn. Don't throw me in the dark and say wait here. I begin to wander a bit. The Watcher (because that is what he now, he is no longer Wally) stands his ground, silently. He won't talk to me at all.
"Alright I am going crazy," I whisper and wander off to scout the location.
They never tell you when you witness someone being almost dead (or you THINKING they are almost dead) that you see their life flash before your eyes.
A gun rings through the air. I freeze in my spot and almost wiz my pants. I don't think Wally or The Watcher would use his gun unless it is a one hundred percent need for it. I sprint in the direction from which the noise came. I am not calm and collected, I am frantic. I have trained myself for situations but there's this thing called being a human and everything you've once known goes out the window and all you do is panic. That's how I am at this moment.
I see Wally on the ground and I immediatly point and stun the man who was running down the alley way. I know there has to be more so I stand over Wally checking each possible hiding spot. I take down three more in the matter of minutes.
I take a deep breath and look down at The Watcher and take off his mask. His face is wet with sweat. This is when it happens, his life flashing before my eyes. He was supposed to get married with a girl that has like beautiful dark hair that blows in the wind appropriately and never gets stuck in her red lipstick. He was supposed to have babies, lots of them, at least three, and all of them would have his blue eyes. He was supposed to have the house with the fence and the dog. I am the one who will never be happy with that sort of life, but he would be. I should be the one shot, because I can almost predict this is how I will go.
I quickly drop to my hands and knee and look for the spot where he's been shot. There is two in the shoulder. So most likely no death. He rolls over and throws up on my shoes. It's gross but I'm relieved.
I look up and let out a breath of tension.
"Thank god. You idiot you got shot," I say stepping away from the vomit and deciding to lay next to him, "Don't worry the ambulance is coming."
"Good," he says in a wincing voice.
"Yeah, you can't get out of having those blue eyed babies. It would most likely cause damage to the world."
"What are you talking about?"
"Oh. Nothing."
Thursday, December 2, 2010
I am Super
I am, in a word, awesome. I can’t help it. You see my mother, when she was quite pregnant, was chosen to try out a prenatal drug along with two other women, and now I’m awesome. Those other mothers didn’t pop out an amazing child like mine did, or at least nobody has heard of them. Now you are thinking: “Beatrice you are telling me you are awesome but are giving me no evidence proving so.” Let me tell you this, did you win the 2015 Nobel Peace Prize at the age of 12? Oh you didn’t? Oh that’s because I did by preventing, at least on sixty different occasions, terrible things from happening to the people of world. Yes, the WORLD!
I was born unusual. By unusual I mean I was born with a genius brain and some other physical attributes that make it possible for me to be considered a “super hero”. I graduated the valedictorian of my high school when I was ten years old. Pretty smart eh? Well I am to Harvard Medical FOR FUN, you know, to stimulate the brain and such. I may look like a normal 20 year old girl, but I am not. To make clear what I mean by this I have an example for you. I can pretty much save children from rubble that would take a normal human days to clear in probably ninety seconds…at the most. If you are still not understanding well just think of Superman but girl version and I’m not an alien and I will die if I get shot in various important parts of my body. Oh yes, and I can’t fly. Anyways, this is me and my name is Beatrice, I go by none other.
So now you can understand what I mean when I say I am awesome.
But anyways, remember how I said those other mothers didn’t pop out anything special? Well I might’ve been wrong about that. You see there is this annoyance I have, he calls himself The Watcher. Of course he thinks he’s so much better than me because he has a stupid nickname. Beatrice is a cool enough name that I don’t need a nickname. He probably has a lame name like Eugene. This guy thinks he can come into my turf and take over? Not if I have anything to say about it.
How did I find out about “The Watcher”? So this one night I get this call from the police, it’s a huge break in at none other than the largest diamond store in New York (I don’t know why these people try this anymore, they must be out of their minds), but I arrive a few minutes after the call but it seems that someone has already taken care of everything. I realized then it may be a trap. I glanced around to find the man who was going to most likely jump me within seconds and I see this dark figure up on the register countertop. He just stood there, not trying to defend himself or attack me.
Confused I utter the word, “Hello?”
“Hello Beatrice,” he said this like it was remarkable that he knew my name, but everyone knows my name, so I was not impressed.
“Who are you and what are you doing here? Did you do this?” I point to the unconscious men on the floor.
“You aren’t the only person that exists in this city,” he jumped down from the counter wearing a ridiculous red and purple ensemble that had a W on the chest. I couldn’t see his face because it was covered by a full mask that covered everything but his eyes and mouth. I never chose to dress up. It was the police force that came up with my suit idea, but it was nothing like The Watchers. It was functional, plain, and black.
“Well yeah, I am not the only person that exists in this city, great observation W (pronounced more like dubble-ya). That didn’t answer either of my questions.”
“I just wanted to let you know that there’s a new kid in town and his name is The Watcher, you think you’re so big and tough, but you are the only one that can do what you do,” the police lights flashed around and The Watcher walked towards the exit grabbing the two guys who were unconscious and before leaving he looked back at me as if there was a camera catching the moment, “See you around Beatrice.”
Yes, that actually happened, and he has seen me around. We play this catch up game where we are pretty much chasing each other down to try to get to places in trouble first. For me it’s not about the glory or anything, but I can’t say that for him, I do it because I know I do a better job than him. He’s terrible, this Watcher guy. That’s what I tell myself anyways.
The night is like any other. I was at my station which is an abandoned warehouse where nobody ever would think I would hide out, just waiting for something interesting to happen. I popped my buds in my ears for a quick pump up to the tune “Get Me Out of Here” by the band Jet, a song that I simply can’t help but to shout the words out loud to.
I never in my life have had the pleasure of having a giant utensil bashed into my head to provoke unconsciousness, but there’s a first for everything. And that’s what happened.
I woke up tied to a chair. I could feel the stickiness from drying blood that dripped down from the wound on top of my head.
“Are you kidding?!” I shouted assuming that it’s The Watcher going a bit too far, which is not a farfetched idea, “Watcher, if this is you I will seriously to massacre you. I have never touched an innocent person before, but I will bend my rules! I honestly will break your legs if you don’t let me go!”
I hear a nasally half laugh behind me. I cannot move. Whoever had chained me to the chair really wanted me to stay there, “Wow, I wouldn’t expect that from you! You know the kid practically praises you.”
A man about my own age walked in front of me. He looked familiar but I couldn’t place his face. Although I had an idea he was about to cause me a great deal of intense pain he had a weird charm around him.
“Beatrice, you practically own this town. All we want is some recognition, that’s all?”
I was waiting for The Watcher to enter the scene but he didn’t appear. I would’ve thought he’d want in with this beat up Beatrice fest.
“Wally isn’t coming. It’s just me. And now you are wondering who me is? Well I know you don’t recall this but you aren’t the only one like you, obvious with Wally aka “The Watcher” but there is another missing link, and that is me. I am the third kid. And guess what Bea, the bad side pays a lot more. So now, what is going to happen is I am going to take you both out. Because again, the money thing. You know what’s weird though? I would think you’d be in my position, you being so cynical and everything,” he shrugged and cocked his gun and raised it between my eyes.
Too be honest I wasn’t that afraid. I was actually thinking about how I was dying to the song “Look What You’ve Done” and I found it sort of ironic.
But then it never happened. I was waiting for this cool bright light and how I hoped Elvis would great me at the pearly gates, but instead I heard a really loud grunt from someone who was punched in the liver.
I opened my eyes and a kid stood in a purple and red costume with his mask off in front of me. I never imagined The Watcher aka Wally to be so nice looking with his curly blond hair and it was weird but even though I could see his eyes through his mask I never took the time to realize they were blue. He ran to me and unchained me. I was a bit embarrassed that I got myself in the situation I was in.
“Hey Wally,” I said with relief realizing then that I really didn’t want to meet Elvis just yet. I stood from the chair and leaned against the nearest wall because I was shaking severely.
He gave me a weird look and nodded, “You found out.”
“Correct.”
“You okay?”
I stood for a moment and then slid my back down the wall until I was sitting, “I’m a little bit embarrassed.”
He smiled and took a seat next to me. I couldn’t help but to be grateful for him. I even considered taking back my intense dislike for him. We spent all this time trying to get away from each other when we really would be a great team.
“Hey,” he said putting his hand on my shoulder, “We’re only human.”
“As far as we know.”
There’s this weird thing that goes a long with being young and also strangely powerful and it is this notion that I am invincible. The truth is that I am not Superman. I can die from things that are not kryptonite. If I am shot, I’m dead. So The Watchman, he’s going to be my friend, even if he wears a purple and red suit.
I was born unusual. By unusual I mean I was born with a genius brain and some other physical attributes that make it possible for me to be considered a “super hero”. I graduated the valedictorian of my high school when I was ten years old. Pretty smart eh? Well I am to Harvard Medical FOR FUN, you know, to stimulate the brain and such. I may look like a normal 20 year old girl, but I am not. To make clear what I mean by this I have an example for you. I can pretty much save children from rubble that would take a normal human days to clear in probably ninety seconds…at the most. If you are still not understanding well just think of Superman but girl version and I’m not an alien and I will die if I get shot in various important parts of my body. Oh yes, and I can’t fly. Anyways, this is me and my name is Beatrice, I go by none other.
So now you can understand what I mean when I say I am awesome.
But anyways, remember how I said those other mothers didn’t pop out anything special? Well I might’ve been wrong about that. You see there is this annoyance I have, he calls himself The Watcher. Of course he thinks he’s so much better than me because he has a stupid nickname. Beatrice is a cool enough name that I don’t need a nickname. He probably has a lame name like Eugene. This guy thinks he can come into my turf and take over? Not if I have anything to say about it.
How did I find out about “The Watcher”? So this one night I get this call from the police, it’s a huge break in at none other than the largest diamond store in New York (I don’t know why these people try this anymore, they must be out of their minds), but I arrive a few minutes after the call but it seems that someone has already taken care of everything. I realized then it may be a trap. I glanced around to find the man who was going to most likely jump me within seconds and I see this dark figure up on the register countertop. He just stood there, not trying to defend himself or attack me.
Confused I utter the word, “Hello?”
“Hello Beatrice,” he said this like it was remarkable that he knew my name, but everyone knows my name, so I was not impressed.
“Who are you and what are you doing here? Did you do this?” I point to the unconscious men on the floor.
“You aren’t the only person that exists in this city,” he jumped down from the counter wearing a ridiculous red and purple ensemble that had a W on the chest. I couldn’t see his face because it was covered by a full mask that covered everything but his eyes and mouth. I never chose to dress up. It was the police force that came up with my suit idea, but it was nothing like The Watchers. It was functional, plain, and black.
“Well yeah, I am not the only person that exists in this city, great observation W (pronounced more like dubble-ya). That didn’t answer either of my questions.”
“I just wanted to let you know that there’s a new kid in town and his name is The Watcher, you think you’re so big and tough, but you are the only one that can do what you do,” the police lights flashed around and The Watcher walked towards the exit grabbing the two guys who were unconscious and before leaving he looked back at me as if there was a camera catching the moment, “See you around Beatrice.”
Yes, that actually happened, and he has seen me around. We play this catch up game where we are pretty much chasing each other down to try to get to places in trouble first. For me it’s not about the glory or anything, but I can’t say that for him, I do it because I know I do a better job than him. He’s terrible, this Watcher guy. That’s what I tell myself anyways.
The night is like any other. I was at my station which is an abandoned warehouse where nobody ever would think I would hide out, just waiting for something interesting to happen. I popped my buds in my ears for a quick pump up to the tune “Get Me Out of Here” by the band Jet, a song that I simply can’t help but to shout the words out loud to.
I never in my life have had the pleasure of having a giant utensil bashed into my head to provoke unconsciousness, but there’s a first for everything. And that’s what happened.
I woke up tied to a chair. I could feel the stickiness from drying blood that dripped down from the wound on top of my head.
“Are you kidding?!” I shouted assuming that it’s The Watcher going a bit too far, which is not a farfetched idea, “Watcher, if this is you I will seriously to massacre you. I have never touched an innocent person before, but I will bend my rules! I honestly will break your legs if you don’t let me go!”
I hear a nasally half laugh behind me. I cannot move. Whoever had chained me to the chair really wanted me to stay there, “Wow, I wouldn’t expect that from you! You know the kid practically praises you.”
A man about my own age walked in front of me. He looked familiar but I couldn’t place his face. Although I had an idea he was about to cause me a great deal of intense pain he had a weird charm around him.
“Beatrice, you practically own this town. All we want is some recognition, that’s all?”
I was waiting for The Watcher to enter the scene but he didn’t appear. I would’ve thought he’d want in with this beat up Beatrice fest.
“Wally isn’t coming. It’s just me. And now you are wondering who me is? Well I know you don’t recall this but you aren’t the only one like you, obvious with Wally aka “The Watcher” but there is another missing link, and that is me. I am the third kid. And guess what Bea, the bad side pays a lot more. So now, what is going to happen is I am going to take you both out. Because again, the money thing. You know what’s weird though? I would think you’d be in my position, you being so cynical and everything,” he shrugged and cocked his gun and raised it between my eyes.
Too be honest I wasn’t that afraid. I was actually thinking about how I was dying to the song “Look What You’ve Done” and I found it sort of ironic.
But then it never happened. I was waiting for this cool bright light and how I hoped Elvis would great me at the pearly gates, but instead I heard a really loud grunt from someone who was punched in the liver.
I opened my eyes and a kid stood in a purple and red costume with his mask off in front of me. I never imagined The Watcher aka Wally to be so nice looking with his curly blond hair and it was weird but even though I could see his eyes through his mask I never took the time to realize they were blue. He ran to me and unchained me. I was a bit embarrassed that I got myself in the situation I was in.
“Hey Wally,” I said with relief realizing then that I really didn’t want to meet Elvis just yet. I stood from the chair and leaned against the nearest wall because I was shaking severely.
He gave me a weird look and nodded, “You found out.”
“Correct.”
“You okay?”
I stood for a moment and then slid my back down the wall until I was sitting, “I’m a little bit embarrassed.”
He smiled and took a seat next to me. I couldn’t help but to be grateful for him. I even considered taking back my intense dislike for him. We spent all this time trying to get away from each other when we really would be a great team.
“Hey,” he said putting his hand on my shoulder, “We’re only human.”
“As far as we know.”
There’s this weird thing that goes a long with being young and also strangely powerful and it is this notion that I am invincible. The truth is that I am not Superman. I can die from things that are not kryptonite. If I am shot, I’m dead. So The Watchman, he’s going to be my friend, even if he wears a purple and red suit.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
too good.
Someone once asked me what I love most about myself, I said, "His name is Ethan, and he says he loves me sometimes."
It's disgusting, I know. I had become one of those people. It's something I couldn't help though, it was true. I had to like myself. I had no choice. I mean, if he loved me then that meant I was something special.
It was 1:02 in the morning and I could not sleep. He was sleeping right beside me and he looked so perfect. His mouth was slightly open and his shirt all messed up around his middle. His hands were clasped and held under his chin like he was praying. His curly dark hair was covering his eyes. All I could think was how perfect he was. So I moved in closer to him. I wanted to freeze the moment because good things never last. It's a terribly true statement.
I hate it when people say that cliche':All I want is the person I love to be happy. And I said it. It sucks and I really don't want Ethan to be happy because it's not with me.
I did everything to try to make him always happy.
The first time he met he found a five dollar bill in his pocket and told me that he loved those days the most. The ones when something really good happens like finding money in your pocket and meeting a really pretty girl.
After a few weeks of dating I went into his room with all my tip money and put them in random pockets of his clothing. I wanted him to feel happy all the ways I could. I wonder now if he ever finds those dollars and thinks of me. Probably not. I'm sure he has someone else who does that for him now. It's weird to now think about it. For me, it was just a kiss that would give me that dollar bill feeling. Like "Oh, what's this? You want to kiss me? That's awesome." My day would always get better.
I hate it now, thinking, because all I want is to go back to the one night where I got to look at him being so perfect. But good things never last.
He was with someone new. She was gross, that's only because she was so pretty. I tried to walk away but he caught my glance. He's like a hawk with those eyes, he sees you and there's no hope, he's going to catch you.
I almost made it to the door when he caught my arm.
"Hey! Why are you walking away?"
I felt like throwing up.
"Oh hi. I didn't even realize you were here, I was uh, just going to go...smoke?"
He gave me an odd look. The look. The one that makes you smile because you know you are being ridiculous.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeup. I better go out here now. Bye."
And then memories flood my brain because I have no self control and I have to leave the house before I burst into tears. Of course the SOB decides to fallow me because he's too sweet to let someone upset walk away alone.
I could hear his footsteps following me.
"It would help if you wouldn't," I call out with my voice cracking.
"If I wouldn't what?"
"Be so nice! Can't you just disappear from the planet?"
"You're the one who broke up with me! This whole incident should be in reverse."
Yeah, you didn't expect that. I did it. It was me. I broke up with him. Here was my thought process: I kept on listening to that song Halelujah where there's that line "The only thing I learned from love was to shoot somebody who out drew ya." Good things don't last. Right? Well I knew, one hundred percent knew, that Ethan was going to break up with me, eventually. So why make it worse for myself? So I did it.
"If I wasn't a crazy person, then yes, that is how it would work out. But you see, I am still infatuated with you and so it's hard when you see another person with the person that you are infatuated with."
He shook his head. I could smell his hair.
"Why do you always say that? Infatuated. Why can't you just say it?"
I am the one who can't say my true feelings, thus being the stereotypical man. I can't say I love him. I never have. He said it to me all the time.
"You're here with a different girl."
"No I am not."
I freeze. The words are peanut butter in my mouth.
"I still...." Gulps "luff... you."
He smiles,"I luff you too."
Today someone asked me what was the best thing about me I said his name is Ethan. Okay probably the wrong answer for a job interview, but it's the truth.
It's disgusting, I know. I had become one of those people. It's something I couldn't help though, it was true. I had to like myself. I had no choice. I mean, if he loved me then that meant I was something special.
It was 1:02 in the morning and I could not sleep. He was sleeping right beside me and he looked so perfect. His mouth was slightly open and his shirt all messed up around his middle. His hands were clasped and held under his chin like he was praying. His curly dark hair was covering his eyes. All I could think was how perfect he was. So I moved in closer to him. I wanted to freeze the moment because good things never last. It's a terribly true statement.
I hate it when people say that cliche':All I want is the person I love to be happy. And I said it. It sucks and I really don't want Ethan to be happy because it's not with me.
I did everything to try to make him always happy.
The first time he met he found a five dollar bill in his pocket and told me that he loved those days the most. The ones when something really good happens like finding money in your pocket and meeting a really pretty girl.
After a few weeks of dating I went into his room with all my tip money and put them in random pockets of his clothing. I wanted him to feel happy all the ways I could. I wonder now if he ever finds those dollars and thinks of me. Probably not. I'm sure he has someone else who does that for him now. It's weird to now think about it. For me, it was just a kiss that would give me that dollar bill feeling. Like "Oh, what's this? You want to kiss me? That's awesome." My day would always get better.
I hate it now, thinking, because all I want is to go back to the one night where I got to look at him being so perfect. But good things never last.
He was with someone new. She was gross, that's only because she was so pretty. I tried to walk away but he caught my glance. He's like a hawk with those eyes, he sees you and there's no hope, he's going to catch you.
I almost made it to the door when he caught my arm.
"Hey! Why are you walking away?"
I felt like throwing up.
"Oh hi. I didn't even realize you were here, I was uh, just going to go...smoke?"
He gave me an odd look. The look. The one that makes you smile because you know you are being ridiculous.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeup. I better go out here now. Bye."
And then memories flood my brain because I have no self control and I have to leave the house before I burst into tears. Of course the SOB decides to fallow me because he's too sweet to let someone upset walk away alone.
I could hear his footsteps following me.
"It would help if you wouldn't," I call out with my voice cracking.
"If I wouldn't what?"
"Be so nice! Can't you just disappear from the planet?"
"You're the one who broke up with me! This whole incident should be in reverse."
Yeah, you didn't expect that. I did it. It was me. I broke up with him. Here was my thought process: I kept on listening to that song Halelujah where there's that line "The only thing I learned from love was to shoot somebody who out drew ya." Good things don't last. Right? Well I knew, one hundred percent knew, that Ethan was going to break up with me, eventually. So why make it worse for myself? So I did it.
"If I wasn't a crazy person, then yes, that is how it would work out. But you see, I am still infatuated with you and so it's hard when you see another person with the person that you are infatuated with."
He shook his head. I could smell his hair.
"Why do you always say that? Infatuated. Why can't you just say it?"
I am the one who can't say my true feelings, thus being the stereotypical man. I can't say I love him. I never have. He said it to me all the time.
"You're here with a different girl."
"No I am not."
I freeze. The words are peanut butter in my mouth.
"I still...." Gulps "luff... you."
He smiles,"I luff you too."
Today someone asked me what was the best thing about me I said his name is Ethan. Okay probably the wrong answer for a job interview, but it's the truth.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Desert.
It went like this: I am standing in my living room. I am wearing the prettiest dress in the world. It's exactly what a dress should look like on my body. I am beautifully happy. I am singing the song "I'm so Pretty" in my head but also thinking about how conceided I must sound, except well, nobody is hearing me. Then he is there. It's almost a disaster how good looking he is. I move in closer to him. He is paused in a beautiful moment. And then I kiss him. But it's weird because his lips feel like glass. I then think to myself, well of course, nobody in their right mind is that good looking, he isn't real. I open my eyes and realize I'm kissing the television where zac ephron is paused in a good looking frame.
...... "Isn't that weird? That's not how dreams should be, right? I mean shouldn't I be kissing the real zac ephron in my dream. I think there is something wrong with me."
Alice's friends stare at their empty plates, pretending to pay attention because that's what good friends do. They've heard it enough times. Alice thinks there's something wrong with her, it's not new and outstanding news. It's just Alice.
"Maybe it's because your brain can't lie. It knows you've never met him in real life so it makes him on the tv," Debbie shrugged feeling terrible because she ate the whole peice of pie instead of sharing with Joan but Joan ordered a cookie a la mode and decided not to take any part of her pie, so she ate it all.
"No, but you guys, this happens with people in real life too. Like that hot soccer guy I always watched at the park, he turns into a cardboard cutout. Maybe this means something. Maybe I have intimacy issues. I bet that's it."
The only problem Alice had, Joan thought, is that she never ordered desert. Alice said it was because she hated the way the sugar made her teeth feel Joan just thought it was a way to show her heirachy, she was so much better then them because she didn't eat desert. Well Joan ate a cookie a la mode and still wore the same size, so there.
"No, come on Alice, that's ridiculous," Debbie said pushing her plate away.
"You know what it is," Joan said. Alice and Debbie looked at her wide eyed awaiting the answer, "It's because you don't eat desert," She nodded enthusiatically, "It's proven," she shrugged.
"By who?" Alice questioned.
"By people. Just order some DESERT once in awhile for GODS SAKE!"
Alice looked upon her friends and then called for the waitress," I'll have the ice cream. With whip cream please."
And with that, she already felt much better.
...... "Isn't that weird? That's not how dreams should be, right? I mean shouldn't I be kissing the real zac ephron in my dream. I think there is something wrong with me."
Alice's friends stare at their empty plates, pretending to pay attention because that's what good friends do. They've heard it enough times. Alice thinks there's something wrong with her, it's not new and outstanding news. It's just Alice.
"Maybe it's because your brain can't lie. It knows you've never met him in real life so it makes him on the tv," Debbie shrugged feeling terrible because she ate the whole peice of pie instead of sharing with Joan but Joan ordered a cookie a la mode and decided not to take any part of her pie, so she ate it all.
"No, but you guys, this happens with people in real life too. Like that hot soccer guy I always watched at the park, he turns into a cardboard cutout. Maybe this means something. Maybe I have intimacy issues. I bet that's it."
The only problem Alice had, Joan thought, is that she never ordered desert. Alice said it was because she hated the way the sugar made her teeth feel Joan just thought it was a way to show her heirachy, she was so much better then them because she didn't eat desert. Well Joan ate a cookie a la mode and still wore the same size, so there.
"No, come on Alice, that's ridiculous," Debbie said pushing her plate away.
"You know what it is," Joan said. Alice and Debbie looked at her wide eyed awaiting the answer, "It's because you don't eat desert," She nodded enthusiatically, "It's proven," she shrugged.
"By who?" Alice questioned.
"By people. Just order some DESERT once in awhile for GODS SAKE!"
Alice looked upon her friends and then called for the waitress," I'll have the ice cream. With whip cream please."
And with that, she already felt much better.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Girls Who Don't Sleep.
It's all too often that the girl sits and thinks. The problem with this is that it's very bad timing. Her brain seems to think that the time to think is at one in the morning. If only the girl could be paid for such thinking. The other problem with this thinking is that it is useless thoughts that will never be put to use. (oh haha yes what a contradiction) She thinks about how she like that person's smile and how creepy she is. Yes, it's how she sometimes likes to think about smiles but don't worry she then gets weirded out by these thoughts of smiles, but that doesn't stop her from doing it again later on. Then she gets confused. Because the world is all too confusing.
She once was sitting in bed thinking about how she is really good at not ever getting a man. It is almost as if she has one of those talking bubbles above her head that they use in comic books and in it, it reads: Do not approach me good looking men of the area! I only accept weirdos who ask me if my shoes come in women's sizes! (Of course she doesn't really have one of those but she pretends she does so that she feels a little bit better about herself).
She also wishes that the things she thought would actually come true. It is possible, they can come true, but often times they make more sense at one in the morning and not so much in the early afternoon, when they would actually come to play. SUCH AS: What's the matter with drawing someone a picture and leaving it on the table where you sit so that the person who works there gets it. It would be a HILARIOUS comic of a girl with red glasses with a talk bubble that says, "Hey man, I'm not weird at all I just think you are cool. Let's maybe hang out sometime." And then at the lower right hand of the HILARIOUS comic it would read the girl's number and say: hey maybe if you get this you could text me, unless you think it's weird then don't text me. Schweet man. Good night. I like your hats. (To be honest this can all come back to haunt me. JK it can't because it's all fictional and there is also a delete button on blogs).
Sometimes, and actually most of the time, she thinks this thought....Wouldn't life be so much easier if humans weren't so weird? If you are curious to know the answer, well here it is: The answer is yes. Why? Because then maybe we could just approach a human being and say, "Hey, you are cool, I might like you. I like your smile and such. Here's my number." Guess what that is? That is what a weird person would say, but in all actuality.. it is normal becuase that is what most human beings are thinking in their head.
This is fiction. -Girl Who Wears Red Glasses.
She once was sitting in bed thinking about how she is really good at not ever getting a man. It is almost as if she has one of those talking bubbles above her head that they use in comic books and in it, it reads: Do not approach me good looking men of the area! I only accept weirdos who ask me if my shoes come in women's sizes! (Of course she doesn't really have one of those but she pretends she does so that she feels a little bit better about herself).
She also wishes that the things she thought would actually come true. It is possible, they can come true, but often times they make more sense at one in the morning and not so much in the early afternoon, when they would actually come to play. SUCH AS: What's the matter with drawing someone a picture and leaving it on the table where you sit so that the person who works there gets it. It would be a HILARIOUS comic of a girl with red glasses with a talk bubble that says, "Hey man, I'm not weird at all I just think you are cool. Let's maybe hang out sometime." And then at the lower right hand of the HILARIOUS comic it would read the girl's number and say: hey maybe if you get this you could text me, unless you think it's weird then don't text me. Schweet man. Good night. I like your hats. (To be honest this can all come back to haunt me. JK it can't because it's all fictional and there is also a delete button on blogs).
Sometimes, and actually most of the time, she thinks this thought....Wouldn't life be so much easier if humans weren't so weird? If you are curious to know the answer, well here it is: The answer is yes. Why? Because then maybe we could just approach a human being and say, "Hey, you are cool, I might like you. I like your smile and such. Here's my number." Guess what that is? That is what a weird person would say, but in all actuality.. it is normal becuase that is what most human beings are thinking in their head.
This is fiction. -Girl Who Wears Red Glasses.
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