My Life: Chapter 1

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

Well, this first chapter of 'My life' is about a girl and how hard/easy her life is. (That girl is ME!!)

Chapter 1 (v.1) - My Life: Chapter 1

Submitted: August 12, 2010

Reads: 185

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Submitted: August 12, 2010



I was in a dark room, with my friends Evan and Edgardo. They each had a weapon. Evan had a knife, and Edgardo had a jack-in-a-box with a killer inside. They were trying to hurt me, and I couldn’t move. I was screaming. Then, a door appeared and someone came in. He was wearing a dark cape and I couldn’t see his face. Edgardo and Evan got up, and bowed to him. “Yes, master?” They both said simultaneously. “Kill her.” The mysterious figure said, pointing at me. I panicked, but I still couldn’t move. They came up to me, smiling grimly, holding the fierce jack-in-a-box. I saw a knife on the floor, and somehow, I got it. I wanted to stop them from hurting me, but they were my friends. I couldn’t hurt them, even if they were trying to kill me. They were about to stab me when I sat up in my bed. I ran my hands through my hair and realized that it was just a dream. I pushed myself up and grabbed my pillow. It was soaked with sweat. I shook my head and pulled the covers back and straightened them. Then I pulled the pillowcase off the pillow and walked out of my bedroom. I took it into the kitchen to wash it in the next load of laundry. When I started the load, I saw my mother on the computer, checking her Face book. I grabbed a chair and sat next to her. “I had a dream last night,” I confessed, “It was really strange.” “What was it about?” My mom said; her eyes glued to the screen. “I think it…I think it was about…trust.” “Trust?” She asked. “Yea.” I explained my dream to her. “Oh…” She said, her face draining color. “Maybe you should go talk to Edgardo about that.” “I will, later, Mom.” I said, “I am in the mood to play my guitar.” “Okay, sweetie,” She said, “Don’t forget about your lucky pick!” “I won’t, Mom.” Then I pulled my chair back to the table and went to my bedroom to play my guitar. I pulled it off the wall, plugged in my amplifier, and flipped the switch to turn it on. I played Smoke On The Water by Deep Purple for a while; then I started making up my own chords. I put my pick in my mouth, set my guitar back on my wall, turned off the amplifier, and then went over to my desk for my notebook. I grabbed a pen in my drawer and started writing down poems. “Hmm…” I wondered, chewing on my pen. “Oh!” I wrote down, Infected Tears. What rhythms with Tears? I thought. Fears! But wait…I need something with four syllables! I kept chewing on my pen, and then I wrote down Black Bloody Fears. I thought that was enough for one day, so I closed my notebook and put my pen back in my drawer.

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