Here's the start to a novel I'm writing. It's a START so obviously the plot isn't in description. I'm just curious, if you want to read more of it? Here it is: It stood; resisting my push. “God dammit! Why the hell isn’t it going anywhere?” I muttered under my breath. “I’m relatively sure it has to do with physics, Jules.” He explained, heaving the front of the car onto the side of the road. “Figures...” I replied, sighing. I stood there in the pouring rain as a drop trickles down the side of my cheek. My father, David makes his usual remarks of the school standards these days. I don’t attempt to explain the concept of rhetorical questions, considering he becomes ignorant to whatever proves him wrong. I open the passenger door and hop back in. I haven’t really had time to contemplate my future; considering these last three months has been the most hectic time of my life. My parents are officially divorced on the account of my asking. I couldn’t stand being in the same room as them at times. That isn’t entirely true... The majority of the time they were on their best behaviour, which is not defined in its usual sense. They kissed and caressed as usual married couples would. They discussed the world’s economic crisis while sipping on their sherry. They worked and cleaned and did their best in my upbringing. They disciplined me and educated me about the world which has brought my maturity to a standard no lower than my age (16 years young). Unfortunately or fortunately (I have not yet worked out which) my maturity is quite above one’s normal expectation. I have always thought of my maturity to be one of a middle aged woman. It can become a nuisance and sometimes unhealthy. Constantly having to feel like an adult all day long, maintaining responsibility among the household; there was a subtle debt I had to pay if I did not act an adult, from something or someone unknown. Of course my mother did the ironing, the majority of the cleaning, washing, driving etc. But I still did the things that I felt obligated to do without being asked. I did a lot of cleaning, occasionally ironed and took care of things such as my parents.
Catégorie : Teen & Preteen
Par : Someone
| Short beginng to my story. (Introduction)? I was bored so I decided to start a novel. I just write about anything that firsts comes to my mind. I want to see your comments. Of course this introduction to Julia's life is incomplete, but, "Do you w.a.n.t to know more?" is my main question. Anything I could improve on other than the usual "Complete it. You havn't explained youself properly. It's boring." Of course it is haha- it's only a portion of the intro. Here it is: It stood; resisting my push. “God dammit! Why the hell isn’t it going anywhere?” I muttered under my breath. “I’m relatively sure it has to do with physics, Jules.” He explained, heaving the front of the car onto the side of the road. “Figures...” I replied, sighing. I stood there in the pouring rain as a drop trickles down the side of my cheek. My father, David makes his usual remarks of the school standards these days. I don’t attempt to explain the concept of rhetorical questions, considering he becomes ignorant to whatever proves him wrong. I open the passenger door and hop back in. I haven’t really had time to contemplate my future; considering these last three months has been the most hectic time of my life. My parents are officially divorced on the account of my asking. I couldn’t stand being in the same room as them at times. That isn’t entirely true... The majority of the time they were on their best behaviour, which is not defined in its usual sense. They kissed and caressed as usual married couples would. They discussed the world’s economic crisis while sipping on their sherry. They worked and cleaned and did their best in my upbringing. They disciplined me and educated me about the world which has brought my maturity to a standard no lower than my age (16 years young). Unfortunately or fortunately (I have not yet worked out which) my maturity is quite above one’s normal expectation. I have always thought of my maturity as middle aged woman, fretting over the debt she owes to the bank. Catégorie : Books & Authors Par : Someone |
| Survey : ODD ONE OUT? 1. Tom Jones, Queen, Garbage, A-Ha? 2. James, Rita, Daniel, Esther? 3. Howard's End, 10 Things I Hate About You, Prospero's Books, Forbidden Planet? 4. Timothy Claypole, Hazel McWitch, Miss Popov, Professor Yaffle? 5. 3, 13, 23, 33? 6. Austria, Canada, Argentina, Japan? 7. Underground, Failure, Sorrow, Fame? 8. Phoenix, Miami, Nashville, Boston? 9. Dundee, Garden, Christmas, Fairy? 10. Eddie Cabot, Vincent Vega, Marsellus Wallace, Jules Winnfield? Can u find the odd one out? thanks. Catégorie : Polls & Surveys Par : Janet (TGJT) |
| Question on Bend it like beckham movie 10 POINTS? in bend it like beckham what was the song played while jess and jules are buying the soccer shoes??? and why is it significant ALSO I NEED IT 2DAY!!!!!!!!! Catégorie : Movies Par : Dimuthu |
| in the movie superbad what is the song? when the cops first get to jules party and evan is drinking its at 1:30:35 on my ipod idk if that helps Catégorie : Movies Par : stallworthk2 |
| What do you think of my story? I've written a transformation of the Romeo and Juliet story for school, and am interested in what you guys think: what do/don't you like about my writing? Sorry about the length by the way, please don't let it scare you away. It's true what they say: when you reach the end, you can't help but look back into the beginning. You think about where you went wrong, what you might have done to avert your fate. The truth is, if my circumstances weren't inevitable; and a porthole to the past appeared before me now, I don't think I'd do anything differently. Although I never imagined my end to arrive quite like this, it's a comfort to know I get to leave with such clarity. I guess this is a kind of closure, a token I'll leave of myself. I don't know if another set of eyes will ever meet these pages, maybe they don't need to. But incase you are reading this: my dear reader, I'm about to share with you the most important part of my insignificant existence. I hope you're ready. As a girl, I was rebellious and stubborn; combine this with my controlling father and you get the basic outline of my everyday life. Displeasing my father pleased me. One afternoon he mentioned how he disapproved of a girl in my year named Imogen, the next day I adopted her as my new best friend. He loved fondling my long, spiralling hair, so I ordered Imogen to cut it all off. He wouldn't allow me to date, so I started wearing short skirts and received a reputation. I had a will made of steal, and he was the only one who was prepared to stand in my way. My father tried to bind me with his old-fashioned morals and rules; I tried my best to break free. I was bored by the repetition of my life. Surrounded by narrow-minds, I felt smothered. I was about to burst. Like any other day, I was arguing with my father. My report card had just arrived in the mail and my grades were slightly less than impressive. He'd started on this rant about how I didn't take my studies seriously enough; he threatened to stop letting my go out with friends as he thought they were were stetting a negative example. He never seemed to want to admit that maybe it was me who was influencing my friends. That maybe I'd made these decisions myself. He needed it to be someone else's fault. “Juliet, I'm disappointed in you. I just...I don't know what to do anymore.” I just looked at him, that's all he needed to say. It's amazing how much four little words can hurt. How do a bunch of organised grunts achieve so much? Although I tried to convince myself that I didn't care what my father thought, the truth was: I was tired of being a disappointment to him. It pained me, and I hated him for it. Suddenly I couldn't take another second of being judged. I ran down the hallway, grabbing my bag, and slamming the front door behind me. I met up with Imogen. She was the only one who understood me, the only one who made me feel like it was okay to be me. We decided to escape society and hide beneath the covers of a sweaty crowd, loud techno music, and a dark room. We never had trouble getting into night clubs, although I'm sure the bouncers suspected our age. There was something addictive about the smoky dance floor, thumping with adrenaline and sex. The place was packed with people who knew nothing about me, I felt so free and at home. Imogen and her boyfriend took to the dance floor, while I went in search for my victim of the night. I was standing at the bar, waiting for a drink when our eyes met. He was sitting opposite me, talking on his phone. The way he spoke seemed so gentle, his eyes smiled as he laughed; I wondered if he was alone. Could he actually see me, or was he looking through me? He clapped his phone shut and gave me a smile; I got tingles all down my spine and could feel my ears burning up. “Hi” he mouthed. I waved slowly. “Wanna dance?” I nodded. “My name's Romeo.” “Jules” I replied, swinging back my drink. The rest of the night was a blur, the most perfect blur. Echoing music, his beautiful teeth, and infectious laugh. Swaying hips, a sent of deodorant, his thick hair between my fingers. The road, a door with a dragon knocker, Romeo's broad shoulders and strong hands around my waist. I woke up in a bed I'd never seen, tangled in white sheets. Sunlight was streaming in and I could hear the hum of a shower in the next room. Taps squeaked, and the water was shut off; now footsteps. I swung my legs around the side of the bed and started getting dressed. Romeo appeared at the door, rubbing his wet hair with a towel. I felt so exposed and humiliated. He made me coffee, and we sat in awkward silence. I wanted to curl into a ball, and keep curling until I vanished into nothingness. “You've got a great place.” I finally said. “Thanks.” “Do you live alone?” “Yeah. How about you?” “I live with my Dad.” “Oh, how old are you?” I looked at my toes, I had no choice but to tell him. “Sixteen.” “Oh.” “How old are you?” “Thir “Thirty.” I swallowed a mouthful of caffein, “What's the time?” “Two.” “I should probably go.” “Alright.” He quickly got up. Our eyes met again, I wanted to stay more than anything. I wanted to get to know him, to show him that numbers were irrelevant. There was something so hypnotic about Romeo. I wanted him to give me a chance; but he looked away, and I repulsed him. We stood at his gate, and he gave me a kiss good bye. “Should you give me your number?” I knew he was just being polite and that he would never call, but I gave it to him regardless. “Bye Jules.” he said sympathetically and closed the door of the taxi. My eyes teared up as we pulled away, I was such a sad little person; not even my one night stand wanted me. It was two days later that Romeo called me, and I almost choked on my own saliva when he did. He asked me out for dinner, and apologised for taking so long to call. “Why?” I asked. “Why what?” “Why did you call? I thought you thought I was disgusting.” There was a pause, “I don't think you're disgusting, you're beautiful. Look, this doesn't make sense to me either; it just feels right.” The next year we were inseparable. Just the mentioning of his name released butterflies in my stomach. Romeo was my refuge whenever life wasn't going as smoothly as I'd liked. He posed for my sketches, took me to art galleries, and wrote me short stories. He picked Imogen and I up from school everyday, and helped me study for school. My age didn't ward him off like I had imagined; it didn't sicken him. He knew that we were just two messed up people, perfect for each other in every single way. Romeo had this way of making everything else unimportant. When I was around him, every stress in life was swept away with the breeze. I could be myself wholly. I couldn't bare the thought of existing without him. He allowed this side of me that I loved to shine through, a part of me I didn't know was there. I depended on him to get me through my week. Without this beautiful creature, I would sink into the background, never be loved; and eventually, I would vanish. I got pregnant, so he set out to propose. Romeo was gorgeous that night, he was so nervous that he dropped the pasta source all over the kitchen floor, but wouldn't let me help clean it up. After much ado, we ended up ordering Indian and watching horror movies. As we sat on his couch, he held me and stroked my shoulder in a circling motion. I would have paused this moment for eternity if given the chance. I felt so safe, warm, loved. Nothing could get to me. He drove me home and insisted on walking me right up to the door, it was then that he got down on one knee and unveiled the ring. I remember this moment perfectly, even after everything that's happened since: my heart was thumping, there was a quarter moon, and I could smell curry from dinner in his breath. Stunned, I didn't know what to do; so I kissed him. Wrapped in the moment and each other's arms, we didn't see my father's shocked eyes, spying through the blinds. “What was that?” Suddenly, I was dragged back down to reality as I walked through the door. “Nothing.” I refused to make eye contact. “Really? Nothing? Because it seemed to me that a man about twice you age had his tongue down your throat! I know you're rebellious as hell, but I thought you were smarter than that.” I remained silent. “Juliet, a guy like that would only want one thing. You know that.” He paused, “You're not to see him anymore.” “What?! You don't even know him!” “No, but I know enough about both you and him to know that he's trying to take advantage of you.” “Take advantage of me?” “Yes.” “Well you're wrong.” I paused, “He loves me.” “Is that what he told you?” “He loves me!” “You're seventeen, Jules. How old is he?” “They're just numbers.” “How old is he?” “Thirty-one!” My body was tense all over, “You want to know some more numbers?! One! That's how many years we've been together! Two! That's how many months pregnant I am, and how many minutes ago he proposed!” My father leant back against the bar. I stepped towards him, “You don't know a single thing about me or him! And I will keep seeing him.” “You slept with this guy?” “Oh, everyday.” I smirked. He slapped me across the face, it felt as if his palm had been on fire. Our whole relationship had been building up to this moment. I remembered being five and squirming about as my father tickled me on the couch; he had been my world once upon a time. Where did that end? I held my cheek, “Thank you.” I whispered and walked out of the room. From my room, I could hear my father sobbing as I thrusted clothes into my bag. I was glad he had hit me: he couldn't stop me anymore. Father or not, he no longer had the right. Romeo was the only one who understood me now, even Imogen had judged our relationship. I just wanted to be in his arms again, to feel his breath on my neck. “Juliet! Stop! I'm sorry. Please come back inside!” He pleaded and grabbed my arm as I ran down the steps of our front porch. “Don't touch me!” I screamed, “You don't get to tell me what to do anymore, that's it!” Romeo embraced me as I cried onto his shoulder and used his sleeve to mop up my runny nose. Sweeping my hair behind my ear, he told me everything would be okay, and I truly believed him. There was a knock at the door, and he went to answer it. It was my father, I could hear him calling out my name. I hugged my knees to my chest and blocked my ears; all I could hear was muffled arguing. Suddenly, a loud crack rippled through the air. I jumped up and ran towards the commotion.get me through the week “Romeo! Get off!” I yelled, trying to pull them apart. “He's got a gun Jules!” I didn't know what to do, “Dad!” I cried, Stop it! Just stop!” I collapsed into the corner, covering my eyes, tears streaming down my cheeks. There were several shots fired and a muffled sound of grunting and struggle. Then there was silence, and I felt a head on my shoulder. Romeo was sitting next to me, panting. I kissed him on the head, got up, and walked over to my father lying on the ground. “Romeo, what have you done?” “I don't know.” Silence absorbed the air. “What do we do?” I whispered. “Jules, I want you to go get tweezers, a bowl of hot water, and some bandages for me.” He said calmly. “Why?” my voice wobbled. “Just do it.” Romeo clutched his stomach. “Are you shot?” “Jules! Tweezers, hot water, and bandage! Now!” He couldn't do it himself, so Romeo guided me through removing the bullet from his abdomen. It was hard to keep my hand steady, I don't think I've ever cried so hard. He bit onto a rolled up piece of fabric, and clutched my leg. It took several rolls of bandage to slow the bleeding. Romeo wouldn't let Then there was silence, and I felt a head on my shoulder. Romeo was sitting next to me, panting. I kissed him on the head, got up, and walked over to my father lying on the ground. “Romeo, what have you done?” “I don't know.” Silence absorbed the air. “What do we do?” I whispered. “Jules, I want you to go get tweezers, a bowl of hot water, and some bandages for me.” He said calmly. “Why?” my voice wobbled. “Just do it.” Romeo clutched his stomach. “Are you shot?” “Jules! Tweezers, hot water, and bandage! Now!” He couldn't do it himself, so Romeo guided me through removing the bullet from his abdomen. It was hard to keep my hand steady, I don't think I've ever cried so hard. He bit onto a rolled up piece of fabric, and clutched my leg. It took several rolls of bandage to slow the bleeding. Romeo wouldn't let me call an ambulance because they would find out about the fight and my father. I dragged the body inside, and helped Romeo into his van. Then I started driving. We drove for hours; the whole time I kept him conscious by telling him all the memories we'd created together. It was dark, and the streets were quiet; it was as if the whole world was standing still for us. I told him about our future, about our wedding, our children. I was going to be a famous artist, and he wouldn't have to work at building sites anymore; he'd quit and find a publisher for his books. We'd move to Japan and live off sushi. Romeo would grow a beard, take up smoking cigars, and tell terrible jokes like all fathers do. “Jules.” “Hmm?” “I need you to pull over now.” I parked the van on the side of the free way, and climbed into the back seat with him. His face was pale, his lips dry, and breath wheezy. I squeezed his hand, attempting to hold back my tears. A lump was rising in my throat. “What's up?” I asked. “I just wanted to have you with me.” “I'm right here.” I tried to smile. “I love you Juliet.” He swallowed, even though his mouth was dry. “I love you too.” He coughed and I wiped away the blood from his chin. “I'm so sorry.” “Shhh.” I cried. “Come here.” Romeo whispered. I squished in beside him, and cradled his head. I played with his hair as his breathing got quieter. Eventually I couldn't feel his breath, and he'd stopped blinking. I held him in my arms and wept. Just hours ago we were getting engaged, now he was gone. As I sit on the roof of this van, filled with the blood of my love; I look out onto the never ending countryside. The sky is a collection pink and blue smudges, delicate rays of light creep over the horizon. The first few birds of the day are calling. I wonder who else is listening to them now. There are so many things I'll miss. I'll miss the wind, crying until I face dehydration, someone's skin on my own, sand between my toes, a dripping paintbrush gliding over new canvas, water and the ocean. I wonder what our baby might have been like. Would she have had Romeo's curls and love for literature? I'm so sorry, my child. Please forgive me. My whole life I was struggling, trying to take control. I hated feeling trapped, not having a choice. Now, I'm leaving with the biggest choice I'll ever make and I'm finally in control. Input much appreciated! xx Catégorie : Books & Authors Par : Bridget |
