The 'Real' Prologue

Of course, I'm going to change it again, because this isn't perfect. But for now, it's the best I got, so here is the prologue to the book I keep posting so much about! Enjoy!


Prologue

The fog moves around me like a sickly sweet waltz, caressing my skin, leaving a trail of an icy shiver that travels through my entire body.

Where am I?

I train my ears to focus on any pinpoint of sound, but the world around me is completely still. Completely quiet, except for my quick, shallow breaths, and the thudding of my racing heart.

I glance left and right. Trees loom over me. Their menacing branches eying my every movement from their high throne. I do not know how tall the trees really are; the fog envelops my answers. But every now and then, a rebellious branch juts out for all to see.

Ahead of me I can only see maybe five feet before everything else is consumed by the unnerving gray mist. I take a step...the crunch of dead leaves is carried away by the soft breeze---disrupting the silence. The noise seems wrong here....This is a place of death, and death is the eternal silence. I am suddenly consumed in a fear, almost like a premonition of something terrible that is to come.

I am startled by the rustling of leaves and the constant thud of feet running...and the sound was heading towards me. I try to move, but I find myself frozen in the spot.

"He-Hello?" I call, my voice as foreign to myself as it is to the soundless world around me.

Another rustle...

Padding of feet hitting the dirt...

Crunching leaves...

The snapping of a fallen twig.

I want to run. I turn to do so, but I am confronted, face-to-face with a menacing expression. Soft, pale skin reveal a petite figure. Dark brown, almost black, untamed hair rest lightly on her shoulders. But what catches my attention is her eyes. Teeth sharp, eyes glistening a crimson-red anger.

No---that expression is too lustful to be anger. Her eyes seek thirst, and as if to further prove my point, her lips curve into a sick smile.

"We've been waiting..." speaks the beast, her carniverous mouth widening, snarling, teeth at the ready...

And she takes a step towards me.

*****

The buzzing of the alarm clock shocks me up right in my bed. Breathing heavy, perspiration forming at my brow. A sigh of relief flows through me as the knowledge sets in.

It was just a dream.

My hand slams down on the snooze button and for the first time I look at my clock. 5:30 am. I groan wearily and fall back to my pillow.

Today is the first day of the rest of my life.

This Just In...

This is a poem I was assigned to write in my English class. It's a poem about what we want to do with our lives when we reach a certain point. Mine is when I'm a newspaper reporter :) I hope you like it!

THIS JUST IN...

When I am a newspaper reporter, I shall wear pencil skirts and a reporter badge.
With fiery red lipstick, six inch stilettos and glasses that suit me.
I will spend my words on things that are worth writing about; disasters, current events, statistics, and advice.
And when they ask me to write something useless, I shall reply, “I’ve no words for fools.”
I shall push my way to the truth, and be loved by few and loathed by many.
And I must own a taser gun because all hated reporters just have to have one.
I will adorn myself in the most elaborate clothing and dine at the best restaurants.
With my ultimately successful career, I shall earn a grand amount of money and give it to those who need it more than me.

But now I am poor, and I cannot give to the less fortunate.
And I must avoid being loathed by many, because it would result in myself being thrown out of the newspaper class.
I will now spend my words on things happening at High School rather than the world.
And I cannot have a taser, because my friends do not find that as fun.
Now I will wear jeans and flats so I will not trip and die before my future is attained.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So that those who hardly know me will not be too surprised,
When I am a loathed newspaper reporter that wears my badge proudly and dresses in pencil skirts.

The Novice

This is a story I am entering for a scary story contest...it was very tricky 'cause the entries can only be one page, double spaced, 10 pt font...yeah, it was hard but I did it! So I present to you The Novice. Let me know what you think!

The Novice

The job was simple. The part she had to play fit perfectly into the illusion she had spun around their heads; it had to fit perfectly, any deviation would mean...she shook her head to clear her thoughts, so that she only focused on one thing: the death of him.

The sweet consistence of the rain tapped on the windows of the car she sat in. Passers-by could not see the short haired young woman making a cruel smile through the tinted windows. To them it was just another empty car on the street. A void which held no consequence. Of course, they were wrong. The girl sitting in the car, the young, eighteen year old girl that a year prior they might have passed on the streets as a simple beggar, was no longer a weak, defenseless child of circumstance. She was a killer. And tonight she would be playing in her greatest role yet.

A man walked by the car, not noticing its existence. He held a cup of coffee in one hand, and shielded his head form the pelting rain with the other, all the while complaining to his associate about the horrid weather. A smile curved on teh lips of the girl as she opened the car door. The rain was slick and heavy, and, while her body was protected in a chic, black trench coat, her uncovered hair was soon saturated. But this didn't bother her, nor did the immediate clattering commotion of people on the street. For the gleam in her crimson eyes had found their mark, and she thirsted for the satisfaction it would bring her masters when she brought this writing young human before them.

She walked at a careful distance behind the man. His associate soon departed form him into an apartment complex and the man continued alone. A sudden burst of adrenaline coursed within her veins reaching her extremities. Theis job was the mark of eternity for her. If she could pull this off, nothing wouldever be out of her reach again. The man turned into an alley way and she smiled. It awlays seemed most poetic when teh final conflict of one' slife happened in the shadowy corners instead of on display for the entire world to see.

But when she made her entrance, he was already facing her, crouched and ready to defend himself. She stopped short in confusion. When had he noticed that he was being followed?

"The bad thing about the Organization is that they send a novice when an experienced player is needed," he whispered sardonically.

Her eyes widened as a beam of white light shot form this hands and instantly consumed her, incinerating her very being in a split second, until there was nothing left but a wet pile of ashes being washed away into the sewers.

He smirked in triumph, and turned to leave the scene. The shadowing figures of three men cloaked and hooded loomed in front of him and his satisfaction quickly transformed into dread.

The most formidable of the trio raised his crimson eyes and said, "The perfect thing about the Organization is that our novices are never alone."

Where I Stand

We had to write a paper in English about ourselves, and we were given specific paragraph requirements on what to write. I thought it was pretty interesting so I decided to post it up on here. Enjoy!!!

WHERE I STAND
Shalece Hansen

Though some that randomly pass me in the halls might say that I come off as someone who just likes to have fun and cares little about the seriousness of the world; it is actually quite the opposite. I do like to have fun, (who doesn’t?) but I use that time of, as some would call, stupidity, to take a step back from the world because everyone needs a break from it. So here’s a little inside scoop to me.

I am seventeen years of age, a daughter, a sister, a friend, and most of the time, a pleasant person to be around. I am a thinker, a listener, a dreamer, and a believer. I am a student of life---constantly striving for something new to caress the deep entrails of my mind. I am an open-minded intellectual, ready to absorb both sides of a situation before I choose where I stand. I am extremely liberal, and when it comes to politics, I lean to the Democrats. I am someone you don’t want to mess with if you hurt someone I love; but most important of all: I am a human being.

I like to play lacrosse, good books, music, movies, hanging out with friends, writing, Olive Garden, Dr. Pepper, “Peanut M&M’s,” and wrapping up in a blanket to watch a movie at home, regardless of what time of year it is. I like the rain---the smell, the taste, and the way I feel when I get the chance to admire it’s beauty. I like debates, especially when I get to teach something to someone, or learn something myself. I like people who know who they are and will fight for what they believe in. I like seeing new sights and gaining a new perspective on the world.

I believe that everyone needs to find what their own way in life and no one has the right to hold them back, and that we all have an equal right to dream. I believe that judging people based on their ethnicity, orientations, and/or beliefs is the cause of wars and various types of violence that are on the up rise today. I believe that only when the world decides to look past these menial differences can we achieve peace. I believe that each of us need to be an instigator of change; because it only takes one person to stand up, and their voice will be heard, and carried, and then change will come. However, change doesn’t need to happen all at once, and I believe that the most meaningful change happens in moments. I believe that everyone has the right to be who they want to be and shouldn’t be looked down on. I believe that someday the world will be a better place, and I want to do everything I can to help it move along.

I do not care for country and rap music, diet coke, front row seats at the movies, red lights when you’re the only car on the road, wide-ruled paper. Sleep is overrated, and I have no mind for those who don’t bother to form their own opinions, and live off what everyone else feeds them. I do not care for prejudice, math (especially Pre-Cal), people that pretend to be stupid, gossip, gas prices, and having to wait thirty minutes in my car while waiting for my sister to finally come out.

I am tired of hearing about people who hate Hillary Clinton when they don’t even know why they do. How some adults say that I don’t know anything because I am “just a teenager.” I do not stand for, and am utterly disgusted with parents who abuse their kids, in any which way possible, and get away with it; even when the “All Knowing” government gets involved. I’m tired of hearing about the war and politician’s strategy to attack their opponents family.

I favor equal rights for everybody, happiness, world peace, and love of course. I favor government funded college grants. I favor the environment and all the simple things that you could do everyday to “pay your rent” so to speak for your time on earth. I favor the rights we are fighting for every day, and I feel that we all should be grateful for what we have.

There you go! Of course, I can’t fit everything about me on here, and if I tried it would be a really long paper, and in truth, I think that would be hard (as one of my friends kindly puts it, I am an onion, and I have many layers. Truth is, I don’t know if I know all the layers myself yet) I’ll just let you find out whatever else there is to know about me in due time.

Prologue (Maybe)

This is maybe the prologue to my book, but I'm thinking I'm going to change it up, and I might merge this into the first chapter of the book. Instead of jabbering on about it, here you go:

PROLOGUE

"Hayden, we need to talk to you," my dad calls from the other room as I walk int the garage door, returning from a late night movie enjoyed with my friends.

I check the time on my cell phone. I hadn't broken curfew. I didn't have a boyfriend for them to worry about. I had already given them the money for my last cell phone bill. And, I had A's in all my classes...except math, which was expected. Honestly, I had no idea what they were needing to "talk" to me about.

Reluctantly I walk into our living room, and see both of my parents sitting on the love-seat with my younger sister and brother on the couch opposite of theirs. This was big.

"Take a seat, Hayden."

I sit down next to my sister who looks at me with an expression that reads: do you know what this is about? I shake my head, and then train my eyes to my parents who shift uncomfortably.

"Well, there's no easy way to say this..." my mom starts.

Someone died. I conclude, silently running through a list of relatives in my head.

"...we know it's not the best timing. Brady's starting middle school next year, and Kirsten's going into high school, and Hayden, you're going to be a senior..."

It was Grandma. I decide, concurring that she would be the only one to care about such menial matters as which grade we would be going into.

"...it's hard for us too,"

Definitely Grandma.

"...but being the parents, we have to decide what is best for the family..."

That sentence throws me off, and I am suddenly not sure where this conversation was going.

Mom and Dad look at each other, taunting wordlessly to the other to speak the whatever news was about to befall us. The silence makes me anxious, and it holds a similar effect on my younger siblings. Brady begins fidgeting with his thumbs, while Kirsten bites her lip and avoids eye contact with everyone.

My father losses the contest and looks to us in defeat. "We're moving," he says smoothly.

And all hell breaks loose in our family.

New Story

hey everybody I'm writing a new story and so I'm going to be posting little snippits of it here and there... so yeah, I'm thinking it's going to be good, but I guess we'll see where it takes us! I think that the best part of the story is suspense.  Without that, how can you get people to read it?  Suspense is key in writing any fiction novel, so without further to say, I'm going to give you a little intro type thing to my new project.  You know how on the back of books it has a little quote or a little plot synopsis of the book?  Well, this is kind of my 'back of the book' thing... (yeah, I'm kind of a nerd like that...I also design my own covers and I know what I want to say in the acknowledgment page and all that other jazz...I even have some actors picked out for when it becomes a movie!).  Tell me if you like this little thing!!!  Without further to do, I give you (Some snazzy title that I will come up with shortly for my book):

"You know those monsters your mother told you weren't real? They are.  But they don't hide under beds and in closets; instead they wait here, in this realm.  They know when you're alone and when you're asleep, that that is when they come---leaving this world for the land of the living---to prey on frightened children and lost strangers.  They are quick, smart, and strong.  This is their world.  Here we are visitors---the prey.  Only one person can stop them, but I don't know who that is yet.  I've only been given temporary power.  I'm just the care-taker until whomever is to receive this power comes to claim it."

Multi-Genre Research Paper

I am writing a multi-genre research paper for creative writing, and for those of you that don't know what it is, it is a collection of different types of works (poems, journals, newspaper articles, etc.) that when read separately, still make sense, but when you put them together in a certain order, it makes all of them flow with a common purpose. Now, I don't know if that helped any of you know what a multi-genre research paper is, but regardless, I'm going to show you my process so far.

My topic is on Amy Lee and how she coped after the lead guitarist, past best friend and 'boyfriend', and co-founder of the band, Ben Moody left Evanescence during their tour in Europe. It will eventually tell about the struggles Amy Lee faced personally and professionally after the incident, and then it will transition through the healing process, and end with how Amy is today! When I get the whole thing finished, I will post the whole paper on here!

So far I only have four things, (and I need to re-do the song). Here is my 'rough draft' so far!


Dear Diary,

Today Ben Moody left Evanescence--for good, and I've never been happier. Sure, he didn't have great timing. We are, in fact, still on tour in Europe and down a lead guitarist, but I'm happy, for the first time in a long time.

John, Will, and Rocky are being really good about it. They're glad he's gone too. Ben just always thought he was boss and that whatever he said goes. There can never be a "one man band." Bands are made up of individuals that come together to create beautiful and new ideas.

If Ben stayed, he would NEVER approve of the direction I want this band to go. I want something new. I don't want our next album, whenever it may come out, to sound anything like our first.

With the help of John, Will, and Rocky, and the support of all our amazing fans, I know Evanescence can make it through the hard times that await us. We'll find a new guitarist, hopefully someone that can write songs as well, 'cause I don't know if our next cd would sell if I were the one writing all the songs by myself.

We'll take it one step at a time. We might stumble and fall, but we'll get up again. Now that Ben is out of my life forever, I feel like I can do anything.

Love,
Amy


WANTED
Lead Guitarist for the hit band Evanescence

Qualifications:

• Must know how to play some amazing guitar!
• Must not in any way, shape, or form be a fan of Ben Moody
• Preferably someone who is already married or finds no attraction towards the lead singer, Amy Lee (She's sick of in-band relationships)
• Someone who's not afraid to have fun
• Preferably someone who knows how to write music and lyrics well.
• Mentally stable - Band life can be extremely stressful

The Mood Changes for Evanescence
by a newspaper writer that I need to make up a name for

After lead guitarist and co-song writer, Ben Moody left the band earlier this month, it has been reported that lead singer and song-writer, Amy Lee has "fallen in love with music again."

Long hours of anticipation awaited Evanescence when they learned from their manager that Moody had simply got up and left without a word. Due to arguments held between Moody and other band members, it is stated that Lee and co-mates felt relieved after finding out he was gone. That quickly subsided into a bit of panic after the realization that they had a show to play the next day. "After Ben left, we didn't want to waste any time," guitarist John LeCompt states, "We quickly notified our friend Terry from the band Cold and asked him if he would be so gracious enough to finish out the tour with us."

Terry Balsamo of Cold, accepted Evanescence's warm offer, and helped them leave anxious fans in awe. The tour concluded last week, and Balsamo was said to have been leaving for home once more. It seemed, however, that Balsamo had too much fun with Amy and the gang, and decided to stay on as their guitarist; therefore permanently fiiling the hole that was left behind by Moody.

"Terry is really great. I knew the second he picked up his guitar that he would benefit to Evanescence. He beats Ben hands down in guitar skills! But what I like most about him is his heart. He loves playing music just as much as he loves eating!" Lee stated when asked on her feelings toward the new chemistry of the band.

Lee also announced that she is going to be writing some songs with Balsamo, in hope to find the new twist she's been looking for.

With the combined efforts of Lee, LeCompt, Balsamo, bassist Will (forgot his last name), and drummer, Rocky Gray, Evanescence's "new stuff" is sure to be different from anythign their listeners have experienced yet.




***Song*** (I still need a title)

This will be,
The Last Song I'm Wasting On You
I don't deserve to be
Tormented daily, defeated by you
But I can't escape the twisted way you think of me
You know you live to break me,
It's all that I"m wanted for.
But I've come to open my eyes to everything,
And I know the truth now,
I'm sick of the lies
There's nothing worth fighting for
I still can't find what keeps me here

I lie awake and try so hard not to think of you
But your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams,
I'm swallowed up int he sound of my screaming.
It feels like the weight of the world
I'm soon to be blinded by tears.
I guess it wasn't real after all
I won't be grieving for you
For the first time in my life, I'm not broken.
It ends here tonight,
So let go of me

You just didn't drink enough to say you loved me
And I can't hear your screams anymore
It's been such a long time coming, but I feel good.
You'll never hurt me again.

How To Properly Sharpen A Pencil

***Background info***
In my creative writing class, my student teacher, commonly known as Mr. D, was talking to us about titles and how much they influenced the story behind them. He posted a list of some titles on the board and asked us what type of writing was used in the piece. One of the titles was: 'How to Properly Sharpen a Pencil'. Though many of my classmates believed it to be a documentary on how to sharpen pencils, I took a completely opposite approach and immediately thought of a romantic comedy. So, when he gave us an assignment to write a short story on any topic we wanted (so long as we paid close attention to the title we gave it), naturally I decided to take my idea and turn it into a short story.


How to Properly Sharpen A Pencil
by: Shalece Hansen

Brett knew pencils. Some would call him obsessed, and in a way, they were right. It was clinically proven as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD); something Brett had been born with. As a child, his disorder had taken form: properly sharpened pencils. In his room he had a plethora of pencil sharpeners---collectors editions one might say--- of every make and model from the magical beginning of handheld, and manpowered sharpeners to the modern electric one. Next to every sharpener was a package of identical unsharpened pencils. Whenever he was stressed or over-whelmed, his simple solution to this was to sharpen a pencil.

School nearly drove him crazy. Of course, he always carried around four or five perfectly sharpened pencils, but everyone else didn’t seem to care so much about their small yellow brethren; or they had simply switched over to the “dark side” and used the writing utensil horror---mechanical pencils. The thought of those too-good-to-be-sharpened atrocities made Brett’s stomach churn.

It was hard to find someone who cared about Brett’s pencil obsession in this increasingly lazy world. Cecily, however, was one of the few. It wasn’t so much about the perfectly sharpened pencils, as it was about the man who sharpened them:

Cecily was in love with Brett.

She had two classes with him: Math and English, which both required ample use of pencils. She sat in the back row in both of those classes, right next to the pencil sharpener, while Brett sat one row to the left, and two seats down from her. Her breath caught in her throat every time he got up to sharpen his pencil. For a few, unnaturally quick moments, she would be inches away from him; so close that if she wanted to, she could reach out and touch him.

In her head she had gone over seemingly endless ways to approach him. Many of those ways involved the pencil sharpener as the meeting place, and she had decided that it was the most appropriate way to get to know him. The only problem was getting up the nerve to do it. He was at the pencil sharpener plenty of times, working the man-powered sharpener with beautiful precision. Sometimes she would sneak glances at him, and watch his sweet face contort in concentration as he made his pencils ideal once more. After going over the conversation over and over in her head; Cecily decided that it was time to approach Brett.

It was a quiet Wednesday morning. Cecily glanced nervously at the clock, the hands making out 8:42 a.m.. In exactly three minutes Mr. Rays, her Pre-Calculus teacher, would begin the lesson. A feeling of worry swept over her as the second hand reached the twelve, signaling the beginning of a new minute. Brett wasn’t here yet, and he was always on time to all of his classes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone walk through the door, and she sighed in relief as Brett sat in his desk.

The bell rang, and as expected, Mr. Rays began teaching. Cecily found it hard to concentrate; her mind wandering to the upcoming conversation. Constantly she found herself staring at Brett, and quickly adverted her eyes once she had caught herself. Halfway through the lesson, Brett quietly excused himself to the sharpener. Though she had thought she could do it, instead of approaching him, she ducked her head, and pretended to copy down the notes that were being scribbled on the whiteboard in the front of the room.

Plenty of chances lay ahead. Her mind told her. It was only the beginning of class, Brett would be back to the pencil sharpener plenty more times in the period. Soon, she knew, she would have to stop telling herself that, and actually get up and do it.

It was after Mr. Rays had stopped his lecture and given the class their assignment before Brett stood up from his seat again. Cecily reacted without thinking, she instantly pushed herself from her seat, her pencil firmly situated in her white-knuckled hand, and found herself slipping to the pencil sharpener, with Brett close behind, still stunning, and slightly annoyed. Forcing her hand to stop shaking, Cecily slipped the pencil into the hole, and began nervously twisting the mechanism.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Brett mumbled, hardly audible.

“What?” Cecily asked, surprised and jittery from the increased heartbeat penetrating her insides.

“The sharpener… Your pencil---it’s going to come out wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“Yeah, you have to twist it slower, and without so much force on the pencil. It’s a sure way to break the lead, and cause the loss of height.”

She released the pencil and began twisting the sharpener at an annoying, slow pace. “Like this?” she asked, still caught in a daze.

“No, now you’re doing it too slow, and there’s not enough. Here, let me show you how to properly sharpen a pencil.”

She let him take her place. His gentle hands worked the sharpener in a sweet rhythm. Cecily watched him work his magic, and fell even deeper into love. After a few quick seconds, Brett pulled out a perfectly sharpened pencil from the mouth of it’s beholder, and smiled as he held it up to Cecily.

“It’s perfect!” he exclaimed, a satisfied, and completely happy expression sitting smugly on his face.

“Brett, I love you.” she blurted suddenly.

But all Brett could do was look at the pencil that had captured his heart.