Defiance

So I just bought a new book today (after I told myself I would hold out for a few weeks and think about it, which I directly followed with the purchasing of the book on my Kindle instead) which I'm excited about...I think. I've read mixed reviews about it but I'm not sure if I'll enjoy it.

The book is called Defiance, a new release by C.J. Redwine. A girl named Rachel Adams is the daughter of Baalboden’s most skilled courier. But it’s been three months since her father, Jared, was scheduled to return and is officially declared dead. Rachel refuses to believe it. She wants to find him but in this world, not only is it difficult to survive the Wastelands outside the city walls, women are second-class citizens incapable of going anywhere without a male Protector by her side. With her father dead, Rachel is assigned a new Protector. It’s not the older family friend she’s expecting, but Logan McEntire, her father’s apprentice and the young man to whom she confessed her feelings two years ago, only for him to rebuff them. To say she’s upset is an understatement (no seriously. I read that chapter and she freaked). 

But there’s more at stake here. Baalboden’s leader, the Commander, believes Jared betrayed him and that Rachel knows where he is. You see, Jared’s last mission involved an important package and the Commander wants it back. And to obtain his goals, he will threaten everything Rachel holds dear. 

I'm worried about my reaction to this book mostly because of the romance. I'm a sucker for romance (honestly if you don't think I'm a complete romantic then you don't know me at all), but only when it's balanced perfectly with other conflict. From what I've read about this book, the adventure almost takes second place to the romance. That, along with the fear that I may not relate to the main characters, scares me about starting this book.

I'm always frightened when I begin a new novel. There's always the chance for severe disappointment and pain after reading a book. When I open a new book, it's like I'm starting a new relationship--I place my hopes, dreams, and life into those pages. I delve into the characters, become attached to their lives and relationships, and almost always end up being beaten down. I swear authors try their hardest to create these lovable characters so they can kill them once readers have grown attached (Prime example: Sirius Black. Never over it.) and experience no regrets! It scares me to start a book just because of the past heartbreaks I've had.

I probably sound like a freak, but it's true. Also, stereotypes. The main character is a flaming redhead (as shown on the cover art) and, from what I've read, she's a total Lily Evans--stubborn, snarky, and fiery as her hair. It's always like this, both in books and real life. 

Trust me. Redhead. I know.

I hope I'm not too disappointed. I'll let you all know how it goes!

enjoy the pain

you're welcome.

Colin Firth paired with Jennifer Ehle makes for a very emotional Emily I'm done bye

It's little to surprise to anyone who knows me that I'm slightly obsessed with fanfiction. I mean, it's not like

1. I've been reading them since I was 11
2. I've written a good number of them myself
3. I'm an editor for them (and may have edited a few chapters of Commentarius aka one of the best Jily fics ever written. not that I'm biased or anything)
4. I have over 400 bookmarked on my computer
5. My most visited site is fanfiction.net (even over tumblr. I know, it's pretty amazing)

Meh. Just a bit obsessed.

I read a lot of fanfiction. I don't feel ashamed when people kind of give me a look that screams wtf-you're-so-weird-why-would-you-cry-over-made-up-stories-when-you-could-be-melting-your-brain-by-watching-silly-tv-shows-like-me because I honestly, truly enjoy doing this. I love coming home to five unread emails talking about how my favourite fic was updated, or calling my friend Catherine to freak out over a new chapter of a fic. I love going through a chapter of something and finding all the grammatical errors while simultaneously groaning and laughing at it. I love spending hours crying over my favourite pairing who died before one of my favourite book series ever began.

Okay, maybe that last one was sarcasm.

ANYWAYS, I have this favourite fic of mine called Every Other Midnight. It's a Jily (James/Lily) Harry Potter fanfiction. There are some errors that drive me crazy, but that's what happens when you're an insane editor who wants to do this in college. Other than that, the story honestly entrances me.

So Lily Evans is an orphan whose only real friend is Hagrid. One day she and Hagrid find an injured baby unicorn in the Forbidden Forest whose parents were just murdered by Death Eaters. Hagrid calls Professor Potter (oh snap breaking the little canon we have) down to the scene to offer protection. The story follows the friendship that Potter and Evans gain while going down to feed Mercury (the unicorn) every other midnight, and the subsequent relationship that inevitably follows. I don't want to spoil anything on the off chance that one of you will read it, so I'll just explain why I love it without going into too much detail.

I've always been so amazed at what these authors can come up with. In the HP series, we as readers are only given a few sentences about the nature of James Potter's and Lily Evans' relationship ("She hated him!" "Nah, she didn't."). This leads to both good and bad things. 

Because there are no boundaries for the authors, they are free to create whatever characters they want without being too far outside of canon. Since they can basically do whatever they want with the characters, there are so many different types of fics out there. Lily/James as Professor, the normal Head Girl vs Head Boy, the Lily-hates-James-and-calls-him-an-arrogant-toerag-every-other-sentence cliche, and so many others.

But is that really a good thing? Sometimes I could be reading a new fic, see something I've seen in a billion other ones, and automatically be turned off. It wouldn't matter how good the writing is or how well the characters are developed. Seeing cliches that exist even when a basis hardly exists really annoys me. Like, honestly, there are a million different options out there! Don't conform with everyone else and do what they do. Be original. That's the beauty of fanfiction--it allows you to be original while still not really being original (wow that made no sense).

The reason why I love EOM as much as I do probably has to do with that cliche aspect. Every time I turn the virtual page, I'm greeted with something that surprises me. Granted, some things I could predict, but that's expected of many stories. Here's some things that surprised me (you've been warned):

• James being an Auror
• Lily creating her own spells, potions, etc. (her arousal spell o h m y g o s h)
• Sirius' character development. It was flawless.
• Lily's strength as a witch and as a character
• The dynamic between James and Lily
• Lily's other form (not saying anything other than that)
• The original characters. They were perfect!
• The fact that she didn't use arrogant toerag at all praise the Jily gods for allowing this to happen

But my favourite part of the fanfiction?

• the length

You're all going to think I'm crazy, but I LOVE to read things that are over 100k words. If they're not, I feel like they're missing so much. I loved this fic almost 10x more because the total word count was (drum roll please) 932,487 words! AND she's not even finished it yet! Isn't that incredible? Her dedication to the story is so admirable. Her love for what she is doing absolutely shows through when you read it. It is honestly one of the best things I've ever read (in the ways of fanfiction. Trust me, nothing beats Austen or Bronte or Shakespeare or McCarthy).

I could sing Kathryn's praises all day, but that would waste the time you should be spending reading this! So go. Enjoy the beauty that is James Potter and Lily Evans combined with an adorable baby unicorn and a horrific dark wizard, then come back to me and tell me how often you cried.

You might need this and this along the way.

The Girl in the Fireplace (Doctor Who, S2E4)

My friend is currently watching Doctor Who for the first time (she's seen all of series 1, 5, 6, and 7, so she went back to watch 2-4) and she's on TGITF right now. I have a lot of things to say about this episode, so I figured I would just write it all out. (Keep in mind that these are a few of the reasons I dislike the episode, but I also like it!)

The Girl in the Fireplace written by Steven Moffat is listed as one of the greatest Doctor Who episodes by many, and it even won an award. Taking a closer look, the episode isn’t as well-written as some people may consider it to be. There are several problems with this episode. I’ll start by saying that yes, I am a Ten/Rose shipper (meaning that I like their relationship). I'm pretty flexible with my shipping, though. My dislike for this episode is NOT because of rage against an opposing shipping. In fact, the only reason why I would dislike another shipping would be because of writing errors, and that’s exactly the problem with this episode. I also disliked this episode the first time I saw it, before I really cared about Ten/Rose for the same reasons as talked about below. 

Now that that is cleared up, let’s move on.

The episode takes place right after School Reunion, an episode focused on Rose and The Doctor meeting old companion Sarah Jane Smith. Throughout this episode, Rose openly expresses jealousy towards Sarah Jane, and comes to realize that The Doctor has had other people he was close to in the same way he is close to her. She confronts him on this, and upon doing so, The Doctor tells her that he will never leave her, not like he had to leave Sarah Jane. Yes, he will have to move on someday because Rose will die at some point, but until then, they will stick together. That’s where we come to the first error in this episode: continuity.

The Girl in the Fireplace focuses on The Doctor and a woman he meets, Madame de Pompadour. Throughout Madame de Pompadour’s life, The Doctor meets with her at several different points. This is, apparently, enough for her to fall in love with him. The Doctor, being the heroic man he is, ends up having to save her from some robots that want her head to power the ship. Okay. Saving people… that’s very “The Doctor.” However, the real problem comes at the end of the episode. The Robots transport themselves to the time where Madame de Pompadour’s head would be “complete” so they could power their ship. The only way that The Doctor could save her is to crash through the time window and stop the robots. However, when he does so, there is no way for him to get back.

So he rides on a horse, jumps through the window to save her, and then gets stuck with no way out that he knows of. It’s only good luck that Madame de Pompadour happens to have a way back, but there was no way The Doctor would know that. In other words, The Doctor risks never being able to come back to the TARDIS for one woman he’s just met. Again, the Doctor would do that. However, by doing so, he also leaves Rose and Mickey trapped in some spaceship centuries away from their own time with no way of getting back.

Sound like The Doctor now?

He just abandons Rose there, after explaining an episode ago that he would never leave her until she died and how much she meant to him. It’s as if that conversation never happened, because guess what, he just leaves her there. Not to mention Rose can’t fly the TARDIS, so she couldn’t get back. There’s nothing on the ship for her, either. She and Mickey would eventually die of starvation if something else hadn’t already gotten to them.

This fits nowhere into continuity. One episode, he’s explaining that he would never leave her, the next, he runs off and risks killing her and his whole life as a Time Traveler just for the sake of one woman. The next episode, The Rise of the Cybermen, he is one again by Rose’s side, running after her in the parallel world. Like this episode never happened. Everything in this episode ignores the previous ones and seemingly all the episodes before. For example, in The Parting of Ways from season one, The Doctor kills himself to save Rose from the Time Vortex, causing him to regenerate. Does that seem like the sort of man that would just go off and abandon her on some ship with no way of getting out?

Not to mention that there were other ways The Doctor could have gone and saved her without losing Rose or her. He states that he cannot use the TARDIS to go back in time because of some random reason Steven Moffat came up with on the spot, but what about getting INTO the TARDIS and physically flying it through the window? That way, the window breaks, Rose and Mickey are in the TARDIS, and The Doctor has a way out. They never explained that. Simple, really. This could have saved a load of trouble, and yet, it was never even thought of.

Of course, the head was needed to power the ship so that the robots could go and attack or some other unspecified reason. However, this brings us to our second error in the episode. Nothing is ever explained. Why do they need the head of Madame de Pompadour? Why her specifically? Why can’t they use anything else to power the ship? As far as we know, it’s possible to power the ship with fuel. You know, like every other spaceship in the series. Okay, a bit off topic there. Back to the head. If The Doctor had left Madame de Pompadour to die, then they would have gotten her head to power the ship and go to their bloody schemes that may kill hundreds of people. However, we don’t even know if this would even help them in the first place. Even The Doctor says it at the end of the episode.

ROSE: Why her? Why did they think they could repair the ship with the head of Madame de Pompadour? 

DOCTOR: We’ll probably never know. There was massive damage in the computer memory banks. It probably got confused. 

That’s the only explanation we’re given for the whole body part-run ship. We don’t know why. The head may have not even helped in the first place, causing no one to die aside from Madame de Pompadour. The Doctor knew this. So, that leaves us with one more question, the one that Roes asked. Again, the only answer we get is “we don’t know.” Ever other episode of Doctor Who is well explained, giving us why, how… but this episode doesn’t. Why did they needed the body parts to power the ship? We don’t know. Why Madame de Pompadour? We don’t know.

Not to mention that earlier in the episode, the idea of using Rose’s head came up as well. The Robots said that she was compatible. Right. So why didn’t they use Rose? This means that it isn’t just Madame de Pompadour. So why didn’t they just take Rose’s head then? again, we don’t know. Another confusion that popped up was that the robots could only use her head when she was thirty-seven. Why? Apparently, she was “incomplete.” We’re never told what this means. What changes when she’s thirty-seven? They could use Rose’s head when she was twenty. So why can’t they use Madame de Pompadour’s?

When people talk about this episode, they say it’s heartbreaking and that’s why they like it.  However, I find it hard to see it as heartbreaking when it doesn’t make sense and The Doctor acts completely out of character. In the end, this episode fits nowhere into continuity and is just Steven Moffat doing as he likes with the characters, not even bothering to fit it into the series.

I honestly adore some things that Moffat has does, just as I love and dislike things that other writers have done. This is one of the episodes I just cannot stand. It's absolutely gorgeous (the set and costumes, as well as the 'monsters?' So amazing.) and has wonderful quotes in it, but it just does not do it for me.

Elementary

i. air

you touch me. 
we dance above them all
moving without abandon to our music
and not hearing their stares.

ii. fire

your lips send sparks up
and I travel down until
I have found my place
and you are finally smiling.

iii. water

two weeks after, 
your eyes don’t catch mine
so you never see
how broken I am.

iv. earth

I watch the darkness fall over you
and remember how you had me
sleep with a light on.
don’t be scared. 

v. spirit

skin withers and brains fail
but your touch haunts me 
until the time pain stops and
you are with me with a light 

He

I want to kiss his cliche
and make him mine,
while sucking his
fear away.
I look at the words I write
and cross them out,
and begin again.
and again
ending with a blank page
much like I do
when I am with him
and want to say
all the clever things
to make him stay.

He is complicated
as a spiderweb,
as distant as the moon,
and I would follow him
to the stars
and wait for his return.
He is hope
and innocence,love and time.
I would go to him
with open hands
and beg him to be mine.

But I have no spark
to ignite his flame for me

So days move on,
and he sees me
with my happy facade,
and does not ask to hear
what I have to say.

Whenever I pick up a new book, I automatically think, "Who is going to die so I won't grow attached to them?" It's horrible, but completely true. Someone almost always has to die, or else the book won't connect with people. Think about it: we are all so incredibly different, with different talents and interests and relationship. The one thing that binds us all together is death.

But, seriously! Death is the one constant we all know. We all know someone who has died, if not personally, then through the news. We are constantly surrounded by horrifying experiences through the media--happy stories only last for a short while and bring in little to no profit. When someone famous passes away, hundreds of stories are covered on their life and death. But when it comes to someone we are especially close with, such as a family member or good friend, we shy away from the attention that death brings. We refuse to discuss it, shifting onto a new topic and averting the attention for as long as possible.

The brave people are the ones who can talk about without fear.

Many great people have died--Mother Teresa, Morrie Schwartz, Albus Dumbledore, Ghandi. What do they all have in common? They all refused to let death stand in their way.

Each one of these people, whether fictional or not, approached their death with an ease. Death was not an end, but a gateway to the next great adventure. Their whole lives they worked for peace, striving to make the world a better place, even if it was just in their backyard. They effected countless people through their words and actions. They talked about their death like it was just a normal part of life (which it is) and were unfazed by its coming. That amazes me, how they can just speak of something so taboo nowadays like they're taking out the trash. But people know them for that.

Isn't that what we all want? To be remembered after we are gone?

Shakespeare speaks English?

Pellucid (adj): clear in meaning, expression, or style; clear or limpid.

I always get angry when I hear people insult Shakespeare--his is one of my greatest idols because of the things he was able to accomplish during and after his lifetime. During the drama part of an English course, it is inevitable for me to hear these insults: "Why does he have to use such hard words?" "These characters are so freaking stupid!" "Reading this is pointless. I'm just going to use Sparknotes."

I understand that people don't understand him, but why wouldn't you want to learn how to? His writing is no harder to comprehend than Chaucer or Donne if you just practice. The more you read of Shakespeare, the more you'll understand without having to look at the footnotes. Okay, I've been reading Shakespeare since fifth grade, so I'm used to him by now--but do you really think that I understood him back then? No way. Heck, I still don't understand him all the way, and I've been reading his plays for seven years.

Take the simple phrase from Romeo and Juliet (my feelings about R&J are not being revealed because I'll probably be murdered.) that may be one of the most famous lines from the tragedy: "Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father, and refuse thy name..." (If you watch John Green's videos, then you've heard this recently). Close reading of Juliet's line will reveal what it actually means. 

Many people believe that this line means "Where are you, Romeo?" when it fact it means "What is the purpose of being Romeo?" Why are you a Montague, my father's enemy? If you interpret the line correctly, the rest of the speech falls into place: Why are you Romeo? Refuse the name of Montague. If you do not, I shall deny my own family for your sake.

See what happens you actually analyze and take Shakespeare apart? It's so much easier to understand! Let's try this sentence from Hamlet and see if you can pick it into pieces.

Who would fardels bear,

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death,

The undiscovered country from whose bourn

No traveler returns, puzzles the will

And makes us rather bear those ills we have

Than fly to others that we know not of?

The first step is to go line by line and look up any words you do not know. There is absolutely no embarrassment in using a dictionary! Go through and make sure you know the meaning of every unknown word. Without the correct definition, it will be difficult to understand the meaning of the piece as a whole. 

Which words did you have to look up? I know that I had to look up fardels; it's definitely not a word you hear colloquially (in modern language)! (Hey, look! Another vocab word of the day for you. You're welcome.)

The next thing to do is "translate" one line at a time. It certainly seems like you have to translate Shakespeare into modern English to even begin to understand it, doesn't it? Here's my version of the speech:

Who would bear the burden

Of grunting and sweating in an exhausting life

unless they feared something after death,

the unknown country from whose borders

No one returns, which confuses the mind

And makes us deal with the evils we know

Rather than seek the ones we do not?

Look, modern English! That wasn't too bad, was it? Dissecting Shakespeare is the second step to knowing what the heck is going on.

The next step is to look at the situation as a whole. This question came from Hamlet's most famous soliloquy from Act 3, Scene 1 of the play ("To be or not to be; that is the question:..). Look at the speech. What is happening? What is the character talking about when he or she is speaking?

Once you've established the soliloquy's meaning, look at the scene next. What has happened that prompted this revelation? Who was involved? What is their relationship to the character?

The last way to understand the meaning of the speech is to examine the relationship between the soliloquy and the work as a whole. What was Shakespeare's overall purpose of writing this soliloquy? How did it impact the decisions the character made, and how did those decisions change the outcome of the play? Did the style of the speech change the meaning?

Think over these questions whenever you are confronted with something as daunting as one of the best writers to ever live. You'll eventually find that, as hard as it may have been in the beginning, the writing is actually quite pellucid after practice.

My Anchor

This is a fanfiction that I wrote based on the Hunger Games. I wanted to experiment with writing from the perspective of someone who went mad (Annie Cresta), so I decided that borrowing Suzanne Collins' characters would be slightly easier for this short experiment. That's why the sentences are constructed as they are. It's also published on fanfiction.net and wordpress (I can't find the link for the wp one though--weird!). Enjoy!!

One moment I was with him. I was happy. We were happy. And that cake—the cake that blond boy made, the one with fingers like an angel—so shiny, pretty, tall. My head hurt. Everything was bright and children were screaming for mercy, begging to keep their head, crying out my name as their lives were taken again and again…but then it stopped.

He looked at me, whispered my name, told me he loved me and would never leave me again, that he wanted to be with me forever. Then he took my hand and the loudness went away. It was finally quiet and peaceful. I danced, twirled, laughed. Happy.

Back in the place that smelled of salt and fish, I used to dance. Before ithappened. He and I used to dance and twirl and laugh together, even after he was hurt. He left me back then, too, after that dance. I was too young for him to love me as I loved him. He was gone for so long. I saw him every day on the screen, but he never saw me. I always wondered if he thought of me when he was there, but never asked him. It was too painful.

He came back different, hard. He never laughed with me anymore. When he went to a party, he wouldn't dance. He loved to dance. He danced with me every day before he left. After it, he could barely smile.

Sometimes I would see him go to the harbor at night and steal onto his father's boat. I followed him there once to see what was hidden, and he cried and yelled at me to stop tormenting him. It took him so long to even look at me.

After the Tour, there was a party all the townspeople had to go to. He was the guest of honor there, so he had to smile. People would think he was wrong if he didn't smile. I watched him from the crowd, hoping he wouldn't see me wanting him. He smiled at a pretty girl, a smile that wasn't him, that was just a fake to make the people happy.

I stopped looking for a second, and he was gone. I thought he was with one of the pretty girls when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was him. He smiled at me, held out his hand, and offered me a cube of sugar. Sweet. Like the old him.

We danced that night and didn't stop until the darkness came. The black that changed everything.

Jack and Jill went up the hill—Jack and Jill—Jack and Jill went up the hill but Jack didn't come back.

Jack fell down and lost his head. Piercing screams filling the air. No struggle, just darkness.

Blurring forest. Screaming. Echoes of lives that could have been. Jack was gone and Jill was lost. Jill needed help.

Shaking earth. Jill needed—water. Not a pail but an ocean. Swarms of drops hitting Jill on the head like the red from Jack. Blue sky disappears under haze of water. Disappear.

Voices yelling in Jill's mind, hurting her. So cold. Want to go home. Want—want—clunk. Hard silver hit Jill's head. Jill won't lose her head like Jack, no. Open container. Paper?—fabric. Drawing of cube. Jill remembers happy things. Screams still there but quiet. Must swim to go home. Jill must go home and find a cube.

Must find—must get—cannon. Shakes everything. Huge shadow in sky. Ladder comes down. Man with bronze hair covering Jill with a blanket. Jill is at the bottom of the hill. Didn't lose her Cube. Found her Finn.

He stayed with me after the darkness, even when he didn't want to. My Finn. He told me he loved me, he told me he'd stay. Unkept promises. He always left on the train when the fish started to bite again. He promised he wouldn't leave, but he did, for such a long time. He would come back every time and tell me he loved me, he would stay, and then he would just leave again. He promised. Promises can't be broken. Not by him.

The evil man took him away from me, broke the promises. The one who smelled like Jack did when he tumbled down the hill. The white one, white like the crest of a wave. He doesn't remind me of home. He reminds me of the darkness, the cold. The place where my Cube wasn't. Where everything went wrong.

That man took me, too. He locked me in a musty place where it was so quiet and so loud. The screaming; it wouldn't stop. The poking hurts, but nothing like the ache of being away from him. Jill is floating away from shore on her boat but where is the anchor? It went away. A big, big day was coming for me. Large crafts came and took me away from the pain.

Bright white lights. I love you. Happy smiles. I love you. Running and twirling. I love you. My Finn. My sweet sugar cube. Here with me, forever.

The white dress made it real. White. Not as pure as it seems. Like the monster. How can white be so clear? Doesn't it hurt? Hurt like Jack got hurt? Like Jill hurt after her Finn truly left her? He disappeared and Jill was left alone with her own little pail of water to take care of. Not little for long.

Jill stayed at the Fire Girl's home as the pail grew and grew. Soon the water spilled out everywhere. There was pain, so much pain. It was happy pain. And then crying—so many happy tears. Small, strong squirming body with a lion's mane, like his father. Finn. My Little Finn. My precious boy with eyes like the ocean and a spirit like the sea. How often I weave him tales of when Jill found a hero. How often he asks where that hero is. How often I tell him that man sailed out to sea and won't come back.

How often I cry.

Time ceases to exist when I think of him. He is in everything I do. Every memory. Every touch. Every word. All engrained in my mind. Little Finn looks at me, and I see him. He is there every moment, my sweet sugar cube, the one who dreamt of a world where the darkness did not exist and children could laugh freely. How happy he would be if he saw this place now. Black bled into white and made bright, bright colors. Happy. Like the dream world.

Jill goes into a place where things are often quiet. Jill doesn't fall down the hill. Jill flies. Jill laughs, twirls, dances. She is happy there. She forgets she is lonely when she is in that world. Happy.

She dreams he is there a lot. Jill looks up in the blue sky and wishes her Cube could be there. 

Bright flashes across grey clouds and loud cracks. Help! Splashes of water hitting Jill's head again. Help Jill! Need—need—Finnick? Must be dream. Finn can't be here, he'll disappear.

Run, Jill, run! Mother said don't talk to strangers. Big bad wolf will gobble Jill up. Tasty little girl.

Bronze haired man touching Jill's cheek. Telling Jill he loves her. Silly bronze man! Jill is broken, not mad. She hit her head when she fell down the hill and can't work. Her pail spilled and Mother is angry. Mother is so angry. Run, Jill! No, he says, stay. Annie, he says, I love you. Annie? Who is Annie? Annie should run so the Wolf doesn't catch her. Run, Annie! Evil man.

He tells me, Annie is Jill? Jill is Annie? Stupid man. Annie leaves when things are crazy. Crazy. Daisy! Pretty. Bring home a bundle for Mother so she isn't angry, Jill.

No, not Jill. Annie. Finnick's Annie. She is gone? No, he says, she's still here. Finnick loves Annie and won't leave her. Annie has to stay strong for Little Finn so he can be happy. Annie? Little Finn? Me!

I have to be strong for Little Finn. My baby boy with the golden skin and shining eyes. I tell Finnick how beautiful he is, and the image agrees. Little Finn looks like Big Finn. He says Little Finn has my spirit. I love Finnick. Finnick makes me happy. His lips find mine, whispers he loves me, and then poof! gone.

Waking up is harder than falling asleep. Closing your eyes and drifting away to your sea is easy. Letting the adventures dissipate hurts. Hurts like when Jill's boat lost her anchor. Leaving the happiness aches until beauty is shown to you. Beauty like my son. He is big now. He loves to dance and laugh. We used to do that, Finn and I. We used to dance before everything went wrong. Now we won't dance again.

Little Finn isn't so little anymore. He leaves, promises to come back. Finds his own Cube who makes him happy. White dress! Happy songs and dances. The wave cake reminds me of my happy dancing with my Finn. My sweet sugar cube. The man with eyes like the sea and a spirit to match, just like our baby boy.

New baby boy from my baby boy. Everyone is happy now. Smiles everywhere. The screaming gets quiet when my eyes shut. Peace. No noise, just calm like lapping waves on the shore.

A sudden jolt raises me. My eyes slide open to see white. White. Calmer than the monster's white. The white is everywhere! There is no place without white except the bronze part. Bronze? Finnick? My Finnick?

I haven't run like this since the darkness. Running for my life. This time the running is to get my life back. My Finnick. My sweet sugar cube. Here with me. Together. He won't leave again.

Promises.

He catches me when I jump. I know it's really him this time, not like in the nightmares. He's here with me, and everything's okay. He twirls me as our laughs entwine in the air. Static cracks between our lips as they collide again and again. Happy.

We dance.

Trespassing by Marissa Perry

A/N: I searched everywhere on the internet to find a copy of this short story, but I couldn't find it at all. Sigh. It was found in a summer edition of Tin House, a literary journal. Mr. Frankum has the copy in his room! I also have a copy of the short story if you would like to borrow it. You can just ask me :')
Also, this story deals with extreme sexual content, which is what I'm writing about in this post. If you cannot be mature while reading it, I wouldn't suggest it. Otherwise, happy reading!

While this story alludes to sex on almost every page, it is easy to see why. It follows the life of four girls as they grow an discover who they are. Their journey starts with kissing practice, then the discovery of porn and, through that, masturbation. Their lives and personalities are shaped by the idea of sex, being so intimately close to another person so they can feel the other person's heartbeat, hear their ragged breath, touch their slick skin. They act as other teenagers do--they examine the girls and boys around them, wondering of their sexuality and sexual life. Were the others thinking of them when they reached their climax? Did the others even touch themselves, or were the four girls the only kids masturbating? Would that be considered wrong?

The innocence of the prudent and the intensity of the intimate meet in Dora Browning's home. Dora Browning. Such a boring name for such a boring, innocent person. There was nothing extraordinary about her when she was alive. The girls sneak into her abandoned home, trespassing and intruding on what was once her most personal space. They are close to leaving when the epitome (to them) of women comes into the house with her latest sexual conquest. The girls hide in Dora's room while Meryl and her boy-toy join together in the opposite bedroom.

While the girls want to leave, they also want to stay. Meryl is not the picture of innocence as Dora was; she is the girl unashamed of her body, unaffected by the glares of the judging, who is constantly attracting the sexual attention of men. She is the girl who has sex, who masturbates, who watches porn--the person that shows the four girls that it's not wrong to do that. When the girls sneak out, the temptation to view Meryl's naked body is overwhelming. Just what is it about her that attracts men? Are they alike, or are the other girls repulsive in comparison?

Judgment is a archetype across all cultures. All men and women question who they are in comparison to others. Marissa Perry's sex obviously had a key role in the development of her story. She probably went through some of those experiences as a kid. She knew how it felt to be lost among others, hidden by their glares and false whispers. Her unique perspective as a young girl discovering herself opened a spot in my heart as a reader.

I'll admit, when I opened up to this story in the edition of Tin House I read, I didn't expect it to be this easily relatable. Some of the short stories I've read haven't always spoken to me as this one did. I related to this on two different levels--that as a critical reader/writer, and that as a teenager going through these same experiences.

I'll start with the stuff you'll most likely think is boring--the technical stuff. The one thing that really impacted me about this story is the point of view. I've been completely addicted to writing in second person lately because it's such a challenge as a writer, and then I read this and almost squealed. (Okay, I probably did squeal. A lot.) It's written in first person plural--how hard would that be? Knowing the perspective of four girls, and writing them all at once? It's (pardon my English) bloody amazing, that's what it is. I also liked how she jumped ahead in time. Division markers are extremely important in a short story that covers an large amount of time. Knowing where and when in the timeline to insert them is critical to the story and its development. Marissa planned them perfectly, which made the story so much more fun to read.

Now to the personal part of why I loved this story. I know what it's like to be these girls. Am I actually a "crazed, abnormal masturbator"? (Don't worry--I'm not. Haha.) Will I honestly fit in if I am NOT the girl represented in Meryl? I don't want to be a slag in order to fit in. That is just wrong. Like Jason said in our abstinence talk, my body is sacred, and having sex should not be the only way to make me accept myself as a person. The struggles that these girls go through on their journey is so similar to what I have felt in my life.

I also just really liked the line about being a crazed, abnormal masturbator.