phoenyxrisenfromashes

[phoenyxrisenfromashes]

I smell a writing prompt... can someone do this or can I?

Wait a minute if elves take a hundred years to grow up that has some weird implications.

So… if we say a human comes of age in fantasy worlds at 16, that means it takes an elf 6.25 years to age one human year. If we say the age of maturity is 18 that’s 5.55 years.

So then… okay with people that live a long time have to see their human friends die and probably see them like pets yeah that’s been explored to death. But what about a human just seeing their friend not grow up?

An elf toddler and a human toddler become friends at a playdate. At the time the human is two and the elf is 13. Emotionally the elf is just a little older than the human. But then the human grows up. He grows up and as he grows up his friend doesn’t. Not much, anyways.

She’s still sucking her thumb and throwing tantrums the entire time that he grows up. When he reaches the age where he’d choose a trade or go to an academy he’s earning extra money by babysitting her. During his initiation into adulthood on his 18th birthday she’s there with her parents holding a stuffed animal. Later that afternoon he sees her being shown some colorful flashcards with letters of the elvish alphabet on it by her father.

The human gets older. He learns how to fight, he goes from town to town getting work. At some point he joins the army. Every time he visits his hometown he has at least one more scar and by the time he’s 30 and the elf girl is mentally seven by human standards she starts to understand that something is wrong. Even after he settles down to be a home maker for the local blacksmith something feels wrong.

And she watches him grow old. When she’s in her 80s she babysits his grandchildren for extra cash after school, coming over in her school robes and ruffling his hair. She doesn’t remember why she became friends with this human or when but a strange sense of jealousy fills her heart.

Now she realizes it. She realizes it too late, on the day her friend learns that he is dying. The first day of her 100th year and the start of his last. Humans’ lifetimes may only last for the childhood of an elf if they’re lucky, but they learn so fast. They do so much. They cram their days full of love and hate and learning and wonder.

He knew this was coming. He knew all of this decades before she did, because elves are slow. Not stupid, certainly not stupid, but very very slow. She holds her old friend’s hand as he lays down on his bed. A man that has led such an ordinary life but feels so extraordinary to her. Because he has always, always been there and now he just won’t. Because in her eyes he became so wise so fast and now he’s just gonna be gone.

On an elf’s 100th birthday they are allowed to choose a new name for themselves. It can be important, or not. Usually it will follow them until the end of time. She stands in front of her family’s elders and is asked what name she will be called from now on.

She names herself after him.

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Sorry to the FBI agent in my camera...

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Just in case you didnt already know...

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them: you don’t watch game of thrones?? really? how come?

me: 

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Eden Fells, Addison Bray

hey, guys! do me a favor! reblog this post and tell me the name of the main character for the wip you’re currently working on!

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because apparently this needs to be said AGAIN

in the most general aesthetic terms possible

1600s: most witch-hunts ended in this century. no witches were burned in North America; they were hanged or in one case pressed to death

1700s: the American Revolution. Marie Antoinette. the French Revolution. the crazy King George. most pirate movies

1800-1830: Jane Austen! Pride and Prejudice! those dresses where the waist is right under one’s boobs and men have a crapton of facial hair inside high collars

1830-1900: Victorian. Les Miserables is at the beginning, the Civil War is in the middle, and Dracula is at the end

1900-1920: Edwardian. Titanic, World War I, the Samantha books from American Girl, Art Nouveau

1920s: Great Gatsby. Jazz Age. Flappers and all that. most people get this right but IT IS NOT VICTORIAN. STUFF FROM THIS ERA IS NOT VICTORIAN. DO NOT CALL IT VICTORIAN OR LIST IT ON EBAY AS VICTORIAN. THAT HAPPENS SURPRISINGLY OFTEN GIVEN HOW STAGGERING THE VISUAL DIFFERENCE BETWEEN ERAS IS. also not 100 years ago yet, glamour.com “100 years of X” videos. you’re lazy, glamour.com. you’re lazy and I demand my late Edwardian styles

I just saw people referencing witch burning and Marie Antoinette on a post about something happening in 1878. 1878. when there were like trains and flush toilets and early plastic and stuff. if you guys learn nothing else about history, you should at least have vague mental images for each era

[phoenyxrisenfromashes]

These are some really good tips that will be helpful and thoughtful in future writing!

I wont say the name of my wip just in case I decide to ever post it, but I did kill off one my minor characters. Though he/she did not have an emotional connection with the MC, they did with the MCs best friend, which impacts the MC alot through best friends grief and struggle. It really ends up showing how much MC cares for the best friend and how MC struggles to help them cope and remain sane.

Killing off characters: the shoulds and shouldn’ts

1. Why you should

The death is a major plot point

It reveals some shocking plot twist

It supports your themes/what you’re trying to say with your book

Your novel explores the afterlife

You are George R.R Martin and the selling point of your work is that everybody dies

It suits the genre/mood of your novel

2. Why you shouldn’t

The character isn’t serving any purpose (this isn’t the Sims)

You want your readers to be shocked for the sake of being shocked

You want to be edgy

You think your MG story needs more gore

You want to romanticise grieving/loss

3. How you should

This really depends on your genre and target audience

If you’re writing something that isn’t intended to be graphic/traumatic, you can stick to the impact the death has on the other characters. If your novel explores illness, focus on that rather than on the disturbing death scene itself. Perhaps you’re writing a drama/tragic romance - you might want to ease up on the gore here. For these genres, I would suggest focusing on the emotional aspect of the death - the sobbing, the last words, the bright white lights (whatever floats your boat). Think of Mufasa in The Lion King - the actions are suspenseful, but we don’t see him being trampled with his guts spilling everywhere. But it’s still one of the most impactful deaths in fictional history.

If you’re writing in a more mature and gritty genre (like thriller, dark fantasy or crime), you can go all out. If there’s blood and guts, you readers probably want to see it in vivid detail to get their violence fix for the day.

Whichever genre your novel falls into, you should also go with what feels comfortable to you. Even if you’re writing adult dark fantasy, you don’t have to write graphic violence to make a character death impactful.

4. How you shouldn’t

Please don’t let your character have a three-pages-long monologue after they’ve been stabbed in the throat. It’s not realistic and it’s often very boring. Yes, a few well-written last words can have a great impact. Just make sure that your character would realistically be able to speak at that point and that it doesn’t become a cheese fest.

Unless you’re aiming for very dark/nihilistic humour, afford your characters some dignity in the way they kick the bucket. (e.g. don’t use the phrase “kick the bucket”). Having someone slip on a banana peel and then choke on a pretzel is a little ridiculous and will make the entire story seem silly. Once again, this really depends on what you’re going for. If your genre is serious and your character is important and beloved, try for emotion rather than whimsy.

Don’t let your characters die only to be resurrected again and again and again. Look, I love Supernatural (long may they reign), but even I have to admit that the Winchester brothers’ luck with death has become a bit ridiculous. Doing this takes away from the impact of the death - it removes the fear and suspense, and will leave your readers emotionally stunted.

5. Who you shouldn’t

Your only female character in a bid to make the male hero feel something and become a better person

Your only LGBTQIA+ character, who is just too pure to live in this terrible world

Your only character of colour, who dies to save the white hero

Your only disabled character, who can now finally find release from life with disability

The one character who has never experienced a sliver of joy and bears the brunt of the tragedy, right when happiness is finally within their reach

The main character in the middle of the story - unless you have a REALLY good plan for what happens next

Reblog if you found these tips useful. Comment with your own thoughts on killing off characters. Follow me for similar content.

[phoenyxrisenfromashes]

I love everything about this

Humans are unstoppable...Until they aren’t.

I’m not the most eloquent writer, but I’ve had this idea kicking around for a while and figured I’d put it out into the universe.

A lot of the basis for the “humans are space orcs” stuff is the idea that we’re pretty durable compared to many species, yeah? When it comes to physical trauma, we can bounce back from most things that don’t kill us outright, especially given the benefit of hypothetical space-age technology, and adrenaline is one heck of a drug when it comes to functioning under stress. 

But that doesn’t make us unkillable, and even though we can survive debilitating injuries and not die from shock, it doesn’t mean it’s fun. Dying of shock sucks, but at least it’s probably quick.

So - Imagine a ship, adrift in space, slowly being drawn into a star or something. In order to save the ship, someone has to repair the hyper-quantum-relay-majig on the hull or in the engine or whatever. Bit of a problem though- there’s a ton of deadly, deadly radiation (Wrath of Khan style) or poisonous fumes or, I dunno, electrical current, between the crew and the repair. Like, enough to kill most species instantly, so the crew is just like, ‘welp, guess we’ll die then’. But then.

BUT THEN

They ask the human. Because everyone’s heard the stories - you’re basically unkillable, right? Could you survive long enough in there to fix it? And their human goes real quiet for a second, but still says ‘Yeah, I could fix it’. And the rest of the crew is like, ‘Whaaaaaa, it won’t kill you?’ and the human repeats “I can fix it” (which isn’t an answer, but no one catches that, not yet at least), so they send ‘em in. And the human fixes it, they come back, the ship flies to safety, and the crew is thrilled to survive. If the human is a little quiet, well, they’re entitled after pulling off a miracle. Everyone else is just excited to get to the nearest station’s bar to tell their very own human story, cuz, ‘those crazy humans, amiright?’.

The good mood keeps up until the human is late for their next shift. At first it’s just faint unease, but- but they earned a bit of a lie-in, right? No reason to begrudge them some extra rest, even if it is a little weird for them to oversleep. They’ll be fine. Humans are always fine. 

(Right?)

(…Wrong.)

- What is… help. Help!-

- ake up! You have t-

- been days. You need sleep, you-

- nother transfusion. We could-

- out of sedatives!-

A week later, the crew finally reaches the station. They stumble into the bar, haggard and haunted. And over the next months and years a new rumor about humans starts to make its way through space. A rumor unlike any before.

‘Be careful with your humans’ it whispers. ‘Their strength is not always a blessing. Be sure they don’t do something they can’t come back from, because when a human dies… they die slowly.’

[phoenyxrisenfromashes]

hello lovelies! i’m looking for more writeblrs to follow! please like or reblog if you

⇒ are active (excluding a semi-hiatus).

⇒ have an organized tagging system.

⇒ write…

fantasy.

mythological/folklore/fairytale retellings.

science fiction.

dystopian.

apocalyptic.

historical fiction.

⇒ and/or write/post about…

diverse characters (representation).

worldbuilding.

romance.

badass ladies.

war.

tasteful redemption arcs.

any fantasy trope, tbh.

feel free to add a summary of your wips (though that is completely optional). if you’d like to learn more about me, click here. thank you all so much!

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Dont get salmonella guys, finish your writing before you judge it

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Science museum 🥽🛸🛰

reblog this with ur sign nd whether u prefer art museums, science museums, or history museums!

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It's also the feeling of not being whole/complete when the other is gone or finding yourself thinking about them even if something doesnt remind you of them.

And it's not always about being in love with another person but also for friendships, a bond that can never be severed even if it should be.

When writing couples, I like to use the Kiss Rule:

If they have to kiss for you to know they’re in love, you’re not writing a romance right.

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I am a(n):

⚪ Male

⚪ Female

🔘 Writer

Looking for

⚪ Boyfriend

⚪ Girlfriend

🔘 An incredibly specific word that I can't remember

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No need to call us all out... 🙄

Do other writers ever get this like, hyper-specific dialogue exchange drop into their brains and you know exactly where these character are standing and what they’re doing and how they’re saying these words but that’s all you get. You don’t have much other context and this specific moment that exists only at this time in your headspace??

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I remember writing my opening scenes were the hardest parts I thought I'd ever face (LOL). However two of my opening scenes do have my characters waking up from a goodnights rest, though I don't write about their daily routines afterwards, I kind of fast forward through the day.

Some very great advice though if you are having troubles.

Yes, I do teach creative writing: your opening scene

The opening scene is the most important piece of your novel. This scene determines whether your reader is pulled in or puts the book down. Here are some important do’s and don’ts.

DO write it as a scene, not a data dump. You may have a fantastic premise, a marvelous alternate history or post-apocalyptic world or magical realism to die for, but if you don’t engage your reader in an actual scene, you will bore them.

DO write a scene that immediately introduces a character that the reader can root for. Yes, I know Stephen King has had great success introducing victims that are then shortly afterward killed off. That’s a horror trope and we expect it. But if you are caught up in world-building and haven’t dreamed your way into a character who is worth following through 100,000 words of writing, your story is pointless. I have read many pieces of fiction by would-be writers who can’t grasp this essential concept, and without exception, they fail to engage the reader.

DO introduce the stakes right away. In case that’s a challenge that needs some exposition to develop, create some immediate stakes (a life threat works) that keep the tension high and the reader engaged until you can lay out the larger stakes.

DO begin in medias res, which means “in the middle of things.” Most beginning fiction writers make the mistake of starting too early in the plot. Meet the monster on page 1. 

DON’T include a flashback in the first chapter. Work on a scene, which means time is NOT compressed. It should include dialog, action, description, setting, and interior monolog. Keep everything happening within that scene for at least the first chapter. You can bring in a flashback in Chapter Three.

DON’T shift points of view within a single chapter. Let the reader establish a strong bond of interest (even if it’s with a POV villain) over the course of a whole chapter.

DON’T open the story with your character waking up unless it’s because she’s got a gun in her face (or a knife to her throat – you get what I mean). We don’t need to follow a character through their mundane daily routine. 

DON’T be coy. Beginning writers often have this idea that they need to hold back on revealing all their secrets – what’s in the box, who’s behind the curtain, where they’re going next, etc. Their well-meant plan is to slowly reveal all this over several chapters. Trust me on this one: tell your readers instead of keeping it a mystery. You WILL come up with more secrets to reveal. Your imagination is that good. Spill it now, and allow that revelation to add to the excitement.

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Hey guys! As a writer myself, it’s hard to have a lot of resources for writing in one place. That’s why I decided to create this masterpost, and maybe make more if I find future resources. I hope you like it, and expect to see more masterposts like this in the future!

Generators

Character

Appearance Generator

Archetypes Generator

Character Generator

Character Traits Generator

Family Generator

Job/Occupation Generator, (II)

Love Interest Generator

Motive Generator

Name Generator

Personality Generator, (II)

Quick Character Generator

Super Powers Generator

Names

Brand Name Generator

Medicine Title Generator

Name Generator

Quick Name Generator

Vehicle Generator

Town Name Generator

Plot

First Encounter Generator

First Line Generator, (II)

Plot Generator, (II), (III)

Plot Device Generator

Plot Twist Generator

Quick Plot Generator

Setting/World-Building

City Generator

Fantasy Race Generator

Laws Generator

Pet Generator

Setting Generator

Species Generator

Terrain Generator

Prompts

Subject Generator

”Take Three Nouns” Generator

Word Prompt Generator

Misc

Color Generator

Decision Generator

Dialogue Generator

Journey Generator

Title Generator, (II), (III)

Some Tips

Just a few I found from the writing tips tag!

Writing action / @berrybird

How to create a strong voice in your writing / @collegerefs

How to plot a complex novel in one day! / @lizard-is-writing

8 ways to get past writer’s block / @kiramartinauthor

psa for writers / @dasakuryo

”Write Using Your 5 Senses” / @ambientwriting

How People Watching Improves Your Writing / @wherethetransthingsare

Writing Science Fiction: Tips for Beginners / @fictionwritingtips

Creating Likeable Characters / @authors-haven

Vocabulary

Descriptive words / @somekindofstudent

Words to replace “Said” / @msocasey

Obscure color words / @mintsteelpeachlilac

Words to spice up your stories / @busyibee

Words to describe someone’s voice

Words to Use Instead of Very / @gaybybirth

Touchy Feely Words / @gaybybirth

Some Advice

Stephen King’s Top 20 Rules for Writers

”But my plot isn’t UNIQUE or BIG enough!” / @youreallwrite

8 Things Every Creative Should Know / @adamjk

(How To) Get Over Comparing Yourself to Other Creatives / @adamjk

How to Get Over Common Creative Fears (Maybe) / @adamjk

14 Tips From Stephen King On Writing / @i-can-give-you-prompts

Playlists

Electronic Thoughts / @eruditekid

“Mix About Writing” An Instrumental Mix / @shadowofemirates

Shut Up, I’m Writing! / @ninadropdead

Chill / @endlessreveries

Breathtaking Film Scores / @tweedskirts

Music to Write to Vol. 1: Starlight / @crestadeen

Music for Written Words / @ghoulpatch

Dead Men Tell No Tales / @scamandersnewt

Fatale / @dolcegf

All These Things that I’ve Done / @referenceforwriters

Feeling Soaking into Your Bones / @verylondon

I Can Feel Your Pulse in the Pages / @rphelper

Morally Ambiguous / @scamandersnewt

Wonderwall / @wheelerwrites

Pythia / @mazikeene

Ballet: To Dance / @tanaquil

Websites and Apps

For Writing

ZenPen: A minimalist writing website to keep you free of distractions and in the flow.

The Most Dangerous Writing App: A website where you have to keep typing or all of your writing will be lost. It helps you keep writing…kind of. You can choose between a time or word count limit!

Evernote: An online website where you can take notes and save the product to your laptop and/or smartphone!

Writer, the Internet Typewriter: It’s just you and your writing, and you can save your product on the website if you create an account.

Wordcounter: A website to help check your word and character count, and shows words you’re using frequently.

Monospace: An Android app for writing on the go when you feel the inspiration, but you don’t have your laptop on you!

For Productivity

Tide: An app that combines a pomodoro-esque timer with nature sounds and other noises! (Google Play / Apple Store)

ClearFocus: An Android app with a pomodoro-type time counter to let you concentrate easier and stay productive.

Forest: An app with a time counter to keep you focused and off your phone, and when you complete the time limit, a tree grows in your garden! (Google Play / Apple Store)

SelfControl: A Mac downloadable app that blocks you from distracting mail servers, websites, and other things!

Prompt Blogs

@writeworld

@dialouge-prompts

@oopsprompts

@prompts-for-the-otp

@creativepromptsforwriting

@the-modern-typewriter

@theprofessionalpromptmaker

@writers-are-writers

@otp-imagines-cult

@witterprompts

@havetobememes

@auideas

@putthepromptsonpaper

@promptsonpaper

@fyotpprompts

@otpisms

@soprompt

@otpprompts

@ablockforwritersblock

@awritersnook

Writing Tips Blogs

@writeworld

@anomalously-written

@awritersnook

@clevergirlhelps

@referenceforwriters

@whataboutwriting

@thewritershelpers

@nimblesnotebook

@slitheringink

[phoenyxrisenfromashes]

1 Detention

The buzzing seeps through my dreams, producing itself from the tree I am currently swinging from. Every buzz buzz becomes more irritating as I swat at the noise, which now comes from a pesky bee flying around the tire swing ropes. The more the buzzing comes, the more bee’s that swarm. I plant my feet onto the ground, stopping my forward and backward momentum and continue the futile task of trying to ignore the noise.

The insects now come in waves, sweeping over my head like tiny bomber planes. I throw my head back in annoyance and stomp my foot like a child.

With my eye’s still closed I throw my arm in the direction of my nightstand. My fingers graze the alarm just enough to stop the repetitive annoyance. Peeking one eye open, I manage to see that it’s 8:32 in the morning, meaning school starts in less than fifteen minute and I’ll be late once again.

A year ago, that thought alone would make me jump out of bed like a jack in a box, but now? Now I can’t even find the will to drag myself off the mattress. I’ve laid in it so much this past year, there is a hole shaped me in the fetal position right in the middle.

Once I do finally manage to find the strength, I plant my feet in the plush carpet and drag myself into the bathroom across the hall. The usual sounds pulse through the air: running water, brush against teeth, no water, brush through the hair, the pop as the cap is taken of the deodorant stick. Besides, those things, the house is an eerie silent. Honestly, I’m still not used to it.

I look up and the mirror in front of me reflects a girl I do not recognize. The green eyes are not lively, the brown hair is not vibrant, skin no longer kissed by the sun. Once upon a time, I was all those things. It feels like a long time ago, though it was only a year. Flashes of the past zip through my mind, lasting only a second, but they feel like a lifetime. I force them aside, not wanting to start out my day full of heart ache.

Shuffling back into my dark room, I push up my closet door to try and find some decent clothes. I should probably get some laundry done this weekend. I throw on my favorite ripped jeans with my equally favorite tank top: it’s plain and black, like my soul. Sliding on worn out converses, snatching my messenger bag and keys, I walk downstairs. My heavy footsteps the only noise in the place.

The small town of Bradford, TN., barely over one thousand residents, is right in middle of a huge heat wave. The high for the day is 87 degrees Fahrenheit, real feel is 92 degrees. Even at nine in the morning, the sun is shining high and mighty, almost sun burning my pale skin upon first contact. The door of my black ’67 impala sear my fingertips when I open the door and shove my petite body into the stuffy heat.

Twenty minutes later, I’m playing the impossible game of trying to find a parking spot in the filled lot of Bradford High. Once I do, I slide it into park and make my way directly to the front desk, knowing what is about to go down.

“Miss Harrison, late once again I see” Mrs. Linch says, not even peeking up from her computer screen, her manicured nails clicking away on the keyboard as she searches my name.

“Yes, well you see, I need to bathe in the blood of blue-eyed virgins for two hours every morning to keep myself young and daring. You should try it sometime.” I roll my eyes as I snatch the slip from her grasp and start down the hallway to second period.

“Miss Harrison, I gave you plenty of leeway last semester, with your tragic accident and everything, but enough is enough. We are expecting the old you this time around, understood?” Ms. Lakes says as a saunter in ten minutes late, rolling my eyes as I take my seat.

“Yea, thanks for the reminder” I plop down at the lab table next to my one and only remaining friend Harper Chapman. Her dark brown hair falls into her round face as she hunches over her textbook, hazel eyes scanning the words before her.

“I heard her parents were brutally murdered when they were hiking at the beginning of the school year. Before that, she was popular, one of the top students in the whole school” I feel the gazes on me as the other teens whisper their usual gossip. By now, I’m used to most of it, but when I hear them bring up my parents, my anger boils. Nails cut into my palms as I clench my fists, tapping my foot in a rapid motion.

Instinctively, my fingers play with the locket hanging around my neck; two crescent moons come to meet at their tips, folded above the Tree of Life. The pendant rests right in the dip of my collar bone. The slight, rhythmic motion relaxes my hands and heartbeat.

“Ignore them Emery, they don’t know anything” Harper elbows my side playfully as she glances at me. I give her a slight, forced smile before we redirect our attention to the opening door. A tall and lean figure walks in, scanning the room with ice blue, piercing eyes which firmly stop on me. Jetton Malign, the new guy in school. I didn’t realize he was in this class. Black hair that he shoves back with a hand, causes his pale skin to stick out. It’s like ink against parchment paper.

My breath catches in my throat at the sight of him, all six foot two inches. He isn’t very built, he has a sly look to him, but it works. He gives me a look like it’s the first time he’s noticing me and he’s trying to figure me out but can’t. His eyes flicker down to my necklace and my fingers still tracing it. Something like understanding with a hint of anger flickers in his eyes, but it’s gone just as fast as it came.

“Please take your seat, Mr. Malign” Mrs. Lakes demands. He slightly nods his head while he saunters to the one and only empty seat behind mine. It’s like he walks in slow motion and the moment he passes by his scent fills my senses.

It’s almost heavenly, his smell; like pinewood and damp earth. My eyes flutter shut involuntarily has I inhale deeply. Once the stale smell of the classroom is all I get, I open my eyes again.

“When did he start this class?” I lean into Harpers space as I whisper to her.

“He’s been in this class since he started here like three weeks ago. Where have you been, lala land? Personally, he gives me the creeps, I’d say away from him if I were you” she whispers back before concentrating on the board. I shift awkwardly under his intense gaze, though I can’t see him, I can still feel it.

The rest of class I couldn’t concentrate to save my life. If Mr. Lakes gives us a pop quiz next class, I’ll be royally screwed. The bells rings, finally releasing us from first period. As I pack up my bag, Harper races out of the room, which isn’t like her. She always waits for me and we walk to our lockers together. She’s been acting a little weird recently, maybe it’s the time of the month for her.

I shove my way through the sea of sexually confused teenagers and raging hormones on my own, fighting my way to my locker. I hate when people stand in middle of the hallways talking to their friends, it drives me crazy.

When I finally reach it and unlock it, I throw in my bag, only taking the books I need for my next two periods. No reason to lug the thing around all day.  I huff them into my arms and slam the locker door shut. I turn around to see Jetton standing directly behind me.  

“Holy crap” I breathe out, almost dropping my books. “You can’t do that” I fix the textbooks in my arms and look up at him, literally, as he stands about four inches taller than me. He doesn’t say anything, just continues to analyze me.  

Okaaaaaaay, weird.  

I step around him and walk down the hall towards my next class, shaking off the guys strangeness. I turn around and see Jetton following me through the crowd, he’s fast. I push myself into the girl’s restroom and into a stall, locking it behind me. The insomnia I’ve developed has left me paranoid and anxious. I sit on the toilet, books in lap and try to steady my breathing. I hear the door open and knock on my stall following. 

“Occupied” I say and the footsteps retreat. I close my eyes against the growing pain behind them, which has become almost constant this past year. After doing a few of my breathing exercises and counting to ten three times, I open the stall and walk to the sink, splashing some cold water on my face. I look at myself in the mirror, my skin which use to be golden has become pale with the lack of sun, my eyes use to shine like the ocean in the sun. Now they are dull, outlined by the bags under them.  

A dark figure behind me catches my gaze in the mirror. The blurry figure comes into view to reveal the new kid Jetton. Out of surprise I go to yell, but before I get the chance, he has a hand covering my mouth. What the heck?

I bite down on his fingers, feeling the skin break and blood come out. He takes a deep inhale and pulls his hand away, looking furious. 

I try running to the door, but he gets there first, locking the handle. Oh god I’m going to die, he’s going to murder me. 

I slowly back up until the tile wall hits my back, cooling the beads of sweat that trail down my spine. I try my best to flatten myself against it while he saunters over to me, his gaze darkening. He places his left hand next to my head as he studies his right, which is dripping with his blood. His gaze returns to mine slowly as he licks it off his fingers, his gaze intensifying.

“What do you want” I manage to stutter out. He tilts his head to the side, like he doesn’t quite understand my question. 

“Your name. What’s your name?” His voice is soft but deep. 

“What’s it to you?” I say, finding a little bit of courage, I stand taller. He raises an eyebrow and backs up, holding his hand out. 

“I’m Jetton, you can call me Jett though” He gives me a wink and a smirk. I stare at him dumbfounded, is this guy serious? He drops his hand and backs up more, seeing my face turn from frightened to angry. 

“Seriously? First you scare the crap out of me at my locker, then you follow me in the bathroom, the lady’s room might I add, next you look like you’re going to kill me then act like nothing happened? What is wrong with you?” Before I can think about what I’m doing my fist is flying towards his perfect face. My knuckles never make contact though, instead he’s behind me, holding my belt loop to stop my momentum and me from face planting.  

“What the…” I swat his hand away and straighten myself.  

“How are you doing that?” I ask, arms folded.  

“Doing what?” He gives me an innocent look. 

“You’re fast, faster than normal” I realize how crazy I’m sounding but I don’t care. 

“I’m just naturally fast” He winks at me and walks out the door, but I don’t by it.

The final bell rings after 3rd period, letting everyone know its lunch time. Once I force myself in the cafeteria, I pass all the different types of cliques and make my way to my new usual spot: the very back of the cafeteria, almost hidden in shadows. Harper already waits at the tables with her bagged lunch. I plop down across from her and groan out loud, laying my throbbing head down.

“Em! Don’t do that! These tables are so gross” she forces my head up, so I resort to resting my chin in my palms. “Stop being so glum, it’s Friday, meaning party tomorrow!” her eyes gleams with excitement and delight when she bites into her first half of her sandwich.

Ah crap. I completely forgot about that stupid pre-grad party in the woods. A tradition for barely a decade that she’s forcing me to be apart of with her. “I’m not sure about that Harper, I mean I gotta study for finals and…” I start before she gives me her famous puppy eyes that she knows I can’t resist. I groan some more before I finally agree. “Fine, but I refuse to enjoy myself” I say.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” she gives me a worried look, knowing full well that I won’t. I forget to eat a lot and I never feel hungry. Whenever I do get the stomach pains reminding me to do so, I end up throwing up every single time. So, I shake my head, “I don’t have money and I don’t have anything at the house, so” I shrug. She frowns at me, shoving her other half of chicken salad sandwich towards me.

I force some bites down past the nausea before a commotion in the lunchroom distracts me. We direct our attention to the growing crowd of teenagers circling around two guys, one of them being my ex, Nick. And the other being no other than new guy Jetton. Even though Nick is the school’s jock and star quarterback, Jett still has two inches on him. His brown hair is cropped down and he flexes his biceps, trying to size up to Jett’s relaxed frame. He shoves him in the chest, forcing Jett back into the crowd and they go wild.

Before I know what I’m doing, I’m shoving through the crowd and standing between them, back towards Jetton. “what the hell are you doing Nick?” the mob silences, intrigued by the ex-popular girl confronting her ex-boyfriend. He doesn’t look me in the eyes but continues to glare at Jetton.

“Em, move out of the way” nick says firmly but in a soft voice. The guy I know, the kind and sweet man I thought would be my high school sweetheart, was not the one I see right now before me.

“Back off Nick” I say, folding my arms over my chest, signaling that I’m not moving or backing down. It’s a stance that he knows well, considering we dated for two and a half years. He looks down on me, green eyes almost engulfed by his pupils.

“He sat in my spot, I asked him to move and he ignored me” he growls. “Seriously? You’re going to fight over a stupid table? You know if you get in trouble, you’ll lose your scholarship. He’s new, how would he know you’ve marked the spot like a dog. I’ll say it one more time Nick, back off” I reply more firmly. We stare at each other for a minute, both silently demanding the other. He turns away abruptly and storms out of the building, his jock posy following, and the gathering disperses. I let out my breath and slump forward, rubbing my aching temples and turn around.

“I’m sorry about him, he’s usually not like this” I look up at him and he smiles down on me.

“No need to apologize, it’s not your fault” he answers.

“It kind of is though, he’s been like that since we broke up” I fidget with my hands, feeling a tad awkward now. He shoves his fists in the pockets of his black jeans and shifts on his feet.

“how come you guys broke up?” he looks at me curiously and I advert my gaze.

“I had my reasons that I’m not keen on sharing with someone I just met” I say softly, thinking back to that time and my chest tightens. I clear my throat to force the pain to go away. “Anyways, I should get back to my friend” I motion to Harper, who is practically standing on the table in anticipation. He doesn’t look at her, nor does he answer me. I give an awkward wave and powerwalk back to the table, hiding my face.

“Is miss Emery coming back out of her shell or misery and depression?” Harper stares at my wide eyed. I haven’t done something like that since junior year, when I was the definition of ‘Queen Bee’, but in the nice way. It was how I met Harper, back in freshman year when she the new girl halfway through the year. She got picked on by Amanda, who was what a teen movie would consider my rival. I stuck up for Harper and put Amanda and her henchmen in her place in front of the whole school.

I became popular after that, known as the girl who stuck up for people who didn’t have the courage to do it themselves. I used to help people see the beauty in themselves and gain the confidence to show and flaunt it, to stand up against bitches like Amanda and their minions. That’s also how I met Nick and fell for his kindness and compassion towards others, even though he was classified as a jock.

That isn’t me anymore, I stay to myself most of the time. Not even confiding in Harper, who knows every secret and personal aspect of my life. I just don’t want her to worry about me anymore than she already does. So, I don’t say anything, just continue to munch on the sandwich.

Thirty minutes later we are sitting in our fourth period: Latin iii. It’s the second and final class Harper and I share, along with Amanda, Nick, and Jetton. You could say the atmosphere was a more than thick today. It’s usually always bad, but today was extra.

Nick stares at me with sad and gloomy eyes from across the room just like everyday since we broke up, then his gaze shifts to Jetton at the back class and they turn to anger. Amanda shoots golden colored daggers my way, like always, and Harper shoots her own back. I turn away when Jett stares at me. I swear the tension is enough to suffocate an elephant.

The class drags by, but the bell finally rings, and I basically run out and away from the testosterone imbalance. I wave goodbye to Harper, telling her I’ll text her after detention and carry on with my day. The rest of the day goes by at the speed of a blind grandma walking across the highway. Aka, slow as hell.

It’s finally time for detention and as I enter the library, I see Nic sitting in middle of the study area. He looks up as I walk in and his eyes sparkle before falling once again. I eternally scream as I take a seat in the back corner, away from him. It doesn’t work too well as he gets up and walks over to me.

“Hey Em…” he trails off and stands there awkwardly.

“What do you want Nick?” I as without looking up, pulling my textbooks out of my bag.

“Well, I guess someone told the principal about the mix up in the cafeteria and he gave me a week o detention instead of kicking me off the team. If it had gone any further, I’m sure that wouldn’t have been an option. So, thanks, ya know, for stepping in” he says shyly.

“You’re welcome” I say in a flat tone.

“Seriously Emery, you had no reason to do it, it’s not like,” he clears his throat against the hurt I see in his eyes, “it’s not like we’re dating anymore” he finishes.

“I didn’t do it for you. You freaked out on Jetton for no reason” I reply in a harsher tone that intended. He takes a deep breath against his rising anger. He’s been super moody lately, and I’m starting to doubt its only because of the breakup. Before he gets the chance to answer, Jetton walks in nonchalantly, immediately seeing us and sauntering over. He slaps nick on the back, jolting him forward some. He’s slim but strong apparently.

“Sorry ‘bout earlier, didn’t mean to offend you in anyway” he says while squeezing his shoulder. I look back and forth between them, waiting for Nick’s outburst. Instead, he shoves his hand off and walks away. Jett stares after him, a victorious smirk on his lips.

“I know your still new and trying to make friends, or enemies, but you shouldn’t push him like that. He hasn’t been himself this year” I say when he looks at me playfully.

“Is that because he’s still brooding over you dumping him?” he turns the chair around and sits with his arms drooped over the back in one swift motion. I open my mouth to ask how he knows but he cuts me off. “People talk, it wasn’t hard to find out you were the ‘power couple’ of the place.” He uses air quotes and I blush.

“Then I guess you also figured out why” I say, and he nods his head. We fall into awkward silence before he perks up, like he wants to say something but the principal walks in at the same moment, He demands everyone to be quiet for the next two hours. In those couple of hours in silence, Jett continues to sit across from me, occasionally passing me notes or showing me random doodles on his notebooks.

His notes contain little pieces of information about him or famous quotes or even cheesy jokes that almost make me laugh. I find his favorite color is a deep purple, his favorite food is anything not vegan, and his middle name is Wyatt. No brothers, sisters, parents, or known relatives. Alone, just like me.

Jetton insists on walking me to my car when we are released at 6:30, saying that I don’t know what could be lurking. I roll my eyes but allow him.

“So, I heard there’s this wild party tomorrow night out in the woods” he says.

“You sure find out a lot of things pretty fast. But yea, unfortunately there is” I sigh.

“You don’t party?” he asks.

“Not really my thing”

“So, you’re not going then?” he asks, sounding disappointed.

“No, I am. My best friend is forcing me. Says it will break my ‘depression shell’ I’ve apparently built around myself” I snort out. “Are you going?” I find myself hopeful that he will say yes. I feel comfortable around him and he’s the first, besides Harper, to make me feel like my life is still normal. Treating me like a person instead of walking on glass around me. He seems to push away my anxiety and I’ve realized I don’t have a splitting headache like I would normally this time of day.

He looks down at me, eyes sparkling with delight and a mischievous grin. “booze and drugs in middle of a dark and dreary woods with no adults? Sounds like my kind of scene” he says, making me laugh. We reach my old beat up ’67 impala, my dads prized possession.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then” he says when I open my door, backing away slowly. “I guess so” I close the door behind me, finally feeling some excitement for tomorrow night.