it. is. time.

Hello anyone. Since no one decided to read/comment on my non-babbly post, I figured I'd make a non-non-babbly to see if anyone would read it. And, yes, I am wearing spandex. I admit I haven't been sticking to my plan of blogging every time I wear spandex, but...I'm a lazy procrastinator, what do you expect?

Guess what. I actually have something semi-worthwhile to read this time, y'all ! :) Betcha weren't expecting that...Over this weekend, I went with my friend's youth group to feed some homeless in the downtown area. We headed over there around 10 and stayed until maybe 1? I believe the event was called the "Feast of Joy".

Let me just say first of all to anyone who ever wants to do this, if you are a girl, PURPOSEFULLY DO NOT LOOK CUTE. yes. old tshirt, baggy shorts, glasses not contacts, no makeup, maybe brush your hair... because, if you look gooder than expected, random guys WILL flirt with you.

Side note aside, we got there and my two friends whom I'll name "D" and "Rae" were handed boxes of Bibles, tracts, and bookmarks to hand out to the people waiting at the tables there before the food was served. The first group we approached was like five men, one of whom had so much smoke around his face I thought he might've been Blackbeard. We handed out our stuff, and I stopped to talk to this old man on one of the corner seats.

I knelt down to hear what he was saying because he had a soft voice, but basically my friends left me there talking to him, and this man like told me all this crazy sad stuff about his family, his wife, and kids. When he was done, I was crying and was thinking "oh my gosh how can I pray for him while I'm crying?"

I took his hand and he put his old hand over mine and I somehow muttered out a prayer, and when I opened my eyes we were both crying...it was like...so sad. As I stood up, he kissed my hand, and I stumbled around for a few minutes trying to find my friends again through tears.

BUT ANYWAYS the point of all this is... so many people hold on to things so long, things that break them on the inside, things that hurt them more than they think they do, and they just keep holding them because they don't have anyone to talk to. There are so many hurting people in the world that never get a chance to be listened to...and they have a world of sorrow they're so eager to release. And we just carry on, absorbed in our own little worlds that revolve around ourselves.

Also, that whole experience really opened my eyes to the things I have they don't - family, a good home, regular meals, ... my sanity. {srsy...there were some questionable people there. lol}.

So, I guess, I hope this made you think or somehow u benefited from my story. If ever ur church group goes to feed homeless, or someone else you know, I encourage you to go in a group because seriously it's an awesome, humbling experience and God can do great things.

alright...well...i think I'm out.

OH ! btw - See You At The Pole is tomorrow... if you don't know what that is:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/See_you_at_the_pole

and........yep, that's about it. all imma say.

~ Baker

ps. for those of you who know me, I HATE crying, but i cried over that man's story...i'm such a weakling. lol

The Day Begins.

The day begins.

Ringing in your ears. Grab the phone, grunt to symbolize your consciousness. Slam it shut. Another grunt as you roll out of bed. The routine begins. Clothes, check. Teeth, check. Hair, check. Makeup? In process. Grab a waffle and a colored eyeliner. You’re out the door, mother calling words after you that you can’t quite catch. Grunt and wave, hop in the car, put on your shades, and drive to the end of the street.

Turn right. You’re out of the range of vision from the large, front windows where you know she watches every day. Music, on. Gum, in. Makeup? Still in process. One foot on the accelerator, one crunched up beneath you for comfort’s sake. Let the music push you forward. Let the beat of the drums and your foot on the accelerator tap in tune. Let your soul fly in the vehicle; don’t look at the creeps looking at you from their cars.

School’s in view. Phone, off. Shades, off. Car, locked. Dash inside to the ringing of the bell. You’re safe. Unload. Listen to the laughter echo around you, the friends encompassing you from all sides. Cram for a few minutes – the test is next period. Shove the book in your purse and pay attention. Grasp your wandering mind and pull it into submission. Listen to the girl on your right make a joke. Share her laughter. You’re safe.

Third period rolls around. Doodle on your bookmark. Meet the teacher’s eyes every once in a while, to give the illusion you’re attentive. Let his words soak into you; simply absorb. Try to keep your closing eyelids wide open. Watch his image multiply as you go cross-eyed. Muffled giggles. The bell rings. Everyone freezes, watching the pacing man at the front of the class. Finally, he raises the green flag. You’re dismissed. It’s a race down the deck.

Lunch. Grab the half-eaten sandwich you’ve been nibbling on throughout the day. Finish it off. Busy yourself with listing all your ideas for art, so no one will notice how little you ate. Tiny tidbits of conversation flash by. Food flies from across the room. Distant laughter. Annoyed teachers.

That freshman guy is back again, merged with your circle. Your bracelet is swiped. A battle for friendship occurs. Time for a breath of air. The deck calls softly to you inside the emptying room. March outside. Sun, check. Friends, check. Bracelets…one is missing. Brush it off; you’ll steal it back later in the day.

The periods fly by. Spanish class – write a story, just to see if you can. Whisper to your friend. She shakes her head. “aba, not avia.” Stupid preterit tense…History class is next. Zone out during discussion, mind still engrossed in the Spanish story. Yearbook. Crowd around the computer monitors. Practice making captions for pictures. Pride flares up – you see a picture you took. Laugh at the freshman, so silent and scared. Your bracelet ends up back on your wrist. The bell rings. Art class.

You’ve heard all the lectures before. Feet tapping, eyes closing…patiently, wait. Anxious fingers move the tiny slip of paper with your list of ideas. He’s done with art one; he addresses art two. Idea time. He stares at your list. The excitement shows on both of your faces – they will work. Bell rings. Up, out of the class. School is done.

Run down the deck after dismissal. Sing loudly with your friend who’s had “DJ’s got us fallin’ in love again” stuck in his head all day. The louder the better. He sings low, you sing high. Annoyed looks. Laughter. The rush of people, of noise.

Hop in your car again. Blare the music – on to volleyball practice. Walk in the gym, change, slip on your kneepads. Coach is missing…substitute is filling in. Let the misery begin… Miss all your spikes. You’re too slow today to dig. Call your mom because you might be failing Spanish. What? Do it anyway; you’ll explain later. Spike in rage. It hits the net, rolls down. Harmless.

Anger. Spike again. Out. Great load of use you are…try to serve. The ball flies out. Grind your teeth into each other. Serve again. Barely over. Smirk. Sigh. New drill. Didn’t move fast enough – run laps. Run again. Run until I say stop. Run until you can’t breathe. Run until you can’t run anymore. Run so much you won’t be able to play in the game tomorrow. Trains of words you aren’t allowed to say rumble through your mind, and for once, you let them. You’re past caring. For today.

A few concerned faces pop up, ask what’s wrong. Press your mask into your face. Nothing, nothing at all… smiles, smiles, smiles. You’re dead, or dying. The minutes drag on. Finally, you’re done. Parched, dart into your car and head somewhere, anywhere, for a large Dr.Pepper. Entertain thoughts of a milkshake, only for a minute, to keep your cravings happy. Dr.Pepper it is. Speed home, music drowning out all thought. There’s no time to reflect on how poorly you did, of how much you hate yourself. Only driving, on and on, the music numbing your mind.

Home. Grab your stuff, walk up the steps. Open the door and smell the cooked rice and melted cheese, broccoli and chicken wafting up your nostrils. Dump your stuff. Steal the last bites of food. Slide into your seat. “What was the deal with Spanish?” “Oh, I’ve done all the work, I’m only ‘borderline failing’. That’s what she said.” The conversation spins on. Do well, go to a good college. You have to work hard. You have to pass. Make A’s. Droning, on and on, droning, droning…

“And about that sleepover tomorrow, can I go?” “No, you have too many activities…” “But it’s completely convenient. Everything works out, and it’s near where I need to be tomorrow anyway.” “No. Stop arguing. You have too many activities…” Silence. Because surely you know what I’m capable of, and how many activities I can handle, and how well I can survive with little sleep, since of course you’re exactly like me and survive perfectly fine with little sleep because you stay up as late as i do every single night with no signs of fatigue... Bite back your words, don’t let them slip out of your mind and onto your tongue.

Say nothing – head upstairs. Grab your backpack. Dump it in the corner. Grab the computer. Music, check. Facebook, check. Homework? Maybe, in a little. You grow tired of all the talk, all the chat, all the noise…close something down just to open another. Get out a book. Labor through the problems, if only to keep your mind from other things. Work, work, work. Build calluses on your fingers from writing so much. Build calluses on your mind to keep out your thoughts. More music. More noise. More distractions. Finish your work, finish your conversations.

YouTube. Images flash before your eyes. People, the things they do, they say, they know, they way they say them, they way they do them. Watch the strangers talking to you like you’re a friend. Wonder about them, but not too long. Another video. Another distraction. Happy distractions are beginning to become bothersome. Computer, down. Homework, done. What’s left? Shower.

Grab clothes. Grab a towel. Time to check if the leak is fixed…waltz into the bathroom; the walls come down. Your mask slips off. No music. No friends. No car. No phone. No computer. The water hits the tub, drowning out all other thoughts except for a slow, soft voice. You stare straight ahead, your numb fingers searching for the shampoo and the conditioner. There’s nothing left for you to distract yourself with in this silence.

Shakily clear your throat. You begin to hum a small tune. It’s not loud enough. It’s not loud enough to drown out the thoughts you’ve been refusing to think throughout the day; the thoughts that lay in wait on the other side of that wall you’ve built in your mind.

Worthless. Pathetic. Won’t amount to anything. Whispers, whispers... You stare straight ahead, pale yellow tiles all you can see as the water around you drowns out everything but the voice in your head. Can’t you serve a volleyball over the net? You made your teammates run today. You write stories in Spanish, you finish all your assignments, you memorize all the words, and yet you’re “borderline failing”. What an idiot. The song dies on your lips before you hesitantly begin again once confronted with the sound of silence. You know you’re never going to do well in art. You saw all those other people in yearbook with cameras. They’re all better than you. You’ll never amount to anything at all. No college will want you. No one wants you.

Your tune isn’t heard over the noise of a thousand drops of water hitting the walls all at the same time. They hit your face, they trickle down your skin. Hot, salty liquid streams down your cheeks…but the faucet is off. You’re standing, shivering, your face wet with tears. There’s nothing left to hide behind now. What was that song you were singing? You don’t even know…it was just a song, plucked from the fabric of your sub consciousness…perhaps you heard it on the radio on the way home. How did the chorus go?

You whisper them softly to yourself, through unwilling lips, trembling and empty, your head in your wrinkled, prune-like fingers. “Don’t you know I’ve always loved you…even before there was time…Though you turn away, I’ll tell you still… don’t you know I’ve always loved you…and I always will.”

Your voice cracks. You grab the towel from the hanger and wipe off your dripping face, half-mumbling another song you thought you might have heard on a radio station in passing. “You’re the God of this city. You’re the king of these people. You’re the Lord of this nation… You are...You’re the light in this darkness. You’re the hope to the hopeless. You’re the peace to the restless…You are.” Why are you singing these songs? You dry off, slowly, thinking. “There is no one like our God. There is no one like our God…greater things have yet to come, greater things are still to be done in this city…greater things have yet to come, greater things are still to be done here.”

And then there is silence. You’re not listening. You’re slipping into your clothes, walking out the door, plopping down on your bed. Your fingers twitch for your phone, computer, music. But you don’t respond. You close your eyes. And wonder why a God so great…could love a human so small.

How many hopeless, peace-less, dark, lonely, angry, afraid people know about this love? This love loved you when you were hurting inside. This love loved you when you thought you weren’t good enough. This love loved you whether the volleyball made it over the net or not. This love loved you whether you took good pictures or you didn’t. This love loved you when you thought you were all alone. This love loved you when you hated your substitute coach. This love loved you when you cried in the shower because that was the only place your tears would go unnoticed, unquestioned. This love loved you when you wanted to be left alone, unloved. This love loved you when all you needed was someone to love you, someone to hold you and not say anything.

The love that loves when no one else does. The love that remains when you’re all alone and your mask is off and you’re not safe anymore. The love that isn’t based on what you say, or how you act, or what you appear to be, or what you do. The love that loves, regardless. True love. The love that you can’t understand and can hardly accept. The love that loves you when you’re mad at the world and want to move faster than you know how to think. The love that hears every word you speak in your mind when you’re angry. The love that knows everything you want to say back to the authorities when they try to control your life. The love that sees into your soul and knows every thought, and memory, and action…and still loves you. The pure, perfect, holy love that can love a stupid, dirty, lowly, proud, worthless, miserable lump of flesh like you. …And you think you can keep this love to yourself…

And then, you open your eyes. Breath of air. Chilling, calming. Piano music, on. Laptop, on. Mind, open. Another breath. An open document. A blank page. And then, you write:

The day begins.

Batman. and other things.

O. My. Gosh.
http://www.batman.wikia.com/ <- go there. now. do it. now. it'll change your life. it's amazing. i went there. and died. and came back to life. a zombie. it's great. do it. now. ... just kidding. but it srsly is amazing.

Alright, hello any-and-everyone {or no one} who still reads my blog! The procrastination monster has struck again, and I figured since I would much rather ramble to no one in particular than do algebra2, blogging would be a good place to start. Don't you feel priviledged? -wink- So, for those of you who don't know, I'm kind of married to Batman. And when I say kind of, I mean as close to mariage as a fictional character and an imaginative lunatic can get. I decided that we would be married a few months ago after watching "The Dark Knight", and we secretly eloped. I can't tell you all the details, but I can tell you IT WAS GREAT. I am totally in love with Batman. For one thing he's super-duper cool {as lame as that sounded :P}, and he's buff, and he's committed to the people of Gotham city. I think the real reason I like him though, is because he's one of those people that can take the blame for when bad things happen. He makes the choice that no one else can make. Kind of like Jack Bauer... people like that always, always, always earn my respect. They do what's right, even if it means sacrificing something dear to them.People that take the fall for someone else's mistake, or people that take the blame simply because they have to. "For the greater good." Is there a word for that? Righteous? Hm. Deep, huh?

I figured, also, that I should post a picture in this post...just for visual interest. So, here's a picture that my friend Anita drew. She's an AMAZING manga artist and when I grow up I want to draw just like her >:P {she's my age, for those wondering :) }

Isn't it cute???? :D I'm catwoman. Anita had only met me once and didn't know I don't usually wear dresses, but STILL! :D ahhhhh, Batman...

Anyways...what's up with you guys? Who all even reads this? What kinda of slacking, time-wasting, procrastinating, interesting, cool, awsome people read my blog? ...oh, those kind. ... don't mock me, I'm out of practice blogging, ok??

You know what I just realized though? I'm wearing spandex !!! I'm pretty sure I wore those in the last post too! Maybe spandex shorts automatically induce blogging. Maybe these are my blog-pants. Maybe they should have theme music... dun dun DUN BLOG PANTS... sounds formidable.

ANYWAYS! I was thinking "hm...I should start blogging again." and then "hm...I'm wearing spandex" and then, bam, revelation: "hm...HEY! What if every time I wore my spandex shorts {of which I have two pairs. o yes.} I blogged????" That would mean a new post every three days or so. Would I wear you guys out with such frequent posting? Does anyone even read these? Maybe I would just blog for myself, no one else, just to vent and/or release my thoughts. How selfish. Whadda y'all think? Anyone. Everyone. No one.

Let's see now...since I'm trying to make this post as long, pointless, and drawn-out as possible... what do you guys want to talk about? School? Ew, no. No one wants to talk about that, and yet it's always the first suggestion. I don't get it. Oh, humanity...

Well, since you asked, school has once again started...and don't get me wrong, it's nice to see everyone and everything, and I love all my friends with all my heart, but ... the rules are going to kill me. For one, we have to wear these grody, nasty-lookin clothes that are VERY VERY ugly and don't flatter anyone except the annoyingly skinny people...I hate those people. Also, we aren't allowed to chew gum. ... If you know me at all you know I cannot live without chewing something. {Maybe that's why I eat so much...?} Hello, my name is Hannah Baker, and I am addicted to gum. [I'm also past the name thing. lol}

OOHHHH! While we're on addictions...I am ALSO addicted to SPEEDING. {not SPEED, speedING...I found out from the comments on my facebook status that I was addicted to speed that "speed" is a drug....lol! I'm so naive.} I don't know who all reading this drives a car {gocart, horse, donkey, bicycle, lama...}, but DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO GO THE SPEED LIMIT??? I have to ask - if the speed limits are never over 70, why do they make cars that can go up to 160 ?? Seriously! I personally think music has to do with it...I know the more upbeat of a song I listen to, the faster I go...and if I'm listening to a slow song...I change the radio station and listen to a fast one. That's how I roll. Yo.

Oh! Speaking of music! Music is so...incredible, and beautiful, and...indescribably emotional. Have you ever had an experience where you're like in the car, or in ... I dunno... a dentist's office...or....Walmart....and, like, this song comes on, and all of a sudden BAM it hits you that the song you hear playing is just...RIGHT ? Does that make sense to anyone else? OR that the beat and the rhythm completely infect you and you can feel the chords winding their way around your soul? ...... it's those moments I wish I could dance.

But every time I try to "bust a move" or whatever, I feel like a dying fish. I kinda just spaz every apendage on my body kind-of-semi-on-beat....and that is NOT attractive. I watch "so you think you can dance" as often as I can, {and I can proudly say I saw every single episode this season EXCEPT FOR THE FINALE SO DON'T TELL ME WHO WON!} and I hear the music, and I see the dancers flying across the stage, carried by the winds of music and I think to myself... "Man I wish I could dance"... because music and dance are forms of art! They're forms of expression! And I'm ALL ABOUT EXPRESSION!

-wistful sigh- Lauren, from SYTYCD, I wish I could dance like you... ok, time fo anotha pic... hm... necesito un foto....of dancing. let me shee hur....OH WAIT I GOT THIS! I'm going to post a picture I took when one of my friends who likes to dance went to a pier with me and we had a photoshoot :)

There it is. :) Copyright of Baker Photography. Oh yeah. That's me. ... lol. My wonderful dancing friend, o if only I could dance like you...

Ok, so while I'm waiting for that to load {because my computer's network system thingie is being very slow, especially recently...} I haven't heard from anyone in a while in my little blogging community, sooooo why not do a tag? Let's see, I'll keep it short....and interesting. hopefully. IF YOU READ THIS, you MUST complete the tag, and then leave a comment telling me so that I can go read your replies :)

1. Which do you prefer - spandex or tights? O.o and WHY?

2. Do you like school, gum, or dancing? All of them? Any of them? WHY?

3. Who is your favorite superhero? WHY?

4. Do you read my blog? ...WHY?

Well....I supposed I've killed enough time for now...BUT WAIT I JUST REMINDED MY ADD-SELD OF SOMETHING! [I'm not sure if I really have ADD, but it feels like I do ALL THE TIME]

Speaking of killing things, I am working on lots of new little stories that I am very excited about! I am intending to finish that story about Arnold and that serial killer chick. I am hoping it's going to become something very cool, and I in fact have another browser open with the next segment being written in it. Woopie. Also, I have been listening to super-dramatic movie music and writing down the first scene{s} that pop{s} into my head, and I think I have the beginnings of another story coming up. AND I do want to kind of hop on the Jess-Andy-Benji train again...I really like Benji's character, and it makes me sad that I haven't written about him in a while. That reminds me of ANOTHER story I wrote/am writing about the contents of my mind................ I'm not sure if imma post that or not....y'all might not be able to handle that. It's intense.

So, in conclusion, that is all my thoughts on the matter. What matter? Every matter. -going back to chemistry- OH WAIT, ALSO, I am taking meteorology/geology this year, and I think I might start just interjecting random facts, fun or not, into my blogposts in random paragraphs. Just to confuse everyone and keep you on your toes. The first law of themodynamics states that the combined total of matter and energy in the universe is constant. I don't know how that's going to work, but we'll just try it out and see.

-sigh- Now, what you've all been waiting for since I said "hello", I think I am finally done. As much as I don't believe anyone reads this, feel free to check back any time to see if I posted something acutally worth reading and not just a random ramble tangent.

Although I happen to think those are have the potential to be enjoyed.

So, my dearies, goodnight, and I hope you got SOMETHING out of this, if only that spandex are GREAT for blogging and that I dance like a fish. :)

~ Captain Bonnie Spinner

Figured I should post something...this was oddly the first thing that came to mind. Oh, besides that I found my spandex shorts :)
enjoy n i shall try to post mo frequently i have some stories brewing I'd like to share ;) thanks guys!! :D

Hallie poked her head around the corner of her sister's door, which was open slightly. The sound of sobbing assaulted her tiny ears as her bright eyes scanned the tiny room. A metal-colored chair had fallen over as if pushed to the ground. The silver curtains were closed and let in a sole shaft of light to pierce through the dim scene. Papers, letters, and old pictures had accumulated, ripped down the middle or frayed at the edges.

Two tiny feet shuffled through crumpled balls of paper as Hallie delicately made her way through the dark room toward the shaking human sprawled on the bed. One black converse remained on her sister's outstretched foot - the other had been thrown across the room in a fit of rage. The sound of silence was so foreign to Hallie she almost didn't approach the sixteen-year-old on the bed. Her sister always had music on in her room. Always. But...she had promised.

Hallie reached out a tiny hand to the figure crying on the unmade bed. "Alyssa?" Hallie asked shakily. No reply behind the mask of red curls. "Alyssa," Hallie whispered again, poking a shoulder. "You promised."

The sniffling and shuddering stopped. A sniff. A sob. Another sniff. The form rolled over. Hallie's sister was usually pretty, at least, Hallie thought so, but today her mascara had run down her cheeks and her eyes were laced with red veins. Hallie took a step back.

Alyssa sniffed again and then replied in a broken voice, "I don't feel like a story today, Hal." She wiped a hasty hand over her face.

Hallie stuck out her lip like she usually did, her little fingers reaching out to grab Alyssa's clamy hand which still shook a little bit."Pleaassseeee? You promised. Pinky promised! And that means no take backs! No matter what," Hallie insisted, pleading with her older sister.

Alyssa stared at her a moment, then her eyes shifted upward as if looking for some words to say written on the ceiling. After hours and hours, she let out a sigh. "Fine..."

The word hardly left her mind before Hallie had jumped up on the messy bed, scrambled under the covers, and perched on her sister's knee. Hallie watched her sister's mouth almost smile...it was like it wanted to, but it forgot how.

"What'll it be today, Miss?" Alyssa asked softly, her voice rustling around the almost-empty room.

Hallie stated quickly, "A princess story please."

Alyssa closed her eyes, took a breath, and encirled her sister in her lap with her arms. "Ok...you ready?"

"Yes!" Hallie replied eagerly, hands clasped within Alyssa's.

"Ok...Once upon a time...there was a beautiful princess. She lived in a tower where her evil parents had imprisoned her."

"Why did they imprison her?" Hallie interrupted.

Alyssa pulled a blonde curl back from Hallie's face. "Because they wanted to protect her."

"From what?"

"I'm getting there, Hal. Just listen." Alyssa sniffed again, wiping a hand under her nose. "In this land, there were many dangers. Dragons roamed all over, burning and breaking things and eating people. Sorcerers and magicians made evil plans against the king. But, there were also knights who were rumored to be the bravest, most handsome people in the kingdom."

Alyssa opened her palm and Hallie absent-mindedly traced patterns in it as she listened to her sister's story. "The princess's father and mother were so afraid that a dragon or a sorcerer would eat or hurt the princess that they locked her up in a tower by herself. They made it so high that a man couldn't get high enough to reach the window and surrounded it by water, which dragons were afraid of. They thought she was safe."

Hallie's voice asked sweetly, "Did her parents live with her?"

"No, they lived in the nearby town."

"Why?"

"Because there was only room for the princess in the tower and they wanted to protect her."

"Oh," Hallie stated quietly. "Then they weren't evil afterall."

Alyssa began to weave her tale again, her soft voice and her encompassing arms making Hallie feel as protected as the princess. "So, the princess grew up alone in a tower, hoping that somehow, one day, a knight would come to save her. And, one day, a knight did!"

"Yea!" Hallie clapped her hands together.

Alyssa shook her head hastily. "No, no! This wasn't a real knight! The princess saw him from the top of her tower and thought he was, but she did not look closer or she would have seen it was a dragon enchanted by sorcerers to look human. The princess saw only what she wanted to see - a perfect knight in shining armor. The dragon tail went unnoticed."

Hallie sucked in a breath. "What happened?"

"She let him in."

"WHAT?"

Alyssa continued solemnly, "Yes. She was not looking for signs of a dragon and did not see his tail."

"What happened?"

"He chased her around the whole tower trying to eat her! A few times he almost had her, but at the last second she slipped through his grasp and ran out of the door. She was lost for the next few days. All she could do was wander around the dessert, alone! Eventually she ended up walking in a circle and she arrived back at the tower, only to find the dragon had destroyed it!"

"NO!" Hallie protested, eyes wide.

"Yes!" Alyssa insisted, squeezing her sister gently.

"What happened?"

"Nothing..." Hallie didn't notice the change in her sister's voice. "It is rumored she still sits outside the ruins of her tower, crying because she is so scared to leave what she used to call come and because she is so scared of everything that can hurt her now."

Hallie crossed her arms and said quietly, "I don't like that story."

Alyssa said nothing, only rested her cheek against her sister's.

Hallie said after a minute, "You ended it to soon."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. What the princess really does is ask the king to build her a new tower," declared Hallie.

"And then what?"

"And then he sends one of his knights to save her, silly!" Hallie laughed. Alyssa stared at her sister a moment, then wordlessly kissed her cheek.

"I love you, Hal."

"Love you, Lissa...but that was a sad story."

Alyssa nodded absently, then patted her sister's back. "Up. Dinner will be ready soon." She waited for the sound of tiny feet pattering across the littered floor and the sound of the door shutting after her.

As soon as the wood creaked back into place, Alyssa sank back onto the bed, arms draped over the covers now. Her eyes squeezed shut and she fought a sob inside her chest. Almost by accident, she scooped up a picture from next to her bed and blinked at it through tears.

In the picture, she wore a bright, yellow dress next to a young man clad in a sharp tuxedo. She bit her lip, closed her eyes again, and whispered, "You're not my prince..." And, like all the others, she ripped it down the middle so that she was on one side and he on the other. Limp fingers let the pieces slide through and fall to the floor.

Three.

A fleet pair of black shoes landed noiselesly on thick carpet. Softly they tip-toed across the darkened room and arrived in front of a dark piece of furniture. Soft snores issued from an elaborate bed across the patch of moonlight on the floor. The moon was the sole witness to what exactly happened next, for as quickly as the shadow arrived in the room, it left, and the occupant was left sleeping soundlessly.

Four hours later, the secretary of state opened his eyes on a fresh new day and stretched. He was a young man in his early twenties with sparkling white teeth and locks of soft, brown hair. Groggily, he rubbed his eyes and studied his surroundings. Pleased that his maid had remembered to clean the clutter off of his desk, he slid out of bed and over to his workstation.

Nothing out-of-the-ordinary struck him at first. His hazel eyes roamed across the smooth desktop casually and he shuffled papers around. In fact, he didn't notice that anything was different at all until he had been sitting at his desk for twenty minutes and was just about to request tea when a beam of sunlight fell onto something shiny.

Raising a well-groomed eyebrow, the man reached for the glittering object and studied the note it had been perched upon. A thin piece of notepaper clearly read in a handwritting he had almost forgotten, "Take my heart and I'll take yours. - Jenny."

His face flushed at the name. Glancing down, he recognized the golden object as the ring he had given her on their first date. On one side her name was inscribed in fading letters. On the other, his had been scratched out.

The ring slid out of his fingers as he leaned back and sighed. Weary fingers caressed his aching head as his mind re-lived the years between them. Jennifer Stone. The prettiest girl in highschool. The coolest girl in college. The only girl who had ever found out he was a cheater.

A series of images flashed behind his closed lids. Her face as he gave her the ring. The way her hair felt when he stroked it on their first date. The way he snuck out of his house to see another girl. The way Jenny screamed at him as she explained how she knew everything that was going on. The way he didn't care that she was mad at him. The way everyone stopped to stare while she created a scene and he stared stoicly ahead of him. The way her tears flowed down her cheeks.

The secretary of state sighed and opened his eyes, hesitantly caressing the piece of jewelry chiding himself for being so foolish. It was just highschool. None of that mattered now. Still...he smiled slightly to himself and slipped on the ring.

***********************************************
A world of darkness. A neverending sea of black. And then. Oxygen. Gasping, Arnold opened his eyes. Light met him full-force, blinding him for a moment so that a slight headache began to develop. He slowly sat up. Where was he? In a hallway in the White House. He glanced down at himself. The tuxedo he had rented for the occasion was puncured by a bullet hole.

Arnold frowned and took off his jacket, revealing a bullet-proof vest underneath with a fresh, new scar. Looking around, he caught sight of a body next to him. The President. His heart pumped hard in a second of panic as he gripped the shoulder of the body and rolled it over. He quickly took off the president's jacket, revealing a vest identical to his own. It rose up and down. The President was alive.

The agent raised his watch to his lips, pressed a button, and reported, "Suspect A confirmed as a lethal threat. The next target unknown." He released the button. Static. His roaming eyes stumbled across the dead bodies of the butlers as he helped the president to sit up.

The president followed his gaze, slowly regaining the breath that had been taken out of him while holding fast to Arnold for support. "Mr.President, our fears are as suspected. Your daughter, Jennifer Stone, is the murderer o--"

"Agent Arnold?" a staticy voice asked over his watch, interrupting the agent mid-sentence.

"Lighthouse! Suspect A has been confirmed. She tried to take out the president but the target has been contained." Arnold nodded to the president while swallowing. "Next target unknown."

There was a pause over the radio unit. "Not quite."
***********************************************
A hum resonated in Arnold's head as he drove the black, armored vehicle parked outside the White House to Jenny's latest hit. The President sat next to him, eyebrows etched into a frown that matched his lips too perfectly. There was no music in the car, only the hum of the engine and the grating noise of the unpaved road beneath them.

Arnold swallowed, considering what to say to the leader of the country who had just found out that his daughter was on the most wanted list. "Mr.President-" Arnold started.

Before he could say more, the President turned to him with a serious face and said, "Thank you."

Surprised, Arnold asked, "It is our duty to protect--"

"No, I'm not thanking your organization. I'm thanking you." The president's voice was solemn. Pained. Arnold met his eyes for an instant before flickering back to watch the road. "You could have chosen not to let me in on your suspicions. Everyone has been looking for the murderer of my brother. No one would have suspected my Jenny." His voice cracked on the words.

Arnold cleared his throat. Not many people would have. If he hadn't known Jenny's uncle had abused her when she was little, he wouldn't have considered it either. "Sir, we believe many more people to be in danger. She seems to be seeking revenge on anyone who ever treated her badly."

The President sighed and stared absently out of the window. As soon as the words left his left, Arnold regretted them. Surely he hadn't been too terrible of a father. Then again, when Arnold had explained that he would be required to wear a bullet-proof vest as they were setting up for the dinner, the President had seemed genuinely shocked.

"Sir, if it's any comfort, you're safe with us," Arnold said, trying to offer what looked like a smile as he pulled into a driveway full of investigator and police vehicles. "Jenny still thinks you're dead, and she can't know you're alive. That's why you'll be staying with--"

Arnold was interrupted yet again as a woman with dark hair knocked eagerly on the window of the bullet-proof van. Arnold rolled it down and she exclaimed eagerly, "We're sorry, sir, but it's the secretary of state - he's been murdered."

"Good gracious," the president murmured.

Arnold immediately got out of the car. "How did this happen?"

The woman's eyes widened as she led him over to a stretched bearing a corpse of a young, once-attractive man clad in what he had slept in the night before. "Mercury poisoning."

"Mercury poisoning?" Arnold repeated, his eyes scanning over the man's discolored frame. Bits of blood marred his otherwise flawless skin when in his last moments he had gone insane and clawed himself. "How did this happen?" Disgust trickled into his voice. How did Jenny manage this?

The woman shook her head, staring at the disfigured body. "We're not exactly sure." She pointed to the dead man's hand. "But traces of mercury were found on his ring."