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♕King♛
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Oct 03, 2022 03:03PM
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SHUT UP YOU ARE TOO FRIGGING NICE
Bridget wrote: "Ok, so, basically there are these two girls, Bridget and Brooke. They lead lives so similar it's astonishing. their boyfriends break up with them on the same day, and they eat the same meals at the..."I'll be honest, that's a great concept but you'd need to work with someone who has that diagnosis to make sure its accurate.
It could easily perpetuate stereotypes, or it could be empowering with equal likelihood.
Go for it but make sure you do plenty of research!
Omg, I didn't even think about that! I'll definitely start researching now!
Bridget wrote: "Omg, I didn't even think about that! I'll definitely start researching now!"anytime you write about a diagnosis you don't have, its best to do that :)))
Bridget wrote: "Where were you all my life <3 <3"Dead
♦︎A_Gay_Snake_Named_Quince♦︎ wrote: "Bridget wrote: "Where were you all my life
Dead"
Cool.
Dead"
Cool.
Bridget wrote: "♦︎A_Gay_Snake_Named_Quince♦︎ wrote: "Bridget wrote: "Where were you all my life Dead"
Cool."
being dead IS cool
What state should my mc live in? I'm feeling something east coast. Maybe New York?
Urghhh so, I just moved and I'm going back for a week to my old state and we have 20 people to see (not kidding its a real count) in 5 days. Me and my three friends from ballet are going window shopping and Starbucks and it took FOREVER to schedule. We were all set and good to go. My closest friend out of the three can't do it cause she's doing something else. I took time out of my day to do this with her and I want her to understand that and understand that we already had plans. I just tried scheduling a Friday meet-up with her and she can't do it either. It was either the time we scheduled or that friday. She's not busy on the friday, she just doesn't want to go 15 minutes away. Idk what to dooooooo
Oh that really sucks. I'm sorry :(
Thanks, babe. I just don't know what to do...I don't think there's anything I can do. My mom plans to keep us here with no vacation for at least three years (she isn't a fan of our homestate) so I guess its goodbye to my bestie..
Oh wow. I'm so sorry :( I wish I could help more and offer some advice but I've never moved and have no friends
Ok, I finished the first chapter (rough draft) of that book idea. Anyone wanna read it? Constructive criticism would be great! (seriously don't be afraid to be brutal, that feedback really helps me make it PERFECT)
Ofc!! I’d love to read it Bridget!
01
Bridget
EVER HEAR SOME PEOPLE SAY, “TIME FLIES”?
Those people are liars.
Time moves at the same pace of one second per second. You’re always in the now, but seconds from that now, “that now” becomes “that past”. Those memories you fondly (or not-so-fondly) look back on were once your now. So, no, time does not fly. Your brain just doesn’t catch up.
Until now.
I’ll admit, I’ve been a perpetrator of that lie. I always feel like I’m living only half my life. Like I’m greatly missing out on so many things. Other people have so many memories of me, and I have absolutely zero recollection of them.
Of course, if I don’t want to be hypocritical, I’ll also have to admit that all that was just a lie. I mean, it sure can’t be true. That’s just not possible. Maybe if I didn’t think up so many “pathological liar” theories, it'd be possible. But, I’ve fallen victim to my own crime and now I doubt everything I think.
All these thoughts pollute my mind as I sit at my vanity—where I am most of the time—looking at myself in the mirror studying my features;
My eyes, too large for my face, my nose, which I generally have no complaints for, my lips that are just so average, my top lip disappearing into my suntanned skin, and my shoulders, all too wide.
I like my hair though. And my clothing style. I guess those two are important, anyways. I recently cut some big, vintage curtain bangs in my hair. I hated them at first, but after actually styling my hair, I came to realize that they were growing on me. It just took some time.
Fuck, Bridget. Stop thinking about time.
I immediately get out of the pink, faux fur chair I’m sitting on, a cluster of chocolate-brown ringlets cascading over my shoulder. In a great effort to distract myself, I pull out the perfect book to distract myself.
The Hunger Games: Catching Fire.
Sure, who doesn’t love watching 24 teenagers go in to battle to the death for the SECOND time around?
I’m really just reading this to read about Finnick.
Before I can even toss myself down on my bed, the phone starts ringing. I leave ‘Hunger Games’ on my bed and locate by ear where the ringing is coming from. I find it tossed on the floor of my walk-in closet, (first generation college perks!) and look at the caller ID.
“babe” with a bunch of heart emojis, AKA Blake, is my boyfriend of two years. I doubt his call is overly important; he calls often, but not often enough that it’s a daily thing. I glance back at my white bed, complete with a couple sage throw pillows and a ribbed throw blanket, and contemplate ignoring the call and getting back to the book longing my name.
But, I swipe the green circle and bring the phone up to my ear.
“Hey, babe.” I say, adjusting my sage bandana crop top like he can see its crooked edge.
“Hello, love. So, how’s Manhattan? Are you busy?” Just a touch of Australian lingers in his voice.
His mother, of course, from the big apple, and his grandfather from Australia. He is an “All-American Product” with just a hint of Australian.
“Oh, it’s very nice. Decently warm for September. I have a bit of schoolwork but I’ve cleared most of it out. Just revising this essay and stitching up a dress for Nina.”
Nina, my best friend since the sixth grade, is always going out in the middle of the night and doing wild things. I usually come but that night…I can’t exactly remember what I was doing. She told me that she went out in a big party dress, got milkshakes at Dave’s Diner, and went to the skateboard park with some of her friends. Apparently, I was nowhere to be found when she left.
Okay…
“How would you like to have a coastal-adjacent picnic with me? Say, seven-o-clock?”
He could’ve just said beach.
“Oh, Blake…I’d love to.” I say, a grin creeping up onto my lips, “You’ll pick me up in what, four hours?”
“Only time will tell,” he says, with a smirk I can hear in his voice, “I can just imagine the taste of your lip gloss. Surprise me. See you, sweetheart.”
Before I can say goodbye, he disconnects the call.
Turning back to the vanity I treat like Snow White’s magic mirror, I study my outfit. Bandana top? Cute. Flare jeans? Always in style. My hair? Quirky and retro. I think that’s good.
Turning away, I remember the lip gloss and slather some cherry-flavor on my lips before tossing it in my drawer.
I put my book back on the bookcase, understanding that somewhere inside, I knew I’d never get around to it, and pull the MacBook Air out from under my bed. Opening the sticker-covered lid, I type in my password and watch the screen fade to my wallpaper; a picture of Nina and I on my sweet sixteen last month, in hot pink dresses with big tulle skirts.
Now, that, was a good time.
I reluctantly open my old Word document and get to my essay.
“Yess,” I mutter to myself, “baguettes!”
I happily run over to where the bread is stationed in the college breakfast nook is. On the wooden countertop, I snatch the lid off of the dome shaped tray and grab a small baguette. Cutting two slices, I place them on my favorite heart-shaped plate and put the rest of the baguette away. Then I add a smear of chocolate-hazelnut butter and banana slices while cleaning everything up and taking the elevator to my room.
My mother, Nancy, homeschooled me until fourth grade where I was two years younger than the rest of the kids. I was such a tiny kid, which really didn’t help, either. My mom, on one hand, was focused on teaching me math, while my father bought me all the books he could.
I open the dorm room door to see Nina sitting on her bed, scrolling away at whatever the newest social media trend is. Placing my plate on top of the bookshelf, I close the door and head towards Nina.
“Hey Nee! So, how was the gym?” I ask, seeing her workout clothes on a heap near her bed.
“Oh God, Bridge, does it MATTER? Have you seen this video?” she says, turning her phone to me.
It’s me, but it’s not me. I’m in the video, wearing clothes I’ve never seen before, with people I’ve never seen before, at a club I’ve never seen before. I’m wearing a lavender silk dress with a big fur trim around the bottom and spaghetti straps. It’s cute, but I’d never wear that.
In the video, a strange blonde man has his hands all over my—er, Bridget-Not-Me—hips. The man and B.N.M are dancing together at some fancy club with big purple lights and a dance floor. B.N.M has a glass of alcohol in her hand, she drinks it, then spills it on the ground and slips and falls in these combat boots.
What. The. Hell.
It’s not me. I never did that. I don’t remember it. I don ‘t know those people, that place. I don’t own those clothes. Not the boots either.
“Nina…” I start, terrified, “I don’t know those people. That’s me, right there, but I don’t own those clothes or the shoes. I don’t remember doing this.”
“Bridge, are you sure? That’s you, clear as day.”
“I know, that’s perfectly, obviously me, but no matter how far I dig into my memory, I can’t remember this. That wasn’t me…so why does someone look just like me and is doing this?”
“We need to do something. Before your reputation gets ruined.”
She’s damn right. Who is this girl with my face, and what does she have against me?”
Bridget
EVER HEAR SOME PEOPLE SAY, “TIME FLIES”?
Those people are liars.
Time moves at the same pace of one second per second. You’re always in the now, but seconds from that now, “that now” becomes “that past”. Those memories you fondly (or not-so-fondly) look back on were once your now. So, no, time does not fly. Your brain just doesn’t catch up.
Until now.
I’ll admit, I’ve been a perpetrator of that lie. I always feel like I’m living only half my life. Like I’m greatly missing out on so many things. Other people have so many memories of me, and I have absolutely zero recollection of them.
Of course, if I don’t want to be hypocritical, I’ll also have to admit that all that was just a lie. I mean, it sure can’t be true. That’s just not possible. Maybe if I didn’t think up so many “pathological liar” theories, it'd be possible. But, I’ve fallen victim to my own crime and now I doubt everything I think.
All these thoughts pollute my mind as I sit at my vanity—where I am most of the time—looking at myself in the mirror studying my features;
My eyes, too large for my face, my nose, which I generally have no complaints for, my lips that are just so average, my top lip disappearing into my suntanned skin, and my shoulders, all too wide.
I like my hair though. And my clothing style. I guess those two are important, anyways. I recently cut some big, vintage curtain bangs in my hair. I hated them at first, but after actually styling my hair, I came to realize that they were growing on me. It just took some time.
Fuck, Bridget. Stop thinking about time.
I immediately get out of the pink, faux fur chair I’m sitting on, a cluster of chocolate-brown ringlets cascading over my shoulder. In a great effort to distract myself, I pull out the perfect book to distract myself.
The Hunger Games: Catching Fire.
Sure, who doesn’t love watching 24 teenagers go in to battle to the death for the SECOND time around?
I’m really just reading this to read about Finnick.
Before I can even toss myself down on my bed, the phone starts ringing. I leave ‘Hunger Games’ on my bed and locate by ear where the ringing is coming from. I find it tossed on the floor of my walk-in closet, (first generation college perks!) and look at the caller ID.
“babe” with a bunch of heart emojis, AKA Blake, is my boyfriend of two years. I doubt his call is overly important; he calls often, but not often enough that it’s a daily thing. I glance back at my white bed, complete with a couple sage throw pillows and a ribbed throw blanket, and contemplate ignoring the call and getting back to the book longing my name.
But, I swipe the green circle and bring the phone up to my ear.
“Hey, babe.” I say, adjusting my sage bandana crop top like he can see its crooked edge.
“Hello, love. So, how’s Manhattan? Are you busy?” Just a touch of Australian lingers in his voice.
His mother, of course, from the big apple, and his grandfather from Australia. He is an “All-American Product” with just a hint of Australian.
“Oh, it’s very nice. Decently warm for September. I have a bit of schoolwork but I’ve cleared most of it out. Just revising this essay and stitching up a dress for Nina.”
Nina, my best friend since the sixth grade, is always going out in the middle of the night and doing wild things. I usually come but that night…I can’t exactly remember what I was doing. She told me that she went out in a big party dress, got milkshakes at Dave’s Diner, and went to the skateboard park with some of her friends. Apparently, I was nowhere to be found when she left.
Okay…
“How would you like to have a coastal-adjacent picnic with me? Say, seven-o-clock?”
He could’ve just said beach.
“Oh, Blake…I’d love to.” I say, a grin creeping up onto my lips, “You’ll pick me up in what, four hours?”
“Only time will tell,” he says, with a smirk I can hear in his voice, “I can just imagine the taste of your lip gloss. Surprise me. See you, sweetheart.”
Before I can say goodbye, he disconnects the call.
Turning back to the vanity I treat like Snow White’s magic mirror, I study my outfit. Bandana top? Cute. Flare jeans? Always in style. My hair? Quirky and retro. I think that’s good.
Turning away, I remember the lip gloss and slather some cherry-flavor on my lips before tossing it in my drawer.
I put my book back on the bookcase, understanding that somewhere inside, I knew I’d never get around to it, and pull the MacBook Air out from under my bed. Opening the sticker-covered lid, I type in my password and watch the screen fade to my wallpaper; a picture of Nina and I on my sweet sixteen last month, in hot pink dresses with big tulle skirts.
Now, that, was a good time.
I reluctantly open my old Word document and get to my essay.
“Yess,” I mutter to myself, “baguettes!”
I happily run over to where the bread is stationed in the college breakfast nook is. On the wooden countertop, I snatch the lid off of the dome shaped tray and grab a small baguette. Cutting two slices, I place them on my favorite heart-shaped plate and put the rest of the baguette away. Then I add a smear of chocolate-hazelnut butter and banana slices while cleaning everything up and taking the elevator to my room.
My mother, Nancy, homeschooled me until fourth grade where I was two years younger than the rest of the kids. I was such a tiny kid, which really didn’t help, either. My mom, on one hand, was focused on teaching me math, while my father bought me all the books he could.
I open the dorm room door to see Nina sitting on her bed, scrolling away at whatever the newest social media trend is. Placing my plate on top of the bookshelf, I close the door and head towards Nina.
“Hey Nee! So, how was the gym?” I ask, seeing her workout clothes on a heap near her bed.
“Oh God, Bridge, does it MATTER? Have you seen this video?” she says, turning her phone to me.
It’s me, but it’s not me. I’m in the video, wearing clothes I’ve never seen before, with people I’ve never seen before, at a club I’ve never seen before. I’m wearing a lavender silk dress with a big fur trim around the bottom and spaghetti straps. It’s cute, but I’d never wear that.
In the video, a strange blonde man has his hands all over my—er, Bridget-Not-Me—hips. The man and B.N.M are dancing together at some fancy club with big purple lights and a dance floor. B.N.M has a glass of alcohol in her hand, she drinks it, then spills it on the ground and slips and falls in these combat boots.
What. The. Hell.
It’s not me. I never did that. I don’t remember it. I don ‘t know those people, that place. I don’t own those clothes. Not the boots either.
“Nina…” I start, terrified, “I don’t know those people. That’s me, right there, but I don’t own those clothes or the shoes. I don’t remember doing this.”
“Bridge, are you sure? That’s you, clear as day.”
“I know, that’s perfectly, obviously me, but no matter how far I dig into my memory, I can’t remember this. That wasn’t me…so why does someone look just like me and is doing this?”
“We need to do something. Before your reputation gets ruined.”
She’s damn right. Who is this girl with my face, and what does she have against me?”
Woah, that was fast, Its really good!
I LOVE IT! This has great potential!!!!!
Thanks!! I've decided to omit the video scene because I want both the characters to be "normaler" with sweet everyday lives that you get attached to...I want you to feel sorry for the terrible things happening like they're average people. Anyone have tips on adding filler to a story or getting scene ideas?
Mod
I love it Bridget ♡ just keep on going !!!
Im sick, lacking sleep, and have an Algebra test in 15 minutes
Mod
Y'all how do you make a scene longer and more descriptive without being like, "this is my room. the walls are purple blah blah blah"
Mod
Mod
I proud of myselfstill.. even though it was. a year ago.. i still be proud.
(sorry about ur headache!)
Mod
I'm giving you guys a lot of power rn, y'all get to create a character and a purpose for them in my novel. A little backstory....
Bridget/Brooke: MC
Nina: The Bridget half's bsf
Blake: The "bridget" half of the girl's bf
Jack: the brooke half of the girl's bf
Give me a new character and give me a plot for him (desc, how he's introduced into the story, his purpose, his story)
I just need help ahahahhhhhhhh oh godddd
Bridget/Brooke: MC
Nina: The Bridget half's bsf
Blake: The "bridget" half of the girl's bf
Jack: the brooke half of the girl's bf
Give me a new character and give me a plot for him (desc, how he's introduced into the story, his purpose, his story)
I just need help ahahahhhhhhhh oh godddd
I changed the first chapter but I want to make the date the third chapter! Read below::
01
Bridget
EVER HEAR SOME PEOPLE SAY, “TIME FLIES”?
Those people are liars.
Time moves at the same pace of one second per second. You’re always in the now, but seconds from that now, “that now” becomes “that past”. Those memories you fondly (or not-so-fondly) look back on were once your now. So, no, time does not fly. Your brain just doesn’t catch up.
Until now.
I’ll admit, I’ve been a perpetrator of that lie. I always feel like I’m living only half my life. Like I’m greatly missing out on so many things. Other people have so many memories of me, and I have absolutely zero recollection of them.
Of course, if I don’t want to be hypocritical, I’ll also have to admit that all that was just a lie. I mean, it sure can’t be true. That’s just not possible. Maybe if I didn’t think up so many “pathological liar” theories, it'd be possible. But, I’ve fallen victim to my own crime and now I doubt everything I think.
All these thoughts pollute my mind as I sit at my vanity—where I am most of the time—looking at myself in the mirror studying my features;
My eyes, too large for my face, my nose, which I generally have no complaints for, my lips that are just so average, my top lip disappearing into my suntanned skin, and my shoulders, all too wide.
I like my hair though. And my clothing style. I guess those two are important, anyways. I recently cut some big, vintage curtain bangs in my hair. I hated them at first, but after actually styling my hair, I came to realize that they were growing on me. It just took some time. Everything takes time really. Life is time, money is time, even I am time.
Fuck, Bridget. Stop thinking about time.
I immediately get out of the pink, faux fur chair I’m sitting on, a cluster of chocolate-brown ringlets cascading over my shoulder. In a great effort to distract myself, I pull out the perfect book, sandwiched between its prequel and sequel.
The Hunger Games: Catching Fire.
Sure, who doesn’t love watching 24 teenagers go in to battle to the death for the SECOND time around?
I’m really just reading this for the best book character of all time, Finnick Odair.
Before I can even toss myself down on my bed, the phone starts ringing. I leave my bent-up book on my bed and locate by ear where the ringing is coming from. My bright-pink painted toes flutter through the soft carpet as I try not to trip over the clothes Nina has left sprawled around our dorm room.
Our room is doubly large; at our college, dorm rooms are priced decently low, but the bigger rooms are just the same high price. Nina and I are both first-generation college students, and thankfully, we both got scholarships for college so we could pool our savings and afford a bigger room. On the left of the large window across from the door is my white and sage themed bed, on the right is Nina’s blue plaid one, at the foot of Nina’s bed is our shared vanity while mine has a bookcase and bulletin board. We managed to score this shag-like carpeting and found an open box of fairy-lights in the trash. There were no drugs or anything in the box, and the lights worked, so now our whole room is this magical cozy den.
I open the door of my walk-in closet, (first generation college perks!) and find the sage-colored silicone thing tossed on the floor.
“babe” with a bunch of heart emojis, AKA Blake, is my boyfriend of two years. I doubt his call is overly important; he calls often, but not often enough that it’s a daily thing. When we first started dating, at the beginning of the year, he called me every day we didn’t see each other. And even when we did, he still called me. That’s sweet, right? I think.
I glance back at my white bed, complete with a couple sage throw pillows and a ribbed throw blanket, and contemplate ignoring the call and getting back to the book longing my name.
Nevertheless, I swipe the green circle and bring the phone up to my ear.
“Hey, babe.” I say, adjusting my sage bandana crop top like he can see its crooked edge.
“Hello, love. So, how’s Manhattan? Are you busy?” Just a touch of Australian lingers in his voice.
His mother, of course, from the big apple, and his grandfather from Australia. He is an “All-American Product” with just a hint of Australian.
It’s a very sexy voice.
“Oh, it’s very nice. Decently warm for September. I have a bit of schoolwork but I’ve cleared most of it out. Just revising this essay and stitching up a dress for Nina.”
Nina, my best friend since the sixth grade, is always going out in the middle of the night and doing wild things. I usually come but that night…I can’t exactly remember what I was doing. She retold the story to me again and again, although it’s only been twenty-four hours since this event, about how she went out in a big party dress, got milkshakes at Dave’s Diner, and went to the skateboard park with some of her friends. Apparently, I was nowhere to be found when she left.
Okay…that’s kind of weird to me.
“How would you like to have a coastal-adjacent picnic with me? Say, seven-o-clock?”
He could’ve just said beach. Oh, doesn’t my Blake just love to be extra.
“Oh, Blake…I’d love to.” I say, a grin creeping up onto my lips, “You’ll pick me up in what, four hours?”
“Only time will tell,” he says, with a smirk I can hear in his voice, “I can just imagine the taste of your lip gloss. Surprise me. See you, sweetheart.”
Before I can say goodbye, he disconnects the call.
Turning back to the vanity I treat like Snow White’s magic mirror, I study my outfit. Bandana top? Cute. Flare jeans? Always in style. My hair? Quirky and retro. I think that’s good.
Turning away, I remember the lip gloss and slather some cherry-flavor on my lips before tossing it in my drawer.
I put my book back on the bookcase, understanding that somewhere inside, I knew I’d never get around to it, and pull the MacBook Air out from under my bed. Opening the sticker-covered lid, I type in my password and watch the screen fade to my wallpaper; a picture of Nina and I on my sweet sixteen last month, in hot pink dresses with big tulle skirts.
Now, that, was a good time.
I reluctantly open my old Word document and get to my essay.
“Damn.” I mutter to myself, “finally a real baguette here.
I throw my head back, happily seeing this long-awaited bread, and run over to where the it is stationed in the college breakfast nook.
This nook has been my go-to place for a nice breakfast or snack since I got here. It has pine floors, which may be this college’s favorite thing, wood counters and cabinets, a large window overlooking the garden, and four booths with baby-blue, cushiony fabrics. And don’t forget the pine booth tables.
On the wooden countertop, I snatch the lid off of the dome shaped tray and grab a French bread baguette. Cutting two slices, I place them on a paper heart-shaped plate and put the rest of the baguette away, adding a smear of chocolate-hazelnut butter, banana slices, and then, perfectly Insta-worthy, I take my food and go up to my room.
My mother, Nancy, homeschooled me until fourth grade where I was two years younger than the rest of the kids. I was such a tiny kid, which really didn’t help, either. My mom, on one hand, was focused on teaching me math, while my father bought me all the books he could. While I was dorm shopping, I literally bought myself a two-by-four bookcase and it’s all full of my books, up against the foot of my bed. You can never have too many books!
I open the dorm room door—after I leave an “xoxo b” on the dry-erase-board attached—to see Nina sitting on her bed, scrolling away at whatever the newest social media trend is. Placing my plate on top of the bookshelf, I close the door and head towards Nina.
“Hey Nee! So, how was the gym?” I ask, seeing her workout clothes on a heap near her baby-blue, plaid bed.
“Oh, it was amazing!” she says, tossing a thick strand of blonde hair over her shoulder, “I saw the cutest guy there. Like, seriously. He was so deliciously scrumptious tha—”
I interrupt her.
“Please tell me I heard you wrong and you did not say ‘deliciously scrumptious’?” I say, playfully rolling my eyes.
“You just love me, don’t you? Back to the deliciously scrumptious boy, he was tall, like, really tall. He was all blonde and cute…”
Her voice continues, but I can’t hang on long enough to listen. All I can think about is, ugh, blondes, and my food is still on the bookshelf. Absent-mindedly nodding, I grab my plate and nibble at the slice of bread.
“…but then he told me he had a girlfriend so that was crushing, but, you know, we need more loyal guys like this. Right?”
“Mmm, oh, yeah, totally.” I lazily say, swallowing that last bite of one slice, “Oh! Speaking of guys, I have a date with Blake this evening. He’s picking me up in three hours and taking me to the beach.”
Nina dramatically throws herself backwards onto her pillow, crushing a stuffed dog in the process. She presses her palms to her chest and lets out a sigh.
“You two are so. Cute. So freaking cute. Cute. Cute. And cute.”
I honestly don’t know why she’s acting so silly right now. It’s just a date! She can go on a date with her own boyfriend whenever she wants. After all, she has a backup blonde she’s flirting with when she could be with the boyfriend she already has!
“Nina…were you seriously flirting with a guy while you have Tyler? And you’re talking about loyalty…Neens…” I say, almost disappointed in her.
It won’t last long though. She’s a good person and hard to be disappointed in.
Getting up and kicking her clothes into the hamper, she says, “Aw, Bridget, don’t overreact. It was innocent flirting!”
I toss the paper plate into the garbage and sigh.
“Yeah. Whatever you say. I’m going to take a drive around, listen to the radio. Be back by six-thirty. Bye, love you.”
“Bye Bridget.”
I slip on a pair of black converse and open the door, my shoes making an uncanny thud as I walk against the old pine floorboards. The hallway smells like rotting wood, and I don’t blame it. This college, West Lakeville Academy, boasts on just about every pamphlet, commercial, and college website about how the school is, like, a million years old and the pine that made this majestic place has been around even longer. Turning the corner and passing a couple more dorm rooms, I arrive at the elevator. I gently press a silver button to open it and select the ground floor.
Time to just get my mind off of things.
01
Bridget
EVER HEAR SOME PEOPLE SAY, “TIME FLIES”?
Those people are liars.
Time moves at the same pace of one second per second. You’re always in the now, but seconds from that now, “that now” becomes “that past”. Those memories you fondly (or not-so-fondly) look back on were once your now. So, no, time does not fly. Your brain just doesn’t catch up.
Until now.
I’ll admit, I’ve been a perpetrator of that lie. I always feel like I’m living only half my life. Like I’m greatly missing out on so many things. Other people have so many memories of me, and I have absolutely zero recollection of them.
Of course, if I don’t want to be hypocritical, I’ll also have to admit that all that was just a lie. I mean, it sure can’t be true. That’s just not possible. Maybe if I didn’t think up so many “pathological liar” theories, it'd be possible. But, I’ve fallen victim to my own crime and now I doubt everything I think.
All these thoughts pollute my mind as I sit at my vanity—where I am most of the time—looking at myself in the mirror studying my features;
My eyes, too large for my face, my nose, which I generally have no complaints for, my lips that are just so average, my top lip disappearing into my suntanned skin, and my shoulders, all too wide.
I like my hair though. And my clothing style. I guess those two are important, anyways. I recently cut some big, vintage curtain bangs in my hair. I hated them at first, but after actually styling my hair, I came to realize that they were growing on me. It just took some time. Everything takes time really. Life is time, money is time, even I am time.
Fuck, Bridget. Stop thinking about time.
I immediately get out of the pink, faux fur chair I’m sitting on, a cluster of chocolate-brown ringlets cascading over my shoulder. In a great effort to distract myself, I pull out the perfect book, sandwiched between its prequel and sequel.
The Hunger Games: Catching Fire.
Sure, who doesn’t love watching 24 teenagers go in to battle to the death for the SECOND time around?
I’m really just reading this for the best book character of all time, Finnick Odair.
Before I can even toss myself down on my bed, the phone starts ringing. I leave my bent-up book on my bed and locate by ear where the ringing is coming from. My bright-pink painted toes flutter through the soft carpet as I try not to trip over the clothes Nina has left sprawled around our dorm room.
Our room is doubly large; at our college, dorm rooms are priced decently low, but the bigger rooms are just the same high price. Nina and I are both first-generation college students, and thankfully, we both got scholarships for college so we could pool our savings and afford a bigger room. On the left of the large window across from the door is my white and sage themed bed, on the right is Nina’s blue plaid one, at the foot of Nina’s bed is our shared vanity while mine has a bookcase and bulletin board. We managed to score this shag-like carpeting and found an open box of fairy-lights in the trash. There were no drugs or anything in the box, and the lights worked, so now our whole room is this magical cozy den.
I open the door of my walk-in closet, (first generation college perks!) and find the sage-colored silicone thing tossed on the floor.
“babe” with a bunch of heart emojis, AKA Blake, is my boyfriend of two years. I doubt his call is overly important; he calls often, but not often enough that it’s a daily thing. When we first started dating, at the beginning of the year, he called me every day we didn’t see each other. And even when we did, he still called me. That’s sweet, right? I think.
I glance back at my white bed, complete with a couple sage throw pillows and a ribbed throw blanket, and contemplate ignoring the call and getting back to the book longing my name.
Nevertheless, I swipe the green circle and bring the phone up to my ear.
“Hey, babe.” I say, adjusting my sage bandana crop top like he can see its crooked edge.
“Hello, love. So, how’s Manhattan? Are you busy?” Just a touch of Australian lingers in his voice.
His mother, of course, from the big apple, and his grandfather from Australia. He is an “All-American Product” with just a hint of Australian.
It’s a very sexy voice.
“Oh, it’s very nice. Decently warm for September. I have a bit of schoolwork but I’ve cleared most of it out. Just revising this essay and stitching up a dress for Nina.”
Nina, my best friend since the sixth grade, is always going out in the middle of the night and doing wild things. I usually come but that night…I can’t exactly remember what I was doing. She retold the story to me again and again, although it’s only been twenty-four hours since this event, about how she went out in a big party dress, got milkshakes at Dave’s Diner, and went to the skateboard park with some of her friends. Apparently, I was nowhere to be found when she left.
Okay…that’s kind of weird to me.
“How would you like to have a coastal-adjacent picnic with me? Say, seven-o-clock?”
He could’ve just said beach. Oh, doesn’t my Blake just love to be extra.
“Oh, Blake…I’d love to.” I say, a grin creeping up onto my lips, “You’ll pick me up in what, four hours?”
“Only time will tell,” he says, with a smirk I can hear in his voice, “I can just imagine the taste of your lip gloss. Surprise me. See you, sweetheart.”
Before I can say goodbye, he disconnects the call.
Turning back to the vanity I treat like Snow White’s magic mirror, I study my outfit. Bandana top? Cute. Flare jeans? Always in style. My hair? Quirky and retro. I think that’s good.
Turning away, I remember the lip gloss and slather some cherry-flavor on my lips before tossing it in my drawer.
I put my book back on the bookcase, understanding that somewhere inside, I knew I’d never get around to it, and pull the MacBook Air out from under my bed. Opening the sticker-covered lid, I type in my password and watch the screen fade to my wallpaper; a picture of Nina and I on my sweet sixteen last month, in hot pink dresses with big tulle skirts.
Now, that, was a good time.
I reluctantly open my old Word document and get to my essay.
“Damn.” I mutter to myself, “finally a real baguette here.
I throw my head back, happily seeing this long-awaited bread, and run over to where the it is stationed in the college breakfast nook.
This nook has been my go-to place for a nice breakfast or snack since I got here. It has pine floors, which may be this college’s favorite thing, wood counters and cabinets, a large window overlooking the garden, and four booths with baby-blue, cushiony fabrics. And don’t forget the pine booth tables.
On the wooden countertop, I snatch the lid off of the dome shaped tray and grab a French bread baguette. Cutting two slices, I place them on a paper heart-shaped plate and put the rest of the baguette away, adding a smear of chocolate-hazelnut butter, banana slices, and then, perfectly Insta-worthy, I take my food and go up to my room.
My mother, Nancy, homeschooled me until fourth grade where I was two years younger than the rest of the kids. I was such a tiny kid, which really didn’t help, either. My mom, on one hand, was focused on teaching me math, while my father bought me all the books he could. While I was dorm shopping, I literally bought myself a two-by-four bookcase and it’s all full of my books, up against the foot of my bed. You can never have too many books!
I open the dorm room door—after I leave an “xoxo b” on the dry-erase-board attached—to see Nina sitting on her bed, scrolling away at whatever the newest social media trend is. Placing my plate on top of the bookshelf, I close the door and head towards Nina.
“Hey Nee! So, how was the gym?” I ask, seeing her workout clothes on a heap near her baby-blue, plaid bed.
“Oh, it was amazing!” she says, tossing a thick strand of blonde hair over her shoulder, “I saw the cutest guy there. Like, seriously. He was so deliciously scrumptious tha—”
I interrupt her.
“Please tell me I heard you wrong and you did not say ‘deliciously scrumptious’?” I say, playfully rolling my eyes.
“You just love me, don’t you? Back to the deliciously scrumptious boy, he was tall, like, really tall. He was all blonde and cute…”
Her voice continues, but I can’t hang on long enough to listen. All I can think about is, ugh, blondes, and my food is still on the bookshelf. Absent-mindedly nodding, I grab my plate and nibble at the slice of bread.
“…but then he told me he had a girlfriend so that was crushing, but, you know, we need more loyal guys like this. Right?”
“Mmm, oh, yeah, totally.” I lazily say, swallowing that last bite of one slice, “Oh! Speaking of guys, I have a date with Blake this evening. He’s picking me up in three hours and taking me to the beach.”
Nina dramatically throws herself backwards onto her pillow, crushing a stuffed dog in the process. She presses her palms to her chest and lets out a sigh.
“You two are so. Cute. So freaking cute. Cute. Cute. And cute.”
I honestly don’t know why she’s acting so silly right now. It’s just a date! She can go on a date with her own boyfriend whenever she wants. After all, she has a backup blonde she’s flirting with when she could be with the boyfriend she already has!
“Nina…were you seriously flirting with a guy while you have Tyler? And you’re talking about loyalty…Neens…” I say, almost disappointed in her.
It won’t last long though. She’s a good person and hard to be disappointed in.
Getting up and kicking her clothes into the hamper, she says, “Aw, Bridget, don’t overreact. It was innocent flirting!”
I toss the paper plate into the garbage and sigh.
“Yeah. Whatever you say. I’m going to take a drive around, listen to the radio. Be back by six-thirty. Bye, love you.”
“Bye Bridget.”
I slip on a pair of black converse and open the door, my shoes making an uncanny thud as I walk against the old pine floorboards. The hallway smells like rotting wood, and I don’t blame it. This college, West Lakeville Academy, boasts on just about every pamphlet, commercial, and college website about how the school is, like, a million years old and the pine that made this majestic place has been around even longer. Turning the corner and passing a couple more dorm rooms, I arrive at the elevator. I gently press a silver button to open it and select the ground floor.
Time to just get my mind off of things.
Clémentine (Sirius' version)♡➷ wrote: "why are you proud of yourself ? (if you don't want to tell us, it's okay don't worry) (thanks !)"I wrote a 6 paged mystery story (with gay in it) In 5 days. Also 3 pages were due.
Mod
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Bridget wrote: "I changed the first chapter but I want to make the date the third chapter! Read below::01
Bridget
EVER HEAR SOME PEOPLE SAY, “TIME FLIES”?
Those people are liars.
Time moves at the same p..."
Deff better!
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Clémentine (Sirius' version)♡➷ wrote: "ohh what is your story abt ?"Basically about the murder of an owner of a big printing press in London, and one of the newest recruits was third wheeled out of the case. And went off to find the murder himself, While finding love too (tho i introduced it pretty badly)
Clémentine (Sirius' version)♡➷ wrote: "(the character you want to create is a boy ? Does he need to be really pretty or just a random guy ? Does he need a great past ? is he going to be friend with the main character or is he a friend/l..."
anything you want! i just want him to add interest to the story, something that would make people wanna learn more about him and keep turning pages :))
anything you want! i just want him to add interest to the story, something that would make people wanna learn more about him and keep turning pages :))
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Clémentine (Sirius' version)♡➷ wrote: "IT SOUNDS AMAZING. I WANT TO READ IT."Bridget wrote: "Clémentine (Sirius' version)♡➷ wrote: "(the character you want to create is a boy ? Does he need to be really pretty or just a random guy ? Does he need a great past ? is he going to be friend with..."
Mind me stealing ur spotlight for a sec so Cle can read my story :+)
♦︎A_Gay_Snake_Named_Quince♦︎ wrote: "Clémentine (Sirius' version)♡➷ wrote: "IT SOUNDS AMAZING. I WANT TO READ IT."
Bridget wrote: "Clémentine (Sirius' version)♡➷ wrote: "(the character you want to create is a boy ? Does he need to be..."
Lol idc I rly love your plot <3333
Bridget wrote: "Clémentine (Sirius' version)♡➷ wrote: "(the character you want to create is a boy ? Does he need to be..."
Lol idc I rly love your plot <3333
Thanks!Ok ok, let me post it, its gunna take some parts
The Tiny Man and the RiverBy Elizabeth Hauck
The Water laps the shore as it draws back in blood, the holder of the blood laid only a few feet away, his empty eyes gazing at the brighting sky. Only 3 hours later did a gathering of Officers and medics walked across the scene, as citizens watched behind the line. The Loud rumbling of a Henry Ford Drove up to it, 3 men hopped out of it while the one behind the wheel stayed behind, even in the misty fog and the lack of light, the curly bright ginger hair spotted out from the window. The Ginger watches the men walk up to the officers, pull out a badge and the officer led them in. The Ginger’s head dipped down sadly, “Seems worthless to come so far just to be a driver” His Soft Voice said sadly. An Officer runs up to the Ford “Are you Freddy Mad?” he asks. “It’s Francis Magnus-” “Dont care, he says abruptly “Detective Mardolo Wants to see you.” Francis Magnus Hops out of the Vehicle and follows the officer into the area, his heart leaping, Finally! My first case I'll get to be a part of!
As he neared the men that surrounded the Body, it was easy to see how tall he was compared to them. “Fredy Go get me a coffee at the Thames River Coffee place.” Mardolo Snaps at Francis. “But, the case.” He replies “Coffee Now!” “I'm not your waterboy! I'm a detective too.” Francis Defends “But I'm your superior Anti I? Now go get my coffee!” Mardolo Snaps with a glare at francis. Francis Goes red as his hair and marches off. He Hops into the vehicle and slams the door, he starts the ford, but it doesnt turn on, he then hops out and turns the engine starter hooked on front of the car, complaining on why the precinct had such an old car. He gets back in and drives for 7 minutes before arriving before a Brown Little Cafe, The words Thames River Coffee. After placing Mardolo’s Order which he knew by heart from ordering coffee for Mardolo so many times, He was given the cup. “You Have such a nice accent you know” Says a man that leveled the same height as Francis. Francis smiles “Thank you, you english men have… Okay? Uh.. voices? No- I mean accents.” It was Clear how flustered Francis was. “My Day was made. Thanks” The man smiles with Amusement in his voice. “So Uh.. when do you get off? We could hang out or whatever” The man smiles. “Around 4 in the afternoon, will I have a name to call you by?” he asks. “Francis Magnus, but Francis for short. You?” Francis replys. “Carlo” he says. “See you 4, Francis” he walks off to take care of another person. A woman that was behind him shot him a Angry look as he walked off. He drove back to the sence and hands Mardolo his coffee. “What took you so long boy?” He growls as he snags the coffee. “You can leave now, we don't need you.” “But I was assigned the case!” Francis protests. “I went through training and worked hard for this!” “Aww so sad, Suck it up, redhead” Mardolo Growls. Francis fist curls up and he's about ready to punch Mardolo but thinks better of it, he turns around and marches off Muttering in Scottish curse words. “Fine i'll do it myself” he says. Ready to prove his Family and the precinct wrong.
Chapter 2
Once the detectives had left, Francis walked back in, when an officer stopped him “I'm sorry but Citizens are not allowed here” “Ya i know, it's a good thing i'm not one” Francis replies. He holds out his badge “i was asinded this case but no one thinks i can do it too, so, if i can't work with others, i'll do it myself” The officer looks around “yes but the head de-” “You are an officer, you do have higher position then a detective, regardless of your or their rank.” Francis interrupts. The officer shrugs and lets him in. “ I mean it's no harm to let you in, I recall seeing you early so I trust you to not be a news reporter.” “Thank you, now, could you tell me what they are thinking of the case?” Francis asks as he walked toward the middle of the scene. “Well they are depicting it as a sucide but not sure yet” the Officer says as Francis leans down and prys the cloth away from the body, even though it's been a few hours, his body was already rotting. Francis touches the neck, checking it. “Yep, they're wrong.. It not sucide” “wha? What do you mean?” the officer said, baffled. “The neck, it's like someone choked him, whoever they were had long nails. May be a woman, but men can have long nails too. Unless he choked himself but..” Francis grabs the man's hands, revealing his nails short. “So who's the man?” “Uh, James Yarnold, the owner of the J & H Printing Press company.'' “Does he have any famliy? Friends?” He asks. “Yes, his wife beatrice, and his daughter Alena, and his Co-Owner Hank Smith.” the officer replies. “Ok, thank you” He gets up and covers the body “you dont mind me looking round the river?” The officer shrugs, Francis nods and starts making his way down the river. After a few minutes he starts to turn around, when he saw a shattered lamp, he leans down and picks it up. “Seems to thrown” he mutters, and began to look around when his eyes laid on a large brown shaggy weed in the water. Thats not weed. He began to run up to it, and pulled it out, his eyes widening. He stares down at the glassy eyes of an old man before him. With this time, instead of nail marks, a pen with J & H Company written on it. He quickly got back up and jogged back to the site and ran up to the officer from earlier, and pants “There's another, this time a pen..” the officer's eyes widened. “ You mean dead body? Whose?” “I don't know, he's dead alright, but I don't know who he is, he looks to be a caretaker of that barge place a few blocks down, he's old and all but his body is fresh.” Francis Breaths. The Officer nods and calls for some men to come down to the body, Francis follows, still trying to get his breath, he looks down at his pocket watch for the time. It was only 12:47.
