So I redid the last story a little bit, just slight modifications. Here it is. `````````````````````````````````````````````` Perdu As I walked up to her door, I thought long, but not so hard, about what I was going to say. I may have had a general idea, but I would be lying if I said it was a plan. Just a few guidelines, with a desired outcome. I would crush her. I don't know when or why I started to hate her. Veri was a sweet girl. She had the most bold features ever assembled into one person. In fact, she might have been the most gorgeous being I have ever met. Yeah, I guess she is. You see, we had been dating for about seven months. Actually six months 23 days, exactly. We had a good relationship, we never fought, never disagreed, nothing. It was solid. It was rock hard. Steel. But there was the journal... She had this journal she kept hidden around her apartment. I'm one of the guys who HAS to read things. So when I found it the first time, I read it from cover to cover. Well, until the most recent page anyway. She had all these aspirations listed. So many plans, so many dreams, and I was holding her back. Don't get me wrong though. I wasn't being selfless in this act. I would say it was more for me than her, in fact. I loved, no... love her. It's just I can never be too sure of myself. I always think something better is coming, regardless of how good what I actually have is. "Ben lets go to France". "What, why?" "Do we need a reason to go to FRANCE!? It'll be amazing, we can go to Paris, see the tower, kiss under the lights...let’s go." "I don't think so baby. I'm home, I'm cozy, and we can't afford it. I'm working two jobs and you're still in school." "I can miss a few days, and I have a few dollars saved up, thank you." "Well who'll watch your apartment?" I asked, smugly. "Jen will." "Jen?" "Jen." "Jens a crack head" I replied, mixed with laughter. "She is not, and she’s my friend so shut it." That last remark had a little bit of hurt in it, so of course I tried to get sweet on her. "I'm sorry sweetie, I just can't go right now." "Ok, its fine. Want to get some dinner?" "Sure, you pick." What I didn't know at the time, but found out later, through Bernie, was that she had already purchased tickets. Oh, Bernie is two people. The first, the girl that beat me up in middle school. I know. The second is her journal. You can see why I named it that. I couldn't very well bring it up either. I was in trouble no matter what I did. That's why I did it. I just wasn't good enough. The door opened with its usual wooden creak. That door couldn't stop a mouse. "Baby, what are you doing here? It's so late..." she said, a small perfect yawn in her voice. I almost couldn't bring myself to do it. She was too perfect, an angel, stuck in a dilapidated old funeral home of an apartment complex. You should see this place. It has cracks running down the walls that you can hide things in, and the color is unique. When I first saw it, I couldn’t use colors to describe it, I had to use smells. It was bad. But anyways, I did it. The words aren't important, just that a whole lot of tears and 43 minutes later, we were done. Over the next several years we had nearly no contact. A few chit chats on the streets here and there, but it never turned out well. That whole thing that you get into when you break up, how you hate them for no reason, but mostly because you love them? That thing. Then she was gone. She is gone. I asked, warily and carefully of course. I didn't want people to notice that I cared, in any fashion. So I asked the only person who she would have told, that crack whore Jen. "Jen, I know you hate me, but did Veri move?" I asked, hesitantly. "Yeah she did. She moved a few weeks back". Of course her answer was quick and cold. "Well, where to?" Then she responded, with quite a bit of hate I'll add, "You piece of shit, like I'd tell you." Then I caught on. "How much?" "100 for the country, 100 more for specifics." Apparently she had this thought out. Like she could have known that I would care. "Fine, now where is she." Somehow, in first thirty seconds of the conversation, it became a manhunt. "France. Some shit hole villa a few miles outside of Paris." It was clear she actually didn't care about Veri anymore, the addiction ruled her. "You really are a druggy bitch, you know that?" Then she replied, "You really can't get her back, you know that right?" Up till this point, I hadn't realized that I wanted her back, and that I'd do anything to find her, but one year of searching, and another six months of saving and scrimping to afford it, I found her house. Just like her. Small, one story old brick house. Just like she wanted. Of course she kept with her trend, this place was about to fall over. The cracks in this one might even have been bigger than the old place, but for some reason it looked classic. I mustered up the courage, and knocked on the door. To my surprise, the door opened a little. I yelled, "Veri, are you here?" Again I yelled. Once more. The place was dead. I walked in, and realized the estate had become run down, covered in dust. And of course, a rat scurried by. Little bastard must have weighed 20 pounds! I went back outside, and tried in vain to ask the first neighbor, a small, filthy woman, what had happened to her. Of course I knew nearly no French, plus the translation book was a piece of shit. I finally found someone who spoke a bit of English, an older gentleman, and he informed me that she was gone. Broken, I walked back into her abandoned home. The man gave me no reason why she left, just that she left with no goodbyes and with little bags. I spent the night there; not having a place to say pushed you to do creepy things such as this. Barely tired, more horrified than anything else, I began to search. What started as a gentle interest became a frantic search for any clues. There it was. Bernie. I dusted off its leather face, and looked that bastard in the letters. I almost threw up, and to this day, I don't know why. I told myself not to read it, but I couldn't resist. It said beautiful, awful, terrific, terrible things. She had been waiting for me this whole time. Waiting in this stupid villa for me to come and get her. Veri even left me an address. The things she said about me made me so proud, but so ashamed. She thought so much of me for so long. She talked about how I could change, how the man inside of me had the potential. Needless to say I didn’t feel so hot, but maybe I was being that man then? I hopped on the next bus, well I guess you could call it a bus, to La Rochelle. This was a good break. A real town, with more than eight people. On the ride, I read more and more of Bernie, whom I decided to give a second chance. It's new name is Jean. She had written so much over the years. Done so much and loved so much, but there was so much sadness. Then I realized that it was my fault. This whole time, neither of us had healed. The further I read, the better it got. She slowly got more and more hope. She began to pray again, which she hadn't done even during our own relationship. She was waiting happily, for her man to come and get her. I was finally ready to be that man. I got out of the taxi, and gave him a modest tip. Not that I wanted to, but had no idea on how French currency worked. It was stormy, practically a blizzard, odd for the season. I instantly noticed her through the window. That incredible hair, and perfect grey eyes. I could almost smell her from the street. I was so close. Then it all happened. Some...man...walked up to her and did the worst thing possible. He kissed her. And she kissed back. Passionately, with real love. I don't remember the emotions that flowed through me, but I remember looking straight back at Jean, who was sitting in my hand, and feeling betrayed. Bernie lied to me. She was waiting for her man, not me. The man who deserved her, any man willing to do the job with heart and dedication. When she left, it wasn't for me to find her, but to start her new life. She must have forgotten me. Out of fury I screamed, my voice muffled by the wind. I looked at "him", then Bernie, then Veri. I did all I could think of, I tore Bernie. I tore it to a thousand pieces. Then I watched something usual, Veri clutching her chest, and falling to the floor in agony. Confused I rushed to the window, and saw the body lie lifeless in this other man's arms. I had never been so wounded in my whole life. I watched the woman I longed for die in another man's arms, and simultaneously saw that he loved her more, that he earned and deserved her. I guess she was finally happy... ...and all I could do was rip her heart apart one final time.

So I was having a tough night, and decided to write something. On my floor from packing, was a story I wrote a few months ago while I was actually really happy. It was inspired when I found a dirty beat up diary on the road, and actually was a fairly happy story. I twisted it a little bit to match my mood. so don't be too harsh on me. I know its rough, not enough dialogue, but I could care less. If enough of you say enough of the same thing I'll fix this up a bit, but I don't plan on it otherwise. Plus, one of you should name it. I hate naming things, so everyone put a suggestion, and I'll choose the best one. Like anyone reads this anyway. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ As I walked up to her door, I thought long, but not so hard, about what I was going to say. I may have had a general idea, but I would be lying if I said it was a plan. Just a few ideas, with a desired outcome. I would crush her. I don't know when or why I started to hate her. Veri was a sweet girl. She had the most bold features ever assembled into one person. In fact, she might have been the most gorgeous being I have ever met. Yeah, I guess she is. You see, we had been dating for about seven months. Actually six months 23 days exactly. We had a good relationship, we never fought, never disagreed, nothing. It was solid. It was rock hard. Steel. But there was the journal... She had this journal she kept hidden around her apartment. I'm one of the guys who HAS to read things. So when I found it the first time, I read it from cover to cover. Well, until the most recent page anyway. She had all these aspirations listed. So many plans, so many dreams, and I was holding her back. Don't get me wrong though. I wasn't being selfless in this act. I would say it was more for me than her, in fact. I loved, no... love her. It's just I can never be too sure of myself. I always think something better is coming, regardless of how good what I actually have is. "Ben lets go to France". "What, why?" "Do we need a reason to go to FRANCE!? It'll be amazing, we can go to Paris, see the tower, kiss under the lights...lets go." "I don't think so baby. I'm home, I'm cozy, and we can't afford it. I'm working two jobs and you're still in school." "I can miss a few days, and I have a few dollars saved up, thank you." "Well who'll watch your apartment?" I asked, smugly. "Jen will." "Jen?" "Jen." "Jens a crack head" I replied, mixed with laughter. "She is not, and shes my friend so shut it." That last remark had a little bit of hurt in it, so of course I tried to get sweet on her. "I'm sorry sweety, I just can't go right now." "Ok, its fine. Want to get some dinner?" "Sure, you pick." What I didn't know at the time, but found out later, through Bernie, was that she had already purchased tickets. Oh, Bernie is two people. The first, the girl that beat me up in middle school. I know. The second is her journal. You can see why I named it that. I couldn't very well bring it up either. I was in trouble no matter what I did. That's why I did it. I just wasn't good enough. The door opened with it's usual wooden creak. That door couldn't stop a mouse. "Baby, what are you doing here? It's so late..." she said, a small perfect yawn in her voice. I almost couldn't bring myself to do it. she was too perfect, and angel, stuck in a dilapidated old funeral home of an apartment complex. But I did. The words aren't important, just that a whole lot of tears and 43 minutes later, we were done. Over the next several years we had nearly no contact. A few chit chats on the streets here and there, but it never turned out well. Then she was gone. She is gone. I asked, warily and carefully of course. I didn't want people to notice that I cared. In any fashion. "Jen, I know you hate me, but did Veri move?" I asked, hesitantly. "Yeah she did. She moved a few weeks back". Of course her answer was quick and cold. "Well, where to?" then she responded, with quite a bit of hate I'll add, "You piece of shit, like I'd tell you." Then I caught on. "How much?" "100 for the country, 100 more for specifics." Apparently she had this thought out. Like she could have known that I would care. "Fine, now where is she." Somehow, in first thirty seconds of the conversation, it became a manhunt. "France. some shit hole villa a few miles outside of Paris." It was clear she actually didn't care about Veri anymore, the addiction ruled her. "You really are a druggy bitch, you know that?" Then she replied, "You really can't get her back, you know that right?" up till this point, I hadn't realized that I wanted her back, and that I'd do anything to find her. three years later, after months of searching, I found her house. Just like her. Small, one story old brick house. Just like she wanted. Of course she kept with her trend, this place was about to fall over. I mustered up the courage, and knocked on the door. To my surprise, the door opened a little. I yelled, "Veri, are you here?" Again I yelled. Once more. The place was dead. I walked in, and realized the estate had become run down, covered in dust. And of course, a rat scurried by. I went back outside, and tried in vain to ask the first neighbor, a small, filthy woman, what had happened to her. Of course I knew nearly no French. Plus the translation book was a piece of shit. I finally found someone who spoke a bit of English, an older gentleman, and he informed me that she was gone. Broken, I walked back into her abandoned home. The man gave me no reason why she left, just that she left with no goodbyes and with little bags. I spent the night there, not having a place to say pushed you to do creepy things such as this. Barely tired, more horrified than anything else, I began to search. What started as a gentle interest, became a frantic search for any clues. There it was. Bernie. I dusted off its leather face, and looked that bastard in the letters. I almost threw up, and to this day, I don't know why. I told myself not to read it, but I couldn't resist. It said beautiful, awful, terrific, terrible things. She had been waiting for me this whole time. Waiting in this stupid villa for me to come and get her. Veri even left me an address. I hopped on the next bus, well I guess you could call it a bus, to La Rochelle. This was a good break. A real town, with more than eight people. On the ride, I read more and more of Bernie, whom I decided to give a second chance. It's new name is Jean. She had written so much over the years. Done so much and loved so much, but there was so much sadness. Then I realized that it was my fault. This whole time, neither of us had healed. The further I read, the better it got. She slowly got more and more hope. She began to pray again, which she hadn't done even during our own relationship. She was waiting happily, for her man to come and get her. I was finally ready to be that man. I got out of the taxi, and gave him a modest tip. Not that I wanted to, but had no idea on how French currency worked. It was stormy, practically a blizzard, odd for the season. I instantly noticed her through the window. That incredible hair, and perfect black eyes. I could almost smell her from the street. I was so close. Then it all happened. Some...man...walked up to her and did the worst thing possible. He kissed her. And she kissed back. Passionately. With real love. I don't remember the emotions that flowed through me, but I remember looking straight back at Jean, who was sitting in my hand, and feeling betrayed. Bernie lied to me. She was waiting for her man, not me. The man who deserved her, any man willing to do the job with heart and dedication. When she left, it wasn't for me to find her, but to start her new life. She must have forgotten me. Out of fury I screamed, my voice muffled by the wind. I looked at "him", then Bernie, then Veri. I did all I could think of, I tore Bernie. I tore it to a thousand pieces. Then I watched Veri clutch her chest, and fall to the floor in pain. Confused I rushed to the window, and saw he body lie lifeless in this other man's arms. I had never been so wounded in my whole life. I watched the woman I longed for die in another man's arms, and simultaneously saw that he loved her more. He earned and deserved her. She was finally happy... ...and all I could do was rip her heart apart one final time.

So I was having a tough night, and decided to write something. On my floor from packing, was a story I wrote a few months ago while I was actually really happy. It was inspired when I found a dirty beat up diary on the road, and actually was a fairly happy story. I twisted it a little bit to match my mood. so don't be too harsh on me. I know its rough, not enough dialogue, but I could care less. If enough of you say enough of the same thing I'll fix this up a bit, but I don't plan on it otherwise. Plus, one of you should name it. I hate naming things, so everyone put a suggestion, and I'll choose the best one. Like anyone reads this anyway. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ As I walked up to her door, I thought long, but not so hard, about what I was going to say. I may have had a general idea, but I would be lying if I said it was a plan. Just a few ideas, with a desired outcome. I would crush her. I don't know when or why I started to hate her. Veri was a sweet girl. She had the most bold features ever assembled into one person. In fact, she might have been the most gorgeous being I have ever met. Yeah, I guess she is. You see, we had been dating for about seven months. Actually six months 23 days exactly. We had a good relationship, we never fought, never disagreed, nothing. It was solid. It was rock hard. Steel. But there was the journal... She had this journal she kept hidden around her apartment. I'm one of the guys who HAS to read things. So when I found it the first time, I read it from cover to cover. Well, until the most recent page anyway. She had all these aspirations listed. So many plans, so many dreams, and I was holding her back. Don't get me wrong though. I wasn't being selfless in this act. I would say it was more for me than her, in fact. I loved, no... love her. It's just I can never be too sure of myself. I always think something better is coming, regardless of how good what I actually have is. "Ben lets go to France". "What, why?" "Do we need a reason to go to FRANCE!? It'll be amazing, we can go to Paris, see the tower, kiss under the lights...lets go." "I don't think so baby. I'm home, I'm cozy, and we can't afford it. I'm working two jobs and you're still in school." "I can miss a few days, and I have a few dollars saved up, thank you." "Well who'll watch your apartment?" I asked, smugly. "Jen will." "Jen?" "Jen." "Jens a crack head" I replied, mixed with laughter. "She is not, and shes my friend so shut it." That last remark had a little bit of hurt in it, so of course I tried to get sweet on her. "I'm sorry sweety, I just can't go right now." "Ok, its fine. Want to get some dinner?" "Sure, you pick." What I didn't know at the time, but found out later, through Bernie, was that she had already purchased tickets. Oh, Bernie is two people. The first, the girl that beat me up in middle school. I know. The second is her journal. You can see why I named it that. I couldn't very well bring it up either. I was in trouble no matter what I did. That's why I did it. I just wasn't good enough. The door opened with it's usual wooden creak. That door couldn't stop a mouse. "Baby, what are you doing here? It's so late..." she said, a small perfect yawn in her voice. I almost couldn't bring myself to do it. she was too perfect, and angel, stuck in a dilapidated old funeral home of an apartment complex. But I did. The words aren't important, just that a whole lot of tears and 43 minutes later, we were done. Over the next several years we had nearly no contact. A few chit chats on the streets here and there, but it never turned out well. Then she was gone. She is gone. I asked, warily and carefully of course. I didn't want people to notice that I cared. In any fashion. "Jen, I know you hate me, but did Veri move?" I asked, hesitantly. "Yeah she did. She moved a few weeks back". Of course her answer was quick and cold. "Well, where to?" then she responded, with quite a bit of hate I'll add, "You piece of shit, like I'd tell you." Then I caught on. "How much?" "100 for the country, 100 more for specifics." Apparently she had this thought out. Like she could have known that I would care. "Fine, now where is she." Somehow, in first thirty seconds of the conversation, it became a manhunt. "France. some shit hole villa a few miles outside of Paris." It was clear she actually didn't care about Veri anymore, the addiction ruled her. "You really are a druggy bitch, you know that?" Then she replied, "You really can't get her back, you know that right?" up till this point, I hadn't realized that I wanted her back, and that I'd do anything to find her. three years later, after months of searching, I found her house. Just like her. Small, one story old brick house. Just like she wanted. Of course she kept with her trend, this place was about to fall over. I mustered up the courage, and knocked on the door. To my surprise, the door opened a little. I yelled, "Veri, are you here?" Again I yelled. Once more. The place was dead. I walked in, and realized the estate had become run down, covered in dust. And of course, a rat scurried by. I went back outside, and tried in vain to ask the first neighbor, a small, filthy woman, what had happened to her. Of course I knew nearly no French. Plus the translation book was a piece of shit. I finally found someone who spoke a bit of English, an older gentleman, and he informed me that she was gone. Broken, I walked back into her abandoned home. The man gave me no reason why she left, just that she left with no goodbyes and with little bags. I spent the night there, not having a place to say pushed you to do creepy things such as this. Barely tired, more horrified than anything else, I began to search. What started as a gentle interest, became a frantic search for any clues. There it was. Bernie. I dusted off its leather face, and looked that bastard in the letters. I almost threw up, and to this day, I don't know why. I told myself not to read it, but I couldn't resist. It said beautiful, awful, terrific, terrible things. She had been waiting for me this whole time. Waiting in this stupid villa for me to come and get her. Veri even left me an address. I hopped on the next bus, well I guess you could call it a bus, to La Rochelle. This was a good break. A real town, with more than eight people. On the ride, I read more and more of Bernie, whom I decided to give a second chance. It's new name is Jean. She had written so much over the years. Done so much and loved so much, but there was so much sadness. Then I realized that it was my fault. This whole time, neither of us had healed. The further I read, the better it got. She slowly got more and more hope. She began to pray again, which she hadn't done even during our own relationship. She was waiting happily, for her man to come and get her. I was finally ready to be that man. I got out of the taxi, and gave him a modest tip. Not that I wanted to, but had no idea on how French currency worked. It was stormy, practically a blizzard, odd for the season. I instantly noticed her through the window. That incredible hair, and perfect black eyes. I could almost smell her from the street. I was so close. Then it all happened. Some...man...walked up to her and did the worst thing possible. He kissed her. And she kissed back. Passionately. With real love. I don't remember the emotions that flowed through me, but I remember looking straight back at Jean, who was sitting in my hand, and feeling betrayed. Bernie lied to me. She was waiting for her man, not me. The man who deserved her, any man willing to do the job with heart and dedication. When she left, it wasn't for me to find her, but to start her new life. She must have forgotten me. Out of fury I screamed, my voice muffled by the wind. I looked at "him", then Bernie, then Veri. I did all I could think of, I tore Bernie. I tore it to a thousand pieces. Then I watched Veri clutch her chest, and fall to the floor in pain. Confused I rushed to the window, and saw he body lie lifeless in this other man's arms. I had never been so wounded in my whole life. I watched the woman I longed for die in another man's arms, and simultaneously saw that he loved her more. He earned and deserved her. She was finally happy... ...and all I could do was rip her heart apart one final time.

Figured it out! So its 3 chapters, unfinished and unpolished. I don't know what ima do with it. Have fun...hopefully... Oh and p.s. I guess the spaces didn't come out so everythings bunched, weak. Maybe I'll space it tomorrow. One of you should though haha. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Delivery Boy *1* I’m a delivery boy. I deliver things. I’m paid to deliver. The most ironic statement I could have ever made. I, John, am a man who has never been given a break, a chance, or a choice. Since I can remember, my life has been a clutter of worthless victories. Since I was young I was assigned tasks, expected to be completed without a hum, without a single question. I was the mindless soldier, being commanded by some war torn general. I was the masked man, killed three minutes into the picture show. After so many of these films I became dull, numb to the opportunities to escape this world of repetition. I did what I was told, I didn’t ask questions, which was good for a bicycle messenger, being handed jobs from complete strangers, being rewarded with no complements or gratitude, just a dollar or two. I hopped on my bicycle a peddled away. I dodged cabs, people, and children, all blank faces, also plagued by life. I finally arrive at my last stop, a bank, the biggest building I’d ever been sent to. As I get back on my feet, a light post flickers on a few yards off. I started my walk up the stairs, legs aching from the miles covered today, I see a familiar face, an unusual affair nowadays, considering I live thousands of miles from any sort of familiarity. I must be mistaken. “John?” a voice says, with a hint of artificial surprise. I can see a person, but I see no one I would know. “It’s me, Jenny” It starts to come back to me. I knew a Jenny in college, where I became, like most failures, bored and dropped out, but this bared no resemblance to the chubby, cluttered mess of a woman I knew. This was a goddess, a divine being of beauty. As I dazed into her being I was abruptly ripped away from my memories. “You don’t remember me do you?” she snickered with a bit of frustration. I quickly recovered my stature and answered in a calm, presentable voice, “Je-Jenny? Jenny Frasier?” Her face seemed to brighten up a bit. “What are you doing here?” I tack on, trying to keep her close, so the twenty or so people still out in New York might notice who I’m talking with. “I’m visiting for a while. My cousin Marie lives here with her husband you know.” I didn’t know but I pretended like it was common knowledge. “Of course, how could I have forgotten? How is she?” Her face suddenly lost any trace of happiness, as her attention drew from me to the floor. How had I forgotten? A few months before I had a talk with my mother about Marie. Apparently she had contracted some kind of unknown disease, and had been rather ill for a while now. “Oh no! I’d forgotten what I was doing! I really have to go!” She gathered up her bag and apologized for leaving so abruptly. “I really do need to go, it was good seeing you.” Realizing that the most beautiful woman I had talked to since junior high was walking away; I pounced on the opportunity to arrange a second meeting. “Do you think that maybe we could see each other again?” I said quite meagerly. “Maybe have some coffee sometime?” “I wish I could” she replied, “but I don’t have much time to spare, I’ve used up more than I should have already,” hailing a cab midsentence. “Well how long will you be here for?” I asked in a hurry, looking for any chance at seeing her again. “For a few weeks at least!” she yelled from the inside of the cab. “If you want to visit me, you can come to my sisters for a little while.” “Where does she live?” I yelled as the taxi pulled away. “443 Ma….” Voice, scattering as the distance between us grew. I sat back on the step, punishing myself for letting her get away. I was never good with women; I lacked the courage to get close to any woman, any person for that matter. I sat on that step for a few more moments, and then I realize that my last delivery was late! As I rush up the steps, legs burning, I curse myself. Mr. Mercer promised me that if I deliver one more package late I would lose my job! As I reach for the door handle a few businessmen emerge, dressed in suits that cost more than my dreary apartment’s rent for a year. I just nearly avoid crashing into them, catching eyes with the youngest of the group. “Mr. Harrison?” barely managing to speak, I pull out the well sealed envelope. “Ahh, the letter from Hubert. I was beginning to lose hope young man.” “Yes sir, sorry sir.” “Don’t apologize young man. Do I need to sign for this?” He seemed to know the ropes, he must be delivered things often. Then I remember I left my papers on my bike. I begin a dash to my bike, hearing Mr. Harrison behind me saying, “Come now I don’t have all day,” still somehow maintaining his patience. I fumble through my bag, throwing aside and apple core, my lunch, and a few old papers and such. I finally come upon the correct papers and a suitable pen. “If you could sign here sir…” I said, finally regaining my breath and professionalism. “Of course of course.” He signed the page with the most eloquent signature I had ever seen. I began to see the faces of the others, some glancing at their watches, others judging, others staring with malcontent for wasting their precious time. I began to feel weak. Once he was done with all the proper signatures I thanked him again, and apologized pathetically one last time. “Son, I told you there’s no need to apologize, just try to be less forgetful next time.” As he spoke I noticed how much softer his face was than the others. He was clearly a several years younger than the other men, but commanded so much respect. He had an aura of dignity and passion. I couldn’t help but be affected by it, and I must have stood there staring for twenty seconds, before one of his ill tempered coworkers snapped me out of it with some foreboding remark about me wasting their time. I quickly to the side, once again feeling lower than a fellow human. As I stared at the ground, I heard something I hadn’t heard in ages. A ‘thank you’ danced in my ears for a moment. In a hurry I responded with a “No problem sir!” or a “Your welcome sir!” but it didn’t matter. What mattered that I was thanked for something, for the first time in nearly two years. It was almost enough to make me forget about the reparation I was to receive from Mr. Mercer. I slowly walked back to my bicycle, preparing for the ride back. On the ride back, all that occupied my mind, was Jenny. She was in New York, and I happened to meet her. I began to wonder what she was doing at the bank, as I arrived back at the office of Mr. Mercer. *2* I slowly turned the knob that was attacked to the door of hell. I knew the second that door creaked open I would hear a chorus of snarls and insults sent from Mr. Mercer and his number two, Dwight. Mercer was a large man, a has-been athlete. He was quarterback in high school, and I don’t believe he ever moved on, and never let anyone forget. Standing next to him, he towered at least a whole foot above my scrawny little body. He always did intimidate me. He knew how to use his large physique to his advantage, and no one ever seemed to question him. He truly was a sight to behold. Hairy chest and shoulders, just a tank top, and loose blue jeans. As I talked him back into his chair, his assistant had to remind me of how many times I had been late to a delivery, or failed to deliver a package at all. Dwight was much less of a man than Mercer. Dwight tried to imitate Mercer’s hairstyle, but he lacked the head of hair. Mercer had a come over of bright red hair, burning like the candle on the desk that his wife Susan and bought him to help relax. Dwight also had the red hair attribute, but his come over had to cover a vast sea of skin, because he began losing his hair very young. “I’m sorry sir it won’t happen again I swear it!” “I told you that you were on thin ice kid!” he bellowed. “Sir if I can just have one more ch—“ “Boss, he has had more chances than any other delivery boy you employ. You should terminate him now, hire a new one and save the trouble.” He always had a way of upsetting Mercer, and he knew I hated being called a delivery boy. In any other situation with any other boss of any other company I would have lost my job, but Dwight had saved me again. “Well I didn’t ask you, did I? I make the decisions around here and I say he stays! You won’t mess up another delivery will you, boy?” With a face on that made me shrink down a few inches. “N-no sir, you can count on me, I won’t mess up again sir.” Then in a dismissive tone he pushed out, “Good, now get out its past closing time.” I rose from my chair in a hurry and hastily exited the room, shutting the door behind me. It was a huge relief to be out of Mercer’s line of vision. As I rested my back against the shut door, I heard Mercer put down Dwight for some reason, which lifted my spirits before the long ride home to my apartment. I opened the front door and greeted Doris with a friendly good afternoon, and received the usual “You’re late on your rent John.” “I know Doris, I know! You’ll have it soon, I swear it.” “I want it by the end of the week John, or I’m going to have you kicked out.” This was a dance we did every month, but it didn’t change the fact that she was serious. If I kept up my deliveries I should have the rent by Friday, it being merely Monday. I seemed to skid by every month, which left me with nearly no money for the luxuries. This would bother a normal person, but I had no friends and no one to impress. I opened my pathetic excuse for a door, dropped my bag and bicycle, and collapsed on the bed. I take of my dirty clothes, throwing them next to the closet. Then I performed the same ritual I perform every night, collapsing onto my bed, staring at the ceiling until I fall asleep. Something was different though. I didn’t fall asleep. I found myself thinking of Jenny. I see fancy women every day, not necessarily as gorgeous as Jenny, but pretty none the less. Why am I laying here dreaming of her? I glanced out my window to see a flickering light, the last thing I would see before succumbing to sleep. *3* I awake to a beautiful day, sunshine breaking through my tattered shades, bird chirping on the oak tree by my window, and of course the honks of cars and the chatter of hundreds of people. I yawn and stretch, then snap awake, realizing what had happened. I had slept in. “This is the last thing I need! How could this have happened? The day after I nearly lose my job I wake up late!” I yell as I scramble to get my bag together while putting on my left sock. I burst out the door, ignoring Doris’ cries for rent, hop on my bike and jet down the busy streets. I need to hurry, I need to pick up my packages and addresses as quickly as possible or my I’d lose my job. A mile from the office I start to realize that I forgot to put a sock on my right foot in the hurry, and am developing a blister. I continue down the street, weaving in between cars, dodging people and vehicles alike. I finally reach the office, and break in through the door panting and close to death. I see the look on Mercer’s face though his office window, then notice his hand sticking out the door with a handful of letters on top of a single small package. I snatch the bundle from his hand and head for the door. As I exit I hear him behind me, “If one of those is late, let alone undelivered, you’re history!” The pressure once again sinks in. I need to hustle to get around this city in time to deliver all these. One package and eleven letters, and only had three hours to get them all delivered. I throw them in my bag and head off, reading the first address off the long list. “1825 North Cherry Street”. Only three blocks away, I seemed to be off to a good start. I peddle away, dashing down the street at 100 miles an hour! I have to dodge an old woman selling flowers, nearly knocking her over. I yell an apology of sorts, but quickly began to focus on the task at hand. I near Cherry Street, only a little farther. I see the address, a small bakery, and quickly rip the papers and envelope out of my bag and burst through he door. I saw an elderly man kneading some dough and put the two items down in front of him. I had him sign so quickly and exited with the same enthusiasm, so nearly no words were exchanged. Before I knew it I was back on the bicycle. The next stop, 1452 Anderson, was very close, just around the corner. I arrive in a matter of seconds, to a home loan business and repeat the same hurried cycle. This time it was a man who, under normal circumstances, would have been a nice gentleman. Due to my constant interaction with different people, I’ve become good at spotting what type of person I’m dealing with just by looking. I bustle towards the door, until he remarks, “don’t you want your tip?” I was too close to the door and in too much of a hurry to backtrack, even if only for a few seconds. “Sorry sir but I’m in a real hurry!” I yell behind me as the door shuts. The next three were real doozies. Parakeet Street, Dorothy, and 53rd. I was surrounded by them, so I pick the closest and head West. It was a long ride, nearly half an hour, until I spotted the Women’s Fashion building. I’d delivered here before. It’s a nice place, and the owner is a lovely woman, but not if you’re in a hurry. I barrel down the aisles, dodging women holding coats and dresses of the newest fashion. I meet Phillis, the owner, in record time. She quickly realizes that I’m in a hurry and does the worst thing possible, stops signing the papers and asking questions. “Why are you so sweaty?” she asks. “Are you in some kinda hurry? You know it’s really unbecoming to perspire so much in the company of a woman.” The last remark, sounding very cynical upset my already ill mood. “Ma’am just sign the papers I’m in a hurry.” “Well I was just being curious. Why are you in such a hurry?” “I’m running late will you just sign the damn papers!?” I roar at her. The look on her face made me realize that I had cursed at a woman. I immediately apologize, regretting every word. She signs the paper and throws the paper back at me. I look down and head for the door, ashamed of what had happened. The next two stops were of the same sort, a curious employee or owner who stalled me for too long. The following three, however, went as smooth as they could have. I ran in, had them sign it, and ran out. “Two more” I whisper to myself. I had only about an hour before the town seemed to die. The next delivery was the package. It was supposed to go to 204 Weather Way, apartment 24. “A home?” I wonder, as start working my way in that direction. It wasn’t too far of a ride, but enough to make me worry a bit. I start gaining distance, when I come upon traffic, due to an accident. I look around, and make my way through the fastest route. I nearly get decked by a man opening his door. “Watch it buddy!” he yells at me, but I pay no attention. Suddenly I skid to a stop, inches from an officer. He seems upset that I nearly knocked him over, and remarks with “Just where do you think you’re going eh?” “Sir I’m in a big hurry could you let me through?” Turns out it wasn’t an accident at all, but some kind of robbery. An accident I can ride straight through, but this might be a hassle. If I can’t get through here it’ll be a ten minute detour. “Sorry but you are gonna have to go around.” “Sir it is very important that I get through” I saw with a little desperation in my voice. “I’m sorry but you are gonna have to find another way through son” he says with anger in his voice. I decide to save the trouble and double time it around. I arrive at the building, and after frantically searching the posting for the location of the specific apartment, I make my way down a hall. I come to the door and place three fierce knocks on the chipped blue painted door. No answer. I try knocking again. No answer. I think to myself “If he isn’t here, its not my fault, right?” as I begin to pace the hallway, contemplating leaving. Just as I decide to head for my bike the door creeks open. “Hello?” whispers an ancient voice from a poorly lit room. “Ma’am I have a package for you. I need you to sign here.” The old woman, at least seventy years old, turns her back on me and makes her way back into the house, saying “come on in” on the way. “Ma’am I really need to keep moving,” but even with my sense of urgency being thrust upon her she kept moving into the apartment. “Ma’am I really am in a hurry,” I say, trying one last stand. “Would you like some peppermint?” she asks innocently. In my head I’m saying “I haven’t been offered peppermint since I was a kid,” but on the outside I ignore her and place the package on the antique coffee table with the papers in front of her. “If you could please just sign right here…” She then says, in a much smaller tone, “Sure sweetie…” and signs the paper. I’ll never forget the look on her face, a face yearning for attention and love, mixed with wrinkles. On any other day, I would have stayed and chatted, all while munching on peppermints. Instead, I exit immediately after she’s done signing the paper. As I exit the apartment, I look over the shoulder, and see for a second time, the face of a sad old lonely woman, opening a box to find old photographs. I jump back on the bike, feeling awful about leaving that poor old woman alone, wishing that I COULD stay, and talk about her possibly interesting past. Last stop. I look at the address, and realize it’s the same bank from before. I should make it just in time. I get there in the nick of time, ramming my bicycle up the first stair, obliterating the front tire, but it was of no concern at the moment. Noticing the same blinking street light I run up the stairs and reach for the door, when it is opened by the same man, Mr. Harrisson. I whip out the paper and envelope at lightning speed, along with a pen, and thrust it into his hands. “Sir I have a delivery for you,” I say once again, with the same out of breath voice. Then he remarks, “Wow son, you must have been moving quick. You nearly missed me I’m on the way to the car.” “Yes Sir. I was in a real hurry to deliver my things on time.” “I see. Well bravo young man. I’m very impressed. Here you go,” he says as he hands me the papers, “you take it easy now.” “Yes Sir I will.” After our exchange of words he gets in the car, door opened by the driver and all. It amazed me that someone could have such luxury, when I was struggling just to get by. As I gazed at the car driving off, I came to a terrible discovery; I still had one envelope left. “Blast it! It must have fallen to the bottom of the bag!” I scream. “I can’t lose this job, I need to get this delivered or I’ll be in for it!” I hustle back down the stairs, only to grasp the fact that in my rush, I rendered my bicycle unusable. “I must get this done!” I say, trying to get myself ready to run. I run down the street, sweat running into my eyes, my hair flailing wildly. “If only I had put both socks on” I moan in pain. I make a right, then a left, and then it’s a straight run for the building. I’d never been there before, I had no idea what to expect. I burst into a full sprint, eyes set on the big red doors, which were staring back at me angrily. I sprint up to the door, and twist the handle. *click* “OH NO!” *click* *click* *click* “Oh God no...it’s locked…” I say, all hope disappearing. “I was so close…” As I realize what has happened, I start walking back to the office. “The bikes probably gone. I’ll probably lose my job. I won’t make rent. What am I gonna do?” I reach the office, walk in to Mercer’s office, and take a seat. The first thing I notice is Dwight’s expression of glee, along with his big read comb over. I finally look up at Mercer, and meet eyes with him. He didn’t look happy, nor sad. He had no expression at all. If it wasn’t for what he said next, I would have thought him faux. “I’m sorry John.” I get up, leave the office, and start the blistering walk home.

I was gonna put up four chapters, but its encrypted and I can't undo it yet. I need to put it on someones comp with word, then do it off their's. So look out for that. Its really a rough draft, more like abrasive draft. Hit me up soon for the update. PCE p.s.sorry for the delay

So the first poem I wrote on here got published, slash is being published. Jordan submitted it to a contest and now its gonna be in a hardback coffee-table poem book. Kool. Kinda stoked haha. I shall write something real soon though. Although I did just get a PSP....

I've beem really sick, so I can't even focus enough to write anything at all, let alone read anything of interest. Sooo I'm thinking I'll do some sort of sonnet or haiku? Sound good. I'm gonna flip a coin. Heads is Sonnet. Heads it is. That all actually just happened too. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ When I met you, you weren't pretty, but you did ask me paper or plastic. Your nose was cold and kind of runny, but that kiss was still fantastic. Now we live with a group of mole people, were we see the light above and refrain. We were married under their mole steeple. I guess I really can't complain. One day I'll take you back. I'll buy you lots of roses, none of which are black. Dear, watch the dog's noses. You were my lunch lady of passion, now you my mole of rassion. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I don't know why it was about mole people or why it turned out so wierd. I'm sick and goodbye.

I'm tired and about to take a nap, so here is a poem I thought of when I couldn't sleep last night. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Ticking of the clock, days past, hours, minutes, seconds. I am not withered, I am not tired. My arms are broad, like sunlight to the people. For I am almighty. I do not hurry, I do not falter. For I am strong, like the will of a nation. I see all and hear all, to reassure and reassume. I've survived wars and plagues. For I am almighty. I am justification, I am perseverence. But one day, like all mortal things, I will die. For I am just a clock.

I have a new idea for a new story. Hopefully, I can write it more efficiently and with a better timeline than the other, but it shouldn't be much of a problem either, it covers like two or three days. So look out for that one.

his is what I have so far in my notebook. At least this one. I write it when I can in class, so don't expect all too much. ---------------------------------------------- Two years, three months, and twelve days since Jonathan Liverpool to fight the Germans in Arnhem. The only thing I have left to remember him is a picture of us on a picning together in July, just a few weeks before he left. It was a beautiful day, with a warm wind filled with dragonflies, seemingly to keep our minds off what we knew was coming. He has the most beautiful eyes anyone has ever seen, the deepest most vibrant green. The green that comforted and frightened you, the eyes that can be trusted with anything at all. The only thing keeping me from crying as he got on the train was his eyes as he promised we would go on a picnic as soon as he got back. I used to laugh at him, calling his promises "nothing but words", just to get a rise out of him. That was the thing about Jonathan, since I'd met him I'd never seen him tell a lie or break a promise. He was quite simply the most trustworthy man I have ever met. Two days after he left I took the trains to see his mother Jules, his mother. See my parents passed away a few motnsh after I had met him, and his mother took me as a daughter very quickly. We'd been engaged nearly a year, and she was pushing for us to finally get married, but we didn't want to rush, we wanted everything perfect. In all honesty I didn concided Jules a mother. As soon as I stepped off the train, I stepped into her arms. We both broke down into the most filled tears I'd ever felt. The tears rolled, filled with all the fears and worries of him, slowly making both of us feel better. Some kind of pressure had been released, and our embrace felt like it was infinite, heavenly, and I hoped it would never end. Of course it did though. "oh sweety, how are you holding up?" she asked, not really warrenting an answer. "I'm fine, I'm fine." I managed to push out."I just miss him so much..." The next thing I knew we were in a taxi and speeding to her house, where I would be living for the next while. A few hours of quite understanding and we were there. I wouldn't say she lived in a city, rather a nameless community. In the middle of no where there were a dozen or so houses along a singly street. Her's was a particulalry gorgeous house. It was every woman's dream, white walls, with a window overlooking the yard and garden, with a white picket fence holding in all the beauty. As I drank it all in, I discovered her trap. Inside I could see what must have been two dozen women, all in an assortment of brightly colored party dresses. Many of them, I couldt tell, were already widows of the war. You could tell by the dresses. Something about the dresses gave them away. It gave away that their hearts were absolutely shattered. Jules started introducing me to several women, most several years older, and a few of my own age of twenty two. After what seemed like an endless amount of "This is Jonathan's fiance" and "He just left" introductions, I felt like leaving for the war myself. I felt like I had nothing but everything in common with these women, and I didn't, in all honestly, like any of them. Then Jules introduced me to a women named Amanda. I took a liking to her instantly. She was a little taller then me, and quite tan in comparison. She had incredible blonde hair, down to her neck in curles. She had a face that was as intoxicating as it was plaine. She was my opposite in nearly every ways, me being a short brunette with the whitest skin of anyone I know. I found myself staring, which was abruptly ended as she asked me if I and Jonathon were married. "actually no, were engaged to be married once he comes back." "Well I'm sure you'll be quite happy. Do you know where you'll have the ceremony?" "Well were trying not to rush our plans, to take things slow." I heard myself say, but it was Jonathon who wanted tot ake it slow. I wanted to dive into marriage headfirst. "Well then what do you have planned then silly?" "Well the day we comes back he promised we woould go on a picnic." "Well isn't that just precious! I've only ever been on one myself" she added. "It didn't go so well, the clouds were out to spoil the whole day." I then realized that I knew almost nothing of her. "Do you have a husband?" I blurted out, not realizing the implications it could have. The look on har face shifted slightly. "I did, my sweet Nathan passed away a few weeks ago." "I'm so sorry...what happened?" Of course I knew, but I had to ask. "Well he was hurt in the war, and slowly died due to an infection in the wound." "Thats terrible, I'm so sorry." "It isn't all that bad. He died slowly, but it didn give us a few weeks together. Most of the other women here never got to say goodbye to their loved ones." As she said it, I thought I saw a tear roll down her cheeck, but was mistaken. I didn't know what to say. I'd only mwt most of these women, but I felt such deep sorrow for all of them, and a newfound bond with Amanda. The war had created a deeprooted bond between all women. The war had taken both our loves away, but hopefully I would get mine back. Within a few moments I found our onversation coming back to the picnic. Although a sweet idea, I hadn't put much thought into it at all. It had been just something that we would do, not something that was to be special. According to Amanda, it was something that needed to be planned, starting then and there. The next day we took a train to Main St., which was actually a town full of shops, but no houses. Amanda and I went from shop to shop saying "ooh thats cute!" or "That looks nice!" buying things to make the picnic even more special. We bought the best bread and wine we could find. At about the twentieth or so store we wound up in a shop called "la libellule", a beautiful dress shop filled with seemingly hundreds of dresses and gowns. We went through many dresses, but were, in general, disapointed witht he selection. on the way out, something caught my eye. Wedged in between two of the ugliest dresses I'd ever seen, I saw a sliver of his eyes, a sliver of green beauty. "wait a second!" I yelled at Amanda. I nearly tripped into the rack I was so excited. It was an incredible party dress, that must have been twenty years old. It was in great condition, a few tears here and there but for the most part perfect. "It's perfect!" Amanda squeeked out. "Its going to look perfect on you!" We rushed home and I put it on. "What do you think?" I asked pathetically. "You look dazzling!" she said with no pause at all. "A few tears to mend, but all in all perfect!" I didn't know at the time that Amanda was the best seamstress in south Britain, but I had no time to wodner anyway. Before I knew it I was in a complete dress, no tears no rips. I gazed in the mirror. "You think I look ok? Do you think he'll like it" I added. "Sweety he's gonna go crazy!" she exclaimed. As soon as I got home, I noticed Jules looked particularly happy. As I stepped in with the bags, she showed me a letter, and my bags hit the floor. He was to come home on Tuesday, July 17th, in two days. So many things were rushing through my head. It had been so long since I'd seen him. I hadn't gotten more than a handful of letters. Does he even still love me? Everything would be answered in a few days. We prepared the house and got everything in order. We would pick him up at the train station at eleven AM. Then, according to our sense of perfect planning, he would see me in my new dress and we would kiss for minutes on end. Then we would drive home, grab the picnic things, and head over to Larson's Creek. Larson's Creek was amazing. It had a tree leaning order, as if it knew to lend me it's shade. The tree was on a field of luscious green grass, overlooking the bank of the creek, with sparkling blue water. Tuesday morning finally came. I hardly slept all night. I awoke at about five AM, and got dressed and ready by seven. My hair was in curls and my dress on perfectly. I put on my best red lipstick, grabbed thr basket and headed out the door. I lost my way, and in turn, arrived a little late. I got there at about eleven fifteen, and there he was. I was so nervous, but so calm at the same time. I got out of the car and hurried over to him, readying for the greatest hug and kiss any woman had ever known. As I got close I remember all oh his smels and mannerisms, everything that I had forgotten with time came back to me. Then it happened. He brushed right passed me. It was like he didn't even notice I was there. He walked right passed me and put his trunk in the trunk of the car, and sat in the passenger seat. I quickly got into the driver's seat and looked at him with all the love I had. "What?" he responded, with a cold voice. "Whats wrong honey?" I said completely puzzeled. "Nothings wrong. I'm just tired is all. Can we just go home?" His eyes weren't the same. They were glazed over, changed. So I just started the car, and we drove in silence. A few minutes later I asked if he was ready for the picnic. "What picnic?" he asked, blank faced. "You promised the day you left that we would go on a picnic the day you got back, remember?" "No. I'm too tired, how 'bout another time?" He must have sensed the tears welling up underneath. "OK fine. Lets just get it overwith so I can get some sleep" he nearly screamed. It took all I had to keep from breaking down then and there. We finally got to the creek. I set up the blanket and basket and layed down on it, expecting him to lay near me, but he didn't sit at all, he just leaned against the tree, and lit up a cigarette. "When did you start smoking?!" I asked starteled. "Oh this? A while ago. It helps relieve the stress" he said matter-o-factly. "Oh really. Do you like my dress?" I asked, fishing for an overdue compliment. "Oh yeah its great I guess, a little old isn't it?" "Well thats why I like it, its classic and full of history, don't you think?" "I guess." Then I noticed that all the dragonflies had gone. The creek was quite for what seemed like ages, the only sounds being the current of the water. "Ready to go?" He asked. "Ok, if thats what you want to do honey." He suddenly got a look of repulsion. He grabbed the basket and walked towards the car, without helping me up. We hadn't even touched the bread or wine. The next few days were terrible. We hardly spoke, and when we did it was a few words at most. Then on a Firday afternoon, I found all his bags packed. "Whats going on her sweety?" I asked, even though I knew the answer. "Lizzie, I'm leaving. I can't help it anymore, I just don't feel the same as before." He said it like he was trying to be kind, but I knew he didn't care at all. He couldn't even look me in the eyes anymore. I couldn't say a thing. I just grabbed his arm and sobbed. He ripped his arm away, grabbed his bags, and got in the waiting taxi. His green eyes were the last thing I saw of him. I haven't fallen in love or seen another dragonfly in thirty two years.