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Still Loading
I opened my laptop on the small white desk. A hum buzzed around the room as it came to life. I opened the browser and opened up the Teen Ink website. It began to load. I counted my fingers and toes, twice. I looked at the screen...
Still loading.
I swirled in my chair, observing my room. An electric guitar and amp sat idle in a corner. Paintings of skulls, posters by Anne Stokes, and a gothic calendar lined the wall in front of my desk.
Still loading.
I turned more, my snake peered out at me from his glass wall, he titled his head slightly as I looked him in his pinkish eyes. Clothes littered the floor, dirty and clean.
Still loading.
Heaps of books lay on shelves among my old notebooks. I don’t know why but I love notebooks. They are the best invention in the world, or at least in my mind. A large blue blanket covered an empty laundry basket. Why is it empty with all those clothes laying around you might ask? Well because I simply don’t care enough to separate my clean clothes from the dirty. Also because I haven’t been home in days.
Still loading.
I sighed. An old laptop is like on old person in a car, so very slow, and you have to be oh so patient with them. A feathery black masquerade mask sat on the desk, I pulled it on. But that didn’t help my laptop load the page. I picked up a book, but then put it back down. School is going to start in just a few days. My summer is coming to an end, I wished it wasn’t. I looked over again at the screen…
Still loading.
Flowers on one wall, skulls on the other. Funny how things turn out by accident. I picked up my sketch book, flipping through the used pages I wondered if I should draw. Like the book, I put it down. I wish someone would write me a letter. I like letters, they are just… cool. The rest of the world may not think that way, but I do. When you receive a letter from a real person, not some company, but a friend or family member it fills you with a certain joy. It’s like… well like getting a letter I supose.
Still loading.
What an odd room for a girl, I thought to myself. I laughed at my own joke, then laughed again because it wasn’t really a joke. A sudden realization popped into my head, what’s the point of going onto this website if no one is going to rate my work? I posted a few short stories in late May and have received nothing. Maybe I would if I pursued writing a bit more vigorously. I sighed, again.
“Oh well.” I said to myself as I shut the laptop. Slipping off the mask, I walked away to find something more interesting to do.
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Opinions and fish.- Possessing opinions is like possessing fish, assuming one has a fishpond. One has to go fishing and needs some luck-then one has one’s own fish, one’s own opinions. I am speaking of live opinions, of live fish. Others are satisfied if they own a cabinet of fossils-and in their hands, “convictions.”