I went to the drive in what did I see.

A hundred little Betties all staring at me.

I was cruisin' for some lovin'.

From that one girl whose special to me.

Bubblegum. Cherry pop. Go to the hop.

Naaah!

Girl you are cruisin and I am waitin' for you to say yes.

"Be the cruiser to this little Betty."

"Come here big boy."

When the most popular and outlandish guy got the girl, people took notice.

And when the girl didn't want the music to stop, wanted to keep the dance going? Well, they kept the dance going.

Bubblegum. Cherry pop. Go to the hop.

--Beach Teen Vimo

A hit movie.

Over fifty years ago!-- it was fifteen. Though it fit prep school, stylish queen of her clique and in fact the institution Margo Wentworth. Rich Dad, no-spend limit credit cards, the coolest friends, the hottest boyfriend she had it all.

"Don't be jealous sister of mine. Also do not look at me, speak to me, do NOT dare say we know each other at school."

Junior Year brought a pair-- finally-- Prom, ugh and frumpy half-sister Tanya. Some Mexican flavored affair or some other place with hot sauce and awful ponchos, Margo didn't have to know and she didn't want to. She just wasn't going to be associated with cleft lip, buggy glasses and whatever the deal was with her "sensitive ears." Tanya was far from deaf!

Until it came out that she was set to repeat the year! And getting another Asian was not going to be acceptable this year. Did Margo mention darling sister was a snitch? Posed with a study partner that never bothered to speak (or moisturize) she says one thing that-- sticks.

"You have dyslexia! And maybe some kind of developing neurosis but that may simply be me, you are very mean. It's like super obvious."

Who does Keiko think she is? Really? To prompt me towards stanning two fictional teenage boys? To wait with bated breath to see how a story with a guaranteed tragic ending-- thanks dramatic irony-- will end? One of those isn't even canon, not 'real' according to Disney executives and most of the world who don't fritter away their hours on cartoons. Poor, poor people in a dark box with not even a moth hole for light.

Tangled the Series was a Disney project that continued the film, filling in the time between the initial reunion and the wedding after several times of Eugene asking and asking. Until she finally said yes. Though several fans and artists found Varian an intriguing character in his own right and wished to have addressed his character more than we did. And so came, Varian and the Seven Kingdoms. A teased spin-off series that would see Varian travel across the land to solve a mystery left behind to him by his absent Mother, perhaps finding out what happened to her so many years ago. Of course, I say teased. Then, fans took matters into their own hands, producing the work themselves. And in Tangled style Danielle Keiko Eyer provides a soundtrack that hits upon important story beats.

Closer, is the introduction of the main (and only known ship) "Varigo" which is between Varian the Alchemist; the adventurer whose steps are closely watched by antagonist Donella, and Hugo, a thief raised by the woman, planted within the group as a spy once the opportunity presents itself. Within their first meeting neither trusts the other and Hugo by this point, is simply doing a job. Further compounded by their shared pasts, having been outcasted by their kingdoms, are slow to trust and even slower to let go of any control they have of a situation. However despite their tense, clever steps to keep the other in check, even then the similarities become prevalent. They are the same type of analytical, savvy, and spurned person paranoid of who could present a betrayal.

Just listen!

Closer

https://youtu.be/8XBjpMmLibI

Closer Reprise

https://youtu.be/re3cHmet3HY

A Small Aside: It isn't "likes" per se that I chose this poem. But it has won a prize before. Second Place in the Texas Mental Health Creative Arts Competition. I'll put the link at the end of the poem.

Dark domicile.

Wreaths of shade all-consuming.

Sly formless assassin enclosing.

Fear and panic to each rib converging.

A factory of delirium.

Birthed and housed in my cranium.

Shrouds of toxic smog.

Smothering.

Each and every thought.

Wailing and ailing.

Disjointed parts culminating

In eldritch nascencies.

An army of moaning wraiths.

Walls of sanity are all the more frail.

From each wound spill spurts of Wonderland tales.

A flicker of hope.

Only to be spirited away.

By despair’s lingering whisper.

Down, down I fall.

Grasping and flailing in psychobabble.

Anger, sadness, disappointment, despair I feel.

All pale in formless fear.

I just thought about it.

While watching the finale of an anime.

The patient was quite thin under the bedcovers.

And his hospital robe. A legitimate hospital robe. Made of fabric, strong and durable. But me. A teenager put on watch after having confessed to wanting, visualizing, and running from my home with an intent and desire to harm myself, in the hospital, I was stripped of my clothes. My device, any wires, constantly kept under the loving, surely stressed eyes of my family. What they gave me as a replacement? Was a long piece of teal paper, held together on my body with a little string, tied neatly at the back of my neck in a bow.

It was cold, I could have ripped it to pieces if the mood had struck me to pick and scratch at it.

When I did lay down, it was in a fetal position to keep warm because my bare legs were exposed to cold AC.

I was put up on a bare, rigid mattress. No comfortable pillow. The closest I had, was my stuffed animal from home. Pink, bear, each curly hair (like mine) distinct as a dark pink nose.

I hadn't slept better. And in the morning, I got Disney and a breakfast menu. The hospital food was quite nice. And chocolate ice cream replaced the strawberry banana smoothie I didn't get. It remains a pleasing memory to look back on.

GWENNY

Oh good god it hurt. The agony in my head was torture. As I lay sprawled on the Thompsons' bed a drill whirred at full strength in my skull.

The churning of the ship didn't help. It took my stomach on a tilt a whirl after all that vomiting. Even worse was the lightning. Nothing blocked it out of my pounding head. Never again.

What the hell had been wrong with me to think drinking was a good idea. That was boy level stupid.

Still I had gotten what I wanted and had pissed off the Thompsons. At least Mr. Thompson. His wife acted as saccharine as ever.

Every now and again she would peek in. Caress my cheek, always speaking in a soft voice, and giving me the pain reliever. I actually felt a little guilty. There hadn't been any yelling. Just a stern talking to, normal, and Mrs. Thompson's genuine desire to listen.

Before I could settle for a good sleep wailing cut inro the already turbulent night. The door flew open. Mrs. Thompson had dragged me onto my feet.

"Wha-? What the hell?" I asked still bleary.

"The ship hit something. We need to go just hold on to me," she explained quickly.

Outside red had filled the hall and the captain's voice echoed across the chaos. With a violent lurch the light flickered before plunging the boat into darkness.

BUCK

Nothing's a more surefire wake up call than imminent death. Colin and I barely cared that we had seen each other in underwear. We each tossed each other our pants and in seconds bolted out of our cabin.

It was chaos on the way to the main deck. I definitely felt the incline. The ship was probably tipping.

Outside was pandemonium. People stampeded like rhinos from every direction. In a frenzy the staff were perilously close to the railings as they loaded people onto lifeboats.

We were swept away from my parents. Colin screamed, "ou sont tes parents!"

I just shrugged because we had bigger problems. We'd be seperated soon if we didn't do something. Grabbing his arm I yelled out for him to follow.

Under my guidance me and Colin were able to duck and weave rabid cruisers.

"Ball," Colin instructed just in time to keep us from getting trampled. No sight of my mom or dad in any boat. I was getting scared. We were alone.

JESSICA

Why Mia was so in love with her manual I'd never know. Cuz of that dumb book we were lost. Mom, our uncles, and Wes were probably on a boat already.

They were filling fast. Some crammed at least ten so tight they looked like sardines. I was ready to cry and scream for my mommy. But Mia needed me to not be a brat.

I saw a miracle. Near the end of the deck was a single boat still swaying. It only had one person, a high class girl in a cocktail dress.

"Mia a boat," I squealed.

"I see it," she gasped. Maybe it was the cutting salty air but I swore she was crying.

Laughing like a madwoman she and I sprinted to the raft. It was a hard run when the deck had become a steep mountain. Even more so in high end shoes.

I began to lag way behind. Mia stopped.

"Take off the shoes!" she screamed.

I gaped. How could she ask me to just throw away three hundred dollar gold silk slippers.

"No way that's crazy," I hollered back.

Mia suddenly pounced on me making us roll back down. Lucky for us a pair of legs got in the way.

JO

I had seen some stuff tonight. Though little girls fighting amidst a sinking ship over slippers took the cake. Most boats had left already with only one neglected raft left. Three had already filled it's seats.

"Alright up you go," I decided scooping up both girls in my arms. It was a hard run.

"WAIT! WAIT!" I bellowed going hoarse. Right at the boat I made sure the girls were on first.

The raft then went down in the water. The cruise ship was sinking further. Soon I was gripping for dear life like a tied balloon.

No other option left I took my chances in the dark water. Garbled screams reached my ears as I ascended. Soaked and freezing Gwenny and an olive skinned kid helped me on board.

Our gazes went at specks of yellow sailing away in the raging sea. Grabbing the two oars Gwenny and I sailed for dear life.

____________________

GWENNY

Waves crashed at the raft. The kids all screamed clinging to the plastic boat like scorpions.

Salt spray, wind, and bucketfuls of rain assaulted us as we rowed. Black blanketed the sky making navigation difficult.

Jagged rocks littered the water. Surfer guy and I did our best to fend them off. Out of the gloom a creature leapt at us and attacked.

It was a pirahna, except this razor tooth fish looked like it had swallowed a basketball. I whacked the fish and it skipped out of sight like a stone.

More lapped at our oars almost forcing our only hopes out of our hands.

"We can't do this by ourselves!" surfer man said, practically shouting over the chaos. Either he hadn't seen that piranha or he was just an idiot.

"There are only two oars and something is in that water," I screamed jabbing a finger at the murk.

"Animals don't harm humans if we don't harm them," the guy spouted off as if talking to a kid.

"Well hero maybe you didn't notice the freak of nature that nearly bit my face off," I retorted with a sardonic laugh.

"And say those freaks of nature bite off our oars or this balloon before we reach land?" he asked. "I'm not saying stick their hands in but-"

A sudden mess of squealing terror and yelling cut into our conversation. One of the younger boys, an olive skinned kid with hair as dark as the storm clouds, had done just that.

His hand splashed in the water truly thinking he'd get the boat moving. Without warning his hand shot back up along with a hideous and toothy keychain. Kid screamed bloody murder.

With a little doing the thrill junkie had yanked the thing off his now bloodied hand. Struggling with the thing he let it go back in the water. Kid was kinda teary eyed breathing a little funny to hold back tears. I knew that feeling.

Having gotten a taste of human flesh our little boat was a buffet plate. Piranhas came at us like a rabid army. Surfer and I fended them off along with blondies. One of the rich sisters had dug up a first aid kit while the other used her knapsack. Still it didn't stop them from sinking our lifeboat. With no other option we swam to the nearby island.

JO

All six of us were shaken and weary when we collapsed on the cool sand. A few scars here and there but we were otherwise okay. Our raft though was now plastic confetti.

Gwenny had been smart to stuff the first aid kit and tarp in that blond girl's knapsack.

Before anything else could be said they saw what was left of the boat.

Immediately the girls began to cry. Buck and his french friend were pale, faces frozen in a horrified sort of disbelief. Lip trembling the bespectacled boy hung his head down.

Gwenny took up comforting the crying twins, one in each arm, stroking their hair. She was the least phased, as if having resigned to death.

Wow that got dark. I, meanwhile stood by myself feeling like I wasn't truly in my body. It felt like I was floating, my head swimming unable to focus. Not even sure if I was breathing I clutched my chest. My heartbeat wouldn't register just the drum playing in my ears.

"Monsieur!" came a shout. I felt hands on me, somewhat distorted voices sounding scared. The kids.

What was I doing? Freaking out now of all times? Just focus on yourself, take it slow and breathe.

In. Pause. Out. In. Pause. Out. I repeated the cycle using the rhythm my therapist had taught me. In a few seconds I was breathing again. All around the five had crowded me.

With a chuckle I joked that the swim had left me a bit breathless. A bit of scattered, uneasy laughter followed the remark. Still I could feel Gwenny's unnaturally dark brown eyes linger on me. The french kid felt the same.

With a few minutes the roaring storm had tired itself out. We sat awkwardly in our wet clothes. It was pretty humid, which didn't help the cold.

We had scattered ourselves. The two girls, obviously twins, stayed together and so did Buck and his friend. None of us had any idea what to do.

All the same I set myself in front of the group. I got their attention with a sharp whistle.

"Okay we're all terrified. We almost just died and we're tired our best bet would be to try and get some sleep," I said very unsure of what I was saying. No way would these kids take me seriously. I knew just as much as they did; jack squat.

One of the twins raised a meek hand, "we should make a fire. It's dangerous to be in wet clothes when you're cold," she proposed.

I started to feel a little more relieved. This kid had a good head on her shoulders. If she had her head on straight then I definitely could.

"That's a great idea. Alright let's find some wood and hand me that kit," I said sounding pretty confident.

We all got to work and in minutes sat around a good sized fire treating ourselves by its light. In that time we had exchanged names.

Up above the sky was still buffered by clouds. No stars or moon to speak of. In the dreary night we tried to figure out our sleeping situation.

"Let's stay close together," I suggested, "the tarp can work as a blanket."

"Gay," Buck muttered.

Colin elbowed him along with a few death glares.

"Better than pneumonia," I pointed out.

"No way am I sleeping on the dirt," Jessica stomped. She crossed her arms in a huff.

Her twin just sighed obviously used to this.

"Look it'll be like a big sleepover. Isn't that fun?" I said getting down to the girl's level.

"No. The ground is dirty and full of bugs," she whined.

"Well it's either that or strip down for the night," Gwenny chimed.

The little girl went crimson. "Wh-what?" she asked voice trembling.

"Yeah so you don't get colder since you wouldn't have our body heat. Your choice," Gwenny said in a firm manner.

"Fine Jo," she decided pointedly looking to me.

JESSICA

Proper ladies did not sleep on dirt like dogs. Ohh this was so unfair. Why did that bad b word have to be so mean? Why did that stupid storm have to be tonight?

Was my mommy worried? Probably. Our uncles would be beside themselves.

'I love you Wes,' I thought hoping on all the stars that he knew that.'I didn't hate you for ruining my best clothes. You didn't know.'

MIA

"Mommy, Uncle Sean, Uncle Henry, Uncle Alex.... Daddy," I murmured all their names. I remember how if I ever called them, no matter how quietly, someone would always come.

No one would come now. I was all alone. I shook trying to make the stabbing hurt go away.

BUCK

Sleeping had always come so easily. Even when my parents whispered arguments thinking they were being quiet. When I had been all alone in school.

Except then I had always known; I had years. Years before I got comeuppance. Was all this karma? I had hated my parents now I'd get my wish to be left alone.

JO

My chest still ached. My hands were still frigid from a cold sweat. Every minute seemed to drag on. I refused to toss and turn like I usually did. Someone had to be strong here.

We would survive. We had to. I repeated these thoughts whispering until the tightness lessened a little. I'm a nutcase. But it took almost half a year for anyone to figure it out, so a few days tops was no problem.

GWENNY

Tonight had definitely been a night to remember. Shot up to number one of my fifty worst experiences. What was worse a little part of me wished I hadn't been such a...hassle.

The Thompsons may have been Jesus fanatics but they were okay. I was fed, clothed, and even respected. So what though? I didn't come from them so no way could they love me. Hell my 'real' mom dumped me at a frickin fire station.

Live or die what did I really have to go back to?

Geek. Freak. Smartest in the room.

The nerd character in every Disney live-action show. In every cartoon, in all the media kids consume that tell them how to act. What is right and what is wrong.

The nerd. The nerd is always wrong. That's why everyone, even his own family bullies him, degrades him, makes him feel less than, and the story allows it, makes light of it as part of its "comedy."

Being so smart, so socially stunted and a disaster. It's only natural even others who are intelligent and exceptional cringe to see that one young person with drive in their eyes, ambition and that awe of curiosity. That freak who just can't take a hint.

Silence those rambles no one understands. And no one cares to understand. It's egotistical to expect others to humor you.

Turn down the smile, it's too big, too corny. Completely unnatural and the most inane thing to be happy about. Space pellets, lizards, crosswords, and cleaning.

What is wrong with you? What. Is. Wrong with us all.

Because, any Troper worth their salt, any writer worth poignant, living documents can agree. All of us here, we're the ones who turned to media and pages to mediate the silence. We turned to TV and actors who played their roles looking more perfect and attractive than we'd ever hope to be. Even when they were weird in the same way we are. We do this, since people more often disappointed us.

Bullied us, degraded us, made us feel less than.

And that was the right thing to do.

Since we were too smart, too verbose, too reflective, too inattentive when our thoughts turned to questions and questions turned to queries, turning to winding down staircases echoing into a dark chasm. Where an answer lay.

I'm sure, at least here, I won't have to waste the words explaining myself. Since everyone else is too dumb and the dumb tend to deflect. Tend to turn the blame onto what they refuse to understand.

Lab Rats, 2012. It's the first time I really acknowledged how... distasteful this trope was.

Chase Davenport was the youngest and the smartest. Employed his analytical mind, a mind sharper than I could ever dream, one polished to perfection from work rather than bionics. He used this mind to win the day. Chase fights his battles verbally, succinctly. With poise and with cunning. Since, his brother is bigger. His sister is faster and with less holding her back. No care for others, no desire whatsoever, to make her carer proud. Chase is a genius bionically engineered to retain and catalogue information for later use. He is the cerebral, the tactician to put brutish force and nimble agility to use in saving lives.

He is what I related to most.

The sheer want and joy to learn.

Being jeered at by peers. He had that thing wrong with him. That thing wrong that buried me in books and my math sheets much more interesting that drawing or toys.

His siblings were the only ones to deign being near him.

No one else wanted to hear him, see him.

They spent that time making light of his talents. Dismissing him out of foot. Pushing him around. Hitting him.

Chase was such a nerd.

Chase was so weird.

Of course he didn't have any friends.

Of course his siblings were embarrassed to be seen with him when he fidgeted or bounced when excited.

It was his fault. Chase had to fix himself. Be less of what everyone told him was wrong.

I could always understand better where the "smart bully" came from. The one who weaponized his intelligence against others. Made them feel less than, degraded them.

Because when your family is permitted to make light of you and laugh at you, what are you going to do except lash out? How would a person act any different if they weren't taught how? Hadn't received any different in return?

So when Lab Rats' Chase became arrogant and uptight, self-righteous, and petty toward his older brother or father-figure, he persisted as my most favorite character. I could still love him and root for him, support him and remember the geeky kid who jumped to go to school.

Then to lose a day, because the siblings preferred a wild animal with brute force and no brain to show off with, no defective tics and social disaster.

When Ravi in Jessie would behave dismissively or finicky with adults, portraying his comical physical weakness I pitied him but I didn't dislike or was annoyed by him. More, I was annoyed by the siblings who would simply use him, blame him for being bullied, insist he change himself. Refusing to tell him what my family told me when the rest of the world didn't...

"Eres tan inteligente. Estamos tan orgullosos."

Spanish optional, but the point stands.

Maybe I never bought into the 'geek-freak' narrative media seemed so intent on pushing to children, but, how many other kids did? How many turned on their set, maybe despondent, only to learn... they were the problem. It was their fault. That they were the geek, freak, nerd.

Was I bullied since my schoolmates with the privilege of cable saw me as persnickety, snitching, haughty Chase Davenport supportively torn down? Ravi Ross, the friendless loser with an odd accent and high, some may say annoying voice. I happen to like the voice! I happen to like his escapades and the full magician regalia of 'The Princess and the Pea Brain.'

How is it right to bully the smartest and only ever the smartest in the room? Why is it, Chase, Ravi, I... am not deserving of friends or support? To be appreciated and acknowledged as I am without being cruel?

Years ago, I couldn't take the words of my family to heart. Didn't feel proud for my intelligence, for my single-minded focus on schoolwork and picking up "factoids." Which I realize were incorrectly used on ANT Farm since they're the false facts used by tabloids to purposefully influence readers into believing something that is in itself untrue (thank you Logan Sanders)-- even if you may be fun to make unsympathetic, I love you you nerd.

Back to the topic, I couldn't be thankful, really acknowledge how they put up with me, even as I showed off to my older brother who was in a bad place at the time. They still loved me. They still saw me. They loved my goofs, they loved me, and never tried to tell me being outcast was my fault.

\\A writing directed at a specific person or group of persons in a formal, didactic form-- often with the purpose and need of explaining one's self. Examples include the letters from Apostles to Christians in the New Testament of the Bible or of the epistles present in Egyptian Papyrus and other writings made by Pharaohs as well as a "formulae" for writing this genre of letter.//

This Epistle, is mine. Of a pent-up autistic child always on the fringes of primary school social hierarchy.

My name is Aylin Gutierrez. Right now, I’m at an age where I can watch R-rated movies, I like sleeping at least ten hours, and having meat on my food.

So, let’s get it out of the way, I’m a weird kid, I’ve been a weird kid and I have some things to say.

Let’s define what I am first. What I am “supposed” to be.

A child. I am a child; I’m supposed to be dumb and naïve. I’m supposed to be the stars, to be the spring flowers wearing necklaces of dewy pearls. To the ones older than me, am I a potato? A raw, incomplete, incapable potato meant to be loaded with what everyone else says is my purpose, says is my “milestone” to be listened to and acknowledged? To not be shut down. Well, to me that’s just silly.

Because when I was little, the world was crisp and fresh. It was all new too but it just… was. I’m not sure why, not sure now. Why I saw the world in straight line-by-line instead of escaping from a muted, flowery throw couch or the dull, apathetic white of the floor. It wasn’t appreciated, I bet, that I wasn’t vanquishing beasts. I didn’t sigh or fantasize and make a Prince my own. From story pages and vividly colored shots did some unknown one in the box try to tell me what love was. Conceptually I knew of it, but never did it tickle my heart.

Not for my peers, not for my older siblings who teased and crowed and boasted, certainly not for the discarded shards of China and empty eyes of glass that I poked to hear the sound and feel the smooth surface.

And I’m sure I can guess what you must think now; “how heartless!” “How brutish and how cruel!” What a cold, heartless child I am. Perhaps, I have the dreaded “refrigerator Mother.”

I did not.

I just did. Not. Did not feel. At all.

That China set I’d had once when I was four or so. The cups were really glass, and really painted with such delicacy pink and gold and other colors in the shape of flowers. A teapot center, my dolls and I all in a circle. Water or orange soda in place of tea. Real drink! Only, it was silent. Valentina never attended the tea party with a new dress, Baby Ollie never grew up.

So, I smashed the cups and little plates into each other. I believe the hole in the teapot was on the spout, so the pour was edged and much more wide. The pieces left in storage, dolls bagged up sealed with no air, the tea pieces later thrown away. I don’t know when. I cared then, but not all that much.

Not that I didn’t like it or did I get mad. No, I was bored. It all bored me. That’s it. The smashing and the sound was much more fun.

How is that my fault? I didn’t realize, I really didn’t that there was something not right there. Not right in how I preferred to read books during my playtime, how the words ‘like’ were nothing but lines to recite from my shows. Things the normal people say. The popular people. The ones with friends, who are kind and fun and worth the effort and time to talk to and understand.

The ones who deserve to be seen and wanted.

And so would I learn, “say you like Edward.”

Then you and these squealy girls, who are also so cute and sparkly, can talk all night.

Don’t bother with the girls who put on ‘the most expensive’ and ‘the most stylish’. Style is a concept, it’s a trick. Style is to exclude, rich and the best is to exclude. Never trust the mean girls. The girly girls.

Because weird is what’s powerful. Weird is what’s right and what’s real. But they won’t get that. The girls will bully you, attack you, harangue you and hang you before all the school to be laughed at and outcast.

And the teachers? The teachers are useless.

My teachers used to promise; “they won’t care about you in middle school. They won’t hold your hand.”

Why do you lie like that?

Why do you all lie like that?

Granted, I still stole lines from TV. I just found better TV. One that is actually real, one that is actually made with me… the child in mind.

Not with some fancy diploma or “studies and figures,” but a heart that feels and bleeds. Enough to make even this cold, empty heart feel and bleed.

Love and joy.

The rush through my skin of seeing my first anime with big eyes, characters just a little older than me, real people who really spoke to each other.

My Little Pony, for little girls like me or like you, pink and proper, pretty, and sentimental, louder, and more lovable. Or, weird and boyish, devouring food, devouring stories instead of cheap Walmart makeup or press on nails.

Yugioh, and B-Daman, Magi Nation, Famous Five, Holmes, Bollywood! My oh my! Detectives and boy shows going hard and going strong ripping me to bits when they die. Making me gasp as they chase a crime-doer down.

So slowly, quite slow, and unsure mind you, but still doing…

The fog lifted. And I wasn’t over it anymore. Wasn’t over life, wasn’t over all you stupid idiots.

The girls will bully you, will attack you, harangue you and hang you to be laughed at—laughed at—laughed at—shunned.

Ha-ha! Sure, unless you search for yourself what no one else will permit. Peers. Ones smart and weird too, who love life and learning and newness for its own sake. The smart people.

And sure enough, the girls are quite nice here.

They may not like all my shows, may not get all my references and I am definitely…

vague… sometimes but…

I think, I really think and don’t tell since I may be just a bit arrogant to think; the girls, may just be endeared enough to listen anyhow. Trust me, I have no idea how I exactly scammed so many people either.

Though my theory. It goes like this.

I don’t think I was supposed to have friends just then.

I was supposed to learn F-R-I-E-N-D and all the lovely nuances in between.

I’m supposed to like myself and see myself. Partake in what I love and discard now; all the vain, plastic symbols that held little sway or meaning.

From— ooo hey Asian tonight. I should eat Asian. Or a burger, mmm love burgers—pizza not so much. Though I know it is good only a monster wouldn’t—wait. What was I saying?

Thanks RoseTempest for doing this, seemed I might as well if I want attention on my challenges.

"The World Is a Comic Book" has ended. Both versions. I liked the original context I had set so I decided to enter it a third time.

"The World Is a Comic Book"

Elaborate on a typically ruthless villain risking their life to save a civilian of all things. A civilian who is absolutely done with the entire bullshit of superpowers decimating everything, now stuck together in a coccoon of rubble waiting for rescue or-- (for our civilian)-- be murdered, whichever came first.

The deadline is set for July 14th. Have fun.