yes, you are so cool because you can show the world of the internet what a sarcastic smart ass you are. now everyone knows how cool you must be. hope your proud.

Weather was always a thing of my interest. This is why I sit outside in the winter. The leaves are gone. The clouds are here. The ground is white and cold. I don't think I'm welcome here. The wind keeps picking at my cheeks, begging me to go. Wind wants me inside, warm, but I refuse. I want to stay out here and rebel against the wind.

"Charlotte, you are going to get cold out there." My mom opens the door, her pleading eyes calling for me to come inside. She agrees with the wind.

I turn to look at here a bit closer. "No." I say. "I'm fine."

She smiles a sad smile, knowing she can't argue with me. I won't listen. Like a rebellious thirteen year old, learning the power of being a teenager, always going out of their way to be difficult. Only I'm not thirteen and it's not in my nature anymore.

I lean back into the cold invisible grass on the front lawn, snuggle into my big coat and soft gloves that feel like a comfort zone. It's silent outside. The only noise I hear is my mind thinking of piano music.

Suddenly the piano music stops. I close my eyes and bask in the silence, only for it to be interrupted by the sound of footsteps in the snow coming towards me. I open my eyes and sit up.

"Excuse me," the man says. The warmest thing he wears is a sweater, but he doesn't shiver. He stands there as if we are in room temperature weather. But we're not, and I know it. The wind keeps reminding me.

I don't answer him, just stare, so he continues. "Do you happen to know where the nearest phone is?"

I stare, his crows feet jumping out of his face. The man chuckles. I suddenly realize I'm not talking.

"Um, yes." I answer with a hint of hesitance in my voice. "Aren't you cold?"

"I asked you a question first," He says lightly. "Now," he begins. "Do you know where the nearest phone is?"

I remembered what I know about strangers. I know I am not supposed to talk to them, or be near them. However, I've broke those rules. This man is standing not three feet away from me. I've spoken to him, even if I was hesitant. I know I am not supposed to go anywhere with them or tell them anything about me. So I just stare again, afraid to break anymore rules.

"Is this your house?" He gestures to the house. It is my house. Should I lie?

Again, I stare.

"Look, kid, I'm not a bad guy. You can talk to me, it's okay." He winks, his crow feet pecking at the inside of my brain. I examine what I know about him.

He isn't cold. That's all I know. It's snowing outside, and all that is keeping this man warm are normal clothes.

Slowly, I stand up and reach out my hand. "Follow me," I say.


As we enter the woods, I can read his mind. His eyes tell me everything. Even though I don't know where I am taking him, I know where he wants to take me. To the very same place, but with no pass to return.

This goes against everything I've ever been told. His fingers are lightly in mine as I lead him. I've touched a stranger, I'm alone with a stranger. I quickly look back at him and examine his body. He isn't more than six feet tall, and he isn't of muscular build. He has a few muscles, sure, that I can see through his black sweater, and his eyes are colder than the air outside and the wind begging me to go back, picking at my cheeks with every gust it brings. I look down at myself, at my tiny feet, my powerful feet. They can run. My legs could kick, I guess, if I needed them too. I'm pretty average build as well. Short, but not out of shape. My dark hair shimmered a bit when the sun peeked through the clouds and the trees. As we began going further into the woods, I heard him chuckle and snicker quietly.

We reached an open area. Trees were still everywhere, but there was a small area of just white.

"There's a phone here," I stammered and let go of his hand, turning around to face him.

"Hm." He said peering into my eyes. Suddenly, his eyes got smaller, and colder, if that was possible. Now they were darker.

I felt a lump in my throat. Slowly, I backed up, realizing that I couldn't go back now.

"You know," He said as he inched closer. "I don't think there is a phone out here. In fact, is there anyone out here at all?"

I tried to sound brave. "No." I tried to sound certain. "Just us." I tried to make my eyes as cold and dark as his. I tried, but I couldn't.

"Why did you bring me here?" Again, he inched closer. I backed up, but decided to be brave. I inched closer.

"Your hand," I said. "Because of what's on it."

He looked down at his hand, at the hand I hadn't touched. On his ring finger there was dirt. There were speckles of blood he hadn't washed off.

"Because of dirt?"

"Because you forgot to wash it off. Because you did something bad."

He smirked. "How could you tell?"

I swallowed. "When you walked up to me, I noticed the blood on your hand. You couldn't wash it off all the way, huh?"

"No, I couldn't." He said with no fear in his voice. "You know how it got there?"

My mind raced. "Yes." I stated, as sure as anything.

"I would take it back if I could. You know, I would. I didn't mean to become like this." He became closer.

"Sure, it brings joy. But after wards, you just want more. Like now, for example." He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small knife.

As he got closer, I tried to remember why I brought this man out here in the first place. I wanted to avenge whoever it was he had hurt. Suddenly, I felt my eyes become cold and dark. He was going to do the same to me, the same thing as whatever he had done before.

"No you won't." I reached into the snow, and picked up a big rock.

"That won't help, you know."

With one huge movement, I lunged the rock at his knees, and he feel to the ground. His voice screamed in pain as he tried to get up, and failed.

I quickly grabbed the knife out of his hand and let it fall to the ground.

"What are you doing?!" He urged.

I picked up the rock again and held it above his head.

"What you do."

And dropped it.

seems like I never sleep in.

honestly, I don't. even if I would like to try. I just don't like wasting the day with sleep. however, I do waste the day with meaningless television shows, youtube videos, and laying in bed blogging or tweeting (as I have done today), so I guess I can't expect anything more or less.

I've recently been thinking about my birthday. Nine days and I'm 18. Should I be excited? I guess I am, but as much as the rest of you? No. Aren't birthdays just a reminder of getting older, and isn't being 18 "unfashionable" and whatnot? Being 18 is just a reminder that I'm going to be out of here soon, so that's all I'm looking foward too. That, and, applying everywhere. I need a job desperately. No way I'm going to get enough scholarships to pay for six years of college. I can try, of course, but I don't think I've been trying my hardest. Why must I be a procastinator? Why must I be stubborn and naive. I should have done this stuff a long time ago.

i'm not done with writing stories, writing them down, or just imagining them in my brain. no, i'm not. but for now, i'll stick with just "short" (use this word in your own definition), blogs about these that may not matter so much to you, but to me, they mean a whole lot more than you know.

it's senior year, last year in high school. i don't feel excited, or anxious. or sad, or rebillious. i don't feel full of school spirit, or full of just wanting to get out and experience all of the perks there are to being a non high school goer. because you know what? i don't feel anything about it. i feel that after i graduate, i will go to college more than a dozen scholarships that i have applied for. i will go to study english, make friends that don't complain about not having as many friends as it seems like everyone else has, and appreciate the ones they have. i'm tired of being expected to act a certain way, and to comfort everyones feelings. i am a human being. i have feelings. i don't expect anyone to comfort me. others should do the same. no one will be there to comfort them in college, in universitys, or whereever they will be.

i know it's only the second day of school, and tomorrow will be the third, but i'm still not feeling what i am expected too, what i am supposed too. i also feel like i am pushing myself too hard, and too little at the same time. i'm taking hard classes, ap english, anatomy, yearbook (which isn't mentally hard, but i hear it is physically, having to stress about deadlines, pages being perfect, you know what i mean, i'm sure). of course i'm taking fun classes too. adv. art, and i do consider ap english fun, just stressful. i t.a. which is boring and interesting at the same time. i take adv. guitar, but i feel like i should do so well in that class, and have it be so easy for me.

sure, i took beginning in ninth grade, but i've been playing guitar since 8th grade. sure, i didn't learn the notes, or how to read music when i took lessons, just the chords and how to use them, and make them sound different and unique. in beginning guitar, we learned how to read notes, how to play by notes, but i forgot everything i've learned in that class, which is no surprise, since i took it three yeras ago. so i'm going to switch out, and find a new elective. one i haven't experienced yet. i wish it were creative writing, but that leaves me with the choice of, adv. art or creative writing, since they are both only offered 2nd period. i think that is what i need. i don't need repeative classes. i don't need the same needy friends that overlook me, and look at friendship in a sideways view, not fully understanding it. i need new experiences. not school spirit, although, that would also be a new experience, but not one that i need right now.

Tender to the touch, her skin was new, and fresh. It felt like a soft breeze of wind, caressing your cheek. Her eyes were green, with specks of gold, brown, and blue. They were innocent, as they haven't seen the world yet, but they were still wise with the things that had been implanted in her brain, the things that others had seen. Her hair was soft, long, curly, and it shined as if the sun was always lightly resting upon it. A dark brown, with hints of a lighter color. She didn't know anyone, just the blurry images of the faces that passed her by, and one face inparticular that stood out in her memory. The Scientist.

She remembered the needle that they had put in her. The bright lights that had awoken her eyes, and left her seeing spots for seconds.

"Here she is," The Scientist had said to everyone crowding over the surgery table, which she lay on, in nothing but her new skin, her new everything. "Years of research has finally paid off. She is the final project. She is successful. Nurse," he said, with a sense of urgency in his voice. "Would you go get that floral dress for her? Although her feelings haven't developed yet, she'll remember this, and only be embarrassed of her naked self exposed."

"Right away," the Nurse had replied.

She remembered putting on the dress, The Scientist asking her questions, but she didn't respond. Of course she knew the answers, the questions were simple.

"What's your name?"

3Q AI, she thought.

"Do you know what your name is?" He asked again.

3Q AI didn't like her name. Who would, with a name that only sounded like jumbled words and letters, because that's all it was.

"Are you a male or a female?"

Female, she thought, as she gently placed her hands on her face, feeling her feminine features.

"Is this a lost cause, sir?" Asked another doctor, who was recording what was happening.

"It may be, but I'll just ask one more question." The Scientist turned to her, and looked deeply in her eyes, searching for signs of intelligence. "Who am I?"

3Q AI thought about who he was. He was The Scientist, her creator. He had made her, given her life, and although she knew the answer to his question, she didn't respond. She stared back at him, with intelligence in her eyes.

"I was so close," The Scientist put his hands to his head, and sighed. "Go ahead and put her away. Next time, for sure, I will get it right. I know I will. I'm so close." He sighed again, a little more exaggeration this time.

The doctor who was recording, went to the cupboard in the room, pulled out a needle, a syringe, and a liquid that looked thick and not inviting. It was a light green. The doctor put everything together, and handed the needle to The Scientist.

"Okay, now if you would just lean back, and extend your arm out to me," He sighed once more.

"Alright, here we go." Just as he was going to insert the needle in her veins, he looked into her eyes one last time. She could read the expression on his face. Sad, but hopeful, yet destructive.
His look instantly turned into confusion, as her pupils began to grow, larger and larger, quickly, so that you could no longer so the wonderful color of her eyes, just black and white.

"3Q AI?"

She looked around, terrified. No way was he going to do this to her. He couldn't take her out of this world that she had only been in for a short fifteen minutes.

"No." She stated, boldly. She pushed his arm away, got up, and walked out the room.

"The Scientist, aren't you going to stop her?"

"I can't," He replied, with tears in his eyes. "It works. I have created life, and independent life. I'm not going to stop her."

3Q AI walked through the rest of the building, eyes carefully watching her in shock, as The Scientist ordered everyone to not stop her. She walked out the door, and truly saw the world, truly saw the city. She didn't know where she was going, but the streets, the cars, the noise, the people, were enough to keep her from stopping.

She walked blocks of dirty sidewalks, busy buildings with bright lights, bright even in the sunlight, people talking to little things held up to their ear, billboards with sleazy pictures on them. Some people looked at her, and other just passed her by.

She didn't know where she was going, but she did know that she needed a different name. 3Q AI was nothing like her.

"Excuse me," she said curiously to a man on the street. The man was quirky and awkward, with dark thick rimmed glasses, and shaggy hair. "What is your name?"

The man looked at her with confusion. He gave a slight smirk. "Quincy." He said, and kept on walking.

"Quincy," she repeated. She kept walking, and kept repeating the name. "Quincy, quincy. Quincy."

She stopped another person on the street, a woman. "Do you know what my name is?"

The woman ignored her and kept walking. 3Q AI stopped another woman on the street. "Do you know what my name is?"

"No, I don't," The woman replied, and walked quickly passed her.

"It's Quincy!" She shouted back to the woman, who just waved her arm to tell her that she had heard.

"My name is Quincy," she said to herself. 3Q AI is just nonsense, she thought. A real person needs a real name. My name is Quincy.

Quincy walked into the first building she came too, with all of the confidence in the world.

The colors around her were nothing she had ever seen before. She had entered a clothing store, with misused mannequins in thought out poses, wearing bright colors, patterns, anything that would make you instantly look at something. Quincy studied the mannequins with curiousity, for she had a memory of being in this store before, but she couldn't quite place it.

"Can I help you with anything?" A woman asked with a high blonde ponytail, the kind that would whip you in the eyes if she ran past you on a cold morning.

Quincy thought of the words she should respond with. "I don't know where I am," she started. "Can you tell me?"

The woman with the cold ponytail rolled her eyes, and sighed as she responded to Quincy's question. "You are in Styles, one of the most popular fashion stores on this block. Now, are you going to buy anything, or should I show you the door?"

Quincy ignored the woman, and walked out the door, and into the next building. This building had much softer colors, and bookshelves everywhere.

The books, lightly next to each other, were all in their places, and in this place, Quincy felt that she was in hers, although, she wasn't exactly sure what she should do. Of course she was intelligent, she knew what books were, she knew how to read, knew all of the literary terms, and most of the works of famous authors. What she didn't know, was how to act around people.

Judging by what others were doing, Quincy copied. One woman would look at a book, pick it up, turn the pages harshly, then place the book back on the shelf. Quincy copied, but she turned the pages with soft hands, not the same as the woman.

She then moved over to the tables, where various people were sitting, writing, perhaps, and reading. She grabbed a book, and sat down at a table, and copied the girl sitting across from her.

The girl was about eight, with brown pigtails, reading an innocent book for someone of her age. When she turned the page, Quincy did the same with her book. When the girl sighed, and started to sound out a word aloud, putting her small finger on the word, Quincy did the same.

"Civa...civil..." the girl said, with intelligence on the tip of her tongue.

"Civa, civil," Quincy said. "I've never heard of that word before. It's not a word."

"I'm trying to sound it out, like my teacher says I should," the girl said, her eyes still on the book.

"May I see your book?"

The little girl looked up at Quincy, and went to sit in the chair beside her. "Here, but I doubt you'll be able to figure the word out. It's hard, and I'm smart, and I can't even do it."
Quincy looked at the page, and the girl pointed at the word.

"It's that one, the long with with a bunch of nonsense. I used to like reading, but this word is making me not like it so much."

"Civilization." Quincy said, and handed her back the book.

"Civilization," repeated the girl with curiosity.

"Yes, good."

"I didn't think I would ever meet anyone who was a better reader than me, because sometimes my teacher says I am better at learning than she is. What is your name?"

"Quincy."

The girl looked at her with a strange, unknown expression. "You aren't normal. Normal people have normal names, like Ashley, and stuff like that. Quincy is a dog's name or something."

"No," Quincy said in protest. "Quincy is a normal name. Every name is normal. Even dog's names are normal. I used to have a dog, and her name was Ashley." Quincy could picture a small white dog, with curly fur, bouncing around an apartment, with shiny wood flooring, and light colored walls, and a tan couch, next to beautiful vases and paintings.

"Ashley is no dogs name! Ashley is my name! I'm not a dog!"

She pictured her walls again, they were a light green. Next to the couch, was a table, with a picture of a woman dressed in a white dress, hugging a man in a white shirt. They were embracing each other, as if they had just been married.

"Hey, I'm talking to you."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I said I'm not a dog!"

"Oh," Quincy tried to remember the apartment, but the image wasn't there anymore, not as vivid as it had been a few seconds ago. "Of course you're not."

"I'm bored of reading this book. I only liked it because it was easy to read, but now it's not, so I'm not going to get it anymore." Ashley walked up and put the book on the shelf, in the Teen Reading section, where it didn't belong, then walked back to the table.

Ashley stared at Quincy for a few seconds, puzzled by what she was looking at, but not sure why, not sure why she was so different for some reason.

"Where are you from?" Ashley asked innocently.

Quincy thought about it for a second or so, but didn't know the answer, at least, not to the full extent that she knew she should.

"I don't know," she said with a sigh. "Where are you from?"

Ashley looked at her even more puzzled. "How could you not know where you are from? I know where I am from, I'm from here, I live upstairs. My grandma owns this library, you know, and there's a house upstairs that we live in. That's why this building has weird arche tech, you know, because it is actually a house, but now only the upstairs is. My grandma loves books, so she made this place a library book store a long time ago."

"Architect, you mean."

"Yeah, I guess. Do you want to see my room?"

Quincy found it strange how outspoken and open Ashley was, but she agreed anyway.

She followed her to the back of the library, and through a door, which Ashley had the key too, and up the stairs. The stairs were dark and made of wood, with no pictures, and no lights. Only the sunlight from a window upstairs lit their way.

At the top of the stairs was the kitchen. It was remodeled, with cherry wood cupboards, and a shiny floor, with a shiny fridge that looked like it was leaning the wrong way. They walked through the kitchen, and into a living room, with a soft, inviting couch, a rug that told you stories when you walked over it, as if you could feel all of the events that had been taken place in and near the rug. The television was large, and pictures of people were on the wall, watchful eyes looking at you with curiosity and humor.

They walked down the hallway, where more pictures looked at you, school pictures where nervous eyes and awkward smiles got their way inside your brain, and doors with drawings and signs on them rang with uniqueness.

Ashley opened the door to her room, where the door was covered with pink construction paper, and stickers.

"We could play dolls or something, or play a video game." She said, as she skipped next to her bed, picking up a doll. "I have a car for her, you know. She's a movie star, her name is Pepper."
"I've never heard of her." Quincy said bluntly.

"You would have if you lived in barbie world, of course." Ashley said, as if it was something everybody knew.

Quincy sat down on Ashley's bed, and felt the soft blanket, and the soft mattress. It was so comforting, with it's pink princess hats in a pattern of all it's own.

There was light footsteps in the hallway, footsteps that sounded like hope, that sounded like posture and intelligence.

"Ashley, did I see that you brought a friend over?" An elderly woman walked into the room, with a light green skirt, and a white shirt. Her hair was gray and in a loose bun. A smile was wide upon her wrinkled face. "Oh, hello, I'm Elaine, now who are you?"

"That's Quincy, grandma," Ashley said without looking up from her dolls.

"Now let the young lady talk for herself, you do," Elaine looked at Quincy once more. "What is your name, cat?"

"Quincy. My name is Quincy."

"What an interesting name!" Elaine walked closer to her. "Aren't you just adorable, too! You look a little like me, when I was your age. Those were the days." She drifted off to a memory, and looked down at the soft blanket.

"Grandma, you want to play with us?"

"Oh, you know Grandma is too old to play with such things. I play with books now. Quincy, where are you from, I've never seen you around before."

"I," Quincy tried to think again where she was from, but she still couldn't exactly remember. "I don't know, Grandma."

"Already calling me Grandma! Ha!" Elaine chuckled. "How can you not know where you are from? Everybody comes from some place."

"I really don't know. I think I should though, but I just don't know."

"Where do you live, do you know that?"

Quincy thought of the apartment again. "I don't live anywhere anymore."

"Oh, I see. Are you a runaway?"

She thought about how she ran away from The Scientist, from the doctors, and from the needle.

"No." She said, as sure as anything.

"You're a strange one, Quincy," Elaine stated. "But there is something about you, something different. Say, do you like books?"

"Yes."

"Good enough for me. You can stay here if you'd like to, if you would agree to one thing."

"What's that?" Quincy asked with curiosity.

"Come into the kitchen with me, and tell me your story."

Chapter Two.

The dining room was nice, filled with more pictures, and a light wood kitchen table, with matching chairs, and sunlight was all through the room.

Elaine made tea, and her and Quincy sat down at the table, pretending to sip it, pretending that tea was the only thing on their mind for the time being.

"How old are you?" Elaine asked.

"I don't know."

"You must know," Elaine said, reaching for Quincy's hand. "You must know how old you are."

"I think I am," Quincy thought for a moment, trying to remember anything about her age. "I think I am 40, or 28, or 85, or 17, or a newborn."

Elaine laughed quietly, and shook her head. "What a strange girl you are. No one can be that many ages. You are only one, until you turn another."

"I am all of those ages," Quincy stated. "I am even more than that, too. I know I am. I am sure of it."

"Okay, how about this?" Elaine looked at her in the eyes, in her soft, intelligent, green, with specks of gold, brown, and blue eyes. "What year is it?"

"It's 1965, and 2006."

Elaine shook her head again, and let go of Quincy's hand. "Quincy, stop. Either something is wrong with your memory, or...or I don't know. You can stay here, okay, but I need you to tell me where you are from, and why you aren't at your home."

"I don't know where my home is. I just don't remember."

Elaine thought for a minute. "I'm going to call the newspaper, and have them put you in it, and see if anybody knows you, and if they do, you probably live with them, I'm sure. Does that sound
okay with you?"

"Yes, that's okay."

Elaine went to the phone, and Quincy went back into Ashley's room.

"Grandma is nice." she said.

"Yeah, I know, and smart too, she is."

Quincy thought about where she was from, and memories rushed into her head, but none of them were right, and none of them were from this time around.

"Do you mind if I take a nap on your bed?"

"No, go ahead," Ashley said as she played with her dolls. "Oh, now, would you look at that?" She said in a higher pitched voice, prancing her doll Pepper around. "There he is, there's my true love! And look there! There's the creator! The creator of my movies! Thank you creator!".

Chapter 3.

In her dreams, she pictured the apartment. She was in the living room, laying on the tan couch, reading a magazine, and listening to relaxing music.

"Did you feed the dog today, dear?" She heard coming from the bedroom down the hall. She looked down, to find the dog sleeping at her feet.

"Elizabeth?" She heard the voice say. A man with short blonde hair, wearing a white long sleeve t shirt, with a dark tie that seemed to pierce into her eyes.

"Um, yes, I did." She responded as she looked behind her, into the kitchen, where she say a dog bowl half full with dog food. "Ashley just ate her breakfast."

The man went and sat down by the dog, sitting with his legs crossed on the soft, pale carpet. "You're such a good girl Ashley!" He said in a high pitched voice, petting the dog with anticipated strokes. Ashley wagged her tail with the enthusiasm of a child.

"I think she'll be healthy at her vet check up, don't you?" The man said to her, still focused on the dog.

"Yes, she will."

The man looked at his watch with curiosity. "I better get going if I want to be on time for her vet appointment, and then bring her over to my aunt's house. It's so great that she is going to watch her while we go to New York." He sat next to her on the couch.

Quincy felt that she was her in her mind, but as she looked over at the man, and down at her body, she realized it wasn't her. But as she looked at the man again, a name formed in her head. Julian. She looked into his eyes, and she felt an overwhelming love for him, as if she had known him for years. He rested his head on her shoulder.

"I love you,"

Although Quincy wasn't entirely sure what love was, she still felt like she loved this man. But what did it mean if he said it to her? She didn't understand emotions quite like she understood academics.

"Me too," she replied, unsure of what she was saying.

He kissed her on the cheek, and got up from the couch, gently retrieving his car keys from the table next to him. "Ready Ashley?" He asked in his high pitched voice. Ashley put her white, clean paws on his pants, and wagged her tail with love and joy.

"I'll call you when I drop Ashley off at my aunt's house, to tell you how the appointment went."

Quincy just nodded.

Julian smirked, said goodbye, picked up Ashley, and was out the door.

When Quincy heard the door shut, she quickly got up from the couch and examined the magazine she had just been reading. It was a celebrity gossip magazine, with sleazy pictures of celebrities at their worst on the cover. What do celebs look like without all the glamor? the title read. "I would never read anything like this."

Quincy examined her voice. It wasn't like the own she knew. "I would never read anything like this," she said again, a bit slower. "I. Would. Never. Read. Anything like this." She went into the hallway, and gently opened the first door that came to her.

It was the bathroom, with tile walls, and tile floors. It was the same color as the living room, a light and relaxing green. She looked up at the mirror, and who she saw, wasn't her at all.

She saw a woman, a full woman, not the teenage girl she was before. She had short chin length hair, that was pinned up to keep the hair out of her face. It was the same color of brown that she had, but with a hint of blonde with the light hit it just right. Her eyes were a piercing blue, the kind that makes you feel uneasy if you look at them for too long. Her lips were small, and her nose was pointy. The white dress she was wearing came to her knees, and felt as light as air.

Quincy suddenly felt like someone else. Like Elizabeth Green. She knew Elizabeth Green was the woman who stared back at her in the mirror.

She left the bathroom, and went into the next room. It was a music room, filled with a piano, a keyboard, and a violin. She sat down at the piano bench, and played a few notes. She realized she could play the piano. Quincy then went over to the violin, but that was so foreign to her, she had no idea what to do with it.

In the last room of the hallway, there was the same light green colored walls, with a white bed comforter, and two night stands, a light wood color, at each side of the bed. Quincy jumped on the bed, inhaling it's scents. She smelled peppermint and sweat. It comfort her.

Quincy went back into the living room, and sat down on the hard, and scratchy couch that seemed to make her insides turn. She sat on the floor instead, reading the uninteresting magazine, looking at every picture with intent and unexplained feelings.

When Quincy looked up, her eyes went straight to a shelf filled with CDs. Her finger lightly touched the CDs, curiosity at the edge of her fingertip. She picked on at random, and placed it in the CD player that was on the wood table in front of the couch.

"Where do we go, nobody knows," blasted from the speakers. Quincy looked at the CD cover of the disc she had just placed in the CD player. It said Coldplay, and she instantly had a memory of going to a concert, with bright lights making her feel excited. She smiled.

Quincy sat down on the floor again, and closed her eyes, taking in the music. She let all of her cares pass through her body, and go out the window.

"Ring!" She heard. She reconiqzed the sound as a phone. "Ring!" It rang again, and Quincy found herself going into the kitchen to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hey," She heard Julian's voice on the other line. "Ashley is fine, I just dropped her off at my aunt's house. The vet said she was every bit as healthy as she should be."

"That's good to hear," Quincy replied.

There was a pause on the phone. She could feel the tension between the two of them, but wasn't sure why.

"Is everything okay?" She asked.

A few seconds passed, and Julian didn't answer.

"Julian?" She asked again.

"Listen, Elizabeth, I don't know how to tell you this, but," He paused again. "Something's come up."

"What do you mean?" Quincy felt uneasy and unsure of what was about to be said.

"I ran into someone at the vet. Do you remember Art?"

Quincy pictured a tall red hed, with freckles and bright green eyes. "Yes, I remember her. You dated her in college."

"She's in town again, and asked me to spend the day with her, show her the sites, you know."

Quincy felt something she had never felt before, something unfamilar and sickening. Her stomach turned, and she felt the rage in her eyes. "She's in the car with you now, isn't she?"

There was a pause.

"Yes."

"Julian, really. A girl you loved all throughout college, and you expect me to believe that you are just hanging out with this girl, no strings attached, just friends?" Quincy didn't know what she was saying. It was as if she was reading a script, the words placed before her.

"Yes, I do expect you to beleive that Elizabeth," He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I love you, and you know that. We are leaving for New York in the morning, just you and I. Please, there is only friendship between Art and I."

Quincy almost felt her eyes turn red with rage and jealousy, and she didn't even know where it was coming from. "Whatever, do as you please," she started. "But if you do anything with her, or even think about doing anything, just remember our vows. To death do us part, baby. And if you think that she-"

"Shit!" She heard Julian yell.

"Julian?"

Quincy heard the sound of colliding cars. She heard the sound of glass breaking on pavement, and airbags being deplowed. She heard the rubber of the tire struggling to stop, and seatbelts urgently holding onto their passengers.

She heard all of this, but it was Elizabeth who felt every sound with every ounce of her body.

"Julian?" Elizabeth said, not Quincy, with urgency in her voice, and tears beginning to form in her cold blue eyes.

"Someone call 911!" She heard in the distant background.

Quincy looked out of Elizabeth's cold eyes, as she sank to the floor, holding the phone close to her ear still, waiting to hear the sound of Julian's voice, telling her that everything was okay.

"Who has a cell phone?" She heard another voice ask urgently, in the distance of the phone.

"There's one on the road! There! Next to the vehicles!"

She heard footsteps despteratley running. The sound of them became closer with every step.

"Someone's on the other line," She heard being shouted in her ear. "Hello? Hello?" A voice asked in a hurry.

Quincy tried to reply, but Elizabeth wouldn't let her. She kept sobbing, weeping into the phone.

"Miss?" The voice asked. "Look, Miss, whoever you were just talking too, I'm sorry. But there was just an accident, and it looks pretty bad. You need to hang up on this line so I can call 911." She heard a click, and all of the noise was gone.

She hung up the phone, and sobbed hysterically. She put her face in her hands, and ignored the music that played in the other room. She got up, but Quincy felt like it wasn't her making Elizabeth's body move. It was as if she was being scripted again, a puppet, being told what to do and how to move.

What's going on? Quincy thought, as the body she was in felt anger, jealousy, melancholy, and closed to the world around her. She ran into the bedroom, and ripped the comforter off of the bed. She threw it, and went into the closet, angrily opening the closet doors, hearing the doors bang up against the walls. She took everything she could get her hands on, and threw all of it on the ground, tears blinding her site.

She panted, sobbed, and she couldn't control herself. She pounded the walls, kicking everything that was near her feet.

A neighbor pounded on the wall next door. "Quiet over there!" She heard. She went over the wall, and used her angry fists to bang as hard as she could on the wall. With every bit of stregnth of her that hit the wall, she felt weakness flow into her body.

"Knock it off, you crazy son of a bitch!" The neighbor yelled. But she just ignored him, and kept pounding on the walls. "I'm going to call the cops and complain!" He said. She ran out of the bedroom, a million thoughts racing through her head all at once. Quincy didn't know what she was doing.

She ran into the kitchen, stumbling over melancholy feelings. She put her hands over the clean and innocent countertop, at the knives that sat in their place, in the holder. They were looking over at her with bad intentions and urgency.

She stopped crying suddenly, and took one of the knives out of the holder. She looked at it, wiping her eyes with her free hand.

She slowly walked into the bathroom, shutting the door gently behind her. Quincy couldn't hear the music anymore, just buzzing in her ears. She looked down at the knife again, as she clenched it in her hand. With one look in the mirror, one look at those piercing blue eyes staring back at her, she knew what Elizabeth was going to do.

No, please, Quincy thought as Elizabeth's body brought the knife up to her wrists.

Everything went black.

"Quincy! Quincy!" It was Ashley's innocent voice. "Wake up, it's time for dinner!"

Quincy opened her eyes, and found herself lying on the pink comforter in Ashley's room.

"It was a dream," she said to herself, relived, and trying to catch her breath.

"Come on, let's go see what Grandma made for us."

For as much as she knew she had dreamt it, what Quincy just saw felt as real as everything she had ever known.

i don't know what it is, but that slight tapping noise that the keyboard makes when you touch the letters that spell out your wonderful words, is just so lovely to me.

but it is just as lovely to let other peoples words, speak for themselves.

words do have a personality, you know.

"This is the first day/I walk the rolling hills again/Where I can make plans/With pictures too,"
"We are our own devil/And we make this world our hell,"
"In matters of the heart/One must try to fill it up/With love and grace can start a fire/Immerse old wounds and douse them out/Pick your heart up off the floor/Hold it gently now and go/To the place you were meant to know,"

with that, i leave you only one message.

listen to good, well intentioned, music.

i think most at night.

my brain wanders into unknown territory, thoughts that haven't been in my brain for quite some time, and it's almost as if i don't know what to do with them. nights like these, where i stay up later than usual, or usually intended, is when i think of soft skin, pale to the touch, bright eyes, and dark hair. it's when i think of other people, with their thoughts in their brains, about nothing in particular, just how they can be more fake the next day, than the previous. you tan and you paint your face. colors that are not natural to you, or any other human being that was born with the intention of being a human.

when you look up at the moon, are you wondering how many other people are looking in the same exact spot you are, at the same exact thing? what if all of those thoughts, of what those other people are thinking, went into your brain, and you saw what they were wondering about.

lights will guide you home. so will the moon. it is a light, you know, but you were already thinking.

I'm sitting on the stands, and sitting on the side lines.

Sitting, not standing.

I sit on curbs and watch the world go by, car after car, wondering what is going on in their own little world. I sit down as I type, and sit down as I watch. I stand when I have too.

The past few years, I've been on and off sitting and standing. Sitting most of the time, but there has been those occasions when I do get up, stand, and start walking. Those days feel like cold mornings.

The weather today was different from the weather that has been here the past week. It was colder, but still sunny. Not enough to wear your sunglasses, but enough to put the visor down. You didn't need a jacket, but if you wore one, it wasn't enough to take it off, or turn the heaters on, or the ac.

It's days like this that make me think of cold mornings.

I didn't wake up until almost 11:30 today. I didn't experience the morning, and didn't see if there was fog outside, or if my window was frosty from the cold wind hitting the warm glass. The sun was already shining when I was up, and when I went outside, it was cold enough for a jacket. I don't know why I like this weather so much. It might be the time of year. I wouldn't know why.

The blog that you are reading now, are going to be the ones that are most likely posted at night. It's when I have the best opportunity to wonder about something, to think about nature, and what makes it happen. To wonder how it was a cold day today, and it wasn't another triple digit day like it has been for what seems like over a week.

Welcome back to Washington, cold mornings. You are always welcome.

I had a blog once before, but I never really poured anything of value in it. Just melancholy posts that I didn't feel like sharing with anybody else.

No more of that, hence the new blog.

I'll be blogging about, well, things that feel like cold mornings. Of course, what feels like a cold morning to you, may be different than what a cold morning feels like to me. To me, a cold morning is a good thing. I like cold weather, and I love morning fog. Where it's not too cold, but you still need a jacket, and you still see your breath when you step outside. You don't need to defrost your windows in your car, but you still need the heater on, just a little bit.

Summer is almost over. Cold mornings will start to come again, and so will blogs.