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Helloooooooooooo nurses! If you’ll all kindly go to your magazine baskets and fish out the latest copy of Seventeen, I need you to check something for me. Is there a section featuring a piece of short fiction written by Twlight actress Nikki Reed, with the request to add your own ending? I’m unable to check myself because WE ARE ADULT WOMEN WHO SHOULDN’T BE READING SEVENTEEN MAGAZINE! That was a trick! Put the magazines down, ladies, you’re better than that!!! Put them down and then quickly turn your browsers to the Seventeen magazine website, like an adult. There you will find the piece of fiction that I’m referring to. Here is the opening paragraph:
It had been almost a year since we began dating, but nobody knew about us. Sometimes I would bring it up casually, but he always found a way to twist and turn his words until they morphed into a theory that seemed to make sense. He was good with his words, and I was good at coming up with reasons to believe them. Only a few friends at school were allowed to know about us, and they were mostly hand selected by him.
WHEW! That guy sounds like a jerk! So like I said, Nikki Reed requests that WE finish this story for her. (She actually requests that we write a paragraph, and then SHE writes a paragraph, and then WE write a paragraph, but I can’t even BELIEVE how drawn out and bad that idea is. Nikki! Come on.) And what better way to celebrate the marriage of Bella and Edward than by finishing a short story penned by Rosalie, a different character? Right? We were all searching for a way to celebrate their marriage and have all come to the conclusion that this is the perfect way? GREAT! So let’s read the remaining paragraphs from our favorite author Nikki Reed and then “FINISH HIM!” – Mortal Kombat.
At the time it made sense, because he was convincing when he spoke about privacy being a persons number one priority. Sometimes I would tell him half jokingly that I wanted to scream it out to the world on a megaphone, because that’s what being in love made me feel like doing. He never smiled at that. Although my mom sensed there was something unusually dark about him, I always argued that it was self-induced. Besides, I couldn’t let myself believe that I was too good for him. He was endlessly charming, and intelligent, and philosophical beyond his years. At least that’s how he would secretly want to be described.
I knew I loved him, and that’s all that mattered. Sure I wasn’t the prettiest girl in the world, but he always said he liked me for that very reason, so I felt content with that. Most of the time that is. One time, I gathered the courage to sing a song in front of him in the lunch room (I had always loved singing), and he laughed and said “…that’s what’s so great about you; even though you aren’t a good singer, you’re not afraid to try.” That’s a compliment right?
I decided that it was definitely a compliment. Emboldened by his love, I jumped up on the cafeteria table. “What are you doing, you FREAK?” he said. But I didn’t respond. I knew what he wanted me to do. I began singing his favorite song, “Float On” by Modest Mouse, as loudly as I could. He always listened to the song on his iPod when I drove him to and from basketball practice, and even though he would always keep his earbuds in rather than play it through the stereo system because he “needed to get in the zone,” he listened to it so loudly that I knew all the words. Yes, this was no megaphone, but it was something. While I was scream-singing the words, I kept my eyes shut. Was I scared? No — I had wasted too much of my life being scared. I was focused. Everything was going perfectly until I hit the second chorus. “ALL RIGHT, AL-READY WE’LL ALL FLOA–” I screamed, but was interrupted when I heard the question I’ve been waiting to hear — “Uhhhhhh, is that your girlfriend?” I was eager to hear his response, so I lowered my volume slightly but made up for it with increased movement. “That girl?” Yesss, YESSSSS? “No. That’s just some FREAK.”
My heart was broken. Some freak? I thought he thought my singing was something that was great about me? And I had to assume he felt the same way about my dancing. Why was he calling me a freak? I decided at that moment that I needed to react. “I’LL SHOW YOU ‘SOME FREAK,’” I said, and lept from the cafeteria table. For the next four months I used his name as a username on Internet forums and asked questions about how people even DO sex. My life is good now and I have a boyfriend who doesn’t even make me park my car across the street when I drop him off at practice. We just went to see Twilight and I decided that I want our first time to be just like Bella and Edward’s.
The End
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If we don’t overrun this with terrible fan fiction about shopping for Twilight-themed wedding dresses than we have failed as Monsters.
I am vaguely expecting someone to turn the boyfriend into Steve Winwood. Then bring out the twilight wedding dress.
Without warning, a car crashed through the wall of the cafeteria. The door opened, displacing debris and causing a new cloud of dust and plaster. A woman exited the vehicle and turned to look me straight in the eye. She was tall and otherworldly and looked a lot like David Bowie, which was pretty cool.
“Hello, I’m oscar winner Tilda Swinton. I’m here because you clearly need help seeing that you are dating a douchebag.” I was dumbstruck! Tilda Swinton was here in my cafeteria! Calling my boyfriend a douchebag! “You should really rethink that decision. Also, I am offering you a job as my henchwoman and general assistant in supervillainy.”
“I’m in” I replied. There was never any doubt. This was my destiny. I didn’t look back as I walked away from my boyfriend, or my friends. I toed away the limbs from my fallen classmates and wrenched open the door. Tilda smiled at me as I buckled my safety belt. Sirens were blaring in the distance.
“Let’s do this,” she said, revving the engine. I smiled out the window as she reversed out of the rubble. Today would be a good day.
This sets the bar incredibly high.
I agree, I know I’m not allowed in girls corner here but Swinton is building up to be a great anti-hero.
If I only accomplish one thing in my life, I will die easily knowing it was spreading the word of Swinton.
I read that as “spreading the sword of Swinton” and I was like YESSSSSSSSS.
Right? I want to read Kajus’s upcoming graphic novel, Swinton & Lilbobbytables: Storm of Justice and Pain.
You had me at Tilda.
“I know that you’re 100+ years old and your skin is cold like ice, that you play the piano because you don’t sleep and you’re only interested in me because of the way that I smell… but please don’t disparage me in front of the cafeteria.”
“I wasn’t disparaging you, I was just saying that my skills as a singer-songwriter are really honed. So much so that I will make us slow dance to a piece I wrote at the prom later this year. Then I will disappear and you will get into extreme sports and later I will marry you.” He stood up on the chair and grabbed my hand. We kissed like Summer and Seth did in that really awesome episode of the O.C.
Soon the moment was ruined by a pixie girl with amber eyes. “Badideajeans, I psychically saw that you are going to marry my brother that isn’t my brother but is in the way that our father “birthed” us into vampire teenagers. I think we should go shopping together at that store in the mall that does knockoff dresses of famous dresses from important events.”
I was elated! I was finally going to marry the emotionally-distant man who speaks very slowly!
“Do you mean Hot Topic?” I asked, clutching the tip of my hoodie.
“No, but that’s where you’ll be registered. This is the wedding of a lifetime. We’re going to David’s Bridal! AND ZALES!!”
nailed it.
FanTASTIC!!!
Holy smokes, is this was little girls think of romance these days? I guess it’s Mister Darcy 2.0, but come on!
except this girl is clearly not Elizabeth 2.0.
I decided it was not a compliment. Having been slighted so publicly by him, due to PRIDE, I developed a … prejudice … against him. I was out for a walk with my sister when a storm came upon us and she fell quite ill. Fortunately for us, his friend (Mister Boingly) was kind enough to dry her off and give her some echinacea and Vitamin C tablets. They formed quite an attachment, which was nice, but I was so annoyed at having to spend time with this man when Mister Boingly married my sister! He tried to break them up because my other sisters are really embarrassing when they get drunk blah blah blah misunderstandings finally we were able to overcome our pride as well as our prejudices and I found out he only *acts* like a douchecanoe because nobody understands him, but now *I* understand him so we decided to get married and I’m 100% sure that everything will just work itself out because that is what happens when you get married.
DEFINITELY happily ever after,
The end.
And then I said, “You know what? Fuck off, dick bag. I just recently realized that even if I’m not the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen, I don’t need to settle for some old-as-shit dude who hates himself and me for reasons that have nothing to do with me.” So I turned around and walked away and never talked to him again.
Whenever he came up to me after that, in the hall or the cafeteria, I would put my hand up and say, “I don’t even want to hear your bullshit. Go dry heave over some other poor sap who doesn’t know better.”
Then I went on to live a long, fulfilling life and eventually died surrounded by friends and families who love and cherish me. The end.
I told him that if I couldn’t share our love with the world I would just die. He then used his beautiful words, twistingly and turningly and somehow morphingly to convince me that it was probably a good idea if I did. Die, that is, not tell the world about our love. Sooooooo… thanks for reading my suicide note, I guess? See you all in Hell!
I was just saying that my skills as a singer-songwriter are really honed……… http://healthproductadvice.org/hcg-slender-reviews.html
I was so embarrassed I threw up on him. “Ugh!” he jumped away from me scowling.
“But I only want to make you happy!” I cried, tears starting to well. A little bit of vomit still dribbled from the corner of my mouth. As I stood up to try and reach him I tripped over the table and crashed to the ground. My glasses flew off my nose, and my scrunchie broke when it caught on the edge of the bench. Now my heart AND my favorite scrunchie were broken.
We had started to make a scene; from my first off-key note, people had started looking at us. I looked up pathetically from the ground at him. “Nic…” I gasped.
Something had changed, though. People had stopped snickering and looked at me differently. I rose slowly, trying to figure out whether I had spilled any chocolate milk on my clothes on the way down.
But no. My overalls were free of stains, though they had snapped and the front hung down so my blouse showed and it looked like I was just wearing regular jeans. My hair flowed freely around my shoulders. I couldn’t see a thing, and started feeling around for my glasses. Nic had an awestruck look on his face.
“You’re- you’re beautiful,” he said. “Just the way you are. Without glasses and with your hair down. Although if you put on some makeup too that would help.”
“Really?” I said, and the entire cafeteria nodded enthusiastically. “So I’m good enough to be your girlfriend now?”
“Better than that,” he said. He raised my hand in the air. “This is my girlfriend! We’re dating!” he yelled to the whole school.
In a cute, mysterious way, he wiped the vomit from my face and kissed me, right then and there.