This is so EXCITING!!

So here it is! My fiction story! The title should be in Braille, but it won't work. Tell me if you want a full copy!



Maddie Whitten
Ellie dreams in colors and sounds every night. A car horn is always with a red burst of sparks; her mother’s voice is a soft cream-colored swirl. Water splashing is a bright green circle, even though she knows water was blue. Well, she doesn’t know exactly what water looks like, all Ellie remembers from her childhood is colors. But right now, Ellie isn’t supposed to be dreaming. She should be paying attention to The Group meeting, which is a therapy group for people like Ellie that is the absolute lowest point in her week. The only redeeming quality about The Group is there is free food every week.
“And that’s why I live every day in regret. What if I was just a minute sooner? What if those stupid calls didn’t distract me?” sobs Paul.
Ellie hears this every single Thursday, except when Paul is out of town. Paul Turtleman is a 45-year-old man, with nothing to do except sit at home or go to The Group once a week. Ellie is kind to him, but she’s the only one. He says the same thing, over and over and over and over and over again. He lists off his regrets, one by one, and then he cries without fail.
But then there’s Eden Burts, who is just as bad as Paul. She has a raspy voice, Ellie pictures a burnt orange pointy shape, that scrapes at her subconcious. She has no empathy for anyone, and doesn’t put up with Paul’s blubbering.
“Paul,” she said. “You have got to let that go. You make me want to be sick, with all your talk of ‘Oh I wish I did this differently’ and ‘Oh I wish I could see so-and-so one last time!’ It’s disgusting. Stop it. I tell you this every week and nothing changes.”
Paul can’t help it, and starts to cry again. Ellie hears Paul grab the box of tissues and his footsteps getting more and more faint. Paul spends a lot of time in that hall, the main hallway of Timber Ivy High School. Ellie goes there to school, but hates it. Ellie is the only one who has ever noticed that TIHS spelled backwards is…well…not good. That’s exactly how she feels about the school though. She is restrained immensely in her education, not everything is written in Braille. The school doesn’t have enough reading material ready for Ellie, so they have to special order it for her.
That’s what they get though. They should let me read, like normal kids. I’m normal. I should have whatever they have. Feeling a little bit rebellious, Ellie pulls out her latest book, The Catcher and the Rye.
“Ellie! That had better not be a book I see! I mean, uh, that better not be what I think it is! Just put it away now! It’s your turn to speak anyway.” Apparently, Mrs. Norburry wasn’t supposed to say anything about how she can see and her students can’t. It would stress out the members of The Group, or so Ellie had heard.
Mrs. Norburry sounds like fuchsia waves, rolling around. Sometimes storms came to interrupt the vision, like right now. Barbara Norburry was all about the mushy feelings, the ones that Ellie hated the most. Barbara encourages nostalgia and affection, and the more sentimental the better. Ellie believes she’s a hippie.
“Actually, no. My nephew is in town, and is coming to The Group today. He is excited to meet you all! Especially you, Ellie! He’s 16, too! His name is Jon Callaway.” Ellie heard her clap daintily and giggle, making her feel uncomfortable. Ever since she was little, emotions or physical touching made Ellie feel just awkward. Ellie suspects it’s for self-protection, or because it always seems fake. She received tons of hugs since she went blind, and they were all just for the sake of hugging. And now, she still hates the mention of new people that may pose the risk of closeness.
Without another word, Ellie feels her way up out of her chair, using her hands to guide her around the wall and out to the spacious hallway. Her steps echo against the metal lockers, and she could hear Mrs. Norburry’s faint yells. Nugget, Ellie’s dog, weaves in and out of her legs, whining a bit. He guides her to the bathroom and waits outside. Ellie paces through the girls’ bathroom, since she knows it by heart. This is her favorite place to hide during school, and no one ever bothers her. After a couple of minutes, she stops in front of a mirror, facing towards it. She tries to imagine what she looks like; though she never will find out for herself. It tortures her everyday knowing that fact. Her parents say her wavy black hair falls in front of both her eyes, since she doesn’t care. It’s better that way. Ellie doesn’t have completely white eyes, but they still scare people. Her parents say Ellie is very pretty, but she doesn’t believe them. Parents have to say that, it’s an unwritten rule. I bet I’m really ugly, just no one will tell me. Not that I care. Not that anyone cares.
Ellie paces out of the bathroom, and turns left when she hits the bump in the linoleum flooring. Then she feels something strange on her arm, something warm and soft. “Oh, sorry, didn’t see you there. Hey, are you in my aunt’s group? I was just walking down there and I’m a little lost,” it says.
This has to be Jon! Huh. While he talks, Ellie imagines a dark maroon that pours from a great height and seeps into everything, melting the bottom of her mind. “Oh hi, You’re fine. I’m Ellie. Yeah, its room 230, do you want me go with you?” Ellie says quietly. She tries to stick her arm out for a handshake, but ends up stabbing him in the chest. He backs up, brings her hand down, and shakes it slowly. Not letting go of her hand completely, he turns and starts walking down the hall.
“Please, I might as well be blind. I have no idea what I’m doing…” Then Jon realizes what just came out of his mouth. When he turns around to apologize, Ellie wasn’t there. She was already stalking around the corner, into classroom 230. Secretly through, Jon’s callous comment doesn’t bother Ellie; she really thinks it’s cute. Not that Ellie would say that to Jon though.
By the time Jon sat down in the room, only Ellie and Mrs. Norburry were left. Paul had locked himself in a locker in shame, and Eden was picked up by her boyfriend five minutes ago. Great. Well, I’m an idiot. I hope she forgives me. Jon looks down and doesn’t speak for the rest of the meeting. Mrs. Norburry is talking about how blind people are equal to everyone else. That’s what Ellie hates about The Group, how whatever the lesson is, Norburry makes it seem like she isn’t normal, like she shouldn’t be alive. Maybe Ellie shouldn’t be alive; after all, that’s what the doctors said. That’s all Ellie heard growing up.
“Her eyes will never function properly, her case of retinis pigmentosa is too severe. There is nothing anyone in the world can do,” morosely said one doctor, who Ellie had particularly hated. He then handed her parents a pamphlet that read ‘So Your Child Is Blind?’ Inside it described a year-round school across the country just for kids that were like Ellie. “This is the best option, the one I’d recommend. You won’t see her until she’s eighteen, it’s perfect.”
Maybe the doctors are right, maybe Ellie wasn’t fit to live. She had thought about it for weeks on end, and right after The Group would be when Ellie would act. She had bought the necessary equipment, and had completed a letter written to her family. Something stopped her though, both literally and figuratively. When Jon Callaway had bumped into Ellie, giving her something she hadn’t had before: a reason to live. As Ellie walks out of the doors of Timber Ivy High School, she wants to run home, but not for the reason she had just an hour earlier. Ellie wanted to go home to dream about the sound of Jon’s voice, and feel the surge dark red flow to the corners of her mind, drowning out any harmful thoughts that could still be lingering.

...And a happy freaking New Year!

Christmas is just around the corner! Hurry up and put your gift orders in! Don't know what to get?! NO PROBLEM! We have anything under the sun in our store! Get the giant inflatable Santa, it's the hottest yard decoration for the season! We have Rudolph too, who will also feed your kids and blow your pipes and hang your Christmas lights too! COME SHOP WITH THIS US THIS YEAR!!
No.
Look, I love Christmas as much as anyone. But the commercials make me want to go kick a puppy. (*I don't normally kick puppies. I have in fact NEVER kicked a puppy. There you go PETA.*) I'm even okay with the music playing in October. The commercials really get me. You know what I'm doing for my X-mas presents? Edible Play Dough. That's right, the stuff we all ate as kids is now actually eat-able. (Edible is a very confusing word. It sounds exactly like edible. What the gecko is with this English Language???) Stores should probably realize that a lot of people can't buy nice expensive things for their friends. For example, this is the example of on average how much money I spend on friends and family.
Y= number of years I've known you
X= the amount of money I'll spend on you

½Y x 4 = X

Please know that X is in cents. Okay, that may be cut in half this year.  Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is this. Stores for one, shouldn't have Christmas going decorations going up before Halloween. We went I think the night of Halloween to get cheap candy (who doesn't) and there they were! The employees were setting up the Christmas trees! I just stared at them for a while, looking in awe at the blatant disregard for the holy-ness that is Halloween. (See what I did there? Holy AND Halloween? Christmas AND Halloween. Oh yes.)

And those commercials! Sorry Fluffy  but if this continues for another month, you're going to be getting to know the wall very well. That's all I have to say on the matter.

Love,

Maddie-kins

P.S

If you were wondering about the "what the gecko" exclamation, it's because I am not a very good typer. I actually put in what the geck, for what the heck. Then I just went with it, and I ended up with what the gecko. Not a very interesting story, I know, but I thought it deserved more exclamation.

P.P.S.

If you're reading this, vote on my poll. I measure my true followers by that poll. I'm going to make an interesting one, I promise!

Hi there, are you in my English II H class?

If you are, go here:
CLICK MEEE!!!
And, since you're already here, you should read some of my stuff. I think its pretty good and worth a read.

~Maddie

P.S.
If you're not in my class, let me explain. I have to teach a grammar rule, and I have to do a quiz. And yes, I made these cookie/brownie bar things. They are rather delicious. And its really easy...tell me if you're a winner.

From the view from your front yard, the new curtains look fabulous.

Today's question is: stalking. Is it okay? I'm not talking about literally trailing someone and stealing their mail and whatnot. No, facebook stalking is the craze nowadays. (See what I did there? I rhymed. I shouldn't be fined, my paper is lined, my drink is limed. ANYWAYS!) If you're old or don't have a facebook, here's what it is: going through a person's profile, looking at pictures, statuses, or anything they have ever put on the Internet. Basically by the end of the stalk, (if you do it right) you know everything about the person, without ever talking.
Sounds creepy when I put it that way, huh? So that's my question. Is it okay? It's not like the person will ever know. It's impossible to see who has looked at your page. You can't even see how many people were looking. It's interesting to know about other people, especially of they're a cool person. And maybe you're just curious. "Gee, what did *insert name here* do today?"
On the other side, it's just WEIRD. It's weirder the stalker is obvious out their habit/addiction, too. Scenario that's happened to me a lot:
STALKER: "What did you do this weekend?"
ME: "Well, I went to the mall with my-
STALKER: "I know. You bought a dress from Forever 21. (weird heavy breathing) I read it on facebook"
ME: "..."
And then I run away. If you are either one if these people, here's how to avoid it!
To the stalkers: STOP BEING A WEIRDO. GO MAKE SOME FRIENDS. AND STOP BREATHING HEAVILY.
To the "me"s: Stop putting such personal information on facebook, and don't add potential stalkers as friends. If you suspect a stalker, de-friend pronto.
So what do you think? Is it okay? Or is it worth the creepy-ness? Do you enjoy knowing everything about your friends? Do you not even care? I should make a poll, since you people obviously don't like th current one. (I've had over 900 views, and FIVE people vote. I'm saddened.) But I won't, I'm on my iPod. That's my dedication I guess! My hands are cramping. Anyways!

Love,
Maddie

P.S.
Pray for Abby. If you don't do the whole praying thing, it's okay. We don't judge here. Send her happy get-well-soon vibes.

SO!! Here's my non-fiction piece.

Thank you guys for the help! It took me a full day to write. That's pathetic. But you know what's more pathetic? My entire Creative Writing class had pretty much nothing to say about it. Why you ask? Well, I have no idea. Sigh. I was wondering if you guys like it?

 My Fearful Five

                        The only reason people go to Canal Street in New York City is for cheap, illegal stuff. You can get anything there, if you have the cash. The street itself is cramped and grimy, and it smells of sweat, rotten Chinese food, and fear. It’s not pretty by any means, but I went for one thing and one thing only. Cheap stuff.

            Within my first hour, I bought D&G sunglasses for ten dollars. My mom bought a scarf, a watch, and a hat for $50. The locals all said to bargain with the vendors, and wait for the big boys: the Chinese men with cell phones to their ears, asking tourists if they want handbags. I guess we had it coming; we looked so out of place, so much like idiot tourists. My mom, grandma, and me are all loud, tall and blonde, which is the opposite of the locals in New York City. We eventually had one man approach us.

            “You want handbag? Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Prada handbag,” he whispered, without looking at our faces. To an outsider, the exchange looked unsuspicious. He said, “You follow me now.” Motioning with his hand to walk up the street, we waited a bit and walked after him. He kept his distance; staying about 30 feet ahead of us.

            After two blocks of trailing the guy, we stopped in front of a store. It looked no different than other cheap shops here, with shirts that looked like they were made for five cents. We walked in, and looked like we were very interested in one particular T-shirt. I glanced outside while my mom was turning the shirt inside out, inspecting the “beautiful craftsmanship”.  The man we had followed was outside the store front, talking in Chinese on his cell phone. A couple minutes later, two more men walked into the store. They passed us in absolute silence, and my family and I stared. A white shelving unit stretched from the floor to almost the ceiling, full of bargain trinkets. Because of that, I was surprised when the two short men lifted it up and moved it to the side. I was more surprised by what was behind the shelves. It was a dark opening, crudely cut out of the wall. The cavity was an endless abyss, where nothing would ever come out once inside. I was locked in place, my mother actually had to drag me in. As we approached, all I could think was I was going to die. My final moments were going to be on that hole.

            I have to be strong, I thought to myself. I can’t let my grandma and mom see that I’m scared. But I don’t want to die! Clearly, my guardians must be terrified too. I looked over, and they were perfectly at ease. That’s impossible. This is so sketchy, I thought. Maybe they were just acting.

            As soon as the three of us were inside that musty room, the shelves were slid back in place. A bright light suddenly appeared from the single light bulb strung from the ceiling. Then I could see what the shelves were hiding: purses! There were rows of them on the walls, some stacked up in the corner, and quite a few in some cardboard boxes. I’d never seen such a concentration of handbags before. My mother and grandma started moving around, looking at the various brands of purses. The tiny space didn’t allow for much comfort.  I grabbed the nearest purse, a grey Gucci bag, and held it out to the man. He spoke very little English, so he held up numbers on his fingers to show prices.

            “Fifty for…” he motioned towards the purse in my hands. By this time, my grandma had selected her tote, and was bargaining with the man. More than once, he had shush her. My grandma would be quiet for a bit, then get worked up over something, and start yelling. It was an endless cycle. All the while, my mother took her sweet time. She ,oh so delicately, grasped the precious satchel, turned it over once, then again, and tut-tut-tutted under her breath. I sent her mind-bullets, trying to tell her that we needed to leave. She didn’t pick up on my psychic powers, and kept procrastinating. I still stood motionless, I felt like jelly. It was like a scene out of Cops. At any minute, dozens of policemen were going to burst through the wall. If that happened, I would need a new pair of pants.

            My mother’s loud voice shook me out of my nightmare. “OKAY! I think I’ll go with this one! How much?” she asked, holding out a ruffled black and white purse. The man suddenly checked his watch, and made a very terrified face. He grabbed the three purses we had picked out, and shoved them into a dark plastic sack.

            “200 dollah for all?” he asked, looking very desperate. That’s when my mom stepped in.

            “I don’t think so. I’m thinking 100 dollars for all of them. If you don’t like that…” she chuckled under her breath. I had never seen my mother look so mysterious and wicked. The man realized my mom wasn’t kidding around, and nodded his head. My mother shelled out the cash, peeling back each bill carefully. After a few Chinese words from the man, a blinding light showered us from behind. The shelves had moved, and I could see the street from there. I had the sudden need to sprint to the safety of the street. I grabbed the garbage bag full of our goods and speed walked away. When I reached the sidewalk, I breathed my first breath of fresh air. We must’ve been in the abyss for a whole five minutes- the most terrifying five minutes of my life.

Help Wanted.

I'm desperate you guys. I have to write a whole nonfiction story by Thursday. I have two ideas that I could write about, and I'll give you the pros and cons of each.

1. An extremely entertaining and funny story about my illegal frowned upon by the law activities. Its about when I went to New York a couple weeks ago, and found myself in a drug-deal-like situation, all over a purse.
PROS: Its pretty hilarious. And in my creative writing class, every story can be fitted into one or more of the following categories:

• The time they got hurt/they hurt themselves.
• The time they were in Poms or Cheer and won something. Yay. 
• The time someone in their family died.

Its not that these are bad, its just getting really old. Its really depressing too. I think my story would be more exciting, you know? Spice things up a little!
CONS: I've had a terrible past couple of days. I cried three times during school today. Then I go a C on my test. (I hate that class, just in general. I like the subject, not the class. Blah.) So I think making it really funny would be difficult right now. I need to be cheered up, desperately. I really want someone to come to my house and bring cookies and hang out. I wish people did that. I wish my parents would have some sympathy. I just don't know what to do. (That got really depressing, sorry. SORRY.)

2. A story about my experiences with bullying. Its really personal, and is still kind of happening.
PROS: That's what my teacher and class likes. They eat up the dramatic stuff. The story that everyone loved was about a girl and her anorexia. Granted, its not that bad. Its just not funny or light.
CONS: On any other day, I'd love to write the other story more. This one isn't anything I talk about. I think only my parents know the extent of it.

Help please. I have to decide basically tonight, and write tomorrow or Wednesday. If you text or call or facebook or comment on this, man, I will love you. Which one would you rather read? Which would you want me to post here, if any?

FINAL VERDICT:
People need to stop being fake in general. If you can't handle me when I'm having a terrible day, you do NOT get to talk to me when I'm normal. Someone did that today. Teachers need to stop putting 15 trick questions on their tests. Someone needs to kidnap me from my house. AND ALL OF YOU need to tell me, idea 1 or 2?

Love,
Maddie

P.S.
I love you.

Mwahaha!!

To hyped up on candy. Got approximatley 30.7 pounds of it.
Help me...
Blah.
Love,
A very sugared-up Maddie