Incandescent Chagrin

[iGoldilocks]

***Warning***
If you're a fan of Twilight, don't read this.
fr srs.
It'll probably offend you.
(Unless you're the type of person who can take a joke wink )

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[iGoldilocks]

1.1
♥

My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky was a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favorite shirt – sleeveless, white eyelet lace; I was wearing it as a farewell gesture. My carry-on item was a parka.

You see, the terrible woman who created me loads this first paragraph of my stage with ever so descriptive writing, in an attempt to capture the reader in her incandescent web of lies. She is slowly and incandescently warping your incandescent opinion of her.

I just lost the Game.

In the incandescent Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. This is where I would be living. This was my destiny. This was my fate. This was my hell. Filled with clouds, an empty void of incandescent despair, and the fact that the damn town was named Forks of all things was just enough to plunge me into a depressing shell of solitude. I was totally unprepared at the self-realization I gained when I noticed, for the first time, that not only would I have to live in Forks, but I would have to live with my Mary-Sueness for the rest of my life and into my later undead life as a vampire.

Did you know that it rains in this inconsequential town of Forks more than any other place in America? My inconsequential depression was slowly and incandescently deepening as I went through an endless list of why my life sucked.

Back to the subject of Spoons or whatever the hell this shithole is called. It was from here that my mother escaped with me when I was only a few incandescent and inconsequential months old. It was in this gloomy town that I'd been compelled to compellingly spend a month every incandescent summer until I was inconsequentially fourteen. That year I put one incandescent foot down; these past three gloomy summers, my dad, Charlie-slut, vacationed with me in California for two inconsequential weeks instead.

"b***h, I mean, Bella," my mom said to me – the last of a thousand times (my life SUCKS) – before I got on the plane. "You don't have to ******** do this."

My stupid mom looks like me, except she's uglier, of course, because I'm frickin part albino, b***h. I'm special. I felt a spasm of incandescent panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. How could I leave my slutty, erotic-I mean erratic, hairy mother to fend for herself? Of course she had her man-whore, Phil, now, so the bills would probably (not) get paid, there would be beer in the fridge, milk in her car, someone to use up all the electricity, but still…

I had a completely clear conscience leaving this b***h to die.

"I ******** want to go," I lied. I'd always been a terrible liar, but of course that's the only thing I'm bad at other than being graceful, but that's all a part of my stupid charm.

"Tell my ex-bed buddy, Charlie-slut, that I said hi."

"I will."

"I'll see you soon, bit-I mean BELLA," she said, eager to get rid of me but still putting on a mask of incandescent mother-ishness. "You can come home whenever you want-unless me and Phil are playing doctor-and I'll come right back as soon as you need me, unless my personal needs get in the way, first." Even so, I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise.

"Don't worry about me," I urged. "It'll be beast."

She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I got on the plane, and then I was flying, and then I was gone, and then in some alternate universe Stephenie Meyer learned not to use two ands in a row.  

[iGoldilocks]

1.2
♥

It's a ******** four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Knives or whatever the hell that place is. Flying doesn't bother me, I'm ******** Amelia Earhart, but Charlie does. He's a fricking slut.

The slut had been somewhat decent about the whole thing. He registered me for high school and got me the fugliest car ever.

Now, I hope you don't mind, but this next part isn't very exciting. It only involves being hijacked by a few ninjas, a epic-journey through dimensions with two Mokona, and a gang-rape incident, but we'll just skip past that to the part where it's actually focusing on my terrible life more.

Chopstick High School is so damn small I could shove it up your a**. It only has 5 million people. Pshaw, my old school had like, 12 million.

It doesn't matter, though, they'll all love me anyway. After all, I'm ivory-skinned. I'm slender but somehow soft, so back off, b***h.

That night I went home and cried over the fact that I was normal.



I didn't sleep well that night, even after I was done crying over my norm. The constant whooshing (Stephenie won't italicize the "ing" because she has no appreciation for the word as a whole) of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the background. I pulled the faded old quilt (the same quilt I lost my virginity under to a 47 year old hobo) over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle. I also couldn't fall asleep because the constant misuse of commas and Stephenie's starting a sentence with "but" was eating away at my soul.

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the incandescent whooshing claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the sky here; it was like a cage. Sure, that's not any different than Phoenix, because you couldn't see the sky unless you wanted to be blinded by UV rays, but shut up. I'm a Mary Sue, and I have gone through more suffering than you or your mom can imagine.



Inside my s**t-mobile, it was nice and dry. Either Billy-Bob-Benny or Charlie-slut had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, bad sex, marijuana, chagrin, and peppermint. The engine started quickly, to my incandescent relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume, if that's even possible to idle at top volume. Well, a s**t-mobile this ******** old was bound to have a flaw… or five. The antique radio worked, a plus that I hadn't expected. One problem… it was tuned to Radio Disney.

"NOBODY'S PERFECT, I'VE GOTTA WORK IT, AGAIN AND AGAIN 'TILL I GET IT RIIIIIIIIGHT!!!!" Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus/Destiny/Whatever the b***h's name is screamed at me through the radio. I quickly shut it off and screamed back.

"I'M PERFECT, DAMMIT!"



Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before. The school was, like most other things in Sporks, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be the Spoons High School, made me stop. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I wondered incandescently and nostalgically. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors, the drug dogs, the prostitutes, the gangs, the drugs? OH WHERE THE ******** WERE THE DRUGS?!

I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading FRONT OFFICE. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling and chagrining around in the rain like an incandescent idiot. I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty s**t cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark, demonic-ish hedges. I took a deep breath and chagrin before opening the doors.

Inside, it was brightly lit with incandescently incandescent light bulbs (they don't know what "Going Green" is out west) and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; a little waiting area with barbed folding chairs, orange-flecked puked-on carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough fricking greenery outside. I hate plants. The only good plants are marijuana plants and… HOLY s**t.

I had an epic-chagrin as I spied my incandescent, lovely, amazing, fantastic, fabulous savior by the window… a marijuana plant. Hopefully, with this little flicker of light, I could truly survive here in Knives…

The fugly secretary came into the room. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Isabitcha Swan, b***h," I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light her eyes. I was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. Daughter of the Chief Prostitute's flighty ex-wife, come home at last.

"Of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I have your schedule right here, and a map of the whore house-I mean school."