...but I am a cynic who is pathetically dutifully included in today's mediadrome, so no one is to blame my childish behavior.
I was inspired to "write" this after reading a few posts on Facebook (Anti- 'Twilight' series group) which, in truth, were intelligently written, and not ambiguous or as ill-bred as the infatuated fangirls whom would deject the said writings. Again, I feel silly for doing this, but it's all the more to humor the maintenance of my faith in humanity.
Excerpt from "Twilight" by Stephanie Meyer
"And for all that," he continued, "I'd have fared better if I /had/ exposed us all at that first moment, than if now, here--with no witnesses and nothing to stop me--I were to hurt you." (well aren’t you sweet)
I was human enough to have to ask. (ba-doom, chhhh) "Why?” (WHY ARE YOU ASKING, STUPID? HE JUST MADE A POINT OF SPARING YOUR LIFE, DON’T QUESTION HIM!!!)
"Isabella." He pronounced my full name carefully, (oh, FULL name, which obviously enhances his divine seriousness) then playfully ruffled my hair with his free hand. (free hand? …what was his other hand doing?) A shock ran through my body at his casual touch (they probably have medication for that) "Bella, I couldn't live with myself if I ever hurt you. You don't know how it's tortured me." (that sentence seemed grammatically awkward or literately improper…maybe im just naïve to follow stephanie’s SCITILLATING way of writing) He looked down, ashamed again. "The thought of you, still, white, cold (is he talking about bella or his butt?) . . . to never see you blush scarlet again, to never see that flash of intuition in your eyes when you see through my pretenses (being able to be aware of someone’s douchebag personality is attractive?) . . . it would be unendurable." (that was potentially pretentious) "You are the most important thing to me now. The most important thing to me ever." (theres plenty of fish in the sea, buddy. Live a freaking little. Same for you, bella. Youre still a minor.)
My head was spinning at the rapid change in direction our conversation had taken. (whos fault is that? YOURS for wanting to hang out with this dubious fellow) From the cheerful topic of my impending demise, (that sentence is just lame) we were suddenly declaring ourselves. He waited, and even though I looked down to study our hands between us, (your hands have been in the same position, woman) I knew his golden eyes were on me. (first his eyes are black, then theyre blue, then theyre soft and gentle, now theyre golden? Do all colorless vampires have eyes like that? Does he sparkle the same colors too? Skittles, taste the rainbow?)
"You already know how I feel, of course," I finally said, "I'm here . . . which, roughly translated, means I would rather die than stay away from you." (that was just plainly pretentious) I frowned. "I'm an idiot."
"You /are/ an idiot," he agreed with a laugh. Our eyes met, and I laughed, too. We laughed together at the idiocy and sheer impossibility of such a moment. (yeah, cuz its…uh…hilarious)
"And so the lion fell in love with the lamb . . ." he murmured. I looked away, hiding my eyes as I thrilled to the word. (thrilled, by definition, is an adjective. –thumbs down–)
"What a stupid lamb," I sighed. (jesus christ, get over yourself)
"What a sick masochistic lion." (masochistic [adj]: ‘relating to or experiencing the desire to be humiliated and abused by others in order to feel sexually fulfilled.’ Read my lips: EDWARD IS A PSYCHO.)
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