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I'm Good I'm Gone

A/N: I know I said I was going to post the story in a guy's point of view, but this one is in a girl's point of view so Tung won't be alone! [Actually, my computer is just acting up so I can't get to my other story]...ilu Tung :D.
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The heavy bass techno music blared in the club, giving me a tremendous headache as I sat by the bar. Trying to drown out the noise, I gestured for the bar tender to come over and ordered another drink. He raised an eye brow at my condition, but did not say a word as he handed me another alcohol beverage. I guzzled down the drink, but the headache still persisted. Why am I even here?


The dark club had flashing color fluorescent lights, illuminating the mass of bodies pressed against each other for a few seconds at a time. The lights furthered served to aggravate my headache even greater. I am the only one sitting by the bar, drinking by myself. I wondered how much of an idiot I must look like right now.

I really don’t even know why I was here at this moment. The last few hours have been a blur to me. I ordered another drink, the bar tender really seemed like he was going to stop me this time but he didn’t. I really wish he would, maybe then I can remember why I came here.

A feeling of nausea washed over me and I tried to drown it with alcohol. Why was everybody so happy? Why am I feeling so miserable?

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A Fine Frenzy - Think of you

She turned off the last lights, dimming the entirety of the glass building. The gallery heater was broken, making the cold air unbearable in the studio. She just wanted to get home. Her feet shuffling in the snow, she made her way across the empty parking lot towards her car. Fumbling with the icy keys, she unlocks the door and started the car.

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The Stages

When the policemen told him about the accident, Elliot wasn’t worried about his mom. He wasn’t sad. He was angry with her, frustrated. He’d just spoken to her, no more than an hour ago. She said she was running late, but he didn’t mind; he would wait, just like he always did, rain or shine.

And then, all of a sudden, there he was, just 12-years-old, standing in the rain waiting for his mother to pick him up from school, now being told that she ‘wouldn’t be able to get him because there was a terrible accident’ by two strangers he wanted nothing to do with.

Now, he minded.

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Happily Never After

I wanted to warn them. I wanted to tell them that her sweet words were a lie, everything was. She wasn’t really who she was pretending to be… But then she would flash that smile of hers, and I would start believing in the lie too.

Okay. I’m exaggerating. I knew she wasn’t really Princess Iris – the newest in the line of Disney princesses – just as I knew I wasn’t really Quentin, the inventor’s boy who gets dragged on a grand adventure with the princess whom she ends up falling in love with due to his gracious charms and swashbuckling good looks.

I eyed Iris warily from where she sat at the front of the table – it was tea party time – as she posed for a picture. She seemed so innocent in that little pink dress, so so so very innocent until…

“What are you looking at?” she snapped.

I fumbled with my teacup, then cleverly shot back, “Your face.”

“Of course,” she replied with a smirk. “I’m beautiful.”

I choked on my tea.

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Okay, I get it, let me think, I guess it's my turn.

Okay, I get it, let me think, I guess it’s my turn (quoted from Nicki Minaj). I suppose I should begin by saying that I am no writer. As a kid, I loved to read. Whether it was a small car ride or a long meeting my parents dragged me along too, I had either a book or a Game Boy Advance in my hands.

Despite my love of reading as a child (which has diminished due to circumstances), I do not believe I had ever wanted to become a writer. I am very fickle in my ambitions in life. Since the fourth grade, I’ve wanted to become a rock star (oh the naivety), an aerospace engineer (fancy term for an astronaut), an environment engineer (I believed in animal rights for quite a while and even became a short-termed vegetarian and a long-termed pescaterian), a scientist (I took chemistry AP…terrible decision) and numerous other careers options I cannot remember. However, I can never see myself as a writer due to a lack of patience, determination and confidence about my writing. Right now, my goal is to become a designer of some sort.

Despite never seeing writing as a path in my life, I did write decently for a child my age during elementary school. One day, while digging through my old assignments from elementary school, I stumbled upon a folder filled with printed stories I had typed during English class from my elementary years. I read through them, not recognizing that I had written these stories. I read a few positive comments from my teachers and smiled to myself.

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Writer's story (with an ending sloppily thrown together in an effort to turn it in on time... fail, I know... sorry)

While this week’s theme is the telling of our “Writer’s story,” the truth is that I was never really a writer. Looking back, the only work of writing I ever worked on was an incomplete, blown-out retelling of the Hans Christian Andersen’s classic “The Ugly Duckling,” a story spanning twenty-two chapters riddled with long treks across country roads and many, many ducknappings (he was a very popular duckling). Besides this childish attempt at a novel, I never wrote in my childhood.

I was born on September 22, 1994 in the city of Ho Chi Minh of Vietnam. Not the beggar-crawling, crime-filled parts of Vietnam (as it is notoriously known for) or the rice-paddies-as-far-as-the-eye-can-see parts (as it is portrayed in every other vacation guide), but to the Vietnamese middle-class family. In other words, we weren’t taking money baths in marble bathrooms with gold toilet seats, but there was never a day when I was left in want. I grew up watching Power Rangers and American bootlegged tapes of Blues Clues and Barney, reading manga like Doraemon and Case Closed, playing emulator Disney games (a fancier, more technical term for “bootlegged”) like Aladdin and 101 Dalmatians, generally happy and perfectly content against the oppressive backdrop that was the Viet Cong dictatorship.

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... And so, Mary Sue did not live happily ever after.

Theme for March: Introduction
Tell us your writer’s story.


A/N (Message to New Friends!) :: Hey guys, I'm not trying to break one of the "Honor Code" rules here, but I thought I'd just introduce myself since the other 'Scribble Ninjas' all know each other!
My name's Melody :D ... And, I'm friends with Sandy through quite interesting circumstances, but friends nonetheless. Hope we can all get to know each other through these weekly updates!


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Like any kid, I always loved watching cartoons. Everything about them was just so mesmerizing: characters, settings, plots, situations... I just wanted so much to be a part of those worlds, and in writing, I found a way to do that.


I started off writing a lot of fanfiction (much like a certain other "Scribble Ninja" we all know): Pokemon, Card Captors, Inuyasha... And yes, I oftentimes inserted my own Mary Sue (and yes, that Mary Sue also somehow always seemed to find a way to sweep the male protagonist off his feet, stealing him away from his canonical romance with the female protagonist). This actually went on for years and years - much longer than I would have wanted, probably. I wrote stories for friends too (because after reading about how MY Mary Sue was just SO successful with the boys, friends wanted me to create their own pimpette), so when I wasn't writing about me, I was writing about them, and it became this whole vicious cycle of fanfic after fanfic.


Eventually, I realized that that wasn't what I wanted. Nothing was ever really mine in those fanfics. Even those Mary Sue characters - they were simply extensions of someone else's work, written around the boundaries someone else has created. I wanted something that was mine.


... Continued.

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