{{Ali's next top author, round three}} /You're adding an ending to the piece of a story I give you, contestants!\ ~You all have two weeks -- until March 23rd!~ (:
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Re: {{Ali's next top author, round three}} /You're adding an ending to the piece of a story I give you, contestants!\ ~You all have two weeks -- until March 23rd!~ (:
Re: {{Ali's next top author, round three}} /You're adding an ending to the piece of a story I give you, contestants!\ ~You all have two weeks -- until March 23rd!~ (:
Re: {{Ali's next top author, round three}} /You're adding an ending to the piece of a story I give you, contestants!\ ~You all have two weeks -- until March 23rd!~ (:
Okay, thanks.
I'm waiting on a lot of entries, guys.
Re: {{Ali's next top author, round three}} /You're adding an ending to the piece of a story I give you, contestants!\ ~You all have two weeks -- until March 23rd!~ (:
Working on it! Now if only I could figure out how to copy and paste on my iPod, LOL
Re: {{Ali's next top author, round three}} /You're adding an ending to the piece of a story I give you, contestants!\ ~You all have two weeks -- until March 23rd!~ (:
I smiled at my reflection in the mirror. I had just added red tinted streaks to my hair, and I thought they looked really good. I opened the bathroom door and walked downstairs, then outside. I grabbed the mail out of the mailbox and looked over it. Mostly bills, and a letter for me. Which is weird, I usually don't get mail. I shrugged and opened it, too impatient to wait until I got inside.
“Congratulations, Emily! We loved the story you sent us, and it placed 2nd in our Reader Writer Newspaper Contest!”
I paused after I read that sentence. They had sent me a letter about a week ago telling me I placed 2nd. It’s odd that they would send another. I kept reading:
“An agent from Happy Penguin Publishers saw your entry, and asked us if we could contact you. She said she’d like to talk to you about publishing your story, along with any other possible stories you have written. Please give the company a phone call, and arrange a meeting. Our congratulations to your lucky discovery!”
A publishing company wants me to publish my story? No way! This was amazing! I took the letter inside with me, and I called my mom. She was as excited about it as I was, and we planned on going sometime next weekend. I called the publishing company to arrange the same date, trying to keep myself level; I was so ecstatic I thought I would burst.
As I went through my stories on my computer, I thought of the journey ahead. “Emily Harrison, you are about to become a famous, best-selling author.” I couldn’t wait!
Re: {{Ali's next top author, round three}} /You're adding an ending to the piece of a story I give you, contestants!\ ~You all have two weeks -- until March 23rd!~ (:
I got this idea last Thursday as I was writing a Social Studies Test, xD
I focused a bit too much on this so I'm hoping a get a good mark on my test, LOL
I smiled at my reflection in the mirror. I had just added red tinted streaks to my hair, and I thought they looked really good. I opened the bathroom door and walked downstairs, then outside. I grabbed the mail out of the mailbox and looked over it. Mostly bills, and a letter for me. Which is weird, I usually don't get mail. I shrugged and opened it, too impatient to wait until I got inside.
CONGRATULATIONS
The fact that you're reading this means that they haven't gotten you . . . yet.
Yeah, YOU, the one reading this letter.
You are in THE GAME.
You have 365 days to figure everything out.
Don't have all the information by December 31st? Your done for. They get you before 365 days are up? Too bad.
Work with someone or tell anyone about this letter? No one will ever remember you were even alive.
The rules are simple: get the information or die.
Good luck. You're going to need it.
This letter will self-destruct in 10 seconds.
~~
I ran up the stairs to my room while hollering to my mom that I was gonna do homework. I stopped suddenly just outside my room--the atmosphere felt oddly different.
Someone had been in my room.
Scanning my surroundings quickly, I noticed that nothing looked diff-- wait. What was that on my pillow? Hesitantly taking a few steps, I approached my bed . . . and stopped short, shocked.
This wasn't possible. I lost that several months ago.
Gingerly, I picked up the photo and glanced at it. This was the very last picture I had of my dad. He was lost at sea but was pronounced dead, even though his body was never found. The picture was taken on our front porch, just before he went on his solo sailing trip around the world.
Something nicked at my fingers, tearing me from my train of thoughts. Turning the photo around, I found a hurriedly scrawled note taped to the back. I gasped and the picture fluttered to the ground like a feather. Clutching at my pounding heart, I tried to catch my un-even breath.
This could not be happening.
I thought the letter was a joke but this note confirmed it all.
Written in my supposedly dead father's scraggly handwriting were four words.
Re: {{Ali's next top author, round three}} /You're adding an ending to the piece of a story I give you, contestants!\ ~You all have two weeks -- until March 23rd!~ (:
OH WOW that is awesome! I love how it said "this letter will self destruct in 10 seconds"
Re: {{Ali's next top author, round three}} /You're adding an ending to the piece of a story I give you, contestants!\ ~You all have two weeks -- until March 23rd!~ (:
Re: {{Ali's next top author, round three}} /You're adding an ending to the piece of a story I give you, contestants!\ ~You all have two weeks -- until March 23rd!~ (:
I smiled at my reflection in the mirror. I had just added red tinted streaks to my hair, and I thought they looked really good. I opened the bathroom door and walked downstairs, then outside. I grabbed the mail out of the mailbox and looked over it. Mostly bills, and a letter for me. Which is weird, I usually don't get mail. I shrugged and opened it, too impatient to wait until I got inside.
It took a few moments for my eyes to focus, which I hated dealing with. My mom and I had gone to the doctor's a two weeks ago so they could test me for a few things, but nobody was overly nervous. They'd just hand me a container of pills and we'd be on our way. Right?
This letter begged to differ. I stood on the porch, frozen, as I skimmed the official looking paper. The only things my flustered mind could read were "Dear Parent/Guardian of Katherine Anne Quincy", "brain cancer", "chemotherapy", and "70% chance".
How could me, Kathy, be this sick? The sickest I got was the stomach flu in second grade! I was a perfectly healthy teenager, just starting my final year of high school at seventeen. I had my whole future ahead of me, and this stupid disease had a thirty percent chance of taking that away? It couldn't be true.
I don't know how long I stood there, but it was a while. The autumn breeze kissed my tear-stained face. A kiss of death.
My mother cautiously opened the front door to see my body there, like it was encased in a block of ice. A puzzled gaze sweep across her as she took the letter from my hands. She too was encased in the block of ice as she read the paper. Like an overflowing dam, her eyes began to water vigorously as she bolted inside the house. I followed her slowly, the door ominously slamming shut.
I could here my mom sobbing in the living room of our old stone house. I felt horrible for my her, cancer had taken my baby brother before he turned a year old. That was almost a decade ago, but the trauma of that tragedy stayed fresh.
I walked up the creaking stairs to my bedroom. My haven. I sat on my bed, mind blank as a washed off chalkboard. The only thing running through my head was death. That can't be healthy, but when you've just been given a letter saying you could die, it's kind of hard to keep your brain off it. Suddenly, the cheery pink wallpaper and flowery bedspread in my room weren't happy anymore.
Hearing my younger sister screaming and my dad's car screeching into the driveway much earlier than he should on a regular Saturday shift, it became real. As real as this nightmare could be.
I touched my newly red streaks of hair, wondering how they could have been so important to me only a mere few hours ago.
Soon they'd be gone.
I wanted to add a scene with the sister and maybe the hospital, but I thought a brief story would show a bit of my range of length. Hope you like it! For some reason, I can never write about anything lighthearted or my word choice is not as good as it should be. xD
Re: {{Ali's next top author, round three}} /You're adding an ending to the piece of a story I give you, contestants!\ ~You all have two weeks -- until March 23rd!~ (:
Oh wow I hope she's OK! If she is she could end up dying whatever is left of her hair pink instead of red oh wait wrong cancer
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Re: {{Ali's next top author, round three}} /You're adding an ending to the piece of a story I give you, contestants!\ ~You all have two weeks -- until March 23rd!~ (: 
If she is she could end up dying whatever is left of her hair pink instead of red 
oh wait wrong cancer 
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