Here we are again.
This issue was done with a different format (we gave up and used a Quickpage thing), so it might look a bit better now. You know, not so crappy.
So read on. Have fun.
Emma Forrest is a writer. So far she's only written one book (I'm pretty sure). It's called Namedropper. It's jolly good fun. So hurrah for Emma.
*Cynthia - An Introduction*
By Cynthia
I want to be a character in a sullen New York play. I want to dress all in black and smoke slim cigarettes and lounge around with my artistic friends, making cruel but witty comments in a vaguely English accent to sound more intelligent. I want to grow straight hair and cut it short and be able to utterly ignore fashion yet still look great.
Unfortunately, I lack the look, the wit, and the fashion sense to pull any of it off. So I have to be content with my role of The Quiet Girl In The Back Of The Class. It doesn’t bother me that much. The quiet ones are usually the ones that grow up to be successful and content. Or homicidal. Either way, I won’t be another anonymous face.
It doesn’t help that my father would never let me smoke cigarettes, even slim ones, or that he associates black clothing with all things occult, like Satanism or baby-eating or Atheists. It’s because of him my wardrobe remains so annoyingly typical - pastel blouses and pressed jeans that he selects out of those fashion catalogs that everyone gets with or without subscribing. I bet I am the only fifteen year old girl in my school whose father knows all her measurements. He loved it, adored it, back when I was six and still dumb enough to wear those frilly dresses his sister Margaret sewed for me. Thank God I put my foot down on that one.
My mother is a rock goddess. You’ve probably heard of her. I know for a fact the kids at my school have. At the beginning of every year, when word is just getting around about who I’m the offspring of, I get endless requests for autographs and little known facts, or questions about why I have no musical talent. Eventually though, around October, it finally dawns on them that whoever my mom is, I’m just another boring girl, and they switch to making fun of my face instead.
My parents have known each other since they were three, and went to the same college, so I think it just seemed like the natural thing for them to do was have sex. They got married when I was born, and two months later my mom realized a musical career sounded like more fun than a baby and a big house, and went on tour with her band Waterlight. She never returned. I don’t really blame her.
Oh, I still see her from time to time. Like daddy, my mother preferred me in my frilly dress stage. She thought it made for a pretty picture, holding me in her lap to play with her long black hair while she chatting with some MTV guy. She even took me on stage once or twice, I’ve been told, but I don’t remember that. Anyway, around the age of nine I stopped being cute and started turning sullen and tall. It’s been just over a year since I last heard from mumsie.
My father is an orthodontist. Yes, I am a rich white girl with the world at my fingertips. I live in a quiet gated community and have braces and wear my hair in high ponytails and drink Coke and shop at the Gap and have never known any pain in my life. You have my full permission to hate me. I couldn’t care less.
*my little story thingie* By, Rachel
She stood on the edge of the rooftop with her head tilted upwards toward the
gleaming sun - butter melting into the clouds. She closed her eyes and was
overcome by the sigh of the sky. Chills ran up and down her spine as her
hair danced around her face. She smiled into the glowing warmth beyond her
eyes. When she opened them again, everything seemed so pale, washed out.
She blinked slowly. It was hard to keep her eyes open. Inhale, exhale,
inhale. Holding her breath, she recognized the scent. It engulfed her, as
it always did.
She didn't move. She knew who it was. She knew he would come. She was
glad he was there. She cared for him more than anything in the world. He
was the only thing she cared about. He was the only thing that cared about
her.
She closed her eyes again and tried to keep her balance, but swayed like
a blade of grass in the gentle breeze. The sirens had grown faint.
She felt a hand on her waist. She turned and looked into those eyes.
Those gorgeous, haunting eyes. She put her hand on his face and caressed his
smooth, soft skin. She leaned forward and kissed his salty lips. He took
her hand in his and kissed her fingertips. The blood rolled down her arm.
She leaned up against him and spoke like water flowing over smooth stones.
"My life is a million tangled strings. There's no way I can sort them
all out."
"I can help you."
She thought about this for a moment. "It would be easier just to use
scissors. Cut right through the middle of the knot." Her voice was like
eyelashes fluttering slowly, intently across a cheek.
She turned away from him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and they
both stood facing the pastel, softened sunset. Her crimson blood had stained
their clothes. He shut his eyes, and gave that smile - the one that gave
everything away. He whispered into her ear.
"I wouldn't be able to live without you."
The moment was without time - that feeling in your stomach. She pulled
the gun from its hiding place and held the barrel to her chest. She closed
her eyes and a tear rolled down her pale cheek - a tear of joy and of sorrow.
He pulled her fragile body closer to him. It was hard to tell where one
of them started and the other began, they were so close. They'd always been
close. She pulled the trigger.
*Suburbia!*
by C. Court
Growin up out side the city
Where everything grows neat and pretty
Suburbia!
Frowned upon if you have views
Different than those seen on the news
Suburbia!
Kids gotta be like momma and dad
They say this’s the life I never had
Suburbia!
Suburbia!
Adventures in dismissing the poor
Suburbia!
Stand by while your kids die in war
Suburbia!
Where life is a dream although it would seem
Suburbia in peril if you want to be free
Keep looking forward if you drive by
A homeless man seen out the corner of your eye
Suburbia!
The epitome of fascist youth groups
Led by their peers, threatened with noose loops
Suburbia!
My church says that youre going to hell
The way youre talking I don’t know if I can tell
Suburbia!
Suburbia!
Adventures in dismissing the poor
Suburbia!
Stand by while your kids die in war
Suburbia!
Where life is a dream although it would seem
Suburbia in peril if you want to be free
Suburbia!
*Bring Your Tears To Me*
By Darkangel
Just when you might have thought
That things were getting better
You are faced with the pain
Of one of mine full with love letters.
Now your world may seem to crumble
As you're falling out of love
And the break within your heart
Is all you're thinking of
But the Angel that you are
Should never feel so blue
Yet I feel from all your tears
The hurt you're going through
If you could leave your past
For it was never meant to be
And start a new beginning
And bring all your tears to me
Bring your tears to me
I would brighten up your world
And open up your eyes
I will dry away your pain
And silence all your cries
Let me shower you with love
And lace your heart in gold
I would satisfy your needs
With a passion you can hold
So give my love a chance
With a clear and open mind
For romance is at your reach
And I'm not too hard to find
Just listen to your heart
And take heed in what I say
And you will never cry again
For my love is here to stay
*Time*
By, Rachel
He was one of those people I just liked to be with;
Talking, hugging, and kissing were great, but all I needed was him with me to
be happy.
But time came and time went and time robbed -
Robbed me of him, robbed us of what we had, and only left the memories
The memories that I look back on and want so badly all over again.
I can never have him again, though -
Time is too cruel.
He was one of those people I just liked to be with;
Talking, hugging, and kissing were great, but all I needed was him with me to
be happy.
But time came and time went and time robbed -
Robbed me of him, robbed us of what we had, and only left the memories
The memories that I look back on and want so badly all over again.
I can never have him again, though -
Time is too cruel.
*Maybe*
By, Cynthia Casados
Maybe tomorrow I'll wake up happy
Maybe I'll feel complete
Maybe I'll know where I'm going, or even who I am
Maybe I'll feel satisfied with myself
Maybe I'll feel like I have succeeded at something
Maybe I'll have someone tell me I'm the best
Maybe I'll find a goal for myself, something worth living for,
Or maybe I'll wake up and nothing will change.
By, Rozzy
Cool
Cold to everyone
Walk in the hallways
Everyone knows your name
Whispers
Snickers behind your back
Smile on their faces
Evil in their hears
Don't say what you think
Can't speak what you feel
Walk in the doors
You're a diffrent person
Hey its just another day
High School
*Barbie World*
By, Rozzy
I AM A BARBIE DOLL
I have all the cool accessories
Matching knit sweater and plaid skirt
I am Popular
I have many plastic friends
I'm a Virginal Goddess monday through thursday
Super Slut friday night
I go to the best parties
Puke in the bathroom the next day
Don't tell anyone
But, I got THAT operation
You know....
I've got a boyfriend
He's sleeping with my best friend
My daddy's getting me a new car
My old one got wrecked
....I hope I didn't kill that girl
Bye
On to THE MALL
My Shrine
I AM A BARBIE DOLL
*Untitled*
By, Jocelyn
Did you know that hate was the #1 killer of the human being?
How can I be me when I know you'd hate who I am.
Who I wish to be.
So I'm not.
I'm just a mirror,
See what you want to see.
Never knowing yourself or myself
Minority is more than a race, a number;
Too little of us and too many of them.
All by Codi
And that's all for now, ladies and gentlemen. Come back next time.
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