Cyako

I met him last year. When I first saw him, it was like in a romance novel. You know, the kind that you flip through at Barnes and Noble for the sex scenes. My heart dropped to my right big toe. I may have been drooling. (But that's not important.) Needless to say, while this wasn't "love at first sight." It was pretty close. He was there for a second, and then he was gone. But you wouldn't know that if you had been in my thoughts, which centered on him night and day. It was disgusting. The second time I met him, we were hanging with our mutual friends. I was determined to win him over with my dazzling personality… Yeah,

Leave. Don't lie. "I love you." Yeah, I'm so sure. Since when have you ever felt love? Oh sure, you may have liked me. But love? It's been five years since then. And even now, I haven't felt love. I've gotten close. Twice I have gotten close. It's been five years since then. And yet you still claim that you're in love. With me. I'm sorry. But I am not that young girl who could be dazzled by such words, almost like out of a fairytale, and believe that they are true. Believe that maybe I'm in love too. Stupid kids. You don't know love when you're fourteen. You don't know that, heart breaking, mind aching, gut wrenchi

These seem so out of place now. Memories. Of a time when  I was far too young to understand to meaning behind them. You just can't leave me alone, can you? It's been years, and still you manage to creep back in. How do you do it? After I've already patched up all the cracks in my mind, you are still able to crawl your way back in. It's not fair. But when has anything ever been? I want to scream. Stamp my feet. Deny your existence. Pretend that you never happened. I wish I could. But, in a very real sense, you're part of me now. And I still haven't decided whether that's something good or bad.

There was nothing more in this world that Chloe loved more than to sing. It was what made her life meaningful. Sure, she had her looks. Her looks that brought scores of creatures, both human and mythical alike, to her. Yes, her beauty was otherworldly. But so was her voice. When she sang, the birds would stop their own song in shame of her loveliness. The wind would halt its whistling through the leaves in order to hear her voice scale the notes of a ballad. She was truly the most beautiful singer anyone could find. Some people claimed it was her beauty that got her such rewards in life. Maybe it was because of her father, a rich business

I always hated my name. Lacey. It sounded so weak, so feminine. Nothing like me. Where 'Lacey' is weak, I am strong. Where 'Lacey' cries, I kick ass. I've always hated my name. Lacey Wright. The name my parents gave me. Wright is an old Vampire name. Our blood line goes back generations. My parents always said, "It's an honor to be a Wright. You must strive to bring honor to our family." Like our life was a marathon of the Sopranos. I've never liked my name. That is, until he said it. The way he says it, it almost sounds like it's the most beautiful thing in the world. When he says my name, I can look past it. But only when he says it.

Tucking a strand of violet hair behind her ear, ten-year-old Megan Payne shuffled through a box of her great grandmother's old things. She held back a cough; the air inside the attic was musty, the smell of dust permeating everything. She went back to her search, reaching for the next box. As she shifted her weight to her right knee, the ancient wooden floor beneath her creaked. Megan froze, breath caught in her throat, heart pounding wildly against rib cage. If they found her up here, after they had explicitly told her not to, she would be in for it. There was no sound downstairs. Megan sighed in relief. They weren't home yet. She frowned