Part one of my soon to be award winning novel

And yes, I am choosing to write this as a blog.
So here is goes.


June 23rd

Dear beautiful earth,

Today my idiot of a mother decided to take me to a therapist. The woman's name is Mary. She isn't too bad, but I'd rather be at home watching television or sitting downtown by the fountain than spilling my oh-so-boring guts to some stranger. She suggested I start writing in this book so I can keep my thoughts together and reflect on them weekly with her. For all she knows this entire book could be a lie.
However, honesty is one of my strong points. I don't even lie to my parents. For example, this morning I decided (in utter stupidity) to ask my mother for ten dollars.

"Why?" She protested. "What could you possibly need that for?"
"Six for cigarettes, four for a burger," I replied.
"You're smoking again? You're sixteen! I thought we quit that?"
My mother thinks that just because she gave up her cancer sticks, I will too. What she doesn't understand is that I'd smoke just to avoid being like her. So quite frankly she should probably just get over it.
As angry as she got she still gave me the money. I have absolutely no idea why.

So I guess I should probably tell you about myself.
My name is Eliora Schmidt, and I smoke, drink, do a lot of hallucinogens, fight, swear, and blow off school. Despite this, I'm a good person at heart. Every Sunday my mother drags me to church and for two hours I "pray" which consists of my sitting with my head down, dosing off into some kind of dream. I'm some kind of religious though. I'm a virgin, I wear a purity ring, and I never lie or steal. So I think that makes me at least a relatively good person.
I have Medium length brown hair with blond highlights that's constantly in my face, and I primarily wear dark tight jeans and black low-cut tank tops. I have no individuality in the appearance whatsoever and that is fine with me.
I guess another thing you should know about me is I'm really good at expressing my feelings. When I'm sad I cry, when I'm angry I scream, when I'm happy I laugh, and when I'm nothing, I don't. I'm also very good about showing when I'm horny, but I guess that makes me a cock tease, doesn't it? You know, with the whole "purity" thing.
So the last thing worth knowing about me is that I like to spend time alone. All day people are bothering me. Whether it be my so-called friends, or my three and five year old brothers Emerson and Sterling. I usually get a total of two to three hours a day to myself and I take full advantage of them. I live for them.
So that's all the matters about me.

June 26th

Dear Beautiful Earth,

So I feel like today was supposed to be the start of some never ending soap opera. I was walking around downtown smoking a cigarette, clutching my purse to my side when a man called for my attention.

"Young lady!" He called. He wasn't old. He looked kind of destroyed by drugs though. His teeth were slightly darkened and his clothes and skin were quite dirty. Other than that he wasn't ugly at all. He looked about in his early to mid twenties. Politely I turned to give him my attention.

"I'm a little down on my luck," he said. "Can you spare a dollar?"
"Unfortunately," I said. "I'm a little low on cash. But you can have a cigarette."
He gladly accepted.
I sat and smoked with him as we engaged in conversation, but it was fairly cold outside for a June day and I was eager to get somewhere warm. This man, however, had no jacket.
He began to discuss his situation. He was sleeping under a bridge as of last month. He had been thrown out of his parents' house with no supplies or clothes. I felt horrible for him so I gave him one of my sweatshirts.
He thankfully accepted and began hugging me. This sparked even more conversation. He asked me if he could stay at my house, and quite honestly, I would have said yes, had he not spent half of the time I was with him trying to smoke crack off of a notebook. My mom would never let this man past our doorway, even just to clean up. And I knew I shouldn't have trusted him and wanted him company so badly but I kind of did. It'd be nice to have someone to talk to at home.
Eventually, evening came and I had to be on my way.
"It was great talking to you, sir," I said to him.
"Oh don't call me sir!" He ordered. "My name is Cohen."
I hugged Cohen goodbye and made my way home.

So it was a good day. I met a cool guy, spent some time away from my family, and still had time to do a load of laundry before I was stuck watching the kids, which was usually one of the worst times of the day.

"Elie!" Emerson yelled when he walked through the door with Sterling and my mother. They were finally home from day care, and my mom was going to take off for her night shift. I would have to put them to bed and drive them to day care the next day while my mom slept off her work.
"Hi Emerson," I said, faking sweetness. "How was day care?"
"Good! I made a picture out of spaghetti!"
"Macaroni," my mother corrected. I laughed a little bit.
My mother left the kids to play in the living room and went upstairs. I sat on the couch, partly ignoring them, partly watching for fights to break out.
"Elie," Sterling said. "Why doesn't mommy sleep at night instead of work?"
"Because," I said. "Her job gives her more money if she works at night, and you two are so damn expensive."
My mother is a doctor in the emergency room. She has the most morbid and disgusting job of anyone I know. The only time I ever visit her at work is if I need money or she won't pick up my calls at the front desk. It is a short drive from home, so it isn't that ridiculous.
I ruffled Sterling's hair and instructed him to go play, while I ran upstairs to check in with my mother.
She was in her hospital clothes, combing her hair. I always wondered why she did that because it would just be messed up in all of two hours.

"Do you need something?" She asked me, tying her hair into a dark brown ponytail.
"Not really," I replied. "I was just hoping I could have someone over for company tonight. Just one of my friends to stay the night."
"Who? No boys."
"No, mom, just Taryn."
"Taryn? Yeah, sure."

Taryn has been my best friend for about five years now. She's the most tolerable person in my life at the moment so it's great to have her over for babysitting.
She's a year younger than I am, just going to be a sophomore. She has jet black hair, medium length with silky side bangs, crystal blue eyes and a very dark look to her. She likes to wear black dress shirts with a lot of ruffles, and black skinny jeans.
Taryn and I have two other people who we primarily hang around with at school and in our free time. The funnest and the cutest of those two is Cooper. He's a handsome Junior with reddish blond hair, perfect facial structure, and a very tone body. He was, however, what most people described as a "scene kid". He wore tight skinny jeans, a plain thin red hoodie, hood constantly up, and glasses without the lenses. Taryn, me and our other friend Celeste are constantly fighting over who will get in his pants first, although I know that isn't going to be me, or probably any of us, anytime soon. Me and Cooper have something in common though; we're the only two in our group who still hold our V-card. Maybe that gives us some kind of special connection and he'll fall for me one of these days.
Anyway, Celeste is the typical gorgeous Junior. She has perfect blond hair and dresses in the most provocative ways that you could legally show up to school in. She has a perfect figure, green eyes, and is short but knows how to work heels. She wears on occasion leather pants and skirts and corsets. Sometimes I wonder how she could possibly be comfortable in all of those clothes.
So anyway, Taryn came over, which was nice, I liked having company when I was watching those demonic little boys. But what was even more nice was telling her about Cohen. I was as graphic as possible in the story but she didn't seem to react to it in the same way that I did.
"Elie, That's disgusting!" She said. "Just repulsive!"
"What are you talking about?" I replied. "How is that gross? He's an amazing guy."
"He's a bum you met on the street! Why can't you just stick to chasing after Cooper?"
I was appalled at her reaction. Maybe it was because she only had one year of high school under her belt. She was still younger than me. But somehow she was making herself look pretty wise.
"I think I'm in love with him," I said suddenly, in complete seriousness. All I received from Taryn was a shocked glare.
Awkward silence.
"What the fuck?!" She yelled, breaking it.
"Shhh!" I said, pointing to Emerson and Sterling. "Language filter!"
"Are you serious? You're in love with the crackhead you met on the street who was so fried he tried to smoke it off of a notebook? Like, you're joking, aren't you? How long have you known him for, twelve hours?"
"Don't judge me Taryn. You're my best friend."
She sighed loudly.
"Okay, okay," She muttered. "Let's just drop it. You do what's best for you."
I was satisfied with this response. Taryn is a good friend.