Twilight, Browns, Torture

(I’m determined to finish this awful piece of garbage book before the movie comes out. I’ve been reading it for like 8 weeks now, and last night made it to page 240.

She knows the guy is a vampire finally, and she’s spent like the last 70 pages thinking about it.

In order to try and get into a Twilight-reading mindset, I’ve decided to write this post as if I was Twilight author Stephanie Meyer. I invite you to share my pain.)

CHAPTER 1,438 – THE END OF ACT 1

I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know if I should or not. The television was sitting there in front of me, and I’d been looking at it for several hours, debating whether to turn it on or not. My father, Jeff, had bought the televison many years ago – it was old now, but when he bought it, it was new.

Jeff liked to buy things. I call him Jeff because that’s his name, and I like to use names. When I was living in Ohio, everyone called each other names. Their real names. That was before I moved here, where I had to watch Jeff buy things. The day Jeff bought the television, it was raining, which is when water falls from the sky. Some people call it precipitation, but I call it rain, because it takes less time to say, and because I’m an outsider. That means I’m not like everyone else, and it’s only moreso here, because I moved here from somewhere else. Sometimes that means I don’t fit in with the people in this place, which is a different place from the place I came from before. I wish I was tan.

The rain on the day the television was purchased was a heavy rain, which means that in terms of water, there was more of it coming down than if it were lighter. The heaviness of the rain made me a little sad, because I don’t have as many friends as I did in the other place I lived. The rain here was heavy.

“Hey, let’s go buy a new TV,” Jeff said to me. “It’s raining, and the old TV doesn’t look good in the rain.”

The old TV was a seven inch hand-held from Casio. We had it propped up in the corner on an old cereal bowl. The bowl had a chip in it. I’d put the chip in that bowl when I moved here – I’d been trying to eat some cereal, and because I was so new and had no friends, I dropped the bowl. This is where the chip came from.

The chip was one quarter inch by one eighth inch. I knew the exact measurement because I’d used a ruler to measure the chip. The chip I made because I had no friends. I never did eat that cereal that day – instead, I took the bowl, and used it to prop up the old Casio handheld TV. This way Jeff, who’s my dad who I call by his first name, wouldn’t have to hold the TV in his hands anymore. I couldn’t believe how big the chip in this bowl was, and when I measured it, I knew everything would be different. Thank god I had that ruler.

The ruler was blue. It wasn’t a light blue, and it certainly wasn’t a dark blue. This meant the blue fell somewhere in the middle, although it wasn’t quite royal blue. Maybe it was plain blue. Plain. There’s a word to describe my life in this new place. P-L-A-I-N. Plain. What a word. Five letters, and not one of them the same. I had no friends here – I couldn’t believe it.

I took the plain blue ruler and picked up the bowl. The bowl with the chip. The chip that reminded me my heart was empty. The actual chip itself was little. I kicked it under the refrigerator, which was pale yellow in color, and had two doors. One for things we wanted to just be cold, and one for things we wanted to freeze. That part of the pale yellow refrigerator was called the freezer. It made sense to me. Nothing else did. I was so confused in this new place. This new place that was so new to me, because I’d never lived here before.

Jeff would hate the chip in the bowl, which is why I had to hide it under the pale yellow refrigerator. The kick I used to kick the chip was just soft enough to get the chip underneath. If I kicked it too hard, it might hit the wall and bounce back out. If I kicked it too soft, it wouldn’t make it under at all, which would mean I’d have to kick it again. I didn’t want to do this, because I was so tired from not having any friends, because I’m an outsider in this new place. Everyone looked at me weird. Like I was weird. Jeff wouldn’t understand. He was just my dad, and not my mom, and I called him by his first name.

Once I had hid the chip, I took the bowl and looked at it. I noticed for the first time was it white. A pale white. All white was pale, but maybe this was paler. Paler than white. I laughed to myself. Maybe I was going crazy from not having friends to go places with. It’s not like I’d know where to go anyway – I wasn’t even from here. I was from somewhere else. Someplace that wasn’t here. I looked at the bowl for another minute, and started walking to the living room. I tripped – just a little. Not a lot. Not enough to fall down. My heart ached again. I couldn’t tell Jeff. He was just my dad, and he wouldn’t understand. Nobody understands me, because I’m not from here.

I tripped over a chair. The wooden chair. The same one I’d eaten dinner in last night. I’d gotten home late from school, because I’d been out with a girl who I thought was a vampire. This was an amazing thing which would change my life forever, but I need to explain the chair. The chair. The wooden chair – that’s what was important right now. It was a wooden chair, made of wood. When I sat in it last night, never in a million years did I think I would trip over it that morning. But I did, because I was lonely, because I had no friends. This place was so strange.

I’d made chicken for Jeff and I for dinner. The dinner where I sat in the chair I had tripped over, after I’d hidden the chip in the bowl, which I’d used to prop up the Casio, which one morning Jeff and I were going to replace with a new TV, which I was sitting in front of now, wondering if I should turn it on. The chicken was good. I’d bought fresh fowl at the grocery store that afternoon, which is the time between morning and evening. The time of day I’m most aware of my lack of friends. No friends. Wow. How did I get here?

The grocery store Jeff had told me to go to was big. This was because it was one of two stores in town. It had been remodeled recently, because the other store was selling more food than them. I guess they thought they should make a bigger store to hold more food. Maybe if I had a bigger heart, I could have more friends. I was so alone. The other store was big. I’d only been there once, because I didn’t know how to get there, because I wasn’t from here. I was from somewhere else. Yeah, somewhere not here.

The outside of the other store was a dull beige, with bricks lining the top and bottom rims of the roof and ground. In front was a sidewalk, which was made of cement. Cement was heavy. Like my heart, which was alone from not having friends.

(TO BE CONTINUED – ONLY 400 PAGES OF THIS “HOW I TURNED ON THE TV AND WATCHED THE BROWNS” STORY LEFT.)