A new story and Downdate lol

this is an update that I called a Downdate cuz why not. I like books. I ditched The White Door (which was what I promised myself not to do ughhhh) because I came up with a better, more original idea. I started writing it in my head in the shower.  TMI? Whatever. I don’t know what it’s called but for now I will call it My Life Sucks. That title was suggested by Sea Otter. It’s about a girl who is considered a villain and that’s pretty much all I know so far. Her life sucks. Her name is Genevieve. Yeah. That’s all I can think of saying. So here’s what I’ve written so far!
My Life Sucks

I am too young to die. It’s the truth. 12 is way too young to face death. But guess what? The world doesn’t care! The world loathes me as much as the people in my city do. Simply because I do not get along with their stupid hero Alec Roveri. The name makes me want to break something. A villain! Is that really what you’d call me? I guess it makes sense. Nobody ever thinks about how a villain feels. They just assume they’re evil for the sake of being evil. Everyone has a motive. Maybe the Evil Queen isn’t evil. If you actually thought about it, it would make perfect sense if she just had low self confidence. The Evil Queen could really just be a woman who needed a reminder that she was beautiful and that she had worth. After discovering that she wasn’t the fairest, she must’ve thought that meant she wasn’t fair. She needed that confidence so much, she was willing to kill for it. And Maleficent. She could’ve just been angry that she wasn’t invited. Think about it. As a young child, if somebody would invite everybody except you to a party, wouldn’t you be sad and angry? If they called you an evil witch, a monster, wouldn’t you hate them? Crashing parties is normal in real life. Why does it make you evil in a story? I could give many more examples, but I have a story to tell.

I dashed down the street, pulling my black hood over my face. As I relaxed my hands, the hood slipped off my face, and my identity was revealed. Luckily, only a few people recognized me. A mother pulled her child closer to her, looking at me with fear. I also caught a few suspicious glances and glares. I quickly pulled the hood back toward my face and kept a tight grip on it. It was crazy how I couldn’t even walk down the street without people I glanced at the table next to the sofa. On that table was a picture of my parents. “I miss you,” I whispered, stroking the picture. Their faces were blurry through the tears in my eyes. I suddenly felt a surge of anger. If they knew…. I bet if Alec had a loss caused by me everybody would be sobbing with sympathy and it would be perfectly fine if he murdered me. But no, just because my father was enemies with stupid Alec and his stupid partner, I was treated unfairly. I then realized I was practically blaming my dad for my life. “No,” I said aloud, trying to keep my voice steady, “It’s Alec’s fault.” I then realized Grandma was behind me. “That’s right, Genevieve. It’s his fault. The only way to get him back is to take something he cares about. How about his little partner?” She suggested. I felt the anger rising. “Maybe,” I said simply, as I always did to Grandma’s plans. “Think it over. Go eat. Nobody’s stopping you.” Grandma instructed, turning away. I nodded, and walked to the kitchen, though the tears had began slipping out. I had an apple. They were dad’s favorite. He thought it was just plain silly how people thought we ate poison apples. “How would we even digest that?” He’d laugh. Any thought of my father made my heart ache, but at the same time, the hole he’d left seemed to get smaller. I blinked back my tears and put my parents out of my mind. Would I even try to kill anyone? ‘No,’ i thought. I couldn’t stoop down to their level. But… I could still cause havoc. I grabbed a sword and ran outside. I wasn’t sure what I would do with it, just that I would use it. I pulled my long dark hair into a ponytail. I used to cut it short to rebel against my mom, who liked it long. Now, since she was gone, I finally listened to her. ‘My mother isn’t dead,’ I reminded myself. But my dad was. He was gone. There was only one way to get him back. And that’s what the heroes had. I suddenly ran out, wanting them to hurt on the outside as much as I did on the inside. I heard gasps on the streets and a boy around my age yelled “Get the police!” I glared at them, lifting my sword. “If you dare bring them, I swear I will cut off your neck.” I growled. Shaking, the boy nodded. I felt like laughing. I was 12, and I was the most feared person in the city. “I’m getting the police!” Someone exclaimed. I ran to them. “Oh my gosh, that’s so great! Death might just come early and quick.” I laughed. ‘Why am I laughing at just dark statements?’ I wondered. I lifted up my sword again. Suddenly, somebody pulled it down. “Pick on someone your own size,” Alec said with an annoying smirk. I rolled my eyes. “That doesn’t work here.” I pointed out. “You only say that if I’m picking on someone smaller. If I’m picking on someone bigger, then you’re just sad.” Yes, I am a know-it-all. I can’t help correcting everything. “Whatever.” Alec replied, his smirk gone. “What do you want, Genevieve?” “First of all, don’t you dare call me by my name. Second, all I need is that little ring.” I said. “Never!” He exclaimed. So dramatic. “Give it to me and nobody gets hurt.” I growled. “Why should I? What do you even want?” “Tsk tsk tsk… don’t ask questions that’ll get you killed.” Not because it’s dangerous, but because if he asked again I would murder him. “Enough talk,” I said. I brought up my sword and tried to hit his arm with the flat part of my sword. I wasn’t angry enough to draw blood, though. “What do you want?” He repeated, clutching his arm. “Why are you so evil?” I was suddenly outraged. “Evil?” I asked quietly. “EVIL?!?” I repeated, my voice a scream now. “YOU THINK I’M EVIL?!?! You ruined my life! I hate you.” I said giving him a loathsome look. I used the blade this time, hitting his arm again and again. I probably broke his arm. “Give me it.” I said. “I don’t have it!” He exclaimed, obviously in pain. “Alec Roveri, don’t you dare lie.”


Author: Rtistgirl

hi, i'm samara. i started this blog when i was eight because i love art and writing! i spelled it rtist because if you pronounce the R as like, the letter R then it'll be artist. it makes more sense out loud. anyways enjoy!

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