4 - Strange grammar.

I wrote this little unpolished piece in both German and English grammar. Good excuse for me to work on my translation skills anyway. ;)

GERMAN GRAMMAR:

She look me at and sighed.
"I know not, what we to do should," said she. "She is tothe times confused. She must fear to have."
"Wait now-- since when is this problem our problem? She is not my daughter. I have never-times thisfor joined," laughed I.
"Come on! You know, that you to me help will. You are suchlike trained."
She looked yet-times me at. She smiled, but also looked she a bit scared out of. And she had correct. Yes it was not my problem, but when I a problem have, then is she up, me to from the ledges to save. And solike with her. It is alone our nature.
"Everything what shocks me is, that Ginny something solike to do would. I believed always, she never-at-times in that trap of sixteen-year-olds to trip would," said I, as I into the harbor onlooked.
"Things happen. Girls make poor decisions."
"I know, but she is now a girl, who a statistic is. She is that girl, that we at the supermarket see, who thought, that "it was only first time" a good excuse to be would, and I mean, that possibly she thought, that she never-at-times to other people to say would, that it only bythe first time was.
"Mean not, that she others that to tell would!"
She laughed, and I knew, that everything what happened is, that would all better to become.

ENGLISH GRAMMAR:

She looked at me and sighed.
"I dunno what I should do," she said. "She very confused right now. She's gotta be scared."
"Wait a second-- since when this problem our problem? She's not my daughter. I never signed up for this," I chuckled.
"C'mon! You know that you're going to help me. You're trained like that."
She looked at me again. She smiled, but she also looked a bit scared. And she was right. Yes, it was not my problem, but when I have an issue, then it's her turn to talk me off of ledges. And it's the same way for her. It's just our dynamic.
"It just shocks me that Ginny would do something like that. I always thought she'd never fall into that 16-year-old trap," I said, looking out into the harbor.
"Things happen. Girls makes poor decisions."
"I know, but now she's a stastic-- she's that girl. She's that girl who we see at the supermarket. The girl who always thought that 'it was only the first time' would be a good excuse. She probably that that she would never tell others that it was her first time.
"I don't think she'd tell others that."
She laughed, and I know that everything would be better by the time the sun set.

My god this is horrible.

For this prompt, which was to write a "bad" story, I decided to do a couple of things. One: write like a fifteen year old mallrat would. Two: don't proofread anything.

I dunno how it happened but I couldn't believe that Rachel was kissing Nick under the staircase. I sat there in the rain holding myself waiting for my mom to come pick me up. She was late. As usual. I brushed my hair from my eyes are stared up into the rain and felt it washing away all the pain. They never did see me but the bench was hard. My bag was hidden beneath the bench protecting it from the rain. My phone began buzzing. It was my friend Jennifer. She was still up strairs taking a make up math quiz and wanted to know where I was so we could go get some pizza down the road. I told her to meet me in the lobby and we went to Sal's Pizza. Sal's was good because it had a deal where you could by two slices and a soda for three bucks. I pulled out the loose change from my pocket and hadnded it to Sal who was running around the whole shop. Jennifer sat down and I did too.

"Lizzy you look like you've been crying" said Jennifer. "Are you okay?"
"I'm alright but I can't believe what Rachel did to me. She knew all about the whole thing with Nick and stuff."
"Yeah I know she's such a bitch. Well you know we're gonna see her at the mall later tonight. We'll just leave her alone when she comes up to us. You know that Joe, Steve, and Kelly all love you. Theyd do like anything for you."

I smiled at Jennifer and pulled my sleeve over my hand. Jennifer took a pen and started writing on her jeans. Probably something about her boyfriend Joe and I took a big bite of my pizza.


--

I jumped on Steve's back in front of Pretzel Time and this old woman gave us a lot. I dont understand why people give me and my friends dirty looks. Were really nice and fun so I dont get it. Steve is like my big brother. Hed do any to protect me.

Then Rachel came running at us all and I hid behind the crowd. Jennifer started causing a scene when a mall cop on a segway came up to us and told to leave. "You kids are a group of five. Not permited. He said,.

Rachel texted me later that night at Daras house sayuing that she didn't know why she was mad at me so I told her that she should just know. I laied down on Steves lap as we started watching our favorite movie Donnie Darko and fell asleep.

When I woek up I hoped everything wood be better.

Light Years

Okay, so, I'm not super happy with what I made. I might go back and change it. I think it's a little lame.

When they were lowering my casket into the ground, I was already gone, being lifted high above a thousand tiny lights. I couldn't see but one clearly, but I could hear their screams. Hear their shrieks and cries and see their hands lifted up towards the black sky. Shifting shapes and colors danced behind me on a towering wall and a group of ten men and ten women swirled below, synchronized with the sounds going on around them.

I didn't force anything. The movements came naturally. Somehow, I knew all the words. I knew each step I was supposed to take and each spot to land on. I knew that in the third act, I had to clap three times before the second chorus. I knew that nothing would make sense if I didn't scream "Come on people, let me hear you sing!" during the break. And if I wasn't behind the fourth screen to the right when the fifth song started, everything would look off-balance.

Down below, beneath the crowd and beneath my stage, a man lacing up my boots asked me, "Are you tired yet? You've got a lot more to go."

"No, no, I'm fine. You know me."

I'm never short for breath, and I've completely forgotten what it's like to sweat. No matter how many hip thrusts or front flips I do in a row, I'm always back on my feet and ready for more, craving the attention and carrying on another song to hear my name praised.

"Keep going! Just one more song!" I walk up and down a long, black catwalk and the screams get louder. I'm not doing anything special, but the lights seem to get hotter. If something reaches the outside of my stage, I never see it again. I once tossed a hat overboard and it was devoured by the hungry voices. I can't always hear them clearly, and even though I feed from their loyalty, I'm not sure I'd ever want to be with one up close.

I am still looking out into the ocean that cries out my name. I am still waiting for the music stop. I'm constantly afraid that soon the sounds will stop. Or that I'll lose my voice. Or that the curtain will finally drop. If the Sword of Damocles above my head ever falls, it better be for good reason.

Runnin’ Dry (Submission for OwieArt)

Hey, guys! This isn't my submission for Miss Lady's prompt, but I need to host this story here. I recently joined the staff at OwieArt, and this is my first piece for them. Critique is still welcome, of course.

Runnin' Dry (Part 1)

T.M. (Duke/Volume-Junkies)

I was my father's housewife. My jobs were, but not limited to, ironing shirts, making breakfast, ensuring a good amount of shampoo was left for his morning shower, changing his razor, and picking up the trail of socks he left throughout the week. It wasn't a spiteful setup, and he never came out and demanded anything; it's just the way things worked out. It started gradually—cleaning up the coffee mugs in his office and putting his pencils back in the cup holder. Eventually I noticed just how much of a bachelor he was. One could accurately describe him as an infant with an overly active schedule.

He was that guy that all the temps fell for. Coifed black hair and nicely tailored suit. Shoes with a shine that the blind could recognize. What they didn't see was the 5 a.m. scrambling around the house and him spilling his coffee on the kitchen floor. His appearance in the professional world was not intentional. He doesn't attempt to hide his life's disarray, but he certainly didn't try to flaunt it. The problem was that he never stopped working. He's that guy you see driving home on the highway with his cell phone glued to his ear, as you wonder, "Does he know that he's in the fast lane?"

Talking to one another was reserved for weeknights during dinner. By dinner, I mean that we sat on the couch and watched television, feasting upon whatever wasn't expired or stale. And when eight o'clock rolled around, well, that when he turned his phone back on, and I would draw a bath for my brother George. I had it pretty easy, actually. I ran that house. I never saw the need to enforce a bunch of typical household rules. I never forced my brother to eat his peas or made a big deal if someone drank out of the milk carton. Popcorn for dinner was okay. Smoking in the house is not a big deal. Curfews were non-existent.

~

Annie was tall, had a tendency to use a little too much perfume, and her hair looked as if it lowered on her head Darth Vader-style. She tried the best she could, but no matter how hard she tried, she didn't know how to talk to kids. It's difficult for a seven year old to understand words like "dynamic" and "refine." Sitting on the couch, squished to one side as to avoid the chocolate sauce stains, she looked into the piles of laundry I had yet to do. Her black coat was highlighted by the gold purse in her lap, and she would stroke it nervously, as if in her mind George and I were about to pounce.

"Ben!" I heard him shout-- the kind of shout that could mean a number of things: he couldn't find the right tie, he lost his wallet, or he noticed that I had been taking quarters out of the jug in his room. I left George alone to stare at her. One kid is more than enough to make Annie squirm in her seat.

"Yeeees, Jeff?" I said, turning the corner into his room.

"Listen, I'll be out late. As in, really late."

"As in, you'll be home tomorrow morning."

"As in, watch your mouth, you smart-ass," he said, tightening his tie. "Pass me my coat." As always, it was lying on the other side of the bed atop of pile of old shoes. "You can order out tonight. Twenty dollars maximum."

"Sweet. Thank you," I said, lightly ripping the money from his hand and grinning.
"So, where're you taking her tonight? The 99? Friendly's? Sonic?"

"Sonic? No, we're not going to the seventh dimension to find the only Sonic in existence."

"Way to work for your 'love'," I said, flipping through the newspaper lying on his bed. He sprayed cologne on his wrist and held it to my face.

"What do you think?" he said with bright eyes. I scowled.

"Well," I started, "it's certainly...potent…" I said, wriggling my nose.

"Thanks for the help. Annie gave it to me."

"Sorry, Jeff. You're just not my type, and Annie's, well, not my type."

"Some fag you are," he said, shutting off the light and leaving me in the dark.

"Bitch."

Prompt #1 - Smug [Draft]

Prompt: Write about someone you'd like to see going to jail.

SMUG

Standing in my now-ex-boyfriend Rich's apartment, I grinned in what I claimed to be my secret spot. First window, second floor, looking just beyond the tree branches that hung low in front of my sight. Where I once saw my sweetheart yelling on his phone or sitting in parked cars filled with smoke, I, now, saw a grown man reduced to nothing but a statistic. He never made a fuss. He didn't cop an attitude. He was disturbingly quiet, but you could hear his loud rueing.

My eyes kept darting between the police siren lights below and a line of birds perched atop the townhouse across the driveway.

"We know everything," they seemed to say. But the look I gave them could have crumbled stone. It was my special day, I was happy, and nobody, especially not a group of guilt-tripping birds, was going to spoil my good mood.

"Paul?" Matt said from down the stairs. "They need Ginny's number, and I don't have it."

"I'm not close with Rich's sister. Besides, I don't have a cell phone, so I don't have it on me." I said. I didn't turn around. I liked Matt, and I'm sure he was a good roommate to Rich, but I don't think he'd react well to my smile. "I guess he'll be spending the night at the station." I could hear Matt begin to say something, but he held his tongue. He was Mr. Nice Guy, really, and I pitied the fact that this had to ruin his day. The other two guys Rich lived with were just coming home as this was happening. I didn't see them except from my window. I walked up the stairs rather leizurely, like a madame in a 1940s musical; the world my oyster. I didn't bring much over this time. A change of clothes, my laptop, just enough gas money in my wallet to get home.

There was something rotten about Rich and I from the very start, and I was lucky to even get a toothbrush in the bathroom, nonetheless any clothes. He gave me a corner on the floor beside what became my side of the bed. My bag was light, when I walked downstairs, where I found the landlord puttering through the kitchen cabinets, presumably looking for some sort of dime bag. The other tenants sat in the den, discussing what had just happened. Some of them were shaking; maybe they had something to hide, I dunno.
The all gave me a look that seemed to whisper, "What have you done? Did you know this was happening? Is he taking the blame for you? What's been going on?" My keys jingled in my hands and my hair was a mess. I could have just strolled by them to the slider door and driven home. I had already been questioned. I had no connection to this place anymore, but I felt like I owed them some relief.

"I was the one who tipped off your landlord. Rich never hit me. I wasn't there where he got the stuff. I found him in the bathroom. I had no idea," I said, matter-of-fact-ly. Each sentence came out of my mouth the same way a list of rules would: Do not walk on the courtyard past 11 P.M.; The pool is not for children younger than 8 with adult supervision; please return hotel key upon checking out; do not leave lines of cocaine in your boyfriend's bathroom; do not place dime bags in his top dresser drawer; do not leave an anonymous message on his landlord's answering machine; do not get into your car with a smug grin on your face; do not drive home and leave him sitting in a local jail cell; do not feel proud of yourself. Do not feel proud of yourself.