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maranwe-ancarame

Scatter-heart.
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I'm not even -

1 min read
- going to try and catch everyone up.

I'm here and there when I can be.






:heart:
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Oooooh.

1 min read
So I'm totally just trying this out to see if this new journal skin works...o.o





:star:
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Shh.

1 min read
"They're covered in fairy dust.  You brush it off and they can't fly anymore.  But I can't say it too loud because butterflies don't believe in fairies and if they heard me they'd never take off again," she said.



[ "Mrs. Ivanovich - The Killing Jar - Nicola Monaghan - ch. 1, pg. 3 ]
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I see you.

3 min read
"Just another block", she thinks.

Holding three bags full of groceries in each hand, Scarlet's arms start to feel strained as she's walking home from the nearby store.  All the necessary things but also things that are a pain in the ass to transport without a wagon or a car.  You know - milk, cheese, juice, coffee creamer, peppercinis, tapatio, butter, bread...

"Oh god."  She puts down the bags of groceries for a minute and straightens out, cracking her back.  Rubs her arms a little from the strain.  "Seriously.. I'm going to steal a cart on of these days."

Finally after trudging up three flights of stairs and walking down the hallway the long ass hallway she finally gets to her apartment, #209.
"Please let me in easy this time?" Scarlet says to the door.  "Okay... in the key goes, jiggle it a little, pull it out a quarter of an inch, pull on the door knob...".  It clicks open and she swings it wide.  "Thank you!"

Away the groceries go and the plastic bags into the pantry.  With a huge sigh she flops onto her bed, tired from the walk and the day.  With another sigh and a following yawn, she closes her eyes and drifts without notice into sleep.  The next thing Scarlet knows is that she's back in her old room, alone with the drawings of beautiful faeries and roses on her wall - the paint peeling off more than ever in certain places.  With a soft smile, she traces over the drawing of the beautiful unfinished moon that adorns her door.  A box in the corner is open a little, some clothes inside that she still hasn't had the time to pick up.  "Well looks like they still haven't done anything with the place since I left."  Suddenly, Scarlet hears voices close outside so she goes to the window to see if her late somewhat of foster parents came home.  When she looks outside, she sees two girls over by the cherry tree, getting onto a bike.  First she only sees the back of one girl with this tremendously long hair.  Scarlet's eyes get huge - "I only know one girl with hair like that." she thinks.  "...And the shorter girl with fey hair has to be..."  Frantically she tries to open the window but it won't budge.  She starts banging on the window but nothing.  "Look back guys!  Come on, just look back once..."  But the girls were already on the bike, pedaling off down the street on their way back to their homes.  

With a soft thud, Scarlet leans her head against the window and let's out a sigh but the very next moment, someone turns the doorknob.  A quick glance over at the door and that's the last thing she sees before she wakes up with a start, sitting straight up on her bed with a gasp.

Scarlet just sits there for a minute, blinking, then finally just falls back down again onto her bed.  With one last sigh she breathes to the expanse of her room, "Oh how I miss them."




- - - - - - -



:heart: + :star: = :rose:
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So I'm moving to Bellingham, about a half hour away from where I live now.  Going to be sharing a place with a girl that I haven't met yet named Sam.
I like the name.  I hope we will be good friends.

I'm going to make something of myself.
I'm going to turn this...self into something more beautiful.



Wish me luck.







:star:



P.S. I don't know how the internet thing is going to work out so, text me if you miss me or leave me pretty little messages :heart:
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Featured

I'm not even - by maranwe-ancarame, journal

Oooooh. by maranwe-ancarame, journal

Shh. by maranwe-ancarame, journal

I see you. by maranwe-ancarame, journal

She thinks she wants to meet me. by maranwe-ancarame, journal