Roses are red, Violets are pink. Boys really make this holiday stink.

First things first. I ABSOLUTELY hate Valentine's Day. Getting chocolate, cards, flowers, boys and girls, couples, being in love. It all means nothing. I've never gotten anything from a boy, besides my dad and brother. They're doing stuff like that only because they're my family. Otherwise, I've never been given anything from a boy before. Well, I have, but it was a few bruises and some harsh words. But that wasn't on Valentine's Day. That was just because he hated me. Like most boys do. I'm not feminine, I don't try to look pretty, and I'm abnormal. There's never going to be a guy who would come after someone like me. They would rather go for the twilight loving, skinny-jeans wearing, brand name bag carrying, pretty, skinny, busty girls who try WAY too damn hard to try and get themselves a boyfriend. I hate it. Valentine's day is the only day that makes me feel like I want to cry. I hate it so much. Why should people have to try so hard for a relationship? Shouldn't it be the personality and heart that people fall in love with? Why is it always the stupid appearance that they want? I hate it. I really do. I honest to god hate it. It isn't fair.

People who are beautiful on the inside are never given a chance at relationships. We're deemed 'ugly' and 'unfit' to be dateable. We're thrown away like leftovers. Like broken dolls. Our clockwork isn't rushed nor half-assed, and it works wonderfuly. Unlike girls who act and look the same as everyone else. They don't have such intricate insides. They're a waste. Dolls that are mass produced. Never hand made and unique. I have tried to fit in in the past, but all my efforts went to naught when I was called cruel things. I was even threataned to go back to being a loser like I am or I'd be beaten. I could never be like other girls. It's depressing. Nothing could ever make me like this pathetic excuse for a holiday. Absolutely nothing. I hate the quotes, the cheesy cards, and especially the love. Teens always say they know what love is. They spread that word around so loosely like it's disposeable. I really hate it. If they really want to make Valentine's Day special, then they should really mean it when they say they love someone. That would make for the greatest gift. Actually meaning something when they say it. That would be a first.

Asking me what would be the ideal Valentine's Day would be is probably the most stupid question I've ever heard. I've never had a good one, never will. It's an impossible request to try and think of that. People ask that question, and don't even think for ONCE how the person on the other end of this question feels. Ever think that this person feels lonely? Hated? Bitter? No. Everyone is just automatically happy and so deeply in love and in a relationship. No one is single these days anymore. No one ever feels bad about being single anymore, they aren't. People in this world need to grow up. They need to start thinking about the feelings of other people. Stop biasing everyone. Not every single girl can look at Valentine's Day with a big giddy smile on their faces. No. Some of us cry when the day comes because we feel like absolute shit because we have no hopes of getting ourselves into a relation ship. There is no ideal way to spend Valentine's Day. I can't imagine it with someone else. I can only imagine it sitting in my room alone, my parents out having fun together, and my sister with her boyfriend at his house. I'm alone. I'm always alone. I've given up on finding a boyfriend. I'm ugly and useless. I understand. I'm happy being who I am. I won't change. I'm sad though that boys don't look any deeper than the skin anymore.

Oh look. I've actually got something to say this week. And it's not a story. Nice. How wonderful. Maybe I'll post a story anyways, just because I can. This one was done between my and my friend Mariah, or Mya for short. She's a wonderful girl. First set of writing is mine, hers is second. It's a very slow in progress thing.

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“This Job is totally not one for me…”
Despite all his complaining and constant sighing, the job was always done. The nearly worn out 7-11 t-shirt hung loosely over his thick frame, stretched and torn in many places. It was about time to have the boss order in a new one. It was unbuttoned as far as it could go, which was just above where his chest became abdomen. Several of the buttons were missing.
Kaedin’s head fell forward as he leaned upon the service desk, his forehead making contact loudly with the clear plastic containers that kept scratch-and-win lotto tickets. This place was dead. Every once in awhile, there would be a customer, but the area of the city he was located in had no business. Wasn’t New York supposed to be thriving with life? If so, why was it so dead?
He issued a bored moan, peering over his arms and around the store. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Besides the lack of customers, that is. Another moan escaped from between his lips, this one louder than before. There wasn’t even a single coworker to keep him entertained or occupied or something. Kaedin was not the type to just sit around and mope all day with nothing to do. He needed to move. Some of his old friends used to poke at him saying he had some sort of attention deficit disorder. No; just an insanely short attention span. His head once again made contact with the service desk.
“I hate my job.”

There was a ring as the door swung open from across the store of sorts. The purpose of that being locating itself where it currently was, seemed unknown to even the creature itself. Could one necessarily call it a ‘creature’, if the only thing that looked off was the green hair? Certainly not. There was effort put into the disguise. Slowly, a short man emerged from across the room, standing at the mere height of 5’9. He walked in a sort of funny way, but you couldn’t tell unless you had been watching him the entire time. There was an awkward limp to his left leg. As for his attire; he wore sunglass upon his face, as if to avoid direct eye contact, or to hide something suspicious otherwise. Glancing over his shoulder, he leaned back in his stance, gazing down an alley at something eye catching. While he leaned back, his slim, black jacket moved to reveal flesh torn scars leading from under his jaw line and disappearing back down into the jacket.
He gazed forward, catching the man sitting across from him, banging his head repeatedly against the desk. Though the gesture of narrowing his eyes could not be seen, it was obvious that he was confused by the tilt of his head. Upon further inspection, it appeared that the right side of his mouth has be stitched right up, going up beneath the sunglasses. Perhaps even through the eye, though that could not be directly seen without the removal of his sunglasses. “Why hello, yes?” He greeted, a painful grin stretching across his face. It was never fading, thanks to those very stitches.

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And now, back for more Sophie and Byron, my two most frequently used characters.

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"It's wet."
"Oh, stop your complaining."
"But the coffin's leaking..."
"The shut the damn door."
"It leaks anyways..."
Such was the conversation between two childish figures, walking amidst the falling rain. Both kids' hair was damp, and any curls were flattened. Not that it was any problem for the male, since his hair was naturally straight. The young fair-skinned brunette, on the other hand, had curls that grown women could only dream of. Now, stright brown hair hung down, clinging to her damp vest of violet silk. The coffin attached to her back didn't do much to protect her from the rain, despite it's marvelous size compared to the child. The one who sat inside of it goaned as he watched the droplets sink in to his flesh-like material, regretting the choice of asking to be carried like this. It would have been easier to switch sizes, though he'd be stuck like that for awhile.
"My lady, are we there yet?" He asked quietly, brushing stray crimson strands out of his only visible eye of gold. The girl looked back over her shoulder, even though she was unable to see past the coffin.
"Byron, we should be there soon. We're on Haven, are we not?" Turning back, her shoulders sagged slightly as she heaved a sigh. Between being wet, lost and cold, this day wasn't awful. If only she could get the box off her back...
"There!" Byron scrambled to his feet, and lunged the girl backwards with the sudden force. "I see it Lady Sophie!" His next words were muffled as both girl and coffing overturned, leaving Byron sputtering in a puddle underneath.
"Thanks, you blubbering idiot."
Sophie had to unstrap the coffin from her back, and heave it up from the ground to get Byron out from under it. He was drenched, and it would take more than a day for him to dry.
"You..." She groaned, hoisting the coffin up onto her shoulder. "Get up, and walk beside me." The tone in Sophie's voice was harsh, and Byron didn't want to see the actions that would follow if he disobeyed. Instead, he latched himself onto the girl's arm. A peice of paper fell out of his sleeve, which had the number of the apartment they had rented out. Oh, how they would act if they knew they had rented it with a pair of strangers.
The two hurried to the building, desparately wanting to get out of the rain. Byron shook his hair out, laughing as it puffed up before deflating.
"Sophie, let's never go in the rain again."
"Agreed."
Strapping on the coffin once again, Sophie forced herself up, happy to have the weight on her back. Over seven years of carrying this thing, and it had basicaly become a part of her. She shiered. Partially from the rain, but mostly the thought of seeing art of her walking around. That would be Byron. He was sort of an extension of her soul, ike Daemons were in that old book. What was it, the golden compass? Yeah, that one. She started walking, Byron still attached to her arm as they finally made it into the foyer of the old building. Sophie breathed in the air of the place. It was warm and damp, smeling of mould no one ever bothered to clean. Seemed like a nice place.
Byron meanwhile, unhooked himself from the girl, and dug around in the pockets on his pants. There were only two, so it wasn't hard to find the peice of paper with the number on it. He handed it to Sophie, who read it quickly and easily found the floor they were going to. Byron, with his all-amazing sense of direction would have lead them down a wrong hall, so it was best Sophie took that job. She stopped suddenly, Byron colliding with her. Both straps on the coffin snapped, and it fell backwards onto the smal puppet, a pool of water going with it.
"Byron, what the hell was that?"
"I'm sorry..."
"Sure you are, dumbass."
"Don't say that Sophie..."
He got himself out from under the oversized thing, propping up against the wall while Sophie dealt with the robotic panel. Her hand was wet, and it kept slipping from the panel, and the voice kept rejecting her. Finally, her inner little girl anger took over and she yelled.
"BUT I RENTED THIS DAMN PLACE!"

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There's interaction between my friend Kelsey's character after that, but I am going to try to link together the interactions so it's focused on just one side of the story, instead of two.