tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6783947081235332142024-03-13T06:05:04.970-07:00Insanity, Thy Name Is LissaChelle.Since I'll probably attract some douchenozzles regardless of what I put up here, I guess the only thing I can say is welcome to another part of my private little hell. And yes, I am indeed LissaChelle.LissaChellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672325744026646830noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-678394708123533214.post-16967500617450474402012-05-09T13:23:00.001-07:002012-05-09T13:23:49.316-07:00My Third Mental Breakdown in Two Years.In the two years that I have been a college student, I have had only three mental breakdowns.<br />
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The first one occurred in my very first semester, when I was trying to get into the swing of things. I had had this complete and utter fucktwit of an English professor who loved it when people gave the wrong answers because for him, that was a perfect excuse for him to rip into those people like they were one of those pig corpses on <span style="font-style: italic;">Deadliest Warrior.</span> Anyway, the day after that, I remember being so overwhelmed by the pressure that I ended up missing my last class of the day.<br />
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The second mental breakdown I had was last semester, when I was taking a Photojournalism class (it was only a month in when I realized that my talents were in writing, not pictures, but I digress). The professor who taught <span style="font-style: italic;">that </span>particular class was a total dick as well, but it was his last semester teaching, so I guess I could understand where he came from. He was such a dick that he spent an hour and a half giving a lesson on the iPad and all the fancy-schmancy shit it came with. But what really rates him high on the dick scale was the way he ripped into people's pictures as well, like they didn't meet his standards of photography. Needless to say, I relinquished my mother's camera to her the last day of classes and devoted myself to writing from here on out.<br />
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The third mental breakdown took place last summer, when I took this class called "Human and the Divine." How the fuck was I supposed to know that "the divine" meant "the divine Lord?" Anyway, this professor was attentive and precise, but the way he graded was so harsh! I remember having the <i>worst </i>crying jags during class time, all because I wasn't as religiously insightful (if that's even a phrase). How I passed that class with a C-, I will never know.<br />
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These mental breakdowns taught me one lesson: stay away from teachers who are in their last semesters of teaching. They may be douches when it comes to grading.LissaChellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672325744026646830noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-678394708123533214.post-78343033036753832042012-05-09T13:14:00.000-07:002012-05-09T13:14:27.492-07:00My Totally Mind-Blowing Epiphany, Part 2*<i>To my two loyal fans, I apologize for the lateness of this post. Life has decided to suck me into its gaping maw with its flailing tentacles, thus rendering me unable to post.*</i><br />
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In my last post, I shared with you all some details about the uncertainties I experienced during my work at my school's newspaper. And now I'm going to talk about the aftermath of my father's death.<br />
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After my father died (he was 41 years old), I was in a state that could only be described as a combination of three things: shock, relief, and acceptance.<br />
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I was shocked that he had passed so early because, for one, we (my mom, brother, and I) had done everything we could to ensure he stayed alive for as long as he could, and <b>this year</b> was the moment he decided to give up the ghost? <br />
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The relief came after realizing that I no longer had to center my life around him anymore. I could finally go out and do things people my age could do, like get hammered beyond belief and stay out till all hours of the night and shake what my crazy mom gave me.<br />
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And finally, the acceptance came after the relief. You see, from the time I was 12 years old up until February 4 of this year, my family and I were already going through Elisabeth Kubler-Ross' Five Stages of Grief, and the stage I was more focused on was the anger stage, because I was so pissed that my dad, of all people, had to be stricken with multiple frickin' sclerosis. So when my mom knocked frantically on my door and told me the heart-wrenching news, I was indeed shocked and horrified, but I was relieved and ready to move on, because that is, in fact, what my dad would have wanted.<br />
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Of course, this was all short-listed because I did some reflective thinking for a month, and I realized that my father was the cause of my paranoia and self-criticism. It wasn't enough that he had an intelligent daughter who was capable of spelling words most adults couldn't (at the tender age of 6). No, he had to make sure that I shared the same interests he did, which included Stephen King, Japanese programming, and a shitload of depressing 'fairy tale' stories (thanks a lot, Hans Christian Andersen). And if I didn't, he would just belittle the things I liked and accuse me of becoming a shallow little girl.<br />
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Even worse was my grandmother, who had her own plans for me. Because big breasts tend to skip a generation on my mother's side of the family, my mother and grandmother assumed I would be a member of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee. Lo and behold, right after I turn 11, I get boobies.<br />
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From the ages of 14 to 17, I busted my ass to make my grandparents happy. I sang in the choir, went to rehearsals, I even tried to pay attention to the sermons. But it was never. Fucking. Enough. Not a Sunday went by that they wouldn't pull me over about some minor detail, like my clothes (that <i>they </i>picked out for me, no less) or my hair or the way I talked to the elders of the church. They would even talk shit about the younger members, and expect me not to follow their example. <br />
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You could only imagine their shock when I called them one Sunday morning in January 2008 and told them I was leaving church. Naturally, their responses included gems such as "you're being possessed by Satan" and "God wants you to come to church faithfully" and shit like that.<br />
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So, to wrap this up, my father's death was my mind-blowing epiphany. And from here on out, I make the decisions in my life that <i>I </i>deem best for <i>me.</i> <br />
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Anyone who doesn't like it can suck it dry.<br />
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-- Lissa.LissaChellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672325744026646830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-678394708123533214.post-21536135511606026422012-03-28T08:35:00.004-07:002012-03-28T09:22:52.402-07:00My Totally Mind-Blowing Epiphany, Part 1I usually don't share much information about myself, but in this case, I'll make an exception for the two people following this blog.<br /><br />When I started working for my school's newspaper last year, I was totally unsure of what beat I wanted to follow. I just wrote whatever article was assigned to me, and it was published in the paper the next day. I didn't care what type of reaction I got from people, as long as it had the byline "By Melissa Wray" underneath the headline.<br /><br />That first semester was pretty cool for me. I got a bunch of rumblings of approval and I felt like I was on top of the fucking world. I assumed that glow would last forever and ever and ever...<br /><br />...until I returned from winter break last year and began my second semester.<br /><br />It seemed like no matter what I put out each week, I elicited no response from anybody. Not even a letter to the editor about what a good/crappy job I did on whatever article I wrote.<br /><br />Not to mention, every idea I pitched for a potential story wasn't good enough or interesting enough in the eyes of the managing editors.<br /><br />Naturally, I felt like I was losing my ever-loving mind over a few paragraphs. <span style="font-style: italic;">What the hell was I thinking, taking on this job? Why should I even continue working here if I'm not even worth mentioning to random strangers?<br /><br /></span>These were all many different thoughts that swirled around in my head, occupying every corner of my mind. My paranoia had escalated to the point where I started having crying jags every other day because of my inability to come up with an idea for a story.<br /><br />As I continued working at the paper, I held out hope that someday, someone would praise me for doing a good job, and maybe, just maybe, I could feel like an integral part of the news team.<br /><br />Oddly enough, I did get praised by two people I interviewed on two separate stories I did over the last two semesters. It uplifted my spirits for a minute, and then I was back to being miserable. Miserable about the fact that I was invisible.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I don't deserve to be amongst all these people,</span> I would think whenever I was in the news room. <span style="font-style: italic;">They've got every aspect of their lives planned out, and they've even gotten the chance to do</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">cool stuff normal college students do.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-style: italic;">What do I have to look forward to? Oh nothing, except taking care of my wheelchair-bound father and entertain his crazy-ass theories about things I don't give a flying fuck about, like politics.<br /><br />Oh yeah, did I mention that I have no fucking clue about where I wanna work after I leave this university?<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>Not a day went by that I didn't have any of these thoughts in my head. I thought I would be destined to be caught up in a sea of doubt and uncertainty...<br /><br />...until the day my father died.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">To be continued...<span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div>LissaChellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672325744026646830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-678394708123533214.post-8660418524632805632012-01-19T20:28:00.001-08:002012-01-19T21:24:58.455-08:00This Post May Or May Not Piss You Off.Check the article out here:<br />http://bossip.com/528635/mom-arrested-for-making-son-look-like-lil-wayne-and-giving-him-a-tattoo-video69691/#disqus_thread<br /><br /><br />Just when you think that people can't get any more ignorant, here comes another ignoramus trying to fuck their kid's future up:<br /><br />I was on Bossip.com satisfying my need to see ignoramuses get pwned when I came across this article that reads, and I quote: "Mom Arrested For Letting 10-yr-old Son Get A Tattoo Emulating Lil Wayne And That Culture."<br /><br />Now, the first thing that popped into my head was, "Please, dear God, let it be a temp. PLEASE let it be a temp." But unfortunately, as I continued to read this article, I was proven wrong as the mother, Chuntera Napier, boasted in her own hoodrat language that when her son, Gaquan (holy fuck I can't with those names) told her that he wanted a tattoo to commemorate his late older brother, she said the following statement:<br /><br />"What do I say to a child who wants to remember his brother? It’s not like he’s asking me if can I get him a Sponge Bob. He’s asking me for something that’s in remembrance of his brother. Well, how do I tell a child no?"<br /><br />Simple: HELL. NO.<br /><br />Nothing more, nothing less.<br /><br />Oh, but wait, my friends. See, Ms. Napier believes that if a parent gives consent for their child to be tatted up, then that makes it all okay. After all, he's HER son, so why should anyone tell her what's right for him?<br /><br />****insert facepalm with the intensity of a thousand suns here****<br /><br />Let's see. With the risks that a tattoo bring to a person's skin (sepsis, skin disfiguration, distorting of the image as the person gets older, etc.), wouldn't it be smart to wait until the kid reaches the age of legal consent? I don't know, that's what I would've done if I had a kid.<br /><br />And why the fuck hasn't the tattoo artist been arrested? I mean, I'm no expert on the ways of tattoos, but shouldn't the last thing any credible tattoo artist do is ink a minor, ESPECIALLY a fucking 10-year-old?<br /><br />I understand the importance of memorializing a lost loved one. Hell, I'm all for it. How-fucking-ever, common sense should play a vital role in remembrance of said lost loved one. And that includes not getting something that will probably stereotype you as a criminal for the rest of your life.<br /><br />On a side note: It's good to be back in the saddle, bitches.<br /><br />-- Lissa.LissaChellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672325744026646830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-678394708123533214.post-12511384743538388672011-08-13T20:25:00.000-07:002011-08-13T21:01:43.004-07:00Wow. It's Been a Good Minute, Hasn't It?So, it's been five months since I've posted an entry in this blog, but today, one of my subscribers (MissNayNay) reminded me of why I created this blog in the first place: to rant on certain things that piss me the fuck off.
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<br />So, without further ado, I give you: Why Black People Piss Me Off Sometimes (even though I'm black my damn self).
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<br />I came across this article on MediaTakeOut.com yesterday that featured Jay-Z and Kanye West's new single "Otis." Apparently the morons who run the site thought, "Well, gee, what can we do to make this story more interesting to our dumb-as-fuck masses? Oh, let's bitch and moan about how there aren't any BLACK women in this video! Yeah, that'll get 'em all riled up!!!"
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<br />I'm sorry, but where in the Constitution does it say that every celebrity has to only feature people of their own race in whatever project they're doing?
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<br />Where is the law that mandates the prohibition of mingling with people of other ethnicities and skin tones?
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<br />And why is it that people who do bitch about trivialities such as this have to bring up the whole "think about the young fans who look up to you" argument? As if that's supposed to just magically make people believe in what the fuck the former is saying?
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<br />All I'm saying is this: If you're that weak of an individual that you need to rely on a celeb for the validation of your self-worth, then you need to just turn in your humanity card.
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<br />--- Lissa.
<br />LissaChellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672325744026646830noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-678394708123533214.post-51943806111512324382011-03-09T16:07:00.000-08:002011-03-09T17:28:00.145-08:00The Following Post Contains Tiger Blood, Adonis DNA, and a Healthy Dose of Winning. Duh.In the past few days, I have been sifting through many a news site (mostly gossip sites) because I'm totally lame and need something to prove that I am just as cool as the next brainless sheep-zombie.<br /><br />While I was sifting through said news sites, I came across one thing (or <span style="font-style: italic;">person</span>, I should say) each site had in common.<br /><br />You know that guy who recently set a new record for gaining the most Twitter followers in 24 hours? That same guy who claims he's got tiger blood and Adonis DNA? That very same overpaid actor who recently referred to himself as the 'Malibu Messiah?'<br /><br />Yep, I am, of course, talking about Charlie Sheen!<br /><br />I just wish that he could refrain from making any more crazy-ass rant videos and making up some more phrases for normies like you and me and all the other celebs who are not as well-paid to abuse the living crap out of.<br /><br />I wish these so-called 'friends' of his would put aside their attention whorish antics and get off their lazy fucking asses and help him.<br /><br />But I guess that's just too much to ask of people who have the resources but don't want the responsibility that goes along with said resources.LissaChellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672325744026646830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-678394708123533214.post-81767591275041481682011-01-25T11:47:00.000-08:002011-01-25T12:37:05.419-08:00MTV Is Srsly Severing The Arteries That Strengthened Them. Raise Your Hand If You're Shocked.If there's one thing I love, it's snark. And the following post I'm about to write is chock full of it. So you might as well sit back, relax, and smoke a joint (or two), because I am about to bring it.<br /><br />For the past five or so years, MTV has become so consumed with ratings and publicity that it's become normal for them to just churn out a reality show about just any damn thing. And the sad part? People will watch said reality show mainly for three reasons:<br /><br />1) Because they've been conditioned to fall in love with anything that flickers across their little TV boxes<br /><br />2) They don't really seem to realize that most of the things on their little TV boxes is not real, and<br /><br />3) See numbers 1 and 2.<br /><br />Like many people born in the 80's and 90's, I long for the days when MTV churned out programs that appealed to all music-lovers. Whether you were a hip-hop head (<span style="font-style: italic;">Yo! MTV Raps<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">)</span> </span></span>or a metal-head (<span style="font-style: italic;">Headbanger's Ball</span>), MTV had an artist that appealed to you.<br /><br />And for those who loved a little comedy with a few musical references tossed in, <span style="font-style: italic;">Beavis and Butt-Head </span>were there to do it all (with those contagious laughs of theirs) along with the cynical high-schooler we all know and love, Daria Morgendorffer. <span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /><br />And believe it or not, but <span style="font-style: italic;">The Real World </span>wasn't always about random hot-tub hookups, overly dramatic screaming and crying every 4.6 seconds, and the abundant exchanges of bodily fluids and maybe an STD or two. And it sure as hell wasn't a starting point for the castmates to further whore themselves out on that gawd-awful show, <span style="font-style: italic;">Real World/Road Rules <span style="font-style: italic;">Challenge, </span></span>with TJ "I seriously need to get a new career" Lavin as its host.<br /><br />Which brings me to the point I'm trying to make: If people that likened themselves to Daria, Kurt Cobain, and Tabitha Soren were trying to get their foot in the door at MTV's corporate headquarters, chances are they would not get that far. Heaven forbid someone with the slightest modicum of rawness and individuality decide to fuck up the bubble-gum pop and manufactured immorality that MTV queefs out on a daily basis.<br /><br />But let some even cheaper knockoff of Heidi Potato-Head or Parasite Hilton or even worse, one of those Jersey Whores (dear God, <span style="font-style: italic;">why </span>have they not keeled over from cirrhosis or melanoma?) go up to a cameraman and be all "WHOO!!! I WANNA BE FAMOUS LYK SOOO FRIKKIN BAD, I'LL DO ANYTHING 4 REALZ!!!" Blammo, you got yourself a show.<br /><br />Since when has it become cool for MTV to totally sever the arteries that strengthened them?<br /><br />Check out the original article here:<br />http://community.livejournal.com/ohnotheydidnt/27076994.htmlLissaChellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672325744026646830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-678394708123533214.post-9015962340970066002010-12-02T09:52:00.000-08:002010-12-02T10:19:13.857-08:00Thou Shalt Screw Thyself With a Chainsaw.Wow. I haven't been on this thing in ages. Shouldn't they delete your account after a period of time?<br /><br />But seriously, all randomness aside, I just want to talk about something that's on most people's minds most of the time. Whether you follow it or don't give a flying fuck about it, it manages to somehow find its way into the news in the form of its choosing.<br /><br />Yes, I am talking about religion.<br /><br />Now, let me start off by saying that I have nothing against anyone who follows a particular religion. Be it Christianity, Judaism, Islam or even Scientology, I fully support one's right to practice the religion of their choosing.<br /><br />What I absolutely can't stand, however, is those fucktarded dipshits who try to forcibly convert others to their religion without even possibly considering the other person's opinion (i.e., Fred Phelps and his clan of sheeple and other random zealots).<br /><br />The reason I want to talk about religion is because of a particular YouTube user's channel that piqued my attention the other day. Apparently, llortthechampiontwo (http://www.youtube.com/user/llortthechampiontwo) isn't aware of what happens when people refer to themselves as the 'Champion of God.'<br /><br />I guess he (or she) also fails to realize when you say that other people who don't worship one's religion "deserve to be purged off the face of this planet," that qualifies you as a...what's the word I'm looking for here...oh yeah!-<span style="font-style: italic;">blasphemer.</span><br /><br />Oh, but it gets better, folks! You see, our dear little llortthechampiontwo thinks that anyone who so much as utters one word against his precious little deity is a "filthy sinner that is in desperate need of the light of christ!"<br /><br />Yeah. You totally gotta love apeshit crazy morons who feel as if they have to use excessive amounts of condemnation at people who don't follow the same lifestyle as them.<br /><br />In the words of Jena Malone from the movie <span style="font-style: italic;">Saved!</span>, "Why would God make us all so different...if he wanted us to be the same?"LissaChellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672325744026646830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-678394708123533214.post-77602732148528910202009-06-04T12:45:00.000-07:002009-06-04T12:57:23.005-07:00Some Seriously Fucked Up Shit In This World 2DayOkay, usually, I'll post some poems or short stories on my blogs, but right now I feel the need to personally thank MediaTakeout.com for supplying the story that is causing me to write this post.<br /><br />Apparently, sodomy isn't just reserved for jalihouse inmates anymore. When you have four teenage boys raping another teenage boy in the school's gym shower, then you know there is someone who has more than enough issues in their lives.<br /><br />And you know what? Fuck the fact that there were people around that heard this boy's shrieks of terror and didn't lift a finger to help him. No, this has been going on for at least two months now, and those people in the classrooms are just now catching wind of this demented act.<br /><br />With all that being said, it is my sincerest hope that these boys keep a good, strong grip on that soap.LissaChellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672325744026646830noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-678394708123533214.post-16543140757566794642009-06-03T14:13:00.001-07:002009-06-03T14:13:59.272-07:00The Skeleton Walks Among UsPrologue<br /><br /> A girl woke up in a cold, haunted graveyard. She didn’t know where she was, or how she got there. Her vision, blurry from awakening from unconsciousness, began to clear as she started to realize that she wasn’t in her room, but a place where skeletons walk freely and ghosts twirl and dance. After the girl became familiar with her surroundings, she looked down and saw that she was bound to a tombstone. While she was struggling to free herself, she tried to scream for help, but a bandanna was tied across her mouth. Now the girl was panicking, and as the bugs started to crawl and irritate her flesh, she felt that it was pointless to stay alive.<br />Then out of nowhere, three hooded figures appeared. Two of them carried lit torches while one carried gasoline. The girl thought, Oh, my God, they’re going to burn me alive! How can they? What have I ever done to them? She continued to struggle, even after one of the shorter figures punched her roughly on the arm and whispered hoarsely, "Struggle again and we’ll make your death even more painful."<br /> The tallest figure approached the girl and removed her gag, none too gently. She whispered, "I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this, but please—" Slap! Her words were cut off after the person backhanded her. Her face still stinging, the girl listened in shock as the tallest person spoke to the night sky about how "Memphis has suffered too long under the tyranny of demon spawn like this girl here. As we prepare to send her back to Hell, let this serve as a warning to those who dare to defy us."<br /> I recognize that voice, the girl thought as the other two people finished pouring gasoline on her. After lighting the torches with a cigarette lighter they found, the three figures crowded around the girl, who cried and sobbed at the same time, "Please let me go! Please don’t burn me! I promise I won’t tell a soul about what I’ve done, whatever I’ve done!"<br /> "You’re damn right you won’t tell anyone." The tallest one’s voice sliced through the girl as the three people removed their hoods.<br /> Noella Price, a tall, slender girl with chocolate-brown skin, large brown eyes and long wavy hair, hissed in the girl’s ear, "Because you will be silenced permanently."<br /> "And your death will serve as a reminder—" Curvy, redheaded Cari Wilson murmured, her blue eyes narrowed malevolently.<br /> "—to those who dare to defy us." Shayna Ross, an olive-skinned girl with short black hair and heavy-lidded eyes, finished as the three dropped their torches in unison.<br /> As the girl’s shrieks of pain mingled with the roars of the flame, her last thought was that she was dying—all because she had an open-minded personality these three stuck-up, rich, popular Barbie-doll clones didn’t appreciate. But she regretted nothing as she slipped into an unreachable darkness.<br /> Every high school has a "demon spawn." At Presley Day Preparatory School, her name was Karyssa Devine.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />6 Months Later<br /><br />As Noella walked up the front stairs of Presley Day Prep School, she felt an uneasy chill creep across the back of her neck. She’d been feeling this coldness for the last six months, but she hadn’t told anyone, not even Cari and Shayna, her two closest friends. I’m sure it’s nothing, she reassured herself as she adjusted her silver belt and saw the two walking up to her with frightened expressions on their faces.<br />"What’s wrong, you guys?" Noella asked when they didn’t say anything.<br />"You remember that mixed girl we burned in the cemetery six months ago?" Shayna’s normally calm, confident voice trembled slightly as she pulled out her cell phone. What Noella saw flashing across the screen momentarily floored her.<br />"Violets are black, roses are white. I know that you killed me, and you’ll pay tonight."<br /> Noella recovered from her shock as she scoffed, "So, let me get this straight. Some deranged psycho killer wants to ‘torture’ us by sending us these messages saying that ‘I know what you did six months ago,’ and then we go into a panic and the next thing you know, bodies start piling up. Am I right?"<br /> "You think this is a game, Noella?" Cari shrieked indignantly. "Well, why don’t you see who the sender is?"<br /> Expecting to see the name of some non-important loser, Noella glanced down at the sender’s name.<br /> From: Karyssa Devine.<br /> All of Noella’s cool demeanor disappeared from her body as she closed the phone. Brown eyes wide with fear, she whispered, "We’ve got to put an end to this—tonight."<br /> The other two nodded feverishly.<br /> "Now let’s get to class before someone suspects us."<br /><br /> After the school day ended, Noella ran up to her room, locked the door, and lay on her bed, closing her eyes and replaying the incident in her mind.<br /> Before this incident, she, Shayna, and Cari had ruled Presley Day Prep for the past three years. A person hung out with whoever the three of them thought told them to hang out. A person only dated people Noella, Shayna, or Cari told them to date. Life was good for the trio then. Until that impudent mixed girl came along and ruined their empire.<br /> Karyssa Devine was their school’s "demon spawn" for a reason. Not only was she a café-au-lait colored girl with hair that rivaled hers and eyes the color of spearmint gum, but her open-minded personality seemed to draw everyone she met towards her. She even befriended Lucas Princeton, a quiet closet poet who Noelle told her not to hang out with. Not only did she defy Noella’s wishes, but she dated him.<br /> So, with the help of Shayna and Cari, Noella lured Karyssa to the abandoned cemetery, where she promised her that Lucas would be waiting for her. Shayna crept up behind Karyssa, knocked her out with a shovel, and tied her to a tombstone. When she woke up, they tormented her by slapping her and punching her, even laughing as bugs began to crawl all over her flesh. Then they performed the sacrificial ritual (i.e., dousing Karyssa with gasoline and burning her) and threw her charred body in a hole they dug.<br /> But that, unfortunately, wasn’t the end of it. Soon after, an unnaturally cold breeze followed the girls everywhere they went, and soon started saying that "you will all pay quicker than you thought." The girls shrugged it off, saying that it was the wind. However, the text message that appeared let them know that it wasn’t the wind doing this.<br /> Noella pulled herself back to the present. She knew now that she had to go to where Karyssa’s body was and then re-kill it—for good.<br /> After she told her parents that she was spending the night at Shayna’s (not that they cared, seeing as how they were both out cheating on one another), Noella got into her Bug and drove down to the place where Karyssa Devine’s body was.<br /> Shayna and Cari met her there. "You guys ready?" They nodded. But as soon as they dug, a voice stopped them.<br /> "Surely you all don’t think your plan’s going to work?"<br /> Shayna, Cari, and Noelle turned around sharply. Karyssa Devine—or rather, the ghostly version of her—was leaning against a tree, looking amused and demented at the same time.<br /> "We killed you, you impudent wench," Noella hissed. She gripped the handle of her shovel tightly. "Go back to Hell where you belong."<br /> "Where I belong? Are you kidding me?" Karyssa scoffed as she walked over to where her body was supposed to be. "No, I don’t think you guys get it. You all are the ones that killed me because you all didn’t like me and Lucas together, remember? So technically, it’s you all that need to go to Hell."<br /> "You shouldn’t have defied us, Karyssa," Cari chimed in. "You could have had a great future with us at Presley Day."<br /> "But you lost our respect when you went with that vagrant Lucas." Shayna’s voice had regained its calm composure.<br /> "My, my. Such intimidating words," Karyssa said. "How come you didn’t say them when I sent you that message this morning? Then again, you’re the ‘Ultimate Trio,’ always looking down on others just because they don’t believe the same way you do. Nothing scares you, except…a dirty little secret."<br /> "What are you talking about?" Cari shouted. "We have no secrets among each other."<br /> "Is that so, Cari? Well, why don’t you and Shayna tell that to Noella? I’m sure she’d love to hear about the two of you doing her boyfriend at the same time." Karyssa grinned demonically as she turned to Noella. "Won’t you, Noella?"<br /> Noella turned to Cari and Shayna, a confused look on her face. "What the hell’s she talking about?"<br /> "Think we should tell her?" Cari murmured to Shayna.<br /> "Yeah, we should." Shayna drew a deep breath and looked Noella in the eye. "Noella, when you and Damon broke up, he told me that he wanted to try something new. And by something new, he meant a threesome."<br /> "So he invited me and Shayna over that night, we all got drunk, and we…kind of did the do." Cari finished, her face crumbling.<br /> Noella said nothing, but continued to stare at them as if they were riddled with STDs—which they both deserved, as far as she was concerned. Finally, after a quarter-hour’s silence, she said, quietly and dangerously, "I knew one of you was involved in that little breakup. And you know what’s funny?" She laughed derisively as she took a step closer to the spot where Karyssa’s body lay. "Damon told me it was you two before he killed himself."<br /> "I understand what you’re feeling right now," Karyssa whispered as she walked over to Noella and put a glistening hand on her shoulder. "But hey, it’s not your fault. Damon was a superficial bastard who wanted girls that were ‘easy.’ Then he dumped you (none too gently, of course), and it changed you into a demented, psycho crazy bitch. It’s pretty typical." She shrugged as if this was of no importance<br /> "Shut up, Karyssa!" Cari shrieked. "Stop lying to her!"<br />"Why did you two lie to me?" were the next words out of Noella’s mouth. She picked up the shovel and continued towards Shayna and Cari. "Why didn’t you say anything to stop him, why did the both of you do him?" She was crying now.<br /> "We wanted to, Noella—but we couldn’t!" Shayna sobbed. "Please, you have to understand! We didn’t want to hurt you any worse than Damon did!"<br /> " ‘You didn’t want to hurt me.’ That’s a new one," Noella mocked, tears running down her face. "Did you think about me when the both of you slept with him? No, of course you didn’t!"<br /> "There’s only one thing to do," Karyssa spoke up. "Kill them. Kill them for betraying you, like the way you killed me. Make them suffer."<br /> All of Noella’s sanity was gone as she advance towards Cari and Shayna, who were both pleading and screaming desperately for her not to kill them. Their screams were silenced as Noella brutally silenced them both with the shovel. She then dragged their unconscious bodies to the river and dumped them there, and watched as they floated down the current and out of sight.<br /> "The end," murmured Karyssa’s voice. "And what a lovely production it all was, if I do say so myself."<br /> "You’ve played me long enough," Noella whispered. "Now go back to being dead."<br /> Karyssa laughed—a low, menacing laugh. "There’s a reason why they say appearances are deceiving. They tend to mask our most devastating secrets and lead others into a world of deception." She leaned in and whispered, "You didn’t kill me that night, Noella Price. I was already dead."<br /> She disappeared into the night, leaving a cloud of shock and disbelief in her wake. An hour later, Noella disappeared off into the night as well, taking the shovel with her.<br /><br /> To this day, no one knows exactly how Karyssa Devine died before she died, but one thing is certain—her death is proof that when the deadliest skeleton is exposed, the others will soon begin to walk among us, whether we want them to or not.LissaChellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04672325744026646830noreply@blogger.com1