Category: Miss Elaineeus

THEN: The formation of the UNA, the high threat of eco-terrorism, the mammoth rates of unemployment and subsequent escape into a world of virtual reality are things any student can read about in their 21st century textbooks and part of the normal background noise to Freya Kallas’s life. Until that world starts to crumble.

 NOW: It’s 1985. Freya Kallas has just moved across the world and into a new life. On the outside, she fits in at her new high school, but Freya feels nothing but removed. Her mother blames it on the grief over her father’s death, but how does that explain the headaches and why do her memories feel so foggy? When Freya lays eyes on Garren Lowe, she can’t get him out of her head. She’s sure that she knows him, despite his insistence that they’ve never met. As Freya follows her instincts and pushes towards hidden truths, the two of them unveil a strange and dangerous world where their days may be numbered. Unsure who to trust, Freya and Garren go on the run from powerful forces determined to tear them apart and keep them from discovering the truth about their shared pasts (and futures), her visions, and the time and place they really came from. Yesterday will appeal to fans of James Dashner’s The Maze Runner, Veronica Roth’s Divergent, Amy Ryan’s Glow, Laini Taylor’s Daughter of Smoke and Bone, and Ally Condie’s Matched. (Courtesy of Goodreads)

Yesterday is a book I highly recommend. I loved this book. First, I’ll talk about how much I loved the book, then I’ll go over what I didn’t like. I don’t think I’ve ever read a book without not liking at least one thing. This review contains spoilers.

This book is highly based around time travel which I think is really cool. It’s a lot different from most dystopian novels/series I’ve read. Also, THANK GOD this is going to be a series. I heard it might not be, but then was graciously reassured by Martin herself on her website.

I don’t think I’ve ever read a dystopian novel so in depth as Martin has been able to accomplish. I mean, she has set up a whole new world (A NEW FANTASTIC POINT OF VIEW). Everything that happens in the future makes sense. The unemployment rates because of the robots. The terrorism and diseases. She dedicates a whole chapter to explaining all this, and I never was lost. I hate reading books where things that happen in the book just don’t seem probable. I applaud Martin on her research and/or resources. Shoot, I don’t know how she was able to do this. I might shoot her an email, and ask.

I really, really loved the heroine, Freya. She reminded me of Nora, from Hush, Hush, whom I also loved. She has initiative, and gets things done, unlike me. So I was able to look up to and idealize this heroine. She seemed a little crazy at times, though. A little forgiving, and trusting. I feel like she should have questioned things a bit further during the book. Her belief in coming from the future seemed too rushed.

Martin sets up everything up really well in this novel. Everything can be pictured. Nothing really seems off. It’s like this all could potentially happen. It’s a bit scary, honestly. She describes everything in great detail to the point that you feel like you’re actually there. I haven’t been blessed with a book like this one in a while. It was truly refreshing.

Now to the stuff I love. The romance. The most anticipated hero. O.M.G. I love him!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! C.K. Martin is genius. Let me tell you something I hate. I hate it when authors will start a book, and IMMEDIATELY introduce the love interest/hero(ine). Where is the anticipation in that? Martin introduces him on page 47 in my book. That’s quite a lot of storyline before we, as readers, are introduced to this hunk of burning love. And thank god we are.

Of course, he’s perfect in looks. Tall. Slender. High cheekbones. Angular face. And of course, I picture him as a Max Irons/Paul Wesley combination. When our heroine first meets him, he’s very stand-offish, probably because she is telling him she knows him due to some sixth sense she gets from his presence. He cusses which I think is kinda hott.

Anyway, eventually plot events throw these two together, and of course they start to feel something for one another, BUT LISTEN. When they first realize this, they are grieving (sorta) and they don’t just kiss…. They get naked and almost have sex. THANK YOU C.K. You are the first of all YA authors to not let your cowardice lead you down an unrealistic road. And jeez, was it hott. I love Garren (that’s his name. how did I mention that already?)! He’s literally perfect. I love their character/relationship development.

There were some things in the book that didn’t make sense like when they were trying to save money, and to pass time they went to the movies. Why? That was just ignorant. I also don’t know why Garren and Freya were sent to the past in the first place. Did I miss something or did Martin just fail to state the reasoning? You can’t just pick a character to base a story around and make stuff happen that doesn’t make sense. Basically, you can’t force it. Some of it seemed a bit forced.

I’ll love the second book, titled Tomorrow if Martin doesn’t introduce another male love interest. I’m not trying to read about a love triangle. It will only frustrate me. Garren and Freya belong together. Don’t try to complicate it.

I went to my first DC Chili-Cook off this weekend, and it was crazy. Beware of Darkness, RDGLDGRN, Silversun Pick-ups, Capital Cities, AWOLNation, and SoundGarden were all there. I was only attending for AWOLNation though.

My friend won tickets from DC101 and gave me two of them for me and Tyler. We had to get there SUPER early so we  could get the tickets from my friend. We got there around 11 o’clock in the morning, and AWOL was scheduled to perform at 6 freaking o’clock. RDGLDGRN was first and they were really good so I suggest you guys look them up. I also experienced my first moshpit. I didn’t participate or anything, because, um, I would be pummeled and then I’d probably die. IT WAS CRAZY. They are basically just running into each other. Why? I ask again… Why? Doesn’t that hurt?

People were crowd-surfing like crazy. One girl was thrown on top of my head, so that felt good. When AWOL finally came on, I was in the thick of people, suffocating under the smell of sweat, heat, and weed. OH MY GOD so much weed. I hate the smell. But I eventually got used to it.

At one point during AWOL, a moshpit broke out behind me (always near my vicinity I swear. They were trying to kill me) so Tyler immediately moved himself behind me and tried to block the impacts BECAUSE THEY WERE LITERALLY CHARGING INTO EACH OTHER. The men had morphed into bulls. I got out of there as fast as I could because I wasn’t trying to die. I had to shove my way through people until I was finally safe at the side of the crowd where I could only get a glimpse of the lead singer by standing on my tiptoes.

I think my favorite part of the concert deviates far from the norm. I loved watching people crowd surf. It was fascinating. And the best part, when all the sudden a person fell, a collective gasp would emanate from everyone around close enough to see. We’d all watch to see if he was okay, waiting, wondering. When all of a sudden, he popped back up with fists in the air. Then everyone would cheer and pump their fists and carry on gyrating to the rhythm. It was so funny. More than once I wanted to hop atop the crowd, but yeah, no thanks. I still don’t want to die.

Also, everyone there was so cool, and accepting. People were dancing together, whether they knew each other or not. One girl, dressed in all black, with greasy pitch black hair and vibrant makeup danced with a group of boys and I don’t think her smile could have been any bigger. All I could think about was when she went back to school, and people would possibly start making fun of her again. But there, amongst a group of vibrating chests and booming beats, she belonged. I thought that was so cool.

Here’s a link to Capital Cities’ song “Safe and Sound” if you haven’t heard it yet. They were at the concert, and I fell in love so check them out. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=47dtFZ8CFo8

P.S. I have terrible sunburn.

 

Because I don’t have much to write about, and because I forgot to post an excerpt yesterday, here it is now.

This is the book I’m currently working on. Basically she’s being contained and interrogated for answers about a “rebel” group she is a part of. This is a dystopian novel which I hope to eventually become a series. The excerpt is real short. I don’t want to give too much away. Enjoy (:

I wake up with a start. The light from under the door illuminates a book lying directly in front of my face. I look around. The door is closed. No one is in here with me. I would have been able to sense them otherwise.

I hesitate before reaching for the book. It could be a trap. I don’t want to fall for anything so obvious. But nothing seems justifiably obvious about a book, besides the fact that it shouldn’t be here.

I touch it quickly. Nothing. I inch toward it, and breathe in its scent. Smells right. I touch it again, resting my hand against the cover. Nothing. All is well. It’s just a book.

I trace my finger across the spine, and lift it into my hand. I cradle it on my palms, weighing it. It feels like a book. Heavy, balanced by its pages. Nothing out of the ordinary.

There is no title on the black cover.

I open to the title page. There is no title there, either. There is nothing. It is a blank page.

I flip through the pages. All blank. No ink. Nothing. I smell it again. It smells like a book – musty and well, sort of new.

I turn each page over in my hand, and stop when I see, upon the first page, one small word.

Hi.

I immediately wonder what it means. Other than a common salutation, what could this one word mean? Clearly they are still trying to get me to crack, but what form of torture is this? How could –

And then something rolls into my room, from under the door. I jerk away from it, and scramble backwards into the wall, waiting for the explosion that will end my death.

Nothing. It just sits there.

It’s skinny. Black. As long as a pen.

A pen.

It must be a pen.

I scoot forward and snatch up the mysterious object. It’s a pen. An actual pen, in this cursed world of technology and well, restrictions on such things as a pen. Why is it being given to me? Along with a book?

Hi.

Are they expecting me to write back? Is this a trick or a practical joke? I don’t see the harm in responding. I write “hi” back.            

I shove the pen and book back under the door.

I wait.

 Later that day, before I receive an answer from the mysterious pen-pal, I am hauled away with a bag over my head. The blinding light sears my vision as the interrogation room reveals itself to me.

I tell them I won’t ever tell them anything. I refuse to cooperate with any offer. I go to sleep that night with new bruises on my arms and legs. 

I finally have a story to tell.

So last night, Tyler and I were on our way to McDonalds. We walked outside, and upon my listening ears a sound projected itself ever so softly.

Meow.

I of course meowed back because isn’t that what you do when you start a conversation?

I followed the sound over toward a tree, only to find the source stranded on a branch in a tree fifteen feet above me. I freaked out, thought about climbing the tree than changed my mind.

Keep in mind, at this point it is 12:30 at night.

I tell Tyler to get the ladder from our shed, which actually is way too short for this tree. As luck would have it, in our neighbors yard is a ladder laying down that could certainly be tall enough.

We stole it. Borrowed.

Tyler, by himself, was able to prop it on the branch, and I proceeded to climb. Just so you know, I’m thinking I’m rescuing a kitten. But when I get up there, after many shaky steps without looking down, a full grown cat stares into my face, and meows. I mean I like cats, but kittens are cuter so I’d rather be saving a kitten so I could afterwards ask my mom if we could keep it.

Tyler kept telling me to just grab it, but 1)I could only use one hand. 2)I was really scared I’d drop it and then I’d be the cause for it’s fall and 3)It wasn’t close enough to get a good enough grip. Eventually, I was able to coax it over, and get my arms around it. I got down one rung of the ladder with the cat in my arms when it wrestled free and jumped back onto the branch. I cursed at it and then proceeded back down the ladder.

I told Tyler to try but he couldn’t make it up five rungs. He’s scared of heights.

So I tried again. The cat was waiting for me at the very top of the ladder, sniffing it, mocking me. This cat was an asshole.  This time, I grabbed it, secured it to my chest with every lack of muscle I had within me, and inched my way to the ground. The cat tried twice to get free but I won that battle. At the bottom, he leaped out of my arms and ran. I tried to get it again but he darted away from me so I called it a bitch, and helped Tyler put away the ladder, which we borrowed.

Come to find out, the ladder was in our neighbor’s yard originally because they were trying to get the same cat out of a different tree. This cat is an idiot, or its being chased by some stray dogs running around. The cat is actually our neighbor’s cat, so yeah I guess its okay now.

Anyway, I can call myself a hero now. I faced my fear and conquered a feat. I should apply to be a firewoman.

P.S. I’ll be posting an excerpt from one of my books later today since it’s THIRSTY THURSDAY and all. (

What’s the deal?

When I first started this blog, I had like so many page views. Yesterday, I had 2. TWO! too. to. TWO PAGE VIEWS! I mean whatever, right? But like, am I just becoming more and more bland in my writing? Tell me, you guys. Straight up.

Changing the subject.

I applied to Cracker Barrel yesterday (a restaurant for all of those that are ignorant) and I went in for an interview today, and basically she said I couldn’t work there because I go back to school in the fall so the cost of training me wouldn’t be worth the time I actually spend working. Sucks. I mean she was really nice and I understand. The menu was long anyway. I’m not trying to remember all that crap. Still, I need a job.

I haven’t heard back from that local restaurant or Old Navy yet. I was thinking about applying to Sweet Frog (ice cream joint), but I don’t even know if they are hiring.

My original plan this summer was to get an internship with the Richmond Times Dispatch or work at Barnes and Noble but that fell through when B&N said they weren’t hiring and the RTD kept ignoring my emails. Such is life. I might try with the RTD again, but jesus, how persistent can I be? I don’t want to be that girl. But if being that girl gets me a job, than I guess I have to be that girl.

I’m writing for HubPages now. YOU WOULD KNOW IF YOU READ MY LAST POST BUT YOU PROBABLY DIDN’T BECAUSE ONLY TWO PEOPLE VISITED MY PAGE!

But for my work to be published, they have to be thorough and well, good. High standards, right? How am I supposed to write good? So I’m still trying to figure out what to write. I was in a bad mood yesterday so I didn’t even attempt to rewrite my Gone review.

Reality sucks.

I’ve been looking forward to Tuesday since…last Tuesday. I love this idea that I stole from some other blogger!

Here, my friends, are my top ten favorite movies of all time (10 being my most favorite):

1) Newsies – I love this movie so much. I have seen the musical twice on Broadway. I gotta tell ya… there is nothing better than a bunch of cute dancing boys.

2) Insidious – This has to be my favorite horror movie of all time. It still gives me the creeps, and I’ve seen it many times.

3) Super 8 – I love the cast in this movie. The kid with the buck teeth is so funny!

4) The Stand – This movie made for TV, based off of Stephen King’s novel, is a sensational movie. It’s like six hours long, but soooo worth it.

5) Monty Python and the Holy Grail – “Tis but a scratch!” Sooo many sound-bytes.

6) Romeo and Juliet – I just love the concept. Thank you, Shakespeare (if you actually wrote it).

7) Pride and Prejudice – The book, the movie, the author, all great.

8) Cold Mountain – I just saw this movie for the first time the other day and I fell in love. Jude Law, mmmmm.

9) Pearl Harbor – Still cry.

10) Titanic – Always crying. Leo was my first ever crush. Well, him, and Peter Pan.

Also, I just signed up for HubPages where basically you write and hopefully make money off the ads placed on your page. I wrote a review on Gone by Michael Grant, and I was damn proud of it. Until, they told me it wasn’t good enough so they took it off my page. WHAT?! I didn’t even get to save it! Now I have to do it all over again!

Pissed.

I am currently sitting in my parent’s room, on the bed, staring at my mom who has just gotten surgery to remove basal cell carcinoma from her FACE. She is miserable. She just burped. She’s sipping coffee through a straw and I’m trying not to laugh because if I do, she will laugh and that will hurt her. My brother is arguably the house clown and likes to make people laugh, even though it pains them. He’s been a great helper. (sarcasm. heavy, heavy sarcasm)

Earlier after my mom took her pain pills, she was ridiculously groggy and totally out of it. She asked me what time it was like five times. “7:30.” It’s 7:30, Mom.” “Still 7:30.”

Also… I realize I said before I wouldn’t apply for a waitressing job, but folks, I gave in. I applied for a waitressing job. It’s at a local diner in my hometown so it shouldn’t be AWFUL, right? RIGHT?! Seriously, though, I went there tonight and the crowd looks pretty chill, and the staff seems pretty nice, so we’ll see. The question is however, where I would rather work. Old Navy or this local cafe place? Waitressing or retail? If any of you have worked in either or both of these type jobs, GIVE ME SOME ADVICE! I just need some money.

I’m back from school. I took my last exam this morning on Mark Twain (I love him) and I really thought it would be easier, but it was so hard. Failed it. (Get it? Instead of Nailed It…yeah)

My mom is now talking on the phone to my grandma and omg she sounds so funny. Her lip is so big. Don’t laugh, Stephanie. Don’t laugh. Also, my grandma is sick and just said she was “sicky-poo.” She likes to add “ee-poo” to the end of words. Cute, right? Sorry… cutey-poo, righty-poo?

k bye

P.S. If I wrote a song called “Basal Cell Carcinoma” would you guys listen to it?

Basically, I need a job this summer. So…I’ve been forced to apply to Old Navy. I mean, retail is great, but I’ve never done it so….

I was thinking about waitressing but honestly, I don’t think I could handle that nonsense. And I just know if someone yells at me for bringing out the wrong thing, I’ll just cry. Right there. In front of everyone. In the middle of the restaurant, I will openly weep. My mom said she’d pay me to clean the house and buy groceries. I’m about to cuss. If that offends you, get the fuck off my blog.

Fuck that.

I am not cleaning your messy house, Mom. Sorry not sorry.

So then I thought, could I work at a coffee shop? But no. I couldn’t handle mixing all those stupid drinks, then spilling stuff everywhere, then being yelled at for crying because I’m incompetent and then being yelled at more cause I’m crying. Starbucks just isn’t in the cards for me.

A brief moment I spent debating joining the circus, but that was a quick moment. I’m just not flexible, or an elephant.

Banker? No. I hate money. Politician? Too skeezy. I’m not skeezy enough. Prostitute? Not in the mood. Hockey player? I’d need to learn how to play hockey. Oh! Mechanic? Shoot, no, pants aren’t low enough. What am I ever going to do? Of course then my future flashed before my eyes in an array of dismal colors and woeful images of me relying on my parents for the rest of my life.

Old Navy it is.

I was practically laughing out loud while filling out this application. If my mom or Tyler read this, they’ll know I wasn’t actually laughing out loud, so if they comment and say I wasn’t, ignore them. They’re dumb. I was laughing out loud. It makes for a better visual. Some of the questions were like “How often do you read blogs on fashion? Daily? Weekly? Monthly? Yearly? Never?” “Monthly!” says I, wearing baggy sweat pants and a t-shirt. Actually, I was looking pretty fly today. Seriously though, I never read about fashion. Ever.

When I saw “How often do you read….” I got really excited because I thought they were asking me how often I read, because then I could check the ALL THE TIME box, and yes! I’m gonna get hired! My dreams died at the word “fashion.” You have to know clothing to work at a clothing store? Odd.

Basically I totally bullshitted (bullshat?) that whole application. Hopefully I get the job, cause I need monaaaay. Money. I meant money.

Haha I tagged this post as “fashion.” Haha I’m laughing. I feel sorry for you fashionistas who are forced to read this because of the tag. Because apparently I assume that people have to read ALL the posts in the tag they search. It’s funnier thinking that way anyway.

I need to go to bed.

As promised, here is an excerpt from a book I started, but have not yet attempted to finish. This is literally all I have of it. I literally realize I used the word “literally” wrong. It’s basically about a girl starting high school who ends up in the wrong crowd, yadda yadda badda bing badda boom just read it. *Also, if you guys comment on this with a topic for a short story, I’ll write one for you and post it the following week! Also, ignore typos. I haven’t edited. Sorry if it sucks. 

Growing up scares the crap out of me. I’m not ready to be on my own. I’m not ready for my parents to be done raising me. The future looks wrong to me and I don’t know why.

I don’t want to grow up. The thought makes me want to cry. I feel like a pussy. God I don’t want my parents to die one day. I don’t want to die one and then be done. I want to be with my family forever. I love my family. I can’t lose them. I’m thinking too far into the future, I know. I should stop. I can control my thoughts. I can control my thoughts. I can control my thoughts.

I start high school tomorrow, and I can’t stop thinking. I don’t want to grow up. I have a crush on Peter Pan, and he doesn’t want me to grow up either. Growing up means I can’t tell people I have a crush on a flying pre-teen. Growing up means making hard decisions and trying hard and putting myself out there. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want people to notice me. My head already has enough keep me plenty occupied until I die.

I don’t have friends. I have one. Well, she’s not really my friend. She’s an exchange student from Albania. She starts high school tomorrow too. I don’t think she’s nervous like me. We don’t talk really. She stares at me when I eat breakfast, and asks why my nose is so big. I don’t say anything because I don’t know the answer. My parents I guess. Do Albanians know about sex? Because that’s how my nose is so big. It’s not like I chose it.

Her name is Cassandra, but my family just calls her Cass. I don’t call her anything because I don’t talk to her. I don’t talk much at all. My parents talk to her a lot, more than they talk to me actually. She smiles and flips her frizzy hair over her shoulder like it were a chore, and I’m just sitting there picking at my split ends. I have a frizzy hair too. It’s big, but I like it. My mom says she’s never seen such beautiful hair. She has hair like me. Strawberry blond and big.

My mom and I are pretty close. She takes me shopping and buys me vintage clothes which I think are cool. She says when I get a job, though, I’ll have to pay for clothes myself. Cassandra has started going on our shopping trips which definitely irritates me, but I can’t say no. Plus, my mom would ground me for being mean. Cassandra just bought a whole new set of clothes for high school. Just look for the girl in the hall hardly dressed at all, and that’s Cassandra. I won’t go into detail because that’s awkward.

Cassandra cusses a lot, and my parents kind of just look at each other when she does it, because we figure it must be an Albanian thing. I don’t cuss, because I would be grounded. I know I said pussy earlier, but what my mom doesn’t know won’t kill her.

It’s hard to go to sleep right now because I’m thinking about going to high school tomorrow. It scares me. I hated middle school, and I know everyone says high school is so much better, but that’s not what my books tell me. I read a lot, so I know a lot, my mom says. I really don’t know that much, except that high school is going to suck. My parents keep encouraging me to join clubs, or tryout for a sport. I don’t say anything which is my special way of saying no. It usually works because recently they have stopped trying to persuade me. Though I just know they are going to ask me about my first day, and I’m going to have to lie and say it was “just fine, mom.” Then she’ll want to sit down with me to talk about my first day, but I won’t want to so I’ll roll my eyes, which she will notice and send me up to my room for, which is a good thing because that’s where I wanted to go anyway.

When I finally fall asleep I don’t dream at all, which is typical for me. I hardly ever dream, unless I fall asleep crying, which has only happened a few times. Once when my dog died, and another time when I jumped on the bed and hit my head on the headboard. It was two o’clock in the afternoon and I cried myself to sleep because it hurt really bad. My mom woke me up later and I had a big knot on my head. She was worried and stuff but I told her I was fine. Regardless, she took me to the hospital to get me checked for a concussion, which as it turned out, I didn’t have. My mom kinda freaks out too much.

In the morning, she wakes me up nice and early for a “warm, hearty breakfast” which I know I won’t be able to eat because my stomach is in knots. I take a shower, get dressed, blow dry my frizzy hair, stare at my makeup my mom bought me that has yet to be opened, and meet her and Cass at the kitchen table. My dad works in sales and is out of town tonight and tomorrow.

“Honey,” my mother says, with a sympathetic look which draws down down her sorta bushy eyebrows. “Why didn’t you put on any makeup?”

“Because she likes to look bland,” says Cassandra in her weird accent. I ignore her, and shrug. My mom sets a plate in front of me, full of cheesy scrambled eggs sided with bacon and store-bought hashbrowns. The smell of grease wafts up near my nose and I feel like I might puke. I push the plate away. My mom sits down across from me at our wooden circular table that my dad insisted on building himself because he was feeling motivated or something. He still hasn’t really finished it. It gives me splinters if I don’t watch where I put my hands.

“You don’t have to wear the makeup, honey. I just thought you might want to. You know, to fit in,” my mom says, rearranging her silverware in front of her. My mom is kinda a neat freak, like OCD, and can never start eating until the plate is in the center of the place mat, the fork perfectly lined on the right side of the plate, and the knife on the left. The glass must be a little bit off center to the plate at the top of the place mat. And that’s just at breakfast. She has a whole different routine during dinner, which I won’t go into because that’s tedious.

“Thanks,” I say quietly. From the corner of my eye I see Cassandra staring at me, which isn’t surprising because she does it a lot. I have learned to ignore it. I slump back in my chair, and cross my arms over my stomach.

“You’re not going to eat, honey?”

I shake my head. “I feel sick.”

“Do you want some juice?” she asks.

I shake my head again. “Do I have to go?”

My mom laughs, and puts her hand over mine. It’s super cold. “Your hand is freezing,” I say, but my mom ignores it.

“I understand how you feel,” she says. “But you can do it. At least you won’t be alone. Cass will be there with you, won’t you Cass? It’s her first day too you know.”

Cass nods.

I am somewhat of a broken individual. I sort of don’t know who I am or why I’m here. I search for my purpose in everything, obsessively actually, but it never gets me anywhere, which throws me into these sorts of deep depressions that are super hard to climb out of. My mom used to get really worried but she has gotten used to it – my “can’t eat, only sleep” phase. It sucks. But that’s life, right?

My mom drops us off at the school. Me, looking like a frumpy kindergarten who is trying too hard on her first day of school, and Cass, not looking like that. My mom insists on coming in with me, but I shoot her a glare and she drives away, yelling I LOVE YOU as loud as possible at the last minute. I think she does these things to embarrass me.

We walk in.

There. Are. People. Everywhere. And it terrifies me. I don’t want to be here. I’d much rather be reading safe between my covers away from this mass of chaos they call high school.

I stand there for a long time, just staring, wishing for a machete to cut through these jungle vines and make it to safety. There are tigers everywhere, and they want meat.

“We go,” Cass says, and I don’t really know what she means, but I go. Cass leaves me alone in less than two seconds. She’s talking to some girl who immediately reaches up and twirls a clump of Cass’ hair around her finger. She’s been here two months, and already she has a status. Okay.

So I’ve been studying all day for my Lit and Psych exam that will be tomorrow.

The majority of the exam will be based on Joseph Campbell’s A Hero With a Thousand Faces. It’s an interesting read, but Campbell tends to veer off subject or repeat himself half the time so yeah, it’s kinda hard.

Anyway, it got me thinking: What does it take to be a hero?

Courage. Bravery. Passion. Grace. Love. All the good things that make up a good person. See, I don’t really think a hero can be defined by any one person. A hero is only definable by our own lives. In each of us, there is a hero. That sounds cliche, but yeah… I believe that. We all have the potential to be a hero. For some people, it takes courage to reach a level of heroism. For others, love, and so on. What you might have to go through to be a hero will be very different than my journey. My trials may seem easy to you, but for me, they are practically impossible feats.

A woman who has to provide for her children without a husband. She is a hero. But she has to accept that call to adventure, and stand the tests of time.

An anxious individual who boards a plane after years of fearing them. That person is on the right track to heroism.

Google defines it thus: A person, typically a man, who is admired for courage or noble qualities. (First off, ew. Man, OR woman)

Admired. What an interesting word, but here’s what doesn’t make sense. In order for your accomplishment to be admired, it has to be deemed so by other individuals. What if those other individuals see getting on a plane to be a simple feat? Then what you just accomplished would not be admired. That’s not fair, is it?

Why are we based on how others see us? Sorry, but that’s bullshit. Why, in order for my life to be the life of a heroine, does it have to be deemed so by others? Is there a council that awards people the title of hero when proven to be so? No! Well… according to the Google definition, yes. And that council is society.

Society knows nothing about me. How can it judge whether or not my actions are honorable?

I feel like I veered off track. I sound like a rebel. I’m starting a revolution. You can call me Katniss Everdeen from now on, my loyal followers. As my first act of… rebellion, I deem all of my blog followers to be actual followers of my revolution against society. Now, I need to acquire myself a Gale Hawthorne and Peeta Mellark to fight over me. Anyone? Anyone?

I’m kidding. Don’t freak out, Feds. I have no intention of starting a rebellion. I’m too content in my laziness. I guess I need to break free of that, huh? If I do, will I be labeled a hero?