PurplePersons' wrote:I NEED HELP!
I need to write a 600 word short story! Its due tomorrow and I haven't even started, I have writers block. :/ I need help! The short story is about a girl who dies mysteriously!
Why did you never reply to the rp?PurplePersons' wrote:^^^
Don't sass me....
lad musician wrote:Why did you never reply to the rp?PurplePersons' wrote:^^^
Don't sass me....
Why didn't you write it this weekend?PurplePersons' wrote:lad musician wrote:Why did you never reply to the rp?PurplePersons' wrote:^^^
Don't sass me....
I need to write a 600 word short story! Its due tomorrow and I haven't even started, I have writers block. :/ I need help! The short story is about a girl who dyes mysteriously!
lad musician wrote:Why didn't you write it this weekend?PurplePersons' wrote:lad musician wrote:Why did you never reply to the rp?PurplePersons' wrote:^^^
Don't sass me....
I need to write a 600 word short story! Its due tomorrow and I haven't even started, I have writers block. :/ I need help! The short story is about a girl who dyes mysteriously!
lad musician wrote:Well can you like...reply to the rp real quick?
lad musician wrote:Fine. I'm not helping you then.
lad musician wrote:Okay. Here are some ideas:
1. Make it into the point of view where a person who last saw the girl is thinking about how maybe they're the killer or they saw the killer. (either one idk)
2. POV where one of the forensics people find the girls body etc.
3. idk POV where the girl is dying and doesn't know why.
Main street is clam and peaceful during the off season, but when summer rolls around those who can afford to flock off to beautiful Nantucket find themselves relaxing on the pristine beaches or kicking back on their oh-so fancy yachts. Nantucket is the place were the rich and fabulous go to when they want to escape there unbelievably stressful lives.
That’s exactly what Rosalie Versace was thinking as she stepped out of her dad’s mountain green BMW. Her thick black hair fell like a curtain down her back and her piercing blue eyes sparkled in pure delight, making her look even prettier than usual. The thought of Rosalie looking prettier than usual would have been laughed at on any other day, yet today she looked truly amazing, she looked fresh, as if she’d just walked out of The Four Seasons Day Spa in Beverly Hills, California. Or as Rosalie put it, Gaylifornia, since she much more preferred New York and its swanky, upscale apartments, rather than the hot, sticky humidity of California.
A group of paparazzo rushed up to Rosalie and started snapping pictures with their semi-expensive Nikon cameras, each one shouting a command, “Smile at the camera!” “Strike a quick pose!” The commands deafened Rosalie and the flashes from the Nikon’s momentarily blinded her.
“I’m sorry,” Rosalie said, covering her eyes with her hand. Her words were lost in the shouts of the paparazzo. “I’m sorry” --Rosalie tried again--“but I can’t make a statement!” Rosalie tried to wattle herself out of the forming crowd, but no such luck, the crowd engulfed her and Rosalie found herself where she had started, by the car door.
How exactly am I suppose to get myself out of this, Rosalie thought. She backed up against the car’s door and breathed heavily. Then, the idea hit her; it was so simple it shocked her that she hadn’t thought of it before. Rosalie slowly reached for the car door handle and yanked it open when she reached it. The paparazzo noticed her sudden movement and tried slamming themselves against the car, pinching Rosalie against the door. She held on the handle as hard as she possibly could, her knuckles turning white from the pressure. Rosalie squeezed into the little space that was left from the open door; she relaxed as the door slammed shut behind her.
Rosalie slid across the leather seat to the other door and carefully rolled down the window. The paparazzo must have forgotten that she could easily escape from the other door. Rosalie eased the door open and put one foot on the pavement, waiting for the paparazzo to show up but nothing happened. She stealthily got out of the car and made a mad dash for the closest restaurant, Sliders. It had a no solicitation rule, since the countries most elite and prestige would have their lunch there on a daily bases, no one wanted to be bothered by annoying paparazzo.
Rosalie skidded to a stop as she arrived at Sliders front glass-door. Her black hair was blown back from her face and her cheeks were red from running. She took the steps that lead to Sliders double-doors two at a time and yanked them open when she reached them.
caliphoneyahh wrote:really?!? i'm sorry!
really... i am.
i actually did read the first paragraph. it is very good.
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