Finally Kristopher stopped running. Now that the sun had vanished behind the horizon, he no longer could see far distances since the moonlight barely penetrated through the tops of the trees. He collapsed on a fallen, rotten log, and he winced as the jagged bark stabbed his thighs through his jeans. His backpack and laptop bag pinned him to the ground, causing him to slump over, but he did not care at this point. He slowly breathed while his mind again tried to rationalize his running away, but it was futile by that point. He was too lost to turn back, to run back to his family.

When he heard the flapping of wings, Kristopher froze, stopping his loud breathing, and he slowly sat up straight and raised his vision to the tree branches above him, just now seeing the tidy row of bats sitting there. They glared back at him with their beady eyes hostilely, and this distracted him until he could faintly hear the crunching of dead leaves on the ground. His spine stiffened in fright as the sound of footsteps became gradually louder. He slapped his hand over his mouth to be sure he did not scream.

Kristopher slowly stood up and shuffled toward a tree that he could hide behind. However, he was sure that something had already detected his presence, and now it was following him. Though he prayed it was just an animal, he had a growing suspicion that his dream was not a metaphor or symbolism for anything at all: it was a real event that actually happened.

The buffet had just been opened, and I had already gotten a big plate of bowtie pasta with marinara sauce. My good friend Erin, wearing a poofy white dress, and I were talking as we sat at our table. She was complaining about why she was never getting a boyfriend (her parents are Catholic and have never, EVER let her get too close to a boy other than her brother) while I listened.

"You're so pessimistic," I remarked casually.

"I know I'm pessimistic," Erin laughed.

"Don't worry," I replied. "I am, too."

In the same moment, I stabbed my plate with my fork, and a single pasta flew off my plate. We watched it drop to the floor and laughed. Then I looked down and saw the marinara sauce got on Erin's dress. Crap. We both stared at it blankly for a few seconds before the sight sank in.

Oh, and earlier she had talked about how she wasn't eating because she didn't want to get the sauce on her dress. Mmm. Just her luck, ain't it?



Another relatively interesting story is one about, well, a kind-of friend, as I would call her. Earlier that week at Thursday school, she had bragged about how she had gotten herself a new "cute" boyfriend, who turned out to be a total douchebag. I could link pictures, but I won't for the sake of this guy's identity. But to sum it up, Mum /looked/ at him and started laughing. Anyway, because this guy was such a douche, she kept on following Adam and me for reasons that I won't go into.

Either way, for some reason, she and her boyfriend left sometime during the dance, and I asked her where she had gone. In reply, she told me she had gone out drinking. On a side note, she had a couple of sores on her lips and such that were /not/ in a cluster. Which doesn't mean herpes but means /something else/. So she pretty much wasted sixty dollars by leaving the dance after an hour and a half and also wasted booze. God, it's simple economics.



There was some sort of raffle, and Adam won a ticket to prom in the /Sun Sphere/. [Don't know what that is? [link] The windows, I believe, are layered with gold or something.] And then another guy from our clique also won a prom ticket, which was pretty awesome. Yeah. And the DJ announced the fact that Adam looks like Orlando Bloom, which was pretty much summarizing the first thing he was told by everybody that evening.



Apparently Adam and I were dancing a little bit /too/ close on a slow dance song, and some wrinkly woman pulled him away from me. He glared at her, grabbed by waist, and pulled me back. She just glared back at him but didn't do anything. lulz.



People in real life know this, but I'm not sure if the internet people do: I hate the album The Black Parade by My Chemical Romance. I can't stand it. Anyone who tries to convince me otherwise will get a magazine article shoved in their face that positively says that Jonathan Davis does not like MCR either, and Jonathan Davis's opinion is holy.

But Adam seems to love The Black Parade. And the last song of the night was, ironically, "The Black Parade." To put it bluntly, I wasn't very excited about that.