The Fates Just Love To Fluck With Me, Don't they.

Chapter 2- Jeff Matthews: Perfection

Jeff Matthews. I swear, that name sends sparks of pleasure to my nether regions. You know, down there. I mean my vagina.

He is the only exception to my rule of "Boys suck". He has the wavy hair that looks like ribbons of chocolate that peak out from under his beanie and blue headphones. His paler than Edward Cullen (ew) face that goes with his strong jawline and constant stubble. With green eyes the colour of algae, and fangs paler than those of Connor Franta, he is perfection to me.

... That last little bit sounded like a sea monster. Who cares? Not me! Sea monsters are sexy. I mean, have you seen those apparent "real mermaids"? I'd bang 'em.

But getting back on topic, he is kind of like the epitome of my wet dreams. Like hot damn. And, the best part, he is good at art. I know right? Joygasm.

Sadly enough, I'm moving. Hours and hours away. Well, I live on an island. You can't get that far away on an island, but I am moving to the other side. This invokes feelings of hysteria. I can't sit still. This is not a joking matter. So 5 hours in a car next to my sister where she is constantly talking in blazing heat while my parents play CBC (A Canadian news thing), I want to go on a killing spree.

Why can't we just have portkeys in this horrible muggle world?

Who knows. I sincerely wish we could. The problem with reading fantasy novels or watching movies/tv shows that have a different type of reality is that they made the "real world" seem like such a crappy place. What if the world was like Gallifrey and people had Tardises? Or that I could go into the Leaky Cauldron and pass threw the brick wall by tapping the brick above the dumpster to get into Diagon Alley?

Life just isn't fair. Hm, but then there are the dystopian realities.