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Pen Your Pride

= 19 =

"All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts..." -William Shakespeare; All The World's A Stage

Do I ever wish I can rewind time to the day when my life had been completely sane? Like the times when I forgot to turn something in? Or - or - or the times when I dropped that piece of paper and was too lazy to pick it up and thought, "Oh, I wish I was three," so I wouldn't be conscious enough when picking up the paper, and quite frankly...

This goes to the list.

His ominous gaze and calm demeanor sends me a sense of discomfort - come to think of it, was I that stupid to realize it, until now? I mean, I know I am, but aren't I taking this a little too far? Yet, I can't help myself when my eyes widen, and I can't help it either when I take two steps back and run smack-dab into the wall. I'm shaking, and I can't stop because he's there, standing in front of me like a sort of apparition.

"This is all a lie," I say, still unable to accept everything.

It's official. Everyone's trying to screw me over. How many more times will it take, until they stop?! 

"It's not a lie, Dian. It's all real. Your mother and your father are waiting for you. We weren't tricking you. You were taking the correct amount of medications. They were the ones who lied. Why would you believe anything Okeef would say?"

My mind goes blank. I mute out every word he says after that, and to add to that, I cup my hands over my ears and scream at the top of my lungs. It's childish. Immature. But, this is how I can cope with it...this is how I can cope with it.

The prickly sensation of fingers wrap around my wrists breaks my every barrier, and I look up with defeat in my eyes. 

Do anything with me...I don't care anymore.

"Dian?"

It's over.

"Dian?"

I've cried for help so many times...

"Dian! Please! Answer me!"

But, it hurts so much to move on.

"Dian!"

You tried Mioun, and no matter what anyone says, you're still Mioun to me. Why?

"Please, Dian!"

Because you're calling me Dian...not Jhiabett...

= = =

The clock tolls me from my sleep, and I wake with a jerk. Piles of paper surround my workspace, and I blink for a couple more seconds. The clock is still jabbing away, and I slam a fist down at it, rubbing a hand over my face. The glass window show the busy streets below, jam-packed with traffic and beeping cars, and the purplish hue in the horizon tells me it's around five in the morning, and it takes me a while to realize the time before I jump with a start and almost fall out of my chair.

My deadline's tomorrow, and I haven't even gotten to the climax yet! Lore is going to kill me!! You'd figure that years of friendship would grant me more room, but no! She went by the guidelines, and if she didn't meet them, all hell would break loose, and I'd like to thank Mioun for his unconspicious fashion of distracting me the night before. A woman can't help herself when she's in front of a stack of ancient text if said woman is a literary guru like me!

Je suis parfait.

Well, I won't be perfect in a couple of hours if I don't get her the manuscript by then. I'm surprised she has-

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