I fully, absolutely like editing people’s papers. It’s generally interesting and you can get a look inside how someone thinks and feels through how they write.
That being said, it was probably not my lead’s smartest move to be a dick and then hand me his English paper
Some little buddies that helped me through today ☆
I feel conflicted over having to turn up the sweet sweet sound of “Annie are you ok ” to cover the annoying bray of my hated coworker.
A woman makes a deal with the devil… but before signing, she actually reads the contract. She is the first to do so.
She’s got a good head on her shoulders. That’s what Grandma said and Uncle said and Daddy said and Peter said. She’s got a good head on her shoulders.
So even though the brimstone in the air is making her eyes water, even though the ground is so hot it’s making the rubber of her soles soft, even though he’s looking at her with fire in his eyes, she’s not going to go throwing that away now. This deal is too important to lose her head now.
“It’s the standard contract,” the devil says. The pinstripes on his suit aren’t black like she’d first thought. They’re red and they shine in the red light of his eyes. “I get rid his cancer and then you give me your soul on your dying day. That’s a good deal isn’t it? You’ll have the rest of your lives together.”
She hunches over the paper and her shoulders shake. He thinks she’s crying right now, he thinks she’s trying to muster the courage to sign, but she’s not. She’s reading the fine print because it’s the only part of the paper that’s not red like the pinstripes of his suit. It’s black, blacker than anything she’s seen and she knows it’d be bad to let her eyes skip over it.
She bites her lip until blood wells. When it drops, it falls on one word. Just one. Her blood eats through the ink of this word, steaming and hissing. She breathes in the smoke and feels the word settle deep into her lungs.
Then, when she’s done, she stands tall and she looks the devil in the eye. His smile flickers when he sees that she’s got the same fire in her eyes as him, when he sees that there aren’t any tear tracks on her face.
“Sure,” she says, heart a rampaging thing in her chest. “That’s a good deal.”
His smile returns full force when she signs it. He takes the paper lovingly into his jacket, presses his own bloodied finger to it to sign it, sweeps a bow, and promises she won’t see him until she’s on her death bed.
She knows she’ll be seeing him a lot sooner than that.
Aha…someone, anyone, next time I decide to open my mouth and engage my roomie in Racial Discourse please slap the shit out of me.
Like she’s trying to be better and learn but she’s still so wrong and it’s like “you’re so close! You’re almost there!”
i really hope you enjoy it. i’ve read through it and changed it so much i can’t tell if its good.
EDIT: hopefully the link works now!
NOW IT WORKS jesus cristo.
please play my rabbit game.
Please play her rabbit game.
well
huh
tfw you send your friend a link through your side blog and they’re like “hey thanks for the link there’s lots of interesting reading in here”
and then you remember all your tags
all your commentary
everything
still sounds
just
like
you
Rhio's Tunglr Stuff 