Childhood Sterf (Ermergersh)

Dig it- Holes original soundtrack



Guys.
This was my favorite song like four years ago.
I have the Mega Movie Mix CD.
And this song is going back on my phone.
Just being random now.
I'm so tired.

And now the adorable Felicia Day is on my blog.

You're welcome.

JULIA YOU MUST SEE THIS

I FOUND IT I FOUND THE GIF I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR!

HIS THUMB! WATCH ENJY'S THUMB! OH MY FREAKING GOSH THIS IS SO GOOD.
This excites me.
I love you, Enjy.
You and your spastic thumb. And that random guy grinning in the background. And I'm pretty sure that girl is checking Enjy out.
Rawr.
Yup, this gif is going on Tumblr.
Aves out.

Depressiooooooon

So it turns out that Perks will not be coming out until February.
The internet lied to me.
 I'm not even going to bother cleaning this post up.
Mehhhhhhhh.
Why, internet, why.




omg what did i just find

Harry, you have your mother's eyes.


wat even
that cheered me up



okay, now I'm sad again. This pic reminds me of baby Gavroche.

Julia, if you're reading this, forgive me for inducing unneeded feels.
Don't cry, Gavroche.
Little Gavroche.
Never kick a dog because he's just a pup.
Fun fact. I've lived with Les Mis in my life for about six years, and when I was younger I thought that Gavroche and baby Cosette had a thing.
Come on, I'm not the only one thinking that it would be freaking adorable. I mean...


THink of the babies these two would make.
OMG so cute.
Anyway, I should probably get off now.
Adios
Aves out.

1-1-2013 Bravo, little Gavroche

~WARNING THE FOLLOWING IS A LES MISERABLES AU~CONTINUE AT YOUR OWN RISK~MAY CAUSE FEELS~AND MANY TEARS~

The boy stayed where he was: on his back, his eyes shut tightly. He pretended he was back at home for a moment, then decided that wasn't where he wanted to be. The tips of his curly bangs tickled his forehead in the soft breeze, but he still doesn't open his eyes. At least, not until he feels a hand on his shoulder, attempting to lift him up.The boy leaned into the grip, letting himself straighten until he was sitting up, a firm hand against his back. His eyelids fluttered open and he looked into a pair of very familiar eyes.

"Bravo, little Gavroche."

Gavroche looked around at the smiling faces. Every eye was on him.

There was Grantaire, Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Enjolras, all the other schoolboys: all his friends, his brothers.

Gavroche smiled; something small, but worth so much. 

Courfeyrac and Grantaire, the boys on either side of Gavroche, helped him stand. Gavroche's eyes grazed over each schoolboy's face before his gaze shifted to the scene surrounded him.
The square was not as he had last scene it. The barricade rose higher than he could've imagined, stretching up into the sky. It spread about the square, one barricade the size of many put together, and Gavroche imagined that the schoolboys had taken the furniture and such from every barricade to make this one. Striped and red flags mixed as they rippled in the soft wind, the same wind that brushed Gavroche's sandy curls from his brow. On one of the perches of the barricade, Gavroche saw his sister with her legs curled up to her chest. She was staring off into the distance, but after he watched for a moment, she turned and met his gaze. A small smile hinted at her lips, and her eyes were kind, in a sad sort of way. She wasn't dressed as a boy, as she had been the last time he had seen her. Her dark waves of hair rose and fell gently in the wind. She looked a little ways from him, to where Enjolras stood with Grantaire.
Gavroche wondered about this world.
This was not his France.
Not his town.
But somehow, he liked he better.
He would even say he loved it.
There were no redcoats here.
But the revolution remained.
Revolution without fighting.
Without death.
There was no need for death now.
Gavroche felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and looked up into Courfeyrac's eyes. His friend smiled back at him, then asked, "What's that new little bit, Gavroche?"
Confused, the boy followed Courfeyrac's gaze and glanced down at his own clothes.
Pinned on his shirt, right over his heart, was a red medal.

NO ME GUSTA YOU'RE AN EVIL FEELS INDUCER

DO YOU PERMIT IT? NO I BET NOT BECAUSE FEELINGS XHSHUSUEIJDIXJISKKEICFJENNENSNDNDNDNDNNDNDJJDJDHJDJJDJDUDJDHDJJD
~Julia


Author's note: Wow, got kinda corny at the end there. Sorry, guys, I didn't know what to call the medal thing. I was gonna say ribbon, but it's whatever. Finally finished, after, like, a whole month of working on it. Hope y'all enjoyed my somewhat AU.

Tiny Little Pieces

"Sometimes honesty is the worst policy,

Happy Ever After, Happy Ever After,

Let it go, you never need to know."

We all have had the feeling that we were on top of the world at least once.

Sometimes we fall soon after that feeling.

In this case, I fell too fast, fast enough that I actually felt the pain when I hit ground.

It was somewhat dull, but still there.

I hadn't said anything.

Hadn't done anything.

But I had been something. 

Naive.

Maybe being a dreamer is a bad thing. 

At least in this case it had been.

I don't know what I'd thought.

He only had me?

There wasn't someone else he could have his eye on? 

I was the only one for him?

It would only ever be me?

I guess none of those really were true.

Tall.

Straight, dark brown hair.

Long bangs over black rimmed glasses. 

Bumpy nose.

My "twin"?

What had we in common?

We both wore converse?

She seemed offended when he compared myself to her. 

Was I offended? 

Only by her reaction to me.

She kept her distance.

She didn't talk to me.

But she talked to him.

Stuck to him like glue.

But it was what she said that made my heart sink.

"You guys are, like, twins!" He had exclaimed.

She had moved in a little closer to him. "You mean you want her to be your girlfriend, too?"

He had said nothing.

I had said nothing.

She had laughed. 

And at each gust of her rough laughter, 

I felt my heart chip into tiny little pieces.

Yeah.

I guess being a dreamer isn't always a good thing.

Sing Me To Sleep

"Sing me to sleep, sing me to sleep, I'm tired and I want to go to bed."

"I took the tape, but I felt weird about it because he had made it for her. But I listened to it. And loved it very much. There is one song called "Asleep" that I would like you to listen to. I told my sister about it. And a week later she thanked me because when this boy asked her about the tape, she said exactly what I said about the song "Asleep" and this boy was very moved by how much it meant to her."
(pg. 10)

"What's your favorite band?"
"I think maybe the Smiths because I love their song 'Asleep."
(pg. 20)

"There is one photograph of Sam that is just beautiful. It would be impossible to describe how beautiful it is, but I'll try. If you listen to the song "Asleep", and you think about those pretty weather days that make you remember things, and you think about the prettiest eyes you've known, and you cry, and the person holds you back, then I think you will see the photograph."
(pg. 48)

"The first present is going to be a mix tape. I just know that it should. I already have the songs picked out and a theme. It's called 'One Winter'. But I've decided not to hand-color the cover. The first side has a lot of songs by the Village People and Blondie because Patrick likes that type of music a lot. It also has Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana, which Sam and Patrick love. But the second side is the one I like the most. It has winter kind of songs.
Here they are:
Asleep by the Smiths
Vapour Trail by Ride
Scarborough Fair by Simon and Garfunkel
A Whiter Shade of Pale by Procol Harum
Time of No Reply by Nick Drake
Dear Prudence by the Beatles
Gypsy by Suzanne Vega
Nights in White Satin by the Moody Blues
Daydream by Smashing Pumpkins
Dusk by Genesis (before Phil Collins was even in the band!)
MLK by U2
Blackbird by the Beatles
Landslide by Fleetwood Mac
and finally...
Asleep by the Smiths (again!)"
(pg. 61 and 62)

"I told my aunt Helen all about my life. About Sam and Patrick. About their friends. About my first New Year's Eve party tomorrow. I told her about how my brother would be playing his last football game of the season on New Year's Day. I told her about my brother leaving and how my mom cried. I told her about the books I read. I told her about the song 'Asleep'. I told her when we all felt infinite."
(pg. 93)

Love always, Charlie.







You can tell I'm having Perks withdraws.
But apparently the DVD release date has changed from February 12 to January 23.
So I know what I'm getting my brother for his birthday.
Mwahaha.
Love y'all.
Thanks for putting up with my random.
And can we all just agree that Logan Lerman is just the most adorable thing to walk this earth. He just makes you want to go up and give him a bear hug. Meh, so cute. My baby.

We were Infinite

"And in that moment, I swear we were infinite."

The Perks of Being a Wallflower

This is probably the best quote in the entire movie, or, at least, the most known.

Everyone makes a big deal about it.

But because of that, this single line, in my mind, is overrated. 

I'd feel something more if they included the first and last bit of it. 

That's why some brilliant person took the lines from the book and made this YouTube video, and it has become one of my favorites.

What is this I feel? Why is it so real?

"It's only love. It's only pain. It's only fear that runs through my veins. 

It's all the things you can't explain

 that make us human."

Remember when someone told you 

"Sometimes the thing you want most is right in front of you?"

For the longest time, I thought that was a load of dung.

I mean, really? 

It doesn't even make much sense. Typically, if something is right in front of me, I know that I want it, or may want it in the future.

I don't really know why it took me so long to realize it.

I know what I am. 

I'm not bright.

I'm not attractive.

I'm dense.

I'm short.

I'm vulnerable.

I'm constantly putting myself down, wishing I could be better.

Wishing I could be a better person.

I don't get why people stick around me, why they stay by my side. 

I'm offensive.

I take advantage of grace.

I act before I think.

I unconsciously hurt peoples feelings.

I'm human.

Speaking of statements, this one is the cruelest. 

Human.

We take all these bad attributes and make them seem like a side affect of what we are.

Doesn't anyone remember what we were meant to be?

Perfect.

Obedient.

Worthy of love.

Of life.

Why did lust have to ruin that?

"Because we're human"?

This is me. 

What I said above is true. I am all those things. But I'm special, too, even though I'm human.

I have friends.

Family.

Innocence.

Joy.

Peace.

Freedom.

I have him.

When I think of him, too many things run through my mind.

Friend.

Family.

Brother.

Partner in crime.

Mate.

Soul mate.

Maybe I'm just kidding myself. 

Wouldn't be the first time.

Everyone has, at some point in their life, entered one of those raffle contests. 

You think about your name or number on that tiny slip of paper, one slip among thousands, and think,

"Maybe it will be me".

We all get that little flutter of hope, we all sit on the edges of our seats.

Sometimes, the excitement, the longing, is granted.

Sometimes we're left disappointed.

Sure, we may mask it.

"I wouldn't have won anyway, it's just a dumb raffle."

But the disappointment is still there.

That's why I'm afraid.

He's everything to me.

My best friend.

Since forever. 

He gave me the nickname I stick to even now.

I don't remember why, but he was the only one who ever called me that in early years.

It caught the wind, and now it's what most everyone calls me.

But I always think of him when I say it aloud.

I wonder why he gave it to me in the first place.

I can't remember.

Maybe he thought "Lizza" was just too long. 

I picture him calling my name. 

I can hear it.

Clear.

Right.

Sometimes I think, "maybe. Maybe we could, can be more".

"Maybe something more real can happen."

"I can be happier."

But I don't think I'm ready enter the raffle yet.

So I'll just sit here, 

the paper all filled out, 

every question, 

the thing slightly dented from where I clutch it.

I can wait.

I'm good at that.

10. Muse of Fear

Hello.

So, I'm going to take a leaf out of Julia's book and just talk for this post. 

I've told you once that most of the inspiration I get comes from music. 

When it doesn't, when writer's block takes over, then I have to go to greater lengths.

Have you ever really felt like you were in a horror film? Like, any moment, something scary as frick is gonna happen and you'll never be the same? Same here, but for me, stuff like that does happen.

So, a couple months ago, I was walking around the lake a little ways from my house. Near my friend Skylar's house, the lake shallows into a stream that stretches about twelve or thirteen feet. I'd been back there a few times before, and I liked to go when I need inspiration. I see and hear all kinds of stuff back there. It's relatively peaceful, but there's creepy stuff too. Once I saw a dead deer in the lake. At first I thought it was a log, then saw it's eyes. 

But if you're asking, no, that's far from the creepiest.

On that day I'd wished someone else had been with me. 

Like I said, the stream goes deep into the woods, maybe a  mile or so, and a good ways away from the houses. While I was walking, I heard something, so I stopped. At first I thought it was the bells of the church that ring sometimes. Then I recognized it. 

It was the voice of a little girl singing. The song was something Christmas-y, I can't remember. It may have been jingle bells.

I would've been fine with this, if it hadn't been August. 

So, as you can imagine, I got the heck out of there.

Another scary thing happened when we were playing Cops and Robbers.

If anyone knows me, I take that game very, very seriously. I'd sooner sprain my ankle than get tagged. 

Anyway, it just so happens that this night, my neighbor had friends over, so they played too. 

The following is the reason I don't like said friends.

Having lived where I do now for almost sixteen years, I know the entire outline of the cul-de-sac by heart. Just by the road, there's a slip of tall fir trees (I think they're fir idk) and, with one of the stranger friends on my tail, that's where I headed. If one made it far enough back, they could climb the fence into Cassidy's yard, and this was my plan. 

I'd expected the boy to stop following me, but he didn't.

There I was, using my bare arms to push past the protruding branches, shutting my eyes and running blindly as the limbs scraped my face. I turned and realized he'd stopped, and he stood on the street by the edge of the trees. I was fine with him not pursuing me, but I was still running at full speed, throwing myself against the offending branches. Then the boy started really creeping my out.

He, too, started to sing.

Three blind mice.

The sound of it was so creepy it actually made me run faster. I finally reached the fence, and I figured he went back to the base. 

That game finished with me and Cody being totally awesome and getting on the base, and our team won.

These above are true stories,

and you know why my stories are so messed up.

>:D

9. Grace and Choice

"I know my weakness, know my voice,

and I believe in grace and choice."

Meet Tane.

He's not a Hunter, something of which occupied most of the land of Elsa. No, Tane is something far more scarce.

Tane is one that wakes the angels.
And the first one he wakes slips through his fingers. 

Now, he's got to find her before she does something disastrous,
or something worse happens to him.

Meet Alto.

He's nothing special.
For his entire life he's been a outcast.
His village betrayed him, pursued him, and he's been on the run ever since.
With only a few measly coins to his name, he finds himself in a cell buried deep in a mountain's base.

What connects these two?

Only the angel Nessa.

After being awakened by Tane, this strong-willed warrior manages to escape before being thrust back into the ranks. She flees to Hynix, a vast land filled with all kinds of danger. She hides from those who pursue her, knowing of the strong bond an angel shares with their Waker.
Can an angel who's only known the protection of the barracks be able to survive here?

In a quest for freedom, all three of these troubled teens encounter two things in their journey:
grace and choice.


A future story/perhaps NaNoWriMo muse.

RAaaaaannnnndooOMmmmmm

So, yesterday we got our choir music for Pops, and *spoilers don't tell* we are basically doing a mash-up of a bunch of plays we've done here, and we are also doing a piece from Les Mis. So I'm just sitting there, in my chair, picturing the concert.

This will probably how I will sing:

This is how I'm going to want to sing:

But when Mr. Green said we were doing Les Mis, I was just kind of:

I'm really excited for Pops, but Mr. Green also reminded us that we have around 18 pieces of super difficult music to learn by May, and I just:

Haha David randomly in that set alone. Sorry, Tennant.

Wow, I need more 25th GIFs. Maybe later. For now enjoy this:

8. Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence

Describe your favorite Christmas holiday drink and why.

Easy.

Welch's White Grape Juice.

Describe it? Let's see. It's like a clear green, kind of light barely tossed sea glass.  It comes in a long-necked bottle, like wine, and it's fun to tease my brother with. Usually, we only get one bottle a year, for New Year's, but this year, since I had friends over, Mom agreed to let me get two (also, it was a two-for-five-bucks deal at Harris Teeter). So there I was, two days before New Year's, staring at the bottles that seemed to gather dust as they sat on their shelf in the pantry. I wanted nothing more that to grab one, rip the gold foil from its neck, and chug the drink right there.
I was good. I waited.
Too long for my taste.
Then my mom got a phone call. She'd won the Christmas basket at our dentist's office. When she brought it home, I peered inside, expecting only dental things. Then my eyes fell upon it: a bottle of Welch's White Grape Juice.
Or, should I correct, another bottle of Welch's White Grape Juice.
Two plus one is three. Three bottles of this glorious nectar.
Yet mom still made me wait.
In short, when New Year's finally came, my neighbor Dawson and my best friend Bailey came over, and what did Dawson bring?
Yet ANOTHER bottle.
Four bottles in all.
So, basically, the three of us finished two bottles together, and the other two I kept to myself. I still have one, and to this day, it sits on its shelf, lonesome among the canned soup and peaches, waiting.
Just waiting.
It won't have to wait for long.
>: D
Good thing I can't get intoxicated on this stuff.
Another thing: Bailey, myself, a bottle of this stuff, and a webcam...not a good mix.
Whelp, that's the end of this entry.
Laters.

7. Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence

Write a story about Santa getting caught by a little kid.

"Little".

Now that was a word that Joseph Dame hated.

Mostly because that was a word often used to describe him, and with that word sprouted others: weak, childish, innocent, stupid.

Joey wanted to prove that these things were wrong about him, and he often stood up for himself against the bullies in his second grade class. He was pretty confident until they mocked him for believing in Santa Claus.

"He is real!" Joey had shouted. Then the bell had sounded, signaling the end of recess. He'd looked the bullies in the eye and said, "I'll prove it," before rushing off to his class.

It was there that he started planning.

He scrounged for the materials he needed, snatching a few of them right from under his mother's nose. He set it up in secret, testing it on his dog, Buckley.

After that, he knew he was ready.

Joey leaned against the wall, peering over the railing of the staircase down into the foyer. From here he could here the dishwasher running in the kitchen. He heard nothing from the family room.

That would change, soon.

Then he heard it: the soft tinkling of the bell, triggered by the thin thread he'd stretched along the boundaries of the fireplace.

Joey sprinted down the stairs, eager to come face-to-face with the Christmas legend.

He couldn't wait to tell his friends.

6. Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence

Write a letter to Santa.

Oh, geez, okay.

Another story, y'all, cuz I have to personal life to write about.

"Dear Mr. Claus,

I realize that you haven't heard from me in a while. I haven't really had the time to write letters the past few years, but I've decided to change that. You've always given me exactly what was on my lists, and I'm grateful for that, really, but the items on this list are...kind of a doozy.

Let's start with the simple things.

You and I both know that Dad doesn't send you letters, and that's why he doesn't always get what he wants for Christmas. So I'm gonna go out on a limb here and ask you to please get him a new portable radio. He loves listening to the football and baseball games, but his old radio is really crappy. So, yeah, that's number one.

Number two...let's see...oh, okay, how about Pez. I love Pez. 

And, um, Cheerwine? A 24 pack would be awesome."

"Daddy?"

The man stopped reading from his list and looked at his daughter. The five-year-old stayed where she was, on her knees, her arms propped on the chair in front of her. In her hand she gripped a cerulean crayon, the color light against the green construction paper under her other hand.

"Yes, honey?"

"Is that really all you want from Santa?"

The father thought over his daughter's words, listening to the faint beeps sounding in the small room. Then he took his red crayon to his yellow paper and added:

"Also, Mr. Claus....please

...please, help my wife recover."

The last thing a child needs is to lose her mother on Christmas. 

Author's note:

Mwahaha I love giving people feels.

Feel for my characters hahahaha.

>:P

Though I am cursing myself for writing this.

5. Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence

Write about the reflection of the room you see in shiny Christmas ornaments.

I lie on my back under the tree, gazing up at the different spherical ornaments. In one to my left, Santa's face reflects against the smooth silver, the red of his cheeks and nose clear in the light, his eyes squinted from the large smile he's giving the ornament. The reflection dips down, making him seem slimmer than he's portrayed in his own porcelain form. In his hands are a purple and red present, more a rectangle than a square against the silver. I turn my head to the right, and my movement makes a few green needles fall onto my cheek. I leave them, liking the light tickle they give my skin. I look at the blue sphere to my right, at the angel reflected in it. Her arms are outstretched wide, but her eyes are slits, which make her seem tired. I decide to leave her be and look straight up at the other silver sphere just above my head. It reflects the pale olive green of my living room walls. On the right of it, I can see the dim orange glow of the fire burning in its place. A cream spreads at the bottom of the sphere, the same cream of the carpet under my back. Two rods of blue lay against the cream; my jean-covered legs. A lighter cream shape rests beside one blue rod. But the dog stirs against my leg, and I blink at the ornament in confusion until another form leaned in toward the silver thing, its eyes a glowing blue-green.

"It's time for dinner, Liz," my sister states simply.

4. Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence

Describe your perfect snow day.

I open the door, prepared for the blast of cold wind that laps against my cheeks. I step out, carefully making my way down the four iced brick steps and then leaping onto the clean layer of snow. It's thin up to the edge of my driveway, which my father hasn't had the chance to clear. I grin against my scarf and raise a booted leg to sink into the two and a half feet of snow. One foot in front of the other, I work my way through my yard until, my goal in sight. I look to my neighbors house, watching as their tiny black dog leaps into the snow, unafraid, as usual. I imagine her digging her way through the deep layers like a mole. I look forward, my grin widening as I reach my destination.

"Liz!" A chorus of voices cheer as I reach up and wrap a gloved hand around a thick branch of the magnolia tree. I pull myself up, out of the thick snow, and onto the branch, clean save for a light dust of snowflakes. I stand on the branch and peer through the surrounding branches at children preparing to their sled down the sloped hill, attempting- and sometimes failing- to dodge the few trees and bushes. I hear the strong wind before it hits my face. I turn towards it but keep my eyes on the snow above. As the wind comes, the snow goes, falling to the curled magnolia leaves around me. They sound softly as they land, almost like they're singing their way to their own destination. But that one is only temporary. In the next gust, they'll be blown somewhere else.

Yet they still sing.

3. Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence

What would you do in a Christmas zombie apocalypse?

Once again, I hold my breath as loud moans leak through the cracks in the wooden trapdoor, barred with two long iron bars. walls. Heavy footfalls and the pounding of fists sound above, and I'm suddenly thankful for the basement to hide us, and the strong amount of dust and musky scents to mask our own from the creatures. I let out a light sigh when the noises cease and focus on the small fire that Pete had built in a metal bucket in the middle of the concrete floor. The fire leaps from the curling corners of newspapers set aflame for warmth against the chilly night. The cold stings my bare fingers, which I bury in the folds of my extra-large (I actually think it's a men's) jacket. I look around at the group, all of us strangers. Some cling to each other, either because by some chance they know them, or they just need comfort.

Family is an almost unknown thing in this new world.

I have Pete, one of my dad's fishing buddies. He'd come to check up on my family after the disease broke out, but he was too late for us.

Not me, though, as you can see.

He'd found me curled up in the corner of the pantry, blood on my hands, knees, and cheeks, a gun with an emptied magazine in my grip. A girl, in a house empty save three rotting corpses. 

I watch from my spot against the cold wall as two girls, both maybe thirteen or fourteen, cover their ears so as not to hear the moans from above. I glance at Pete, noticing his gaze is on them as well. Then he does something I almost don't expect.

But I know Pete.

And I remember that tonight is Christmas Eve.

Pete opens his mouth to speak, or, better, sing.

"Hark! the herald angels sing 'Glory to the newborn King'."

I listen as he continues to sing, the words along with his southern accent sounding better from his lips than any church choir. Others join in, timidly, then growing stronger, louder. Brave tears trickle down bloody, dirty cheeks.

Probably because it was only a matter of time before each of us turn into the things hammering against the wooden walls protecting us.

2. Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence

Put yourself in your favorite Christmas movie.

Hope y'all like Scrooge.

I stand still as time passes, almost like it's being fast-forwarded. It stops every now and then and lets some scenes play at their normal speed. I watch as an old man walks across a snow-covered street, while the people around him shy away. He passes me, and a chill runs down my neck as his passing brings a cold air to my skin. I turn to watch him go, but time moves fast again, the scene in front of me a kaleidoscope of black and white dotted with bits of color. I see a flash of a candle, a man draped in chains. The old man from before is scared, confused. The chained man leaves the other there, but he isn't alone for long. The scenes slow, showing the man in his bed. Then a bell tolls.

Time moves faster. A woman in red appears and takes the man for a journey in his past. I stand beside them, watching children running, people dancing, and a younger version of the old man arm in arm with a woman. 

Happy.

The scene pauses, showing me a scale, one side holding a few coins, the other an abandoned wedding ring.

What happened that made this man so miserable?










Yeah, I didn't really know how to finish this, so there you go. : /

1. Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence

Describe your drastic mood change after your parent spills coffee on your favorite gift right after it's opened.

I gaze down at the smooth black screen of my new laptop as I push aside the rest of the wrapping paper holding the device prisoner. I pull it onto my lap and look around at my family members, grinning broadly to show my approval. I run my hand along the keys, happy with its size and length. 

Dad did pretty good picking this out.
I'm about to move to plug it in when the unthinkable happens. Scalding hot liquid hits my skin and slides across the keyboard of my gift. I swipe my burning hand along my pajama pants and drop my laptop as it starts to spark. It hits the floor, and I imagine that the black screen grows even darker, and I know that it's gone. I look for the source of the substance that killed my gift, and see the slightly tipped mug in my father's hand. He looks at me with horror, and I know that the my face must look the same.
Dad did not do good.
The burning in my skin is nothing compared to that of my cheeks as I continue to stare at my dad. I can feel tears coming on, but I keep them at bay. I bite my lip and glance back at my ruined laptop in its pile of wrapping paper that had kept it safe until now.
Dad's gonna get me a new one.