They say love is the center of the universe, I find that to be a lie. Everyone always considers love to be something that can overcome anything, even death and yet here I am standing in front of a headstone with two broken hearts. One six feet under the ground and the other six feet above. I have only ever wanted to live, truly live. But now I feel there is nothing to live for. What is life if one’s purpose is gone?

Time is something precious, life is something precious, and yet it goes by so quickly, too quickly. She was everything to me, her life was mine, her breath was mine, her heart was mine. We were one, always and forever, at least that was true until we were both robbed. Her life was stolen and as a result so was my world. We are taught to cherish what we have because eventually we will lose it, but no one ever talks about what happens when it’s stolen. It leads to the corruption of the souls left behind. Our conversations continuously echo in my head driving me towards madness, one of the most painful ones appears most frequently.

“I do not know what loss is like.” I once told her.

“Because you never lose, I’m guessing.” She casually replied as she rolled her eyes.

“No.”

“Then what is it?” She asked, her eyes flashing with a new found curiosity.

“Because I’ve never had anything to lose.”

It’s sick how the world works. It took my words and twisted them into a future where I would understand the concept of loss. I told her those words in truth and as her eyes softened I knew she accepted it. It was an understanding no one in my life had ever given me. It was an understanding that led her to love me and it was an understanding that ultimately killed her. If she had never been so close to me she never would’ve been at risk. This is why I shoulder the responsibility of her murder. No one ever talks about the atrocities that follow the injustice of murder, yet alone acts on them but I refuse to live like that. Everything has a price and I won’t let her life be an exception. Her murderer will pay in blood, a life for a life, a death for a death, a murder for a murder.

For her I will do anything, even if it means selling whatever is left of my wretched soul.

Two guns, two triggers

One corpse swimming in crimson

Two hearts, both broken

(Lover's Despair Poem)

She walks the tightrope of calamity

Hoping one day she won’t reach insanity

She comes from a broken family

Strung by tragedy

That’s the very cause of her loss of sanity

She used to dream of having her name on billboards and magazines

Now the only thing she has her name on are pill bottles, snuffing out her dreams

She clings to the surface

Always tilting but never falling

She has no hope that someone will be calling

And yet she’s still walking

Out of sheer faith;

Like a blade clinging to it’s scathe

Pleading for a chance

For the will to crawl, to walk, to dance

Bottling up the words of despair

Hoping that she’ll find some kind of care

But a pleasant smile and kind eyes

Is all it takes as a disguise

She looks to be fine

But she’s still waiting for her stars to align

And what you don’t know is she’s hiding under a hood

Constantly telling herself all will be good

Hiding her imperfections and tears

Only out of sheer fears

For the future

For those who persecute her

For the obstacles to come

And yet she’s still walking

This tightrope grows narrower by the day

Trying to wash what little hope she has away

She gathered her broken pieces and stitched them all together

Whoever said soft skin can’t be leather

She’s drowning, suffocating, gasping for air

She’s falling in her own despair

Ragged and tired, she’s a child wanting to be hired

Not out of desire but only necessity

“They’ll only think less of me”

Those words burn in her head

Only making her wish to be dead

And yet she’s still walking

Still walking

Still stumbling down the path of life

Reaching each day with a new strife

Hoping that one day there will be an end to her tragedy

Only for the saving of her own anatomy

She believes in a better future

For the optimism

For the hope

For the belief

That one day things will be different

A kind smile and an even kinder set of eyes adorned the man's face. He was more than just polite, he was the very picture perfect example of the model human being. He was always willing to help; he always helped old man Henry carry in his groceries, he hand wrote everyone on the block cards for every holiday, birthday, and wedding, he even became the unofficial neighborhood repairman. He embodied the very role of an exceptional neighbor.

"There he goes again." One neighbor said as we watched our "beloved" neighbor carry his tool kit to the newest house that needed fixing. A small leak in the pipe only needed a short visit from our resident handyman and it was as good as new. But people admired him for a variety of reasons, too many reasons.

"He's always asking me how I'm doing."

"He's so helpful!"

"He brought over fresh baked meals when my husband was in the hospital!"

"He's just so kind!"

And that was the problem, he was just so kind, too kind. It wasn't a genuine kind, at least not to me. Every warm smile had a creeping murderous intent, it was a soothing signal that calmed his prey. It prepped them, it told them he was to be trusted, it told them he was safe, it told them he was kind. And indeed he was kind but not as an adjective rather as a noun. He was the kind of man who knew how to ensnare, how to lure, how to trap.

He was the kind of man who knew no sanity but fed off the illusion of kindness he had concocted. It's inevitable that everyone falls for such an act as least once. After all, it is so easy to fall into something that seems so harmless. But there was always something so defining about him, so different, and so utterly alarming. The first time I ever realized was when he had decided to take my garbage cans out. Admittedly, it was a service I needed for I had completely forgotten such a small task amidst a terribly busy week. However, if I had noticed his true nature sooner I would've preferred he stayed on his side of the street and even more preferably inside his house.

"Oh you don't have to do that!" I exclaimed as he finished dragging the trash can out to the sidewalk.

"Of course I do!" He adorned a beautiful smile, one of warmth, one of safety, and ultimately one of deception. His pale blue eyes were glossy almost seemingly translucent but they locked onto my own as if I were a lifeline.

"Thank you." I had to force the words out while battling the prickling sensation that crawled up my neck.

He held that meticulously painted smile on his face as he continued to stare straight at me. His gaze was intense but not full, there was no hatred, no malice, no anger, no violence. That was what was so terrifying. There was simply nothing there, no hint of emotion at all, no hint of humanity. I wanted to break eye contact but even looking away for a mere second seemed dangerous. His smile seemed to stretch impossibly wide as I took a single step back. His teeth were impossibly white, almost as if the moon itself had kissed them, and they seemed to glow brightly in the night.

"I should get to bed." I attempted a smile as I took yet another step backwards. He didn't move. His facial expression didn't change, he simply stood and stared. I tried to inhale a shaky breath. "Goodnight."

With that final word he held up one hand and waved it ever so slightly as if attempting to say goodbye like a young child. That wretched smile was still plastered on his face with the accompaniment of his soulless eyes. It took everything in me to keep myself from running to the door. The naturalistic instinct in me told me to run, to escape, but I knew I had to maintain composure. The worst possible thing is showing a predator you're scared.

After that night I became the observer. I watched everything he did, every movement, every action, every loudly spoken word as well as every whispered one. He spoke to himself quite often, I had never realized that before. It was always broken bits and pieces of sentences such as a location followed by a color or a new random food or restaurant. It never made much sense and none of it ever fit together but he was consistent in muttering to himself everyday. I would watch as he would stare. He would occasionally just cast quick glances but more often then not he would hold them for just a little too long. Just long enough to make your skin crawl and hairs stick straight up and that pit in your stomach to be filled with an unending dread. Then he would flash a smile, a perfectly white crafted smile, and everyone would smile back. Then they would go on about their days discussing how he was such a good neighbor and how he was so helpful and how he was so considerate, so understanding, so perfect.

"Oh isn't he just so kind?"

He certainly was kind but not the kind one would want.

The thing about being terminally ill is that you know you weren't made to last. It never really bothered me though because I had always expected the same outcome since my diagnosis: death. In a strange way you become accustomed to the very thing that so many people hope to defy, for those who are terminally ill death simply becomes your norm. At least this notion hadn't bothered me until I met you: brown eyes, dusty blonde hair, and a smile that made me want to smile back.

I have relived those moments over and over again but this time it's much more vivid, much more in depth. I ran through the hospital halls laughing as frantic nurses trailed after me, practically tripping on their own two feet as they desperately tried to catch up. This was my turf though, I spent hours upon hours upon hours roaming these bleak walls in an attempt to find some temporary cure from boredom. This little chase is just the thing to cure my excitement. I swerve through doctors and patients alike as I make my way towards the hospital doors.

"Stop her!" One nurse shouts as she pauses to catch her breath.

I round a corner and run as fast as I can down the hall and into an empty storage room. I stand with my back to the wall listening for the staff members set on chasing me down and dragging me back to that hospital bed. My breathing is ragged and my lungs burn from the brief sprint. Do other kids get this tired from running short distances or is it just another side affect of the illness? The question doesn't linger long though, one nurse comes jogging down the hallway with a doctor and two security guards on her heels.

"Did you see her?" She asks frantically.

"She must've turned down another hall."

The loud echoing of their footsteps confirm that they've fled far away from my little hiding place which means I can now accomplish my mission: escape to the garden. I try to calmly walk out of the doorway but I swear my heartbeat can be heard from miles away. I've attempted this escape three times, including this one, and this is my only successful attempt. That is why I have to make this one count. The air is crisp as I open the hospital doors that lead to the garden. It's mid Fall and the colors are as vibrant as ever. Red, yellow, orange, all types of colored leaves blanket the ground like an endless sea. Fall is a season of change and for that reason I've always loved Fall the most.

"Shouldn't you be out here with a coat on?" I practically jump at the sudden question.

My head snaps to the right where a boy maybe 17ish tries and fails to suppress a laugh. Long dirty blonde hair falls to his forehead which somehow draws attention to his long eyelashes and golden brown eyes. He looks to be about my age but his face looks so much more lively. His eyes shine with a boldness I've never been able to capture and something about it draws me to him.

"Seriously though it's freezing out here. You need a coat." He shrugs off his jacket and holds it out to me. I'm almost too distracted to notice. I can't help but admire the life in this boy. "Can you not talk?"

"I can talk." I snap back as I take his coat and pull it around my shoulders.

"So who're you visiting?"

"Visiting?" I repeat the word. It sounds so foreign, I've never really "visited" a hospital. I mainly just live in them.

"Yeah." He replies as he picks up a giant red leaf off the ground. "I'm visiting my mom."

"Oh, I'm actually..." The words get stuck in my throat. I've been a patient my whole life, I've only ever been known as a patient, I've only ever been treated like a patient but this, this could be different. "I'm visiting my sister."

"I've never seen you around before. I'm Bryton, it's nice to meet you." He offers a smile that extends all the way to my own face as my lips move to match his warm expression.

"I'm Melody and it's nice to meet you too."

"Well, Melody, we'll likely be seeing each other a lot. Want to be friends?" His face brightens to a light shade of pink as he awkwardly holds out his hand. I've never seen anyone make such a silly expression, which is why I can't help but laugh.

"Yes, friends." I reply as I shake his hand. "So you said you're visiting your mom, what floor is she on?"

His eyes dull a little bit, almost as if my question has forcibly sucked away a bit of life from him. Sometimes I forget not everyone is as accustomed to death as many of us hospital residents are.

"I'm sorry, it was rude of me to ask." I blurt out, hoping I didn't just lose the first friend I've ever made.

"No, it's totally fine. She's on floor 8." He mutters.

Floor 8: the floor that houses cancer patients but more specifically stage four cancer patients. It's the floor right below mine. In some sick twisted way it's almost as though they purposely put those of us who aren't likely to live long closer to heaven. Whether it is a blessing or a curse I have yet to decide.

"Is that her?" The nurses voice carries across the entire garden. I lock eyes with her and as soon as I do she begins moving towards me with her same posse in toe.

"Run!" Is all I can yell before I grab the boys hand and begin running.

He gives me a confused expression but begins running anyways. We only glance back once but it's at the most perfect time possible. The head nurse trips on the walkway curb and goes tumbling into a pile of carefully raked leaves. Bryton and I can't help but laugh as we continue to run away. I don't think I've ever had so much fun. We run back inside the building and towards the busy cafeteria. Hiding in plain sight is just what I need right now.

"You're crazy." He laughs as we finally slow to walk. "Absolutely crazy."

"Life isn't fun if it's not a little crazy." I pull his hood up over my head as we sit at a table in the corner.

"Why were they looking for you?"

I shrug hoping that will stop any further questions. I just want to feel normal for a little bit, just for a day at least. It can't be that bad to have a little fun once in a while right?

"Have you ever had the chocolate chip cookies?" I ask as he attempts to comb through his messy hair.

"Yes, they're ok."

"Ok? Just ok? They're the best culinary invention in the world!" I exclaim in disbelief.

"No, no, no, the brownies here are so much better!" As he speaks that same warm smile creeps up his face and in that moment I almost want to believe him. But I know the cookies are better, it's just a fact.

Our conversation trails on for hours. We argue about the best cafeteria food and discuss our favorite artists. He explains his family life, how his dad was never around and how his sister had left them the second she was an adult. I explain how lonely hospital life is using my "sister" as a mask to vent my frustration and feelings. We discuss our traumas, our broken hearts, our wounds unhealed, and those still healing. And for once I feel like a person not a patient.

"What are your goals in life?" He asks as he takes a long drink of his 10th glass of lemonade.

This question stops me cold. Goals? I never really thought of any long term goals. I never know how long I have so how is it possible to establish goals when I have no idea how long it will take to accomplish them? To be completely honest though, I've never really thought about it. I never thought I had a need to.

"I finally found you!" My nurse shouts as she gently pulls down the hood on my head.

"Fine, fine, I give up." I raise my hands in defeat as I silently sigh a breath of relief. Without knowing it she saved me from his question about goals, something I will definitely have to thank her for later.

"And who are you?" She asks as she eyes Bryton. He stands immediately as he holds out his hand the same way he did to me hours ago.

"Bryton." He replies as she briefly shakes his hand.

"Well I'm assuming Melody didn't tell you she's supposed to stay in her room." Her attention switches back to me. "Come on Melody, you know it isn't good for you to be exposed for so long. What if you caught a virus or even just a cold? Anything could be life threatening for you!"

"Life threatening?" Bryton repeats the words as his brows furrow into confusion.

"Melody has Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease." The nurse recites as she hurriedly pushes me towards the door. "It's very dangerous for her to be exposed to places where respiratory infections can be airborne."

"I'm sorry." I shout over my shoulder. I expect him to be angry or disappointed or something along those lines but instead he only looks sad.

"It's ok, I get it!" He yells as he manages to bring forth a bittersweet smile. How can someone who has such sad eyes manage such a happy smile? "I'll visit you if they let me!"

He held true to his words. He visited me for 365 days, a whole entire year, he spent with me. I counted every visit and I looked forward to each of them. Every. Single. One. They were the best moments of my entire life. He reminded me that I was human, that I was more than a sick girl awaiting her death.

"Look Mel, look at the trees." Bryton's whispered words snap me back to reality. My eyes feel so heavy, my whole body is so so heavy.

Where are we? My eyes fight to open which is only half successful as I let light flood into the barely opened slits. The colors are all there: red, orange, yellow, all the colors of fall, all the colors I love, in the season I love, with the boy I love. That's right, that's why I'm here. I asked him to take me here so I could see the leaves one last time. I'm surrounded by the things I love, what a special way to spend the time I have left. My eyes drift over Bryton who's eyes are wet with tears, a few stream down his face as he attempt to hold back the floodgates. Even now, as his eyes meet mine he smiles. A beautiful smile that makes me want to smile back and so that's what I do. I may not know much but I do know smiles like that can survive eternities. Which is why I smile as I drift away to my own eternal fall.

I could feed you lies about how this is no one's fault and how I simply needed a break but that wouldn't really get me anywhere. I am not lost and thus I do not need to be found. I am not self destructing and thus I do not need saving. I need peace, a few moments, a few mere moments of being alone. Of course there will be some of you who claim this as a midlife crisis or the early signs of someone falling into insanity but isn't life meant to be a little insane? Perhaps I am the only sane one for wanting a break, a change, a chance at something different. Insanity by definition is the act of doing something repeatedly with no change which is exactly the life I had been living up til now. But I have chosen to acknowledge that with no change I will never progress and with no progression there is no succession which is why this is the road I decide to take. I'll see you all in a year but until then live life with a little less insanity.

She walks the tightrope of calamity

Hoping one day she won’t reach insanity

She comes from a broken family

Strung by tragedy

That’s the very cause of her loss of sanity

She used to dream of having her name on billboards and magazines

Now the only thing she has her name on are pill bottles, snuffing out her dreams

She clings to the surface

Always tilting but never falling

She has no hope that someone will be calling

And yet she’s still walking

Out of sheer faith;

Like a blade clinging to it’s scathe

Pleading for a chance

For the will to crawl, to walk, to dance

Bottling up the words of despair

Hoping that she’ll find some kind of care

But a pleasant smile and kind eyes

Is all it takes as a disguise

She looks to be fine

But she’s still waiting for her stars to align

And what you don’t know is she’s hiding under a hood

Constantly telling herself all will be good

Hiding her imperfections and tears

Only out of sheer fears

For the future

For those who persecute her

For the obstacles to come

And yet she’s still walking

This tightrope grows narrower by the day

Trying to wash what little hope she has away

She gathered her broken pieces and stitched them all together

Whoever said soft skin can’t be leather

She’s drowning, suffocating, gasping for air

She’s falling in her own despair

Ragged and tired, she’s a child wanting to be hired

Not out of desire but only necessity

“They’ll only think less of me”

Those words burn in her head

Only making her wish to be dead

And yet she’s still walking

Still walking

Still stumbling down the path of life

Reaching each day with a new strife

Hoping that one day there will be an end to her tragedy

Only for the saving of her own anatomy

She believes in a better future

For the optimism

For the hope

For the belief

That one day things will be different

They say love is the center of the universe, I find that to be a lie. Everyone always considers love to be something that can overcome anything, even death and yet here I am standing in front of a headstone with two broken hearts. One six feet under the ground and the other six feet above. I have only ever wanted to live, truly live. But now I feel there is nothing to live for. What is life if one’s purpose is gone?

Time is something precious, life is something precious, and yet it goes by so quickly, too quickly. She was everything to me, her life was mine, her breath was mine, her heart was mine. We were one, always and forever, at least that was true until we were both robbed. Her life was stolen and as a result so was my world. We are taught to cherish what we have because eventually we will lose it, but no one ever talks about what happens when it’s stolen. It leads to the corruption of the souls left behind. Our conversations continuously echo in my head driving me towards madness, one of the most painful ones appears most frequently.

“I do not know what loss is like.” I once told her.

“Because you never lose, I’m guessing.” She casually replied as she rolled her eyes.

“No.”

“Then what is it?” She asked, her eyes flashing with a new found curiosity.

“Because I’ve never had anything to lose.”

It’s sick how the world works. It took my words and twisted them into a future where I would understand the concept of loss. I told her those words in truth and as her eyes softened as she knew I meant them. It was an understanding no one in my life had ever given me. It was an understanding that led her to love me and it was an understanding that ultimately killed her. If she had never been so close to me she never would’ve been at risk. This is why I shoulder the responsibility of her murder. No one ever talks about the atrocities that follow the injustice of murder, yet alone acts on them but I refuse to live like that. Everything has a price and I won’t let her life be an exception. Her murderer will pay in blood, a life for a life, a death for a death, a murder for a murder.

For her I will do anything, even if it means selling whatever is left of my wretched soul.

I was born to a wandering woman, she had left my father a few months before I was born. At least that's what the old woman has always told me. It's not that hard for a four-year-old to comprehend, I was abandoned. Most people think being young means you're clueless. What they don't realize is that we're always listening, always watching. To them, we might be mere innocent children but I'm much more than they will ever know.

My footsteps are steady as I walk over the rubble that litters the street that leads to our shack. Off in the distance, I can hear the gunshots echoing into the sky like a song of death. I recognize the sound instantly as an M16 rifle. It's firing is loud and unsettling to most. But loud noises have never made me jump.

"Hey boy, you looking to make some cash." A man says from across the street, he wears a black bandana over his nose and mouth. He's part of the Black Star gang, they've been terrorizing this town for as long as I can remember. I stare at him blankly like I have no clue what he's referring to. I've realized that remaining clueless is always the best option here. "Or maybe you want some food?"

"I have to get home," I mumble making sure to keep my voice steady, when they hear weakness they exploit it.

"You see maybe I should've reworded it." His words sound hollow almost lifeless. I tilt my head to the side to get a better look at him. Splotches of dirt dot his pants and shoes, his hair is blanketed by dust, and his eyes look just as pale as his skin. He mirrors a corpse almost exactly. I watch as he draws the gun that rests at his hip and points it at me. An old pistol, one that hasn't been very well taken care of. "You're going to do what I say, ok?"

I take off running through the street. Bang! Bang! His shots ring off at me as I jump over rubble and twisted cylinders of metal. I could tell from the way he held his gun he'd have terrible aim. I got lucky, something that I rarely get. He curses aloud as I disappear into an alleyway. He must not be from around this area, which is great for me. I have the advantage. I can't help but let a smirk slide onto my face. If you don't know these crumbled streets then there's no point in trying to chase someone in them, you'll just end up tripping over the debris.

My house is in the center of all the chaos if you can even call it a house. It's more of a shack: two sheets of metal for a roof, four corroded walls made of wood, and a large hole that we've been using as a door. I slip through it easily. The noise of someone clearing their throat fills the dry air as I stand.

"Where have you been?" The old woman asks as I look up to her.

"I was on a walk," I say as I walk to the other side of the room to grab a bowl of rice.

"It's dangerous out there." She says, sounding anxious. "You could die."

"I know," I say letting the smirk fade away from me. "I don't care though."

"That's no way to talk, Holden." She replies as she places her hands on her hips like she's my mother. I roll my eyes at the name Holden. This woman insists on calling me that because she lost her son with that name. To her, I am simply a replacement. Just as I mean nothing to her, she means nothing to me.

"Whatever," I mutter as I find a spot in the dirt to sit.

"For a four-year-old, you sure talk too much." Her words echo in my head. Silence can be a strength but at the same time a weakness.

"Well for an old lady you sure scold too much." I shoot back at her. She tilts her head back and laughs. As the cheerful noise rings through the air I can't help but smile.

"You're going to that school tomorrow." She says her voice suddenly turning serious. We have been over this a bazillion times. She always tells me I'm going to school and I'm always telling her that schools pointless. "There are a few other kids your age, maybe you could make some friends."

"What do I need them for?" I ask as a snort escapes me. Friends, I hate that word.

"For support and guidance. Also to have fun." She says as she brushes some locks of black hair out of my face. Her pale blue eyes match mine almost exactly, to most we probably do look related.

"Fun isn't something I need." I spit back at her. Her face softens and I can see it written all over her, it's pity. I hate pity. "I'm going to bed."

"Ok then." She says gently.

As I close my eyes the sounds of gunshots seem to ring in my head even louder than before. I keep hoping they'll stop so I can rest in peace but I know that's a stupid wish and here stupidity gets you nowhere.

"White birds fly, can you hear them bidding goodbye." The woman sings sweetly as I hear her plop down next to me. "For when the sun rises the air will be new with surprises."

Her voice trails off as her breathing slows down. I wait for her breathes to even out before shifting to my side to face the wall. The air is colder tonight and somehow lonelier. My gaze shifts to the hole I had just slid through moments ago. I watch as rats scurry along the dirt in search of any leftover food that I might've spilled. They won't find any though, I've always been careful about spilling food. We don't get much around here so there's no room to be wasteful. Although sometimes I'll intentionally spill it outside of the house just so they stay out. I don't like hearing their screeching little voices all through the night. They remind me of spirits of the dead screaming for help.

It's annoying.

Title: Distant

Genre: Young adult fiction, Adventure, Action, Drama

Age range: 12-18

Word count: 1,069 (in excerpt)

Author name: Reagan Hancock

Why my project is a good fit: My project is a good fit because it's a captivating read for young adults. It expresses feelings and problems that many of us have or encounter, including personal struggles and struggles with relationships. Also, it's easy to work with because of how it's so flexible and open to change. I recognize that I have plenty of room to grow and with feedback, my book would be a great hit.

The hook: "Most people think being young means you're clueless. What they don't realize is that we're always listening, always watching. To them, we might be mere innocent children but I'm much more than they will ever know."

Synopsis: He is a boy unnamed, abandoned, and broken. From a very young age, he's always been smart, cunning, and strong. Being born to a war zone has only contributed to who he is now. When the only person that's ever cared for him is killed he's forced to move in with a new friend. But once things take a dark turn they're both brought to a "school" run by the notorious terrorist, Dexter Heath. There he is trained to be an assassin and to his advantage, he seems to have a talent for it. This book follows him along with his missions as he progresses through his life trying to figure out who he is and how he's going to break free.

Target Audience: Young Adults, 12-18

Bio: I'm an ongoing student who's in love with writing. Whenever I have free time writing is how I spend it, being able to create my own world to escape to is a blessing. One day I hope to be able to be a professional writer as well as a New York Times Best Seller. So far I've gotten Editors Choice for one of my articles on Teen Ink, but I don't plan on stopping there. Currently, I live in California and enjoy swimming as well as bike rides.

Platform: I don't currently have one

Education: High School Student

Experience: I write on TeenInk and Inkitt fairly regularly. I also got Editor's Choice for an article on TeenInk and I got 3rd place in divisions 7-9 for the Saroyan Writing Contest.

Personality/Writing Style: I'm a very motivated person that always does something once I set my mind to it. Although I do enjoy going after things I'm more of an introvert and prefer to spend a lot of my time alone. I like to express feelings and thoughts through many different words so that it can reach the reader. So I would say my writing style is articulate and declamatory.

Likes/Hobbies: Soccer, Painting, Writing, Running, and Wakeboarding

Hometown: Bakersfield, CA

Age: 14