Final Project

Christine Lee
Delusions and a Very Red Apple

1. Once Upon a Time…
“Slave in the Magic Mirror! In darkness I summon thee! Speak! Let me see thy face!” Hitch sighed as he walked down the long white hall, his rubber shoes squeaking on the peach tile of Yellow Brick Insane Asylum. Turning into room 497, Beatrice Queen, once again, managed to wiggle free from her bed straps and was prancing around the room chanting while signaling to the small mirror on the egg-shell, white wall.
Hitch gnawed his bottom lip to suppress a laugh. Instead of interrupting the display, he stood back quietly and watched her carry on with a more serious conversation, staring at her own reflection in the mirror. She muttered a few words about a fair and lovely maid, with her eyebrows furrowed in disbelief.
“Henchman,” she spat at Hitch, realizing she was caught.
Why the fuck does she always call me that, he wondered, chuckling to himself.
Wide eyed, Ms. Queen took a few slow steps away from the wall and then bolted across the room to cover the mirror with a small blue rag. At a full sprint she threw herself into her bed, closed her eyes, and began snoring dramatically.
Hitch walked towards Ms. Queen, gently rolling her limp body over and strapped her in until Belle, another orderly, came to give her an afternoon dose of Antipsychotics. The blue rag for her mirror was acquired through a slight misunderstanding, in which she ripped off a piece of an orderly’s scrubs, resulting in the need to be strapped in whenever Queen was due for her pills.
Hitch’s lumberjack physique in no way matched his tender approach, and many were threatened by him. But for some reason Ms. Queen acted like he was the least of her worries and could take him on, no problems whatsoever. “There we are, Ms. Queen, all nice and snug,” he told her with a sweet smile, securing the final strap.
“Something must be done. Something. Something. Something must be done.” Ms Queen shook her head back and forth, back and forth, glaring into Hitch’s scruffy face.
“About what,” Hitch asked, stroking a few strands of hair away from her forehead.
“Snow White!” Ms. Queen’s face turned burgundy in anger. “Cut out her heart and bring it to me! Obey! Obey me!” She started shaking her head more vigorously, screaming the same words. “Cut out her heart! Bring it to me! Her heart! Obey! Obey me! Obey!”
“BELLE! ROOM 497! NOW!”

2. Skin as white as snow…
In the far west wing of Yellow Brick sat a harmless little group of delusional people, quietly watching the television. All were silently staring accept one.
Snow White’s face was pressed up close to the screen, eagerly chattering away to the doves on a Discovery Channel bird special. “Can you keep a secret?” she asked.
“Promise not to tell?”
In the background, a new staff member nudged Dr. Prince with his meaty arm, nodding in Ms. White’s direction. Dr. Prince lowered his chart, looking over his gold-rimmed glasses just as she bellowed out in song, “I’m wishing for the one I love to find me today!” One of the patients began to cry while another did a tuck and roll under the table. “And I’m hoping and I’m dreaming of the nice things he’ll say!”
Ms. White’s ebony black hair waved around, while she sang out her passionate forte. Dr. Prince handed off his chart to the dumpy orderly and jogged towards her before she upset any more of the patients.
“Come’on, Honey,” he said, helping the dainty Ms. White off of the cold floor. Why does someone this beautiful have to be so far out of wack, he thought as he led her outside for some air.

3. Go! Hide!
“Long day, Hitch?” Hitch was sprawled belly-flop style across the freshly cut grass in the back outdoor area.
“Hmn,” he grunted in response, rolling onto his back.
Dr. Prince let out a laugh. “Here, this’ll make you feel better, she’s all rainbows and bunnies.” He nudged Ms. White forward. “That’s why I don’t work in four-hundreds. Wildly mean and scary, but she’s perfectly harmless. No death threats. Promise.”
Hitch pushed himself up off the ground and dusted off his scrubs. “Hi there,” he smiled at the sweet-faced girl.
Ms. White took a step back, frightened at the giant man, and hid behind the handsome doctor. “Now, now, Honey, don’t be afraid, he’s very nice.” She looked up at Dr. Prince’s face, worried but gave a faint little smile. “There we go, see? She’s alright. This is Hitch, darlin’. Hitch this is Snow White.”
Hitch’s eyes turned the size of grapefruit. Snow White?! You’ve got to be kidding me, he thought. Ms. Queen’s words replayed in his head. ‘Cut out her heart. Bring it to me.’ Impossible, he thought. They’re on opposite ends of the hospital!
“Erm… You okay there, Pal?” Hitch jerked his head back and forth trying to erase his facial expression to a warmer one for the poor, anxious girl standing in front of him.
“Oh! Yeah I’m fine. Here, Ms. White, let’s go for a walk,” Hitch said with a sincerely kind smile, taking her arm and leaving the doctor behind them.
They walked out towards the middle of the lawn where White plopped down and started picking at blades of grass. Hitch sat five feet away to give her some distance, and observed. She was inhaling the sweet air deeply, smiling, looking at clouds. Harmless, he thought.
Half an hour passed. An hour passed. An hour and a half passed. She didn’t budge. The only difference was the one second where she glanced back at him, frowned, and continued to look at the clouds.
Finally, Hitch got up. “Okay, Ms. White, time to go in,” he said reaching towards her to help her up. A mortified look went across her face. “Well, come’on, I’m not gonna hurtcha,” he said bending down a little further. Just then she let out an earsplitting scream, got up as fast as possible and took off running towards the back gate.
“SHIT!” Hitch raced after her trying to catch up. He was a few feet away when she slipped through a small gap at the bottom of the fence where it looked like an animal made a little hole to get to the other side. Hitch climbed up the gate. She was running towards the woods.
“WAIT,” he called after her as he reached the barbed wire at the top. He tried to roll over the wire like in the movies but his right food got tangled. He fell towards the other side face first; foot still twisted. SNAP! An excruciating pain filled his body and he hung there. Upside-down. Helplessly gasping in agony. Watching Snow White run through the forest like a bat out of hell.

4. A-E-I-O-U A-E-I-O-A
Snow ripped through the trees, passing the occasional person taking their walk or animal. Snow swore she heard a caterpillar singing his Vowels to a blond in a very pretty blue dress. The girl then took a bite of a mushroom and grew taller than the trees. Snow kept running not wanting to find out what happened next.
Tripping and stumbling on her own tired feet, Snow came across a small house in the middle of the wood. She bolted to the door to knock, but instead of knocking she tripped over her feet once more, launching herself into the house, and thus into the owners living room.
“Ow,” Snow whimpered pushing herself onto her feet. She looked around the room she had stumbled into. “What a mess,” She proclaimed pushing up her sleeves.
There was so much dust and dirt covering everything. Nothing was in its right place. “Maybe if I clean things up and bake a pie, the people who live here will let me stay!” Snow got to work, talking to herself, making small encouragements to “everyone helping.”
*****
Meanwhile at Yellow Brick Insane Asylum:
Dr. Prince called in a few people to cover shifts so he and a small search party could go find Snow. Belle found Hitch trying to crawl through the south entrance, foot mangled, and now he’s well on his way to the hospital.
Dr. Prince threw his golden glasses onto the desk, looking out his south facing window towards the woods. Just then, Belle ran in.
“Dr. Prince!” Belle squealed.
“What is it,” he inquired, barely moving his head to acknowledge her being there.
“Well, it’s Beatrice Queen, Doc. She’s missing.”

5. Hi-Ho! Hi-Ho!
TAP! TAP! TAP! Snow looked over the apple pie she was making, out of the window, to see an elderly lady on the other side of the glass. Smiling. Waving. Creepy.
Snow edged closer to the window, wondering what the lady wanted with her, here in the middle of the woods. Pushing the window gently outwards with one finger, she made a small crack, just enough to exchange words with the stranger.
“W-w-what is it that you w-want,” Snow stammered in as clear a voice she could muster.
“Hello, Child. I’ve been wandering these woods for hours and was simply hoping I could stop here and rest a short while.” The elderly lady gave her a pleading look and then held up the reddest apple Snow had ever seen. “I’ll give you my one and only apple, dearest,” she said to Snow, smiling crookedly.
Eager to get her hands on the apple, Snow rushed to the door and began unbolting it. Little did she know, on the other side of the door, the evil Beatrice Queen was casting a lethal spell, so when Snow would sink her teeth into the delicious fruit, she would die instantly, only to be brought back by true love’s kiss.

6. Take a Bite
Snow held the apple in her petite hands, debating on eating it now, or cutting it up into pieces to share with the boys for when they returned. “Go ahead,” Queen urged. “Take a bite.” They were standing in the kitchen, Queen having just filled out her part in the bargain.
Unable to hold it any longer, Snow closed her eyes and took a bite. “This is the yummiest apple I’ve ever had,” Snow squealed in approval.
Confused, Queen egged on a second bite. “Really? Take another bite,” Queen said, taking a small step forward, wondering when her spell was going to start kicking in. I guess this means she’s not a lightweight, Queen thought, burning a hole into Snow White’s face, waiting for some sign of her fading away. Snow bit again. Nothing.
Snow continued to chew her bites, eyes closed in bliss, while Queen got fed up and grabbed a pan from the pot rack hanging over the stove, slamming it into the left side of Snow’s head.

7. True Love’s... Resuscitation
Queen dragged Snow’s limp body through the forest to the river for simple disposal. Giving the body a good hefty push, Snow lightly splashed in giving Queen the utterly satisfied feeling she was looking for.
Dr. Prince came out of nowhere with the orderly named Lisa. “Grab Queen,” he yelled to Lisa, jumping into the ice cold river after Snow. He splashed after her, and once his arms were wrapped around her torso, he fought against the water, struggling to bring her to safety.
Dr. Prince managed to bring her up onto the riverbank, after struggling with her lifeless body. He glanced up just in time to see Lisa slam Queen into the pebbles after Queen failed a violent left hook.
He began performing CPR, working on her and working on her. I’m too late, he panicked, putting his mouth against hers to blow air into her lungs. He felt her arms wrap around his neck, her tongue beginning to caress his. Dr. Prince’s stomach felt warm with passion when he realized what was going on.
“Agh! Wait! No!” He pulled Snow’s arm’s away from him, sitting up to look into her bloodshot eyes.
“True loves kiss,” she squeaked, jumping after him for a second go.
“No, no, no, Ms. White,” he responded grabbing her arms to prevent them from locking around him again. “Time to go home.”
And they “sort of” lived happily ever after.

Jack Character Description and Relationship to Jill

Christine Lee
Jack
I’m not an ass hole. Jill just makes me that way. We’ve been together for what seems to be a decade, but I really couldn’t even guesstimate. Jill, on the other hand, would have it down to the second. No doubt to keep track of how long she’s been stuck in this relation-shit.
I don’t want to classify Jill as one of those wives who nags the majority time, it would be cliché. But, Dude, she fucking nags me all thee time. Whether it be her commenting on how much I snore or just giving me the nastiest look imaginable followed by “maybe we should look into laser hair removal.” There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t do something incredibly wrong, say something incredibly wrong, or have an appearance classified as incredibly wrong…
What’s the matter with the way I look? My brown hair’s too long? My eye color’s green, which to normal people is unique, but to Jill? Nope. It’s the same shade as baby crap in a leaky diaper. I’m not too tall, but ten bucks says tomorrow I will be.
I try so hard. I take her out to dinner, but she manages to find a way to complain about the food. I cook her dinner, and her criticism on the food is worse than the restaurant. I buy her roses; she tells me (eye roll) “They’re nice, baby… Not like anyone can spend money. Creative.” After that I drove through a nice neighborhood, looking for a house with a good garden, snuck up the walk and went to town, picking their nicest flowers. I tripped on a giant rock, hit my head on the wind chimes hanging off a small tree, and hid until the friendly Doberman stopped barking. When I limped through the door, palm pressed to a forming bump on my noggin, I handed Jill the flowers and she said, “Ew get those out of here! You know I have allergies!” Um, seriously?
Sex life sucks, too. I’m not allowed to do anything but lay there and let Jill use me. Can’t touch anything, can’t move around to make it fun, and moaning to show any kind of approval is entirely out of the question.
I’m a damn good catch. I’m considerate, loving, and a pretty good lookin’ guy. So why stay with her? Well because I’ve been with Jill for so long, I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to be more alone than I am now.

"Writing About Place"

“Christi! Hey, Christi! Wait up!”
Go away… Go away… Go away, I thought, legs gliding in a quickened pace.
“CHRISTI!!”
Giving up on the chase, I turned around. “Oh… Hey James, I didn’t hear you…” James ran over to give me yet another hug. Why does he insist on molesting me every time I get to work? Its not even a hug, he’s just looking for a good chance to feel me up before I clock in.
I have mixed feelings about Target. I walk through the door and smile or wave at my co-workers, get sexually harassed by James, etc. The minute those automatic doors open after jumping around in front of the sensor (beginning to question whether or not our “maintenance guy” is really a “maintenance guy” bearing in mind nothing’s ever running up to speed..) you get the smell of coffee, popcorn, and photo lab chemicals thrown at you like a cinderblock to the face.
Blenders vrooming in Starbucks, pots and pans crashing into the sink in Food Ave, kids crying because they didn’t get the color iPod they wanted, the remainder of people shouting over the noise. After two years of that, you learn to love it.
“Hey, Booger Honey,” I heard once I reached my little Starbucks counter. The area’s small but cozy to work in. All you have to do is take one step left to get to the pastries, a small shimmy right to reach the espresso machine.
“Hi, Jayme,” I replied in my fake-enthusiastic/ way-too-happy-to-be-real voice. She wouldn’t know the difference; I’ve been doing it from the beginning. Jayme’s the boss lady. She’s a teeny-tiny Hawaiian/Hispanic lady, late twenties, who likes to tell everyone she’s ghetto fabulous. Her long, moussed, curly black hair is always fluffed into a high ponytail, and eyebrows drawn-on in a perfect arch. Her gold bangles jingle while she steams milk and pulls espresso shots.
I tied my (used to be) green apron around me, glaring down at the chocolate and whipped cream splotches. Some think it’s kinky. I think washing it the previous night should have been on the to-do list. Heading to the sink to wash my hands, Jayme eagerly described the attractive “Street Pharmacist” she met at a bar. Seven hours and fifty minutes to go.

I responded to...

Karina's "letter to my friends" post at http://pr3ttym3.blogspot.com/
I didn't feel so alone in that I'm really only taking this class for fun. I need the writing credit and I'm tired of my teachers telling me I use too much voice... =/ woops.
Anyhow, I loved how honest she was. Its that whole, "I love reading when I have the time to get around to it... not really my FIRST choice though."

Letter To My... Friends.....

Dear Reader(s):
Who here really cares about what’s happened to me, or where I’m going in life. I’m (1) a complete stranger, (2) the girl with a name the entire class has established is bubbly due to the “I” at the end, (3) have horrendous/publicly humiliating anxiety attacks when I’m put on the spot, and (4) someone none of you are going to talk to once this semester is over. So why even ask? Everyone likes to say they aren’t like anyone you’ve ever met because they have “this” and “that” and talk to “them” and wear “this” kind of deodorant. I’m not going to do that to you. I refuse to put you through that consecutive routine, it bores the hell out of both of us. So I’ll be honest.
From the beginning: I was born in a barn. We’ve been over this. We’ve giggled about this ironic fact. Moving on, my parents split when I was three, and we moved to Tucson for Mom to finish school. I jumped from daycare and elementary school to elementary school for being the scary five year-old who got in fights with groups of six or seven boys at a time, mortified my teachers with a vocabulary of a middle-aged sailor, and felt the only people I could trust were the characters in the books I had my nose jammed in. Fake friends were fun.
Skipping to 8th grade, my best friend died. Debbie Downer of me to bring up, sorry, but that was the ultimate downfall of my attitude towards life as a whole. Wasn’t a huge sharer after that, which didn’t help much in relationships afterwards. Okay lets stop there for a moment. What’s with guys..? Am I the only one getting the girly-men here? Or is everyone else dating the sharers and cuddlers? Because I thought guys were supposed to be all cavemen-like, and I’d much prefer that over Mr. Sensitive. I feel like I’m losing the whole feminine situation after repeated arguments about my “failure to communicate.” Get over it, please, I beg of thee.
I don’t share my feelings. I write my feelings. And I write them in a way I can nonchalantly share them. Not as a journal entry or random status update online. I usually write them as a “Ha ha wouldn’t it be funny if Lucy-May didn’t have any money then got fired because our economy’s complete shit.” It’s easier that way, and I don’t have to feel all vulnerable and start crying like a complete Nancy. Yay for having the emotions of a shoe.
I love writing. It’s fun and I always seem to find out something new about myself and my personality. Writing, to me, is like a dream. You throw together all these funny, lustful, or despairing things and find out you’re (a) in a good mood, (b) really need to get some, or (c) need to watch a sad movie as a cheer up. I say sad movie because nothings more satisfying than watching someone else’s pain. Leaves you to think “Hmm, could be worse, someone could shoot my dog, or I could fall down an elevator shaft.”
The only issue with my writing is I never know how to simply wrap it up. The conclusion is my least favorite part because I never know how to end the story for my characters. Should they be happy and live in their fairy castle or should I just throw a big, angry Great White Shark in the mix to eat them. Both are equally fun for me.
To conclude I’ll tell a tad bit more about myself. I’m in school, and after that I want to be a fuzz. Until then, I work at Starbucks. Its good for me, they make you pretend to be happy. And I’m concluding this right now with this sentence because I’m bad at concluding things.

Have an Outstanding day!
Christi Lee
P.S. My nickname’s Christi but I’d prefer it if you’d all call me Christine. Thanks again for throwing me and Connie under the same bus. ;)

List for Living

1. Fancy
2. Tremendous
3. Frivolous
4. Orange
5. Poppy
6. Ridiculous
7. Quirky
8. Latte
9. Underpants
10. Converse
11. Squishy
12. Aardvark
13. Snorkel
14. Adolescent
15. Chewy
16. Zesty
17. Boondock
18. Lune “Moon in French”
19. FlipFlop
20. Deck

What is this, Stepford Wives?

Affirmative, I'm one of a kind. And my best friends will be the first to tell you that. I'm highly opinionated, and love to hear other people's ideas and beliefs. Feel free to question my goals and where I stand with religion, politics, education, ect. However. Slam my well rounded ideas, and you'll have started a fight you will not win.
I'm not the type to take in what people say and then attempt to force my brain into theirs. Independent thought is probably one of the most amazing qualities an individual can have. Being brainwashed by family members or the media is ridiculous. You need to base your opinions on RESEARCH. Never what someone tells you you need to believe. You are your own person. Hold your thoughts and opinions close with YOUR knowledge, and ALWAYS stand your ground to the other robots who sit there repeating what mommy/daddy, church, or the "Big Red Book" have told them is "truth" and "fact". Don't be persuaded by ignorance. Intellectual people are incredible to learn from, especially when it comes to their specific point of view.
Open yourself up to new ideas. Don't shell yourself in with the typical numb-skulls. Throw yourself out there! Educate yourself! Be your own person! And don't you EVER try to seduce my thought process into a completely different arena unless you have something to back up your theory. And holy shit, you'd be good to say it loud with all the confidence you have in the world (the second part only because I tend to eat people alive when I sense doubt in their "own" beliefs hahaha). This is the real world, guys. We have ONE chance to do this. Lets do it as independent individuals. Don't be another "Barbie" or stinky little one sided prat. I have faith in you. DO IT!