Notes on The BillboardMaria leans nonchalantly against the back wall inside the washroom, puffing on a cigarette while chatting away with her two best friends, Alejandra and Maya. Alejandra also puffs on a cigarette while Maya pulls a red, felt marker from her purse.Notes on The Billboard by ~DeannaProach
They don't care that the smoke from their cigarettes forms a thin, white cloud around them or that the washroom is inside of El Sid Secondary School, the three-story building that, most days, feels more like a prison than a place to learn and develop intellectually.
Smoking is taboo in almost every public restroom, but it's especially so here. In the past, students have been expelled for doing this very thing, but Maria just doesn't give a damn. She is not going to let a group of prissy, stuffy, know-it-all educators tell her what she can and cannot do.
The things Maria loves most about Alejandra and Maya is that they are just like her: they detest school, but love parties and boys, and they too wear tight jeans, high-heeled boots and extremely
Ice Woman"Damnit, Rachel! I told you to sweep up those cobwebs ten minutes ago. What's the matter with you? Why aren't you listening to me?" Catherine snaps.Ice Woman by ~DeannaProach
I roll my eyes for the fiftieth time today and whisper -- through gritted teeth --"Everything's wrong with you, and nothing's wrong with me. I'm not listening to you because you're really driving me crazy."
Catherine is my boss; I've been taking care of her (minus the toilet stuff) and her house for a little over two years now. She may be seventy-eight, but she's certainly not frail or meek hearted. Catherine is like fire and ice: some days she smothers me with kindness and (cheap and unnecessary) gifts; most days, she's cold and just downright nasty. Why I don't bother looking for another job, I honestly don't know. I guess seventeen dollars an hour, tax free compensates for the shitty treatment I receive on a daily basis.
"Rachel!" Catherine's voice is so loud, it makes me jump.
"What?" I say, glaring at her.
"You're not listening to me
The GriffinThe Griffin by *shadows260
There aren't many things I can say I enjoy in life. Makes sense really, considering I profit from death, but besides that I've never been the 'liking' kind. I'm picky about my food, picky about my friends, and I'm sure as hell picky about my marks.
But I'm never picky about the drink.
"Another," I told the barman, rapping my knuckles against the counter's stained wooden surface to catch his attention. He must have been expecting it, because a moment later a chipped clay tankard frothing at the brim came sliding towards me, stopping precisely in front of my crossed arms.
He was pretty good.
Picking it up I drank my beer slowly, scanning the surrounding room with feigned boredom. It was a habit I'd picked up after years on the road, and it was a damned useful one. He was around six and a half feet tall, judging by how his feet stretched out below the table he shared with two other me