The Same Old Crowd

          "Does this ever get any easier?" Bronwyn Edith Turner asked of the shrubbery planted next to the dimly lit back porch in frustration. "Or am I doomed to be stuck here forever repeating the same damn childish games with the same old crowd?" Another question born of her irked ways for the unresponsive bushes as she used the ivory railing that wrapped around the porch as support for her spinning world.
          Nearby Marcus Gerald Durrel stood quietly to the left side of the open sliding door as a mixture of loud conversations and louder still music drifted out. For now he was content to play the part of the silent observer, having learned the hard way to not speak up during one of Bronwyn's monologues months ago. That first dared interjection had left him with a bruised eye and a spot on Bronwyn's black list for a couple of weeks. From then on it had been decided his dear was not one to share her feelings with an actual person. A trait that he found strange in comparison to his other female companions. Unfortunately for his vow of silence Bronwyn's outbursts and descents into somewhere dark were beginning to become more regular, leaving Marcus stuck on high alert in his mute location.
          "I've heard another drink or two or three helps kill the nerves and makes the same old crowd bearable," said a voice that neither Bronwyn or Marcus could place as someone stepped on to the porch from the illuminated world of the kitchen. The new comer's lips were curved upwards into a smile that Marcus would swear was a permanent fixture on their face due to the level of ease at which it rested there. "At least that's what I've always been told," the stranger added as he extended his right hand to hold out an unopened bottle of Blue Moon for Bronwyn.
          Startled failed to even begin to cover Bronwyn's level of surprise over the surprise over the unrecognized voice. At this point most people knew to let her stumble away from the crowd in peace to wrestle with her inner demons. Even strangers crowded around for a good time had managed to pick up on that unspoken rule. The exception to her no one allowed nearby policy being Marcus the speechless, but he had earned his keep after he survived one of her particularly bad nights and a stint on her bad least. "Who asked you?" Bronwyn spat out eventually as she turned for a moment to snatch up the offered beer.
          At these challenge filled words Marcus tensed up, rocking forward on the balls of his feet to be ready for action. Bronwyn was unlikely to require his assistance, but he was less certain of the unknown's safety. What his comrade lacked in height advantage she more than made up for with a combination of speed and various methods of self defense. A fact he knew to have the tendency to shock some drunkards that made passes at Bronwyn on nights they went out to the city to avoid the same old college crew. Really though most people shared that very same tendency to underestimate Bronwyn.
          "You did. Unless you were expecting the plant life to rise and talk," the newcomer replied, oblivious to the growing tension in the air. As he spoke he took another step out on to the porch, leaving the light that shadowed most of his features. The step and way he talked of the plant life made it clear to Marcus that he had not been noticed yes.
          "Maybe I wasn't looking for an answer." Bronwyn pointed out, doing her best to enunciate each word while keeping a leveled tone. An act that she failed to find easy due to a mixture of intoxication and a growing level of discomfort. Despite this unease or possibly even because of it she finally turned around to face down her foe. Her eyebrows raised for a moment in stunned recognition before she managed to regain her composure.
          "What's the point in asking questions then?" The fellow pressed on, taking a mental note of that swift moment of recollection. Later on he would take longer to sort out his feelings on her remembrance and quick dismissal. He had failed to realize who he had followed on to the porch himself up until he heard questions that he had heard the same girl ask years ago, so really he couldn't find fault in receiving the same treatment.

Eye of the Storm

          The fading light of what had been a sun filled day filtered its way in Sylvia Eliana Belotti's bedroom, barely illuminating anything in it. Luckily that was exactly the way that the twenty five year old preferred it. A preference that she had set down the day that she agreed to look for a place to live with her best friend a couple of years ago. At first it was simply due to her being biased towards the night life, but had since evolved to include making her hectic schedule more tolerable. The added bonus being that her room ended up being the one with the highest noise reduction.
          Today none of that mattered though. Her normally rambunctious best friend had gone home for the holidays, leaving their small house unsettling in its silence. This was a holiday trip that coincided with Sylvia's first vacation in years. Between two full time jobs, volunteer work, and a meager social life the poor girl never let herself take a real day off. Long days that were a constant source of worry for her close friends and family. Worry that she shrugged off with the well known phrase "I'll sleep when I'm dead."
          Fortunately such worries were being put to rest this winter. At least until her vacation ended in a month and her regular life resumed; a concern for the new year. This was time she had hoped to use to catch up on various projects and books, but had since turned into time spent in unexpected territory with one of her male friends. Territory that she didn't entirely mind, just had never entertained the idea of it given where they tended to be in life on the occasions that the could hang out. Him with his long term girlfriend and her with her on and off again flings weren't exactly a matching pair. Yet her second day off had begun with him showing up on her porch at the awful hour of five am looking for a place to stay. Now, a week later, her life seemed very different. 
          "You're a lot like me," Sylvia began to say in a whisper as the two of them continued to lay in bed. Each word coming out slowly as she carefully chose them. Her dark brown eyes were locked on Trenton's face, taking in every detail in the dim light. "Our world is a storm front waiting for the perfect moment to erupt into torrential chaos," she added in way of explanation, these words coming out quicker as the ideas bounced around her head.
          "We're sitting in the eye of what promises to be an intense storm and no one else can see what's coming," Trenton interjected, finishing of Sylvia's thoughts. His light brown eyes flashing a hint of a spark of life for the first time since he had begun to stay with Sylvia.
          Sylvia, in her excitement, clenched on to her Toy Story themed bed spread. Pale hands holding herself back from bouncing up and down on her bed in triumph. Enthusiasm she feared might scare her friend despite her wholehearted belief that it was warranted. "Early warning signs that don't work."

Time Doesn't Heal All Wounds

          Sampson Abraham McDaniel was often considered to be the golden boy among his peers. Between an unbreakable optimistic view of the world, perfect grades throughout his college career, what most of his school mates would call a dream job, and a social life most people his age would kill for he certainly fit the bill. To those that never knew him beyond his carefully crafted barriers this portrayed perfection rarely faltered for more than a handful of moments, if at all. However, around his trusted friends his flawless image was, unfortunately, beginning to crumble, to break apart and fade away. A situation his friends were unsure of how to handle due to Sampson's refusal to disclose what was bothering him because he wasn't sure if they would understand.
          At work he could handle everything by keeping himself distracted, but alone at night thoughts of his past would break through. Thoughts that ran continuously through his mind one night that made it difficult for him to finish a trivial report for his family's business, his business. Furrowing his brows in frustration Sampson continued to mindlessly click through various browser tabs and programs as his deep blue eyes barely registered the information on his laptop screen. That was until a familiar name flashed at the bottom of the screen, an event he didn't believe was real. Still, it couldn't hurt to look into it farther he convinced himself after several seconds of hesitation. Sure enough, there she was sitting online, Ruby Olivia Owens; the ghost of his past responsible for his present distracted state. Not that he knew what to do next.
          Just like that her name dimmed out, leaving Sampson alone once more with his memories of her. They were a messy affair now that a couple of years had gone by since their final goodbye. Some days he wasn't even sure if he had imagined most of their time together or not. In fact, he was already beginning to believe his eyes were in cahoots with his mind and playing tricks on him. Then it happened again, the little flash at the bottom of his screen that declared her online status. This time there would be no hesitation from him.
          Swiftly he flicked his wrist to move the mouse on to her name, clicking the tiny green phone icon next to her name. "I miss you," he blurted out the instant he heard the tiny click that signified that she had chosen to pick up his call. The words coming out louder than he had intended, which would be a concern for later if his house mate bothered to bring it up at all.
          "You miss everyone," Ruby countered without a second thought, her coral painted lips curving downwards into a small frown as she spoke. She knew the words in part spoke of a falsehood, used to keep her emotions at bay tonight. His presence online was not one that she had taken into consideration when she had decided to wander online for the first time in months.
          Bullshit and you know it, Sampson thought, a familiar surge of annoyance hitting him as he bit down on his bottom lip. He couldn't rightfully blame her for her harsh words though. Between the time that had passed and the frequency at which he used to have to say those words he was far from an ideal candidate for being believable. That was one of the joys of being raised in a family of high society hell bent on looking perfect; whether you believed it or not you had to say it to keep up appearances. Coupled with Sampson's desire to be the shining example of perfection for his parents he always felt compelled to say those cursed words. "Not the way that I miss you," he whispered into his microphone, allowing a few silent moments to pass to let it sink in before forging onward. "It's everything about you. From the way you smell to that sleepy look of accusation you used to give me when you would wake up and blame me for it to  the quiet way that you used to tell me that you loved me. A part of me is missing with you gone. I want you back and I don't want to lose you... Not again, my heart couldn't take it." There, he laid down a good chunk of his heart on the line to be crushed completely or nurtured back to where it once was. From here on out there would be no turning back.
          Ruby's frown deepened with each whispered word, her heart racing and aching for him much like it used to. Those thoughts belonged to a different time, a different her she reminded herself firmly. Sampson had made the move to disengage, to follow the path that his parents had laid out for him, not her. This heartache belonged to her, never him; she had convinced herself of that moments after their end as she worked to get over him. "Your heart can't take it? What about mine? You let me Sammy Bear, not the other way around. Don't tell me about taking it." She began, each word coated with the anger she had repressed all of those years ago. "If it was true you would have found me before this," she continued on, fighting back tears as she spoke. Her mind wandering back to the memories of a boy that would have done anything in his power for her; what a sham that had turned out to be.
          Ruby's words cut him deep due to the level of truth that resonated with each one. At least that was the case with the part of the story that Sampson knew Ruby had heard. The publicized version he had given her was full of family holes and failed to properly portray the degree of which he had fought against it, protested every part of it. Yet despite all of that there was a glimmer of hope when she had said Sammy Bear. "What can I do to prove to you that I mean every single word of it Ruby Gloom?"
          "Tell me the truth. Not that bullshit your family gave you to memorize. That's the part that stung the most. Standing there listening to you lie and hold shit back from like I didn't know you, didn't know all of your stupid little quirks." Ruby began, digging right into matters. Tears now freely rolled their merry way down her flushed cheeks, making her glad that he couldn't see her. Flashing back for a moment to the first night that she had allowed him to see her cry and how he had softly wiped her tears away before holding her tight long into the morning. "Five years together and at graduation time it came down to mother dearest's wishes or me and it was her all the way with the story being something about fulfilling a dying man's wish to truly learn the family business and something about an arranged marriage ordered to bridge some social gap. Who the fuck does that anymore?" These were words she had said before, at least as far as the content was concerned. She had failed to receive any answers then and sincerely doubted that she would be granted any now.
          Sampson sighed, biting at his already bottom lip more. "Marital obligations are a real thing, especially to my family. Something about strengthening the family tree and expanding their territory. That wasn't sprung on me until months after I had to lose you, but I suspect it was always a part of my grandfather's plan," he started in way of explanation. The words coming out in a rush as he lacked any true idea where he was headed, any idea as to how to say any of it properly. "Grandfather McDaniel was dying, is dead. His wishes lacked specifics about learning the family business. It was more of an ultimatum at the time. Either be cast from the family and any chance of work in my chosen field or leave what he declared to be a hopeless love, doomed to failure if I couldn't provide for you a life of luxury. That was his way of saying you were only into me for my wealth I guess." He added, feeling as if it was a futile explanation of the ways his family chose to operate.
          Ruby allowed the words to wash over her as she tried to piece things together one question at a time. "Did you think I was into you for your money?" She inquired, her voice husky due to choking back tears. Her right hand clenched into a fist to work out some of her tension, to level out her voice.
          Unknowingly Sampson mimicked Ruby's hand tactic as he churned thoughts over. "No, never. You were always out to prove that you didn't need me financially."
          "Then why the fuck did you do it?" She yelled out in question, pulling her fruity pajama covered legs protectively to her chest for comfort.
          Silence followed that outburst as Sampson sunk into his office chair, replaying that last month over and over again like a bad movie in his head. "Family... I know that sounds bad, but that's how it works. I thought I could please him and when he was gone I could come back for you. That's the deal I worked out with my parents." He finally stated, his voice muffled as he rested his face in the palm of his hands.
          "You didn't find me though. You could have told me what was going on and you didn't." Ruby whispered, chewing nervously on her bottom lip. Squeezing on to her legs tighter while she picked at the cotton fabric.
          "That was part of the deal with my mother. The less you knew the less likely you were to interfere, so she figured. After his funeral I did try to find you. Your number was disconnected, your parents wouldn't pick up on me, your best friend hated my guts and rightfully so. Still I looked... I went to old hangouts, drove around your home town, but there was nothing... You were suddenly a ghost." Sampson said with conviction, his baritone voice ringing clear with the truth. Starting the week after his grandfather's death he began his search for her, for his true love. While in Ruby's home state he had scoured every location she had every mentioned, had stopped in to pay her parents, who had once adored him, a house call. There was nothing left of her, even her parents had seemed unsure of where exactly she had gone.
          A ghost was an appropriate term for what Ruby had become. The move to being difficult to find had not been intentional, more her way of continuing on with her life plans that had already been mapped out. Fresh out of college, out of playing double duty with employment she had gone out to travel around for a while. Regardless of where she was going traveling was a small passion of hers. At some point she had found a state she adored and moved there without much thought, not even one or two about personally keeping her parents in the loop about her life.
          "They never told me," Ruby finally whispered, attempting to remember how far gone she would have been that first year. Far enough away to be a hard to reach call away from her parents, but close enough to keep in contact with her best friend. "Linette always did hate you more for that than I ever could," she mumbled more to herself than for Sampson's benefit.
          "I don't think Linette approved of me long before that," Sampson contended, unsure of what else to say at that moment.
          Ruby smiled for a split second, unable to argue with that statement. Where she was free spirited and normally quick to love the world her best friend was the opposite. Contrast that worked like a charm for the two of them. Linette would encourage Ruby to stay aware and connect with the real world around her while Ruby aided in the breaking down of Linette's tough outer shell. "When Linette and I moved in together you forgot I was allergic to strawberries and brought over chocolate covered ones as an apartment warming gift. That's when she started to like you as much even though she ate every last one for my safety, so she says."

The Disconnected Call

          "I keep thinking this will get easier," Evelyn murmured into her cellphone. Voice kept low to keep from disrupting the sleep of the people she lived with at the late hour of three am. "But then some part of him resurfaces in my life. Hanging around to keep me haunted for the rest of my life."
          "Ghosts don't go away because you want them to Sweet Pea," explained the masculine voice on the other end. "Not when you wander the world of the living so close to where they lurk." He continued on, placing hope that his words would come off as soothing even if they didn't quite come out that way.
          Evelyn sighed, exasperated with the whole situation, but feeling trapped with it indefinitely. A moment of silence followed afterwards instead of a single word of argument that she was sure her friend was expecting. Had this been any other time it would have happened, instead she was done with it. Not wanting to spend any extra time on a call that created more guilt to float around in her head. Except it was these very same calls, same little conversations that she felt guilty about that got her shakily through the day. "Where am I supposed to escape from him, from this?"
          A loaded question to add to their growing tension was how Bartholomew viewed it. He knew what he wanted to say about it, but unfortunately he had a sinking feeling that Evelyn wouldn't be on board with the idea. Regardless, the words churned over and over again in his head while neither of them spoke. "Move in with me," he finally said, straining to keep himself calm, collected.
          You're one of the ghosts I'm haunted by, Evelyn stopped herself from saying, rolling her rose tinted bottom lip between her teeth to halt the words in their wicked tracks. She had thought of the possibility before when their courtship first heated up before other parts of her life had begun to spiral out of control. "You know I can't," she managed to say, her voice trembling as she spoke.
          Bartholomew had expected this sort of response, but that didn't stop it from bothering him. It was one thing to expect it and then a whole different thing to hear the words aloud. Hearing it crushed even the smallest hints of hope. Despite this he forged ahead, steeling himself for the next part, the worst of it. "No, I don't... Not anymore... Why can't you do it now?"
          "It's not fair to his memory," Evelyn began, tensing up even more. It was as if mentioning this last tie into her ghost made the whole ordeal real.
          "I can't keep doing this... Especially when eventually you need to move on. I want to be who you move on with, but I can't keep waiting on the side lines like this for a day that might not come." There, he finally managed to say part of what he felt, now if only he had dared to say it earlier. Maybe then it would feel less like a death sentence to their lust turned love turned, well, he wasn't sure what anymore.
          Evelyn knew this to be true. One day she would have to brave the sun again and resume life as she knew it. This knowledge did little to aid her in the moment, especially when it was thrust into her face. "Then leave, get out of my life. You don't know what it's like, how much it hurts... How much I blame myself..." The last line a whisper followed by the sound of choked back tears.
          Bartholomew sighed, unsure of what else to say. He didn't believe that Evelyn should blame herself for a freak occurrence, but his opinion on the matter was moot. It had failed to ease Evelyn's pain the day of the accident and during the subsequent days, what use would it be now? "Then I guess this is goodbye. My heart can't keep being a rock for someone that's not ready to be one back... I'll always love you..." Bartholomew hung up then, unable to bring himself to hear her response, her defense. It had been difficult enough to speak the words aloud without immediately breaking down. With the call now over he slumped back into his recliner as he let loose his hold on his phone without a second thought. He couldn't even bother to glance over as it hut on to his laminate hardwood flooring.
          Meanwhile, Evelyn was left speechless as the call was disconnected. There had always been some unspoken belief of mutual love, but hearing the actual declaration was heart wrenching. This sudden vocalized announcement left her wondering if perhaps she had dismissed his suggestion too readily, too easily. Racing thoughts that pressed at the idea to call him back, attempt to salvage this. She didn't though, somewhere in the back of her head was a voice whispering it would be a poor idea that would only end in more tears, more heartbreak. 

Fictitious Lives Are For Others

          It's late, that's how this always starts out. The digital dial confirms what the lack of sun and the feelings I have already believed had to say. Normal people that dare to function in the hours where the sun is cherished and the world moves onward don't tend to dwell at this time. This is my time, how wonderful, so positively wonderful. Except come tomorrow I will once again regret greeting the night time creatures, but I'll spin it out like this is okay, this is what I wanted.
           The concept of tomorrow is a distant idea, it'll never really come around. Today is yesterday, tomorrow, the present. Tomorrow though, it'll all be different, I won't feel this awkward in my skin again. Soap will wash away the remnants of my haunted mind drawn out on pale skin. Eventually it will be a part of the past, of those things that aren't meant for pillow talk. That aren't meant to be shared with people in case they get you confused with being typical.
           I am typical, I am reliable. I will always be late. I will always hate you from a distance. I will always feel as if I have something to prove, but I will never get around to trying to prove it. See, consistency. Simple, pure, constant. When three am rears its hideous head I will greet it with frustration, with the wish of something different. Maybe it's about time I coated my night with over the counter pills that whisper words of sleep, of dreams no longer harrowed by everything.
          This is how I live on a regular basis, I just normally avoid typing out the angst. Unfortunately it is late and the canvas known as my legs looks like a war zone. Colours are everywhere, they've marked everything. The stench of well loved Sharpies are coating the air around me. Who doesn't love late nights like these. Alone, devastated, and coming to realize that your desire to converse with folks is mostly a bad lie. I don't really want your friendship, I just want to stare at you like maybe we could have been friends in a different life. All of the cool people do that, right?
          Every now and again I have to double check myself on a word when in a state such as this. Is that how it is spelled? Is the definition the same one that I was thinking of? What a turbulent mind set of double guessing, triple guessing. All of these phrases and mixed up signals are meant to be stirred together. To mash up into something dramatic, something unrealistic, and something misunderstood. Easy words, tiresome words. Where is a definition and a thesaurus for easy reading? A click away, a dream away.
          When the day resets and I awaken again this will all seem like an abomination created by someone else. I will keep it around though to devour again later, to dissect. At what point during this time did I think this made sense? Did it ever make sense? Probably not, but the chance that it did chills my bones in ways I would rather it didn't. Oh well, what is a manic girl to do?
          Panic. Fret. Worry. Stress out. All of things for all of the hours. How many tiles will be on my ceiling tonight before I try to calm my nerves again? One. Two. Four. There's already too many and I have barely begun. I will not continue on like this... Even if you were the only thing that made sense. Oh those words. Wretched words. Abhorrent lyrics. They are my favorite, my chosen ones though. On everything, all over the place, scribbled into my fading memory.
          I drink to forget these moments of sheer terror, sheer adrenaline... These moments where I know I am, for no particular reason, straining to keep my act together. Then collapsing into a heap of crumbled up paper. Of burnt edges and wanton memories. Don't ask, it's all wrong anyway.    

Quietly In The Night

          "You used to care more," I whispered into the dead of the night. Quiet words with a punch carried over the air waves to someone that I used to know. My phone free hand tucked against my side for warmth as the arm it was connected to was crossed protectively over my chest. A stance the receiver of my distant call would have described at defensive if miles didn't separate us. "What changed between us?" A question to haunt the graveyard known as the world surrounding me.
           The muffled sound of breathing the only sound of life from her end at first. Followed slowly by the tap of on her manicured nails against the screen of her phone. A noise so familiar that let me know that this conversation was now private as it should have been from the beginning. A trait of hers I had grown accustomed to, but never fond of. Dragged back to a night many moons ago when I first asked her about it. Her voice calming me as she explained that she preferred to not keep secrets from the world; nothing but hollow lies these days.
          "Becky, you know I said it wasn't meant to last," the words like ice as they pulled me back to the present. Each one as solid and deliberate as she always was. "Nothing changed, you're blowing it out of proportion like you always do," she said with the same pointed tone as a crackle here and there broke up the monotony coming from her end of the phone line. Small sounds that hinted at her getting out of bed, moving away from whomever she had been with.
          I braced my self as bet I could as each frigid word washed over me. A chill worse than the one caused by standing outside taking over my body anyway. "That was a long time ago Eloise," the words coming out in a rush as I scrambled to recall the day we me, the day she said those very words to me. Letting myself drift away into those distant memories for a few too many moments.
          It had been years ago now when fate threw us together for the first time. At the time we were both lost, fresh faced freshmen in a new environment vastly different from the one we were used to, that I was used to. Pretending to blend in with the crowd around us as we casually mingled with a large array of our peers. Hollow conversations lingering heavily in the haze filled rooms, on the dimly lit porch. Vaguely I recall being lucky enough to find an empty seat squeezed between her and a fellow who looked as awkward as I felt. Neither him nor I belonged, it was obvious in the way we both clung to the requisite red plastic cups like life lines to a better world. 
          Somehow she ended up falling backwards on to my lap with a high pitched giggle. Her full cup hitting against my equally full cup causing the questionable content of each to spill over the edges, raining down upon us. The silence between us seemed endless at first, but then we were laughing as our bodies meshed together. A kiss here, a squeeze there; intensity at its finest. Movements child like in their exploration an obvious declaration of our lack of an idea as to what we were doing. We both merely knew that it felt right and that was all that mattered.
          It was early the next morning when she told me those words that came to seal our fate down the road. Each one barely making it passed her chapping lips as she whispered huskily in the dark. We untangled ourselves from one another, from those collapsed around us carefully after that. Two daring mice making a peep in the wake of dawn. Not once during our escape from aftermath did I question her. How was I to know that she still clung to that conviction as our worlds collided so effortlessly?
          "Time doesn't kill a feeling, it was never meant to be," death to something beautiful done with poetic words; a scene right up her frigid alley. Faintly in the background the hint of a door clicking open a tad and then sliding fully open to the dead of the night. Chattering teeth confirming the door opening while signaling what I already knew to be true. She had embrace the outside world in the form she said felt the most natural, most comfortable. Pale skin prickling over with goosebumps as she tempted the moon with her beauty, her nudity. How many times had I watched this ritual of hers from my bed, still lost and tangled in the bliss she could bring me? Too many times to count these days; troublesome memories that brought with them a long forgotten rosy tint to my olive cheeks.
          "Love doesn't disappear in a flash," quiet words straining their way pass my lips as I fought off defeat. This battle similar to ones in our past, wrecking havoc on my broken will time after time. Defeat would come eventually though at the pace we were going. The gut feeling wrenching through my entirety even as I dared to defy it, dared to deny it completely.
          "Who said it was love?" A question I should have seen coming. Unrequited love is a force to be reckoned with. I never should have blinded myself to those moments together when I spoke of love and she never reciprocated the words, the free falling feeling. "You were only a good time, a free ride," years of being joined at the hip summarized into an ugly, wilted thing. Beauty between us was truly gone, transformed into an unrecognizable horror.
          "This is goodbye then," my final words coming out with not hint of a shake; imaginary courage and confidence taking control. A finger tap of my own and the call was over with, the realization of salty tears on my face piggy back riding in on the end of it. Yet through that flash of regain awareness came a strange aura of peace. I knew now that in time she would fade away into the background of my life, my mind. There would be no such luck for her though. Forever a part of me would be stuck to her; a ghost for life in her shattering world.  

Kimberly Isabella Peterson

General Information

Full Name: Kimberly Isabella Peterson

Nicknames: Kim, Kimmy

Age: Story dependent

Birthday: August 16th

Sex: Female

Physical Appearance

Eye Color: Emerald green with some brown/gold specks

Hair Color: Dark brown with lighter brown highlights

Hair Length: Shoulder blade length

Hairstyle: Up in either just a messy bun or two pig tails. Occasionally braided.

Height: 5'5” (the short one of the family)

Body Type: Somewhat curvy - weight to go with it (Hispanic roots from mother)

Tattoos: None

Piercings: None

Other: Same problem as her brother; poor eye sight runs in the family. So usually contacts, sometimes glasses. Also has braces at the moment.

Family Information

Mother: Isabella Marie Peterson (maiden name - Martinez)

Father: Thomas Edward Peterson

Siblings: Younger brother – Edward James Peterson

“But you said that I could turn it in late,” the eighteen year old whined quite pointedly at her English teacher as she pushed the stack of papers in the teacher's direction. “It's not my fault that everything went wrong the day before!” Kimberly added, as if it just might change Mrs. Brighton's mind about the whole ordeal.

“I said you could turn it in later that day, not today.” Mrs. Brighton replied before tightening her lips in annoyance; disregarding further protests from her student with a raised hand before turning her back on the problem.

Of course that further irritated Kimberly who wanted to raise her fist and scream about the injustice of it all, but even she knew that would be to no avail at this moment. Instead she slid and turned on the heels of her rather tattered black converses and headed out the door; head held high as she stuffed the papers into her red tote bag proclaiming that math is delicious. Though, that seemed to be the wrong course of action as she stumbled forward at just the right moment to crash into another student who rashly jumped to pointing fingers and saying some rather colorful words.

“Yeah, right. Do you mind taking your attitude about four feet to the left?” Kimberly asked, shrugging her shoulders and pushing past the still noisy student. Usually she would have bothered with a more adequate and well voiced insult about pits and sharks, but at the moment she was more in the mood for something cold to drink. That and she was hoping to spot someone who would listen to her claims of injustice about not being allowed to turn in her sloppily written paper.

The likelihood of that happening was steadily decreasing though as her honor bound friends seemed to prefer to actually do their homework where as she thought it was a rightful joke to slack off and pass classes still. Sighing at the thought the fairly short Kimberly pulled her dark brown hair up into its usual messy ponytail as she stepped into line for the main soda machine near the cafeteria; impatiently tapping her right foot.