The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug (Quick Review)

I almost typed "Blugsput".  Typos are so fun.

Well, a week ago to the day, I went and did it.  I went to a local theater to watch The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug, and to be brief, it was everything I anticipated.  Pure awesomeness.

Warning: SPOILERS AHEAD!

The film had a great start with a slight prequel from one year before, showing how Thorin and Gandalf decided to unite a few dwarves to take the Arkenstone from Erebor, and then use the Arkenstone to unite the rest of the dwarves to take back Erebor for good.  That's when I understood that this quest wasn't a battle mission; it was a heist.  It is also when I remembered that the only reason Bilbo is part of the quest is to steal the Arkenstone.  I commend Peter Jackson for the quick recap before getting to the good stuff.

One year later, Bilbo, Gandalf, Thorin, and the other dudes are being chased by this really ugly orc guy named Azog and his equally disgusting minions.  So after hanging out at this wolf guy's place for the night, they head to Mirkwood and then Gandalf just leaves for no reason.  Actually, Galadriel talked to him in his mind and told him to go to these old tombs or something in a faraway mountain.  And then he met up with Radagast (the dude with fungus on his face and a bird nest in his hair) to check out the tombs.

This was one of the most epic parts.  The two wizards find that the first tomb they see is empty, and when they look further down, they find eight other empty tombs.  There were nine.  And I was just really mind-blown there because those nine are the Nazgul!  Well played, Peter Jackson.

So when Bilbo and the dwarves head into Mirkwood to get to the Lonely Mountain before a certain time (because the secret door is only revealed by the last light of Durin's Day), and they get attacked by giant spiders.  I was shaking at this point because I really hate spiders, no matter what the size.  Fortunately, Bilbo escapes from his sticky cocoon and puts on the Ring to hide from the spiders.  That's when I discovered that the spiders' indecipherable shrieks and gurgles are completely understandable in the Twilight World (the place Bilbo goes when he puts on the Ring).  So that was cool.

Anyways, Bilbo ends up rescuing the dwarves, and they all kill the spiders.  At one point, one of the spiders tries to take Bilbo's Ring, and Bilbo kind of goes crazy in killing the spider.  Then, once it is dead, he snatches the Ring and says, "Mine."

It is at this point that Bilbo realizes what the Ring is doing to him.  He's becoming addicted to its power, even though he does not know the extent of it.  He nearly vomits when he realizes this.

After the whole spider deal, Bilbo climbs a tree to see where they are.  It turns out that they're really close to the Lonely Mountain and will easily be there in a day or two.  He climbs down and discovers that the Wood Elves have found the dwarves.  This is when it gets good, because Sparkles (my nickname for Legolas) comes into the picture.  He's as pretty and badass as ever.  This is also the point where Tauriel (the captain of the guard) has her movie debut, and Kili gets and instant crush on her.  I already shipped them at this point.

So Kili starts to flirt with her a bit when the Elves take the dwarves to the dungeons in Mirkwood, but thankfully, Bilbo didn't end up in the same place.  He had the Ring on, so he got into Mirkwood without anyone noticing.  Thranduil (the king of Mirkwood and Legolas' dad) tries to make a deal with Thorin, but Thorin doesn't buy it.  Dragons somehow get into the conversation, and Thranduil gets right in Thorin's face when he hisses, "Do not speak to me of dragon's fire."  That's when he reveals a horrible burn on the side of his face.

That's when I got a headcanon about Legolas' mom.  I started to think that when Legolas was around 5 or 6 years old, a dragon attacked Mirkwood and killed his mom with him watching.  Thranduil tried to save her but got burned in the process, and she had already died before so.  This was a trauma that really shook Legolas, and for years afterwards, he would wake up in the middle of the night screaming for his mother.  Those nights, Thranduil would hold his son close.  Now that Legolas is older and has stopped aging, he's buried the trauma deep inside of him, and that's why he doesn't talk very much.  He cares about Tauriel because she reminds him of his mother.  Whenever I think about this headcanon, there's this sharp pang in my chest.  If this is canon, I'll probably just hide under my bed covers for a few years.

Back to the canon story.  Bilbo cleverly gets the dwarves out after Tauriel and Kili start to hesitantly bond a bit.  It turns out that the dwarves and Bilbo escape Mirkwood by riding barrels in a river.  That was obviously the awesomest part.  Riding in barrels looks very dangerous but so much fun.

While the Elves are chasing them, so are Azog and his orc minions.  There's a really cool battle between the three forces, and Kili gets shot in the leg.  Poor guy.  Tauriel notices and keeps him from being shot again.  The dwarves escape, and a lot of orcs are killed.  Thranduil decides to seal off his kingdom to protect it from the growing darkness in Middle-earth.  Just before the doors are closed, Legolas realizes that Tauriel has left to find the dwarves on her own.  He goes after her, and the two of them end up helping the dwarves, but that's a while later.

So the dwarves and Bilbo find themselves in Laketown.  Complicated stuff happens, and the residents of Laketown (all humans) end up helping the dwarves to the Lonely Mountain, and when they get there, the orcs end up in Laketown too, looking for the dwarves.  A few of the dwarves stayed behind, like Fili and Kili and some other dude with a weird hat.  It forgot his name.  Tauriel ends up healing Kili's wound, and he confesses his love for her.  The scene just ends like that.

Then Legolas gets a really intense fight scene, and he actually looked like he got hurt pretty bad, but when the orc he was fighting just got on a Warg and ran off, it turns out that all Legolas got from that fight was a bloody nose.  He seems shocked to see his own blood, and then he looked really pissed off, so he got on a horse and ran after the orc.

So the dwarves and Bilbo get into the Lonely Mountain, and they send Bilbo off to get the Arkenstone.  And I must say, Smaug is one of the most beautiful creatures I've ever seen.  He's huge!!!  It turns out that they didn't get the Arkenstone, and Smaug gets really pissed when they try to drown him in liquid gold.  So he flies off to Laketown, declaring that he is fire and he is death.

The ending line by Bilbo: "What have we done?"

In all, the movie was great.  Surprisingly, it was paced much faster than the other Peter Jackson movies I've seen, and it seemed like they stuffed a lot of things into it, but I hope the third one will be a bit smoother in that sense.  However, I loved the structure of the film and the epic ending.  I highly anticipate The Hobbit: There and Back Again!

The song that plays in the credits is the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.  Here's the link:

I See Fire by Ed Sheeran

Until next time, my darlings, farewell!

-Snowprincess

Ocean Dust: a Novel - Chapter One: Steam

(Ah, the long-awaited Chapter One.  I have been waiting so long for this.

As I said before, I was going to wait until I progressed at least halfway through my first draft before publishing the chapters on my blog, but I decided that I would rather just start publishing them on here so I could get some opinion from you guys.  Feedback is much appreciated!

Anyways, before I get started, I'd like to give you a quick backstory.  This tale started out as a typical fairy tale about three girls summoned from our world into a fairy world where they are destined to save it from a terrible villain.  After a few years of holding onto the story and adding things here and there, I discovered that the general idea was too overused, so I threw it away, and several weeks later, I started it again with new settings, new characters, and new tales.  The only things I kept were the first names of my original characters!

The scribbles I vomited out soon became what I now call Ocean Dust.  Enjoy the first chapter!)

            Shadows loomed over the Midway from the surrounding skyscrapers.  Night had already enveloped the city of Londonne in a shrouded black veil as the bright lights of the skyscrapers reflected off the gathering storm clouds.  A powerful thunderstorm was beginning to arrive, as they generally did that time of year, but, as usual, the people of Londonne were not worried in the least bit; after all, cities could never be destroyed by only a thunderstorm with the modern technology of the highly industrial era of 1896, in that case, especially Londonne.

            Many steaming racs were crowded in the Midway system, their shiny, smooth shells showing deranged, twisted likenesses of the skyscrapers as they often did, but only when their drivers went through a racwash to cleanse the outer shell.  Otherwise, it was plastered in the gray dirt of the outlying countryside.  Sometimes there were unidentified leaves wedged in the crusty filth, which was all but seen as a disgrace in cities, as if anything living besides citizens was prohibited, especially in Londonne.

            Racs were often nicknamed “steam carriages” because they were like carriages except they were steam-powered by engines made of gears, pulleys, and levers instead of being pulled by a horse.  Lately, the production companies of racs gave the devices colored metal shells to replace the previous shells of wood traditionally painted black.  They were all the rage in the Skyway, yet the residents in the Midway rarely saved up enough Shells to buy even an older rac model.

            As the racs slowly slid on their black, rubbery wheels along the Midway and into the glittering, elaborate system of the Skyway, a man in a dark coat skidded between them on an antique clockcycle, which occasionally sputtered with a small cloud of steam.  The man was wearing a loosely fitting brown cap, more fitting for a factory worker but rather stylish nonetheless, and it so perfectly matched his graying russet hair that reached to just below his ears.  He had a thin moustache and a stubbly chin, and old gray eyes that were staring at the center of the Midway, glancing at the numerous watches on his left wrist every now and then.  The clock on the clockcycle, which was the headlight as well as the engine, was ticking slower than usual and inching towards the number twelve at the top.

            Dash it all, the man thought with a snort of annoyance.  I suppose I’ll have to wind up the old watch when I get back to the trapa.

            The clockcycle swerved past a corner and into a hazily lit Underway.  The man with the old gray eyes slowed his clockcycle down a bit as the tires splashed in a shallow puddle filled with murky old rainwater that still lingered from the previous gale.  He glanced briefly at an open door on a dark brown building where a little boy sat on the steps, only dressed in faded blue overalls and grubby boots that were too big for his little feet.  The man drove his clockcycle on as the Underway led on to another turn and into a darkened alleyway, which were merely narrower, darker variations of Underways.  The clockcycle skidded to a stop by a tall red brick T-nemtrapa building.  Trapa buildings are no more than a series of flats in a large structure often with several floors.  The man swung his right leg over the handlebars and onto the dampened asphalt, and he was just about to wind up the clock on his clockcycle before the faint echo of several pairs of feet reached his ears.

            “My most sincere greetings, Mr. Brackenbury.  I am Culverton Claudine.  You are a Hunter, yes?” a smooth voice said from the obscurity of the Underway.

            Hunters, in those days, were people much like bounty Hunters.  They would be hired for odd jobs, mostly involving tracking down and capturing or assassinating a certain individual that the employer wanted to be rid of.  The man with the old gray eyes had been a Hunter for many years, and was still known for being the best of his trade.  Well, the best in the Underways, that is.

            The man, Brackenbury, did not turn.         

            “Aye, that I am,” he said.

            “I am in need of your services,” the same silky voice said.

            He glanced up to see four dark figures, and the man at the front, the shortest, was the one who had spoken not a minute ago.  All four were dressed in elegant, gentleman-like black suits, but surprisingly, their polished black boots were not stained by the puddles made by the rainwater and the old grime that always lingered in the Underways.  The silken-voiced man at the front of the group, Claudine, smiled to show two rows of pure white teeth, almost too white.  The man with the old gray eyes knew that these men were from the Skyways.  People that clean and pure hanging in the Underways was never a good sign.

            Brackenbury’s eyes widened a bit when he saw a slinky, green-eyed Siamese cat perched on Claudine’s shoulders.  An identical cat, different to the other one only by its blue eyes, curled around the man’s ankle and rubbed its back against it.  Brackenbury’s nose wrinkled in restrained disgust.  He hated cats.

            “Well, that depends on what kind of work it is you want me to do,” he responded to Claudine with a quiet chuckle, ignoring the quiet felines.

            “It is the work you were trained for,” said Claudine.  “There is a large colony of rebels in the old forest a few miles out of Mirrorville.  They have been making trouble in all towns and cities in Inglande, and they are a disgrace and a serious dilemma to the Inglish economy.  We require that you hunt them down and eliminate them.”

            Brackenbury glanced away for a moment.  He had heard of Mirrorville.  It was a small city not far from Nottingham, which was around central Inglande.  Mirrorville was famous for the many buildings that were continuously adorned with mirrors.  Sometimes even the interior walls of a trapa, house, or business would be completely covered in shiny mirrors.  It often made one consider that perhaps they were really the mirror, and the reflection they saw was the real image.  Mirrorville played with one’s mind as if it was only a game of chess.  Brackenbury knew that if he was to agree to this employment, he would probably have to stay the night in Mirrorville before doing the job.  He wasn’t looking forward to it at all.

            “What kind of trouble have these rebels been making?” said the man with the old gray eyes, turning his head back towards Claudine.

            “Culture; they are trying to stay true to the old ways of the Inglish Empire.  With the growing modern revolution happening all over our world, they believe that it’s happening too fast.”

            “I see.”  He paused.  “How much are you willing to pay?”

            “We’ll pay you 200 shells now and another 600 when you finish the job.”

            “600 when I’m done is fine. 400 now,” Brackenbury interrupted.

            Claudine raised his eyebrows a bit.

            “Isn’t that a little high for a Hunter’s service?” he said skeptically.

            The man with the old gray eyes laughed again and glanced at a watch out of habit.  “You guys are from the Skyways. Nothing should be too high,” he said with an undecided half-grin.

            Claudine tried to chuckle a bit, but because he nearly never did so, it did not sound like a chuckle in the least bit.

            “Besides,” said Brackenbury, “a thousand shells is good enough for eliminating an entire rebel colony, right?  It’s not like I’m just getting rid of an old gypsy woman that casts spells on naughty kids.”  One side of Claudine’s mouth turned upwards in mocking amusement, but inside, Brackenbury knew that he was supposed to be serious.  Important people from Skyways weren’t like important people from Underways.

            Brackenbury glanced at the dampened pavement.  “Who’re your friends?” Brackenbury suddenly inquired, referring to Claudine’s two Siamese cats.

            “Ah, I nearly forgot to introduce them,” said Claudine.  He scratched the green-eyed cat on his shoulders behind its ears, followed by a loud purr.  “This is Lord Bumblesnip, and this,” he said, bending down to blue-eyed cat to stroke its cream-colored back, “is Count Corfickle.”  Brackenbury snorts softly in ignorance.  They were such odd names for pets, and for that matter, cats.

            One of Claudine’s bodyguards handed Brackenbury a silver briefcase holding the four hundred shells that would be his pay until the job was done.  He took the briefcase wordlessly and shook Claudine’s hand, afterwards which Claudine wiped his hand on his pants.  Skyway people tend to have a fetish for keeping their hands clean.

            “When do you want the work done?” said the man.

            “We’ll give you a month, but if it’s not done within then you’ll have another week to finish it.  We’ve heard that you are the best Hunter in the Underways and that you don’t back down on a well-paying job.  I do hope that you take this offer sincerely, sir.”

            “Of course I do,” said Brackenbury.  “It’s what I do for a living, you know.”

            “The information you need for the colony’s location is inside the case.  I will contact you in two weeks,” said Claudine.  And with that, he left with his three bodyguards, disappearing into the misty shadows of the Underway like a deadly wolf pack on the hunt under the invisible protection of the storm clouds.  Claudine’s two slinky cats followed right behind them, looking entirely identical from the rear view.  The green-eyed one -or as Claudine called him, Lord Bumblesnip- turned and looked at Brackenbury with stealthy, watchful green eyes.  After a moment he turned tail on Brackenbury and followed his colleague, Count Corfickle, into the shadows.

            Brackenbury sighed pensively and picked up the silver briefcase holding his current pay.  He looked up for no apparent reason, and, as usual, saw nothing but gloomy gray clouds, from which the occasional thunder roll could be heard.  Strangely, even though the sky was cloaked in dark storm clouds, there was a star among wind’s invisible fingers.  Not a faint star far away, but a gleaming, shining star that made the sky almost seem like dawn.  But it was scarcely midnight.  Holding out his hand, which was grubby with old dirt and dotted with the occasional blister, he felt the first few raindrops of the storm.      It had arrived.

                  And in more ways than one.

(Well, there you have it.  Please, please please tell me how I can make this better!  Of course, it might take more chapters to know how it can be edited, but if you have a thought, please let me know.  I want to make this book perfect!

Merry Christmas everyone!

With love and wishes of happy holidays, 

-Snowprincess)

Upd8 #1 ... and Happy Holidays from the Princess of Snow!

Well, tomorrow marks the day that declares it is one week until Christmas.  How time flies.  Happy holidays everybody!

Welcome to Upd8 #1.

• First of all, in short, my two older siblings introduced me to a very new anime series called Attack on Titan.  I've only watched six episodes in the last two days, and I've gotten hooked!  The animation is the most beautiful I have ever seen, outweighing most other cartoons by impossible standards, and the 3D maneuverers?  The coolest methods of transportation in the history of ever!  And, of course, I adore the outfits and the characters. I am very excited to see more episodes.

 

• As for my novel, if you wish to read some of it, please expect delays, as I have said before.  My writer's block disappeared for Chapter Sixteen, and I have chiseled my way to Chapter Twenty.  However, I am not sure how to start it and will probably not start publishing my chapters on here until I get to at least Chapter Thirty.  But even so, I will keep writing and perhaps unveil some fan arts I've made over the past months.  

• School is weighing down upon me, and I will not get my break until the beginning of next week.  Biology is much harder than I expected, and I now realize that memorizing terms on a mushroom's anatomy and life cycle can prove to be effective when it comes to a degree in college or something like that, but, as an artist, it will probably end up being rather useless in my life.  But who knows?  Perhaps God has something really weird planned ahead.

• And, finally, I must tell you fellows something very important.  For the past few years, I have been a devoted fan of The Lord of the Rings trilogy directed by Peter Jackson.  When I saw The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, I expected the same epic auras of The Lord of the Rings, but it did not have quite the same feel as the others.  However, after I realized that The Hobbit would be made into another trilogy and not just two movies, I became very excited, almost too excited, to find that Orlando Bloom would be reprising his role as Legolas in the second Hobbit film.  I don't remember how long I screamed with excitement into my pillow.

But what does this have to do with Upd8?  Well, I'll be able to see The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug with my dad in a nearby theater this Saturday while my two older siblings, the ones that got me into Attack on Titan, see The Hunger Games: Catching Fire in the same theater at the exact same time.  It was very convenient that the showtimes lined up perfectly, otherwise there would have been no other way for me to see it.  Let's just say that I saw one window of opportunity to see this movie, and I took it.

And this is what my newest poster looks like!  It's glorious and I will treasure it forever.

Well, I'll see you all in a later post.  I will eventually post some chapters from my novel and some fan arts!!

With love, hugs and kisses good-night, and wishes of happy holidays to all,

Snowprincess

Swear word replacements

Ever have those days when you just want to blabber out every swear word you know but can't because your parents, teachers, and/or friends would just go "ASDFGHJKL; YOU CAN'T SWEAR AGH YOU'RE A HORRIBLE PERSON BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH"

Well, I have the solution.  Silly replacements!  Here they are.

F*ck = fluff
Sh*t = snickerdoodle
D*mn = dumpling
A*s = archaeologist
B*tch = blubber

For example-

"Snickerdoodle, have you seen that fluffer? He's got a fluffing hot archaeologist!"
"I don't give a fluff!"
"Dumpling!!!"
"You're so full of snickerdoodle."
"You little blubber!"
"He's so fluffing hot!"
"I want to be his little blubber."
"Sometimes life just feels like a pile of snickerdoodle."

I made these replacements because it's fun and weird and instead of making people cringe or blow up at you, it just might make them smile because of the weirdness.

And, for your amusement until I return with a new post, here are some cat GIFs that will make you smile.  Feast your eyes upon the hilariousness.

 

 


 

Road Trip Ahead

Guten Morgen, Freundinnen!  Es ist draußen geschneit! Ich bin sehr glücklich!

First snowfall, seen from my bedroom window

Anyways, in a few hours, I will leave home on a six-hour drive to a Christian convention.  We're going to stay at a friend's house and will be gone for a few days.  Expect post delays.

However, at a local school where I am taking a few classes (the rest is homeschool), we have made some little figurines out of clay and glaze.  For the season, we made clay jack-o-lanterns.  We had the option of making three small ones or one big one, and I chose the three.

Went for for a Tim Burton-esque kind of thing.

Sad faced/sewn-up mouth one.  I wanted to do something depressing but cute.

Did not turn out the way I wanted it, but still as creepy as I imagined it.

Another one, an effigy of a kitty that I call Ryuzaki, will be uploaded in a future post.  Eventually, I will work up the courage to publish some chapters from my book.  I was writing a scene yesterday, which involves some awkward romance, and I looked at it and thought "I have no idea how to do this."

So, I seek some help.  My words are beginning to slow down and I was wondering if maybe you guys could help me out here.  I deeply appreciate your comments and I hope to find the time to look at your blogs!  When I do publish my chapters, please, please, please let me know what you think.  I'm a struggling writer!

I will be on here again in due time.  Once again, Guten Morgen.

-Snowprincess

WRI-TING!!!

 

What was your first-ever piece of writing?
To be brutally honest, I believe it was a one-page story about a young boy that becomes best friends with a wolf. I must have written it when I was barely old enough to know what the word "dialogue" or "paragraph" meant. Once upon a time, I had no inspiration whatsoever to become a writer. Now here I am, working my way through a novel.

How old were you when you first began writing?
I must have been barely fourteen when I gave writing a real shot. It was a story inspired by, of all things, a cartoon off Nick Jr. Don't even ask what it is. Ever since then, I've been trying harder and harder to make my writing better by starting a novel and striving to finish it. I don't know if I will make writing into a career or not.

Name two writing goals. One short term & one long term.
Short term: finish at least one of my fanfictions. Long term: finish my novel. It will have well over a hundred chapters in total and I'm stuck on Chapter Sixteen. BLEEEEEEHHHHH

Do you write fiction or non-fiction?
Mainly fiction, but non-fiction is in my writing ability, just on the edge.

Bouncing off of question 4, what’s your favorite genre to write in?
Off the top of my head I would say that my best writing strength is fantasy. It is so much fun to discover new races and characters with weird names to accompany them, and strange but amusing stories of ancient villains, rookie heroes, and annoying little fairies that follow the main characters around. I love it!

One writing lesson you’ve learned since 2013 began.
If you're writing about two characters falling in love, MAKE SURE THEY ACTUALLY TALK TO EACH OTHER TRUTHFULLY!!! If both or one of the characters never says what they mean, then there will never be anything real between them. I discovered this through reading the first few chapters of Twilight.

Favorite author, off the top of your head!
Cornelia Funke! I love Inkheart!

Three current favorite books.
A Series of Unfortunate Events Book 1 by Lemony Snicket, Resistance by Elian Lisette, and The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster.

Biggest influence on your writing {person}:
My big sister, definitely! Her beautiful way of putting things inspired me so much to invent my own stories and to weave my own words to see if I can become a writer like her. I admire her writing so much.

What’s your go-to writing music?
Mainly The Nutcracker Suite by Tchaikovsky. Those gorgeous Christmas melodies bring out the best of my words.

List three to five writing quirks of yours! Little habits, must-haves as you write, etc.
I like to drink coffee or have a spoonful of Nutella before, during, or after I write! I call them "brain food". I also like to browse through some pictures of whatever I am going to write before I get to it so I can get the gears of my brain consistently turning. And quirk #3: the only place I can write is on my bed in my little pillow cove. Truly, it is the only place.

What, in three sentences or less, does your writing mean to you?
The words that flow from my fingertips mean that I can express myself in a way that only I know how, and they bring a sort of immortality to my being. I am fascinated by the art of painting pictures with little lines that create letters, creating words, creating stories. I do not know if this will become my future profession, but I know that I love it, and as long as I can, my soul will be unleashed into words. 

My Homecoming Nightmare

Last night, the night of Homecoming at my local school, was, by far, the worst night of my life.

It was an autumn evening worthy of a painting.  A brisk chill hung heavily in the air like mist on a cold winter morning, and the ultramarine sky was speckled with glimmering stars and pale gray clouds.  There was no wind, no snow, and no rain.  For the people of Flambeau in northwestern Wisconsin, it was the perfect night for a football game.

As I stepped out of my dad’s black truck and onto the pavement with an excited smile on my face, I could hear the half-time show starting on the track.  The mindless chatter of football fans in the bleachers could be heard from the other side of the school.  The concessions stand was packed with customers.  The air was chilly but not bitter, and it felt good to be out in that perfect autumn night.  I was at the school with my dad.  We planned on hanging out at the game until eight-thirty, when the Homecoming dance would begin.  It was the only reason I had come at all.

The football game was predictable.  I barely paid any attention to the bulky boys in jerseys romping about in the muddy, dew-covered field like a pack of warthogs.  I had never understood football, and had no interest in watching the entire game.  Somehow, I had wandered over to the concessions stand to find something to sustain me for the rest of the night, but nothing caught my appetite.  So, with the pale, silent moon peeking out from a crack in the clouds like a shy child, I pulled out my pen and my sketchpad from my purse.  Without further ado, I quickly sketched a picture of the moonlight.  A few people saw me sketching and asked if I was a senior.  I simply said that I was a freshman, and all they did was chatter to each other like squirrels and walk away, their hot chocolate and hotdogs in hand.

By the time that eight-thirty rolled around the clock, my dad and I made our way to the main door of the school.  I found a safe place for my coat, scarf, gloves, and purse in the girls’ bathroom, where all the other girls left their stuff.  I was in a frilly purple dress and black leggings; a simple but cute outfit.  I got a few compliments on my dress and my eyes, which were pasted with sticky mascara and dark magenta eye shadow.  The dance barely started when I came in the gym.

As soon as I saw it, I fell in love.  All the ceiling lights were dimmed, and there was a DJ in the corner, which was run by someone I recognized.  I was about to go say hi to see if he remembered me, but he looked busy so I did not want to bother him.  There were little lights in blue, green, and pink dancing across the high ceiling, the white brick walls, and the shining floor.  A popular song with strong bass was playing, but the gym was empty.

I was one of the only people there at the moment.  A few other girls were there, one of whom I knew, and they were already dancing to the full-bass pop songs I knew nothing of.  They swung their hips about and were laughing, but I just stood there.  I felt so awkward and quiet.  Normally I would quickly approach someone I did not know and begin to converse with them, so I would always make new friends.  However, whenever I did make a new friend, that person would always go back to their circle of the friends they knew much longer than they knew me.

I felt invisible.

 When the field went silent and the football lights dimmed, most of the high schoolers changed into their dresses and button-down shirts in the bathrooms, eventually herding themselves into the gym.

Yes! I thought to myself triumphantly.  Now the real party’s about to start!

Little did I know that there would be no party.  At least not for me.

Occasionally, I showed a familiar face that I could do the moonwalk that Michael Jackson used to do, and they were dually impressed, but it would disappear within a moment.  I turned into a wisp of air.  The triumphant seniors, the excited juniors, the silent sophomores, and the foolish freshmen were all mixed into their little circles of chattering, having fun, and dancing the night away.  I felt glad that there were lots of people at the dance now, because now would be my chance to fit in and have fun.  A few girls I knew from one of my classes were in one thick circle during a party song, and I flitted over to join them in the dance.

But whenever I would bend down to pick up a rose, its vicious thorns would frighten me away.

Every circle I approached would close whenever I was near.

There were a few songs that taught the dance as the lyrics went on, and everyone got to get in that, and I used my special flexibility and rhythm skills to stand out like a star.  When the song told you to stomp your right foot, everyone just lifted it and put it back down again, but I actually followed the lyrics and I stomped.  When the song told me to slide to the left, I slid.  When it told me to dance real smooth, I was snapping my fingers and twirling about, my feet light against the floor.

Still, as wonderful as I probably looked, nobody cared to look at me.

The slow dances were both the worst and the best.  While the girls held their boyfriends and the boys held their girlfriends in slow, tiny steps across small circles in the gym, I often sat off to the side, waiting for a single boy to ask me to dance.  But I knew, from somewhere deep inside, that those days were over.  I then realized that the number one rule of high school is that you can’t be single.

So, with nobody to dance with, I turned to my imagination.

On a little table by the DJ, there are a few notepads where high schoolers can request a song by writing down the name and the artist.  I wrote down “The Waltz of the Snowflakes, Tchaikovsky” three different times, and they did not play it.  They said before that they played any kind of music, and I could only assume that ballet music was included, but even so, I never heard that song that night.

Thus, my mind was my only escape from the hell I had thought would be heaven.  Closing my eyes and letting my arms hang loosely at my sides, I concentrated on the familiar Christmas tunes that I had grown up listening to every winter, and I allowed it to fill me up.  I put my hands in the air as if I was about to dance with a gentleman.  The Waltz of the Snowflakes, with me being the only one hearing it and dancing it, was the most beautiful thing I had ever experienced.  My steps were light and wide across the floor, gliding between and around the slowly moving couples in a tangled line of snowy magic.  I felt as if it was winter, like I was waltzing with the Prince of Winter himself.

I lifted my chin high, continuing to spin in sync with the waltz I heard so clearly.  The Winter Prince held me gently, one hand on my hip and another on my side.  Our steps were perfectly synchronized across the magical snowy place we were dancing in.  Often I would look up at his lovely face; his soulful, dark eyes so contrasted to his pale skin, his short silver locks that frayed this way and that, and the gentle smile that played on his perfect lips.  He was smiling at me.

I let out a gasp of delight.  Here I was, dancing with the Prince of Winter to the most beautiful music in the world, silver and blue surrounding me in ice and snow, and nobody could tear us apart now.  Winter had found me on that picturesque autumn night.

Until, to my dismay, the song ended.  The waltz with the Winter Prince was only in my mind.

As another pop song began and the high schoolers around me excitedly squealed because a popular song was playing, I just stood there in the middle of the dance floor, the blue, green, and pink lights bouncing onto my flushed face.  Nobody had seen that I was dancing a different dance.  Nobody had seen that I was dancing with the air.  Nobody cared to know that I was alone.  The lights, as beautiful as they were, were like a mocking reminder that I would always be alone.  Looking at those girls that were either kissing or dancing with their boyfriends, I felt jealous of them.  For a single moment, I wanted a boyfriend of my own.

But deep down, I knew that if you open the rose too early, the petals will fall off.

And so, after a few more winter waltzes in my head and more popular, catchy songs were being danced to in the gym, I had had enough.  I looked expectantly at the door, and sure enough, there was my dad, standing there in the light I craved so much.

All I wanted was to get out of there.

On the way home, I talked to my dad about the whole thing.  He felt so sorry for me and was completely willing to listen to my angry and sad rants, but after ten minutes, there was nothing more to be said.  I was so tired from waltzing about with nobody to support me, and I wanted to sleep.

When we got home, I cried into my dad’s shoulder in the kitchen.  It felt awful to be invisible, like you were not even there, like you never existed.  My dad insisted that the boys didn’t know what they were missing when they passed up the chance to dance with a beauty such as me.  I love my dad, and I’m very happy that he is always there for me, but part of me still wanted to dance the night away with the Winter Prince.  I missed him, and I still do.

When I crawled into my bed and began to type out what you are reading now, my older sister knocked on the door to my room, and we chatted for a while about the dance, movies, and breaking the fourth wall in stories.  As usual when I chat with my sister at night, we struggle to keep our laughs quiet.  Eventually, when midnight rolled around, she left with a smile and a simple good night, turning off my bedroom light and closing the door.  I continued to type, and within an hour I had finished what your eyes are scanning right this minute.

I feel better about this whole thing, now that I crashed it all out on this post, but the sting of the rose's thorns are still there.  Somehow I know that there will be social circles I will never be able to break.  Somehow I know that I will always be different.  But you know what?  That's okay.  It's okay to be different.  Nothing can change who I am.

That is all.