Sure, it's not great... but it's InVincible!

I, proud to say it, have updated InVincible with a sweet 2-page segment about death.  Uh-huh, I rock.

The story about writing it goes like this: It's the girls change room, and the grade 11 girls are back 10 minutes before the grade 9's.  10 minutes, and all of the little niners stuff is thrown all over the room.  Ransacked.  Wallets missing, ipods, iphones, everything.  Even a sweater went "missing".  It must have been a pretty amazing ten minutes, because one of my friend's wallet and iphone were stolen out of the bottom of her backpack, and someone took my ipod, Iggy, out of my bag where it had been in a zippered pocket.  That's two zippers, a binder, clothing, paper and pencils they went through to get a $50 ipod.

Whoohoo.  Congradulations.  You just won some Billy Talent and stalker-like photos of a girl's life.

I hate you.

With passion.

So, frankly, I was depressed last night.  Very, very depressed.  And, when I get depressed, a great way to get out the depressed-ness is too write.  So I did.  And it ended up being InVincible I wrote, because it's my violent book and I thought this would end up violent.  Excerpt below.

(k, so I'm trying out the 'Read More' thing  -- IT WORKED!!! --)

(Congrats for making it past the Read More... :D I feel so accomplished!)

Warning:  Cliche, awkward, weird, freaky, makes-you-doubt-my-ethics-as-a-person writing throughout.  Read at own risk.

InVincible Silent, I crept through the streets, all focus directed on my target.  The air was quiet and dark, despite the lights I was careful to avoid.  Everything seemed to hang in this moment, this second.  The city birds (if any) had chosen this moment to be quiet, and the highway had gone to minimal usage.  The lamppost nearest to me flickered, casting a dull light on the ground for a few more fatal seconds before it died forever.  It was this moment, now.

      A motorcyclist roared a few roads over, and I caught my target stumbling out of his car.  Leddie and Zeddie had finished their job, obviously.  He was right in location.  I could see a slight shape on the rooftop, almost entirely hidden from the naked eye.  That was Paul, sniper ready for plan B. 

Plan C involved Peter blowing up the block.

I took a step forward, the clap of pavement on shoe echoing around the street.  Perfect.  The man straightened, placing his hand close to his heart – over his gun.  If we had bothered to paint an X on the ground, he would by dead center of it.

Three more steps, and I was in the middle of dark circle around the dead lamp.  He turned, hearing my obvious steps.  For a split second, our eyes met in shared hatred, and we both smiled a cruel twisted smirk.

The motorcycle turned, squealing tires from the distance going way too fast for the city limits.  He seemed to be heading towards us, quick.  I prayed for him to turn around, go anywhere else, and sped up the process.

My hand clasp around the cold, solid object of a Mass member’s best friend; his gun.  Drawing it, the man just ten meters away from me pointed his own at me too.  This was all too perfect.  For a moment, the world seemed to hang in waiting; waiting for just one of its billions of lives to end.  But this one was a special life.  These were the bad guys.  These were people the world was waiting to get rid of.  This man deserved to be dead.

I pulled the trigger and switched off the safety, moist oceanic air no doubt doing bad things to my gun.  But this was the perfect moment, and that thought was quickly behind me.

Three seconds passed, and three younger men stepped out of the shadows.  First was George, his voice loud and clear as he told the man his life was ending soon.  He used a name, Leo, but I didn’t care for names.  After, Josh and Frank came next, closer to the man.  He backed away, closer to me.  I cleared my throat, and terrified eyes met mine once again.  I averted my eyes, pointing the gun to Josh in a gesture to get him to move over there.

Okay, there is more, but I think that's the better bit of the bunch.  And I know, it's totally depressed and very, very awkward in most places, but forgive me.  It's what happens when you take my music, or anything I love, away from me.  You get Sad-Sarah.  (However, after I wrote that, I felt amazingly better.  It really works!)

Sarah