a song that sounds like a death march

I am floored by my efficiency.

---

The yoghurt store was a cozy little hut snuggled in between a vintage camera store and a dusty shop selling vinyl records. A blast of cool air blew Carmen's fringe gently from her forehead as she pulled open the wooden door. She stepped in and breathed the faintly scented air. Behind her, Dylan yelped as the low heels of his Ferragamos sank into the squashy carpet.

"What on Earth is this made of, oh my God! I'm drowning!

Carmen scowled at him.

"Act your age for once, why don't you?"

She skipped across to the yoghurt vending machines, but as she was about to pull the dispenser, someone called her name.

Lounging among the little cushions that littered the large sofa behind the sofa behind the tables was Charlie Tune. He lazily waved his arm in the air, gold bangles clinking loudly.Opposite him, smiling sheepishly, was Stephen!

"Over here, hey! Bring that pretty little fag along too, and don't take the grape stuff 'cause it's foul."

The cute girl behind the counter growled at him, and he winked cheekily at her. Dylan, who was still by the fascinating bit of carpet, looked up and scoffed loudly. He strode over to the table and banged his and down, causing the crystal utensils to jump.

"Hey. Just because you're in the boxing club doesn't mean I don't dare to hit you, okay. You watch your mouth, or - "

"Or what?" Charlie laughed raucously. "You'll run me over with your master's bulldozer?"

Dylan smiled slyly. He reached inside his purse and pulled out his metal collapsible umbrella.

"Or I'll just use this and go samurininja on your fat ass."

Charlie's smirk dimmed a little, but it didn't slip.

"How feisty!"

Carmen's eyes widened as Dylan raised his extended umbrella over his head. However, before she could rush over to stop him, a hand flashed out and caught it.

"Let's not get so worked up, guys! I'm sure Charlie didn't mean it as an insult, don't be mad!" Stephen's green eyes glittered pleadingly as he slowly lowered the umbrella to the table. Dylan's eyes flashed dangerously, but before he could say anything, Charlie cut in.

"Those chains are badass, man. Where'd you get them?"

Dylan blinked, shocked. Carmen saw his eyes travel slowly down to his plum coloured trousers, where Charlie was looking. The chunky gold chains he had bought on a whim glinted in the fluorescent lighting.

"Somewhere that's way too cute for you, buffoonic imbecile!"

But he huffily plonked down on the sofa next to Charlie anyway. Carmen smiled, satisfied that they were finally getting along. But then, she realised that gave her no choice but to sit next to Stephen! Reluctantly, she paid for her yoghurt and slouched over to the little table.

Stephen moved over and patted the seat, grinning. Carmen did her best to smile a little. It came out more like a grimace. She sat down gingerly; the further away from Stephen, the better. She picked up her spoon primly, and placed a small bit into her mouth. Opposite, Charlie and Dylan had started to bicker over something else. An awkward silence reigned between the both of them, until Stephen finally cleared his throat.

"So, uh. You coming to the party at the playground? It's this Sunday and I bet it's going to be real fun! A class reunion of sorts, just that it's only those who went to Jude Elementary. I invited Lena..." He smiled uncertainly.

Carmen's mood grew black when she heard Lena's name.

"Lena wasn't from Jude Elementary. She only transferred over from Russia during middle school."

Stephen scratched the back of his hand.

"Well. You're always with her, so I figured if she came you would too."

"Who says I'm always with her?" Carmen snapped, angry at Stephen suddenly. "Aren't I with Dylan now? She's not my best friend!"

Stephen blinked, but quickly recovered.

"I never said she was, Carmen. But hey, please come man! It won't feel the same without you. Even Piotr misses hanging out with you."

Carmen recalled the times during elementary school when she, Stephen and a few other had been rather close. Before moving, she had lived next door to Piotr Schmidt, one of Stephen's closest friends. The both of them had passed their final year examinations with flying colours all due to her intensive "tutoring" during the last two weeks before. The girls in Stephen's circle of friends would include her in their little games of jump-rope or hide-and-seek. The attended baking classes, sewing classes, and through one of them, Carmen found painting. But them, Lena had transferred in halfway through their first year of middle school. Carmen had been placed in a different class from her group of friends. Lonely and without a friend, she soon got to know Lena and started spending all her time with her. Slowly, Carmen and her friends had begun to drift apart but Carmen hadn't felt bad. She had had Lena after all. But now...

She sighed heavily. Stephen reached across for her hand, but she moved it away. He coughed awkwardly and continued.

"So...yeah. All those smart ones that got into Aurelique High, they're coming too! Even Amanda, that girl who moved to Canada, remember? - she's flying over specially for this."

Carmen remembered Amanda, her desk-partner for almost half a year. Scrawny, with oily blonde hair and green braces on her teeth, no one had wanted to talk to her. Carmen felt horrid sitting next to her at first but as she got closer to Amanda, she realised how fun and witty she was. Suddenly, she missed Amanda's wide, unassuming smile, so different from Lena's self-confident smirk.

Inspired by this, she nodded firmly.

"Okay. I'll come."

Stephen's eyes lit up.

"Excellent! Oh my God, I can't wait for tomorrow! So - "

But he was interrupted by the table trembling so hard it almost toppled. Dylan had slammed a plastic spoon down mere centimetres from Charlie's lax fingers.

"If you touch me again," he muttered, oblivious to the stares all around, "I am going to string you up by your guts and let the wolves eat you, you hear me?" He let out a string of expletives in various languages, some of which the counter girl unfortunately understood. She marched over, hands on hips, and wordlessly pointed towards the door. Shamefaced, the four of them silently crept out.

---

I work fast. (Y)

Ohkay, so some observations about the differences between Yoomi's writing and mine!

Yoomi's writing

• is more of dialogue and less of descriptions
• snarky and less-than-formal
• has more short sentences than long
• is very appealing to people with short attention spans (me) because of the paragraph lengths
• has characters which are very strongly characterised

My writing

• has the characters doing a lot at one go
• is very descriptive
• has very little dialogue
• is full of one-liner paragraphs
• is very formal and composition-like
• makes characters all talk the same way - my way

Yeah hahaha these are the main differences, not counting our handwriting! Let's see if this list helps you guys tell the difference between our writing as both really aren't all that similar once you get used to it. (:

Next chapter coming once I finish writing in this book and get a new one. Stay tuned! :D

MIKE

and i wonder if i ever crossed your mind

I am the most efficient blog-updater ever!! :'D

---

It wasn't until three blocks later that it was evident Carmen wasn't going to stop. Dylan wrenched out of her grip, hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Woah, Nelly," he sniped. "I thought we were meant to be shopping, now playing 'Drag Dylan as fast as you can and ruin his fancy new Ferragamos in' the process'." He dropped his hands. "What gotten into you?"

Carmen scowled.

"It's just so pointless!" she burst out. "Face it, Dyl. No matter how many sweater dresses I wear I'm never going to achieve the 'Clarissa' look. It's not fair, but what can I do?" She shrugged helplessly. "This is pointless. Let's just go home."

"Not so fast!" Dylan grabbed her wrist.

Carmen glared at him, her eyes filled with tears. "What?"

"Nobody said you have to look like Clarissa to be pretty," he said, unexpectedly gentle. "Were you trying to dress like her, is that it?"

Carmen gave the tiniest of nods.

Dylan sighed and towed her to the nearest bus stop. He patted the metal bench for her to sit down next to him and she obliged.

"Carmen," he said in a weird otherworldly kind of voice, like he was Yoda addressing the Jedis or something, "you know the first thing I learned about fashion?"

Carmen shook her head.

Dylan's face was totally serious. "You have to stand out. And in a good way, mind you. Look at Lady Gaga," he said, flinging his arm out into skyscrapers yonder, "Style and Originality," he said like they were the names of celestial beings sitting on golden thrones. "You can say she looks tacky or slutty, but you can't say she looks bad."

"I can, actually." Carmen piped defiantly.

Dylan rolled his eyes. He fished around in his Prada men's purse for his cellphone. Then, he drew up a picture of Lady Gaga. She was wearing some sort of dress made of coloured bubble wrap. He held it up for Carmen to see. "Whaddaya think?"

Carmen studied the picture. She had to admit, Lady Gaga didn't look half bad. She looked poised and confident, as if wearing the dress was the most normal thing in the world. If bubble dresses were in, Lady Gaga would look totally awesome.

Dylan nodded impressively. "See? It ain't just about how the clothes look. You must feel like you are comfortable wearing these clothes. Okay?"

"Erm... if you say so," Carmen muttered.

"Now, come on," Dylan said, grabbing her hand. "We still have a lot of shopping to do!"

---

They roamed the streets of the neighbourhood for hours, ducking into shady little second-hand shops and trying on fake Ray-bans in the store windows. Carmen's heart went out to a pair of pretty cream clips that nestled just right in her thick red hair, and a pair of rose-tinted cat-eye shades. In her cute new outfit from this morning, and sporting her new accessories, she felt almost like a new person. But just then, a mannequin sporting a dark blue ribbon-headband caught her eye.

"Oh! Dylan! Lena's been looking for the perfect headdress to go with her new toga dress! That headband's beautiful and it would match so well with her hair... I have to call her - " She had just snatched her phone from her pocket when suddenly, her face fell.

"She's not talking to me again, isn't she? Oh, what do I do without her?"

Dylan sighed despairingly.

"Carmen, you've got to understand! Your world doesn't revolve around Lena, you know? She's not everything! And besides," he scoffed, "someone who treats you like she does isn't worthy of being your friend."

Carmen thought about it silently. Throughout her life, it had been her who was the proactive one, asking Lena if she wanted to pair up, to hand out, to do homework. She never did anything without Lena, but sometimes, it seemed as though Lena was doing everything without her! She had gone to watch the new chick flick she knew Carmen had been dying to catch with her bunch of girlfriends from the art club. Nowadays, it felt like those dreamy, giggly girls with their paint-splattered jeans and bared midriffs were taking over her special place in Lena's heart. Posing for a portrait was nothing to them. One girl Lena was especially close to, Jessica, had even sat at the pool for three whole hours in her swimsuit just so Lena could get the exact shade of sunrays on tanned skin. Carmen had never agreed to let Lena paint her. She had thought Lena would understand, but judging from her behaviour, she didn't.

She doesn't get me at all, Carmen thought. Why do I love her so much, if she's so unappreciative of me? Fine. If she'd rather hang out with those artsy-fartsy little girls that boring old Carmen, so be it. I don't care.

She turned her head and stared fiercely at Dylan.

"You're right. You're so right. Why should I care for her if she doesn't care for me?"

Dylan's beam illuminated his entire face.

"About time too, honey."

Carmen straightened her back and forced a radiant smile on her face. "I know there's a new yoghurt place down 2nd Avenue. It's cheap enough and ninety-nine percent fat free! They have these crazy awesome toppings and - "

Dylan slapped his hand over her mouth.

"Say no more, darling. Let's go!"

---

My God I am tired.

Uh so the top bit was Yoomi's work and I continued from somewhere, heh. Let's see if you can identify the place where she stops and I start! c:

Anyway, so I did a writing analysis earlier due to boredom.

This is Yoomi's,

I write like
Vladimir Nabokov

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

And this is mine.

I write like
Gertrude Stein

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

LOL so apparently, I change writing styles when I write in my personal blog as compared to stories. Or maybe it's just this one, but usually I get Cory Doctorow. :D

And also, I'm thinking of drawing out all the significant outfits the characters put on during the story; just those which are thoroughly described. It's just for fun hahaha, like a destresser. How fun!

Next update coming really really soon! (:

MIKE

I'm sorry I can't be prefect

Carmen blinked once, then twice as she stared into the huge department. Rows after rows of pretty dresses greeted her wandering gaze. Mannequins posed, modelling crazy new fashionable frocks. A single, harried-looking attendant tried to placate an irritated customer brandishing a small white tank top. She looked at Dylan worriedly, but he just smirked back.

“My cousin works here. It’s like, girl paradise or something, heh.” He looked distastefully at a short polka dotted number. “I used to get myself lost in those dress racks.”

Carmen was only half-listening, though. Her wandering eyes had fallen on a loose little sweater dress hanging dolefully amongst a bunch of brightly colored skirts. The white wool did nothing to camouflage itself amongst the other flamboyantly colored dresses.

“This is a cool place,” she said to Dylan, still staring at the sweater dress. “What’s this place called?”

Dylan smirked. “Stella McCartney. Not like your typical Forever 21, eh?”

Carmen gasped. “Dylan, you can’t afford all this!”
Actually, I can,” Dylan informed her. “My gran is loaded. It’s guilt money, you know. She can’t see me as much as she wants too.”

“How much did she send?”

So Dylan told her.

Carmen’s baby blues widened. “Your gran is nuts.”

Dylan batted his eyelashes in his usual gay way. “I take after her, no?”
Carmen smiled and reached towards the white sweater dress. It looked even nicer up close.

“Ah,” Dylan said, spotting the white garment. “Lena would create.”

Carmen rolled her eyes and held it up. “What do you think?”

Dylan considered. “Not bad. You just need the matching accessories.” He wandered off to find them.

Carmen ducked into the dressing area. She quickly took off the white hoodie and jeans she had on and slipped into the white sweater dress. Then, afraid that she might chicken out if she saw herself in the full length mirror, she quickly scooted out from the cubicle and called for Dylan.

“Here,” he said, reappearing suddenly. He deposited a gold bangle and a pair of black skinny jeans into her hands. Try them with the dress. It’ll look awesome together. Oh.” His eyes widened. “I don’t think white’s your colour.”

Carmen sighed. “White doesn’t clash with my hair, Dylan.”

“No, but it clashes with your skin,” Dylan pointed out. “You’re too pale, yes?”

Carmen sighed again. “So what colour do you suggest?”

Dylan opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by a commotion coming from the cubicle opposite Carmen’s.

Clarissa Johnson was wearing the exact same dress as Carmen and was now surveying herself in front of the mirror, surrounded by her usual giggling posse of girls, all long limbed and gorgeous and over achievers like her. Carmen blinked once and then again. Her eyes jealously followed the thick waves of black hair that flowed elegantly down Clarissa’s back, totally straight, no kinks at all.

“This dress is so you!” one of the Clarissa Clones squealed.

“It is, isn’t it?” Clarissa smiled at her reflection, and Carmen bit back a reflexive urge to gag. Although a very intelligent person, she was certainly not articulate.

However, Carmen could see even with her inexperienced eyes that Clarissa really did looked wonderful in the dress. Her golden legs seemed to stretched for miles below the hem of the dress, and the material clung rather tenaciously to her curves. She could feel Dylan’s sympathetic gaze on her, and it was way more than she could bear.

She locked herself back into the cubicle and pulled on her home clothes, then stuffed the sweater dress in the trash bin provided inside the dressing room.
Face it, she told her reflection, smoothing her brilliant hair behind her ears. A leopard can’t change its spots. And you can’t change your looks by trying to dress like Clarissa.
She took a deep breath and stepped outside.

Dylan was waiting for her, looking distinctly baffled. “Carmen, what’s going on? Don’t you want to try out another outfit?” he demanded.

Carmen flashed him a grin. “Gimme a sec, Dyl.”

She seized the skinny jeans and gold bangle, then flitted to Clarissa’s side and held them out to her.

“Here, Clarissa,” Carmen said to the surprised girl. “I think this will go well with your dress.”

Clarissa looked startled, but smiled.

“Thanks Carmen! They are exactly what I was looking for! You’ve got excellent taste!”

Dylan cleared his throat loudly, but none of them seemed to have heard him. Carmen forced a smile at her. “You’re welcome. See you at school.”

And she grabbed Dylan’ and stormed out of the store.


If you can't tell, Yoomi wrote it

Yoomi♥

WE R WHO WE R

“No. Definitely not. Oh my God, that is so awkward!” Carmen sighed and flopped down on her bed, where clothes littered every corner. She had invited Lena to her house for a day of ‘mixin’-n-matchin’,” but she had turned up at her doorstep three hours early with armfuls or clothing and a grouchy half-awake Dylan in tow.
Said lad-partner waved a floral scarf from the bean bag he was lazing on. “Hey. Try this with those jeans of your sister’s.”
Lena bustled over, snatched the scarf from his hand and tied it around Carmen’s neck with unnecessary force. She stepped back, surveyed the effect and ripped it of brutally.
“It’s disgusting. Can’t you understand that floral prints clash so badly with her hair?”
“Who said she had to let her hair down then?” Dylan crossed the room in three bounds and lifted Carmen’s fiery locks off her neck. “Tie it up with a string and voila!”
Lena slapped his hands away and stormed off, where she picked up a sequinned mini dress and thrust it at Carmen without a word. Carmen didn’t take it, but sighed.
“Guys. I really appreciate what you both have been doing, but well…no one has asked me what I want.”
Non, non, non!” Dylan yelled. “No sequins! Flech! Tres terrible! She looks like a showgirl from Vegas!”
“Guys!” Carmen roared. Dylan, who was kicking his way through piles of clothes and flapping his arms like some agitated fashion director at a botched fashion show during Fashion Week, stopped and glared at her.
“Can I choose what to wear?” she pleaded. To make the trying on process more convenient, she wore nothing but a camisole and shorts. If Dylan wasn’t gay, she would have been blushing to the roots of her hairline.
Lena bristled. “The whole point of us coming over at this ungodly hour was so we could help you, Carmen Marie Lewis.”
“I know, and I appreciate it, but actually, you were the one who showed up three hours early,” Carmen pointed out.
Lena ignored her. “You know your fashion taste is atrocious.”
“And?”
“And so, we can’t just let you choose your clothes like that! You’ll probably just pick out a hoodie and track pants again!”
Carmen guiltily tore her eyes from a pair of baggy pants sung across her computer chair.
“Oh this is hopeless,” Lena slumped down on a bean bag, her hands over her face. Катастрофа! Я не думаю, что есть что я могу сделать! Disaster! I don’t think there’s anything I can do!! None of my stuff even looks good on you! What are we going to do?”
Seeing her best friend so down made Carmen feel guilty. She gingerly perched herself on the side of the bean bag and placed a gentle arm on Lena’s shoulder. “It’s all my fault,” she said, “I shouldn’t have asked you for a makeover. Giving me, Carmen Lewis, a makeover? Such a joke, really. I mean, I can’t even get over my hoodies!”
"Then since you can’t get over your hoodies, how about you just wear them?” Dylan’s voice floated across the room. Carmen spun around and stared incredulously at him.
He held up a bright red hoodie Carmen recognized as one of her favorites, with Lena’s cute plaid mini skirt.
“Match this with stockings, a metal chain or two and hi-tops and whataya know, cute chicka on the block!”
Carmen seized the opportunity to try and cheer her best friend up, rushing over and snatching the clothes from Dylan. She nodded hurriedly at Lena as she looked up, the smile on her face plastered on so large she looked almost retarded.
Lena looked shocked for a moment, then irritated.
“Oh my God, Dylan, you have the worst fashion sense, ever!” Dylan scowled and opened his mouth as he made his reply, but Lena had already marched over to his side before he could say anything.
“Can’t you see that her hair’s red? Now this,” and she picked up a yellow hoodie lying on the floor next to her feet, “would work much better.”
Dylan cocked an eyebrow, but nodded. “I’m glad you see my point, sister.”
Carmen’s heart was overflowing with happiness. She was going to be a changed person completely! However, as she looked at the hoodie and skirt admiringly, a thought suddenly jumped to attention.
“Stephen likes girly girls. Not girls who wear punkish outfits like this, but sophisticated, elegant, kitten-heeled wearing girls like Clarissa. He won’t like these clothes at all!”
Lena sighed.
“You still haven’t given up on that jerk yet?” Carmen shook her head despondently and attempted to sink into the bean bag.
“There are tons of other boys in our school, you know? Even Charlie Tune-”
“Charlie Tune? You mean old Tuna-breath? Pfft, I tell you, that guy’s a complete idiot!” Dylan exploded in. “Just because I has asked him where he had gotten those jeans…” he trailed off as Lena glared daggers at him.
“Now where was I? Oh yes, Stephen Taylor the lowly jock is not worthy of a beauty like you!”
Carmen choked on her own saliva at the word ‘beauty’. Lena transferred her death glare over.
“You are pretty, yeah?” Like I totally saw you asleep the other night and your eyelashes are the length of my mom’s old broom twigs! Come on, little miss, not everyone has a flawless alabaster complexion,” Carmen fingered the big red pimple on her nose, “or legs that go on for miles! God, darling, get real and go for, like, a better-looking dude already.”
“He’s the best-looking guy in the level, dear,” Dylan snarked, “better than Tuna-Breath at least.” He place his hands on Carmen’s shoulders. “Go for him, honey. I’ll be behind you all the way.”
But suddenly, Lena stood up and threw the bunch of clothes she was holding on the floor. “Fine. Be that way then. Chase after Taylor like the lovesick loon you are. You’re too good for him, I’ve said it again and again, but if you want to lower yourself to his status, I don’t give a damn. Wear those pretty dresses bimbos and preps sashay around in, but don’t look for my help."
She marched out of the room, head held high. Downstairs, the door slammed sharply.
Dylan scowled. “Who does she think she is? This her house of something?”
Carmen shrugged. She had felt a flash of anger at Lena’s harsh words but it had been quickly replaced by disappointment at herself as she realized how true Lena’s words were.
“She was right. Why am I so hung up over him? I mean, he’s good looking, sporty and so smart, but so are you?” She turned to him. “Well, maybe not sporty,” she said, recalling his unfortunate mishap with a dodge ball the day before “But you get my idea! Why am I so attracted to him and not to you?”
Dylan sighed heavily and took her hand.
“Maybe it’s because I’ve known you forever? Or because you realized I was gay before I did?”
Carmen groaned and hid her face between her knees. “It’s just so hard!” she cried, stricken. “All I want is for him to notice me, but he’s so fixed on Clarissa he can’t even see anyone else! And Lena, she calls herself my best friend but she won’t even give me her full support for this small thing?”
Dylan fell into the beanbag next to hers. “Hey. You know my birthday’s coming soon, right? Yeah so my gran, she lives in South Dakota, way far from here so she sends my birthday money early every year. I was planning to get those cute ripped jeans Abercrombie & Fitch makes such a big deal of, but I guess you’re more important.” He smiled. “You up for some shopping?”
That’s it for this chapter, folks. Gosh, I’ve carpal’s tunnel from typing Mike’s Craps. If you hadn’t guessed by now, this is Mike’s work. I just did the typing :D
Yoomi