~Juicy~ asked:


Im writing about my community and I was wondering if this could be put in a better way. You know more outstanding!

The people usually stick to people from the same race. Someone who gets treated different is probably getting picked on. People get treated the way they present themselves. If a person don’t seem to care about themselves or look good, they don’t look interesting. So looks matter when it comes to meeting new people within our society. Teenagers same age are different. I try to look and be different from everyone else. One can tell by my style of living, clothing, accessories, hair color, and just basically looks.

Forrest

Me asked:


Okay I’m not a writer by any means! But I have to write a story for class! Will you please review my story and tell me what I can do to get an “A”? Thanks!! It’s not done, but I didn’t want to keep going and it totally ****!

1
Breath. Just breathe, it was only a dream. I had to keep reminding myself of that. It was the second time that I woke up from the same dream. Me in hospital, doctors all around, needles – lots and lots of needles. I shuddered at the thought. It was official: hospitals are evil. Any dream that involves a hospital is a nightmare.
After a minute – more like five minutes – of reassuring myself that I was okay, I looked at the clock. I still had 30 minutes before the alarm would go off, and would have to start getting ready for class.
I had one of two opinions: go back to sleep and face having the same nightmare again, or review my English Comp. paper for the umpteenth time. Review the paper it was.
I looked over to see if my roommate Tyler of two months was still in his bed. He wasn’t. Guess he’s out for his morning run, once again. I really can’t blame the boy, he is on an athletic scholarship. I wouldn’t want him not to get the best college education here at Andover University.
I finally dragged myself out the bed and to my desk. I opened my laptop and brought up the compare-contrast essay I’d been slaving over for Mrs. Hopper, my rotting corpus of an English Comp. professor. I was only too happy that I wasn’t planning on being an English major. I never could make it though writing papers all the time. Pre-med was just so much easier.
Line by line I scanned that paper. I only caught three mistakes in the whole paper: spelling I might add. I was proud of that. I was getting better at the essay-writing. Maybe Mrs. Hopper would be proud of that too. I swear by all the gods in the heaven that woman hated grading my papers. Every paper I’ve gotten back for her for the last two months have had the folios remarks on them. But whatever, who was she to say I don’t formulate a thesis correctly. She’s so old, she probably forgot what a thesis was.
Just as I was printing my paper, the alarm went off. I guess it was time to actually put on some clothes, instead of just sitting in my boxers. It wouldn’t be long before Tyler would be running into the room ready to take a shower after his vigorous run. I had approximately 10 minutes to grab my toiletries and headed to the bathroom. And that’s exactly what I did.
Tyler and I shared a bathroom with the room next to ours. Luckily, the other two boys were Junior and had girlfriends that were sorority girls. So most night they stay with them, leaving Tyler and me with the bathroom to ourselves.
I walked in the bathroom, grab my toothbrush, wetted it, and put some toothpaste on it. I began to brush and started to wonder why I kept having the hospital nightmare. It was strange. I was almost nineteen. Almost-nineteen-year-olds don’t have nightmares. Especially, when the said almost-nineteen-year-old hasn’t been to a hospital since he was a freshman in high school.
Time to spit. I began brushing once again.
I blame it on Tyler and the cheesy, gore-fest movie he made me watch last night. Normally I’m good when it comes to a full-on bad Hollywood movie made in the 1970s. And normally I don’t have nightmares form it. I didn’t get it. Why the nightmares?
Time to spit again. I rinsed my toothbrush and began to brush again to get all the toothpaste out of my mouth. One last spit and one last rinse of the toothbrush and I was done.
I walked out of the bathroom and started to look for something to wear. I found a pair of jean and put them one. The only thing left was to deicide on a tee-shirt. But what tee-shirt? I had the full color wheel when it came to shirts. But which one today?
After spending what felt like forever looking for a shirt, I turned to see what time it was. Tyler should be getting back here in a minute. I figured he would decide on what color shirt I should wear. It seemed funny having someone else pick out the clothes you were going wear, but it didn’t bother me. It didn’t even seem to bother Tyler either – or at least he never showed it bothered him.
I heard a stomping noise form down the hall and knew it was Tyler. The louder and louder the got the sooner I knew I would finally have a shirt to wear.
Tyler came half-sprinted into the room. He was dredged in sweat. He was wearing a sleeveless shirt, a pair of nylon running shorts, and his running shoes. Tyler was too cute. He had just turned nineteen. Stood at about 6”2 and 168 pounds. With arms the size of canons, and legs that the god mercury would kill for, he was not easily over-looked. Even with all that going for him, he also had a face that any super model would plastically construct. It was so symmetrical, and the blue eyes and dirty blonde hair only helped it.
I felt less inferior to him. I was only 5”11 and about 156 pounds. Compared to

Melissa