oooh THANK YOU~~ =)

im glad it fits, i was scared lol x_x

Howdi doodi chickens

I'm not a chicken T_T

AHHH. x_x;;

*scrambles to finish her half-done entry*

I hope I make it... ^^;;

And also, wonderful entries, everyone! =D <3 I just read them all, and it's good to read all your works~ :3 <3

-hugs swanniee- Thank you so much for entering We now have enough entries to award prizes ^^

An Act of Kindness

It was a cold November afternoon, and the sun was setting quickly. It had been a day of endless pale blue skies and wispy, floating clouds. The low temperatures gave the air a peculiar strength that surged, like icy water, over the skin when the wind grew tired of being idle. Wet-eyed, red-cheeked crowds of people walked briskly over the icy street all day. It was a stylish pedestrian area with expensive independent shops and cobbled pavements trying to give the illusion of a quaint village in the heart of London. Window displays and colourless hanging lights, yet to be turned on, gave evidence of Christmas celebrations on the way.

Blended in between an antique shop and a clothes store stood a Georgian house that was narrow, white-bricked and recently built like the rest of the street. It had a shiny black door with the house number and knocker plated in gold. High above, a window on the second floor was open and a man stood at it, his folded arms resting on the sill. He wore a grey polo neck jumper which was rolled up at the sleeves, revealing his paint-splattered lower arms. He squinted as the setting sun floated down the red sky and shone bright rays in his direction, determined to display its splendour in the last minutes of the day’s short performance. The shoppers below cast long shadows, clutched their environmentally friendly bags and paid no attention to the man who watched the sun set that day.

He closed the window, picked up a now slightly crusted brush and continued painting the skirting board of the spare room. In the past few weeks he had painted the room a brighter but neutral cream colour, varnished the wooden floor and finally bought a new bed. He worked now until the room was dark and he could barely see, but he finally finished. Standing up he turned on the switch by the door and the empty room, save the groundsheets and bed frame, filled with light. It looked and smelled brand new. He gathered up the sheets that were covered in paint and dusty footprints and left the bundle in the corridor. Next he hung up the new green curtains that he had spent a lot of time deliberating over. Then he put down the mattress and made the bed with fresh new linen, but he washed his hands first so as not to spoil the sparkling whiteness. His work almost done, he took an end table from the sitting room and carried it over; it was surprisingly heavy. He placed it next to the bed, and on top of that he had a small lamp and silver framed photograph of two men on a beach, grinning and sitting on surfboards, their legs covered in sand. He had never missed a surfing holiday with his dad, even that year in university when his friends had gone off to Barcelona. He turned off the light again and left the room.

He padded down the carpeted corridor and decided to have a shower as hours of concentrated painting had made him quite hot. He peeled off his clothes, stepped under the thundering jet and his skin seemed to sigh with pleasure as the water cleansed and massaged him. He stayed there a long while, savouring the time when personal comfort is at the height of the agenda, and worries seem to be washed down the drain along with all the grime that has accumulated in twenty-four hours. Reluctantly he turned it off, wrapped a towel around his waist and went to his bedroom to dress, leaving slightly damp footprints on the carpet. He put on a clean white shirt, and on top of that he pulled on a warm blue sweater. He chose faded old jeans. He then quickly used the hair-dryer and went downstairs to the front door. He could already feel the cold from outside, and he put on his comfortable trainers, a black coat and a woollen scarf. Finally, he checked his pockets for keys and his mobile phone, turned off the hall light and left the house, locking it behind him.

The street was much emptier now; the shops had closed and most of the crowd had hurried home. He liked the quiet, cold dark evening with its optimistic Christmas lights. His breath puffed out in front of him, fading away almost as quickly as it appeared. He kept walking, eventually leaving the little bubble of expensive housing and wandering into more typical London streets. He stopped and gave a ₤2 coin to a man sitting on the pavement, curled up in a sleeping bag. The homeless man’s unshaven and bedraggled head nodded briefly in appreciation. The encounter made him wonder how a person could end up in that situation – to not even being able to afford a roof. He concluded that it could have been a downward spiral involving alcohol or drugs. “Like my marriage…” he muttered.

The hospital was an unexpected building, it appeared suddenly around a corner and he was always quietly surprised not to see another row of takeaway shops, with blinking neon signs, battered furniture and a slight layer of grime. The large, clinical place in front of him was a stark contrast. He walked briskly inside, to be greeted by wonderful warmth. The reception desk remarkably had no queue, and he went up and said something quietly to the receptionist. She told him to go through. He didn’t need to be told where to go. He went right, down one of the many blue carpeted corridors. Doctors and nurses walked past, mysterious vents hummed and the bright ceiling lights shone unfalteringly. Occasional pot plants sat in corners, wilting a little. He smiled to himself. It didn’t take him long to reach the room, the one he’d visited so many times. He knocked on the door and went inside.

“Edward.” The old man in the hospital bed beamed. He seemed awfully withered but life still crackled behind his eyes, always excited, never beginning to fade. Edward went and hugged him, holding his father’s frail body in his arms.
“How are you, dad?” he sat at the foot of the bed.
“I’m feeling good. Well, not great.” He paused, smiling tightly. “But ready.”
“What have they said to you?”
“They’ve given me the all clear… but they will be sending people to check up.”
“Fine. Has someone packed your things?”
“I packed them.”
“Great. I spoke to the receptionist, and I arranged the last details with Dr. Spencer earlier. You’re free to go.”
The old man nodded and smiled, and slowly closed his eyes. “Ed.”
“Yeah?”
He hesitated, and then opened his eyes and looked directly at his son. “I’m in a hell of a lot of pain.”
“What?”
“More pain than they know. More than you know.”
“Why don’t you say something?”
“I don’t want any more blasted painkillers.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Well, I’m worried now.”
“Let’s just forget it for now. I want to leave this hospital.”
Edward nodded, anxiety written all over his face.


They took Edward’s car which seemed to have a permanent home in the hospital parking lot. Edward carried the suitcase, and his father moved steadily using a walking stick. The ride home was short but silent; both men suppressed anything they might have said. Once they were through the door, the silence was broken.
“What would you like for dinner?”
“I’m just going straight to bed.”
“Do you need me to show you…?”
“Nope, I’ve got it.” He clunked slowly up the stairs.

Edmund went into the kitchen and fixed a quick pasta supper. He could hear the plumbing from upstairs, making him even more aware of his father. This day had not gone how he had imagined it would go. He ate sullenly in front of the television, his favourite comedy failing to entertain him. When he’d finished he put the plate on the floor and continued watching. Not for the first time in his life, he was scared of talking to his father. As the programs carried on, one mindless show flashing after another, he felt his body numb and his thoughts empty, until he heard a cry from upstairs.

He ran into the spare room. His dad lay on the bed and had broken out into a sweat. Edward put a hand on the old man’s forehead. It was boiling. His father batted the hand away. “Forget it.”
“Don’t me stupid. Tell me what to get you.”
The man sighed and exhaled deeply; more emotions than pain haunted his face. He gestured. “The suitcase. Get the orange bottle from my wash bag.”
Edward did so. He unzipped the black case at the foot of the bed, and found the unfamiliar bottle. There was no label. “What’s this?”
“I got that,” he paused from pain, “in Mexico. Five years ago. Our last holiday.”
“What is it?” He started to pour a glass of water and unscrewed the cap.
“I’d just found out about… this… and I wanted to kill myself.”
Edward dropped the glass. It smashed. He looked down, startled. “Fuck… what?”
The old man waved a hand as if to brush everything away. “But I didn’t.”
Edward just stared.
“I decided to wait. I wanted to see my first grandchild, which I did. I wanted to tie up loose ends. The past few years have been difficult, but I’ve done everything I wanted.”
Edward sat, heavily, on the bed. He didn’t say anything.
“The pain is unbearable, Ed. But if there’s anything last time taught me… I’m too scared to do it myself. I need your help.” He swallowed. “You need to dissolve the pills in water, and then give it to me.”
“I can’t, dad.”
“And I can’t bear living anymore.”
Edward shook his head tearfully.
“I know that this is the most I’ve ever asked of you. No father should ever make his son do this. But I’m asking you to be strong and take pity. I’m scared of living and dying. And I’m scared for you.”

Edward just sat there. He didn’t say a word. He just sat, thinking. The minutes and the hours passed. His dad slipped in and out of consciousness, and occasionally became feverish with pain. Edward comforted him and fetched wet flannels to cool his face and forehead. He held his hand and sat with him all night long. As the old man writhed under hot sheets, the bottle still sat on the dresser, always in the corner of Edward’s vision. He tried talking after a while. He became desperately more alone. He started telling stories about his young son. He recounted forgotten birthdays, being out on lakes during thunderstorms, getting lost on the road, celebrating the millennium, even when they found a bird’s nest at the foot of the garden. Eventually, crying, he arranged the lethal liquid and turned to look at his dad lying, finally, in a deep sleep. He sat back down on the bed and put the glass on the table. He titled his father’s head back, and opened his mouth with two hands. He lifted the glass, and poured the water in. He fought the whole time to stop his hand from shaking. He massaged the old man’s throat and felt him swallow. It was done. All he could do now was to sit and hold his hand until the sun rose.

Yay, I just finished typing my story. 8D;

I just have to proofread/edit/read over it/read it again. XD

....It was longer than I expected. I hope I'm on topic enough. :3

I'm finished! I'm not sure if it fits exactly into the category of acts of kindness. I just hope that it's alright and not too silly or random. :sweat:

Thank you for considering.

The Cookie

She only wanted to bake her brother a cookie.

It all started with a cookie. One delectable little treat. It was soft, chewy, and warm. And of course, it was topped with melted chocolate chips. What a delight! But perhaps it meant something more.

Ding! The cookie was ready. Faye had been very careful not to burn herself with such high temperatures so she wore an oven mitt. The sweet aroma swarmed around the kitchen as she took out the tray containing the gigantic cookie. ‘It’s finally done! It may have taken a while to mould into perfection, but it was worth it.’ she thought to herself as she recalled the outcomes of her previous cookies. All of which, were now in the garbage bin.

Let’s just say, Faye wasn’t the best baker in the world. She didn’t know one thing about cooking, let alone, baking. Her first attempt at baking didn’t go so well. This morning she woke up and to crack open an old and very dusty cookbook. She looked under pastries and found the recipe for chocolate chip cookies. She flipped through the pages of the book only to find that the page had been torn off. ‘Well isn’t that just peachy! I have no clue how to make chocolate chip cookies and I promised to make some for Drew. It’s his favourite.’

Drew was Faye’s younger brother. He meant a lot to her while she was his best friend. They two had always stuck up for one another through the bad and good times. It’s like the old saying, ‘Blood runs thicker than water.’ That was, until their parents got divorced. Drew was dragged away by their father while Faye was left with her mother. The two had been split apart ever since.

They would occasionally visit each other during the holidays like Thanksgiving or Christmas, but otherwise their means of communication would be through the phone. It was funny how they could talk for hours and hours in the receiver but utter little to nothing at all when they meet face to face. She love and cared about her brother despite all that akwardness. This was why she decided to bake him some cookies. Hopefully, he'd appreciate them just like she'd appreciate his company.

She needed to find out how to make cookies and fast. She paced around the dining room. Pacing seemed always seemed to help her at times like this. And it hasn’t failed her yet! It was as if a light bulb lit open on the top of her head. She suddenly knew what to do.

Faye raced up the stairs and dug through her room to find an old scrapbook. It was filled with pictures of her family before the divorce. They had all seem so happy then. Their face always lit up with smiles. She wished that time would rewind itself so she could re-live those moments. Unfortunately, reality would not allow that and only memories would remain buried deep inside her head.

“Aha! Found it!” Faye couldn’t help but pump her fists into the air. Behind the old scrapbook was a piece of folded paper that contained a poorly drawn treasure map. A couple of years ago, their grandmother drew this map for them. It was a map to find her oh-so-secret recipe for chocolate chip cookies. They were always so curious as to how she made them taste so good. The day they decided to ask her, she only replied by handing them this treasure map.

To their surprise, they have never found it. That day, Drew and Faye followed the map but never found the treasure. They went around the living room, down the cellar, out the door through the garden, and stopped in front of the old oak tree. That was where the “X” was marked. They dug all around the tree and haven’t found it. They climbed up, down, and around the tree but they had no luck there either. They gave up only to be rewarded chocolate chip cookies for their efforts later. Ironic, isn’t it?

Faye rushed outside to the old oak tree in search of the recipe. Her eyes flashed back and forth and left and right as she examined her surroundings. She came into a conclusion that the recipe wasn’t hidden outside the tree because if that were the case, she would’ve found it by now. It also wouldn’t have been buried under the ground because her grandmother wouldn’t be able to bury it that deep. Heck, she wouldn’t even be able to carry a shovel because her fragile state wouldn’t allow her to do so.

Just as she gave up, a gust of wind blew down a birds nest. It was made up of tiny branches and shreds of dead grass. There was something very peculiar about it. Curiosity got the best of Faye as she picked up the nest. ‘What were the odds of that?!’

Inside the nest was a very old and slightly dirty piece of paper. It had been covered up with pieces of dried mud. She wiped the dirt off and began to open the folded paper. She held her breathe as she unfolded the final part. “Recipe for cookies,” she read out loud. A wave of happiness went through her. She jumped up and down, ecstatic that she was finally able to find the recipe all by herself.

She skipped all the way into the house. She glanced at the clock to see how much time she had until Drew came by to see her. It was 1 o’clock now. That left her with 3 hours and 30 minutes to bake cookies. She thought that left her with plenty of time to bake the cookies.

She started reading out all the ingredients to herself as she got them outside her fridge and from her pantry. It took her a while to do this because she couldn’t reach some of the items in the recipe. Thank goodness for the invention of the chair! She carried it in front of the pantry and stepped up to grab what she needed. Once she had all the ingredients, she laid them out in the kitchen top in the order it says on the recipe. Flour, baking soda, salt, butter, eggs, white sugar, vanilla, and chocolate chips.

Faye didn’t bother putting the chair away and continued to read the recipe. She opened the bag of flour and scooped up a cup full into a bowl. She scooped another. And another and another until the bowl was half-filled. Then, she cracked a couple of eggs and put in a few tablespoons of sugar, salt, and baking soda. She put it in a few drops of vanilla and a huge handful if chocolate chips. Afterwards, she kept stirring the dough until it was firm. She took it out and rolled it flat with a rolling pin. Finally, she cut the pieces out before putting them in a tray that goes into the oven.

When they were done, she waited until they cooled before she tried a piece of her cookies. She knew better than to burn her tongue with her impatience like she has done before. Once she took a bite of her cookies, she knew she did something wrong. As a matter of fact, she couldn’t really bite into her cookies. They were rock solid! She threw them out and made another batch. Just to be followed by another, and another, and another, and another.

By the time she got to her seventh batch, she only had ingredients enough for one big cookie. She hoped and wished that it would turn out alright. She was very careful with the measurements because she doesn’t have another chance after this one. Drew would be disappointed if he didn’t get his cookie.

Ding! The cookie was ready. Faye had been very careful not to burn herself with such high temperatures so she wore an oven mitt. The sweet aroma swarmed around the kitchen as she took out the tray containing the gigantic cookie. ‘It’s finally done! It may have taken a while to mould into perfection, but it was worth it.’ she thought to herself as she recalled the outcomes of her previous cookies. All of which, were now in the garbage bin.

‘And now for the taste test!’ Faye was about to bite a little piece of the cookie when the doorbell rang. “I’m coming!” she hollered as she ran towards the door. She found Drew and her father at the other side. She let them in. Drew caught the scent of the cookie. “Is that cookies? Did you make me some?”

Faye was hesitant to answer the question. She didn’t know if the cookie was ready to be engulfed by humans. Her previous cookies tasted so horrible, she almost threw up after one bite. Drew didn’t wait for an answer though. He simply ran into the kitchen.

Faye was relieved to see that her brother didn’t throw after eating the cookie. “Did you like the cookie?” Now that she knew it was edible, she wanted to know where it was good or great.

“I loved it! Thanks for always sharing.” A smile broke from her face as she heard his words. She felt her heart leap because she knew that someone finally acknowledged and appreciated her hard work and effort. “No. Thank you, Drew, for always caring.”

And with that she hugged her brother. And he hugged back. He was happy that he got his cookie. She was happy that she got her brother. Besides, everyone knows the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach!

She only wanted to bake her brother a cookie. But she got a lot more out of it than she would've expected.

yay not long now to go
so glad more entrants came up

Here is my entry. =)

----------

Dear Stranger
1,413 words
A story on a subtle sort of kindness through the eyes of two unlikely souls.


The first time you come to me, it’s a bright and sunny day.

Your eyes are constantly shifting, from left to right and back again. Your steps are slow and cautious, as if you’re frightened that one wrong move and you’ll fall down under.

“The sun shines too bright for you to feel unwelcome,” I tell you, and you’re startled from your guarded trance. Your eyes (so mistrusting) wander towards me, and you ask who I am.

I shake my head and tap beside me. “There’s plenty of room,” I say, and I make sure that my tone is gentle. You stare, and I smile.

It takes a few moments (seconds, minutes, hours) before you lie down beside me and fall fast asleep.

---

It takes a while for you to open up to me. But oh, how patient I can be.

(time does that to you, I want to say, but your eyes are always glazed and you dare not speak a word)

And when you finally speak (such a lovely voice, I say, and you attempt to hide a blush), you ask me a question.

“Where are we?” I reiterate, and you nod. Your eyes show an eagerness I’ve never seen before, and I cannot help but stare. It breaks my heart to answer that you are not ready to know just yet.

You fall silent and look away (you’re just a stranger, I hear you think); you stay like this until you fall asleep once more.

---

It takes some time before you talk to me again. You constantly ask about everything around us – the rich-colored fields, the clear blue skies, and the fact that it is but you and me who seem to be around. The latter is what interests you the most, and I cannot help but avoid the question.

But every time I answer that I cannot say, your expression falls short and my heart breaks a little more. “You’ll figure it out,” I always say, because truly, you don’t need my help.

(A voice in my head says otherwise.)

---

“I was never healthy,” I tell you one day. You refuse to face me, but I continue speaking.

“I was always so sickly. I never went out of the house, never got to play with other kids or go to a dance with someone I like. I was forever confined in my room, so perfectly white and clean and—”

I stop, and you turn around. And?

I clear my throat. “Never mind.” I regret my words though, because you turn away from me again and silence ensues.

---

“I’ve never even kissed anyone before, you know.”

The words just come out of my mouth (and I seriously don’t know how or why). I suddenly feel that you should know, because you see, I’ve been terribly lonely.

(I don’t speak of that last bit though, although a part of me wishes to say so, just to see if you will finally look at me and recognize that you’re not the only one who’s alone and just as confused.)

It is then of a surprise to me when you slowly turn to face me, and in your eyes I can see a glint of (amusement?) recognition. You hide it a second after, and that in itself speaks to me louder than your words.

You divert your gaze elsewhere, but I know that some sort of smile has formed on your face when you say that I’m missing out on a lot.

(A part of me doesn’t understand it, but I will accept and treasure what little words you speak to me.

After all, it’s been a while since I’ve had some actual company.)

---

Time passes by again, and it is then that you tell me your story.

You speak of running away and of parents who don’t understand. You say that you don’t remember what happened after you ran out the door, and that it troubles you till this moment. You even ask me what I think, and in your eyes I can see that you think that I know (and that I’m hiding it from you out of spite).

I turn away, and your eyes weigh heavily on my back.

---

You roll up your sleeves one day (Or is it night? I can’t tell anymore.) and show me the gashes on your wrists that never seemed to properly heal.

Touch them, you say, and I am left confused. You extend them to me once more, and tell me to tell you how they feel against the tips of my fingers.

I swallow my hesitance (for I don’t want to shun you any longer) and trace the gashes over and over again.

You suddenly ask if I’m disappointed in you because of them. You tell me that everyone always is, and that you wouldn’t blame me if I thought the same.

I flinch; you notice.

“They look like they’re almost healing,” I tell you slowly, and I smile a genuine smile to emphasize my point.

It confuses me when you throw your arms around me and sob on my shoulders. I am rigid, but your tears slowly relax my limbs, and I find myself embracing you.

---

(“Hug?” I ask, extending my arms out wide.

My mother looks at me, but doesn’t see.

“Maybe later, sweetheart. I need to go and get your medicines before the store closes.”

You leave me with a ghost of a kiss on my forehead. Later, when you come back, I throw away the numerous capsules and tablets.)

---

You kiss me on the cheek and tell me thank you for the comfort.

You ask me why I help you, and I say, “You’re not alone, you know.”

We (you, me, us) fall into silence once more.

(You squeeze my hand without warning, and tell me that you wish you knew why I was here with you.

I ask you if you know why you’re here. You say yes, and I tell you that I have the same reason too.)

---

“You’re about to leave.”

I tell you this with hardened resolve. You turn to me (abruptly this time) and ask me how I know.

(It’s so tempting to point out that her scars are almost gone.)

You look straight into my eyes (my lips), and you tell me that I’ve been too kind to stubborn little you. When I tell you that I have merely sat beside her in this patch of grass the entire time and have not done anything special, you cannot help but laugh out loud.

That’s the point, you tell me playfully (oh, how I’ve suddenly realized just how much I love your voice). I don’t understand, and you tell me that I’ll figure it out.

A touch. A look. A lean. A brush. A kiss.

---

When I open my eyes, you are gone.

I smile despite myself. One more person helped, I think, and I lean back down into the grass to wait for my next visitor.

---
---

When I open my eyes, the lights are blinding. Numerous voices buzz everywhere at once, and I find that I am almost deaf.

Runaway. Slamming. Crash. Coma.

I sit up straight and leap out of bed. I ignore the cries of surprise and walk out the door. People are now following me, but no one seems to want to stop me. A turn left, and two doors down.

The door is unlocked, and I find you there, lying down so peacefully with a smile on your face. I see my kiss mark hasn’t faded just yet.

“Coma,” says a doctor beside me, “just like you.” I ask how long it’s been. “Two years now. Why do you ask?”

I shake my head, and ask for a pen and a paper. My mother (now beside me) fusses about going back to my room and getting some rest.

I turn to face her. Let me write a letter first.

Bewildered, she diverts her gaze from me to the stranger on the bed. She sees the imprint of a kiss (“It’s your favorite shade of red,” she utters.) and leaves me be.

---

Dear Stranger,

My scars are healing, thanks to you. I appreciate your company and kindness.

When you wake up, please do come and see me. I wish to repay you. For everything.

From,
Stubborn Little Me

(ps: It was my first kiss too.)

----------

I wanted to try a different angle and style on the theme. It's not the most obvious and common kind of kindness, but another kind of kindness that we all often seem to overlook - company. I dunno about you guys, but I am always grateful to those who are quick to stay by my side. Plus, the Giving Tree event has allowed me to meet lots of new people. :3 And all these people gladly keep me company when I'm bored or when I just need someone to talk to. ^^ <3

I hope that this entry is not too far out, and is still eligible despite the different kind of kindness I've shown. It's not a physical kind of kindness, and I may have stretched the theme, but it was this kind of kindness that struck me the most, and so I decided to share it with you all in a stylized form of writing I wanted to try out. :3

Oh, and the use of the 1st and 2nd POV's? Lol, I just wanted a challenge and an entry that kind of stood out, if only for the kind of POV I used. xDD;;


ps: It's not that long a story. It's just that I abused the spacebar, kinda. xDD;; Please tell me though if the Size 1 font is too small. =| I just didn't want to stretch the page so much. ^^;;

Thankies in advance~ =D <3 And good luck to all the contestants! :3 <3<3

Wow, thank you all for your entries. The deadline to get them in has passed and now I'm going to get to reading. Good luck to everyone!

Oh wow, I just barely made it then. ^^;;

Have fun reading, Enzeru~ :3

Also, good luck to all the contestants, again! =D I have read all the stories, and I'm happy to say that I enjoyed everyone's works. =) <3

:gonk: Wait a minute. It says 3 PM EST on 12/04/08 .... That's my time and it's only 11:55 AM. ; ;

I was just about to submit now....

She changed the date? I thought we decided on Dec 3, oh well, submit it.

Oh really? ><; I just noted down the date in the title/front page so I thought I had time. >w<;; Well, here goes.


"YOU'RE FIRED!"

Those dark words loomed in Serena's head. She was miserable and pissed. Grrr.... why this had to happen to me?! And it was my first job...straight out of college. Serena sighed, staring down at her worn leather boots. It was a chilly November day at the park. Not a soul was around the usually packed place on this Tuesday afternoon. The trees surrounding Serena were mostly bare, fallen red and golden leaves laid in large piles.

She was sitting at one of the metal benches onlooking the tiny but lovely fountain. It was full of life, bubbling with clear, crisp water. She looked up a moment, staring at the streams of water flowing down and listening to the repetitive sounds coming from it. She couldn't sit anymore; she was furious. Off the bench, she marched quickly around the fountain. The wind was getting stronger, blowing Serena's blonde curls whichever way it wanted. Serena probably looked like a madwoman, moving in circles like this, but she didn't care. She shouldn't have lost that job, even if it was a crap job in the first place. It was pride, damn it. Harassment. Gossip. Scandal. She shivered, but not because of the frigid weather. "I can't believe some people in this world," Serena said out loud. "Sure, I knew there were cheaters, liars, and crazy murderers. But some people are truly evil and manipulative." Random pebbles on the ground were kicked away. Serena pulled her hair and groaned. "I have to move on. Forget only yesterday did I have a job and a paycheck." She closed her eyes for a few minutes, taking a breath and lifting her face to the sky.

He watched her for more than he meant to. He was just jogging through before he halted and saw the whole scene. At times, he had to smile and smother a chuckle. He couldn't hear what she had been saying, but there was something about her that compelled him to know more. Walking towards the young woman, he decided to investigate.

Serena was shaken lightly by the shoulder before she opened her eyes to see a handsome man with dark brown locks and caramel eyes. "Hi," He spoke, with a slight smile. "Ahh, I was just passing by and I saw you, still as a ghost and I thought something might be up... Are you alright?"

"Oh." Serena frowned a bit. "Oh no, I'm quite alright. More than alright. Just perfect, in fact." She pasted on a bright smile.

"Uh-huh. Sure." The guy chuckled. "Let's take a seat, shall we?" Before thinking of a response, Serena was smoothly lead to the bench.

"Err, I actually have to be going. I'm suppose to...." Serena paused helplessly, averting the man's gaze. I bet he's laughing inside. And with that thought, she turned and faced him with steely blue eyes.

Phillip held his gaze; his twinkling eyes contrasting against hers. "Now before you try to run off, I'm not going to hurt you and I just wanted to know something. You're not alright. That was clear. But what isn't clear, is the reason why. Hey, I know we're strangers but it might be easier to open up to one than someone you do know."

Serena scowled. "Maybe. Maybe you won't hurt me and maybe opening up to you will be good. But then again, maybe not." She shrugged, turning to view the fountain again. "By the way, what's your name?"

He did the same, examining the small fountain before answering. "I'm Phillip. And you?"

"Serena Michelle Cooper."

"Okay, Miss Serena Michelle Cooper, tell me what's on your mind. It'll be better once you talk to someone," Phillip winked and grinned.

Serena wanted to ignore him, but his oh-so-goofy face changed her mind. "Fine fine. I lost my job yesterday. I was fired. But I shouldn't have been!!" She jumped up then and stood erect, looking down at Phillip. "A jerk at my job falsely accused me of things when he, in fact, was the true guilty one."

Phillip looked past the annoyed expression and saw something else in her eyes, but didn't speak for a minute. He knew not to press for more. "I see. Well, I know what can cheer you up."

"...Which is?" Serena narrowed her eyes with suspicion.

Phillip chuckled. "Hot rich coffee and fantastic bagels."

Serena raised one blonde eyebrow. "Coffee? ...And bagels. Mmm, I wouldn't mind the coffee, but I'll pass on the bagels."

"What? You can't pass on them!" Phillip looked positively shocked. "Angie's has the best bagels ever. Pretty much everything there is the best."

"I haven't been there, but bagels really aren't my thing," replied Serena with a careless lift of her shoulder.

"And why is that?" It was his turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Because," Serena glared. "They taste horrible! Ugh, and bland! The person who invented bagels should be shot." She closed her eyes and shuddered.

Phillip burst with laughter. He couldn't stop. He had to hold his belly before composing himself. He took a quick peek at Serena's face and saw how serious she was.... against bagels. The thought almost made him laugh again, but he knew better. "Ahem. So... scratch bagels. Angie's is only a five minute walk from here, and I wager we could use the warmer climate." Phillip got up, putting out his hand for hers.

Serena placed her hand in his, and they went.

The quaint coffee shop was packed. The two managed to snag a booth by the window before ordering two cappuccinos. The fireplace was roaring and faint holiday music filled the air. Serena expected their conversation to end shortly after it started. But she was wrong. It started with bagels, then to breads to cooking and so on. She didn't know how they did it, but they chatted for almost an hour. She enjoyed his company and knew he felt the same about her. She wasn't conceited, but confident. Then she suddenly realized she was smiling, then laughing without much thought of yesterday.

After their second round of cappuccinos, Phillip knew he had to leave. There were some unfinished things and a dozen phone calls to do at work. He gently tugged on Serena's curls and smiled. "This has been really good, but I have to get going."

"Oh?" Serena's smile faltered a tad. "Yeah, of course. We've been here so long."

They both got up and gathered their coats. "Let's exchange phone numbers; I'd really like to see you again, Serena." Phillip placed his scarf around her neck. "Keep it. You'll need it. Snow's falling." "Really?" Serena turned to the window to see tiny flakes drifting down.

"Good-bye Serena. We'll see each other again, I'm sure." Phillip gave a wide grin. "If not, I'll offer my homemade bagels to persuade you." His eyes sparkled with mischief before Serena jabbed him with her elbow.

"Haha. Very funny. Bye, Phillip." She took a few steps toward the door before Phillip called out, "Oh, I almost forgot. Here," He placed a small folded crane into her palm. Serena gazed at the bird folded from one of Angie's napkins. Then she looked at Phillip's face, wondering. "It's something to remember me by," Phillip replied with a wink. Then he was out the door and gone.

--------------------

{ One week later }

He hasn't called. Argh, well I'm not going to call him." Serena paced her living room. It's not like I'm desperate or anything. And I've been busy with all these job interviews now. I hope the one on Monday went good. That interviewer was so weird though and practically emotionless. I know the one earlier today failed miserably. I have another one to worry about later this afternoon anyways...

RRIIINNNNGGGG! Serena snatched up her phone. "Hello?" Her curls bounced up and down as her head bobbed. "Really? Yes, I'm interested. You mean right now? Umm... I mean, yeah I can be there in about 30 minutes. Okay, thank you very much. Bye." Whoa. Rick Jameson, THE top editor of Elite magazine, is interested in hiring me. Holy moly... Crap, gotta get dressed!

--------------------

The tidy, nice-sized office looked quite possibly the best thing Serena has ever seen. That's it. She was in love. She fell into her newly bought plush desk chair. She leaned back and sighed in absolute bliss. "After one impossibly short interview with Mr. Jameson and a day of settling in, I have a job at Elite magazines and I have my own freaking office." Serena started giggling before getting up to do a spin around the room. But she foolishly got dizzy and sat back down, now admiring her oak desk. She lovingly rubbed it with one hand. I have my own desk. Not just a tiny cubicle. Whoo! She started opening drawers at random. Blank notepads, Elite brand pens, and a few office supplies were found. One drawer was much smaller than the rest so she opened it last. Serena gasped, reaching in and pulling out a folded paper crane. "What the..." There was a note attached. Serena opened it and read: "Okay, don't get upset. You earned this job; I know you're perfect for it. And besides, if you get mad at me, who else will you not eat bagels with? - Phillip". Serena stared at the note for a few seconds before bursting with sweet laughter.

Not your fault, it was a mis-communication on our part.

Okay... :3

I'm catching up on the rest of the entries I haven't read yet. Everyone's done a great job. ^w^

I only entered because I thought no one else was going to T_T I'm going to withdraw it since it's half tossed anyway.

Good luck everyone. I'm not very proud of my piece. XD

-pokes Pearl- Wah what do you mean? I enjoyed reading yours! :heart:

o.0;; When was it decided on the third. It had been listed on the 4th all week. xD

Maybe I saw it like that when I had a high fever. I tend to hallucinate when I get sick.

Zomg noooo whered all these entries come from!?!? xD? I thought it was gonna be an easy one

Thanks Lumi ^__^

@ Soul - any good writer is a perfectionist/procrastinator that waits until the last possible moment.
(Not to say that you're not a good writer!)

I've managed to get two stories read... and the points allocated properly. :) will post in my journal later.