Hey guys, just a short post today saying that I took up Luna's idea (Mmm Bunnies) from this post and started a Worpress site for it. The first chapter is up so feel free to read it. Since it's on Wordpress and I'm updating via their nifty Pages option (which, you've got to admit is pretty cool) I'll mention on my posts whether I've posted the next part and whatnot.

Year Zero or YZo (for short)

Besides that, I'm feeling pretty good (I guess) compared to yesterday/last night. All I can say is that I felt a bit frustrated.

So, there you go, and I know, for sure, that this one will follow through to the end because I have it all worked out. Wish me luck because I might have jinxed myself there. :)

Uncertainties & shaky hands
make for a nervous gait
but who's eyes broaden upon the lands
searching for the road to Dream

Another SongPost just for fun. :) And because I like linking stuff even if I've linked them before (check post True). Not a lot is going on and I've been reading about the USSR like crazy for a History paper and other things and the information is kind of overwhelming but it's all good. Just found out I might be going to Canada this summer... More characterization and sad stuff *hits self b/c she can't write anything not sad and depressing*. Darn Silent Hill music. I love it so much.

xD Can you tell I'm trying to avoid using the character names?

+ + + Heaven's Night—"There's still happiness"

The Heaven's Night festival was held on this one day of the year where everyone, since this being a very small town, would gather in the highest clearing, yards from the town. It was called "One Star Hill" because of the myth that a star fell there long ago in the past that made the land what it was. The town's name isn't that special and has had a history of conquerors and battalions trampling over this land for the people beyond—those that have reason to call trouble like that, the ones with fortifications and riches beyond us peasants. As a whole, this town has been rebuilt over and over all because of the motto the council chose thusly: In somnis veritas or "In dreams there is truth."

It was said that this town was the epitome of dreams, where you are able to dream because how this town functions looks all so simple...from the surface. But I'm not saying that I know how and what the council deals with on a daily basis but everyone that lives here has so much pride and hope for this tiny town...

Dreams. Hope. Heaven's Night... All make me think of fairytales. Can this town, it's civilians; is this all a big fairytale? If that's so, let it stay that way, if not for me then for everyone else.

The street on which I walk now, the narrow paved path with quaint dusty brown buildings lining the sides. Steel and iron painted a shiny black were the lights that appeared at so-and-so interval of pavement, baskets of greenery and fragrant flowers brightening the path. The sun was just setting so the lights themselves were being lit one by one as I walked past this all too familiar road.

Many people I knew passed me by, all huddled close with their companions and shivering in their coats and gloves. Though enamored with their lover or in a heated conversation, they gave me a short glance before turning away. Smiles, small and maybe even hopeful, were etched on their faces. I knew what they were thinking about. I knew that they knew where I was going, who I was visiting; they'd seen me far too often. I blushed, pulling my cap down at the same time.

The more I walked, the more and more empty the street became. Buildings began to disperse as wider, loner snowscapes met my eye and trees spotted the white all around me. My hands in my pockets I continued this dirt path, trudging on the incline. A carriage just passed me by; I heard the whistling and chugging of a train in the distance. It was close now, the house, though a bit near the mouth of the woods, gated but tiny—a cottage. The husband worked in the town, the mother stayed at home, she stayed at home as well, save for the occasion of school.

I'd met her a very long time ago and had been by her since then with the permission of her parents. I with my father by my side and my mother gone with a lover and a child of her own—a brother can you believe that? With the two being acquainted in business ventures and both on good terms, I was able to come and go to their house at any time. I remember my father laughing at how suddenly active I'd become since I was born not in the best of health...

And here I am now, about to knock on the door. From here I could hear a faint singing, footsteps and the crackling of a fire. I knocked and in a few seconds the mother, with her kind but wan face, let me in with a smile, urging me to sit by the fire and rest. I did and could never have been more thankful.

+ + +

It was a dark clear sky with no moon. The only lights we could see were from the stars and the square in the town accompanied with low cheers and music. Eventually, one by one, the lights would shut off and the civilians, with candles in their hands resembling fireflies in the summer, would make the pilgrimage to the hill and watch the sky. There were groups and broken lines, like blotches in the snow, who'd sit quietly or play around for everything was silent and their joyous cries could be heard miles away—where we were sitting.

It would stay like that until the night air became unbearable but till then, a fire would be created and everyone would sit closer to hear the stories and myths of olde from the mouths of the civilians themselves. While that happened, the lights of the patrol could be seen fading in and out of the dark crevices of the town, guards were posted by the possible entrances where any danger but that rarely happened.

The bench we were sitting on was crafted by my father but the location as to which it was to be placed was suggested by Leander, her father. His excuse was because it was always nice to look out from a high place. And it's wonderful, especially in the springtime when all the greenery and flowers looked their finest. Now that I think about it...it does sound like a fairytale. I mentioned this to her and she smiled but she seemed more lost in her thoughts. I asked her what was wrong and she snapped back to her normal self.

"Everything is fine," she had said. People said that when they were not fine.

I didn't push the subject. There was something about living for so long with this girl that made one almost know what she was thinking in a single glance. There was also the definite tightening of the edges of her lips; sometimes they'd be little tugs, as if all she wanted to do at the moment was frown. Then there was a certain look to her face and—as if aware of the deep slant of her brow—the modest dip of her head caused her hair to partially obscure her profile where she, following that, would brush it over her ear with white frozen fingers. The slant looked less severe but it remained nonetheless.

She was definitely not saying something that needed to be said. And I, noticing how this observation of her mannerisms struck me as a little...creepy. Turning away, even though she hadn't noticed my staring, I thought of what I could do. She was the type to, say, "suffer quietly." Even then, when we first met, she was quiet around other children and was always left behind like a shadow. When she was alone with her mother and father, she was the opposite... Maybe it has something to do with her parents... Probably—

"What are you thinking about?" Her voice clear and loud in the silence, like the hourly bells.

Her face was turned towards me... Has she been like that for some time? I pulled my cap closer. I thought of what I'd been doing earlier and couldn't help but be guilty.

She then looked to the gathering below, leaning forward, then she looked up. She gasped. Breaking out into a wide smile, she suddenly took my arm, the same one still holding onto the cap. Startled, the thing practically flew from my fingers to the snowy ground. I really should keep a better grip on that hat really...

"Did you see? Did you see?" she said, exasperated.

I shook my head. I asked her what it was it she saw and she replied—

"It was a shooting star... No. There were two—no"—she blinked, trying to recall the number of stars she saw fall—"Oh, there were a couple I know but one of them was very bright, like it was going to crash onto the hill like the myth."

I replied that it was probably a good omen and that the town was going to prosper. That everyone was guaranteed happiness since the year was ending soon.

She was still for a moment, her smile diminishing into a grin. Then, she nodded, leaving my side in order to pick up the hat, brushing the snow from the material. Instead of giving the hat to me she put it on, mimicking the walk and talk of a man. We laughed and she seemed to be in better spirits, sitting back down with a satisfied exhale as a chill shook her frame. She returned the hat to me as she relaxed onto the bench. I could see that the revelry was but a temporary reprieve from her thoughts for she looked as if she was about to cry... I hesitated but I placed the hat over her head, her sad eyes.

I thought she was going to smile, maybe even laugh and take "revenge" as she always did. But she didn't. She took my arm as before and leaned on it, the cap stayed so I couldn't see much but her nose and the tip of her chin. Soon, tears rolled from her cheeks and she'd inhale through her nose constantly, her grip round my arm tightening—if it was any tighter bloodflow would stop entirely in it's tracks. But it didn't hurt.

I really didn't mind but I felt as if she expected something from me and I felt idiotic that I couldn't just read her mind and find out how to offer solace on what she wouldn't tell me.

+ + +

We both sat there, the crowd dispersing slowly. Some lights, the streetlights mainly, were turned on in the town, there were some lights in some of the buildings too. She still wouldn't say anything but the tears had stopped. Her breathing was still uneven but, other than that, she was all right.

"Look up," I said, "Before the stars are gone."

She didn't. This, and my overall helplessness in these kinds of situations was slightly irritating me. I knew that there were things that people were supposed to and not supposed to do when in situations like this, or so I've heard. Then there was the fact that I had no idea what she was so worried and sad about... I took the plunge and just asked.

She had to repeat her answer, having to clear her throat first because her voice was watered down—"Mama is dying."

So it did have something to do with her parents... Ah, I still felt like an idiot and wanted to die in some obscure place. Again, she went against my expectations and looked at me with those large watery eyes but only for a second. She looked away, down, onto her lap then went ahead to removing the cap hitting me square in the face with it.

"But I'm all right now"—she amended with a half-hearted smile—"There's still happiness...for her. Sure. It'll take a while before I—Daddy and I—get over her...death... But we'll be by her side when she goes, wherever she goes...and we'll remember her too"—she grew quiet, her words coming out as whispers easily lost in a wind, if there was one—"as if she never died." Tears began to fall but she caught each with the swipe of her hands and cuffs and sleeves. "I have...hope"—she began shortly after—"that she'll be fine. And if she's fine then we are too."

Her body, as she talked, became stiff. Her back didn't touch the bench, her hands tense over her knees, her boots together like those who marched in the civil militia... She can't return to that girl again...the one who stood farthest from the group of schoolchildren. The one who refused to say a word unless she was called on by an instructor... I lightly placed my gloved hand over hers, turning it over so our fingers entwined and as I moved to lean on her shoulder, startling her, I said quietly but clearly—

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do but I do know that I'll be there for you—my father and I will be there for when it's just you two. However, remember that you can't keep this all to yourself. I don't want you to be like me, to end up like me, secretly despising other families because they had a mother along with a father." I couldn't help but say it out loud. If there was any chance for her being more open to me then I had to do the same for her. She loved her mother, and I had some love for mine under a smoldering hatred of her leaving...

"Then," she said, "did you hate me as well?"

"I hated everybody, honestly"—my voice lowered suddenly, as if I'd lost the will to even speak—"but I could never hate you. I can't hate anybody now." I moved from her side but our hands remained intact.

Her voice too lowered, the same went for her eyes. Her hand went tense under mine. "Why is that?" She repeated herself even though I heard her fine, stronger and uncertain.

"Because I couldn't find someone who could prove me wrong. You can't hate your parents, even if they did something wrong. I saw you with yours, saw how happy you were, and felt, at first, so much anger but found out after how sad I really was. What I'm trying to say is that I found you—even though you didn't know—but you have me there—here—already. Understand?" I wasn't sure how these words got out—nor was I sure if I understood them correctly (though it made more sense the less I thought about it)—but it seemed to be working.

She was set at ease after but I had a drop of regret for not thinking over my words. I mean, there's something wrong when words just come out of your mouth right? Words you didn't know you could say?

She said something and I couldn't hear because I was lost in my thoughts. I asked her to say it again.

"There's still happiness."

+ + +

That was the last Heaven's Night we spent together. She and her father had moved several months into the fall to one of the walled cities beyond this tiny town.

+ + +

Dreams. Hope. Heaven's Night... All make me think of fairytales. Can this town, it's civilians; is this all a big fairytale? If that's so, let it stay that way, if not for me then for everyone else. Then if not for everyone else, let it be so for her.

Today, it isn't better but having a somewhat negative post just doesn't give me that "resolved" feeling. I mean, you think that making a problem open for others to see would make someone feel better but I guess it's a matter of vocalizing them instead.

Then again, I'm not very good at that either so I'm turning to the written word and focusing on the dialogue the characters are saying. :)

I'm a person who doesn't really have a vile bone in their body and may not even react when it's a really negative situation...though I do tend to overreact at times (and i happen to be comical when that happens). However, that doesn't mean that I don't take negative things to heart. I consider the situation, I mope and be emo about it, maybe assess it or, all in all, ignore it until it blows way out of proportion. Hmm...as long as you know that I hate keeping pessimistic thoughts in my head (not that I'm optimistic all the time). I think I meant pessimistic thoughts about others but...yeah.

As the title says:

Back to the Word Processor!

I don't have the slightest idea on what to say right now since a whole hurricane (if not a freakin' super-mega ginormous mental storm) made these three days seem like an ETERNITY (and the capital letters aren't just for show). I might sound a bit rant-y...

Frankly I also don't have the slightest idea where to start so I'll go ahead and say what's been bothering my mind as of late.

My father's auto shop got robbed AGAIN. Good God. I swear any mention of the economy just tenses up the atmosphere, especially since the shop is located in...how do you say...not a very financially well-off place but the place has car/truck related merits that I can't wrap my head around at the moment due to the fact that the business in a whole is something he doesn't openly talk about at home, where I am. So that's two issues right there.

Another issue regards finances, there and here and other places where he invested money into. Yes. It bothers me that the house is barely being paid for. And I just learned today that he can barely pay the minimum but some people are taking care of it and negotiating the price that's supposed to be paid every month or so. Also, there's the issue with my step-brothers that lodge here who don't assist paying off the bills...then there's me, the worthless sixteen year-old who reads and types and can't even get her head straight due to, what can be called, menial problems. Who's possibly setting herself up for many bad days to come because there's so many things wrong in life that makes everything appear unfair and cries and screams about it into a towel while huddled up in the apparent "safety" that is the bathroom.

I feel as if everything is my fault because I can't bear to live in the present. Is that bad? Yes times a million. I'm young and I can't enjoy it, sadly.

However, I know these things come to pass (ah, the terribleness that is to be a teenager) and it'll probably be YEARS till I can feel better about myself and everything. I also know that I can't do a lot, like, get a job and help pay stuff off (which I can't due to my circumstances--yes, I can't go out by myself because that's who's with me when I'm at "home"). So I'll continue doing small things around the house, especially here in my little room.

I was so horribly traumatized by a movie and by my own nightmares that I can't sleep without the television on. I found out that candles are a better substitute and it smells nice when I sleep. I also unplug things before I leave and make sure any lights are turned off. Strangely enough, when my step-brother leaves right after he picks me up from school, he leaves the lights on apparently because there are "crazies" in the neighborhood (not really... I blame the news media). So, when I first went downstairs and saw all the lights on, I couldn't help but feel like that one lonesome household pet... Kind of makes you want to raise an eyebrow doesn't it? I did, and I am at this moment asking myself that I'm really going to publish this... Of course that is a yes.

As for the shop problem, giving it up (because with all the expenses with repairing and securing it and stuff like that) sounds like the best way out of bankruptcy but he isn't going to give it up. I think it's because owning such an establishment is his dream. Hopefully, he can distinguish the fine line between dreams and their relevance to real life. I'm not sure if I typed that out right... But yes, there's always that one line that you can't cross because you can't afford to cross it. But he has faith so those who support his decision will have faith too I guess. *shrugs*

Sure, it doesn't sound like that apocalyptic storm I mentioned but it's a storm nevertheless that I have to stick through...not to mention keep hold of my wits before it gets blown away like in that one movie/story with the tornado and a dog with a four letter first name.

Putting aside everything, it was sunny and windy. I also saw foggy forest mountainscapes (even though it was on the side of the freeway and I don't think that that's a real word) that reminded me so much of the setting of LH. I ended up taking pictures and happened to come across a flock of sheep. Once I get the camera software onto this computer I'll probably end up posting it (I'm lazy so I don't know when that's going to happen). I have been reading lately and drawing here and there, as well as, typing and planning scenes on [omitted for the sake of cutting myself short for no reason].

And there's my weekend. It's like that itch you know you have but you have no idea where it's coming from so you have to deal with the tingly awkward feeling (and I know how awfully strange that sounds *smacks forehead*). But, I am in better spirits...which probably won't last because I don't feel rested at all.

*shakes fist at non-existant Monday entity immortalized by Garfield*

I'm giving myself an excuse to post despite my exhaustion from this weekend. Here's a SongPost to get the pen going on paper (or hands on keyboard since I've been writing on paper the whole day so far). Please excuse the weirdness...just a characterization thing.

+ + + True

The walls shield a secret that can never be told.

Humiliation.
Insubordination.
Hands tied in submission.

Rage.

The light flickering overhead only emphasized the figure on the edge of the bed with hands clasped in meditation. Nevertheless, his hands could never be far apart, not even for a feet or two. The same went for the binding at his ankles.

He lifted his head. There were keys and the faint rusted push of the door. He might have heard it more clearly if his ears weren't boxed in the last time they visited. Just by thinking about it brought the pain back, an odd pulsing in his head. If he wanted to raise his hands to his forehead there might have been blood or a scar. There wasn't. If he were to do that, there wouldn't be a cut or a sensitive bump, there would be bandages and cloth. Cringing, his eyes met theirs but...it wasn't who he was expecting. So he relaxed.

It was just a boy, he didn't seem to mean any harm. Plus, the keys to all the cells were in his possession. The aura about him radiated kindness, rather than the malignant ones he had envisioned as his very doom. He really should've kept a clear head about this.

The boy neared with hesitant steps, his hands were visibly shaking as he picked through the keys quietly. He held out his chained hands. The boy seemed set to free him.

Idiotic? Maybe. How long has it been since he had been imprisoned... How long since they kept harassing their kind for answers that they didn't know? The aftermath; it built their rage. Our rage, he thought, is what makes us whole. Makes us who we are. And yet, there was this human boy who showed the only speck of kindness ever since that time. Hopefully, the others will have enough reason to not bare their fangs against those who never meant to harm us. The world would die quick if the innocent were to fall past their time.

There was a scream, a girl far in the same hall. The boy quickened in removing the heavy chains and bindings wrapped round the lower half of his face and his hands. Slowly, little by little, the weight would lessen and his strength would return.

"I don't know you," he whispered, "but I know you want to get out of here. First, please, you must save my sister."

A grateful smile came upon his lips, revealing the sharp white teeth that could render through flesh. And then, came the first words he had said in a long time. "Child, I thank you. But allow me to save my brethren as well." The boy quickly gave him the keys.

"Please, you have to hurry."

He stood, towering in height. The boy however, was fearless. He was going to do it anyway, save his sister. The man who had her was one of the first humans he had encountered and, through a misunderstanding, was the very same who imprisoned him. In a sense, it was he who sent his comrades in this pit of a human jail because then, hordes of armed humans pursued them when they meant no harm.

They suffered because of him, now he was going to let them out. The only problem was whether they were going to trust him again...

He turned his attention to the boy, wondering how the hell he knew about this prison, about them... Unless, there was something going on. Something big.

But that would have to wait.

Funny how things go somewhat smoothly during state test time. Well, maybe the schedules are a bit strange but it's the flow of ideas. In this case, story ideas. I'm like reeaallly close to getting a plot/chapter overview done but that doesn't count the subplots for that one certain rewrite. I'm still unsure of the name though Love of Fate now that I thought of it more it doesn't make sense and Lost Heaven is slightly better and the song of the same name (which was a coincidence) sort of fits into the theme I'm going for it. *shrugs* I'll see how it goes.

All right. So today I finished Madame Bovary (on which I couldn't keep to my "experiment" that I mentioned in the last few posts and that's only b/c I was really limited with time).

It. Made. Me. Cry. Goddammit. (that's not news...)

Worst of all I was reading the ending in class but nobody noticed my tears because I held them back, plus, I had my trusty handkerchief and those allergies. So it didn't even look like I was crying at all. Ah well. But I loved the book, that's all I'm trying to say.

I'm...content at the moment. Just wondering what to read next... Shall I read another classic that's on my list? or read something "normal" for a change?

Sadly I can't browse the library because students are taking tests at those hours so it's closed.

Hmmm... Besides that, I'm writing for a bit (that isn't news...again) while listening to music on Last.fm. (Ingrid Michaelson is awesomeness!)

Okay. I'm getting repetitive... How about something interesting for a change?

Truth be told, I've been focusing so much on my characters (idk, just felt like saying this) so, I'm looking for something different to write about. Like Luna's post waaay back in October (click) she took the idea I suggested, tweaked it around a bit and voila! The Slayer came out of it. *pokes everyone who hasn't visited her blog/read it yet*

I feel optimistic and "free" at the moment (like I haven't a care in the world) so I'm not sure if I'll feel the same if I look at this post again in...[insert ridiculous amount of hours here].

*cracks knuckles* Writing-wise I'm a romantic/psychological/ horror/fantasy/mystery/supernatural/tragedy freak. Anything among these genres/subgenres/themes/whatever they're called interest me. I'm willing to break out of it if the idea's awesomeness meter beats the others (look at me assuming stuff, please excuse the weird-factor as to how I'm putting this challenge together).

Putting that aside... What I'm looking for are ideas or concepts. It could already be a plot of anything that you wish and I'll try to make something out of it (a short story). Surprise me and I might surprise you back with the outcome (doesn't that sound fun? It sure does!). Ha. I just agreed with myself. But yes, that's what I'm looking for and I hope someone will reply.

The best example I could give at the moment (since I'm sleepy): "A story that centers around the events of a condemned town that calls upon those who've committed or felt guilty about what they've done. Upon arriving at this town, the environment turns to their personal hell that they have to fight their way through because that's the only way they can live normally again."

Obviously a Silent Hill reference. :| Well, what can you expect for an SH music junkie?

And while you're thinking about what awesome thing you'd like me to write let this picture distract you.


EDIT: Hello! 80th post...O!

...and to celebrate...my newest obsession (song-wise).

Apparently this weekend I'll be going a certain somewhere to a certain airport to pick up a certain relative or two of my cousin's. Yeah. Just felt like making the sentence sound...complicated.

There shall also be sight-seeing and amusement park rides...though I wish that not a lot of money be spent...that, and if the weather won't be so hot this weekend (which, according to the news reports, it shall). *shakes fist at California weather*

There is bad news too (not that I'm saying that this visit won't particularly be good news. Kidding.).

The bad news is that I will not have not have access to my beloved desktop (maybe a laptop) which means that I cannot edit or type how I please. Though I may be able to visit Blogger and post a wee snippet or two at night. Just know that I will bring my trusty pen and journal, my music, a good book and good thoughts. Of course, there's the clothes and toiletries but honestly that's a bit boring.

I can't say much because I just learned about this yesterday. So, I'll see how that all works out.

Lately I've been picking at the draft I wrote for NaNoWriMo while doing this and that on another story. It's fun, so far, and exhausting. But that's only because I have a report due at the end of the week for English, while still being able to cram for the state tests (which got moved to next week due to the swine flu "epidemic") so I'm a little worn out. Oh. I also have a test on Thursday and my teacher expects us to know the material that we started at the end of last week. How fun. Also, my allergies are acting up and this cough is very stubborn. Exciting, isn't it?

Can you tell that I'm brimming with enthusiasm?

Here's to the others who are having a better week than me.

If you want a small laugh. Click here. :)

Hello all
who read this
nothing interesting
to say today
except that
I'm trying my best
to keep my head up
and smile
because it's a brand new day
and I HOPE that you too
feel the same

Nothing substantial today
only because the day is starting
and it's Senior Ditch day
so the class is partially boring
can you not tell that already?
with the format of this post the way it is?

Maybe I'll come up
with something
more interesting
because I'm completely bored out of my wits
and long to go home
turn on the computer
blast music
and type away at a draft like there's no tomorrow
(which, unfortunately, there is)

It just feels
that whatever's up there
(you know what I mean)
is a bit lenient today
not that I believe
my luck today
is caused by the hands of a superior being, per se
(whatever per se means, I forget)

But yes
I'm rambling
but I don't have much work to do here
so...yeah.

I've been neglecting blogger but everyone has those reasons that deters them from doing thing they enjoy (and yes, that means that I like posting on Blogger, no matter if what I post gets no comments).

It's the fun of blogging on the internet. :)

What is this,
that I see
floating in the far plane

A light
a fallen star
A wish that had never been made

I take the star
in it's ethereal glow
holding it gingerly in my hands

I utter the words
those incandescent words
of thoughtless wishes and wants in my mind

Only, I find
the star loses it's glow
a second too late and white as snow

Crumbling in my hands
no matter how many times I call it's name
the name on which I had forgotten

Lost, yet again
on a world ever moving
of time never stopping

Dreams stay only
as an illusion
and incorporeal to the touch

Always spanning
between both worlds
but existing in only one

The sad, sad truth
of what was never accomplished
for there is no instant gratification.

All right, here's my first go at it (and because I need a break from a writing project).

I didn't plan for the write up to be this long but I'll work on the others to make them shorter. Honestly, I've already read up to Part I, Chapter VII but, yeah, I just wanted to see how this goes.

I enjoyed it more than I thought I would.

SPOILERS & LONG POST AHEAD--->

PART I

I. The New Pupil

The story starts out as a mini biography of—not exactly the protagonist—but an important character nevertheless, Charles Bovary.

Charles is described as,

"a country boy, about fifteen years old... His hair was cut straight across his forehead...he looked sensible and shy."

Apparently, this is the first time he went to school later we find out why, but, from his description alone, Charles came off to me as a Momma's boy and not to impressive/interesting (if he were a real person in real life). A key thing to note in MB is Flaubert's use of excessive detail, but I won't go into it (just something I thought was interesting). Let's see...

After Charles's manner of dress was described, and after a brief explanation of a custom in the school (which was that their caps/hats would be thrown to the side of the classroom or something) he, being new, doesn't know and keeps a diligent hold onto his new hat.

When the teacher told him to stand, his hat falls. He goes to pick it up but his "neighbor" knocks it back down. laughter ensues in the classroom as he picks it up a second time. After that ordeal he sits (obviously a bit embarrassed) but the teacher calls him to stand once again so he can tell everyone his name.

At the utterance of: "Charbovari" students laugh and make fun. From this, you know that Charles has an accent (can you blame the guy? he hasn't been properly schooled yet). The students get reprimanded with lines and his hat goes missing but the teacher says that no one has stolen it and he'll find it eventually.

Sounds like a sucky day at school...

Then the chapter goes in depth about his parents, Monsieur and Madame Bovary (not the MB that the book is focused on, mind you)—right after mentioning that Charles is doing a little better at school (good for him). To put it plainly, his father is no banker (he does poorly with finances) and is known as a big flirt. The Madame, loved him dearly at first but due to his actions, her love turned to bitterness, however; she focuses her affections on Charles (she spoils him pretty much that it's kind of ridiculous).

"His mother was always dragging him around with her; she would cut out paper dolls for him, tell him stories; and involve herself in endless monologues full of melancholy humor and baby talk."

Huh. makes me almost—note, almost—envious.

"In the loneliness of her life she lavished all her thwarted ambitions on this childish head. She dreamed of important positions, could already see him grown up, handsome, witty, a successful civil engineer or magistrate."

I take that statement back.

You can guess what happens after. His mother goes about organizing for Charles to learn how to read and...sing ballads while she plays the piano...

Anyways, it appears that, because of their financial trouble, little Charles can't go to school (I believe this story is set when the French were still divided into classes—bourgeoisie (sadly, I can't recall what little I know about French history)) so he wanders about the town, doing whatever mediocre thing (like harassing farm animals—haha kidding) to occupy his time. It remained as so, him helping around the town/farmhands till at twelve he was to begin his studies (hmm, so I was wrong? hmmm...)

Oh. Wait. He gets to study under a priest...well, it would benefit Charles more if the study times weren't so varied (since the priest had to do church things) and the classes were done in haste. All in all, "the lessons were...badly organize(d) that they did no real good."

Finally, his Father gave in and sent him to normal school—on which he spends three years in (with a year or so between his enrolling there) before they pull him out to study medicine (I may be wrong but he's what? 17 or 18 yrs old? and not too talented a student either but he's...competent).

His studies prove to be an EPIC FAIL for he procrastinates and prefers to go to a cafe' and play with dominoes, apparently they struck his fancy (well, who doesn't like to play dominoes? knocking stuff down is fun).

"So many of his repressed feeling expanded; he learned songs by heart and sang them to entertain the women present, developed a taste for Beranger (a french song writer), learned how to make punch, and finally how to make love."

Sounds like a rippin' good time! [/endsarcasm]

By the time he gets home, there was a celebration in order for his graduation from med school... Which didn't happen. Though he failed his first attempt to become a doctor, his mother takes the blame, as well as points the finger at his "incompetent" instructors... Yeah. His mother "loves" him that much.

Oy...Five years pass...before the news is broken to the dad (yikes, that's a long time) but he saw it as "ancient history. Moreover, he was unable to accept the fact that a son of his might be a fool." His father thinks highly of himself...pretty much.

So, Charles continues his med education in a city/town called Tostes, but not after finding him a beautiful bride...that's (from my numbers) twice his age.

"He needed a wife. She[Madame Bovary] found him one: the widow of a Dieppe bailiff, who was forty-five years old and had an income of twelve hundred pounds. Although she was ugly, thin as a rail, and had as many pimples as the springtime has buds, Madame Dubuc was not lacking in suitors."

It's the money. It's got to be.

So his wonderful wife accompanies him to Tostes. Scratch wonderful. The Madame turns out to be a demanding woman, and insisted that she be the ruler of the household...

"He assumed he would be freer to choose his own actions and spend his money as planned. But his wife was the ruler; he had to watch what he said and didn't say in public, eat fish on Friday, dress as she prescribed... She would open his letters, spy on his whereabouts, and listen behind the partition when there were women in the consulting room..."

You get the idea but, overall, she's a lonely woman in my perspective and I don't see why she'd be doing these things except out of her twisted love for her young husband...I could be wrong.

Hopefully, everyone's still awake.