Comes with a Wheelbarrow of Issues
Sept 8, 2009 22:34:13 GMT -5
Post by Daisy on Sept 8, 2009 22:34:13 GMT -5
Full Name: Elizabeth “Daisy” Carter
Fandom: POTO, original, other (specify)? How I Live Now by Meg Rosoff
Age: Sixteen
Height: 5' 5"
Weight: Pretty damn decent for a recovering anorexic
Build: Okay, so imagine some kindergartner glued a couple of pieces of dry spaghetti and a button on some construction paper. That could be my yearbook photo.
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Again, brown. I know, real exciting, right?
Nationality: American. Specifically, New York. Specifically Manhattan. Even more specifically, 86th Street.
Job: Presently, bum.
Personality: Both shrinks and parents have concluded that I’m a “difficult” and “unmotivated” individual that suffers from a slight case of “paranoia” and a general sense of “apathy.” This means, in language that isn’t so pretentious, that I’m a selfish smart ass and the only thing that I can really depend on anymore is the human race’s really super ability to screw itself over time and time again.
Life Story (as much as you want us to know):
One, I killed my Mom when I was born. I know very sad, but not too sad because no one ever mentioned her existence again.
Two, because Mommy Dearest didn’t exist, Dad went out and married the most cleverly disguised example of evil incarnate in human history. That bitch was trying to poison me to make room for her own little Rosemary’s Baby, so I stopped eating.
Four, Dad decided that a change of scenery might improve my health. At Satan’s request, because being in a different continent is the next best thing to being dead, he shipped me to Britain to go live with my Mom’s sister and her kids, also known as people I’d never met before in my life.
Five, it turned out that these weirdo cousins of mine were the best people in the entire world. My Aunt was almost never around, so we created this little Eden of ours in the middle of the British countryside. It was like Lord of the Flies without the homicidal choir boys, doom, and allegory. Life started to suck a little less. Somewhere around this time, my cousin Edmond and I fell in love and started sleeping together. Honestly, the incest wasn’t as awkward as I thought it would be.
Six, World War III somehow managed to break out. London got bombed, my Aunt died in the crossfire, and England was occupied. So was the country house that my screwed up little family was in, but by English soldiers, not The Other People. Then my littlest cousin, Piper, and I were shipped off to live in some stupid Safe Environment and we got separated from her brothers. So we spent the next couple of months trying to get back to our home. This time was really hard and it is not fun to explain. We worked for the soldiers for a little while, during which we saw people get there heads blown off and lots of death, then we had to skip out because of possible terrorist involvement inside the camp, and we finally ended up having to walk across the country by ourselves to try and find our way back to the boys. We went home and didn’t find them.
Seven, Dad had been trying to get me the hell out of England since the occupation. I managed to get a free pass out of England because I am an American. Piper didn’t. We still hadn’t found Edmond or the other boys.
Eight, after a stint in the hospital, I got on the first plane to France, which still had its borders open. Not sure if I’m strong enough to go back to England yet, but it’s a start.
((Hey, I'm Alex and I am totally new here! So, yeah...Hi!))
Fandom: POTO, original, other (specify)? How I Live Now by Meg Rosoff
Age: Sixteen
Height: 5' 5"
Weight: Pretty damn decent for a recovering anorexic
Build: Okay, so imagine some kindergartner glued a couple of pieces of dry spaghetti and a button on some construction paper. That could be my yearbook photo.
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Again, brown. I know, real exciting, right?
Nationality: American. Specifically, New York. Specifically Manhattan. Even more specifically, 86th Street.
Job: Presently, bum.
Personality: Both shrinks and parents have concluded that I’m a “difficult” and “unmotivated” individual that suffers from a slight case of “paranoia” and a general sense of “apathy.” This means, in language that isn’t so pretentious, that I’m a selfish smart ass and the only thing that I can really depend on anymore is the human race’s really super ability to screw itself over time and time again.
Life Story (as much as you want us to know):
One, I killed my Mom when I was born. I know very sad, but not too sad because no one ever mentioned her existence again.
Two, because Mommy Dearest didn’t exist, Dad went out and married the most cleverly disguised example of evil incarnate in human history. That bitch was trying to poison me to make room for her own little Rosemary’s Baby, so I stopped eating.
Four, Dad decided that a change of scenery might improve my health. At Satan’s request, because being in a different continent is the next best thing to being dead, he shipped me to Britain to go live with my Mom’s sister and her kids, also known as people I’d never met before in my life.
Five, it turned out that these weirdo cousins of mine were the best people in the entire world. My Aunt was almost never around, so we created this little Eden of ours in the middle of the British countryside. It was like Lord of the Flies without the homicidal choir boys, doom, and allegory. Life started to suck a little less. Somewhere around this time, my cousin Edmond and I fell in love and started sleeping together. Honestly, the incest wasn’t as awkward as I thought it would be.
Six, World War III somehow managed to break out. London got bombed, my Aunt died in the crossfire, and England was occupied. So was the country house that my screwed up little family was in, but by English soldiers, not The Other People. Then my littlest cousin, Piper, and I were shipped off to live in some stupid Safe Environment and we got separated from her brothers. So we spent the next couple of months trying to get back to our home. This time was really hard and it is not fun to explain. We worked for the soldiers for a little while, during which we saw people get there heads blown off and lots of death, then we had to skip out because of possible terrorist involvement inside the camp, and we finally ended up having to walk across the country by ourselves to try and find our way back to the boys. We went home and didn’t find them.
Seven, Dad had been trying to get me the hell out of England since the occupation. I managed to get a free pass out of England because I am an American. Piper didn’t. We still hadn’t found Edmond or the other boys.
Eight, after a stint in the hospital, I got on the first plane to France, which still had its borders open. Not sure if I’m strong enough to go back to England yet, but it’s a start.
((Hey, I'm Alex and I am totally new here! So, yeah...Hi!))