Author; Demi .
Premier; January 28th , 2008 .
Re-est.; August 18th , 2008 .
Finale; To be announced .
Production; Motel21 .


<sub>Prologue .

Two pairs of golden brown irises glared at each other – one tangible, the other a mere reflection. The real pair sat under mocha colored folds of skin, laced with bedazzling lashes. Heart-shaped face furrowed it’s brow into an uneven devilish smirk—pleased. She had the remote in firm grip, staring back at herself via the mirror her 63” made in idleness before she hit the power button. Her 5’6” thick frame lay tossed along the champagne flavored suede love seat, covered—barely—by the black silk negligee he bought her. One of many gifts. Remote in right hand as the left grasped her merlot glass by the neck.

She pondered. She would tell the carpet cleaner exactly what she told him the last time, accident with the red wine. She broke the whole bottle—so she would say—and the red stain covered her poor white living room carpet. The irises lost self-captivation as her thoughts traveled to him, lying there, listless and such. Blood had finally stopped gushing from his wounded throat, ’bout time. She thought she might have to just replace the whole damn carpet.

Cuddled with her best friends (merlot and couch pillows), two hours and some odd minutes had passed before she bagged him. Third sucker, third victim. London Fog trench coat and Manolo Blahniks were her disguise, on the trip to the Hayton creek, the nearest one to Santa Clarita, the California city she moved to back in 2006. Back-length black curly tresses pulled into a fine bun, she dropped the body, and drove her red 2008 viper back to her summer loft.

Sauntering into the front door, she disarmed the alarm system, passed the couch, and stepped over the crimson puddles as if they were really just red wine stains. Rosa Ivana Humphrey would sleep easy.</sub>

Uppss......
Woo me likeyyyyy so far

[ gasps & thanks you ]


grindz`

_{Libby !
I figured I ` d plot my own re - make .
I still wanna be Libby when I grow up .}

<sub>o01.
Rosa Richardson had always been the prettiest and most spoiled little girl on the suburban Detroit block, with the stay-at-home mom, and the father who always brought the bacon home. Joe, or Papa, had showered her with gifts from day one. Little Rosa saw the likes of uncles in Barney suits at age two, pony rides at parties for age 6, and tennis bracelets (the last gift) upon her eighth birthday. Bittersweet, however, was her upbringing, because with every gift for her there was a tribulation for Mrs. Arianna Richardson. Mother had presents of black and blue, fractures, dislocations, and ailments. What Rosa never saw when she peeked around doorways and corners to witness these gift-giving festivities was the woman Arianna had once been. She was strong, intelligent, independent, and proud. At least she was still intelligent, right? Joe used it all—wooden spoons, pots, pans, even shoes—to show his gratitude. God forbid his beloved wife forgot to pick up the mail, or it was her ass.

It was the day after age eight hit her, and they were at it again. Rosy curled hand-cupped knees to chest, as she sat next to the doorway, allowing her father’s words and gestures to sting her ears.

“Did I not tell your triflin’ ass that you are not allowed to have friends?!... Huh?!”

Joe stood on one side of their mahogany four-person kitchen table, threatening to reach across it and strike Arianna, who scrambled and sobbed on the other side. He would draw back and launch a determined right hand and she would flinch and slightly close her eyes at his every move.

“Do you not hear me talking to you, woman?” Joe probed.
“Yes… but—“ a feeble voice fled Arianna’s mouth, trying to form a hopeless explanation for her raging husband.
“Then how come people call my house with that bullshit? Huh? ‘Can I speak to Arianna? Is Arianna home?” He forged a mocking tone in poor imitation.

Tears never fell for lil’ Rosey—rather her face turned fire engine red with anger. Mixed feelings about her father could not be harbored forever. Furiously, she removed the brand-new bracelet, and put her weight on her feet to enter the kitchen.

“Leave mommy alone!” She protested.

For about half a second, Joe froze, before he turned to see his offspring standing at the doorway, fists clenched at sides, lips pursed.

“Now, sweetie, your mommy and I have some things to discuss. Let us handle our grown-up business, run along to your room.”

And with that he turned away, as if she would really obey his orders. She continued to hold her place as her mother looked from the two of them, still sobbing, but now out of shame rather than fear.

“Stop runnin’ from me woman!” Joe screamed before he took one good lunge at her. Arianna’s eyes grew wide, which he thought was from fear but in reality it was shock. Her eyes detected the almost too natural movement as her daughter ran to the drawer, took out the biggest knife she could handle, and with both hands, penetrated her fathers back. He flexed his shoulders back in pain before he staggered and fell forward. It had been too many lifetime movies for little Rosy, because it had obviously taught her well too much.

When the police arrived at her mother’s call, Arianna told them it was an accident, not fully thinking her plan through. She told them he had fell onto the knife, and they saw right through it. When the court date arrived she falsely confessed that she had done it, to save the life of her daughter, and savior. Rosa was off to Aunt Sophie’s house.

Aunt Sophie was her mother’s sister, and didn’t care much for Rosa, but felt as though the good deed would pay off later in life. It was either her house or foster home for Rosa. She was the one who gave her the nickname Ivey. She always thought that her name should be Ivana Rosa, instead of the other way around. The first five years at her Aunt’s apartment weren’t the greatest but they were okay. Her aunt was a job hopper, and could always just afford to keep food on the table. Well, she could before the addiction hit. By the time Rosa was in high school and starting to stray from home, Sophie was introduced to one of the worst drugs—Methamphetamine. Crystal meth stole her youth, beauty, self-perception, and judgment. Not to mention her money. She was wiped clean of it, and later began to whore for the dough.

Ivey, now 15, hated the sight, and gradually she strayed. She would come home less and less each month until she completely moved out. Of course she was not on the street. Her fairly new “friend”, Dan Humphrey—age 34—would treat her like a princess. He kept her in his home, fed her, clothed her, held her in burly arms to comfort her, and by age 17, he would marry her. Ivey soaked it all in, and when she got tired of him at age 20, he fell as victim number 2. Stabbed of course.</sub>

_=/

i've come across something puzzling.

is it gonna be a different story...or is this a recap?

quote:

i've come across something puzzling.

is it gonna be a different story...or is this a recap?

_{I guess you can call it a recap . I ` m restarting the story , so I ` mma post everything that was already up and add from where I left off . but I need ups and all that good ish to get the momentum going .}

ooh.

well ups'z ups'z and ups'z.

i read this a while ago and found it very much appealing to my better nature.

haha.

thank you very much for continuing on with it.

_{Lol , np , and thank you .}

ehh,np.

just write, write, write!!!!!



...please...?

quote:

just write, write, write!!!!!



...please...?

_{Lmao .}

ups, twin

now im going to read this :] .
( bookmarksz. )

i like this story alot.....bumpz to da fullest


please write more