Wide Awake by AngstGoddess003.pdf

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Wide Awake
2009
Wide Awake
A Fan Fiction by AngstGoddess003
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!! ATTENTION !!
Twilight and its characters belong to Stephenie Meyer , kay?
No copyright infringement is intended with the writing and
distribution of this story.
BUT
Credit is awesome, you know? Like baked goods.
LikeevenifIbakedyoucookiesfromarecipethat’snotmine
you still say“Heydudelook!Gmadeuscookiesfrom
StephenieMeyer’srecipe!”
ThenyouomnomnomthemandI’mallsmiley happy,
because you gave me credit for the baking of the cookies.
It’stotallylikethat
ExceptIdon’tmakecookies
I make FanFiction.
XD
PSI’dreallyappreciateitifyoudidn’tdistributethisonyourownandinsteadjustlinked
people to my LJ or FFn page? Thanks.
P.S.S. If it matters? I don’t support any translations of this story.
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Wide Awake
Chapter 1. Gingerbread Zombies
I hated this room with a deep-seated fiery passion of a million hells. I didn’tmeantobe
melodramatic, really. But it was a fact. In the brighter daylight hours, it could be nearly
bearable. But here, near midnight, it was anything but. Dark, desolate, suffocating, with hidden
corners and crevices. I could feel the familiar fear and panic creeping up my chest just opening
thedoorIcouldn’tevengetanounceofcomfortfromthefullmoontonightblockedbythe
cloudssocommonhereandevenmoresobytheCullens’freakishlylargemansiontowering
outside my window. Aunt Esme and Alice had worked so hard to decorate this room for me. I
almost felt a swelling of guilt when I reached in just far enough to snatch my school bag from
the floor beside the door. Then I bolted away from the room towards the kitchen.
This was where I had been spending my nights since I moved up here to Forks, Washington a
week ago. The kitchen was warm and open. Always bright, and full of good memories. Nothing
awfulhaseverhappenedtomeinakitchenI’dbeendoingallthecookingsinceIarrived. Esme
was slightly peeved at first, surrendering her kitchen duties to a 17 year old girl, but she
eventually gave in, seeing how much I enjoyed the tasks. And it was such a rarity to witness me
enjoying anything.
SoI’dmadeacarefulroutineofspending my nights in here: baking, cooking, and doing
homework... anything but sleeping in that wretched, dark bedroom. Everyone in Phoenix called
itinsomniaI’vealreadyhadthelecturesfromphysiciansandprofessionalsallspecifically
trained and formallyeducatedtokeepmy“wellbeing”their“toppriority”I’vehadthe
sleeping pills and courses of medication meant to keep me knocked out for the customary eight
hourspernightOfcoursethey’dneverreallyunderstoodItwasnotsomuchthat
I can’t sleep, but I won’t . I caught my sleep in 10 minute bouts during the day, though even
then I would try to fend it off. It was difficult to do, and I spent my days in a cloudy lethargic
haze, but it was better than having the dreams. Dreams full of hitting and scratching, screaming
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