The Penguin

What Do You Call a Penguin in the Desert?

           All Right Reserved 

          This story will be edited perioditically, so if there are any mistakes you find please tell me. This book is purely fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

"The line of life is a ragged diagonal between duty and desire."                              -William R. Alger

Chapter 1- What Do You Call a Penguin in the Desert? (Lost)

             If you want the truth, I'll gladly give it to you. There are no such things as bad boys with bigger fights than the Kardashians or players with ultimate daddy issues worse than Zeus. And trust me, that's obviously saying something because Kronos almost lit the world on fire and watched it burn. Anyway, all this to say that reality is a big slap in the face.

               Cliches don't come true, and chances are that not everybody finds their Prince Charming that magically kisses you from your death-but-not-exactly-since-you-only-pricked-your-finger. Honestly, this whole 'sleeping beauty' thing has taken a toll on books and stories. The only real way people put a modern twist on the story is by putting the main character into a coma.

           Seriously! In most books, someone is in the hospital or has a coma. Ring any bells? Sleeping Beauty all the way. But instead of actually kissing the person in a coma (thank you for not spreading your germs on the unwilling!) to revive them the author normally decides to just make a character, normally the male lead, sit in the hospital next to the girl the whole time.

                  But of course the actually family of the girl in the hospital doesn't stay that long! It's only the male character who stays to ignite their budding relationship. I guess the whole blood-is-thicker-than-water ship has long since sailed. But, when you're reading the book, you fill actually pretty happy with how it's going (unless you're reading The Fault in Our Stars and are blubbering trying to complete a full sentence). I mean, books are a chance to venture out into a fantasy land that's not your everyday life.

               But nowadays, some are trailing behind with unrealism. And no, I don't mean fantasy, I mean unrealism. I don't know about you, but when I don't want to go to some party or get together, no one pushes me that hard to actually go. My walls don't suddenly break. Maybe this is why I've never met my Prince Charming, I've never actually gone to a legitimate party where my friends force me into some crazy attire that they call 'cute'. Absolutely not.

                And they also don't drench my face in makeup and I suddenly look into the mirror to see a 'whole new girl'. If that has happened for you, I'd say to hit up a plastic surgeon and give a stellar recommendation for your friends. You'd be doing them a favor.

            "France?"

             Also, in real life my teachers didn't call me by my last name.

             "France? Would you like the share to the class what you are drawing right now?"

              But still had the same rudeness. 

        I lifted my eyes up to the front desk that sat in the middle of the classroom. A neat little organized pile of papers sat on top of the maple wood with a shiny, new stapler next to it. Behind that was a small, plump man no older than 60 who had been glaring down at me from under his tiny glasses for the last few minutes.

               "Yes, Mr. Lennon?" I drawled politely. Unlike other main characters in heroic stories, I wasn't much of a talker. In fact, I didn't even have a real sharp tongue. My sarcasm wasn't used for people who actually were paid to give me an education but for others who undermined me.