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Sol de Medianoche -Falso
Esto es para decirles que el libro de Sol de Medianoche que han publicado en algunos blogs es un fanfic o sea no fue escrito por Stephenie Meyer. Para mas informacion vayan a 
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Tuesday, June 29, 2010
10:59 PM | 
Created by
I. Marie
La Historia de April
por: I. Marie
Capítulo 1:
Las Señales
Yo estaba mirando el cielo a las 5:12pm, hoy estuvo lloviendo todo el dia y por eso el cielo estaba de un color entre azul y gris. Yo estaba completamente sola, sentada en una silla en el mismo medio de un parque mientras todos lo disfrutaban de el yo estaba demasiado aburrida para saber cual es la gran cosa de el parque. Cerre mis ojos sin saber que mas hacer, despues los abri y en mi mente yo estaba viendo un verdoso paraíso donde una niña de seis años caminaba, su pelo estaba arreglado en dos adorables colas de caballos, ella estaba caminando cuando el traje color rosa que ella tenia puesto se atoro en un arbol. Ella tiro con fuerza, nada ocurrio, ella empezo a gritar y a tirar con mas fuerza pero todavia nada ocurrio. Ella se cayo al suelo pero despues un carro paso por ahi y la piso, era terrible la forma en la cual toda su sangre estaba cubriendo la grama haciendola ver de color escarlata. El chofer se detuvo y se bajo del auto pero era muy tarde. Cerre mis ojos otra vez y los abri, yo no pude respirar, todo eso que paso era demasiado real para ser mi imaginacion. Con tiempo de anticipacion, me levante y empece a caminar rapidamente recordandome de el lugar en donde mataron a la niña, que era la entrada al parque donde se veia como un bosque pero al lado de el bosque habian un estacionamiento. Empecé a correr, ¿A lo mejor me estaba volviendo loca? ¿Y si esto todo fue parte de mi imaginacion? ¿Y si todo era real y yo tenia que ver que le pasó a la niña? Y esto es lo que pensé en ese momento.
Al principio, me perdi pero luego encontre el lugar, yo estaba buscando el desastre y el carro.No habia nada excepto los arboles, la grama y otros carros pero no habia ninguna señal ni de el carro ni de la niña. No era mi imaginacion, una familia paso con muchos niños pequeños, uno de los adultos estaba aguantando a una niña con un traje rosa, yo pensaba que era la niña pero no estaba segura porque yo no mire el rostro de esta niña. Todo sucedio rapido, el adulto solto la mano de la niña, la niña corrio, su traje se atoro y despues fue que yo reaccione. Corri lo mas rapido que pude, cogi la mano de la niña, la hale fuera del arbol y me la lleve lejos del estacionamiento. Tres segundos despues, el carro que iba a matar a la niña paso y cuando vi que se fue, solte mis preocupaciones. Esto era demente, como puedo explicar que vi algo en mi mente y luego sucedio pero yo pude cambiarlo.
Esto era muy extraño, pues yo no pude decirselo a alguien porque si lo menciono probablemente me pondrian en un manicomio. Cuando llegue a mi casa, yo comence a correr las escaleras hacia mi cuarto. Ahora mismo lo mejor que se puede hacer es guardarlo como un secreto. Yo de verdad necesitaba un largo descanso...
Al dia siguiente, desperte tarde y mis padres estaban esperandome abajo y horas pasaron...
Hoy la noche esta fria, los arboles alrededor de mi estan haciendo que la acera se vea oscura y no habia ni una sola nube en el cielo. El aire soplando mi cabello alrededor de mi rostro, unos pasos lejanos ya acercandose, yo continuo caminando y luego miro detras de mi. No habia nada detras de mi solo los arboles pero yo me detuve, se escucha un sonido raro arriba en los arboles. Yo miro hacia arriba, vi una sombra pero algo oscuro vino encima de mi obligandome a ir hacia el suelo, se ve grande y se siente suave pero es demasiado oscuro para ver que es.
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Wednesday, June 16, 2010
4:37 PM |
Created by
I. Marie
April’s Story
By: I. Marie
Chapter 1:
The Signs
I was looking at the sky, it was 5:12pm, today it was raining all day and the sky was a color between blue and gray. I was all alone sitting in a chair in the middle of a park while everyone enjoyed it I was too bored to know what the big deal of this park was. I closed my eyes not knowing what else to do, then opened them and in my mind I was seeing a greenish paradise where a six year old girl walked, her hair was made into cute little pony tails, she was walking when the pink dress she was wearing got stuck with a tree. She pulled hard, nothing happened, she started screaming and pulling harder, still nothing happened. She fell on the ground but then a car passed by and killed her, it was terrible the way all her blood was over the grass making it look scarlet, really disgusting. The car driver stopped, got down of the car but it was too late. I closed my eyes again and opened them, I couldn’t breathe, all that happened was too real to be my imagination. With moments of anticipation, I got up and started walking as I recognized the place where the girl was killed, it was the entrance to the park where it looked like a forest but next to it there was a parking lot. I started running, what if I was going crazy? What if it was my imagination going wild? What if it all was real and I had to see what happened to the girl? And this is what I thought in that moment.
First, I got lost but then I found the place, I was looking for the disaster and the car, there was nothing except for the trees, the grass, some other cars but there was no sign of the car nor the girl. It wasn’t my imagination, a family passed by with a bunch of little kids, one of the grownups was holding a girl with a pink dress, I thought it was the girl but I couldn’t be sure because I did not see this girl’s face. This happened all fast, the grown up let go of the girl’s hand, the girl ran away, her dress got stuck, then I reacted, I ran as fast as I could, took the girl’s hand, pulled her from the tree and got away with her. Three seconds later, the car that was going to kill the girl passed by and I let my guard down. This was insane, how could I explain that I saw something in my mind and later it happened but I could stop it from happening?
This was too weird, so I couldn’t tell anybody because if I did they would probably put me in an asylum. When I got to my house, I began to run the stairs to my room. Right now the best thing to do is to keep it a secret. I sure needed a long sleep…
The next day, I woke up late and my parents were waiting for me downstairs and hours passed by…
Today the night is cold, the trees around me are making the sidewalk look dark and there is not a single cloud in the sky. The air brushing my hair around my face, some footsteps away now getting closer, I kept walking and then looked behind me. There was nothing behind me just the trees but I stopped walking, there’s a weird noise up in the trees. I looked up, saw a shadow but something dark came on top of me forcing me to the ground, it looks big and it feels soft but it’s too dark to see what it is.
Monday, June 7, 2010
5:26 PM |
Created by
I. Marie
I'm participating in The 2010 Debut Author Challenge. You can sign up to participate at
http://www.thestorysiren.com/2009/11/sign-up-for-2010-debut-author-challenge.html
My list of books for the challenge:
1.Clockwork Angel by Cassandra Clare
2.Spirit Bound by Richelle Mead
3.The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner by Stephenie Meyer
4.Forbidden Games: The Hunter, The Chase, The kill by L.J. Smith
5.Dark Flame by Alyson Noel
6.Love Bites by Ellen Schreiber
7.The Reckoning by Kelley Armstrong
8.Burned by P.C. and Kristin Cast
9.Radiant Shadow by Melissa Marr
10.The Queen's Daughter by Susan Coventry
11.Blue Bloods:Key to the Repository by Melissa De la Cruz
12.Torment by Lauren Kate
13.Fang by James Patterson
14.Hex Hall by Rachel Hawkins
15.Misguided Angel by Melissa De la Cruz
16.Paranormalcy by Kiersten White
17.Raised by Wolves by Jennifer Lynn Barnes
18.Mistwood by Leah Cypess
http://www.thestorysiren.com/2009/11/sign-up-for-2010-debut-author-challenge.html
My list of books for the challenge:
1.Clockwork Angel by Cassandra Clare
2.Spirit Bound by Richelle Mead
3.The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner by Stephenie Meyer
4.Forbidden Games: The Hunter, The Chase, The kill by L.J. Smith
5.Dark Flame by Alyson Noel
6.Love Bites by Ellen Schreiber
7.The Reckoning by Kelley Armstrong
8.Burned by P.C. and Kristin Cast
9.Radiant Shadow by Melissa Marr
10.The Queen's Daughter by Susan Coventry
11.Blue Bloods:Key to the Repository by Melissa De la Cruz
12.Torment by Lauren Kate
13.Fang by James Patterson
14.Hex Hall by Rachel Hawkins
15.Misguided Angel by Melissa De la Cruz
16.Paranormalcy by Kiersten White
17.Raised by Wolves by Jennifer Lynn Barnes
18.Mistwood by Leah Cypess
Friday, June 4, 2010
5:50 PM |
Created by
I. Marie
Gemma Doyle isn't like other girls. Girls with impeccable manners, who speakwhen spoken to, who remember their station, and who will lie back and think of England when it's required of them.
No, sixteen-year-old Gemma is an island unto herself, sent to the Spence Academy in London after tragedy strikes her family in India. Lonely, guilt-ridden, and prone to visions of the future that have an uncomfortable habit of coming true, Gemma finds a chilly reception. But she's not completely alone...she's been followed by a mysterious young man, who warns her to close her mind against the visions.
For it's at Spence that Gemma's power to attract the supernatural unfolds; there she becomes entangled with the school's most powerful girls and discovers her mother's connection to a shadowy group called the Order. It's there that her destiny waits...if only she believe in it.
A Great and Terrible Beauty is a curl-up-under-the-covers kind of book... a vast canvas of rustling skirts and dancing shadows and things that go bump in the night. It's a vividly drawn portrait of the Victorian age, when girls were groomed for lives as rich men's wives... and the story of a girl who saw another way.
3:00 PM |
Created by
I. Marie
A Great and Terrible Beauty
Chapter One
June 21,1895
Bombay, India
"PLEASE TELL ME THAT'S NOT GOING TO BE PART OF MY birthday dinner this evening." I am staring into the hissing face of a cobra. A surprisingly pink tongue slithers in and out of a cruel mouth while an Indian man whose eyes are the blue of blindness inclines his head toward my mother and explains in Hindi that cobras make very good eating.
My mother reaches out a white-gloved finger to stroke the snake's back. "What do you think, Gemma? Now that you're sixteen, will you be dining on cobra?"
The slithery thing makes me shudder. "I think not, thank you."
The old, blind Indian man smiles toothlessly and brings the cobra closer. It's enough to send me reeling back where I bump into a wooden stand filled with little statues of Indian deities. One of the statues, a woman who is all arms with a face bent on terror, falls to the ground. Kali, the destroyer. Lately, Mother has accused me of keeping her as my unofficial patron saint.Lately,Mother and ihaven't been getting on very well. She claim it's becaus I've reached an impossible age. I state emphatically to anyone who will listen that it's all because she refuses to take me to London.
"I hear in London, you don't have to defang your meals first," I say. We're moving past the cobra man and into the throng of people crowding every inch of Bombay's frenzied marketplace. Mother doesn't answer but waves away an organ-grinder and his monkey. It's unbearably hot. Beneath my cotton dress and crinolines, sweat streaks down my body. The flies- my most ardent admirers- dart about my face. I swat at one of the little winged beasts, but it escapes and I can almost swear I hear it mocking me. My misery is reaching epidemic proportions.
Overhead, the clouds are thick and dark, giving warning that this is monsoon season, when floods of rain could fall from the sky in a matter of minutes. In the dusty bazaar the turbaned men chatter and squawk and bargain, lifting brightly colored silks toward us with brown, sunbaked hands. Everywhere there are carts lined with straw baskets offering every sort of ware and edible- thin, coppery vases; wooden boxes carved into intricate flower designs; and mangos ripening in the heat.
"How much farther to Mrs. Talbot's new house? Couldn't we please take a carriage?" I ask with what I hope is a noticeable annoyance.
"It's a nice day for a walk. And I'll thank you to keep a civil tone."
My annoyance has indeed been noted.
Sarita, our long-suffering housekeeper, offers pomegranates in her leathery hand. "Memsahib, these are very nice. Perhaps we will take them to your father, yes?"
If I were a good daughter, I'd bring some to my father, watch his blue eyes twinkle as he slices open the rich, red fruit, then eats the tiny seeds with a silver spoon just like a proper British gentleman.
"He'll only stain his white suit," I grumble. My mother starts to say something to me, thinks better of it, sighs- as usual. We used to go everywhere together, my mother and I- visiting ancient temples, exploring local customs, watching Hindu festivals, staying up late to see the streets bloom with candlelight. Now, she barely takes me on social calls. It's as if I'm a leper without a colony.
"He will stain his suit. He always does," I mumble in my defense, though no one is paying me a bit of attention except for the organ-grinder and his monkey. They're following my every step, hoping to amuse me for money. The high lace collar of my dress is soaked with perspiration. I long for the cool, lush green of England, which I've only read about in my grandmother's letters. Letters filled with gossip about tea dances and balls and who has scandalized whom half a world away, while I am stranded in boring, dusty India watching an organ-grinder's monkey do a juggling trick with dates, the same trick he's been performing for a year.
Chapter One
June 21,1895
Bombay, India
"PLEASE TELL ME THAT'S NOT GOING TO BE PART OF MY birthday dinner this evening." I am staring into the hissing face of a cobra. A surprisingly pink tongue slithers in and out of a cruel mouth while an Indian man whose eyes are the blue of blindness inclines his head toward my mother and explains in Hindi that cobras make very good eating.
My mother reaches out a white-gloved finger to stroke the snake's back. "What do you think, Gemma? Now that you're sixteen, will you be dining on cobra?"
The slithery thing makes me shudder. "I think not, thank you."
The old, blind Indian man smiles toothlessly and brings the cobra closer. It's enough to send me reeling back where I bump into a wooden stand filled with little statues of Indian deities. One of the statues, a woman who is all arms with a face bent on terror, falls to the ground. Kali, the destroyer. Lately, Mother has accused me of keeping her as my unofficial patron saint.Lately,Mother and ihaven't been getting on very well. She claim it's becaus I've reached an impossible age. I state emphatically to anyone who will listen that it's all because she refuses to take me to London.
"I hear in London, you don't have to defang your meals first," I say. We're moving past the cobra man and into the throng of people crowding every inch of Bombay's frenzied marketplace. Mother doesn't answer but waves away an organ-grinder and his monkey. It's unbearably hot. Beneath my cotton dress and crinolines, sweat streaks down my body. The flies- my most ardent admirers- dart about my face. I swat at one of the little winged beasts, but it escapes and I can almost swear I hear it mocking me. My misery is reaching epidemic proportions.
Overhead, the clouds are thick and dark, giving warning that this is monsoon season, when floods of rain could fall from the sky in a matter of minutes. In the dusty bazaar the turbaned men chatter and squawk and bargain, lifting brightly colored silks toward us with brown, sunbaked hands. Everywhere there are carts lined with straw baskets offering every sort of ware and edible- thin, coppery vases; wooden boxes carved into intricate flower designs; and mangos ripening in the heat.
"How much farther to Mrs. Talbot's new house? Couldn't we please take a carriage?" I ask with what I hope is a noticeable annoyance.
"It's a nice day for a walk. And I'll thank you to keep a civil tone."
My annoyance has indeed been noted.
Sarita, our long-suffering housekeeper, offers pomegranates in her leathery hand. "Memsahib, these are very nice. Perhaps we will take them to your father, yes?"
If I were a good daughter, I'd bring some to my father, watch his blue eyes twinkle as he slices open the rich, red fruit, then eats the tiny seeds with a silver spoon just like a proper British gentleman.
"He'll only stain his white suit," I grumble. My mother starts to say something to me, thinks better of it, sighs- as usual. We used to go everywhere together, my mother and I- visiting ancient temples, exploring local customs, watching Hindu festivals, staying up late to see the streets bloom with candlelight. Now, she barely takes me on social calls. It's as if I'm a leper without a colony.
"He will stain his suit. He always does," I mumble in my defense, though no one is paying me a bit of attention except for the organ-grinder and his monkey. They're following my every step, hoping to amuse me for money. The high lace collar of my dress is soaked with perspiration. I long for the cool, lush green of England, which I've only read about in my grandmother's letters. Letters filled with gossip about tea dances and balls and who has scandalized whom half a world away, while I am stranded in boring, dusty India watching an organ-grinder's monkey do a juggling trick with dates, the same trick he's been performing for a year.
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