PLEASE READ AND COMMENT ON MY STORY.?

Originally Answered: Unedited story for Fictionpress. Read/Edit/Comment, please?
Your prologue...isn't, really. It's much more of a blurb. It's fun, but it doesn't fit as a prologue. I liked the start of the story itself. It's quirky and funny, and it manages to avoid "obnoxious teen who needs a good slap" syndrome. I especially liked the "Mr Smith Was Just Weird umbrella". And it's so nice to read a story here which is spelt, punctuated and paragraphed properly :) Lose the "told with wit and humour" bit of the summary. I wouldn't even click on a summary where the author said that about their own writing. Edit: KK, try reading before you swipe next time. She's one of the few posters here who actually HAS edited her story.

Originally Answered: Unedited story for Fictionpress. Read/Edit/Comment, please?
Oh, I love them! I only read In Your Eyes, but it was good. I'll go back and comment, then read the others... I'm 15 too btw. Post it in all your answers, with the source link. If you don't alrady have a Myspace, and other sites like that, than make one, and advertise! You've got to network. You could reveiw other works to....Establish a name.

Originally Answered: Picture Comment! Please comment/story!?
First of, I would like to thank you for posting this question. Also, if you do not mind of course, let me explain why. When I took the creative writing class during my first year of college, the professor gave us assignments on power writing. Power writing consists of taking interest in something utterly unplanned and simply writing about it for twenty minutes or so. I loved it. I took it a little more seriously and started writing about people whom I randomly saw on streets, trying to make up their stories and whatnot. So in short summary, you have given me an opportunity to re-live some old days, thanks. Now the story behind the picture: The funeral went by in proper manner. It took place on a shady, gray, quite uneventful Sunday. Mr. Bowen was gone for good. As the slow-motion crowd of people dressed in all black slowly dispearsed, Mrs. Bowen, now a widow, and her daughter Sarah stood there saying their good byes. As the girl whimpered out the last tear from her sockets, she held her necklace with a violent grip. "Come on baby, we must go now," said Mrs. Bowen. Sarah pulled the necklace her dad had bought for her years ago, ripping it from her neck. As she started walking away. She unnoticeably to anyone but her, dropped the necklace in the grave mumbeling something to herself. When they got home, Sarah took the longest walk up the drive-way knowing that whenever she walks in her house from now on, dad will not be in his office finishing up some work. She slowly dragged her feet up the stairs to her room where she closed the door and dropped the coat on the floor. She slowly walked over to her desk and sat there. She was not sure as to what should she do now. She simply sat there looking at the table and every breath took upon a form of a sigh. She glanced over to the wall in front and looked at all the memorabilia she had put up there over the years. Her eyes immediately focused on the picture of her with her dad on a very bright Sunday at her first softball game. And she did not move at all. She sat frozen still looking at the picture.