Hey kid. Wanna be cool?

Yeah man. The secret's this:
All you gotta do is [lol help me think of an idea to write about for a short story I have due for creative writing. ...In full second person point of view. I'll give you some of this right here ;D]

 

Second person view, as in "You did this, then you did that"?

 

Yeah.
We read a few short stories that used Second person view, but they were all kind of...deathy.

 

That's the best only kind of second-person story. <3

 

Write about someone killing you. :v Everyone loves a little macabre every now and then!

 

Write about the fact you have to write a story and you have writers block so you go off to find inspiration! ::L:

Or you could just write about something stupid...

 

I am in love with Ienzo's idea.

Write that, but turn EVERYONE into fruit! 8D

 

I demand to be a giant Watermelon, just for awesomeness.

 

I dunno, the one involving a wannabe author back alley prostitute snorting a line off a fist is pretty up there. c:

You're sprinting. Breath is heavy. Your legs feel like steel rods, clunking in and out of the mud. You want to stop, to catch some breath, to pray and repent all your sins. At least, had you been a very religious person. Religion for you was always something you could never quite grasp. You stop your thoughts with a smack to the head. Smacking the mind's lips won't get you know where bud, you tell yourself with a grunt. If you wanna get away, you got to focus on the prize. Easier for you to say. You find yourself arguing against your own thoughts every now and again. Pure habit really. You slip in the mud, face digging up a pound of worms and silt. You spit it out quick, cursing yourself for getting off track again. She'll be here any minute, idiot. You shouldn't get off track at a time like thi-

You stop talking. Fingers slide across your throat, then make their way to your shoulders. They're cold and fell a bit stubby. You reach your own hand up, but you can't feel it anymore, only the crimson pool pouring down your arm. Your eyes dart down, spotting your hand lying there, fossilizing itself with the earth. You turn your head, the hand now ripping open your shirt. You see a red head chick, with a small ponytail sticking out the back. You whimper as the red head's other hand pushes itself into your chest, the knife already penetrating the heart chamber. You can only mutter a few words before your world turns dark.

"...M-Misty...why?"
"You want to know why, Plums? You didn't follow my idea like I wanted you to, you little fruit basket."

 

Of course, Mysty was in fact the twin sister that you canibalised in your mother' s womb.

 

If you want to be cool go home and be a family man.

 

+ so much love

 

...Some of that sounded a little sexy. Can I get killed by Misty too?

 

Everyone can get some of the Misty touch ;D