I meant diction and syntax. And English is my first language.... but thank you for appreciating my great English typing for a non-native speaker skills.
*sigh* sorry for the late update if you care but I've been busy. but here it is. And the no paragraph thing. Mentally storing that information for future reference, Jake maneuvered to the stairs, upstairs, and back to his room. He wanted to sit down but...he didn't want to go through the floor again. So he'd just sacrifice. Comfort (although comfort didn't really matter. He didn't feel comfort, but the concept was appealing. Standing or sitting? Sitting, of course.) was expendable. He'd deal. He got out paper and pencil and began to draw. He wasn't sure exactly what he was drawing, but he was drawing, and that's what was important. He was more focused on...ghostly matters. Mostly: why was he a ghost? The floaty happy place was great. It was...well, the best way to describe it was floaty and happy. The place was wonderful. He missed it. The feeling that he was carefree, that everything was perfect, was something he wanted back. But...he still needed a great hobby. Drawing wasn't going to last him forever. Suddenly realizing that he was still drawing, he stopped and looked down. On that paper he saw his death. And he saw Christi on the side, laughing. He relived his death. He saw him asking her out and her rejecting him. He saw his failed test, the water spilled on his pants. Then he relived the "accident." The crash, his spine breaking, the wonderful feeling of death. They all ran through his head over and over, until he knew. Knew what he was going to do. He owed Christi. She was why he had died. She deserved it. She needed a taste of her own medicine. With that thought firmly in mind, he sat out to pay her a friendly visit. It was time for revenge.
Lol bumo? I'll update it soon. In the next few days. it's nice to know that more than two people read it though....
never heard of that. Huh. Okay then Thank you too!!! Dev your powers of review always astonish me.