"I'm a monster!" he shouted in my face, his veins popping out on his neck. I tried to hold my tears but failed, all these months of patience and anger caused my body to shake, my heart was pounding so loud in my chest that my blood was boiling in my veins. "No Harry! You're not a monster!" I cried out loud, my chest rising and falling from my heavy breathing. He clenched his jaw and fisted his palms and in seconds, he punched the wall that was behind me right next to me, making me gasp for air. All the anger that built inside me was now replaced by fear as his piercing green eyes turned to a darker shade. "How can you say that after what I did to you?" he hissed, his hot breath hitting my swollen lips, his nostrils flaring. I took a deep shakey breath before I parted my lips to answer him. "Because I can see through you, Harry. I can see your innocence."

"She told me she photographed the things she loved yet, she never took pictures of me." -generated by a quote -a very short-story

Elle Grey doesn't need anyone. She only needs herself, a paintbrush, and if she gets desperate enough, there are the few people she actually tolerates that she can talk to. She knows that there's more out there in the world - in fact, she spends most of her time either daydreaming or painting about it. She knows that the South Dakotan town she's grown up in is only suffocating her. That's why she finds Harry so intriguing. He's different and he brings out something in her that she wasn't sure was still there. Suddenly she's second-guessing everything she has known her entire life - maybe she does need someone.

Her eyes are grey. His are green. This is what happens when grey and green stare deep into each other. (This story contains mature content, including explicit and suggestive language)

(IN EDITING) Hi. I'm Nicole Miller and I've been in foster care since I was born seventeen years ago. I've moved around a lot to say the least. Over the years I've been used, abused, and sexually harassed by my various foster parents. Now, I'm moving again. I never know quite what to expect. All I know about this new family is that their last name is Styles, or something along those lines. For some reason my caseworker really thinks I'll like these people. And I really hope she's right.

سألها " ماذا يعني اسمك ؟ " نظرت إليه و من ثم أتبعت نظرها بالقمر " يعني القمر الساطع باللاتينية .. سيلينا " نظر إلى عيناها بعمق و نظرة غريبة لم تحدد مشاعره " أنت اسمك .. " نظرت إليه .. كرر همسه " انت سيلينا "

She told him not to do it but he took his life anyway. Told in free-verse poetry with sparse limerick/rhyming qualities, you don't know their names, but you'll forever remember their story. #Wattys2014