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An essay on Newton's Principia
     

An essay on Newton's Principia

1.0 1
by W. W. Rouse Ball
 

Product Details

BN ID:
2940017636718
Publisher:
London, New York, Macmillan and co.
Sold by:
Barnes & Noble
Format:
NOOK Book
File size:
356 KB

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Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Hey, guys! Since some of you know a big deal in my life is ______, l am making a story off of self-harm. This is a story that is PG-13 and you MUST be over twelve at LEAST to read this. This will include lots of bloodshed, some gore, and may include disgusting or inhumane material. This will also include suggestive material, but nothing X-related. This is not an ero<_>tic.<p>Her five-inch heels clicked repeatedly as she hurried down the hallway. Her miniskirt, two sizes too small and four inches too short, clung tightly to her thighs as she walked. Her crop top ended just above her belly button, and she wore long, thick, silk black gloves. Her silver hoop earrings dangled merrily as she sashayed into the club. She planned on making lots of money as a stri<_>pper tonight. Last week was horrendous. She only made four-hundred dollars; barely enough to pay for her weekly bills and the constant need for new clothing. "Come on, boys. Momma needs some new blades," she cooed to herself as she burst through the poledancer room's door.<p> Tears fell down her face steadily as she stumbled out of the taxi. Her top was ripped, barely covering her chest. She had decided to wear no bra before going to the club, and forcefully clung to herself as she raced down the street. The heel of her left shoe broke off, leaving her tumbling onto the grass next to her. She cursed as she hit the ground and she quickly examined herself. She attempted to piece her tip back together, but in vain. Sobs racked through her body as she struggled to get back up. She took both shoes off and held the back-straps in one hand as she turned toward home. Her six-hundred dollars she made was tucked into her tho<_>ng, hidden by the miniskirt. She brushed herself off as she stood barefoot on the wet ground; perspiration clinging to the grass and humidity in the air.<br>"Hello, doll," a voice slurred. She whirled around to find a middle-aged man with silvery-gray hair pressing against her. "Need a ride home?"<br>He attempted to grab for her arms, but hooked his hands down her miniskirt instead. He groped her, confused.<p>She screamed, pushing him away from her. The fourteen year old [yes, fourteen] ran away as fast as she could, holding an arm to her chest.<p>Hours later, she huddled into a tight ball in her one-room apartment. She sniffed heavily, unable to cry anymore. She snuggled into the padded seat, enjoying the warmth she received from her sweats. She juggled a one-inch blade in her hands delicately, glad she had enough sense to buy another one. The others were rusted and old from previous use.<p>She pulled up her left sleeve with her right hand's pinky finger, rubbing her rough-skinned arm quickly. She took the blade and pressed it to her skin, as if trying it out for size. She moved the blade a little higher up, and jerkily pulled it down her arm. She bit her lip, although no pain came. Just dull numbness. She watched the blood pool up and stream down her arm. She dropped the blade, realizing this was her deepest cut ever. Stained, white tissue showed between the broken flaps of skin. She could almost swear she saw bone. Blood continued to pour out, causing her to feel light-headed and very dizzy. <p> Looking out the window of her apartment, she saw a teenage boy staring in with wide eyes. That was the last thing she remmbered before passing out.<p>-Starry &#10023 Night