The Old Maid's protective shell has been penetrated.

A few years ago I began writing a story. It, since then, has come a long way, but not as much as I had hoped. See, I haven't really worked on it in some time, sans rereading and editing.

It's basis is a woman, who just turned thirty, and her "unluck" with men. Her biggest fear is to die an old maid and she's just lost about all hope. Not very original, I know. But (there's always a but!) it will give me a little bit of an idea on what my particular writing style is.

So without further ado, here is you free sample. Please leave criticism. I could use it. And I won't hate you, I promise. Well, maybe a little. But not for too long.

“Am I going to be alone forever?”  I blew my nose for the eightieth time. I sat down on the edge of my bed, phone in hand, and tugged at my ripped pantyhose until they came off. “I thought things were going great. I mean, his family all seemed to like me and…”

“Yeah, but you didn’t like them!” I was talking to my friend Jessica, the girl who’s been around the block more than once. She’s been married twice, divorced twice and got rich twice. My hero. How did she find three guys to marry her and I couldn’t even find one?

“So?” I wiped my eyes, causing a black flood of mascara to run down my fingers. “I’m just so sick of this. I don’t want to be alone anymore! I’m almost thirty years old and have no life outside of work. I come home to my sad little apartment and microwave some piece of shit dinner and sit in front of the TV. Even a clam would be unhappy here.”

“You’re just upset. Take a deep breath and let everything out.”

So I did. I screamed, slammed the phone on the side of the nightstand, and threw a picture of me and the ex against the wall. “Bastard!” I threw myself onto my unmade bed and let the black tears stream into my hair. I thought of how terrible I probably looked, with my hair knotted and my nose all red, and that made me feel even worse. My pity party was cut short by a screeching buzz over the telephone. Oops.

I called Jess back and apologized. “Feel any better?” She asked.

“I guess.” I sighed, stumbling into the dark kitchen for a glass of water. I told her I’d call her back later. It was three a.m. by that time, and I needed some sleep. Some New Years, I thought to myself. But I have to admit; it was considerate of him to wait until after the ball dropped. Wow, even my subconscious was sarcastic.

I walked back into my bedroom and turned my bedside lamp on. The room seemed empty, although it was far from it. My bedspread was in a heap on the floor, as were my clothes, broken glass sparkled in the rug and I stood in the midst of it all. I felt like I was broken, in a million sharp, little pieces.

I took off the rest of my clothes, grabbed my blankets and climbed into bed. I fell asleep curled tightly into a ball and didn’t wake up until the phone rang Sunday afternoon.

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I must admit, this is the first I'm actually debating posting an entry. I've never been too shy about putting anything up here, but this seems so personal. Anyhow...feast your eyes upon that.

One week until my birthday. It's not looking like a good one.