by Billy Miner
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Minecraft Heroine
A Minecraft Heroine’s Diary
By Billy Miner
Copyright @2015
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, Billy Miner.
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Contents:
Introduction
Entry 1: High School
Entry 2: Superpower
Entry 3: Training
Entry 4: Being a Kid
Entry 5: Don’t Mess with My Mom!
Entry 6: The Crime Syndicate
Entry 7: Take a Hike!
Entry 8: Making Amends
Introduction
Angela seemed to be a regular girl at first, but during her high school years, she realized she had a superpower. She got in touch with friends, criminals, and shadows from the past. When she came home, she trained endlessly, becoming even better at martial arts than the boys in school.
But when Angela’s mother was in trouble, she stood ready to skip school for once and deal with the injustice her mom was confronted with. What she found may not have been a pleasant surprise, but the truth prevailed in the end.
If you’re curious about what made Angela a heroine who saved her own mother from a terrible fate, then move on to the first entry of her diary. She doesn’t beat around the bush and explains what happened in detail.
Entry 1: High School
Dear diary, I will tell you the story of my latest adventure. It was great. If anyone else reads this diary, which they’re not supposed to because it’s mine and it could be embarrassing, then let me just introduce myself. I am Angela, and I am 14 years old.
Middle school was a nightmare, but now that I am in high school, I am finally starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I only have a few more years left of school and then I am FREE!
I can hardly wait to get that degree and hang it on the wall or put it on a dusty shelf. Or maybe I’ll be so done with school that I will use it as toilet paper. No, just kidding. My mom values my education and hopes I will go to a good college someday. I can see that, and I am okay with that.
I don’t mind it if it’s going to be like the past few months. Sure, the older high school kids still try to look down on the newbies, but in middle school, it was even worse. Everyone is trying to put others down so they can become a bit more “popular.” Thinking of it, what is popularity anyway? Well, whatever it is, the eleven to fourteen year olds think it’s way too important. I just try to stay true to myself. Then nobody will get hurt. Haha!
Other teenagers tell me I am loud and obnoxious. In a way, they may be right, but I believe that if you just say how it is, then why should anyone take offense?
I mean, there are exceptions, and sometimes I have to put a sock in my mouth. Yesterday I told the teacher he looked like a nerd (P.S.: He really did), and I told another kid who was eating greasy hamburgers and drinking soda to cut down on the calories. Someday he’ll appreciate my advice.
Okay, okay… I won’t say that I am perfect. I blurt it out sometimes before I think about it. It is like the words come out of my mouth and my brain is still trying to catch up with me. Not everyone likes the way I think.
At the same time, my powerful and forward way of thinking has helped me so many times when I was in trouble. It has helped me to gain respect and be a little more influential. When you say what everyone else is thinking, but you’re the only one who has the guts to actually say it, you will start noticing that others follow your lead. Here is an example of what happened a few days ago.
I was in school. The school looks a little grim if you ask me. They could easily put some bright colors on the screen doors or the window frames, so that it would appear as a fun place, but school policy wanted it to be this dull.
It was Monday morning. Nobody likes Mondays, because it means the weekend is over. Your freedom is lost and you’re back in class, stuck with your nose in the boring books and listening to the endless spiel of a teacher who didn’t pursue a real career and decided to teach high school.
Useless facts of knowledge are poured on you like a toxic rain that kills plants, trees and animals, forcing you to waste your childhood on some king in the 17th century or a math problem without a real answer for “X.” And then, once you’re done figuring out a complicated formula or reading about the arrogance of this royal loser, the only thing that remains with you, is that you can’t even make money with answering those trivia because you know you’ll never get selected for a show or contest. My point is the following question: What is the point?!
Sorry, I got a little sidetracked there. I was going to describe the popularity battle based on the silly high school hierarchy these ignorant teenagers made up.
So as I was saying, it was Monday morning. I walked through the hallway minding my own business… when a girl, I think her name was Tiffany, came to me and asked said,
“Wow! Such beautiful earrings. How much were they? Did you get them for free? Or did you just find them in the trash in the neighbor’s backyard?”
Now, the animal in me was abound to pounce on her and punch her so hard that it would knock her teeth out. I felt the aggression, and I am sure a lot of boys would have reacted this way if they concerned guy-to-guy threats. But girls aren’t allowed to fight physically. It’s not high class. As a girl, you need to wear a consistent mask of an uncaring attitude. Full confidence in the eyes of others is the goal.
So I said, “What’s your name again? Tinkerbell?”
“Tiffany,” she corrected me.
“Oh, that’s right. I remember you. I think it was your mom whom I met at the market. She pointed out these beautiful earrings and told me they would look better on me, because they were more my color. Her style is amazing. We became best buddies.”
“You’re lying. My mom would never go shopping with you,” Tiffany protested.
“Wait, you mean to say she didn’t tell you?” I said as I chuckled. “Well, then again, I’m not surprised.”
Score. She was speechless. I turned around with elegance, blew a kiss, said, “Tatah,” and left her there with her so-called friends, who were unimpressed with her pathetic comeback remarks. She never bothered me after that. It’s sickening how many have tried to take me down like that. Here are the rules I made up:
1 You can’t lose your temper; it shows weakness.
2 You have to pretend you don’t care.
3 You can’t let them get away with it or they’ll walk all over you.
4 Don’t ever start it, because then you become as mean as they are.
5 Be smart and know what others appreciate. Referring to their arrogance will help you gain more favor than referring to their skin color or something else which is frowned upon. Stay
decent and true to your conscience.
With these rules, I survived middle school, and fortunately, high school was a little easier. Still, I had to confront all those like Tiffany who thought they were so much better than anyone else. It was almost a daily struggle.
My mother was incredibly sweet. My dad was always at work or on business trips. I think my mom missed him sometimes, but she kept it in and never showed sadness. Occasionally, my dad would come home and tell us he made a lot of money. I loved him and his efforts to provide. It would have been more fun if he was around more often, but a girl can’t have everything. Maybe later when his income increases.
Whenever I would come home, my mom had butterscotch toffees or cookies. It was either the first or the last. She always made them fresh with her secret recipe, and I never got enough of them. Even friends who came over sometimes would give my mom compliments about her sweets and treats. There were times that I took it for granted and just told her to “hand over the candy already,” but later I would think about it and conclude that I was a little too spoiled. I never had a hard time apologizing, so it always got solved quickly.
And then there is my annoying little brother, who is 5 years old. I think he was raised on a different planet before he was born. He always finds a way to mess up the house or break something. When I point it out, my mom tells me that he “is only 5, so don’t be too hard on him.” Were my parents that lenient when I was that age? I doubt it.
So now you know something about me. I’m just the same as everyone else, aren’t I? Nothing special there. Well, that’s what I thought too… at first…
Entry 2: Superpower
I have a superpower. That’s what I discovered at that age, when I was 14. I always suspected it a little bit, but I never seemed to grasp the reality of it.
I already mentioned I am loud and obnoxious, but my superpower actually is (don’t laugh) to emit enhanced destructive and deafening screams of a high amplitude. In other words, I can break stuff by screaming at it. I call it a “sonic scream.” If I scream at my loudest, it won’t be just the windows that break, but anything in my path within a certain radius. Isn’t it awesome?
I know what you’re thinking… how can that ever help anyone, you may ask? Well, that’s where the rest of the story fits in. I didn’t know what to do with it, but eventually, it came in handy. I will show you throughout this true story that even a superpower as pointless as mine can be applied to achieve good things.
Besides the most important parts of the story I will tell you, I can remember a few examples when it served me well.
One time, a drunk guy came to me. He was several years older, I think. I walked through the city with two of my best friends, Britney and Kiara. We were a little late and had to get home before dark. The sun wasn’t set yet, but we didn’t have much time either. So after our shopping spree, and a lovely dinner at a foreign restaurant, we turned around the corner and bumped into this jerk on accident.
He was blond, and his eyes were blue. I remember it well, because I thought he was a little cute. However, despite his appearance, he stank. He had been drinking too much. It was obvious.
“Where are you girls going?” he asked.
“None of your business,” I said.
“And why not? You are such a fine looking lady. Why don’t you come home with me and we can get to know each other better?”
“Excuse me?” I said. “Perhaps in your dreams, when you are sober, dweeb. The answer is no. Now go away.”
But my direct remarks just made it worse. He got a little pushy, and grabbed my arm.
“Hey, let go!” I shouted.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” my friends yelled. “Go bother someone else.”
He kept tugging my arm and mentioning what a great couple we would make, insinuating that I was “mature” and “beautiful” and “hot.” It was upsetting. I didn’t like it at all, but he didn’t stop. With a firm grip, he pulled me closer to me and tried to kiss me. That’s when I screamed.
Before I continue to narrate what happened, I want to explain my justifications. Do you get the picture? This guy was coming on to me and didn’t know what the word “no” meant. In no way was it my intention to harm him the way I did, and thinking about it afterwards, I could have just kneed him where guys don’t like to get hurt, if you know what I mean, but I just didn’t know my own strength… that is… the strength of my scream. I was just scared and offended by this bozo.
So yes, I screamed. And the consequences weren’t pretty.
“Eeeeeeeeeh!” I screeched as loud as I could.
Two of the windows of the surrounding houses broke. A strong gush of wind caused small trees to be torn out of the ground and papers from another man to fly through the air. My two friends fell over backwards, finding themselves lucky enough to be behind me instead of in front of me. A street light broke. Two tiles on the road pavement were ripped in half, several shingles fell off some rooftop, and five bricks fall out of the closest building. It was a disaster for anyone or anything within hearing distance.
And the guy? Ha-ha! He tumbled backwards and was blown away about twenty feet, spinning in the air and hitting a wall with his head. Knockout. Ha! Serves you right!
But then I came closer and saw he was bleeding from the back of his head. An ambulance was called, and efforts were made to get him to the hospital immediately; eventually we managed to do so. The doctors said he was going to be fine, but I still felt a little guilty because what I did was a somewhat over the top. Either way, he never bothered me again.
At moments like these I knew that I could control my superpower to a degree, but not completely. I had to watch out, so that I wouldn’t regrettably destroy something or hurt someone on accident.
Entry 3: Training
I’m still convinced that a lot of things we learn in school are useless because we can look them up on the internet anyway. Whatever it is you want to learn, it’s somewhere to be found. Well, almost anything.
Since I was such an upbeat girl with a strong personality, I began to be interested in martial arts. I learned much about several ones, but some of the self-defense techniques fascinated me the most. I loved that feeling of safety, which increased when I knew how to defend myself. Hey, the city is a dangerous place. Robbers, thieves, and other malicious criminals are certainly out there, so I decided to guard myself against those, just in case something were to happen. And something did happen, but I will write about that later.
First and foremost, I used internet videos to improve my techniques. At times, I asked my mom to train with me, but she was never any good at it, so most of the time, I just wouldn’t bother her with it. I practiced in front of the mirror, I bought a punching bag, and I studied each and every video carefully, mimicking the moves I saw the instructors do.
I got really good at fighting, I have to admit. I became so good that some of the guys were talking about it in school. Eventually, one of them came up to me and challenged me to a wrestling match.
I know, girls don’t wrestle much, but I didn’t shy away from the competition. I was going to participate and show them some girl power!
Hundreds of students came to watch. This was the big after-school event of the day: A strong guy against a girl who claimed to know something about fighting. Doesn’t that sound like something everyone would want to attend?
So here I was, in a tight outfit that covered up the most important and respected parts of my body, ready to wrestle a muscled dude who had years of experience. The crowd was noisier than ever. The girls rooted for me and the boys rooted for my opponent, shouting to “go it easy on her… she’s just a girl.”
The guy laughed. “Show me what you’ve got,” he said.
Well, if there was anything I learned from all those self-taught self-defense classes, it was that the best way to overcome your opponent is by anticipating their attacks and using them against them. So I did. I just stood there, calm on the outside but a
lert in my entire being.
“Come and get me,” I answered.
He laughed again. “Suit yourself,” he said, and he came at me, trying to grab my waist. I dodged his attack and all the girls started cheering out loud.
“Woohoo!” it went.
I got distracted because of the crowd’s reaction, so I didn’t see his next blow coming. He dashed forward and threw me on the ground.
“Ooooh!” the guys yelled with attitude.
We tumbled over the floor, trying to grab any limb we could use to force the other into an awkward position. I turned and used his legs for leverage, pulling him back on his chin, like I was trying to pop open a jar.
“Ouch… ouch…” he wailed.
“One, two, three…” the referee said while my opponent tried to free himself from my grip. But it was pointless. “Eight, nine, ten. Winner!” the referee ended up saying.
I released him and wanted to give him a low-five, but he just turned away and walked out of the gym. His ego got shot. His pride was gone. Too bad, so sad. A year later, I had a crush on the very same guy. Go figure how instable my emotions were sometimes.
The girls went nuts! They came running at me in excitement. Some of them hugged me and others carried me away. It was like crowd surfing and I love the attention. Girls versus boys… the girls had won.
“Great job, Angela,” one of them said.
“You sure showed him!” another one said.
I was a lot more popular after that.
The funny thing was that after that, whenever there was a fight in school, boys would threaten their enemies with, “You better watch out, or I will ask Angela to beat you up.” They knew I would never do that, but it became a big joke. I heard some guys even got a little scared because of those threats. It was hilarious!
So yes, I studied all those martial arts, specialized in self-defense, and after a while, I even started watching Kung Fu movies. The weirdest thing about some of those movies is how unrealistically high they can jump. So I asked my mom what was up with that, why it was so unreal.