I've got a Golden Ticket!!! Ya dah dah dah dah dah dahh!

Well, actually it's a purple ticket. But I've got it anyway. Yeehaw!

Expound? Certainly!

The Book Fair, which I haven't had the pleasure of going to in years, has finally returned to me. And with it: a writing contest. The dealio was to rewrite an opening/closing chapter of a favorite book. Grand prize= $20 worth of goodies at the shindig. Since I had already rewritten a chapter from Jane Eyre two months ago, I thought I'd turn it in and see what happened. I didn't think anything of it, seeing as the chapter I butchered was from neither the beginning nor the end. But, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, I got a magical, glowing purple note from the office, demanding my presence at the library. Terribly long story short, I won the twenty bucks, the praise, and the crown of writing glory that will set me apart from all inferior authors for the rest of my writing career. *snort* But really, terribly good fun.
So, if my story is just silly enough to win a contest, it is most certainly silly enough to post here.
While you dabble in the insanity, I shall go wet myself thoroughly (in a good way) whilst partaking of Pride and Prejudice. AND ZOMBIES!

This is an insult to Charlotte Bronte. I can hear her turning in her grave. But here it is nonetheless: the thoughts and feelings of Mr. Rochester as Jane is leaving him.

   I paced angrily about the room, using every ounce of willpower I possessed to prevent myself from destroying everything in sight. "Damn him!" echoed through my mind again and again, "Damn that vile scum of the earth to the deepest pit of hell!" I growled this repeatedly under my breath, in the foolish hope that it would indeed happen where Mason stood. "I should have let him die that night. I should have let that scourge of God tear him to pieces, so that he might feel one-thousandth of the agony that kills me now." I stormed with even more spite about the room, cursing everything in my path, while hate spread like fire through my veins. I wished every livid footstep I took were a dagger to plunge into his monstrous heart. Then Jane, as she so often did, crept into my thoughts. "I shouldn't have waited." I stopped my murderous patrol and collapsed in despair onto the sofa beside the fire, my head in my hands. "I should have taken Jane away as soon as she said she'd have me. I should have taken here where none of this could have touched her. But alas, I didn't. The chips have fallen. The deed is done. And now she can no longer love me. How can she? A wondrous creature such as she cannot dare to even look at a monster such as I, let alone love. It is against the force of nature and the power of God. But still, I hope..."
   I pondered over the previous night. That silence, my precious Jane's broken silence, was worse than tears. "I wish I could run to her, to hold her in my arms again, to tell my darling angel how desperately I love her." I wrestled with myself for a moment. "I can! I will! This very moment!" I jumped to my feet and looked around wildly for the clock. It was not past five. She wouldn't be up yet. I began to pace around the room again, each step matching the click of the clock. I paused only when I heard the creak of a floorboard outside the door. Deciding it had been Pilot, I resumed my impatient walk. Tick tick tick. Every second was agonizing, yet I did not abandon my routine. Tick tick tick.  I continued to walk and battle with my thoughts until I heard the sound of footsteps rushing down the hall. Jane! At last! I raced the door, arms wide, ready to receive my love. "George?" my arms were still aloft as the servant entered the dreary chamber. I dropped my arms. "Where is Jane?" "That's just it, sir!" George said, rather breathily. "She isn't here. She has left!" He looked at me in surprise as I laughed wryly. "Jane, gone? George, you've been at Grace Poole's rum, haven't you?" "No sir, I was most sober. I was taking a bit of breakfast up to Miss Eyre's room when I saw that she had gone!" I laughed again. "Surely she is in the library or with Adele-" "I was just in the library sir, Sophie as well. She stated she had not seen Jane and had been searching also. She is gone, Mr. Rochester! I am not mistaken-" "YOU ARE MISTAKEN!" I shouted. I watched the old man's mouth open in surprise. I was shaking with anger as I shouted again, "You are mistaken! Wake every living soul, and search all of Thornfield again and again, and don't you dare come back without her!" 
   George turned and hastened out as I stood there, head pounding, blood racing. "She has not-she will not leave me." I exited the room in a sort of trance, unconscious to the bustle of servants, running about and calling a name. I found myself in Jane's room. I stood there, dazed, surveying the abandoned chamber. The cold bed, the empty wardrobe, the pale wedding dress that hung, suspended like a ghost on the wall, mocking what had never been. I removed it from it's post and held it in my arms, running my fingers over the cold, dead fabric. "Jane." I whispered her name to the dress. "Jane." Her name was a kiss, fleeing from my lips into the frosty, unfeeling dawn. I repeated the name again and again, falling to my knees, as if pleading for mercy, and crumpled onto the floor. I cried her name over and over, holding the dress that had once held my life. Hot tears fell from my eyes, onto my breast, burning there like fire on my shattered heart. "Jane." I pronounced her beautiful name, that glorious syllable once more. Then all went black, and I felt no more.