Tomato fields.

This is a new thing I am trying here, kids. It will involve reader participation, so please keep this story alive. I am writing every chapter on the spur of the moment, so don't expect something big, I am only experimenting after all.

The catch is: After every chapter, you will have to enter prompts. One word. Any word in this whole world. And in the next chapter, the word you entered will be entered. Either in a context, either simply being mentioned, either not being mentioned but affecting the action whatsoever. I hope you enjoy my idea and have fun with my story.

This will be written in second person, as I have been enamored by this style for a while now.

Enjoy and let's get working.

#PROLOGUE

You mash some keys on your keyboard, annoying the person that happens to share your room at the moment. He tells you to cut it off and get going already. You glance over your shoulder, frowning at your boyfriend and close a browser instance featuring one of your pathetic hipster blogs.

You have no idea why you do this, but everyone does it so you have to adapt, right? Reblogging frilly dresses you will never own, lace bows and sepia photographs of vintage cameras, you feel happy and complete with this excuse of a life you claim on living on that computer.

But once the screen shuts off, you become another person. Someone aggressive and possessive of her own beliefs, with strong opinions about life. The computer drains your soul, but you are not strong enough yourself to admit that and you like living in your own virtual existence.

As Glandiv closes the lid of your laptop and takes it away from you, you stifle a moan. Your other life has been carefully packed in a backpack that is thrown in your arms, then placed by said limbs around your shoulders, on your back, as you grab other bags and head for the door, followed by your lover.

The trip to the airport is bitter and short, because you take your time to think of your frustrations towards economy in the car that smells of tobacco.

Before you depart, Glandiv callously pats your hair and kisses your lips. A dry and tasteless kiss that you are glad it's over. You fake a sad face, sniffle a goodbye and get on your way to the plane, using time as an excuse to get away from him.

You are going to Italy. And you will spend the next two weeks there with your sister. Two weeks of relief, you think.

How good those two weeks will be, Cristopha

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Hope you liked it, the next chapters will be longer. Please leave a word prompt that will be used in the next chapter. I'll decide on a max of prompts, but there'll be one prompt per person.

:3

Enjoy.

Nice beginning. The story definitely looks to be interesting. What hooked me the most was Cristopha's apparent dislike for Glandiv, despite that he is her boyfriend. It definitely makes me wonder what's up between the two.

And I'll go ahead with the word "conflict." It's one of my favorite words. XD

Thanks, Luv <3 Glad you like it, it was a thing I thrown in in like 10 minutes, so I hope I won't disappoint you if my experiment will turn out bad :[
Thanks for the prompt, a fairly easy one to use :3
I'll take only three prompts per chapter (not that I'll get that many readers haha

Here we go.

#ONE

"Christophina," you hear your sister chant her own version of your name from the kitchen, accentuating the last two syllables, prolonging the n in the most Italian way she could. You nearly don't care but it so happens that it's morning and also, that you are hungry.

You don't even remember when you made your way from the airport to your sister's house. You kept tapping the screen of your phone, browsing the internet from the second you were allowed to turn it back on after the flight, till the moment you fell asleep on your sister's leather couch. You wouldn't know any of the work she did, any of the meals she prepared for you, you wouldn't know. You are just tired of pasta already.

Your sister hates you. That's easy to feel in her gaze. But hey. You have your other life to take care of at the moment.

Without notice, Ruena disappeared. She went to work. Maybe she said something, but you were most certainly reblogging something.

Cautiously, you place your laptop on the couch you have not stood up for nearly half a day now. Standing up and making your way to the kitchen, you see a salad, with those little tomatoes these people call pomodorini, cheese and arugula. No. You are not eating that. Tomatoes, with some kind of salad and cheese?
#ew #what was she thinking #jesus christ

You take a couple of seconds to respond to a text from Glandiv with a mere "yea woke up <3 u 2" and put on some shorts, a tank top with a frilly scarf around your neck and with high heeled sandals, hair in a ponytail and decently accesorized, you exit the apartment. Of course you lock the door.

And you head out.

In the city of Naples.

You spend appreciatively five minutes before getting bored of being outside in the hot sun. Dull people with dull preferences, why would you like sitting on your butt on the edge of a fountain or go from one corner of the city to the other in a crowded bus.

Speaking of which. That person was standing a bit to close to you in the bus. You immediately pap the back pocket of your jean shorts, and you are instantly hit by a cold energy running through you so fast, you almost hear the zap which it created. Your wallet is gone. You had your ID and your bus tickets inside. Not to mention the money.

And no, you were not paying attention to where the bus was going, you had your nose in the screen of your phone all the way. That's why they announce what stop is the next one.

Before you can become completely dysfunctionally panicked, you pull out your phone and attempt to call your sister to come pick you up.

But someone runs past you, grabs your phone and your purse and tries to sprint. Only do you get a tight grip on your purse, wave it free, smacking the attacker in the process and lose your balance for a moment. Moment in which you are punched and stripped of your jewelry.

And now you sit in the middle of the square, lost.

And no one even looks at you.

What will you do, Cristopha?

Oooh I love this chapter as well. It definitely has some suspense to keep the reader attached to the story. I'm curious to know what Cristopha will do now-poor lass, that was one horrible luck indeed. XD

My word prompt for this chapter will be "intriguing." I love this idea, btw.

Keep it up! ^^

Thanks a lot, I love that users can mildly participate in the writing of the story :3 I am very glad you like the idea.

Oh, and when you see italics and hashtags, it means those are Cristopha's thoughts in that moment.

#TWO

You can't even fully comprehend what just happened to you just now. All you do is sit where you last fell on your butt, your hand covering the eye you were punched in. Paralyzed by either the fact that that man had the nerve and guts to punch you in the middle of the square, or by the fact that no one freaking stopped their activity to at least help you.

Looking to your left, you see the round fountain with people sitting all over its edge. Looking before you, you see people walking towards you and then avoiding you as if they are GPS-guided robots, with the grace of tango dancers. But do any of these people do as little as throw a glance at you? No.
#retards #apes #what the hell are they? #what the frick you guys #no one even looked at me
you would have tagged your post.

But your phone was taken away, so you won't get the chance to pollute the internet with the foul insults you have to throw at these people who only care for their lives, much like you do, you selfish little....

Wait. Is that it? Is that who you are with technology and money at your fingertips?
#wow ok

Okay, so you are pretty snobby yourself. But hey! You learned your lesson now and you ought to get your stuff back and get home back to your sister, right? That's what happens in movies, in books and any other things the great companies commercialize.

...
..
#oh

You are stupid. This is what you've been trying to teach the people around you most of your life. Companies are only after your money. This is real life. Your stuff won't magically re-appear in front of you and your eye won't stop hurting. You ought to try to stand up in that case, no?

You wiggle to your feet, looking around a little confused at first. But you eventually make your way away from the square, away from the tourists and into the depth of the city, in between the old buildings, narrow streets with dirty people, brothels and girls your age, grotesquely provocative, who look at you questioningly when you trespass their territory. You don't even know how many of these narrow streets you've walked so far.

"Ma che diavolo ci fai qui, feccia?" A sharp voice cut through your numb mind like a knife through butter. Your forearm is grabbed by a female hand and shaken. You stammer some onomatopoeias that wouldn't make sense in any language. You have no idea how Italian works, so you have no idea what this woman is saying.
#what #no parlo italiano #am i doing it right

"Muovi il culo di fuori del nostro tappeto erboso prima di arrivare sfortunato!" She yells, letting you go and pushing you away before turning around to her colleagues.

You inhale shortly and do as you are motioned to, getting away from the gang of prostitutes. You soon find your way out to the main street, in the crowds, only to discover that it's gotten dark outside.

Confused, you try to make your way to a "carabinier", one of those police officers that roams the streets at any hour. You are delighted to spot one in the distance, but right as you want to sprint to him, a car honks right by your side and the window is lowered for the driver to ask you "Quanto, bella?". You don't need to know Italian to understand that this man just assumed you are a hooker and asked you how much.
#screw this #dude #what

You almost start yelling obscenities in indignation at the man, but the carabinier just spotted you leaning in to the car window. And is now approaching you. Also thinking that you must certainly be a hooker.
#oh damn

You take off your high heeled sandals, grab them and scamper off in the crowd, with now two carabinieri following you.

The cold concrete sidewalk feels foreign, as well as the gum you just stepped in, now sticking to your foot and so does that shard of glass you also stepped in. Finally thinking you've probably lost them, you sprint to one of the side streets, hiding behind a large garbage bin.

Curling in a ball behind the bin, you nearly start weeping, but youdecide to take a look at the wound on your foot. It'll probably get infected asap. You get rid of the piece of sticky gum on your other foot and decide this is not a place to cry yet, for the police will be on your tracks now.

You put on your sandals. It'll hurt, but at least it'll help preventing dirt getting in the cut. Standing up straight, you head out again, almost thanking God when you see the beach across the street. Yes, the very beach you rolled your eyes at earlier today. Your eyes almost water now.

Crossing the street, you make your way to the beach.
Your heels sink in the sand, but you go on, approaching the waves. Plopping on the sand, you look at the sea. This is stupid. But necessary for your brain. You start crying.

And you cry yourself to sleep.

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Miss Nile, I hope nothing here is offensive or vulgar :[ I swear there are no themes going on. but if you find something, please let me know

Nope, nothing is out of ordinary. ^^ I read the chapter and everything is okay material-wise.

And I love this chapter as well. ^^ I really feel sorry for Christopha, though. The poor girl. And it's nice to see you using your Italian abilities in this nice way. <3

My word prompt for this one is "death." Let's see what you're going to do with this one. XD

Oop. Thank you ^^ both for reading and liking the chapter (and the challenging prompt) :3
And yeah, I would probably feel bad for Cristopha myself if I didn't enjoy creating smug characters that I get to torture later on XD

Okay, here we go~
(a picture of Cristopha and Glandiv might appear soon enough <3 )

#THREE

It's morning. It's morning, Cristopha. Get up already and embrace your life.
#come on #how can i do that #this is stupid
But you don't. You continue doing a great job refusing to live on. You cling to your pride and absolutely do not get up from the cold sand you've been sleeping on for the past two days. That's what you've been doing for the last 48 hours, sleeping in denial on the sand, pretending to be dead and hoping that whatever omniscient and omnipotent entity out there will realize that you are worthless and that you need to die. But they did not.

Which leaves you thinking: either "Gods" don't exist... or they decided to let you live because you stand a chance.
#do i #wow #yes i do

Your upper body automatically spasms, causing you to pop up in realization and literally slap yourself to your senses. You will not die. If these gods at least once wanted you to die, they would have killed you right away. But something inside you boils and your will won't accept you sleeping on the cold sand when you could do a whole lot better. You'll do whatever it takes to survive. Even if that involves... stealing.

Standing up on the sandals whose heels immediately get buried in the sand, you decide to get yourself a new set of footwear and take care of your sick foot. It became alarmingly swollen and an infection will not be in your favour at this time.
#god dammit

Looking around on the beach, you decide it's past noon. Many beach towels with bags on them sit unnervingly unsupervised and alone in the sea of sand. One bag sits farther than the others, appealing you with two sneakers and a pair of flip-flops carelessly thrown on the towel while the owner just leaves the stuff unattended, heading for the ocean. You stand straight felling a deep pain coming from your heel. That is yours. That beach bag is all yours and it has "Cristopha" written all over it.

You feel a little shaky as you take off your sandals and walk towards the spotted towel, eyeing the girl owning them from time to time. The burning pain that comes from your heel is indescribable, but you move on.
#okay that hurts #a LOT

As you reach the towel, you notice a man laying on his belly on the towel next to yours, face away from your direction. You sit loudly on the towel and grab on the girl's bag, immediately putting the straps over your right shoulder. As the man turns around to eye you suspiciously, you take the straps off your shoulder and wave towards the sea. That large beach bag is yours and you just took it off. The man looks towards the sea, but no one waves back at you. Maybe he missed your friend waving at you, or he just did not notice them, so he returns to sleep, facing away from you again.

That was your signal. As soon as he does, you open the bag and search for three important items. The girl's cellphone, keys and wallet. Taking them out of the bag, you roll them under the training clothes that were thrown on the towel, grab the sneakers, tug them inside the large bag, take off your sandals, tug them inside as well, zip the bag closed, put on the flip-flops and stand up, and mimicking lateness, you wave again towards the sea,just in case someone is looking and scamper off to the public showers. You enter a stall, lock the door behind you and dump the bag empty. Your then turn it inside out and place the objects back in hastily.
#haha #yeauh!

Proud of your success, you casually make your way down the streets. That was a success, indeed, Cris! But the sting in your heel is almost unbearable so you nearly limp to the fountain you were last robbed at.

Sitting on the edge, you take off your flip-flops, place them next to you and spin around on your butt, dipping your feet in the cold water. A hot-iron-like pain hits your injured heel and you silently wince, but you know it's better to get it as clean as possible until you can get a hold of any medicine. While your feel soften in the fountain, you open the bag, to get some information about the objects you now possess. Inside you find a quarter-empty bottle of water, SPF 35 sunscreen, a small towel, the shoes, vitamin pills, aspirin, some tampons, a makeup pouch, a foil with only three antibiotic tablets and eight euros in coins. The things you are most fond of are probably the foil of antibiotics and the money.

You currently are doing better, but you have no idea where to head to. You are surely no longer thinking of death, now after you've bought yourself a little bag of pastries from the little "pasticceria" in the corner of the street, now having only 6€ left. But a bag of pastries, some virtamins, a bottle of water, 6€ and some makeup won't keep you alive forever. Plus, you need to take care of your infected heel.

You will need to adventure in the fierce side of Naples again.
Between the buildings, where the small second-hand joints and brothels are. That's where you'll go, Cristopha.
#gulp #oh damn #i wonder what Glandiv is doing

(AN: okay, so I had a better idea of how to actually include someone dying, but that would have made this update way too long. So i'll probably just include them in the next chapter. Also, yay because I made Cristopha smart XD she'll do something stupid soon enough, hopefully. And yay for Cristopha starting to miss Glandiv yaaaaay Hope you enjoyed it
:3))

Ahh I love the new chapter. ^^ Hmm I am still feeling sorry for Cristopha although I do not quite agree with her path right now. XD

It's interesting that she started missing Gladinov now. I am interested in their relationship. XD

My word for this chapter...hmm, I'll go with "dream." Let's see this one. XD

have some art of Cristopha:
http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mc3se1FBTL1r5hafvo1_1280.png
:] hope you enjoy it's a 15 min something
(next chapter will come out soon)

Aww Cristopha looks really beautiful and the art is purely awesome. Great job on this one, Ruffi and I can't wait for the next chapter. ^^

A/N: I apologize for this looooooong absence, senior year in high school, university crap, studying for my laureateship and stuff like that. I am sure you understand

Anyway, on with the chapter.

#FOUR

The almost idiotic amount of time you spent on the side of the fountain could work as a paradox phrase for Artificial Intelligence. Because it made absolutely no sense and it frustrated the non-AI individuals while trying to find a reason why one would do such a thing.

You want to smack yourself in the face with this bag. But while you were daydreaming in the Italian summer sun, getting sun-struck maybe, your brain did something interesting: it thought of something.
#woah #!!!!!

After seeing a couple of people getting robbed in full street, you decide that is not going to work in your case, because you barely even got the little nothings you have now, with the owner like one kilometer away from them on an empty beach. There is no way you could walk up to that dude in the tank top, for example, shove your arm down to your elbow deep in his pocket and acquire the goods you find there. But not because it would be difficult, no, look at this damn square, it's full of people and even if they notice you doing that, no one will do anything. You won't pickpocket because you don't want to have people feeling like you did yesterday. It sucked really... And it still does.

Maybe you should try begging? It works for some of the little kids you see around. You ask someone what time it is.

18:40 already. Well then, the sun will start setting soon enough, you should get prepared for the waves of tourists that visit the city at dawn.

No one will give a cent to you if you are as well-dressed. Your hair is pretty tangled and you look pretty bad physically speaking, but that is not enough. Going to one of those public toilets that stink so badly they could kill an army of hounds with only their scent, you take off your tank top and rip it in a few places put it back on and take out the makeup pouch. With the dark eyeliner, you make yourself eyebags and smear some "bruises" on your arms and legs. Good.

But you are still clean.
Exiting the toilet, you go to a potted plant, grab a handful of dirt and limp back to the toilet stall. You rub the dirt all over your clothes, skin and some on your face as well. You untie your hair and throw the remaining dried dirt in it, tangling it even more as you do.
#this should do #ew

By the time you are done with your makeover, it's already dawn. You go out on the square and find yourself a place to sit, next to a street light. You put down your bag, cover it with the dirty scarf you have been wearing, sit on it and wait.

People pass, look, but no one shows sympathy. The crowds gather only around the performers that impress with either their artistic skills or their shows. There are people painted golden and silver and people give them money only to salute. That is outrageous!

You receive only insults spat at our by the snobbiest of people you would consider friends in the past. One especially good-looking blonde guy says something among the lines of "get a darn job instead of consuming space, you dust-collector". That is the kind of guy you would have be attracted to. You know, if you were rich again. But except not because he is a jerk and you see it only now.

An artist a few dozen meters away from you is spray-painting some astrology fantastical scenery. And people give him money. Lots of it.

When you get spit in the face by someone, you decide it's too much. You sit up and fill your lungs with air. You are going to do something you haven't done in a long while.
You are going to sing for someone else than Glandiv.

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wweh i hope you enjoy. The next chapter will be interesting.

I loved this chapter as well and I am curious to know what Cristopha is going to do next. ^^

And welcome back. We missed you around here. =D

The word I choose this time is "comedy."