Monica Bernal
Bio
Ready to become what I was always meant to be. Bwahahaaaaa, You have no life...if you came to stalk me here.
Stories (3/0)
Moonica and her Raging Bull
It was the gloomiest of day’s. The rain trickled down her window and Moona ( that was her nickname) could feel all the hairs on the back of her neck rise. “The hairs of despair” is what Moona would call them. When these hairs of despair would come around, it usually meant something awful or eery was about to happen.
By Monica Bernal 3 years ago in Fiction
A Protected Escape
For as long as she could remember Moonica felt a peace come over her when she could hear the seagulls, and feel the cool and slightly windy ocean breeze in her hair, but that ocean smell...the smell of fish and salt in the air was an extra bonus that she simply could not live without.
By Monica Bernal 3 years ago in Fiction
Chocol8 Sk8terz
Monday morning was here yet again and Jazz was in the kitchen making nothing other than six cups of chocolate milk. “Goood morning, Good morning, good morning to you and you and you and you.” Sang Ms.B as she always did to the crazy cool kids sitting at the kitchen bar, drinking their chocolate milks ( Jazzy had just handed to them) with their cute little chocolate moustaches. (Seeing those chocolate moustaches always made her laugh.)
By Monica Bernal 3 years ago in Families
