A week before I get my period, I start to retain water and continue to bload until like the 4th or 5th day of my period, then I have have to constantly pee because I`m getting rid of all that fluid in my body. Idk it`s always been like that, that`s all I know.

99% of water is conserved throughout your day. 100% of sugar is also conserved. the only time water is lost in excess is during perspiration.

Answering Retain

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What do you think of my story so far? please bear in mind that i am fourteen years old, and i am only writing as a hobby :) i welcome all criticism, but please don't bother to comment if you're simply going to tell me that i have spelt a word wrong. thanks! (and sorry about the length, please do take the time to read it!) i curl up into a ball and hug my knees to my chest, the salty taste of tears trickles between my lips. the rain is coming down steadily, and despite the fact that my jacket is zipped to the top, a sharp wind still manages to slice my neck and whip my cheeks, sending a shiver to the very bottom of my spine. the temperature is so low that i can see my breath taking the shape of a foggy cloud before me, and i can sense prickly goose bumps forming beneath my damp, dirty jeans. the ground feels particularly hard and uncomfortable now that i am being forced to sleep on it, more so than i can remember. every inch of my body is aching and tired and i cannot escape the thought that i am going to be paralysed with cold for a long time, with pangs of hunger eating away at me. a blanket of darkness has fallen over the street and the only source of light now is a dull orange glow coming from a streetlamp. there aren’t many people about, only drunks on their way home from the pub a little way down the road. the rain has slowed to a drizzle, which is little relief, as my clothes are already dripping anyway. my hair is plastered to my head, and i can no longer tell whether it is raindrops that are rolling down my cheeks, or tears. a soggy, discarded menu for a chinese takeaway sticks to the pavement, and i peer at it, imagining the taste of hot food in my mouth, the warmth spreading through my body, sending tingles to the tips of my fingers and the tips of my toes... i haven’t had a proper meal for hours, and my stomach is growling in protest. no one will spare me any change for food, not now, not this late; the right people are not around. after just one day on the streets, i realised that i am practically invisible to most; not good enough to be spoken to. normal people automatically assume that i am an alcoholic, or an addict, and it is annoying. parents hurry their children past me, as though i have an infectious disease that i could pass on. at this moment precisely, a drunken man wearing a suit staggers in my direction, shouting something that i can barely translate. he looks to be about thirty, and is clutching at a cigarette. “’sgusting tramp,” he accuses, pointing a shaking finger at me. “you make me sick-” he splutters, and vomits: half on his shoes and half on me. i feel like doing the same, except that for me, there is nothing to throw up. i wipe the mess from my jeans using the takeaway flyer, but the unpleasant smell is lingering. i squeeze my eyes shut, and will him to stumble on, which he eventually does. my throat is dry as sandpaper, rough and sore from the lack of drinking water, and the pattern of the gravelly concrete has been pressed into my ankle. i stand up shakily, and gather some wet leaves from the gutter between the pavement and the road. i stuff the pile into my otherwise near-empty backpack to create a substitute for a cushion. resting my head on this, i try to ignore the cold showers of wind that are encircling me, and concentrate on not worrying. i attempt to block out the sounds of the street and of the dripping rain, and eventually, my thoughts slip into my dreams. as i wake to a cold, sunny morning, i realise that i must have fallen asleep in the end. the city is also just waking up: the first buses are pumping foul-smelling fumes into the atmosphere and a balding man is lifting chairs from table tops in a café across the road. i can hear the footsteps of the earliest commuters pattering hurriedly past me, and as i roll over to face the street, the bright, low sun blinds me. my hair is tangled and torn, and using an elastic band that i was wearing around my wrist, i gather the ends in an attempt to control it. i have no idea whether i am imagining it or not, but i swear i can feel lice crawling through my hair, and all over my body. my chest is tight, and my throat itchier than ever; it is extremely painful when i swallow, and it tickles when i cough. i glance desperately at the pedestrians passing me by, but most of them do not even look my way. a woman is approaching: she looks very businesslike and confident, wearing a smart trouser suit and low-heeled shoes. she, unlike the majority, looks straight at me, right into my eyes. her hair is tucked behind her ears and i can see that she is frowning. when she reaches me she stops. the woman is holding keys in her hand, and she jangles them at me expectantly. “i’d like to unlock my shop, if you wouldn’t mind?” she says, peering down at me, with a look of disgust. i move to get up but my legs struggle to hold my weight. my knees are aching and my neck is stiff from sleeping awkwardly. i pull my bag into my i'm not sure of a title as of yet, any suggestions would be helpful! also, would you mind reading one of my other stories? heres the link: http://answers.yahoo.com/question/i ndex;_ylt=ast28guggdaidl.yzfnvckpsy 6ix;_ylv=3?qid=20091206033819aabyne d :) thanks! haha, no, that doesn't happen. i'm not entirely sure of what is going to happen yet, but prostitution is an option that is considered. thankyou for your help! i just realised that not all of what i have written was in the question - i did not realise that it did not allow me to copy all of it. here is the rest of what i have written so far:- arms and hug it tightly to my chest; it is all i have. i hobble away from the doorway, feeling the woman’s angry stare burning into my back. i make my way down the street, with no idea where i am heading to. all of a sudden, i realise that i need the toilet desperately. my socks are wet through, and there is a loud squelch with every small step that i manage to take. after a few minutes, i come to a fast food restaurant that is already open. i push the door open and a blast of warm air engulfs me. i climb the stairs to the second floor, and dodge between tables to reach the toilets. i choose to go into a cubicle, instead of standing at a urinal, so that i can spend more time in this warm, safe haven. it is painful as i sit down; my back is resting against the toilet lid, and i can feel it pressing against tender bruises that i cannot yet see. it is not until at least twenty minutes have passed that i remember i can’t spend all day in here, much as i would like to. i clamber back down the stairs and, as i do, i spot a half finished bottle of apple juice sitting on the bottom step. after a long gulp, i decide to rescue the rest for later, and shove it into my backpack. i continue through the restaurant towards the exit, eventually passing the lines of people waiting to order food. i watch enviously as they dig into their purses for change, and scan the menu. as i stumble past, i notice a glittering object on the floor. it is sparkling and glittering and reflecting the light, and when i bend down and pick it up, i realise it that it is a shiny, new, one pound coin. “can i help you sir?” a polite voice enquires. i look up at a pretty lady who is smiling at me, and after overcoming the shock of being addressed as ‘sir’, i walk unsteadily towards the counter. i gaze at the menu wishing that i could order everything. i eventually settle for a simple cheeseburger. i watch and wait eagerly as the woman puts the burger into a paper bag along with a tomato ketchup sachet and napkins. she hands it to me, and i pay her, feeling generous as i push my penny change into a donation box. i wish the woman a good day, and take my burger outside. i slump down on the corner of the street, and unwrap the burger wrapper slowly and carefully before lifting it to my lips... it almost tastes delicious; that is how hungry i am. i try to take tiny little bites to savour the experience, but can’t help wolfing it down as i am so starved. the more i eat the more i crave, and the more i understand; with every mouthful that i swallow, my body aches for more and more food; food that i cannot provide. as i devour the last crumbs, i am left feeling even hungrier than before, and not one bit satisfied. my stomach is painful and my head is pounding and throbbing; i force my eyes shut and try to ignore the fact that the tears are beginning to slither down my cheeks again. it is a horrible feeling, to be excluded from society. it is as though from the moment that i became homeless, i became unwanted and unloved, and outsider, and outcast, a blemish on an otherwise perfect sheet of paper. i am scared for my safety; will i last another night? will i even last until this evening? will i make it to my next meal, whenever that is? i sit here, waiting. for what, i do not know. fallen angel - i added the rest below :)

That's really pretty good. The words flow nicely and you can picture everything the character is seeing. You know how he feels, which is always a plus. I'm curious to see what the climax of the story is. Maybe he gets in a few street fights as he climbs his way to the top. Who knows, well, you know. The only con is the grammar, but you already know that! Happy Writing to you!