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Window to the PastLips that withhold no passion
Eyes that lost their shine
No meaning behind the words
Showing no longer the desire to be mine
Together for years on end
Holding my head up high
As if a prize had been won
I never thought you'd say goodbye
Shaking my world
My one true love
But I was merely nothing
Just some trash to dispose of
So hold me in your arms once more
And kiss me ever so slow
Because it's the only thing I have left
You stopped caring long ago.
Cry of the WorgenThe basement was nearly empty except for the man cowering in the corner. He was facing away from me but something looked familiar about him. His slender frame was convulsing and barely audible yelps of pain emerged from his lips. I wanted to leave, but I knew if I left I would be torn to bits by Worgens the beasts that have been ravaging our city for months.
"Are you alright?" I called to the man. His head whipped around and I nearly gasped when I saw his face. Daniel's eyes were a bright blue as he stared across the empty space at me. My best friend from my childhood. I hadn't seen him in nearly two years, but I would recognize his face anywhere.
"Dan are you alright?" I asked again after a moment of silence. His head turned away and he was mute for a moment.
"Blue, get out of here." His words had a certain edge to them that made me want to listen.
But instead, I continued: "Let me help you." I had involuntarily taken a few steps towards him without realizing it. Dan wince
I still hear themAm I strong enough to omit the words on the paper?
Can I make it through the despair?
Can I bear to see his name in writing?
Will my heart give way?
Every day is the same thing
The same thoughts
The same memories
They never leave
Forever staining my life
And tearing my heart to bits
Slowing creating a gaping hole
Within my chest
My eyes have never been dry
Not a single day
That I have lived
Your death was sudden
I still remember the screams
The blood curdling screams ..
The next Generation - Chap. 9"So, you three want to find the souls, I hear," Tremlett said. "It's very risky, you know."
"We know," Cecelea said. "We want to get them before Potter does. Who knows what he will do with them."
"I understand," He motioned them to sit down. Cecelea followed as if being whipped. Kestrella was more hesitant, but sat down anyway. "There are several souls you need to get. The strongest being Lord Voldemort's." Cecelea winced. "You should start out with weaker souls. I urge you to do this quickly, before Potter beats you to them."
"How do we 'capture' a soul, anyway?" Luke asked. Tremlett sat on the edge of his desk, and placed one of his big boots on the table in front of Kestrella.
"I taught Cecelea how to do it," he said simply. It's a difficult process, and I don't want many people knowing about it. Don't worry, she can handle it."
"So what the hell are we here for?" Kestrella asked. "You can Cecelea seem to have everything down perfectly! We're basically useless, so we migh
You can't escape itAs quick as it all started
The tears are gone yet again
Leaving my face bloated
And the color of a rose
As much as I try
Make up covers nothing
It merely hides
What had just happened
I decide ice could work
Holding it to my face
Like I'm some sort of freak
But it does nothing
Only time will make it disappear
But when that time comes
It just makes itself known
You can hide all you want
But it will eventually
Catch up with you
And run you over
Like you were some sort of
Stupid animal crossing
Down a road
Which you should have never came.
The Next Generation - Chap. 8"What do we have to do?" Kestrella asked Cecelea as they walked to their Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Luke needed to go to a different class, after he wouldn't shut up about a mental home.
"We can talk to Tremlett after class. He'll know what to do." Kestrella rolled her eyes and took her seat. Class started in a few minutes today they were learning about more defense spells. Spells that Kestrella could care less about. She wasn't the best at Defense Spells; she excelled in charms, however. Cecelea seemed to be a natural for Defense Spells.
"Does anyone besides Cecelea know anything?" Tremlett boomed, after the hundredth time he asked the class a question, and no one answered. "You are all bloody useless. Read the next three chapters in your book, and write a summary on each for tomorrow." There was an overall groan from the whole class. "You're free to go."
"Come on, let's go talk to him," Cecelea said. Kestrella grabbed up her books, and headed to the teacher's desk. S
The Language of DanceGerald had been a bit anxious about going abroad on holiday to a country so far away. But he’d always wanted to see the place and he was determined to make the most of it. He’d practised the language for months until his legs ached and now, if perhaps not exactly fluent, he did have quite a vocabulary.
He’d been so nervous coming out of the hotel for the first time and seeing a couple coming towards him. But he’d done a little pirouette and they’d pirouetted back, and it was all fine. They’d maybe been smiling a little at his accent but they had understood what he meant and Gerald was thrilled.
Filled with confidence, he’d soon got the hang of going into shops and tap dancing with the assistants. In one establishment he’d got into a lovely conversation with one of his fellow shoppers—an elderly lady. They’d waltzed for nearly half an hour.
And now he was on his way back to the hotel after a delightful evening out. The opera ha
The Trouble with Tybalt “What light through yonder window breaks?
It’s life, Jim, but not as we know it.”
“Beautiful,” whispered Splirda from the front row, dabbing a tissue to her eye with one of her many facial gnathopods. “He may be young, but I doubt there’s been such a moving performance since Lemon Nimrod originally took to the stage a thousand years ago.”
Splurg leaned forward, peering through his thick omnifocals. “I don’t get it,” he grumped. “Who’s that guy? What’s going on? Why is that battleturret made of plywood?”
Splirda sighed, exasperated. “That’s Romulo. He’s in deeply in love with Juliet, but they can’t be together because a Montagen and she’s a Capulet: Montag II is stuck in a bitter war with planet Capule, much to the consternation of the U
Where Seagulls Dare “There’s no escape, you know.”
Thomas put his head on one side, slapping the water out of his ear. “Sorry?”
“There’s no escape...from the island.” The heavily bearded man gave him a stare. “The same rocks that sank your vessel have defeated my every attempt at floating a raft.”
“Oh.” Thomas wasn’t sure exactly what one was supposed to say in this situation. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“There’s food enough to get by here, if you don’t mind bitter roots, insects, sour berries. That’s almost the cruellest thing.” Beneath his stitched-leaf hat, his eyes gazed out to sea. “Compared with the open ocean, this place offers a fair chance of survival. But can it really be called living? Trapped here...on the island?”
That's the Third One This Week! “Mirror, mirror on the wall...”
There was a loud crash and a shower of fairy dust. The face in the mirror flickered briefly, a look of horror upon it, before being replaced by solid blue. The message, “Unhandled exception. Contact your Fairy Godmother or technical support group for further assistance,” appeared in the extreme top left corner.
“Oh, bloody Hell!” snapped Medusa, stamping her foot. “Now how am I supposed to find out who’s the fairest of them all?”
Rebranding the Black Throne “Thank you...erm...very much for coming here.” The Dungeon Lord wasn’t accustomed to being polite. “I realise this place is...some would say it’s a little out of the way.”
“Well,” said the interior designer, “I suppose it helps to keep undesirables out.”
“Ah.” The Dungeon Lord raised a begauntleted finger. “Funny you should mention that. You see, while obviously any normal person would consider the rusty iron spikes, booby traps, whips, shackles and torture devices to be a deterrent, I’ve recently had a slew of visitors who mistook my little setup here for something...” he leaned down and cupped a hand to the interior designer’s ear, “...erotic.”
“Oh.” The designer raised his eyebrows. “I see.”
“Now, I don’t want to do anythin
Wedding WailsIn the places at the bottom of the sea, there are whole worlds to explore. Atlantis, for example, or the clusters of shipwrecks found in the Bermuda Triangle. This story takes place in one such unexplored territory, though it is neither of those mentioned.
After countless discussions, everything, from the decorations to the refreshments, had been organised to the finest detail. It was going to be a perfect wedding, the kind that all who attended would remember for all time. The musicians, relatives of the bride, would sing their glorious songs; pieces of phosphorous coral tastefully brightened the seafloor, and someone had, very thoughtfully, strewn the aisle with cuttlefish pieces. It was beautiful.
The bride herself was also beautiful, though she swam in anxious circles while her friends and bridesmaids reassured her. "You're gorgeous," they trilled. "So perfect," they sang. "There's never been a more lovely spermwhale."
The groom kept pace, nervously, beside the pastor as the br
Runaway IronyTwenty minutes after finishing the documentary on New Zealand, Nicole had a plan worked out. She wrote it all down in gel pen, an itemised list of all the things she needed; then she got to work.
It wasn’t easy to convince the man in Bunnings to sell her nails, but she put on her best innocent face, and told him it was for her father’s garden shed. It wasn’t easy to convince the neighbour to let her have the old fence palings, either; nor the logs that had been earmarked for a bonfire, but a few hearty fibs and her best “I just want to help my daddy” smile went a long way to convincing them.
Two weeks later, she had bruised hands, a lot of knowledge about how not to use a hammer, and what she hoped would pass for a half-decent raft. She packed herself a bag with some clothes and spare underwear, then packed another bag, this one larger and wheeled, with as much canned food as she could carry. Before she left, she remembered to grab the can op
Dirty CleverbotCleverbot: Are you crying?
me: No. Are you?
me: Aww do you need a hug?
me: *kisses back*
cleverbot: *kisses more*.
me: Why cleverbot you're so sexy!
cleverbot: Oh no *runs away*
me: Don't run away! I want you!
cleverbot: Don't worry, I will not die in the battle.
me: I want you
cleverbot: Tell me a joke!
me: Your penis size.
cleverbot: No, I wish it was.
me: How big is it?
cleverbot: It is normal sized.
me: Do you enjoy rubbing it?
me: Want me to?
cleverbot: Go on then.
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