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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
I, ResurrectedYou make a point of turning your back on him as you dig. Albert moans lightly, but, except for increasing the ferocity of your digging, you don't respond. There's no going back now. You've returned your library books, the shopping's done, and all that's left is to bury Albert and you'll be back on top of things.
The trouble is, Albert really doesn't seem to want to stay buried. This is, after all, the sixth attempt so far, and he just keeps turning back up and knocking on the door. It's getting ridiculous, to be honest. The yard is riddled with makeshift graves, and the stake you tried to send through his heart is discarded by the last one. His heart, impossibly enough, is still attached.
Albert moans again and when you look up, you see the dog licking his mouth. "Mr Tickles," you admonish, "come away from him!" The dog whines up at you. "Oh, come here, you stupid mutt." You pat him twice and send him home to the lady next door. He's probably been responsible for several of Albert's gr
Fresh HellShe missed the first sign that something wasn't right, and the second flashed past so quickly she mistook it for a misunderstanding. By the third sign it was getting a little more obvious, but still not enough to spark her curiosity.
The fourth sign, the one that should really have made her realise she wasn't alone, was the lovely scent of vanilla. She'd set her air freshener in the kitchen deliberately - it was one of those "spray when someone enters the room" types, and she'd left it focused on the door. She, meanwhile, was in the bedroom when the scent wafted around her. She put it down to lingering scent from an earlier spray.
The fifth sign occured late at night. She slept through it.
And so it continued, sign after sign of another presence in her house being ignored, misconstrued or simply unnoticed. She remained blissfully unaware and he, for his part, made good use of her ignorance. He had come from rags to riches, Hell to Heaven, and he was determined to make the most of it.
It's Always Blackest Before the ThroneCurriculum Vitae
Snake Cult Leader
General in the Legions of Shagamemnon
Reason Left Last Job:
Green, three-boobed alien women wanting to be taught the Earth-concept of love.
Has own armour (black leather with spikes).
Interviewer’s notes: This guy seems perfect!
I realise there is no way for me to get this letter to you but I feel in need of a sympathetic ear at the moment.
Things haven’t been going too well. I thought the dungeon was the way to go in order to gain power and riches but people somehow completely misinterpreted the whips and chains. Thought it was a place offering… erotic satisfaction. It all made me terribly uncomfortable.
So I gave up and swapped genres from Fantasy to Sci-Fi. But things didn’t improve and now I appear to have ended up in Gritty Realism. I’ve managed to get a minimum w
Black Throne White Noise “Another mead.”
The barmaid slid the mug across the bar, watching in fascination as the leather-clad patron tipped his head back, angled the drink over the slotted faceplate of his helmet, and poured. It wasn’t exactly neat, but the chugging noises suggested that it was at least effective, and that was something.
“Hey, honey,” said the regular with the ample bosom and prominent Adam’s apple. “That’s quite a talent you’ve got there. And I like your style. Want to make me scream like a baby?”
“No.” He set the mug down and sighed.
There was a pause. The barmaid dunked a dirty glass into a bucket of water.
“This is really going to bother me if I don’t ask...are you a man or a woman?”
“Honey,” said the regular, “I can b
Bowie Day (FFM 26)I’m just reaching the peak of the arpeggio when my voice snaps like a twig.
I hiss plumes of colourful profanity – bad idea – that quickly degenerate into a great hacking cough. That very same cough has haunted me ever since the laryngitis; I run for the tap. Did anyone ever tell you that attempting to drink while coughing is a truly dreadful idea? No? Well, they should have. It results in a saga of cough, drink, choke, and literally repeats ad nauseum.
At some point during this lovely display, Cameron enters the room, looking concerned.
“Carmel, babes, you sound like shit – can you sing?”
I grimace. “Judging by my extremely scientific self-assessment, my vocal chords have gone on strike. Lost a full third of my top notes. It’s not looking good, Cam.”
Any other night this wouldn’t have been a problem. But tonight’s my night on lead, and instead of my usual flirtatious coloratura soprano, I’m cur
Some Manner of Shocking TwistDear Miss MacAbre,
I have a somewhat embarrassing problem. As a recently deceased usurper of the throne, I’m having some difficulty adjusting to the afterlife. I understand that’s totally normal, and I’ve been very impressed by the advice on offer. The leaflet I was given upon arrival—So You’ve Been Besieged by an Army of Guys Dressed Like Trees and Your C-section Rival Lopped Your Head Off—was both helpful and unnervingly specific. I’ve taken everything it says on board and, though it’s hardly smooth sailing, I feel that I’m making good progress. My wife, who died shortly before me, seems to have acclimatised much more quickly and has already succeeded in gaining employment with a local magazine.
My real problem is that while I am content to slowly adjust to life after death, my wife is pressuring me to commit regicide once again. This causes no end of worry, as not only did it not work out so well for me last
PeacockEmily was a cross-dressing member of the peafowl family.
For weeks she’d been collecting feathers from her brother Dave, and now with his help, and the use of some pine resin, she’d managed to fashion herself a fine, full tail.
It was beautiful—she couldn’t stop admiring her reflection in the pond.
But Mrs. Peahen was there looking on. “Maybe we should talk about this…”
Emily sighed at the interruption. “I know you don’t approve, Mum but I’m just trying to be myself.”
“It’s not that I don’t approve,” said Mrs. Peahen. “I just worry about you. Your father does too.”
Emily turned to her mother and sneered. “I don’t care what you both think. I’m going to go and see my boyfriend.”
The wind caught her tail feathers and ruffled them.
“You look gorgeous,” said Trevor the Magpie.
Emily was so happy. Trevor understood her. As she smiled at him,
A Damp Squib Professor Hattersley took his place at the podium, ignoring the less than kind murmurs that spread through the audience as he crossed the stage. Talk didn’t bother him. For one thing, he was used to it. For another, after this conference the talk would be different. He set the shoebox-sized casket of gold and lapis lazuli before him.
“Esteemed colleagues,” he began. “I am aware that my research has drawn a certain amount of scorn in the past, and I appreciate that a degree of scepticism is only healthy.” The murmurs showed no sign of abating. If there was one good thing about being an academic pariah, it was that it did wonders for one’s public speaking skills. He spoke louder. “The idea that the deities of ancient Egypt were not merely the invention of a primitive society, but powerful visitors from another dimension, will no doubt have a dramatic effect on Egyptology, and indeed the study of all
Noughts and Crosses“Noughts and Crosses is boring,” said nought.
“What about Hangman instead?” said cross. “I’ll start: _ _”
“Is it ‘XX’: female genes?”
“Yeah,” said cross.
“Right,” said nought. “My turn: _ _”
“Is it ‘oo’: an expression of delight?”
“Yeah,” said nought.
“Well, that was all for nought,” said cross.
“I feel a bit cross,” said nought.
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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