Chronicles 1

Thus begins the chronicles of my mind...

____________________________

Chronicles 1



What's that I hear?
Your beautiful memories
whispering in my ear?

Like the shiver that rolls down my spine
It haunts me, the way it sounds,
as if it'd all be fine

But no, better yet
I won't forget
I'll face my past
and place my bets

I'll win, you can count on that
I won't let my own dark thoughts hold me back
No, I won't stop when these odds are stacked
I'll kill the shadows, as they yelp and hack

I'll screech with them
those pitiful cries
of ghouls and monsters
all in one innocent disguise

They will fool me no more
And they will not haunt my sleep
for through their darkness I can see
that everything we are, is meant to be

How could I be so foolish
how could I be so wrong
to think you'd betray me
to think you were gone

The words I heard
were not the words you spoke
for The evil you spewed
was what only a devil could've wrote

Then again no,
it's just what I heard
you will not betray me
it's completely absurd

She loves me, I know she must
for this evil inside me, it is not just
it knows me, not in my heart
but in the form of the darkness of lust

Yes, the darkness inside me
be gone, make room for the light I am finding.

________________________________

Love
Joseph W.




-edited AAA

The Whispers - Chapter 2

Okay guys this is the second chapter to my story the Whispers. Out of all I have written for this story, this right now is my favorite chapter. Currently Caleb is experiencing both darkness and light vying for his life, will he believe the lies of the darkness, or will he accept the love and peace of the light?

This story for me, has a lot to with my spiritual life, as it used to be, up and down believing anything that I could hold onto even for a brief moment. This is the quickest way to losing yourself, I hope that as you continue to read this story that you will never lose sight of what's real and what is a lie.

Enjoy!

Alex S.

------------------------------------

I was falling.

Falling into darkness. Strangely enough I felt no need to panic. Suddenly there was a sound of a women shrieking; it wasn't just anyone's cry, it was my mother's. Chills flew down my spine. This was the last thing I heard right before she died. No, she didn't just die...She was killed. There was no proof of murder; the police said it was just an accident. There had to be more, something about this memory was so wrong. I knew that I couldn't remember everything that happened. Yet, every time I would try to recall it, I would just get a fuzzy image of my mother's face. Suddenly I was jerked to a stop in midair by an unseen force. Out of the darkness a scene played out in front of me. Before I knew it, I was standing on my old house porch in South Carolina. Then it hit me, the scream, the house. This is where she had died. My heart pounded. My mother shoved the screen door open while trying to get my younger self to hurry up. I stood and watched in anticipation, knowing it would happen  at any time. 

My mother stood there rifling through her purse. I walked over and looked into her eyes even though I knew she couldn't see me. My heart swelled, and I felt myself tearing up. "Mom, I love you," I said, voice trembling. I tried to touch her face, but my hand passed through her. I had had enough, I wanted to go away from here, away from all these terrible memories. Suddenly the screen door slammed shut, I looked over to see my younger self with a school bag and heading right to my mother's side. She didn't even seem to notice him, and before I could understand what was going on, the younger me had pushed her off the side of the porch sent tumbling to her death. It all happened so fast, I didn't know how to respond. The younger me turned and stared me down with black hollow eyes that seemed to expose my entire being. Then after what seemed to be an eternity he broke the stare and ran in as a child would crying for help, as innocently as if he had done nothing wrong.

I opened my eyes. The room around me spun. For a moment I imagined I was lying on my bed, mother coming in to wake me. Nothing was wrong, my dad wasn't drunk, and my mother was alive. It was all too real, I never wanted to leave this place. Slowly the vision of my mother started to fade. The reality of life was setting in, and the feeling of happiness was drained from my soul. I tried once again to sit up and quickly remembered the cut on my hand as pain shot through my hand. I rearranged myself and used my right hand to prop myself up and sit up on the couch. I looked around my house, there wasn't much to it: plain white walls with paintings scattered about them. There were no family photos, my father had long ago torn them all down while drunk. He never talked about mom, but I knew that's why any photos of her. I secretly kept a photo of her for the longest time, until one day while I was at school, my father found it, and tore it to shreds. When I got home he yelled at me for betraying him and not loving him as much as I should. I didn't really understand why he said what he did, but I really don't care what he says or thinks anymore.

"I love you," A voice said.

"I love you." This time it was audible. I thought that it was my father saying it to me. My heart fluttered, hoping that my father had come back and was apologizing for all that he'd done. My mind raced with thoughts at how my life could be changed, if only he said he was sorry. I turned and looked over the couch. Nothing., no one was there except for me. Then my heart sank for I knew that it was a silly little voice in my head playing tricks on me. I threw my legs on the side of the couch sitting up; looking over at the clock, it read 7:45. 

I panicked! I was so late! I scrambled to my feet, ran upstairs and threw on a clean pair of clothes, brushed my teeth, and ran out the door. Wait! I skidded to a stop, and ran back inside. I had forgotten my backpack. I couldn't forget it again. Mr. Thornton would kill me! Well, to be more specific he would publicly humiliate me. Like I needed anymore of that. I ran as fast as I could to get to school. As I ran through the streets desperately trying to get to school, my mind was flooded with thoughts of Sara. Why was she constantly the subject on my mind? What made her so different from all the other girls? Perhaps it was destiny. . . Destiny? Who believed in that anymore? Suddenly a voice whispered in my ear. It was so close I could've sworn I felt the warm air from the soothing voice against my ear. It said. "Destiny is real." Those words stopped me dead in my tracks and I felt the words resonate in my heart. Where did that come from?

-edited AAA

Characters for Mini-Comic

Yeah, I know it isn't much. This is a sketch of two characters I'm using for a comic that I'm posting next Sunday. it's gonna be friggin awesome if it turns out right.

Dream Chronicle 14: Second Place Champion

Konbanwa!

Alrighty guys so I don't really have a lot of news for you guys at the moment. However, I can say that the blog is currently working underground on something BIG, so be sure to keep your eye out. ;) Also, with the Super Bowl coming up, I will be writing a poem for the Super Bowl Champion, with it changing depending on the victor. (Though my money is on the Giants), so that will be posted either Sunday evening or tuesday evening.

Now, lastly, in order to get the community, I will allow all my viewers to choose what my next story/poem topic will be about. Just post a comment and I will choose one of the lucky readers topic and write either a poem or story on that topic. So be sure to comment! With that said, let;s get to today's post shall we?

================================================

Sweat was dripping down my face, and my body tight, I would periodically pull at my shirt collar. The others assigned to my table weren’t nearly as nervous as I was nor were they as pensive. I was lost in my own thoughts, denying every drink that was offered to me by one of the waiters on scene. All my thoughts were on this contest and the upcoming announcement of the victor. I was currently at the New York Times Annual Writing Contest Ceremony, where the top writer in each category would be announced, as well as the grand prize winner. I submitted a short story called, “The Second Place Gold Medalist”. If I won the grand prize, I would earn 10,000 dollars and finally gain a bit of recognition. I looked around Radio City Music Hall and at what had to be over a thousand people. Although there were over 500 participants, most of these people here were supporters for the participants. Except for an unfortunate few people, everyone had someone there who was there to cheer them on and give their support. I was one of the unfortunate few who were alone. The whole issue though was irrelevant, because very soon they would call my name for the grand prize winner. After another five minutes the host and special guest of this contest, Stephen King, stepped up on stage and walked over to a podium in the middle of the stage. He began to give his welcome speech yet all my mind could focus on was how my story came to be in the first place.

“… And the Texas Rangers will take down the St. Louis Cardinals for the 2013 World Series title!”

Everyone in the Sidney Street Café threw their hands up in unison; sadden to see their beloved Cardinals fall to the Texas Rangers. I was at the bar, drinking a Miller Lite that I obtained thanks to an inaccurate I.D. I ‘forgot’ to mention it was incorrect. I turned around and went back to drinking, but I could hear one fan screaming in victory. I turned around to let the man have it, but my friend beat me to it.

“Can it will you bud.” Kinser said.

“Forgive me for being happy that my team won.” The guy said.

“Did they?” Kinser asked.

“What do you mean did they win? Dude they just took you guys down in a seven games! Are you drunk bro?”

“Look around you; there isn’t a single Rangers fan in this room is there?”

“So?”

“There is however tons of cards fans in this room. Hey Quinton, you remember 2011, Game 5 in the National League Divional Series against the Philadelphia Phillies?”

“Of course,” I said, “Chris Carpenter out-dueled pitching legend Roy Halladay, shocking the world and allowed the Cardinals to move on to take down division rival in the Brewers.”

“Hey Yogi, how about that 1981 year?” Kinser said.

“It’s simply the season our pitching legend Bob Gibson got into the hall of fame in his first year of eligibility Mr. Kinser.” Yogi said.

“Tell me about that 2006 season somebodyyyyyyyy!”

“It was the season that we won our 10^th World Series, despite having the worst regular season record of any champion!” We all said simultaneously. The sole Rangers fan had taken a seat now.

“You see, a victory only means something if there is someone to share it with. Otherwise, what good if there is no one you can go to and say, ‘yo, remember when…’? What good does it do to win the gold medal when everyone just wants to see the next guy get the sliver? You can’t even see that no one ever cared whether your team could win, they just cared to see if the Cards would lose. The Rangers won the Series, but the Cards won the public ages ago.”

I watched on, taking every one of Kinser’s words to heart. I took a final sip of my illegal beverage, before the bartender gave me a hard glare.

“How old are you kid?” He asked. I flipped him a golden dollar.

“42.” I said, before I walked out of the bar with a new concept dominating my brain.

I shook myself awake just as King got around to announcing the names of each category winner. My category was ‘Short Story’, and most likely to be the last one on the list to be named. I had to win my category if I wanted to win the grand prize. I clasped my hands together and began to pray to a god that I don’t believe in.

“The screenplay winner is…. Without Reason by Samuel Morris!”

People at table near the front of the stage erupted in celebration.

“Please refrain from celebration until the end of the announcements.”

They all sat down in shame.

“The winner of the comic category… The 100-Gin Grill by Michael Harvey!”

The hall started to celebrate again, and Stephen King glared at them to cease action. After five minutes they did.

“The songwriter winner is… Midnight Sidestep Jose Cortex!” King said waiting for the celebration that never came before continuing, “The essay winner is… The Circulation by Lennox Zackary! The winner of the prose category is… Thoughtless by Terra Nova! The winner of the narrative category is… Enduring Hope and Instilling Compassion by Stephanie Pickles! The persuasive writing winner is… Apathy: America’s Shackles by Alexi Andrews!”

I began to grow anxious, knowing my category would be upon us in mere moments. I already cringe at the list of names on this list. Plenty were friends of mine long before this contest, and were great writers in their own right. I had very little reason to believe that I would beat Cameron in the short story category. My only shot was if he would win the poetry category, which would mean he couldn’t win the Short Story category. I licked my chops, awaiting the biggest 60 seconds of my life.

“The winner of the general admissions category is… Individuality by Amanda Samuels! The winner of the poetry category is… Memoirs of the Wise by Cameron Cooper!”

I gave a mighty fist pump, confusing those sitting across from me. I sat back down, smoothing out my jacket and putting up an indifferent façade.

“The winner of the short story category is… The Second Place Gold Medalist by Quinton Staten!”

Afterwards, the whole hall erupted into celebration, everyone celebrating their individual victories, and other consulting those who came up short. I simply grinned with satisfaction, but I still had a mighty obstacle in the way of my greater goal. Cameron may not have won the first prize in my category, but that’s simply because his poetry is out-of-this world. Jose and Michael were also fantastic in their respective category. I no longer could rely on a miracle to get me in. My heart raced even faster. Stephen King settled down the crowd, and prepared to call of the grand prize winner, which would be done by announcing the top three recipients and tell which one of them won.

“This was an extremely close year. We had to revote a total of ten times, with everyone tying for first place the at least once. Three guys tied for first the most however, from the short story, poetry, and songwriter categories, and only one of them was constantly placed in the top three. So, by a total of two votes, this year’s New York Times Annual Grand Prize Winner is… The Second Place Gold Medalist by Quinton Staten!”

The entire hall erupted in applause for me while I sat in my seat shell-shocked. I had to receive a tap from a man at my table to even rise to my feet. I slowly walked to the stage with screams surrounding me but I couldn’t hear a thing. Cameras flashing, watching as I crossed the stage where one of my biggest heroes, Chad Ochocinco, took his own historic steps. I shook hands with Stephen King himself, and he handed me an envelope and gold medal. I took them and we both posed for the cameras. I had finally earned my fifteen minutes of fame, clawed my way to the top of the world. Afterwards, everyone prepared to leave, and I went to gather my things. A few people would walk past me every now and then and congratulate me. I looked over towards Cameron and Jose, who were swarmed by reporters. I dipped over near Cameron, intrigued to hear what they were interrogating him so thoroughly about.

“What do you think about Mr. Staten’s miraculous upset of your piece of mastery?"

“I would say that it’s disrespectful to call it an upset. His piece was simply better then mine,” Cameron replied viciously.

“But you are surely twice the writer he is…”

I cut away, unable to bear what they were saying. I dipped towards the entrance, walking slowly enough to be approached by any of the reporters to be inquired for my victory. No, I simply wanted someone to share my victory with someone. Before I could exit the door, I was stopped by a single reporter.

“Excuse me I just wanted to say that I loved your piece today. You threw in a little shocker you did, but most of all you gave us a philosophical piece unlike any I have ever read.”

“Why thank you, it wasn’t originally meant to be actually,” I chuckled.

“Oh it definitely turned out to be a fantastic little essay,” The man laughed.

“Excuse me?” I said dumbfounded.

“The essay you wrote? That you came in fifth place with? Come on Lennox, I didn’t know you had a joking side to you,” The man patted me on the back still laughing.

I stared at the ground, and the man gave me a worried look. He stared at a photo he had and instantly realized his mistake.

“Oh I’m sorry Mr. Staten, you both are so similar. Well um, congrats on your victory!”

The man ran off to talk to find Lennox. I walked outside, taking the bus fare to the Hudson River Basin. While on the bus, I had multiple people ask what I had won the medal for and I told them it was for the New York Times Annual Writing Contest. Many of them asked if I got to meet Cameron and Jose or Terra and Amanda, and I told them I was close to all of them, promising to get autographs for them all.

When I made it to the Hudson River I stood on a bridge overhead. I stared at the bright crescent moon reflecting off the bleak, blue water. In the distance I could hear people talking about how shocked they were that Cameron and Jose lost the contest, never mentioning my own name. I took the gold medal from around my neck, heaving it into the river water before me. Soft, fluffy snow began to drizzle on me, as I bowed my head on the railing.

“Hey.” The voice of a little kid said to me. I looked over to see a little blond boy in New York Giants winter attire standing right next to me.

“Hey,” I responded.

“What did you throw that medal for?”

“It wasn’t really accurate of how I did.”

“What did you win the medal for?” He asked.

“A writing contest hosted by the New York Times.”

“Isn’t that the one that Cameron participated in?”

“The one and the same.”

“Wow! I heard he lost… and you got a medal!”

“Yep.”

“What color?”

“Gold.”

“What place is that?” he asked. I looked into his crystal blue eyes.

“Second place kid. Second place.” I said, patting him and his head, and I headed towards the airport.




~APLIW~

~ Edited by Elizabeth, Logan, AAA

Souls

Hay it's Aulene! This is a piece I wrote last year, but it is still one of my favorites. I wrote it because I was in a class where people would pick on me, make fun of me, and when I tried to talk to them they would laugh and walk away. This is about bullying. You really have to connect some things in order to get it to make sense with bullying. I really hope you like it. I would like you to comment and let me know your thoughts. Share your personal experiences. I would love to here them. Thank you!

Souls,

They are lost.

They are all around us.

Lost souls.

Looking for a way,

A way out,

A way to escape,

But it's blocked by a haze.

A haze of shadows and memories

They look for loved ones...

The happy memories...

GONE.

Just like that.

Flightless.

Weightless.

Colorless.

Invisible to us,

But all too real in this world.

Circling.

Watching.

Waiting for an exit,

An escape to a place of happiness.

Where they were seen, felt, and heard.

No longer ignored.

No longer walked through and stepped on.

A place of recognition and acceptance,

but it's unreachable, so they remain,

Remain lost souls.

~Edited by Sharon

Without You

This is my story
I once had it all
Everything was great,
Everything was all
That i could want
And I was five steps to fame
But four steps to my fall

My empty grave was
Swallowed by the sea
All that I have left
All that I can be
A lonely hero
Longing to be free

Shadows are all that I can see
Crying for them to leave me be
Waiting for someone
To set me free
Someone rescue me

My heart Is breaking
My world is shaking
All that I could ever want
Ever need
All this world can give to me

You're all I want
You're all I need
Inside
I'm left here torn in two
I can't go on without you




-edited AAA

Tribute To a Titan

Konbanwa my friends...

Joe Pa was a titan on the football field, and a role model off it.

This past weekend Joe Paterno, legendary head football coach of Penn State University, passed away from his battle with cancer. I am a little late on this topic seeing as it is nearly a week after it happened, however I wanted to dedicate this post to man who not only made a standard of excellence at Penn State, but created stories. He not only set records as the winningest coach ever, he set the foundation for leadership and loyalty. Whether he was suffering from cancer, had a broken pelvis, or taking abuse for sex scandal that he was for the most part not really involved in, he stood up and took each blow. He taught humility, loyalty, character, leadership, the list is endless. But like all Leaders, in times of weakness and vulnerability, their enemies rise from the shadows and attack without fear. Many will try to use his inaction during the sex scandal to undermine his career, but no one is talking about the man who WATCHED the abuse happen, and then told his father who said to do nothing until the next day. While I have no intention of defending his inaction, I do not believe that one unexcuseable lapse in judgment should define the legacy of a man who changed the stories of young men for the better, or created one for those who were without one. So as a tribute to Joe Paterno, here is a short story I have written. Enjoy.

=======================================================

Beep!....Beep!...Beep!...

The sound of the heart monitor beeped at a steady, indicating that Adam was stable at the moment. His mother and father stood over there son with concern in there eyes. The doctor stood off to the side, giving them a moment. After a minute the mother spoke aloud.

"How bad doctor?" She asked, almost sure of his answer.
"Well, luckily he recieved expert medical attention on the field, and the spinal fusion surgery at Ohio State's Medical Center was successful, so his life was saved. However, nearly his entire body was left paralyzed..."
"Is there anything you can do?" Adam's Father asked, holding his crying wife in his arms.
"I'm afraid not. We may be able to refer to you to better Doctor, but he most likely will never walk again..."
"Not one of my boys..." An male voice said.

Adam's parents and the doctor turned to find elderly man walking towards them. They all straighten up immediately.

"Hello Mr. Paterno." Adam's Father.
"Mr. and Mrs. Taliaferro, forgive me. You put your boy in my hands and I couldn't protect him... but I will not let this injury defeat him. Not as long as there is strength in these bones." Paterno replied.

Paterno walked up to Adam, who's eyes were closed. He rest his hand on Adam's arm.

"It'll be alright son. Everything's going to be okay." He said, reaching into his bag, pulling out a jersey. "I'll be waiting for you when you return wearing this jersey again son. Just make sure you do it fast enough that I'll be able to see, I'm not getting any younger."

Paterno laughed, before getting up and walking away.

"You're son can do it, he's one of the strongest people I have ever met. Send him where ever, he'll do it."
"I don't mean to be disrespectful, but you shouldn't get your hopes up Mr. Paterno..."
"Besides pride, loyalty, discipline, heart, and mind, confindence is the key to all locks."

Paterno walked out the door, and a single tear rolled down Adam's face.
=======================================

~Believe deep down in your heart that you are destined to do great things~

R.I.P. Joe Paterno....

Confide

Hay guys it's Aulene again. I got this inspiration from a recent event that is going on. I found someone that makes me happy and the event was making me sad even though I should have been happy. So please let me know what you think.

I have always learned to confide in you.

Please don't shut me out,
I need you there.

I need you to tell me it will all be okay,
That you are still here for me
No matter what.

We struggle at times but never fight.
We have different views but agree on everything.

I call you whenever I'm bored and you don't complain.

We talk for hours on end about nothing and everything at once.

I have always learned to confide in you,

Please don't shut me out.

One question, that's all it took
to ruin it and send me into the dark.

One question

"Be mine?"

No. Not now.

Just as I was trusting you the most,

My closest to being free,

I hear it and all I know to do is run.

I have always learned to confide in you,

Please don't shut me out.

Rejection has settled and you are feeling
It's true power...

I feel it too,

but it's different than yours.

I feel lost.

I have always learned to confide in you,

Please don't shut me out.

I finally see that the light of one's love
feel its warmth, its strange sensation.

I don't like it.

Its cold sucks my light away

back into the dark.

The depths of Hell call me.

The warmth of one's love and the chill of the other back at me...

I have always learned to confide in you.

Please don't shut me out.

~Aulene


-edited AAA, Sharon

Who likes head?

So, Mrs. Mueller wanted me to draw a picture in 2D art pertaining to Balance, whether it be a normal picture with formal balance or a picture with informal balance meant to make the viewer feel not at ease... I clearly went with informal. And now, she thinks I'm psycho. Lol I should get an A.

My id won't let it go.

According to Sigmund Freud, the human mind has two natural instincts: Eros, linked to sexual impulse and the desire for life; and Sadism, the impulse to destroy and seek death. Part of his research went into describing how these two instincts feed and react with each other. Ultimately, it seems as though Eros leads to Sadism in the sense that once the former is satisfied the latter has the ability to step forward. Honestly, I couldn't agree more.

The following piece is an amalgamation of my experiences with such an instance.

------------------------------------------------

"Fate Ideal"


I.


Across the street
She cries harshly.
She can't retreat;
Her heart agrees.


I'm on the other side,
My hands reach to her.
Her knife wants suicide,
But I'm helpless now.


Cars pass between,
Ignorant to our struggle.
Only nineteen,
Yet the world'll kill her soon.


Screams pierce time;
The knife carves her flesh.
Car sounds climb
To silence her pain.


"Don't do it!"
I yell to her.
Cars don't quit;
They block all sound.


"I love you so much Chris!"
She screams to my ears only.
"But I'd killed it with a kiss...
I can't stand who I am!


"I can't handle who you are!
I'm so sorry..."
Alex had taken her love far...
I'd taken her...


How could Chris compare?
"It doesn't matter!"
My sound seems rare;
The knife dug deeper.


Cars sped between us,
Content with silent ignorance.
He came between us;
Still, I forgave her ignorance.


II.


Fiction fades out;
The scene screams red.
Walls contain doubt;
Doors separate.


Strength fills my entirety
As I break through the door.
Shock stains my sad body
As the water rises more.


Scarlet, from her final exit,
Stained tub and floor alike.
I guess my love wouldn't've fit,
But my heart leaps away.


So pale, too pure,
To leave me like this.
Yet, I'm still here
Viewing death's beauty.


"Why not me?!"
I suddenly upstart.
"Such cruelty..."
How rapidly the tears come...


I couldn't save her;
Love forced her hand.
I only torture;
I loved her dead.


Down on my knee,
I begin to pray.
"God! What's the fee?!
I'll do anything!"


No deity appears;
No spirit consoles.
Nothing saves my hated tears;
No one can help this.


Loneliness can't be saved,
Even as I hold her in my arms.
This feeling isn't tamed;
Knives hold the only absolution.


III.


Cars begin to rush by,
But no one calls to me.
How hard I always try,
But only death comforts.

I'll be your Freudian slip, if you'll be my schizophrenic delusion.

~Alex



~Edited by Sharon, Elizabeth

The fool playing the magician, still.

My words speak for themselves.

Ignorancia

What does this world know of that which it cannot seem to understand? At what trial had I been convicted? Ignorance; Ignorance; Ignorance! Let the sound ring out again. Condemn me, but I wish to be me. Have you met me? No, impossible! By “big brother” is all you seem to see, even though objective words become abstract for all but me.

Can you hear wrath sing a cold tone towards this global empire of naught? Feel each lyric, move with each beat. Let ignorance consume you no more as the wave of torches light your dark parade. They don’t see an individual—no—solely a group to speculate against. Ignorance. So get angry! For this pride is pitiful, and your greed never greets with a fair tone.

Ignorance. There it goes again! And the crowd cries black for the health of the world and all the patron saints it’s killed. Oh! How tired I am of this frivolous worry…about what I say…about what I do…who I wrong…and how they treat me. But…Quiet! Can you not hear the laughter? Yes, my second voice chuckles blatantly; for everyone worries BUT me. Ignorance. They limit me. They cut me. They bruise me and bash me once more for good measure. Ignorance, and the term slaughters millions.

Oh, pleasant God, damn me, give the world what it wishes! Ignorance still stings while the second voice rings, pleading for me to give chase to hope. Alas, hope’s in bed with pain. All of these people think they can explain…but…they just never see…me for me...


Bleed me dry.

~Alex

Love

Hello everyone! This is just a mini rant I wrote a long time ago. I mean long as in years ago, but the usage and meaninglessness of "love" still irks me even to this very day... and probably will for the rest of my life. Any-who, I hope you guys like it.

~Sharon

____________________________________________________________

Love

A simple term.

A term that is normally used to express ones' feelings.

A term that is close to hate.

A term that is overused.

A term that is getting closer and closer to losing its purpose.

A term that is used to describe almost everything.

There's nothing wrong with using this term.

However when you hear this term constantly, it begins to lose its meaning.

What term would you use next if 'love' becomes meaningless?

Ciao Sig. Nessuno

Konbanwa!

So it's been awhile since the last time I was on here! How has everyone been? There has been a lot of changes since the last time we post. We have multiple new writers, as well two new artist! We also have a special monthly crossover with Life as You Dream with Illya. Not only that, but we have many new things on the way! Vlog posts, artwork, new mini-series, and a special surprise that my fellow bloggers don't even know about. ;)

But as of now, I, Chris, and Tara will slowly catch you guys up to speed on the inter-workings of the site. But as for now, I shall post a three part poem that is part of "Project Searchman". I hope you like it!
==============================================

Il Cardinale

Falling at someone else’s discretion

Personality drawn up
to another’s expectations.
The pen outside my hand,
fate drawing my path like a Puppet’s master
creates his puppets movements.
Emotion raging through the catacombs of my soul
Only to be repressed by

the restrictions of my pen’s holder.

Voices telling me of
my imperfection every waking hour,
Fingers pointing me to

the roads they want me taking.

Oh how I long for that
pen to be in my hand,
to finally get to write
a script made just for me.

Longing to think with my own soul,

But every day I wake up someone else.
I’m a little blue bird, singing to another’s,
While the Cardinal inside
sings an unheard song.
No, only the vengeful raptor

gets out of his own accord,

While the Desert Cardinal flies south,
waiting for winter to pass.
Shooting for Perfection to please others,
But never truly taking those steps please himself.
Sing your lonely tune Blue Bird,
For maybe the next day you’ll wake
the Cardinal you know you are.

Il Rapace

 Masked Cardinal, continue your flight,

Glide at top speeds and don’t ever stop.

 Mask off, Mask on,

Fly pass, they want nothing to do with you.

Mask on, Mask off,

They were simply waiting until you’re gone.

Trust you? HA!

Who would trust a Masked Cardinal?

They all have grown tired of you,

It’s time to move on.

You’re generic, you’re everywhere,

Your song ugly and dull.

 Who would take you when there is

A raven or hummingbird nearby?

Just glide non-stop,

And don’t open that beak again.

 This is where you belong,

Alone with me in the Northern blue sky.

L'Uccello Blu

Voices, Voices,

Everywhere.
Crying, Dying,
All in My ears.

Hear them, See this,

Anywhere.
Feel Love, Feel a Soul,
An loneliness with no end.

Mask off, Mask On,

The Queen of Hid-and-Seek.
Mask on, Mask Off,
Dodging me as always.

Who am I to talk?
I don’t even exist.
You know nothing of me,
Just like you should.

We are of two different worlds,

What chance did I really have?
I’m just like your mask,
Invisible to all except me.

Yet I can handle that,

They did it before you.
I desire hopelessness foremost,
Unlike these other fools.

Bash me, destroy me,

I’m fine with that too.
As all as you get what you want
You can forget about me too.

~APLIW~

The Whispers

Hey guys, this is an excerpt of a story that I have been working on, it's called 'The Whispers'.
Now the people that I have shown this story to ask me if Caleb is really me or someone I made up, and well it is me. Now my dad isn't a drunk or my mom isn't dead, but about 2 years ago if you would have asked me I would say that I hated my dad and my mom almost left us. And this story was a way for me to express my life at that time through my imagination. Thankfully my family life has been restored and I hope that each part of the story I post that you will enjoy this story of redemption. :)

Alex S.

It was late.

Eleven-thirty to be exact. And on a moonlit night I found myself wandering through the streets of Lancaster, Washington. I knew it wasn't safe, but truthfully I really didn't care. All I wanted to be was away from home. I hadn’t been able to understand it. My mother dying and my father being a drunk. How did I get here, wandering the streets of Washington.

Everyday at school was like having rocks thrown at me, people constantly beating me down with the insults. There was only one good thing I could think of that I liked about school was seeing Sara Cooper. You could say I had a crush on her since the third grade when she moved to my school from Indiana. I knew it would never happen, I mean she was the most beautiful girl in school. Well maybe not the most beautiful girl, but as my mother always said, beauty was in the eye of the beholder. My heart sank, if only she were here to talk to, and tell me everything would be okay. I missed her so much.

Sometimes I wished at night that I wouldn't wake up the next morning. I didn't really mean it, but I was hurting so bad seeing all of my friends have moms to love them, I had no idea what that felt like. She died while I was a boy. Something told me that it was one of the greatest things you could have. I looked down at my watch, I really needed to get home, school was tomorrow and had a bunch of algebra homework to get done.

I hoped that my father had skipped out on the drinking and went to bed, but I doubt it knowing him, it was rare if my father didn't drink. The only reason my father got up in the morning was to go to work. I felt sorry for my father sometimes because from what he would tell me before becoming more depressed was that my mother was the reason he woke up every morning. I never pushed the issue any further. What if my father lost it altogether? What if I had to live alone or in an orphanage? The thought made my heart heavy. I looked up at the skyscrapers, the lights, and rushing cars. Life never stops, it never gives you a break. All I ever wanted was time to stop for a while so I could work through all my emotions. There was no time for that. He had to be strong; I had to keep going and never give up. Time was running away from me, and I soon found myself jogging through the streets of Washington. Running past people gathering at the light posts, but I got too close to an alley and ran into a larger man with a menacing look in his eyes.

"Hey, slow down there kid." The big man said. I looked up at him breathless. "What’re you looking for?" I thought about what the man was asking, and then it hit me. He thought I wanted drugs. I stumbled for a moment while the big man just looked at me dumbly.

“Uh I. . .” I was stumbling with my words. “Uh, no thanks.” I managed to say clearly. I shifted my eyes down and headed on my way. The man looked back at me like I was crazy, but I didn’t care what he thought.

I twisted the doorknob and the door squeaked as it opened. I walked in, then stopped to listen to hear if my father was awake. Nothing. At least it was better than him stumbling through the kitchen drunk. I walked through the kitchen just to see if he had been drunk earlier. Looking around I spotted a cracked liquor bottle and what looks to be the shards of a shot glass. I just shook my head.

This is never going to end, what did I expect to happen. Just to wake up one morning and my father be happy as ever and sober. Yeah, sure I thought. When I thought about it, I've only seen him drunk one time. Chills flew down my spine, I never wanted to see that again. I never wanted to be a part of that. After I had seen that I made a promise that I would never get caught up in alcohol or drugs. I now see what it does to people, it destroys everything they hold dear to them. If only his father could see what he was doing to himself.

I sighed and reached down to pick up the shards of glass. I slipped, and the palm of my hand was cut wide open. "Agh!" I heard myself say aloud. I winced. Instinctively, I grabbed the cut with my other hand. Blood was pooling on my palm and dribbling on the floor. I ran over to the sink to wash the cut out. Suddenly I felt dizzy, I was losing too much blood. I panicked and turned, trying to get a towel, tripping over myself. I slammed hard against the floor, I could smell the distinct scent of blood. It was no use trying to get up, for my world slowly drifted away into black...

~Edited by Sharon, AAA

Poor Mr. Teddy Bear...

Regret

Hay guys its Aulene again. I just wrote this! I really liked it and I hope you do to. I got the inspiration from a guy named Tyler who lives in Colorado. I dated him for a year and I left him because he changed and hurt me. I look back and I regret nothing more then leaving him. I loved him and would go back if I could. Please comment and let me know what you think.

My life.
My breath.

My love.
All was yours.
You held me so dear.
Like crystal,
I was fragile.
Trusting you,
I gave myself up
to feel your warmth,
your tough,
your heart beating with mine.
Intertwined
as only those in love can understand.
Then I see it,
who you really are.
Your crystal shines no more.
The light on me is gone,
but where?
Across the sea,
over the mountains.
Gone
from me forever,
yet still
I would die for you.
I'm sorry,
come back.

~Aulene

~Edited by Quinton, Sharon

Review

Lately I have found myself with a new addiction. The addiction is being absorbed with The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, both the book and the movie. The whole thing started last Tuesday when I went to see the movie in theaters. Yes, I went to see the movie before I read the book, and I believe I have very sound reasons for doing so. Since I had not read the book, I was able to watch the movie and judge whether I liked it on its own. I did not spend the whole two hours and forty minutes comparing the movie to the book, and obsessing over the things that the movie didn’t include. Nor was I mad because the characters looked different from my mental image I created while reading the book. If you’ve never tried watching a movie and then reading the novel it is based off of, I would suggest you try it. You could find that both the movie and the book are enjoyable that way. So this post is a response on my opinions  of the book and the movie, together.

In my opinion filmmakers did a wonderful job on The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. The story line was easy to catch on to, and quickly caught my attention.  The movie also held my attention, which is a very important quality to me. The mystery was well thought out, and I was able to keep guessing how it would be solved until close to the end. Another quality that appeals to me, I get tired of mysteries that are easy to figure out. The feel of the movie was a cold kind of suspense (I suspect that the cold environment depicted in the movie had a lot to do with the cold feeling for me). The movie had some scenes that were very graphic and when I looked up the rating at home I wasn’t surprised that the film was rated “R”.  If you haven’t read the book I strongly suggest looking up the rating, so that you know what you are getting into. If you have read the book, then you know what to expect.

The novel The Girl with the Dragon tattoo was a different experience from the movie. It was a much longer experience for me since the book has 644 pages. I admit that at times the book seemed to drag on or be a little too descriptive, but I was able to complete it in six days with a work schedule. The book had a lot more for me to think about. It gave very detailed descriptions of each character and allowed me to get inside the characters’ minds better than the movie. While reading the book I was able to set aside what I knew and get wrapped up in the story line. This book was a compelling book for me, and  when I wasn’t reading it, I was thinking about it and wishing I were reading it. My favorite character in the story is Lisbeth Salander. I like that she is unique and in a few ways I was able to relate to the way that she thinks. I would recommend this book because it is a really good suspenseful mystery.

So there it is. I really enjoyed The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, and I feel confident that many of our readers would as well. If you have read the book prior to reading this post, comment and let me know what you thought of it. If you’ve seen the movie, I would love to get comments telling me how it was for our readers. Until next time…

Terra

~Edited by Quinton