STINKINGROSE

Now that I'm spending less time boiling water I'm equilibrating by spending more time dulling pencils. The muse finally got my change of address form! :biggrin:

PHOENIXROSE

Anger doesn't go away when ignored. I'll be back whenever. Maybe. *edit* I've been convinced to stay around. A little. But I'm not happy and won't be posting in many threads. Thank you, that is all.

SLICEANDDICE

I wrote this for class, its a scene that describes a character, Her name is Willamina Strigoy Some days I think I am insane, I have to be, but then the beast on the fringe on my subconscious tells me not to be silly and wouldn’t it be lovely to go on a hunt. The girls remind me they are very much real as well. They lend me their memories and dreams for a lucid minute, so I experience them clearer than usual and I know that I am sane, in a sense. What I’m experiencing isn’t the by-product of a mental disorder, an artificial reality created disease, drugs or genes; this is my life now and I have to live with that, if this can be called a life. Those periods of time hurt the most, when I am flooded with thoughts and images I wasn’t there to create but I have to carry now. When I doubt my self and my health. Afterwards I listen to the beast and go out on a hunt. I search through the endless flood of humans; their multicolored auras that hang around them and leave trails for me and assault all my senses, and find a telltale trail of black, follow their ‘scent’ and leave another body for the homicide department. Those are the few times when I leave my hotel room without changing before or after. Anyone who sees me sees the killer and the girl, who was once alive, and not Angel Lee who they think lives there and who works in a bookstore five days a week. They would never connect me to her either, her being I actually, myself being tall and donning a long war braid and white, paler then snow-white, and the sweet Angel everyone loves is short and fairly noticeably Asian. I take precautions anyways, changing just enough, usually my fingertips, so the police could never track me down. The last time I had an episode like this, a bad one at least, I almost let the monster take the complete control he wanted, but the girl’s voices whispering in the corners of my mind kept me clear enough to remain in control. I left and went to a bar in what people call the bad side of town, near the warehouse district, where most of the patrons auras where black or turning and went to town. The news the next morning called it ‘The Bicker Massacre’ even though not all of them where riders, and the police upped their search for me. I know I can’t stay here much longer, because of these reports and the police presence. It’s only a matter of time. I had an episode today; the doubt and the beginning of insanity clouded my mind. The monsters laughed just waiting to take me over permanently. I think I almost lost it, ripped apart the bathroom, but the girls flooded me again, and I snapped out of it. Being remind of life, what was, should have been, could have been, and death can do that. After the headache the memories causes subsided, not as bad as usual actually, I washed the blood from my arms, caused from breaking a cup in my fit, in the shower. As the warm water calmed me down and relaxed my muscles, I felt my face, chest and arms, where scars should have been from the fire that killed six little girls so many years ago. I wonder, for the millionth time, where they went, why me, and when I will finally succumb. I should be dead and buried at least six feet away form life, but I’m not, only five of the girls are buried like they should have been. I wonder if I was chosen because my body was injured less, the only one that made it out intact, or if there was something wrong with me, something that marked my like my kills. The night when I was nine, and those flames ripped through my best friend’s house, was I destined to die and come back or did I just draw the cosmic short straw. Why am I cursed to see this evil, to have to change myself, using powers I have no clue how I got, and have to be the one who knows how it feels to kill? I turn off the water and my mind so I don’t have to think about this stuff anymore, why I don’t bleed and die like normal girls, why I don’t feel like normal girls, why I don’t even love like normal girls. I try to fight the questions that race through my min

FREAKMACHINE

I want to be a screenwriter. That's my secret. Problem is I'll never be subordinate enough to go back to college and I never learned the actual format for such things. I can only mimic plays, not knowing if it's the same. Plus, it's not like the states has a shortage of screenwriters. How do you stand out, one fish in the entire ocean? It's all based off of drive, and I'm too big a coward to have mine make any kind of outward appearance. I am a MASTER at looking calm. But my secret, that only you people now know, is that the calmer I appear on the outside generally equals just how much I'm panicking on the inside. Most things in my life are wonky right now. I used to sing. Not opera. I hate singing opera. But back in high school my voice was so in-shape I could break out in song on the street in rain or snow and not get pitchy or lose tone. I never did sing in public like that anyways, but it was nice knowing I could. Now I wouldn't dare let anyone hear me without a good hour or more warm-up. Even then only my family. Still, hearing the kids on American Idol today and realizing I once was able to out-sing 85% of them doesn't really do much for my self-esteem. It's hard singing without my grandpa. Harder than I thought it would be. I made promises to him before he passed. I make the same promises now, that I won't clam up and forget what we shared. Like I said, it's harder than I thought it would be. I feel so lost without his guidance. Much as I appear to want to stay under the radar, the truth is that I loved performing. I still do. And I miss it in a sad far-off way, strange for something that was within reach but 10 months ago. This is not going to be a very good year. I'm a vet assistant by trade, I think I've established that in my life amongst my family. But I'm only that because it's safe. Yes I love doing it, but I want - no, need - more. I need more fire, more fame, more pressure and artistic stimulation. There's no competition in the vet assisting trade. It's all about teamwork. No one notices you, not really. Truth is that all my lives are raining down on me, pulling me up into a torrent like a hurricane, trying to throw me in every direction at once. I'm paralyzed. I don't know whether to smile or bite -- either way my teeth are bared.

GIRLFAN

Once again my story is back on track. As some of you know, I had plotted out the end of the story some 15 or so chapters back, and chap. 40 should have been the last. But the plot took over, and certain characters demanded more screen time, and if you write, you know how it is, and if you don't, well, you'll just have to take my word for it. Anyway, I have once again plotted out the end of the story (whose new end is chap. 54) Thank you to those who posted or emailed answers, inspiration, encouragement and/or butt-kicking; all needed and appreciated.

MSG

SO now I have a new niece. She was born on the 18th at 11:00 pm and she was 5 pounds 11 ounces. Her name is Audrey Elizabeth... So happy!!! Can't wait to see her ( sadly I'll have to as they live in Missouri) My sis is going out and taking baby Annie. We shall see how this goes. I'm betting Annie will claim the baby for herself and be mad when she can't take the baby home with her.

MAGHAFFAR

Yep, saw it there again today and bought me a set for future distribution to friends, family & potential Browncoats. Time to stock up, BCs!