The Right Handed Writer

"It starts in a large auditorium shaped room. People fill every seat. I'm sitting sidelong to the stage, the tiers behind me are high, almost too high for stairs. The room is barley lit at all, deep darkness populated by invisibly staring eyes creep into corners of my vision. The mood is slightly anxious, nervous. I don't know what I'm expecting, just that I'm expecting something.
Soon, lights go up on the bottom of the sleek black stage in front of me. I'm not listening to anything, but I understand what's going on. A very powerful man dressed in an equally black suit is on the front right corner of the stage. His skin is reminiscent of native american descent, and his graying hair produces and aura of power and untouchability. There are no guards around him, but I didn't take that to mean that he wasn't protected. For all I know, there are snipers in the ceiling.
Hes talking animatedly to the crowd. I feel wary of him, but an irrefutable sense of duty. Competition around me stirs. We feel the same, them and I. Who could win his favor? Who could stay in his favor? Sidelong glances at each other. It's mostly men, and my femininity makes them feel dominant. Good, that means arrogance and I have the upper hand already.
I'm understanding and comprehending what he says, though I don't hear his words exactly. He wants a present for his little girl, a four year old very in to arts and crafts. For this challenge, we're allowed into the city.
People around me start running. I've teamed up with someone, another female. I don't trust her, but I need someone who knows their way around town.
The town is filled with old stone work, tall towers with ridges and lines cut into sandy rock. We enter one such tower, feeling a sense of power. The girl, who has sandy blonde hair and eyes like the night sky, or the ocean at midnight, explains what the power is. It's a knot of energy in the world, something that happens often in this area, and it will be whatever you will it to be.
We pounce and tumble up many flights of stone stairs in the tower. I get preoccupied with watching my feet, carefully trying not to trip up the stairs, like I do all the time. I get so preoccupied, that the girl disappears. I look around for her, to see if she's ahead of me, but no luck. She's vanished without a trace. "I have to get busy, I don't have much time."
I stop about 3/4 of the way up the tower. Something shines at me above my head. White light surrounds something invisible, but I can feel it drawing my eyes to the spot where it should be. I close my eyes and think hard. The back of my eyelids are a black that remind me of the slick stage, where my pile of arts and crafts should be. A large blurry bag appears. I open it and look inside. A metal can full of colored pencils, another bag full of markers, scissors, and other crafty accessories.
Scene change. I'm back at the vast auditorium. A pile of cans of crayons is piled up, with my bag leaning on it. Everyone seemed to go to restaurants and pick up children's crayons. That was the victory, they all did the same thing while I stood out with my prize. The man examined my back carefully. He asked his secretary something I didn't hear. Then he turned towards me, legs twisting somewhat to see my small face.
Scene change. He's in front of me now. He looks at me with an odd look on his face. The mand pints briefly with his fingers and shoulder behind him, "Did you do that?" I nod simply. His eyes crinkle in approval, and the strange man nods positively.
Scene change. I feel the thrill of many more challenges passing, many more victories to gain his approval. Us children, we have ranks now, and I'm at the top, his right hand man. The ego must be getting to me, because the tension in my shoulders relaxes. Someone near me, a nobody, says a stupid statement or question. I hate stupid people. I snap at him sharply, feeling that i was doing the right thing and protecting the lord's ears. My 'lord' stares me in the face with disappointment. He points to the spot where we all started, "Go." I turn with confusion and shock.
Scene change. I feel the burning of an emotional spew behind my eyelids, but I push it away. Tears will not help me now. I stare out at the auditorium again, but now more than half of the people had left. I was no longer in close quarters with my fellow peers, most of them had taken their place on the stage, ranking in the old man's favorites. Looking around, the room isn't as dark with most of the people gone. The black corners are a light grey with contours I now recognize. No mysteries hid from me anymore, teasing tendrils of my childish imagination.
I turn my black gaze to the man on stage. He no longer seems so godly, but now like a pedo. I've lost my respect for him, but still feel angry that the shut me out. Why?
Scene change. All I can see is a blurred shot of a silver blade running into a black wall. I feel the satisfaction of release, and the soft fabric that covers the wall gives in easily. My anger fades with the blade in the wall."

2:37 in the morning, VX texts me. I respond groggily, then slap my phone back down on the coffee table in the unfamiliar living room. My head slips back down into the couch cushions.

BEFORE YOU READ- This dream makes no sense in the basics of making sense! These people are dressed like they walked out of the stone age, but they pilot a spaceship like they've done it all their lives. WHAT?!

"Round with dials and switches in the walls and odd shapes of silver and bronze, the room is astoundingly complex. How could anyone remember what all those buttons do?! They all look the same to me, repeated patterns of squares and rectangles of color, dull buttons and gleaming levers and dials. The room is shaped like the control room off of the Star Trek Enterprise, with the commander in the center and everyone else around the edges of the room. A man sits in the middle. I recognize him. Either he's important to me or he is me, I can't tell, but the dream is told from his point of view. All the men in the room, including 'me', have long beards, bulky iron armor, animal furs as clothing, and barbaric helmets with horns or plated metal with etched designs of war. I remember one design clearly; A dragon with birdlike wings carry off a soldier with streaming hair over a mountain. The design is caked with dried blood, you would need a blade to scrape the red out of the crevices.
Back to me. I sit in the middle. I have long, reddish brown hair with a beard that hangs airily to my waist. I have a heavy iron chest plate and shield, with shoulder pads, thigh guards, shin guards, and iron tipped unsuspecting shoes. A large wooden club with dull metal spikes hangs at my waist, on my left waist hands a thin, sharp sword in a thin scabbard. People report statistics and progress to me, but I don't hear exactly what they say, I just know that everything is normal. But I feel tense. My spider sense is tingling. I bark out some commands, and my crew follows instantly, not questioning my decisions or even wondering what the reason could be. They trust and respect me completely without question or flaw. Amazing.
My vision goes black. I sense a large presence, huge in its mind. An old enemy greets me from space.
Panic sets in. Lights flicker, my crew panics when control of the ship is taken from them. Bronze and golden turrets pop out of hidden crevices and panels in the ceiling and walls, pointing coldly and emotionless to my crew and I.
Scene change. Ironic, we're trapped in out own silver cell. This room lacks the common shade of bronze I've been seeing everywhere. I don't see mush of the surroundings, just an above view of the tops of some heads and helmets. I'm pacing, like I do outside of dreams when I'm upset. Others are sitting, or standing calmly. I'm agitated, but forming a plan in my head. It stays for a moment before flicking away.
Scene change. A few members of my crew, those who were in that cell with me, sneak around familiar hallways with me in the lead. No one is on the ship, all the controlling is off, but we see evidence of their molestation. A torn circuit here, a scratch on the floor there, and the control room is locked from the inside. We make it to another room, where the decor is refreshingly different. To my left, on the was was a large cylindrical shaped disk with raised edges hanging on the wall. There were evenly placed rings, counting to around 12 or 15. A few feet in front of me and slightly to my right is a red velvet chair with golden embroidering and dark metal bands where the cloth connecting to the wood underneath. In front of that was a glass table held up by swirling bands of dark metal like the bands on the chair. Several similar chairs were seated around it. A large, dark velvet couch was behind that, and behind that was I think a wall sized mirror, or the rest of the room was shaped mirror like. Farther to my right, the room turned sharply like a blocky S with similar decor. At the turn there was a huge metal contraption like a wide, short tube pointing downwards. It almost looked like someone took a spark plug, expanded it to seventy five times it original size, and then squished it down to two and a half feet long, hanging from the ceiling.
In my mind's eye, I see a man. It's the same large black being in my head as before, but he's put on the face of one of my old officers. I recognize him and my heart leaps for a moment, but something is wrong. This seems to be like a prerecorded message. He's telling me what to do, as if I was one of his servants or officers. He's gesturing to the square piece on the wall beside me, then at the giant squished spark plug. Light pours out of the square in a beam of white. I realize that my officer had betrayed me. My eyes go dark with rage.
After a few moments of indulging my anger, I turn my attention to the light. It's hitting a mirror on the floor and going into the spark plug. But that's not right, the spark plug tip is round while the light is square. I walk towards the mirror, and pick it off the ground, realizing there are several mirrors stacked here. I don't remember my exact pattern, but I placed mirrors about the room at different spots. In the very back of the room is a square, glass, covered and unsuspecting glass set. On a whim, I point the light here. Something clicks in my mind, and I jump for joy, realizing I solved the puzzle!"

And I wake up to my alarm going off angrily.

☴☲☱ Life's like a lesson, you learn it when you're through.
That doesn't seem fair. For a lot of people, every day, life is like trudging through a thick pool of mud, never seeming like they'll reach the end of their story. And some people don't even have endings, they die before their special finale. I want to be able to skip to my ending, be reassured that everything will be okay in the end, don't you? If you had the chance to jump forward in time for ten seconds and see how your life turns out, would you? I think I would.
But isn't that the same as reading the last few sentences in the book when you've only read the first few pages? You don't ever understand the ending, not at first, until you read the entire book and find out what those few sentences really mean. So, does that mean the journey is more important than the end, though the point of the journey is to get to the end?
If it's that way in a book, why wouldn't it be that way in real life?
Because books have happy endings.

I've got quite the nightmare in store for you, readers. My mother reffered to it as two parts paranormal and one part bloody. Vewer discretion is advised, once I get the time to type it up. What's interesting is that I'm only a side character in this story. The best parts of the dream, epic battle and whatnot, happen away from me.
"It starts like any strange dream would, with major details correct, and everything else is totally wrong. I don't remember the beginning of the dream well, but I do remember the feel. It's a big school, hundreds or even maybe thousands of kids. Enormous for a school, even a high school. I'm intimidated, but not all that much. Mostly wary, actually, aware of my surroundings and the kind of people I drift around. Ghetto, confrontive, and (generally, not everyone) not the sharpest tool in the shed. I feel them move around me as if I'm in slow motion and the rest of the world is at a normal pace. Blurred, and dark.
Quickly, the scene changes. The school feels just as big, but with few students. Here, I can see my dream rather than feel it again. Paneled and layered wood curve to make steps and square seats, like the trim on a wall in a cheap apartment, all made of dark and light shades of wood, mixed. Someone is laying on her stomach across one of these ridiuclous square chairs, when she looks up from her children's book and beams at me brightly. She has long, thin darkk hair, light skin, and a layer of fat all over her. Her overall demeaner was poisoningly happy and bright. Behind me and slightly to my right, a boy leaned against a wall that expanded into stairs next to him. His face was down, and he was cast in a dark shadow, but his aura reminded me of the old west. I could imagine that dark shadow in a cowboy hat, boots, a snub nose or old school revolver or both on his hip, and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. That image burns into my while i rapidly take stock of the other two here, One of them is foreign, indian i think. The other reminds me of S of MLB, blonde and fluffy, happy.
Scene change. The five of us are huddled together, small light shining above us. The light is what my eye goes to first, hanging from a chain from the ceiling and shaking, yet the light on our faces didn't move. I found that odd.
We're fearful. whispering together like frightened children, we interrupt each other with hisses and small growls. A thump comes from the ceiling above us, shedding bits of dirt and plaster upon our heads. I feel it hit my face, yet don't see it land on anyone else, or see it land on me for that matter. Also strange.
Our hisses and whispers fall deathly silent, eyes turning upwards slowly. Fear makes my heart race, and adrenaline begins to pump. Something is here, something we didn't invite, something that came from the other side, a voice in my mind whispers helpfully, yet unhelpfully. The beating in my heart grew faster, and my breathing rate increased silently. Our ears strain for any other noise. Something bangs three times on the door, then footsteps run away thumping on the floor like it was a fully grown man. Everyone in the closet screams like a girl, except me. All I can produce is a wheeze, barely any breath being forced through my throat. This is reminiscent of my childhood nightmares, when screaming mas my secret weapon that failed every time.
The next scene is an angry panicked blur of running from a dark, tentacled blur. I'm upstairs, running down a hallway of no color. I look behind me quickly, and the thing runs around the corner I just came around, and chases to get me. I jump through a door, but realize that It's just another dead end, and I turn to run out... but the black and red monster stands there, silently.
I flip my head and look around the room frantically for something, anything to use as an escape tool, or a weapon. The room is empty, with peeling grey wallpaper of faded flowers and splintered wooden floor boards. When my gaze landed on the thing chasing me again, he was three feet closer. I scream again, a wheezing squeak of moving air. One of his slimy, dark crimson tentacles shoot up my body, and I black out.
Scene change. I feel a piece of the thing resting like an enormous knot in my stomach. Pregnant with its child. Fire burns around me, but I don't know where I am. I get a view of myself from in front of me. A hospital gown, light green and covered in dark red splotches and smears of dirt and other things. Dark, swampy hair covers my face and extends nearly to my knees. I'm pale and malnourished. (I didn't think of this in the dream, but it almost seems like I blacked out for a while longer than I thought) For a moment, I'm free floating in the air, nothing holding me up. I can feel the anger and focus some distance away, rooms away to be specific. They're fighting a huge battle, but that only distracts me for a moment. I refocus on the thing in my stomach.
My feet hit the floor lightly, spread out and braced for impact. I can feel the layers and chunks of dirt- or is that blood- all over my toes and feet.
I'm pulling the thing out of me, both hands stuck on a red black tentacle. It's slimy and wet, like its coated in my blood, but I dig my fingernails and tug as hard as I can. I scream, this time with real sound. The scream is surprisingly deep, rough and comes from my stomach instead of my throat. My voice grates smooth yet rough in my mind.
Scene change. I'm back in the first room, with paneled wood and strange chairs. There are more spots of dirt everywhere, but I feel complete, like I've finished what needed to get done. This feels like the end of a story, relaxed. The girl, with jeans, a white flowing shirt, brown hair and a ditzy smile, says something and turns to leave. As she's walking out, the boy across from me looks at me directly, black pupils and irises scaring me a little. As he stares, he grins slowly, and the blackness of his pupils extends to cover his entire eye. His teeth are pointed, and a slithery, black, tentacle-like tongue slips out and licks his lips.
In return, I stare him in the face, and feel the numbing feeling of my eyes doing the same thing. I grin, elated that more than one bit of me survived. I grind my teeth and look to stare out the archway the girl just left out of. "

I wake up thirty minutes earlier than I'm supposed to, and stare at the wall in thought, recording every detail of the dream in my memory.

© Marty Pijanowski
I have fought the feelings
And emotions inside
That fills and empties me,
Like a fast rolling tide

There are moments of pain
Of sorrow and hate
Leaving me to ponder.
Many hours of late

I love you honey.
It’s your presence I miss.
And I terribly long
For that one last kiss

But the greatest pain of all
That hurts me so deep,
Is after giving you my love
I can’t have yours to keep

To have you by my side
Always longing for more,
And have you feel the same,
To mutually adore

You see my love; I have given you my heart
And revealed the depths of my soul
And now I am left feeling hopelessly empty,
Paying this immeasurable toll.

It’s selfish I know
to feel this way
But it’s how I feel,
each and every day

Always hoping and praying
For the next time we meet
For you to allow me, once again
To feel complete

And rest assured
I WILL see you again
For it’s not a question of if
But a question of when.

And when that time comes
I’ll be in total bliss
For no longer will I wait
For that one last kiss.


Source: One Last Kiss, Wife Death Poem http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poe...#ixzz29mp4ZkQR
www.FamilyFriendPoems.com

It screams everything going inside my head at the moment, I had to post it.

---------- Post added at 05:49 PM ---------- Previous post was at 05:20 PM ----------

They say if you love something, set it free. It it returns, it was meant to be.
I feel like I've been kicked out more than set free, so do I return, or stay where I am?
-------
Everything is a blur lately. My thoughts turn darker each day. I'm suddenly aware of all the freedom I have, the periods of time that I can do whatever I want, including something to end it all.
I've been counting. Only two days have passed since the fire in my chest turned into a icy stone, and I'm feeling the toll of it already. How can I survive the rest of the life like this, when I barely have the energy to make it through one day? I'm supposed to think happy thoughts, right? But every moment I might have to try and think happy things, something else clouds my inner vision. The guilt at causing such a chain reaction, the pain of losing someone.
-------
I've ventured into a cave, but my partner abandoned me, thinking I've betrayed him when I've not. Wandering around in the dark, a stalactite pierces me from above. I'm stuck here, with my only hope vanishing further and further away in the wet darkness hanging like a foul blanket. No matter what I do, I can't get up, and the only thing that can come out of my mouth is a wheezy whisper that has no effect in these demented tunnels.
-------
So many thoughts are going through my brain. I pushed him to the limit, everything leading up to this is my fault, so this must be my fault as well. It's nothing I had control over, I shouldn't worry about it. He's not worth your time, just forget him. Maybe something could be salvaged.
But one thing is clear: It's my fault.

A bit disturbing.

"VX looks at me blankly. The entire room is dark, except the blue-grey ground beneath my feet. He's wearing a dark grey button up, jeans, and the converse he loved so much before he burned a hole in them by accident. His skin is pale and creamy, free of any acne (Unlike outside of dreams), and his eyes flash a bright blue, contrasting easily with his dark hair. He looks a little bit different in my dreams than outside of them. I'm aware of the common flexible barrier I see between us. It looks like glass, but when you touch it, it ripples outwards like thick water.
An angry pulse in my head distracts me from the image of VX before me. My eyes close, and the vision of VX blurs before returning just like before. With the pulsing of my head, the 'glass' before me ripples with a light green color. Out of either temple comes a blast of neon green light and dust, reminding me of animations of supernovas exploding, but coming from my skull.
I fall to my knees, holding my head in my hands. The grey blue floor makes a loud crack sound as my knees smack into them mercilessly. To my right, everyone I care about appears, family, friends I've known forever, friends from school. They fade to nearly transparent, not altogether. A few body lengths down is where the last person fades. Vx makes the fist move since he entered this dream. His eyes follow the line of people as I watch him, vision blurring some from the pain in my skull. The throbs from my skull increase in tempo, sending super nova bursts from my temples through their knees.
Suddenly, all people fade to nothing, except for one. Far down the list, a male friends from school (CL) brightens to full solidity. Will points at him, and traces his finger through the air on his end of the glass towards me. Following his finger perfectly, CL slides to stand next to my crumpling body, like a swipe on a smartphone.
Vx's expression changes completely. He stares into my eyes accusingly, and the throbbing in my skull is forgotten, though the green blasts continue. A black hole appears in his chest, oval shaped in his abdomen. Crackling orange embers ate at his body. I felt a strong pain in my own chest and looked down. A wide hole in my own chest appeared, with green embers eating at my soul. I cast my gaze upwards, yelling at the glass in panic. Vx has vanished from sight.
My fists curl against the floor beneath me. A green ember falls from my chest. When it hits the grey blue floor, it changes shades slowly to a dull red, and burns a small hole through the glass.
Blasts of green from my temples knock CL over, finally hitting him in the knees. He falls, and also vanishes. I'm now completely alone.
Tears stream from my face. The blasts from my head increase in tempo and intensity, and the shade fades from neon green to dull orange, reminiscent of the embers in Vx's chest. The embers on my own chest burst into an outright orange flame, eating me up much faster. The pain is debilitating- I can't take it anymore. I stare at the cracked, scorched blue grey glass beneath my knees, and punch a fist through it.
I'm falling now. My chest is whole, the blasts from my temples are gone, and the tears stop. I watch the world disappear into the gloom, and relinquish myself to the fall into death."

I wake up with the blanket on the other side of the room, at six o'clock on a day that I don't actually have to be awake yet.

My special someone and I parted ways, completely, no communication ever again.
I'm so tired. I would describe it as getting world weary, but perhaps that isn't the proper way to express it. I am so sick of everyone, everything. You're all to bright. You all live in such bright corners with blinding sunlight, my eyes don't want to adjust anymore. I'm so tired of all of it, all of you. Everything I do has a dark streak or twist to it, apparently so deep that you don't comprehend, or you do, but remain ignorant to its deeper meaning. I listen to my dear friends, 'Does he, like, feel that way? I totally can't believe he would, like, do that!' Jesus christ, get a life.
At the same time as being disappointed and disgusted by others, I am far more ashamed of myself. Me, the one person who swore I would not fall into that trap that every other teen girl stumbles into headfirst, blindly fell into a relationship, interpreting it to have a much deeper meaning that it did. Yea, I believed completely that he and I would last, clinging to one another while the world rages around us in a never ending war over petty things. Looking back on myself, I hurt even more knowing that I could have prevented the pain if I had bothered to think without letting my emotions entangle my state of mind. I'm furious, ashamed, disgusted by myself just as much as I am disappointed, exhausted, sick of the outside world.
Leave my to my dark corner, forget I ever existed.

"I'm an apartment, DF's apartment, my recent stepfather. This is nothing like his actual house however, though I wasn't thinking like that at the time. The colors of the house are pale, boring, light grey, white, and a shade of tan that barely makes it any brighter. Directly to my left is a large, hardwood table, seen through a pale lens of colorlessness. Farther forward of that it a kitchen, with marble tops and light grey counters, still no contrast or brightness. To my right, and slightly forward is a living room. The wraparound couch is pale tan, badly accentuated with white and light grey pillows. I take a few steps into the living room, and soft plush meets my toes. Looking down, there is light grey fluffy carpet in between my feet. A foggy glass sliding door at the end of the living room. I sense rather than feel the other people in the house. DF, my stepdad, MOM, my mother (Who else?), and my stepbrother, CC. The rest of my immediate family is nowhere to be found, but my thoughts barely brush upon this subject without any feeling of alarm or surprise.
Scene change. I'm outside. The sky is a bright blue and the grass is so light it almost looks like frosting. The fence is a wooden color, pale by any normal standards, but neon in comparison to the inside of this house. Our house/apartment rests on the side of a hill, and I see thousands more of the houses spread around us. The hill is alarming steep. A fence surrounds our house except for a small break in the back right corner. Accompanied by neighborhood kids and my brother, CC, I run towards the exit, looking for something adventurous.
The rest is a joyful and exciting blur of running around the hillside, and finding an odd stairway that circles downwards. The end of the 'hill' is actually a small hang over, and the staircase is a circular structure leading to a raised concrete wall with a little over a foot of space under it. I remember running down these stairs, feet hitting it and making a loud ringing sound due to the metal structure, even with the actual steps being made of concrete. I remember worming under the wall with someone, hiding and trying to muffle my laughter and quick breathing.
Later, I return home, the night sky looking purple, with amazing white lights of a variety of sizes glinting down on use like a cartoon sky.
Scene change. I'm farther into the living room now, and it's later in the day, according to the sunlight streaming through the glass door. No one is here with me anymore, except KC sitting on the pale couch. She's doing something. It feels like she's watching a movie or playing a game, but I can't see what she's watching or playing. Odd. I ask her where my phone is, and she turns her head to me quickly before turning it back, light hair flying wildly, emphasizing her youth. She directs me to the kitchen, but doesn't know for sure. I walk into the kitchen, The floor is a pale marbled tile, pale cabinets with stone tops. Every piece of kitchenware is hidden from sight, very unusual for our house. You would see a cast iron tool at the very least sitting on the stove, but none of the usual tools are sitting on the counters. I look around me, not seeing it on the gleaming counter tops.
Somehow I determine that the last place I had it was outside. I head out with a cell phone, calling my own phone. I kneel down to use gravity to my advantage, sliding down the steep hill speedily, heading towards the stairway. I run down the stairs in a similar manner that I did the night before, but stop halfway, looking down at the dirty patch of grass on the other side of the wall. I don't see a ringing phone, and am about to leave, but I do see something. A black flip phone with an orange back sits there open. I get halfway through a thought, "MY PHONE IS PURPLE, THAT'S NOT---" but the dream takes over, and I can feel half of myself getting excited and running for the phone. I crawl under the wall, my small chest rubbing on the concrete floor and my back rubbing on the thick wall above me. Anxiously, i hurry over to the other side and pick up the phone, still on my stomach. It's not ringing, and the thought finally gets through to me that that was never my phone to begin with. Suddenly, I'm aware of something vibrating in my hand. I look down to the hand that was holding the phone I was calling myself with. Amazingly, I was holding my familiar purple phone. The familiar button reading 'Answer' greeted my like the gates of heaven. "

I almost want to call this strangest dream of the year.

"I have a feeling of mourning the passing of a loved one. The whole family does. By family, I mean our family of apparent cy-borgs. We have oversize, false looking heads attached to spring-like legs upon which we could tiptoes quieter than fly or spring across the skies like a fantastical rabbit. We’re metal, with open loops and curls about our frame as if for decoration. Our home is almost like a spaceship, triangular in shape, tapering up slowly like a large metal mountain. It seemed to be at least a football field or two wide. My parents aren’t the parents I have outside of the dream world. They’re uptight with false smiles and cold hearted eyes. I don’t even feel a small liking for them. The only other person here is my brother, CC His face doesn't look right. The skin is pulled tightly over his features, making his cheekbones stand out. His face is cement, but the voice and feeling behind it remains the same. “We need to get out,” he says. The depression isn't getting better cooped up at home.
Scene change. I see the house thing outside. Crooked metal stair extend from the tip of the triangular shaped ship-house. It reminds me of a ship I saw on the front of a Lego star wars ship box. A large green field, enormous, spreads out in all directions. It curls away from me like a sphere, almost as if I’m on a tiny earth, so small that you can see it’s curvature. The grass outside is bright yellow-ish. The blue sky is a dainty shade of sky blue, no cloud to be seen. No sun to be seen either.
Scene change. This seems like a family reunion. People similarly shaped as us bounce around, greeting us with old lines, 'Oh how you've grown!' 'You're gonna grow up to be a beautiful lady someday!' 'You're such a good kid!' You know, the usual. I sit patiently, holding my anxiety inside and putting on a quiet, good girl face. I even cross my ankles and clasp my hands in my lap, with the hair on my morphed face done all nice and neatly.
One uncle comes up to us. He has no decorating loops or swirls of metal, just the plain rods that seem to have glory in their simplicity. He seems to understand how I feel and see through my act as well as I saw through his decor-less rods of metal. He talks to me for a moment, and I feel at ease with him there. CC walks over, and starts to talk with us. Moments later, the cool uncle is sitting us down on the couch and thrusting game controllers in our hands. A play station 2 flips on, and an ancient television set flickers to life.
scene change. I'm in the game now. The strangest game ever. The place in the game is like a room seen from afar with many levels that your character can hop to and move around with. Our characters are healthy breakfast choices. Scrambled eggs, bacon, sticky pancakes, etc.
It's a blur of exciting moves and a mix of won and lost games after that. I go from eggs to pancakes to bacon back to pancakes again. I bounce around and make sounds similar to old Mario games, and the buttons in my hands are clicked and held in rapid succession. I feel a grin growing on my face outside of my sleep, and I turn to my left side and curl up a little.
The last scene is a zoom in picture of my character. a floppy pair of taco-shaped pancakes, it's cartoonish IHOP eyes are accompanied by a cheeky grin and white gloved hands. I don't know if I won or not, but I feel happy."

The cool faux leather was the typical cool blue color of the inside of a hospital. The headrest cupped the back of my skull gently, but it didn't soothe me from me fear. I turned my attention out the window, where a large tractor was mercilessly tearing down what seemed to be an old house. The large lumps of bricks and wood made me almost sad fro its destruction.
A nurse coughed as she entered the room behind me. She was young, with dark hair that was held back by a slim ponytail that extended past her waist. Flipping the hair out of her face, she turned her attention to the computer screen which I was assume had my chart on it. A few moments passed. She and two other doctors walked in and out of the room, asking questions about my tooth and making sure it was the right one. Finally, after what seemed like days, a dentist settled down on either side of me. On my right, a girl with dark skin and short dark hair sat, relaxed. I would later learn that she was a fill in for a doctor who was gone for the day. On my left, the girl I described earlier, with the long ponytail. It was exactly her fourth day on the job, her second week working, or so she told me earlier.
The woman on my right lowered the back of the chair using levers at her feet. I watched to world turn, legs already shaking. Then, she put her hand up to turn on the bright light above my head. I squinted slightly.
"Are you nervous?" She asked.
Nodding slightly, "Yes." My voice was smaller than normal. I cleared my throat in an attempt to sound a bit more solid.
"Don't be, it's just a tooth pull. Easy." she turned her head to retrieve something. At the same time, the nurse on my left got up quickly and lunged around the edge of my 'bed' unstably. The right nurse handed me a pair of goggles, and the left exclaimed a small, 'Oh!' before returning to her seat. The doctor on my right, who was to be the one actually working on me, leaned over my face. I opened my mouth reflexively. She used a mirror to look at the tooth. It was a baby tooth that never fell out. When your baby teeth fall out, it's because there's an adult tooth just behind it, eating at the baby tooth's roots for food, to make your adult teeth stronger. My baby tooth and my adult tooth weren't aligned properly, and instead of the baby tooth falling out with the adult tooth growing in its place, the adult tooth managed to miss the baby tooth entirely and grew in front of it at an awkward angle. My baby tooth was to get pulled today. I was running over the guidelines in my head. No straws, no hot drinks, no carbonated drinks, no food unless its lukewarm to warm and mushy and soft, like soup o mashed potatoes, no spitting or sucking, and no horseplaying.
The doctor pointed out a cavity that wasn't there on my last visit before going to work. She pulled out an elongated Q-tip with red jelly, warning me that it tasted disgusting. The jelly went into my mouth swishing around my gum line and around the tooth. Next was the syringe. As the inserted the needle and a small pricking sensation drove my nerves up a wall, my arms and legs started to quiver, and my fists balled up tightly. My nails digging into my own soft flesh, I closed my eyes and resisted the urge to slap the needle away.

I'm starting to notice a pattern. Hormones influence my dreams. I'd love to share the pattern with you, but the information might not be socially acceptable, considering the people on this site without ovaries.

I'm at my school. Light brown portables connected by outdoor walkways are accentuated by free-flowing grass and warm sunlight, a brief, heated relief from the icy winds of the season. I step from the pale gravel near the parking lot to the steps leading upwards to the elevated walkways and portable classrooms.
Scene change. I'm in the courtyard, but my attention isn't on the scenery this time. I'm looking at the face in front of me, all my attention stuck on his smiling face. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and his smile is wide. Soft brown hair sits over his forehead. I can feel a smile covering my own face, and giggles worthy of a three-year old escape my lips without shame. My hands block his attempts to catch me off guard. (This might sound odd to other people, but it's simple play-fighting. He always wins. It helps with my reflexes and keeps me on my toes for the zombie apocalypse in the future.) I'm moving backwards, away from his approach, like always. Abruptly, I throw myself into hyper drive and gain the upper hand, pushing him onto the wooden benches. CL sits, the wood taking him just above the back of his knees. A look of mischievous inspiration crosses his face, and he takes advantage of my alarming lack of balance and pulls me towards him.
Instinctively, I turn my face so that our noses don't crash ungracefully. The collision stops suddenly, my mouth less than an inch from his. I can almost feel the heat of his face on my own, or is that my blushing? For a moment, I get caught in his nearness. My heart pounds in my ears, and I feel the familiar flush across my cheeks. A sincerely pleased grin grows on his face slowly with his awareness of my discomfort. I pull myself upright with exaggerated calmness, and quickly accelerate across the courtyard, up the stairs, and direct my attention to a small group of well-placed friends. Waiting on my heart to settle, I shoot a backward glance over my shoulder to see him lounging with a self-satisfied expression on his face. Angry and embarrassed, I return my gaze to the group of trustworthy females in my vicinity, L', BLST, K', and DB.
Scene change. It's either later in the day or the same time another day. CL and I are at it again, jabbing and tickling like children. The only thing different is the knowing expression on his face, and the vulnerability I feel quivering in my chest.

---------- Post added at 07:57 PM ---------- Previous post was at 07:27 PM ----------

I'm starting to consider an end to posting. Too many people who are close to me outside the real world look here and judge me off of the things that go through my head when I'm sleeping or awake. I have no control of these things, so why are you judging me? Do I judge you because of that one dream you had that would be rated X? No. So back off. Judge me off of my decisions, not my subconscious.

Now that that's out of the way, I'll get back to my blurbing now.

``````~~~~~~~~~---^v^v^v^v^----~~~~~~~~````````

I've been thinking about good and bad a lot lately. What makes a bad decision bad, and what makes a good decision good? What defines good and bad?
If you really think hard enough, they're just concepts; ideas. Something that benefits a society as a whole is preferred over something that will benefit only a few people. I'm normally against anything having to do with religion or morals instilled into children at a young and sensitive age, but aren't we all affected by early teachings of what's good or not? You know what's good, not because you studied it or it's intuition, but because someone told you before you could wrap your mind around the concept fully. Is it a good thing to teach a child what's right and wrong before they can decide for themselves, or is it bad? I'm very much against teaching religion at that young age, so why are the concepts of right and wrong any different? I can't use the excuse 'Because it's the right thing to do' because the word 'right' is a variable subject itself.Anything can be called right, and said 'right' thing would be a correct assumption to some people and an incorrect assumption for others, making the word 'good' 'right' correct' variable and useless terms. Yet it's still quite necessary.

I'm going to be Sherlock Holmes when I grow up. I've already memorized my school bathroom, so next time someone moves the decorations, I will know (not that it would be useful). I need to be more aware of my surroundings and what gets moved on a day-to-day basis. I need to learn a little about everything, have small details about everything in the world stored in my brain. I need to think backwards. The vase is broken on the floor. How did that happen? Someone pushed it. The underside of her raincoat collar is wet, which is currently folded down. Why? She turned her coat collar up against the rain and strong wind to protect her neck and hair. Someone's shoes are covered in water, but the rest of them is dry. Walking through wet grass or deeper water. Look for traces of mud and vegetation. What if the inside of the shoes are wet, but not the outside? Perhaps the person was wearing soaked shoes before, but changed into another pair with their sopping socks.

I hate the book, but I have to steal an analogy from Twilight. When one thing was a part of my universe, the stars were bright, and the star representing that thing shone like the sun, but the area around it was blacker than black, and I could feel hidden secrets behind the darkness. When it left, my entire world was like the inside of a dead Imax theater. Black, dark, but not holding anything. Just nothingness, with maybe one or two points of light existed. The world was flat, grey, completely unremarkable in anything other than its pain, its constant suffering and corruption. A new thing, now, is a big star, with a thousand little stars around it. The black isn’t a failing or veil behind which lie secrets- it’s places for new potential. Just another spot to fill with light, another star. It’s amazing. I still feel the heavy weight on my shoulders, the crack across my core, but all it takes is to look up and out to see the world in a shining new light.

---------- Post added at 06:09 PM ---------- Previous post was at 05:50 PM ----------

I'm reading a conspiracy book. It's driving me insane.
What if everything you have ever been told was a lie? What if the Earth was flat, we never landed on the moon, the holocaust never happened, aliens have taken over the government, global warming isn't really happening, our cows are being fed things that make our dairy poison, and we would all live forever is we just stopped breathing or eating? YOU can't prove anything. The only thing that you have to go by is what you've already been told, by people who have been told the same thing, so on and so forth until you reach the source, who was in on the conspiracy the whole time. You don't have the brain of Einstein or Darwin or Benjamin Franklin, so who are you to say what's right or wrong unless you can bring proof that can back up everything? Proof you collected yourself, not just copied off of someone's earlier works. You, you right there, can only say things that you've been told. You didn't conduct the experiments or watch them happen, you were just told that they did, this is why, and that it proves this. Everything you have ever known could be a huge lie, and you wouldn't know it. Doesn't that suck?

I've had dreams in this setting twice before, one of them is posted here (I think). In the dream sharing a setting with this one, but not written in this forum, it's almost as if all the freakshows and ghosts and extreme weirdos (including me) were captured and put in this one spot, like some crappy reality TV show. Eventually, instead of working together to find food and live, we all start to fight and kill one another. This dream isn't nearly as gruesome... maybe.
Also , it's disturbing how much my dreams reveal what some part of me really thinks, even if those thoughts arent rationall or drawn from reason.

If you've ever played minecraft, this setting should be easier to describe: Rolling plains covered in some flowers and mild grasses. In the middle of this wide expanse lies a sort of village, completely dedicated to education. The village houses are composed of paneled wood mixed with some stone, but what's different from most minecraft villages are the tops of the houses. All the buildings are two or three stories high, and all are connected on the second story by bridges or wide pieces of wood. Most of the activity in the village took place here, my subconscious told me, but no one was out and about now.

A large, darkly colored wooden building was in front of me. It was only connected to the matrix of a city by a singly, thin bridge that swung when the wind blew.

A sigh from my lips. I was about to do something, give up my nomadic life for something, someone. What my life was before now, I can't tell you, nor can I say what I was about to do, but it was happening.

Scene change. A man greets me, a look of anticipation on his face. He puts a hand to my back and guides me towards the building. He was grinning encouragingly, and seemed way too happy to be a principal, as my subconscious provided. The man was thin and had a bald head and slightly crooked teeth. Pale skin and light blue eyes put together made an overall image of total creep. Banishing this thought from my mind, I tensely let him guide me to the doors of the building in front of me.

Scene change. I'm inside the building now. The dark wood covers the building on the inside as well. Students are here, sitting at individual desks, concentrating on pieces of paper below hem with stick-like pencils in their hands. I walked up unstable step protruding from the wooden walls to the second floor, where equally focused students worked, but in a lesser number. I was seated in a desk near the back. The test in front of me was composed of many pale pages.

What seemed like hours later, but really was only moments in dream time, I finished the test. I closed the packet, set my pencil down, and promptly walked out of the room. It was easy, to the point of being refreshing.
I was told to go to a new room now. Designed like a cafeteria, a few pale tables and two vending machines furnished the room. The walls and furnishings were white and sparse, different from the common woods of this town. Briefly, I socialize with a girl with dark, intelligent eyes that scanned the room behind a glass of water that concealed her smile. She leaned against the side of a vending machine, and the aura of euphoric secretiveness around her drew me to her. Some time later, some amusing information about her. She's VX's latest girlfriend. I wasn't angry or jealous, rather I approved of his new choice.

Outside, the air was crisp. Earlier, I distinctly remembered warm sunshine beating down on my skin. Where had the heat gone? Suspicious, I looked around, taking in small details. The gravel was tossed around in places, thrown into the corner of one building especially. I didn't get another moment to take another look, because at that moment, a thunderous roar came from around the corner of a nearby building. A huge, dark shape rose up into hind legs, baring its teeth at me. Clearly uninterested in my scrawny self, he moved on the scream at the building behind me. Pieces of the second floor walls blew away. And here's where it gets strange- Launching into the air, I flew to what was left of the second floor and hovered in front of the monster's dragon-like face. Feeling totally furious, I witnessed a stream of energy comingfrom the edges of my skull. It was black, and bits of the mass flew off and dissolved some wood bits left hanging behind me. Oddly enough, it resembled hair.

On the other side of the building's torn roof, practically a mirror image of myself and my position lay, though I recognized the other girl to be the same one I had spoken to earlier, not my reflection. Between us, on the top floor, VX sat, icy blue eyes wide, but no emotion in his face.

The dream ends with me staring down the red eyed monster in front of me, my own eyes ablaze with rage.

The first setting is at a school. The schedule is strange. I recognize all of my teachers, and most of the students, but none of them know me, or even have time to glance twice in my general direction, just as if I were an unimportant new kid. The only one who knows who I am, and remembers me, is a rainbowdash brony friend of mine, RDA.

Setting number two is another school dream. The cafeteria is large, extending at least twenty tables with plenty of room in between in length and at least as many wide. A large wall separates the two rooms, but only extends halfway across the cafeteria. Beyond that, a thin hallway with a bathroom on the left hand side.

Previously used setting number there is a gypsy camp (Why I think of it as a gypsy camp, I have no idea, but that's what it was labeled when I was dreaming, so that's what I'm calling it.) in the future. In the previous dream, roads are hundreds of feet in the air and crisscross like spider webs. The buildings are true skyscrapers, hundreds of floors into the air, and at least fifty feet wide, but in a large variety of shapes and proportions. There is so much going on. In this particular place, there are three identical buildings, looking to be about fifteen stories high. Made of brick, they seem like they could be some of the oldest buildings here. One small building, maybe only one or two stories high and made of pale concrete, no windows, and a few peeling posters on the outside stood. Overweight people with layers of rags as clothing are covered in filthy grime and mold. The stench of sweat and urine lies heavily in the air, masked only by a think scent of greasy, cheap pizza.

And the last setting is of 'home'. The streets are narrow, and beyond the gate is a matrix of small apartment buildings. The school bus I was riding home crashed right in the entrance, due to the small roads and the vehicle's wide turns. I managed to sneak of the bus, but got lost. The dream is of running, bouncing up and around stairwells and streets like a rabbit on double shot espresso and meth. The sky is black, dark, and I sometimes hit unlit sections of the seemingly endless complex. I encounter vast backyards with pale stonework, a white gazebo on a mirror-like lake as still and unmoving as a long dead human being, flashing lights of automatic security… I never find my way home in the end. I only get lost even further, until I've given up completely by the time I've woken up. It was one of the worst nightmares I ever had. It led to my total brain dead exhaustion the following day, and an irrationally uneasy feeling around rabbits.

_________________________________

I start at my own school. In the last dream of this setting, no one knew me. Here, R and S know me. The halls are grey; the air is practically gray; everything is black and white. My focus is on R, though I notice S right behind her left shoulder. R is beckoning me with an uncharacteristic glassy eyed smile on her face. Something is clearly off, but it’s R after all, so I follow.

A large, gray bus pulls up; its doors already open as it slows down to the curb. I take only half a second to look around. Everything is different shades of grey, and a little blurry. The gray grass in front of me ends at a gray curb, at which the gray bus with characteristic black trim and a protruding stop sign. All were different shades of gray.

Scene change. Thank god for the color. The room was large, extending at least twenty tables with plenty of room in between in length and at least as many wide. A large wall separates the two rooms, but only extends halfway across the cafeteria. Beyond that, there was a thin hallway with a bathroom on the left hand side.

Every table was crowded with people of mixed races and cliques. It was like I brought all of my high school with me, in addition to what seemed like another school full of kids, and they recognized me (this time.) VX was here, as well as our very own Sure2HerWord, R, S, RDA, DB, AM, TRS, and many others. People were playing board games, dice flying, or just walking around and being social. Some were chilling out against a convenient wall. It was loud, but not overwhelming so. Laughter floated past my ears, and little snippets of conversation tried to grab my attention all at once. It was a great feeling, one that I miss dearly.

I flew from here to there across the room, catching up, inducing laughter with a quick tease, similar to what I do at home, or in a place where I actually trust everyone (which is rare). I saw VX several times in passing, waving apologetically at his increasingly negative expression. Being a social butterfly took a backseat to talking to VX, in my mind, and I increasingly took shots at jokes that made people laugh and sputter at my bluntness, followed by slipping out under their noses. Eventually, I got a moment to see him. He was seated by himself, on his phone. I don’t remember the exact words, but we talked. My feelings were mixed between slightly nervous, peaceful, and attentive. He scolded me for being away so much. A moment after I apologized, R and S were tugging at my shirt. They beckoned me, saying nothing. In a moment, they ere across the room, near the restrooms. I don’t know what the obsession is with teenage girls and hanging out in the bathroom, but I followed, sending a guilty look over my shoulder to VX. Unsteady, my too-large Converse slapped against the cheap school linoleum.

What I had originally thought to be a bathroom was a door to outside. A large yellow school bus was parked at the curb. To my left was a large baseball stadium. And the reddish dust flew in the air past my eyes. Somehow, I knew everyone was heading home, and the bus wouldn’t take me home. R and S were getting on the bus, but had left me with no solutions as to how I was supposed to get home. I called out to them, angry. They pointed simultaneously to my old, worn down Honda Civic. It was a two door car with a sunroof, but was really cheap, and had broken down often. Satisfied, I walked towards that car, VX gone from my mind.

Scene change. I was in the passenger’s seat of the car, looking out the window in a sleepy daze, lazily taking in my surroundings. The highway was made of typical pale concrete, and there were only a few cars on the road to our right, which I took little notice of. Slowly, I became aware of my surroundings in the car. My ears twitched backwards, like they sometimes do when I’m nervous for absolutely no reason. I straightened in my seat, and looked over. No one was driving the car. My heart leapt, but instead of wondering how I had possibly gotten from the school onto the highway with no driver, I reached over and seized control of the wheel. The car wiggled unsteadily. After a few more seconds of that, the car slowing down, I managed to launch my tall self from the passenger seat into the driver’s seat. My foot went to the gas pedal. My eyes glanced at the speedometer- 65 mph. Using the turn-signal like a good unlicensed driver, I went to the far right lane, but instead of exiting the highway, I managed to turn onto a bridge, probably leading to another highway. It was only one lane wide. Barely breathing, my fists gripped the wheel and turned my knuckles white. I’ll come out with it now- I’m fourteen years old. The most driving I had ever done was either in dreams or on a neighborhood road under parent supervision. I was so scared I could hardly breathe, which might seem pretty stupid to some, but that doesn’t make it invalid.

The bridge seemed endlessly high. There was suddenly fog on either side of the bridge- The white line was barely more than inches from the concrete railing on either side of me. Even though the Honda Civic is a small car, they seemed to be closing in on me. My eyes weren’t on the road anymore; they were on the railing outside of the curve, to my left. My grip started to slip and my eyes went glassy. Heart pounding, I watched the wall suddenly grow nearer.

The small blue-green car slammed into the wall. Bouncing like a sick pinball, The crunched under the impacted. It flipped nearly 180 degrees, before the weight became too much, and a piece of concrete wall slipped under the car’s weight. The car soared off the bridge to the round below it.

Scene change. I must have passed out. The once high sun had moved quite a bit in the sky. I emerged from the flaming hunk of metal, alive, but limping. I couldn’t feel my left leg, and it was covered in blood. Blood dripped down the side of my face, and it was smeared and splattered over various parts of my broken and shaking body. Tears running from my face, I limped into what I think of as a modern gypsy camp. Three identical, tall, brick buildings, maybe five or six stories into the air were covered in peeling posters. Clothing lines covered in reeking pieces of cloth were strewn from the windows, the doors were similar to what you would see in a grocery store, though I doubted that the sensors worked. The ground was concrete, like that of a parking lot, but covered in grease and mold everywhere the eye could see. Nothing was free from the stink. I could almost feel my soul rotting away with everything else here. Dazed, I spoke with the people. They were wearing bright clothes and ribbons in their hair, and either slippers or no shoes at all. One of them had pizza cheese and grease on their leg, but seemed to take no notice of it. They were so big around (ahem- fat) that even their eyes seemed to squeeze shut from the folds of blubber around their face. They were too busy making incomprehensible jokes to notice me, so I called their attention myself. I got them talking, maybe got a bit distracted myself. I managed to persuade the woman to rinse the pizza bits off of her leg, and use her cell phone.

I walked to the side of one of the nearby buildings for privacy, calling my mom’s cell number. After a few rings, she picked up. I leaned my forehead against the concrete, and listened for a moment. She was raving about me, something I had done recently. I bit back tears of shame and tried to interrupt her several times. My dad was there too, they were joking about what could be so wrong. Exasperated, I finally spoke out in anger, “Mom, I crashed the car from really high up, the civic is totaled, I’m bleeding and I think my leg might be broken. I don’t know where I am. I really need you to be a mom right now.” Tears broke through my tattered cover of calm.

I wake up with my cheeks wet, thankful that it never really happened.

Sorry about that. I did manage to forget most of the dream, regardless of the vague details I gave you.

Oops.

But I do have a new one for you. Quite strange. My grandmother rides a four wheeled mongoose out of Halo. The pieces of this dream don't seem to fit. The story-line is jagged, and new events are unrelated to previous ones.

I'm walking out of a classroom. It's dark outside, as if it's nighttime, though I have no clue why I would be at school during the night. I walk down a hallway with a few doors towards a glass door on a glass wall reinforced by pale, shining steel bars. The classic push panel of the school door is cold to the touch against my forearm. Pushing the door makes me aware of a stack of folders and books in my arms.

Outside, the night air a crisp and cool. A few stars and a waxing moon are covered by a few clouds drifting across the night sky. The grass is frosty and cool, and you can barely distinguish it from the sidewalk. Three sidewalks converged to one, and led to a portable further down on the hill.

Scene change. I assume I’m inside the building I had just looked at. There are many trapezoid shaped tables, all with students sitting before a test. The room is rectangular with the desks going around in a sort of hook shape.
Here’s where it gets really fuzzy. Somehow I get the impression that I’m staring at a science test. It takes me forever to finish it, and I change rooms. In the next room, where the math test is to take place, everything in the room is mirrored from the last room. Somehow, my old math teacher seats me, but doesn’t give me a test. I pester her and continue to ask her for my test, but she’s disappeared. It continually gets faster paced, as if my brain is racing through these parts. I think I might have gone to an assembly. I have an image of a large auditorium, the floor slanting downwards and he hardwood floors of the stage are cream in color. I feel rather than see someone familiar here, perhaps VX.

The flurry of scenes stops, finally. My step grandmother, MM, is guiding me somewhere. My peripherals are grey blurs, but the scene in front of me is vivid with color. The grass grows in deep green, messy clumps between dark brown, damp dirt. The dark color triggered something in my subconscious, and I identified the climate in the area to be either humid or it simply rained often, and the dirt was rich and full of minerals that a farmer could fall in love with.

We advanced upon a sort of trench in the ground. As if an invisible line in front of me traced a signal to the ground, the terrain took a shard sloop downwards for ten or twelve feet, before sharply turning upward again, and then flattening out again. A line of thick, dark trees hid what lay beyond that.

Scene change. Actually, the scene is the same, except we've gotten atop a few mongooses (Like in Halo. *facepalm*) and are racing in and out of the ditch with remarkable speed. Like a skating rink, we rise out of one side of the ditch before turning downwards and heading down again. I watch my dark hair fly behind me and MM's perm stay alarmingly in one exact position on her head from a bird's eye view of the scene below. (This would never happen- MM has severe scoliosis in real life. It's difficult for her to get around, but she refuses to use her walker.) Dirt flies from behind the wheels of our mongooses, and I feel an uneasy confusion mixed with the passiveness of a higher being watching things unfold below.

Out of thin air, a vehicle similar to our own is on the dirt 'rink'. Except he's four times our size, with monster wheels the size of a SmartCar. I don't see myself anymore. I feel like i've drawn completely in the clouds, the passive, apathetic feeling taking over control. MM is still below. Her mongoose runs under the wheels of the monster-vehicle (Not a monster truck) and, very briefly, I feel a sense of alarm. When she pops up on the other side, unscratched and completely unaware of the other vehicle, the feeling goes away. for helf a second, I wonder if I should go down there and remove her from the ditch, but not enough energy or willpower backs that thought to get me moving. Uncaring, melancholy, yet feeling oddly powerful, my gaze begins to fog and drift elsewhere.

The dream ends, leaving me as confused as ever.

I have questions.
How does a rocket work?
What are bubble robots made out of, and why does the laser make them move?
Why are democrats and republicans so hell bent on taking each other down?
Why do people remain ignorant by choice?
Why don't people face their own flaws?
How do artists paint pictures that manage to get shown in news articles about space?
What's the big difference between right and wrong?
Why are some things right in some cultures and wrong in others?
Why are the cool inventions being made without me?!
What's the difference between writing expository essays and writing persuasive essays? Is the basic format the same?
Who makes those crappy fake ads 'CONGRATULATIONS, YOU'VE WON!' And why haven't the gotten a life? Are they paid to troll people and fry computers with viruses? No? Why would you waste your time on that?
What religion came first?
What are all the missing books of the bible about, and why does the Vatican keep them secret?
How do electrons exist in the clouds during a storm? Was it in reference to the electrons already existing on an atom? (Lightning)
Why is math so hard?!
What are the practical problems of synergy? Is it achieved through cybernetics or psychology?
Where did our culture come from? How might other life-inhabiting planets evolved differently than us?
Do other dimensions exist?
How does time work? It's not a tangible thing, yet it exists all the time nonetheless.
How old do you have to be to join Menza?

Maybe I can answer these over time.

Do not judge me. I am not responsible for the flaws I posses revealed through dreams, as long as I don't act on them.

I feel like I've walked into the Industrial era. A hallway with deep green carpet, patterned with pale blue pearls, is well worn in the hallway of this ship. On the side, windows line the wall at intermittent points. I'm seeing through my own eyes for once, so I feel strange and disembodied as I move down the hall and open all the windows. Noxious yellow fumes float in the hall, concentrated right at face-level. People are cramming up against the windows, peering out among the blue waves below, and behind the waves to the people waving goodbye on the wooden dock. The people are mostly dressed in long, faded garments of multiple layers. Soot line the edges of the docks below, and most of the people wear a covering over their mouth and nose, probably to filter out the dense, polluted air. Oddly, the yellow fumes on the ship are different than the grey smog outside. I walk away, feeling no need to wave goodbye to no one.

I'm attending classes on this ship. The classes have vaulted ceilings and tall, intelligent teachers, making the rest of us feel small, stupid, and mousy. In the front, a tall, skinny teacher is enthusiastically pointing to different things on the board and writing new ones. Briefly, I focus on the writing. A violent mixture of letters, numbers, and symbols combine to create the ever-dreaded MATH, and I turn away from the board hastily. Other people in the room are either doodling on the edges of their papers, or enthusiastically taking notes, faces turning from the board to their notepad rapidly. Rolling my eyes, I lay my head down into my arms on the desk.

The ship is permanently docked somewhere less like the industrial age and more like Seattle. Our class was outside, regardless of the wet weather. A teacher is telling us a story, but instead of hearing her voice, I see the images flash before me.

A woman, living in a luxurious first-class room, has a queen bed inside of a glass tub, filled with water. She sleeps in the water, under some odd superstition about the healthiness of her skin. A man enters the room, from a well lit bathroom in the corner. He greets her loudly and enthusiastically, like the teacher, and wakes her. They... have some kinky intercourse (very kinky, bathtub toys and all) And at climax, she brings out a diamond shaped, slightly lopsided, opal. It was black, with shining spots of firey orange and red, and some flecks of green. She broke it in half, demonstrating remarkable strength from her plump, hourglass figure.

The next thing I saw was the strange, yellow fumes bursting from all the ship's windows and doors, like millions of small mushroom clouds.

Scene change. I flick back and forth between first person and second person view. I'm not myself anymore, but a buff, blonde girl with thin hair pulled back into a short braid. My beefy arms end in small, surprisingly dainty hands. My waist is small, but my upper body and torso are overstuffed with cartoon-ish body builder muscle, ending in small, yet still muscular legs.

Wow, I just realized that I never finished this. Terrible of me. Well, I'm here now, rereading some of my work, and I remember what happens next, so I suppose I'll finish it now, if anyone even cares at this point. Sorry!

I'm still looking through my own eyes, glancing at myself in a mirror probably longer than is usually socially accepted. I do that a lot. I don't know if I'm looking for something, or simply surprised to see myself, but if I catch myself in a mirror, I usually can't bring myself to turn away. Sounds vain and photogenic, I know, but I'm not judging myself nor am I looking for improvements to make. I'm simply intriuged and find the need to stare and figure our why my reflection distracts me so. I'm no different, here in the dream. Even as I speak to a lanky girl with long, dark hair, I'm distracted by the mirror, and keep glancing over to it. Finally, I mentally shake myself, and purposefully walk away to busy myself with research. After the story I was told in Seattle and being told that the gem is still hidden somewhere, all of us were dead set on finding it, even if it meant missing classes to search. We started in the library.

I can't focus on the tomes in front of me. The words are bland, completely without dimension or justifiable interest. Even the book is gray, with gray dust spreading as I turn each page monotonously. I'm not even reading it anymore, just drifting off into dreamland with a robotic scan of my eyes over the page. Suddenly, I realize that this isn't going to get me anywhere, nor was this book in any way entertaining, so I would try another approach. I got up, closed the book with a bang while dust shot out of the pages, and turned to walk away. As I approached the entrance, I ran into someone I found distasteful. Another was staring into the mirror, but she was admiring herself, turning this way and that, fluffing her corkscrew blonde hair. She realized I was behind her, and turned to sneer at me and turn up her nose. I paid her no mind, my ears suddenly roaring with the realization of something important. I stared behind her, keeping up the banter while distractedly glancing at the mirror, but no longer in the mirror itself, but in the adornment at the bottom. A tear drop shaped gem, black and glowing with flickers of firelight and flecks of forest green decorated the bottom of the mirror, joined at either side by golden wire. I managed to say something to get the girl to leave, with her two hulking cronies with her. After the door shut with a soft thump, I was across the room and retrieving the gem in a second. I held the priceless artifact above my head, testing it against the light while reveling in my discovery. I had found it! The missing jewel!

I just want to thank anyone and everyone who has bothered to take time out of their busy schedules to take a look at this forum. I'm so completely shocked I managed to attract attention with my musings and morbid dreams, but I know I probably wouldn't have done it without encouragement from the view count and from my close friends, who know who they are. I know I haven't exactly been consistent with the timing of my posts, and for that I apologize, and appreciate any who has bothered to bear with me. Writing practically keeps me alive at this point, controls my temper and helps me realize things I wouldn't have before. When I write, it's usually for a purpose; maybe something grabbed my attention because it wasn't what I was used to, or something made me angry. (You're all about to get an angry post or two when I'm done reading every good story on this fanfiction site I've fallen in love with...) Finding the right words to fit the description of something I want to wrap my head around has become a calming ritual, and it helps me to see thing in a different perspective. By stepping back and overlooking the whole picture, I'm noticing a pattern in my dreams and attitudes that's help me reach (as sappy and cliche as it sounds) a better understanding of myself. I would not have made it this far into life without you people behind your computer monitors. :P

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I'm scared. I'm scared of managing to get somewhere in life, then making a crucial error, and falling down to depths- that of which I have never experienced before. Looking around, seeing a lot of dreams with this 'falling' pattern, I feel totally daft for not clicking earlier. I'm scared that the only way I'll get anywhere is the darker way, the path that requires more ass-kissing and blackmail and persuasion than actual skill or perseverance.

⇜~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~⇝

T+ for some suggestive content. You know what has been seriously making me mad recently? TRUCKS. I admit, I live in the city, so trucks are pretty useless here, which might influence my opinion. Prepare for a biased rant.

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A reason I hate trucks is the people I manage to find driving them. The idiots on the highway that cut you off, or try to make maneuvers that just won't work for the bulky mass of tin put everyone else in danger. You- idiot in a freaking ford with the suspension cranked up four feet too high- will emerge unscathed from a multi-car accident that you caused because you drive a bloody truck that crushes all little Hondas and SmartCars and Lexus' in their path and emerge unscathed! How do you manage to get into a freaking collision with another care and emerge- quite literally- without a single scratch! There are bits if my car stuck to your car and bits of my car littering the road, and my freaking headlight and grill is busted beyond repair, yet you don't even have a SCRATCH on your precious, useless freaking car! YES- true experience.

Another reason is the advertising. This may just be because I live in a southern area, but all truck commercials seem to be aimed at men in cowboy hats and boots who want to go out and work in the mud and the fields all day. Heads up- like three dozen people in this entire god-forsaken state do that, and you're hoping they'll catch your stupid freaking commercial at four in the afternoon?! Everyone else has a normal, boring job, and if it isn't normal and boring, it's certainly more entertaining and time consuming than transporting hay across a freaking field. What is a city boy going to do with a truck that chugs gas like air and whose extra bulk is totally useless when trying to find a suitable parking spot or transfer lanes- absolutely nothing! They seem to have the exact advertising technique as Viagra- for good reason, bringing me to my next point...

If the first two reasons weren't enough, then here. I have never seen a pair of fake 'balls of steel' hanging from the back of any other car than a truck. (I happen to be a bit of a feminist. How else can you declare your douche-baggery than hanging a freaking scrotum from the back of your truck for me to stare at while in this infamous traffic! I swear, if a truck is parked somewhere near me with that piece of crap hanging from its bumper, I'm going to spray paint it some flesh color, the paint fake gashes all over it! Take that sonofa- How would you like it If I hung a freaking vagina- clitoris and all- from the back of my car for you to stare at?! B***!) Also, I have seen maybe one other car to ten trucks with the suspension cranked all to hell. My poor small car barely reaches the bottom of the door already; do you have to give me a freaking heart attack every time you pass me up and my life flashes before my eyes? I already can't stand eighteen- wheelers!

These freaking idiots... Scenario: Stupid person who happens to have a truck with suspension cranked up and fake balls on the back makes a bad move for the overwhelming large piece of metal he was driving and effing kills us all- our body parts and our cars body parts strewn across the danged road while your f**g truck merrily drives, fake f**g silver scrotum hanging from the back, gangling in all our DEAD faces, with nothing but a damaged fucking suspension. F** YOU.

The only thing I'll admit in favor to the other hand of this argument relates to the uses of a truck in the city. If you move, you get to keep your queen size mattress.

I'm not bagging on all truck owners. I admit, there are jobs that require trucks in the city, and some people just like trucks. I'm not disgracing you in any way, just the stupid people that have trucks for a false social status symbol and/or continue to drive it wrong, like an eagle piloting a blimp. Ever so graceful.

I just totally spent thirty minutes ranting about trucks when I have a project due in three days that I haven't bothered starting and final exams in two weeks. If I begin to hang around here sometime within the next two weeks, PM me and tell me to study, will ya?

⇜~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~⇝

A little response to a post my friend made. The last I heard, she was on a shaky start with a relationship with an older guy, and she spent her week posting depressing break-up stuff, and finished off with a suicidal nursery rhyme. I responded like this:

Twinkle, twinkle, little bat.
How I wonder where you're at.
Melancholy, I can glean
From the distant echo of your screams

Twinkle Twinkle little moon
I want to know what's done to you
No small secret something's changed
From dropped suggestions and flickers of pain

Twinkle, twinkle, little sun
Time to tell me what he's done
You know you can't run; I know where you sleep
A pair of friends stalk you; hip to hip, cheek to cheek.

I admit- I'm a nerd. I've been told repeatedly, and I've accepted it as part of myself (Better being a nerd than someone pitifully normal (; ), yet I never succumbed to the stereotype that all nerds will do you homework if you ask politely. No, I've looked on disdainfully at those who ask for answers to homework or classwork they didn't do at the last minute. I've only supplied answers that I knew were probably wrong, and even so, only occasionally.

I've broken the cycle, however.

A boy, older than I, asked a friend of mine to do his project while I happened to be nearby. My friend was adamant about not doing it without payment in advance. He started looking stressed, jaw clenching slightly and eyes hardening. He looked anywhere but at us- the wall, the ceiling, his shoes, the vending machine. He begged and pleaded, and eventually it came out that his grandmother was in the hospital. Me, being stupidly soft and naive, slipped next to my friend and said that we would do it, bringing up my laptop as proof. We worked on it together, the three of us and another friend, not finishing in school. Clearly very stressed and not knowing what to do, the boy stormed off, looking about ready to burst into tears or slam his fist in the wall. That night, I stayed up til the wee hours of the morning finishing his project to his specifications, in addition to my own homework. Before emailing it to him, I took a necessary precaution to avoid any others that might feel the need to ignore their school work and asked my dear friend to say that she did most of the work, while I only reviewed and edited when she was finished.

He successfully turned his project in only a day late. Not that it mattered much to me- he had the wrong specifications (I didn't know until the next day) and I'm not even sure that our teacher accepted it.

I've thought about my motives and my sudden impulsiveness regarding the stupid project. I remember jumping when he said his grandmother was sick. That alone brought up harsh memories of my best friend's grandmother's death, and the pain radiating from each family member that night. In addition to that, my own mother recently had surgery and is staying in the hospital tonight. I've worried myself sick thinking about it, though its only a simply hysterectomy and nothing to worry about. Concluding- I get sentimental when family members get sick. Not an out-of-the-ordinary weakness.

Draco boarded the Hogwarts Express with the dignity that only a pureblood could manage without looking ridiculous. While the rest of Kings Cross station as covered in at least a thin layer of soot, the young wizard had the telltale Malfoy pale skin, grey eyes, and shining blonde hair that glowed and managed to repel all dirt and grime that could possibly mar the evangelical image.
Passing the compartments at the front of the train where most of the teachers and students from Ravenclaw sat, Draco noticed an older man whom he didn’t recognize. A swift glance revealed dark brown hair and bright blue eyes that were passing over the students with barely concealed mirth and excitement. ‘I assume he is our latest Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.’ Sneering in disgust at the man’s lack of self preservation, the young wizard passed by him without a second glance, robes sweeping behind him indignantly.
Arriving at his usual car in the back where the Slytherins were usually found, Draco received a few curt nods in greeting, all of which he responded to in equal courtesy. With a flick of his hand, the compartment door slid open in front of him, but instead of settling into a seat, a brute, warm force crushed the air out of the boy’s lungs.
“Pansy- Get off me!” He snarled. Pansy released her death grip before he had finished his sentence, jumping back as if burned. A grimace of pain soured her features. Gently rubbing a spot on her stomach Pansy looked pointedly at his upraised wand.
“You practically stabbed me with your wand, Draco!” She accused, raising her voice.
“Perhaps if you didn’t launch yourself in all of your love and glory at people when they least expect it, you wouldn't end up with a wand halfway through your stomach!” He gracefully danced around her tense form and into the compartment she was failed to block, slipping his wand back into its sheath. The blonde hadn't remembered drawing it at all, but it was good to know that he could defend himself from surprise attacks without thinking about it. ‘Not that any attackers would choose a flying hug as their weapon of choice,’ He thought in disgust.
Settling in his seat, Draco turned to the others occupying their compartment.
“Hello Blaise, Theo.” Nodding to each, respectively.
“Good afternoon, Draco.” Blaise responded, overly-formally in an attempt to lessen the tension in the room. Theo spared them both a slight inclination of his head, before returning his gaze to a book titled Advanced Potion-Making on the spine in green lettering. It was at this moment that Pansy chose to slip across the gap between their knees and sit in the seat near the cold window. Plopping down into the cushion in a way that could only be described as childish, she stared out the window, face seemingly stuck resembling a thundercloud. The boys ignore her and continued their polite conversation.
“Have you seen the new teacher? I assume he’ll be teaching DADA; only opening here at Hogwarts.” Draco asked, not sparing Pansy a glance. She wasn't patient nor calm; It was expected that she would lose her temper in a moment or two.
“Only in passing. He was rather...” Blaise wrinkled his nose, “Ridiculously happy.” Draco nodded in agreement, and paused.
“Actually... I happened to overhear Severus talking with my father," He smirked. He didn't overheat it at all, they had made him aware of it, but they didn't need to know the trust he shared with his godfather, Severus. "Apparently, the Headmaster plans to combine Slytherin and Gryffindor into more classes together, in an attempt to quell our legendary rivalry. Can you imagine Defense Against the Dark Arts with bloody Gryffindors under that pansy of a teacher?” He used Pansy's name on purpose, inciting a low growl from the girl.
Blaise laughed, “We’re going to eat them alive!” He leaned forward and lowered his voice, “I bet you he doesn't last one-”
Pansy interrupted him by standing up and towering over Draco’s sitting form. “ Dammit, man, didn’t you miss me at all! I thought we were friends! I even hugged you!” She sniffed. “Bloody hell, you’re an arsehole!”
Draco sent her an intense glare. Somehow, he managed to seem like he was looking down his nose at her, though his gaze was turned upwards at her standing form. The temperature in the room seemed to drop considerably whenever he activated the legendary Malfoy glare, Pansy noticed, though she deterred herself from rubbing her arms by focusing on his gaze fearlessly, though he still looked like he wanted to cast an Unforgivable on her right about now.
“Sit down, Pansy, and behave like a Slytherin.” Effectively silenced, Pansy sat, shocked into obedience by his calm tone of voice that didn’t match the expression in the least.
“Whether I missed you or not is not of importance. That’s no excuse for attacking me from out of the blue. I nearly hexed you- I did not have my wand out merely to provide discomfort to your abdomen. I’ve also told you before not to touch me.” Seeing Pansy open her mouth in rage, Draco whipped his wand through the air and uttered a silencing spell - Now, she looked outraged.
“That’s not to say I didn’t miss you.” It wasn’t really true, but he said it for her benefit, and softened his hard gaze. He had been too busy practicing offensive and defensive magic most of the summer to really miss anyone’s presence. Well, except for one person anyhow, and that was simply for missing out on the entertainment that trying one of his new spells out would have provided; Potter.

⇜⇜⇜⇜ ⇝⇝⇝⇝

Above, the Great Hall ceiling, enchanted to mirror the sky outside, gleamed vibrantly with the evening sunset. Candles floated many feet above the students of Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry, tracing softly glowing paths through the air. Hogwarts was the only place Harry truly felt he was at home, and he was particularly fond of the Great Hall. He remembered it as one of the first magical phenomena he had encountered in the wizarding world, since he had grown up knowing nothing of his heritage. The memory, because of the pure creativity in its enchantment and beauty of the resulting image, made it something he held deep respect and love for – until Malfoy, that prat, sent an enchanted piece of parchment flying through the sky like a toy Haley’s comet and struck Harry in the forehead. Where they had gotten an enchantment to send a paper ball all the way across the Great Hall, Harry could only begin to guess.
Harry glared between the heads of the students seated at the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables at Draco Malfoy, one of his many enemies. His father, Lucius Malfoy, was a known death eater, and his family was one of the many long lines of prejudiced purebloods. Dobby, a house elf who Harry freed from this particular family in second year, sneered and shot jibes at the Malfoy's when they passed, always defending Harry’s honor- not that he needed it.
“Come on, let’s go. The last thing you need is a fight with Malfoy on the first day back!” Hermione Granger touched his arm lightly, drawing his attention away from the bloody git. She was a muggleborn, a witch who had both muggle, or nonmagical, parents. Despite the blood that runs through her veins, she was one of the most competent witches Harry had the pleasure of knowing. If it was in a book, Hermione knew something about it.
Ron was looking at him as well. He was pureblood, though still looked down upon because of his family's lack of immense wealth. He came from the Weasley family, the common trait distinguishing them being their flaming red hair, brown eyes, and scattered freckles.
Harry's two best friends stood, and Harry reluctantly moved to follow them to the Gryffindor common room to cool his temper and possibly unpack his trunk.
The Gryffindor common room was patriotically decorated in flaming red and fiery orange. Dark furnishing glowed with the firelight reflecting off the red brick of the hearth. It was always warm in Gryffindor tower, but today, Harry found it stuffy and overpoweringly warm. Even the colors were too hot. The bright scarlet and gold colors painfully stabbed at his eyes, being a sharp contrast to the dull, lifeless shades at home in Private Drive. He was pacing the floor, wearing tracks into the warm rugs beneath his feet. Hermione and Ron looked on; Hermione worried, but slightly amuse, Ron wearing a look mirroring Harry’s rage.
“First day of school! He couldn't even wait a bloody day to start tormenting me again!” his expression shifted from rage to hurt to distrust and sorrow back to rage again, “How could I have been so stupid; so trusting!” He stopped short, and continued with his rant as a cover up, “Th-that b-bloody wanker!”
“Harry!” Hermione scolded him. She was studying his face. Harry hid a look of defeat, knowing she had caught him, “Language!”
Wearily, the Boy who Lived spoke, “I just don’t understand.” The room was silent for a moment. Ron looked at Hermione in confusion that she mirrored. Several minutes passed in awkward silence, the only noise being the crackle of the fireplaces.
“I’m going upstairs to unpack my trunk.” Harry said abruptly, making his friends jump. He was across the room and storming up the stairs in an instant. His anger had faded, but it had been replaced by soul-gnawing weariness and regret. Dragging his feet up the steps to the dorms higher in the tower. After the stricken young man had left, Hermione enthusiastically motioned towards the steps, shooting Ron and pointed glance. Weasley raised his hands up and shook his head, eyes wide, and raised his shoulders. He didn’t know what to do, nor did he know how he could possibly provide comfort. The exasperated girl glared at him one last time, before silently going up the steps. She didn’t like being in the boy’s dorm much, even when most people hadn’t come in yet, because it smelled of teenage sweat and other things she wouldn’t dare think about at this moment in time, thank you very much.
The boy who lived was sitting on his bed with is fisted hands in his eyes when she arrived. After silently warding the door so that no one could enter or peak inside, Hermione observed the unveiled pain on his face, the tension in his shoulders a silent echo of the misery he was truly experiencing. ‘There’s definately something more to this. Harry would never act this way over Malfoy’s sick jokes before. Why is it different now?’ She thought silently back to the times in previous years when Malfoy had let something slip, accidental or not, she didn’t know. Harry had never gotten upset at jibes aimed at him. ‘Pampered celebrity’, ‘Scarhead’, ‘Bloody prick’, ‘The Boy Wouldn’t Fucking Die’, nothing could faze him- as long as it was targeted at himself. When Malfoy lashed out at ‘Mudblood’ or ‘Weasel’, or at Harry’s parents or Sirius, the slimy slytherin would find himself with an exploding wart on his nose, or a painful laceration in place he didn’t care to discuss. The snake had never learned his lesson, or course, not when Harry hexed him into the lake, or when Harry had turned Malfoy into a-
Harry made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a faint sob of grief. His hands curled into tight fists over his eyes, turning his knuckles white. Hermione couldn’t move - frozen by shock. In all the years that she had been a friend to Harry, he had never cried in front of her. Ever. He was too prideful, and didn't allow himself to show any weakness. The scrawny boy let loose another cry, and after muttering spell of silence over the open doorway, the girl rushed to his side.
He jumped three feet when Hermione touched his arm in concern, whipping his wand out at her. Red rimmed eyes adorned by blotchy cheeks stared in shock at her kneeling form. She put her hands up in surrender. Slowly, hesitantly, Harry's 11’ holly wand with phoenix feather core was silently set on the bedside table. Its owner collapsed into Hermione’s waiting arms while she cooed and gently stroked the boy’s hair. She held onto a mask of motherly comfort and calm, but she was truly bewildered underneath. This simply wasn’t usual for Harry.


Author's Note: This is my first fanfiction ever. For once, I wholly and completely welcome- no, encourage- constructive criticism, suggestions, and/or input regarding spelling errors, better syntax, character development, storyline, etc.
I do not own Harry Potter as in the book series, the movie series, the characters, or the backstory. I am not making any money off of this, and mean no disrespect to the proper owners and/or JK Rowling.

Continued

Harry shook with poorly disguised, silent remorse. Guiltily, he stole a glance at Hermione. He had never told her of the events that happened during his last night in the Room of Requirement. Voice cracking, he began his story:
He had been pacing the halls of the 7th floor corridor, asking for a room to be alone for a bit, where he could release his rage without harming anyone - out of the way of anyone who couldn’t understand his rage. ‘Which would be nobody!’ He added vehemently, but a pale set of doors that blended in with the castle walls had already appeared. Roughly pulling one open, he stormed into the room.
Throwing himself inside with all the dignity and grace of an irritated lion, he tore down the facade over his face that concealed his emotions. His eyes flashed with the violent snarl on his lips. The Room of Requirement quietly summoned a few pieces of elegant furnishing bidden by his unspoken desire to vent his anger. A lovely couch of dark leather adorned by elegant fastenings was quickly set to flames with a wandless Incendio. Hexes and curses flew from his mouth, all of which wandless, most of which wordless. Harry exploded several desks into tiny bits, set several things on fire, froze a few things before shattering them into smaller pieces, even levitated a king sized bed and threw it across the room, where it smashed into splintered pieces of wood. He never used the same spell twice, as a personal rule. When fighting Death Eaters, one had to be as varied and creative with the hexes as possible.
Harry’s fury faded and disappeared with the evidence of his rendezvous with the furniture. The splinters of wood and tufts of stuffing vanished without a trace. A moment later, a long couch appeared, but instead of destroying it, The Boy Who Lived fell into the deep cushions and curled onto his side, energy and magical resources effectively spent. In a similar situation in which he was currently in with ‘Mione, he let loose heartbreaking sobs of grief. He missed Sirius. He wanted the parents had never had, and would never get. He hurt for Cedric's unnecessary death. He repeatedly apologized to Cho, who wasn't even here. Harry cried for anyone and everyone who had lost someone in this merciless war, and for everyone who had risked their lives defending him, a helpless boy who stumbled into traps and bad situations because his lack of foresight and caution. He couldn’t believe how anyone would remain his friend, much less follow him into battle, after everything everyone had gone through to protect him.
A pair of warm, pale arms wrapped around him. He jumped slightly, but did not defend himself. What did it matter if it was an enemy anyway? He was a useless cause to this war. Eyes closed, Harry relinquished himself to whims of a complete stranger, feeling empty and broken. Normally, he would have defended himself, or identified the stranger, but today... He felt as if it didn’t matter. Much to his surprise, the cold tears of the stranger mingled with his own. Quiet and undisturbed, they released their pain together, uncaring if the other would judge or ridicule them in their moment of weakness.
Much later, Harry woke from a slumber he didn’t remember falling into. Groggily, he became aware of his surroundings. Pale arms were wrapped around his waist, firmly holding him to a hard body laying behind. He nearly jumped off of the couch he was lounging on in shock, but managed to contain himself, if only barely. The reason he was here, sleeping on a couch with someone whose identity was currently unknown in what appeared to be the Room of Requirement with the smell of smoke in the air and trails of salt on his cheeks slammed into him harder than a speeding broom. It would be a good idea to know the stranger who was made aware the secret inhibitions and self doubts of the famous Harry Potter, the Golden Boy Who Lived.
Harry braced himself for a nasty surprise- fate always found a way to screw him over- and tried to wring his hands in anxiety, finding them intertwined with someone else’s. He looked down. Slender fingers were knotted with his own, belonging to the man whose arms were around his waist. He thought it was a man, at least, the body on his back seemed to square and hard to be a female. Something shiny glinted at him, and Harry squinted to take another look, realizing that his glasses were crooked on his face. There was a ring was in the shape of a snake swallowing its own tail, with small emeralds dotting the snake’s eyes. Slytherin, then. Harry nearly groaned out loud. His eyes traveled along the pale limbs snaked around him. Hair covered the arm thickly, but was nearly unnoticeable due to its extremely pale nature. ‘A patriotic, pale haired slytherin... Oh!’
Draco Malfoy pulled Harry closer to him in his sleep. Harry nearly recoiled in shock. ‘Merlin’s beard, what deity have I royally pissed off this time?’ Once he woke, Malfoy would probably tell him all about how he could use this as blackmail and force something out of him. Or he wouldn’t even do that, he could just tell the entire Slytherin house that he caught Harry Potter bawling like a baby in the Room of Requirement. Harry could already feel the burn of stares of contempt into his back, and the humiliation that would follow.
The self-proclaimed future death eater muttered something in his sleep. Harry stopped his mental rant to listen, “bloody guilt complex... poor innocent chair... idiot Gryffindor...” The raven haired boy stopped for a moment and softened. Perhaps, this time, Malfoy wasn’t out to get him. ‘Malfoy didn’t say a word to me in... my moment of weakness - neither did he throw jibes, or make himself known to bask in my humiliation. ’ Harry had hardly been the only one crying, either. Malfoy had also witnessed the wide variety of spells that might be turned on him instead of innocent chairs if he dare cross Harry. He turned to gaze at the pale boy. Thin golden locks framed a face that had lost its usual sneer like a shining halo, accentuated by the pale skin,made somewhat rosy with the memory of tears.
Draco began to stir, eyes fluttering slightly. Quickly, Harry pretended to sleep, closing his eyes and washing his face of emotion while the other came to terms with his predicament in a similar way Harry had. He felt him tense for a long moment, then finally relax, clearly coming to the same conclusion.
Later, when they were both honestly awake, they talked. Apologies were exchanged, conclusions reached, and explanations spoken. Draco had simply been walking down the corridor, taking the long way from the Astronomy tower to the dungeons, when the Room of Requirement had simply appeared. He didn’t remember asking for anything, but curiosity, the git, had shoved him inside, only to find Harry Potter throwing hexes and curses like someone had stepped on his tail. Draco had run back to the door (not out of fear, just self preservation, of course) but it had vanished, trapping him inside. Harry didn’t even notice the presence, but luckily, most of the furniture ended up on the other half of the room. No hexes went Draco’s way, so neither did the other boy’s gaze. When The Boy Who Won’t Fucking Die stopped his tirade, and collapsed to the couch, the names murmured under cries of distress stopped him in his tracks. The heir to the Malfoy family and to Voldemort’s reign did something very unusual that day; he risked being cursed to comfort Harry Potter, his school and war rival.

END OF FLASHBACK

Harry’s tears slowed and eventually stopped. Hermione was looking at him as if he’d grown a second head and it had started singing Celestina Warbek’s latest album off key.
“Harry... you trusted that lout? How can you forget six years of torture and betrayal in one evening?” She actually looked worried for his safety.
“‘Mione, it wasn’t like I was telling him the secrets of the Light side or anything, it was just a tender moment. It wasn’t exactly my best day on the job, either.” He scowled.
“You need to be more careful,” She thought for a moment before continuing, “That’s why you’re so upset? He went back to his selfish, cockroach self even after you two came to a sort of truce?” He merely nodded. Voices from outside the door started to rise in protest. They were probably angry that they couldn’t enter their dorms yet. It had been a while, after all.
Hermione quickly turned to Harry and uttered a few quick cleaning spells. When she was satisfied that he looked presentable, she turned from his bed and canceled the hexes on the door.
“Finite Incantatem.” The girl strode from the dorm with confidence, and answered the boy’s bewildering looks with, “What? Haven’t had a quick shag before?” and sauntered off, leaving whoops in her wake. Harry was quickly bombarded by congratulations and slaps on the back. In truth, he was worried about he would say to Ron.

⇜⇜⇜⇜ ⇝⇝⇝⇝

Draco was a slytherin, a pureblood, and above all else, a Malfoy. None of those qualifications constituted any form of sentimental behavior or public display of emotion or distress of any kind, ever. Yet when Pansy altered the course of his paper ball, thinking she was helping him, to smack Harry in the forehead, his grin faltered. Even more so, when Harry shot back a death glare worthy of You-Know-Who himself, all color faded from his already pale face and dread hovered beyond the edges of his consciousness.
After the achingly long feast was over and students had begun to take their leave, Draco walked with his usual swagger to erase suspicious to the Gryffindor table. Hardly any had were left, mostly people outside of Harry’s year. Picking up the paper ball from where it had ended up on the table. Uncrumpling it, he reread the words he had written earlier in his neatest scrawl;

Room of Requirement. 8 o’clock. See you there.
~DM

‘The bloody gryffindor didn’t have the foresight to even take a closer look at the paper ball, or at my expression, which I’m sure betrayed enough emotion at that moment in time... Dammit! It’s going to take forever to win back his trust.’ He entertained a few different ways of getting back at Pansy, but he knew he couldn’t actually reciprocate. Pansy would recognize his revenge, and know something was wrong and easily trace it back to the only moment he seemed uncomfortable this year. ‘I could, of course, wait an appropriate amount of time, then she probably would have forgotten or wouldn’t see the connection...'
Draco plotted a nasty retaliation for Pansy as he went down the Hall to the Slytherin dorms in the dungeons.

⇜⇜⇜⇜ ⇝⇝⇝⇝

Author's Note: This is my first fanfiction ever. For once, I wholly and completely welcome- no, encourage- constructive criticism, suggestions, and/or input regarding spelling errors, better syntax, character development, storyline, etc.
I do not own Harry Potter as in the book series, the movie series, the characters, or the backstory. I am not making any money off of this, and mean no disrespect to the proper owners and/or JK Rowling.

BEWARE: Uncomfortable content regarding female periods and what results from them! Also, repetitive, explicit language usage You have been warned.

Sure2HerWord: How the hell do we still manage to be on the same time schedule for our periods? If I am correct, You, -Omitted Name- and I are all on our periods at the same time.
Sent at 9:38 PM on Sunday
Sure2HerWord: URGH.
me: WHAT
I blame the moon
I've heard that our periods follow the moon cycle
Sure2HerWord: Not every females'.
me: XD
It's a near new moon tonight
^u^
Chocolate
Ilovechocolatesomuch
Sure2HerWord: MY VAGINA HATES ME
I can't have artifical sweetners any more because the reaction is a fucking UTI.
me: Is it possible to feel stabs of pain in 6 places at once, in time with each other, in the same region of the body.
?
It shouldn't be.
Its just not fair.
I'm sorry.
Sure2HerWord: sigh I just needed to rant that to someone.
You were the nearest victim that wouldn't mind too much of this oversharing...
me: I spologize
Oh, its okay
I dont mind
Sure2HerWord: Oh.
HEY
Odd question time.
me: WAIT
Sure2HerWord: MMKAY
me: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CkSdh5kGxEA
Sure2HerWord: LOL, I've seen that.
me: It's amazing.
Sure2HerWord: YUS.
me: I think I'm going to post it and tag every male I know
Wait
I should wait on that important decision untul my period is finished
I might have porr judgement today
Sure2HerWord: Poor judgement? Explain.
me: I do stupid stuff on my period.
Like all my inhibitions are released
I rant and rave and make out and accuse people with no evidence and act like an idiot overall
So I make a habit of putting off all important decisions until my period is finished
And my head is clear of pain and/or medication
Or chocolate induce happiness
I also talk alot
I;ve noticed
I think you have too
ARE YOU THERE
Sure2HerWord: YEEEES.
me: Oh look, she came back
I was wondering if you disapearededed
FUCK TOO MANY EDEDED
Sure2HerWord: Explain your last comment?
me: I have walls of text
WALLS
OF
TEXT
I talk too much..
Sure2HerWord: XD It is okay.
me: shame on me.
My fingers need muzzles
Do they invent that?
Muzzled fingers?
Sure2HerWord: I have an odd thing to tell you about that I found earlier...
me: OH
Sure2HerWord: AND HAH. NO
me: Yeah
What was that odd thing
You said
Earlier
Before i interrupted you
With youtub
Youtube is amazing
But the popups are ridiculous
They're like
POP
and Im like
FUCK OOOOF!
Are you there?
Oh no, shes disappeared again.
T.T
Sure2HerWord: Okay, so i was in the shower and I was rinsing off and I look down. Looks like there is a red beta in the tub with me. I lean down and scoop it up with a cup to find that it was my period blood and it was all clumpy and freaking big and fish shaped.
._.
me: Oh
You know youre period is you uterus lining
right?
Sure2HerWord: Yeah. It just freaked me out. XD
FREAKING FISH SHAPED
me: O.O
NO WONDER IT SMELLS LIKE FISH
FIIISH PERIIOOODDD
Fishy
Fishy
FISH FISH MCBITES
Sure2HerWord: AND THIS IS WHY I TALK TO YOU.
me: MCBITES
Sure2HerWord: YES
me: FISH FISH MCBITES
MICBITES
dun dun dun
FISHY FISHY
Oh, damn this medication
Sure2HerWord: You just made me laugh to hard.
me: I'm fucking high.
DAMN THE PAMPRIN
DOWN TO FISHY HEEELLLLL
Sure2HerWord: I would imagine so. I am high on UTI meds and other crap to keep me from being so pissed off.
me: I am so totally posting this convo.
Sure2HerWord: XD LOL OKAY
Sent at 9:51 PM on Sunday
me: I CANT FIGURE OUT HOW TO COPY AND PASTE

And later...

me: You know, my period was nearly 2 weeks late
xD
Sure2HerWord: As mine was. ._.
me: o.o
Sure2HerWord: O_O

I'm trying to get past my prejudices and misconceptions for the greater good for a class of people that don't get fair treatment. Before even reading onward, this is just me dealing with the past on a very controversial subject. Not even my most open and accepting friends are ready to even consider this yet. I’m writing about pedophiles.
NO FLAMES. I’m writing about this to get over something that happened to me in my past, so don’t try to tell me how I don’t understand what I’m talking about unless you know what you’re talking about. If you can’t accept it, don’t read it. Move along, now.

If you have a special fetish that you can't get off without, you expect that fetish to be fulfilled. And, just like an extremely out of the ordinary fetish, people without said fetish won’t even begin to understand. If you went without sex for thirty, forty years, because a fetish/ preference someone has makes them into something hated and feared, you would snap, too.

John is a man. He works in an office, likes to mountain climb in his spare time, and has had few steady relationships. He's attempting to figure out why he has such an issue in his nonexistent love life, when it hits him.

He's not attracted women, or men. He's attracted to boys.

He’s gone thirty, forty years without so much as a lingering touch or gaze on anyone. Limited porn through shady sources, and absolutely no sexual activity combined with a friend’s bachelor party one evening leaving him staggeringly drunk lead him to do things he wouldn’t normally do. Those actions, of which you can guess, put him in prison for years, and even outside of prison, people will look at him differently for the Rest. Of. His Life. Few understand him, and even fewer will accept his presence.

Redefining Pedophile: The term 'Pedophile' does not mean 'Child molestor' 'child rapist' or 'online predator'. It's an attraction towards minors, nothing more, and nothing less. Just like 'Ex Convict' doesn't mean 'Natural Killer' 'Self-Proclaimed Sinner' or 'Murderer'. Just like any other attraction, it's simply a preference, similar to homosexuality. Just as being homosexual was worthy of jail in the past, being a pedophile today brings on a world of prejudice and association with the wrong crowd.

It's a sensitive subject. Children so young can't defend themselves if their counterpart wants to take their relationship to the next level. Children so young aren’t even seen as sexually active until they're older, but once they're older, they're no longer of sexual interest to their older counterpart (its hits me that it's impossible to hold a relationship with someone so young with someone do old, because the younger one will age to maturity faster). Paradox, yes?

I don’t pity those who prey on the younger generation. I pity those that limit themselves to looking from afar and resign themselves to their situation, like a gay man living in a world of Catholics, or someone practicing ‘witchcraft’ in the dark ages. I ask you to open up your mind a little, and understand something beyond your normal sphere of comprehension. Leave the dusty old box behind and come join the real world, where an idea is a gateway to possibilities, not just a statement to be brushed off because it doesn't fall in the norm.

A woman is returning home early from a long, tiring day at an office job. Her boyfriend passionately kissing another woman in the guest bedroom is your greeting. Without question, the woman leaves, never to return or accepting the calls of her ex.

At home, her ex and his twin brother are trapped in an argument. The one the woman saw was her boyfriend's brother, not her boyfriend. The twin doesn't see what he did wrong, pinning the blame on the woman. The boyfriend is furious, and punches his brother squarely in the jaw for such an accusation. The brother falls back, trips over his suitcase on the floor, and tumbles out of the apartment window, tumbling headlong to the street below.

In jail for murder, the boyfriend has no one. His family has turned on him without asking the circumstance of the accidental killing, and his ex girlfriend thinks he's a cheater. A life is ruined, a life is taken, a heart is broken, and countless others will not walk out of the experience the same. Granted, this is a situation blown out of proportion, but it could happen.

Moral: Look at something at every angle before deciding on action. Time for me to take my own medicine...

Let me start off this post by saying that I am *so* sorry. The last few months of school was full of so many final exams, and end of the year tests, both standardized and not, and the first few weeks of summer was spent moving and spending time with family, and helping my disabled grandmother. You can't yell at me for thaaat, right? Please don't kill me. Here, I'll make it up to you with another post. Also, I'm using a new, less decipherable naming system to protect the identity of the people I reference to.

Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

I think the meaning of this quote is fairly straightforward. Power inevitably corrupts, if allowed to go unchecked, and the ability to do whatever you want to whoever you want without limitations (absolute power) corrupts even more so. I, myself, have always longed to be in a position of power and make some difference in this monochrome world, but have exempt myself from this psychological law of physics. Of course, I would always know what I was doing. Of course, I wouldn't let the power get to my head. But just like everyone else, I must acknowledge that power corrupts, and even I wouldn't know if I was doing something wrong, should I manage to achieve my long- term goals.

Before acknowledging that power could corrupt even me, I noticed something that caused me to question my morals. Though I am still young, the handful of relationships I have cautiously entered died once I had my significant other's personality figured out. Upon comparing my various lovers, I could only find one thing they all had in common, without fail. They all had some knowledge, or possessed some useful skill, that was beyond my own abilities, or had some personality quirk I coudln't understand. When I felt I had achieved what they had, what I thought I recognized as attraction died. Now, knowing myself a little bit better, I wasn't actually attracted to them physically or psychologically, but attracted to the thing that made them (somewhere in my odd subconscious) more powerful than I. Andrew had knowledge of space and spacecrafts, and of higher level maths and physics. Max was much more socially capable than I, and absorbed information about the most trivial things. Sam was both mentally and physically stronger than anyone else I know, and has withstood trials that would crumble others. To this day, I admire Sam.

By contrast, those I call my dearest friends are not divided by power, but by intellect. Anyone I would care to protect has the same intellectual abilities that I do, without the fatal flaw of arrogance so common among those who believe themselves to be infinitely smart. This hardly needs to be said, but I have few true friends. Hence, the concrete division between my work/ academic life and my personal life.

Back to my original statements... How do you achieve power, without corrupting yourself and those around you in the process? How do you stay in power and still maintain the tried and true morals you used to live with? Is everyone in power already corrupted, and if so, how do we change it?

Pale, bare feet propped on the tan dash in a spot of warm sunlight that sends satisfying tingle all the way up my legs. All the windows down, letting a breeze wander through the car and temper some of the blistering California summer heat. The radio flicks on with a dull crackle, and the beat of a familiar song attacks my ears.

Show me how to lie, you're getting better all the time
Turning all against one is an art that's hard to teach

My head and my feet twitch and bob to the beat as my mouth works to gently caress the shape of the words on my tongue. In my mind, the background guitar and bass join together in unsung harmony. All together, I slowly lose awareness of my surroundings, just focusing on the well-traveled road map of syllables, notes, and beats. I'm halfway through the song before I realize we've stopped. My eyes open for a moment to scan my surroundings. As it's only a red light, I close my eyes again and allow myself to drift away on the current of music.

Slowly outta line and drifting closer in your sights
So play it out I'm wide awake, it's a scene---
Tell security we're 'bout to tear this club up
Bottoms up, bottoms up

My eyes shoot open and my ears twitch to locate the intruding cacophony of sound. Beside us, also stopped at the red light, is a large black van, playing a totally different genre of music. I hesitate for a moment, testing if I could manage to ignore one and not the other. My attention slingshots between the two songs. Both appear to be at roughly the same volume. I sigh and reach to roll up the window in defeat. My eyes drift to the other car as I grumble about odd music ruining my song, only to meet eyes with the woman in the other car, who appeared to be doing the exact same thing. We stare, eyes joined for a moment, before I break out into a smile, and we burst into gales of laughter. Beside me, my friend accelerates the car at the signal of the green light and shoots me a questioning glance. Smiling, I only shake my head at the odd variety that is life.

This is the first night I tried a dream catcher. They say that bad dreams are big enough to get caught in its web, but good dreams slip through easily. I don't know if I can consider this dream a 'nightmare', but it certainly wasn't a walk in the park.

Warning: Some graphic violence.

I belonged somewhere. There's a group of people, led by a wise old man, whom I belong to. Every day, we leave the cave to tend to something. We're always busy, you see. Before the incident, my thought process was slow, lulling, and contented. I'm faintly aware that we're traveling in the woods. I perk up slightly, when we reach what appears to be a witch's home. The entire build is leaning one way or another, and is made of dark purple wood with black trim. The door comes to a point. On the side, underneath a bit of roof extending from the side of the house, is a shrine. The entire thing is perfectly circular stone, light gray bricks touching each other in a circle, with what appears to be misty blue liquid in the center. It's slanted towards the entrance of the 'shrine', so as to give the viewer better access. Something about it draws me, and soon, I begin to hear whispers. They're only barely there, and just as I begin to concentrate on hearing one, it fades and is replaced by another in a different pitch. I don't even realize I'm approaching the shrine until someone calls out to me. I turn, but not quickly enough to avoid falling into it like a pensieve. Just before my everything fades to black for a moment, I see that the shrine has changed from misty blue to a shimmery mirror.

That is the incident. Emerging from blackness, my attention is on high alert. I seem to have landed in the courtyard of a castle. Well, I call it a courtyard, but it's a courtyard without the greenery. The grass has been replaced by dark purple and black stone, and there are gaps in the floor where you could fall into the misty blue-black abyss that surrounds us like a cloud. Ahead, I can see towers and large buildings, with huge geometrical chunks ripped out of it, and in the holes you can see the abyss beyond.

Something hisses and whizzes past the back of my head. I looked back to see an electrically charged orange cloud. It lands on the floor of the castle instead of my face, and leaves a blackened scorch mark. Instantly, I try to locate the source. As a green spell barely misses me, I'm fairly certain I found it. Ahead, a vague black shape darts to and fro, shooting off spells in my direction. Before I know it, I'm shooting off spells too, like it's second nature to me. The black shape and I enter a beautiful dance of blocking, dodging, firing and maneuvering. Eventually, my opponent makes himself scarce. I am unsure whether or not he ran or I took him down, finally. I don't even know what half the bright flashes of light I let loose were supposed to do.

More hissing a cackling of magic reaches my ears now that I'm no longer focused on our duel. Around me, my group of people have landed in various points around the castle as well, and are running for their lives. I flex my fingers, realizing that they didn't know how to shoot a spell like I was doing. The next moments are a blur of getting people to safety, fighting for my life, and saving others. Someone is whispering in my ear, and I turn to snap at them that I'm busy, but no one is next to me. No one on the other side either. I remember that what drew me here in the first place were whispers that I couldn't quite catch, and the notion catches my attention enough to distract me, causing a sharp spell to hit my left arm. Not long after that, I hear the whisper again. 'Come away!' The world blacks out once more.

Instead of waking at the shrine like I would have expected, we landed at the cave at home. Quickly, we organize in a circle. The wise old man stands on a pedestal, and proceeds to insult me and declare that I'm evil. After all, why else did I drag them to the Shrine? And how did I start firing off spells, when they were previously an unknown magic? Evidently, I nearly killed all of them today. Sarcastic retorts make its way from my lips before I can stop them with rational thinking. Out loud, I say, "Alright, so next time some crazy being we've never seen before is attacking you with magic, I'll go ahead and leave you to your own devices, since I'm evil and all, and evil people are only out to save their own skin." Around me, some people shift uncomfortably, doubtlessly remembering that I saved their asses not ten minutes ago, but no one speaks in my defense. Quickly, I shut out the pain of being shunned and alone, in favor of sticking to my sarcasm, which were now restrained to my mind. Wordlessly, the group starts to head inside. I am last, and as I move to head into the door as well, the metal circle slams abruptly, nearly taking off my nose. Perhaps now, I should describe the scene for you. The cave we stay in it hidden under an overhang at the base of a mountain. The overhang forms a sort of rectangle a couple of feet above the ground, and if you slide into the gap, the dirt has been cleared away to accommodate much taller people. Straight ahead, there is a metal circle, like the ones you see on high-security vaults in the movies. That's the door. On either side, there is a messy roundish rectangle full of glass and lit by the warm light of a candle. Both windows show someone I 'nearly killed' today, laughing warmly. I turn away from the scene and face the clouds outside. I sleep out there, cold and wet from the rain. ((Here, I step out of the dream for a moment to pull on the blanket that's slipped off in my sleep. Too late, though. Even if I'm perfectly warm outside the dream, being freezing cold has already become a pattern within it.))

The next morning, it seems to be a typical day. Today, we take our two dogs hunting, a golden lab named Houston, and a chocolate lab named Molly. ((In actuality, these are my neighbor's dogs, who I spent the evening with. I don't know how they ended up in my dream.)) I listen to the wind as the group spreads out to check traps and shoot what they can. I don't help them hunt, since they probably wouldn't feed me anyway- I'm a terrible, evil, creature after all- but I do watch them, and observe my surroundings. The air is crisp, the sky clear, and the trees are all evergreen. I think that suggests a high elevation in a cold climate, but I'm not sure. At the moment, I'm sitting in a tree while someone checks their rabbit trap. They can't understand why they didn't catch anything. A few biting sarcastic jibes at his technique, and he's telling me to do it myself. His round face flushes in anger, and his mustache twitches downward with his frown. It's an amusing sight. I'm not exactly sure what I do, or how I do it, but I feel the tingle of energy in the air as I work my magic. Soon, a brown rabbit hops out of the nearby bushes and neatly steps into the trap. The spell releases with an irritable crackle, and I savor the electric feeling of magic in the air. The man who was doubting me earlier now looks on in wonder at the rabbit I brought him. Going for theatricality, I nimbly slide out of my spot high in the tree, and land on my feet gracefully. "You're welcome." is all I say, as I walk away and flip my hair behind my back.

The rest of the evening I spend with Molly the dog. We creep around in the bushes, watching everyone else's work, and subtly influencing it. A well timed snap at the air from Molly brings a rabbit out of the bushes, right at someone's feet. A subtle shift in the wind ensures that an arrow makes its mark. Small things, really, but it had its effect. Our group met again in a clearing, everyone marveling at their abundance of kill. People are in high spirits now, which means it's time to make my move.

As per usual, we roast our kill in large spits over several different fires. The largest in the center is currently holding a deer and two small rabbits. It's also the fire that the wise old man is seated. Nonchalantly, but directly in the old man's view, I move forward to collect some meat for myself. Just as I predicted, the old man barks at me to back away, loud enough for nearly everyone to at least glance in our direction. I raise both hands in a silent signal of defeat, and move back to sit away from the crowd. Molly gets up to follow me to my seclusion, which I hadn't counted on, but works well anyway. The others have gone from merry cheer to subdued murmurs. Several people, those who noticed my help today, glance towards me uneasily. The wise old man might think he's protecting his people, but his people wonder about his morality in the process. The seeds of doubt have been sown, and it will merely take some well placed action and reaction to get me back in the circle. The fact that Molly, a dog most distrustful of strangers, followed me when I left shall play in my favor as well. I sit against a tree looking slightly sorrowful and shameful, but I'm grinning on the inside.

We make our way home that night, and I'm still left outside in the cold, even if it isn't raining. This time, Molly sticks with me. I'm wondering if this is going to become a usual thing.

Our group moves out early the next morning. Mist hangs in the air without a sun to vanish it. We move through woods on a more southern route, with more leaves painting the ground. Eventually, we arrive at our destination. Two fences, fifteen feet tall at least, converge and leave only a thin pathway. Most worms through, but some simply climb over. Something catches my eye behind me, and I leave the group to check it out.

I move around a tree to see... only Molly. She's staring at me intently, deliberately. I shake off the uneasiness of having an animal stare lasers into your soul, and turn to leave, but just as I was leaving, Molly moves forward. Only a moment later, her legs and torso lengthen, fur fades, and her shoulders pull back and move upwards. Standing in front of me now, is Chewbacca, not my dog Molly. I stare for only a moment, before shaking my head a moving away. After all, I've seen stranger things happen. The crunching of leaves behind me says that she's- he's?- still following me, even after her 'metamorphosis.'

Ahead of me, it's... silent, almost. It seems like our feet on the leaves is the only quiver in the air. I don't even hear the woods or birds anymore. I tred carefully, walking forward between the two fences slowly. Just past my nose, and icy cold followed by a black shape flies past, and then I'm aware of why it's silent. All around, my people are held, wrapped in cloth from the people dressed in black behind them, pressing wandpoints into their throats. ((Anyone think this scene is familiar? Brownie points on who can guess where my subconscious picked this scene up from.)) I throw a spell into the air, and battle begins.

Just like the battle near the beginning of this dream, everything is a blur of protecting, defending, attacking, and capturing. I remember throwing someone out of the way of a bright flash. Blue eyes and dirty brown hair fly past and stares at me open mouthed as I duel the person who nearly killed him. A moment later, I'm flying past and shoved to the ground, as a dull spark of red flies near my left ear from behind. I can only spare the boy a glance to record his identity, and I'm off again. It had been the same one I saved earlier. Not long after that, the boy twisted his hand in just the right direction, and a cloud of purple flew from his palm and slammed bodily into an enemy. My eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise, but I'm soon grinning. This is an exciting development. I get so distracted by it, in fact, that I narrowly dodge a curse flying just under my chin. Eventually, my opponents blast holes into the ground, leading to the abyss like the one surrounding the castle, and ever familiar shifting shape of black, purple, and blue, and flee through those holes. Slowly, the close up behind them, shining with gold around the edges until they close completely.

Everyone simply goes back to gardening like nothing happened. In front of me, a sort of cylinder sticks out of the ground. It's roughly eight or nine feet tall on one side, but brushes the ground on the other, descending and ascending smoothly. The ground around the stone circle raises to frame the crisp stone, but within the circle remains flat, and makes a place to observe the complex runes and symbols on inside of the the grey brick. Dotted everywhere are potted plants, well- trimmed bushes, carefully grooms trees and flowers, tastefully placed around the stone circle. Our group is watering, trimming, rearranging, weeding... At this point, my perspective shifts a bit. We aren't a random group of people living off the land, we're more like a group that tends to a reservation and keeps it usable for both humans and animals. I sit and watch on the side, and quickly grow bored. Gardening has never been my... strong suit.

Wordlessly and in unison, the group finishes their work, and moves out. I stay, on instinct. After the last of them have dissapeared behind the last fenceline, I hear something strange. A whispering voice in my head, smooth as silk and soft. Though I probably shouldn't trust voices in my head, I instantly trust hers. 'I have a task for you. The others, they have the right idea to tend to my shrine, but they are wrong. I look to the plants and trees in confusion. 'You must water the stone itself, not tend to the plants around it. The stone must grow roots into the soil if it is to work properly.' That was definately the strangest part of my dream, but I didn't even have second thoughts or slightest doubts as I did exactly as she asked and watered the stone. Below me, I could hear a great rumbling, as if it were really growing roots as she said. As I finish, my own thoughts whisper goddess to me, as if putting a name to a voice. And then I am on my way, leaving the watering can where I found it.

By running, I manage to catch up with the group before the reach our home. Their home, rather, since I sleep outside. They march in single file, and I feel like an outsider more than ever since Molly/ Chewbacca had disappeared earlier, and would not be joining me this night. I turn and sit down, facing away from the door even before it shuts in my face. I hear it slam, and jump a foot in the air when I hear someone settle beside me. Turning to look, I see a Hobbit with dirty blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. I've not had the chance to really observe myself or anyone else up close in this dream, and I wonder if we're all Hobbits. The hobbit smiles at me and extends his hand to shake. I shake it, but still eye him questioningly. He says, "They're all idiots. I'd prefer to be outside than stand by a bunch of morons." Now, I recognize him and slap a personality to his face. He's the troublemaker, prankster, and witty sarcasm man. I'm surprised, but I don't say anything beyond and heartfelt thank-you. We lay close to eachother, and I sense that this is how they keep warm even inside the house.

As I fall asleep in the dream, I wake in RL, to find myself completely wrapped and tangled in the blankets, and an arm stretched over the pillow beside me. It's still early, so I simply go back close my eyes again to catch some actual sleep.

This is what I get for reading Snarry before bed. Some mature content... Sort of. It's just a bit fluffy, really.

A large, ornate mansion sits on top of a green hill. The moon is a crescent, positioned high in the sky and lighting the castle of a home with pale, monochrome light. The star aren't out, so it's safe to assume that we aren't too far from a city. Around the estate, smaller, more urban homes fall in parallel lines on the street, but pale in comparison to the enormous home.

Inside, I, Omlyt (Previously known as Sure2HerWord), Doryu, and other roleplayers I had the honor of befriending before I knew the WTF universe existed, seem to be preparing for bed. I'm uneasy as I step into my room, to the point that I barely look around to register the cream colors. Omlyt steps in for a minute for a bit of conversation, but it soon becomes apparent that I'm not up to the menial social activity, and she leaves. Doryu pops her head in to say goodnight, before disappearing as well. All the while, I sit on the windowsill, scouring the sky for the familiar specs of light that bring me so much comfort by simply existing, and doing nothing more. Few things satisfy me more that stargazing.

Finally, I seem to make my mind about something. A moment later, the light turns off in my room, and I slip out of the window in search of the stars that are hiding from the blaring city lights. I slip among the shadows behind carefully trimmed bushes and groomed hedges. Finding shadows within shadows, hiding from a foreboding unknown, I slink down the street in search of darkness only penetrable by natural pinpoints of light that mark the night sky like mother nature's lovebites on father sky.

I find a forest. It takes me longer to navigate its lush terrain, but it's worth it as I reach a clearing and stare upwards. Unfortunately, the peace lasts only a moment before I hear a rustle out of the bushes somewhere. I turn and watch in surprise as Severus Snape steps out from behind some tree. His pale skin glows in the moonlight in stark contrast to his raven- dark hair and eyes. Eyes that are staring me down intensley. I balk in response to his mere presence, shiver when he speaks to me in a tone that simply radiates distaste and carefully hidden anger. "Mr. Potter. Surely you are aware that the Forbidden Forest is just that; Forbidden? Ten points from Gryffindor for being out after curfew. Thirty points for being in a forbidden region of Hogwarts grounds. He almost looks like he's finished for a moment, but he continues, "Being the oh- so worshipped Gryffindor Golden boy does not exempt you from the rules, and I implore you to keep the fame and attention of your adoring fans from going to your head." He sneers at me, before beckoning me to follow him- presumably back to Hogwarts. I don't even question the odd direction this dream has gone, or the odd fact of being referred to as a boy, while still feeling quite like a female.

When we finally arrive at 'Hogwarts'... It doesn't look very much like Hogwarts. The room I'm in right now somewhat resembles the Great Hall, with the Head Table and everything, but only if someone turned Hogwarts into a functional waterpark. No one even blinked twice at the tile and ceramic architecture, the pale blue water rushing and smoothly falling over everything in the room. The area where the Slytherin table would be is where I was guided to, but it wasn't a table at all. A huge slide, at least six or seven feet wide with sides that blocked the view of all the other tables, except for the Head table in front of us. A handful of students were sprinkled around me. They sneered at me like a proper Slytherin scolding one of its own for being late, then turned to the Head table. Every student was in a strange, crab-like position to avoid being swept along in the water on what appears to be, for all intents and purposes, a giant waterslide. Clearly, Proffessor McGonnagal is giving a speech, but I've practically tuned her out in favor of examining my surroundings.

Suddenly, like a flash flood, the waters begin rising. It becoms harder to stay in one place and not get lost among the moving, shifting mounds of chlorinated water. Ahead of me, students have already been swept away in the flood. Some appeared to be riding the current, while others dipped and splashed in the water, perhaps drowning. I've nearly drowned to death twice in my life, both times in a giant pool at a waterpark. I was terrified. Swiftly, a torrent of water swept me into the thrashing current below, and I'm off into my nightmare.

Gasping breaths taken when I feel my face break the water. Legs and arms making whirlwinds in the water. Desperate the get air. Lungs burning, nose stinging from the chemicals in the water, heart racing from the panic running 100 mph in my veins. When your adrenaline is pumping like that, you can focus on only keeping yourself alive. You're only aware of what happens between this moment and the next, brain kicked into hyper drive yet unable to think beyond right now, because right now could be your last moment to breathe. I don't know where I am, who I am, just where the next blast of water is going to hit, and my legs and arms desperately trying to keep my very un-buoyant body from sinking into the deep blue depths below me.

Just as quickly as it began, my battle with the elements is over. It takes me a moment to fall out of my near- death adrenaline high and take in my surroundings, but when I do, I'm being protectively cradled by Severus Snape. (He still thinks I'm Harry Potter. How I'm Harry Potter in SLYTHERIN, I have no idea, but that might be why he saved me instead of letting my -arrogant/ inconsiderate, famous/ just like his bloody father/ other insult worthy of the Half Blood Prince- ass drown.)

I stand unsteadily, leaning heavily on him for support. It's surreal, curled close to him and his batlike stance, watching the world wash away beneath me, like a God watching the happenings of the mortal world below. I begin to feel detached, slightly sorrowful, and very, very weary, watching the water wash away everything around me. Apathetic, indifferent, bored, the dream ends in a swirl of darkness like rising from a pensieve.

This summer, I spent most of my time out- of- state, visiting family. Imagine my surprise when I came home to find a letter made of fancy parchment stuck to the fridge, inviting me to come study in Britain, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland next year, for a flat fee of $8,000. Our family owns a small business in the entertainment industry, as well as three school aged kids, so we obviously can't afford to simply pull that kind of money out of thin air. Right now would be a good time to mention that another of our own, Omlyt (Previously known as Sure2HerWord) received the same letter, for the same places, for the same price. To help pay the fee, we will be making comic books, writing stories, and drawing new art as much as possible to sell and encourage donations to make our $16,000 goal.

I am not asking for donations, not in the least. What I would like the roleplayers to WTF to help us with is what we're all good at in the first place: coming up with new ideas. If you have a funny scenario in mind to add to our comic books, shoot us a message and we'll include your (user)name in the Thank- you's. When I start posting chapter of my short story, I want all of you hard-ass critics to come harass me into making it better and shoot me ideas for character development and plot twists. If you have an idea to help us earn money, don't hesitate to tell me. All support is appreciated as we work to further our education.

Now that that is out of the way, I'll focus on my favorite part. I originally intended for this story plan to be applied to a fanfiction, but in light of recent events, I'd rather start working on a short story of my own creation, so I can legally make money off of it and not insult JK Rowling. It will be an action- adventure book, based around the stories of the Seelie and Unseelie fairies. No, no delicate fairy wings and pint sized little humans here. My upcoming book will be full of ass kicking, magic using, evil fighting creatures with complex personalities and more than just a little bit of deceit and manipulation. I'll be posting the raw, unedited chapters here, and edit them privately for the market.

Questions? Comments? Suggestions? PM me here, or email me at [email protected]. I encourage you to speak your mind.

Read and Review.

Sun dazzling smiles of acres of white canvas,

Pulled at the edges by thrumming flesh

Humming with energy, bouncing with restrained joy

Sparkled in the eyes of the night sky, twirling and turning

To the beat of a song.

A song that blinks out among the vast, full nothingness

I call my dear mother.

This is why I write.

To exist and fade, changing nothing, always forgotten, like dust in the wind.

Every breath might be my last, and I will have changed

Nothing.

Touched the heart of

No one.

No!

My dances of words remain!

What is a sway, skip, and a hum among friends?

Shall we foxtrot among whispers of devotion uttered to a lover?

Yes, let us waltz into declarations of joy and excitement!

Careen into a turbulent ocean of temperamental emotions!

And frolic amidst delicate implications of hidden conspiracy.

I write to express what I cannot speak.

I write to convey the dance of words

Prancing behind my eyelids like deer in the spring.

I write to release the flood.

World of Virigo: Breakdown.

---

Etymology: Latin root Vir, "man", and from Latin originalis, from originem (nominative origo) "beginning, source, birth."

Physical Status:

Combat: Strictly magical combat spells cannot be learned by everyone, (See: Law of Magical Alignment) and as a result, other magical fields are usually employed to achieve the same purpose. For example, Natural Magic can be used to divert the enemy spells away from oneself and turned towards the enemy. In another instance, as Earth elemental can block it by pulling up a sheet of earth. Magical fields are divided as such:

Conjuration- Summoning objects or energy out of nothing.

Alteration- Changing or altering what already exists physically, like the color, texture, or size.

Offense- Spells meant for offensive use only, like stopping someone's heart from a distance.

Defense- Shields, wards, and counterspells used to defend oneself.

Natural Magic- Manipulation of magic that already exists, like the magic within materials or animals.

Elemental
-Energy- Fire, electricity, kinetic and/or physical force.
-Gases- Gas forms of many different elements can be manipulated individually or as a whole, to push air, or combine volatile gases to ignite something, for example.
-Stone- All forms of solid rock, and rock only. Diamond, limestone, marble, etc. Used to create architecture.
-Water- Unlike the other elemental abilities, this form can manipulate all forms of H²O, gas, solid, and liquid. Can be used to manipulate blood in a living thing.

Alchemy- Combining precise ingredients sparked by a magical element to transform or create things, always using transmutation circles. Usually requires time and preparation beforehand, but can yield fantastic results.

Potions- Like cooking, but by adding together suspicious ingredients bound by a base to yield specific results when drunk or applied to skin, whether in battle or medicine.

Ritual- Not a common practice today, Magical rituals use a combination of dates, sacrifices both willing and unwilling, religious elements, and magical objects to achieve goals that can often be misinterpreted, or glean information that may or may not come in a literal form. It's seen as unreliable and useless in some groups, and yet is revered as the peak of magical activity in other circles. Many laws have been passed to limit some elements of rituals like unwilling sacrifice, and interfering in the mortal world.

Emotional compulsion- By far the most volatile, yet powerful forms of magic. Emotional compulsion is the manipulation of of human emotions, and can often be used to help along mortals to conveniently 'forget' if they saw something unexplained, or to nudge along ideas a person would not have normally without the emotional compulsion. It can be used to calm a panicking crown, incite a riot, introduce telepathy to an inexperience mind, and bypass the Law of Magical alignment if performed by a master.

Medical: Virigo are designed to be immortal. Therefore, there are no diseases save basic colds and possible allergies. Any fatal wound that would kill a mortal will kill a fey, however, magical potions and certain forms of Alteration or Natural Magic can be used to speed he recovery process. A combination of mortal and magical machines and spells achieve maximum medical performance, or they should, anyhow/

Identifying Markings: According to the Law of Magical Alignment, the magic of every Virigo is different and reacts to different forms of magic in different ways. Every Virigo have tattooed anklets and bracelets, winding in different patterns depending on your magical alignment. Myths surrounding the origin of these tattoes are wide and varied, but nothing is for certain. One story claims that the tattoos are remains of the manacles that held the original Virigo Veronica in the prison chambers where she was first Changed.

Additional:

Social Structure (Gwydia):

University: The grounds are levitated permanently at exactly 800 feet above the ground below, fixed to a permanent path around the globe, which is repeated every 365 days. The giant mass is charmed to be invisible to the human eye, and to sometimes only appear to be a large cloud. Additional attention had to be paid the the path that was taken yearly when five thousand blackbirds ran into the invisible barrier and fell dead to Arkansas below. The university itself divides its classes by field, focusing primarily on the broader basics the first year, and delving into specific uses and practical application the second, dividing one course into multiple depending on the area of focus. For example: Defense is merely Defense for the first four years, but is divided into Shields, Counterspells, and Offensive uses of Defense for your next two. for the first three years, Potions covers a broad range of subjects in relation to potions, but is then divided into Offensive Elixirs, Medical Remedies, Advanced Potion Making I and II, and History of Potion Making and Potioneers. Other subjects are divided similarly.

Spread of Population:

Hierarchy:

Government Structure:

Political Status:

Social Structure (Macha):

University:

Spread of Population:

Hierarchy:

Government Structure:

Political Status:

Magical Fauna:

Hooved:

Unicorn: Unicorns have built up a flawless reputation over the centuries, but remain elusive even in the World of Virigo. Some field researchers report sightings of unicorns changing appearance depending on who they were standing in front of, but they are unconfirmed.

Pegasus: Winged horses, but not with a horn. Bred for racing. Pack animals, friendly when tames, but possibly dangerous in the wild. Typically exist in the highlands, plains, and occasionally mountains.

Cartazonon: A flame unicorn, usually with golden skin, a tawny red mane of hair, a lion- like tail, and a curved golden horn. Some breeds reveal other colors seen in flame, like blue and white. Pack animals that gather around volcanoes or deserts, unfriendly to outsiders. Considerably more dangerous than a Pegasus, but not as elusive as a Unicorn.

Noggle: Small grayish- blue breed of horse, often confused with a Kelpie or a non magical breed of horse. These horses are very much sentient, and have developed their Emotional Compulsion alignment to mentally link with Virigo and the occasional mortal to convey thoughts and feelings. These proud creatures refuse to be held in stables, and prefer to wander forests of plains without restraints. Perhaps due to their sentience, these horses are not typically pack animals and live individually or in small groups to raise young. Noggles refuse to be bred like 'a common animal', do not race unless it is in jest with a fellow Noggle, and do not parade around with people on their backs to be used as transportation. They can, however, develop loyalty to a specific person and allow that person to ride them. if treated fairly, Noggles make fair companions, even best friends.

Centaur: Similar to Noggles, Centaurs refuse to be ridden like a common animal, bred like on, or treated like one. Nearly as elusive as Unicorns, Centaurs refuse to interact with people and most humanoid creatures, save Dryads, and quite verbally tell us so. Most Virigo respect their privacy, to avoid enticing their fury more than anything else. Centaurs are very well known for their fantastic battle strategies and formidable armies.

Winged:

See: Pegasus.

Gryffin: Griffins are in contract with Gwydia University, and act as protectors for the mobile block of land. As such, most around campus are quite familiar with them. Like Noggle, they do not talk, but communicate telepathically both with eachother and other creatures. They are generally secretive about their home land, but do describe a safe haven where all griffins grow and mature, before leaving the nest, so to speak. They refuse to disclose its location or describe it in further detail, but legendary Viriga Theodosia Alston was chosen by a Griffin to be an ambassador between this mysterious location and Gwydia University. She reportedly spends the majority of her time there, but is seen occasionally at annual meeting held to discuss the state of affairs in the world. Anyone who questions her, whether it be family, friends, or reporters, find themselves on the wrong end of a nasty curse.

Dragon: Enormous, vicious creatures, Dragons normally travel alone a live in the mountains, only leaving for food. Dragons have a permanent price on their head for simply killing too many people and animals in one area, unless on a reservation which is stocked with large animals. Breeding dragons, riding dragons, or murdering dragons within a reservation is illegal and punishable by death in some cases, if the lawbreaker was not already dead.

Wyvern: Wyverns are held under the same protections and restrictions, because they are the same general size as dragons and can be just a ferocious. However, Wyverns are gentler creatures when unprovoked, and exist quietly among swamps and rain forests.

Simurgh: Simurgh are benevolent creatures, immortal like Virigo. With a wingspan of over fifteen feet, Simurgh are enormous birds, but have the heads of wolves. They always manage to appear near civilization before great historical moments, be the bad or good. These birds are invisible to most, and appear to only a select few.

Fins:

Hippocampus:

Deep ocean/lake monsters: More monsters exist beneath dark murky waters than most care to count. Many explorers have died searching for answers, and as such, the majority of he World of Virigo tend to stick to the skies.

Naiad: River spirits that protect channels and tributaries. All naiads and dryads are female, and trap young men to mate with and then kill, but some men escape out of reverence to their power.

Claws:

Chimera:

Raiju:

Spiritual:

Wraith:

Shaman:

Humanoid:

Brownie: Small creatures with pointed ears. They will clean your home if you leave out porridge and honey to feed them every night, and will lie in an unused part of the house. Many buildings have special fixtures at attached to the bottom half of the walls to feed such creatures, hidden doors, and small passageways in between the walls to assist them in moving around unseen, as well as their own rooms to live in. If provided for, brownies will work of their own accord to clean your home, mend your clothing, or repair things around the house. They are shy creatures that work at night to avoid being seen, and will leave if they feel threatened.

Dryad:

Mermaid:

Leprechaun:

Werecreatures: You might have heard of werewolves, but those aren't the only creatures that might actually be a Virigo. Wolves happen to be the most common, the most visible, and the least careful, so that's where the myth lies. As for the full moon, how else are you going to see an animal moving quickly at night? A crescent moon doesn't provide much light. Werewolves as the mortal myths go do not exist, however, experienced Virigo can manage to turn into a few different animals, depending on your magical alignment, but only two or three. If you remain in your animal transformation too long, you can forget who you really are and simply exist as that animal forever, if you're not careful to take breaks and stretch your human arms every once in a while.

Vampire: To start, I'll tell you a few things that separate mortal humans from apes. Three endogenous retroviruses, which are dormant disease that change your genetic code and are passed down through reproduction, without fail. These are not normal viruses(Virusi?). They don't make you sick like you would expect, but merely exist to live on our DNA. Endogenous means indigenous to the human body. Retrovirus is merely in reference to the shape of the virus. What separates humans and vampires is that a vampire has one extra endogenous retrovirus than a human, making them more evolved than a mortal. They drink blood to survive, get severe migraines in direct sunlight, have advanced night vision, and are generally capable of performing spells like a Virigo. Physically, they look no different than a human other than a paler shade of skin and a dark ring of color somewhere in the iris.

See Centaur, Naiad.

Beings related to Virigo

Mahisha: This is what a Seelie Virigo turns into when one of us does anything outside of our magical limits in relation to wrath, anger, or revenge. For example, losing your temper and slapping your wife across the room would turn you into a Mahisha, however, losing your temper and slapping anyone who has done injustice to you will not. Mahisha, representing their theme, typically have angry red skin, black horns that curl upwards, and weapons in place of hands and feet. Fairies and Imps do not turn into tiny Mahisha, and do not change Imp shape depending on their lapse in judgement. More will be explained when you reach fairies.

Mammon: This is what a Seelie Virigo turns into when one of us does anything outside of our magical limits in relation to greed, injustice, or gluttony. For example, if you cheated a stranger while playing poker, you would turn into a Mammon, however, if you cheated on someone who was cheating on you while playing poker, nothing would happen. A gamble within a gamble, that one. Fairies and Imps do not turn into tiny mammon, and do not change Imp shape depending on their lapse in judgement. More will be explained when you reach fairies.

Incubus/Succubus: This is what a Seelie Virigo turns into when one of us does anything outside of our magical limits in relation to lust or sex. For example, cheating in a spouse without cause would turn a virigo into a succubus. Cheating on a spouse for any perceived transgression, no matter how small, does not. Typically, their appearance reflects whatever they did to deserve their fate, and a succubus specifically is usually scantily clad with gray skin and over- exaggerated sexual features, because they are turned when their transgression is related to anything of a sexual nature. Fairies and Imps do not turn into tiny succubi, and do not change Imp shape depending on their lapse in judgement. More will be explained when you reach fairies.

Pixie: Pixies are a cousin to the fairy. They are alike in every way, except Pixies tend to be close to nature and have no wings. Fairies are below.

Fairy: These tiny creatures are our ancestors. They come in either Seelie or Unseelie like us, but are born, not made. That, and the obvious physical differences, separate us from them. They are about three inches tall, with tiny incandescent wings that physically shouldn't be able to hold them, but they do. Because they're related to us, it's illegal to kill one of them, but searching their naturally dead corpses for potions ingredients is still legal. Socially, most of us can hardly believe we're related. I mean, honestly, those tiny creatures are like a bunch of children, playing pranks and killing mortals for fun when they think they're not being watched. They can also be quite daft.

Imp: These are tiny, demonic y creatures are created when a Seelie Fairy or Pixie does something around their magical limits. For example, taking a life without cause would turn a fairy into an imp. Taking a life because of any perceived transgression, no matter how small, does not. They're about four or five inches tall, with lumpy noses and ragged clothing. Some, ones who turned from fairies, have inky black membranous wings.

Alice

---

Alice lightly bobbed her head to the music pumping in her ears. It might seem strange that she was listening to her own music while music was playing, quite loudly actually, but she preferred the music on her Mp3 player to the pop music playing as loudly as possible on the over sized speakers shaking the room with its sub woofers. Somehow, she had gotten roped into chaperoning the end of the year dance the school held annually, to celebrate a whole three months without the hundred of kids that didn't want to be there anyway. Even with a dozen other people in Student Council, it had to be her. Ugh.

Ice blue eyes skimmed over the crown of people, watching for anyone putting on a particularly vulgar show, and the exits, alert for students looking to leave and have fun elsewhere. Rows of students seemed to be so crowded they were practically on top of each other, on the linoleum floor of the gymnasium. Lights had been affixed to the walls, ceilings, and floors to throw strobe lights and neon sparks over everything, contrasting sharply with darkness of the room. A fog machine was on earlier, but had been turned off since then, and little clouds still wandered around the ankles dancing and stomping in the middle of the room. Stragglers hung out against the walls or in corners. The air vibrated with energy, stirring up the stagnant scent of cheap perfume and sweat. All in all, nothing too much out of the ordinary... Wait. Who was that, over in the corner? Resigned, Alice took out her earphones and strode over to a couple that seemed to tangled up in each other to be two separate people. She tapped a shoulder and tried to yell over the music, "This isn't your bedroom. No enamored couples allowed. " The pair glared at her ferociously, and reluctantly unwrapped arms and legs to strut off, managing to put attitude even in the way they retreated. Alice took the spot they had just vacated and pushed the ear-buds back into her ears, calmed by familiar strums of the guitar and soft whispers of music. It was nothing like the harsh crashing and rhythmless lyrics everyone here so loved. The unfortunately responsible teenager sighed and leaned against the wall for another several more hours.

---

Sebastian Jay

---

Some might have been wondering why I haven't been posting much recently, and I do have a semi- excuse. School's back up and running, and for those of us who are still in school, that's a big deal. Unfortunately, my utter lack of sleep means less dreams, my ridiculous 11 hours daily away from home because of my hour long commute means I have less time for both homework and writing, and the lack of new General Rated roleplays on the site means I don't have much to post or have a roleplay to go play with. This saddens me.

I'll still be here, though, and I'll try to post something as much as I can, at least every two weeks from now on. Procrastination is a habit I'm trying to break.

So, for this post, it's not a dream, nor an experience. I'll just blurb for a while.

---------- Post added at 10:12 AM ---------- Previous post was at 09:43 AM ----------

Esotericism


The world is full of life. Thrumming, humming, pulsing like a giant brain. Dying, birthing, thinking, doing, or simply existing. The smallest insect and the wildest predator are connected as surely as a leaf to a tree. Bound by an invisible force as vast as you can imagine, more precious than the rarest stone. It cannot be duplicated or imitated. It cannot be seen. It cannot be dragged into the light as part of a science experiment. But it can be eliminated. So fragile, so easily terminated, yet as abundant as we could possibly be. What a cosmic joke; sending us to witness something of the most perfect, whole creation only to snuff it out before our eyes like a candle in a storm.

On the topic of Synergy.

Synergy is the interaction of multiple elements in a system to produce an effect different from or greater than the sum of their individual effects. The term synergy comes from the Greek word synergia συνέργια from synergos, συνεργός, meaning "working together".*

Synergy, as I am using it, is the joined cumulative collection of human knowledge, originally through language and more recently, the internet.

The largest step humanity has taken in its development is written language. Language allowed for information to be passed more efficiently and thoroughly down each generation. Every generation could learn what their great- great grandfather learned before them, eventually growing a link through his/her peers through the presence of common knowledge. Shared knowledge within a community encouraged and stimulated new, abstract ways of thought, and in turn, technological innovation.

Closer to today, the invention of the internet has been the next largest step in humanity's development tract. Not only can we share knowledge in our community, but we can share it all the way across the globe, in a click and a brief moment to download.

My point? Both of these advances achieved the same goal: Uniting humanity through joined information. There is a whisper, floating around in the great space of the internet, of synergy. Say, for science's sake, we upload every human being into a super computer, forever linking each and every person by the thoughts in our head. Imagine moving through society knowing exactly what the person next to you it thinking, never having to voice your opinion or look anything up, because someone, somewhere, knows it, and can feel you searching for that little tidbit of knowledge.

At first glance, it seems almost unreal. Easy to imagine as a whole, yet difficult to picture individually. So, I've broken it down.

First, it would complete advance our ability to think, and our advances in technology would be astronomical. All it takes for a new invention is for an imaginist to reach a scientist- for an abstract idea to meet a logical, step by step specialist. Every problem- Instantly solved, with only an outward reaching thought. Secrets wouldn't exist, because hiding them would be impossible. Crime rates would drop, because after all, how do you murder someone while feeling their intense fear, while, at the same time, a police officer is receiving those thoughts and is on his way to the scene. Voting would be redundant. If we take it a step further, and simply leave our material bodies in exchange for the incorporeal world of the internet, we could live infinitely, without a body to age, or the drawbacks of requiring sustenance. Essentially, we could cut ties from the earth entirely. But where do we draw the line between can, and should? The moral arguments are very tangible, and besides the point of the possible detrimental long-term qualities.

Some of the more extreme disadvantages of synergy include what makes natural selection work so well. If we chose to enter this world of inter-connected minds, and brought each and every child into the world, that next generation would not rely on his/her own thought, but simply use the thoughts of others, because every thought in the universe would enter your mind. We would become viewers and readers, not thinking for ourselves, but simply accepting the thought of another. One generation of that, and we simply become one vague mass of potential, but no original thought, because after all, every thought comes from an individual, and every individual would depend on another, so on and so forth. Natural selection dictates that we use what we need to survive, and cut off the unnecessary pieces to make room for more tools. If we don't require individual thought, and rely on the thoughts of another, than it is hypothetically possible that humanity would eventually lose the ability to think individually. It should also be noted that every thought originates with an individual human. We would accidentally eliminate the need to think, and as such, eliminate our individual intelligence, and begin a detrimental cycle that results in humanity losing the ability to think critically at all. Not only would this be counterproductive the original purpose of synergy, but it would reverse the progress humanity as a whole has made since 1500 BCE. Even if we chose to cut ties with our corporeal bodies and simply exist in the Database, thereby no longer reproducing, but rather, existing infinitely, our own minds would become lax without the constant requirement to think critically.

Analytical and critical thinking skills aren’t the only forms of thought we would eliminate. Creative thought, which goes hand in hand with analytical thinking, would become unnecessary, and would eventually fade away in a similar manner. After all, creative thought originates from the individual and an individual’s personal perspectives and ideas. One stray thought that is totally unique may be eliminated or left unexplored in the presence of the overwhelming amount of information one would receive from the outside world. This is, perhaps, my strongest objection to synergy. The loss of creative thought, especially to writers and artisans like me, would catastrophic.

To recapitulate, synergy may have some life-saving, money- saving benefits at first glance, but could result in long- term drawbacks that not only ruin progress for the current generation, but would make human progress as a species made for the last several thousand obsolete. Perhaps with some specific tweaks and modifications, synergy may be mankind's next big step of evolution, but as it is now, it would cause more problems than it solves.

*The Strategy Reader, Edited by Susan Segal-Horn, The Open University, 2004 Great Britain, ISBN 1-4051-2687-6

So, you found a really fun looking roleplay you want to join, and now it's time to make your character. Writers everywhere, no matter the level of experience, all have problems creating the perfect characters, with both winning personality and a few flaws. You don't want to fall into a stereotypical or overused archetype, but you don't want to make a Mary Sue/ Gary Stu either. Should it be male or female? Kind or cynical? Brave or calculating? I made this short guide to help you create a character that you are compatible with. (Feedback is appreciated.)


Your Writing Ability

---

Most people instinctively think of what they can do, and are immediately overwhelmed with the possibilities and choices. More likely, you have less things you can't do, or character types you don't enjoy playing or don't play very well. What I usually find is that your personality decides what who you can or can't play. An loud extrovert may find it difficult to play a character that prefers to think quietly before thinking. I myself and a rather quiet and introvertive individual, and am more likely to think about something for any length of time from a few minutes to a few months before deciding exactly what I think about it. As a result, my serious nature prevents me from playing impulsive or easily amused characters very well, nor do I particularly enjoy playing them either.

Think about yourself. Not your character, not whatever flawless mask you put in place in front of strangers, you. I’ve provided some questions to help you contemplate your personality.

• Do you find it easy to greet new people in your school or workplace?
• If you caught someone pickpocketing your wallet, would you let them go, report them to the police, beat them where they stood, or teach them how not to get caught in the future?
• You and your friends are at a party. Are you the one conversing quietly in the corner with someone familiar, the one drinking shots out of a hot blonde's cleavage, the DJ picking all the songs, or the one about to get into a fight with another person?
• After the party, you are totally wasted. Drunker than you've ever been. You and a group of friends get into the car, and (surprise, surprise) crashed your dad's car into the tree a block. Who do you blame: Yourself, or the driver, or someone else?
• Your group at school decided you're in charge of making posters. You: Make the craziest, most eye-catching poster of all time, sketch out a subtle yet complex drawing, or pull up a Publisher template from online and fill in the blanks (you have no creative ability).
• Oh crap, you have about a ton of homework and an exam tomorrow. You have no idea where to start, and you're totally stressed out. This is where you'd probably: Break down and cry from the pressure, make a list and start working from the most important assignments and back, or blow it all off to text your friend.
• Your school is hosting a Pep rally. Your job is to: Create advertisements, put the 'Pep' in 'Pep Rally', host a booth to sell things and make money, or work with the orchestra, marching band, band, drama, or dance departments to provide entertainment.
• Out of your life, the thing you value most is: Money (How much profit can you make from this), love (I would buy the moon for her), family (Blood runs thicker than water), career (Can and will make it to the top!).

These are just a few examples. A better personality test can be found here.

After you get an idea of who you are, you can get a grasp of who you are not. Whatever you cannot be, not matter how hard you try to force yourself, would not be a good character for you to play. Some people can play a character well, no matter the character, but most have difficulty playing two or three specific personality types. For example, since I am a quiet and serious person, I don't enjoy playing lolitas, loudmouths, or amusing people. I can play introverts, nerds, clutzes, cynical bastards, etc. Whatever personality is the exact invert of yours is the personality of the character you cannot play.

Common Archetypes

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Now that you've established what you can't play, let's look at what you can. It's best to start with broader ideas, then work your way into the specifics. I use literary archetypes for inspiration.

Attachment

This circle organizes character types based on what they value. Here they are in more detail.

Order
A character that values order prefers rules and regulations, plans and statistics. They're best for leadership positions, white collar jobs, and are commonly vocal and charismatic.
Social
Social characters want to interact and care for others more than anything else. They'd rather stay home and tend the hearth than be out fighting the battle.
Freedom
Characters that need freedom to function can't be bound by the rules and regulations of an office environment. They need open air and space, both in mind and body.
Ego
Ego may sound a bit harsh, but it's the best way to describe someone who puts themselves knowingly or unintentionally in positions that is likely to spread their name far and wide. Bravery is irrelevant.

From those four main 'slots', characters can be blended and divided into subcategories. Refer back to the Attachment for a visual.

Outlaw-
Motto: Rules are made to be broken
Core desire: revenge or revolution
Goal: to overturn what isn't working
Greatest fear: to be powerless or ineffectual
Strategy: disrupt, destroy, or shock
Weakness: crossing over to the dark side, crime
Talent: outrageousness, radical freedom
The Outlaw is also known as: The rebel, revolutionary, wild man, the misfit, or iconoclast.

Jester-
Motto: You only live once
Core desire: to live in the moment with full enjoyment
Goal: to have a great time and lighten up the world
Greatest fear: being bored or boring others
Strategy: play, make jokes, be funny
Weakness: frivolity, wasting time
Talent: joy
The Jester is also known as: The fool, trickster, joker, practical joker or comedian.

Lover-
Motto: You're the only one
Core desire: intimacy and experience
Goal: being in a relationship with the people, work and surroundings they love
Greatest fear: being alone, a wallflower, unwanted, unloved
Strategy: to become more and more physically and emotionally attractive
Weakness: outward-directed desire to please others at risk of losing own identity
Talent: passion, gratitude, appreciation, and commitment
The Lover is also known as: The partner, friend, intimate, enthusiast, sensualist, spouse, team-builder.

Caregiver-
Motto: Love your neighbour as yourself
Core desire: to protect and care for others
Goal: to help others
Greatest fear: selfishness and ingratitude
Strategy: doing things for others
Weakness: martyrdom and being exploited
Talent: compassion, generosity
The Caregiver is also known as: The saint, altruist, parent, helper, supporter.

Everyman-
Motto: All men and women are created equal
Core Desire: connecting with others
Goal: to belong
Greatest fear: to be left out or to stand out from the crowd
Strategy: develop ordinary solid virtues, be down to earth, the common touch
Weakness: losing one's own self in an effort to blend in or for the sake of superficial relationships
Talent: realism, empathy, lack of pretense
The Everyman is also known as: The good old boy, the regular person, the person next door, the realist, the working stiff, the solid citizen, the good neighbor, the silent majority.

Innocent-
Motto: Free to be you and me
Core desire: to get to paradise
Goal: to be happy
Greatest fear: to be punished for doing something bad or wrong
Strategy: to do things right
Weakness: boring for all their naive innocence
Talent: faith and optimism
The Innocent is also known as: Utopian, traditionalist, naive, mystic, saint, romantic, dreamer, lolita.

Ruler-
Motto: Power isn't everything, it's the only thing.
Core desire: control
Goal: create a prosperous, successful family or community
Strategy: exercise power
Greatest fear: chaos, being overthrown
Weakness: being authoritarian, unable to delegate
Talent: responsibility, leadership
The Ruler is also known as: The boss, leader, aristocrat, king, queen, politician, role model, manager or administrator.

Sage-
Motto: The truth will set you free
Core desire: to find the truth.
Goal: to use intelligence and analysis to understand the world.
Biggest fear: being duped, misled—or ignorance.
Strategy: seeking out information and knowledge; self-reflection and understanding thought processes.
Weakness: can study details forever and never act.
Talent: wisdom, intelligence.
The Sage is also known as: The expert, scholar, detective, advisor, thinker, philosopher, academic, researcher, thinker, planner, professional, mentor, teacher, contemplative.

Magician-
Motto: I make things happen.
Core desire: understanding the fundamental laws of the universe
Goal: to make dreams come true
Greatest fear: unintended negative consequences
Strategy: develop a vision and live by it
Weakness: becoming manipulative
Talent: finding win-win solutions
The Magician is also known as:The visionary, catalyst, inventor, charismatic leader, shaman, healer, medicine man.

Hero-
Motto: Where there's a will, there's a way
Core desire: to prove one's worth through courageous acts
Goal: expert mastery in a way that improves the world
Greatest fear: weakness, vulnerability, being a "chicken"
Strategy: to be as strong and competent as possible
Weakness: arrogance, always needing another battle to fight
Talent: competence and courage
The Hero is also known as: The warrior, crusader, rescuer, superhero, the soldier, dragon slayer, the winner and the team player.

Creator-
Motto: If you can imagine it, it can be done
Core desire: to create things of enduring value
Goal: to realize a vision
Greatest fear: mediocre vision or execution
Strategy: develop artistic control and skill
Task: to create culture, express own vision
Weakness: perfectionism, bad solutions
Talent: creativity and imagination
The Creator is also known as: The artist, inventor, innovator, musician, writer or dreamer.

Explorer-
Motto: Don't fence me in
Core desire: the freedom to find out who you are through exploring the world
Goal: to experience a better, more authentic, more fulfilling life
Biggest fear: getting trapped, conformity, and inner emptiness
Strategy: journey, seeking out and experiencing new things, escape from boredom
Weakness: aimless wandering, becoming a misfit
Talent: autonomy, ambition, being true to one's soul
The explorer is also known as: The seeker, iconoclast, wanderer, individualist, pilgrim.

Remember, these are only very basic descriptions. No one likes it when someone decides to make a cookie- cutter character that isn’t unique in any way, and god forbid you make a Mary Sue with no flaws or defining aspects. What I recommend is to pick an archetype that sounds fun and interesting, and run with it.

Filling in the details

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After you've selected an archetype as a template, the next thing to do is to make it your own. The archetypes are fairly basic by themselves, and are easily recognizable by most literary enthusiasts. However, this is probably the easiest part of making a character, and where your creativity can flow.

Description
This should be your character's outward profile. Most people include height, weight, hair and eye color, skin tone, and age, but other details like cup size for women or typical wardrobe are welcome as well. Something to remember here is that most people are plain looking, or vaguely attractive. Not everyone a European model. I recommend sticking to average hair, eye, and skin color for your region, or the region where your roleplay is taking place. Also, some roleplays require characters that aren't normal human beings, like aliens or mystical, humanoid creatures. For those, you should adjust your physical description accordingly.

Personality
When I look at a character's profile, I typically go for the personality first because it matters the most to me. Most people, when they make cliche or unoriginal characters, make their mistake in the personality section. Remember to stick to the parameters that your archetype requires, and that everyone has several flaws and pet peeves. The structure of this section is typically in some kind of list form. My character, Alice Meyer, has her personality in list form with a short few sentences of details underneath, in first person. Most people, however, use third person to describe their character, as if the writer him/herself were describing your character. Either works. Really, it's just however you're comfortable with writing.

Equipment/Abilities
For roleplays that are probably going to have battle of some kind, this section is just as important as the personality section, if not more so. You may have to refer to your character archetype to figure out the best weaponry. For example, a Hero is more likely to use a sword and shield because he's used to being on the front line, while a Sage is probably going to stay in the library and research or even observe the enemy from a safe position to bring back vital information. For roleplays that aren't likely to have any major battles or confrontations, this section is where you would want to put your skills and talents. A Creator archetype, for example, is very good at solving problems and creating stuff. I'm awful at math, but I'd like to say I'm pretty damned good in my English and History classes.

History
The History section has potential to be the downfall for your character or the most important piece. A person's past molds and shapes that person to be the human being they are today. In much the same fashion, your character's history shouldn't contradict your character's personality. For example, if you have a happy, carefree character, than you probably shouldn't have a tormented and violent past. Aside from that, the history section can be anything you want it to be.

Synopsis
Personally, I always fill in the Synopsis last, after I've gotten a good idea of who the character is.

Know you're probably not gonna get this. But. I'm bored to hell and you're the only person semi-online.
Sometimes, I wish that when I die, I became a star.
Not a sun mind, you.
But like.
From some creature on a distant planet, they look up
And see a star.
And that's me.
Y'know?
Not something of major importance or notice. Just something someone looks up at one night, and thinks. "Huh. That looks nice." and just makes them start thinking.
I'm weird though so.
That'd be an interesting book though.
A personified thought process of a star, as it's falling down to earth.
It'd be more of a poem really.
Would a star's thought process be chaotic?
I don't think so.
It'd be serene, y'know?
They're almost eternal celestials. I think they'd be pretty calm.
Could a star appreciate beauty?
After all, it's never seen what we perceive to be beauty.
What if the void is beauty?
And by the star crashing to earth, its beauty has now been ruined?
Could a star appreciate the beauty of others stars in the distance, if it saw them as beautiful?
I think so.
I don't think stars would be gender personified.
They seem neutral.
I think that's what makes them beautiful.
Because, no matter what's happening on Earth...
The stars are just they're. Being beautiful.
But then you think, "Aren't those just images of stars that existed millions of years ago, and their current status has yet to get to our eyes?"
I don't know. I feel like that's an urban myth.
I don't think it's possible for humans to perceive the ability to see the past.
Which is what we'd be seeing.
But would it be the past?
Would the image rapidly increase as we got closer?
What if we were able to traverse the stars in such a fashion, that we could reach distant stars in months, without ruining the beauty of them by going as fast as we'd need to?
Sometimes I wish I was a god.
Or a star.
Then I'd know these things.
It'd make true beauty easier to spot/.
But then.
Is that true beauty?
Or is that my perception of beauty?
I want to be a star when I die.
Ignore the grammar issues.
Sometimes I wish I'd become a true Buddhist.
Transcend these materialistic thoughts.
But then.
I enjoy materialism.
I enjoy sex, and love, and laughter, and money and games and so many others things.
Not in gluttonous sense, but in a...
Appreciative sense.
And that's not to say Monks don't have that but.
It's not as easily expressed.
Sometimes I want to become a slave to my passions, emotions.
Transcend this sort of, societal limitations I'm chained by.
But then. I want to do the opposite too.
Transcend the notions of emotion and human concepts, and just become peaceful.
I want to do so much.
I want to travel around the world.
I want to fall in love, true love. I want to fight in a war, I want to fight against a government, I want a statue erected about me, I want to become a doctor from Harvard, and I want waste my life being a stoner. I want to become a god.
Not because of power.
But because, I want to just...
Be able to know all things.
Appreciate beauty in the truest of all things.


C.M.L.

My past is my present and my future.
Everything that has ever happened to me, and everything that I've ever done or said has contributed to the person I am today. If it were possible, most people would have some of their worst memories removed. I would not take out the few months I was threatened by a pedophile. I would not remove my memories of abuse, or any memories of being abandoned. Perhaps most importantly, I would not remove memories any of my failures. No matter how awful or contradictory it may sound to a person, all of those experiences have made me stronger, and have given me insight and wisdom I would not have otherwise. I have learned from those situations, and will continue to learn from them to the best of my ability.

My right brain is my left brain.
I took an IQ test, several years ago. The test in question told me that I was naturally proficient in Science and English, but not very good in History and Math, my IQ was 140, and that I used both my right brain and my left brain. I disagree with the test, no matter how many social scientists looked at it and reviewed it. In my opinion, my right brain makes up for my ridiculously weak left brain. Science has always felt like a puzzle, and has always been something I can envision and feel my way around, in much the same way I do English and parts of History. I cannot memorize anything long term, unless it's in the form of a song, then I could hold onto it for years at a time. I do not fully understand anything told to me, unless I'm given a picture or I envision it myself. History has always been a fight to memorize the dates and events, because it's always been too focused on step by step events rather than larger ideas. My AP history class this year focuses on parallels and broader concepts, which has led me to doing pretty damned well in the class, and further lending to my belief that I am not left brained, and the standard IQ test is wrong.

I am egotistical.
I have a natural inclination to believe myself over someone else, regardless of who that person is or how qualified he/she may appear. I also overestimate my abilities to focus for long periods of time, and would rather not believe flaws of myself. I do no know when this developed, or how, but it's there.

________________________

Imagine a land. The grass is green, trees and other plants grow of all imaginable shapes an sizes, and innumerable different forms of life writhe and twist on every surface, existing where one would never expect, in forms never experienced before. The smallest worms holds the same potential as the largest, wisest owl in the ever continuing cycle of life. And yet, if you turn your head, a wide, gaping hole larger than a continent yawns and stretches, spitting fire and constantly shifting its unstable gravitational pull. Such impeccable perfection, achieved through the darkest possible means. The splitting of an atom, the piercing blast of a wave of energy, or he tiniest particle bouncing off of the surface of your skin, anything is capable of altering the delicate balance of chance and circumstance that came to be your sentient existence.

___________________________________________

Always erasing, Backspacing.
Never, ever really saying.
Not a girl. Just me, right here, or maybe over there.
Just me hiding. Don’t look. Don’t stare.

An Open Book, says all of Them.
Duller than butter, yet shiny as a gem
Then They leave, all of Them, over and over again.
Except for You. You’re the exception.

I don’t think You understand what I’m trying to say
My words on replay, Shifting and reforming throughout the day
Reiterate, restate, find my place and erase
Avoiding the chasm that pulls me to a ‘higher place’

Holding my breath and waiting to crash
Like standing in a plane and waiting to smash
All in all, is it better unwind your worry?
Or cut the heartstring, just to limit the agony?

Is any of This Real?
Why wouldn’t it be! You don’t know, you can’t see,
You don’t understand what You’re doing to me.
Unable to plead with You to stay with me
Yet equally incapable of letting You leave.

There is a man, dwelling in your mind. He knows everything you know, watches everything you do, and is completely aware of all your weak spots. If you have a flaw, he'll taunt you with it. If you are frightened of something, he'll show you exactly how terrified you can become. If you so much as acknowledge his presence, he will sprout like a beanstalk, bursting with power, a hair's breadth away from visible, just brushing the very tips of your eyelashes. He is a shadow, shifting and twisting just beyond your cognitive recognition.

Reference: The Shadow

What is Christmas?

Well. Christmas is a holiday for families to gather, charity to be given, and food to be eaten. It's a holiday for joy and contentment, a holiday for realizing just how lucky you are to have your family, and a holiday for shits and giggles with your cousins you haven't seen in years. At least, I think it is.

For most of my life, it's just been me and my single mother. Christmas was a day when we cooked together, ate cookies, and went out somewhere to socialize with closest thing we had to blood relations- close friends. It's always been nice, but never consistent, and never with any family other than my dear mother. Don't get me wrong- I wouldn't trade it for the world, but it's odd knowing how different my family traditions are compared to those of my friends.

But... My mother was married last year. I have two new stepbrothers, and stepfather, and a stepgrandmother, along with a whole new family that I've never met before. This year and many more years into the future, I will have a larger family circle to celebrate with. So, what is Christmas? I don't know for sure. But I think I might find out in... 5 days.

Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year.