The only diffrence between martyrdom and suicide is press coverage....

Sun, 17 Sep 2006 18:30:15 GMT

Ok so yesterday I went to the mall. From Hot Topic I got some Green Day shoe strings, a pair of Best Friends pins for me and Megan, and some earings. Then Julian and Jordan came over, fun fun fun.

*drumrole please*

I PWNED JORDAN IN HALO 2! HAHAHA! HAHAHA! HAHAHAH! I TOLD HIM! I TOOOOLLD HIM! BET HE BEILEVES ME NOW!!!!!! BBBEEEYAAATCH!!!!

Teehee. And as the victor I played Julian...and lost. But it was only because I was distracted with Jordan sitting on me. Lmao. And then Jordan played his guitar for us....He played AND sung Your Beautiful!!! That was freaking awesome, being seranaded. (Oooh, I didnt spell that right). And my mom ate cookies, Julian ate almost all of them, lol. My mom had to hide the rest!

Today they cant come over though because my mom is sick, Eveline doesnt feel good, and niether does Ashley. :'( So I'll probally play KOTOR all day. I really need to get off friggin Tatooine. Rawr, too much sand. I'll probally make some layouts too, now that Skem is up and running again.

!!!!

Sun, 17 Sep 2006 02:45:16 GMT

Today was so fun, I didnt want it to end :'( I CANT WAIT TILL TOMORROW!

To You

Thu, 14 Sep 2006 03:07:58 GMT

I've been thinking lately, about...stuff. Mostly, about You. Ah, but who are You? No, not going into that. Since you've came into my life you've caused me happiness, sorrow. Passion, pain. Knowing you is bittersweet. As are the feelings rushing in my viens, lightning in my blood. And then my thoughts turn to Romeo and Juliet. There love ended in tragity, but what would have happened if the story went like this: Romeo and Juliet were in love, but there parents and other circumstances kept them apart. What if they had done as they were told, 'dated' other people, married other people. Just as tragic an end in my opinion. And You, circumstance keeps us apart. But, let me refrence to Richard and Kahlan, in the Sword of Truth series by Terry Goodkind. Whe Kahlen was forced to marry Drefen, and Richard to marry Nadine, in there hearts, they were really saying the vows to each other. So, You, in my heart...I'm yours. For now, and probally forever, thats the best I can do. My goodness, whe will Love for me be a sweet spring rain, cooling fevered skin, instead of an acid rain, burning my flesh. Maybe one day, maybe never. Much like a vampire's bite, I'm in blissful agony.

Wed, 13 Sep 2006 21:56:24 GMT

I've always liked emos, I've got nothing against them, emo guys are hot, and some of my best friends are emo. I've also always stood up for them when people sing the Emo Kid song and just generally make fun of them. I also stand up for my friend who's emo, I say "She really is depressed, though I help make her less so" and to the FAQ "No, she does not cut herself." But I've started to think....if your depressed you'll either 1) Only tell your closests friends and family, and try to seek help, or 2) You'll keep it to yourself, cut your self to relive the pain, and hide behind the facade that your ok. If you really are depressed, why would you share it with the world? But you do...and its called emo. Also, emo's say they dont like preps cause preps are all the same, and stuff, but if emos are soooo diffrent, then why do they let themsleves be steriotyped? All emos like black, were that emo hair, emo glasses, black eyeliner and nail polish, ect. Dont get me wrong, all that on a guy is pretty darn hott. BUT...BUT...There doing the exact thing they say they hate. And I mean, if my grandmother died I would be terribly sad, but I wouldnt start cutting myself over it. It seems to me that (most) emos are either 1) "Depressed" over the wrong thing, 2) Trying to get attention, 3)Or they think "I like black, blood, skulls, punk/rock music, and emo hair...that must make me emo!" I mean, I like black, I listen to punk music, skulls are cool, and emo hair is hot BUT that doesnt make me emo. Or goth for that matter either. It seems like everyone wants to fit in to SOMETHING...I dont know, most likely I'll add to this later, these are just my current thoughts, you know.

New Poem

Tue, 12 Sep 2006 23:45:17 GMT

New poem, this one I actually wrote recently, today in fact.

That's My Job

Tue, 12 Sep 2006 23:44:38 GMT

It's not my job to hug him,
He's not mine to kiss.
No matter how close.
No matter the care.
Let my heart rip.
Let it tear

Because that's my job.

Its not my job to touch his face,
And say how much to me he means,
No matter how my hand trembles,
How much fingers shake.
I'm not exactly what I seem.

Because that's my job.

Oh, how my heart beats,
for those I care for.
But romance is whats missing, the love from song and lore.

Because that's my job.

Family too I hug and kiss,
but the touch of this guy is what I miss.
His presence, how it may linger,
His smell, it haunts my nose.
But good and bad feelings, of those he's the bringer.
His friendship, it cascades down to my toes.

Because that's my job.

Shattered Heart

Tue, 12 Sep 2006 03:08:26 GMT

Your heart is broken. You find someone you think can pick up the pieces....and then hes snatched away from someone else.

Shattered glass,
a bullet throught a mirror.
Treading on shards,
drawing blood.

A craftsman,
mender of glass,
picking up the pieces,
bleeding fingers,
drawing blood.

Murder,
cold manslaughter,
piercing blade,
drawing blood.

The World Wide Web

Tue, 12 Sep 2006 03:04:40 GMT

Who still remembers the color of the grass?
The way the wind feels,
How rain-water can splash?
Not many can say they still go outdoors,
Why should they?
There's the internet to explore!
Thousands of sites, search-engines and blogs,
Flash-animation, JavaScript, and Web Stats,
With all those wonderful codes,
Why go fishing, swimming, or play with a ball and bat?

And the spelling-impaired are definitely welcome on the net, it makes them feel better
When cool is spelled with a k, and your has only two letters!

And who needs to have real friends,
To go to parties and mingle
When you can just stay on AIM all Saturday night
Till your eyes water and tingle?

Who still writes stories, songs, and sonnets?
Who belts out a midnight serenade to declare there love,
Our write a letter to confide there dread?
Who needs that, we have icons instead!

And it's a shocker that Hallmark is even still around,
Everybody's sending e-cards!
I mean, those are animated and have sound.

And the Presidential Election,
How tedious and boring,
Just vote on an online poll,
They only take a second,
And won't leave you snoring!

The internet offers so many great possibilities,
No one even minds what a nuisance it can be.

There's long-loading times, pop-ups, and spam,
Pervs who just want to see you on a web cam
Passwords that are hard to remember,
Emails you get from unknown senders
Online stalkers, junk mail, lost files and folders,
Who wants all of this worry laid on there shoulders?

The world has so much to offer away from the screen,
Your still young, only a teen
So why risk getting arthritis early, or twisting your spine
From typing on a computer all day long,
Bending over the key-board and mouse?
Live your life instead!
Get out off the swivel chair, out of the house!
Remember what I've said……
Explore the real world,
Not the World Wide Web.

PROULUGE and CHAPTER ONE

Tue, 12 Sep 2006 02:35:22 GMT

PROULUGE

The moon was bright in the sky, and the wind blew strongly, smelling of a coming storm. Hooves beat at the ground, sending up clouds of dust behind the rider. Coming to a small clump of trees, he pulled the horse's rains, and the horse slowed, panting and groaning heavily. He reassuringly patted the horse's neck, then slid off and walked toward the hooded figure standing under the trees. In the shadow of his hood, all that could be seen were big, gray eyes, full of abhorrence.
"I see you decided to come. You better have it. If not then.." the hooded figure pulled back his cloak slightly, and the cold blade of a dagger flashed in the moon light. "Of course, master" said the rider, with a mocking bow of his head. Slowly, and with a malicious grin, never taking his eyes of his master, he pulled a parcel out of a pouch hanging around his head. "Do you think I have all night for this? Stop with your showy dramatics and give it to me, damn it!"
"As you wish, master". With a grin he opened his fist and threw the object at his master's feet. The cold gray eyes held his for a moment, filled with enmity. Then blue smoke rose from the object on the ground. "Good-bye master", said the rider. And with that he jumped on his horse and left the old Guild Master to be consumed by shining blue flames, leaving the sounds of the agonizing scream behind.

1
Atrice sat by the pond of clear, fresh water. Sticking his feet in, he smiled as the cool water swished around his toes. Lying down on the soft, green grass, he splashed his feet a bit, and looked up at the cloudless sky. He closed his eyes...the grass was softhis breath was measuredinoutinouthe began to doze offA black gem was far in the distance.he needed that gem.he reached out his handclosercloser.he trembled with longingthe gem changed.became and eye..a facea body..growing largerlaughingit grew cold.cold..cold..He sat up, swinging his feet out the pond. His breathing was hard and sweat ran into his eyes. What was that dream? What did it mean? "I've sat idle far too long." He looked longingly at the distant hills, yearning for what lay beyond. Running his fingers through his thick, dark hair, Atrice walked to a small grove of trees. Squeezing through, he blinked in the sudden dull, greenish light of the thick and close growing branches and roots. Getting to his knees, he crawled under and over roots and through various plants. After squeezing through the thick tangle, he found himself facing a very small, green gem imbedded into a rock. Noting this sign he stood up, in a clearing about the size of a small closet. Taking hold of a vine about as thick around as his fist, Atrice began climbing up a tall, rock wall.
When he got to the top of the rock, Atrice sat on the stone structure. Taking a green gem out of one of his pocket, he located a chip in the stone. Atrice placed the gem in the nick, and turned it clockwise three times. Upon hearing a loud grinding noise, Atrice pulled the gem out of the chip, and replaced it in his pocket. The grinding sound stopped. A window shaped opening appeared in the stone.
Dropping down through it, Atrice landed on a wooden plank. Kicking his foot at a green gem on the wall, the opening above him closed. He was so used to operating the secret entrance by now; it took him only seconds to enter the Thieves Guild. This is a good thing, considering sometimes he had only a few seconds.
Atrice pushed open the rough wooden door and entered the brightly lit common room. A soft glow came from the large fireplace in the corner, and lamps burned overhead. Raucous laughter boomed from the huge tables that crossed the wide room. At the smaller tables huddled figures whispered about things Atrice would rather not think about. That was what made Atrice different than his Father, his brothers, and all of the other members of the Guild. Atrice hated to steal. He hated hearing about the underhanded things Guild members did. But what bothered him the most was that even though he hated stealinghe was good at it. Really good. But when your father is the Guild Master.well, you have to be well-trained.
And Atrice was definitely well trained. He had lived in the Guild all his life. A large building consisting of sleeping quarters, common room, kitchens, the Guild Master's apartments, storage rooms, and other areas, the Guild was well hidden from any civilization. This is essential considering that people dont take kindly to thieves.
Atrice stuck his hand in one of his inner pockets and pulled out a coin, rubbing it between his fingertips. His stomach clenched uncomfortably when he remembered the source of the gold. He closed his eyes for a second, and then shook his head as if that would make those thoughts go away. This was his way of life. Like it or not, he'd have to get used to it.
He strode toward the bar, and rested his elbows on the rough wood. The area behind the counter was deserted. This was a very rare event; the guild members couldnt go for long without there ale.
A call of "Oi, Atrice!" came across the room. A fat, greasy man with balding hair and a hooked nose came bounding across the room, quite quickly for a man his size. Atrice sighed. He could have been covering his ears and keeping his eyes close, but he would have still known Hagre just from the stench. Hagre, the bartender of the Guild, prepared decent drinks, and occasionally food, despite his lack of personal hygiene. And Atrice felt that he could really use a drink at the moment, so the man's coming was for once appreciated.
Atrice rarely drank. The alcohol didnt sit well in his stomach, and he hated drunken stupors and vomit as much as the next person. But occasionally, the numbing of the drink was just what he needed.
Finally the whale of a man made it across the common room to Atrice. Panting, he said "Yor favver wants a word wiv yer."Atrice grimaced. It was never good when the Guild Master wants a "word" with you, father or not. "He's in 'is room, go meet 'im there." Atrice bit his lip and took a deep breath. "Thank you Hagre, I'll be up in a moment."
What could his father possibly want? Atrice hadn't been assigned a mission lately, maybe that was it. Atrice had done nothing wrong, so it couldnt be a berating. Yes, most likely it was another assignment. Hopefully it would be minor, a simple trinket to steal. Atrice hated the bigger jobs. They ate away at his conscience even worse then the smaller ones.
Atrice abandoned all thought of drink and walked to the far and of the large room, through rows and rows of tables and benches. He walked through a doorway, down a long, sloping hall lined with doors. The farther he walked, the more the ground sloped, and the din of talking voices began to get lower and lower. At the very end of the hallway stood a sturdy, black door. Atrice pushed hard, and it finally opened. He never got used to how much it weighed. The wood was about seven inches thick, and very heavy. He took a lighted torch off the bracket on the stone wall, and made his way down the winding stair case.
The stone walls were covered in grime, and the air smelled of damp and mold. Atrice breathed through his mouth. He hated breathing in the musty smell. Atrice longed for the outside worldgrass, trees, hills, lakes, and blue skiesespecially fresh air. He abhorred living life cooped up underground like some dwarf. But for as long as he remembered, this is the way it's been. Always underground, always dark.always hiding.
Finally the stairs ended in front of a door identical to the on upstairs. Atrice knocked, and waited. For a few seconds he heard nothing. Then he was beckoned inside.
He was in the first room of his fathers chambers. The room was circular and was filled floor to ceiling with shelves that held all of his father's items. Stolen goods waiting to be traded or sold, knickknacks from foreign countries, talismans, amulets, jewelry, pictures, and all other manners of items. Chairs and tables were placed around the room. A fire burned in the back of the room, and large tapestries covered the open spaces of wall.
The chair closest to the fire was occupied by a man. He was of average height, lithe of build, with long slender hands. His long, graying black hair was tied in a ponytail with a black ribbon. Red lips were pressed together in cold distain, and his green eyes, identical to his son's, were narrowed. His fingers were laced together on his crossed leg. "Son", he said, in a voice so chilly, Atrice thought the fire would go out. He gestured to the chair opposite him. "Please, have a seat." Atrice sat in the plush leather chair. Meetings with his father were always uncomfortable for him. For all of his seventeen years, his father loathed him. Varen blamed Atrice for the death of the only person he ever loved and cared for. Atrice's mother died in childbirth, and ever since that day, Varen closed up his heart, and never loved again. Not even his children. He dealt with them because he had to. He hated each of them; he believed it was there fault for weakening there mother. He especially blamed Atrice.
At a closer look, Atrice noticed his father was paler and thinner than usual. His hair looked dirty, and his fingernails seemed longer then they should be. But his father said, in a strong voice "I have a job for you". Atrice got an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, but continued to listen. "A town lies about fifty miles from here. Rijken, to you know of it?" Atrice nodded. "Good. Then, you know of the many large estates that surround the town, and how there are many more Guilds there then in even Gemideld. In one of those very large estates, a man by the name of Waldrom Crullamin lives. But Waldrom is no mere man. He has found was to survive death, and death has tried many times to claim him. He started off as a thief, but grew rich. He also grew stubborn and selfish. He refused to share what he earned with his" he paused for a second "companions. No reasoning would sway him. People tried attempts at assassination, but no one succeeded. One night, one of his companions attempted to be rid of this maleficent man, and believed he had succeeded."

Veron paused again, and swallowed as if something pained him. He continued in a lower voice. "That is, they believed they had succeeded until recently. He lives now, surrounded by his fortunes. He is a widower, with two children; one son and a daughter. The son has already left home.Waldrom Crullamin is hiring people to work around his home. To repair things, keep the grounds, clean the stables."

"But what does that have to do with me?" Atrice asked, puzzled. "You", Varen continued, "will apply for the job. I need you to find out everything possible about the man. When he wakes, when he sleeps. Were he goes during the day. Anything and everything. Tell me all of it. Most importantly, see if he's hiding anything." The Guild master stood up. "You leave tomorrow." Atrice felt relived that theft wasnt involved, but he was still very curious. "But Sir, how will I tell you these things if I'm so far away?" His father walked to one of the shelves and picked up a battered, leather book. "Everyday, write everything that happens in this journal." Varen picked up an identical book. "As soon as you close the book, your words will come to me." Atrice didn't fully understand, but he accepted the journal anyway. "Very well father. I will not fail you. How long am I to stay in Rijken?" His father fixed him with a forceful stare. "As long as it takes."

With a Pen

Tue, 12 Sep 2006 02:34:29 GMT

Probally the worst poem I ever wrote...gah, of well.

This years almost over,
and times not going any slower,
And I'll miss you alot when your gone
So I figured I'd say, in my own way, how I've been feeling all year, As I write this I shed a single tear, because cowardice is one of my faults, But what can I do? I have to tell you, and this is the easiest way
It's harder this way, but my decision won't sway, I can't go back now anyway
So I've liked you alot, but I haven't forgot, that there's no way you'll ever like me
But I can't change the way I feel everyday, even though I wish that I could
Because it's so hard to like, a guy who won't ever feel that way about you
I guess that were friends, but not to the end, since you'll be leaving so soon
I would have told you before, but I knew if I did, awkward moments would be ensured
And I want to spend, as much time as I can, seeing you and hearing your voice,
But now the school year will end, so I don't need to anymore pretend
Wow this is strange, should I tell you my name? You'll figure out soon enough
I feel so dumb with this ink on my thumb and a paper cut under my nail, but I'm sure you won't mind when you read what I wrote, even though it's not good, but I would do better if I could
Just know in your mind that somebody cares, and will be thinking of you, because you've got rough times ahead......aren't you glad that I Luv You is being thought....if not said?

Rainy Day

Tue, 12 Sep 2006 02:32:39 GMT

The gray clouds in the sky are still and unmoving
While I wonder about him and her, guessing and assuming
Are they together?
Will they be?
Will he focus on her, and forget about me?

The last rays of sun disappear behind the fog and murk,
There gone just like my hope
Do I even have a chance?
I look at him and want to cry….
He didn’t even acknowledge my glance

We are such good friends, but I wish we were more
We've shared so many great memories
But he doesn’t like me that way
My heart feels sore

People drop hints that we'd make a good couple
But he doesn’t notice, he doesn’t have a clue!
And his denial is making me blue

I sit on a bench that’s cold and hard
I hear thunder as I stare at him like some stupid retard
As I notice how his brown hair ruffles in the breeze
I shiver, pull up my legs and hug my knees

How can I tell him how I feel?
How could I deal with his rejection?
Would the wounds ever heal?

He looks at the sky when a drop of rain lands on his ear
I wonder if I would be able to stand never knowing how he really feels
I sniff, and a raindrop falls in unison with a tear

This indecision is driving me insane,
I can't decide what to do
This is a love I can't tame

As the rain starts to fall, he walks away
I lay down on the bench in the cool sheets of water
It’s the perfect place to think, so I stay

Whats Wrong With Three?

Tue, 12 Sep 2006 02:31:31 GMT

Not so long ago, you were a good friend
We had so much fun together
But now I'm scared our friendship won't last through rain and stormy weather

It's happened before,
And now again
I guess you've forgotten that you are my friend

For a while it was fine
We talked and laughed all the time,
We hugged and shared secrets, too
Would it be corny to say that now I feel blue?

I'm just so hurt, alone and sad
In more ways then one
Because I'm getting cramps being smushed-up in the back of your mind,
And that hurts really bad

But this time it's different,
And it feels so much worse
When the two of you were matching jackets and shirts

At first I wasn’t jealous,
You have other friends!
I knew that, and it still wasn’t the end!

What's so wrong with three?
Or is it just me?

I tried to explain, through my hurt and my pain,
But you just rolled your eyes, and let out a sigh
Did you even hear me?

So I try to ignore, and keep my eyes on the floor
But if you noticed, then you didn’t say

You don’t realize,
How you hurt me inside
I guess were just to different, and I don’t mean just in size

I don’t want to fuss,
But maybe it's us
And you don’t seem to understand

I could scream, I could yell,
But would you notice? Would you be able to tell?

What's so wrong with three?
Or is it just me?
Or maybe our friendship is dying……

You don’t even know how much I've been crying.

Dark Plum

Tue, 12 Sep 2006 02:29:02 GMT

Totally random, I know....this just came to me one night.

I was walking in the fields when I noticed something on the ground. It looked like a plum, but darker. I picked it up. As soon as my hand touched it, I had the sudden urge to eat it. My mind was saying "Don’t eat it! Don’t you dare. No, no, no! "And I knew my mind was right, but some force was pushing this plum to my mouth. Finally, I had to give in. As my teeth sunk into it, I tasted the sweetest thing ever. But then the taste turned bitter. So bitter that I began to gag. Then I looked at the plum. Or, I thought it was a plum. But now, it began to get darker and darker until it was black. Then suddenly, it began to change. It seemed that all the juice was getting squeezed out of it. It began to wither, than turn gray. When nothing but a seed was left, a splitting pain welled up in my hand. It was so intense that I fell to my knees. Screaming in agony, I suddenly felt my throat constrict. I couldn’t breathe. My vision blurred, I felt dizzy. So very dizzy. I closed my eyes. Then everything got hot. Then cold. Hot. Cold. Hot. My skin felt like it was being peeled off. When I opened my eyes, I noticed my hand. It was slowly turning purple. Then dark blue. Then black. Suddenly, my hand began to turn gray and wither, just like the plum. Just when I thought my hand would fall of, a sudden boom sounded in my head, and I felt a sudden vibration that forced my eyes closed. When they opened again, I made myself look at my hand. But instead of a gray mass, my hand was right back to normal. I turned my hand over to look at my palm. Imbedded in my skin was a small, gray, raisin-like seed.

Birds

Tue, 12 Sep 2006 02:27:04 GMT

If you were a bird and I were a bird would you fly with me,
Over the mountains and over the sea,
Through glades and valleys and forests of trees?

If you were a bird and I were a bird would our nest be small and snug?
Warm enough for the cool autumn nights, wrapped in our feathery hug.

If you were a bird and I were a bird would the days be simple and sweet?
Filled with nothing but flying and gliding, through the air and over the streets?

If you were a bird and I were a bird would we watch the people below?
Seeing there busy, hectic lives, but not envying them, oh no.
Because if we were birds, we’d need only each other to keep ourselves content.
Flying and gliding.
Over the mountains and over the sea,
Through glades and valleys and forests of trees.

Only you and only me.