Mitch

[size=1][font=rockwell] Great, as always, dear P[strike]ir[/strike][b]oe[/b], Eh. Yes, it's cooies. Yes. You get official gold skull.[/size][/font]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Mitch [/i] [B][color=red]Name: Mitchell Grant Smith Age: 16 DOB: October 12th, 1986 Location: Bismarck, North Dakota One Word: Thoughtful Occupation: Student Color: Green Food: Pizza Beverage: Orange Juice Alter Ego: Uh...darkness Dream Job: Writer Self-Proclaimed: Poet Ethnicity: Uh...blank here Extracurricular: Biking Hobby: Writing, reading, video games Dessert: Ice cream Musician: uh....blank again Group: System of a Down Mac or PC? PC Nics: People at school call me Smitch...and AnimeLover...as I was otherwise called Blog: [url=www.livejournal.com/~lover_of_anime]Yes[/url] Home Page: No Religion: Chirstian Book: The Silmarillion By J.R.R. Tolkien Collections: Used to have a rock...books now. Sport: Relaxation Won't Eat: I'll eat anything as long as it's food... TV Show: Seinfield Words to live by: Conflict creates life Addicted to: Otaku Boards, writing, life, people Comic: Sinfest Movie: The Matrix[/color] [/B][/QUOTE] [size=1][font=rockwell]Name: Mitchell Grant Smith Age: [strike]16[/strike] Sixteen DOB: October 12th, 1986 Location: [strike]Bismarck, North Dakota[/strike] Dead One Word: [strike]Thoughtful[/strike] Pensive Occupation: [strike]Student[/strike] Mitch Color: [strike]Green[/strike] Dark blue. Food: Pizza Beverage: Orange Juice Alter Ego: [strike]Uh...darkness[/strike] My hammer bro., Charles, of course. Dream Job: [strike]Writer[/strike] Columnist or Poet. Self-Proclaimed: [strike]Poet[/strike] Lover of Ginny. Ethnicity: [strike]Uh...blank here[/strike] Poe. Extracurricular: [strike]Biking[/strike] Walking. Hobby: Writing [b]poetry/ disturbing stories/ whatever's on my mind[/b], reading [b]Poe[/b], video games [b]that are classics[/b] Dessert: [strike]Ice cream[/strike] Desert is better. Musician: [strike]uh....blank again[/strike] Pee Wee Group: [strike]System of a Down[/strike] Led Zeppelin Mac or PC? PC [b][Macs suck][/b] Nics: People at school call me Smitch...and AnimeLover...as I was otherwise called [b]Smeetchell, Smitchell, Mitchells, Itchell, Itch, Fitch, Ritch, Tich, Cockatrice, Chimera, Bitchell, *****, Mitchboo, Mitchwoo, Smithers, Miotch, Meh, Mehtchell.[/b] Blog: [url=www.livejournal.com/~lover_of_anime]Yes[/url] [b][[url=www.deathisaword.blogspot.com]Death Is A Word[/url]][/b] Home Page: [strike]No[/strike] [url=www.dooger.com]No[/url] Religion: [strike]Chirstian[/strike] I don't believe in God. Book: [strike]The Silmarillion By J.R.R. Tolkien[/strike] Anything Poe. Collections: [strike]Used to have a rock...books now.[/strike] Nothing. Sport: [strike]Relaxation[/strike] I hate sports. Won't Eat: [strike]I'll eat anything as long as it's food...[/strike] I won't eat you. TV Show: [strike]Seinfield[/strike] Family Guy. Words to live by: [strike]Conflict creates life[/strike] Apparition there's known/ Gargoyle he's stone/ Cockatrice glared/ No one knows. Addicted to: Otaku Boards, writing, life, people Comic: Sinfest [b][I sure haven't read that in awhile..][/b] Movie: The Matrix [b]/ X-2[/b][/size][/font]

[size=1][font=rockwell] I'd be Sephiroth. It explains itself, I hope.[/size][/font]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by GinnyLyn [/i] [B]Do you think it is possible to live a life that allows people to wholly accept you as you are, or must you compromise yourself in order to be accepted? [/B][/QUOTE] [size=1][font=rockwell] The thing is, I don't know who I am anymore. But that's besides the point a tad, so I'll try and work this out in my mind. Everyone compromises themselves in some way. Whether it be consciously, subconsciously, or whatever. Everyone has to sacrifice some part of themselves sometime in their lives. I don't think it's possible for people to [i]wholly[/i] except you for who you are. Especially if we're talking just first meeting someone. Because when I first meet someone and talk to them, I'm a completely different person kind of. You see, I'm shy, so I don't really say much at first. I just talk lightheartedly to them, say things that don't really say much. That right there is compromising yourself. But I do it subconsciously, without even knowing. Psychologically, that's the way I am. When I first meet someone, I just put up a wall at first. Then, as I get to know the person, I slowly realize that I can maybe be the true me to them. The thing is, I don't know who that "true me" is. So yeah, I'd say you do have to compromise yourself. At least I do. I can't just talk to someone and, at the same time, try not to set some feelings aside. I don't know, this question's really vague. I did what I could think of..what's been running through my mind. All I know is there's people out there that you don't have to compromise a thing for. Like you Ginny, you've shown me that in ways.[/size][/font]

[size=1][font=rockwell] This is rough. Any errors found will be appreciated.[/font][/size] [center][size=3][b]...[/size][/b][/center] [size=1]Blood spattered onto the stark linoleum, rusty and red. I looked at my hands, saw the blood leaking from them, too. Saw again and again in my head as I punched Wess in the head, beat him into a purple, bloody, bruised mess. I closed my eyes, screamed in my head. Tried to understand what was going on, why I was doing this. Why it felt so good, why, at the same time, it was terrible. In frustration, I screamed, this time not in my head. I grabbed at my head, and dug and dug into my skull. Then I opened my eyes. And everything was different in some way. My mouth tasted different, the blood on my hands said different. My mind said different. I looked at the ground. Wess was on it, bleeding from the head. Because of me. I began to shake and shake and shake. I fell into the corner of the empty gym, half leaning and half sitting, and began to cry. I kept looking over at Wess as millions of different images spinned around in my head. Wess laughing, leaning in and whispering into my ear. Wess drinking a Diet Moutain Dew, grinning, smiling. Wess, younger, clutching his injured knee. Wess. Wess was flying through my head like rain falling in and down. Like the blood coming out of his head, slowly congealing on the ground. I cried in the corner forever. I wanted to die. Then, out of nowhere, Virginia came in. She was wearing a night robe, black, dark. Her hair was frazzled, hanging over her head, obscuring her face. I looked up at her, looked at her sighing, looked at her crying. "Charles, what have you done?" she said, but her voice wasn't hers. It was loud, it echoed, it cringed and dug. It was painful to hear her voice. My ears rang and clanged from her voice, fell and thumped. I screamed in my head again. Felt something else inside of it. Something else whispering, saying. Something else clutching my mind and dragging it. It was powerful, potent. Made my head ache and numb with its presence. I shut my eyes, dug into my brain. Tried to place where the pain was at, tried to feel it. But I couldn't. It was too all over, too strong. It was all over, erratic, flying, eating, digging. That was when her arm touched my shoulder. I opened my eyes, but what was tapping me on my shoulder wasn't Virginia anymore. It was me. It was then that I realized why that voice dug into me like it did, why that voice hurt so much. It was my own voice, my own angry voice. It was my emotional voice, the one that was full of hate and spite. I stared directly into my own eyes, pried into them, tried to see what was there. And as I looked, they turned to a dark red, like blood. Only it wasn't like blood. It was orange, red, and black all at once. It was more than color, it was more than just an eye. Just looking at it was hypnotizing, paralyzing, painful. What I saw in the eye caused my heart to beat harder and harder. What I saw in my eye, this thing's eye, it wasn't human. It wasn't earthly. It wasn't holy. It wasn't anything. It was something dead, yet breathing. I saw a retched thing. It looked like a raven, it was black all over. But its eyes were dark red, too, just like my eyes. It was bleeding for its head, just like Wess. And as I looked closer at the eyes within my own eyes, this raven-like thing's eyes, I could see many different faces staring at me. There was my own face looking at my own face looking at my own face into an endless eternity. There was Wess, Wess smiling. Wess's eyes full of pain, hate. Wess crying, tears coming down. I also saw Virginia. In her eyes, there were crucifying crosses, all full of blood, and a sprawled figure nailed and black on it. But it wasn't Jesus. The thing on the cross had wings, it had horns, a tail. It also had eyes that were glowing, they were black. Black, yet glowing. I got lost in my own eyes, spasmed and bled on them. All of those faces were staring at me. All of my friends, all of my enemies, all of my spite, my hate, my faith, my love, all of it. I screamed. In my mind, in my head, on the ground, to the sky. I screamed. And, soon, I wasn't looking in my eyes anymore. My eyes blinked, a quick darkness, and then I was back in the gym. And now, this time, on the floor laid both Wess and Virginia. Virginia's entire head was mangled, I couldn't recognize it at first. But I could see her frazzled hair, and her black robe. My heart fell into my mind. I can't explain how mangled Virginia was. Her hair was full of blood, it was pure red. Like it had been dipped in her own blood. Her arms were nailed, just like that thing on the cross had been. Her brain matter was all over the side of the floor, all over everything in the gym now. It was on the ceiling, on the walls, on the doors, on the windows. Everywhere. And in the back of my mind, I was still screaming, but something else was louder. Pleasure. I felt so much pleasure, it washed over me. I went from crying, from sobbing and tears, to smiling and grinning. Even through all of this, I was still me. Everything in my mind was still me. But there were more than one of me inside my mind. There was the part that was screaming the loudest then, the part that was wailing against the other. There was the part that was crying, sobbing. There was a part that was slurred and incoherent. There was so many other parts. Yet through all of these different parts and sides of something like a coin, I was still just one person. I was smiling now, smiling at the brain matter all over the entire gym. I was smiling at Wess on the ground. Wess's pool of blood was becoming still yet larger and larger. It almost now was a small puddle about the gym. I smiled at that, too. And I felt pleasure. Pleasure like I had never felt before. But deep inside I was far from pleasure, I was screaming. But the pleasure was louder, it was beating, it was more. . In a haze and buzz of pleasure, I walked over to Virginia. I bent down, put my hand on her robe. Felt the cloth touch my hands, and fuzzle as I felt touch. From just this simple touch of her night robe, I felt so much pleasure. It shook up my spine and into my mind, body, soul, and spirit. I rolled her over?she was on her side. My eyes fell over her form, and slowly my eyes came to her eyes. And then again, in her eyes, I could see millions of other Virginias looking at me. One had a cross, was clutching it in her hands. Another was holding a heroin needle, was going to inject. Still another was laughing, looking at something that was in the sky. There were others, too. Some that looked more like monsters than Virginias. But I blocked those out, didn't let them in. When I finally left her paralyzing eyes, her hypnotizing eyes, I came to the top of her head. Or what was left of it. I reached out, grabbed at the marred and hell-blown mess of what was her brain. I felt it touch across my skin, felt the pleasure as it did. I started to feel sick. Like I was going to throw up. The feeling was in the back of my stomach, my heart. But it was there. As far away as it was, it was there. As I moved my hand from what was left of her head, a piece of the brain matter stuck to my hand. I ran it between my fingers, felt its feeling on my hand. It was rough yet soft at the same time. Like worn sandpaper. After rubbing it in my hands for awhile, I brought it up to my eyes. Looked at it. And as I looked at it, it began to make images appear in my head. The crosses again. Only this time, I was looking at the crosses through some type of window. It wasn't glass, and it wasn't reflecting. It was invisible, yet there at the same time. And as I looked out of this window-like thing in my mind, the crosses began to move, like trees rustling on a moving train. Soon it began to go faster and faster. Soon all I could see was one cross that was making a trail after trail. Then the image went black. The brain matter had fell from my hand as I had been lost in my mind. I was back in the empty gym again. The first thing I noticed was that the blood from Wess's head was at a much higher level. It was almost to my knees. The smell in the gym was now blood's smell. The smell of desire, thirst, hunger. It danced in my mind. I looked at the blood on the ground, and suddenly I bent down. I licked the blood in my mouth, sloshed it in. It tasted like rust, like worn paper. But it didn't taste like blood. It tasted more like dull and stagnant punch, like my Mom had always made when I was younger. It tasted good, but its aftertaste was pungent. Its aftertaste was like blood, only not as strong. And drinking it made me more thirsty, made me have more desire, made the voice in the front of my head scream even louder. It was now screaming so loud that I couldn't even hear the other wail, the other sad wail. I felt for it, but it was gone. I sat there and drank more and more of the blood. After a very long time, I was full of it. My stomach was regressing from it, though. It was becoming more thin and thin. I pulled up my shirt and there was barely even skin there anymore. It was almost all bones, emaciated feeble bones. That feeling of wanting to throw up was becoming stronger. I could feel it starting to get almost as strong as the endless scream that had been ahead of everything. But it didn't get as strong. It came to about half the feeling of the endless wail, and stopped. Just stopped like that. And as it balanced out and only became about half of the viscous scream, suddenly I was almost head-deep in the blood. It was almost to my mouth now, almost there. I couldn't even see the gym anymore, all I saw was the blood. The blood everywhere. It was now to my mouth, yet I could still breathe some how. The blood didn't feel like liquid, it felt more like something solid. But it wasn't solid, and at the same time, it wasn't liquid, either. It felt more like nothing, but I could feel it. It was sloshy, heavy. Like a ten ton weight. And through all of this pressure, through every hard breath, I was drinking more of the blood-like stuff. More and more. I was beyond full, beyond pleasure. I didn't know what I felt anymore, and I can't even begin to explain it. Everything felt heavy. The scream in my head, the feeling that I was going to throw up. The blood all over my body. Everything was heavy. There was only one thing that I held onto in the very back of my mind, one thing that wasn't overweighed by every other feeling I was feeling. To get out of the gym. Get to my locker. My mind said there was something in my locker. That I had to get there. So I began to swim. But I wasn't swimming. I was both walking and swimming at once. I can't even begin to explain it, just like everything else. But it was like walking and swimming all at once. It was heavy, this walking and swimming. Just like almost everything else was like then. But I was slowly, very slowly, making progress. I couldn't even see. All I saw was red. But I followed my instincts. Went to where I went. And, after forever, I came to a door. The door was rusty, red with the blood. The blood was dried all over it, coated in it. Like skin, it was falling off, but it was drying just as fast. I grabbed the handle, opened it. Felt the cold steel, the flaky blood touching my hand. Once the door was opened, the blood all over the gym began to pour out. It was slow, though. Like a snail leaving its gooey trail. And I could walk again. I came into the familiar hallway from the gym to the commons area. I walked slowly, but without fear. I was still smiling, still feeling so much pleasure. The pleasure was beating, coloring everything in a dancing array I'd never ever felt or seen before. Coming into the commons area, I was surprised to see it mostly empty, except for a few seats taken here and there. It was also dark in there, the lights were mostly dimmed. I could see, but not without looking and waiting for my pupils to adjust. From one seat, I could see two shadows, playing in the darkness. I came to them, looked down at what they were doing, curious. They were holding on to each other tightly, and shaking. Shaking like I had been when I was in the corner. And they were both looking to one another's eyes, just like I had. They were both looking and lying in the exact same way, the exact same fashion, only they were parallel to one another. Very close, but parallel. From this startling revelation, I took my hand, and moved one of them. His eyes met to mine, and, again, I washed away in my mind. This time the screaming voice in my head was so much louder that it felt like my entire body was just going to explode. But I held it down. What appeared in my mind was gruesome. I was in a dusty attic, and the two people in the darkness whom had been next to each other were there, too. Except they weren't. They were stuck in between the wall of the attic. And, as I looked closer, they were quite in pain. Both of them, it seemed, were interconnected in some way, in some how. It had not been long, when, soon, they were chopped directly in half by the force of the floor on them. And they began to bleed together, the blood splashing down from one and the other at exactly the same angle, edge, place, and every manner. It was a horrid site. Their intestines, their excretions were all over the floor. And just like Wess's blood, they were now bleeding all over, not stopping. I blinked again, and I was back in the commons area. Still in pleasure, I smiled at their two fallen figures. They were both, as in the image in my mind, bleeding at the same manner exactly. The whole commons area was now filling with their blood. And, as I peered at my hands, they too were bleeding. But only crusted blood. On my hands I could see now four different colored bloods in my pleasure. They glowed and bloomed in my hand, each a different hue of red than the other. By this time, I was very far gone. My head's incessant humming had driven me to some new plain. Some new nirvana, some new joy so powerful that it cannot be described in any word, image, face, or anything. My lust, desire, want, it was all overpowering. But as I walked from the fallen figures, to reach my locker, the feeling in the very back of my stomach suddenly fell through. The feeling that I needed to throw up was, suddenly, overpowering. Even more so than the scream that had turned and exploded in my head. I began to stumble, for I was sick. Perhaps it was the pleasure that was making me sick. I cannot be certain. My mind was humming and beating like a dead, sputtering beat heart. My vision was fading, blurring. Suddenly, as I was almost to blackness, my stomach churned. It wasn't a light churn, not at all. It was forceful, painful. I tried to hold it back, keep it in my throat. I managed to do so about half way to my locker. But then, I couldn't bear it any longer. I barfed forcefully. The pain was excruciating, numbing, killing. My whole stomach felt like it was being vomited out. Not to my surprise, I barfed out the blood that I had swallowed so much of. And not just a little, no. I barfed about twenty gallons of it out. It was very painful, like being hit with a bat again and again and again. Every chottle and churn was another trip into pain. It took a very long time. When I finally got rid of the eating feeling that I needed to vomit, the entire ground was up to my knees in blood. It was a combination of all of the different hues of red. My eyes danced on them. The wail was mostly gone now, about as strong as it had been so very long ago. I could now feel my own self again. But I was too devastated, too worn down to feel much more than the numbing and pain of my head and entire body. I came to the door into the library and sat down, tired. I began to cry again, feeling how horrible it was what I'd done. I'd killed four people. Two of them I didn't even know who they were, either. I was beyond scared. Beyond anything. Everything was now very surreal. Nothing felt like it had happened. But I knew it had. After resting long enough for my strength to somewhat return, I began to approach my locker. I came to the bay, took a left to where my locker'd always been. But, it wasn't my locker. My locker's number had always been 107. The number on this locker was 567. I stared at it uneasily. Even more uneasily, I began to spin the knob, meaning to go to 13. But as I spun it, it landed on 5. It was very odd. At this point I was very confused. I stared at the 5 on the knob a long time before deciding to spin it again. This time, as I tried to move it to 27, the second number in my usual combination, it landed on 6. I stared. Then I spun it again, trying to move it to 49. It ended up on 7. My hand rested on the handle of the locker, and, very slowly, very uneasily, I pushed it up. It went, to my surprise. Opening the locker, I braced myself for anything, anyone. But there was nothing. The only thing in the locker was a small, black pistol. Dried blood also dotted it, too, like some fungus. It appeared someone had been here before me. I knew what I was supposed to do. My entire body screamed and yelled with it. The almost dead wail that'd been so apparent and so loud earlier even whispered to me, moaning like banshee. My hand very stiff, I took the black pistol. I felt its jagged side-grips on my hand. Felt its weight and power. I checked it for ammo. And, of course, it had ammo. I checked its safety. And, of course, it was off. It was all set. Wincing, I put it against my head, my hand lightly on the trigger. I closed my eyes, eased on the trigger, the button to the end. I felt my whole inside go as I pushed it all the way in. There wasn't a loud bang. There wasn't anything. I took it from my head, surprised. And as I checked it with my eyes, it was surprisingly now a cell phone. I looked in awe. It was black, just like the gun. The number on it, just like the locker's combination, the locker's number. 567 was dialed in it. All I had to do was press send. I did just that, not hesitating this time. I put it against my ear, heard it ringing. It rang and rang, and, eventually, there came a click as someone picked up the phone. I closed my eyes, and let out a long, dead sigh. "Hello," I said, "is anyone there?" Silence. I felt my heart go dead. "Hello?" I said again, louder. "Charles," said a very far away voice. A very dead voice. "Nice to hear you." "Who is this?" I searched in my mind for who it could've been. Tried to match the voice with someone I knew. "Isn't 567 a wonderful number?" said the voice. "Charles, don't you remember. 567. You should know what it means." And, suddenly, I did. I stood dumbfounded, my eyes still closed. "Charles, you can open your eyes," said the voice, "go ahead, open them." "First tell me who you are," I said. "I'm you," said the voice. "Now open your eyes." I couldn't open my eyes. I couldn't. I didn't want to see it again. All the faces. All of it. I relied on my senses. And, as I pushed my ear, I could hear the click of a gun. Just like the one I'd had. I screamed, fell backwards, hitting the locker, falling inside of it. And, as I came to in the locker, I wasn't where I thought I'd been. It'd all been in my mind I realized as I looked at the dust dotting the floor. I laughed. It'd all been an illusion. And, as the cop came into the room, pointed his gun at me, I stopped laughing. My heart and entire being fell in my chest. "Come with me," said the cop, "stand up now, put your hands on your head." Slowly, I did, as I realized what I'd done. I'd called 911 myself. At least I'd remembered something, though. 5 is for man, 6 is for the devil, and 7 is for God. I've been in jail ever since. Haven't touched any dust, either. [/size]

[size=1][font=rockwell] That's great just for a sketch. You going to color it? Well, I love it. As James said, your drawings and things are so expressive, as art should be. They always show more than they mean to show in a wonderful way. Arbitrary, eh? Well, I find numerical ratings to be quite fun, lol.[/size][/font]

[size=1] I look through this glass It's clear and passed Taking my hand I feel a puddle And stand Saying don't be afraid I looked back And waved good-bye Looked into the glass And came to stand This glass's opaque I take the puddle Feel its taste Saying don't be afraid-- 'Cause some say it's soon To her--to him This glass is opaque Let go And taste[/size]

[size=1] Happyth Motherth Dayth. All of my lovet to youth. For you art greateth and I loveth thisth momenth. *ahem* It's late, I'm tired. Just go with it. Oh, and Happy Mo'fo's day, Tony.[/size]

[size=1] Seeking words of wisdom She cringes and smiles Death and desire It's entire For what design This smile lies She lays it down And cringes her smile It's heartless and sure Like a dark side of leaves It hits and stings Like a scorpion and leaves This poison hits her face Makes the stretch and place She's learned to smile An ugly taste Certainly affable and placed Like her skull's displace And the tears begin to race[/size]

[size=1]Laying everyone low Stepping out of the shade Says something like, "You and me babe, These promises we hold." Laying everyone low With this tree's shade Mouths and words Leaves are beautiful--fain-- He steps out of the shade Says something like, "It's going to rain, babe, Let's never let it fade." She stares at the tree-- This beautiful, this fain thing The leaves are falling like string But she stares at the tree Says the words Mouths what's heard He smiles Branches and brown lines This bark and old nectar-wine Letting out a long heard sigh His leaves wither And die[/size]

[size=1] Fire stars are hearts And figures are ribbons They cut and they see String and lace and being Hearts are lava As they kneel on the bed This is her--her prayer--her said String and lace and being For a yellow box of crayons Is a sun and sand This window hides a spider Black willow for the night You might wish You might to-night For this fire star Is here and bright[/size]

[size=1]The pain's not there; she's trembling-- When I ask her before She says she's holding it out Rolling and it's all about I saw the pain beneath the stairs I couldn't hear--for it impairs-- There's a wail like a tongue It's drawled and under-fair And in the morning There was nothing left Just a dream that's leapt This wail's like a tongue It's taste and it's lung It's spleen and it's touch And believe me There was nothing left When you wish upon When you cry down inside Sometimes it's like you've died All I can say--all I can sigh Are you beneath the stairs Perhaps--perhaps it's just there[/size]

[size=1] I turn And walk on Perhaps for life But death's touch is long As your life blinks on You take your palm As the trees rustle on You take your palm This bus is yellow It's engine's sure I can hear it roll As the tress rustle on You take your palm There's something Side-long-- You take your palm-- Something's gone Death's grasp is long It touches--touches sure And on But I turn And walk on[/size]

[size=1]What's real-- What's true Sail It'll touch you What's true-- What's real Laugh It'll feel There's this feeling I get When I look to the south There's this moan and wail So quiet and pronounced There's this feeling I get When I look to the south There's this sigh and exhale And it has whispers that're soon As I point out what's true As I point out the land My eyes cold and sand There's this touch I've never had My head's humming--it won't go-- Because I don't know Elated and dead I can hear it call A touch--a tap-- A small, a slap I can't go back[/size]

[size=1][font=rockwell] Yup, Mitch likes the second one better. It seems to [strike]likes[/strike] look better. I can't quite explain it. They're both pretty good, though.[/size][/font]

[size=1][font=rockwell] The text and everything to the left I like...but then that face on the right, I don't like. It's just too bright over there...[/size][/font]

[size=1][font=rockwell] Get rid of that flashing text and I'd love it. It's dark, and monotone mostly, which is what I like.[/size][/font]

[size=1][font=rockwell] The lyrics remind me a lot of "Mother," by Pink Floyd..*wanders off and finds lyrics*[/font] [quote]Mother do you think they'll drop the bomb Mother do you think they'll like the song Mother do you think they'll try to break my balls Oooh ma, mother should I build a wall Mother should I run for president Mother should I trust the government Mother will they put me in the firing line Oooh ma, is it just a wasted time Mother am I really dying Hush now baby, baby don't you cry Mama's gonna make all of your nightmares come true Mama's gonna put all of her fears into you Mama's gonna keep you right here under her wing She won't let you fly but she might let you sing Mama's gonna keep baby cosy and warm Oooh babe Oooh babe Oooh babe Of course mama's gonna help build the wall Mother do you think she's good enough for me Mother do you think she's dangerous tell me Mother will she make your little boy a toy Ooh ma, mother will she break my heart Hush now baby, baby don't you cry Mama's gonna check out all of your girlfriends for you Mama won't let anyone dirty get through Mama's gonna wait up 'till you get in Mama will always find out where you've been Mama's gonna keep baby healthy and clean Oooh babe Oooh babe Oooh babe You'll always be a baby to me Mother, did it need to be so high ? [/quote] [font=rockwell]Eh, anyways, it's very nice.[/size][/font]

[size=1][font=rockwell] Nothing too good here..just needed to write some stuff.[/font] [center][b][u]Lust For Kicks Isn't Worth What's In It[/b][/u] She was every and once All she wore perfect and such Lip stick that was thick and sure Perfume that was pungent and pure This woman's what we call when it rains This woman's what we call 'cause she's a dame Perfection's never beauty what a shame What she put herself through No one even knew All they ever thought What is never true This woman's got ribbons in her hair It's brown and combed full and fair You can't tell her she won't care But she's beautiful they all stare This woman's what we call when it's cold But she never comes 'cause it rains This woman's what we call she's a dame But she never comes 'cause it's always the same Perfection's never beauty what a shame She may be every and once Her hair may be perfect and such Lip stick may be thick and sure Perfume might just be pungent and pure But she's hurting, only a few fear Lust for kicks Perhaps that's what she hears They know they all say it Even as she's right by them in the halls She's been turned an object that calls Desire toy that's all over and climbs walls Never knew her no I didn't Would see her walking but forget it I'm happy that I didn't 'Cause lust for kicks Isn't worth what's in it You know this face all too well She's some innocent girl Popular and swell But lust for kicks Isn't worth what's in it Perfection's never beauty what a shame This high school dame High school babe Beauty's perfections Always the same What a shame [b][u]Whisper's Voice[/b][/u] There's a voice In my head It's whispers And it says: But I can't hear It's about love It doesn't hit my ear That voice In my head It's whispers I shake my hands Try to feel its said I wonder what's life See everything die I ask myself Is it all in my mind That voice In my head Its whispers I say I wanted to be Wanted to know To see Diffidence Through bliss I remember And I cringe as I drip See the thoughts collect Watch the birds as they fly I want to forget That voice Still in my head I remember Eternity forever It's not true Don't want to remember [b][u]HOPE[/b][/u] I was riding the train one night Just returning to Boston to call it the night I was standing near the front Could hear the engine as the train tracked on The trees were flying by as I sighed long I was alone and cold I sat there alone and cold For so long so old Then there came The rustling of steps They were heavy and certain Like rain falling on a curtain Soon there came a tap on my shoulder Hard and tapped I looked over The man's face was blank and sober Cold and alone like a dead man's owner Ghost as snow and white Gaunt and promise to the night I felt quite weird upon his sight With a more gaze I came to understanding He had no face All about him there were chains He looked cold and alone I didn't want to look at him Didn't want to know There was something though I couldn't turn I couldn't even scream or yell My throat was dry My mouth wouldn't say I couldn't look away So I stared I stared and stared I thought I was going to run I was scared But my gaze stayed I could sense some fancy Soon he moved his arm up His finger coming out near my hands Through the chain and wire Something shown; something came to stand It was metal and chrome Beautiful and shown I observed it And as the trees rustled by I let out a marveled sigh It was a pendant of metal As I have already settled I stared at it long; unsettled It shimmered in the weak light The chain of it was long and bound Its entirety was certain and found On the chain the pendant rustled The thing's hand moving up and down It took awhile until it came face-up And I could see the pendant's face At first there was nothing on the face Just like this thing's own Soon, though, something faded in It was cold, it moved across my skin HOPE it said as it etched in It was in very straight letters Like on a tombstone's writing I stared at it long Wondering, fighting Trying to understand the thing's want To know what and why I looked back at the thing There and then I knew why I took the pendant from its hands Felt cold and alone as it touched like sand Put the chain around my neck and got into a stand Was taken on as the ghost train echoed As I was taken by thing's hand I realized then it was just that the time was wrong I can still remember the engine hissing on The pendant's still in my hand Right now I let out a long sigh As the trees rustle by I'm on a different train But I'm returning to Boston And the pendant's still in my hand [/center][/size]

[size=1][font=rockwell] Nothing too good here..just needed to write some stuff.[/font] [center][b][u]Lust For Kicks Isn't Worth What's In It[/b][/u] She was every and once All she wore perfect and such Lip stick that was thick and sure Perfume that was pungent and pure This woman's what we call when it rains This woman's what we call 'cause she's a dame Perfection's never beauty what a shame What she put herself through No one even knew All they ever thought What is never true This woman's got ribbons in her hair It's brown and combed full and fair You can't tell her she won't care But she's beautiful they all stare This woman's what we call when it's cold But she never comes 'cause it rains This woman's what we call she's a dame But she never comes 'cause it's always the same Perfection's never beauty what a shame She may be every and once Her hair may be perfect and such Lip stick may be thick and sure Perfume might just be pungent and pure But she's hurting, only a few fear Lust for kicks Perhaps that's what she hears They know they all say it Even as she's right by them in the halls She's been turned an object that calls Desire toy that's all over and climbs walls Never knew her no I didn't Would see her walking but forget it I'm happy that I didn't 'Cause lust for kicks Isn't worth what's in it You know this face all too well She's some innocent girl Popular and swell But lust for kicks Isn't worth what's in it Perfection's never beauty what a shame This high school dame High school babe Beauty's perfections Always the same What a shame [b][u]Whisper's Voice[/b][/u] There's a voice In my head It's whispers And it says: But I can't hear It's about love It doesn't hit my ear That voice In my head It's whispers I shake my hands Try to feel its said I wonder what's life See everything die I ask myself Is it all in my mind That voice In my head Its whispers I say I wanted to be Wanted to know To see Diffidence Through bliss I remember And I cringe as I drip See the thoughts collect Watch the birds as they fly I want to forget That voice Still in my head I remember Eternity forever It's not true Don't want to remember [b][u]HOPE[/b][/u] I was riding the train one night Just returning to Boston to call it the night I was standing near the front Could hear the engine as the train tracked on The trees were flying by as I sighed long I was alone and cold I sat there alone and cold For so long so old Then there came The rustling of steps They were heavy and certain Like rain falling on a curtain Soon there came a tap on my shoulder Hard and tapped I looked over The man's face was blank and sober Cold and alone like a dead man's owner Ghost as snow and white Gaunt and promise to the night I felt quite weird upon his sight With a more gaze I came to understanding He had no face All about him there were chains He looked cold and alone I didn't want to look at him Didn't want to know There was something though I couldn't turn I couldn't even scream or yell My throat was dry My mouth wouldn't say I couldn't look away So I stared I stared and stared I thought I was going to run I was scared But my gaze stayed I could sense some fancy Soon he moved his arm up His finger coming out near my hands Through the chain and wire Something shown; something came to stand It was metal and chrome Beautiful and shown I observed it And as the trees rustled by I let out a marveled sigh It was a pendant of metal As I have already settled I stared at it long; unsettled It shimmered in the weak light The chain of it was long and bound Its entirety was certain and found On the chain the pendant rustled The thing's hand moving up and down It took awhile until it came face-up And I could see the pendant's face At first there was nothing on the face Just like this thing's own Soon, though, something faded in It was cold, it moved across my skin HOPE it said as it etched in It was in very straight letters Like on a tombstone's writing I stared at it long Wondering, fighting Trying to understand the thing's want To know what and why I looked back at the thing There and then I knew why I took the pendant from its hands Felt cold and alone as it touched like sand Put the chain around my neck and got into a stand Was taken on as the ghost train echoed As I was taken by thing's hand I realized then it was just that the time was wrong I can still remember the engine hissing on The pendant's still in my hand Right now I let out a long sigh As the trees rustle by I'm on a different train But I'm returning to Boston And the pendant's still in my hand [/center][/size]

[size=1][font=rockwell]As I said on AIM, thank you very much. This is going to help me with editting this thing [b][i]A LOT[/b][/i]. Okay, I've finshed editting it mostly now . So here's the very near final version, heh. I'm going to have to change the names to symbolic names, since that's the agreement me and Mr. Winter [Journalism teacher] have come to. But I'll paste it like it is.[/font] "You sure grooved Daaron today, Mitch," they would say. Or, perhaps, out of some pure heart, "You're so gay." I remember their faces too well. There was Jayson, that reclusive fat kid. And just like all other fat kids of his breed, upon hitting puberty, he had "grown." He'd decided to be the self-respective worshipper of himself. Donning a smug grin and an even more explicit weapon: words. Sticks and stones do break bones, and words do hurt you. At least that's what I could hear from Jayson's smirk. Then there was the so overly stereotypical jock, who's name I had never caught, and so, cared less. He'd do everything in gym better than everyone else. He was the champ as long as he had his balls, which, of course, were made of nothing less than kryptonite. He was faster than you; he was stronger than you; he was better looking than you. If you were to do one thing wrong on his conditional turf, you were condemned forever, like some Jesus undergoing an inflicted crucifixion. His sacrifices were yours. "Don't sit so close to me," the jock would say. "You jerk." Or, perhaps, out of lesser disgust, "You dork." For, I was a dork, and this was his turf. Made of his human sacrifices and his human stepping stones. In the center of these various sacrifices, there were people like me. People that were constantly crucified, placed on his cross and left to bleed. Our gym class was dotted with other minefields, of course. Matt, the handicapped kid. The jock hated him. He'd often, taking his hand for emphasis, say, "This retard's so annoying.? Luckily for Matt, he could care less. He was happy, he was Matt. "Hiiiiiiiiiii Jenna," Matt would often yell to his favorite girl in the class. Standing over her, elated, he'd bounce and clap his hands together like a penguin yapping for a fish. "Hi," Jenna would say, kind and concise, a smile lighting her face too. Then there was Denae. At first I didn't think much of her, but that all changed near the end of gym, the week we did dancing. I remember it so well, that time in class when she'd shown me something quite different. Something better than the jock. Better than gym itself had ever shown me. We were doing the two-step. At the beginning of class, I had put on my FITNESS shirt, as we usually do. I entered the gym, finding everyone else, for some reasons I didn?t know, not wearing their shirts. "Look at Mitch here," Jayson said. "Wearing his fitness shirt." "I thought we had to," was all that I managed, walking back to my locker. Soon, I was back. Jayson pointed at me. "Yeah, Mitch here put on his fitness shirt," he said, gesturing to Eric beside him. I just looked at the ground, ignoring him. I didn't even let his words touch me at all. Perhaps they did hit, but it was only with a dull thud in my mind. I just stood, stoned to the ground. That?s when I heard her voice. "Leave Mitch alone," said Denae. I looked up to see Jayson smirking at her. "And why should I leave him alone?" Jayson said. "Because he's a quality guy." Quality guy? Me? It was too good to be true. But it did happen. It goes through my head nearly every day. I often wonder what it was I actually felt from her then. Kindness? No, that isn't the word. Maybe there's not even a word for it. And later, Denae surprised me. Again. Our teacher, proudly it seemed, proclaimed that she was going to play "that fishing song," and that it would be the last two-step dance of the class. I was happy to hear that class was almost over. Dancing like this for long periods of time was like being a hamster, strapped to a wheel, and spinning and spinning in a torturous loop. It certainly wasn't good for one's stamina, nor self esteem. I immediately left the red-haired girl I had been two-stepping with, wandering around in hopes of finding someone to get this thing over with. No one came, and, soon, everyone was clustered and grappled with whom they were going to dance. I moved to the side of the gym, looking at the ground. Alone. Through the floor's dull reflection, I could see dozens and dozens of human forms, jostling back and forth in unison. To me they were but shadows; nothings. I stood like that for what, to me, was an eternity. And then, through the reflection of the floor, I saw a shape coming over. I looked up to find Denae, having left the person she was dancing with, coming over to me. "Would you like to dance?" was all she said. But those aren't even the words for what it means to me.[/size]

[size=1][font=rockwell] Lol Skones. I never thought of Jenova in that way... You've opened my mind. You seriously have. If you want a game with a female as the villian, play Parasite Eve. Heh. That's a good game.. Anyways, who cares about the heroics? I myself love the losers in the FFs.[/size][/font]

[size=1][font=rockwell]Glad you guys liked it. Eh, well, yesterday I found out it's going to be in the paper that my J1 class puts out, so I have to revise it. If anyone'd like to look it over and help me, I'm up for it. Because right now it's about 500+ words, and I need it to be 500 or less-ish words. I've already revised it a bit last night...not much, though. It's pretty hard since what I have now is pretty solid for a rough draft. So I've already gotten out a few things, but Mr. Winter, my Journalism teacher says it needs to be shorter, as I said. Ah. And here's a pretty final version:[/font] "You sure grooved Daaron today, Mitch," they would say. Or, perhaps, out of some pure heart, "You're so gay." I remember their faces too well. There was Jayson, that reclusive fat kid. And just like all other fat kids of his breed, upon hitting puberty, he had "grown." He'd decided to be the self-respective worshipper of himself. Donning a smug grin and an even more explicit weapon: words. Sticks and stones do break bones, and words do hurt you. At least that's what I could hear from Jayson's smirk. Then there was the so overly stereotypical jock, who's name I had never caught, and so, cared less. He'd do everything in gym better than everyone else. He was the champ as long as he had his balls, which, of course, were made of nothing less than kryptonite. He was faster than you; he was stronger than you; he was better looking than you. If you were to do one thing wrong on his conditional turf, you were condemned forever, like some Jesus undergoing an inflicted crucifixion. For, of course, his sacrifice was yours. "Don't sit so close to me," the jock would say. "You jerk." Or, perhaps, out of some pure heart, "You dork." For, of course, I was a dork, and this was his turf. Made of his sacrifices and his falls, with a small trove of jerks like me. Our gym class was dotted with other minefields, of course. Matt, the handicapped kid. The jock hated him. He'd often, taking his hand for emphasis, say, "This retard's so annoying," as if it were the end of the world itself. Luckily for Matt, he could care less. He was happy, he was Matt. "Hiiiiiiiiiii Jenna," Matt would often yell to his favorite girl in the class. Standing over her, elated, he'd bounce and clap his hands together like a penguin yapping for a fish. "Hi," Jenna would say, kind and concise, a smile lighting her face too. Then there was Denae. At first I didn't think much of her, but that all changed near the end of gym, the week we did dancing. I remember it so well, that time in class when she'd shown me something quite different. Something better than the jock had shown me or Jayson. Or gym itself had ever shown me. We were doing the two-step. At the beginning of class, I had put on my FITNESS shirt, as we usually do. I came out and into the gym, everyone else, in some stark and soon understood way, was not wearing their shirts. "Look at Mitch here," Jayson said. "Wearing his fitness shirt." "I thought we had to," was all that I managed, walking back to my locker. Soon, I was back. Jayson pointed at me. "Yeah, Mitch here put on his fitness shirt," he said, gesturing to Eric beside him. I just looked at the ground, ignoring him. I didn't even let his words touch me at all. Perhaps they did hit, but it was only with a dull thud in my mind. For, I was a gargoyle. Devoid of anything but stone. I heard someone's footstep rustling over. "Leave Mitch alone," said Denae. I looked up to see Jayson smirking at her. "And why should I leave him alone?" Jayson said. "Because he's a quality guy." Quality guy? Me? To me then and to me now it's too good to be true. But it did happen. It goes through my head nearly every day. I often wonder, as I think about it, what it was I actually felt from her then. Kindness? No, that isn't the word. Maybe there's not even a word for it. And later, Denae surprised me. Again. Our teacher, proudly it seemed, proclaimed that she was going to play "that fishing song," and that it would be the last two-step dance of the class. I was happy to hear that class was almost over. Dancing like this for long periods of time was like being a hamster, strapped to a wheel, and spinning and spinning in a torturous loop. It certainly wasn't good for one's stamina, nor self esteem. I immediately left the red-haired girl I had been two-stepping with, wandering around in hopes of finding someone to get this thing over with. No one came, and, soon, everyone was clustered and grappled with whom they were going to dance. I moved to the side of the gym, looking at the ground. Alone. Through the floor's dull and reflection, I could see dozens and dozens of human forms, jostling back and forth in unison. To me they seemed like but shadows; nothings. I stood like this for what, to me, was a long time. And then, through the reflection of the floor, I saw a shape coming over. I looked up to find Denae, having left the person she was dancing with, coming over to me. "Would you like to dance?" was all she said. But those aren't even the words for what it means to me.[/size]

[size=1][font=rockwell] That's too bad Semjaza. But I suppose you've learned from that mistake. I'm only taking one advanced class next year: AP English. Of course, heh. It's really worth it to take these tests, college credit sounds really nice.[/size][/font]

[size=1][font=rockwell] Charles, I am going to kill your banner. *_* Everytime it's at the end of a page, and whenever I go by it, it causes the computer I am on to lag A LOT. Right now as I'm typing this, it's doing just that. It's really annoying. Bah. *Kills words to your mother* Anyways, I'm surprised that some of the people here at OB watch it too. I for one hate shows that have in relation to "reality TV."[/size][/font]