Lady Asphyxia

[size=1][b][center]ASSIGNMENT[/b][/center] Okay, here were the terms of my assignment; write a short story of 600-1,200 words. There were other criteria, but just general ones. There were no sentences to respond to, and there was no given situation. Basically, we were given free reign. However, my story is 1,457 words. I need to cut it down. Any help would be appreciated. [center]_____________________________________[/center] [u][b]Past Tense[/b][/u] Emily trudged down the narrow lane, her whole body projecting an air of forlorn determination. The ground rolled beneath her gaze, the muddy path weaving after her like a snail?s trail. The green hedges on either side brushed her bare arms as she passed them, almost as if they were real people. It was the very beginning of spring; the Hawthorne buds were already blooming. It had rained the night before; the path was muddy and the hedges still held droplets of water in their green depths. Emily?s pretty pink dress was already crumpled and untidy; the ruffles had long since ripped and shredded themselves on the hedges. She was about a mile from home, and it wasn?t much longer until she reached her destination. When she arrived at the clearing, however, she had to be certain of her footing. While the feud had ended in the Lowlands hundreds of years ago, up here in the Highlands, the feud was rampant. Her mother had confronted her, face red with rage. ?You, Emily Síne Campbell, are not to consort with a McDonald. A McDonald boy, no less! Do you know what they did to our ancestors, Emily? Have you no family pride?? Emily had stared at the ground. She didn?t understand the family feuds; it had happened ages ago, but the part about family pride did needle at her conscience. She was proud of her roots ? who wouldn?t be? She loved the Campbell?s, and their existence. Nonetheless, she was friends with James McDonald. She wouldn?t, however, be friends with him for much longer. If her mother found out she was friends with him, she?d take away Emily?s books. So Emily walked the path that separated the McDonald and Campbell properties. Callum McDonald ? a widower ? lived on one side of the hedge, while Enid and Kieran Campbell lived on the other. A month ago, Emily had never heard of James McDonald, but from what he?d told her, he?d come home from boarding school in Edinburgh. When Emily had pointed out that he couldn?t be that bad, really, if he was civil enough to go to Edinburgh, Enid had sniffed that a sane Highlander would never send their children to the lowlands to be educated, and if Callum McDonald was really as posh as that, then she was glad she?d never associated with the likes of him. Emily had given up at that point, and agreed to tell the boy that she?d not see him again. The clearing was just up ahead. She could feel the tranquillity of it beginning to wash over her, like a breeze rolling through the trees. It was sometimes spooky; the way just being in the clearing could make everything in the world just perfect. It wasn?t as if the clearing was particularly pretty; except for the occasional wild flowers, there were only high, twisted mulberry trees ? someone?s futile attempt to civilise the region. There was no bench, just the limb of one of the trees that stood like Atlas to the children throughout the decades. Emily had just scrambled up the branch when she heard James? voice behind her. ?You?re early today.? ?I can?t stay long, which is why I?m early.? She looked around, astonished as always to see him in the middle of the clearing. He was always there before her, always appearing out of nowhere to surprise her. It was almost as if he knew beforehand where she?d be looking, although she always tried to trick him. When she peered at him again, his eyes were sad and taking on the lonely cast they?d had when she?d first met him. She smiled; hoping to delay the inevitable brush off she?d have to give him. His eyes brightened to their normal jovial smile, and Emily relaxed. ?Why don?t you climb the tree and see if you can beat me this time? I barely took two seconds.? James scoffed. ?It was longer than ten seconds. You?re always so slow. I can climb much faster,? he boasted, and proceeded to demonstrate his talent. Emily shuffled her body to one side to make room for him. They sat silent for a while; Emily swinging her legs, James fiddling with a leaf and staring at her. She became uncomfortable, fingers tracing the once impeccable ruffles of her dress. ?You want to tell me something. What is it?? This was it. Emily bit her lip, looking everywhere but at the boy. ?Look, James?you?re a McDonald. And, well, I?m a Campbell. In Edinburgh, where you go to school, things might be different, but here,? She glanced up, desperately hoping that he?d understand. ?Well?here, the feud is still going on. The Highlanders, they ? we ? remember things longer. And well?I can?t be friends with you any?? she didn?t finish her sentence. James? eyes hardened, anger etching itself into his features. His anger was decades old ? not the anger of one child towards another. It was anger that had years to bubble and boil to the surface, like a slow-burning furnace. His eyes hated her, contempt and scorn evident in his entire being. ?I thought you were different. I thought you didn?t care about century old feuds.? He advanced at her, and Emily shuffled backwards, trying to avoid his penetrating stare. He kept coming toward her, as graceful on the branch as a tight walker who?d had centuries to perfect his art. His arms shot out, and he shook her. Emily screamed and knocked him away. He flailed for a second, eyes showing his shock and helplessness. His body hit the ground with a sickening crunch. Emily stood there for a second, panicking, then dropped from the branch and took off at a run. The hedges rushed past; streaks of white on green. She couldn?t breath. Her lungs were screaming in pain, the breath panting out of her. Her dress was whipping her legs, so she lifted it past her knees and kept running. The hole in the fence was just up here, so close, but if she passed it then she?d have to go back and find it, and all the hedges look alike, and why wasn?t there a gate? But she knew the answer to that; to keep the Campbells out. Emily gave up, instead scrambling up the Hawthorne hedges. Her dress caught, and she tugged on it. Another ruffle shredded itself on the green claws. She was almost at the house; if she could just make it, she could save James, but, oh God, what if Callum McDonald shot her on sight? ?Mister McDonald!? Emily called, her Scottish brogue ? already barely understandable to outsiders ? thickening itself with her panic. ?Mister McDonald!? McDonald walked out with a shotgun. ?What is it you want, Emily Campbell? Come to spit on my lawns, like the rest of your cousins?? Emily nearly sobbed; she would have if she hadn?t been so overcome with panic and short breath she could barely think. ?There?s been an accident. Your son. He?s?? ?My son? You, girl, are just like your shifty ancestors. But you should at least get your facts straight. I have not, nor will ever have, a son.? ?But Sir, James, your son. He came home from boarding school at Edinburgh?? His face ? so like an older version of James ? twisted into contempt. ?Well, you certainly have done your homework. Listen to me, Emily Campbell, and listen well. If you or any of your relatives ever mention James, and his death ? at Campbell hands, I might mention ?? Emily cringed, ?I will personally see to it that your family never forgets that your Grand mammy killed my brother!? ?I don?t care about your brother!? Emily cried. ?But James just fell out of the tree!? Callum McDonald grabbed Emily?s arm, his old, twisted fingers digging into her skin. ?Listen to me well, Emily Campbell. I don?t care what sort of delusion you?re under, but I have not, and will never have a son, due to that fact that when I was twelve, my brother fell out of a tree ? because of a Campbell ? and while I was riding to get help, another of your relatives threw a stick into my wheels, and I then fell off and hit the bar on my bike. I have been sterile since that incident, which means, you little liar, that I cannot have children!? Emily ripped her arm free, then grabbed his wrist and started pulling. ?Look, I can show you. James fell underneath the Mulberry trees. He?? Callum had gone pale. ?You were playing in the Mulberry trees? Don?t ever go near that place again.? ?Why?? ?It?s haunted. By my brother?s ghost.? ?By James.? ?Yes,? he whispered, still pale. His eyes were glistening with tears. ?By James.?[/size]

[size=1][b]OOC: Just letting you know, I won't be here Thursday. Not sure about Wednesday, but I'll try to post then.[/b] Rae huffed her exasperation and walked off, muttering about 'The denseness of males', leaving Matt laughing and Liam looking self-conscious. They'd worked together often since the mission a few years ago, but Rae still hadn't gotten past how very slow Liam could be at times. She was one of the people who could actually banter with him -- without being shot -- but over the past few years they'd barely had enough time to say 'I can shoot better than you' before they'd been sent off on a new, separate, mission. It seemed the Head Honchos only wanted Rae and Liam teamed together when something big and bad was expected in the mission, which didn't bode well for this operation. Rae made her way down to the dorms, looking into the other rooms before hers. She'd chosen beforehand, knowing that the best rooms would be taken quickly, and wanting to get her own without fuss. She was surprised to see Bailey sleeping quite comfortably in the room. Bailey hadn't unpacked yet, but Rae wasn't going to allow herself to be lazy; chances were there'd be no time to once they got started. She unzipped her duffel. "What do you want, Liam?" Rae asked without turning around. He made a sound of approval. "I can never figure out how you know when someone's there." "Call it paranoia." Rae turned and sat on her bed, not bothering to unpack yet. "Looks like you've got a roomie. I checked out the other rooms before now; two Russians and Zharra seem to be sharing a room, and I'm in here with Bailey. It leaves you with Bradley, although, if you're really uptight, I'm sure there's enough room for you to be on your own." She grinned and gestured towards her sleeping comrade. "Think I should wake her up?" "Probably. You can be quite a shock." Liam leant against a wall. "Two Russians?" "Yeah. I spoke to one of the security as I was coming down. There was a breach, but it seems like Katarina has a friend who's decided to join us. Probably against KGB wishes, but since they sent their agent here, they report to us...I think that's the way it works. Or rather, that's the thinking around here." Rae went over and poked Bailey softly, having one of her lightening quick changes of topic. She drew back automatically after touching Bailey, ready to be shot at. "On second thought," Rae grinned. She slowly inched her hand under Bailey's pillow, looking for the gun that any good agent would have. Bingo. "Silver Beretta, 9mm." She listed off to Liam, absentmindedly touching her own pistol; a 9mm silenced Glock. "What's the best way to wake someone up?" "Dump water over their head, I believe." Rae glared. "Just because you think it's funny to watch someone splutter." "It's true. I do. What about that whole pressure point thing? Squeeze her big toe. Apparently, it wakes you up. If she kicks you, though, it isn't my fault." "It's never your fault," she muttered darkly, taking his advice anyway. Bailey woke up quickly and suddenly, arm automatically reaching for her gun. Rae grinned. It seemed that Bailey had seen more than she let on. "Liam," Rae ordered, "Close your eyes." Liam, not used to taking orders in any form, immediately ignored her, except to ask, "Why?" "Because. It isn't nice to watch a lady wake up." He laughed and didn't bother moving. Bailey took in the scene, and Rae smiled as her eyes became less wary. "I decided I should inform you that you're going to be my room mate -- just incase you woke up to my snoring." Liam snorted. Rae gave Bailey back her gun, once again absentmindedly touching her own. It was a habit she hadn't yet kicked -- she needed to have the security there; even after three years, she wasn't over her helpless feelings in Pizaro's mansion. "Anyway. Welcome to...Singapore. Liam's not as scary as he likes to think, and he isn't the best shot either." "I'm better than you, Rae. I always have been." "Only just. And I was trained in information, Liam." Her voice was terse, eyes revealing how much she resented Liam's gloating. He knew how much to push her though, and refrained from commenting on his background in Computer Espionage, simply muttering, "Bloody know-it-all." Rae frowned towards him. "I'll give you 'bloody know-it-all.'"[/size]

[size=1]Elli's lips twitched into a semblance of a smile. "That was it." Seth's shocked face was almost amusing, in the circumstances. "However, I know of at least two more in the surrounding area, if they haven't been contaminated by people.They're little more than cubby holes, from what I know, but they should be safe for the time being." "Actually," Saethi said, his face concentrating, "one of them has an inbuilt passage to a safehouse underground. It's bigger, it has ammo and guns but...I can't remember which one." Seth looked worried again, and he looked toward her. "What? I don't know where. I'm not acutally [i]in[/i] the mob, I just have connections to it through my father, who has business dealings with it. Unless, of course, he lied to my mother and myself, which I wouldn't be too surprized at. He always was a bastard, anyways." Elli shrugged and continued walking, muttering. She stopped sudddenly, turned around and faced Saethi. "Where are we going, anyway? [b]OOC: Sorry it's so short. Short of time.[/b][/size]

[size=1]"It's certainly going to be...interesting." Rae returned to her seat, mentally sizing up the inhabitants of the room. Last time they'd started off with more -- although they'd all dropped off pretty quickly. Some had just not been able to take the stress, like Iitashi, who'd been sent home, debriefed, and completely erased from SYF history. She trusted the Russian to be constant in her rebellion, at least. She was well trained, and certainly feisty enough to be an asset to SYF, although having someone who would stab you in the back was slightly disconcerting. [i]Isn't it always though?[/i], Rae thought wryly, recalling certain members of her own family. Zharra, Rae trusted automatically. After working with Ananda and Jaudiar, she knew how very competant Zharra would be; she was trained by the best. Bradley? She knew nothing about him. He was Australian, at least. Could be a good sign. And as for Bailey, well, she was enthusiastic, which was usually encouraging. And she seemed to know about SYF and it's work, which meant she wasn't a very new recruit. But...there was something about her that said that she hadn't seen many missions. The lack of sarcasm and trauma, probably. Rae smirked and sent a glance towards Liam. Sarcasm and trauma -- the main two requirements for surviving in the SYF. There was a knock outside the space in the wall -- you couldn't really call it a door -- and then an amused and even worried voice spoke. "I expect this was Liam's doing?"[/size]

[size=1][QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Mitch [/i] [B]Of course I write for myself, mostly. But considering that Harper has one masterpiece of a book, and she has mostly world recognition, wouldn't you think, if I were her, I'd want people to read more of my stuff?[/B][/QUOTE] Perhaps Harper was tired of writing. I mean, I myself get sick of editing all the time, and I know that as soon as I start a story, everyhting will be edited the next day, so I shouldn't start if I don't want to stick with it. Perhaps Harper feels she doesn't have that dedication, or she had a story to tell in To Kill a Mocking Bird, and now she's told it, doesn't want to write anything else -- or publish it, rather. I know that if I have a novel of that level, I'd be worried that everything I wrote wouldn't be as good; worse yet, that it'd be compared to my old work. Eh. There are many plausible reasons -- that's the only one I can think of that would stop me.[/size]

[size=1]Heh, Mitch, could you [i]be[/i] more blunt? Not that I'm complaining, mind -- I do know the drill. Anyway, I do know how to make large chunks of dialogue into smaller paragraphs -- I'd picked up on it from my many romance novels, which actually use apostrophes as quotation marks. Bad habit, I guess. I didn't use that, though, because I couldn't really be bothered. [quote]"I remember several things she had told me in her wisdom; the day ended at five o?clock in the afternoon, babies were made by fathers touching mummies? stomachs and wishing for a baby and Barbie Barbies was a game we played where we pretended to be Barbies. "[/quote] As for that paragraph [may it be damned. I myself thought it was one of the weak points in the story], I don't like it much because to me at least, it loses quite a lot of the subtle sarcasm: it wasn't wisdom at all. [i]In her wisdom[/i], was supposed to be a slightly sarcastic, even ironic [if that's the correct term] comment. It could have been better, though, I agree with that. [i]In her never-failing wisdom, she'd informed me of many things:etc[/i]. I don't know. I just think that the way you put it loses some of it's original meaning. Or maybe it's just me.[/size]

[size=1]"It's all pretty much the same, really." Elli glanced over at Saethi, eyelashes lowered to guard her eyes. He was in the Ukranian Mafia, which meant that he was connected to her father. Could she trust him? She'd have to -- after all, they were stuck here. 'My name's Elli Cartlande. My father has connections with the Mafia -- he mentioned this place in passing, which is why I came here.' 'Saethi Yerik.' Elli snickered. 'Nice name. Fitting.' Elli looked at him consideringly. 'I know you from somewhere.' [center]_______[/center] [i]Two Years Ago[/i] Elli entered the club behind Josh, her boyfriend. She was here to lend support, of a kind. He'd been involved in some shady deals lately; The Ukraine version of the Mafia was was blackmailing him from something in his past, and Josh had had enough. He needed backup in case things got ugly, and, as Elli's father had connections, she was a safe bet. Josh lounged against the wall, his black clothes making him look like the assassin he wasn't. 'Where's the contact?' Elli asked. 'He'll be here somewhere. Don't worry about it.' Elli nodded and leaned against Josh, eyes darting around the room full of ravers. She noticed the guy coming towards them at the same time Josh did, and her reaction was the same as his; they tensed. 'His name is Saethi,' Josh whispered. 'And he's some son of a big kingpin in the mob.' 'Yeah, I know him. He goes to Oxford. I've seen him around. He's in a lot of my classes. Pretty harmless.' Josh stood up as Saethi came closer. 'Look,' he said. 'I've got some things to sort out. I don't want to do this anymore. And I'm tired of this ****.' Elli glanced at Josh. His swearing was odd, really. He never swore. Saethi raised an eyebrow and glanced at Elli. 'Really? So you're...friend knows all about you, is that right?' His tone was sinister, knowing. Josh's face began to take on a red tinge. He went apopalyptic, completely losing his cool. He aimed a punch at Saethi, who, having expected this, simply gave him a knee to the groin. Josh fell to the floor, hard, groaning in pain. Elli, out of her depth, did the only thing she could do; she rabbit punched Saethi in the face. [center]_______[/center] Elli grinned at the memory. 'Yes. I'm sure I've met you before.'[/size]

[size=1]Heh. You know I'm in, Liam. ^.~ [b]Name:[/b] Raellyra (Rae) Adara Stanton [b]Side arm (pistols only):[/b] 9mm silenced glock [b]Trained in (best at/specifically, two choices):[/b] Intellegence, Surveillence. [b]Age(between 12 and 19):[/b] 19 [b]Bio:[/b] First became initiated when she found out that her brother and foster parent, Adam, (eight years older than herself) was actually a secret agent. She later found out that her other brother, Matthew (two year older), was a member of the SYF. It was five years ago when she herself became involved in the SYF, and it was obvious stright away that, while her marksmanship was just above average, in surveillence and intellegence she was almost brilliant. In the Pizaro incident, Rae found out that her oldest brother, Adam, was a traitor, and that Matt -- who'd she'd been told was dead -- was alive, well, and going to University. She went undercover as Pizaro's daughter, after finding out that she looked remarkably like her, and, in the course of her mission, had to torture Liam, or blow her cover. In the past three years, Rae's been working with Liam on a regular, but not constant basis. She's been catching up with her brother Matt, and has had to undergo counselling for several incidents, including the Pizaro fiasco. [b]Appearance:[/b] Lithe and flexible, with a slim build and average height -- about 5'7''. Rae has black hair and light blue eyes. She normally wears cargo pants, baggy jeans or skirts, with a T-Shirt or blouse over the top, and whatever shoes she can find -- usually boots of some sort.[/size]

[size=1]Elli groaned as the pain in her body became so much more intense -- like it had just found the right nerves. He eyes flicked open and she took in the room. It had a single door -- apparently wooden, but most likely not. Enforced, probably. Her arm was still dislocated and bleeding, she noticed. Someone must have taken her in -- this had to be the safehouse -- but they hadn't bothered with helping her. She shouldn't have expected them to; after all, she hadn't expected anyone here, not really. It had been a hopeful dream. A thought occured to her, and she checked herself. [i]She didn't have her knives.[/i] Where in the hell were they? The little shithead had taken them, hadn't he? Elli growled and launched herself off the bed, ignoring the stabbing pain in her arm. 'Hey,' she yelled through the door. 'Let me out. Now. I need my knives, and I need you to help me with my arm!' No answer. Elli sighed and walked back towards the bed. She did need his help with her arm, in all honesty. To undislocate it, it needed to be held then popped back into place -- something that woud be most painful for her, in all probability. But nonetheless, if she wanted to be able to use that arm, she needed to put up with it. Elli sighed. The stupid bum was probably sleeping. In her half conscious state, she hadn't seen anyone else, so it was altogether possible that he'd left the place unguarded. Damn him.[/size]

[size=1]Elli snapped out of her thoughts as a demon nearby felled a man in one swoop, without pausing in his stride. This was ridiculous. It was insane. She wouldn't survive with just pepper spray and knives. It meant she got too close before she could hurt them. She needed guns. Failing that, she needed some where safe. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere... [i]The safehouse[/i]. Her father, he had mentioned something about safehouses, about his business. He was a diplomat, apparently, but diplomats generally didn't have connections to the Mafia, to the 'other side' of London. What had he said? There was a safehouse -- yes, she knew that much -- but what about the safehouse? Where was it? It had to be somewhere in London. Near a club...what club? [i]The[/i] club. The one with the drunks and the idiots who had decided to waste their brain cells with pot. Elli didn't know the name, but she knew where it was. If she could get to the club, surely her memory would kick in and help her out. If not, well, she was going to meet her Maker. [center]__________[/center] The street lights illuminated all the carnage, all the death. She couldn't remember where the safehouse was, and in this grim flurescent lighting, she knew that she was in trouble. The shadows were so...concealing. They could be anywhere. Elli sighed and looked around. She was beyond lost. She was alone. And that meant trouble, of every kind.[/size]

[size=1]Shakespeare's problem in things, I believe, is that it's meant to be acted. If you have to read it for yourself, without other people saying other parts, you lose half of the meaning. Actually, Shakespeare can be a pretty sick guy -- he's quite good with vulgar meanings, and it slips in there quite well. I've studied [u]A Midsummer Night's Dream[/u], and I quite liked it. I don't see anything wrong with his work, although I can't speak for the more serious plays.[/size]

[size=1]Elli stood silently, aware of the carnage, and instictively paying attention for any threats, but nevertheless dazed and possibly going into shock. But perhaps that was bloodloss. She was alive. She'd just thrown herself onto a demon -- and killed it -- then free fallen, knowing she was going to die and...she was alive. It was impossible. No, it wasn't. Nothing was impossible. That guy, he'd done something. She didn't know what, but he wasn't natural. Demon? No, not a demon. A demon would have let her fall. Unless, of course, they wanted her alive for something. It wasn't the first time she'd been manipulated. But no, a little far fetched. Perhaps he was an angel, then. She'd always imagined angels to be more...impressive, somehow, with wings and armour and halos and swords and -- well, he did have a sword. So, an angel? Perhaps God was smiling down at them. Frowning, probably, at all the carnage, but not indifferent to their pleas. But she didn't think he was a proper angel. She shrugged and left her thoughts at that. Smiling slightly, renewed with hope, Elli once again moved out to fight. This time, though, she had courage, rather than desperation. And she wanted to find the angel-man, and asked him how in hell...no, heaven, that she'd survived her fall.[/size]

[size=1]Elli climbed, desperation making her gasp and wheeze, making her fingers sweat and bleed and slip. She'd learnt to climb some of the older buildings -- they had bigger indents, the kind you could hook your fingers into. She had no clue where she was going, but, the way her panicked brain figured, it was better up than down. Down meant watching more dying, meant trying to fight with a bloody arm and two knives. She hadn't tried the pepper spray, yet, but she'd decided that it wouldn't work on demons. [i]Demons[/i]. Who would have thought there was such a thing? Not her, certainly, but when the attacks came, they had to believe it. And, too, they had to believe there was a god, otherwise there was nothing to hope for. To live for. [i]Hail Mary,[/i] she prayed, [i]full of grace. The Lord is with you. Blessed are you amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour--[/i] There was a small pop and a demon appeared, hovering beside her. Perhaps up hadn't been such a good idea. Up meant no where to go. Elli screamed and kicked out, hoping her bad arm would support her weight. It did. Barely. The demon looked shocked, but not hurt. She was crying in frustration, in pain, and in desperation. There was no way out. She was going to die. She was going to -- she sobbed. Acceptance of her fate would not come. Her body would be desecrated by the demons. Perhaps her soul... [i]Now and at the hour...at the hour of our death.[/i] There was another popping sound, and her shoulder dislocated, searing pain down her arm. She could do this. She had to do this. She couldn't let the demons...couldn't let them. She kicked out again, forcing her fingers to keep the death-hold on the stone. She'd lost her edge. The demon didn't move. [i]Now and at the hour...[/i] Shutting her eyes, Elli used her other leg to launch herself towards the demon, letting go of the wall. With all her support gone, she was relying on the demon to stay floating. Elli slipped her knife into the demon's ribs. It stood shocked, then started freefalling, taking Elli with it. "Of our death."[/size]

[size=1]Vicky and Craig8429: Don't worry about the accounts being deleted if you go away for six weeks. I expect that Charlie and James know that things prevent members coming online. I believe they're speaking more in the long term; if a person hasn't posted in 2 years, and then only had three posts, it would imply that they aren't coming back to Otakuboards. If another member wanted that username, it makes it silly to deny it just because it's taken by a person two years ago. I can see your point, Craig, but I don't think that we're talking about months, really. Six months is actually a pretty short time. Years would probably be a better measurement. If came online, posted once, and then didn't post for a couple of years, chances are I'd forget this palce existed. *shrug* Really, I think the thing is practicality. I don't think there could or should be a hard and fast rule about it -- just take each as it comes. When something happens which says we should delete some names, then James and Charlie probably would.[/size]

[size=1]I happen to like Matchbox 20 and 3 Doors Down, however, I can see the similarities between there singles it took me quite a while to realise that 3 Door Down was the owner of the song I'd attributed to Matchbox 20! However, I do really like both of their songs, so I have no complaints. If you had to choose between 3 Doors Down and matchbox 20, which would you choose?[/size]

[size=1]P.O.D. is the Christian rock band that hit the charts quite heavily last year, isn't? The ones with [i]Alive[/i] and [i]Youth of the Nation[/i]? Personally, while I thought those songs were okay, it wasn't good enough for me to go out and buy an album over. The songs were good, and I did like Youth of the Nation, but there was just somethign there which said that most of the songs on the album were probably quite alike -- that there wasn't much variation. So, for those that have heard the album, is there variation?[/size]

[size=1]Eh, what the heck? I have time to kill, and it looks like fun. The RPG, not killing time. o.O; [b]Race:[/b] Human [b]Name:[/b] Elli [b]Age:[/b] 19 and a half. [b]Sex:[/b] Female [b]Appearance:[/b] 5'7", straight strawberry blonde hair, blue grey eyes. Lithe build. Dresses in almost any colour -- cannot stand reds. [b]Location:[/b] London. Oxford, too, for convenience sakes. Wiat a minute...isn't Oxford in Oxford, not London? [b]Weapons:[/b] Apart from Pepper Spray [What can i say? She's a practical girl], Elli carries two knives on her, for emergencies. She doesn't believe in guns -- thinks they aren't honourable -- although her father insisted that she know how to use them. [b]Skills\Powers\Spells:[/b] Elli's intelligence, a few defensive techniques her father's bodyguard showed her when she was a teenager and didn't know how to discourage the boys. [b]Short Bio:[/b] Elli has that slightly doe-eyed look of someone who often finds themself in too deep. She is intelligent, but she hates the stifling and competitive atmosphere that permeates the city of Oxford. She wanted to go to somewhere lesser known, but her parents put their collective feet down and said she [i]had[/i] to go to Oxford. Instead of accepting their word, Elli applied for the University of London, and her parents made sure she was rejected. Furious at their interference, Elli sought revenge by spending all her free time in London, more specifically, the artsy London community, situated somewhere between the middle class, and the slums.[/size]

[size=1]Actually, Deedlit, I was going to do something like yours originally, but then I saw your entry, and I realised I needed something completely different to stand a chance! Besides, I'm not the best at writing anything but fiction like what I did there, so it wasn't really a matter of choice. ^.^"[/size]

[size=1]Well, Gentle, I read your poem, and it has a lot of potential. I don't know if you meant the second stanza to be quirky and almost sarcastic -- although less harsh -- but to me it came across like that and gave the poem a whole different flavour. So very well done. I have a few suggestions: In the first stanza, [i]The wind [color=red]blows[/color] across my face/ [color=red]Blowing[/color] my hair infront my eyes[/i], the second blowing could be changed to, whipping, propelling. Something to get rid of the repeditiveness. Other than that, I was quite pleased with this poem. Cheers.[/size]

[size=1]*claps* Yay, Sara. I love it -- it's one of the best poems I've seen on here! And, better yet, it's a fun poem, and it's short, which means I can read it and not get bored. 'Two very enthuisastic thumbs up. We salute you.' [i]Empire Records[/i]. ^.^[/size]

[size=1]I know you didn't mean it that way, Mitch. ^.~ And people are sensitive -- as we both well know -- because writing is such an imprecise art. Unless you have someone with your exact style, you can never know how good or bad you are compared to others. You can [i]believe[/i] you're better than this person or that person, but you can't be sure.[/size]

[size=1]Ignore Mitch. He could have phrased that better, in my opinion. That was a bit harsh, really. [Sorry Mitch, but I believe it was.] Personally, while it wasn't the most brilliant poetry in the world [In terms of rhyme scheme, length, metaphors and technical merit], I think that the gorgeous part of the poem is the sentiment behind it. It's a sweet poem, and it's not cluttered by the usual teenage angst that most poets our age like to indulge themselves in. Honestly, it's a lovely poem, the kind I could see in a volume of poetry, with a picture of an angel flying through the sky holding her halo on top of her head, or something like it. I think you've done really well. And, even better, you've accepted criticism well, and, as such, I'm extremely proud of you. ^.^[/size]

[size=1]Well, there was a similar thread [url="http://otakuboards.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=30550"]here[/url] which basically said that if you changed your cookies the problem was fixed. I don't know if it'll be any help to you, but I hope it will.[/size]

[size=1]One of the dreams I've remembered over the years this: I enter a room, and look around. There is a vampire standing over near the wall -- a female vampire. The entire dream is monochromed, except for her red shirt. She attacked me, and I stabbed her in the heart with a metal pipe. She laughed and said that it didn't do anything, and I proceeded to run away. I then woke up.[/size]

[size=1][b]I've never been in a snowstorm, or seen snow. I'm taking a shot in the dark and describing it to myself.[/b] Bethany and I grew up together, closer than the sisters we actually are. I suppose that?s what often happens on properties ? if there?s no one else around, you make friends with those who are there. And Bethany was there. Beth was the oldest, by two years. She was blue-eyed and fair-haired, taking after our father. I was darker, with a heavy jaw and brown eyes. My mother said I was a throwback to my grandfather. But all that really matters is that, because she was older and prettier, I idolized her. She could do no wrong. She was perfect, and most of all, she knew everything. I remember several things she, in her wisdom, told me; the day ended at five o?clock in the afternoon, babies were made by fathers touching mummies? stomachs and wishing for a baby, Barbie Barbies was a game we played where we pretended to be Barbies. My favorite of all was when I asked her what a snowstorm was. I?d seen the word in one of my books, but I still didn?t know what it was ? how it worked, what it looked like, what it sounded like, what it felt like. I had no clue. Bethany, however, must know ? she was older than me, and she?d never steered me wrong before. So I asked her one-day, quietly and calmly what a snowstorm was. She stared at me for a second, and then sat down on one of the logs just outside the house. She seemed stumped. ?Well?it?s a?type of storm?? She muttered, her logical mind trying to piece together the word. ?And it comes from snow!? She smiled triumphantly. ?But,? I asked, ?what does it look like? And sound like? And feel like?? Once again, Bethany sat down and thought. All of a sudden, her creative brain kicked into gear. I could almost hear the light bulb go off over her head. ?A snowstorm,? she cried, jumping to her feet, ?is a big storm. And it sounds like a big storm. It goes [i]crash[/i],? she clapped her hands together and stamped her feet, imitating the sound of thunder. I stared at her, happily enthralled with her explanations, once again. ?And during the storm, the whole world is flashing white, ?cause of the snowflakes. And it?s the white of being lost; there?s just enough panic to make people pay attention, but you have all these new surroundings now and you want to watch it forever!? ?And after the storm, it?s silent, and?and?[i]muffled[/i]!? She jumped on top of the log; glad that she?d remembered the word she?d learnt last week. ?You step outside, and the world is calm, and sleepy, like it doesn?t want to wake up.? ?And?and?it looks like?like a big swimming pool of ice! And ice is cold, of course, and the swimming pool goes on forever and ever, so the whole world is white! It?s like looking at a?at?at a?a lemonade icy-pole!? She was excited now. Her explanations were coming together, and she threw herself into the descriptions, gesticulating madly. ?And it feels like the ice inside of our deep freeze ? cold and forever. So cold it burns your hands, and you can?t believe it will ever melt. But when you leave it outside, it does.? Beth grinned at having finished her explanation. I had one last question left, however. ?Bethy, how does it work?? Bethany just looked at me like I should know the answer, and was wasting her time. ?Honestly, Janie, you?re stupid sometimes. The elephants that make thunder jumped too hard and accidentally broke the clouds.'[/size]