'Cuestion de Creer' capitulo 1'Cuestion de Creer' capitulo 15 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Comenzar a creer en el destino
Trataba de concentrarme en aquella clase de matemáticas, pero no podía. El profesor seguía y seguía hablando, mientras un fuerte dolor comenzaba a entrar a mi cabeza. Traté de pensar en otras cosas para quitar el dolor. Comenzé a mirar esas hermosas nubes que se formaban en el cielo azul de Wyckoff, New Jersey. Empezé a calmarme, pero no podía prestar atención a clase. En lugar de palabras, escuchaba un débil susurro que salía de la boca del maestro mientras sus labios se movían rápidamente.
¿A quien podía pedirle ayuda para que me explicara? A nadie. No tenía ni un solo amigo. Nunca fui una niña muy sociable, siempre fui más del tipo de chica solitaria que se conforma con sacar buenas calificaciones y llevarse bien con sus papás. Si, suena extraño, que a mis 15 años lleve una buena relación con mis papás pero, al fin y al cabo, er
Guardian AngelGuardian Angel11 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
The ink splotched as she wrote on a fresh sheet in her notebook. Perhaps she was pressing a bit too hard. Lyrial ripped out the page and stuffed it in her pocket. She stared at the new page and began to start the same letter again. But what was there to say? There was nothing in particular she wanted to write. And would anyone care enough to read it? She doubted it.
Lyrial heard the soft clacking on the hardwood floor as footsteps approached her in the corner of the library. She quickly stuffed her letter under her textbook.
"The library is closing in 10 minutes, Ms. Anderson. I suggest you leave," the librarian hissed through gritted teeth.
Lyrial watched her retreating back. She was not surprised by her attitude. After all, she was a grumpy old woman who ceased to see much of the world outside this building. Although it might have also had to do with the fact that Lyrial constantly stuck her gum underneath the table, but she chose to ignore that.
She stuck a fresh piece of gum in her
Israeli Etiquette - BambaIsraeli Etiquette - Bamba8 years ago in Humor More Like This
Israeli Etiquette – A Guide for Prospective Visitors
Bamba is the typical Israeli's main food source. If you ever need an Israeli to do something for you, offering them bamba will probably have a similar effect to that of offering shaggy a Scooby snack.
When a bamba packet is thrust under your nose, you should cheerfully dip your hand in and take a piece or 5. Ignore the fact that your hand will be covered in sticky yellowish crumbs for the rest of the day, that's what showers are for. Do not by all means decline this offer. Doing so will cause the Israelis in the area to regard you as antisocial and/or an anti-bamba extremist, making you a terrorist.
It is important to mention that, while a crunchy yellowish snack kept in foil packets, bamba is not in fact a deeply fried slice of potato covered in preservatives but a healthy, real, peanut snack. It could be for this reason that the average Israeli child, though no less lazy or hun
the tangoi. la salidathe tango9 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
When it begins, you don't respect her.
And she? She would never respect you.
You snap vicious insults at one another: it's never ending - round after round after round of jabs, curses, rude gestures - anything to challenge her aspect of power. To challenge yours. Your first meeting ends in pain. She inflicts it upon you with words and blades; a tilt of her head to show disrespect, a snarl of your lips to return it, burn of rope against your wrists and the heavy, weary thud of your heart against your ribs.
Circle, circle, never touching - not yet - analyse, scrutinize:
when you finally lose consciousness, you glimpse her smirk before your vision fades, and you know -
she has won this round.
ii. el paseo
Vauhn walks beside Mariah, in a rare moment of peace between the two. He does not step in front, and does not linger behind: though at times he finds his pace challenged by Mariah's own, as if she's trying to lead him into snapping. He simply disregards it; thi
Vampire and Lycan InterviewAgeVampire and Lycan Interview8 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
"How old are you, Mabyn?"
"Forgive me a moment," the vampire responds smoothly, gesturing towards Rex. "I was told this was to be a private interview. What, pray tell, is he doing here?"
"Well, ah..." Mr. Elliot, the interviewer, chuckles nervously. "Semi-private, you understand. Do you have a problem with this? I'm sure we could arrange--"
"She ain't got no problem with it," Rex interrupts, strolling forward. "She's jus' toyin' with yeh 'cause that's what she does best. Ain't that right Mabyn?"
"...Be a good boy and sit, will you? I'd rather get this over with."
"Yeah... Right," the werewolf drawls, sinking into a comfortable chair. "The puppy gags never get old."
Mabyn turns back to the interviewer, ignoring the lycan beside her. "Centuries old, Mr. Elliot. I am an immortal."
The interviewer nods briskly. "And you, Rex?"
"Twenty six. In human years o'course."
"What bad habits do you both have?"
Mabyn laughs and leans back in her chair, crossing o
My Father's DaughterMy parents were arguing again. I could hear my father's raised voice from behind the thick, oak door, and my mother's soft, submissive whimpering. I pressed my small frame against the wall, trying to make myself invisible. I was only five years old, and the brothers who would make my house so infamous for their disappearances had not yet been born.My Father's Daughter9 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"Damn it, woman? Why can't you give me a son? We have that child, but why not a boy?" My father's voice came brusque and angry through the wall, and I shivered. He was notorious for his rages, my mother the frequent victim.
I despised him. Even as a child I despised him, for being foolish enough to overlook me, and bastard enough to take my existence out on my mother. She was sobbing now, her breath coming in ragged gasps. I moved away from the wall, out of the shadows.
"Vannah?" The shrill voice of my nurse echoed down the hall, and I quickly
A Clash of Wit And TongueSome might argue heaven or blissA Clash of Wit And Tongue8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Is found twixt a lady's hips
But when it comes to the company kept-
I do think, in an angel's role, you're far from inept
When it comes to company kept,
If I should indeed be far from inept,
Methinks I'll talk in prose and verse,
A battle for the halo now clutched in my purse
The problematic with speaking in twists of tongue
Especially with words written rather than sung
Is it hardly divines whose pocket the halo should reside within
Given how beguiling this poetry is, seeming almost a sin
When one of us surrenders, mon cher poet, and raises the white flag high
When one of us dissolves into chuckles, so much that bellyaches are nigh
That, good man, is what we'll do to choose this poetic duel's winner
So that the halo finds a resting place and neither of us's a sinner
Unforunately, that leaves me at a disadvantage, mon chere
As I admittedly tossed purity of spirit aside without a care
In its place, revelry borne
blue.i.blue.9 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Camlan was never the son his father wanted. Yes, he was a boy; yes, he had his fathers brow and eyes and his mothers lips but he was not the son his father wanted. His father had wanted a diplomatic boy; a boy with a level head and a smart mind. A boy that would soon become a man and then the patriarch of their little family.
He hadn't wanted Camlan.
At an early age, Camlan showed signs of being nothing his father wanted. He made rash decisions. He was loud. He never listened to what he was told. He did the opposite of what was commanded of him. Camlan had never wanted a family like the one he had. And he had never wanted a future like the one that was offered to him. He didn't want responsibility, work, or to be stuck in Beaumains for the rest of his life. It was a small, port-side town bordered on one side by the Ninevan Sea and on the other by Elaine's Forest. The Lord lived out of town, up on a hill, and rarely visited the small place. The small place where nothing ever h
An Evening With Sings-to-TreesAn Evening With Sings-to-Trees9 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
Sings-to-Trees had hair the color of sunlight and ashes, delicately pointed ears, and eyes the translucent green of new leaves. His shirt was off, revealing the sort of tanned muscle acquired from years of healthy outdoor living, and you could have sharpened a sword on his cheekbones.
He was saved from being a young maiden's fantasy—unless she was a very peculiar young maiden—by the fact that he was buried up to the shoulder in the unpleasant end of a heavily pregnant unicorn. Bits of unicorn dung, which was not noticeably more ethereal than horse dung, were sliding down his arm, and every time the mare had a contraction, he lost feeling in his hand.
It had been nearly two hours, the ground was hard and cold and his knees felt like live coals wrapped in ice. She'd kicked him twice, and if Sings-to-Trees hadn't known that it was impossible, he'd have begun to suspect that the unicorn had arranged a breech birth out of spite.
No, he was being unfair. It couldn't be any more fun for her t
'Cuestion de Creer'Capitulo 10'Cuestion de Creer'Capitulo 105 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Cap 10 Extraño Amor
Luke se fue a su casa. 5 minutos Más tarde llego Anna del trabajo, le enseñe el vestido que le compre y le encanto, además, se veía como mamá (ella tenia un vestido parecido). Estaba muy nerviosa y no podía evitar sentirme asi, sentia que mi corazón se aceleraba. Termine de arreglar mi cabello y mi imagen, salimos de la casa y al cerrar la puerta mi tía se dio cuenta de mis moretones. Le eché le mentira de que me había caído sobre el pavimento, y un gato me araño no era una gran historia, pero al parecer me creyo o eso espero.
Fuimos a la casa de al lado, de la familia Jonas, y entre más nos acercábamos a ella mas se cortaba mi respiración, como si mi cuerpo tuviera una reacción alérgica al acercarse un poco a Joe, pero esa alergia me encantaba. Trate de tranquilizarme, mi tía toco el timbre y Kevin abrió la puerta en seguida con su usual sonrisa.
r e s i l i e n c eFragility.r e s i l i e n c e7 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
We are made of glass.
People who love in glass houses tiptoe around the windows.
Why do we profess to be so strong, when in fact we are creatures so easily broken? Love is breath.
Woman has always been and will always be the gentler sex. No amount of protestations and marching and rallies for equal rights can change that. We are designed to feel. We are designed to have the very breath sucked out of us, to be crippled by a word or a glance.
That is not to say we are not strong in our own right. We are often the rock, the steadying hand, the calm in the storm, the safe harbor. Our pride is a force with which to be reckoned. We break, but not easily. We do a great deal of bending before snapping -- strong like bamboo, but apply the right amount of pressure in the right area with the right motive, and we have no choice but to give in, to bend and break. No amount of protest can change what makes a woman a woman -- not ever.
Why are we designed this way then
Making A Brush In PhotoshopMaking A Brush In Photoshop10 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
I Have Put The Tut So You Can View It Beter
MotherHer face was soft and cool to the touch, ivory skin flickered crimson. And yet she was smiling, as though she hadn't a care in the world; as though the knife driven into her heart did not exist. How blissful it must have been, to look upon her only son with glassy, unstaring eyes, never to profess her reasoning.Mother8 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
And even in death, this woman was as beautiful as in life; a porcelain doll upon her perch with ruffled gowns. So torn and displaced, the doll might have been, but it did not deter away from her majesty.
Oh, dearest mother...
I hated her as I hated no other.
I despised her as she breathed with a clear conscience, and still so, as she looked into the idyllic nothingness of the world beyond. And yet I cried for the damn woman; cried and with sticky, bloodied hands, tried to keep her life - cried, as her last words forced their way through my billowing sobs, and to my unwilling ears.
Oh, dearest mothe
Master of RavensMaster of RavensMaster of Ravens9 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
My little brother is nine years old the first time I decide to kill him.
During the night, snow fell over the jagged wreckage of our land. In the morning I realize he will follow me outside if I call to him. Like an awkward-limbed colt he'll stumble through the snowdrifts, and I can leave him to the ice and wind in the shadow of a three-walled building. No one will see me. Our father will think he has gotten lost on his own. I too will cry when they find his body. When the mourning is done, however, I will be my father's true and only son. 'Cam,' he will call to me, and I'll kneel down before him.
My father. Master of Ravens. Crow-Runner. The Blackbird King.
I pull on my winter boots, knot the coarse laces.
My little brother asks, 'Cam. Where are you going?'
'Out,' I tell him.
'To play in the snow?'
'To look at it.'
When he was born, my little brother was named Taliesin. His is a world without myths, of course. Such things perished in the great f
HisThe last room at the end of the hallway, it wasn't the smallest-but it wasn't the largest either. It housed a bed, a desk and a single window curtained by dark fabrics. The bed was in it's usual disarray-with one minor exception. The dark green blanket and mismatched sheets were tangled around two intertwined pairs of legs. What little moonlight that managed to filter through the dark curtains shone an orangish-red, proof that the Harvest Moon had risen mere hours ago. The iridescent glow focused on the pair of bodies on the bed.His8 years ago in Fantasy More Like This
He lay on his stomach, right side to the window-against her body. One of the sheets-dark red in hue-covered from just above his buttocks down to his knees, no lower. His arms were curved so that his hands were placed beneath his chin-his face propped up by his arms so that he could watch her while she slept. His dark hair was even more messy and unkempt than usu
The Buzz[In the staff break room, second floor of Manorview Hospital.]The Buzz8 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Mr. Weston: I brought you here today--
Emily: You didn't bring us anywhere. We work here.
Sandra: Emily, give him a break.
Mr. Weston: Ahem, as I was saying... I'd like to discuss your employer, Necielle Hathaway.
Emily: Why? Do you have a problem with her?
Lynette: How could he? Miss Elle is great!
Martha: Emily dear, people don't always ask questions to find the faults in others.
Sandra: Martha's right, but I'm still not sure we should talk about her...
Corinne: Oh, come on. That's all you do. Gossip, gossip, gossip.
Lynette: As if you don't gossip too.
Corinne: I never said I don't.
Martha: Girls, let's just settle down and hear what the man has to say.
Mr. Weston: Ah, I, um, well, I don't really have anything to say. I want to hear what you have to say.
Emily: About what?
Mr. Weston: Well, how competent is she as a d
My True FeelingsMy True Feelings..My True Feelings8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Forever will you be in my heart.
Unbeknownst to you, youve driven me to succeed in all I do.
Certainly, you are the best Ive met, and the best to help me do so.
Knowing you brightens up my day.
Youre everything a girl could ever want.
Occasionally, I even believe you to be a God.
Untainted, and unchanged throughout it all, I love you.
Human CogI do my job like a good little cogHuman Cog9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
like a well placed wheel
I dont cheat or steal
I do my work
I pay my time
I stand in line
I stand in line
By Kolby Montooth
Confessions~ 1 ~Confessions7 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Its only the second day at sea and I fear the whole trip will soon be completely unbearable. Would you believe, someone brought their cat on the ship? I hate the creatures, truly. What point do they serve? To catch rats? I find myself dreading the thought that there might be any of those onboard, though I suppose they dont always scurry about on four feet He, of course, made things worse by mentioning that if we run out of food we could always eat the animal. Now, I am a complete believer in practicality and ingenious thought and all that, but I do draw the line at, well, civilized things.
Obviously, we shall have to hope we have plenty of food for the duration of the voyage and I will be avoiding that little beast as much as possible.
~ 2 ~
I know I may be a little vain, but being teased about it night and day is truly beginning to wear on my nerves. So I will admit Im guilty of trying to freshen up a bit before supper at the captains table and such