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Similar Deviations
(a.k.a. The Microsoft Word Alphabet Song)

Hit CTRL + N for a blank new .doc(x),
Let's get this party started;
Or CTRL + O to open and carry on
From where you last departed.

CTRL + D to choose and edit fonts:
They come in every shape and size;
Comic Sans may try to tempt you,
But Arial is far more wise.

Why not try CTRL + B, I or U
To makeover your typeface?
CTRL + F, G, H are a loyal team:
They'll find, go to and replace.

Fancy a match of Word tennis?
CTRL + L, E, R, J will set the stage
For you to rally your lines of text
Back and forth across the page.

CTRL + A's the secret to selecting all:
It'll highlight everything,
While CTRL + Q does the job of clearing
Your paragraph formatting.

CTRL + C and X are copy and cut;
CTRL + V will then duly paste;
CTRL + T and M are for tabs and indents –
Don't let that space just go to waste.

CTRL + K rules the hyperlinks
If you're wired to the net;
But first it's F7 for a quick spell-check
You're sure not to regret!

Wish I had CTRL + Z to undo
Mistakes I've made in real life,
And CTRL + Y to ferry words to and from
The BACKSPACE afterlife.

Press CTRL + P to print off your work
Instead of putting it in the trash,
And remember to CTRL + S frequently
Before the inevitable crash!

Now I've done the whole alphabet
And I think that should cover it…
But wait, I've forgotten just one letter:
I wonder what CTRL + W———————
...Or the Command button for Mac users. :stare:

Written just for laughs, and the last line is a four-letter word that rhymes with "it". ;)
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“It’s your first day, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Ah, actually, I’m just an intern. I’m supposed to be working with Dr. Simonetti.”

“Simonetti? He’s on the second floor. Just take those stairs, then follow the hall to room 216. The door says ‘Director of Genetic Integrity’, you can’t miss it.”

“Thanks! I’d better hurry, I’m almost late.”

Paul tramped up the stairs, plastic soles announcing his hurry to everyone in the echoing, cold-walled office. The second floor had a carpet, thank the Presidency, and he was at 216 before he had time to process it. He wiped the sweat from his hands and knocked.

“Come on in.”

Simonetti, a large man in a brown-mustard suit, looked up from behind the desk. He rose, shook Paul’s hand; his grip engulfed Paul’s slim fingers, wrapped around his whole palm. “The new intern, right? Great to have you, great. Always glad to see youngsters take an interest in their government. So many people are happy to just let us work that they forget there’s no ‘us’ and ‘them’, you know? By the people and all that. Some citizen’s gotta push the buttons. Come on, let me show you around.”

Dr. Simonetti led Paul, the intern rubbernecking, still clutching his work documents to his chest, into a metal room of computer stations and clicking keyboards. “Records processing,” Simonetti explained. “Every time someone gets a Breeding Marriage License rejected for genetic reasons, we have to know it. Pretty soon we’ll be doing tests at birth to see what got past us, too. Make marriage licensing a lot simpler when the kids grow up, let people plan ahead. You’ll probably be working in here some of the time.”

Past that room, another hallway: offices, names on walls, framed pictures of nothing in particular. “These are the regional officers ... the medical labs, we are a research facility as well ... cafeteria, but we’re building a new one soon ... field phone calls from hospitals, concerned patients ...” Paul could tell that he wouldn’t remember half of the rooms, but he felt obliged to try. Internships with the hottest government agency since the founding of Homeland Security didn’t come easily, and he knew what’d happen if he slowed the operation down. He recognized a hallway – success! – and realized that they were back at room 216.

“So that should give you a rough idea. You’ll mostly be working with me in the beginning, just running papers and things like that. Once you get used to the place, we’ll probably set you up doing data entry. We’re such a new department that we haven’t processed half of the data available to us.”

* * *

Paul plucked his mp3 bud from his ear and glanced up at the man leaning on his monitor, minimizing the Excel window. “Can I help you, sir?”

“Dr. Simonetti would like to speak with you when you’ve finished this set of data. He’ll be waiting in his office.”

In room 216, Dr. Simonetti was eating lunch. He waved Paul inside, offered him a cup of the wine he was drinking; Paul refused. “I understand you’re getting married,” said the Doctor, always terse.

“Yes,” said Paul, ducking his head in a half-nod. “My fiancée and I have been seeing each other for about a year and a half, and we decided it was time to do something about it.” He couldn’t help smiling.

“Good man,” said Simonetti. “And the pre-marriage screening ...”

Paul wondered how close an interest the Director took in his staff. “You’ve seen the results, haven’t you, sir.”

“I have. I asked you in here to ask if you have any thoughts on the matter – if you’re disappointed that you can’t have children, if you’re feeling cheated, if your wife is getting cold feet, I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Thank you, sir, but I’m doing fine. My wife and I were disappointed, of course, but it’s what’s best. We have no reason to complain.”

Simonetti waved away the “sir” with his hand. “Call me Claude. We’re not on work time now, and you can be honest. I’m not asking whether you have reason to complain: I’m asking what you feel. You were just denied a Breeding Marriage License! Are you angry, frustrated, sad? You can talk to me, Paul. I know you.”

Paul shook his head. “If I thought that the genetic standards were unfair, I wouldn’t work here. I know that the government has established these standards for our good and for the good of our children. I don’t feel cheated.”

Simonetti took a sip of his wine. “I almost believe you, kid. It’s tough to work in a place like this and be turned down for a breeding permit, I know. You’re a good kid, though. You’ll be all right.” He finished the cup. “Sure you don’t want anything to drink?” Paul nodded. “Then get the hell back to work. I’ll see you at the meeting.”

Paul stood, nodding his thanks again. “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome, kid. And listen, my door is always open. Right?”

“Right, sir. Thanks again!”

* * *

In his new office in the public relations department, Paul couldn’t let his phone rest in its cradle for more than a few seconds. His ear ached and the phone was as hot as his blood. “I’m sorry if you have an objection to the procedure,” he was saying to a woman in Tennessee, “but pre-birth screenings for genetic disease are now mandated by the National Genetic Safety Act. ...Don’t worry about expense. I understand that the procedure is still expensive in many regions, but your health care provider is required to cover the costs of this mandated testing.” Peter, who worked at the desk beside him, shot Paul a sympathetic glance. Paul smiled back gratefully.

“Your doctor can answer all of these questions, ma’am, and with more information about your region and your personal situation than I have. I encourage you to make an appointment as soon as possible. After all, not only are these tests now required, but they’re more effective than ever now that we can detect mutations. Please, get the tests as soon as possible so that your options will still be open when you receive the results. Remember, forewarned is forearmed.” One green light on his phone’s cradle ceased to flash and another flickered to life. “Now, if you don’t have any further questions, I’m afraid I must be going. Is there any other issue with which I can help you or department to which I should forward you? …Thank you for calling the Department of Genetic Integrity, ma’am.” He switched ears and opened the second line. “Good morning! Department of Genetic Integrity, Paul Eggleston speaking.”

* * *

“I’m sorry, ma’am. As my secretary informed you, the Genetic Standards Act clearly states that if a parent cannot afford to meet genetic minimums, the child must be aborted. I’m afraid that there are no exceptions. Your health care provider is required to cover the cost of the abortion, so you don’t have to worry about money.”

Paul squeezed the phone into his shoulder, scribbling a few notes on his screen. Through the glass walls of his office, he watched a group of staffers making their way to the cafeteria that had been built when he worked in the phone offices. Trying not to tune out the chattering in his ear, he reflected that the only real difference between that job and this was the number of secretaries between him and the public.

“I understand how emotionally difficult this must be, ma’am. However, I assure you that current medical procedures are entirely safe and future pregnancies will be unaffected by the abortion. And after all, think of the child – do you really want to give your child a life hampered by genetic deficiency? What kind of a life would that be?”

A message from the labs popped up on his screen and he typed a few quick lines as he spoke.

“Please stay calm, ma’am. Remember, it’s now statistically almost impossible for a Breeding Marriage License to produce a genetically deficient fetus. I advise you to make an appointment for the abortion as soon as possible, so that you and your husband can – ”
She had hung up on him. He laid the phone back in its cradle. Immediately it rang.

“Department of Genetic Integrity, Director Eggleston speaking.”

“Paul? Listen, this is Peter Giles. We just got a call from the Hill. They’re letting us in on a something so that we can be ready before it hits the press.”

“Tell me.”

“You remember the belligerent tendency screenings? Apparently they were tested on several sample populations in the last decade. This was after they’d been cleared for safety but before their effectiveness had been proved.”

“That’s going to cause a little stir. But still, the safety tests had already been completed. What’s so bad about a little study?”

“I think that what has the PR people worried is the fact that every test group was pulled from low-income urban populations.”

Paul paused to process that. “Well, urban populations are famous for belligerence. Maybe they wanted to be sure of the sample.”

“That’s poor procedure. A sample is supposed to be random – if the urban population is really more likely to be belligerent, that’ll skew the data.”

Paul is ready before Peter has finished speaking: “The environment is more conducive to expression of the trait. The study is to determine whether the detected genotype increases belligerent tendencies; an environment in which the genotype is likely to express would be ideal because in a peaceful environment, carriers might never express the traits and the genotype might go unidentified.”

“ ...You’re a spin doctor, Paul. Full Ph.D. Thanks.”

Paul set the phone down. In his head, he corrected Peter: he wasn’t a spin doctor. The trick was simply to remember that the administration was the peoples’ servant; that’s what “administer” means. It’s from the Latin minister, a servant. The peoples’ servants always consider and attend to the needs of the people, even when the people don’t see their need. If one looked with a bit of attention, Paul knew, one could find the true motive behind any governmental action, no matter how odd or unexplained it might be.

His watch chirped at him: time for lunch. Setting the phone onto automatic answer, he pulled on his coat and headed to the cafeteria.

* * *

Paul tucked a napkin into his collar, covering up the tie that cost more than his entire outfit had cost when he was an intern. His lunch was as simple as ever: an apple, which he was still able to eat with his original teeth thanks to modern dentistry,  a sandwich – today, he treated himself to a Reuben – a glass of water and a glass of milk. As usual, he was seated at the corner table under an old Department poster. The current poster, from about five years ago, read, “Bless your Child with a Peaceful Future – Test for Belligerence TODAY!” Under that was the Department slogan, “For the good of the species.”

Seeing the new face in the office, a kid named Anderson who was fresh out of college, Paul waved him over to his table. What was the kid’s first name? Paul wondered if his memory was declining already. Anderson glanced around, made sure that he was really being summoned, nervously walked over and set his tray on the table.

“Hello, Anderson! How’s work here treating you so far? Enjoying yourself?”

“It’s fine, sir ... nothing to complain about.” The kid had a slice of pizza, glass of Coke, cup of French fries. It wasn’t the healthiest option available, but it wasn’t unlike what most of Paul’s contemporaries ate when they were that young.

“You’ll have to forgive me – I can’t quite recall your first name. Ian?”

“Jon. That’s okay, though. I’m impressed that you remembered Anderson!”

“It’s my job, son. That and signing papers. I understand they have you fielding calls. That used to be my department.”

“So I heard, sir.” Anderson looked as though he had something on his mind, and Paul wanted to tease it out. The kid was shy, though. After a few minutes, in a pause, Anderson finally spoke up.

“I’ve been wondering something since I got here, sir. I hope you won’t mind, it’s ... kind of a personal question.”

“Shoot, son. You go ahead and ask, and if I don’t want to answer, I’ll just keep my mouth shut.”

“I heard that you were denied a BML when you got married. Is it ... what’s it like to work in this department and know that you’re shut out of what we’re all working for?”
Paul nodded; it wasn’t the first time a staffer had asked him that question. “It’s true, and I don’t mind talking about it. When my wife and I applied for our Breeding Marriage License, we were rejected because of a slight genetic degradation in a strand of my DNA that regulates physical development. I grew up fine, but there’s a chance that any child would be crippled. Even by the standards then, I was unsuitable.” He took out his pocket knife and began peeling his apple. “I don’t bear a grudge, though, because that rejection has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the future of my potential children and our species itself. Why would I give life to a child who would suffer every day of his life and never be able to procreate himself? The law makes sense. As for my being in the Department – on my first day of work, a man named Claude Simonetti, the original director of the Department, told me something about government. In this country, it’s not that the people are ruled by the government; the government is the people. In a sense, it’s an expression of the popular desires as measured in elections. In another sense, we the people literally make up the government. Someone has to be in here pressing the buttons. Does that answer your question, son?”

“I guess so, sir. …Thank you.”

“Nothing to it. An old man likes to tell his stories sometimes. Now, isn’t it about time for you to be back at the phones?”

Anderson checked his watch and started. “Set me up the bomb! Yeah, I should get moving. I’ll see you later, sir.”

“Good luck, Anderson. I’m glad we talked.”

* * *

Pushing himself up with his silver-capped cane, Paul rose from the cafeteria chair and began slowly treading back to his office. He silently thanked the government for having installed escalators, as he did every day.

Deposited by the moving stairway at the mouth of his hall, Paul noticed two men standing beside the door to his office. One of them carried a manila folder. It’s here already, he thought, and continued calmly toward them.

“Mr. Eggleston? New legislation requiring your activation, sir.”

“Thank you, son. Please, step inside. Let’s not be hurried about this, eh? The wheels of government turn implacably; they have no need for haste.”

He let them inside and took his seat, indicating that they should follow suit. “Anything to drink? No? Very well.” With a sigh, he settled into his chair. It was as if his bones had curved into its shape since he became Director twenty years ago. “Now, let me have a look at this new legislation, son.”

He took the manila folder and briefly reviewed its contents, assuring himself that all the proper forms were signed. It was the bill, all right. He knew that it had passed, but somehow it still surprised him to be holding the final copy. He noticed that the Capitol office had a new notary. The review was mostly a formality, but Paul liked to observe the forms of conduct. He found them to have a calming effect. Seeing that the new directive was accompanied by the proper documentation, he lifted his pen and signed at the bottom of the final page, underneath the legend, “Congressional Act for the Removal of Non-Compliant Genotypes”.

“I guess you should probably tell the co-director to start moving his things, then.”

“He has already packed his office, sir,” said the officer who’d brought the files.

“Am I to wait here?”

“We’re instructed to escort you to the Compliance center immediately, sir. The Act does not permit delay.”

“Very well. I suppose that’s for the best, right? Efficiency and all – and one wouldn’t want a great line of people at the doors.”

“No, sir. If you would hand the documents to my partner, we’ll get going immediately.”

“Of course.” Paul passed the activated legislation back over his desk and stood, picking up his cane.

“We’ll have to ask that you leave your cane here, sir. Also, please hold out your hands so that we can restrain you.  ... I’m sorry about this, sir. It’s only a formality.”

“I don’t ask for any special treatment, son. If I were given special dispensation, we’d have favoritism, and then where would we be?”

Closing the handcuffs, the officer glanced for an instant over his glasses and met Paul’s eyes. Paul noticed that the man’s eyes were a kind of crystal-blue – genotype 844g, if he wasn’t mistaken. Always one of his favorites. “You’re a rare man, sir,” said the agent. “I might even go so far as to say you’re a hero. You’ve given your life to the department. We won’t forget you.”

“Thank you, son,” said Paul. “That’s flattering, even if the chances of an officer-level genotype forgetting an arrested individual are less than one in a hundred.”

They shared a quick smile before the other officer cleared his throat and all three straightened, recalling the task at hand. “Please accompany us the rest of the way in silence, sir,”said the first officer, once again businesslike. “It’ll take about ten minutes to get there; it’s just up the road.”

“I do have one more question,” said Paul. This had been bothering him for some time. He’d checked over his estate that morning, set the files for his successor, done everything that a man could ... but he was still a man, and after almost eighty years, he still loved his life nearly as much as his government. “Will it hurt?”

“We really shouldn’t be talking any more, sir. I’m sorry. Please come with us now.”

They opened the door and Paul walked out, taking a final glance at the “216” as he walked toward the escalator. For the good of the species ...
This was written for my freshman Cognitive Science (Fiction) course. I almost put it into Sociopolitical, since it doesn't concentrate on the science but on the ripples. It apparently didn't need as much editing as I had expected; my teacher liked it, although I don't know what his standards for a freshman writing course are. I still wonder if the ending has enough kick; what do you think?

How did this make you feel?
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so beautiful is the pen marking paper,
curves of bold, slender, and jagged lines,
filling itself onto the soul of this white sheet,

filling the paper with each passing day,
permanent, forever engraved
giving everything it has inside it's being
until the ink runs out
reaching to every corner of this once blank sheet,

the ink and the paper are now one,
forever etched into each other's existence.
The actual title is "To My Beautiful Artist: Ink and Paper"
dedicated to my fiance :iconcl1mbingfl0w3r:
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Title: L'autre Rose (The Other Rose)
Language: French, with English translation
Fandom: Doctor Who, Le Petit Prince
Pairing: Doctor/Rose

     Un jour, dans le voyage du petit prince, il n'a vu pas une planète, pas un homme à qui parler. Dans le ciel, seul un boite. Le boite a été grand et le plus bleu bleu jamais.  Le front de le boite avais deux portes, et une fenêtre dans chaque. Un signe au sommet a proclamé «  Boite police appel public ». Dans une main provisoire, le petit prince a frappé sa main à la porte.
     À le surpris de le petit prince, un homme grand et mince a ouvert le port. Il a été un large sourire dans se visage, comme un petit enfant dans une boutique des jouets. Ses yeux a été large et le couleur de chocolat fondant. Ses cheveux collés dans une manière qui a donné l'apparence d'un champ de sombre herbe pas tendue. L'homme étrange portait un costume qui lui a donné l'apparence d'un crayon. Mais, dans l'ensemble, pensé le petit prince, l'homme est apparu tout à fait amical.
     «  Bonjour » a dit l'homme. « Qui tu êtes ? »
     « Je n'a pas un nom, » dit le petit prince.
     « C'est ça va, » dit l'homme. «  J'ai seul un titre. »
     « Et ce qu'il est ? »
     « Le Docteur »
     « Tu n'est pas un homme du police ? »
     Le Docteur se mit à rire.  « Non. Seul un voyageur comme tu. »  Le Docteur introduisit le petit prince dans sa boite bleu. Le boite, qui avait paru avant peu plus grand de la planète de le petit prince, parut tout a coup plus grand.
     «Comment avez-vous correspondez son grand maison dans telle un petit boite ? » a demandé le petit prince.
     « Avec difficulté. » dit le Docteur.
     « Tu est seul ? Comme moi ? » A demandé le petit prince.
     « Oui. Pour le moment. » Le Docteur a répondu. Il est tombé sur une chaise et fit un geste pour le petit prince de s'asseoir à côté de lui.
Le petit prince pourrait voir l'homme a été triste. « Pourquoi es-tu triste ? » il demandé.
     « Je manque quelqu'une. Elle a été très importante à moi. Je manque elle avec tous mes cœurs. Ma Rose. » Il sortit de sa rêverie. « Oui, je manque ma Rose plus que tu sais, »  le Docteur a dit au petit prince.
     « Ah, mais je sais, » le petit prince a dit, avec la tristesse. « Je sais très bien. »
     Le Docteur essaya de sourire, mais seul se mit à pleurer. « J'ai tué un soleil juste pour dire 'adieu'. » Le petit prince a regardé à l'homme étrange, ses yeux plein de tristesse.
     « Mais, le coucher du soleil, était-il bel? »
     Le Docteur a répondu « Oui, mais aussi pour très, très triste. »
     « Les couchers de soleil, ils sont toujours très beaux," le petit prince a ajouta soudainement. « J'ai vu 43 couchers de soleil dans un soir sur ma planète, tu sais. »
     « J'ai vu trop de couchers de soleils," le Docteur a dit, et une larme est tombée de son œil.
     « Maintenant, » dit le petit prince, « quand j'ai vu un coucher du soleil, j'essaie de me souvenir ma rose. »
     « Je voudrais pouvoir oublier. »
     « Mais, tu l'aimes.» dit le petit prince. « Pourquoi tu voudra oublie ? »
     « Souvenir est le douleur. »
     « Non. Ce n'est pas vrai. »
     « Et comment-est ce ? »
     « J'adore ma rose plus que tout. Bien qu'elle est très loin de moi, je sais elle est mien. Quand je pense à elle, je suis heureux. Et n'est pas savoir que mieux que ne pense pas a elle plus jamais ?»
     Le Docteur lui donna un autre sourire triste. « Je suppose. »
     Le petit prince a rire. « Je sais. » Il s'arrêta. « Je dois partir bientôt. Mais, je veux parler avec toi, un jour à l'avenir. »
     « Bien sur, » dit le Docteur, avec une certaine tristesse. Il ne pouvait supporter l'idée d'être seul. «Mais, que faire si tu ne me reconnaisse pas ? »
     Le petit prince ôta son nœud papillon et a donné à Le Docteur. Porte-le, si tu as un doute je sais toi, et je te promets je sais tu. »
     Le Docteur a mis le nœud papillon bordeaux dans une poche grande. Et donc, le prince et le docteur, ils se sont assis en silence dans vaste vide des cosmos. Alors que les étoiles étaient allumées autour les deux hommes, tout ce qu'ils pouvaient penser a été une rose au loin.

(     One day in the travels of the little prince, he saw not a planet, not a man to talk to. In the sky, there was only a box. The box was big and the bluest blue ever. The front of the box had two doors and a window in each. A sign proclaimed at the top: "police public call box." With a tentative hand, the little prince knocked on the door.
     To the surprise of the little prince, a tall and slender man opened the door. There was a wide smile on his face, like that of a small child in a toy shop. His eyes were wide and the colour of dark chocolate. His hair stuck in a way that gave it the appearance of a field of dark, uncut grass. The strange man was wearing a suit that gave him the appearance of a pencil. But, overall, thought the little prince, the man seemed quite friendly.
     "Hello" said the man. "Who are you? "
     "I don't have a name," said the little prince.
     "That's okay," said the man. "I only have a title. "
     "And what is that? "
     "The Doctor"
     "You're not a policeman? "
     The Doctor laughed."No. Only a traveller like you." The Doctor let the little prince into his blue box. The box, which had before seemed little larger than the planet of the little prince, suddenly seemed much larger.
     "How did fit such a big house in such a small box? "asked the little prince.
     "With difficulty,"said the Doctor.
     "You are alone? Like me? "asked the little prince.
     "Yes. For now. "The Doctor replied. He fell into a chair and gestured to the little prince to sit down beside him.
     The little prince could see the man was sad. "Why are you sad? "He asked.
     "I miss someone. She was very important to me. I miss her with all my hearts. My Rose." He emerged from his reverie. "Yes, I miss my Rose more than you know," the Doctor told the little prince.
     "Oh, I know," the little prince said, with sadness. "I know very well."
     The Doctor tried to smile, but only began to cry. "I killed a sun just to say 'goodbye'.  
     The little prince looked at the strange man, his eyes full of sadness. "But the sunset, was it beautiful?"
     The Doctor replied, "Yes, but so very, very sad. "
     "Sunsets are always beautiful," the little prince added, suddenly. "I saw 43 sunsets in one night on my planet, you know."
     "I've seen too many sunsets," said the Doctor, and a tear fell from his eye.
     "Now," said the little prince, "when I see a sunset, I try to remember my rose. "
     "I wish I could forget. "
     "But you love her." said the little prince. "Why do you want to forget?"
     "Remembrance is the pain. "
     "No. That is not true. "
     "And how is that? "
     "I love my rose more than anything. Although she is very far from me, I know she is mine. When I think of her, I'm happy. And is that not better than not thinking about her ever again? "
     The Doctor gave him another sad smile."I suppose."
     The little prince laughed.  "I know." He paused. "I have to leave soon. But I want to talk with you one day in the future. "
     "Sure," said the Doctor, with some sadness. He could not bear the thought of being alone. "But what if you do not recognise me?"
     The little prince took off his bow tie and gave the Doctor. "Wear it if you have a doubt that I know you, and I promise I will recognise you."
The Doctor stuffed the burgundy bow tie into a large pocket. And then, the prince and the Doctor sat silently in the vast and empty cosmos. While the stars were lit around them, all they could think of was a rose in the distance.)
I never write fanfics. Not only did I write this one, I wrote it in French. (If you want to yell at me about my bad French,
feel free. I've only just finished French 3. :) )
This all came about because :iconfallen-lord: and I both started a story text after she did a piece featuring the little prince from the book Le Petit Prince by Antoine de Sainte-Exupery and the Tenth Doctor from Doctor Who. And neither of us could understand how a crossover of the two hadn't been done before. So now we've each done one. This is mine. ;)
Even though I wrote the story originally in French, I've included an English translation because
a) I figure not everyone knows French,
and b) You may need the translation anyway after finding my French impossible to read. :)
But I think Le Petit Prince (The Little Prince) is one of the best books ever (to the point I read it at least once a year)... and Doctor Who is my obsession. And both the little prince and the Doctor miss their (R)oses so much that I know they must have met... And they both know bow ties are cool. :D
If you don't know the Little Prince, (Read it! :bookdiva:) look here: [link]
If you don't know Doctor Who (Watch it!), look here: [link]
Please fave/comment/be nice/give me pointers/etc. :D
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10 Downing Street,


SW1A 2AA                                                          

Dear Mr Cameron and Mr Clegg,

I am writing to you today to discuss an issue which, speaking on behalf of the British public, many find bothersome. I am, of course, referring to the deficit. Now, I am fully aware of the fact that you must have already received hundreds, if not thousands of letters from people nationwide expressing concern about the tremendous debt our country faces. However, I urge you not to discard this letter, as this letter contains a valuable thing, something I doubt you will find in the majority of the other letters you receive: a solution.

It has come to my attention that society today is extraordinarily careless with coins and general spare change. I myself, when clearing out my room last week, managed to find precisely £5.32 down the side of my bed- goodness knows how much I might find if I search behind sofas or in the pockets of coats or jackets I no longer use. I'd guess around £10 at least, and I consider myself to be especially careful with my spare change! After this discovery, I came to the conclusion that if the entirety of the UK population were to take time to collect any spare coins they find around the house, and pooled it together into one final figure, a significant amount of the deficit could be cut. Not only would this make people generally more considerate about where they leave their pennies, it would also save you, the coalition, from making some of the cuts you were planning to announce during the Spending Review. Smiles all round, I believe.

Of course this would still leave a significant proportion of the deficit uncut. I have, however, also got this covered. The public seems to have no objection to tossing their change into fountains- but what purpose does this serve other than the imaginary granting of a tourist's wish? As an experienced fountain-wisher, I can assure you that no matter how many times I've thrown two pence pieces into various fountains nationwide my wishes have not been granted- I've wasted my money, and my garden has still not opened a portal to an ancient civilisation in an alternate universe. My point being, Britain's fountains must be laden with spare change, spare change which is neither wanted nor used. I thoroughly believe that if we were to gather all of the change thrown into our fountains and water features (I would like to note that many display ponds in garden centers are also used as a shoddy replacement for wishing wells), it could amount to a surprisingly large figure which could, again, be used to cut the deficit. This seems to be a very happy solution. Clean fountains, smaller debt, people may even come to the realisation that by wishing into a fountain they are in fact living a lie.

To conclude, the solution to putting an end to your governmental woes is as simple as sticking your hand down the side of the sofa and collecting your lost one pence pieces, and allowing the public to once again see the tiled floor of the fountains at Trafalgar Square.
Yours sincerely,
Elise Gallois, A-level student and aspiring tycoon.
Silly old letter I wrote to the Prime Minister and his lapdog a few months ago.
I sent it, but as of yet, I've had no response.
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I wake up blinded by the sunlight
Only to realize absence of life's delight
Everyone yearning for brightness
In this place enclosed in darkness

The piercing pain,
The woeful cries
The thirst for greater wealth
To achieve a better health

Families tenuous of starvation
Parents and children seeking direction
Each district secretly wanting insurrection
Against the Capitol's greedy agitation

Iridescent competition for survival created,
Controlling life for entertainment started
All of us longing for an end to this rapture
No longer wanting to suffer from this seizure

This dystopia encased in obscurity
Residents being absorbed by vanity
Can this really be reality?
Why is it devoured in catastrophe?
What caused us to give birth to human bestiality?
This is a poem I made a month ago for English class, which is dedicated to the trilogy, "The Hunger Games," written by Suzanne Collins.
It is according to Katniss Everdeen's perspective.
I just thought I'd share it here on dA since I never use my blogspot anymore xD...

~I wrote this while listening to Epik High :3
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Observe the world around
But do not try to control it
You cannot control what has its own pace
You can only observe and change within

Observe the mindless people
Understand their actions and thoughts
Observe the clouds in their dance
Observe your pain and learn from it

With plain observation comes pure knowledge
Of things how they are without your judgment
Effort to control gives an illusion that you change
The world that is unchangeable and out of reach

Give in to the truths you see
Without prejudice know what's real
Without fear read the mind of god
And see yourself in his face
Rather than spending energy on trying to control, we could really spend it much wiser..
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An essay for a friend
Ian McBride

We think we're strong.

We think we're immortal.

We are not.

Today, Friday, February 10, I learned that a close friend of mine from Middle School killed himself. He jumped from the third story of my school to his immediate death. I went to lunch, like any other day and saw a massive crowd in my usual hang-out area.

"Another fight, jeez," I muttered as I passed through the crowd. As I progressed, another friend of mine came out in tears, obviously having seen the body. She informed me of the jump, but was unaware of who he was.

I turned around, to avoid seeing the body. Despite my physical desire to avoid it, some little part of me thought I should see it. I thought I needed to see it. That it was important I see this. I thought to myself "Well, what happened? I mean what REALLY happened?" I went to Walgreens to take my mind off it.

Coming back to school with a Coke and a box of "sweethearts" (those chalky crap valentine's candies sold this time of year (I was actually planning to go on a date that night, but this made things a little different)) in hand and was directed to the football field. At this point, the story changed sporadically and it was never clear what really happened. But later today, I learned the truth.

I went on facebook to get the thoughts about death out of my head, but as words were cast about the incident, I began to try and glean whatever information I could from students.

"It was a girl."

"It was a boy."

"It was a freshman."

"It was a sophomore."

"Her name was Kiersten."

"His name was Drew."

That's about where I stopped. The name "Drew" rang true in my head for a few seconds, and I proceeded to corroborate the information I had gathered. As I talked to more people, and got confirmation from teachers, I learned it really was Drew. MY friend, Drew.

I never really had a lot of thoughts about death. It always seemed far away and distant. I never expected death to happen around me, even if it already had. My first introduction to the concept of death was at the age of seven. My hamster died in my hands. My second was in seventh grade, a boy died from a heart defect while playing basketball. None of these, thinking back on it, truly affected me. I mean, I thought about how these people and animals would never walk this earth again, but I never felt true grief for long.

Anyhow, back to Drew. Drew and I became friends in eighth grade. I had friends who were in eighth grade when I was in seventh and they had gone on to high school. I was alone, I had nobody. I only saw one of these friends on the weekends and the others I rarely saw. I ended up hanging out at the top of the amphitheatre, alone. Drew and I had talked and became acquaintances, seeing as Drew hung out at the top as well. He welcomed me into his group and I hung out with him almost every day. We became friends.

Drew was fun, he was random and hilarious, and he was a good friend. Yet, as most friendships do, when high school came we drifted apart. I went back to the friends I had and he stayed with his. I returned to the group of friends I missed. Drew went on to football, and I went to books. He went to the socially affluent people at school, and I went with my kind: "The Rejects," "The Nerds," "The Losers." Drew and I went our separate ways and it stayed that way.

Drew and I had the same English 9 class Freshman Year. We talked more at that time, but we never really hung out again as friends. We just saw each other. We were acquaintances again. The last time I saw him was passing period today. We nodded at one another and went our separate ways, as acquaintances do. I wish I had known, I might have been able to do something. I could have done something.

Drew made time for me, even though had little in common. I just wish I had made more time for him.

We think we are strong.

We think we are immortal.

Drew is.

Drew Ferraro
My friend, Drew Ferraro, killed himself today. The words down here aren't worth reading, just read the essay.
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Steve and Tony walk hand in hand into the orphanage. They were greeted by a kind middle age lady with brunette hair. "Hi you must be Mr. and Mr. Stark-Rogers. Come in come in" she says as he opens the door wider to let her guests in. The place was pretty worn down, scratches on the floor, marks on the wall and some of the ceiling is peeling. Kids were running all around the house. The lady puts his arm out of from of them. "Hi. Please call me Ms. Stanley" she says with a smile. "Hi I'm Steve and this is my husband Tony" Steve says while he shakes her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you" Tony says as he then shakes her hand. "Well let's go into my office and talk about the type of kid you want to adopt" Ms. Stanley grins as she leads the couple more into the house.

A few hours later they narrowed the choices to three little children. A five year old blonde hair girl name Cassandra, a little 6 year old brunette boy name Peter and another boy who is 7 years old name Jack. "Well do you want to meet them all before you make your final decision?" The lady asks. "Of course" Steve says with a smile. "Very well then, I'll go and get Cassandra or what she likes to be called Cassie" Ms. Stanley says before she leaves the office.

A couple minutes later Ms. Stanley comes back to the office with Cassie holding her hand. "Mr. and Mr. Stark-Rogers meet Cassie" she says as she brings the little girl towards the couple. Steve smiles at her. "Hi Cassie. I'm Steve and this is my husband Tony" Steve says. The girl looks at them both with odd expressions. "I want a mommy and a daddy not two daddies!" She yells. The couple look taken aback. "Cassie that is not how we treat people who want to adopt you!" Ms. Stanley yells back. Cassie screams in irritation "Get away from me. I don't want you to adopt me!" she screams before she runs out of the office. "I'll go calm her down. I'm so sorry" Ms. Stanley says before she runs after her. Steve looks at Tony who stares back at him in shock. "Well that was unexpected" Tony says with a chuckle. Steve glares at Tony. "This is serious Tony. What if the boys feel the same way? What will happen then?" Steve says in a solemn tone. Tony gives him a serious look. "Let's just hope it doesn't" Tony says as he grabs his husband's hand.

Another couple minutes passed and Ms. Stanley came back with a teary eyed Cassandra. "Now say you're sorry Cassie" Ms. Stanley said sternly as she dragged the little girl towards the couple. "I'm sorry" Cassie says with a grunt. "Okay now run along" Ms. Stanley says as she opens the door and lets her out. She then shuts it and looks at the couple. "I'm so sorry for that. I didn't know she would react that way. That was really rude of her. I'm really sorry" Ms. Stanley says apologetically. Steve waves his hand at her. "It's okay Ms. Stanley. We understand that our situation is different than most adoptive parents" Steve explains. Ms. Stanley gives them a small smile. "Thanks for understanding and again I'm sorry" she says. Steve smiles back. "Let's just meet the next kid" Tony says. "I'll bring him in" she says as she then walks out of the office.

The door opens moments later with Ms. Stanley holding hands with a young boy. "This is Jack. Say hello Jack" she says as she brings the boy closer to his potential parents. "Hi Jack" Steve says with a smile. "Hey Jack" Tony says with a smile and a wave. The little boy approaches Steve and Tony with a menacing smile. "Hi Daddies" Jack says. Steve's heart warms up. "Tony did you hear that. He called us Daddies" Steve says with a happy smile. Jack comes up to Steve and gives him a hug. Steve stands up from his chair to give him a proper hug back. The boy grins evilly as he then slickly steals Steve's wallet from his back pocket. Tony sitting behind Steve watches the whole incident discreetly. He then grabs the kid's hand. "Look what we have here" he says as he shows Steve's wallet in Jack's hands to his husband and Ms. Stanley. "JACK!" Ms. Stanley yells, shocked. Jack smiles innocently. Tony then grabs the wallet from his hand, gives it back to his husband and releases Jack's hand from his grasp. "I can't believe this. Jack you're going to get a punishment. Let's go. I'm taking you to your room right now. I'm so sorry again. I didn't know he would be so rude. I'll be right back" Ms. Stanley says before she grabs Jack's hand and takes him out of the room.

"What is wrong with these kids these days?" Steve says in a distraught. Tony shakes his head. "I don't know Steve. Let's hope this next kid is normal" he says. The door suddenly opens and Ms. Stanley walks in. "I'm so sorry about that. That is not how Jack usually acts. I'm really sorry" Ms. Stanley apologizes again. Tony gets up from his chair. " I have enough of these delinquents. Come on Steve. We're going to find another orphanage" Tony yelled as he tried to grab Steve's hand. Steve stood up angerly and pushed Tony back down on his chair. "Tony you're overeating they're just kids. Now calm down. We still have another kid to see. Isn't that right Ms. Stanley?" He asked. Ms. Stanley nodded head. "Yes you do." Tony rolled his eyes. "Fine but is there anything wrong with this kid?" he asked. Steve gave his husband a glare. "Peter is a quite shy little boy and well he has a little bad luck with his past parents" she explains. Steve rose an eyebrow. "What kind of bad luck?" he asked. "Well all off his past parents died within the 6 months he was with them" Ms. Stanley says sadly. "He thinks he is cursed. I tried to tell him otherwise but he doesn't believe me. That's why he hesitant and shy to meet new potential parents" She adds. Tony and Steve look at her with sad eyes. "That's horrible" Steve says. Tony takes his husband's hand. "Well we're going to break that curse. We would like to see him" he says with a small smile. Steve smiled at what his husband said and nodded his head. Ms. Stanley smiled softly at the couple. "I'll go and get him. I'll be right back" she says before she walks out of the room. "I like this kid already" Tony says with a smile. Steve rolls his eyes. "You haven't even met him Tony" he says. "Well he thinks he is cursed. I find that rather amusing" Tony says as he smirks. Steve playfully hits husband shoulder. "Tony! That's not amusing. It's sad!" Steve says with a hint of anger. Tony was about to whip out a witty reply when the door suddenly opens.

Ms. Stanley walks in with a small brunette boy hiding behind her. "This is Peter" she says as she tries to pull him out from behind her legs. Peter holds tightly onto Ms. Stanley's skirt and doesn't budge. "Hi Peter" Steve says with a smile. "See Peter. They're nice people" Ms. Stanley says to try and comfort the shy boy." I don't want them to die" Peter says softly from behind her. Steve and Tony frown. After a few minutes an idea popped in Tony's mind. He then grin as he pointed at his shirt to show Steve what he meant. "Good idea Tony" Steve said as he smiled back at him. Ms. Stanley looked at them confused. Tony grinned at her before he then walked toward the little boy and kneeled down in front of him. He then unbutton his shirt to show Peter his arc reactor. "Look Peter. This is my heart. I made it myself. It is very strong you see" he said as he knocked on it. It made a noise that surprised Peter. "See? I am going to live a long time with this strong heart" Tony says with a smile. He then points to his husband. "And Steve there, did you know that he is already 80 years old but he still looks that young? He will live a long time too. We promise Peter that we'll live a long time" he explains. Peter walk out of from behind Ms. Stanley's leg and walks closer to Tony. "You promise?" he asked softly. Tony grins as he took his pinky and curled it against Peter's. "I pinky promise" he says. Peter grins widely. He wraps his arms around Tony's neck and lays his head against his shoulder. "I want you to be my new daddy then" he whispers into Tony's ear. Tony holds him tightly before he carries him off the ground and walks toward his husband who was getting teary eyed. "Well lucky for you Peter you get two daddies" Tony says as he approaches Steve. Peter looked at Tony in disbelief. "Two daddies?" the boy asked in surprised. Steve smiled as he then grabbed Peter from Tony's arms. "Yes two daddies. I'm going to be your daddy too" he says as he touches his nose. Peter giggled. "I like this family" he said happily before he wrapped his arms around Steve's neck. Steve couldn't help but cry tears of joy as he held his 'now' son in his arms. Tony kissed his husband's cheek before whispering in his ear. "He's ours Steve. He's our son". He then wrapped his arms around his husband and son and pulled them into a hug.
I got this prompt on tumblr :P

Anonymous asked you:
Prompting time: Peter has lived with 5 different sets of adoptive parent, all of whom have died. Here come Steve and Tony who want to adopt him, but Peter says that they shouldn’t because he believes that he’s cursed to be alone and that if anyone gets close to him, they’ll die. Steve and Tony want to prove him wrong. Peter is 6-8 at the time.
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Viel gesehene Einsamkeit,

Ich bitte Sie hiermit inständig darum, jeglichen Kontakt mit mir abzubrechen.Bedauerlicherweise muss ich Sie darauf aufmerksam machen, dass Ihre Person bei mir auf flächendeckende Abneigung trifft. Ihre Anwesenheit in meinem Herzen ist daher nicht länger erwünscht. Weitere Aufenthalte von Ihnen an besagtem Ort werde ich nicht dulden.
In der Hoffnung, keine Antwort zu erhalten, verbleibe ich
mit freundlichen Grüßen,
Bea Lilian
Die Idee ist mir vorm Einschlafen gekommen :)
Einsamkeit ist wohl einer der Hässlichsten Begleiter, die ein Mensch haben kann, deshalb sollte man sie wegschicken. Uuuuhhh es gibt noch so viel, was ich wegschicken werde....
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