Night. It was his hour. The wind had picked up, rustling the branches, making the mighty boughs sway and dip. He was completely hidden, his dark cloak blending seamlessly into the canopy. Moonlight filtered downward, dappling the forest in random patches of silver.
The branch heaved beneath him as the wind bucked it upwards. Timing it perfectly, he leapt from his perch and landed almost soundlessly on the ground, his impact having only disturbed the cowl of his cloak, the black fabric slipping water-like from his head.
Turnlabius looked up, the beads in his almost luminescent hair clinking softly in the wind. Every precise movement, every deliberate action, calmed him. Inhaling deeply, Turnlabius slowly transferred his weight to his hands, bending his elbows gradually until his the tip of his nose was a hairsbreadth from the ground. He kept his breathing even, his senses at their highest. Smiling slightly, he let his eyes slide closed and waited, unmoving.
Then he heard it. The ground

Yukimi sat alone at her computer desk in her room, her head lolling heavily as she tried to stay awake. A slight rustle of papers behind her made her eyes snap open. She looked around uncertainly, but, upon seeing nothing, returned her focus to the screen with a sigh.
Suddenly, a cheerful looking person leapt out of her closet and grinned, twirled and laughed.
“Hello!” said the person brightly. She was obviously an Elf, a very cheerful one…
“Who are you?” said Yukimi, turning around in her chair. She was almost positive this Elf was not in her books. She rather hoped that she would never be…
“I’m Illia,” grinned the Elf.
“Where did you come from?” asked Yukimi, raising a bemused eyebrow.
“The other side,” came a husky voice from the shadows to her left. James stepped forward.
“This must be the emotional one,” whispered Illia to Yukimi, her voice perfectly audible to anyone standing in the room.
“I am NOT em

Hey you, you think that the gods have forsaken you,
But no, they haven't forgotten you
Your destiny is but a scheme
Even if you think that it doesn't exists
and that you make your own.
Your journey will be dangerous, yes.
But where is fun in life when there's no danger?
Now come, the road awaits.
Shall you be swallowed by it, or outlive it?
Today you'll start,
Good friends you shall have,
Terrible enemies you shall match,
And survive the path you must
or die.
Unknown past chases you
in an even more known future
shall reach you
Abilities have you learned?
They will be valuable in the close present.
Today you'll start,
Good friends you shall have,
Terrible enemies you shall match,
And survive the path you must
or die.
...And survive the path you must
... or diiie!

I was going to make this into a Youtube vid but it’s such a long-winded speech and a lot of the time my dad is in the room right next to me (darn dad working at home now). Besides, in text form, I can’t mispronounce things and you can refer back to this information.
So suppose you’re a person who wants to make an epic story for people to remember for generations to come (be it for a movie, book, game or whatever), like The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Seems easy, but to tell the truth it’s much easier said than done.
How do you do it? More importantly……Where do you start?
Step 1: The Idea
Well the best place to start would be the beginning, with an idea. I suggest you come up with LOTS of ideas, rather than just one, because there’s a rather high chance some of those ideas will be either:
   1. Crap
   2. Already done a million times by other people
It’s true. Great minds do think alike, and if you keep c

They both pause for a moment, poised, preparing to start. Her with her pen, and him at a keyboard, gripping a mouse while his hand rests lightly on the home row.
And then, they begin, not a race, but instead begin to create, weaving their worlds in bright, rich tapestries.
Both of them try to put nuance into their work, to convey their feelings, thoughts, emotions, ideas, and more.
He moves his mouse deftly, swiftly selecting and using his tools, creating, editing, modifying. Her pen skitters across the page, making a world for someone to be lost in.
As each labors at their work, they feel a similar thing, the same thing, in fact; the joy of creation.
And so she with her pen, him with his screen, they create things equally beautiful and pleasing. And when they are done, they share with each other. He hits print,  she finishes the last line, and then they share with each other, exchanging works.
At the same moment, the same impassioned words leave their lips. “I wish I co

the prom last night, the senior prom
the fancy room by the sea
the pictures by the gazebo
the dresses too low in the front and back
the music too loud takes the dancing outside
the coat on my date, the shivers of warmth
the speakers smoking, the explosion:
the music dies, the people sing
the ocean chokes on the little boats
the air betrays the hint of summer
the pink sunset, hidden by the trees
the dessert stolen from the other table
the prom queen jeered by the laughing crowd
the slow dances to spite the stupid songs
the bus ride home, changing in the locker room
the boat last night, after the prom
the tired songs by the sea
the pictures by the life preserver
the raw pizza, the soggy curly fries
the music so low you could hear the words
the bathroom fancy but still the bathroom
the people smoking, the pinpricks of fire
the air is perfect even if you can't breathe
the water black, the city gold and circling
the ocean chokes on the little boats
the hypnotist turns the people to five-yea

There’s a saying very old,
That when the night is very cold,
And the moon is large and bright,
And all is bathed in silvery light,
That spirits dance in wooded glades
Until the night begins to fade.
And I have seen this merry fling
I’ve heard their silver voices sing
I was one time a country child
With golden hair and manners mild
And by the fire my mother told
Of silver nights so icy cold.
Out of my cot that night I climbed,
And down the stairs that curl and wind,
I snuck up to the wooden door,
And sat down on the tiled floor,
My socks and boots upon my feet,
My warm red coat new lined with fleece,
Kept out the chill so keen and pure,
That slithered through the open door,
The moon was full upon my face,
The black sky draped with cosmic lace,
But to the wood I turned my feet
For midnight dancers I would meet.
The puddles gleamed a glassy black,
The thick ice creaked and cracked,
The trees that leaned across the road,
Their winding roots sought my toes,
The woodland path was l

Dear Daddy,
I love flowers. Do you love flowers? Flowers are so pretty cause they don’t bother anyone and they make everyone smile. Even sad and mean people can look at flowers and smile and feel good for the day. And when you give flowers Daddy, it means you are giving someone love. I love flowers.
Dear Daddy,
I love clouds too. They float around and make pretty shapes and colours and they are never the same! They always move! I saw a bunny rabbit in the clouds once, and it was so fluffy. It looked like it would start bouncing in the sky. Are there sky rabbits Daddy? Does the sky have a big place for the animals to play? Is that where animal Heaven is? Are people up there with the animals too? When I die, I wanna play with the animals. I hope God can work it all out for me.
Dear Daddy,
Can I say something else than dear? It sounds like old people talk.
Hey Daddy!
You know you can’t just fall asleep on me when you go to read a book to me. I grabbed

When I dreamed last night,
I dreamed of you,
Up in thy sky,
With the stars and the moon.
When I dreamed last night,
I dreamed of you,
Knowing you wouldn't
Be back soon.
When I dreamed last night,
I dreamed of you,
Up in the sky,
With the stars and th moon.
When I dreamed last night,
I dreamed of you,
Keeping me warm
In the middle of June.
When I dreamed last night,
I dreamed of you,
Up in the sky,
With the stars and the moon.
When I dreamed last night,
I dreamed of you,
And always, forever,
And ever of you.
When I dreamed last night,
I dreamed of you,
Up in the sky,
With the stars and the moon.
When I dreamed last night,
I dreamed of you,
Knowing with all of my heart,
I LOVE YOU!

Please don’t utter but a sound,
This isn’t time for words,
I came to you to speak my mind,
I wanted to be heard.
I hurt dear Lord, I feel such pain,
It haunts each waking day,
I wonder why I try again,
As in your name I pray.
I hope to find some courage here,
Before your holy face,
I hope to squash the mounting fear,
And find that better place.
Yet all the love I have to give,
Takes all the hope away,
I want to live and to forgive,
Lord, in thy name I pray.
I know these times will someday end,
The hurt will leave my heart,
And all I ask is you to tend,
To all the shattered parts.
Help me melt the growing ice,
That gnaws at me each day,
I wish that somehow I suffice,
As in thy name I pray.
I love too much and with that said,
I know that I was wrong,
I should have known she didn’t feel,
As I did all along.
I walked in fire and was charred,
There’s nothing more to say,
This journey shall be pretty hard,
And as I stand and pray,
I look into your skies and say,
I love yo

Biology
They didn’t teach us anything important
in high school. I remember you,
negotiating with your back to the class
in those giant 80s glasses,
as the teacher took a break from his boy’s own stories
of pissing tigers
and Vietnamese cobras swaying in the tall grass
to expose himself: Being beautiful isn’t enough
to get you through life,
sweetheart.
Now at his age, I sit in front of my laptop
at an upscale bar and lay you open
over a California roll, chicken tortilla soup, and coffee
with cream: It seemed like life would be easy
for you. Has it been?
You reply that you were in your twenties
before you started to see who you were
from God’s perspective.
Is that how I had always seen you?
Even after twenty years, I could still unpack
your smile
like a baby pig’s heart
out of all that nasty mess.