oh shit.Because when you greet people with "ANSWER ME STRANGER! THE SCHOOL OF THE UNDEFEATED OF THE EAST!" or "BUT WHO WAS PHONE?!" they either know exactly (kind of) what you're talking about out they shit their pants because they think they're talking to a creeper.
Newest
by ~kizzy-face
9. BlueEveryone thought white. Only the really observant people noticed any color, and said grey.9. Blue
Only one person she knew of had gotten it right without her telling. Maybe there were more, probably not. But he had noticed.
He'd taught himself to watch eyes. Not on purpose, but he had. So he watched them closely, reading people, seeing through bluffs and lies.
He had known the color from the very start. When someone mentioned how odd it was to have white eyes, she ignored it, closing them.
"Open."
"Huh?"
"Open your eyes. I wanna see."
"Why?"
"I th
by ~kizzy-face
8. Yellow"Blondie. Here, now."8. Yellow
Edward stood, arms crossed, leaning against the counter, watching the floor impatiently.
"What you want, you..." came a thickly accented voice. Blondie followed Edward's eyes, chuckling at a puddle. "Wasn't in 'er when that happened."
"Dog is not a 'her'," he answered, irritation obvious.
"Same difference."
"I'm not cleaning it."
"Not my dog," Blondie shrugged, floating away.
"Hey! Get back here!"
Nothing.
"Damn," Edward grumbled, heading to the other room and stopping. He watched the ghost gently pet the
by ~kizzy-face
7. RedToo white.7. Red
Toooo white.
He sat, rocking slowly.
Was told to leave it. Don't touch it.
It was hideous. Disgusting.
The urge, need to cover it, destroy it, anything...Was...
Almost irresistable.
Tucking his knees against his chest, he stared.
At something. Didn't know what; didn't matter. Wasn't white. Wasn't the essence of nothing.
He wanted it red. Everything.
Eyes scanning the room, he stood.
Couldn't stand it anymore. The white had to go.
..Where to get red?
A frown appeared
by ~kizzy-face
Random Favourites
A Literature QuestionQ: I dread writing a report for my Early British Literature class. Is there a piece I can focus on that will satisfy my professor while still keeping me amused with crude humor?A Literature Question
A: You've come to the right place, friend.
In terms of mixing historical relevance, academic consideration and outright potty humor, one certainly can not go wrong with “The Censure of the Parliament Fart,” a 1607 masterpiece that has been attributed to a number of authors including John Hoskyns, Richard Martin, Edward Jones and Christopher Brooke.
The poem stems from a March 4, 1607 meeting of the Commons in which one
by `triptychr
A One-Hundred Mile Walk Down tYou walk down the street every day. You greet the passers-by. Maybe you’ll see them again down the street. Or maybe you’ll take the next bus to another road, And never see them again. Sometimes there are those who walk along with you, And those who see you once or twice every block. But as you walk down the street, you stop for a moment. Everyone else continues walking, And you know you should too. Something is bothering you and you don’t know what. You wonder what your walk has amounted to. You turn to see you haven’t covered a block. You realizA One-Hundred Mile Walk Down t
by ~QuixoticWonderer
07-RedShe reloaded her gun, wishing the process could go faster. She couldn’t see them around her, but she knew they were there, knew they were close. It was only a matter of time before they showed themselves, came in for the kill. Her breathing quickened and she looked around, nearly tripping in the process, probably turning too fast to actually notice anything. She ran for a box, and after scrambling behind it, she suddenly heard a “clink”.07-Red
Then all she could see was red.
Beta threw her controller down in frustration.
“Damn grenades! They get me every single time!”
by ~MissDantil
02-HateThey didn’t like me. None of them did. As a matter of fact, I think that they all hated me. I could see it in the way that they glared and me and hear it in the way they talked to me.02-Hate
From kindergarten up to high school, none of them had shown me any warmth. When I was little, I couldn’t help but wonder why. Why do these people hate my sister so much? Why are they so mean? Why don’t they let us play with them, too?
That stopped, though. Now, I hate them too.
by ~MissDantil
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