A Tale

It is a bright, crisp winter day, and a certain child wanders out from her home to explore this landscape made clean. She laughs in delight as the snow falls on her bare skin, little flecks of cold making her feel alive again. A gust of wind beckons, and she finds her wings, sweeping herself up into the air, floating amongst the snowflakes being tumbled by the restless air.

A man cloaked in shadow and a woman clothed in blood stroll across the snow, but are stilled once they see this girl flying on wings of copper. They are stunned by the flashes of sunlight those wings redirect into their eyes, but quickly recover, crying out "Oh, little angel, aren't you so pretty?

The man's voice is deep, remeniscent of an oil slick floating above water. The sliminess of his words wriggle their way into the girl's ears, transforming the meaning of his innocent words into something much nastier: "Hello little whore, come and let me use you".

The woman's voice is high, the cry of a peacock given words. In her mouth, the harshness of her voice stabs the girl's ears, to say "Come, and I shall feast upon your flesh, and leave you broken"

The girl sings in response, to drive their voices out of her mind. Her song is not words, but notes, but the meaning of joy and freedom shines through. With her song, the wind raised her higher, into the clouds above the forest ahead of the adult pair.

Their minds fixated on the capture, they sprint towards the forest, their footprints swallowed up by the falling snow. As they ran through the forest, their forms dissolved into a miasma of shadow and blood, to form a pool of filth overlaying the clean snow. No matter how they tried, they could not touch the ground or trees, nor rise back into their human shapes. Eventually, their essence froze, then shattered under the weight of a falling tree branch into a perfect circle of shards, soon buried by the snow.

Another child at play frolicked into the forest, to his misfortune, for he soon found those frozen shards of those two denizens. Delighted by their garnet hue, he picks them up to place in his pockets. Those shards never melted again, not even in the heat of the forge, but ever since that fateful day he grew obsessed with owning beauty. This passion lead him to rise to leadership, enlisting his peers to slaughter their neighbors, and he soon established a kingdom rife with rebellion and misery. All his days he carried those shards close to his heart, though he did not have long to appreciate them. His death, however, lasted long indeed; as each of those shards tasted his blood, the woman rose up and devoured his heart entire, the man sank and inhaled his shadow, and they split his soul amongst them. Satisfied, they departed the kingdom their influence created, to hunt for more beauty.

As for the girl? She flew and sang for the rest of her days, and legend circulated about her prowess. She could fly forever without setting foot to ground, she needed no sustenance but rain and snow, her heart reflected all joy like copper reflects light, and her song held the key to eternal life. However, nothing ever came of these rumours, for her power was simpler and deeper. She simply embraced joy and let the light of the world fill her, until her very wings were what weighed her down, and she became one with the sun.

Bullet in the Brainpan, Squish!

Sun shines bright
Peaceful nights
The Wheel turned high
Every reason to smile

Heart filled with ice
Mind disconnected
Body without grace
Energy feels hollow

Everything going well
Pressing problems solved
So why oh why
Does Death beckon so sweetly?

Little Scribble

The trees are sparse, punctuating the land here and there, never in more than groups of five. Their branches are still full of autumn leaves, now covered in ice; the storm came early. The ground crunches under your weight, the snow covering the fallen leaves thickly. The sky is overcast; occasionally the sun's rays burst through, reflecting off the snow and clouds and causing the landscape to blind you in endless white light which never quite warms you like you need. Underneath one particularly alluring tree, you see an shape, just an odd corner of stone poking out from beneath it's snowy blanket. Curious, you wander over and start to uncover it; revealing a gravestone, inscription so faded you cannot read it by the blinding glare of the endless light, the light that is so showy but without the real substance of warmth. You realize you're becoming more and more numb the longer you stay, but can't find it in your heart to leave. Indeed, this place lives in your heart, is your spirit's landscape; it is where your mind lives whilst in the throes of your depression. You have not figured out all the symbolism within this place, but you know the snow has been your attempt to bury all the pain, and when the cold became a pain of it's own you tried to bring in sunlight to warm your heart. But you still want the snow to numb the pain, so the sunlight never melts away the ice, only serves to blind you from discovering what you buried in this mental graveyard. You know this place stretches to infinity, as there is endless snow, but you are only able to see this one little grave with its birch guardian for now.

Elemental thoughts

Air.... is vast. Air is our breath, the element we can live the shortest without, the medium most our far-ranging senses are tuned to (we see by light, hear by sound waves, smell by particles, all carried by air). Air's home, it's source, is the sky; sky envelops the earth, helps redistribute the elements (the water in rain and snow, the fire in sunshine and lightning, the earth in sandstorms and tornadoes). Sky is the cushion between the earth and space; it becomes the gateway to the cosmic infinite, the thousand lights of inspiration. Air keeps everything circulating, moving things when they get old to a new place so they may be new again. Air... refreshes.

Fire...is fierce. Fire is our spark, the element we associate with ambition and creativity (which drive us to all of our memorable feats). Our manipulation of fire is the root of our difference from other species, the root of our civilizations (because of fire, we are able to survive the cold and thus explore much of the earth, and mold and run the tools we use to shape the world to our liking). Fire burns the old to make room for the new, taking energy (from fuel) to lend (as heat, as light) to some new purpose. Fire sterilizes, cauterizes, yet fertilizes (volcanic erruptions creating land, forest fires leaving room for more plants to grow, etc). Fire is destroyer and creator, bringer of both life and death, movement and vitality and light. Fire...transforms.

Water... is deep. Water is our blood, our source, our most essential nutrient. Water covers most of our planet and fills the skies with clouds, too little (drought) and too much (floods) cause us to die but we are utterly dependent on just the right amount of water to survive. Water shapes our landscape (everything from the routes of the rivers and coastlines to what plants grow in what places) and frees us from our own weight. Water... cleanses.

Earth... is solid. Earth is our foundation, our source of food, our playground for exploration and survival. It forms our landscape, acting as both cradle and challenge, gives us stability. Earth accepts everything we give it, and gives life to everything. Earth lets us grow, lets everything grow (including those forces not so friendly towards humanity), provides us with countless treasures and countless dangers as well. Earth... grows.

I'm not actually dead!

And to prove it, have a bit of scribble... Written mainly because despite realizing that there's no way I'm going to actually fulfill this year's NaNoWriMo challenge (yes, I had 3/4 of a year to prepare and I still have no idea what basic plot I'd like to play with, much less anything else), I should keep writing anyways, and maybe turn out something decent over a longer period of time than a month, or something. 

"Oi, you there!"

What with all the noise on the street (engines roaring, birds cawing, bells chiming, sea crashing), it's amazing your ear decided to pick that one voice out of the din. Normally you trust the things your senses notice, but you're already doing your best to be inconspicuous, so you continue on in your nonchallant way.

"Alex, stop!"

Your blood freezes. Nobody has called you that in years, entirely due to your obsession to hide your identity. Abandoning the apparently useless persona of a normal citizen, you break into a dead sprint at the sound of your name. You leap fences and dash down alleyways in an automatic attempt to evade pursurers, in a route intended to bring you to the startport in a more direct way than you were originally trying to detract attention from. You don't actually hear any pursuers, and when you risk looking back you see no weapons, cameras, people... anything. The entire area is deserted.

Obviously, you miscalculated. You see no choice but to press forward at the same break-neck pace, hoping to outrun the danger. You're in good health and you see no gas emmisions, but all the same you get woozy, and within a few steps you stumble and sprawl to the ground, unconscious.

A few men, in the neutral suits that scream 'Government Enforcers', appear from inside the surrounding buildings.

"These people never want to cooperate", one remarked dispassionately as they pick up the body and dump it into a transport.

"Always have to do this the hard way", another agreed while fastening a series of straps. "Recruit, here's a lesson for you: they never listen to reason. If we hadn't already arranged for the flight responce, we might have lost it altogether- it was quick. Quicker even than normal, amongst these".

The apparent leader of the oeratives cuts in with "Of course it was fast- that's why Oversight wants this specimen back so badly. Now shut your yaps and do your jobs".

Without further comment, the body was secured, and the transport set on its way to the body's final destination. All concievable security measures were in place: alarms, cameras, human guards, drugs to impair consciousness, restraints, etc. Nevertheless, none of these seemed to matter, since halfway through the journey, Alex disappeared. The restraints fell to meet the table, alarms started a blaring cacophany, and the guards all decided they would rather shoot themselves then face the punishment that would surely be meted out- let the pilot be the scapegoat, rather than they.

The transport arrived, per the timetable. Pilot and Leader go to help the rest deal with the body, and discover the disaster. There was much shouting and blaming and venting of tempers and fear, but eventually the pair got their heads together to deal with business. Leader indeed made the pilot into the scapegoat for the mess, and proceeded with brainstorming the next plan to bring Alex under their control.

Sketches of Beauty

There is beauty in order
Stable structures stretching to infinity in complex patterns...
There is beauty in chaos
Ever-changing structures interacting in complex ways...

There is beauty in ice
Brilliant forms reflecting and spreading light.
There is beauty in fire
Wild forms growing and creating light.

There is beauty in light
Letting seeking eyes see the world.
There is beauty in darkness
Giving tired eyes a rest from the world.

People speak of opinions and black and white
And varying shades of grey
But that implies a much simpler world than we live in
For we live in an explosion of color
And those whose opinions are red-orange and yellow-orange
Will argue just as vehemetly
As those whose opinions are orange and blue

There is beauty and poetry in everything, if you know how to see
If I were a better poet, I would invite you in to wander in my world
Look through my eyes, dear explorers, see the joy...
But alas, I can only sketch
And let you fill in the detail with your own eyes, own experience
Though I suppose that is a perfectly valid form of writing in itself
To direct your mind along a path, let you see what you notice

Wrackspurts

An amusing form of local life around the Shyenia resort located on Mar's northern hemisphere. The closest botanical comparison to Earth species is the venus flytrap; however, wrackspurts show much more ambulatory characteristics, possessing the ability to withdraw and expend from their root system at will. Essentially, they will burrow into their root system until they detect vibrations from the surface, then errupt suddenly and stun their prey with their toxic needles. Over the course of a a day to a month, depending on the size of their prey, they shall drain the animal of blood.

This is the art of taking a random-ass word and running with it.

Nonsensical Rhymes

Clouds racing across the sky

Wind flowing through the trees

Sunlight flashing along the ground

Gazing up with a sigh

Wind rattling your keys

Wandering round and around

In spirit, flying high

Chasing all the bees

Followed by a hound

Wishing to die

Never traversing the seas

Not to hear another sound

Oh, tell me why

I should eat my peas

And disturb their mound?

Tucking into delicious pie

Sipping rather succulent teas

What a beautiful meal I’ve found

As hard as I try

Can’t avoid the fees

Getting thrown into the pound

Well, hello, goodbye

Off to take an arrow to both the knees

Always hunted, never bound

Emotional Crap

All these chains, dragging down

Legs growing strong to bear the weight

Shoulders and heart sore and aching

Stress tearing muscle from bone

Head exploding from tension building up

Sad to see how little it takes

To reach the limit I can bear

without lashing out to remove it all

Should be stronger

Should be kinder

Should be available

Shouldn’t complain

Shouldn’t frown

Shouldn’t hide

Good for nothing else

And should do what you’re good at

Or otherwise, why should you stick around?

Round and round, same old problems

Tired of hearing it, but you’re guilty of the same

Oh why should life always hurt like this?

Dream of Insanity

In a classroom, a group of about 8 students sitting on the floor around the teacher sitting on the stool. She’s given out Oracle cards, one per student, and has us read the meaning. Then she passes around another card, and has us connect the two cards meanings. The first card I received is Night’s ___ [cannot remember], and the common card is Night’s Witch. Night’s ___ always wears blue, and is of sky and tempest and star; Night’s Witch never wears red, is of copper and silver (alchemical associations of beauty and purity respectively, and both are considered feminine) and blood. [Retrospectively, it makes more sense to my logical brain to have the one named Night and the other named Witch, and even in the dream I was confused as to why there were two cards of the night] I drew them together saying that they are very similar but fundamentally different, and that they could be snapshots in time (past and present, present and future), outcomes of a choice, or people in your life (as not even the court cards cover all aspects), concluding that I could not tell for certain- “But you would know”, the teacher says, wearing the body of my old high school English teacher but having the voice of the moon (smooth and cool and  uniquely feminine, with a timbre of amusement).

She then passes around a book, and has all read bits of the following fairy tale… [Which I experience as the boy, even afterwards, as he was a ghost]

Once upon a time, two best friends went wandering in the forest. The elder girl wore a dress of cotton, while the younger boy wore a suit of silk. While they were playing. the boy saw a pretty little silkworm, and he was so enamored by it he caught it and tied it around his beltloop. His friend was upset by this and kept asking him to set it free, but he refused. The next thing he knew, he was laying naked in the grass, and a butterfly flew out of a cocoon woven into the tree in front of him, right in sight. Amazed by this apparent miracle, he ran back to town to tell them of it. But when he arrives, the townsfolk instantly gather around and stone him to death.

Wait, what? By fairy tale logic, the pretty little silkworm wove it’s cocoon by the silk he was wearing. Though you may have noticed that he never questioned why he woke up in the grass, nor where his friend was to be found; or indeed, why she was so upset at his capture of the silkworm.

See, the girl was trying to save his life. She knocked him over the head so she could remove his pants, and then stole the rest of his suit so he wouldn’t suspect. She ran the silkworm over to the village healer, but alas it had already died. She convinced the mayor of her innocence, but maintained that it twas a stranger who has done this… then the boy showed up and all knew his crime. She kept the little silkworm until it started to rot, and when she went to bury it, the silkworm left a dark stain on her fingers that never went away for the rest of her days. At the end of it all, “He got his, and she got hers”.

I hand the book back to the teacher, and say the moral is to not disturb what isn’t yours, whilst the others say things like greed and justice and guilt. Teacher simply smiles at me, as if she thinks I only got half the point.

At that point, I wake up, fully awake and with the dream fresh in my mind, a good 15 minutes before my alarm was due to ring, and scribbled down a bunch of disjointed phrases, enough to keep the memory alive, and then I went about translating it into words and logical sense. [What's in brackets is shit I thought of retrospectively], (and the stuff that's in parenthesis is dream knowledge, the sort of thought that layers the action but doesn't take up narrative time by itself). Yes, I did remember the main alchemical associations of copper and silver whilst unconsious... hush, I'm not a dork for that :P

Not sure if that dream happened because my sleep schedule was completely fucked up… See, I slept til 1800 Saturday, stayed up all night, grabbed breakfast with a friend and then crashed at his place at 1100, slept til 1500, made my way back home and promptly crashed again. Then I woke up a 0200 Monday, decided to try and sleep again, ended up tossing and turning enough that I thought I never slept at all until I woke up with that dream in my head XD.

Grains of sand

Pictures drawn in the sand
Children playing on the beach, carving simple pictures at the spur of their whim
Adults, drawing out maps to illustrate their plans
Artists wishing to show their work, using this media for reasons of their own
People guided by ritual for spiritual reasons

All of their marks fade away
Washed away by the sea, smoothed over by the wind
Some are sad to see the pictures go
Others realize that the impermanance of the forms is rather the point of it.

Old pictures go away
New ones are drawn
Again and again, the pictures in the sand constantly reform

The sand doesn't care
It always has been, it always will be, mutable and changing

Sand makes a great metaphor for life.

Tiffany's Story- Day 5

Snow drifts down to the ground, fat and fluffy and picturesque, but Tiffany takes no joy in the sight. She simply runs, trying to outrun all the thoughts in her head, running until her legs start to quiver, not even hearing the birds singing. She makes it to school an hour early, and is able to use the locker room's showers unmolested. Since she has the time to kill, she eats breakfast: a banana, a bowl of cheerios, scrambled eggs, milk and orange juice. Whilst eating, she doodles- three jackals tear at the corpse of an old lion, tufts of his mane floating away in the wind and his blood flecked everywhere.

History. A subject classically hated by high school students across the country for sheer mind-numbing boredom and tedious memorization of dates.Mrs. Cooper made no effort to dispel this stereotype within her classroom, but spends her days giving ignorant lectures on the ways history's various victors were more virtuous than the people they defeated. Of course, she frequently peppers her lectures with questions, to ensure she has the students' attention, but Tiffany only needs to give half an ear to fend them off; the rest of her attention she spends on the textbook, which at least pretends to offer interesting information. What she doesn't notice is Justin sitting behind her, doing the exact same.

Her mind is drained of creativity for once, and she completed her assignments during classes, so she grabs a random book from a library shelf. To her disgust, it is a book on the paranormal: focusing on psychic abilities in particular. She reads it anyway, mentally disproving all the proof the book speaks of in favor of psychic abilities existing. The hour comes and goes, but as soon as the final bell rings, the librarian comes along and claims a seat across from Tiffany.

"May I talk to you, just for a couple minutes?"

Those few simple words are enough to start Tiffany's heart racing. She really does not like being noticed, at all, and would have fled the scene but for her mind tightly gripping her emotions, telling herself it would be safer to ride out whatever conversation Miss Shaw wanted to have. "Sure."

"I'm just curious as to why you attend this study hall every afternoon. You maintain a constant B average in all your classes, and the few times you're actually working on an assignment in here, it's clear that you don't need help and are only doing it in here because you ran out of class time, so..." She leaves the sentence open tentatively, letting Tiffany fill in what she felt comfortable with to answer the question rather than directly inquiring after the suspicion in her mind.

Tiffany herself calms down a little, gratefully seizing the opportunity to make the impression she felt would draw the least attention in the future. "Well, ma'am, on Tuesdays and Thursdays it's a good way to pass the time until chess practice; no sense in walking all the way home only to turn around and come back, right? And the rest of the days, well, it gives me time to work on homework or doodles without having a cat demanding attention every five minutes. Besides, my aunt and uncle like me to be predictable, so I'd best be on my way now."

Having delivered her innocent little speech, Tiffany curtsies and twirls out of the room. Little does she know that Miss Shaw can certainly see that Tiffany was putting on the cute act for reasons of deception. Unfortunately, she really doesn't have enough proof to act upon, but she resolves to keep a closer eye on Tiffany...

Tiffany's Story- Day 4

The sun is bright in enough the streetlamps flicker off; Tiffany races to school, the hounds howling speeding her on as she attempts to ensure she is not late. Her morning runs save her: she is fast enough she can afford to slow down and walk the last block to school to avoid the stares of passerby.

A chemistry lab is scheduled, the first thing in the day. There is a new student in class, but another student is sick, so she need not endure a lab partner: the partner of the sick student grabs the new kid before he could even come close to her. They hunch over their project, gossiping over her- she feels their stares. Ignoring them, she makes sure to finish after a couple of the other teams are done. During the day, she finds he is in half her classes. He tries to be friendly, but she continually gives him the cold shoulder. She doesn’t understand why this new student is fascinated with her- he wears the trapping of an outcast, but she never does, and he is friendly enough he has many student socializing with him.

Tiffany doesn’t see him during study hall. With no homework assigned that day, she writes a glimpse of her dream.

“Send out the lifeboats, NOW!” The one who says that knows they are all doomed, but feels compelled to give her crew hope. The thin, hard face, hidden by shaggy blond hair, forms into an expressionless mask as she prays one last time… she prays to the gods of her homeland, rather than the god she adopted when she found a new place to build her empire on. A flash of light, burning her eyes, and then darkness for the rest of eternity…

Study hall has ended, and she goes to her chess team practice. The new student, Justin, is there; he wishes to try out for the team. Despite her efforts to be invisible, she is called to be his tester; they play, and he wins, even when she steps her game up to her full capabilities. She is not distracted by his attempts at chatter, but she does not feel the need to answer him. Their match lasts long enough that everyone else has left but the coach, and even she leaves the moment he checkmates her, leaving them to themselves. Tiffany ignores him, walking off without a word.

Tiffany's Story- Day 3

Wednesday arrives.  Before dawn, Tiffany leaves the house to go for a run. She runs through the darker areas of her town, where there are no dogs to warn others of her passing. She makes her way to school, arriving an hour early drenched in sweat. She goes to use the locker room’s showers, picking up the spare set of clothes she keeps in her locker for these kind of days. The school’s cheerleaders come in the use the showers early- 45 minutes before school, instead of half an hour. The captain hates Tiffany, and there are no coaches or friendly souls to protect her, only the toadies of Sabrina.

In art class, she organizes the paint bottles everyone tosses around before getting to work on her own project, and the teachers offers thanks as always. She puts the earphones to her music in her ears and gets to work, droning out the chatter of her classmates. This painting is almost done- it shows a blizzard on a mountain peak, a hiker struggling to reach a shelter far off in the distance. She finishes painting the figure in, then sets it aside to dry before starting work on a pencil drawing. There would be no new assignment until next week, so she starts drawing a face; a dancer with porcelain features, thin enough her cheeks are hollow but still far more beautiful than most. The teacher taps her shoulder to get her attention when the bell rings and says “Good work! If you want to turn that into a finished portrait I’ll grade it as an extra assignment. Remember, portraits aren’t just about drawing a face, they’re about showing the person's personality.” She tunes out the world again after he walks away, and spends her second period of art class drawing a frame for the piece. She starts at the sides; they are the dancer’s feet. One foot has a bandage wrapped around it, the other is left bare; both are bloody and blistered and mangled. Along the bottom there is a series of mirrors with different poses of the dancer reflected within them, and a single black rose forms the upper boundary, the thorns piercing the skin and adhering the rose to her calves, almost forming a chain. All the outlining is accomplished when the bell rings; over the next two days she will shade in the details.

Tiffany doesn’t actually have much homework to work on during study hall, so she works ahead. She does not know which questions the teachers will deem unimportant and not assign, so she simply completes them all, careful to ensure she will only receive a B score regardless of which questions the teachers disregard. After school, Tiffany cannot bear to hear the dogs along the shortest route to her house, so she takes the long way around.

Tiffany's Story- Day 2

Next day, the winter sky clear as a bell and ice coating the ground, she walks to school in clashing clothing- ratty denim shorts, falling apart tennis shoes, and a gorgeous new sweater. The neighbor’s dogs bark at her, birds fly away at her approach, and she has the sidewalk to herself like she normally does. This day, she chooses to take her time and stroll down her route, enjoying the solitude while she has it.

His voice dripping with sarcasm, Mr. Victorsonn says “Since you’re paying such rapt attention to class, Tiffany, why don’t you solve all the problems on the board?”

Without a word, she rises from her seat and glides to the chalkboard, studying the assortment of equations: half for her class, half for the advanced class that would be made to solve them in the morning. Tiffany gets to work, first on the problems meant for her class, and then on the problems “above her level”, not even bothering to work any of them out. She knew she shouldn’t show off, but her teacher hated her with a passion and she returned the sentiment. The thing he hated most was being shown up and the thing she hated most was having attention called to her; they both knew this, and rather than declare peace, he would attack and force her to retaliate. The bell rings and ends the day, saving him from having to make a response (and saving her classmates from a night of math homework, which they celebrated, not seeing they would just have double the workload on the morrow).

After study hall, during which she completed the homework Mr. Victorsonn would surely have assigned if he had the time, Tiffany goes to chess team practice. Despite being the only girl on the team, none of her classmates bothered trying to socialize with her; she had trained them out of such futile attempts. She is careful to keep the level of her game to the median level of everyone else, even though the coach treats her as invisible and leaves her to practice by herself. The sun sets, and it is night when she finally runs out of excuses to avoid going to her residence.

Tiffany's Story- Day 1

A hoarse, desperate cry echoes through the cave. He is alone, trapped, continually calling even though the one who was with him abandoned him long ago. He refuses to think of suicide… His mouth is within reach of a water drip, so his death will be the long one of hunger. His heart still bleeds from the betrayal: his lover could not free him, so kept on going to secure her own freedom. At this point, he would even be grateful for an enemy or wild animal to approach… anything would be better than this slow death, lingering in pain in the dark and cold and lifeless loneliness.

“A very dramatic scene, Tiffany, but the assignment was for a full page; I’ll have to take off a letter grade for this and I want to see you after class. Now, the homework for today is questions five through fifteen from page 283. Since we finished with the presentations early, you may begin working on it.”

With a sigh, Tiffany slinks back to her seat and arranges her desk back to her liking- people had been moving things around during her presentation. At least they hadn’t started stealing things this time. Instead of working on the assignment, she stares at the blank sheet of paper she pulled out, lost in her head. The bell jolts her out of her reverie, and she snaps up her supplies and walks up to Miss Atkin’s desk.

“Before you say anything, even with the letter grade deduction I will still earn a B on this assignment according to your scale of judging creativity. Even if you decide to be bitchy and take off points where you can, the worst grade you can give me is a C. With my B average and the fact that this assignment is worth so little, it really won’t affect my grade point average, so you have no basis for keeping me. Now, Mrs. Cooper doesn’t accept late passes, so I must get going.”

With that she darts to the door, not letting her teacher get a single word into the conversation. “Wait! Oh… why do I bother?” Miss Atkins exclaims, shaking her head ruefully over her aggravating student.

Tiffany gets through the rest of her afternoon, letting the hateful words sail above her head, ignoring her peers in favor of her internal world of daydreams. Still cognizant of everything around her, she simply chooses not to respond to it. After school she attends study hall, carefully making sure each assignment she completes will earn an 85% score, delaying her return to her residence- she refused to call that place a home.

Easter Egg Poems

Time goes by
High above, birds fly
Effected by nothing at all; meanwhile, the average human
Going along to get along
Almost certain it's worth it
Making nothing worth mentioning
Envied by none.

The people flock to silly things
Game and rhyme and competitive flings.
You think that they might know better
Just too much faith in the invented letter.
Lost all hope in humanity
It calls for... a calamity.

It pleases me to offer congratulations
To the wonderful person that is you
For aiding in the cause of the just
Finding things people thought were lost
For people wishing and hoping for the
Greatest of amusements in a simple game.

Of all the things the world could wish
I could ask nothing more but for a simple fish.
Delicious food to keep going another day
To see all the sights and things to say.
And after all, what fun would it be if the world was tame
And nobody could ever lose the game?

Apparently I can be prolific as long as I'm given a direction, and there's a certain group of trolls on facebook (myself included) that like to ruin people's day with this easter egg. I seem to have taken a poetic approach, and figured I may as well put some of these gems up here XD.

Musing of Snow

The snowflakes fall, fat and fluffy, perfectly picturesque. They float through the streetlights and the silence, not a soul to disturb their gentle coating of the world but yourself. You stand and admire for a second, smiling, before raising your foot to continue walking, going about your business.

You find friends, chilling with them for a while at your local hangout. Then you all disperse, each going your separate ways. You end up by yourself, by your own design; you need some time away from people. You walk your way back to your home, smiling because it is still snowing, though plenty of footprints have marked the ground before you.

Fighting off yawns, you settle to bed, finally closing your window and shutting out the view of the snow. Burrowing under your blankets, you find the room to be a bit too hot and still for your comfort, but you stubbornly stay as you are, not wishing to let people view your room whilst you're sleeping.

In the morning, the snow has mainly disintegrated to slush, but the memory of the snow remains in your head all day at work. Nothing wildly exciting or magical happened that night, but then, that is not what the snow's magic contains; the snow settles peace and quiet over the world, calming all the random noise and energies traveling about, delivering the chaos to the earth to be absorbed and give life elsewhere.

Snow cleanses all it touches, as water does; snow is simply quieter, cooler, calmer. Snow tends to simplify things, cover up all the muck and leave a field of white to see things by. Snow is... magical.

Exasperated Poem is Exasperated

Fuck all the things, I give no shits.
I simply don't care, not one whit.
The obligations pile on, one by one.
To hell with it all, I'm done.
Burdened by people's woes and needs
My heart continually bleeds.
But everyone can suck a dick
For I am far too sick.

Of Influences Beyond Counting

Whirlstorm of emotions spinning me around
Trapped in the eye, watching the storm
None of the turbulence touching me, but
All too aware of it.

I already know what everyone will say
Some have said it already
But none of the words
Touch the core of it all.

Chaos reigns free in my heart
Logic releases it's grip on my mind
Ice attempts to defend my body
Whilst fire races through my soul.