Hawk or Buzzard

The bird flew, the air underneath it's wings pushing it in whatever direction it decided. The birds heart pumped blood throughout its veins as it propelled further through it's flight. It's eyes were out for a next meal as it kept soaring through the sky. It was odd it thought, normally this place was full of food, normally there was prey here. It circled a little lower, and continued on despite the risk of capture. It did not want to be caught in the eye of anything unsavory, but it did not see anything. So with this in mind it continued, before the shadow of another bird passed above it. The bird almost stopped.

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The bird sook out food, it craned its neck as it circled, and circled. Perhaps it was not seeking hard enough, usually though there were good things here, normally though it would be able to find a decent meal. For now there were no others, so anything the bird found would be it's own. However it could not help but be dissatisfied at its lack of success. It could not be helped though, so it only searched harder, the wind here helping it, as well as sapping from it strength. Pausing it suddenly saw a bird pass below it and the bird almost stopped in midair as the wind supported a little more of its weight.


What is the difference between a hawk and a buzzard?

New Wolf

The entire ordeal was making all of the pack on edge. Every kill the wolves snapped more. And the alpha was more assertive of his dominion. The wolves patrolled their borders with what humans would call obsession. A fury seemed to grip them as the scent of an intruder drew near. They were not a large pack, and new comers were not well known in their area. Their territory was a small sheltered valley between mountains, and even if it was not very large enough game ran there and they never went hungry.

However the idea and winds of a visitor was new to this pack and they all felt the effect that a strange wolf brought with it. They whimpered and whined, and at times howled a requiem of their ownership to the far away stranger who seemed so elusively close. Still they patrolled their borders and continued to howl to the winds.

One of the wolves growled at the other, tense as the scent was on the wind today. The wolf was heading towards them, and its intent was unknown. Yet strangely no one had caught any sight nor proven the existence of this wolf. The other wolf snapped back, and the two curled their lips no malice in their eyes and yet the energy for a fight ready there. Suddenly a growl interrupted them, and they both whimpered as the alpha broke up the interaction. Each going their own way the pack lay down, restless with their ears pointed towards the wind, to listen for any wolf that might come near.

~

The wolf oblivious to all of this paused and scented the air, he could not make out the wolves; still he searched for a place of his own. A pack to be his. And with this in mind he pad on, breaking into a trot every now and then. Suddenly the wind abated and the scent of other wolves caught his delicate nose. Breaking into a lope the wolf head towards the large looming figures that seemed to stare at him as twin pillars as he head towards the wolves.

Still he reached the border, as it was clearly marked to make no mistake. Whining slightly he waited for a reply. Suddenly his paw shot out before he crossed into territory howling out his presence to assure the world that he lived on and it had not finished him yet. His song was not answered and cautiously he pad on so doing that which he pleased. Scenting other wolves he stopped dead in his tracks. Neither fleeing or advancing as four of them came upon him, not circling him, not aggressive yet. He whimpered and his tail lay low as he awaited their response.

He paid little thought to his future as this chance presented itself. His eyes fixed solely down away from the alpha so as not to be aggressive. His tail tucked and whining slightly the wolf was scared, but there was underlying another emotion there. Wolves.

Red Wolves
Red wolves are a highly endangered species, and they live in small packs. They are often mistaken for coyotes but they are not. Here is a link for facts and other things on red wolves and other animals. Here's an image from that site!
 

If we travel across all the paths that we can, then you may come across many things that you shouldn't.

Others

The fire, it burns, but it burns special.

The flames bounded across invisible boundaries, they tore down everything within half a thought of whatever foul being so desired to cast them. The voices that sprang and hissed out from the glowing orbs and devils tongues of red and orange were worse. The children lay backed up as far as they could against it, as the adults huddles in the center. Adults, elderly, all defended by the children. It would be a rather sad sight if seen in our world today. Yes a sad sight indeed.

But this was not seen as anything in particular as the the flames sputtered and taunted and yelled and nay some say challenged the people "Liars, traitors, cowards" the list grew on "yellow-bellied, scumm" None of them seemed fazed but for their eyes as the whites grew larger and large the fear of some retracting inwards to themselves.

The flames continued their quest for the ones inside, laying there; not sure whether the flames would break free from the invisible but in the hearts and minds bounds that tied it to the other world from whence it came."Gutless, soft-hearted." The flames began to whisper seductively. Almost the purr of an engine or cat.

The leaping winds bounded across the sky reflected in their admirers eyes. The eyes like glass reflecting the twisted flames. They warped and did tricks like that no acrobat has yet to perform. And they whispered. "deserter, deceiver" the voices though not growing louder in volume seemed to make themselves heard "backstabber." It was but a wisp of flame that crossed the invisible line.

The glassy eyes drew forth to the raw beauty presented them. The reflection drew closer. Until finally when not a scream was let out, the child:

It was a young boy, he was nine, he had brown hair, and green eyes before they turned to glass, in tattered cloths.

Walked into the fire.

Note| Sorry another short one!

Angel?

A man sat down, and more gathered around him. Suddenly all was silent as an almost melodic voice floated out into the air. A spell.


"A long time ago
Only two years

A long time ago
There was a little boy
And there was a name
And there was another

But a long time ago
This little boy

Died."

A tale to tell
The kids who go listen to the church's bell
 And feel their hearts have sunk into a well
Their only wish is to rest, whether in heave or he**

No need for any whip
No need for any spur
Only a need for words from venemous lip

Is what this story is

"People, in a place that is different and the same to our own; whichever one you may live in there was a little boy. And he lived in a place, probably much different than yours. And he lived a life that catered to his every whim and need. And yet still there was something he did not have. Every thing in the world was his to own and control if he pleased. Every power he could ask for was presented to him. And yet there remained. That which he could not own simply.

For is not the heart of another the greatest gift? He thought not; something such as simple as this was a mere trifle to what he had before. He was curious. So he decided to step down from his pedestal, and seek out that which the ones he saw beneath him were able to possess.  

Such as classic tale today; when he meets one begotten by another and dies unto the point of a sword living in misery ever after."

The story ended but the man continued on:

"But the lesson learned here from this tale young listeners, is that one should not betray all that is righteous for that which you desire. For this boy could have been angel, but he stepped down, because his desires."

And with that the story teller cursed his listeners.

  
If something is so fragile as to break at the touch of its opposite then it could never touch the world or be in balance.

Fire and Flames

Chapter 1 (because nothing starts at .5)

A fire can be anything, but it's the flames that burn you.


Beautiful, that's what this is. An organization that's all but hidden from the government, but still larger than the country. It's international. Beautiful she thought as she stood by the building, there were three people in there, and they would all go to other meetings and tell them what had happened here, until it had spread and the process would bounce back inwards really an amazing process and way of communications. Interesting she thought as she walked in. there was no one working here, it was abandon, but they would be here. They staggered their entrances the first would come at a time, the next would come thirty eight minutes afterwards, and then the next after that would be a full hour and seventeen minutes after the first. An interesting system but it worked.
She took a moment to make sure no one was watching; the cameras might catch it. Still she slipped inside, it was dingy and uncomfortable. The girl had over half and hour to wait so she sat down at a chair, they would come in through the same entrance, well the second person would, the last person to come in would come in through the back entrance, it was all a rather annoying and slow process, but it worked she reminded herself, it worked. Because it was so careful. Dangerous still, it was beautiful yes. How they kept it a secret and yet still managed to preserve everything else.
Playing out patterns on the arm of her chair the girl remembered when she had first joined. It hadn't been her choice, in the end she had had a choice, not much of one, but at least they didn't pull a 19th century move on her forcing her to serve. She would trade the knowledge, danger, and adventure for something else though, there were things to be said for ignorance, happiness, and 'sheep' safety. the government was less likely to go for the sheep when they could go for the wolves. However nothing was certain and a flock of sheep was much easier prey. A part of he knew though she didn't want to be like that; prey.
That larger part told her that walking into these flames that the rebellion created was dangerous, but it was fun. The adventure and adrenaline rush was fun and thrilling. As it was suppose to be. The girl turned.there was no choice anymore.
Withdrawing her hand she glanced at the form that almost seemed to slither around it, because flames burned and they left a mark. It had been death or this mark to remind her of her allegiance. Her oath. Her promise. And sometimes when she was irritated with the entire affair; her stupidity. Life would go on good or bad, and nobody really cared, this though could change everything. The flames couldn't even burn the government or affect it, but if something actually happened out of this meeting then that could all change; something could happen; something could be done. And everything would change.

It's amazing, but I want to make it mine.

He had been waiting for this to turn into something he could use. Something worth his position as he had been holding. Living life ever concealed behind a mask that he carried with him everywhere he went, but he felt safe, for behind the mask he hid his weapons. Shaking his head the man knew there were people about across two streets, but now moving towards, for they had had to stay away from the others in this meeting. They wouldn't hide themselves from the third, he would think nothing of it. However it was the other he would have to worry about. He walked in confident, right on time, just like they  had taught him at his real home. The set up this rebellion had was good, but they seemed the largest and smartest and first to make a move. However, it was time that they realized that it was his world. Well not his, but the governments. He worked well because he wanted power; and he moved up in so many artificial ranks from second rate organizations that didn't know he was lying through his teeth. He had grown accustom to being respected and listened to and when all this was finished he would do the same with his own government. A snake they knew, but they wouldn't be expecting one alone. They would however either side kill him if they realized the game he was playing. Until it was up, he cashed in his chips and he was victorious, and won. It was something he looked forward to. Something he wanted to do since he had come up with this plan. Now he had to attend to this meeting. And his words would ripple through until they came back and he would learn the final plan. The big plan. He grinned and found the girl already watching him between narrowed eyes. He didn't speak but she didn't. Whispering fierce she said "We are surrounded the third one may not show." Gauging him up carefully he could feel as if she could see him. "Do you have an escape plan if all this turns south?" He shook his head, she never cursed. He didn't know why she would start now, but most would have much more descriptive phrases to what might happen if they found out about her. He would flash a badge and be through, but she would be taken away. Well she had been a thorn, maybe it would be good, but he didn't want this to be up yet he still needed information so he answered of course and they he settled down. Not feeling in any real danger. She watched him carefully, but he didn't pay it any mind. She was probably just worried he would tag along with her, the man snorted internally he didn't need her, didn't need any of them. They were all more foolish than he was they had all been tricked, and the trick was just about to bite them in their irritating behinds.

Because I see, because I know, I will be:....

 He had been working with both of them, he was assured of her loyalty although he knew she still had moments of hesitation, but the other was a spy. And needed to be taken care of. He would not pass up the offer of unlimited information and he wanted her to be there to test if she was willing to torture the other for information. They didn't know each other so it shouldn't be too hard for her, but if she didn't then he would kill her and then torture the other. It didn't matter it had to be done to spies and traitors.
It was normal and he knew the risks there were more outside but he went inside anyway. The spy probably had a safety net, so he would start by telling them to remove as much clothing as possible in case of tracking devices; that being said he could easily see where it was. Anyway he went in through the back. He was on time, and he wondered what the two of them were doing in there. And smiled. Yes this was going to be some major information.
And the spy would be playing a key part of it. He had seen him, he knew him; and now his dream would be.

Author's Note| Just an idea, I'm trying to do more chapters and what I call 'length writing' but I'm working on something else that I may post here or may not. Do you like the chapters or do you like the short stories?

Because; I **** you

Prologue

Because you can't just hate him...you have to love him too.

Kayla sighed and looked at the classroom; trying to find a place to sit. She felt like such the typical new girl; no friends, no where to sit, and clueless. She looked around before finally landing herself in the middle of the classroom. She didn't want to sit in the back, and be labeled as a trouble maker, but sitting in the front wouldn't give the impression she was hoping for. She adjusted her glasses, not nervous exactly, but annoyed; the bell had rung five minutes ago and kids were still filing in,  and the teacher was MIA. She wondered if the teacher would always be this late and the class would always be this rowdy, but it wasn't like this class was a core class, it was a fine arts class. It still counts for part of your grade an annoying voice in her head nagged her.

There wasn't exactly anywhere else she could go, she was stuck here. Literally her parents decided to move and her father had been assigned here as a post for two years, so she would be somewhere else for her senior year. Weren't freshmen suppose to be more prepared? She guessed not as the class was fifteen minutes in and the last student filed in and the teacher was still not here. She wondered if she should just leave, but she didn't want to make a bad first impression or have to listen to her father about skipping class. That wasn't a conversation that she wanted to have. Her dad wasn't on top of her as much as some others, because he didn't have the time, but when she showed him her report card or he got emails from the school he would really get on her.

Kayla listened as some students finished last minute homework, and some chat with their friends. And she guessed that was what normalcy was, but she was normal. She wondered if she could get on any sports teams. It was the last two months of school so she guessed not. She focused on her book trying to come up with something to read, the same line kept repeating itself, looping over and over again. The teacher was late. So late she thought for a moment. Why was any teacher half an hour late to class? The class only lasted an hour and a half. She waited some more time, and then wondered if she should tell somebody. Who would she tell who would believe her though? No one knew her here, for all they knew she was lying. She wasn't sure if she looked like trouble, she hadn't taken too much time with her appearance this morning; just another day at school. I mean she had glasses, she couldn't look too threatening, but she did know a wide variety of martial arts.

Kayla glanced at her watch when she finally suffered through the next chapter. She forgot the title, but it was something about Dogs and military service. Not her own choice, something her dad recommended she read when he heard she was interested in a dog. She had said it as an offhand comment about some people she knew having dogs. The teacher had half an hour until class ended. She got up and walked over to a table of girls awkwardly and asked as they chat with each other "Is the teacher always this late?"

The girl frowned, she had shiny brown hair of about shoulder length, and blue eyes that popped. It was hard to tell if she was tall or short as she was sitting down, wearing a sweater and skinny jeans. Kind of typical Kayla thought but let it go. She was wearing jeans and a plain Shirt. She really shouldn't be judging her. The girl answered though evenly, not annoyed at being interrupted but not pleased to make any conversation "Yeah, all year this teacher is either an hour late or never shows."
Kayla wondered how that worked, and the girl gave her a look that asked; are you going to respond or can I go back to doing whatever I was.

Kayla muttered a thanks before going back to sit in her seat. At least the girl hadn't been rude, that would have made her want to do something she would regret. Then she would get another talk with her dad. In fact she thought; when did she ever get to talk with her dad unless he was unhappy? Impatient Kayla glanced at her watch again. How was the teacher still working here if he was always late? She would have thought that the kids grades would show it too, but maybe the school didn't care, or all the smart kids were here and none of them needed to study. She wondered if she should actually go talk to someone, but decided against it. What was the point?

It wasn't that she was leaving in two years or that she wouldn't have any time to hang out, or some aspects of her just couldn't be called normal. She wondered if she was just an antisocial person. Twenty  minutes to the bell she was still thinking. She saw her watch indicate the time and sighed, looked like the teacher wasn't going to show. He hadn't written any homework on the board or even notes for the days lecture. So she was going to spend two months with her first period basically being off, which she was fine with. The subject was art, so she would do just fine, but still. It irked her that the teacher hadn't shown. Still she didn't know how they would get the grades, hopefully the teacher just put in a bunch of hundreds. All the students were treating it as a free period.

Suddenly someone walked in. Absentmindedly Kayla wondered if he was a student. His hair was messy like he had woken up late and she wondered if he was tired and had overslept, but he immediately walked over to a group, and didn't seem the tiniest bit so. He in fact seemed confident, almost arrogant, and lively. She rolled her eyes, what a boy. He could skip class and not care then just go over to his friends. She wondered if this would just be an off period for her, but she would have to show up sometimes like when the teacher did.

The bell was going to ring in ten minutes, and she was slightly glad the teacher hadn't shown. But it would have been a nice distraction. Although the people who were late were probably glad that the teacher always came late and sometimes never at all. Suddenly a woman walked in. She was about thirty or so and her hair was in a messy bun that was stylish at that point, she looked a little flustered. The teacher didn't seem like the type of person you would normally find, but Kayla guessed it was art. She seemed to feel a little awkward at being late, but if this teacher had been coming in late all year then it shouldn't really matter. "Sorry I'm late class!" She said, rushing in, realizing that class was almost over. In art class this would usually be about the time the teacher started to tell students to finish up their bit and then pick up. Did this class ever get to do anything except socialize and do homework for other classes?

All of them responded "It's fine." Almost a reactive response.

She composed herself before saying "The homework will be to draw an emotion that you feel." She looked around and said "I hope you will all express yourselves!" Then she tried being serious as she said "It will be due in one week. I will pick the top five." Then the bell rang and everyone filed out. None of them seemed to take her seriously, but if she never showed up on time Kayla could understand that.

Kayla wondered if she would have to stay after to discuss things with this teacher, but when no indication came she walked out the door still watching and waiting for the teacher. She was usually very aware of her surroundings but a figure came up and bumped into her sending her rocking and falling...very self consciously in front of the stranger who had come in late.

He smirked and she couldn't help but think that he had done that on purpose. She shot him a dirty look before he said, obviously withholding laughter "Sorry, want a hand."

She glared at him carefully accepting his help, not wanting to seem weak but also not wanting to seem rude. This could be his chance to redo the first impression...he had made on her bottom. He pulled her up easily and her hand felt a little sweaty after that before she stalked off after he said nothing. Fine, he didn't get to redo his first impression.

She could practically feel his smirk as he watched her. She tried...very hard not to look back at him, but finally she caved and he was still standing there (the nerve and fool!) and she could practically hear his laughter. He had a really nice laugh, when it wasn't directed at her.

"Gah." She said, already knowing exactly what she was going to draw for that lame excuse for an assignment her art teacher had given to her.

Note| So this is a prologue or chapter, can't decide which for a story. I do this a lot, start them and never finish. I just kind of had to write this because I'm currently reading book that has something like this in it too..... So consider this a phase...
But regardless, hope you liked it.

Sunshine

There is always quite the audience for the sunrise, as the animals wake and see the glorious beginning of the day. As the light gently begins to spread through fog filled sky, tenderly stroking everything it touches. The sun slowly begins to climb as if weary of some unseen beast.
Colors meld, and many are captivated, and those by the ocean or pond or stream even have a sight to behold as the water is turned to a canvas displaying the rising of the day. Of the sun. Of the light bringer. Of a star.
All the animals loved the sunrise, some it meant the end of a tiresome day, and for others it was the beginning. The sunrise was welcome. And all were able to watch it as they anticipated the sunset. When the rays would peek below the horizon, but for now the glow emanated from everywhere.
The ones watching basked in it.
Loved it.
Adored it.
The sun continued on its journey, unaware of its audience, of the awe it inspired. Among this group whom worshiped the drops of sun that colored huge swaths of sky there went unnoticed a small creature.
The little creature shied away feeling alone and scared. It sighed, before leaving, wishing it could see properly. All it saw was pain and blinding light. Though before he thought it had seen the most beautiful thing in the world.
The warm light burned its skin and it retreated. It sighed. The sunrise. The sunset. It burned him to see them; and yet....

Note| Sorry for the short post I'm having writers block!

Zane....I am Zane

I used to be a being that I cannot describe to you, beautiful are the words on your tongue and yet that cannot begin to describe that form. The very idea was sewn into it through the making. And it was made for me, make no doubt about that. The form with its wings, and perfect body, elegance mixed with ability, was made for me. To always feel so light and airy rarely ever touching the ground, I only looked among the mortal beings. But I suppose that form was taken from me, and now I am here. Funny thing actually, I don't know where here is. It's a dank dark place, the earth smells damp and humid, full of earth worms. And I don't feel its normal comforting pulse, yes the earth has a pulse. And it has a voice. It's dark and deep, but light and feminine at the same time.It surprises me sometimes when I heard it, even though I have an uncanny connection with the earth despite my wings.The earth, the mother of all I suppose you could say. I love the earth, and I love the sky much more. If you have never flown, flown with wind and sky and stars, among all the rest of the flying creatures.It is like standing on a high cliff, and looking down, and feeling your heart plummet to an endless bottom before finding its way in the dark. All the while your body seems so far detached, as you find your way. Flying in itself is no special thing, but when you fly the entire world changes beneath you, and the surge of power pumping through your veins can keep you aloft for an almost indefinite period of time. You could say I am a earth creature, but you are wrong, I as much as the birds, love the air, and wish to be master of it. Even though I am not, no one is the master of the air. There are some who would borrow power there, steal and lie and cheat to command a small portion of a great empire, but they are not masters of the wind. I want to be out of here, it's dark. I can navigate fine in the dark, but it feels oppressive here, and makes me anxious to leave. I don't know how long I've been here, and I don't' particularly care, time is of no matter. I have endless time, it seems as if it is something, that while not to be frittered away, can be used with leisure. But I am concerned about leaving this place, it isn't somewhere I would want to stay. I doubt you would stay either if it were humid, and dark, and you felt your heart pound against your chest uncomfortable in your own skin. No. My eyes shut to block it out, the darkness, if it makes sense, blocking out darkness with darkness. Where to find the exit though to this place I do not know. I came here without my knowing or control, and yet to stay here is in my control I think to keep myself calmer, hating this space. I feel odd right now. It's kind of like flying, not knowing where you are, and detached from your body. Though I feel no joy by it, only slight fear. Because I really don't know where to go, and I lost sight of the ground to which I will need to return eventually. I feel an uncomfortable twinge, and then another, cringing I lay down. The surface of this place is comfortable, almost surprisingly so, and I shut my eyes, drifting off to sleep. I don't think I sleep very long, but I feel different when I wake up. I feel out of my own skin, and uncomfortable fabric rub up against the surface. I don't know why I would be wearing fabric.I can't see my own paws, and I can't feel the tips of my ears, and I can't move my tail. I can't smell as much either. It still smells damp, but it isn't as bad. The humidity still eats away at me though. I close my eyes trying to shake the feeling, where did my ears and tail go, why am I on two legs. I feel my heart race, my different heart. And I try to growl in frustration but it sounds like a pup rasping and not a wolf growling. I can't whimper, but I feel air come in and out of my throat in heavy breaths. I try to gulp in air at an even rate, wondering what was happening to me. And why I had been turned into a human, and if I would ever change back. It was odd, but being in this form had good qualities. Like the fact that I had thumbs now, and I could talk. My other speech had been rusty in wolf form, with so many other things I could use to communicate, but now I spoke. It felt weird, my tongue moving to accompany words. I feel the world reconfigure around me, and it's almost disorienting. The world was busy, it felt busy. So many sights and sounds, but peaceful enough I guessed. I saw a steep drop, and I realized I was near a canyon, I heard words behind me and whirled. More humans. They were in a group. There was one who acted like the leader. He motioned for me to join them. And wanting to fit in stumbled over trying out my new legs. There were people there. It was a group, one family, one couple, three loners. I was a loner. There was another person next to me in the back, I didn't know why she was here. So I asked her "What are you doing here?" I guess it came out as kind of weird or like I was demanding something because she looked at me funny. Well I didn't know how she was looking at me, but she sounded amused, and a little angry "What's it to you?" I thought about the words for a little bit, trying to come up with a good answer. I didn't know her, but I did want to know why she was here, because she wasn't taking any pictures and stayed at the back of the group, even though she could keep up with the front. I still had trouble walking like this so I had to stay at the back. After thinking about it I answered "I don't know, you just don't seem like you want to be here, that's all." I tried to be friendly, not to be mean, or questioning, or demanding. She seemed really sensitive. Like a perfect pool of water. It would come back to near perfect again, but never completely still, and it was incredibly easy to disturb it. I wondered if she was a water element, like how I was before, but I shook the thought, she wasn't. I knew. I just knew. She answered, a laugh, we kept moving "I don't this whole trip isn't for me." I feel confused, she seems to be talking about more than this trip. But what is it about this trip that makes it so important it be hers. She sounds selfish when she puts it like that and I don't think she's selfish. She's just a little mad. "Oh." I say, not really understanding, trying to sound like I do. She pauses, then looks at me, it's really weird, I don't usually make eye contact as it is considered a challenge, and no one challenges me. But hers isn't uncomfortable, it's almost friendly when she says "Oh right, my name is Maire, but just call me Man." It's really weird nickname, probably with a story behind it, probably with a whole story behind it that I don't know. And I want her to tell me, and tell me why this is such a big deal for her, and tell me all of her stories. But instead she says to me "So what's your name?" I hesitate, but I know I have to answer so I say "Zane" I like that name "I am Zane." And she laughs but it's light hearted and airy, and she isn't being mean or cruel "I heard you the first time." She pauses as if she's feeling my name on her tongue "Zane."

A Rambling of Thoughts

Don't lock everything away with a padlock, for not all of it can be contained in such a way.

A voice rang out, it was an odd voice, I have definitely heard it before. The words are clear, the words it seems I've heard them before. It goes out again, ringing, ringing, ringing "Naen, did you hear me?" I think it was my teacher, she never liked me It was a feeling I got as soon as I walked into the room. She looked at me like I was trouble, as if I would bring misfortune upon her, bad news, I suppose that's what I was, what I would bring. Misfortune and trouble. I sighed, and I felt a rap go through the table, and I looked up, my teacher looked at me sternly, at least that's how she tried to look. More than ever she just looked angry. I could understand why. I could understand why she was angry, it's not like I tried very hard in her class. I didn't offer to read what she told me to read, I didn't try and write about anything worth writing about, things that I didn't want to tell anyone. Well not her anyway. She wasn't my best friend, or even a squirrel that I found in the park whom I could pour my worries out to. I need to to clear my head, and forget for a while though. And she was saying "Naen!" The entire class was looking, they were looking, they watched as if this was how things always were, how they would be for the entire year. Probably how it would end up. My friend sat next to me, tenser than anything. She was practically about to punch the teacher, her hands were balled up into fists. I didn't even know why she was my friend. It seemed she had always been my friend. The teacher talked again, and I stayed in my fantasy world, it wasn't a nice place, but I didn't want to have to face my teacher. She sighed, she wasn't wearing a bun like you might expect, for she always looked rather sever, with a nice shirt with buttons, and a skirt or possibly some dress pants, maybe jeans, always nice impecibly kept, and a pair of glasses even though she was near sighted and didn't need them. She kept her hair down, and she always looked older or younger than she really was. "I told you to write about your thoughts on something important to you. This is to start off a new unit so please try on this assignment." She felt like a stereotype, I always thought of how steryotypical she was. But she smiled, and said "I know you much be thinking a lot, so now would be a good time to tell us some of those thoughts." It seemed clipped, almost like she was forcing herself to be nice. But it felt good, so instead of arguing like my friend thought I would, I nodded my head, and rested my hands on my keyboard. I tried to think, about something I could write. I could write about animals, and red wolves, or even the military. But that felt...it felt like something so me that it was stupid. I didn't want to write about those things. I didn't need to tell them anything they couldn't read from any other social misfit. I hesitated, one what I could write, lifting my hands off the keyboard for a moment. But then I just wrote down my thoughts. I started, and wherever my mind took me I wrote, and it felt good. I would have to edit it to make it school appropriate of course, there was some language, but I realized just how angry I sounded. It was less like an idea and more like a rant. I realized this while I was writing, but I didn't stop. I didn't care what the teacher thought. I had all 100s in this class, and I could handle it if this teacher gave me a bad grade I couldn't care less, not when I was writing. While I writing I knew my friend was looking at me worriedly, but not talking to me. I had a determined air around me. I sighed, not exactly holding my breath or anything else, but not concious of my breathing or anything else around me. My teacher came up to me, and I think she smiled and said I was doing well, real words...real words for the first time in forever in this class. And these are the words that I wrote on my paper

I wonder, if there is anything really worth dying for. People say they would die for liberty...but do we ever really have it, people say they would die for their families, but are not their families prepared to die for them, and yet too there is the argument that one would die for their country. But is not your country only you, and losing you could not possibly make your country stronger. Only weaken the links. And what country would really ask for your death. It is like sending them to a camp of prisons that we so desperately fight. Is that honestly what we want? Is this sense of false pride that we so desperately grasp to?I don't think so. The world seems so centered on death though, if you think of it. Even Lincon's speech about the last full measure of devotion implies that death is the ultimate price to pay. But I don't think it is. Death is a small price compared to the price it makes the living pay. Whether it leaves you saddles with debt, or emotional grief, often times both. It is really despicable how we do this to ourselves and others. And even then people will ask, would you take a bullet for me? As if the most important thing is their lives. Or some would say they would die together. But that is entirely pointless. I have nothing against poetry, but is it not tragically poetic in a way that makes it seem like there is no higher thought process. I could tell you about this higher though process, but I would rather you think it out. Did you see what I did? I'm not sure what I am doing. Because for those who realize and understand it is infuriating to live in a world with people so fixated on these things. They see only these things, and the surroundings. Not that they pay the surroundings any attention. Sometimes it feels as if no one is out there with this thought. And I guess it could just be me. But I want people to see this thought so they can understand if not agree. That is a higher thought process. Is it not? It is a rhetorical question. I feel as if all of them are answering. It is not the words here though that matter. It is the thoughts that others have on these thoughts. For does not one word provoke a multitude of words, stringing together, not in perfect order as they jostle for space? Well how about you give my idea some space. Whether your mind is a shelf, or a room, or even a messy desk, make some room for everything. I have found that the mind is amazing like that. Stretching and changing to fit whatever you want in it. I want everything here. I want to have everything, but I don't really have to be unhappy with what I have. I guess it is impossible to have both, but remember I want to. See what I did there? Right now I feel....I get lost from here. I don't want to talk about my feelings, I want to talk about my thoughts. Do you understand the difference? Emotions come from thoughts. Everything important really important is in the brain. Other things have everything else, but if my brain makes me unique....then, well. I can't say exactly. Hmph, I feel like a ranter, like one of those raving mad lunatics that just goes on and on about nothing, and everything at once . I wonder if I went to an asylum and went on like this if they would accept me no questions asked. I know I would, I would defenitaly. No questions asked. None at all.

That's what I wrote...I got a 100 and my teacher talked to me after class. The conversation didn't seem all that important though. I remember though, I was surprised when I saw the note as it got discreetly handed back to every student. My friend had gotten a 100 too, but when she saw mine she said that none could really compare. And I knew it was real. That she wasn't just being an amazing friend.

A Knife In the Wrong Place

There was a boy, he wasn't particularly anything. He was average, and he was walking home..alone, and in this he wasn't average. He carried with him a switchblade, and he stood and walked like he wasn't going anywhere in particular, even if he was meandering to his house. At least no one approached him, he trudged along, he was aware of a scuffle of shoes behind him. He hadn't expected any trouble, he certainly never looked for it. He carried the blade for show, he didn't even live in the wrong part of town. His was perfectly normal, and he was almost as normal as his house.
Except he heard the scuffle of shoes, and carried a switchblade, and wondered aloud "I wonder who is behind me. I know they're there."
The movement of shoes didn't stop, didn't intensify, only kept going, as if they were going their own way on a predetermined path. The boy threw his head back to see who it was who thought they would give him a scare. No one was there, he shrugged. Taking a different route he kept walking everywhere in his neighborhood except his house. He knew that something was following him. The boy finally reached a circle of houses, he whirled seeing a figure, a girl, slightly older than him. The other one, was pale, and looked to be in her teens, she held a sort of posture that showed such an easy elegance that you couldn't help but feel ugly and misshapen in front of him.
It wasn't as if the pale girl wasn't floating exactly, but she certainly didn't seem grounded. At least not in the same sense as anyone the boy had seen so far. The boy was nervous, and unsure, he called out "Who are you?" He didn't feel much worry, but he hadn't seen her before, didn't know her, and didn't know what she knew, and what she might do.
The other laughed, speeding forward, it seemed as if she was walking, but she crossed the distance of about a hundred yards as if in a breath. As if it was a single stride, a leap taken in a sprint. The boy's skin prickled, at the energy in the air, there was energy in the air, there was something else, something he didn't know as well, and he tried, tried desperately not focus on it.
There were many things about the girl that the first didn't notice at first, her black eyes tinged with red, her spiky hair, and most of all he noticed that the girl who approached had no weapons.
The boy drew his blade, flicking it up and towards the neck. The other one didn't seem bothered by the blow, in fact it seemed as if the gashing wound on the neck that should have her on the ground caused her only mild irritation. Instead fangs gleamed and she whispered "Oh such a waste of blood. Looks like you'll have to repay me."
It was almost unnoticeable, but the boy felt the color drain from his face. They say the dead look peaceful, and I suppose it could be true, but the boy didn't quite die that day, because he wasn't meant to.
The next day someone noticed none of the spilled blood, or that the average boy had attained a different aura. The few who knew, and learned didn't stay fully alive for long.

Whether from above, below, or next to you they lurk, so be careful on the streets at dusk.

I Want To Look At The Truth (best blog post this six weeks)

"You can't tell her that." Someone growled under their breath, it was someone I recognized, but I'm not sure who they were. It was a deep voice, I know I should know who the person was. I wracked my brain, but I didn't remember. I was only four. I was suppose to have a good memory, I remembered most things well enough; but I couldn't remember what I had for breakfast yesterday morning; and I don't remember what I ate for dinner that night. (italics and bold mean it is her memory)What I do remember is my friend Kayla got a phone call and looked very white, and then told me we could watch a movie before bed. We watched my favorite movie of all time, and then she told me to go to sleep, but I stayed up, and she didn't leave as soon as she thought I was asleep like usual. Which was weird, because that never happened.
I don't remember falling asleep, but I do remember that Kayla was still there, which would be fun but strange. So when I woke up I asked her "Kayla, why aren't my mom and daddy home from their date?" They said they were going to something that started with a c, but I forgot, so I just called it a date.
She sighed and then said "They haven't gotten home yet." She made it sound like they would never get home, but, they said they would never leave me, that if I waited for them they would find me, so I knew that they would come home. If Kayla was staying then it would be okay, because we always did something fun. But when we were sitting, and playing...I forget what game it was, but when I heard loud sirens go off outside I knocked over all the pieces, and Kayla only got up, and told me to stay by her. There were lots of police cars, I know they're police cars because Kayla told me once, and another car, it was a really pretty silvery color, and was much bigger than the police cars, although it wasn't a truck. I didn't remember the car, but I knew I should remember the man who walked out. He was someone important, someone my parents both knew, he always came over, why couldn't I remember his name?
I was interrupted from remembering when I heard another shout "You won't tell her lies!" It was the man whose name I couldn't remember. There was an answering shout, but I didn't hear it, I was back in my memories.
Police men got out, and everybody went into the kitchen. That's where I was now, standing outside the kitchen, listening, while Kayla let me. Which was odd, and the man who I couldn't see. I couldn't hear though, not in the clear way.
I tried to remember who the man was, but my  memory was hazy, his name was something like...Miri, Manr, Mysten, that sounded odd and wrong, but I think that's what it was. That's what it was, I think.
He was a friend of my parent's, but he was something to me too, my parents told me once, but it was when I was little, I don't remember. I remember what he looked like, he had longer than my dad's brown hair, and yellow eyes, and he lived in a community, a tight community my mother always said something along those lines. Kayla was part of it too, but my parents were not.
Something, something that my mother always felt bad about, and my father never lingered on. At least that's what I understood.
I heard another shout "There's only half a chance!"
"So what would you have me do?! Abandon my responsibility?! It was so important to them!" Mysten, I think that's his name, I'm almost sure, shouted back.
Only half a chance of what?
I heard loud stomps, and finally entered the room, Kayla was standing there, red in the face, with an anger I had never quite seen, and the man was there, he had slightly long brown hair, with green eyes, and he was pacing.
Kayla turned to me, and looked at him, it seemed as if there was something going on, something I couldn't catch, something I could see, but couldn't hear.
She put me up on one of the chairs and asked "Sorry we've been ignoring you. Things are a little crazy. I could tell you the story, or I could answer your questions. What do you want to know?"
I already knew, I wanted what everybody wanted, what people search for the entire lives, but never get, but I didn't know that then. So I asked the only thing I knew how to ask for "Tell me the truth."

Sweet Simplicity

Dear Diary,

What do most people write about in a diary? Ever since I got this empty clean paged beautiful book I have been dying to write in it, but what do I write?

I could tell you about my day, I could tell you about how it was Briaa's lucky number day. She's so superstitious! She's an amazing person, but she has a lucky number, and is a reader of every card, always gets her fortune told, and has today's horoscopes constantly with her. Some people think it’s funny, how she tells everyone everything, but some people admire her speaking her mind.

I couldn't tell you what we learned in LA today though; I find that a horrid subject, my teacher told me "Just write what you think about the subject." Why would I want to think about something so meaningless? I suppose writing isn't all that bad, but what is it with this pointless thinking? I could summarize my thoughts in a perfect short summary and yet my teacher doesn't seem to think that's enough. We wrote one paragraph, my teacher said it should be easy, yet the topic was so hard 'Write about your opinion on a children's story that you were told as a child.' All children's stories are dumb.

I don't really like science either; it's like an impractical and finicky version of math.

I could tell you all about my History class, and my math class, and lunch. I don't think that it is very interesting though.

Oh well.
I'll try and write more tomorrow, this is much better than LA, even though it is writing. 

-C Ya, 

Lilly

Dear Lilly,

I loved hearing about your day today, hopefully I will be hearing more from you. It has been so tiresome feeling my empty pages, and I hope that you fill them up. Even if I can't see your world, hearing you write and talk about it is refreshing. I think though that there are some stories I could tell you that you would find interesting, and I must disagree, Science is very precise, and LA does have meaning. Maybe we can discuss this more later.

Sincerely,

                  Diary

A flower is a flower, no matter how many petals it has. To live life as a flower though, I believe would be rather dull. Don't you?

The Wound That Never Heals

Scars. Scars. Scars are what make us or break us, scars are reminder of past faults, faults of ourselves or faults of others, but either way...you can never truly forget. Some people try and cover up their scars, they try to forget about them, but, some of us can't. I have a scar across my eye, it was given to me by Maeve, the Queen of our realm. The realm of the fae.
I smirked and gave a morbid laugh, life here was not the safe haven as some imagined it. Persecuted in other kingdoms for their heritage, and then forced into little better than slavery here, unless you are lucky, unless you are born here, and born as free as you will get in this contorted world. I want to laugh again, but why would I push it? Most are not allowed to breath without our Queen's permission.
We are a race greater than any other, our powers outstrip them, and our rule is fierceness to behold, the way we cut each others throats while holding daggers to their back. I barely bothered to engage in such politics, nor did I try to win the Queen's favor. Opening trouble is to walk beside death, and I had done that enough.
Now all this could change though, I have a chance, maybe it will be another form of slavery, but at least these bonds will be visible to only few. Loyalty by choice, how very interesting. All the same, and army was rising, for the court of ice and stone that Maeve held. Mab, her younger sister, bestowed by the same power of biting cold, and slightly less powerful dared raise a hand against her sister, and she was probably doomed down the same path.
They are both fools, but right now the world must move on, and it will, because that is how the world is, it one of the few things we share with humans. I snicker, humans, in the land beside ours, calling themselves conquerors for killing a few fae with so little power, fae who help plants grow, and try to coax rain into falling.
Scars, scars from them as well. I sigh, will the list of those who gave me scars go on?
One from Maeve who fears my power, and forced me to obey her will.
Five from the humans who thought they could enslave me.
Two from my friends who tried to kill me on the battlefield courtesy of Maeve.
One from my father who feared the humans who would burn him and me alike.
Three from the one who was suppose to love me.
The list goes on and on, and they are still there. Some of them got infected at first, but most simply scar. I sigh, now a chance, I want them gone, but I want them there. I want to remember, but I want a clean slate.
We rarely get what we want though.
I sigh, they are all so ugly. Some on my back, A few on my face. A couple on my arms. Maybe one or two on my chest.
Mab, she goes by the title Queen of Ice, a title still belonging to her living sister. Though she promises a land built on kinship, I sigh, how can we be family, for Maeve has created something different, friendship after loyalty. Whereas Mab wouldn't allow that friendship, saying it makes us weak, blood is thicker than water I believe the phrase is. Both are right, and both bear scars.
Where I fall is important to them, but not important to me.
Either way I will get more scars.

The Beauty of a Wall

I grinned at my friend, the joke was okay, but I thought that he was a little more mature than that. He wrapped his arm around me in a friendly manner, gushing loudly "Awww come on Tessa that was funny, don't I get a laugh?"
Rance is always making something out of nothing, he's a great artist, but sometimes I worry that he's going to explode with all of that inside him. I roll my eyes at him saying sarcastically "No you don't."
He sighs before pointing a finger at me "Someday Tessa Laena Renolf, I will make you laugh so hard that you won't be able to retaliate when I say I told you so."
I shake my head, like that day would ever come "Now Robert that is a truly laughable thought."
He gave me a dirty look when I said his real name. It's not a bad name, but I guess he likes Rance better, and he makes sure everybody knows it. That is like a Rance Rule and it's on the top on the list, has been since preschool. I asked him why once and he evaded the question, I let it drop, everyone has secrets that they don't tell anyone. Some

might call me a horrible friend for not caring, but I know that it wouldn't make me any less of a friend if I respected his choice.

We headed to Art 2 class, Rance prefers to work with pastels, oils, and ink, but personally I like to sketch with pencils and maybe color in with colored pencils if   I think the drawing is good enough. Our Art teacher is more lenient than some people like, every unit we learn about either a period of art, a style of art, or a piece of art. Then at the end of that unit we turn in a piece that either would be created in that time period, or is that style of art, or uses the style time period or focus of that piece of art. This being said and it being the third week in our three week unit all of us were finished (usually finished by end of first week) everybody practiced their own art or chatted with their friends. I put up a thick sheet of paper and secured it to my easle, Rance pulled up a drawing vibrant with hues of blue, yellow, and green. He glanced at my blank sheet before asking " What are you going to draw?"

I hesitated I have an idea, so I simply answer " I'm not sure yet." I debate for a short period of time between a alternate depiction of a Robert Frost poem or a book that had writing that couldn't be read. 

I began the sketch, outlining a line, then making it rough, but strong, and only the tops of trees peeped over the top, those were at the top of the paper. At the bottom I finished sketching the base before drawing grass all around with nothing else. Then I added detail.

The finish of the pencil work was plain to see, and the bell almost rung, everyone began cleaning up, and I stowed away the sketch into my portfolio to finish coloring later. Rance was almost finished, his ocean coming out with a simple elegance and beauty splotched in bright color. 

He snuck a peek at what I had drawn before questioning " Why did you choose to draw that?"

I only shrugged.

A Rebel's Rebellion

People always tell me, when I'm here, that I did the right thing, that I made the right choice. I sighed internally, this was stupid. One side, another side, even another side, there were hundreds, and yet I still couldn't choose. So instead of choosing a side, I chose family. I chose the side that my father fought for, that my mother fought for, that my sisters fought for, and that my brother shied away from. And now I can't change, I can't be with my brother, he spat on our blood, and then spilled it across the stones.
I wondered for a moment if I really had made the right choice, and done the right thing. Everybody here said so, and yet everyone else said that I should have chosen them. I swatted through the dense overgrowth, they sent me on this mission, a mission that could end the bloodshed. I sighed, but it would have to succeed, and if it didn't then it would lead to even more animosity, hatred, torture, death, and bloodlust.
Maybe I should just join the large party, at least then I wouldn't feel torn up. A temporary truce though wouldn't last long, and it was probably better this way. A choice. A choice. A choice given to me ten years ago before I could possibly understand.
I neared the building, and none of their traps caught me, I almost snorted, their dogs didn't catch me either. A choice. A choice. A choice now, but it wasn't the right thing, and I couldn't make a choice.
(flashback)
"What are you guys doing?" A deep voice commanded, our commander was a rough, large, and powerful man, and they said he had been in his first battle at the age of seven instead of the normal fourteen.
I was standing off to the sidelines, the commander's voice had woken me from my slumber and I stood, and watched, wanting to know as well.
"We're going to get tattoos." One of them stated proudly, they were so young, only fourteen, and still glowing at surviving their first battle, when we had lost so many. I knew of course what they meant, and so did the commander.
"Good. Be prompt tomorrow, training will not decrease." They all know though that it will for them. It will for them and never for me.
The next morning on all of their arms, both of them, was a tattoo, a symbol, our Rebellion's symbol, it stood out, and they weren't the only ones. Most of this Rebellion have them. A show. A permanent piece. And the other Rebellions have them too. Some of the main forces have them, but it's frowned upon there. I know one rebellion requires that you get the symbol tattooed on your arm.
They realize that I'm staring at it, and they grin, it'll probably get infected.
I hope it doesn't. We don't need another in the sick bed, and losing your arm....
(end of flashback)
I stopped dead in my tracks, all I have to do, is one assassination. One little death and I am a hero for my Rebellion. One death and we take the claim. One killing, to end thousands. The words rolled around in my head, and I knew though there was no way to bribe myself into doing it. I wasn't a rebel, I wasn't a patriot, I wasn't any of those things.
Which is why my report said that assassination was impossible and would lead to negative effects upon our rebellion.
That is why.
This world hasn't ended yet.

This is the symbol

The quote is:

"Freedom is the ability of choice, not necessarily choosing freedom, but making your choice.