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TransformWhat's wrong with me?
I glare at the claws my fingers somehow own, as if my anger could make them disappear. I roll my tounge around the sharpened canines. I'm about to give up guessing what I am. A vampire-werewolf? I think about it, searching my mind.
You're so pathetic! You know everything there is to know about myths, yet you don't know what you're somehow becoming? I think to myself. I think back to what might be transforming me. In the past week I've been bitten by a spider, scratched by a strange stray cat, and nearly swallowed by the circus elephant. A normal day. But then I realise-no, not normal. I may be no spidergirl, and I'm not turning into an elephant, so that must mean...
As if in response to my deduction a furry tail curls around to tickle my nose. I look in the mirror. The tail is mine. I have thin
the safest school everSchools. Heh. They don't allow knives, yet they allow scissors and cans. They 'don't allow' all unsafe things. Really. Look at this list.
Scissors: For stabbing.
Cans: For stabbing
Pencils: For stabbing
Pens: For stabbing
Wite-out: For poison
Glue: For poison
Plastic bags: For strangulation.
The list goes on and on. That is why they seperate us kids. The unnormals. At school there are bullies, and then there are bullies. I once went to a normal school. Well, as normal as a regulation school for the unnormals. Mixing us, the helpless unnormals, with the not-normals, the people with personality defects, turned out horribly.
Drew and Drew, twins with the same name but different gender, snuck up behind me. One of the Drews stuck a plastic bag over my mouth. I found it suddenly hard to breathe.
"HA! Little fang-girl's not so strong as the
a complete guide to christmas A Cheapskate's Guide To Christmas
1. Go out and get a tree. it doesn't have to be big. preferably costing under five dollars.
2. Use the same tacky old ornaments from your grandparents that you use every year
3. Don't bother with lights. Pain and suffering, plus they tend to cost over three dollars for a huge package
4. Keep it last-minute. All the good stuff will be gone, and so will all the expensive things.
5. Of course, you can't forget gifts.
6. Get incredibly cheap gifts that you know everybody will love. Picture frames and personalized mugs tend to make people squeal for less than twenty bucks all together.
7. Instead of wrapping paper, use newspaper. If you don't get a newspaper because a quarter a month for the news is too darn much, then use leftover wrapping paper from gifts you have been given.
8. Label them with a cheap marker-no need for dollar s
Optimistic in a sea of despairThe people in my school-they never smile for real
It's almost as if they never learned to feel
Some say it's the lunches served of course
That fatty food makes them feel gross.
I think they may be robots
They seem never to have a happy thought.
But this circle of ours, not of life, of friends
Our happiness is a stream that never ends
And I above all, more than most,
Smile a lot, I don't mean to boast.
But where does my optimism come from?
As a baby did I fall into a nuclear drum?
That must be what others think-
But I don't care-who gives a frink?!
All I know is that happiness is like a cold
From one source, to others it flows.
Fairy conscience part 4"Nah, I don't think so." Zee responded. "I think we spontaneously combusted."
"So we're dead now?"
"No, we just moved closer to the next target. we should probably figure out how NOT to all enter at once."
Just then the pizza guy stepped that one extra inch, and we all flew to him like he was a vaccuum. Of course, once again an explosion rocked the building.
One thing we forgot to mention-this was in Italy. (why is there a sals in Italy when they can get authentic pizza just as cheap?)
"Tale edificio appena fatto saltare in aria! arrestare i criminali terroristi! DACCI IL BACK PIZA AMERICANO!" People were yelling all around us.
"I can't understand Italian, but I think these people are angry" I nervously whispered to the others
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More