Trade MistakesOh god.
I roll my eyes. It's my friend. I know she means well, but it's annoying when people care too much sometimes.
"You need a job."
There is one problem with her suggestion. I already have a job. It's from when I wake up to when I fall asleep and it's called feeling sorry for myself. Yeah, it's a pretty demanding job. The hours are shit and so is the pay, but I am part of a million people strong network. Some people do it part time, others full time.
I work full time.
"I'll get one," I tell them. They mean well and I love them dearly, really. I mean if i loved myself as much as I loved them I would be the most concieted person on the planet. I love them that much. Maybe my love for them will pull me out of this rut and I ckinda hope it does.
Actually I'm kinda relying on that love.
Full time, kinda like my job. I think I mostly depend on their love though. When I really think about it. I need their appraisal. I need their smiles. I need the way they say 'it's ok
Anna MollySometimes I want to believe I'm different.
I brush shoulders with some girls from my school and they scoff. Did she just touch me? They're disgusted. Why? Why are they disgusted? I have the same anatomy as them. I just look different. They all look the same, like manufactured barbies that try too hard.
And physically I am.
I make my way past the different cliques and I wonder: how exactly do they look at me? Do they look at me like the barbies do? I can hear my feet, like a metronome. Clack, clack, clack. Or rather squeak, squeak, squeak because I'm wearing some worn out boots and the floor is wet.
I have never been a part of them. The cliques. I've always been alone. Yeah, I guess alone is a good word for it. I perfer self isolation. I think I gave up on humanity somewhere along the line. People were so selfish and so was I. I wanted to much more. I wanted to be different.
I was. Just not in the way I wanted to be.
I cross my arms like I'm holding up a shield because I'm starti
With A BangI don't think I'd ever meet anyone quite like her if she'd died that night.
She's sketching. I'm looking over her schoulder because I'm curious. I'm always curious when she'd doing something. It's always something incredible and fantastic and beautiful. She doubts these words when she hears them.
She's using red now. It's not bright red, or brick red, which is this weird orange-red that's just bullshit, it's this pretty scarlet red. Whatever she's drawing must be bleeding or blossoming and quite frankly it looks like both.
She's dyed her hair again. It's the same color as the crayola she's using. Her red hair goes in every which direction. It bobs with the way she moves and it expresses her firey soul which is quickly burning out. It's smoldering and I'm kind trying to bring it back to life, but it's hard.
I don't know if I can save her.
I really hope I can because it's such bullshit that someone who use to shine as bright as her is still so blinding as she's goin' out.
Let. Me. In.I put your work in my folder called home, because that's where you belong; in my heart, inside my home.
I think I found her"Who are you?"
It was a question uttered out loud in a disbelieving voice and it was a good question. Who was I? Why am I here? Who had I been? My eyes fell from her's and I kept asking myself. Was there an answer? A true answer? Not one of those cracker box answers that only gave a boring description. I couldn't give her one that was exciting either because I knew that was a lie.
"I don't know," I finally answered as I lift my gaze to see her. She looks familiar. Maybe I knew her once? She smiles at me for a brief moment and we look away. "You gonna be okay?" she asks, after a moment of hestitance of course.
"Yeah, I think so."
We share that mutual smile and I wipe at the mirror. "Good pep talk," I tell myself and she smiles again. I had lost her in a bottle of something bad. "Talk to you later?" She gives a slight bouncy nod like she's expecting me later and I smile to myself.
"I think I found her."
Game of WarI watch as the little boys play war in the front lawn of my friend's lavish summer home. Their mock sounds of pain set me on edge. A violent clash of toys imitate bombs and send the players sprawling a mere inch back, fingers and toes still intact.
Slowly I watch the little soliders seperate. The boys of today find their enemies of tommorrow in an almost indiscriminate way. "You're the bad guy!" August's boy proclaims and Martin's boy shoots back, "Why do I gotta be the bad guy!"
"Because you're the bad guy! Stop being such a baby!"
Their game is black and white. Bad is bad. Good is good. There is no detailing or shade of grey. No space for doubt in the war they play a part of. I scoff for war is no game. I can leave my home a hero possibly today and find myself to be my own enemy tommorrow for every bullet chamber I emptied into some unfortunate man's chest.
"Time for dinner!"
The little soliders march into my friend's blood money estate. I pretend to forget the game for war and all t
Black and White TragedyThe angel offered a forced smile at her reflection in the piano. It morphed slowly to show her a frown and she touched her face. No smile. She was losing her head again. Her eyes turned to the keys. Black and white. They were so simple in contrast to her reflection, vivid colors against the polished body of the piano.
Angel bowed her head respectfully as she looked down to look at her hands. They lay so gently on the keys. She took a deep inhale and closed her eyes. She pressed the first key. Off. A little too high. Her brows furrowed as continued to clink her way through the notes until she found what she was looking for.
A soft. Tadume. A noise she couldn’t describe with words or even a hum. Angel smiled a little as she tapped out a tune. Gentle and melancholy in nature and suddenly she stopped.
Her mouth opened hesitantly. What would she sing? Angel’s eyes opened and she could see Michael’s picture sitting on the piano. No care in the world. Just a big smile and bi
I was someone onceI was being born in reverse. Every nick and scratch that once made me, me, was gone. The memories. The people. Gone. I was freshly confused by my existence and instead of being conceived as a babe in my mother's womb I was born a young adult; stripped of personality but not of my worldly knowledge. Being left void of who I was made me cry out to the ears that would listen.
Mommy's Bump-Free! ES Yamazaki Sosuke x ReaderA/N: I can only say that this story is not from Reader-chan's PoV.
I really really am bored
Waiting for him to enter that door is a daily routine for me. Yet I can't help but feel this way—uneager to do anything else until he arrives.
As on cue, my ears caught a familiar sound.
This constant beats...
There's no mistaking it! It's him!
Almost immediately, I rush to the front door, trying to reach the round metal and open the door myself.
Finally, Daddy's home!
Ugh, this door...it refused to open!
Focusing on the task in hand, his silhouette from the other side of the door almost went unnoticed by me.
Oh oh oh, he's here! Hurry daddy, open the door!
The second his clothed athletic body is on my view, I leap and then hug him with all my might!
Welcome home, daddy!
"Woah there, boy. Did you missed me that much?" he chuckles, ruffling my head in process.
Yes! Yes daddy, I missed you that much! T
Mechanid World - StubbornStubborn
The stubbornness of Lightning Mc’Queen could be compared to the determination of a shark on the hunt.
Only Doc would describe Lightning as the shark’s more annoying cousin on a bad day. On a good day, Lightning’s stubbornness could be beneficial as he never gave up unless he was literally being dragged off the race track.
On a bad day… It was usually bad enough that he would still try to keep going even when it was obvious he was having issues.
Today… Was a bad day.
Lightning was falling behind, trying to pick up his pace but he couldn’t seem to speed up fast enough. Other racers were ramming into him, knocking him over.
“Kid, kid, get back here!”
“I-I’m okay Doc! I’ll figure it out!”
“LIGHTNING THAT IS AN-”
Lightning turned off his headset. Not. Giving. Up. I’m already behind... I can do this.
“What’s he doing?”
“Is he insane?!”
Lightning cringed as h
El sombrero (parte 1 de 2)
(Parte 1 de 2)
– Este pingüino?
La voz de una de las pequeñas crías le hizo levantar su vista del diario que leía, dejando que sus lentillas bajaran un poco por su pico, para verle mejor y de forma más clara, dirigiendo finalmente su vista en dirección de la imagen que le mostraba el pequeño y que no era más que una vieja fotografía que se suponía no debía tener en sus aletas, sino que debía continuar en el armario donde la tenía guardada.
– De dónde sacaste eso? – preguntó bajando el diario y retirándose los anteojos de media luna que utilizaba para leer cuando su vista estaba demasiado cansada, dejándolos en la mesa para poder levantarse – eso estaba perfectamente guardado…
La cría dirigió su vista en la fotografía del pingüino emperador que se mostraba en una pose bastante graciosa, con ese sombrero que
The curse within the familyThe Curse within the Family
October 15, 2014
I looked outside, it was early and I was preparing the morning breakfast for my sick mother. Outside, I noticed birds singing and the sun melting the morning dew off every blade grass, another beautiful day preparing to unfold as I take care of my sick mother upstairs, which I didn’t mind. I actually love doing it. I prepare the tea on the stove and wait for the kettle to whistle at me it’s ready. I turn the stove on to make her favorite eggs and bacon. I out the bacon on a separate pan and cook both at once, was letting the sweet smell overwhelm me as it sizzles on the stove top. I glance back outside everything looks so perfect it saddened me to think everything is so perfect, so beautiful and yet my sick mother can’t even get out of bed to watch as the day unwinds. The sweetest lady in the world sick and so fragile that even the smallest touch you’d think she would dissolve in thin air, out of the world she once an
Thomarie-The mysterious nanny 4Jazz al abrir la carta le cayo un globo de pintura morado y aparecio un holograma de Marie.
Marie(Holograma)-Thomas ya sabia que no podias hacer esta simple labor pero por si acaso te mande este trabajo para ver si podias hacerlo pero tuve un presentimiento que no lo lograrias por que Jazz le ganaria la curiosidad,asi que hice esto para que aprendas Jazz a no ser curiosa como dice el lema la curiosidad mato al gato,espero que la proxima no te gane la curiosidad,seguramente estaras molesta porque te manche todo tu traje asi que ten este invento que hizo mi papa-En el holograma salia un invento y se coloco el las manos de Jazz-este invento hara que tu ropa se limpie automaticamente pero la proxima no sere tan buena,tendras que tener cuidado ya que en cualquier momento te tomare la prueba,bueno chau y no hay necesidad de hacer una escusa ya que en la carta se grabo todo y se transfirio a mi celular,chau-Dijo despidiendose alegremente.
Jazz-ASI QUE ESTO LO PLANEO MARIE CUANDO VENGA SE LAS
Mechanid World - Hybrid Racer part 3Part 3:
His head was swimming, the world seemed to spin when he finally woke up. He felt dizzy as he sat up looking around.
Daylight streamed in from the windows, he was sitting in a small amount of the liquid he had been thrown into. The previous nights events came rushing back as his eyes widened.
“They tried to kill me!” He growled. Oh gosh… His anger faded to fear quickly. Not from nearly drowning in strange glowing liquid.
But because he was out past curfew… And still recovering.
“CHET IS GONNA KILL ME!”
He hurried home, praying to every deity he ever knew of that Chet was asleep, that he wasn’t calling in the army or the navy.
“Or whatever forces he calls in…” I’m just hoping he’s not freaking out…. Theo thought as he entered his house.
It was quiet.
He started to go passed the living room to go up to his room thinking he was home free.
Bullshit"I'm sorry that you're such a bullshit excuse for a human," I mused as I tried to eat my food. The girl across from me looks at me like she's fuckin' Bambi or some shit. "You're bullshit baby, all nice and full of it. You suck at art, you suck at fucking and you suck at life." Amused I watch her cry and I don't really feel anything because I can't. What happened to me? Why am I like this? "You're disgusting," I tell her, "Go fucking clean yourself up." I roll my eyes and leave my half-empty plate. I swear to God I use to be a good person. Then again I don't believe in that bullshit either.