3 more 600 secs entries
The three insurmountable difficulties of Lilly's life this December 3 o'clock:
- The ass-kickage of her college essays (not in any good way)
- The ass-kickage of her extended essay (same clarification as before)
- The ass-kickage of her depleted caffeination. (Uranium is so last year.)
12-28-05
"NO COMPASSION!" yelled the professor with a slap of the metal stick onto the desk as punctuation. He paced across the stage, magnified eyes framed with dark round spectacles, darting back and forth between the bewildered students, discarding each past glance from the selection pool.
The deafening atmosphere echoed with his heavy metallic footsteps as he clanked back to the desk, sporadically swinging back towards the audience seats as though to catch some unfortunate critic- though no one seemed to dare convey so much emotion.
"Like foot fungus," he growled. "It corrupts all that backbone. Then you knuckleheads all get huddled into an' mushy heap wit them useless legs an' cry when you don get spoonfed lessons and" - he spat onto ground- "and hand-held across them 8 and uh half inches of a page."
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12-27-05
Aaron B. Zingka
April 2, 1985- December 25, 2005
Cherished friend
Beloved brother
He saw the tombstone being moved and implanted in the ice-crusted ground, people adorned in black coming and going like it was some mysterious spectacle to oogle at. A tomb with no body. What happened to the boy?
A few fake tears, a few husky good-byes.
Just one small girl stayed behind. She wore a pink ribbon in her auburn hair. Eyes clouded by dark lashes, shoulders trembling with restrained shudders. He ought to know who she was, didn't he?
But he barely even recognized the name of the dead boy. His recollections have slipped away somehow, but there was a faint impression of unhappiness- unbearable grief. Loneliness. Was that the reason the boy's body is now laying in the woods?
The girl is still there, kneeling before the cold slate of etched stone.
"You promised," she whispered, so softly that he was surprised to even distinguish it from the breathless whistling of the wind.
He didn't understand, but for some faint feeling... like he ought to recognize what was laid out before him. Somewhere beneath a fading mass of suffocation and pain, there was a memory... a mass of memories... that he fell just short of reaching, as if his straining finger tips are desperately waving about and still only ever so slightly brushing...
The girl was crying without restraint now, her face buried behind pinkened fingers. Her ribbon was beginning to come undone. He faintly recalled that she had never learned to tie it properly.
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12-28-05
The sound of a Karakwan Phoenix admist a storm-- it's an ocurrence rare enough to fulfill prophecies. But here it is now: The shrill, flowing tremolo of the bird's legendary call, carried by the roaring winds through unfathomable distances.
How rare was this second time?
Aelis shivered, partly from the chilling rainstorm, partly from a sense that seemed to foretell some mystery of the future. She must not worry about that now. There was a job to do. She looked once again into the darkened clouds and huddled the cloak tighter around her shoulders-- the Karakwan's presence has gone, though it has left an imprint in echos, faintly calling to her mind. But the violent slapping of the plants on her ankles... the liquid arrows that stung her face-- those demanded her attention far more.
Pressing the sound of the gentle trills to the back of her mind, she cowered her head and turned back to the West, picking up pace with the way of the wind...
Yep, this post was more or less pointless. Happy holidays ^_^
- The ass-kickage of her college essays (not in any good way)
- The ass-kickage of her extended essay (same clarification as before)
- The ass-kickage of her depleted caffeination. (Uranium is so last year.)
12-28-05
"NO COMPASSION!" yelled the professor with a slap of the metal stick onto the desk as punctuation. He paced across the stage, magnified eyes framed with dark round spectacles, darting back and forth between the bewildered students, discarding each past glance from the selection pool.
The deafening atmosphere echoed with his heavy metallic footsteps as he clanked back to the desk, sporadically swinging back towards the audience seats as though to catch some unfortunate critic- though no one seemed to dare convey so much emotion.
"Like foot fungus," he growled. "It corrupts all that backbone. Then you knuckleheads all get huddled into an' mushy heap wit them useless legs an' cry when you don get spoonfed lessons and" - he spat onto ground- "and hand-held across them 8 and uh half inches of a page."
----------------------------------
12-27-05
Aaron B. Zingka
April 2, 1985- December 25, 2005
Cherished friend
Beloved brother
He saw the tombstone being moved and implanted in the ice-crusted ground, people adorned in black coming and going like it was some mysterious spectacle to oogle at. A tomb with no body. What happened to the boy?
A few fake tears, a few husky good-byes.
Just one small girl stayed behind. She wore a pink ribbon in her auburn hair. Eyes clouded by dark lashes, shoulders trembling with restrained shudders. He ought to know who she was, didn't he?
But he barely even recognized the name of the dead boy. His recollections have slipped away somehow, but there was a faint impression of unhappiness- unbearable grief. Loneliness. Was that the reason the boy's body is now laying in the woods?
The girl is still there, kneeling before the cold slate of etched stone.
"You promised," she whispered, so softly that he was surprised to even distinguish it from the breathless whistling of the wind.
He didn't understand, but for some faint feeling... like he ought to recognize what was laid out before him. Somewhere beneath a fading mass of suffocation and pain, there was a memory... a mass of memories... that he fell just short of reaching, as if his straining finger tips are desperately waving about and still only ever so slightly brushing...
The girl was crying without restraint now, her face buried behind pinkened fingers. Her ribbon was beginning to come undone. He faintly recalled that she had never learned to tie it properly.
----------------------------------
12-28-05
The sound of a Karakwan Phoenix admist a storm-- it's an ocurrence rare enough to fulfill prophecies. But here it is now: The shrill, flowing tremolo of the bird's legendary call, carried by the roaring winds through unfathomable distances.
How rare was this second time?
Aelis shivered, partly from the chilling rainstorm, partly from a sense that seemed to foretell some mystery of the future. She must not worry about that now. There was a job to do. She looked once again into the darkened clouds and huddled the cloak tighter around her shoulders-- the Karakwan's presence has gone, though it has left an imprint in echos, faintly calling to her mind. But the violent slapping of the plants on her ankles... the liquid arrows that stung her face-- those demanded her attention far more.
Pressing the sound of the gentle trills to the back of her mind, she cowered her head and turned back to the West, picking up pace with the way of the wind...
Yep, this post was more or less pointless. Happy holidays ^_^