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Kutsushita
♀️
[2231190]
[2006-01-20 20:59:27 +0000 UTC]
"eD (Katie)"
(United States)
# Statistics
Favourites: 9; Deviations: 28; Watchers: 10
Watching: 14; Pageviews: 3823; Comments Made: 413; Friends: 14
# Interests
Favorite movies: LOTR, POTO, Gods and Monsters, Eternal Sunshine, The Science of Sleep, POTC, 300Favorite bands / musical artists: NOFX, The Aquabats, Less Than Jake, Theivery Corporation, Reel Big Fish, Gorillaz, AFI, AKFG, REM
Other Interests: Photography, Computers, Music, Art, Food, Movies, Anime, My Friends, Being Strange, Having Fun =]
# About me
Current Residence: a small town, NYFavourite genre of music: Good Music. :D
Operating System: windows xp
MP3 player of choice: I own an ipod..
# Comments
Comments: 41
[link]
=O
ooooooooh my now would be the time to have HBO...
*soB*
but uhhh idk if it is going to be any good so I'm going to watch that preview thing without any sound during study hall which probably will get me in trouble.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooo
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
well.
👍: 0 ⏩: 0
"You are a random deviant!
And you should consider yourself lucky because deviantART's random engine has chosen you as the next random deviant to be visited. Cheers!"
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BLOG BOMB
Sorry, that's just a limitation in text. All caps is a substitute for italics. "Diary" is a novel by Chuck Palanhuik, about a woman who's husband commits suicide. Personally, I think he's a B writer, sort of a weak copycat of Vonnegut, but his characters are good. He's sarcastic, though not cynical, happy, yet angry with the world for no reason.
I understand perfectly what you mean about the alcoholic thing. I remain impartial to the A.A set, entirely apathetic, and I have no sympathy whatsoever for those effected by the "disease". for some reason I find them to be a scapegoat in the way Hitler found the Jews.
I do, however, understand personalities, and there is no substitute foil/fuel character than a narcissist/alcoholic/egotistical bastard for a codependant.
Good luck, happy writing, don't get hit with a flying black monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey. they'll get you...
never mind.
She is a codependent. 'I like that.' She's very similar to the main character in DIARY by Chuck Palanhuik. She is not the kind of codependent that keeps taking B.S, but she is the sort who lives only with her surroundings and allows everyone around her to be happy, and she can be happy with that. She represents a true good, an almost unhealthy good, that is bound to be corrupted. I await the ending to this peice.
But really, I wouldn't wear that. Now then again, when they call 'em after greeks and Romans, we can always resort to the dictionary. Too bad the contrary has been put into play. A clever disguise that is plastered on you, too bad your rubber red nose is blue... It wasn't that easy. The crowd swooned over Israel and they all said something about a genius. Fortunately it was lost in translation to the Chinese. That be where the future lies. Yee haw.
The narcissistic character should also be an alcoholic. Usually the arrogant are propelled by a proof of at least 80, so this guy might as well be a fisherman(alcoholic). If it makes things too complictated, don't do it, but alcoholics are usually the reason for codependent behaviour of all sorts. Since he is technically out of her life, he is not that much of a character at this point, but obviously he hase slowed her down significantly.
This is good. I want to see more, because right now the future is ambiguous. When is it not? Never mind.
By the way, the fact that you call me Stu is somewhat coincidental if not ironic. My sister, Frau Hitler, walked in one night when my hair was slicked back and I was wearing a Black turtle neck. She said that I looked like Stu. She meant Stu from the Beatles' past, particularly John Lennon's. Go figure.
--
All resemblance to persons stupid, dead, or otherwise is purely Intentional.
'm just psychic like that Stu. Anyway, I want to stay away from the alcoholic scene mostly because I have so much baggage about those kinds of people. I would rather be relatively un-pissed when I'm writing because I enjoy it so much. I have a vague notion on how I want this piece to end, but you'll just have to wait until I finish it. I will probably before the summer is over, and if not, it will mostly be done.
I'm a star either way. How did you come up with the name Skipper. Really, I'm curious, if not angry. I hate the name, I find it annoying. Either way, its set in stone and I'd really like to find out how you came up with it. Fish.
I wasn't insulting your art, more or less I was insulting your dialogue, that is to say you must be insulted. I really don't mind being called a metrosexual, simply because I am comfortable in my own skin. I don't have an intrinsic desire to get a manicure every week, but if I were offered the treatment, I'd probably take the person up on the offer, depending on how much I'd have to pay or who I'd have to sleep with. As long as its not Eliza, Nixon, or The Crazy Manatee, I'm fine.
Skipper. Okay Giligan....
Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale, a tale of an acid trip....
Right. Fun, fun, fun in the sun, where they skin you alive and put you into the skin of another human. When you wake up the next day you're back to normal, but when you blame it on the other skin, nobody believes you. Excuses never got anyone anywhere, even if they were true.
Prozac? Whatever happened to life without drugs?
"MEDICATE THE CHILDREN! HOPEFULLY THEY"LL STOP BEING... CHILDREN!" the doctor said.
To his utter dismay the children were dead. At least in a verbal sense, seeing as all of those vaccines caused a sudden onset of autism... If only....
Humans were not meant to shove bad chemicals into orifices of their body for reason of self improvement. The only time they should have bad chemicals shoved into their orifices is when they are bleeding or seem to have something wrong with their organs. THis should always exclude the brain...
You are only insane if you let yourself feel insane, otherwise, you just think better than everyone else.
I have a PhD in Advanced semi-comedic-wise-cracks and randomised negatory opinionated banter. (This is translated as 'being a moron' in Latvia. Fortunately, we live in the USA, so its okay, and it is actually considered a profession. Only in america can you make money by making a fool of yourself.)
I am the fool on the hill.
Bold taste, crisp finish, high amounts of E. Coli Cultures. It could only be Budweiser select sewage. New York City's finest...
The other day a Girl was sitting next to me. She was drinking coffee. She set the cup on a music stand. I looked at it. She said to me, "It puts hair on your chest...."
Being somebody who watches to much MASH, I said what hawkeye would have said, "Really, wont you let me check?'
The sad thing is, she took me seriously. Why?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!
Don't ask for anything. You just might get it. Even if its not that bad, when you didn't really want it in the first place, you won't enjoy having it.
Don't make any plans. Irony could call at any minute.
--
All resemblance to persons stupid, dead, or otherwise is purely Intentional.
If you want to fuck up your own account, go ahead, but keep you shitty hands off of my stuff!!!!!
hats just commercialism for you... You can't get a break from it. The two who were commenting against it were obviously biproducts of commercialism themselves, and apparently recieved 92% of their vocabulary from television. As for the comments about relatives, they just indicate that these two are insecure. Nobody should have to voice that their relatives have done something interesting every time a screenplay could possibly top it. They were most likely trying to make themselves look good by making up stories that sound like what has happened in the movie. Sad but true...
If I had been in the theatre, I would have come up with an offensive comment for everything they said, but thats just me. Lets start a nuclear war at the gay bar....
Right. I do find it ironic that these glitzy-show-off types were sitting in a movie called, "the devil wears prada," but that just seems like something so true to life that I'd have to call it fitting. So it goes, thank you mr. V.
Yee haw
Save the flakes of skin and place them on your enemies' salads. It might prove to be therapeutic.
Anchovy paste.
Save the flakes of skin and place them on your enemies' salads. It might prove to be therapeutic.
Anchovy paste.
Teehee ^ - * Good idea...I've got a few people who deserve some skin flakes!
Beware of Lizard Girl! Raaa!
Eh, I finally found an internet connection. I'm so happy. My friend has a laptop at the debate/forensics tournament that picks up the wireless internet in the school. I can't check my MySpace or my email, but I can get onto this page. It's pretty awesome...considering I haven't been able to update for a couple of weeks.
Oh, I'm in a weird mood. It's sort of a weird "in limbo" sort of mood, where I'm not happy, but not sad, or depressed. I don't really feel like anything. I don't have any amusing stories for you all. Right now it's B-wave postings, so I'm pretty much just sitting around doing nothing. I have no homework to do, so right now I'm just wearing out the battery on my I-pod. I didn't want to go see any of the duos or poetry things because I really needed to un-wind from my last round. I'm really off my game today, and it's just frustrating. I'm not going to place, I know that. I will be pleasantly surprised, to say the least, if I place. This tournament is weird, because they're not having finals, they're just doing three rounds each and deciding from that. It's weird, but if it gets me out of here faster, I'm completely fine with that.
My mom's gone out town to celebrate Valentine's Day with her boyfriend. I don't want to think about it. Awkward things!! I hate Valentine's Day. I propose an anti-Valentine's Day celebration. (Though I'm making everyone gifts for Valentine's Day anyway...I'm such a hypocrite, but at least I admit it, and it's about small things. Plus I'm making the gifts, not feeding the giant machine that is mass-produced Hallmark greeting cards.)
Anyway, because my mom is out of town, I'm staying at my aunt's house tonight. Her neighborhood gives me the heebie-jeebies, mostly because ass hat lives down the street. Not that I have to see him or anything, but his sister practically lives at my aunt's house, so I'm bound to run into him at some point, right? Not if I have achieved invisibility, which I am working intently on.
"I can only be invisible when no one is looking."
"Then how do you know that you're invisible?"
"I just know."
I still don't have job, which sucks, because I'm perpetually broke. Though, I go to Harvard with the debate team on Thrusday...and the Spring play auditions are on Tuesday. I'm pretty excited about that. But I don't a monologue...I should really get one at some point I guess...
...Pan's Labyrinth is an amazing movie. Just pointing it out. Extremely disturbing; mentally and emotionally, but still completely amazing. I had a couple of mini heart attacks during the movie. Ethan and Tyler made fun of me, but I don't care. I got scared, hence I freaked.
I'm going to try to nap now. Yay.
Ophelia was the kind of woman who never got rid of anything. She had everything in her small, two bedroom town home. She had always meant to go through things to clear out useless articles like old birthday cards from people she didn’t even remember, yet something always nagged in the back of her mind that what she was throwing away might come in handy one day. Of course, the moment that it did come in handy for her, the object was nowhere in sight, and it took days for Ophelia to find what she had wanted and forgotten about what she had needed it for.
Ophelia was in no way an old woman who hoarded old news papers. She did not have a million cats, and school children did not shy away from her house to evade the smell that lonely old women exude or to avoid random articles thrown at them. No, from the outside, and even from the inside, Ophelia’s small London town home looked quite normal. The yard had been kept up nicely; the lawn was always watered, green, and mowed, and in the summer there were rose bushes by the window that were always trimmed and beautiful. Ophelia was a very organized woman, and all of the articles in her home that were not being used were up in the attic in organized and marked boxes.
She was much the kind of woman who kept things that brought up pain and sorrow whenever seen, but these things she still kept. Many of these things were from old boyfriends, things that had just migrated into her home: masculine throw-away razors that never got thrown away, old Valentine’s Day stuffed bears, articles of clothing, and even furniture. Even one, more recent boyfriend whom Ophelia had intended to marry had actually left his mother for her to care for. Ophelia’s charlatan mother-in-law didn’t seem to mind much that she was now looked after by a woman whom had no actual affection towards her. In fact, she couldn’t have even known the difference between her son and her fake daughter-in-law, for she was struck with dementia and couldn’t really understand what was going on anyway.
Richard Walson was the name of the man who had left his dear mother in the care of his ex-fiancée. He was well off, very beautiful, and almost reminded one of a modern day Narcissus, except that the women that got attached to him had no trouble letting go of him. He was extremely arrogant and very pretentious, yet Ophelia had loved him all the same. Even when he brought his mother to live with them, she neither complained nor got angry, just nodded assent and continued with her life. The one thing that did tear her love for Richard was the fact that he, with no regard towards her, still dated other women, even five months before their wedding day. Ophelia had not known, found out, and then ignored this problem in a sweep that spanned over five years time. But when she found that Richard had spent quite a bit of her money on a hotel room for one of his business executives from France three months before their wedding, Ophelia really had had enough. She threatened to kick him out absolutely. He agreed whole-heartedly to the idea, yet conned Ophelia into keeping his mother, swearing that he would send a home to come and collect her at the appropriate time.
“We don’t want to jar her too much; she’s just gotten settled into a routine here, so let’s keep it that way for as long as we can,” was his excuse walking out of the house with his bags properly packed, “I’ll send someone for her as soon as her doctors think that it’s possible.”
Well, obviously the time to move Richard’s mother never came, for it had been six months and shortly after he had moved out, Richard stopped calling to check up on his mother. Ophelia didn’t bother to find him, for she knew that when Richard didn’t want to be found, it was impossible to get a hold of him. She did nothing to get rid of his mother either. Ophelia didn’t have the kind of funding for a proper living facility for someone like Richard’s mother and in all truth, was too tired to even care. Routine was fine for her; as it was for her permanent house guest.
Every morning Ophelia got up at five-thirty to ensure that she could get ready for work and do everything that Mrs. Walson required of her. She usually ate a simple breakfast of oatmeal and tea while enjoying the sunrise. Around eight or so, a nurse named Elizabeth came ‘round to stay with Mrs. Walson.
Elizabeth was a fresh-faced, sweet-natured, twenty-something whom was working toward becoming a pediatrician. How she had ended up working for Richard and Ophelia was unknown to Ophelia, but other than his mother, Elizabeth was about the only permanent thing that Richard had established. Ophelia now paid Elizabeth, because Richard’s checks had stopped coming, though Ophelia did not mind so much. She liked Elizabeth, maybe even on the level of a friend, and she helped out a great deal with Mrs. Walson.
When Ophelia was sure that everything was in order, she would set out for the bus-stop that was a couple of blocks out of her neighborhood. She would wait at the bus-stop approximately ten minutes with the rest of her neighbors and then board the appropriate bus to Paddington Underground. Ophelia worked part-time at two different places. Her first job was at a health food store as a manager of the natural living section and then as a desk clerk for a small book shop near Piccadilly Circus. It was a book shop for tourists and was very busy selling stupid novelty items as well as books about the city, but Ophelia liked working there all the same. She didn’t really like dealing with the excited American tourists, but meeting other Europeans was fun. She had come to realize working there that she especially liked Belgians. She wasn’t sure why, but they seemed to be the politest tourists.
Ophelia worked all day from nine in the morning until six o’clock in the evening. She was working everyday of the week, but not at the same place twice in a row. Her days alternated for where she was to be working, and when it didn’t, it would always mess up her week. Ophelia never carried a schedule, but relied on her memory alone, which wasn’t very hard because she had only herself to take care of. Naturally, if she had had a husband or children or both, then she would have carried a schedule, out of necessity. She also would have most likely owned a car, but for just her now, living alone except for a batty old woman who couldn’t really walk on her own, a car was just an extra expense.
I like the combination. Wear it to school sometime, with or without arm garters.
What this Theory guy said... to me its a little teenage. I might take and make the shrink seem like a total bigot, make people want to hate him. Tell me where you want to go with this... I might have some ideas, though I am a painter by trade (not a good one, but hey, I don't plan to make a living at it!)
like the background on this. Is it CG or watercolor?
Not much into the fantasy stuff, but I spose I could "adapt". Your style is nothing like the other things I've seen. Cool shading.
pEaCe OuT
Yogurt in Russia...
interesting comics, I dig the art.
Maybe it means that she's jut going to end up blowing something out of proportion and then realising the simple things in life are what make you happy.
Try not to be so cynical, man. It's depressing.
Hey, I'll take your comments on my writing ONLY, thank you. Its not your job to teach me how to sculpt my personality, mother...
Although you're opinions are appreciated, I don't need your personal attacks.
--
All resemblance to persons stupid, dead, or otherwise is purely Intentional.
117 Years Ago:
At the age of fourteen I was enrolled in and shipped off to a boarding school called ‘Twin Oaks’. It was one of those dual campus affairs that served to separate girls and boys on two different sides of a hedge, linked only by the auditorium in the center. That isn’t to say it wasn’t a good school, it was actually one of the best, but depending on who you were the school had an air or either smug determination or dreary solitude. The fact that it was, and still is for that matter, situated in the very center of a rather backwater ocean city didn’t help either.
Twin Oaks catered to a very specific class of people. My parents did not belong to that class, but I was accepted anyway because I was ‘special’, because I had never quite recovered from that dog bite I could barely remember and my ‘condition’ required very special facilities now that it had come to terms with my physical development.
But even in a school populated by all manner of the exceptional, surrounded by such talent and variety as I had lonely ever dreamed of, I was a freak. Werewolves, you see, are not commonly accepted members of society. We’re seen as more dangerous even than hell-spawn. “Too unpredictable.” They say. “They’re cold blooded killers at the core, you know, and you can’t trust a one of them.” But I was different, I was brilliant, so the administrators adjusted, made exceptions, ignored rules, and did everything to convince my parents that I would be as happy there as anywhere despite what I insisted on more than one occasion. But what did I know? I was just a fourteen year old with more issues than I had any right too. But I had a brain, a fact which they both knew and vehemently ignored while still exploiting it to the best of their abilities, and I knew enough to know that was the only reason I hadn’t been beheaded and buried under a rock somewhere, my existence denied.
This is not to say that I did not have friends. I had more friends in my middle and high school career at Twin Oaks than the rest of my previous life combined. For all my infamy I seemed to attract the misfits of the school like moths to a flame. We created a society of presumed freaks, they and I, and we reveled in every single moment of it. We gave our collective self the title “The Spooks”, the reasoning being that none of us really fit into the ‘normal society’ of the day, even back then. I will be the first to admit, however, that the name “Disgruntled Teenagers with Emotional Baggage” would have been vastly more appropriate.
The first friend I attracted, and perhaps my greatest, was a shifter by the name of Turgay Sandeep, though he greatly preferred the name Helios.
***
Elric interrupted quickly. “You’ve known him since your school days?”
I gave him a disparaging look. “Of course I did. He’s not just some stranger I met on the street. Now, would you care to let me finish, or not?”
“Oh, yes, of course. Carry on.”
“Good, now shut up or I’ll shut if for you.”
***
We all chose pseudonyms upon being made one of “The Spooks”. Turgay chose ‘Helios’, and I was ‘Cinzento’ though most still just called me ‘Jay’. We were the original Spooks, making things up as we went along our merry way.
Helios and I met nearly a week after the beginning of my 8th grade year. I had been informed that I was to have a room mate, apparently despite the administartors’ wishes there just wasn’t enough to give me my own room at the time, but he was currently indisposed. Because of that I was left in a primarily empty room (at least on my side, I had not brought much with me besides my clothing and various school necessities) with a spare bed piled high with boxes on the side I wasn’t using. I never even thought about opening any of them. Somehow I figured I was better off not knowing.
That Saturday I came back from an uneventful breakfast (everyone had stoically ignored me except for the lady serving the food to ask me if I wanted toast or a bagel with my eggs) to find the door of my room ajar and things (none of them mine) being randomly tossed out of it and music blasting on a radio somewhere. A glimpse inside showed that the entire half of the room I had not been occupying for the last six days was nearly filled to bursting with things. Posters tacked up on the walls, all the available shelf and flat space packed with books, among other things, and clothes and shoes half in, half out of the dresser.
In the center of it all was a kid about my age with tousled, violently red and gold hair, apparently sorting things in a box by tossing them in piles on his bed and occasionally out the door. As I walked in I narrowly avoided being hit by what appeared to be a voodoo doll in the shape of a troll, straight pins and all. That, to say the least, was mildly disconcerting; people who use voodoo dolls on a regular basis are not to be messed with lightly.
I stood for a moment in the door way and then carefully turned off the radio which was sitting on top of an unopened box directly to my right. The red-headed boy froze in the ensuing silence and then turned around, fairly exploding in a torrent of only slightly mock anger. “Ailin be damned, I’ve only been here an hour!” He snapped at me. “You’ve already had me suspended for the last week, what more do you want to-! ...Oh.” He blinked at me for a moment with bright amber eyes before pulling up the cuff of his unbuttoned sleeve and reading something that must have been written on his fore arm. “You must be…ah, Jaiden D’Wartinoch.”
“And if I am?” I asked, perhaps a little suspicious. As I said, I had been informed that I would have a room mate, but nothing else. The boy could have been anyone for all I knew.
“The name’s Turgay Sandeep, but only my parents and the teachers call me that. My friends and room mates call me Helios. Are you either?” He extended a hand, letting the sleeve fall back again. His smile looked like it might have been sincere.
“I think I might be your room mate, I wasn’t told who it would be. As for your friend, I don’t have any. I wouldn’t know.” I looked at his hand for a moment and then shook it gingerly. Turgay’s, Helios’, grin widened noticeably.
“Good answer.” Helios sat back on his bed and motioned for me to do the same on mine. “Call me Helios, room mate Jaiden, and we shall see what transpires as time goes on.”
It was at about this point that the administrators showed up, some looking disdainfully at the growing pile of junk outside the door and others ignoring it in favor of Helios and I. I cannot even begin to tell you just how uncomfortable it was to have several highly influential members of Ulmidorian society breathing down my neck while still keeping a close eye of Helios. They seemed to be there expressly for the purpose of watching him unpack, as if worried that he was in possession of something terribly illegal. I thought then that it was rather silly for seven of the most powerful mages and learned sentients in the whole of Ulmidor to be frightened of one fourteen year-old boy with a penchant for causing trouble. Now it occurs to me that, whatever had tipped them off, their wariness was well founded.
A small crowd had gathered just down the hall from our door by then made up of the braver, as well as the more naïve, members of our dorm complex. They kept their distance, several paces, but we could still hear them whispering during brief lulls in the administrator’s questioning of Helios. I supposed they probably thought we had done something absolutely horrid and were in the process of being punished for our sins.
Were that the case, those gathered outside the door must have received something of a nasty shock when the administrators left, and without us being marched solemnly in front of them. Satisfied that neither of us was going to try to blow up the campus any time soon they simply left, each of them giving us a stern look before doing so. The boys outside scattered almost immediately, that much I knew, judging by the sudden sound of scurrying foot steps and the nervous slamming of doors.
I just sat there on my bed for a moment after the door closed behind them and the sounds of their heavier foot steps died away, staring at the floor and wondering not for the first (or the last) time just what exactly I had somehow allowed myself to get into.
Helios however, as soon as he could be sure his interrogators were out of earshot burst into the most uproarious laughter I had ever heard to date. “By the Eleven, that was classic. Did you even see the looks on their faces?”
“I suppose you’re used to that sort of thing.” I tried hard to keep my voice level. Apparently my luck was even worse than I thought it was if I had ended up with a room mate with the potential to make me guilty by association.
“And you’re not?” Helios gave me an appraising look. “No, of course you aren’t. You’re the sort of person who has spent too much of their life trying to stay out of trouble’s limelight that you’ve completely forgotten just how much fun a little bit of mayhem can be.” I could hear the sarcasm rising in his voice. “I bet you’ve forgotten the entire concept of ‘fun’, haven’t you?”
That annoying little voice in my head that some people refer to as the conscience or super-ego kept repeating to me that I was far superior to this idiot with his tie askew, but those other voices, the ego and id, said differently. In any case, my ‘defense’ slipped out before I could stop it. “I have not!” Oh yes, very 2nd grade right there.
Helios seemed to be on the edge of laughter now. I don’t blame him; I must have looked pretty comical standing there in my flawless school uniform and acting like an eight year-old who has just been accused of being too afraid to take a childish dare. “Oh yeah?” He snorted. “What do you do in your spare time?”
“Read.”
“Okay, read what?”
“Histories mostly, occasionally I supplement them with essays on humanoid geography and economics. Why?”
Helios really did burst into laughter as soon as I finished that sentence. “I cannot even believe you!” He fell back onto his bed in hysterics. A few embarrassing moments of silence on my part later he sat up again, tears streaming down his face. “How old are you? Fifty?”
“No.”
“It certainly seems that way.” Helios wiped the tears off his cheeks with his sleeve, still giggling spasmodically every once in a while. “We’re going to have to work on that in the future, or we’re going to drive each other insane in the next two terms.” That apparently settled, Helios stood up as if nothing had happened (and once again in perfect composure, despite his appearance) and began unpacking his boxes. “Hand me that box next to you, will ya?”
“Sure. What’s in it?” I picked up the box, it was very heavy, and handed it to Helios with a grunt.
“It’s a secret.” He said as she shoved it under the bed without inspecting the contents. “So, what you in here for anyway?” He made the question sound like he was referring to some sort of prison. In a way, Twin Oaks was.
“My fifty year-old tendencies, in part. Most of my tuition is being paid because I’ve got a head for history. They seem to think I’ll become a professor or something.” I sighed heavily. “But, I’ve also got this condition that they administrators seem both fascinated and disgusted by at the same time.”
“What, you been tainted by Hell Hound poison or something?” Helios kept his back to me as he arranged his off-campus clothing by color in his side of the closet. “I heard that stuff can really mess you up, even if the dosage is absolutely minute. But I’m not a science buff.”
“Err, close, but not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“Well…” Just as I began to fully explain, Helios turned around and gaped.
“Well, wrap me in pie crust and call me a tray of raspberry tarts, if I’m not mistaken those ears and tail can mean only one thing.” He grinned wickedly. “You’re a Werewolf!”
“Try to keep in down, will you?” One of my ears twitched slightly in reflection of my annoyance regarding the whole situation. “This transformation is pretty incomplete, it’s quite a while until the next full moon, but with you heralding it about everywhere even an idiot could figure out what I am.”
Helios consented by quieting his voice, but the grin remained. “So this is you’re ‘condition’, eh?”
“Yes. What of it?”
“Well, personally I think it’s a wonder you haven’t been lynched yet.”
“I was bitten young, my parents got good at covering it up. I’m just here so as to better facilitate being looked after, or so they say.” I snorted in disgust as I fiddled idly with my tail. “They treat me like some sort of criminal. Like I’m liable to go on a killing spree at any moment. Come to think of it, that’s probably why they paired me up with you, for containment purposes.” I added quickly, “No offense meant.”
“None taken.” My room mate was still smiling, and it actually looked sincere. “I know exactly how you feel.”
Français IV Nom__________________________
Examen: Participe Présent, Date__________________________
Le Petit Prince
Le Participe Présent:
A. Écrivez la letter qui correspond à la forme correcte du participle présent du verbe entre parenthèses. ( 10 points)
1. (étudier) On apprend la vie des plantes en _______ la biologie.
a. étudiant b. étudier
2. (organizer) Éric célèbre l’anniversaire de son ami en ________une boum.
a. organiser b. organisant
3. (manger) Je ne regarde jamais la television en ________.
a. manger b. mangeant
4. (être) Nous apprendrions mieux en ________ plus attentifs.
a. étant b. être
5. (faire) Tu réussiras à l’examen en ________ tes études.
a. faire b. faisant
B. Comment? (10 points)
Combinez les phrases suivantes pour decrier les activités de ces personnes. Pour cela utilisez en + le participle présent.
1. Salima apprend l’espagnol. Elle écoute des cassettes.
________________________________________ _______________________________
2. Les soeurs Dumont gagnent de l’argent. Elles s’occupent des enfants de leurs voisins.
________________________________________ ________________________________
3. Paul réussira à l’examen. Il fait ses devoirs.
________________________________________ ________________________________
4. M. Kreutzer a perdu plusieurs kilos. Il a bu beaucoup d’eau.
________________________________________ ________________________________
5. Mireille se prepare pour l’interview. Elle réfléchit aux questions possibles.
________________________________________ ________________________________
Le Petit Prince (25 points)
Le choix logique (10 points)
1. ________le roi a. l’apprivoisement de quelque chose
2. ________le vaniteux b. Elles sont belles, mais vides
3. ________le buveur c. ceux qui croient que les chiffres sont
sont très importantes
4. ________le businessman d. ceux qui font du travail et suivent les
n’importe la stupidité
5. ________l’écho e. il ne faut pas les négliger
6. ________le renard f. la chose la plus importante au petit
prince
7. ________la fleur g. ceux qui veulent beaucoup d’attention
8. ________les roses h. ceux qui évitent la réalité du monde et
du soi
9. ________l’allumeur i. ceux qui répètent sans jamais dire quelque
chose d’important
10. ________les baobobs j. l’authorité
1. Quel était le premier dessin de St. Exupéry par rapport les grandes personnes? Et pour les enfants et le petit prince? (10 points)________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________ __
________________________________________ ________________________________
2. Quel était le secret que le renard a partagé au Petit Prince? Est-ce que ce secret peut nous enseigner quelque chose, aussi? Expliquez. (10 points)
________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________
________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________
________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________ _____
Text: Trésors du temps
Félicitations! Vous êtes arrivés à une quatrième année de français, et je suis très contente que vous étiez là! Nous allons nous amuser, j’en suis sûr! Nous allons commencer avec un petit révision, et puis nous allons continuer à apprendre cette langue et culture magnifique. Il y a beaucoup de travail à faire, mais nous allons nous amuser beaucoup, aussi.
Ce qu’il faut apporter à la classe:
1. Ton livre de français, couvert!
2. Un cahier avec trois bagues
3. Un crayon et/ou un stylo
4. Un stylo rouge
Classroom Expectations:
Attend daily. When learning a new language, as they say, you either use it or you lose it. School attendance and tardy policies will be followed. Points will be assigned for your participation in this class, which can be negatively affected by unexcused tardiness or absences.
Bring your textbook, three-ring binder with dividers and a writing utensil DAILY.
Do not eat food in class (including candy, sunflower seeds or chewing gum). Only closed plastic water bottles are permitted to be in the room (e.g., those with a screw on cap). The exception to this rule will be for “culture days”.
Keep the top of your desk free of pencil or pen marks.
Class work turned in late will result in reduced points. Work turned in excessively late (i.e. more than a week) will not be accepted. Please discuss extraordinary situations with me and we will develop a plan of action together.
RESPECT YOURSELF AND ALL OTHERS IN THIS ROOM. RUDE BEHAVIOR AND INAPPROPRIATE LANGUAGE WILL NOT BE TOLERATED, especially when it concerns a negative comment about another person or a group of persons. You may be asked to leave the room with an unexcused absence. If such behavior continues, you will be placed on a discipline contract. Ultimately, a student may be dropped from the class with an “F” if the contract is broken.
Students who disrupt the class may be asked to leave the room, resulting in an unexcused absence for the day. Any student who continually has disruptive behavior will be put on a contract. Breaking the contract may result in a drop from the class with an “F”. You can take the class at another time with the appropriate behavior.
Class runs the entire 90-minute period. DO NOT PACK UP EARLY. Remain seated until you are dismissed as a class.
Your Expectations?
GRADES
Your grade in this class will come from written assignments, class participation, quizzes and tests, speaking, listening comprehension, and alternative assignments such as skits and presentations.
Grading Scale:
90% - 100% = A range
80% -89% = B range
70% - 79% = C range
60% - 69% = D range
Plus and minus grades will be assigned to the lower and upper ends of the ranges.
I will share grades with you approximately every 7 to 10 days. I also update the “gradebook” system weekly to update your parents on your progress.
ASSIGNMENTS
Class assignments are usually due at the end of the class period unless otherwise stated.
Homework assignments are due at the beginning of the class period and should be turned in to the tray marked Français I.
Participation: Points will be given for verbal participation in class. Each quarter there will be a possibility of earning 50 participation points. *NOTE: These points can also be subtracted from a student’s grade if classroom policies are violated i.e. tardies, late assignments, etc.
Class Projects: There will be approximately one project per unit. Projects must be handed in and/or ready to present ON the due date. (*exception: excused absences)
MAKE-UP WORK
For every day / class period a student misses as a result of an EXCUSED absence, the student has two days to make up any work missed. Students will be responsible for getting these assignments from the assignment calendar.
EXTRA HELP/TUTORING
I am available during lunch, before or after school by appointment if you should need extra help or to make up tests, etc. I am here to help you succeed, so please do not hesitate to come talk to me. My planning is 2nd period.
Le Club de français
French Club is a fun and exciting way to enrich your knowledge of and participation with the francophone world. Activities will include fundraisers, French movies, field trips, Foreign Language Day at UNC in the spring, and any other appropriate activities in which members would like to participate in. This is your club and your enthusiasm and ideas are not only welcomed but also highly requested! French Club is open to all RMHS students, regardless of whether or not they are enrolled in a French class. Alors, s’il vous plaît, invitez vos amis!!
Sorry, that's just a limitation in text. All caps is a substitute for italics. "Diary" is a novel by Chuck Palanhuik, about a woman who's husband commits suicide. Personally, I think he's a B writer, sort of a weak copycat of Vonnegut, but his characters are good. He's sarcastic, though not cynical, happy, yet angry with the world for no reason.
I understand perfectly what you mean about the alcoholic thing. I remain impartial to the A.A set, entirely apathetic, and I have no sympathy whatsoever for those effected by the "disease". for some reason I find them to be a scapegoat in the way Hitler found the Jews.
I do, however, understand personalities, and there is no substitute foil/fuel character than a narcissist/alcoholic/egotistical bastard for a codependant.
Good luck, happy writing, don't get hit with a flying black monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey. they'll get you...
never mind.
She is a codependent. 'I like that.' She's very similar to the main character in DIARY by Chuck Palanhuik. She is not the kind of codependent that keeps taking B.S, but she is the sort who lives only with her surroundings and allows everyone around her to be happy, and she can be happy with that. She represents a true good, an almost unhealthy good, that is bound to be corrupted. I await the ending to this peice.
But really, I wouldn't wear that. Now then again, when they call 'em after greeks and Romans, we can always resort to the dictionary. Too bad the contrary has been put into play. A clever disguise that is plastered on you, too bad your rubber red nose is blue... It wasn't that easy. The crowd swooned over Israel and they all said something about a genius. Fortunately it was lost in translation to the Chinese. That be where the future lies. Yee haw.
The narcissistic character should also be an alcoholic. Usually the arrogant are propelled by a proof of at least 80, so this guy might as well be a fisherman(alcoholic). If it makes things too complictated, don't do it, but alcoholics are usually the reason for codependent behaviour of all sorts. Since he is technically out of her life, he is not that much of a character at this point, but obviously he hase slowed her down significantly.
This is good. I want to see more, because right now the future is ambiguous. When is it not? Never mind.
By the way, the fact that you call me Stu is somewhat coincidental if not ironic. My sister, Frau Hitler, walked in one night when my hair was slicked back and I was wearing a Black turtle neck. She said that I looked like Stu. She meant Stu from the Beatles' past, particularly John Lennon's. Go figure.
--
All resemblance to persons stupid, dead, or otherwise is purely Intentional.
'm just psychic like that Stu. Anyway, I want to stay away from the alcoholic scene mostly because I have so much baggage about those kinds of people. I would rather be relatively un-pissed when I'm writing because I enjoy it so much. I have a vague notion on how I want this piece to end, but you'll just have to wait until I finish it. I will probably before the summer is over, and if not, it will mostly be done.
I'm a star either way. How did you come up with the name Skipper. Really, I'm curious, if not angry. I hate the name, I find it annoying. Either way, its set in stone and I'd really like to find out how you came up with it. Fish.
I wasn't insulting your art, more or less I was insulting your dialogue, that is to say you must be insulted. I really don't mind being called a metrosexual, simply because I am comfortable in my own skin. I don't have an intrinsic desire to get a manicure every week, but if I were offered the treatment, I'd probably take the person up on the offer, depending on how much I'd have to pay or who I'd have to sleep with. As long as its not Eliza, Nixon, or The Crazy Manatee, I'm fine.
Skipper. Okay Giligan....
Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale, a tale of an acid trip....
Right. Fun, fun, fun in the sun, where they skin you alive and put you into the skin of another human. When you wake up the next day you're back to normal, but when you blame it on the other skin, nobody believes you. Excuses never got anyone anywhere, even if they were true.
Prozac? Whatever happened to life without drugs?
"MEDICATE THE CHILDREN! HOPEFULLY THEY"LL STOP BEING... CHILDREN!" the doctor said.
To his utter dismay the children were dead. At least in a verbal sense, seeing as all of those vaccines caused a sudden onset of autism... If only....
Humans were not meant to shove bad chemicals into orifices of their body for reason of self improvement. The only time they should have bad chemicals shoved into their orifices is when they are bleeding or seem to have something wrong with their organs. THis should always exclude the brain...
You are only insane if you let yourself feel insane, otherwise, you just think better than everyone else.
I have a PhD in Advanced semi-comedic-wise-cracks and randomised negatory opinionated banter. (This is translated as 'being a moron' in Latvia. Fortunately, we live in the USA, so its okay, and it is actually considered a profession. Only in america can you make money by making a fool of yourself.)
I am the fool on the hill.
Bold taste, crisp finish, high amounts of E. Coli Cultures. It could only be Budweiser select sewage. New York City's finest...
The other day a Girl was sitting next to me. She was drinking coffee. She set the cup on a music stand. I looked at it. She said to me, "It puts hair on your chest...."
Being somebody who watches to much MASH, I said what hawkeye would have said, "Really, wont you let me check?'
The sad thing is, she took me seriously. Why?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!
Don't ask for anything. You just might get it. Even if its not that bad, when you didn't really want it in the first place, you won't enjoy having it.
Don't make any plans. Irony could call at any minute.
--
All resemblance to persons stupid, dead, or otherwise is purely Intentional.
If you want to fuck up your own account, go ahead, but keep you shitty hands off of my stuff!!!!!
hats just commercialism for you... You can't get a break from it. The two who were commenting against it were obviously biproducts of commercialism themselves, and apparently recieved 92% of their vocabulary from television. As for the comments about relatives, they just indicate that these two are insecure. Nobody should have to voice that their relatives have done something interesting every time a screenplay could possibly top it. They were most likely trying to make themselves look good by making up stories that sound like what has happened in the movie. Sad but true...
If I had been in the theatre, I would have come up with an offensive comment for everything they said, but thats just me. Lets start a nuclear war at the gay bar....
Right. I do find it ironic that these glitzy-show-off types were sitting in a movie called, "the devil wears prada," but that just seems like something so true to life that I'd have to call it fitting. So it goes, thank you mr. V.
Yee haw
Save the flakes of skin and place them on your enemies' salads. It might prove to be therapeutic.
Anchovy paste.
Save the flakes of skin and place them on your enemies' salads. It might prove to be therapeutic.
Anchovy paste.
Teehee ^ - * Good idea...I've got a few people who deserve some skin flakes!
Beware of Lizard Girl! Raaa!
Eh, I finally found an internet connection. I'm so happy. My friend has a laptop at the debate/forensics tournament that picks up the wireless internet in the school. I can't check my MySpace or my email, but I can get onto this page. It's pretty awesome...considering I haven't been able to update for a couple of weeks.
Oh, I'm in a weird mood. It's sort of a weird "in limbo" sort of mood, where I'm not happy, but not sad, or depressed. I don't really feel like anything. I don't have any amusing stories for you all. Right now it's B-wave postings, so I'm pretty much just sitting around doing nothing. I have no homework to do, so right now I'm just wearing out the battery on my I-pod. I didn't want to go see any of the duos or poetry things because I really needed to un-wind from my last round. I'm really off my game today, and it's just frustrating. I'm not going to place, I know that. I will be pleasantly surprised, to say the least, if I place. This tournament is weird, because they're not having finals, they're just doing three rounds each and deciding from that. It's weird, but if it gets me out of here faster, I'm completely fine with that.
My mom's gone out town to celebrate Valentine's Day with her boyfriend. I don't want to think about it. Awkward things!! I hate Valentine's Day. I propose an anti-Valentine's Day celebration. (Though I'm making everyone gifts for Valentine's Day anyway...I'm such a hypocrite, but at least I admit it, and it's about small things. Plus I'm making the gifts, not feeding the giant machine that is mass-produced Hallmark greeting cards.)
Anyway, because my mom is out of town, I'm staying at my aunt's house tonight. Her neighborhood gives me the heebie-jeebies, mostly because ass hat lives down the street. Not that I have to see him or anything, but his sister practically lives at my aunt's house, so I'm bound to run into him at some point, right? Not if I have achieved invisibility, which I am working intently on.
"I can only be invisible when no one is looking."
"Then how do you know that you're invisible?"
"I just know."
I still don't have job, which sucks, because I'm perpetually broke. Though, I go to Harvard with the debate team on Thrusday...and the Spring play auditions are on Tuesday. I'm pretty excited about that. But I don't a monologue...I should really get one at some point I guess...
...Pan's Labyrinth is an amazing movie. Just pointing it out. Extremely disturbing; mentally and emotionally, but still completely amazing. I had a couple of mini heart attacks during the movie. Ethan and Tyler made fun of me, but I don't care. I got scared, hence I freaked.
I'm going to try to nap now. Yay.
Ophelia was the kind of woman who never got rid of anything. She had everything in her small, two bedroom town home. She had always meant to go through things to clear out useless articles like old birthday cards from people she didn’t even remember, yet something always nagged in the back of her mind that what she was throwing away might come in handy one day. Of course, the moment that it did come in handy for her, the object was nowhere in sight, and it took days for Ophelia to find what she had wanted and forgotten about what she had needed it for.
Ophelia was in no way an old woman who hoarded old news papers. She did not have a million cats, and school children did not shy away from her house to evade the smell that lonely old women exude or to avoid random articles thrown at them. No, from the outside, and even from the inside, Ophelia’s small London town home looked quite normal. The yard had been kept up nicely; the lawn was always watered, green, and mowed, and in the summer there were rose bushes by the window that were always trimmed and beautiful. Ophelia was a very organized woman, and all of the articles in her home that were not being used were up in the attic in organized and marked boxes.
She was much the kind of woman who kept things that brought up pain and sorrow whenever seen, but these things she still kept. Many of these things were from old boyfriends, things that had just migrated into her home: masculine throw-away razors that never got thrown away, old Valentine’s Day stuffed bears, articles of clothing, and even furniture. Even one, more recent boyfriend whom Ophelia had intended to marry had actually left his mother for her to care for. Ophelia’s charlatan mother-in-law didn’t seem to mind much that she was now looked after by a woman whom had no actual affection towards her. In fact, she couldn’t have even known the difference between her son and her fake daughter-in-law, for she was struck with dementia and couldn’t really understand what was going on anyway.
Richard Walson was the name of the man who had left his dear mother in the care of his ex-fiancée. He was well off, very beautiful, and almost reminded one of a modern day Narcissus, except that the women that got attached to him had no trouble letting go of him. He was extremely arrogant and very pretentious, yet Ophelia had loved him all the same. Even when he brought his mother to live with them, she neither complained nor got angry, just nodded assent and continued with her life. The one thing that did tear her love for Richard was the fact that he, with no regard towards her, still dated other women, even five months before their wedding day. Ophelia had not known, found out, and then ignored this problem in a sweep that spanned over five years time. But when she found that Richard had spent quite a bit of her money on a hotel room for one of his business executives from France three months before their wedding, Ophelia really had had enough. She threatened to kick him out absolutely. He agreed whole-heartedly to the idea, yet conned Ophelia into keeping his mother, swearing that he would send a home to come and collect her at the appropriate time.
“We don’t want to jar her too much; she’s just gotten settled into a routine here, so let’s keep it that way for as long as we can,” was his excuse walking out of the house with his bags properly packed, “I’ll send someone for her as soon as her doctors think that it’s possible.”
Well, obviously the time to move Richard’s mother never came, for it had been six months and shortly after he had moved out, Richard stopped calling to check up on his mother. Ophelia didn’t bother to find him, for she knew that when Richard didn’t want to be found, it was impossible to get a hold of him. She did nothing to get rid of his mother either. Ophelia didn’t have the kind of funding for a proper living facility for someone like Richard’s mother and in all truth, was too tired to even care. Routine was fine for her; as it was for her permanent house guest.
Every morning Ophelia got up at five-thirty to ensure that she could get ready for work and do everything that Mrs. Walson required of her. She usually ate a simple breakfast of oatmeal and tea while enjoying the sunrise. Around eight or so, a nurse named Elizabeth came ‘round to stay with Mrs. Walson.
Elizabeth was a fresh-faced, sweet-natured, twenty-something whom was working toward becoming a pediatrician. How she had ended up working for Richard and Ophelia was unknown to Ophelia, but other than his mother, Elizabeth was about the only permanent thing that Richard had established. Ophelia now paid Elizabeth, because Richard’s checks had stopped coming, though Ophelia did not mind so much. She liked Elizabeth, maybe even on the level of a friend, and she helped out a great deal with Mrs. Walson.
When Ophelia was sure that everything was in order, she would set out for the bus-stop that was a couple of blocks out of her neighborhood. She would wait at the bus-stop approximately ten minutes with the rest of her neighbors and then board the appropriate bus to Paddington Underground. Ophelia worked part-time at two different places. Her first job was at a health food store as a manager of the natural living section and then as a desk clerk for a small book shop near Piccadilly Circus. It was a book shop for tourists and was very busy selling stupid novelty items as well as books about the city, but Ophelia liked working there all the same. She didn’t really like dealing with the excited American tourists, but meeting other Europeans was fun. She had come to realize working there that she especially liked Belgians. She wasn’t sure why, but they seemed to be the politest tourists.
Ophelia worked all day from nine in the morning until six o’clock in the evening. She was working everyday of the week, but not at the same place twice in a row. Her days alternated for where she was to be working, and when it didn’t, it would always mess up her week. Ophelia never carried a schedule, but relied on her memory alone, which wasn’t very hard because she had only herself to take care of. Naturally, if she had had a husband or children or both, then she would have carried a schedule, out of necessity. She also would have most likely owned a car, but for just her now, living alone except for a batty old woman who couldn’t really walk on her own, a car was just an extra expense.
I like the combination. Wear it to school sometime, with or without arm garters.
What this Theory guy said... to me its a little teenage. I might take and make the shrink seem like a total bigot, make people want to hate him. Tell me where you want to go with this... I might have some ideas, though I am a painter by trade (not a good one, but hey, I don't plan to make a living at it!)
like the background on this. Is it CG or watercolor?
Not much into the fantasy stuff, but I spose I could "adapt". Your style is nothing like the other things I've seen. Cool shading.
pEaCe OuT
Yogurt in Russia...
interesting comics, I dig the art.
Maybe it means that she's jut going to end up blowing something out of proportion and then realising the simple things in life are what make you happy.
Try not to be so cynical, man. It's depressing.
Hey, I'll take your comments on my writing ONLY, thank you. Its not your job to teach me how to sculpt my personality, mother...
Although you're opinions are appreciated, I don't need your personal attacks.
--
All resemblance to persons stupid, dead, or otherwise is purely Intentional.
117 Years Ago:
At the age of fourteen I was enrolled in and shipped off to a boarding school called ‘Twin Oaks’. It was one of those dual campus affairs that served to separate girls and boys on two different sides of a hedge, linked only by the auditorium in the center. That isn’t to say it wasn’t a good school, it was actually one of the best, but depending on who you were the school had an air or either smug determination or dreary solitude. The fact that it was, and still is for that matter, situated in the very center of a rather backwater ocean city didn’t help either.
Twin Oaks catered to a very specific class of people. My parents did not belong to that class, but I was accepted anyway because I was ‘special’, because I had never quite recovered from that dog bite I could barely remember and my ‘condition’ required very special facilities now that it had come to terms with my physical development.
But even in a school populated by all manner of the exceptional, surrounded by such talent and variety as I had lonely ever dreamed of, I was a freak. Werewolves, you see, are not commonly accepted members of society. We’re seen as more dangerous even than hell-spawn. “Too unpredictable.” They say. “They’re cold blooded killers at the core, you know, and you can’t trust a one of them.” But I was different, I was brilliant, so the administrators adjusted, made exceptions, ignored rules, and did everything to convince my parents that I would be as happy there as anywhere despite what I insisted on more than one occasion. But what did I know? I was just a fourteen year old with more issues than I had any right too. But I had a brain, a fact which they both knew and vehemently ignored while still exploiting it to the best of their abilities, and I knew enough to know that was the only reason I hadn’t been beheaded and buried under a rock somewhere, my existence denied.
This is not to say that I did not have friends. I had more friends in my middle and high school career at Twin Oaks than the rest of my previous life combined. For all my infamy I seemed to attract the misfits of the school like moths to a flame. We created a society of presumed freaks, they and I, and we reveled in every single moment of it. We gave our collective self the title “The Spooks”, the reasoning being that none of us really fit into the ‘normal society’ of the day, even back then. I will be the first to admit, however, that the name “Disgruntled Teenagers with Emotional Baggage” would have been vastly more appropriate.
The first friend I attracted, and perhaps my greatest, was a shifter by the name of Turgay Sandeep, though he greatly preferred the name Helios.
***
Elric interrupted quickly. “You’ve known him since your school days?”
I gave him a disparaging look. “Of course I did. He’s not just some stranger I met on the street. Now, would you care to let me finish, or not?”
“Oh, yes, of course. Carry on.”
“Good, now shut up or I’ll shut if for you.”
***
We all chose pseudonyms upon being made one of “The Spooks”. Turgay chose ‘Helios’, and I was ‘Cinzento’ though most still just called me ‘Jay’. We were the original Spooks, making things up as we went along our merry way.
Helios and I met nearly a week after the beginning of my 8th grade year. I had been informed that I was to have a room mate, apparently despite the administartors’ wishes there just wasn’t enough to give me my own room at the time, but he was currently indisposed. Because of that I was left in a primarily empty room (at least on my side, I had not brought much with me besides my clothing and various school necessities) with a spare bed piled high with boxes on the side I wasn’t using. I never even thought about opening any of them. Somehow I figured I was better off not knowing.
That Saturday I came back from an uneventful breakfast (everyone had stoically ignored me except for the lady serving the food to ask me if I wanted toast or a bagel with my eggs) to find the door of my room ajar and things (none of them mine) being randomly tossed out of it and music blasting on a radio somewhere. A glimpse inside showed that the entire half of the room I had not been occupying for the last six days was nearly filled to bursting with things. Posters tacked up on the walls, all the available shelf and flat space packed with books, among other things, and clothes and shoes half in, half out of the dresser.
In the center of it all was a kid about my age with tousled, violently red and gold hair, apparently sorting things in a box by tossing them in piles on his bed and occasionally out the door. As I walked in I narrowly avoided being hit by what appeared to be a voodoo doll in the shape of a troll, straight pins and all. That, to say the least, was mildly disconcerting; people who use voodoo dolls on a regular basis are not to be messed with lightly.
I stood for a moment in the door way and then carefully turned off the radio which was sitting on top of an unopened box directly to my right. The red-headed boy froze in the ensuing silence and then turned around, fairly exploding in a torrent of only slightly mock anger. “Ailin be damned, I’ve only been here an hour!” He snapped at me. “You’ve already had me suspended for the last week, what more do you want to-! ...Oh.” He blinked at me for a moment with bright amber eyes before pulling up the cuff of his unbuttoned sleeve and
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hi katie...i need to find a pic for my avatar
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nuuuuh uh you looks smiley and cute
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do I have a better avatar now?
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hey, very thanks for the watch, I`ll be watching you too..!
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I hope you are taking pictures in Italy/Germany man.
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hellow fellow deviant! nice stuff, check out mine some time..!
fRk-
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Ocha!!!
Sometimes you realize that you're just happy to be friends with someone.
"HAHAHAHAHAHHAHA" geez krayola way to kill a moment.
But I'm watching you to0o0o0o0o 0o0o0oo0. yeah.
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im not sure if that's was i was laughing at
er
maybe?
who KNOWS?!
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