Really? I would not expect that! That's really cool, though.
Ah, I need to update that, thanks for reminding me. :lol: You didn't miss much with The Turn of the Screw or Catcher in the Rye. XD But I LOVED The Sound and the Fury. And I was not a fan of Heart of Darkness. I didn't dislike it, but I didn't like it either. What did you think?
I am interested to read The Satanic Verses, but am also wary of it. It's an odd sort of feeling! What don't you like about it?
A couple of days ago the police shot a young man, and some say he wasn't armed. They started a peaceful protest, which escalated and violence started in other areas.
It's not really related to the police killing, I think it's more a result of the new conservative government's many cuts, and slashing benefits.
Well at least they do something anbout it... sometimes I wish us Americans could protest /riot something actually worth it... stupid picketings. I swear. Sorry I'm off that rant now
Oh, the riots are actually really big. (Being from the commonwealth, it's on the NZ news quite a bit.) They've stopped actually being about anything apparently, and they're calling it "Recreational rioting." If you ask me, that's a little scary. Why would people do that?
To let there anger out in all honesty. Humans have emotions that are hard to tame. They found that out. Plus it could be an adrenaline thing. When you are rioting you get a lot of adrenaline. I'm off to bed for now though.
Ashtyn could be right, and at this point it may just be the initial momentum carrying it along. :/
But I agree with you completely Carzeebear, it just doesn't make sense to me, and more than natural disasters or anything of that sort, I find the human race's ability to do things like this the scariest.
It's completely senseless. I agree with you, Pearl, it's just violence and greed.
It's being pegged as the unrest of the urban poor or something to that effect, but it's absolutely for NO PURPOSE. Like Carzee said, it's recreational rioting. And even if there WERE a point, the rioters are taking it out on innocent people and those innocent people's livelihoods and property. That's horrendous. It makes me cry and feel physically ill to read about it and see the pictures. How the hell is that a means to an end or in anyway justifiable?
Violence only vilifies your cause and sets you back a great amount.
And the fact people justify it by saying they can't get any attention or change anything without it absolutely make my blood boil. Because, you know, The Dalai Lama, Ghandi, Martin Luther King Jr., Susan B. Anthony, Aung San Suu Kyi and thousands of other activists, both famous and unheard of, have never changed anything without resorting to burning building and stealing. OH WAIT. They did. And they are the people remembered as heroes and bringers of change, not those who sought to better their cause through destruction. </rant>
Okay, I'm here for the contest. Thanks for the prompt, and here we go
Under the Overcast Sky
By Parasitic Panda
"Don't. Touch. It." Lorelei's voice was sharp, and full of warning. She watched her boyfriend as he carefully looked at her shoulders, "I'm serious. You touch it and I will-"
"Stupid." He breathed. Blue eyes carefully scanned over the girl's body. Shoulders were definitely red. He walked around her to check out her back for the third time. That too was also a very deep red. "Nice going lobster girl."
"Gee. Thanks. I do try my best." She wasn't mad, just miserable and not in the mood to be called "stupid". What she wanted most was to be out of her bathing suit and on their bed, no covers touching her, and the AC pumping. That's what she was planning at least.
"So you didn't put sunblock on again why?"
"Because, it was overcast." It was a very whiny voice and she knew it.
There was a sound, and then the pain errupted all across her shoulders and back. This was followed by the burn and prickling of her skin. A scream thundered past her lips and Lorelei spun around to face her boyfriend. A wicked grin stretched his lips. "See, stupid. Always put sunblock on. Then you won't have to deal with me doing things like that!"
"I hate you" was the seething reply.
"Yea, yea, yea. Love you too. Now turn around so I can put some of this aloe on you." He waved the brilliant green jelly at her.
Lorelei eyed the aloe jelly. "You slap me again, and I will force the aloe down your throat."
"Fair enough." Duncan grinned. "Just don't let this happen again."
It was a warning, a very good one that Lorelei promised to remember. And she promised to get Duncan back for his foul play. But as he slathered on the aloe she gave him, but only slightly.
-End-
Well...I guess that's what I got haha.
Last edited by Parasitic Panda; 08-11-2011 at 12:37 AM..
I have GOT to get something done! *pokes her muse with a stick*
Yes, finally got something! It's my first attempt at historical fiction, and unfortunately I did not have a lot of time for research, so it's probably the most glaringly inaccurate thing ever. So maybe I will one day rewrite it to be longer and more accurate and less poorly written, but for now, it is what it is. It's about a made-up Roman lieutenant (that's probably not even the right word) during the aftermath of the Battle of Carthage.
Wheeee the story of a man called Lucretius PaterculusX
Lucretius Paterculus was born to be a farmer, not a man who ordered the death of thousands.
He paced his tent restlessly, clasping his scarred hands behind his back. He was not raised to be a lieutenant! It was a fluke, his captain had died in battle, and Lucretius had been the one to step forward. Another lieutenant had seen and had reported his courage and dependability to none other than General Scipio Aemilianus himself. The right man had died and Lucretius had been in the right place at the right time and had done the right thing. Or maybe that was all wrong. It had seemed like such a blessing when it happened, the sudden news that he would come away from this siege a hero, loved by Rome. He would have wealth enough to expand his farm and support a large family comfortably.
Leontia would be so happy. He could see her gap-toothed smile when he told her of his—their—good fortune, the way the skin around her eyes would crinkle, the way she’d show all of her teeth. Her eyes would light up.
Gods, he missed her eyes. He had never seen the sea until he’d marched to Carthage across what seemed like half the world, and it had been grey with the clouds. Breath nearly failed him as soon as he’d set his gaze upon it—it was the precise color of his Leontia’s eyes. The delight that would flood them would make the three years spent away from her worth it.
But that was before the orders. The farm, the family, Leontia’s joy, no matter how badly he wanted those very things, was it really and truly worth doing what he was being asked to do?
“Lieutenant Paterculus?” the messenger asked uncertainly.
“I heard the order the first time,” Lucretius replied thickly, pausing in order to cast a sharp look at the courtier. “Leave me.”
“I… I will wait outside with your men,” the messenger said as he slowly backed out of the flap of the tent, “so that I may take word back to General Aemilianus.”
As soon as he was gone, Lucretius resumed his pacing. He looked helplessly upwards, silently begging the gods for a sign to lead him down the right path. He could hear faint screaming coming from the city. So, other lieutenants had already ordered their men to start their work.
Lucretius bit his knuckle to stifle a groan. Killing soldiers hand to hand was one thing. There was something honest about that, a mutual understanding that it was kill or be killed, that whichever man swung his sword most effectively lived to fight another man or see the end of the battle. Killing cornered women and children on a massive scale, however, that was murder.
General Aemilianus was not kind to deserters. Lucretius would be counted as such if he refused to enforce a direct order from the general. An example would be made of him, and he would not die quickly.
Did it really even matter if he gave the command? If he did not, and was executed, some other man would tell his troop to set fire to this section of the Carthage, or the rest of the legion would divide the work between them. His own death would be noble, but for an unobtainable cause. He had sworn to Leontia that he would return to marry her, could he let the years she had waited be in vain?
The coppery taste of blood began to trickle into his mouth, and pulled his hand away. He hadn’t realized that he’d bitten through the skin. Folding his arms, he looked to the flap of the tent.
He couldn’t stall much longer. He thought again of Leontia’s eyes. Would there still be light in them, if he told her the cost of their fortune? His stomach dropped. He didn’t know if she would ever look at him again if he carried this out. If he ordered his troops to start burning the city, they would be murdering women who were no different than his Leontia. Children who were no different than the little ones he imagined he would one day raise with her.
Taking a deep breath, he finally exited the tent. Soldiers stood in their gleaming breast plates, awaiting his orders. The messenger sat tentatively astride a horse. Lucretius lifted his chin and stared squarely into the messengers’ eyes.
There would be pain. Unbearable pain. But what else could he possibly do? Lucretius had never been so afraid to speak in his life. The words felt heavy in his throat, as if a weight held them there. He looked to the troops, barely able to force the command out.
