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flaming-Scorpion
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#1
Old 02-17-2007, 11:16 PM

A place to your short stories without having to make a thread. Higher chance of feedback here.

All original short stories welcome!!!! :D

Keep fanfiction out please =3.

But if it relates to a fairy tale or something to the sort it is welcomed!!!!

Thats it for now, have fun!!!

And anyone who is willing to have constructive crit.'s or comments is even more welcomed!!!

Quote:
EDIT - By Seito

Please note that if you post a story here and wish to post it again in your story thread to quote one or the other. If it is found that you have posted your story twice, one shall be quoted and gold will be removed from your account. If this problem persist, it will result in the locking of this thread and a warning from the mods. Thank you.
was written a short while ago, not one of my best works thou!

My short story: Think twice before picking a flower~!

Her crimson glare seemed to penetrate through the glass imprisonment and burn into his

eyes.
“How could you?” she questioned, her tone sounding shaken, desperate, and strangely

authoritive. Her red eyes reflected distress and anger.

“How could I not? You were simply to gorgeous to pass up,” The man mused, a smile

playing across his features. She stumbled slightly, her once strong legs becoming weak and frail.

Long silver locks framed her small figure, encasing her body in a shimmering frame.

“I hate you with a passion.” The words were strong, yet her tone was weak. When there

eyes met, both were shouting words that no longer seemed coherent. He held up a hand, breaking

the short connection,

“No need for such things. You are too valuable, and I will not return you to the meadow,

no matter how much you loathe me.” She fumed and her arms shook and the pale skin over her

knuckles became translucent as she gripped the crystal bars. He could see tears well up in her

eyes from frustration; they were beautiful to him.

“I hate you!” she shouted as her hands suddenly slid from the bars and fell limply to her

sides. Her perfection wilted as she slid down the bars, a few silver strands falling onto the floor.

He reached out and stroked her face, the softness pleasing him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispered before pulling back his hand and taking his leave.

The next day he returned, expecting another heated argument. However, when he arrived, the

man found that his prize was not even standing. She lay on the ground, unmoving. He rushed to

her in a panic as he stepped through the crystal, his feet tramping over fallen silken thread-like

hairs. He cradled her withered form in his arms and lightly shook her.

“What have I done....?”

A young boy’s tear fell onto the fallen petals of his dead rose.

“It was still only a bud,” His mother said, caressing his shoulder “you shouldn’t have picked it. It

deserved to live.” He cried as she dumped the water out of the empty vase. He walked toward the

door and tossed the flower outside, still holding the soft petals in his hand, before he let them go

into the wind. He would have sworn he heard a voice mocking him in his foolishness.

Marron
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#2
Old 02-18-2007, 02:43 AM

Okay! I'm going to write something off the top of my head, so excuse me if I'm not totally spot on with the awesomeness! <3

____________________________________________


A soft sigh mingled in the warm dark the illusionist had created for himself. In reality, he was simply in his own bedroom and sitting on his bed with a blank expression on his face. With his abilities, though, he'd crafted a perfect, warm blanket of dark around him. He needed to think without distraction and without his mind wandering to other matters that didn't really need his attention.

In his emulated darkness, Jade let himself recline as his light violet eyes followed gray, cloud-like patterns in the "sky". Arisu was slowly cracking beneath the pressure of being a teacher at a school of magic.. The Boss was slowly moving too far into their space, which put all of the children in danger.. And Sapphire. It may have seemed selfish, but he would rather his Boss attack the children at the school instead of hurting his one and only Sapphire.

Slowly, the professor held up his hand lightly, with his fingers outstretched and palm up. A soft blue glow began to form, and it gradually took the form of a smooth, oval sapphire with the most brilliant star a natural sapphire could produce. Picking the stone out of his free hand, he held it up and looked over the unblemished perfection with a dim, but loving smile.

What could he do for Sapphire? What more could he possibly do to keep the other safe and ensure that his Boss wouldn't turn on the other professor? Sapphire was as innocent as they came.. But his mere association with Jade put him in danger, though that was the last thing Jade had ever wanted to do to his all too wonderful partner.

And what of Arisu? Jade gave another soft sigh as he let the sapphire in his hand disappear in to the nothingness it had come from and laced his fingers together to let them rest on his stomach. As he thought, the dark around him began to slowly take forms, changing into a more complete darkness.. But there were soft, shining stars everywhere and he even detailed the space with a warm little galaxy - complete with a sun and all.

Life felt like this little universe. Quiet and unsuspecting until the largest, most problematic of situations came up. It was only when everyone had problems did anyone ever start to wonder what they'd do to fix what they'd done, and by the time they figured out how to keep themselves and everyone else happy, it was always too late.

"......" With one last sigh, he watched as a large, imaginary meteor crashed into the planet he saw as the world they lived on. He could only wonder when the meteor would finally come crashing down on him, and if he'd be able to proudly say he did his best to protect the people he loved.

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#3
Old 02-19-2007, 09:03 PM

Okies!

I have 2!

Better to be Unlucky :

Sam, an unemployed piano tuner, said it was only the second thing he had ever won in his life. The first thing was an Afghan blanket at a church raffle when he was 25 years old. But this was much bigger: it was $120,000! He had won the Big Cube, a state lottery game. To win, a contestant must first guess which number a spinning cube will stop on. The cube has six numbers on it: 1X, 10X, 50X, 100X, 500X, and 1000X. If he is correct, the contestant must then guess which of two selected variables is going to be greater. So, just guessing which number appears on the cube does not guarantee that you will win any money.

Sam correctly guessed 1000X, but he still had to choose between two variables. One variable was the number of cars that would run the stop sign at Hill Street and Lake Avenue in six hours. The other variable was the number of times that a teenage boy would change TV channels in a three-hour period. This was a tough decision.

Finally, Sam flipped a coin. It came up heads, so Sam picked the teenager. He picked right. The stop sign was run only 76 times, but the teen clicked 120 times. Sixty-year-old Sam jumped for joy, for he had just won 1000 times 120, or $120,000. Sam dreamily left the lottery studio. Talking excitedly on his cell phone while crossing the street, he got hit by a little sports car.

Sam is slowly getting better. He was in the hospital for a month. His hospital bill was $110,000. And the insurance company for the little sports car’s owner sued Sam for $9,000 worth of repairs. Also, Sam still has to pay federal taxes on his winnings. Sam doesn’t play the state lottery any more. He says it’s better to be unlucky.

Thats crap, it was a sort of bored story

This one is a bit better, or well what i think:





A story is told about a soldier who was finally coming home after having fought in Vietnam. He called his parents from San Francisco.

"Mom and Dad, I'm coming home, but I've a favor to ask. I have a friend I'd like to bring home with me."

"Sure," they replied, "we'd love to meet him."

"There's something you should know the son continued, "he was hurt pretty badly in the fighting. He stepped on a land mind and lost an arm and a leg. He has nowhere else to go, and I want him to come live with us."

"I'm sorry to hear that, son. Maybe we can help him find somewhere to live."

"No, Mom and Dad, I want him to live with us."

"Son," said the father, "you don't know what you're asking. Someone with such a handicap would be a terrible burden on us. We have our own lives to live, and we can't let something like this interfere with our lives. I think you should just come home and forget about this guy. He'll find a way to live on his own."

At that point, the son hung up the phone. The parents heard nothing more from him. A few days later, however, they received a call from the San Francisco police. Their son had died after falling from a building, they were told. The police believed it was suicide. The grief-stricken parents flew to San Francisco and were taken to the city morgue to identify the body of their son. They recognized him, but to their horror they also discovered something they didn't know, their son had only one arm and one leg.

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#4
Old 02-19-2007, 09:11 PM


Something written a while ago. Excuse me if it doesn't make much sense


The Girl Without a Face

There once was a girl without a face. Now, she had a mouth, a nose and two round eyes on her head complete with two ears, one on each side. Everything on her head was where it should be, and yet she didn’t have a ‘face’. Despite this, she was not a very peculiar girl. After all, no one else had faces either. No one in this world was able to express themselves using their every morning she woke up to a grayscale world of black, gray, white; these were the colors that constituted her life. The girl was not unhappy with the world she lived in. She was used to it; some even say she was satisfied with it. But perhaps she did wish for a change, if that was possible. Although, to be honest, she was not sure at all what she felt. When her fingers stumbled along her own face, she found no expression, she was faceless. There never was a furrowed brow, her small lips never gathered into a smile or a frown. All she knew was that she tied her jet black hair with a red ribbon every morning. Whether she was looking for a change, she wasn’t sure herself. But as she ventured outside every morning of her life, she hoped that maybe, just maybe, she would find someone else wearing a red ribbon.

These days, she couldn’t seem to remember too many things clearly. Who could blame her? There was never a break from her daily routine. Even as she crossed the street in the busy city the people she bumped into while pushing her way through were same every morning. Perhaps they were indeed different people each morning, but without faces or any distinction, it was hard to tell. Just like she has done everyday since she could remember, the girl walked on the city pavements, her fingers just barely trailing the buildings that surrounded her as she walked. People in their grays and blacks seemed to fade into the background as she walked. Then, she saw it, the color. It was bright red, much like the ribbon in her own hair. Subconsciously, the girl raised her right hand to the ribbon, but without the courage to touch it. Her cheeks felt tight, her lips stretched. Surprised, the girl then moved her fingers to her cheeks, feeling a change in her face. Her brows were raised, and her lips parted slightly. A look of confusion and surprise filled her eyes. Both fascinated and surprised, the girl stood her mouth agape that she hadn’t even noticed the figure in the red scarf approaching her. When she had realized that there was a foreign object, a person in front of her, the girl looked up and saw a face half buried within the scarf. Not just a mouth, nose and eyes, a real face. Her jaw dropped even more and before she had time to react, the figure reached out his hand, grabbed hers and started running, dragging the girl with him.

Excited and scared, the girl stared dumbfounded at the figure dragging her away. She knew he was taking her away from the world of grays and whites, from the world of no faces. Her mind snapped back at the reality of the situation. Racing, her mind was beginning to clutter up with infinite amount of questions. Was this what she wanted? To be away from all she knew, from all she’s ever known? What if the world different from the ones she knew was worse than this? What if she regretted it later on? With that thought, the girl felt her hand slip from the firm grip of the red scarf. It was slow and gradual, and she was sure she could have stopped it from slipping if she had desired to do so. Yet, she simply watched her hands slip from the firm grip of the figure in front of her. When her hand was finally free from the grip, she stopped running and stared at her hand, her mind blank. Her head then snapped back up and scanned the area for the figure in the red scarf. He was no where to be seen. The girl was still in the world of gray figures without faces. She raised her fingers to her face again, and the raised brow and the opened lip were gone, and her ‘face’ had disappeared again. She was once again faceless and the only thing that was out of the ordinary were the tears rolling down her cheeks. Slowly, the girl placed her index fingers on her eyes as if she would wipe them off, but slid them past her face to the back of her head and fumbled for the red ribbon entangled in her hair. She tugged on it a couple times and let her hair fall as the ribbon fell out of place. Strangely enough, the ribbon didn’t seem so vibrant anymore. She let her fingers drop and the ribbon fall on the ground.

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#5
Old 02-20-2007, 04:14 PM

But Pa!......." I groaned.

"No buts about it!" I finally figured out I wasn't gonna get that squirrel I'd found in the Ozarks of Missouri. It was late spring. First time in a whole week it hadn't rained, so my pa said we'd go hunt'n since it wasn't gonna rain for three days. Least' that's what the News Broadcaster said.

"We come out here to hunt boy," my pa said, "not to look for a pet!" After a few hours in the humid hills, we headed back to the house with a few bucks in the back of our old 1950 Chevy my grandpa had passed down to my pa.

"Well," my ma exclaimed "that's the first good look'n meat we've had in more'n a month!"

"Pa got every one of em'." I whispered to Beth. We were twins.

"Well, Avery Smith, if you hadn't forgotten your......." I quickly shushed her, I hated being embarassed. I went out to the truck to see which buck had the most points. Beth followed me out, the screen door slaming behind her. I liked the big one pa had shot in the left leg. It was a ten point, too. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an a cud'ly little collie pup. It looked like a stray. I ran out to go get it. This was my chance to get myself a pet. I ran to the club house Pa made me a few years back an' hid im' there.

For the next few days, after school, I would run to my room, put my things up, and go set the dog loose. We'd run for hours over the hills. Every day I'd secretly get my b'b' gun and shoot myself a rabbit for the dog. I named him, Buddy. One day Pa announced he'd got a job. I wanted to leap for joy! The next day, I break the news about my dog to everybody. I was on the edge of my seat when pa started to say somethin.' "Well......." I interupted him "Can we keep im?' Can I Pa?" I asked gleefully.

"Well," he said. I held my breath. This was the moment I'd waited for. "Okay." "But you've got to clean up his business!" I groaned at that. But I was too happy to complain. I had a pet!

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#6
Old 02-20-2007, 04:51 PM

Okies! Here's one of mine!

It was a hot, sunny day in late July. Business was slow and I was stuck in the office working on some long overdue paperwork, when I received a phone call from the chief of police. "Someone is robbing the potato place and Idaho won't be famous for it's potatoes."

"No problem," I had said, "I'll solve any crime by dinner time!" I slipped my trench coat on and took my dog Clue with me. The first step, I had decided would be to interview people by going house to house. No one even knew about the case except for one girl who lived on 33 Potato Street.

The girl said, "I've heard about it on TV, and my brother has been acting strange every time something comes on about the Idaho potatoes. He clams up and gets all nervous."

"What's your name and what's his?" I asked. I took out my notebook and scribbled down what the girl had told me. "Thanks" I had said. "If you have any more evidence call the police and they'll call me." I now decided to check out the potato house. There are foot prints everywhere! They look like Nikes I thought. I snapped a picture and went home, a little disappointed, those could be anyone's shoes. At home I watched the news for more evidence. I found some news which I wrote down.

"Hi, I'm Peter Jennington with some news on the potato house. We suspect it might be Benny Burke who we have seen wearing a purple shirt, but it is kind of unusual for him to be stealing potatoes. Well folks that's all on the potato place.

That night I went out around 9:30 to the potato place. Around 10:00 someone wearing a purple shirt came in with a sack. I found an emergency phone near by and dialed 911. The police came. It was a boy named Dan who happened to be the girls brother. He revealed that he worked for Benny Burke. He was taken to a kids jail.

As for me, I got a badge. I was quite proud of myself. I had solved the case of the missing Idaho potatoes !

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#7
Old 02-20-2007, 05:17 PM

Nice Bakanek.

My turn XD

Once upon a time, there was an island where all the feelings lived: Happiness, Sadness, Knowledge, and all of the others, including Love. One day it was announced to the feelings that the island would sink, so all constructed boats and left. Except for Love.

Love was the only one who stayed. Love wanted to hold out until the last possible moment.

When the island had almost sunk, Love decided to ask for help.

Richness was passing by Love in a grand boat. Love said,
"Richness, can you take me with you?"
Richness answered, "No, I can't. There is a lot of gold and silver in my boat. There is no place here for you."

Love decided to ask Vanity who was also passing by in a beautiful vessel. "Vanity, please help me!"
"I can't help you, Love. You are all wet and might damage my boat," Vanity answered.

Sadness was close by so Love asked, "Sadness, let me go with you."
"Oh . . . Love, I am so sad that I need to be by myself!"

Happiness passed by Love, too, but she was so happy that she did not even hear when Love called her.

Suddenly, there was a voice, "Come, Love, I will take you." It was an elder. So blessed and overjoyed, Love even forgot to ask the elder where they were going. When they arrived at dry land, the elder went her own way. Realizing how much was owed the elder,

Love asked Knowledge, another elder, "Who Helped me?"
"It was Time," Knowledge answered.
"Time?" asked Love. "But why did Time help me?"
Knowledge smiled with deep wisdom and answered, "Because only Time is capable of understanding how valuable Love is."

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#8
Old 02-20-2007, 05:29 PM

Thank you.

I forgot to post another...

I thought it would make the post look to big.

Well, here it is.
Im so trying to get an item i badly want!

Once there were three trees on a hill in the woods. They were discussing their hopes and dreams when the first tree said, "Someday I hope to be a treasure chest. I could be filled with gold, silver and precious gems. I could be decorated with intricate carving and everyone would see the beauty."

Then the second tree said, "Someday I will be a mighty ship. I will take kings and queens across the waters and sail to the corners of the world. Everyone will feel safe in me because of the strength of my hull."

Finally the third tree said, "I want to grow to be the tallest and straightest tree in the forest. People will see me on top of the hill and look up to my branches, and think of the heavens and God and how close to them I am reaching. I will be the greatest tree of all time and people will always remember me."

After a few years of praying that their dreams would come true, a group of woodsmen came upon the trees. When one came to the first tree he said, "This looks like a strong tree, I think I should be able to sell the wood to a carpenter" ... and he began cutting it down. The tree was happy, because he knew that the carpenter would make him into a treasure chest.

At the second tree a woodsman said, "This looks like a strong tree, I should be able to sell it to the shipyard." The second tree was happy because he knew he was on his way to becoming a mighty ship.

When the woodsmen came upon the third tree, the tree was frightened because he knew that if they cut him down his dreams would not come true. One of the woodsmen said, "I don't need anything special from my tree so I'll take this one", and he cut it down.

When the first tree arrived at the carpenters, he was made into a feed box for animals. He was then placed in a barn and filled with hay. This was not at all what he had prayed for. The second tree was cut and made into a small fishing boat. His dreams of being a mighty ship and carrying kings had come to an end. The third tree was cut into large pieces and left alone in the dark. The years went by, and the trees forgot about their dreams.

Then one day, a man and woman came to the barn. She gave birth and they placed the baby in the hay in the feed box that was made from the first tree. The man wished that he could have made a crib for the baby, but this manger would have to do. The tree could feel the importance of this event and knew that it had held the greatest treasure of all time. Years later, a group of men got in the fishing boat made from the second tree. One of them was tired and went to sleep. While they were out on the water, a great storm arose and the tree didn't think it was strong enough to keep the men safe. The men woke the sleeping man, and he stood and said "Peace" and the storm stopped. At this time, the tree knew that it had carried the King of Kings in its boat.

Finally, someone came and got the third tree. It was carried through the streets as the people mocked the man who was carrying it. When they came to a stop, the man was nailed to the tree and raised in the air to die at the top of a hill. When Sunday came, the tree came to realize that it was strong enough to stand at the top of the hill and be as close to God as was possible, because Jesus had been crucified on it.

The moral of this story is that when things don't seem to be going your way, always know that God has a plan for you. If you place your trust in Him, He will give you great gifts. Each of the trees got what they wanted, just not in the way they had imagined. We don't always know what God's plans are for us. We just know that His ways are not our ways, but His ways are always best.

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#9
Old 02-20-2007, 05:36 PM

o.0?

You've done a lot!
I have a whole book of them.
I just need to type mine up.
I spent so long doing them ....

Wll here's one, it has a meaning to it as well.

The story goes that some time ago, a man punished his 3-year-old daughter for wasting a roll of gold wrapping paper. Money was tight and he became infuriated when the child tried to decorate a box to put under the Christmas tree. Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift to her father the next morning and said, "This is for you, Daddy."

The man was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, but his anger flared again when he found out the box was empty. He yelled at her, stating, "Don't you know, when you give someone a present, there is supposed to be something inside? The little girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes and cried, "Oh, Daddy, it's not empty at all. I blew kisses into the box. They're all for you, Daddy."

The father was crushed. He put his arms around his little girl, and he begged for her forgiveness.

Only a short time later, an accident took the life of the child. It is also told that her father kept that gold box by his bed for many years and, whenever he was discouraged, he would take out an imaginary kiss and remember the love of the child who had put it there.

In a very real sense, each one of us, as humans beings, have been given a gold container filled with unconditional love and kisses... from our children, family members, friends, and God. There is simply no other possession, anyone could hold, more precious than this.

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#10
Old 02-20-2007, 05:45 PM

A whole book?

I couldn't to nearly as much. Im just doing some for course work and have some finished.



A young and successful executive was traveling down a neighborhood street, going a bit too fast in his new Jaguar. He was watching for kids darting out from between parked cars and slowed down when he thought he saw something. As his car passed, no children appeared. Instead, a brick smashed into the Jag's side door! He slammed on the brakes and drove the Jag back to the spot where the brick had been thrown. The angry driver then jumped out of the car, grabbed the nearest kid and pushed him up against a parked car, shouting, "What was that all about and who are you?
Just what the heck are you doing?
That's a new car and that brick you threw is going to cost a lot of money.
Why did you do it?"
The young boy was apologetic. "Please mister ... please, I'm sorry... I didn't know what else to do," he pleaded.
"I threw the brick because no one else would stop..."
With tears dripping down his face and off his chin, the youth pointed to a spot just around a parked car.
"It's my brother," he said.
"He rolled off the curb and fell out of his wheelchair and I can't lift him up."

Now sobbing, the boy asked the stunned executive, "Would you please help me get him back into his wheelchair? He's hurt and he's too heavy for me."
Moved beyond words, the driver tried to swallow the rapidly swelling lump in his throat. He hurriedly lifted the handicapped boy back into the wheelchair, then took out his fancy handkerchief and dabbed at the fresh scrapes and cuts. A quick look told him everything was going to be okay.

"Thank you and may God bless you," the grateful child told the stranger.
Too shook up for words, the man simply watched the little boy push his wheelchair-bound brother down the sidewalk toward their home. It was a long, slow walk back to the Jaguar. The damage was very noticeable, but the driver never bothered to repair the dented side door. He kept the dent there to remind him of this message: Don't go through life so fast that someone has to throw a brick at you to get your attention!

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#11
Old 02-20-2007, 05:49 PM

I just like to write a lot before.

He's a sort of story i did quite quick if memory serves me

A certain man planted a rose and watered it faithfully and before it blossomed, he examined it.

He saw the bud that would soon blossom, but noticed thorns upon the stem and he thought, "How can any beautiful flower come from a plant burdened with so many sharp thorns? Saddened by this thought, he neglected to water the rose, and just before it was ready to bloom... it died.

So it is with many people. Within every soul there is a rose. The God-like qualities planted in us at birth, grow amid the thorns of our faults. Many of us look at ourselves and see only the thorns, the defects.

We despair, thinking that nothing good can possibly come from us. We neglect to water the good within us, and eventually it dies. We never realize our potential.

Some people do not see the rose within themselves; someone else must show it to them. One of the greatest gifts a person can possess is to be able to reach past the thorns of another, and find the rose within them.

This is one of the characteristic of love... to look at a person, know their true faults and accepting that person into your life... all the while recognizing the nobility in their soul. Help others to realize they can overcome their faults. If we show them the "rose" within themselves, they will conquer their thorns. Only then will they blossom many times over.


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#12
Old 02-20-2007, 06:57 PM

kies, my turn, ive done one :


A frail old man went to live with his son, daughter-in-law, and a four-year old grandson. The old man's hands trembled, his eyesight was blurred, and his step faltered. The family ate together nightly at the dinner table. But the elderly grandfather's shaky hands and failing sight made eating rather difficult. Peas rolled off his spoon onto the floor. When he grasped the glass often milk spilled on the tablecloth. The son and daughter-in-law became irritated with the mess. "We must do something about grandfather," said the son. I've had enough of his spilled milk, noisy eating, and food on the floor. So the husband and wife set a small table in the corner. There, grandfather ate alone while the rest of the family enjoyed dinner at the dinner table. Since grandfather had broken a dish or two, his food was served in a wooden bowl. Sometimes when the family glanced in grandfather's direction, he had a tear in his eye as he ate alone. Still, the only words the couple had for him were sharp admonitions when he dropped a fork or spilled food. The four-year-old watched it all in silence.

One evening before supper, the father noticed his son playing with wood scraps on the floor. He asked the child sweetly, "What are you making?" Just as sweetly, the boy responded, "Oh, I am making a little bowl for you and mama to eat your food from when I grow up." The four-year-old smiled and went back to work. The words so struck the parents that they were speechless. Then tears started to stream down their cheeks. Though no word was spoken, both knew what must be done. That evening the husband took grandfather's hand and gently led him back to the family table.

For the remainder of his days he ate every meal with the family. And for some reason, neither husband nor wife seemed to care any longer when a fork was dropped, milk spilled, or the tablecloth soiled. Children are remarkably perceptive. Their eyes ever observe, their ears ever listen, and their minds ever process the messages they absorb. If they see us patiently provide a happy home atmosphere for family members, they will imitate that attitude for the rest of their lives. The wise parent realizes that every day that building blocks are being laid for the child's future.

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#13
Old 02-20-2007, 06:59 PM

Ive almost finsihed one too <3

Edit : done but its crappy.

An elderly carpenter was ready to retire. He told his employer-contractor of his plans to leave the house-building business to live a more leisurely life with his wife and enjoy his extended family. He would miss the paycheck each week, but he wanted to retire. They could get by.

The contractor was sorry to see his good worker go & asked if he could build just one more house as a personal favor. The carpenter said yes, but over time it was easy to see that his heart was not in his work. He resorted to shoddy workmanship and used inferior materials. It was an unfortunate way to end a dedicated career.

When the carpenter finished his work, his employer came to inspect the house. Then he handed the front-door key to the carpenter and said, "This is your house... my gift to you."

The carpenter was shocked!

What a shame! If he had only known he was building his own house, he would have done it all so differently.

So it is with us. We build our lives, a day at a time, often putting less than our best into the building. Then, with a shock, we realize we have to live in the house we have built. If we could do it over, we would do it much differently.

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#14
Old 02-20-2007, 07:12 PM

XD, i found this one.
After this, i have no more to i know off.
Actually i have a few but i wont most likely post them here.

"A son and his father were walking on the mountains.
Suddenly, his son falls, hurts himself and screams: "AAAhhhhhhhhhhh!!!"
To his surprise, he hears the voice repeating, somewhere in the mountain: "AAAhhhhhhhhhhh!!!"
Curious, he yells: "Who are you?"
He receives the answer: "Who are you?"
And then he screams to the mountain: "I admire you!"
The voice answers: "I admire you!"
Angered at the response, he screams: "Coward!"
He receives the answer: "Coward!"
He looks to his father and asks: "What's going on?"
The father smiles and says: "My son, pay attention."
Again the man screams: "You are a champion!"
The voice answers: "You are a champion!"
The boy is surprised, but does not understand.
Then the father explains: "People call this ECHO, but really this is LIFE.
It gives you back everything you say or do.
Our life is simply a reflection of our actions.
If you want more love in the world, create more love in your heart.
If you want more competence in your team, improve your competence.
This relationship applies to everything, in all aspects of life;
Life will give you back everything you have given to it."

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#15
Old 02-20-2007, 07:40 PM

Well, here's one of mine anyway XD


Mother is devastated, she is howling with pain, yelling all she can in that dark and dingy corner of her four by four kholi. There was nobody to hear her yell and not a soul to pacify her, because outside her shack is a long winding lonely road. There was no existence of mankind for miles and miles ahead. The wind was at rest, the leaves didn’t rustle and no resonance of a barking dog, silence filled the air. Loneliness was already killing her, but no one knows what made her cry?



Losing something you love with all your heart isn’t really the grief you can ever overcome. Radha lost her baby. Her only means to live. She saw her child getting crushed under a car in front of her own eyes. Blood was all over and the accident was terrible. One lonely night, she was walking down the street t get a breath of fresh air with her child cuddled tight in her arms. She walked a long time s till she saw the face of mankind (in the evilest form).



The whole time she walked with her child in her arms the only thing that worried her was Aryans (her son’s) future. What kind of a person will he be? Will he make me proud? How much light is life going to bring in his existence? She was imagining and feeling every day of the Childs growth, and what she had in store for him. But who knows what’s in store for us tomorrow, life can change in the splits of a second. Talk about destiny, all those dreams hopes and expectations were snatched away from her in an instant. Her smiles were frowns and her faith just crumbled, like a deal soul in a living, rather breathing body.



This is how it happened…. On that abandoned road, were a few streetlights barely sufficient? There was this one light that was visible from a distance, but as it came closer it got brighter and brighter. That light changed radha’s life into darkness forever. A speeding car came down that road, as if the driver had jammed the accelerator, cutting across the wind. He came at a speek of 110kmph throwing beer bottles out of his half open window. He was definitely drunk, the speed took everything in its path. Just then, there was a loud cry, and silence set in again. The cry of a baby and no sight of a child.



Ironically the mother wasn’t hurt, not a scratch on a body, not a bruise on her arm. She opened her eyes and didn’t she Aryan, her vision was blur. After a few minutes when her sight cleared up she looked all over frantically for her baby, but alas! There was nothing. Just then she noticed something about then feet away it was blood draining into the gutter’s, and pieces of minced flesh, laying there saying so much without saying anything at all

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#16
Old 02-21-2007, 04:09 PM

I did lots at school <3

He marveled at how similar his mornings were to "A Day In the Life" by The Beatles.

Woke up, got outta bed, dragged a comb across my head. Found my way down stairs n drank a cup, then looking up I noticed I was late…

He woke up. Got dressed. Taking little care in his appearance, he rushed to work. Michael. A man. He missed Michelle. He would see her tonight but for now he must work. Statistics. Ties. Figures. Suits. Women. Women in skirts. Women in skirts with black stockings hugging their legs. He loved the way a woman's calf muscle tensed as she walked. Especially in high heels. Black high-heels and black stockings.

Michael had not shaved. Caressing his chin he felt the stubble. Michelle did not like stubble; he would shave tonight.

Julie walked past. Raising his eyebrow and slightly lifting the corner of his mouth he marveled at her legs. As she smiled and walked away he spied on her calves. Black high-heels, black stockings.

Women had that shape about them. When a man walks his backside moves forward with each step. Right leg forward, right cheek forward. Left leg forward, left cheek forward. Women on the other hand, he thought, a woman's bottom (as he liked to call it when referring to a woman) moves out to the side. A woman's bottom, particularly Julie's bottom, made Michael want to run to the bathroom to relieve himself. But that is teenage behavior. He was no longer a teen.

On his way to the bus he looked at his backside in the shop windows. Straight forward. No movement to the side at all. He knew this would be the same for Michelle.

He admired a woman on the bus. Her hair fell straight down. Browny-red in colour. One side fell over her ear and into her face in one straight mass. The other side was neatly tucked behind her ear. Tonight he would make sure Michelle's hair did that. It would look sweet with her little button nose. He stared at his nose in the bus window. He liked it.

Julie had been wearing a tight skirt that pulled in tight around her hips, slightly looser on her legs and falling just below her knees. Michelle should look like that tonight. Michelle would look beautiful and he would be proud. He would dress her. He would even do her make-up. He did not consider himself a "pansy" or a "poof". Just because he could apply foundation smoothly. Just because his eyeliner looked better than any he'd seen. Just because his colour scheming was precise. It didn't matter, Michelle didn't think he was a pansy. Michelle thought he was "sensitive".

There were beautiful women everywhere. As he stepped off the bus he followed a blonde walking her dog. She turned but did not recognise him. She would recognise Michelle. Not a single piece of hair was stuck to her clothing. Maybe she did not pat her dog.

The key went into the door and he was home. Time to dress Michelle for tonight. He laid her outfit on the bed for her. He wouldn't dress her, but he would do her make-up. He had a shave and he was ready.

A good two hours were spent. He did not believe make-up was something to be rushed. Her skin would glow. Not shine like an oily teen in a photo, but glow. It would glow with a warmth of smooth surfaces. It would glow with the rich blush he was applying.

Her eyes would be deep, mysterious, dark. His eyeliner was perfect. His mascara made her lashes look thick and full.

He would brush her hair and he would tuck one side behind her ear. She was beginning to look beautiful.

Her make-up was done so she dressed. He would not look at her until she was ready. He wanted a surprise.

Black high-heels, black stockings. She knew that Michael loved that. She dressed in a skirt hat hugged her hips. Though she hated her hips. Not womanly enough. Michael had not yet seen her. She was almost ready to show him.

He was almost ready to see. Then he would leave and let her have a good night.

She was ready to show him.

He was ready to look.

She stepped in front of the mirror.

He stepped in front of the mirror.

She hoped he'd like what he saw.

He stared at his reflection. She was beautiful.

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#17
Old 02-21-2007, 04:17 PM

Hey you, i thought id type some up for the competition i was about to enter, then they told me they weren't taking any more users...

Well here's some, i have many more !!!

A black crow arrived when the rain stopped. There was a gnarled old post on our boundary, near where the fence sagged over the creek, and that's where the bird perched and cast its cold yellow eyes over our farm.

The creek. Oh, that beautiful creek, meandering across the fertile flats like a big green serpent, its head buried in a grove of mature gums to the south, its tail somewhere out of sight, north of the sagging fence. It pulsed with life, a constant artery carrying the crystal blood of some distant unseen heart deep under the pastures and rich volcanic soil. "We're bloody lucky to have this creek," Dad would say, ruffling my hair. "Bloody lucky. I reckon if that creek ever dried up, we'd be stuffed. We'd have to sell up."

I never took much notice when he said that. In my seven years I'd only ever known the creek to flow. It seemed implausible it could do otherwise. Until the crow came. I'd seen crows before, of course. Watched their effortless paths across the sky, and listened to them drawl their laconic obscenities from the treetops. But I knew I'd never seen this one, blacker and colder than a moonless night.

"Sbeen a bit of a dry autumn," Dad said the night before the crow arrived. "Looks like the winter'll be much the same." The lack of rain had, at that stage, escaped my notice. But I noticed the crow. It was just a bird on a fencepost, and yet somehow it was more. An omen. On my way down to the creek, fishing rod in hand, I felt its black presence before I saw it, nonchalant as it stared at me, through me, beyond me, as if summoning something from beyond the hills. And the something came, like slow spreading oil. The drought. There was no howling wind, no violent red storm, no cataclysmic holocaust. Just a continuing absence, a lack, and an endless blue sky, day after depressing day. Green paddocks transformed into squares of baking dust; dams became big clay bowls, their bottoms cracking like a jigsaw; young trees gave up and died, leaves shrivelling like burning plastic. And the crow presided over the whole unfolding disaster from its spot on the crooked fencepost.

One time I thought I could make it rain by shooting the crow with Dad's old shotgun. But the bird flew off before I even arrived, floating like a dark shadow at a safe distance above me as I discharged two ill-aimed shells into the indigo sky, and Dad, purple with rage, snatched the weapon from me and locked it away. The next day I had no gun, and the crow was back, eyeing me. Mocking me. .

It was a while before I noticed the creek dwindling. But after two following rainless years its banks were crisp and dingo-coloured, the once-vital stream a cheerless string of stagnant ponds, wriggling with mosquito larvae. I remember that's where I sat, bum in the dust, when I noticed Dad's shadow beside me. I looked at him, his eyes sad and distant, his sun-drenched forehead creased with burden. He just …stood there, silent. And the crow watched. "Dad…?" He steered his gaze toward me, and I knew what he'd come to tell me. "I've sold the farm mate," he said, and took a great, steeling breath. "Had to. Dint git much for it, but the 'countant reckons we're probly better off." He shifted his glazed eyes to the middle distance, focussing on nothing. "I'm sorry mate," he said, and trudged back to the house that was no longer ours.

I glared at the crow, and it mirrored me with its eyes of frozen yellow. My tears came then, running from my cheeks and into the thirsty earth. I don't know how long I sat there, but when I lifted my eyes again, a cold wind sprang up from the west, and all I could do was stare and tremble. The crow had gone.

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#18
Old 02-21-2007, 05:48 PM

Well yeah.

The letterbox appeared overnight, as if beamed there by some alien life form. That is certainly how it must have seemed to the daily work commuters, not there one evening when returning home from work and blatantly there, resplendent in the morning sunshine, the following day. Beamed there by an alien, they may well have thought, but it was no alien it was my dad.

Although not an alien, dad did have some alien qualities, not alien to planet Earth but definitely alien to the local morale. One such alien quality was his innate yearning to defy conformity so, consequently, upon purchasing our slice of rural Australia, no twenty-litre drum was going to suffice in the mundane task of housing the family mail. Dad did not perceive a letterbox to be merely a weatherproof hold, for mail you most probably did not want to receive, but instead as an icon of your estate, a mascot for your family. Hence, the Ugly Frog letterbox was spawned.

Weeks of dreaming, planning, constructing, sculpting and finally painting had culminated to summon into existence this seemingly alien, amphibian. It was a fat little frog in shape, but with hallucinogenic skin and psychodelic smile, it was not even Earth like.

I recall catching the school bus on the morning of its debut, standing next to the alien amphibian as it squatted on its thin pole and smugly smiled at the morning traffic. Thirty gaping school kids with their faces all pressed along one side of the bus's windows, the hiss of the bus's folding door and the hanging mouth of one agog bus driver.

The deluge of questions upon boarding had caused my face to glow like an electric heater, but by the time we arrived at school the glow had turned from humiliation to pride. The defiant appearance of the Ugly Frog had appealed to the rebel in their childish minds, and I was a celebrity for a day.

For the most part, the martian mailbox was accepted by the adult sector of the community as well. In fact it instantly became a key navigational tool used by nearby residents, "…not far past the Ugly Frog" or "…if you see the Ugly Frog, you've gone too far." would be given as infallible directions. Without actually acknowledging it the stiff backed community had accepted the colourful spectacle.

Sadly, however, it wasn't long before the fat frog, perched on its long thin pole, was subject to tall poppy syndrome, and it wasn't long after that, that one or more of the passer-bys took a gross dislike to the mocking smile.

We found our beloved family mascot one morning, with its ferro-cement head smashed in and its smug smile crushed close. I was devastated by the sight, but dad said nothing, just slowly shook his head as he went about prising apart its mouth and propping it open with a short stumpy stick.

The next day a sign appeared over the frog's head, again apparently beamed their by an alien. It read: "Sticks and stones may break my bones but you'll never make me croak" The sign remained for exactly one week before the intolerant vandals struck again, this time up-rooting the frog by it's thin pole and disabling it forever.

When we found it the following morning, lying twenty metres down the road, on its side, scratched and broken all over, I could still make out that smug smile and was glad to know that that had been its only crime. Dad is twenty years older now and has a twenty-litre drum as a letterbox, but in the back of the now redundant chook shed he still keeps the scratched and broken family mascot, where it grins eternally and still refuses to croak

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#19
Old 02-21-2007, 06:03 PM

Nice <3

When I was younger my imagination was one that wasn't grounded by physics or any real common sense. It was caught up in Peter Pan and the Loch Ness monster and I believed it… so did my two brothers: Brad my twin, and John who is two years older than me.

When I was seven I became fixated on birds, wondering what it would be like to fly like that, and decided to bypass primary, high school and university education and become an aeronautical engineer. I wanted to make an aeroplane (or a glider at least) to set my imagination free -but it couldn't be done without a team, so I enlisted my brothers. I knew them: we all wanted to fly like all kids who hadn't met reality.

We were excited, and set about our task. It would need careful planning. We got three planks of tongue and groove pine from the timber pile at the back of the shed, and cut one into a short length, another into a medium length, and another into a long length. We nailed the short piece at one end of the long piece, and the medium piece about a quarter from the other end. We stood back to admire our masterpiece. A two-dimensional shape of an airplane lay on the shed floor. We had done it!

My twin brother sat on it with glee: "Look guys I'm flying! I'm flying!" He looked like a rodeo cowboy whipping his horse - unaware it was dead. "Okay, let's fly this puppy," John said. So we dragged the two-metre length of wood up the tree next to the shed, and placed it in position to be pushed off the roof with somebody on it. "So who's going on it?" John said. We stared at each other. Then we took a long look down at the ground below. "You should go Scott, you came up with the idea." John said. I looked at the plane. My imagination had run away. It didn't look like the plane I'd imagined at all, just planks of wood laid on one another. "John. Mum always says you're the oldest so you should make a good example of yourself. So you should go first," I said. (This very excuse earned John a lot of scars over the years). "Yeah!" Brad said, confident in my argument, or maybe frightened to be singled out. John took another look at that plank of wood. He looked scared. I was sure he wasn't going to do it, and we would end up dumping it with the unfinished go cart and play swinging in circles on the clothes-line. "Alright" he said finally "but you have to push really hard, okay?" Brad and I nodded, and watched our brave brother man the position as pilot and prepare himself. I guess his courage was also due to the fact that there was the strong possibility he would experience flying over into the neighbour's backyard. "Ready?" we asked John. "Yep." "One, two, three… blastoff!" We pushed him off the roof and watched in horror as the plane instantly nose-dived and stabbed into the ground. Our brother landed on his feet for a moment before falling on his face- the plane then fell backward onto him. He got up and began hopping gingerly on one foot. "Are you alright John?" I called down to my brother. "I think I've jarred my foot," he yelled. We climbed back down the tree and made sure his foot wasn't broken. The aeroplane would have to be modified, but that was for another day. Brad and I had learned from our brother. We went inside, turned on the TV, and who should we see but Mickey Mouse doing exactly what we had endeavored to do with only the aid of a broom stick - we headed for the closet.

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#20
Old 02-21-2007, 07:23 PM

Once upon a time a fisherman stood on a beach casting his line into the sea without luck. He decided he would cast his line for one last try.

Imagine his joy when he felt a great weight on the end of his line and when he reeled it in it was the strangest fish he had ever seen. It had a long shiny tail, blonde hair and various other interesting bits.

"Struth, I've never seen one of these before. It's pretty big - must be well over the legal limit. Wonder if they're good to eat." Said the fisherman.

"Please throw me back into the foaming brine where my father rules." Said the fish.

"I don't know about that," said the fisherman. "You're a fair size. It might get me a photo taken with you down at Charlie's Bait Bar. Come to think of it he only does flathead and cod, nah - can't do that. I reckon I would look bloody silly holding you up by the tail."

"Please throw me into the foaming brine were my father rules," said the fish with the blonde hair and the very interesting bits.

"Can't take you home. The missus'd go off her brain if I walked in with you under my arm and sais, "Look what I caught" She'd probable accuse me of wasting money on the raffle in the pub only winning second prize in the fish tray."

"Please throw me back into the foaming brine where my father rules and I will grant you a wish." Said the fish with the blonde hair and the interesting bits.

"Now you're talking," said the fisherman. "A wish eh? Lemesee. What about Carlton winning a game - nah that's too much to ask. Yair I know, Gold Lotto - Yair I want first prize in Gold Lotto next Satday."

"Your wish is granted. Now lease throw me into the foaming …"

"Yair Yair I know" said the fisherman and he took the strange fish with the blonde hair and the interesting bits and threw him back into the foaming etc …

Saturday night came and the fisherman duly won Gold Lotto. Great was his joy. He waited eagerly for the dividend to be declared.

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#21
Old 02-21-2007, 07:44 PM

Tis Friday afternoon. A boy of fourteen summers is handed his pay packet. Quietly he says thanks, slipping the envelope into the back pocket of his blue jeans.

Picking up his brown leather bag in one smooth action, he heads out of the garage, firming his grip on the handles as there is extra weight today. He knows exactly what's inside: One shirt, another pair of jeans, plus a spare pair of socks.

Today, instead of walking south he turns north and slowly walks away from the only town he has ever known. After a short walk he stops at the edge of the highway. There is plenty of room here for a car or truck to pull off the road.

He asks himself - am I doing the right thing?

The sun has already disappeared behind the rim of the mountains. A cool breeze blows the boy's sun bleached hair, he instinctively pulls the collar of his jean jacket up around his ears. His eyes move over the trees on the fence line. Already the leaves have turned a mass of reds and orange in readiness for their fall to earth which will leave the trees bare once more.

At the sound of approaching cars he straightens up, extending his left arm, thumb skyward. All the cars pass by, the drivers don't even bother a sideway glance. He looks down at the bag at his feet, everything he owns, packed quietly in the dark the night before.

The sound of approaching traffic lifts his head. With almost pleading eyes he looks at the cars that pass. One of the cars is the new shape Holden EJ everyone's been talking about at work. He liked working at the garage; if things had been different he'd have stayed, at least till his boss found out his name was the only thing he could write.

Suddenly fear grabs him. He turns pale and can't breathe. Three cars approach, his eyes fix on the third, it's the same make as his stepfather's. Even the colour looks the same. But instead of his stepfather at the wheel there's an older man with grey hair. Drawing a deep breath, his feet can move again, colour returns to his face. His breathing steadies, almost to normal.

Thoughts of his stepfather invade his head, the one man he fears most in the world. What would he do if he turned up? The boy knew he would be defenseless once more. Moving his left hand down over the back of his leg, he trembles as he feels the welts on his leg through his jeans. It had been one week to the day since his stepfather had beat him with a thick leather strap, madness in his eyes. He knew it would be physically impossible for his body to withstand yet another beating on that scale again. Just walking to and from work had been a tortuous task for the first few days, with his good jeans on so no one could see.

More traffic, this time going in the opposite direction. He stands straight anyway. One of the passing drivers waves his hand, a friendly gesture. Momentarily his spirits lift, then once more he is alone at the edge of the black bitumen.

Time is running out. Soon it will be dark. If a lift doesn't come by night fall he will have to start walking. More cars, some have already turned on their lights as they hurry home.

He hears a truck long before it comes into sight. Already its running lights are on. Extending his arm out as far as possible, thumb up, fingers in his other hand crossed, his heart starts to race as he hears the air brakes go on, till the huge green Mack truck stops right beside him, the engine still running. A gravelly voice from the cab says "where you going mate?"

Settling into his seat, he watches the white posts flash by, each one taking away a little of his fear.

A new warmth grows in him. He feels safe.

Breathing deeply the boy sits a little straighter. Whatever comes, it's his life now.


I write way more than you >.>

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#22
Old 02-21-2007, 09:33 PM

Back again <3

The clean white sand of the beach stretches out forever. Warm salt water gently licks at the shore, leaving tiny shells and coral fragments in its wake. Far along the beach, a small dark shape is the only blemish on perfection.

Look closer.

The dark shape becomes two human bodies, limbs entwined, naked on the wet sand. They lie motionless as the waves creep closer to them. The woman's dark hair fans out across the glittering sand. Her slim hand, resting on the man's chest, holds an apple.

Look closer.

The apple gleams invitingly under the late afternoon sun. Red as bright blood. Smooth as young skin. It has only two bites taken from it, the flesh inside pure and white as the bleached summer sky. Now look at the two still figures. Both, you will notice, still have the juice of this perfect fruit shining upon their lips. And both have a small trickle of blood, the colour of apples, leaking from the corner of their mouths.

Watching them, he feels numb, unable to believe what he's done. But surely, it had been justified. Hadn't it? He had warned them. Only once, that was true, but once should always be enough. The fact that seeing them together on the beach had made him angry was irrelevant. They had sinned; they must be punished.

They aren't dead, though. Watching closely, you will see the man's chest rise ever so slightly, lifting the apple so the light hits it in a different way. The calm water still rises slowly. Now it caresses their knees. The sky darkens gradually, softening into tropical night.

The island had been perfect until they arrived. He wasn't sure how many years he'd lived there now.

Far back in his memory, clouded by time, he faintly remembered another life, one of crowded streets, smoke and pollution. Then a short time on a huge ship, noisy and hot, its dirty bulk defiling the ocean. But the ocean had got her revenge in the end. He had been the only survivor, drifting onto this island unconscious, floating from a piece of wood. He had only one thing left in his possession - a small Bible, waterlogged from its time in the sea. He had dried it carefully in the sun, page by page. Now he barely needed it - he knew each word by heart. Knew each commandment, each law. Knew the ones the couple had broken.

It hadn't been hard, to poison the apple. He'd known that she would take it, despite his warnings. Because that was how the story went.

Watch carefully now, as he comes to stand over them. His face is calm, his body language peaceful. Now, look into his eyes. But don't look too deeply, or for too long. You see? He is mad. By the standards of the wider world, in any case. Perhaps it is the long years alone which have caused this, with only the Bible to turn to for comfort and company. Perhaps the seeds of insanity were already planted in his mind before he was even born. Whatever the cause, his eyes glitter as he watches the waves begin to lap at their still faces.

He stands there for a long time, moving backwards as the water gets higher. As the ocean splashes over her face, the woman's eyes open in terror. But she finds she cannot move. She is paralysed. He watches her calmly.

'You sinned, and now, for your sins, you must pay,' he murmurs softly, as the water lifts the two bodies, their open eyes now glassy and still.

'Goodbye, Adam. Goodbye, Eve.'

The clean white sand of the beach stretches out forever.

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#23
Old 02-21-2007, 09:45 PM

Look who's here ...

The wooden crate of plump peaches stood proudly on the kitchen bench, a gift from Mary's celebrated orchard. "These precious babies are for Grandma and Grandpa, not youse kids", Mary warned as she drove down the lane in her rickety old farm ute. Grandma sighed as she gathered up the coffee cups and began rinsing them. "Now you both know Grandpa is still very ill and needs some quiet so I want you to take Tip to the beach for a nice long play". The hot water system kicked in as she turned on the tap. "Remember she loves to chase the seagulls but be careful she doesn't go onto the road. Still doesn't understand cars…" continued Grandma absentmindedly.

Since Grandpa had become sick no one had the time to take Tip, a stunning blue heeler, on her daily walk through the snowy white sand hills to the windy Indian Ocean. With the arrival of the extended family, Tip sensed her good luck and thumped her tail expectantly at the front door.

Finally the grandchildren emerged from their bedrooms wrapped in scarves and beanies. "Take care of your brother Samantha", ordered Grandma. "Afternoon tea will be ready when you come back". Although Grandma was preoccupied these days, she thankfully hadn't forgotten how hungry children could become after a visit to the ocean.

By the time they began on the return trip from the beach, the storm that had been gathering all morning began to blow in earnest. Tip marched along stiffly, the sudden chill in the air combining painfully with her aching paws. The children stopped to play on the monkey bars in the park but Tip, sensing something was wrong in her household, trotted obediently home.

The red blinking light outside the house whispered Tip's fears. She cowered under the peeling veranda as Grandma silently followed Grandpa's still shape into the ambulance, While old Mr Fanberry the back fence neighbour nervously searched for the children, Tip bounded back to the park and barked furiously into the wind for their return.

Grandpa's hospital room in the city was made cheery by the bright bunches of roses but his voice was still only a whisper and his eyes stared strangely into the distance. The children sat stiffly in the cold vinyl chairs and tried hard not to breathe in the hospital's strange smells. Grandma fussed over the neatness of bedclothes and rattled on to cover the quietness. "You'll have to hurry up and … um … get better dear so we can get back home and eat those juicy peaches Mary left us".

Grandpa grinned and shifted wearily in his bed, "Yeah. Good Old Mary. She always grew better peaches than any of us", he agreed. Grandpa loved any type of fruit and throughout the years had become very clever at choosing the best of the crop. He used to run a farm with sheep and a mini orchard. "Bet they taste like heaven those little beauties", he drooled. "We'll get back home love… hmmm… soon enough". Grandma shivered as he let his hand drop down the side of the bed, a usual signal for Tip to come and nuzzle in.

Grandpa was thrilled to see many of his friends who made special trips to visit him in the city hospital. Even friends he had lost contact with over the years suddenly reappeared. Gradually Grandpa grew tired with his treatment and began happily sleeping for long periods of time.

"It's about time we ate those peaches of Mary's", he whispered early one morning to the crisp night nurse who came back to check his drip. The night nurse passed on his strange comment to Grandma when she arrived at the start of visiting hours. Grandma appeared anxious then smiled. She pulled her chair close to Grandpa's bed, whispered in his ear, took his withered hand in her plump one and sat back to wait. After half an hour, she stroked Grandpa's peaceful face for the last time and silently made a vow.

With Tip happily back to her old tricks of chasing seagulls, Grandma thankfully sat down to rest on the jarrah bench overlooking the ocean. The walk proved to her how out of shape she had become over the last few months. When she awoke this morning she knew the time was right. A sudden burst of energy sent her bottling Mary's crate of legendary peaches and the house was now full of their sweet smell. The pantry would keep her in supply of the peaches all year round, a strangely comforting sign to her now that she was alone.

With Tip now at her side, she carefully drew the last precious peach from her coat pocket and bit into its juicy flesh. "Ah! Just like you said Grandpa. Heavenly peaches", she murmured as she looked towards the fading sunset.

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#24
Old 02-21-2007, 10:19 PM

ME ?


Walking through the park on my way to work, I pause to admire a bag lady feeding the pigeons. A few have perched on her arms, a few in her lap, and she chatters with them while scattering seed. One bird tells another, more birds join, until finally, there are too many birds. Overwhelmed by flapping, clawing, pecking, and scratching birds; the old lady becomes a blurred confusion of feathers and beaks and claws and beady black eyes.

I have just told Mum a truth that will change the rest of my life. "Mum, are you ok?" I ask. At the other end of the phone, I hear her lighter flick flick, a crackle of burning tobacco, a sharp inhalation, then a release of tension in a long, sighing exhale. "It's going to be ok. It's going to be ok. No matter what happens, we'll always love you," says Mum. "I know." "I have to go now, ok." "Go." "I'll pick you up tomorrow darling," click, then silence.

Lying on the couch, thumbing through a magazine, my ears prick to a familiar sound: the raspy exhaust note of Mum's car as it drives up my street. "Your Mum's here," says Pete, my flatmate, "she's out by her car, but she won't come in. Christ, she looked at me like I'm some kind of axe murderer." "Sorry," I reply while peering through the blinds; Mum is waiting by the car with a face like thunder. My stomach starts churning, my heart starts racing, and I want to run away, out the back door to anywhere but here. We drive to Bunbury in silence, it has been raining hard for a week; we rush by wet paddocks, full creeks, and fat cows. I can't get comfortable, I wriggle and fidget; with the seat, the radio, the air-conditioning, "Would-you-just-sit-still," demands Mum through clenched teeth. We are home now, Mum is on the opposite end of the couch from me, smoothing the black couch fabric with her left hand, cigarette in her right, her face lost in a layer of smoke. "When did you know? You know… that you were gay?" Mum asks. "I don't know. I thought you knew." "I suspected, but, then there was that girl…" "Mary?" "Yes." Sounds of Dad cooking come from the kitchen: pots rattle, knives chop, and pans sizzle - the everyday noise comforts the tense house. "Did you tell Dad?" I ask. "Yes." "And?"

"You have no idea how difficult this is for him, for someone of his generation." "And it's not difficult for me?" "Well, that's your choice." "No. The only choice I had, was to live the rest of my life a lie, or to tell the truth." The smells of pancetta and garlic frying mix with the kitchen clatter; Dad is cooking my favourite - Spaghetti Carbonara. A quiet man, Dad is most comfortable in the kitchen, he talks to us through his love of food. Nothing more is said, Mum and I set the table together, TV off, music on. Dad brings us our meals. He passes mine to me, this steaming, heaped bowl says for him: you are my only son, and right now I am mourning for the life you will not lead, the grandchildren I will probably never have, but, I love you and nothing you do will ever take that away. He avoids my eye but halfway through dinner I look at him, he has stopped eating, and a tear slips down the angles of his face, dropping into the last of his pasta. He says nothing, leans over and squeezes my hand.

As quickly as they came, the pigeons are gone, as if by some silent agreement they take to the air as one, flying up into the sky through the arching fig trees. Together, the old lady and me, we watch them fly, she catches my eye, and we both laugh.

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#25
Old 02-21-2007, 10:27 PM

Yes joo >.>

The old terrier-cross with the greying muzzle looked up adoringly.

"Were going to move on again, old friend. They think that we're 'vulnerable'."

His master explained that he'd heard the authorities would soon be around trying to persuade him to accept treatment, accommodation and the like. He may have sensed, too, that there was something else about to happen which could change his life forever, and instinctively he knew he couldn't survive that.

Andy's voice was deep and cultured and it was said that he once had a budding law career. Some also said there was a daughter ... so long ago ... - another lifetime.

"They don't understand that the sky is our roof and that walls make us unhappy."

Nugget wiggled his stub of a tail in wholehearted agreement, but he was sad to be leaving Cotton Tree Park, it was their favourite place.

If there has not already been scientific study about how pets and their owners often grow to look alike, there should be. The resemblance between Andy and Nugget was uncanny: both were small, lean and brown; greying ginger beards; liquid brown eyes; white crinkles and tracks in a tanned face; white markings on fuzzy ginger fur; smiles which would have been dazzling with more teeth.

Andy carried an air of dignity. Not an easy thing to do if you cycled around on an ancient push-bike festooned with plastic bags full of your worldly possessions; carry basket at the front containing Nugget in a harness; another at the back for swag; bike helmet decorated with a single feather; thread-bare shorts and T-shirt, often worn with a tie (for more formal occasions); vintage sandals and bright blue football socks, if footwear was required.

Andy's constant dialogue was comforting and familiar: as much a part of the dog's life as the sound of the sea. Nugget didn't mind that their conversations often included folk that only Andy could see and hear. Sometimes it was like a party going on in their BBQ shelter, and passers-by often looked surprised to discover Andy and Nugget were the only ones there.

At other times, gentle cronies (flesh and blood ones) did join them: to share what they had, and shoot through the breeze. If those BBQ shelters could talk, what tales they could tell, for these were individuals who led marginal and eccentric lives.

Cotton Tree is a unique little community. The backdrop of Maroochy river mouth, park, beach, and pool promotes a relaxed atmosphere and a friendly, tolerant attitude amongst the eclectic population.

This evening was a corker: balmy and torpid, a sweet breeze now and then bringing cool, salty relief: people and traffic noises muffled by the hectic shush and boom of the ocean nearby, and the lapping of the river changing tides. The deepening navy sky wrapped itself, like a diamond studded velvet cloak, around the remaining fisherman and the few straggling families, packing up their evening picnics. Their kids were overtired and whinging after a day from which family memories are made, so no one noticed a small brown man and his small brown dog riding off into the gathering night.

Next morning when the Government Mental Health car pulled up not far from Andy and Nugget's BBQ shelter, all that was left were a few tufts of wiry ginger fur, and a feather. The Community worker knew she was obliged to come back, and would make half-hearted enquires in the next few days, but her smile was triumphant on behalf of Andy who had once again escaped the System's clutches.

Another visitor dropped by later that day, too: slight young woman with ginger hair and liquid brown eyes. Andy's daughter viewed the empty shelter pragmatically.

"Next time we might both be ready," she whispered, trying to ignore the familiar ache off loss, which was pulling at her heart.

 


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