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#26
Old 02-22-2007, 07:04 PM

Hi. My name is...Well, I don't really have a name. That is, until May 1. See, my mom abandoned me and my two brothers and sisters when we were only three weeks old. What happened was, when my mom left us on the top of a rock wall in Livingston, we were small and did not know much so we laid there cuddled together.

Two nights passed, and we were cold and hungry. Surprisingly, mom did not come back yet.

In the morning it was warm and sunny. Me and my two brothers and sisters woke up and still mom was not back.

We began to walk around and around. We were not really watching where we were going. At once, all five of us began tumbling down the rock wall. "BANG!" We hit the bottom and tried to get up but couldn't.

I noticed that were was something wrong with my leg and I couldn't see too well with my eyes. As for the others, they died.

And as for me, I was near death.

Three days passed and there was a big storm almost as fierce as a hurricane. There I lay, helplessly hoping I had a chance. It was impossible for me to make it. And yet, I made it.

The very next day, the Petrullo family was walking to the bank. They were walking near the rock wall! They were right next to where I was!

I wondered if they were nice enough and kind enough to help me. "MEOW, MEOW," I cried. Someone bent down to where I lay. They picked me up. I began to worry. I did not know what they were going to do to me.

Someone picked up the phone and began talking.

The next thing I knew, I was sitting on a cold seat with all these people touching me.

Soon someone wearing a mask injected me with something that made me fall asleep for a long time.

When I woke up I felt like jumping, I felt like dancing!

I don't know what it was but I felt great! I guess that they did care about me! They named me Stormy.

Soon I was growing up.

I had lived a great life.

THE END

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#27
Old 02-22-2007, 07:09 PM

Back again eh?
One more Ho Down!

Here -



My Story starts when I was a young girl. I was only 8 when my mother died. The Doctors said she died of natural causes. But I don't believe them. The week before she died weird things started to happen.
On Monday everything changed. My mother started to get paranoid. She wouldn't let me walk to the bus alone. She kept peering over her shoulder. I knew something had changed. She had never been like this before.
On Tuesday she installed new fire alarms and a security system. It was like she was worried that someone was watching, waiting for the right moment to strike.
By Wednesday mum wouldn't even leave the house. She was really starting to worry me now. What should I do? The question kept running through my mind. When I got home my mum was acting really weird. The house was a mess. Mum had chucked all the contents of the kitchen cupboard on the ground. The table had been turned over. This really scared me. It was like she was looking for something.
On Thursday When I woke up, she was almost back to normal. She had fixed the house and made some breakfast. She walked me to the bus stop. She was very jumpy though. Friday was just the same.
On Saturday she asked me what I would like to have. She took me shopping and brought me everything I could ever dream of. My mother would never do this. It was strange. I knew I had to talk to her. I asked her why she was doing all this. She replied, "Because I love you dear."
On Sunday as I went to netball training, mum seemed tense. She said good-bye. She didn't come and pick me up as she usually does. I had to walk home. I was getting worried again. The house was silent. I opened the door and went inside. I went up the stairs, down the hall and turned into her bedroom. She wasn't there. I searched every room in the house except one. I knew she must be in there. I opened the door. Mum was lying on the floor. I checked for a pulse. She was dead. There was a message on the mirror. The message had been burned into the mirror. It read, the devil works in mysterious ways my dear. I love you so much. Love from mum. I rang the ambulance. I couldn't stand it any longer I sat in a corner and wept.

I have been searching for answers for 82 years and it is only now that I have found them. Now, I understand. My mother had been possessed. Possessed by something who's power is unknown to the human race. Possessed by the Devil. The reason I understand this now is because, I too have been possessed

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#28
Old 02-22-2007, 07:17 PM



I gaze at the train station while passengers are loaded and unloaded into its seats. The train still looks the same; gray, scratched graffiti on the windows, yellow and orange seats. I begin to head up Main Street and find myself trying to not act suspicious. Even though I have nothing to hide, the cops in the 123 Precinct might think I'm a troublemaker. I walk briskly and find myself at a place where my weekends and summer vacations were spent all the time; #1 Chinese Restaurant. This was our gathering place and our hang out spot. Next door to the restaurant was a bank. We would sit on its stoop when we didn't want our clothes to smell like Chinese food or until the cops from the 123 would chase us for loitering.

I continue up Main Street and can't help but see what is happening at the pizzeria, Ciao Bella. There is always something going on there. People are blasting music from their Mercedes and Cadillac’s, yelling at each other in their heavy accents, and I can't help but chuckle at this. The locals are inside Yesterdays having a beer and a good time. The post office has long since closed. A city bus comes roaring by me. Its smoke fills my lungs with its chemicals of burnt rubber and gasoline. Deep down, I find this smell comforting. I reach the top of Main Street where it meets Amboy Road. A set of traffic lights turn green and is immediately followed by car horns, yelling, and cursing. This is an environment where only the strong survive and the weak are driven off the road. Some people might hate the smell, the noise, and maybe even the people on Main Street, but this is my home, and I can't see myself being raised anywhere else.

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#29
Old 02-22-2007, 07:24 PM

No talky?


Anyway,

There was no one in sight; darkness had set in like a blanket, engulfing
the streets. The rain was heavy; shimmering droplets poured from the
skies like crystals. Just the sound of crisp footsteps on the concrete
disturbed the silence. Huge tower blocks loomed overhead, they reached
towards the heavens with no visible end; their blocked out windows stared,
like eyes at anyone who dared venture below. They lurked at every possible
angle, harbouring the enemy behind them. Every step, every turn, every
corner threatened death, there was no escape. Then suddenly the sound
from behind, the boom of a loaded shotgun, up was the only way, up and
up and up. Up, the unforgiving stairs that creaked and gave under weight.
Up, into the open air above, the sprinkle of on looking stars. The edge of
the building screamed and tormented like the sharp blade of a knife until
there was no way but down. Down away from the defeat of a bullet, down
to the safety of…

‘Game over, thank you for playing.’

‘Damn it!’ Zeena pulled the glasses off and stepped out from the
dark rectangle into the light. Squinting, she vaguely made out an
image in front of her. She rubbed her eyes.

‘Zeena! Do you realize what time it is?! You should have logged
onto school almost… um … 30 minutes ago!’ Zeena’s eyes slowly
adjusted and the large mass began to form into her mother. The angry,
flushed face contrasted to the bright, light coloured walls of the large,
minimal room. The low, humming buzz from the many computer
screens droned constantly on. Only the curves of her mother’s body
disturbed the ridgedness of the surroundings.

Zeena walked over to a small box protruding from the wall. On it was
a speaker and a red button. She pressed down on the button and moved
towards the speaker, ‘shut down.’

‘Shutting down. Goodbye, see you next time.’ The black, fuzzy rectangle
was consumed by the white wall with a hiss. When Zeena turned, her
mother had disappeared. Her eyes were drawn to the social box, alight
with a soft, mauve glow. She guessed she had logged on to the café with
some friends; this was where her mother spent most days.

Alone, Zeena closed her eyes. She moved to the centre of the room and
began to spin around on her toes. She span faster and faster and when she
re-opened her eyes, all she could see was a multi-coloured whir, a state of
confusion that represented her own mind. Day after day, enclosed in this
room, the closure of a game being the only form of an end. Was this life?
Was this the real world? Cyber relationships, virtual meetings: Superficial,
convenient and safe. This was all she had ever known. There was no physical
‘outside’; there were only the glowing boxes of life. They took you outside,
you could go anywhere you wanted, and you could meet whomever you
wanted. This was all anyone needed.

Zeena ran, she ran fast, she ran anywhere to escape. She didn’t stop at the
wall, didn’t stop at the end of ‘virtual’ world, she ran through and out until
she landed with a heap on the ground. Zeena’s joints thudded down with
excruciating pain, a pain she had never felt before. The flesh against her
clothes felt warm and wet with blood from the jagged stones that had torn
and dug through her delicate skin. She heaved her body up, wincing as she
put weight on the fresh wounds. Her gritty hands ground at her eyes as she
rubbed them; they flickered and watered in response. Finally her vision
became clearer, she was somewhere else, somewhere.

Zeena’s breath halted as she gasped, where was this place? Her long, dark
hair swept over her face as the wind blew it; swarms of dust licked at her feet.
The mountaintop sat above, looking down on the barren land, volcanic rock
and dirt stretched for miles; these seas of brown separated only by the vivid
blue sky carrying birds that whirled and soared over the expanse. Corpses
lay in every direction, rotting flesh and brittle bones. Was this the old world?
Was this what was left behind? Zeena let out a cry that echoed far beyond and
caused the birds to squawk and flap widely and small fragments of rock to topple
down the mountainside. Her body shook furiously and real tears bubbled from
her face. Yet this could not be real, reality was not here, just another game,
another escape. With this, she stepped to the edge and looked dizzily down
the great height towards the end, towards ‘game over’ until she had jumped,
jumped back to safety, jumped back to ‘reality’ but ‘game over’ never came.

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#30
Old 02-22-2007, 07:40 PM

Nope!


"I love you," He said pulling me close to him, and banging my knees off of the table he was sitting on.
He didn’t apologize, just kissed me quickly on the mouth, taking my breath away. There was a pain in my knee, but I didn’t mind, this was the best I had felt in my entire life. His kisses were always perfect; I don’t think that he was amazing at kissing, just that we were amazing together. There was something about the way he kissed me, and the way he loved me, that I could never let go.
"I should go home now," I said, disappointed that the time had passed so quickly.
"Alright, later" he said, obviously disappointed that I was leaving, but trying hard not to show it. I turned and started the two blocks towards my house, saddened that he hadn’t offered to walk me home, but happy that I had spent time with him. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked away, and then I heard his feet move, and him walking behind me in the grass. I stopped and waited for him to catch up.
"I almost forgot to walk you home." He said taking my hand. "But see I’m always thinking of you."
I smiled, because he was simply wonderful, everything that I had ever wanted was in him. We walked the two blocks to my house without saying very much, we were both lost in our own thoughts. "I love you," I said to him, as he walked away.
"I love you back." He said, and kissed me one last time.

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#31
Old 02-22-2007, 10:11 PM

Why?>

Running...faster...faster!
The branches beat against me as I dashed through the dark grove. The sharp twigs clawed at me. That creature...eyes...glinting behind me. No! Must not let him catch me! I tripped on a root.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I screamed, popping out of my bed.
I was shaking. Cold sweat lined against my neck. My breath was short, gasping. Tears of fright found its
way down my face. Looked almost as though liquid metals. Gray, dull.
"What's going on?" My friend muttered drowsily next door.
Taking calming breath, I turned on the lights. "Nothing...sorry about that."
"You'd better be..." She grumbled, falling silent.
"Get a grip girl." I pounded my head, talking aloud. "It's a nightmare. Just a nightmare."
But it was so real. I could smell the air. That damp and musty air. Nothing like the stuff that you get in the city.
I couldn't go back to sleep. Barefooted, I stood up, glancing at myself in the mirror. I could swear that my heart stopped. My throat went dry. I raised a trembling hand to my cheek, making sure that it was still me in the mirror.
A thin, long scratch stretched across my face. I stepped away from the mirror, falling back onto the bed. No…it could've been anything. I might've scratched myself while I was sleeping.
But that was impossible. Being a concert pianist, I'd always kept my nails short and trimmed. But how then...?
There was a sudden scream that pierced through the silence of the night, making my blood run cold once again.
Down the hallway, doors slammed as the entire dormitory woke up to the blood-curling scream.
"Lydia Peterson was murdered last night at the West dormitory of our local university. It seem a case of burglary, however, the victim's room was trashed with garbage, so the case may possibly be a personal revenge. Lydia, described by her classmates as a brilliant student-"
I turned off the radio, shivering. I crumbled up yet another piece of wet tissue and tossed it into my trash bin, which was over-flowing with them.
"You all right?" The policewoman asked gently. I nodded. "You're Lydia's best friend, aren't you Layv?"
Hiccupping, I nodded again; thinking how stupid a question it was, since it was me that they were interrogating.
"Do you know if anyone held any grudge against her?"
"N-no." I sniffed. "Actually...she just dumped an o-old boyfriend of hers."
She glanced at her partner, who was scribbling fiercely in his notebook. "And his name?"
"Jake White." I muttered. My eyes felt swollen. I must've look like a mess. "I don't get why he would want to do that to her though...no one..."
"I know, I know." She petted my hand soothingly. Turning to her partner she added. "Mike, do a check-up on this Jake White."
"Don't need to." He slapped his notebook shut with a sigh. "Ex-convict. Have quite a record."
"W-what?" I stared at him. "Lydia's boyfriend?"
"Yeah." He said grimly. "All we need is a proof that that hair we got is his, then it's bye-bye to him."
I curled up my fingers in anger. Gritting my teeth, I glared at the policewoman. "How can he do something like that to her? She was the only person in the world that cared about him! I mean, if it wasn't for me-"
"What?" Their attention was caught.
"I told her to break-up with him." I admitted. "He was cheating on her."
"All right." She grimaced. "Lock your doors tonight. Make sure that the windows are also lock. And be careful." With that, they left, promising to tell me if anything else comes up.

No! Have to run...faster! I gasped, hearing padded foot behind me. I was thrown down into the rich earth. Quickly, I rolled away from my attacker, clutching my shoulder. Something was warm against my fingers...
My eyes flew open. I turned on the light. "The dream again..." I went over to the mirror and tugged down a shoulder of my shirt.
The gap was painful the see, although it didn't feel like anything. It wasn't bleeding.
"Must've happen at the gym." I faintly recalled bumping hard into something there.
The phone rang. I picked it up thoughtfully; it was seven in the morning. Can't be good. "Layv speaking."
"This is Officer Clifford. The lab test came back. I just thought that it's better for you to know this before hearing it from someone else." She paused. "It is Jake White. Now listen to me carefully. Go and stay with someone else for now, at least until we are sure that White is no longer in this city or is arrested, all right?"
"Yeah...sure...thanks." I hung up the phone. I turned, watching myself in the mirror. When the light catches my eyes in one way... "Might as well as get up now." I shrugged it off. I felt different though...there was something different...I'm usually a klutz; unless I'm performing...but now...

I was falling in and out of sleep when the window clicked. Dimly, I saw a figure coming in. In his hand a cold weapon.
He chuckled, standing next to my bed. "Layv...wake up Sleeping Beauty..."
I smiled up at him, bitterly, "I am awake," and reached up. His eyes widened in shock. I could see him clearly. Revenge...
In the mirror I saw my teeth, my canine teeth, pointed and crisp white.

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#32
Old 02-23-2007, 05:19 PM

Here's a story which has a morale put in it.



Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour a day to drain the fluids from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back.

The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation. And every afternoon when the man in the bed next to the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.

The man in the other bed would live for those one-hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the outside world. The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake, the man had said. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Lovers walked arm in arm amid flowers of every color of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape, and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance. As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.

One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man could not hear the band, he could see it in his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words. Unexpectedly, an alien thought entered his head: Why should hehave all the pleasure of seeing everything while I never get to see anything? It didn't seem fair. As the thought fermented, the man felt ashamed at first. But as the days passed and he missed seeing more sights, his envy eroded into resentment and soon turned him sour. He began to brood and found himself unable to sleep. He should be by that window - and that thought now controlled his life.

Late one night, as he lay staring at the ceiling, the man by the window began to cough. He was choking on the fluid in his lungs. The other man watched in the dimly lit room as the struggling man by the window groped for the button to call for help. Listening from across the room, he never moved, never pushed his own button which would have brought the nurse running. In less than five minutes, the coughing and choking stopped, along with the sound of breathing. Now, there was only silence--deathly silence.

The following morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths. When she found the lifeless body of the man by the window, she was saddened and called the hospital attendant to take it away--no words, no fuss. As soon as it seemed appropriate, the man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.

Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it all himself. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed. It faced a blank wall.

Moral of the story:

The pursuit of happiness is a matter of choice...it is a positive attitude we consciously choose to express. It is not a gift that gets delivered to our doorstep each morning, nor does it come through the window. And I am certain that our circumstances are just a small part of what makes us joyful. If we wait for them to get just right, we will never find lasting joy.

The pursuit of happiness is an inward journey. Our minds are like programs, awaiting the code that will determine behaviors; like bank vaults awaiting our deposits. If we regularly deposit positive, encouraging, and uplifting thoughts, if we continue to bite our lips just before we begin to grumble and complain, if we shoot down that seemingly harmless negative thought as it germinates, we will find that there is much to rejoice about.

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#33
Old 02-23-2007, 05:23 PM

Yay!
Hiya, how are you?
I was getting bored >>

My story pawns yours..


In 1883, a creative engineer named John Roebling was inspired by an idea to build a spectacular bridge connecting New York with the Long Island. However bridge building experts throughout the world thought that this was an impossible feat and told Roebling to forget the idea. It just could not be done. It was not practical. It had never been done before.

Roebling could not ignore the vision he had in his mind of this bridge. He thought about it all the time and he knew deep in his heart that it could be done. He just had to share the dream with someone else. After much discussion and persuasion he managed to convince his son Washington, an up and coming engineer, that the bridge in fact could be built.

Working together for the first time, the father and son developed concepts of how it could be accomplished and how the obstacles could be overcome. With great excitement and inspiration, and the headiness of a wild challenge before them, they hired their crew and began to build their dream bridge.

The project started well, but when it was only a few months underway a tragic accident on the site took the life of John Roebling. Washington was injured and left with a certain amount of brain damage, which resulted in him not being able to walk or talk or even move.


"We told them so."
"Crazy men and their crazy dreams."
"It`s foolish to chase wild visions."

Everyone had a negative comment to make and felt that the project should be scrapped since the Roeblings were the only ones who knew how the bridge could be built. In spite of his handicap Washington was never discouraged and still had a burning desire to complete the bridge and his mind was still as sharp as ever.

He tried to inspire and pass on his enthusiasm to some of his friends, but they were too daunted by the task. As he lay on his bed in his hospital room, with the sunlight streaming through the windows, a gentle breeze blew the flimsy white curtains apart and he was able to see the sky and the tops of the trees outside for just a moment.

It seemed that there was a message for him not to give up. Suddenly an idea hit him. All he could do was move one finger and he decided to make the best use of it. By moving this, he slowly developed a code of communication with his wife.

He touched his wife's arm with that finger, indicating to her that he wanted her to call the engineers again. Then he used the same method of tapping her arm to tell the engineers what to do. It seemed foolish but the project was under way again.

For 13 years Washington tapped out his instructions with his finger on his wife's arm, until the bridge was finally completed. Today the spectacular Brooklyn Bridge stands in all its glory as a tribute to the triumph of one man's indomitable spirit and his determination not to be defeated by circumstances. It is also a tribute to the engineers and their team work, and to their faith in a man who was considered mad by half the world. It stands too as a tangible monument to the love and devotion of his wife who for 13 long years patiently decoded the messages of her husband and told the engineers what to do.

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#34
Old 02-23-2007, 05:31 PM

Im good, you?



A young man was getting ready to graduate college. For
many months he had admired a beautiful sports car in a dealer's
showroom, and knowing his father could well afford it, he told
him that was all he wanted.

As Graduation Day approached, the young man awaited
signs that his father had purchased the car. Finally, on the
morning of his graduation his father called him into his private
study. His father told him how proud he was to have such a fine
son, and told him how much he loved him. He handed his son
a beautiful wrapped gift box.

Curious, but somewhat disappointed the young man
opened the box and found a lovely, leather-bound Bible. Angrily,
he raised his voice at his father and said, "With all your money you
give me a Bible?" and stormed out of the house, leaving the holy
book.

Many years passed and the young man was very successful in
business.
He had a beautiful home and wonderful family, but realized his
father was very old, and thought perhaps he should go to him. He
had not seen him since that graduation day. Before he could make
arrangements, he received a telegram telling him his father had
passed away, and willed all of his possessions to his son. He
needed to come home immediately and take care things.
When he arrived at his father's house, sudden sadness and
regret filled his heart.

He began to search his father's important papers and
saw the still new Bible, just as he had left it years ago. With
tears, he opened the Bible and began to turn the pages. As he
read those words, a car key dropped from an envelope
taped behind the Bible.
It had a tag with the dealer's name, the same dealer who had the
sports car he had desired. On the tag was the date of his graduation,
and the words...PAID IN FULL.

How many times do we miss God's blessings because they are not
packaged as we expected?

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#35
Old 02-23-2007, 05:34 PM

Fine too...
Was getting bored though, the typing made my hands hurt, a lot.




I was parked in front of the mall wiping off my car. I had just come
from the car wash and was waiting for my wife to get out of work.
Coming my way from across the parking lot was what society would
consider a bum.
From the looks of him, he had no car, no home, no clean clothes, and no
money. There are times when you feel generous but there are other times
that you just don't want to be bothered. This was one of those "don't
want to be bothered times."
"I hope he doesn't ask me for any money," I thought.
He didn't.
He came and sat on the curb in front of the bus stop but he didn't look
like he could have enough money to even ride the bus.
After a few minutes he spoke.
"That's a very pretty car," he said.
He was ragged but he had an air of dignity around him. His scraggly
blond beard keep more than his face warm.
I said, "thanks," and continued wiping off my car.


He sat there quietly as I worked. The expected plea for money never
came.
As the silence between us widened something inside said, "ask him if
he needs any help." I was sure that he would say "yes" but I held true
to the inner voice.
"Do you need any help?" I asked.
He answered in three simple but profound words that I shall never forget.
We often look for wisdom in great men and women. We expect it from
those of higher learning and accomplishments.

I expected nothing but an
outstretched grimy hand. He spoke the three words that shook me.
"Don't we all?" he said.

I was feeling high and mighty, successful and important, above a bum
in the street, until those three words hit me like a twelve gauge
shotgun.
Don't we all?
I needed help. Maybe not for bus fare or a place to sleep, but I
needed help. I reached in my wallet and gave him not only enough for bus
fare, but enough to get a warm meal and shelter for the day. Those
three little words still ring true. No matter how much you have, no matter
how much you have accomplished, you need help too. No matter how little you
have, no matter how loaded you are with problems, even without money or
a place to sleep, you can give help.

Even if it's just a compliment, you can give that.
You never know when you may see someone that appears to have it all.
They are waiting on you to give them what they don't have. A different
perspective on life, a glimpse at something beautiful, a respite from
daily chaos, that only you through a torn world can see.
Maybe the man was just a homeless stranger wandering the streets. Maybe
he was more than that.

Maybe he was sent by a power that is great and
wise, to minister to a soul too comfortable in themselves.

Maybe God looked down, called an Angel, dressed him like a bum, then said, "go minister to that man cleaning the car, that man needs help."
Don't we all?



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#36
Old 02-23-2007, 06:05 PM

XD, same here, ive been typing a lot



Aliath felt the wind blowing through his white bear. The cold air made an effect on him even though he was a High-Elf. He was the last person existing who had been around since more than thousand years - almost the beginning of time. He has done everything that could be imagined, seen man performing all kinds of action but yet the basic riddle of man he could not comprehend - why was man fighting each other? Why?

Aliath felt ashamed to not know the answer. Who else would know, if not him? And this had been the motivation for his travel. He will carry out his ultimate ritual - his life achievement. Then he will get his answers.

He had travelled for 3 months and the old magician had now almost reached the ancient ruins of Ghylopia. There he stood with the view over the valley and the green field. On the hill before the horizon laid the ruins of what had been the most powerful temple of the High-Elfs, Ghylopia. He vaguely remembered when the temple was new almost 1,000 years ago.

Still, a millennia later, Aliath felt the presence of the magical field over the area. Not a single person had been here since hundreds of years. Not after the great battle of Klepony - Aliath remembered…

Now it was quiet. Only the sound of the wind remained.

Aliath continued walking with his wooden staff that had been with him as far as he could remember.

A couple of hours passed and Aliath had arrived to the top of the hill. All that was left of the ruins of Ghylopia were a few fallen big stones. Aliath took out a flat stone he had with him and placed it on the ground. On it was inscribed:

A MAN WITH THE NAME ALIATH
LEAVES THIS PLACE ON THIS DAY,
YEAR 1632 AND ONE DAY IN A FAR
DISTANT FUTURE HE WILL RETURN.

It had been a burden to carry it all the way but he considered it necessary. Aliath took up his ancient book which was written in the forgotten elf language, he was one of the last people able to understand it. Aliath formed the Pentagram on the stone floor under him with the blood from a dragon he had obtained for this purpose 134 years earler.

He begun to read out loud the first lines of a ritual which had never before been performed. Today was the day. He would find his answers. He was not afraid of dying.

The wind grew stronger and the clouds darkened over the hill.

Aliath continued to recite line after line and it began to suck the life out of him. Dark clouds covered the sun and the hill was covered in darkness. Thunders sounded and some nearby trees caught on fire.

Aliath almost could not stand it anymore, due to his weakness, but it didn’t prevent him from continuing the ritual.

Fire began to spread onto the hill.

The strong wind developed into a storm which threw out the leaves from the trees.

Aliath read out the last line and then he screamed out the forbidden ancient magical word while he smashed his magic stick in the Pentagram so that it broke.

The cacophony suddenly diminished and a blinding light generated from the pentagram, so strong so that Aliath fell. The burst of light went up in the sky and all the black clouds disappeared. The light took a blue form and then disappeared with a strange sound. All was dark.

Aliath opened his eyes. In front of him was a portal in lighting blue frames and an eternal blackness inside. Aliath felt ready to confront the gods and stepped inside.

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#37
Old 02-23-2007, 06:28 PM

My hands hurt now, badly.



In a far distant future, Earth was inhabited by robots and the quantity of the human race was less than thousand. There were three main classes of robots - Construction, Transport and Repair robots. This is a story of a special repair robot. He was small, new, yellow … and curious.

“I want this car operational in the next half an hour” said the blue transport robot called T-59 to the small yellow repair robot, R-62. “As per your request” replied R-62 while welding together two metal plates.

In this big city there were a lot of vehicle traffic and R-62 used to look a bit on the cars that was passing by him.

Suddenly a special fancy car came being escorted by 4 special blue robots on motorbikes.

R-62 looked at it and asked with a strong interest and asked T-59: “What is that?”

The car stopped in a special way and the four blue robots gathered to the opening of the vehicle.

“This is not a Construction Robot, not a Transport Robot, not a Repair Robot, neither a droid or android, … it is a HUMAN.” Answered the transport robot to the small yellow robot.

“Wow, a HUMAN! I have never seen one.” Said R-62.

The human stepped out of the vehicle surrounded by the four escort robots looking a bit small in comparison to the other robots.

“What a wimp!” said R-62 after gotten his first impression.

“Don’t underestimate the humans, they are superior to us robots. They are able to perform any action it wants to. Even those which robots cannot perform such as giving orders to robots, destroying them or constructing new ones. It is even able to harm another human being or organizing mass destruction, which they have been doing a lot in the history. Also it does not even have to follow orders if it does not want to,” said the Transport robot quietly to the yellow robot beside him.

“What a dangerous thing! I can only repair cars.” Said R-62.

“If you would try to harm him or give order to him your circuits would blow up” said T-59.

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#38
Old 02-23-2007, 07:57 PM

XD, back from gaia...


The new pilot of the Intergalactic Rebel Troop was desperate to find his leader. They had lost each other as he had made a mistake on the strategic defence operation Alpha 17 by having gone to wrong location. He had misunderstood the mission orders which had brought him in confusion - something he realized when it was far too late.

Mr. Peresterdono Tracynibolo Siffikipoloposofolousnis - his name was too complex (born in sector 14) so his friends used to call him Mr. PTS - was very aware of the fact that per senior policy of the Rebel Troop, he had to find the leader and pick him up even though the search had now been ongoing for more than 2 eons.

He was a new recruit into the Rebel Troop and additionally very uncertain to his character. “It was too risky to take any decisions by himself - he had to find his leader” he had thought while doing his search.

– 2 –

John loved to be a farmer and to live alone isolated from the rest of the world. He lived far out from any city, the next neighbouring house were several kilometres away. He had his own grounds, cows, and little wooden house - for him it was perfect. He had made himself strong as a result of the heavy daily work. He personally really hated the city-people. “They cannot work and the only thing they do is to move papers”, “We farmers are the real people” were a few of the solid fixed ideas in the mind of the farmer John.

This sunny day John was on the way with one of his dogs back to his little cottage. He entered in the cottage which only consisted of one room, slapped the dog when it tried to pee on the floor and cut off a piece from the smoked ham which was hanging on the door. John had been used to the more than 20 flies that were eating on that ham but he did not care so much, as for him it was normal.

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#39
Old 02-23-2007, 08:22 PM

Im on there and here..



The alarm rang. Bill woke up, tired. He sometimes hated this clock. It was Monday and yesterday he had been up quite late. He went up from bed and turned the alarm off. His flat was relatively small but enough for his needs. After having dressed and eaten his eggs and musli he went out on the street.

He was in a rush as usual. He was jogging through the crowd in center of the New York city, he had to catch the bus. He almost run over an old lady crossing his way and he apologized. The bus was then two minutes late and he stepped on. His boss would not be pleased of having him late again. He might loose his job. As an editor on Time he was pretty well paid.

While on the bus he took up his additional sandwich which he had kept in the pocket of his jacket and ate it. He estimated the time and he would just make it.

The bus stopped and Bill took off half running. It was only a couple of 100 meters to the Time production building. He entered the port code and went in, went up the stairs and entered in.

The nice secretary was sitting on her desk and said “Hi, Bill”. Bill responded and went through the corridor to his office. He had several articles to edit and he was behind deadline.

Always this stress, Bill thought, while he opened up the new e-mails. He had received another five jobs to edit and all for this week.

It was a busy morning and would be an even busier afternoon. He had been eating lunch at the cafeteria on the corner of the same street together with Julia, the nice secretary, and she had asked him, “what about eating on the ‘Jack and Jones’ at five a clock”?

Bill was now considering it, Julia was nice but he was not sure if she was in his taste. He had told her that he would think it over.

He found himself again daydreaming. Ok, now it is production time, he had to finish this other four articles for printing tonight.

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#40
Old 02-23-2007, 11:50 PM

Quote:
Originally Posted by tanarif984
Why?>
AWESOME STORY!!!! the descriptions made everything seem so illustrated, as if i was really there and feeling the characters anxiety!!! you're an amazing writer with wonderful talent!!! i absolutely love it. maybe its the word 'nightmare' that catches my attention x3 and i had to keep reading. twas wonderful!

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#41
Old 02-24-2007, 09:52 AM

Thanks dude, that was one i used for a school competition, i came like 7th place.
It sucked compared to others...




About ten years ago, a young and very successful executive named Josh was traveling down a Chicago neighborhood street. He was going a bit too fast in his sleek, black, 12 cylinder Jaguar XKE, which was only two months old.

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 child darted out, but a brick sailed out and - WHUMP! - it smashed Into the Jag's shiny black side door! SCREECH..!!!! Brakes slammed! Gears ground into reverse, and tires madly spun the Jaguar back to the spot from where the brick had been thrown. Josh jumped out of the car, grabbed the kid and pushed him up against a parked car. He shouted at the kid, "What was that all about and who are you? Just what the heck are you doing?!" Building up a head of steam, he went on. "That's my new Jag, that brick you threw is gonna cost you a lot of money. Why did you throw it?"

"Please, mister, please. . . I'm sorry! I didn't know what else to do!" Pleaded the youngster. "I threw the brick because no one else would stop!" Tears were dripping down the boy's chin as he pointed around the parked car. "It's my brother, mister," he said. "He rolled off the curb and fell out of his wheelchair and I can't lift him up." Sobbing, the boy asked the 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 young executive tried desperately to swallow the rapidly swelling lump in his throat. Straining, he lifted the young man back into the wheelchair and took out his handkerchief and wiped the scrapes and cuts, checking to see that everything was going to be OK. He then watched the younger brother push him down the sidewalk toward their home.

It was a long walk back to the sleek, black, shining, 12 cylinder Jaguar XKE -a long and slow walk. Josh never did fix the side door of his Jaguar. He kept the dent to remind him not to go through life so fast that someone has to throw a brick at him to get his attention. . . Some bricks are softer than others. Feel for the bricks of life coming at to you. For all the negative things we have to say to ourselves, God has positive answers.

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#42
Old 02-24-2007, 10:00 AM

XD, i think it should have goten 1st place



Anyhow,




A man found a cocoon of a butterfly. One day a small opening appeared. He sat and watched the butterfly for several hours as it struggled to force its body through that little hole. Then it seemed to stop making any progress. It appeared as if it had gotten as far as it could, and it could go no further.

So the man decided to help the butterfly. He took a pair of scissors and snipped off the remaining bit of the cocoon.

The butterfly then emerged easily. But it had a swollen body and small, shriveled wings.

The man continued to watch the butterfly because he expected that, at any moment, the wings would enlarge and expand to be able to support the body, which would contract in time.

Neither happened! In fact, the butterfly spent the rest of its life crawling around with a swollen body and shriveled wings. It never was able to fly.

What the man, in his kindness and haste, did not understand was that the restricting cocoon and the struggle required for the butterfly to get through the tiny opening were God's way of forcing fluid from the body of the butterfly into its wings so that it would be ready for flight once it achieved its freedom from the cocoon.









Life Still Has A Meaning

If there is a future there is time for mending-
Time to see your troubles coming to an ending.


Life is never hopeless however great your sorrow-
If you're looking forward to a new tomorrow.


If there is time for wishing then there is time for hoping-
When through doubt and darkness you are blindly groping.


Though the heart be heavy and hurt you may be feeling-
If there is time for praying there is time for healing.

So if through your window there is a new day breaking-
Thank God for the promise, though mind and soul be aching,


If with harvest over there is grain enough for gleaning-
There is a new tomorrow and life still has meaning.



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#43
Old 02-24-2007, 10:10 AM

XD, can anyone read that?


Mamm doesn't believe in having mirrors around the house. She says it keeps people worried about the outside of the cup instead of giving the inside a good scrubbing. Whenever she takes her dish brush to one of her plain white coffee mugs, she swirls it vigorously with powdered soap. Then, if she thinks they need it, she says a prayer for the person who drank from it.

From across the table in her kitchen, Mamm watches as her grown daughter dips a pumpkin cookie, the colour of orange autumn leaves, in her coffee. She thinks about the soggy crumbs that will be left in the bottom, the smudge of soft pink lipstick on the rim; how she'll gently wash them both away after Theresa leaves.

The cookies are Theresa's favourite. Mamm makes them every year in October. By November her sugar pumpkins have begun to freeze on their vines and she leaves them to compost in the garden. And while she knows she could puree batches, enough for the whole year, Mamm believes in keeping certain things sacred. Like birthdays. Theresa was born in October.

"The Reverend came by this morning," Mamm says, then takes a sip of dark black coffee. "He was sorry he missed you." It was only half true, though. He did come by. Same as every Saturday, which was when he made his rounds through the entire village, interrupting wives as they baked and readied their houses and children for Sunday morning. Most of them, the younger ones especially, thought it was a bother. Some said they'd all be better off if he had a wife of his own to make cakes for him. But no one ever suggested he come a different day.

"Did he now?" Theresa asks, her voice the merest bit sour.

Mamm sips her coffee again. The truth was she hadn't said anything to him about Theresa coming for a visit. Nor had he asked.

"I wish you wouldn't let him in," Theresa says. She gets up and lifts Mamm's old aluminium percolator from the stove, kept warm over the pilot light. She feels coffee slosh around inside and, without asking, warms up both of their cups. "You know he only comes to check up on you. On everyone. After all this time, I don't know why you can't stop being bothered by what he thinks."

"Everyone cares what a minister thinks," Mamm says, as though it's the truth.

"Not everyone," Theresa argues.

"Everyone around here," Mamm says firmly. She looks at Theresa, then down at the table, sweeps a few crumbs into her hand and brushes them into the pocket of her apron. She thinks about the first time Reverend Hildebrandt came to the house to see her. Before, he had only ever come to visit with her parents.

At thirty-four years old, Marie Martins was an old maid. The oldest of eleven children, she had watched with admiration when each of her sisters married. Sandra was first, then Carol and Nora, until Marie was the only one left at home.

"Marie will be better off staying with us," she once heard her mother say. "Her father and I have known she isn't like our other girls; seems she's just never had a mind for being a wife and mother. She'd rather be up a tree with her head in a romantic book."

Her mother was right. While Marie's sisters had played with dolls, making up homes that looked just like their parents' house, Marie read Jane Austen stories that she bought from garage sales with pennies she'd found and saved. When the Martins girls started to turn the heads of young men in the village, Marie wasn't one of them.

There was a time when Theresa wanted to know about her father. She was thirteen, and the other children in school had begun to tease.

One night, while tucking Theresa into her bed, Mamm told her there wasn't much to say, that she hadn't known him. She'd been swept up in a declaration of love that she knew was a lie. "And that's all you ever need to know," she said. There was no reason to take old sins out of storage and rummage through them. "It doesn't do anyone any good."

Lately, since Theresa came home wearing a diamond ring, she's been asking again.

"I know you, Marie," said Reverend Hildebrandt. "You're not the kind of girl to raise a child. Nora's already agreed to take it. People will forget soon enough where it came from so long as you give them a reason to look the other way." He put his hand on her shoulder, like a father would. But when he looked down at her swollen belly, no longer able to be hidden under an apron, he withdrew his hand and slowly wiped it on his pant leg.

As he stood to leave, he reached into his pocket and handed Marie a paper-wrapped package. Inside was the prayer kapp she'd worn the day, nine months ago, when she went to the church to pray.

"I think you'll need it," he said as Marie got up and followed him outside into the crisp fall wind.

Although she had always preferred cooler weather, she shivered as her long skirt billowed wide and dried leaves raced past. Before, she'd always wondered where all those leaves ended up, year after year. Now it no longer seemed to matter.

After the Reverend left, Marie walked slowly back towards the house, fingering the package she'd hidden in her apron.

While Mamm sits at the table, fingers curled around her coffee cup, Theresa gets up and carries the other dishes to the sink where the Reverend's mug has been since he left.

"Do you want me to wash these for you?" Theresa asks, already reaching for the faucet, the box of soap.

"No, you can leave them," Mamm replies. "It'll give me something to do once you've gone home."

"Are you sure? It looks like this one's been left too long," she says, lifting the Reverend's cup by the ear and showing the inside of it to her mother. "The coffee's starting to stain through the glaze."

Mamm is quiet for a moment, then says, "Those stains have been there for years."

"Can't you bleach them out?" Theresa asks.

"I could," Mamm says. She stands up, takes the cup from her daughter and puts it back in the sink. "But it's not up to me."

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#44
Old 02-24-2007, 05:14 PM

Quote:
Originally Posted by tanarif984
XD, can anyone read that?


not really @_@ but i read it while i was quoting it x3. i like how it seems like a real natural occuance in life and as in your other story, everything is so well illustrated. Especially the description about the weather =3. very nice.

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#45
Old 02-24-2007, 09:13 PM

XD,i knew it'd be small.
And thanks..

Here's more -

There once was a little boy who had a bad temper. His father gave him a bag of nails and told him that every time he lost his temper, he must hammer a nail into the back of the fence.

The first day, the boy had driven 37 nails into the fence. Over the next few weeks, as he learned to control his anger, the number of nails hammered daily gradually dwindled down. He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive those nails into the fence.

Finally the day came when the boy didn't lose his temper at all. He told his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to hold his temper. The days passed and the boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were gone.

The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. He said, "You have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a

scar just like this one. You can put a knife in a man and draw it out. It won't matter how many times you say I'm sorry the wound is still there. A verbal wound is as bad as a physical one."













A woman came out of her house and saw 3 old men with long white beards sitting in her front yard. She did not recognize them. She said "I don't think I know you, but you must be hungry. Please come in and have something to eat."

"Is the man of the house home?", they asked. "No", she said. "He's out." "Then we cannot come in", they replied.

In the evening when her husband came home, she told him what had happened. "Go tell them I am home and invite them in!" The woman went out and invited the men in. "We do not go into a House together," they replied. "Why is that?" she wanted to know.

One of the old men explained: "His name is Wealth," he said pointing to one of his friends, and said pointing to another one, "He is Success, and I am Love." Then he added, "Now go in and discuss with your husband which one of us you want in your home."

The woman went in and told her husband what was said. Her husband was overjoyed. "How nice!!", he said. "Since that is the case, let us invite Wealth. Let him come and fill our home with wealth!"

His wife disagreed. "My dear, why don't we invite Success?" Their daughter-in-law was listening from the other corner of the house. She jumped in with her own suggestion: "Would it not be better to invite Love? Our home will then be filled with love!"

"Let us heed our daughter-in-law's advice," said the husband to his wife. "Go out and invite Love to be our guest."

The woman went out and asked the 3 old men, "Which one of you is Love? Please come in and be our guest."

Love got up and started walking toward the house. The other 2 also got up and followed him. Surprised, the lady asked Wealth and Success: "I only invited Love, Why are you coming in?"

The old men replied together: "If you had invited Wealth or Success, the other two of us would've stayed out, but since you invited Love, Wherever He goes, we go with him. Wherever there is Love, there is also Wealth and Success!!!!!!"

OUR WISH FOR YOU... Where there is pain, we wish you peace and mercy.

Where there is self-doubting, we wish you a renewed confidence in your ability to work through them.

Where there is tiredness, or exhaustion, we wish you understanding, patience, and renewed strength.

Where there is fear, we wish you love, and courage. Peace to you



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#46
Old 02-24-2007, 10:37 PM

Meh?


The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings, but shorter tempers; wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints; we spend more, but have less; we buy more but enjoy it less.

We have bigger houses and smaller families; more conveniences, but less time; we have more degrees, but less sense; more knowledge, but less judgement; more experts, but more problems; more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry too quickly, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.

We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often. We've learned how to make a living, but not a life; We've added years to life, not life to years.

We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet the new neighbor. We've conquered outer space, but not inner space; We've done larger things, but not better things.

We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul; we've split the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less; we plan more, but accomplish less.

We've learned to rush, but not to wait; we have higher incomes, but, lower morals.

We build more computers to hold more information to produce more copies than ever, but have less communication; We've become long on quantity, but short on quality.

These are the days of two incomes, but more divorce; of fancier houses, but broken homes.

These are the days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throw away morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. Where are we heading ....?

If we die tomorrow, the company that we are working for could easily replace us in a matter of days. But the family we left behind will feel the loss for the rest of their lives.


And come to think of it, we pour ourselves more into work than to our family an unwise investment indeed.

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#47
Old 02-24-2007, 10:42 PM

What??

Red roses were her favorites, her name was also Rose.
And every year her husband sent them, tied with pretty bows.
The year he died, the roses were delivered to her door.
The card said, "Be my Valentine," like all the years before.

Each year he sent her roses, and the note would always say,
"I love you even more this year, than last year on this day."
"My love for you will always grow, with every passing year."
She knew this was the last time that the roses would appear.

She thought, he ordered roses in advance before this day.
Her loving husband did not know, that he would pass away.
He always liked to do things early, way before the time.
Then, if he got too busy, everything would work out fine.

She trimmed the stems, and placed them in a very special vase.
Then, sat the vase beside the portrait of his smiling face.
She would sit for hours, in her husband's favorite chair.
While staring at his picture, and the roses sitting there.

A year went by, and it was hard to live without her mate.
With loneliness and solitude, that had become her fate.
Then, the very hour, as on Valentines before,
The doorbell rang, and there were roses, sitting by her door

She brought the roses in, and then just looked at them in shock.
Then, went to get the telephone, to call the florist shop.
The owner answered, and she asked him, if he would explain,
Why would someone do this to her, causing her such pain?

"I know your husband passed away, more than a year ago,"
The owner said, "I knew you'd call, and you would want to know."
"The flowers you received today, were paid for in advance."
"Your husband always planned ahead, he left nothing to chance."

"There is a standing order, that I have on file down here,
And he has paid, well in advance, you'll get them every year.
There also is another thing, that I think you should know,
He wrote a special little card...he did this years ago."

"Then, should ever, I find out that he's no longer here,
That's the card...that should be sent, to you the following year."
She thanked him and hung up the phone, her tears now flowing hard.
Her fingers shaking, as she slowly reached to get the card.

Inside the card, she saw that he had written her a note.
Then, as she stared in total silence, this is what he wrote...
"Hello my love, I know it's been a year since I've been gone,
I hope it hasn't been too hard for you to overcome."

"I know it must be lonely, and the pain is very real.
For if it was the other way, I know how I would feel.
The love we shared made everything so beautiful in life.
I loved you more than words can say, you were the perfect wife."

"You were my friend and lover, you fulfilled my every need.
I know it's only been a year, but please try not to grieve.
I want you to be happy, even when you shed your tears.
That is why the roses will be sent to you for years."

"When you get these roses, think of all the happiness,
That we had together, and how both of us were blessed.
I have always loved you and I know I always will.
But, my love, you must go on, you have some living still."

"Please...try to find happiness, while living out your days.
I know it is not easy, but I hope you find some ways.
The roses will come every year, and they will only stop,
When your door's not answered, when the florist stops to knock."

"He will come five times that day, in case you have gone out.
But after his last visit, he will know without a doubt,
To take the roses to the place, where I've instructed him,
And place the roses where we are, together once again."

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#48
Old 02-24-2007, 10:55 PM

Nothing >_>


There was a Nebraska farmer who grew award-winning corn. Each year he entered his corn in the state fair where it won a blue ribbon...

One year a newspaper reporter interviewed him and learned something interesting about how he grew it. The reporter discovered that the farmer shared his seed corn with his neighbors.

"How can you afford to share your best seed corn with your neighbors when they are entering corn in competition with yours each year?" the reporter asked.

"Why sir," said the farmer, "didn't you know? The wind picks up pollen from the ripening corn and swirls it from field to field. If my neighbors grow inferior corn, cross-pollination will steadily degrade the quality of my corn. If I am to grow good corn, I must help my neighbors grow good corn."

He is very much aware of the connectedness of life. His corn cannot improve unless his neighbor's corn also improves.

So it is in other dimensions. Those who choose to be at peace must help their neighbors to be at peace. Those who choose to live well must help others to live well, for the value of a life is measured by the lives it touches. And those who choose to be happy must help others to find happiness for the welfare of each is bound up with the welfare of all.

The lesson for each of us is this: if we are to grow good corn, we must help our neighbors grow good corn.

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#49
Old 02-24-2007, 11:05 PM

??????


A young man was getting ready to graduate from college. For many months he had admired a beautiful sports car in a dealer's showroom, and knowing his father could well afford it, he told him that was all he wanted.

As Graduation Day approached, the young man awaited signs that his father had purchased the car. Finally, on the morning of his graduation, his father called him into his private study. His father told him how proud he was to have such a fine son, and told him how much he loved him. He handed his son a beautifully wrapped gift box. Curious, but somewhat disappointed, the young man opened the box and found a lovely, leather-bound Bible, with the young man's name embossed in gold. Angry, he raised his voice to his father and said "With all your money, you give me a Bible?" and stormed out of the house, leaving the Bible.

Many years passed and the young man was very successful in business. He had a beautiful home and wonderful family, but realized his father was very old, and thought perhaps he should go to him. He had not seen him since that graduation day. Before he could make arrangements, he received a telegram telling him his father had passed away, and willed all of his possessions to his son. He needed to come home immediately and take care of things.

When he arrived at his father's house, sudden sadness and regret filled his heart. He began to search through his father's important papers and saw the still new Bible, just as he had left it years ago. With tears, he opened the Bible and began to turn the pages. And as he did, a car key dropped from the back of the Bible. It had a tag with the dealer's name, the same dealer who had the sports car he had desired. On the tag was the date of his graduation, and the words PAID IN FULL.

bakaneko00
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#50
Old 02-24-2007, 11:11 PM

>>


Go to a place where legends lie,
Where imagination reaches the sky,
Where heros save
Damsels in distress,
And find themselves
In the middle of a mess!

Where there is not one moon,but three,
And magic lives in you,
And in me.

Where lore and mystery abound,
And secrets are to be found,
And danger is hidden!
All around.

Just one of these stories I will tell,
Just one,
So listen well.

Where weapons of old lay scattered,
And concealed across the land,
Some stuck in stone,others buried beneath the sand,
Lying in wait,
Until the date when three warriors with magic arts,
And a clever hand,
Come to take them up again.

To defeat an evil so great,
So great that its power enlargens with an alarming rate,
So great that it could determine the whole world's fate,
Unless it is stopped.

So the warriors go into battle!
Two boys and a girl,
A battle to save the world.

"Powers of the dark and light!
Let what once was wrong now be right!
Let all evil be slain,
Never to return again!"they cried.

The battle rages across the chamber,
Each side filled with anger and woe,
But lo!In the end,
The warriors emerge victorious,
And barely scathed.

Back at home, the trio is greeted with feasting,happiness,
And all that other sappiness,
But when all is said and done,
The three retreat to have a little fun,
And to reminisce about the battle they had won
While watching the setting of the sun.









Dance with the Mommy and hear the Mommy say
What she likes of things and all manner of things,
And God you like the same things, so dance with the baby
And hear the baby say.

Remember when all of it was her milk?
The whole thing turned on her breasts' milk and this
Slip of a girl in the middle of the night lifting the baby
To hear him burp,

And you have touched this girl's breasts, your
Fingers in the purling millrace of stars and galaxies
Dripping in rings melodious as the little boy
Laughing in his sleep.

Likewise the night when you woke at a sound,
The tired girl was asleep her breasts uncovered
And the infant had risen up, had risen up and was
Talking to her,

Was leaning up his fingers playing with her breast...
Until he saw you looking and fell back to her side
And you understood his melodious language.



 


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