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Olden Days Short StoryTo my beloved wife, Anna.
Ah! My first month here in Massachusetts has past, never have I seen such a dull two fortnights pass! When I left you and my dearest sons, David and Michael, to care for my mother, I'm sure none of us had the slightest notion how remote the town of Northamshire could be! There are certainly young people for me to chat with, but they act most un-Christian! Doing nothing but drinking and cursing! I do not believe you need my explaining as to where they will soon be going! However, the real reason which I am writing is to let you know that the dullness has finally ended! A traveling priest from Europe by the name of George Whitfield came to our small little town today, to give a sermon. Now, I am sure, as I would if I were you, that you are frowning down at this letter by this point. I understand how tedious and uninteresting sermons can sometimes be (although they do not seem that way after Northamshire!), but Mr. Whitfield seems to have truly awakene
Ender's Game Alternate EndingAlternate Ending to Enders Game
Ender brought the cocoon of the queen back to his fellow humans. He allowed the queen to tell her story to everyone. When they all had heard the queens explanation, they took pity on their former enemies, and turned on their hero, Ender Wiggin.
How could he wipe out an entire race, a race which he completely misunderstood? It was his fault that a race of misunderstood beings were killed. They decided to put him on trial, for the genocide of the buggers.
The trial went on for months. Back on Earth, everyone was following the trial obsessively. They all wanted to see Ender pay for his crime. After several months of Enders being on trial, they sentenced him to be banished to a cabin 18 miles from their small community. His wife, Tammy, chose to go with him. Every week or so, Val would sneak over to his cabin to visit him.
One day, as she was over having lunch
A Conversation With God I woke up at 8:59 am. I still had about an hour before I needed to get up to catch my 2:00 plane, so I decided I'd sleep for another half hour or so. So I closed my eyes and went back to sleep.
I didn't wake up half an hour later. I didn't even wake up an hour later. I awoke at 12:45 pm. As I gazed at the clock, it took me a moment to register what I was seeing. I then cursed at the top of my lungs, and sprung out of bed.
I ran around my run down apartment throwing on clothes and throwing stuff into my suitcase. I actually tripped over my suitcase once, giving my ankle a pretty bad sprain. When I was finally all packed and ready, I tried to run out to my car, but with my sprained ankle, I probably looked like a freak, with my uneven steps.
I drove, speeding to the Airport and got there at about 1:45. I already had my ticket with me, so that was ok. But when I got to the bag check in line, th
Long Lake Camp is the Best Because of the performing arts camp, Long Lake Camp, I have learned more than ever about doing what I love to do: Acting. My grandfather found LLC by complete accident. He found it on a popup. He asked me if I wanted to go, and I was extremely hesitant. Im a really shy person at times, and I didnt know hoe LLC would suit me. My grandfather kind of forced me to go there, and I agreed to go two sessions. When I got there, it was probably one of the most uncomfortable moments in my entire life. Everyone knew everyone, and because I was one of the new campers, I was completely at a loss of what to do. But in only a couple of days, however, I started to realize that not only was I starting to absolutely become obsessed with LLC, but that I was at home. Yes, this line sounds a bit corny, but its true. Did you know that LLC produces more shows in one summer than Broadway does all year? And there are three wonderful theatres on campus. But it
UzgunuzÜzgünüz, bu özelliği kullanma izniniz yok. Eğer giriş yapmadıysanız, aşağıdaki formu kullanarak giriş yapabilirsiniz. Eğer üye değilseniz giriş formunun altındaki link yardımı ile üye olunuz ve bütün özellikleri kullanma yetkisini alınız Hikmet adında bir arkadaşım var. Bana bir sır açıkladı. Sana yazayım mı diye çok düşündüm. Yazmakta bir sakınca görmüyorum. Hikmet, bana anlattığı olayı, sınıftaki arkadaşlarımızın duymalarını istemiyor. Ben de ağzımı sıkı tuttum, kimseye bişey söylemedim. Ama sen nasıl olsa Hikmeti tanımıyorsun. Onun anlattıklarını sana yazmakla, bana verdiği sırrı açıklamış olmuyorum. Öyl
A Broken Promise It was a beautiful summer day, and Mrs. Cole was standing at the sink in her kitchen, chopping onions and looking out of the window over the sink. In the faint reflection of the window, Mrs. Cole could see her plate displaying Jesus Christ hanging on her wall. This particular plate was something of a comfort, or a luxury on which Mrs. Cole depended. Being a mother and a housewife, she spent at least 7 hours a day in her sparkling kitchen. Whether she was cleaning, cooking, or talking to her friend on the phone, whenever she felt alone, or upset, she would look up at Jesus and feel like she was safe.
Despite the beautiful weather, Mrs. Cole was not entirely happy. Even as she looked at her Christ plate, she couldnt find anything to pacify her furious breathing. She shook her long blonde hair that so many women envied out of her face and returned to chopping onions.
Her seven year old daughter
Real Monologue When I was in about 3rd grade, most people thought I was weird because I worked at the local homeless shelter. Why do you want to hang around those low-lives? they would always ask me. I never could really tell them right there, because the reason was such a private experience. It was nothing I was embarrassed about, but it was just something that was my own personal experience. Its just that one day I was walking along feeling sorry for myself because my parents wouldnt let me have a friend over to stay the night. But then I walked by this area that was extremely dirty, and from out of nowhere this guy just sits up from beneath all of these card-board boxes. Beard down to his chest, hair dirty and down his back. But it was his eyes. It was something about his eyes. As I looked into them, I almost saw myself. I could almost relate to the emotion that was in his eyes. I didnt know what to think, so I just took off running. I ran and
Stage Door Short Story Wow said Kim. I cant believe we have to go downstairs to do the stupid read through. It was Saturday afternoon, and Kim was in theatre rehearsal for the play Stage Door. She was playing Terry, the main role, and new she had about 300 lines to memorize.
The main reason Kim didnt want to go downstairs was because it was about a hundred degrees down there. The basement of the theatre had a bunch of heating pipes running through it, so it constantly felt like you were in a sauna.
Come on said Kims partner, Joe. Itll just take a few hours.
Yeah, only a few hours of sweating like a pig. Lets just try and get this over with as soon as possible. Kim knew Joe was just being optimistic. Thats the way he always was, which was one of the things about him that annoyed Kim.
Kim and Joe c
A Burdened Child I dont know what to do. How can I tell him? How can I tell my own father that hes an alcoholic? Will he understand? Will he hit me? The problem is that someone has got to tell him. Mom cant do it. She just doesnt care. Its not that shes an alcoholic, but she has her own problems that I cant even begin to try to help her with. My brother Web cant tell him. Hes only nine, and how could he understand at such a young age? Is there anyone else who could tell him? It just has got to be done. He gets drunk every night, every day, even at work! Hell surely get fired soon. He a surveyor! He gets drunk on the job, and hes a goddamned surveyor! For one thing, surveying is a dangerous job as it is. Second off, theyre not going to keep paying a drunk. Whatll happen if he gets fired? Moms only a teacher at a public school, which isnt going to earn her enough money to support herself, her
Best Damn WomanWhen I was younger, my home life wasn't really conducive to having friends. My only friend for most of my life was my cousin. We were only a few months apart in age, but we felt like twins. Finished each others' sentences, would text the same things to each other at the same time, could sense when the other was in pain or just needed a pick me up. We invaded each others' lives and were the last person we each said "I love you" to at the end of the day.
A little over a year ago, she was killed in a car wreck along with her husband. But there are times I still get those feelings. Still want to grab my phone and send a text. Sometimes, I've actually sent the text and then I wonder who the person is on the receiving end. They've never responded. Not sure what I'd do if I did get a response.
I miss her more than I've ever missed anything. Even her faults. Like when she'd take over my house and force me to do something I didn't want to do. Joining dA was one of those take overs.&
Confessions of a Dom 1As a little girl, I was taught not to trust men. One of the first things I was taught was how to use them. It started with old hollywood movies as soon as I was old enough to understand. When I was around 5 or 6 my mom told me to watch closely as John Wayne's co-star seduces him. Oh I paid attention to that fine ass woman alright, but yo, John Wayne knew what was up on how to get them. I didn't want to use men, I wanted to be like them because to me they were a symbol of strength and I understood that at an early age. I still learned all the strategies my mom expected me to learn from women of old hollywood movies because when you're a kid you don't understand right or wrong. I didn't dislike being a woman, but I just wanted to command as much power as a man in society. Gender seemed irrelevant to me because anything that turns you on is acceptable to me as long as there is consent. There is nothing wrong with being grossed out by fetishes either because the opposite side of the spectr
Confessions of a Dom 2No one can handle the truth, but it is not because we do not want to know it, there is just too much pain. It is in the realm of fiction where we compromise with our escape into fantasy with our need to tell the truth that no one can handle in reality. People are priceless. Objects have value. To own something outside of our own bodies is an instinct that every living thing obeys without question. Ownership can be in everyday things we don't even think about. Even the act of consumption is an act of ownership, which is where I suspect that is where the current term for "self entitlement" comes from. I was born self entitled. It wasn't a choice. I didn't feel self entitled, but I had the power to command. A presence if you will. Its something that is hardwired into my physical existence that I have spent my whole life trying to control.
All doms deal with an anxiety of controlling the power they have because a true dom never explicitly wants to force someone against their will. A real d
once.Ein Buch schreiben für die Frau, die man liebt, dachte ich gestern beim Erwachen, was für eine peinliche Idee. Das muss ich alles nur geträumt haben. Nein, es ist unvorstellbar, so etwas wirklich zu tun. Das würde ich nie machen. Schliesslich bin ich erstens Junggeselle und zweitens unverheiratet. Doch dann kam ein SMS von Julia. Sie schrieb, sie sei auch überfordert gewesen – jetzt erst recht wegen dem Buch. Also hatte ich es doch getan? Ich musste entdecken, dass ich das Buch nicht nur geschrieben, sondern auch ausgedruckt, gebunden und nach Madrid gebracht habe. Und jetzt hält Julia es in den Händen. Es gingen noch ein paar SMS hin und her, bis wir uns endlich entschlossen, uns doch zu treffen.
Meistens schenkt man ja dem Umstand, dass man einen Magen hat, keine besondere Beachtung. Ich meine damit, dass man nicht oft durch die Stadt geht und sich denkt: „Ich habe einen Magen“, so wie man vielleicht manchmal durch die Stadt geht u
3700 FeetEvery Tuesday afternoon, Don sends out an email asking who plans on coming to soaring lessons the following day, and every Tuesday evening I email him back and let him know, yes, I will be attending. On Wednesday, he either confirms if flight instruction is still on, or if it’s been cancelled, usually it’s because of weather. We won’t fly in the rain, and ridge soaring--flying on the wind rising from the valley--is still too advanced for me. I always make sure to checkthe windsock before heading on to the glider field. When it’s sticking straight out, will a full six rings showing, the wind’s blowing at least thirty knots an hour and no one goes up.
It’s actually a relief whenever I get a “WEFI Cancelled” email. Today, I'm hoping for it, even though it's sunny and close to 75 degrees, with a high cloud base. This late in the season, it's likely to be the best soaring weather we’ll have until the spring.
Still, I leave the office at
To-Do List: June 201406-06-2014 Listen to your feet
08-06-2014 Nobody knows what a dinosaurs penis looks like
08-06-2014 Cats, cuts, chai lattes and croissants
:Do Something Nice Today:There are 7 or 8 clinical offices. Each one is either carpeted, or linoleum with a giant, torn-up and pilling area rug. Each one has at least 7 or 8 bought-in-bulk chairs, a teacher’s desk, and a whiteboard. Clinicians switch offices more often that I used to think – it seems like these days, more and more of them are “moving on,” and more and more noobs are being hired. Some of the office changes don’t make sense. Nearly non of them belong to their “original” owners – that is, to whomever had dominated each room when I got there – and most of the time, the switches seem random. No one appears uncomfortable with this, which is odd because most of the students are very vocal when something tangible bothers them. I like to think it doesn’t bother me much, either, but it hit me surprisingly hard when the clinician in charge of me moved up stairs. It was supposedly a logical change: her dog is coming starting in November an
this is all i'm able to produce "Okay class let's start the year with some introductions. I'm going to go around the room randomly and you're going to describe yourself in a word!"
Oh. Of course. Our eyes met. She smiles. She's going to pick me. She's going to make me go first. I can't describe myself. I don't know how to.
"You there. You can start!"
Her smile grows even larger. She doesn't ask for my name, so I won't give it. One word to describe myself. There's only one going around my mind.
Mi autobiografia espanolHola. Me llamo es Jack King. Vivo en Cashiers North Carolina. Estoy en la escuela de Tilton, y es una muy buena escuela. Yo conversando con mi novia que se llama Natalia Reichman. Ella es muy bonita, interesante, y muy buena en la clase de arte. Pienso ella es la mejor artista en el mundo. Tenemos mucho en común. Hablamos por teléfono casi todos los días. Me gusta actuar, cantar, y esquí. Yo no soy buena que en la escuela, pero yo soy un duro trabajador. Vivo con mis abuelos porque mis padres tenían problemas. A veces no me gusta mis abuelos porque son muy ambiciosos conmigo
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More