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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
Theme Prompt - SoliloquyI was thinking about my poetry and some of the stories I’ve written and I realized something interesting. When I write, I bare a small piece of my soul and am usually speaking to someone in particular. At least when it comes to the poems that resonate the most with me when I re-read them. There are a few that I just have no feeling for at all and, if I didn’t know I wrote it, I wouldn’t attribute to myself.
I’ve written poetry to my father, my aunt, my grandmother, my ex, and my friends. Some with good intentions and feelings and some not so good. I’ve written alternately hopeful and sad, longing poems to a nebulous person that I hope to meet in the future. I’ve worked through my emotions for everyone and showed how I truly felt about them all. The gratitude and love for my friends, the sorrow and love for my family, and the love and, subsequently, anger and regret for my ex. Yet I’ve never really tried to work through my own feelings towards m
Life With an Imaginary FriendI have an imaginary friend.
His name is Alfred. Alfred Mayes Thrillerson.
I came up with his last name on Halloween in 2012. Before that it was Alfred Middleton, but then Kate Middleton came along in the news so I decided to change it to something more original. I gave him the middle name Mayes so I could remember what month his birthday's in. I created him some time in May 2012, and placed his birthday on the 16th.
I got his first name, Alfred, from the main character of the cartoon The Mysteries of Alfred Hedgehog. I'm not sure how well known the show is. It doesn't air outside of Canada. (I was actually surprised by the amount of fanart I found) I was looking for a name that wasn't to wacky, but also one I had never heard anyone with before. (My life consists of a lot of names; I wanted something original) But anyway, more about Alfred as a person.
"You talkin' about me?"
"Yes, Alfred, I'm telling the Deviants about you."
"What? I wouldn't trust anyone online, if I were you."
StrengthMy grandfather was the strongest man I ever met. If you’ve ever seen someone on TV perform some superhuman feat of strength and thought that it wasn’t real, you’ve never met my grandfather. I have seen him rip a telephone book in half. He reached his full height of 6”4’ at the age of fourteen, and by the age of fifteen he had left school to work in the metal works. No one thought twice about it, because he was more than capable of the work and looked older than he was.
I am not strong. My joints frequently hurt, although I do not think I can convey to you how much of an understatement the word ‘hurt’ is in this situation. Most people didn’t understand why I didn’t run as long or as fast as the other children, or take delight in the frequent football scrimmages that almost all the boys I knew took such delight in. when I told them “I can’t, my leg aches,” they just told me to be strong.
My grandfather didn’t.
Fragments of a Cutter - Whitney -When I first laid eyes on her, she haunted me. She reminded me of an old friend, and it haunted me. I avoided her. Then, she talked to me.
It's late October. The 24th or 25th. Either a Thursday or a Friday. The small girl in first platoon came up to me... and spoke. Plaid shirt, curled hair in a ponytail, reading glasses, a sweet smile, and dark brown eyes... immediate infatuation. Cloud nine.
At lunch, I walked into the cafeteria, seeing my friends already at our usual table. "I think I just fell in love!" I exclaimed, slamming my hands and sketchbook onto the table-top. The three freshman looked at me oddly, while Arielle, another sophomore, kept focused on her food. Audrey, a freshman girl with short hair, was appalled.
"Wait, I thought you already were in love with her!" she cried out, pointing to Arielle.
The previous school year, Arielle and I were forced into a 'pinkie marriage' by the old friend I mentioned
drei.Mit elf Jahren musste ich meine Vorhaut operieren lassen. Falls jemand nicht weiss, was eine Vorhaut ist, es ist das, was bei den Juden abgeschnitten wird. Nicht, dass meine Familie zum Judentum konvertieren wollte, nein, meine Eltern beabsichtigten, weiterhin nicht-praktizierende Protestanten zu bleiben. Und meine Vorhaut sollte nicht abgeschnitten, sondern nur gelöst werden. Ich lag auf dem Schragen, während mir eine Maske mit Schlauch über Mund und Nase gestülpt wurde, und im nächsten Moment behauptete jemand, alles sei vorbei.
Dabei war ich von Anfang an dagegen gewesen. „Warum muss ich ins Spital“, sagte ich zu Mami, „ich kann doch auch so auf die Toilette gehen“. – „Ja“, sagte sie, „aber wenn deine Vorhaut mit deiner Eichel verwachsen ist, kannst du vielleicht nie mit einer Frau schlafen.“ – „Mit einer Frau schlafen?!“ rief ich voller Entrüstung, „das will ich sowieso nie!&
Fragments of a Cutter - Love and Lies -Look at me, now. Look at what I've become. There's blood on my arms and tears down my face.
Look at the lies that have passed our lips. Yes, even mine.
I've lied about my whereabouts. About my affections. I've even lied to myself.
I told myself that I was okay... that her claws would never cut through me again.
It was a lie.
Here I sit, holding on to little, tiny pieces of the past. Clinging to them and holding them closer than I ever have. Hoping that some form of supernatural bond would tie their previous owner to the inanimate creature I hold so close... crying into its plush fur and hoping she can feel my tears.
Next, the girl who served as my 'cure' before.
I don't know how much of it was lies, but I sure felt cheated.
As much as she acted like she loved me, she still left me out in the cold.
Not much to say about her.
Just glad she's out of my life.
And lastly, the girl that pushed me here in the
Not Even Dreams Bring Back The Fab FourThe year was 1974. I was in London about to see Ringo Starr in concert. Walking in the streets was John Lennon. I approached him and said "Are you going to get the band back together", in reference to The Beatles. He told me "We must go our separate ways".
Fragments of a Cutter - The Cure -Once before, I was hurt by the same girl that sent me into the state I'm in now. Back then, I'd found a cure.
To heal me from the pain of a lack of love, I found love. Or... what I thought was love.
When I fell for Courtney, someone else caught me. She caught me in her arms and held me close. She cushioned my fall and tried to make it better. She gave me the affection that the other girl didn't.
But it didn't last long.
By the time administration of my 'medication' was ceased, I was healed... at least healed enough to stand again.
Because of this, I am lead to believe that a similar situation would call for a similar cure.
But no one will administer.
No one's heart has the right medication.
And no one cares to try and find it.
But that's just how it is.
There isn't always a cure.
And there isn't always a way to get it.
Fragments of a Cutter - Questions and Answers -Why am I alive?
I’ve asked myself this, and most times, I don’t know the answer. I think I shouldn’t be. But today, I found my answer. No, it’s not my friends or my family, or anything like that.
A horrible guilt that I would face in my death, for my passing would cause the same for another.
I would have to live in eternity with that guilt, knowing and believing that I killed someone. Not just any someone, but the most wonderful, amazing, and beautiful someone I’ve met. A someone with a soft touch, and a sweet voice. A someone with the most stunning brown eyes and innocent demeanor. A someone with a heart so pure that I know I don’t deserve for it to beat for me. A someone that, even though I know that love is unrequited, I love. A someone that has not been without my emotions for even a second since I met them. A someone that is extremely important to me and
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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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More