dribble drabble - nano 13 being updated

[eden .]

I had absolutely zero ideas for this one which is why this one is short and sour.

"Find the solution?" I parroted back to him, astounded. "That is your plan?"
"What else am I supposed to do, Ann?" Nicholas sighed to me, exasperated. He ran his hands through his hair that seemed much more gray than I remembered. It was, no doubt, stress. He could not, after all, age, and I hated him for this.
"There is no solution," I told him emphatically. "There is not easy way out. There is no running away from this problem, this time, Watcher."
Nicholas reproachfully looked up at me, his eyes conflicted, his eyebrows knitted together. He was haggard and tired. The last thing he wanted to hear was my sharp tone, but I couldn't help myself. There were limits to things, he should know. He was pushing the outer boundaries of my patience.
"This show has gone on long enough," I told him. "We've been together for the better part of five years. You have been at my side through my college years and my graduate school years. But it's about time for me to think about my future."
"Your future?" he repeated with muted thunder in his voice. "Your future? It's time for you to think about that? What has the time with me been, then, Ann? A waste of time?"
"No!" I tried to assure him. "The past five years have been the best of my life."
"Then why are you in such a hurry to get away from me, Ann?" he cried to me. He stepped forward, grasped my shoulders, and shook me as if he expected to hear his answer rattling in me. "What have I done to you?"
"It's not what you've done, it's what you will do!" I told him, slapping his hands away. "We've spoken about this, Watcher! You even promised that you would let me go as soon as I wished to. Do you not remember that?"
"Of course I remember that," he said to me bitterly. "How could I forget a promise like that? I had just hoped you'd forgotten over these past five years."
"How could I forget a promise like that?" I repeated to him in a hushed voice. There was an extended silence between us. We could feel the heaviness of the similar argument we had five years ago rise up in our mind's eyes, once more.
"You can never age," I whispered into the air. "I want to get married to another man that will age with me. I want to get married to a man that will be able to sit on the porch in thirty years holding my hand as we watch the world pass us by. I want to get married to a man who will love me and only, solely me. Are these such selfish desires?"
"I will always love you."
"But you will also love someone else!" I sighed. "There is nothing to be done here, Nicholas. You can't solve this problem. I am determined to leave. And this is our last moment together, and I would like to spend it exchanging pleasant words with a past lover."
"Is that all I am to you, now?"
"No," I told him honestly, "but I hope that it will be."
Nicholas studied me, his slate eyes serious and searching. What was he looking for, I wonder? I faced him with a square jaw and a steady gaze. He was not the only one that had dreaded this day. I had spent five years trying to resign myself to the idea of staying with him for the rest of my life, living with a man that would grow no older while I became the likeness of his grandmother, if only so I could stay by his side, but so many decades could not be predicted. I could not foresee how long Nicholas would stay by me until he grew tired of me. And, in the end, I would be but a small phase, a tiny fraction, of his infinite life to be blotted out by brighter flashes to be found in the future.
"There's the door," Nicholas said to me, nodding towards it. I started.
"You're not going to say goodbye?" I asked, feeling almost disappointed. He could at least approach the situation with maturity.
"No," he told me firmly. "This is not the end. I'll think of a way to convince you to come back to me."
I stared at him, wondering how serious he might've been. Part of me, I knew, hoped that he would find the solution, figure out a way to ease my doubts and let me be with him for as long as I lived, for I loved the man that stood before me. I squelched this part before it took over my entire being.
"Then," I replied instead, "perhaps I'll see you again."
"Perhaps."
I stepped towards the door.

[eden .]

It Is Red

ahaha apparently fontmeme is down have people gone on meltdown yet?
anyways I actually did finish this one yesterday but I was in a sucky mood so I didn't post it also it sucks because I really didn't know what to write but I guess that's the spirit of this writing exercise ;;
there's some gore here. nothing too explicit but fyi.

When he first approached me, I thought he was insane. And the enemy. In fact, the first time I met him, I shot him in the head, right in between the eyes, from fifty six meters away with a dented rifle. I saw his silhouette, outlined by the red sun, snap at the impact and keel backwards for a moment. I did not bother to watch. I stowed my rifle and waved my hand to tell my fellows everything was under control -- a few of them were already on their way, themselves, not even flinching when they heard the gunshot -- but a younger one, green and unfamiliar with my skill, stared at the falling body with fascination, then cried out in shock and terror. With carefully controlled patience, I turned towards where his shaking, spidery finger pointed, then paused in amazement.
The body, which I knew, was sure, I had shot, was back on its feet, a hand grabbing at something in its forehead as it advanced. Me and my allies stood, rooted down to the spot, dumbfounded, flabbergasted, as the figure came into the light as he unsteadily clambered down the slope. It was clear he was from the far East. He stumbled down the easy slope like some mad drunkard, digging his fingers into his skin as thick rivulets of blood flowed freely across his face like syrup. A distinct scowl contorted his features and his shoulders were hunched in a surly sort of way. As we watched, he shouted out with a roar of determination, his arm trembling, and, before our very eyes, he extracted my bullet from his head. With sour disgust, he flicked it into the grass and pushed the blood out of his eyes, smearing it across his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his lips, his neck ... he wore a red mask and a demonic expression when he finally reached us, furious but, to my vague horror, not afraid or traumatized. And as I stared in horrible fascination, the gaping wound in his forehead inched closed, healing at a ridiculous, inhuman rate. He stopped directly in front of me, glaring accusingly.
"Do you know this guy?" one of my comrades asked. I murmured the negative but did not shake my head. In all likelihood, this man did not understand our language. The last thing I wanted to do was give him an inkling of what I was saying.
The man seemed to be annoyed by my lack of response. With a snort, he gave me a fast, sudden punch in the stomach. Winded, I stumbled back, surprised that someone would take such a blatant shot at me. Such a thing happened rarely, and only to people that were ignorant enough to not realize how hopeless their situation was when I entered the battle.
This man, however, was clearly not one of the regular soldiers.
As I stepped back a few steps to regain my composure, the other soldiers shouted and demanded the other to answer their questions, even though it was impossible he understood what they were saying. "Who are you?" they asked. "What are you doing here?" "Are there more of you?" "Are you with the Axis?"
"Enough," I commanded them, and they paused, glancing uncertainly at me. I straightened to see them surrounding the man, point blank, each of their rifles pointed at various parts of his body. The head. The neck. The chest. The stomach. The thighs. I would've gone for a knee.
"He does not flinch," one of the older soldiers murmured. I blinked in agreement, staring down the Eastern man, who stood a full foot shorter than me. He considered me with a bored expression. Finally, he sighed and said in a heavily accented, tortuously garbled but unmistakable Russian, "You're wasting your time. That's not going to work."
All of us were shocked into silence. We slackened as the man continued in Russian, "I didn't come here on behalf of my country. I came for you." He pointed to me with his free hand, his other busy with pushing a few of the rifles away from him impatiently. Apparently, he felt claustrophobic. My comrades whipped their heads to stare at me, demanding an explanation.
"...For me?" I repeated, unsure of what else I was supposed to say. I felt my brow furrow, but I did not abandon my bland expression completely.
"Yes, I made Sophie teach me Russian just for you," he scowled moodily. "Didn't think you'd actually shoot me though..."
"Sophie? Who's Sophie?"
"I'm not explaining with these guys around," the man snapped petulantly, jabbing his thumb at the ring of soldiers around him.
"Shoot him."
"Wait!" I raised a single eyebrow at his shout. He seemed upset that he'd allowed me this small victory, but he did not touch on it. Instead, he asked me, "You know you're not normal, don't you?"
I blinked. "You'll have to be more specific."
"I can go find the bullet you shot at me, if you want," he replied dryly, without missing a beat. I paused, feeling uncertain.
"Leave me alone for a second with this guy," I requested the older soldiers. The glanced at each other.
"Please."
"...Five minutes." With a small nod, everyone lowered their rifles and began to shift away, a few meters away from me and the other soldier, quick, worried looks being shot over their shoulders.
"They shouldn't be so concerned," the other said blandly. "It would take me a lot longer for me to kill you than for them to run over and shoot me."
"But that would be a waste of time, wouldn't it?" I said quietly.
"Well, it wouldn't be a complete waste, but I wouldn't die."
"What are you?"
"Well, what are you?"
We considered each other, both trying to gain mental dominance over the other, try to see what secrets the other held in the eyes that must've seen so much already, but I could not get a grasp of who this man was.
"Minori," he offered, inclining a little but not completely. "I'm immortal."
I snorted.
"There are more of us," he continued, nonplussed. "I don't know how many, but we've found a few so far. There's a man who can make you break your own bones if he wanted to, and a woman who can see the future. And another woman that knows everything in this world. And another girl that--" his voice adopted a sort of uncomfortable choking sound before he continued "--can break down walls."
"You're wasting my time."
"I can prove it to you, if you want," Minori told me. "You can shoot me as many times as you want to, but I'll get up every time. Although," he added a bit reluctantly, "I would prefer that it doesn't come to this. It hurts." When I did not reply, he prodded me, "Haven't you ever felt that you are not normal? That you are outside the boundaries of what a person should be?"
I refused to admit to the truth of this.
"...Very well." Minori straightened and faced me. "You're a soldier, are you not?" I glanced to the side at my fellows, who watched anxiously, and gave a small, hesitant nod.
"Then the best way to your head is through a fight." Without warning, Minori tackled me about the waist, making me topple to the ground. I blinked, dazed, as he grasped my collar and told me coldly, "If I win, you come with me."
As my comrades swarmed towards me, killing intent in their eyes, I called to them to halt and allow me to fight on my own. They paused but did not argue; they had faith in me. They relaxed, leaned back, sat down, anxiously watching the battle and trying not to act as if they were even a little bit entertained by the situation.
"Then you accept the terms," he said to me as a statement. Then he punched me full in the face. And then he punched me again. And again. Impatiently, I seized the back of his shirt and threw him off and over my head with comical ease before flipping onto my feet. I spun and narrowly avoided his punch that he threw at me, feeling the small breath of air on my cheek as he passed. Not missing a beat, I seized his passing arm and kicked him on the side. I felt vicious satisfaction as I felt something give in his chest -- perhaps a broken rib -- as he collapsed onto the ground. With a grunt, he sat up, rubbing his side. I allowed him a chance to recuperate.
My mercy was a mistake. With three distinct snaps, Minori was back on his feet, his side apparently no longer causing him pain. Without hesitation, he drew a hunting knife from his boot and threw it at me -- a stupid decision. I swerved and caught it in the air before wheeling to meet him as he made to attack my exposed back and sunk the blade deep into his chest, distinctly feeling the heart with its point.
With a garbled choke, Minori backed away, blood already pooling at his mouth and spilling onto his shirt, joining the large puddle around the hilt of the knife. With an impatient spitting noise, Minori gripped the end of the dagger and pulled it out. Like it was nothing.
His throat full of blood and therefore being unable to speak, he only tilted his head a little and widened his eyes a bit. Believe me yet?
For the first time since I was born, I felt fear. I took a step back. I swallowed my revulsion. I could feel a chill run down my neck.
The rest of the fight was a sort of blur, my mind rattled as I tried to ground myself back into the reality that I thought I knew. No matter how many times I striked, no matter now many times I slashed, no matter how many times I shot, Minori would rise and approach me with the same air of casualness as two old friends might have. Distracted, distraught, distressed, I felt a sting on my cheek. I pressed it and pulled my hand away.
Red. It was red on my hand. Blood?
I was bleeding.
Someone had cut me.
"Now you come with me," Minori told me bluntly. He turned his back to me and retrieved the hand he had lost a few minutes ago, methodically aligning it to his wrist and frowning. He turned to my comrades and asked, "Is one of you a doctor? Can you stitch my hand back on?"
"What are you?" I asked him shakily. "What am I?" Minori glanced at me.
"Well," he said, "now you're starting to ask the right questions."

[eden .]

Something You Heard Your Friend Say

okay I couldn't think of anything so I related something that happened IRL instead.
hey that's allowed right.

The other day, I was minding my own business in one of the more comfortable classrooms in my school (it has couches), when one of the sophomores came up to me. She was one of my friends, I'd say, and I talk to her quiet a bit. She plays the viola and is in the same youth orchestra as I am (she recently joined in the middle of the season). She was telling me about something she had said to someone else in the orchestra.
But let me back up. Okay, so there's this entire miniature drama going on in the viola section, and I'm not sure if I'm entertained or uncomfortable with it, since I happen to be the protagonist. There's a total of two other guys out of the five member viola section (no one plays the viola, guys), and my friend that I spoke of ships me with one of the guys. If you don't know what shipping is, then let me explain in the most basic of definitions: it's when you want two characters and/or people to be together. Usually, it's more associated with fictional things, like television shows or books. "Shipping" is when you want "X" character and "Y" character to be together. And me and the guy in question is basically my friend's OTP (or, in other words, her "one true pairing"). It's weird.
Anyways, so my friend comes up to me in the classroom and is talking about that guy and me, because it's a long standing joke that she asks me if we've fallen in love yet. I denied this, of course, because I actually feel very neutral towards him, and we lapsed into silence for a second before she told me that he and she had a conversation the other day when I wasn't around. I didn't really like where this was going, but of course I asked anyway. How could I not? So then she tells me about how she was speaking with him and somehow they were on the subject of marriage, and then apparently she was like, "Oh yeah, you should marry [insert my IRL name right here]" to the guy she ships me with and I was like "WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT."
And also "YOU DEFINITELY DID NOT SAY THAT." That, I also said. I wasn't sure if I was supremely amused or extremely embarrassed. But like who says that to people I don't understand. Why would you do that. What's the point in doing that.
Anyways, this was my writing for the day about what I heard a friend say. Have a nice day.

[eden .]

oh so fontmeme is back on.
and this is a super old character but I revisited her. I made her in like 7th grade so she kind of sucks so I revamped her a little bit she's more of a wimp before but I like it so BOOM.

096 felt the bullet bury itself into her chest. She let out a small huff as she felt the impact, stumbling back a little despite herself. Another shot rang through the air, embedding itself into her stomach, and 096 stumbled back around the corner before he shot through her bullet proof suit and actually made her bleed.
Leaning heavily against the burgundy wall, 096 inspected the damage, running her hands along her chest and abdomen. There wasn't any blood, although it ached like a bad bruise. She gingerly tried to dig out the bullets but soon abandoned the venture; no way was she going to get them out within the time allotted. She would just have to work around them.
There was a lull in the action, the hallway becoming silent as both she and the guard became more wary. 096 had taken out the first few men with relative ease, but of course that gave the last one the opportunity to get his gun and take aim. Right now, he was probably standing in front of the room doors, protecting her target.
Calm down, she told herself, closing her eyes and allowing herself a moment. You can do this. This is what you've trained for.
096 turned the situation over in her mind, but there were only a few options in front of her. Trying to get into the ceiling would take too much time, and going outside in order to get through the window would also take too much time. This hallway had no other entrances besides the one she was hiding in at the moment. So really, there wasn't a fancy option, no glorified, strategically impressive plan she could do. With a small, frustrated sigh, 096 pulled out her holstered gun and screwed on the silencer she held in her backpack. She frowned as she noticed her hands were trembling. Hopefully it was only from adrenaline.
With another deep, preparing breath, 096 rolled out from her hiding place, keeping low to the ground and somersaulting until she took fast aim and fired, forcing herself not to think about anything or try to double check she was on the mark. What was important, she reasoned, was to incapacitate the guard. If she missed the vitals, she could shoot him again when he was down.
She was lucky; she had shot him in the stomach, which meant that he was definitely going to die, although it was going to be severely painful. 096 blew her bangs out of her face as the guard fell towards the ground and moaned pitifully, staining the expensive rug laid out in front of the polished wood doors. 096 rose and unlocked the safety of her gun again, preparing for the final stage of the assignment.
096 stepped over the splayed out bodies of the guards -- all dead -- and approached the doors. She stood there, letting herself absorb the magnitude of the moment. Then she glanced at her watch and clicked her tongue. She couldn't waste any more time. She tried the doors. Locked. She probably wouldn't be able to kick them down. 096 shot the lock a few times until the doors swung open at their own volition, tired and haggard and weary.
The room inside was completely dark. The windows that usually would be open and exposed to the city outside were covered with drawn curtains, dark brown-red and thick. 096's shoes simply sank into the carpeting. The semi-circular office seemed completely empty save for the single office desk and chair situated in the direct center of the room. She felt her eyebrow pucker for a moment before she approached the desk.
Suddenly, a shadow flashed across her vision. 096 rose her gun in an attempt to shoot, but she hesitated, wondering for a moment if it would be safe to hit the shadow, when it reappeared at the entrance. It was clearly making to escape the situation. Panicked, 096 clumsily took aim and shot.
The bullet completely missed its mark -- the back of the target's head -- but instead it lodged in the shoulder of the target, which certainly slowed them down. 096 fumbled with her gun in her haste, but luckily, she was able to jog forward a little and shoot a few more rounds into the target before he could get far. Finally, a bullet managed to land into the back of the man's graying head. Blood splattered the walls in the hall and the rug and stained his hair. he fell to the ground, clearly dead. 096 lowered her gun, chest heaving.
Without warning, white lights snapped on, flooding the entire room with harsh brightness that nearly blinded 096. She blinked and squinted, rubbed her eyes a bit, then looked up again. In that span of a few seconds, people in white coats and black coats appeared, checking the bodies and dragging them away when it was confirmed that they had been "killed". Meanwhile, a white-blond haired white coated man approached her, his long legs gracefully bringing him near. He was a bit like a cat -- although a house-trained cat. There was nothing intimidating about Caspar.
Caspar was a lanky, languid sort of man that was clearly made to be someone behind the scenes, or someone to watch the action, not be in it. His physique couldn't be toned or trained if he tried, and he had that gentle expression and naivete about him that discouraged others for exploiting it. Still, he knew when to be stern and severe, and crossing him was not a smart move, especially when he was the head for 096's technology division. His hair was so blonde that it was nearly white, and in the lighting, it looked completely transparent. His pale face became ill looking, and all of his bones came into sharp relief. He looked more like a skeleton when he finally reached 096.
"Oh-Ninety-Six," he greeted her with a smooth, high voice.
"Did I pass?" she asked breathlessly, skipping all introductions. Looking faintly amused, Caspar glanced over his notes that he carried in one spidery hand, although she knew that he was just killing time, making her squirm. He was one of the three judges that determined if she was ready for the next level.
"Your performance was rather average," Caspar told her blandly. "Nothing extraordinary there. We were expecting something a bit more creative than rushing your opponent like that. And there were more artful ways of undoing that lock."
096 tried to stop herself from screaming. There was no way she was going to fail because she didn't undo a lock in an eloquent way, was there? She had finished the assignment, and at the end of the day, wasn't that all that mattered? Granted, she nearly let the target get away, but he was down in the end ...
"And you nearly let the target escape, of course," Caspar added, as if reading 096's thoughts. "That would've been problematic in a real mission."
096 was smart enough to hold her tongue, but she couldn't stop her hands from shaking.
"Is there something wrong?"
"No."
"In that case," Caspar said loftily, looking over the papers again, flipping a few and glancing them over, "it seems that the final verdict is ..."
096 could feel her heart rattling her rib cage.
"... you pass."
096 blinked before she let out a great breath of relief and grinned. Then she laughed a little.
"Were you worried?"
"Not at all," 096 answered, straightening up. She shouldn't be acting so unprofessionally. "Thank you."
"There's no problem," Caspar insisted. "This is what you've been trained for, after all. There was no other possible outcome."
"Of course," 096 mumbled to the floor.
"I'll see you tomorrow," Caspar told her as he turned his back. "We'll be assigning you your first solo case. You might even be able to get a name."
"Yes, sir!" 096 heard herself exclaim, her heart leaping with excitement and surprise. She straightened her back and cried, "Thank you, sir!"

[eden .]

look an opportunity to rant about things

Oh good I get to rant about stuff in this one.
Okay where do I even start? Do I start with my stance on homosexuality or like feminism or maybe religion or maybe music or ...
Okay I think I'll go with religion. If you're disinterested or feel like you might get upset about something like this, then I suggest you either leave right now or don't complain later, because I honestly do have the right to speak my mind.
I'm not sure how many of you might've thought otherwise, but I'm actually a protestant Christian. Mind, I'm an extremely liberal Christian, but Christian all the same. I'm telling you right off the bat I definitely am not an expert on the religion, and I certainly don't study the Bible during my free time. I wouldn't say I'm devout, either. But I know the basic concepts, at the very least, and a bit more about stories in the Bible than some of my atheist friends, so I suppose I'm not completely uncredible.
Frankly, I have no problem with conservative Christians. Honestly, that's fine. I find them somewhat annoying because they really need to learn how to let loose, but otherwise, since they're not bothering anyone, I'm fine with them. In general, I'm fine with any religion (except for ones that, like, require you to harm yourself for the sake of a god) or lack thereof (I have at least two outright atheist friends). While others might do it, I'm not the one going around telling people what they should and shouldn't believe. At this point, I really don't think I have the right to; I'm still trying to figure out what I believe, myself. I don't think it makes sense for me to lecture people into believing in my god when I'm not completely sure how devoted I am to Him, either.
What really does annoy me, though, are the crazy Christians that take extreme measures under the name of God to basically have their way with other people, typically minorities or more socially oppressed groups. For one thing, it's stupid and wrong, and for another, it paints all the other Christians in a bad light (honestly, I, for example, don't care what you do as long as it doesn't affect my rights or hurts other people). They just upset me because of their lofty attitude and simple single and narrow mindedness. For example, I'm sure a lot of you heard about the priest in the US that was prancing around talking about having a "Burn the Quran" day. Like, that was the most ludicrous, ridiculous thing I had ever read about in my life (well, not really. But it's up there). And of course, there was a huge uproar about it, and the ridiculous thing is that, if there was a "Burn the Bible" day, then you would've seen a lot more media coverage over it than we did for the Quran. It's ridiculous. One of the Christian doctrines, to paraphrase, is "love your neighbor". Why would you go around, take your neighbor's religious text, and burn it in a trashcan? Nowhere in the Bible have I come across God or Jesus saying, "If someone doesn't believe in me, then please take their Quran and burn it". They have never asked us to hurt other people.
As another example, I'll allude to the 18% tip guy. I don't know how many of you have heard, but there was some internet explosion about a picture of a receipt that was left in a restaurant. From the information I read, they were in a large party, so the gratuity was automatically factored into the price (you know how each restaurant has that "if more than six people than so and so gratuity will be added" or something like that). Written on the receipt was "I give God 10%. Why do you get 18", and the tip section that was calculated was literally scribbled out and on top of his signature, there was a decisively scrawled "priest". Okay, honestly. I don't want to talk bad about priests, because a member of my family happens to be one (he's cool), but you know that he was just looking for an excuse not to pay maybe a dollar or two extra for his meal. Why does it matter how much you might give God? For one thing, that's by your own volition. No one is making you give offering each Sunday. For another, I'm sure he must've realized that waiters and waitresses and other workers like that (such as pizza delivery people) basically live on tips. Their wage is incredibly low, and without tips they wouldn't be able to scrape as much as they did. And they work for hours and hours non stop. Honestly, Pastor, no one is asking you to give this person 100 dollars. And do you honestly think that if God or Jesus was sitting next to you in that booth they would've said, "No, they're asking for 18% of your wage. You shouldn't give this waiter tip"? I mean, I'm not a pastor or anything, but since Christianity (and basically ever other major religion) says that you should be loving and kind to everyone, I'm guessing that they wouldn't say the latter.
A really good, big example, though, is Christians and their stance on homosexuality. Okay, so in the Bible, it actually does say that you shall not lie with another man (addressing other men). So first of all, that abolishes the "it doesn't say that in the Bible!" argument, because honestly, it does (and I'm not saying that's good or bad or any argument either way. It's just a simple fact). Multiple Christians have multiple positions on homosexuality. Some people don't like it at all, but still others think it's like the best thing in the world. I mean, there's an openly gay pastor, you know. Personally, I don't care either way what gender you're attracted to as long as you respect that I might not be the same. I know a lot of people that aren't strictly heterosexual, and they're possibly the greatest people ever.
The Christians that parade around at the protests and declare that the homosexuals are sinners and are going to hell annoy me so much. For one thing, they're not, like, burning down your houses or anything, or infringing on your long standing rights, so I don't see what the problem of letting them just legally get married is. Secondly ... okay, in case you don't know, I'll explain some background. The Christian doctrine states that you should try your best not to sin, but also reminds us that we are all sinners in the end. Now, that doesn't mean we should go out of our way to do bad things, but it also means we should remain humble. Everyone is a sinner. Everyone does wrong, whether they mean to or not. The only difference is, as Christians, they ask God for forgiveness, and they will be accepted into heaven. However, nowhere in the Bible does God ever say to Christians to abuse people that don't happen to live by the same doctrine as they do. And frankly, if you're going to tell people that they're the most disgusting sinners ever and they don't deserve to live, you should take a good look at yourself. Since you're telling everyone that they're such disgusting sinners, then I guess you've never sinned in your life, huh? Oh, but that means from definition, you're God, right? But we both know you're not God, and we both know you've done plenty of horrible things in your life. You don't get to lecture and tell everyone where they're going to end up after they die unless you're the big man, Himself. Do you think you know this as well as or better than your God does? Honestly, get over yourself. Don't tell people they're all going to hell for sinning unless you've never sinned before in your life. If you really want to be a Christian, then just accept that they're gay. Okay, so that's technically a sin (if you follow the Bible), but you shouldn't be hating the person that's sinning. After all, you're doing wrong too. And you've done wrong. And you're going to do wrong. No one is hating you. Hate the fact that sin exists. Hate the fact that the sin is there. But don't hate the person just because they're not following the Bible. You're not exactly perfect, either.
Anyways, that's my rant. Again, this is all my opinion, and of course I'm not a Christianity expert. Didn't mean to offend anyone, and if I did, I apologize, I just wanted to speak my mind!

[eden .]

I didn't really like this prompt and also I'm like dead right now I got like 2 hrs of sleep last night and al;dfalkdalk I'm waiting to get to the good prompts and this is rushed because I wanted it to be done already adslkfsdl;fsdal;fsdalj;sfa

I hated going out to my grandfather's ranch out in the country. I had to wake up too early, and there were too many animals that interrupted my few hours of sleep, and there were always chores to do. And I hated that there was such a large expanse of fields around us. Like a sea.
My grandfather's ranch was situated in the middle of nowhere. The nearest town was never printed on even the most detailed of maps, and it only had perhaps one general store that carried the bare necessities for life. My grandfather and grandmother lived off of the land, milking the cow everyday and clearing off land to plant the harvest for the new season and gathering eggs each morning. I never understood how they did it. I never understood where they found the drive to wake up every morning and go out to the chicken coop in the dead of winter for a few eggs. Where did they get this motivation?
The large gold fields that surrounded the ranch were the worts parts, however. I hated the infinity of it, the endlessness of the unknown. It swayed and sighed like a calm sea, but I was not fooled; I always hated large expanses where I could never see the end. I suppose it made me afraid and fearfull of what might have been hidden inside it. I was terrified of venturing out there to gather something or other that my grandfather had forgotten, believing that I would lose myself and would be forgotten as an unknown face in the endless land. Anonymous and dead to the world. That was what I would be.
It was during these times that I have met my one and only true friend in my entire life. She never told me her name, but because of the wildflowers that surrounded us on the first day we met, she emphatically asked me to call her "Daisy", and so I did.
Daisy and I had an age difference of one year. She was younger than I, but I felt that she was one of the most intelligent, most mature young woman I had ever encountered. She is the only reason I have put stock in the theory of the "old souls" that walk this earth--those people who had lived lives in the past and have ages and ages of knowledge in a single, youthful body. If Daisy was not one of these souls, then no one could possibly be. Without her, I might've lost myself long ago.
There was something ephemeral about Daisy. There was a level of a higher power or calling that wafted from her very skin and hovered about her like a halo. Her hair was so light of a blonde that it was nearly white, and her bones and skeleton could be seen through her skin, as if she was transluscent. She floated when she walked and almost sang when she spoke. She was as light as paper and strong as stone. Her bony, narrow shoulders held the weight of the world.
When I first met her, she had been contentedly picking flowers and weaving them into a small bracelet for her stickly wrist with a small smile on her face. I had been sprinting through the wheat and barely, fearful and trying to keep my head at the same time. I swatted aside the stalks and felt them brush the back of my neck as I fled past them. I could feel them staring down at me over my head as I ran. The only things I could see in front of me were my hands and the endless sea. I had burst through another bunch of barley and nearly tripped over Daisy, who was crouched on the ground. I paused, unsure of how to proceed. For a moment I had believed that she was some sort of demon or monster who had come to take me away or allow the earth underneath my feet swallow me up. She paid me no mind, finishing off her bracelet and humming to herself before she looked up to finally acknowledge me.
"Hello," she said softly. I stared at her before I replied throatily, "Hello."
"What are you doing here?"
"This is my grandpa's property," I said with a bit more authority in my voice.
"Oh," was all she said before she returned to picking flowers.
"You shouldn't be here without his permission," I told her assertively. She ignored me, serenely arranging the flowers and carefully tying the stems together.
"Are you listening?" I demanded, shaky and anxious to prove that I was stronger than I was. "Leave!" Impulsively and vindictively, I leapt forward and seized the flowers. I threw them to the dusty ground and stomped them with my bare foot, grinding the petals into the ground and tearing apart the stems.
"Leave!" I shouted to her. She did not flinch. She did not even react to the destruction of her flowers. She considered me with her large gray eyes as if she was curious as to what I was going to do next. I felt exposed and afraid under her gaze. I stepped away before I screamed at her, "Go away!"
And promptly after, I turned tail and ran, feeling her stare boring into my back as I disappeared. A few strides after I was out of her sights, she called after me in a sing-song voice, "My name is Daisy!"
The next time I went into the fields, I was not as afraid.

[eden .]

Literally it is exactly 12 AM here and I literally just remembered this existed 20 minutes ago BUT I finished it at EXACTLY 11:59 SO IT STILL COUNTS I'M NOT OUT OF THE RACE YET

I grinned as I watched the band play in the garage. Eddy was singing some screaming lyrics that I couldn't understand and didn't like very much, but it made hi happy to sing them, so I smiled and acted interested. I wasn't about to ruin his fun.
"Take it away, Z," he said into his mike all "cool" like. I actually thought it made him seem kind of ridiculous, but everyone seemed to really get into it, so I didn't say anything about it. The drummer in the back, Zachary, did some clanging, crashing noises that were apparently supposed to be be some sort of resounding beat. I didn't really get it, but I clapped excitedly when the song was over. Eddy gave a deep bow and grinned at me, pleased that I had responded so positively.
"What did you think?" he asked me.
"I thought it was good!" I said encouragingly. The band was small and had very, very few fans, but it was something everyone in it liked to do, so I figured there was no harm telling them a small, white lie. "You should keep doing what you're doing. You'll get famous in no time."
"Fame's not the aim," Eddy reminded me good-naturedly. I rose from my seat as he offered me my hand. I was reminded why I went out with the crazy-haired idiot.
"See you later, guys!" I called over my shoulder as we exited the rehearsal. They all called some generic send offs, but Janet, the only girl and the only good player in the band, in my opinion, actually said, "See you in calc tomorrow, Nick!" before we were out of sight. It was nice to know that Eddy wasn't the only one that saw me when I came into that garage.
"So, what do you want to do now?" Eddy asked me cheerily, an arm carelessly swung around my shoulders. I frowned as I thought about it.
"Not sure," I said. "It's getting pretty late, isn't it?"
"Nah," he shrugged. "I think we have some time for some ice cream or a movie or something."
"Maybe," I said noncommittally. Honestly, I didn't really want to do anything today except chat with my boyfriend. "Hold on, sorry," I apologized as my phone vibrated. Probably one of my online friends trying to get my attention.
"You need to tell CC to back off," Eddy laughed, shifting a little to allow me to extract my phone.
"I did tell her I was gay," I rose an eyebrow and smiled. CC stood for "Chiang Chiang", my recently immigrated Chinese friend who mostly came to us--me and my other online friends--when she had a problem. She didn't feel comfortable with the people in her school. I glanced over the message she had sent me and frowned.
"What's wrong?"
"She says that she thinks she might be in some trouble," I muttered. "Because of the money printing."
"Eugh," Eddy made a sympathetic cringe. The excessive money printing the US had finally resorted to in order to pay off it's exorbitant debts was basically Greece all over again, except the world wasn't as forgiving this time around. A lot of people were completely falling into the streets, and businesses were closing left and right as inflation began to skyrocket. Eddy and I were probably the top fifteen percent richest in the country, and even we had felt our pennies squeal in our pockets, we were pinching them so hard.
"Hang in there," I messaged her. "I can probably send you some extra money I have if you need it." All of my online friends had either directly or indirectly asked me for money, and while I thought it was kind of low of them, I really couldn't blame them; out of all of us, I was the one with the excessive amounts of cash, at the moment.
"You have like no money left," Eddy reminded me as I sent the message. "You shouldn't stretch yourself too thin."
"It's fine," I said dismissively. My phone vibrated again, the message also from CC, and read, "Wel thatsnot the onlie thing."
"What's the matter?" I asked her, concerned.
"Some thing is hapening."
"Like what?"
The phone was silent, which was odd considering how anxiously she had been messaging me. I stared at the screen, feeling my concern begin to mount.
"Maybe it's nothing," Eddy said to me bracingly, sensing my discomfort.
"Maybe," I frowned, pocketing my phone again.
"Come on. If she needs you, she'll let you know." Eddy coaxed me to the car and we drove out to the city to try and get our minds off of things. The entire way there, I felt this vague prickling on my skin, as if something was poking me or bothering me.
And when there was a bar fight in the bar, the feeling was unmistakable. I blinked open my eyes, dazed, to see Eddy staring at me with surprise and concern.
"What happened?" I asked, my mouth feeling raw.
"Some guys got into a fight," he said wonderingly, "and when they punched each other you ..." he swallowed as if this was something he shouldn't say.
"What happened?" I tried to get up, but found that I couldn't. I had been strapped down by Velcro, and my chest was killing me.
"You got hurt instead. Nick, neither of them got hurt. You did instead."
"They hit me?"
"No, they were hitting each other. But all the hits ... they were going to you instead. Thirty feet away."

[ri bird.]

Wow...these are actually good. If you really tried you could get something published-and that's saying a lot.
I think sometimes your sentences are too long as a result of trying to be descriptive, so some of them should be broken up into two sentences or 'with'. If it has too many comma's the reader keeps mentally pausing and stops the flow of the paragraph. It helps to read it out loud. But other wise it's very good, and your style makes it so easy to picture your words- amazing job!

[eden .]

Omg thank you so much ;u;
Yeah, that's something I'm trying to be conscious of. I think my problem is that I speak/think with really long sentences .-. I'll keep that in mind! ^^
Thanks for the help!

[eden .]

I was going to try and publish the first version but I wasn't 100% satisfied with it, and since authors always have drafts, I guess the first one I edited was the less-rough rough draft, and this will be more closer-to-final final draft. In any case, I'll be making some changes to the first one that I wrote. Some of you might have read the previous one, so idk how much you'll enjoy this one. I'm actually considering cutting alexander's POV completely from the new version. post / pm me your thoughts on that.
the original ended with 90379 words, so I'll try and get around that this time around, too.
1258 / 90379

On June fifth, 2012, my mom died from lung cancer. She was a smoker, although she wasn’t exactly a chain smoker, but that didn’t really mean much to the doctors. By that time, I had finish off with declining grades and failed finals in my sophomore year of college, and I spent the first few weeks of my summer vacation with my dad as he tried to plan the funeral without losing it every three seconds and me not even bothering to control myself each morning. My “grossly ridiculous” sleeping hours extended into “near clinical depression” sleeping hours. Every time I woke up, I was more tired than when I started, and I wished I could just go back to sleep, again.
On June twenty ninth, 2012, we had my mom’s funeral. I hated every single second of it. From the moment I stepped through the entrance of the small church, I felt this revulsion, this force that nearly made me throw up all over the floor. The single aisle curved and swung like a snake and the vaulted ceiling sank closer and closer to my head, closing me in. The walls slowly came up to my sides, suffocating me. I couldn’t breathe. The black mourning clothes I wore choked me and felt restraining. I wanted to go home and hide in my bed. I wanted to go back to sleep.
On June twenty ninth, 2012, at three sixteen in the afternoon, my mom’s casket was shut tight and wheeled out of the church. I stared after it, determined to burn the image into my brain. My memory was terrible. When it rounded the corner, I could barely remember the trim on the wood. I unresponsively stared at my family members and allowed them to put their arms around me in what was supposed to be a comforting hug, but the only thing I felt was impatience. And numbness. But mostly impatience. There were tear streaks all over my cheeks and neck, and it made everything sticky. I was thirsty, my legs were tired, my throat hurt because I was trying to stop myself from shouting at the rafters because no church would be big enough to hold a funeral for a woman like my mom, and I didn’t want to stand here anymore. I wanted to go home. I wanted to mourn my mom.
On July fifteenth, 2012, my dad finally asked me straight out how I was doing. It was from the entrance of my room, when I was under my covers and staring at the floor because I couldn’t fall asleep no matter how badly I wanted to. He was standing there awkwardly, unsure of how to approach me. There was a white mug in his hand, steaming with, I assumed, freshly brewed coffee, half shaven and disheveled, deep shadows under his eyes because of his sleepless nights and unforgiving workload. Owning a business did not stop for anyone, which seemed to be the greatest injustice that my dad had to face, but the corporate office spared him little time to mourn before it forced him back to work. There were new wrinkles on his face that I never recalled had been there before, and his hair was grayer with stress, pure fatigue, and barely subdued devastation. I didn’t even look up. After a moment, I heard him sigh and the floorboards creak as he retreated downstairs to look at the sales of the store for that week. When I asked later, he admitted to me that they were doing worse than before, which was saying something.
On July twenty second, 2012, I finally dared to step downstairs and have more than whatever chips, water, and other quick and available foods I had eaten whenever I had been awake enough to manage to take two steps out my room. Mind, it was only cup ramen, but it was a start. My dad, having sensed that we would not be having full meals for a long, long time, had bought boxes of cup ramen weeks ago. The cupboards weren’t filled with anything else. I took one, trembling out of hunger and cold, and filled the cup with water from the boiler and added the powder. The menial task forced me to concentrate harder than I ever had to before in my life. More than once, I considered leaving the cup half filled, half opened, and half flavored and retreat back to my room and go back to sleep. I never felt hungry in my sleep.
On July thirtieth, 2012, my dad came from work very late—around midnight—and found me sobbing over a bowl of instant noodles, barely managing to keep them down. I looked ridiculous and pitiful, ramen half in my mouth and half out, as tears slipped down my cheeks and my nose streaming. I couldn’t find the willpower to swallow, but I was able to manage a few more bites anyway before I gripped my chopsticks and fell back into my chair, crying around a mouthful of food. Dad just kind of stood there, unsure of what to do. My dad and I never spoke heart to heart. Our past subjects of conversation were limited to school, grades, the names of friends that he promptly forgot, and colleges when I got older. It was never anything I blamed or resented him for, and most of my life, there was no problem. Mom had always been there.
On August first, 2012, I tried cooking some soup because I felt a stirring of guilt for not trying harder for my dad, who now had to manage the business without my mom’s support and found himself widowed and at a loss of what to do with his nineteen year old daughter who had another two years of college to go through and whose life he knew very little about. I am proud to say that I was able to finish making it start to finish, even though the tofu blocks were basically tofu halves and the flavor was severely lacking. My dad ate most of the pot of it when he came home. I guess it was a mix of relief that I was doing something and the fact that he’d never had actual food for about two months.
On September fourth, 2012, the first day of classes happened at Columbia University, and I wasn’t there for it. Neither my dad nor I had bothered to let them know that I was definitely coming back, and while they had heard about my predicament near the end of the year last year, they had been in the dark regarding my current status. My arrival was delayed because of my dad’s and my sluggishness and lack of effort to do anything those days. By the time I had gathered the energy to walk through the doors of the college, classes had been in full swing for a week. The roommates had been chosen. The orchestra auditions were the day of my arrival. Unsure and unaware that I was coming back, I had been shunted from the dorms by the administration. I was essentially homeless.
On September nineteenth, 2012, my closest friend Eun found me a vacant apartment not too far from the university.
On September twentieth, 2012, I visited the apartment and approved of the facilities while she explained I would have to room with the other person interested in the place for the sake of making the rent.
On September twenty first, 2012, I met Alexander.