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The Fire (Chapter 1)This is what happened on the 29th and (most of) the 30th of June. I will upload another section tomorrow, and when the story is finished, merge it all together. I would say enjoy, but its perhaps not the best of stories.
The story begins in the early hours of the morning, on Saturday the 29th of June, 2013. I've just come back from a trip to Belgium, a school trip, and the coach has just arrived back at school. Since I have to walk home through a, let's say, sometimes unsavory town at 3 am (my mother doesn't have a car, and I can't drive...) I am accompanied by my dear mother. Walking past a stupid person who just so happened to be on the same trip, we head off home.
We talk about relativity un-interesting things, that I can't really remember, as we stroll through the neighborhood. I think I mentioned the rainbow lolly pop that I purchased there which was full of E numbers and kept me awake for part of the journey.
At home, I walked upstairs, past the kitchen (that was still fun
EightEight is a number, but it is also many other things.
It is a bar in my hometown.
And a date on the calender.
It is the asterisk symbol on the keyboard
And a symbol that appears like this: 8
There are figures of eight
People aged eight
Eight more days to go...
Eight more days until my birthday, on the 8th day of the 8th month.
My mind is missing :3Mr.iTunes was sitting at his desk. Suddenly, his 'unhappy customer' detector beeped.
He looked at it and saw something from deviantART.
It was a journal entry, by TheIrritatingPenguin.
'Bob?' He called his assistant.
'What now? Another one?'
'We may need to leave the country for a bit.'
Bob sighed. 'Again?'
Bob walked over and read the journal entry.
'That's worse than usual'
'Yeah, I know' Mr.iTunes replied.
'You know, you could actually make them happy?'
'Where's the fun in that?'
TheIrritatingPenguin sat at their desk.
They sent a message to Mr.iTunes.
'REMEMBER THIS MESSAGE, FOR IT SHALL BE YOUR LAST.
With an evil, evil, evil, evil, evil laugh, they set off...
Only 11.You know, since the series finale of Doctor Who, I've been thinking...
'How many Doctors are there?'
I've found the answer.
Now, we saw John Hurt at the end of that episode, but he isn't the Doctor. He was the one who broke the promise. There may be 12 regenerations of him...
But there are only 11 Doctors.
What ever 'he' did, we should never find out...
But I have a feeling that we might.
Preview of a tale.I traveled in time.
Once upon a time I was walking along, when I saw a portal like thing. I tripped over a banana skin and fell into it, therefore traveling in time. I knew this because I saw dinosaurs. I then woke up and realised that I wasn't dreaming.
The Insomniac ArtistMy mind is numb from lack of sleep, but my soul is a burning fire of determination.
I cannot go to bed. Not yet.
I must go on. I must finish the painting, the drawing, the vessel, the writing.
Anything but sleep.
Because if I succumb to the dark arms of sleep, I will be in dreams and in darkness.
My art is like life to me; like light. Without it, I can't breathe. I lose who I am.
So I won't sleep.
Finish the work. When it is done, I will not wash the stains from my aching hands. I leave them there because they are a part of me.
And now I've finished this painting. My eyelids are heavy, and a yawn escapes my mouth.
A fleeting panic rushes through me.
The painting is done!
But no, it is never done.
I am the insomniac artist, and my work is never done.
Like A Candle in the Snuff Windyour deserted corneas crumbling neath the sun shrinks my heart to nothing with you......
the sound of the boiled sweet turning in your smug mouth makes me want to throttle u thru
it sends your mummy reeling to the hospital- with more red tape than bandages
human boomerangsscattering enriched guts
are we scientists or just
some kids who wanted to get laid
conceiving maps to non-existent places
and limitless paper for a paperless world
Here I Will StandHere I will stand,
Like a statue of uncertainty,
I will not waiver when started upon,
But to be honest,
There is so much that is locked inside.
Like a deep dark book no one wants to read,
Because the ending is just too gruesome to bear witness too,
I keep myself sealed within myself,
The child that is still there.
I can hear him cry out from time to time,
I try to ignore it,
But the darkness still frightens me,
It holds everything I love hostage,
And it’s all my fault that I can’t save them.
When I am alone,
All my faults stare me in the eyes,
And I feel the floor beneath me crumble into millions of pieces.
But in the presence of those whose lives I wield in my delicate hands,
I do not waiver.
Here I stand.
spastic meattrapped in the superluminal
mongrel flesh engine
our pyrrhic tongues tied to our knees
we walked half the night looking
for a clusterfuck cushion
or an awkward place amongst the trees
where optics stain and substance changes
every other day
and the conciliatory come to
air out their guts
with the ghosts of irony
MAN made Frankenstein complex.Whenever suits you
Whatever you want to do
I have nothing better than you
The edges of your image are nostalgic
You are technicolour in my heart
A montage set to tear stained nights
I watched what was
What might have been
Spirits came to me at midnight
Demons and Angels
Came to clamour at my mourning
My grief to them
As sweet and pure as the virgin birth
Many had names like Mephisto and The Undying Compassionate.
Over horizons that disappeared from now till the end
When your eyes met mine
Her chair is empty but the coffee is still warm
The silence faces me from the corners of the room
In its eyes I can see where she went
Along the wind
To fly high
Where no one of consequence can see her downfall
She was legendary in battle
Like delicate shrouds
Crafted by widows
Feeble hands and worn eyes
Her eyes are reminiscent of the fire of disease
Madness like grapes, and cocaine, and Divine XTZ
Mammal Eggsmammal eggs
so go Joe
n get a boxo
nicer tasting wunz
from out the battery factory of feathery ass
or come with me baby
to carob Easter 2015
The arrogance of greed.
A bitter product of the times.
Each feigned declaration.
Seemingly ahead of itself.
Behind the realization.
A shunned reality.
Eyes wistfully on the horizon.
Aching to pass.
Curled up knots of fear.
A touch of glass.
Duty bound but still I sway.
Satiation beyond grasp.
Restrained by ideals.
The prison will open.
And the burden will disappear.
Exhaled into the atmosphere like the waste of time it should have never been.
MeThis is me.
I am me.
I don't know what me is.
Me is me.
I don't know me.
Who am I?
I wake up.
And I think.
Well, I don't, but you don't know that.
Well, you do now.
When I feel me.
Is this life?
We are all dying, which is true but a little pessimistic.
Every second you live every time you smile every time you see anything, you get closer to dying.
We live, we die. What is the meaning of life?
To have fun, to live, to see stuff.
Oh look it's a glass, either half full or half empty.
Apparently, it tells you how you look at life.
'It depends, *GANGNAM STYLE JUST CAME ON YAY ITUNES * on whether it has been filled half way...
Or filled fully then half drank.
Why am I writing this? I got inspired by Viva la Vidi, because I love it, but my Mum says stuff about it.
Which I don't like.
And I listened to it, and I was...me
But now Gangnam has changed me.
This is gonna get a different feel. But NOW gangnam
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