New Beginnings

        Sigh.

I drearily watched the soft, fuzzy gray clouds roll one after another across the cerulean blue sky. 

I sighed again.

The weather lately seemed to be contrary of itself constantly. One day, it would be pouring rain that soaked you to the bone, chilling cold, yet the sun would be smiling down at you in the exact same instant. Today was no exception. Low, heavy clouds forecasting almost certain showers, ice cold breezes that slithered into your sweaters, and cheerful, laughing bright skies with flowers and trees in full blossom. Fall, winter, summer and spring, all into one. Contrary. Just like me.

Sigh.

It seemed like so long ago that everything was perfect, or at least close enough to perfect. My friends were all together, all of us close as could be. No backstabbing. no drama, no me being the third wheel. And when we still talked. Unlike now.

Nope. Now, it's like I've been sucked into a parallel universe. One that made me feel vulnerable, psychotic, and ever so lost.

Now, I have no idea what I say, do, or not do. Now, I spend my nights awake, staring into the darkness, hearing words and thoughts echo over and over and over again, keeping me up even as I was asleep. I doubt every single thing I do. Every. Single. Thing. 

Sigh.

Brrrriiiiiinnnnng

Heaving out another silent sigh, I slowly bent down to pick up my overused, frayed, dusty old white and black checkered backpack, and slowly and steadily stood up from my seat and wandered out the classroom door. I barely registered the noise that whirred all around me, like bees in a hive. Three-hundred sixty degrees, I could here "Bye!", "Hey, wait up!", "Oh, my, GOSH!!! You will NOT believe what happened!", and "See you at the mall later!".

Foreign words that I used to remember.

Slinking down the hall against the wall, I moved toward the front doors at a snails pace. It was like I was in slow motion, watching everyone around me vanish, disappear, and leave as if watching a television program. One by one, people left, excited for the long week off right around the corner, only an hour or two away. Soon, I was the only one left.

It felt so alien to me, yet so familiar, this feeling of being alone. Hearing my own footsteps frightened me, but still sent pleasurable chills down my back. Home. Yet not home.

Contrary.

Why was it me who had to go relatively insane?

**Flashback**

"Hey! Arianne! Wait up!"

Grinning, I turned around to face my best friend in the entire world. But something stroke me as off. 

"'Sup girl! What's up?"

Another strike. Why was her face so different to me today?

"Well, actually, I came to say goodbye."

I was lost. She lived right next door to me? Why would she need to say goodbye? We saw each other every single day.

"What? Are you alright? We 're neighbors remember? You don't need to say bye to me. Did you hit your head or something?"

Another strike. Something was wrong today. Something was very wrong.

"Arianne. I'm not your neighbor anymore. I'm moving. Out of the country. For good."

Moving. Out of the country. For good. Those words echoed in my mind like the sound of gongs.

"W-what? Today? Now? Why? Huh???"

"I'm sorry. Goodbye Arianne. I'll miss you!"

With that, she turned and ran off, leaving me there frozen. Lost.

Pity. That's what had been off about her face today. She pitied me. She knew I would be lost without her. She knew. Yet she still left without hesitation.

**End Flashback**

That day had turned out to be the first of many that I despised. It had been the beginning to my downfall.

Following her move, my other friends soon began to exclude me, leaving me alone, in the bitter cold, friendless. All of my other classmates had been extremely nice to me, but it was always out of pity. I could hear there conversations about me. How poor and sad I was. 

It was what made me decide I didn't need them.

Afterwards, everything just fell apart even more. My best guy friend who I had known since childhood, probably the only one who I was just as close to as my friend who had moved away, began to distant himself from me. He stopped conversing with me, and after a month or two, we stopped talking all together. He began to hang out with his new, cooler friends, and seemingly forgot about me.

And I won't lie. It hurt. I felt even more lost after that.

Sighing again, I pushed open the heavy, freezing metal doors and flinched as a mix of warm and ice cold air was blasted into my face. Stopping, I took in my surroundings. Barely anyone was left in the school parking lot, and the few who were were all chatting casually with their friends, making plans for break no doubt. Occasionally, a car would rumble by with a happy whirring noise.

Once more, I felt lost. I didn't belong here. Not in this world. Not now, not e-

"Arianne."

His voice.

Turning slowly, I gazed at him. He'd grown taller than me now, but it was the same face from before we stopped talking. Hesitating, I opened my mouth gradually, but no sounds came out. 

Blinking, we just stared at each other.  Wind blew and clouds danced across the sky, but it was silent.

"Hey."

With that one word, it held in it a million emotions.

But most of all, it held light. Light that promised to lead me, begging me to forgive. Light for my darkness.

I smiled softly.

Maybe I did belong. And if I don't now, then I'll make myself belong.

This was a new beginning.

Nighten Mansion

Hey guys! So, I got this new idea for a series of short stories. Basically, it's about this strange mansion deep in the woods, called Nighten Mansion. It's abandoned, but at the same time, it's not. Very peculiar things happen in this mansion, but what exactly is going on? Read to find out!
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The Living Room Spirit(s)

             A living room. The place where most families use to relax. But not in Nighten Mansion. No, here, it was considered the elite room. The place where only the best could enter, and where the best happened. 

            The room itself was large and elegant. Not at all family friendly. In fact, it could be considered as a ball room instead of a living room. Pure cream and light, cloud gray swirls painted in the marble floor reflected images from the ceiling, and a glimmering 10 feet wide chandelier with glittering crystals that threw sparkles in every direction took up the bottom and the top of the room. Looking from the doorway coming in, a cozy, flickering red fireplace was snug in the far corner to the left, while an infinite number of mahogany wooden stairs spiraled up, up, up on the right. A light colored oak bookcase towered above the ground in the middle of the left wall. And, to top it off, a majestic, 42 feet long redwood table stretched across the center of the room. Real gold embellished it's edges, and fingerprint-less glass acting like mirror was pressed into the center of the wooden table top. A single, lone, velvet covered chair was seated at the far end of that table, giving the room a beautiful, but melancholic look.

            So what was so special about this room, besides its fancy furniture? Well, to know that, we would have to wait until the unseen grandfather clock strikes twelve.

         Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong!

And there it chimes. Twelve. Midnight. Time for magic to begin.

"Awwwwwwwwwwwww..." 

A petite girl yawned. She came out of seemingly nowhere, simple rising out on the marble tiles as if she was emerging from the water in a pool. 

"Well? When are you all coming out?" she asked to the empty room. 

She was, as mentioned before, a petite girl, only about 5 feet in height at most. She had long, sleek black hair that tumbled down past her waist, and sleepy light gray eyes, much like the gray in the marble. Her skin was pale and creamy, her lips a delicate pink. Yawning again, she arched her back and pulled back her arms, stretching out in a cat-like way.

Suddenly, bubbly giggles floated down from above. Glancing up, a skinny body was slowly being built by the many sparkles from the diamond chandelier.

"Always the subtle one, huh Maybelle?" sharp, but soft voice penetrated through the sparkles.
The pale girl smiled and mocked, "Always the giggly one, huh Chrys?"
A full figure had now emerged from the chandelier, and it certainly was a stunning one. It was a skinny, average height girl with glowing golden skin, pearly white teeth, cutting sky blue eyes, and golden strands of hair that floated around in waves down her back. She was perched delicately on the rim of the chandelier, grinning happily as she looked down to meet the marble like girl's eyes.
"Hey, are you really going to party without me?" a loud voice shouted.
Suddenly, a blur of brown slid down the stairway banister and landed on the marble floor with a satisfying thump.
"Stan! Took you long enough! Catch me!" Chrys yelled down, and promptly leaped down from the chandelier. Fortunately, she was caught by the arms of none other than the boy that was a blur before.
           The boy was tall and muscular, but not so much that he looked bulky. Messy, tousled, caramel hair and dark chocolate brown eyes were alive with mirth. A light brown tan dusted his skin, and smooth dark red lips were twisted into a smirk.
           "Good thing I caught, huh Chrys!" the boy laughed. She giggled as she delicately stepped toe first onto the ground, graceful as a swan. Leaning on one leg, the marble girl grinned along with them.
           "Yup! You're my own, personal Superman, Stan!" Chrys exclaimed. Her replies were loud guffaws from her two person audience.
           "Hyper, over-energetic people," a resonating, clear, loud, but at the same time, soft, rounded, and a little hoarse, slightly deep voice scoffed. The other three whirled around to see a dark, shadowy girl lazily lounging, with arms folded behind her head, on the magnificent redwood table. She had long legs and arms, and a tall, skinny, but not as skinny as the other two girls', figure. Shining red-brown hair was loosely twisted up and clipped with a large black clip, and one pitch black eyes was cracked open to gaze sharply at the three excited spirits. Her dark colored lips were expressionless, but if one looked closer, the right corner of her mouth was slightly twitched up. Her skin gleamed like the table, a pale golden color, tan but not tan. She was clad in a deep maroon button up with the long sleeves rolled up, black denim skinny jeans, and sleek umber, knee-high boots.
            Fully smirking now, she taunted, "What? Shocked to hear negativity, or just shocked by my entrance? I thought you knew I loved dramatic entrances!"
Finishing with a loud cackle, she leapt off the table and stalked over to the towering cream-yellow bookcase and gave it a light kick.
"Come on Bookworm, time to wake up and actually enjoy yourself!" she snapped, accenting each word with a slight slap. Soon, a coughing, dust covered boy stumbled and tripped out of the books face first, and landed at her feet.
"Finally, took you long enough," she muttered, spinning around to face the shadows dancing along the walls.
Still coughing, the skinny, pale boy picked himself up while mumbling, "Sorry, I was reading about Shakespeare and I lost track of time."
The girl just scoffed in reply.
Chrys giggled lightly, whispering, "Looks like Leanna missed Aden!"
The girl dressed in darkness, now named as Leanna, whirled around to sharply glare at the bubbly girl as the boy fumbled and toyed with the edge of his honey colored button up shirt. His light umber eyes were cast downward and his pale pink lips kept moving, but no sound came out.
"Please, as if I would miss him. He's nothing but a bookworm."
She promptly slid her gaze over Aden, and pretended not to notice his hurt expression.
Opening her mouth for a retort, Maybelle got cut off by Stan, who quickly interrupted to oncoming mini World War.
"Okay! So, what's up guys? Anything new?" he asked in a panicky voice.
Beaming, Aden opened his mouth and began saying, "Well, actually I just read about this really cool story about-"
"Next topic, bookworm!" Leanna cut in.
Pouting, Aden trudged over to the gleaming redwood table, and sat down next to Leanna.
The girl promptly slid her glance to the opposite direction, causing hushed giggles from Maybelle and Chrys.
Stan chuckled at the two spirits' typical antiques, and commented, "Well, what else is there to talk about? That I got a new coat of polish? Because I did, if you're wondering why I look so good."
He jokingly slicked back his hair and winked at the others.
"Oh please, like you could ever look as good as me, you set of logs. And no, nobody cares if you got a polish, because you look and stupid as ever," Leanna teased, and smirked widely, eliciting a chuckle from Stan, and a soft, unseen smile from Aden.

Lost Paradise: Room of Life

So, new story here! This story will be about a room with painted walls so lifelike that it is almost living, and a young girl who will find the room. To keep this short, and to not give away anything, I hope you enjoy it!

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178 Ridden Street, Gradden Town, New York. It was the average kind of house you would expect to find in a place like Gradden Town. Not truly countryside yet, but definitely not city style either. In-between, average, simple. The house was a gentle, soft, delicate baby blue with a pale, silky cream color accentuating the edges. It was two stories tall, with a one story tall section protruding out of the house. Dusty gray curtains with slightly darker shadow like imprints of flowers were drawn back at each of the long, tall windows that reached from the floor to the ceiling. The colors of spring, full of life, merged in with the vibrant, bold colors of fall in the garden surrounding the house. Birds hidden in bright green chatted about the latest on the grapevine while butterflies fluttered from the many, many, many groups of sweet smelling, eye catching flower bunches, greeting each one one with an open embrace. Honey bees buzzed in circles around the yard, humming cheerful tunes to themselves. There wasn't a garage.

Outside of this isolated paradise was a completely different story. The ominous dark, dark gray clouds hung low and damp above people’s heads. Their feet trudged, leaving scrapes that all lead toward the center of the town, where all the towering buildings were. Specifically, the hospital. The town’s most prominent, most charismatic, most loved artist had finally lost light in her eyes. Not even glasses could help her see now. Sure, they all knew that that day had been coming. It had always been there, a terrible, terrible reminder that left a bitter taste in their mouths. They all tried to forget it, and for moments, they had, but one glance at the desk and the post-it note with all their reminders would shove all of the depressing thoughts into their head again.

Marianne Leanna. Pen-name, Lea. She always had preferred that name. No one knew her last name. As the crowd surged wave after wave towards the doctors and her room in the hospital, like the tide beating down again and again on the rocks on a beach, the doctors tried to be heard. But even with such chaos and noise, the message had gotten through. The town’s precious little Lea was officially blind. That last, earth’s core hot fever she had gotten last week seemed to have taken away her eyesight for good. Born with a wavering eyesight, by the time their Lea had reached the tender, ripe age of 21, just when her popularity reached infinity and beyond, her eyesight had been slowly fading. Then, to add to the trouble, her long, countless hours working in secret, on what the townspeople thought would become her greatest masterpiece, in her studio full of chemically filled air caused her immunity to fevers to decline. Thus, here they were now, with a blind master artist and a suddenly dead silent town.

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Whhrrrmp-phmp-phmp-phmp, Whhrrrmp-phmp-phmp-phmp
The rhythmic whir, thump, and cranking noise of an old, worn down car steadily grew louder and louder to the sharpened ears of the blind girl who was occasionally sipping lukewarm hot chocolate while sitting, still as a marble statue, on a golden yellow, wooden porch swing. The birds hopped and the butterflies fluttered about her, but, sadly, their efforts for attention were a failure.

Whhrrrmp-phmp-phmp-phmp, Whhrrrmp-phmp-phmp
The noise was abruptly cut off by a loud, piercing slam of the car passenger side door. A cheerful "Bye Sam!" followed shortly after.
Whhrrrmp-phmp-phmp-phmp, Whhrrrmp-phmp-phmp-phmp
Once more, the car revived its song and trailed away, leaving nothing but the faint smell of car exhaust behind it.

Racing as fast as she could while dragging a bag half her size and a backpack on her that ended almost to her knees, a petite 11 year-old girl ran towards the swing.


"Aunt Lea! Aunt Lea!"

The young girl raced, nearly tripped, and jumped with a loud, echoing THUMP onto the wooden porch. The oak tree boards, long dark and bent from years of use, creaked and moaned in protest of the sudden impact.

The older girl calmly turned her head towards the location of the noise, gazing a cool, calm, empty stare in the vague direction. Smiling softly, she shifted on the swing and patted, with her empty hand the newly cleared space. Beaming happily, the younger girl plopped down and twisted her head to face the older girl, who was once more silently sipping her drink.

Laughing at the energetic young-ling, the older one calmly greeted, "Hello Evangelica. Isn't today a beautiful day?"

A small, sad smile suddenly replaced her grin as she replied, "Yes Aunt Lea. It is. The birds are gossiping again today, and the butterflies are up and about."

Sipping her drink, Lea nodded. "Tell me, Eve, what color is the sky today?" With a sad smile, the child replied, "Oh, it's a luxurious shade of bright blue Aunt Lea. It's one of your favorite blues. The kind that's energetic, but calm, smooth and flowing, and very bold." Nodding again in satisfaction, the older girl slowly got up, and started heading towards the front door. Evangelica immediately jumped to her feet and opened the door for her.

The Shadow Thief

Loud, raspy panting could be heard echoing down the dark, narrow ally. Suddenly it stopped, and a few seconds later, gravel shifting could be heard, then, silence once again. About half and hour later, the town's guards, almost 15 of them, stopped right at the beginning of the ally.
"Where could it have ran?"
"They couldn't have gotten that far."
"We need to keep looking!"
"It's too late. The Unmasked Bandit got away again."
Mutters of hate could be heard as the guards shuffled back to their fancy mansion homes for the night.
Far off in the distance, twelve metallic chimes could be heard as the town clock tower struck midnight.
The unseen shadow that had been in the ally much earlier was already gone, on the hidden paths towards the next town in the kingdom.
The Shadow had struck, and left again, leaving nothing but a basket of steaming bread rolls, fresh fruit, and a few strips of leather at the back step of each poor, run-down, leaning, broken shed of a house near the edges of town.

_______________________________________________________________
All was quiet in the majestic castle like mansion at the edge of the grassy meadow hills. Glass and gold glittered in the blood red sun, bathing the view of the town's richer side in streaks of light pink, bright orange, and delicate lavender. Sighing, a young man turned away from the painting of a view to face the dreary, grey, desolate living room. Ruffling a hand through his chocolate colored hair, he sighed again.

This young man, 19 years in age, looked nothing of the proud aristocrat as he should currently. His attire was wrinkled and loose, his hair freshly mussed, and his eyes bloodshot. His sky blue shirt was kept one button open, and his crisp silk vest long thrown carelessly onto one of the many velvet couches positioned around the silver room. Collapsing on top of one of these couches, the young man scandalously propped his feet up onto the pure glass and gold coffee table.

"Mother and father won't be back until next month, again. You're on your own now, Alexander," he thought. Closing his eyes, he gradually nodded off into a light slumber.

A few meters away, in the exact same mansion, a sliver of a shadow was soundlessly prying open one of the many glass windows from the outside wall of the mansion. With a satisfying small click, the shadow promptly slid into the mansion through the barely open window, and vanished from sight.

Still drifting in and out of consciousness, the young man was jolted awake in shock from the telltale clink of wine glass meeting. Tense, he silently got up from the couch and stalked towards the noise.

Meanwhile, the shadow was gathering items in the kitchen, shifting items out of place, then returning them so one could never notice it was ever touched in the first place.

Alexander cautiously peered around the corner. The clinks had gotten more frequent, and he had been led to the kitchen. Glancing into the kitchen, his heart nearly stopped at what the sight which fell upon his eyes. It was a young lady, girl even, dressed quite informally, sifting through the kitchen. She seemed to grab any food she stumbled across, and blindly took a few smaller trinkets. She was slowly filling up a worn leather pouch which hung from her belt. She was decked in dirty, dusty clothes that hung from her thin but healthy frame. Strange as she already was, even stranger was the way her clothes were designed. She seemed to be wearing clothes a young gamin boy would wear, except it was crossed with the designs of a rich man's clothes. Gasping, he caught her attention. Whirling her head around, they both froze. Her sharp green eyes met his soft brown ones. Neither the robber nor the rich man moved. Time stood still.

Suddenly, the moment was broken as the thief quickly moved for the window. The young man immediately grabbed her arm, and she took a sharp intake of breath.

In a low voice, he whispered, "Wait. Who are you, and why are stealing from our house?"

Wordlessly, she effortlessly slipped her arm out of his grasped and slid through the window, only pausing halfway to answer curtly, "And they shall drown in the lake of their sins."

The shadow disappeared once more, leaving behind no trace behind but a puzzled young man in the newly turned night.

Letting Go

She gave up. She gave up a long time ago. She just, let go of the ledge. After all, what was the point of holding on if she couldn't be saved anyways? She wasn't stupid. No, she knew that no one could pull her back up. She knew that she couldn't get back up. But they all told her to hang on for just a little longer. They screamed at her to hold on, to stay strong just a little longer. But she just laughed and gave a weak grin. No, she wasn't going to lie to herself. No, no, no. No. No. No. So, she just, let go. Let go. Let go.

Her heart was about to burst. She wanted to cry, to scream her heart out, to yell to the world of the unfairness of it all. How it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that she, of all people, got stuck with the weight of the world on her shoulders. It wasn't fair that she, of all people, had to go through so, so, so much. It was really just plain ridiculous.

As she fell, time slowed. Things stilled. She blanked her mind. She faintly remembers the times when she was carefree, not a worry in the world. When she laughed out loud, with real joy. When she thought the world was the best place ever. When she didn't know the evils of the world. When she dreamed of dancing in the rain. When she was a child. Then, the dark days came. This, she remembers so, oh so clearly. The friendships ruined, the backstabbing, the rumors, the bullying, the tears. It was then, she thinks, that she lost her grip on the world. On her life.It was then that the rain started falling. But she wasn't dancing. Not this time. And not anymore.

Then, came that perfect time. That break between the first set of thunder clouds, and the looming ominous pitch black bundle off in the distance. Those sweet rays of light she never thought she would see again. During that golden period came new friends. Ones that seemed to be the very best friends she had been searching for her whole life. Those sweet new moments of pure happiness.

But, alas, everything eventually comes to an end, doesn't it? The new storm rolled in. And there went her rays of light. 

At some point during the latest storm, she slipped on the once light green grass, muddy brown and drenched with salty water, and there she was, hanging on that ledge. 

So here she was, falling. Letting go. And, for some strange reason, she smiled. Oh, yes, she gently smiled to the sky, to the now blue sky, and whispered the the winds "I let go".

"I Had to Let Go."

Built on Beliefs

The world is built upon opinions. No kidding. I mean, why is color called color? Why is black a dark color? What counts as an A or a B? Everything is made up from opinions. It may be a widespread opinion, but it's still what it is. For instance, they say it's a fact that a circle is round. But truly, isn't that an opinion as well? Maybe, to someone else it is not round, maybe they consider it so be triangular. Facts are opinions. They're just widespread, common opinions. Which brings me to my point that the world is based on opinion. And, truly, it is ridiculous. People accuse others of being strange, or different, when really, isn't that also their opinion? So, what I'm saying, to save you all from my endless rant, is that, consider it really, even though I'm kind of being a hypocrite about opinions here, but try to stay neutral. What you consider neutral to be, I won't judge, but either way, watch and see just how much opinions circulate our planet.
To sign off this paradoxical, hypocritical, opinionated rant,
                                   -LaMusicFreak

Victims of Time

It's funny. Quite funny. Yes, it is very funny how, back way, way then, I was once a victim of time. I used to hate it, that fact. But now, I don't know if I miss my old life or not. Is it better to be the victim of a swift murderer, or better to have to continuously watch the murderer kill, over, and over, and over again until the gruesome scene is forever a part of you?
You see, I once made a wish. That cliche kind of scene where someone wishes on a shooting star and everything comes true. Where they live a different life, but soon they miss their old life and they somehow reverse the wish. Yes, almost exactly like that. Except, I can't and won't go back.
My wish? To stop time. I was tired of running. I didn't want to go forward. I didn't want to keep getting chased by time. So, I made that wish. And here I am. Stuck forever at 14 years, 15 weeks, and 6 days old.
I watch others as they pass by, running, faster and faster, until the day that they grow too tired, and they start walking instead of running, letting time slowly swallow them. Victim by victim, they vanish. And I watch.
They all start off with a head start. They all do. Then, they start figuring things out. How they're getting chased by a psychotic, merciless murderer. That's when they start running. In the beginning, they are all running at the speed of light. After all, they still have plenty of stamina. But, sometime soon, they get bored of it all. The cycle. The never ending sequence. That's when they try everything they can to outwit their pursuer. But it never works. They always end up running again. After some more time, they give up on trying to outsmart their invincible opponent and just go with the flow. And, like I said, they eventually slow down and let themselves die.
It's sad, to say the least. The fact that, you have no choice but to surrender in the end. That's one of the main things I'm glad of, staying immortal in marble here. Sure, it may get boring and lonely sometimes, but overall, I think I'm happy to say I'm no longer a victim.
But that doesn't mean others aren't.
Because we are born to become victims. Only a few escape. And most of the time, the escape isn't pretty.
That's what I stand here for. The melancholic escapee of time. A monument to everyone, each and every Victim of Time.
I'm the marble statue, at the corner of 27th and Sayers Street.
And, ironically, you know what my pedestal says?

"Time flies, grasp it while you can."

The Phoenix Revolt Update

Hey guys! I added a little to The Phoenix Revolt, and here it is!
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Brrong………

The gong echoed throughout the valley, signalling another long, cruel day of grueling work. Reluctantly, the villagers one by one lined up and stumbled to the fields to further dig holes and plant seeds. However, one shadow slithered away from the fields, sneaking between narrow spaces between walls, until it reached a small, rickety shed in the middle of unwanted wooden furniture suspiciously moved around so it was somewhat organized. A small, lithe silhouette slid into the shed without a sound, and disappeared.

Meanwhile, up at the very top of the huge, blood red and bright gold palace, a very different scene was taking place.

“WHAT!!! How dare they!” a deep voice roared. The sound echoed throughout the enormous, golden room bouncing off the deep, crimson colored velvet walls.

“B-b-but sir, i-it is o-only a r-rumor f-f-for now. We c-can still put and end to it,” a nervous man stuttered out. A bead of nervous perspiration could almost be seen dripping from his bowed head down to the marble tiles below. It was a skinny young man who was dressed much too lavishly for someone his age. The heavy hat, droopy robes, and the pointless, extremely long gold beads around his neck made him look as though he was a little girl, dressing up in mommy’s clothes, pretending to be royalty. It was, as you may imagine, quite the ridiculous look.

The other man snorted. He was a large man, not exactly wide, per say, but huge overall. Black and gold satin robes hung from his awkward figure, while he lounged lazily in his deep red throne. “A rumor, you might say, but soon it will be true, you fool,” he drawled.

The younger man had no response.

The man snorted again. “Leave! Now! Go do something more worthwhile instead of bowing here, stuttering your head off! And, you, boy, get over here. I have another mission for you.”

The young man quickly an off, and a new young man, one on the brink of manhood, but still young enough to be considered a boy, stepped out from behind the throne, and took his place.

“Yes, Father?” the boy bravely asked.

“Go out and spy around or this, this, this rumor of a rebel leader. We must put a stop to this madness.”

“Yes, Father. As you wish.”

The boy swiftly stood, spun around, and stalked out of the room, hand on the hilt of his sword, which was hanging loosely from his belt at his waist.

Meanwhile, near the center of the village, a quite different scene was going on inside a ratty, shaky, old wooden shed of a restaurant. It had no doors, just a wide open hole in the wall. Rickety chairs littered all around inside, and multiple gray, quickly crafted looking tables we scattered about. Near the back of this place, a few strips of worn out, light brown cloth draped down from the top of the frame of a lopsided doorway.

“Ivy, more tea, table 7!” an old, but nimble woman cheerfully called out towards the back of the room.

A muffle reply was heard, and seconds later, a skinny, average height girl with long, silky flowing chocolate colored hair rushed out holding a scalding hot can of freshly brewed black tea.

“Hey, Ivy, long time no see!”

“Yeah, how’s life been for ya’?”

“Ivy, hey, how ‘bouts another round of this ‘ere sauteed vegetables!”

Laughing, she replied to each of the shouts with a calm, familiar ease and joy. More and more villagers, some wearing nothing but ripped rags, others thick robes, all dirt covered and tired, streamed steadily into this over populated restaurant. Each one, as soon as they saw her, greeted Ivy with a grin and a salute.

Sliding into this jovial scene, was the same boy from that gloomy scene before. Scanning the room, his stomach growled loudly, causing quite a few eyes to turn and stare at him. Villagers shied away from him as they noticed his clothing, the cleanliness of his shirt, and the stainless pants. And, most of all, the sword, dangling at his side. His gaze flicked to and fro unsteadily, as if he didn't know how to comprehend all this happiness. Then, he saw her.

“Welcome, sir, would you like a table?” she asked innocently, as if getting a seemingly general of the imperial army was an everyday thing here.

Opening and closing his mouth once or twice, the boy managed to mutter out a meek and awkward, "Uh, yeah, that would be great."

Slipping an easy smile onto her face, she guided him to a small, lopsided table that was crudely sawed into an uneven square, with one leg propped up with a wedge of wood to keep the table level. Sitting down onto a creaky stool, the boy blushed hotly, trying his best to ignore all the stares and gawking from the other customers. As the girl gently place the water stained, hand written menu down in front of him, she observed him quietly, with a friendly smile on her face.

Or so it seemed, for there was a gleam in her eyes that contradicted the softness she radiated.

It Was the Waves

     There once was a young girl who was a champion swimmer. She won medals, trophies, ribbons, all since the mere age of 4. It was incredible, they would say, truly a natural born swimmer. The best of the best. A little fish.

     And with that talent of swimming, came the ocean. It all started when she turned 12. Her parents would bring her to the nearby beach every single weekend, and send her off to have fun. They would watch from afar as she drifted up and down in the tide, gliding and propelling forward so smoothly, one would think she was a seal.

     Each time they went, they noticed the girl would swim farther and farther away from the sand. Farther and farther, each  time, a few 20 or so meters, 40 or so more meters. They would smile fondly and murmur, born for the water she was. The audience on the beach would whisper among themselves about the rising star of a swimmer, a girl born for greatness, a daring young girl who was brave and strong enough to swim so far into the sea.

     What they never seemed to notice was that afterwards, each time, it would get harder and harder for the girl to swim back. She would gasp for air, choke of the salty water, her muscles straining, her will fading. She would beg the skies above for someone, anyone, to give her a hand, to reach out. But her cries fell to deaf ears and shallow minds.

     Eventually, the ocean, so tempting, so beautiful, and so mysterious for most, dragged the girl deep into it's embrace, which, sadly, was too deep. No one noticed. They all thought that she had simply swam farther, much farther, than usual, so it was taking a longer time.

     About 2 hours after she had long been sedated by the lovely azure sea, they began to fret. They thought, maybe she had already returned, and was off somewhere resting. Or maybe, she never went into the waters at all. Maybe someone took her away. Either way, they looked everywhere on land. They never once thought of the waters once they turned their empty heads.

     3 days after the incident, the ocean gently rolled her out again, out on to warm, golden sand, as if a tiny child rolling a snowman's body around. They found her 30 minutes later.

     2 weeks after she had been found, they had a funeral for her. On her gravestone, they generously wrote,

A Talented Lady Destined for the Stars

The Waves were Just too Strong for her That Day

May She Swim in the Heavens Forever

     Elsewhere, that young girl was floating, laughing at their stupidity. Yes, because it had all been the waves' fault, hadn't it. Always the waves, never the eyes that slid right over her. A satirical grin twisted onto her face. A swimmer huh. More like a drown-er. Yes. She was definitely never, ever, ever, a swimmer. She had just been unlucky enough to have the waters help her float.

     She laughed again, and left them to be. They'd never figure it out anyways. They never do.

R.I.P.

Our Loving Amabel

Drowned at Sea

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This short piece represents life and the hardships of life. The girl, Amabel, represents those who act strong, but really, are drowning in life, those who desperately need a hand, but are ignored. The other people, such as the adults, represent everyone who sees "strong" people as strong people who don't need help. And of course, the ocean and waves represents the many obstacles in and life itself. 

Sample Artworks for "Bitterness of Human Nature"

Bitterness of Human Nature

     She was strange. Strange as could be. Villagers whispered about her, about what was wrong with her. Yes, Veilla von Baurauche was queer. But what else could be expected from such a chaotic soul?

     Veilla von Baurauche. Even the name was chaotic. Fitting, for such a mess filled mind. The only way to let those pent up dreams, nightmares, whispers in the dark, evil laughter, wild winds, was through paper and pen. Screams turned into incoherent scratches, an image only the artist can comprehend.

     She was born different. As a child, she never cried, never screamed, never talked. Even the most expensive healer in town didn't know what was wrong with the child. It was as if when the child was born, she decided to choose the path of silence. Her parents were ashamed. How was it possible that the wealthiest, richest, most high-class family in the entire town of Arcdeville had a dysfunctional child? Cruel and shallow as those two were, they abandoned her on the side of the river, leaving her only with a twisted name. She was silent throughout the whole affair.

     Somehow, life was pitying, and an old fisherman adopted her. But this wasn't a fairy tale where the girl grows up happily and falls in love with a prince. She still lived in poverty. The old fisherman eventually passed away when she turned 16, just barely old enough to fend for herself. And that she did. But, no matter what, she continued to keep silent.

     Three years later, she was alone, physically and emotionally. When she walked down the dusty, sandy street to buy more vegetables for dinner, all other noises were blocked out. Instead of her feet ahead of her, she saw storm clouds, ice, winds, and the stars. She floated through life. Still she kept silent.

     Four years later, she had completed more that 123 separate sheets filled to the brim with black ink scratched that twisted, turned, and ripped through the pages. Even the most creative person could not grasp what the picture depicted, excluding a mess. What they didn't know was that a mess was what it really was. Chaos. Madness. Silence. Thoughts. Herself. The drawings held all of it. But no one else knew, because she kept silent.

     Silent. From her first taste of life to her last, bitter breath. She was criticized, mocked, jeered at for it. She had been avoided. All because she was different. All because she was creative. All because she was dumb.
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So that's the end of a short, very short, piece. It may have been a little confusing and twisted, which if so, I apologize. This was very spur of the moment. It's to show how people are too judgmental. Also, just to make sure it's clear, "dumb" in here means that she can't talk. The character was born without a voice, which the term "dumb" applies to. So no, she's not stupid.

Two Sides to Every Coin

There's two sides to every coin. And if you say there isn't, then you might want to check out a penny or a quarter again. But anyways, people are like coins, in my opinion. There's always this side of someone that you never knew before, all because you didn't take the time to stop and observe. And someday, you might just regret not doing that.

You see, I observe things. Mostly only my friends and people I'm close too, but I observe things none the less. Often, I piece together enough observations to create a personality, one that, to normal eyes, are invisible. And that gets me wondering, how every person sees something different to what you are? Take myself for example. People describe me in various ways. Loud, energetic, hyper, chill, philosophical, smart, artistic, weird, random, hot-headed, scared-y-cat, outgoing, even shy. Everyone sees me in a different light, because of where they know me, who they are, and what they believe I'm like. A majority of what we believe tends to be based on opinion. May it be your fist impression, or your first impression of a person carved out by what your friends think, its still opinion. Maybe that's why, when you look at things in a neutral position, it seems so different. Using facts to create a person's character gives a result so unlike one made from opinion hat, at times, it's almost scary.

So sometime on some random day, stop and rid your mind of thoughts. Just observe things. Then, consider things using only neutral opinion and facts. See what's different in life then. Who knows what you'll notice.

~LaMusicFreak

Where is the love?

Hey! So, heard this song on the radio the other day, and it really got to me. It's just so, well, life-like. So here it is. Listen to it and see, doesn't it remind you of reality in a way? All credits go to the Black Eyed Peas.

Where is the Love-  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WpYeekQkAdc

Sorry!

Hey guys! Sorry I haven't updated anything in a while, I've been busy. Anyways, to make it up to you guys, I'm writing a new series of short stories called Nighten Mansion. I'm planning on posting it on Halloween, or maybe the day before Halloween. And here's a sneak preview....
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The Living Room Spirit(s)

             A living room. The place where most families use to relax. But not in Nighten Mansion. No, here, it was considered the elite room. The place where only the best could enter, and where the best happened. 

            The room itself was large and elegant. Not at all family friendly. In fact, it could be considered as a ball room instead of a living room. Pure cream and light, cloud gray swirls painted in the marble floor reflected images from the ceiling, and a glimmering 10 feet wide chandelier with glittering crystals that threw sparkles in every direction took up the bottom and the top of the room. Looking from the doorway coming in, a cozy, flickering red fireplace was snug in the far corner to the left, while an infinite number of mahogany wooden stairs spiraled up, up, up on the right. A light colored oak bookcase towered above the ground in the middle of the left wall. And, to top it off, a majestic, 42 feet long redwood table stretched across the center of the room. Real gold embellished it's edges, and fingerprint-less glass acting like mirror was pressed into the center of the wooden table top. A single, lone, velvet covered chair was seated at the far end of that table, giving the room a beautiful, but melancholic look.

            So what was so special about this room, besides its fancy furniture? Well, to know that, we would have to wait until the unseen grandfather clock strikes twelve.

         Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong! Gong!

And there it chimes. Twelve. Midnight. Time for magic to begin.

"Waiting for Superman" by Daughtry   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pbT3uvOl3Dk

We all are tempted to just wait for that hero to help us out. But sometimes, you need to be your own hero. So don't wait around for pity. Get up the best you can and keep limping on in life. Someone will come the be your crutch eventually.

Masquerade (a short writing piece)

Short paragraph I decided to write tonight. Hope you enjoy it.

      We're all born with a mask in our hand and heart. Maybe we don't recognize it, or maybe we don't know it's there, but sooner or later, you find out. It seems so simple and habitual though, to swiftly swipe on that mask, covering your face. The mask may seem so, so very very pretty too. Maybe it's frilly, or covered in laces, or made of leather, or checkered. Maybe, it's just oh, so shiny and beautiful, that you decide you want to keep it. After all, it makes your face and heart look so much better, right? But, after while, maybe, just maybe, you'll notice that the mask, is actually, quite ugly. At least, the idea of it is. People only notice the sparkle and glow of your mask, not your actual face. All the tons and tons of compliments you get, are they really for you, or are they only for the mask? It's like that mask, that beautiful mask you were born with, is taking over you, and your true colors. So, you decide to take the mask off. But, then again, things are easier said, than done. The mask is like your one, horribly bad habit, the kind where, no matter what, you can't get rid of it. Every time a new person comes along, you find yourself whisking on that mask again, unconsciously. It's a part of you now. You can't just let go of your mask, and let it fall to the ground. But you try, you just keep trying and trying and trying. There's nothing else you can do, after all. And maybe, one day, with a lot of effort, you'll finally be able to set your mask down onto that coffee table by your door, and never go back to get it. Maybe. Just maybe.

Inspire by what I see and what i feel defines our lives, practically. We all have masks. But they aren't like the kind Romeo and Juliet wore at a party, or the kind you wear for fun. No, these are invisible masks, ones that hide your real personality instead of your face. But should you really let a huge cover up control your life? Think about it. Truly consider it. Do you want a lie to be YOU?
I thought of that, a while back, one night. Ever since, I've been trying really hard to let my mask drop. So, think about it. I'm not saying that you have to, I'm not saying everyone should. Maybe you are really happy with your mask. And if that is the case, go ahead, I encourage you. Just remember, you should never, ever, have to be someone you don't want to be. 

-With great personal philosophy,
               LaMusicFreak

Fixed, But Broken

Hey! Second story I'm going to post up here, and it might become the sequel or prequel to my other story, The Phoenix Revolt, or it might be just a separate short story. But either way, here it is! It's also work in progress, so sorry. But still comment and give any suggestions!

Fixed but Broken

                Sometimes the hardest decision is whether or not the road you’re walking is the correct one or not. It’s like you always meeting a fork in the road. But which one is the correct path to take? The one on the right or the one on the left? And, after you choose a path, did you choose the right one or not? How can you tell, if you don’t know where you’re heading in the first place?

                The name’s Ivy. No last name needed. I don’t have one anyways. I wander the streets here, in this small town, off the edge of the Great Empire capitol. Hate that place. It’s so full of happy people who think everything’s perfect in the world. They think that they’re helping all the rest of us just by donating some money here and there. Stupid idiots. I don’t need money, and I don’t want money. What I want is someone I can actually trust. Who doesn't think I’m a street-rat. But who cares. If they want to judge me, they can do what they want. They don’t matter. Barely anything matters anymore.

                It was raining. Again. Yeah, there was a storm for the millionth time this week. Both physically and emotionally. I trudged slowly down the flooded street, barely feeling the muddy, freezing water slide silkily around my ankles. The water was already up to my ankles, and it was still steadily rising. Yesterday, the water ended up at mid-calf. Why did this rainy town also have to be at the bottom of a steep valley? Sighing, I looked up at the dusty gray sky. No stars as usual. I halted in my steps. Stars…

It seemed like so long ago. Back when there was warmth, and love. Before all this happened. Back when I was still a child. I vaguely remember a pair of soft arms, carrying me up, up higher and higher, so I could try and reach the stars. But now, the stars had left, each and every one of them, along with those soft arms. I shook my head vigorously. No use looking behind if it won’t bring anything back.

I wandered down the street for a while, until I found some stone steps that were above the water at least a couple of inches. It would keep me dry for the night. I closed my eyes, curled up into a ball, and fell asleep.

“Well, what do we have here?” a voice mused.

Groaning, I looked up to see an older girl staring at me with a smirk on her face. She was wearing simple clothes, a pair of colorless pants and a shirt, both of which had some strange looking holes scattered about on it. A smirk adorned her face.

“Well girlie, what are you lying around for? Come on in? We’ll get you dry sooner if you do you know.”

I just stared at her retreating back. She had stopped in the middle of a tiny courtyard, which led to a tiny cottage house made of wood. The wood was old but sturdy looking. Her head was turned to the side a little, so I could only see part of her face. She motioned with her long and skinny arms for me to follow. Hesitantly, I did as she told.

The inside of the cottage was just like the outside. Dim, and small, but oddly warm and cozy. A dark hallway led from this room we just entered to somewhere unknown. A small fire was flickering in the corner, with two cushioned chairs messily placed around it. The girl patted one of the chairs, and I cautiously sat down in it. She dragged the other chair over and sat down next to me.

She scrutinized me while I stared at this strange, faded scar that was on her left wrist, right where a person would normally wear a bracelet.

Suddenly, she turned around and yelled towards the hallway, “Brandon, get over here!” so loud that I flinched. After a minute or so, shuffling noises and groaning could be heard getting steadily louder down the hall. Soon, a boy, about the same age as the girl, tripped into the room. A wrinkled white shirt and a pair of baggy gray pants hung on him as he rubbed his eyes sleepily.

Yawning, he asked, “What’s wrong Silv?”

The girl rolled her eyes. “If you actually opened your eyes, you would know.”

Mumbling something incoherent under his breath, he looked up from the ground, and gasped.

“A kid girl! What?!”

Rolling her eyes again, the girl replied, “I found her sleeping on our front steps. She looks half starved to death, she’s wet, it’s cold out there, and she has obviously been living out on the streets, so I decided to bring her inside.”

“She looks like you did back then! Well, excluding the fact that she has black eyes, where as you has caramel colored eyes.”

“Bingo. She looks smart too.”

I just sat there, watching the two of them interact.

The boy's face suddenly paled, and he gave a short yelp.
"Silv, you can't be thinking of that, can you?"
The girl just smirked in amusement.
"You panic too much, Brandon. Why not?"
"Are you kidding me?! That's one of the craziest ideas you've ever had! I thought you were just joking!"
I kept staring. It was similar to watching two people playing ball, back and forth.

The Phoenix Revolt

What's up! This is my latest story I've been working on, please read and comment! Suggestions would help! It's just the beginning, so it might be a little confusing. The main plot is a poor teenage girl has been rallying up the villagers to rebel against the cruel, greedy Emperor, but her plans completely change when a boy, the Emperor's son, finds out her identity, and volunteers to help. The story takes place in an alternate universe, where it's like a mix between ancient China and other places in the world.

Brrong………

The gong echoed throughout the valley, signalling another long, cruel day of grueling work. Reluctantly, the villagers one by one lined up and stumbled to the fields to further dig holes and plant seeds. However, one shadow slithered away from the fields, sneaking between narrow spaces between walls, until it reached a small, rickety shed in the middle of unwanted wooden furniture suspiciously moved around so it was somewhat organized. A small, lithe silhouette slid into the shed without a sound, and disappeared.

Meanwhile, up at the very top of the huge, blood red and bright gold palace, a very different scene was taking place.

“WHAT!!! How dare they!” a deep voice roared. The sound echoed throughout the enormous, golden room bouncing off the deep, crimson colored velvet walls.

“B-b-but sir, i-it is o-only a r-rumor f-f-for now. We c-can still put and end to it,” a nervous man stuttered out. A bead of nervous perspiration could almost be seen dripping from his bowed head down to the marble tiles below. It was a skinny young man who was dressed much too lavishly for someone his age. The heavy hat, droopy robes, and the pointless, extremely long gold beads around his neck made him look as though he was a little girl, dressing up in mommy’s clothes, pretending to be royalty. It was, as you may imagine, quite the ridiculous look.

The other man snorted. He was a large man, not exactly wide, per say, but huge overall. Black and gold satin robes hung from his awkward figure, while he lounged lazily in his deep red throne. “A rumor, you might say, but soon it will be true, you fool,” he drawled.

The younger man had no response.

The man snorted again. “Leave! Now! Go do something more worthwhile instead of bowing here, stuttering your head off! And, you, boy, get over here. I have another mission for you.”

The young man quickly an off, and a new young man, one on the brink of manhood, but still young enough to be considered a boy, stepped out from behind the throne, and took his place.