So there's a knock on the door. It's three wise men. They say hey lady we're here to pick up your kid...he's going to be the next Dalai lama and woman, the mother of the kid says, no you're not. My kid aint going nowhere, let alone someplace to be the Dalai Lama. Can't help it lady all the signs point to right here this house you people this boy. He's the next Dalai Lama like it or not. Albert, the woman yells out to someone at the back of house. Some people her saying Ned's going to be the next Dalai Lama. A voice from the back of the house yells back. Tell em they're dreamin. You're dreamin the woman tells the 3 wise men...and shuts the door in their face. Ned she yells, time for dinner!
Creativity and Imagination. They work together so we can create and imagine unique art. We need to be creative and imaginative to design something pretty. We need to be creative and imaginative when dealing with art forms-be it drawing, doodling or something else. Creativity and Imagination lets me test the waters: how far can I go? Those two words alone are inspirational, I love it. Whether it's a new artwork or novel/story, different art media or story genre we need to have those words.
This is actually a rewrite of the fable I wrote earlier, when I attempted publishing it, my internet disconnected and the fable was gone...I love creating and imagining
"I... I think I'm going to be sick. I've seen some grisly shit in my time as a Marine but this, this is ungodly."
The scene before me was just inhuman, bodies hacked limb from limb, a pentagram drawn on the floor in human blood and entrails. Severed and charred heads at each point of the star, and in the middle of the wretched symbol, a man ripped open from neck to pelvis, impaled on a spike, and he was still alive.
I left the room, hatred burning in my veins. Who, or what ever did this. They, will, pay. I rounded the corner and saw a black med-kit hanging from the wall. It was labeled "Adrenaline and Regeneration Enhancement Kit." I pocketed it for now, thinking that could be useful for later.
I found some logs on a few of the PDAs scattered throughout the base, apparently Deimos moon and the base with it just vanished out of the sky about a week before they tried to fire up that damned portal.
I don't really have time to contemplate the implications of these findings because right around the next corner was a monstrous, pink abomination.
The World Around Me: School and Home. At school, I learn, at home, I relax. Other places include: parks, museums, dentist...so many places in my life. My life has everything-education, relaxation, difficulty, ease and more. It's very interesting to think about because if you didn't have a certain "life necessity" what would your life look like.
It;s strange that I'm writing about it but...here I am. Trying to think of the next sentence that I could write. Vocabulary going through my head right now. My environment, natural place includes favourite places, places I've never been to, places I'm familiar with...so many different ones. My life is unique, no exact person has my exact experiences, even if I had a twin...
The memory of our past drew a thick, sinking line between my backyard and I. It never really came to light, until I was standing in the dark, trying to decide whether or not it was worth crossing to simply retrieve a ball. No, I wasn't scared of the dark. I actually quite loved it. Nighttime was the only part of the day that I felt as if the demons were better at hiding around, instead of inside, my house. I haven't been in that yard in nearly two years, unless I am set on destroying what's in it or myself. I have visited that spot for only two reasons: to pull the vegetables from the garden splayed across the landscape or the to find a way to slowly kill myself. For a while, I believed the garden was a new beginning, something to cover up the old. But as days went by and the garden blossomed, I refused to visit it. It was nearly impossible to see the beauty in something when I knew it rested on top of a tragedy. I am starting to think that maybe all along, I simply wanted something beautiful to grow out of me, out of the tragedy I had become. Instead, I buried my lungs with smoke and tried to blur out the images of the summer I learned to grow up. Now, the only nights that I feel safe outside my own window are the nights that I blow out the smoke that you put into my lungs so many months ago. I'm trying to rid the parts of me that remind me of you. And if it kills me in the process, at least it was smoke in lungs instead of you.