Constant change is no good for the heart

And even though we've been ages apart

I can still feel you here (Giving me strength, giving me strength)

Shadows on the wall tell all

To come and see

It's you and me

Hiding on the wall, you were my shadow

Heavy drums signal the end

Of you and me, my friend

Mangled limbs, yowling youths

How much more of this can we take?

Constant change is no good for the heart

And even though we've been ages apart

I can still feel you here (Giving me strength, giving me strength)

We'll be friend forever

Never a win nor lose in between

The nightmare will listen to our screams

But we pull threw, we always do

Angels seem like devils in this unforgiving light

But you and me together we'll win this fight

It's you and me

It's our destiny

Together, just wait, they'll see!

Constant change is no good for the heart

And even though we're been ages apart

I can still feel you here

Still feel you here

You and me

It's always been

I can feel you here with me


Dream Weaver

'Lord,' she thought, laying her head on the creep drawing desk. Bags under her eyes were darken from the straight eight hours on none stop drawing. This was the last chapter of her beloved comic. The almost-woman with bags under her green-blue eyes (one could say teal, but it hardly matters) glanced at the clock, it was only a few minutes more before the ink dried on the last page.

She rubbed her fingers against her hair, it needed washed. Rising from the duck taped chair, she went to take a shower.

The pages dried, it would take a good ten minuets for them to dry. The digital clock read 2:32 AM as sounds of rushing water echoed from the bathroom in the collage approved apartment.

The digital clock read 2:45 AM as she re-entered the drawing room. Her blond hair was wrapped in a dampening tan towel, while her body was loosely wrapped in a matching towel. She sighed; maybe drying off in this room was a bad idea.

So, she turned around and headed back into the living room. The apartment contained four rooms; one living room, one bed room, one bathroom, and one kitchen. The living room supported the kitchen because the kitchen itself was turned into the drawing room. The whole place smelled strongly of vegetable oil and Indian Ink.

She flopped down on the beanbag chair, sitting unlady like, and heaved a sigh. Maybe she'd watch T.V before her lover came home with wheat bread…


Firm, urgent knocks pounded on the door. Her heart jumped, and smile sprawled on her pale face. Licking her red chapped lips gingerly, she opened the door expecting love and carbohydrates but she was terribly wrong.

Bryon Smith stood at her door with a combination of shock and urgency on his girly pale face. This man-boy was no older than she, twenty-one at the oldest. It was a joke around Slave Labour Graphic's that this bumbling secretary was gay; this rumour was thanks to his badly dyed hair, which was slightly purple.

"Wednesday," He started, his thick British accent quivered with emotions, "is Darius here?!"

Wednesday gave him a withering look, truly disappointed that he wasn't Darius. By the by, when did he meet him and why did he want him? She wracked her little blond brain, looking up at Smith; he was at least eight inches taller than she.

"He's not here," She said scathingly, normally she was must nicer, but she was tired and needed loving. Her eyes were clouded as she yawned.

He took a step forward, almost over her threshold. Wednesday stepped in front of him, looking as pleasant as a wet cat. Bryon seemed to have noticing it, his eyes went from wide to curiously narrow.

"Fine," He sounded less spastic now, bowing his head as though to surrender to this awful fate, "Then will you come with me?" The last part of the question twanged with a plea, "And brings your cards!"

"What?" Wednesday retorted dryly, damp hair falling out of the towel as she wobbled at the door. Smith sighed, "You're Yu-gi-oh cards!" The way he said those words…tonight they had more venom in them, and he was less spastic in his squeaks and quivers. It bother Wednesday, she started to close the door.

"After ten, Bryon, "She groaned, about to close the door.

"Please!" He begged, gripping the door. Wednesday stopped just in time to avoid smashing his fine fingers. "I promise I'll get you whatever from the Starbucks across the street for a week…no, a month- Free!"

Wednesday peaked through the door crack, "I'm listening," she said smoothly…Starbucks had that new Honey melon Cappuccino she wanted to try…

"Will you wait for me to get dressed?" She inquired, calculating. Her suspicious were put to rest, because Bryon was once again bouncing up and down in excitement.

"Yes, yes!" He rushed, "But please HURRY!" Bryon's words were so stressed; she couldn't help but actually rush. But had someone told her what was going to happen, she would have worn something…cooler.

Wednesday buttoned up her doctor jacket, bleach white with random stains on it. She wrapped an orange scarf around her neck, looking at the unmade bed and the general messiness of her room. She'd have to clean it when she got back.

She picked up the damp towels and hung them on the scarf slash hat rack, even though the room was dark and a mess, she knew where everything was.

Wednesday picked up her grey hat, a faithful friend, and put it on top of her still wet hair. All that was left was her deck, but what deck to bring!?

Her dragon deck was by far the most used of all her decks, it had once almost won the Nationals, hadn't it? Is it the deck…or the duelist? Then there was her super cute deck with her favourite human monsters as a theme, and then her other deck which-


Wednesday grabbed the deck on top, the one with the cover slips of green. She flipped through them quickly, realizing she had grabbed her special deck and a few top cards from the cutesy deck. She wasn't sure, but what even Bryon wanted surly wouldn't require a good deck.

Slamming her feet in her boots, Wednesday- realized she wasn't wearing any pants. Quickly, just to get on her way, she pulled on black and white striped rayon pants, akin to the kind you see in a gothic style drawing of comics.

Wednesday pulled open her front door, looking weary. From her pocket, she pulled out black sunglasses, like the classic kind from manga.

"Let's ride!" She said, sounding falsely enthusiastic. Her cards were placed in a deep pocket with love.

"Please," Bryon's squeaks once again faded into this chilling calm, as though he couldn't keep up the energy, "we must hurry…"

Wednesday gave him a look, finally taking him in all the way. This secretary's clothes looked dishevelled, when they should have been neat, but then again, it was 3 in the morning.

"We're we going?" She asked groggily, walking on the floor but not really feeling it beneath her. It was that time when everything was funny and nothing really mattered. A surreal space…a wondrous race…

Bryon did not reply right away, he continued to walk down the hall, leading the half awake almost an adult female Homo sapiens down the hall of the collage approved apartment.

The time was 3:02 AM as our story unfolds.

Darkness again begins to grow….

Dream Weaver

When you weave my dream

Make it wild

Full of blood and screams

Oh Dream Weaver, don't let me down

Close my eyes, this one last time

Dream Weaver

Weave my dreams

Make them wild

Until there's no more sound

Can you, oh, just this one last


Dream Weaver

Take my soul

I don't need it

Where I'm gunna go

Oh Weaver…Dream Weaver

(There are flowers in the field

Of my mind's eyes

But I know they are lies

The lilies they have teeth)

It's your move