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Author has written 10 stories for Demashitaa! Powerpuff Girls Z, Peter Pan, Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Powerpuff Girls, Fairy Tales, Legend, Marie Lu, and Dead Poets Society.
I'm a girl despite the pen name. I like writing my stuff with making my own characters rather than using other peoples', *shrug* it makes me think I'm stealing I guess.
By the way, I am also on commonsensemedia.org with the same pen name so you can go there and take a look at my opinions about movies and books.
I am, as my friend says, deprived enough not to know what 9/11 is and I don't. Yes, I am that deprived, but I was living in Japan then so don't blame me, blame the news there for not telling me (I didn't have a TV at the time).
I'm a bit fan girl for Peter Pan (I mean who wouldn't want to be this kid), Percy Jackson takes second place and Power Puff girls Z had third. Wow, they all start with P.
I cannot stop thinking, I get inspiration to write something, make an outline and then work on it once I've finished my main project (the ones with chapters). So I'll be mostly behind in my work, but that will keep me writing after I've finished with one, I can immediately start on another. The only reason I'm not multi-writing is because I have tunnel vision. If I work on two then I put all my ideas into one; making the other a neglected failure.
I hate being ratted out by people who like ruining other people's fun. Usually for the people I hate, I write different ways to kill them. Here's one of them, as a sample of how my mind works because no amount of words could explain me (you can use this if you really hate a teacher):
Once upon a time, a man by the name of Mr. Control, was so stubborn, that it got him in trouble. One year, a boy came into his class.
This was no ordinary boy, he had a the power to vanquish his foes when he was in raged. He unleashed on a few unfortunate students before, which gave them some idea of what they were dealing with. Apparently, one of those victims was in the same class. The boy was a dark-skinned native american with dark hair and eyes. He always wore a necklace of a wolf paw tucked under his shirt.
Mr. Control tought his usual class; at first, there wasn't any problems. When the boy's grade began to drop, he was getting mad. The reason, for not showing work and not coping down a question. The show work part was understandable but writing down the problem was useless. Mr. Control tried to explain it to him but it still made no sense. His grade continued to drop, just for not coping down a stupid problem. His mom came to try to straighten things out, but nothing helped. The man was too stubborn for his own good.
His fate was sealed.
Now he'd really done it; the boy got so mad that he punched him in the eye, breaking his glasses. The student that once fell victim to this boy instantly jumped up and grabbed the boy around the waist.
"Someone help me!" he called, while the boy grabbed him by the shirt and threw him across the room.
Right before their eyes, the boy was changing. His hair grew and his normally dark eyes turned blue. Mr. Control was in for the shock of his life; the creature slashed at his throat, blood spilled everywhere.
The students stood there, all too afraid to move or they'll suffer the same. Slowly the creäture began to shrink to its original form; the boy swayed a little, he looked at the body. At first, he didn't know how to react; in his face was shock, then sadness and dismay.
He quickly ran out of the room, never to be seen again.
Someone retrieved the kid that gotten thrown across the room. "Where is he?" the victim asked.
The others shrugged.
"Just like him," he said, "to leave without a trace."
"Should we tell?" asked one of the students.
"I don't think they would believe this," he answered," a werewolf attacked our teacher. Who would believe that?"
"We would," they all cried.
"Yeah well, we're the ones that saw it."
"What are we going to do then?"
"Tell them our teacher died and hope for the best."
"Well I for one think it is better this way. He is, by far the worst teacher I've ever met."
"He wouldn't take my missing work and gave a U for not taking the notes the right way or the way he wanted me to," said a girl.
Before they knew it, the intercom went on.
"Excuse me, Mr. Control, could you come down to the office. The principle would like a word with you."
"He can't do that at the moment, he's a little dead."
The intercom went off and the police had arrived soon after to find Mr. Control's remains on the floor.
"What happened here?" the cops asked.
They all shrugged.
"Well one of you must know, especially you with the bloody mouth."
The victim stared at him.
"Nothing happened, the bloody mouth was from a jerk."
"Well if you do know something, tell us."
With that he hurried out, muttering something about paperwork.
"Did we do the right thing?" asked one of the students.
"I hope so," he replied.
(I used a fake name for the dude)
I hope you all enjoyed that, I keep telling my mom I need a therapist or be put in a mental hospital but at least I have the decency to admit it. BTW: That stuff actually happened. The taking notes and coping down the problems were why I had such a low scores in math, which made him a horrible teacher. I used to like math but he kinda ruined that for me. Haha, if he ever reads this; I really want to see the look on his face, *sing-song voice* someone wants to kill him!
D* put this
R* on your
E* page if you
A* prefer your
S* over reality
Here's another story for your enjoyment and this is about 95% true, I think. :-/
I was so excited, finally dad and I had finished the plane we were fixing up.
It was a cloudy day, as if it knew what was coming. We paid no heed to the clouds both thinking of flying over those fluffs.
Dad had strapped me in to one of the pilots seats; he put his foot on the wheel to keep the plane from moving when he pushed the thratol. I didn't see him put his foot there; I was mesmerized by the propeller spinning, blending into itself.
I don't know what possessed me to do so, but I pushed on the thratal which was a long rod with a white button. The plane moved with a jolt; dad was thankfully not close enough to get hurt, although I nearly took his head off. I had no idea what I was doing but the plane turned to the right missing the hangar door.
We had pulled out another plane earlier that day and put it to the side. Big mistake.
The plane I was in crashed propeller to propeller. Both were ripped, showing the material they were made of. I quickly unbuckled myself and hurried a safe distance away from dad.
The look of shock was plastered on his face as he stared at the destruction I caused. He dropped to his knees and cried. That was the only time I saw him cry, so broken.
I didn't know what to do, so I did the only thing that came to mind. I ran. I didn't get far, but hid behind a cement block and cried myself, knees tucked in.
I wasn't there long, but I wished I did.
And now it has become a family joke (and not the first time I tried flying a plane, the first time I was like 3), mind you I was only 9 when this happened and it was freaking scary back then (I had an anxiety attack when I was writing this and it lasted for about 2 periods but didn't get one while typing this). Later on that year I wrote to Santa to give me like 2,000 dollars or something to pay it off. It's weird, I think I'm cursed so I'm unable to drive anything on wheels; I think this because a while ago dad was teaching me how to ride a scooter, I panicked then hit a curb. Surprisingly, in both accidents, not a scratch happened; so if you ever meet me, don't ask me to drive there is an almost guaranteed accident where I'm unharmed and you in a hospital. Also, I've been told that this story is popular on three continents; I think, since putting it on my profile, it's popular worldwide (sort of).
Here's another story and it's kind of inspired another story I've come up with, don't know when I'll get back to writing but when I do, I hope it turns out awesome. This is what I dub The Little Demon:
You know that little voice in the back of your head, that's not your conscious, that's your personal little demon. Ever since we were small, it's been drilled into our heads what is right and what is wrong, feeding that conscious. But what of the little demon? Oh it's in there alright, growing silently plotting; waiting for your to SNAP.
Most people don't even want to deal with the little demon, after all it did scare us in our childhood as monsters under our beds and haunted us in our sleep. So we try to lock it up; it still whispers though, just barely audible of how worthless you are. As for the rest of us, we listen to the demons a little too closely.
Still it grows until it consumes you, hungers for your very being; to tear you, consume you, and throw whatever's left away. It'll look for its next victim, wearing your skin. For you will be nothing but a withered husk, a mere puppet, a host to the little demon.
It starts living your life. It hates you, hates everything you are, hates everyone you know, and hates everything you do. It claws at the walls of your being. It desires your destruction, attacking where it hurts most. It wasn't everything you have but that isn't enough, it's never enough. It whispers of temptation for its closer to you than you think. It'll always come after you, long after you're dead and gone.
The little demon laughs at your doubt, your weakness, and your hesitation; thinking itself better than a weak human. It'll strike you from the inside, where you are most vulnerable. It pokes at your psyche, looking to break you.
When you grow up all alone, with people there one moment and gone the next, you tend to think a lot; and when you think a lot the demon likes to slip in a suggestion or two. Suggestions of jealously, anger, self-loathing, resent and with each dark thought, the demon grows. Grows until it finally consumes you. You think you can control it, but it'll just slip through your fingers; showing sides you never wish others to see.
Don't believe me? Look at yourself in the mirror. I'm sure you've wished you could change something of yourself: more honest, too much of a coward, wished you were somebody else. You may with this was a dream but let me a sure you, it's all to too real.
The demon has already sunken its claws into your being. Your teetering on the edge of the demon's waiting jaws and no one will hear you scream. One false move...
Put this on your profile if you can hear the demon lurking.
[I want to try these chain things, there's already a bunny after world domination, why not a demon too?]
Quote from a fortune cookie:
"Good writing is clear thinking made visible."