Monday, March 11, 2013
Hello Lori
Well if u ever get on this blog thing then you will notice this blog I just posted. Ha we'll I read your blogs and next time make sure you log out!! Anyway I liked your blogs they where very exhilarating, though I'm just an average student and don't know much I would say it was a good story, keep it up!!! And FYI I'm a bit of a wise talker from time to time and I say if you really hate swimming so much rise up and takeaway stand even if she's your mother because even though she will be furious, a mother always understands and if not thn take pride in your self. Also I to enjoy the winter, forget the summer seriously who wants to be hot n sweaty when u could be chilled and by a fireplace or something with your soul mate. Well I pretty much just found this stuff when I got no amount of sleep last nite because of mis malaince events. Hope your days go well and keep writing because even if your career doesn't work out the one in this world that matters is you and how you live it and if your ever online for playstation3 and read for some zombies look me up! Though I forgot my ID thingy so maybe if I'm ever on this iPad and u forgot to sign out again ill put it in the next blog ;D peace be with you.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Why I hate summer
Well, for starters, its WAY too hot. And I know that it could be worse if I lived in Arizona or somewhere else where it gets to be up to 108 on a "cool"day. But I am personally more of a winter type. Where I get an hour of extra sleep and the days are shorter and the nights are long and cold. What can I say? I'm a happy goth. IN THE WINTER. The only possible thing that could barley make summer liveable is that where I happen to live, in the summer, the bats come out to play. And when this happens, there is no other moment in my life that I could possibly be happier. (Besides of course my first day of Honors Language A) So why you ask is summer so much more miserable to me then it is to most other life forms on earth? I'll give you my top three reasons.
1. School is over.
2. It's WAY too hot.
3. My (evil) mom makes me wake up at six o'clock in the morning to do the one thing that I hate most in this world besides the color pink. Swim.
And some of you may enjoy swimming at the crack of dawn with little to no sleep to work with in below freezing temperature water. All I have to respond with is that you're not swimming compeditivley then. When you constantly have to worry about when your next swim meet is and what time it is and what your stupid mother just HAD to bring because she decided to help with concessions which entitles you to wake up two hours earlier than when people actually start arriving at the event, then every day is pretty much hell unless you're Miachel Phelps. So in each post so far I have put in a story about the topic that I'm trying to communicate and here it is. (If you're wondering why its kinda short it's because for me it's one o'clock in the morning.
Zak was preparing to swim the 500 meter butterfly and it was ten o'clock in the morning. He didn't dare question why his mother forced him to do this all the time because of the feared lashings he would get from her, but despite his supreme and utter hatred for the sport, Zak had to admit, he was getting pretty good at swimming. His best event was the one that the official was just about to start. He climbed up onto the block. Listened, take your mark and then, the crowd was silent. And for a few seconds, Zak wondered if the race would ever begin. But suddenly, the whistle was blown and Zak dove off the block and into the frigid waters below. He was ready to beat every boy in his age group, when all of Zak's excitement caused him to take a breath too early and he inhaled pure water. The water flooded his lungs and Zak died within seconds because he was unable to force oxygen into his lungs. He was dead before he passed his cheering mother on the sidelines.
Haha anyway, that was sort of graphic I know but I swear I thought this was happening to me at least more then once at my morning swim practices.
1. School is over.
2. It's WAY too hot.
3. My (evil) mom makes me wake up at six o'clock in the morning to do the one thing that I hate most in this world besides the color pink. Swim.
And some of you may enjoy swimming at the crack of dawn with little to no sleep to work with in below freezing temperature water. All I have to respond with is that you're not swimming compeditivley then. When you constantly have to worry about when your next swim meet is and what time it is and what your stupid mother just HAD to bring because she decided to help with concessions which entitles you to wake up two hours earlier than when people actually start arriving at the event, then every day is pretty much hell unless you're Miachel Phelps. So in each post so far I have put in a story about the topic that I'm trying to communicate and here it is. (If you're wondering why its kinda short it's because for me it's one o'clock in the morning.
Zak was preparing to swim the 500 meter butterfly and it was ten o'clock in the morning. He didn't dare question why his mother forced him to do this all the time because of the feared lashings he would get from her, but despite his supreme and utter hatred for the sport, Zak had to admit, he was getting pretty good at swimming. His best event was the one that the official was just about to start. He climbed up onto the block. Listened, take your mark and then, the crowd was silent. And for a few seconds, Zak wondered if the race would ever begin. But suddenly, the whistle was blown and Zak dove off the block and into the frigid waters below. He was ready to beat every boy in his age group, when all of Zak's excitement caused him to take a breath too early and he inhaled pure water. The water flooded his lungs and Zak died within seconds because he was unable to force oxygen into his lungs. He was dead before he passed his cheering mother on the sidelines.
Haha anyway, that was sort of graphic I know but I swear I thought this was happening to me at least more then once at my morning swim practices.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Something serious...
So, in this (second) blog, I've decided to talk about something a little more serious and as always I will express it in writing. Some might call it a story, and some might call it "a crude but necessary way to advertise the effects of bullying". This is something that I personally have had to deal with for all my fourteen years of life and I know too many people (including me) who have to suffer from this kind of abuse every day. This post is simply to further inform readers about the harm bullying can inflict upon innocent people. Bullying is a problem that I belive to be the cause of most teen suicides in America. And just to be clear, this person and the events that take place in this particular instance are strictly fictional.
Thinking of the day she just barley managed to finish, Tara sat in her dimmly lit room and pondered things that most girls probably shouldn't. As another tear fell from Tara's electric blue eye onto her grey satin comforter, she withdrew her cold, burgandy-stained razor from her pocket. But before Tara performed the sentence that she was determined to carry out, she ignored the various pink and purple scars that zig zaged across her arm and lightly draged the sharp edge along her skin. A small, crimson bubble bloomed from Tara's arm and she wondered if it would ever pop. When it did, Tara's dark blood drew a thin line down the center of her forearm. When the line finally ended, a small dark teardrop formed at the end of Tara's elbow and plunged to the floor. She was floating. She was looking down on herself now from the celing wondering what would happen next. She was the author to her own story and it dangerously excited her.
Now was the time. It was the time for her to finally end all the pain and suffering that had been inflicted on her by her peers over her fourteen years of life. Tara drew the dripping razor so that it was just hovering over the surface of a deep blue vein. She tensed her trembling fingers, willed her tears to cease and pressed the metal onto the skin that hid the vein just below the beginning of her palm. Tara was ready. She pushed the tip of the blade into her skin and let out a cry as the razor broke the skin and along with it, the fleshy extirior of her vein. Deep rivers of blood etched their way down Tara's porcilan skin and dripped onto the floor below. Her eyes grew to golfballs as the dark, steak-sented stain seemed to grow on the carpet with every passing second. Tara sat on the floor watching her metalic crimson pool around her until she had lost so much blood that she passed out cold on the floor. Tara died at exactly 11:59 one minute before her birthday. She died proud knowing that her cowardice would never hold her back again.
Thinking of the day she just barley managed to finish, Tara sat in her dimmly lit room and pondered things that most girls probably shouldn't. As another tear fell from Tara's electric blue eye onto her grey satin comforter, she withdrew her cold, burgandy-stained razor from her pocket. But before Tara performed the sentence that she was determined to carry out, she ignored the various pink and purple scars that zig zaged across her arm and lightly draged the sharp edge along her skin. A small, crimson bubble bloomed from Tara's arm and she wondered if it would ever pop. When it did, Tara's dark blood drew a thin line down the center of her forearm. When the line finally ended, a small dark teardrop formed at the end of Tara's elbow and plunged to the floor. She was floating. She was looking down on herself now from the celing wondering what would happen next. She was the author to her own story and it dangerously excited her.
Now was the time. It was the time for her to finally end all the pain and suffering that had been inflicted on her by her peers over her fourteen years of life. Tara drew the dripping razor so that it was just hovering over the surface of a deep blue vein. She tensed her trembling fingers, willed her tears to cease and pressed the metal onto the skin that hid the vein just below the beginning of her palm. Tara was ready. She pushed the tip of the blade into her skin and let out a cry as the razor broke the skin and along with it, the fleshy extirior of her vein. Deep rivers of blood etched their way down Tara's porcilan skin and dripped onto the floor below. Her eyes grew to golfballs as the dark, steak-sented stain seemed to grow on the carpet with every passing second. Tara sat on the floor watching her metalic crimson pool around her until she had lost so much blood that she passed out cold on the floor. Tara died at exactly 11:59 one minute before her birthday. She died proud knowing that her cowardice would never hold her back again.
First post: A piece of me
Many people have asked me about what type of things I like to do and what I always tell them is that writing is my passion. And I understand if some of you may thing that I'm weird. It's cool writings not for everyone but I love it and I hope to be an author someday so here is something I've just made up (on the spot). Please critique me as you wish I absolutley love critics:
Four steps out the front door and Blair was completly drenched, the rain plastering her long black hair to her skin. Her goosebumps were transparent under her soaking wet nightgown as various bits of twigs and pine needles stabbed the soles of her feet. Approaching the edge of the woods, she could see the glow of lights surrounding the perimiter of Roswell and the black of moist night time forest in either dirrection.
Blair could hear him behind her closer, closer until she could feel the very chill of his breath running down her spine. Her lungs burned and her vision was blurred with rain and tears. Blair's feet flew from under her as a fallen tree limb tripped her and she heard the audible sound of her cheek bone shattering as her face crashed against a rock. Blair let out a yelp as her body was suspended above the ground by a fistful of hair. Her body was slammed against a nearby tree, her heart hammering in her chest. Her shoulders were pinned against the tree as the stranger hissed, " Tell me where you've hidden it and your precious little skull will remain intact.
Blair gave a whimper, " I don't know I swear!"
The man pursed his lips. He was getting very tired of this and he wasnt leaving without an answer. He had traveled too long to return empty handed and if he didn't find the amulet soon, Mortimer would have his head.
" You're lying to me my dear. I know you are. My sources led me to you and if you refuse to cooperate I will be happy to kill you slower."
" P-please. I don't know what you're talking about" she was beggining to unhinge.
" Well I'm terribly sorry deary but if you're intent is to be so strict, then I'm afraid you're no longer important to me."
Blair tried to scream but her air supply was cut off by a large gloved fist around her throat that was refusing to come unclenched. The stranger plunged his razor- sharp fangs into her juggular and deep rivers of crimson splashed onto his tougne. Blair tore at his hands, begging him to stop as death slowly overtook her. She gave one final shiver of fear which only caused the man to enjoy his meal that much more. The blood was always sweeter when the victims racing heart was forcing it down your throat.
I hope you liked this little bit of what I love to do. Some of my HUGE inspirations are Heather Brewer and the CoVT series that she put together. (Chronicles of Vladimir Tod) Also, Stephen King. when I grow up I hope to be able to express gore, emotion, and thrill all on the same page with as much detail as he doeswith every novel he makes. And by the way, please. If you're going to critique me on this please don't ask why I made it about vampires. I think I've asked nicely enough. Anyway, thank you so much for reading and there will be more posts to come I promise.
:D
Four steps out the front door and Blair was completly drenched, the rain plastering her long black hair to her skin. Her goosebumps were transparent under her soaking wet nightgown as various bits of twigs and pine needles stabbed the soles of her feet. Approaching the edge of the woods, she could see the glow of lights surrounding the perimiter of Roswell and the black of moist night time forest in either dirrection.
Blair could hear him behind her closer, closer until she could feel the very chill of his breath running down her spine. Her lungs burned and her vision was blurred with rain and tears. Blair's feet flew from under her as a fallen tree limb tripped her and she heard the audible sound of her cheek bone shattering as her face crashed against a rock. Blair let out a yelp as her body was suspended above the ground by a fistful of hair. Her body was slammed against a nearby tree, her heart hammering in her chest. Her shoulders were pinned against the tree as the stranger hissed, " Tell me where you've hidden it and your precious little skull will remain intact.
Blair gave a whimper, " I don't know I swear!"
The man pursed his lips. He was getting very tired of this and he wasnt leaving without an answer. He had traveled too long to return empty handed and if he didn't find the amulet soon, Mortimer would have his head.
" You're lying to me my dear. I know you are. My sources led me to you and if you refuse to cooperate I will be happy to kill you slower."
" P-please. I don't know what you're talking about" she was beggining to unhinge.
" Well I'm terribly sorry deary but if you're intent is to be so strict, then I'm afraid you're no longer important to me."
Blair tried to scream but her air supply was cut off by a large gloved fist around her throat that was refusing to come unclenched. The stranger plunged his razor- sharp fangs into her juggular and deep rivers of crimson splashed onto his tougne. Blair tore at his hands, begging him to stop as death slowly overtook her. She gave one final shiver of fear which only caused the man to enjoy his meal that much more. The blood was always sweeter when the victims racing heart was forcing it down your throat.
I hope you liked this little bit of what I love to do. Some of my HUGE inspirations are Heather Brewer and the CoVT series that she put together. (Chronicles of Vladimir Tod) Also, Stephen King. when I grow up I hope to be able to express gore, emotion, and thrill all on the same page with as much detail as he doeswith every novel he makes. And by the way, please. If you're going to critique me on this please don't ask why I made it about vampires. I think I've asked nicely enough. Anyway, thank you so much for reading and there will be more posts to come I promise.
:D
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