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Chapter 1: 15 years laterIt's summer in Parker, AZ and 15 year old Moira Vanderbart is bored out of her mind. Her three younger brothers play soccer out in the backyard while the four little sisters play tea party with their dolls. And here is Moira, outcasted in school, gothic everywhere, and she's all alone, no friends, no family parties, no nothing. The Vanderbarts are Moira's newest adoptive family. She has been with them since she was ten and they adopted her when she was twelve.
Moira never really fit in at school. She was skinny, smart and never rode the bus. Of course Moira was one of the only kids at school who was picked up by her parents. It was so annoying. What she didn't know was that her whole world was going to change and she never going to know what's real and what's just a lie.
"Moira!" Mandy called from the kitchen. The only good thing in Moira's life was her mothers coo
Running AwayRunning Away
Running away can make things easier since
When things get rough just weave your way apart
Then make sure that no one spots your footprints
Running away calms the soul, upstart
When you become a bit jumbled, just run!
Bound past the dilemma, the hot water,
Dart forward until you can't go any more, done.
Then you just sit down and have a chiller.
But is running away always the best?
If all you do is run nothing is learned.
Many humans hold life as one contest.
And I agree, this case is fin (feen), adjourned
But I have to ask, by running away,
What do you gain, what do you get for pay?
When I get older...Each day we all get older, let face a fact,
People try to hide it, just like one big act.
But I won't deny it; I'll take it in stride
There will be oceans to swim in, horses to ride.
I will be the strangest old woman you'll see
But I'll still be smiling, happy as can be!
I will be a mother of maybe two or three,
And a grandmother, if considered worthy!
I will share with them the stories from my youth,
Making them giggle, and ask if it's the truth.
When I turn eighty, I'll start to calm down
My hearing will be worse, my face a natural frown.
My end will still be afar, no need to worry,
So I take my time, no need to hurry
The years will go by, faster and faster,
Soon I will feel it will end in disaster
My end will draw nearer, closer each day
I will start to think, will I fade away?
Then my family gathers close, my end is now here
I smile and tell them, "please don't shed a tear."
Now my life is over, I have no regret,
I watch from above, my family won't forget
Everything we have done, a
I Am From...I am from bobby pins,
I am from bright green grass and the small woods,
The big the big oak tree
I am from long straight highway,
And the park
With children and their families.
I am from Papa Gill,
Who I'll never let march,
My Uncle Michael
Always there for me
I am from "No I didn't!"
"March, a march, a march..."
and "Kepp me in your pocket."
I am from pumpkin bread puddign,
black magic cupcakes,
From Allie Olie
I am from the ocean
From an airplane,
My Nana's bed.
I am what my family has lifted me to.
And they will kep lifting me higher.
An ActorWhen people hear my name,
What do they see?
They see the other side of me.
This is my mask, my sheild, my act.
This is what I want people to see.
There there is my core, my true self
There you can see me, my chains, my fears;
My unfufilled dreams and abandoned hopes.
I stopped seeing the sun
and feeling the comforting breeae here long ago.
That is where I am.
That is the place I go
When I need to go away,
Then and then another side comes out to play.
A face tht may be bold ad vital,
Or quiet and ignore.
I feel like an actor,
Changing my face to what others wee fit,
And never being myself.
What's the point in living, it it isn't your own life?
And the point in breathing, if it is not your own breath?
I am an actor,
What rold do I play next?
Prelude: The SacrificeA dark castle, a dark throne, and a vicious war faring just outside the sturdy, protective doors. In the midst of it all a king paces in the hall, listening to the screams of pain from just beyond the locked door. Behind the door is a woman, a beautiful woman with rippling golden hair, Bella, the queen of Giarcna, lying helpless on her bed as a midwife quietly works on preparations for her babe, the heir of great Giarcna's throne. If this birth is failed Giarcna is damned. For this is the Queen's fourth babe, all however, were dead when removed from her womb. As the wise midwife clucks and titters to herself a great pain shoots through the queen, followed by roaring amounts of blood, saddening the sheets. The midwife dashes to her queens side and in one last gentle pull, a miracle, a babe, an heir to the throne lays crying on the sheets. "A girl." The midwife says, wrapping the baby in a golden bla
26. Tears(first POV, Kanon Sakine)
It had been a week since Shiri took me to live with him. My world is a shadow of what it was before I came here. The first four days I spent drunk, or with a hangover, praying that Dell would come and rescue me. But he didn't, or couldn't, it didn't matter because I was here, and he wasn't. Maybe he didn't care- no I can't think that...of course he cared, he loved me. Didn't he? I quickly shook the doubt from my mind with a hot shot of coffee.
A knock on my door brought me out of my abyss of thoughts.
"Ms. Sakine? Master Shiri wishes to see you in his study."
Shiri wanted me? Why? We hadn't exchanged a word, or even a glance for the matter, since he brought me here to his estate. What on Earth could he want now? "I'll be there in a moment." I quickly brushed my hair a put it up in a quick bun, then walked down the hallway to where Shiri's study was. I meekly knocked.
"Shiri? You called for me?"
"Yes, come in, Kanon." he replied form the other side of the door.
five hour energyi suppose
last week was only an aftershock
of the earthquake you were before.
this place used to vibrate
with metal strings and melodic,
testimonies to life,
emitting coffee-scented moods
and the burn of it too.
i had memorized the
sounds of silence,
i couldn't help but relish it.
no longer had i known
the sounds of folk
and scent of mocha-
you became nothing more
than an echo of the laughter
i so desperately needed to hear again.
then the echoes got louder,
bouncing ferociously off the walls
to be made manifest
i walked into your room
expecting exactly what i found-
an unmade bed,
and an empty beer
(the one that you insisted you needed
just days ago).
i pressed my nose
into the pillow
for incense and cologne and starbucks
to penetrate my mind
and thinking fervently
i already know
what a clean sheet smells like."
how strong an aftershock can be,
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