Some Girls, Dragons, and For Carrie

Yeah, it's been a bit, but I was debating over one of my poems I wrote, and just decided against posting it. It's a personal one that may hurt some people's feelings, and honestly is literally titled "For Ravyn", so for right now she's the only one who gets to see that one.

But here are two more that are little more upbeat. Not as heavy as a few of the other poems I just read to decide what would come next.

First is my declaration that I can be anything I imagine and more. (And so can you)

Second is saying I refuse to live in just this reality.

Third is simply For Carrie.

Some Girls

Some girls are born with wings
And some with tails and gills
Some are born with crowns and tiaras
And some are born with stars

I was born with music in my head
And words and poems in my veins

I may not be a goddess, or a fairy, or a mermaid, or a princess
But once I was taught 10 words
I found a book and read

Then I read and read and read and read
And then wrote and wrote and wrote
And wrote myself to be all of them and more

Dragons

They say
Keep your head out of the clouds
Keep your mind on the ground
Keep your focus in the here and now

They say
Don't look back
The past is the past
Mind over matter

They say
Fantasy is useless
Fiction is pointless
It's better to be real

Well I say
Stories kept me alive
When the world tore me apart

Fantasy is better than a reality
Where there is no justice or mercy

And fiction matters more
Than the world where the innocent
Lose and lose and lose and lose

I say
The fake worlds are better
And kept the fire inside alive
And taught me hope

I don't care what they say
Fiction and fantasy and stories
The made up and unreal
Will always triumph

After all
“Fairy tales are more than true:
Not because they tell us that dragons exist,
But because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.”
- Neil Gaiman

For Carrie

When I was a little girl
I watched a princess who wasn't always nice

She didn't always smile
And called people names
When men came to save her
She grabbed a gun and mowed the enemy down

She kicked asses, took names
And fell in love with a scoundrel
Without shame or fear
And saved the day as any man ever could

When I learned of the women
Who played this princess
I learned that she was almost same
She kicked asses, took names

And yet her mind split into two
She struggled almost her whole life
Just to find a way to live

When I learned she collapsed on a plane
I cried and I prayed
That she would be okay

And instead
God took her away from the world
And so she wouldn't be alone
He took her mother right after

I will strive to live my life
With a broken mind
Kicking asses, and taking names

So that the Star Princess
Will smile down on me
And say, "There you go.
"Show those bastards how it's done."

Peace and Drop of Sunlight (Poems)

Here are some more poetry I wrote at work last Saturday.

These two are more personal, and not funny. Like I said with Poetry, I took all the feelings in my heart and poured them into 10 poems and wanted to cry. These are so real and mean a lot to me. I hope you like them.

Peace

Once upon a time

There was a girl

Who wanted to be a princess

Her parents told her 

"Be whatever you want to be"

If you have the will

You can do it

Then the girl went to school

And some boys

And some girls

But mostly boys

Ripped her mind apart

By 11 she didn't believe she would live

By 13 she didn't want to live

By 18 her body was ripping itself apart like her mind

But then the girl was a woman

A broken woman who refused to give up

And because she didn't give up she found peace

Drop of Sunlight

Why is it so bad

When your mind is trapped in black clouds

And each day is like walking through a dark, misty forest

That you need to take a drop of sunlight?

Why are we told it's wrong?

Looked down on for taking it?

When you take it the mist fades

The gray sky clears

The sun rises for the first time in years

And the suddenly there's a path forward

You can breathe

You can move

You can sing

You can dance

And most of all

You can smile

I'll keep taking my drop of sunlight

And ignore the nay-sayers

Because that drop of sunlight

Is the best thing to happen to me

Poetry and We're Screwed

Sooo...

Hello.

I'm alive.

And I'm sorry for not posting. I'll have a video up at the end of the month explaining what happened and being 100% honest with myself and the world about the why, so you'll have to check my YouTube Channel to learn all of that, cuz it's 1 AM and I'm not gonna post about it just yet.

One thing that has really suffered in my writing. I haven't posted any writing on here for one reason: I haven't written a word in over a year that wasn't something silly or me defending my friends. No stories, no poems, no fanfiction. Nothing. And if that isn't sending up a red flag, it should. The moment I noticed I panicked a bit and knew something had to change.

And it has. NOW I'm back, and the need to write has been driving me crazy for the past 2 weeks or so.

So I tried to edit Warrior.
Nope.
Then I tried to edit a new chapter in W.i.t.c.h. - The Full Story.
Nope.

At work today (or, technically, yesterday) I wrote 12 poems. TWELVE. I've never written that many in a YEAR, or even FIVE YEARS least of all ONE SHIFT AT WORK!!!

Here are actually the last two I wrote. The first explains how today went, while the second just sums up America right this second in my mind. It's something that was expressed this time last year and has only become more real as time went on.

Poetry

Poetry is like picking at scabs
It may feel good at first
A release of an inch
But in the end you still bleed

The difference is you write all your words out
And then you want to cry
But you’re at work
And the big dude sitting behind you would stare

(His reaction in my brain)

We're Screwed

You know the world is screwed

When you look at the last mess of a leader

And look at the current one and say

"There's very little I wouldn't give to put Bush in office instead."

At least he's a good idiot, and not an evil one.

Yup, Forgot Again (Videos and Updates)

Although I do have an excuse, I was travelling the whole last half of last week, and couldn't get to YouTube or tumblr. So there.

But I couldn't posted something.

Quick update of things: I've been writing in Glenn's Story some more. I need to go through and look at things because the whole first parts of the book have been from multiple perspectives, but where I'm at now that's not really practical, so I'm gonna go over it again before posting it on Figment. In case you don't know you can read Glenn's Story on Figment HERE!

So I'm still writing, but I really need to take things slowly. My hands have been getting worse, flaring up more often. Sometimes, especially while I was travelling, I wake up from my hand(s) bugging me and have to put on my brace. :(

My Week In Pics: I don't know if I'll continue them. I haven't been taking many pictures lately, mostly due to reading and being online a great deal. I guess I can, but there will be a break from it. Gonna admit, some of it is from backlash of certain person getting in my face about my life. I do share some of it on here, but my life is my business, and a lot of it I don't share. A whole lot of it stays between me and a very few people. In fact a good chunk of the pictures and even the videos I shoot are not shared at all and stay for just me.

But this blog will continue on, regardless of anything. I know only 1 person comments, and so long as she continues to do so, I will continue to post. Just like my videos. Sure, they don't reach a large audience. But so long as I have 1 subscriber who likes my videos I will continue to post. And yes, I'm well aware I have 25 lovely subscribers and I love and am very grateful for all of them. So the channel continues while I can post, this will continue so long as I can post.

I've done three videos since I last posted. Two went up while I was away from the computer (thanks to the awesomeness of YouTube), so not surprising I didn't post about them, and 1 went up 15 minutes ago.





This 1st vid is The Writer's Dream Tag. It kind deserves it's own post, but I don't wanna! >:D It's a tag all about writing and goals and dreams and whatnot. So check it!





This one went up while I was in Phoenix, locked away from YouTube, so it doesn't have many views since I couldn't share it in a timely manner. :/

It's a double review of two manga I truly love, Nura: Rise of the Yokai Clan, and the Anne of Green Gables manga. Nura you can get here in the US, though they hadn't started publishing it when I started reading it, while Anne you can NOT get here. It's in Japanese ONLY. :(





Last video to go up is the BookTube Newbie Tag! I wasn't tagged, but hardly anyone is for this tag, since it's for newcomers to the community. I enjoyed doing it as I'm sharing what my goals and hopes are for this channel. LA Knight did it also, but I don't know when her's is going up. Normally we email each other while she's at work, but she's super busy today, so hardly any chat time.


So that's what's been going down lately. :)

Hero - Prologue

Hey guys!

So I'm taking a break from Warrior. I started flipping out because I wrote it in the wrong voice--yes, I really did. YA novels are written differently from any other genre, and I normally read middle grade or adult novels. I only got into YA recently, and really the genre wasn't really alive until Twilight. So yes, you can thank Twilight for Rick Roirdan's Heroes of Olympus, The Hunger Games, and so many more series. It changes writing for the better, even if the plot is...questionable. ;) Yes, I am a fan. And critic.

Anywho, so we I realized just how much editing had to be done, I freaked out. Then I found out most novelist write the novel, and wait for a month or more before they begin editing. Since I want to have Warrior completely done before I move onto book 2, I've been writing randomly little scenes here and there for books 5, 6, 7 or even further down. And yes, I have about 10 novels planned so far. There may be even more, if I can get this thing off the ground! :)

So here's the prologue for book 6!

Now, for what this is about. I'm not sure I've talked about who my audience is with Star Warriors. Sure, I want anyone who wants to read it. But I write for those who've had a really tough life, like Kana, Eirren, or Mabyn. Yes, characters who have that type of life are the most interesting to read, but lots of the dark experiences I write in are based on real, horrible events that I or, more often, someone I love and care about has experienced. The epilogue of Warrior was based almost entirely on things one of my best friend was told by her own mother and family, just like in that chapter.

This prologue is based on the true, horrible story behind the name of Love146. Love146 is a profit free organization that helps victims of human trafficking. If you want to know more about them, watch this vid by Michelle Phan and check out their website.

http://love146.org/

To honor the girl, I wrote this story. I had planned on writing this, but this really developed after watching this video, and reading the story. Remember The Girl.

Prologue One

Sixteen Years Ago

He didn’t know how long he’d been there. An eternity, maybe. Chained to the chair, put on display. The girls lined up beside him wore beautiful, short dresses. He, being the only boy, was wearing simple, dress shorts, a button-up shirt, and a blazer.

The girls’ were broken, their faces echoing their misery, staring down, defeated. He stared down too, but not because of fear, though he was afraid. No, he was looking down because his eyes reflected his anger. Showing it meant even more pain and hurt than he already suffered.

He glanced at the number pinned to his blazer. It was his new identity. That number and his body was all that mattered to them. All that he was. He was 349. Beside him was 287 and then 435. That’s all they were. Numbers. Products. Customers eyed them, then gave the number they wanted to the owner. Then it was upstairs and…

Sure enough, a worker called, “349.”

Without looking up, 349 held up his right arm, which was cuffed down. After all, he’d attempted to escaped so many times they just chained him to everything, including the bar by the toilet. The worker tsked and unchained him. Leading him out like a dog, he was pulled upstairs and into room number 6. His number was removed from his shirt and hung from the door, letting the customer know where his prize was. Then the worker chained him again to the bed.

When the worker left, 349 stared at the wall, trying to keep his mind blank, hoping he’d be numb to everything. He never really was.

The customer entered. Petting his face, whispering horrors to him before…

Screams, roars, gunshots. The customer straightened up and 349 dared to feel a tiny flicker of hope. Maybe he wouldn’t…maybe.

The door exploded. 349’s jaw dropped as his hero, The Scorpion, stepped through. The man pulled out a gun from his dropped trousers and attempted to shot him. Of course, The dodged. He moved like shadow, just as the drug kids from the street a lifetime ago had claimed. But 349 realized that he wasn’t shadow, or a demon, or anything like everyone else had claimed. He was fast, like lightning. All it took was a second before the customer was down, and then he was standing over 349. The handcuffs fell away, then the ones on his feet were gone too. Still shocked, 349 rose, eyeing his hero with apprehension. He protected people, but supposedly so did the cops that came and used the girls, or the judge and city councilor member that’d taken a liking to him.

“Come on,” his rough, deep voice called. It should’ve scared 349, but it didn’t. There was a gentleness, and deep sorrow that comforted the boy. “You’re getting out of here.”

“There’s another one,” the boy said as he put his fancy clothes back on. “Another…place like this.”

“Where?” Scorpion asked, his dark eyes studying him.

“I…” 349 racked his brain, trying to think. A bag had been over his head both when he’d arrived and left. “I don’t know,” he admitted. He hunched his shoulders. They’d beaten him for the smallest slight, real or imagined.

Instead of bashing his head, Scorpion’s large, gloved hand came down on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. “Try to remember. Give yourself time. Now, you’re getting out of here. They’ll take care of you.”

For the first time in years, 349 looked him in the eye. “I want to go with you. I want to help you.”

“You need to go with the workers. They can help you.”

“I want to help you,” he repeated.

Scorpion studied him. “What’s your name?”

349 blinked. He hadn’t been called by a name other than disgusting pet names in years. He’d been a number. First 145, then 349. But his real name, the one his mother had called him before she died…

“Jacob. Jacob Conner.”

“Okay, Jacob. I want you to go with them now. I know, you want to help, but protect the girls. They’ve been hurt worse than you. You need to help them. Then, when you think you’re ready, I’ll come for you.”

“How do I tell you when I’m ready?”

Scorpion had been headed towards the door, but stopped and looked back. “I’ll know. Then I’ll come find you.”

Jacob helped the girls who were too scared to come to the workers. He helped the smaller ones out to the trucks that took them away from that hell hole. And a few months later, when he wasn’t so scared anymore, Scorpion found him and kept his promise.

Worthless (Poem)

So I read this article that Promise Phan/Promise Tamang tweeted about, and it really hurt me. It was about how my generation and younger feel that they need a great job or not one at all. And something Austin Kutcher said just really hurt, because I don't have a job, but not because I refuse to get one. I simply can't due to various reasons my friends and family are aware of.

So I started asking some questions to myself, and it turned into this poem. Let me know what you think!

Worthless

 

What is worthless?

Nothing

No one

A word that shouldn’t exist

 

For God made us all

And made all

So there must be some worth in

Everything

 

And yet this label doesn’t cease to exist

It haunts the innocent

Victims

Of their own mind

 

A term the world throws around

Pretending that they

Who have worth

Can deem what does

Or does not

 

But who are they to judge

Rulers and workers

Can they decide?

Have they that right?

 

What of those who label themselves

Is it their right to choose

If they live up to this term

Or any other term?

 

Wouldn’t the world be

Better off

If perhaps someone

Everyone

Simply lived

 

No judging

No harming

No labels

 

Just living

 

But then again

Who am I

To decide if worthless

Is worthless?

Drowning (Poem)

Drowning

 

I feel like I’m drowning

Like the waves are overpowering

Lost

Confused

Scared

Frightened

 

“Don’t let fear rule you”

But what if all you have is fear?

All that you can rely on

All that remains at the end of the day

Is the endless depth

That sucks you in

 

Believe

Believe in what?

That with some work things will get better?

Believe in trust?

Faith?

 

I hold onto faith

But it’s not enough

It’s never enough

“Faith without works is dead”

 

Where’s the works?

A bleeding whisper of a promise

Floating away on the wind

Trying

Pretending

To mean something

Anything?

 

No

 

It’s not enough

 

The burns and bruises haven’t faded

They never faded

Will never fade

 

I can’t see through the smoke

To the fire

Is it there?

Is it done?

 

Will anyone find me?

Will anyone help me?

 

The tears turn into a river

River becomes a sea

A tsunami wave

 

And I’m pulled  under

W.i.t.c.h. The Full Story: Part II Chapter 3 - Yan Lin

Hey guys!

Sorry for not uploading last week, this is the first time in over a week that I've felt healthy enough to work at ALL. I've been battling the flu, or a super cold, but it tastes like the flu. Ugh! *shudders* Anyway, I've gotten better a tiny bit each day, and today I've felt my best yet! Barely coughed at all!

So tonight, I decided to just work a little. I managed to get a chap of this done, although I'm stuck on Warrior (go figure). It's a short chapter, but I think it's good! Let me know what you think!!!

Chapter 3

Yan Lin

Earth

 

Yan Lin’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest when she felt the pull. She’d been describing their house lo mein to an elderly couple from out of town when she’d felt a tug on her heart, and a soft voice whispering over and over to come up the stairs. Recognizing it as the Heart, Yan flagged a waiter over to finish taking their orders, and then headed upstairs again. After tossing out some underwear and ancient clothes that’d hid the glowing jewel from her family, she gently removed the tiny, pink gem from the elegant box that kept it safe. Just before the whispering stopped and the vision began, she laid on her bed. Then darkness came and took her away.

 

           The last time she’d seen the young man, he was daring an angry customer to continue to push him. But he was daring no more. Slumped in the dark, full of too much pain to move, he watched the outline of the Passling as it sniffed here and there, wondering if there was anything to eat, rotten or not. Through the power of the Heart, she was able to see the terrible marks that covered him, and the farseeing stare that revealed he’d been tortured, and tortured extensively. He cradled his right arm carefully against his chest. Yan saw that it was a compound fracture, with part of the bone sticking out. If that wound remained untreated, he’d be disfigured for life.

This is a Bringer of Light.

The voice boomed from the center of the vision, deep in Yan’s mind. She knew that voice. She trusted it.

His world will fade and die in Darkness without him. They cannot help him. They cannot win without him.

She knew the rest before it even began. The new Guardians could never be convinced of their powers, their duty, in time. He’d die from thirst long before the girls would be strong enough to dive into the palace dungeons and get him.

But you can. You have powers still, and will until the new generation is ready. He must be saved.

He slipped into unconsciousness, hoping to never wake again.

 

Yan woke up feeling sick to her stomach. When she sat up, a drop of water on her hand startled her. That’s when she realized she was crying, had since she’d seen him in the dungeon. She knew that place. Knew it, and hated it. Too many close friends and good people had died there in the dark beneath Phobos’s palace.

Feeling emotionally drained, Yan got to her feet. She headed to the bathroom to wash the tears from her face, then almost jumped when she saw her reflection. The moment the Heart had called to her, she thought she was only nineteen again, since it hadn’t spoken to her in over fifty years. But her young face had lost its elasticity; her silky black hair had become wispy and gray. The Guardian of Air was nineteen no longer—she was seventy-four.

Unbeknownst to her, the Heart had placed itself around her neck. She stared at it for a second, and then whispered aloud.

“How can I do this?” Her Mandarin came out harsh, no longer the musical song it used to be. “I am not young. I have no strength. I can’t do this.”

The Heart simply glowed. The light and warmth that poured from the jewel into her chest comforted her in a way that nothing else could have. Yan gripped it tightly. Suddenly the warmth covered all of her body, and a purple light filled her vision. The aches from old wounds and living for far too long faded away, and the strength of youth swelled up from a long-forgotten life. Her crooked back straightened, her hair thickened, the arthritis dissipated, the ignored pains of old healed.

And then it was gone. The warmth had completely evaporated.

But Yan still felt incredibly strong. She’d clamped her eyes tightly shut to save her eyesight. Now, panting, feeling a deep fear, and an even deeper hope, the former Guardian opened her eyes.

It’d been a shock to see herself as an old woman. And yet it seemed only natural for her to look in the mirror and see herself as she had appeared so many years ago. She wore the purple and blue of the Guardians of Meridian in the style of a male changshan. Her high-necked, purple top had long, flowing sleeves and the blue, cropped pants had billowy, wide legs. The snow-white hair was no longer down to her knees; it was cut short and was now the same blue-black that Hay Lin had inherited. And on her back was a pair of glittering, green wings.

After studying her reflection for a few moments, the current Guardian of Air took a deep breath.

“You better still be alive, boy,” Yan sang out in her native tongue, gripping the Heart again.

Then she did something she hadn’t in a very long time. She flew.

W.i.t.c.h. The Full Story Part II Chapter 2 - Cornelia

WOW! I've written 3, yes, 3 poems today, AND a chapter!

BOOYAH!

And my hand isn't bugging me at ALL! YAY!

My right foot is, but that's because I twisted it while working out. But that's another story.

ONTO MY CHAPTER!

It's much shorter than the first one, that one was kinda huge. Oh well. This one has more plot development :)

Oh, and one more thing! The reason Part II is called The War Resumes is because episode 2 of the show is "It Resumes". And episode 1? "It Begins". The first book is called "The Power of Five". So going after the "Begins, Resumes" ideas, I called Part 1 It Begins, and Part 2 The War Resumes. :)

So, here it is! Enjoy!!!

Chapter 2

Cornelia

Heatherfield

Wednesday, Cornelia told the girls to meet at her place to plan their costumes for the dance Friday. She was determined to outlook the Grumper Sisters no matter what. Come Friday, Bess and Courtney wouldn’t know what hit them!

Taranee and Will seemed impressed with Cornelia’s house. It wasn’t a mansion—okay, it was. Cornelia’s dad owned a local Credit Union that had seriously expanded during the recession. She didn’t think it was all that impressive, not compared to the Grumper Sisters’s manor on the outskirts of town, anyway.

"So, Cornelia," Will said as she followed the blonde up a beautiful staircase. "Why the need to beat the Grumper Sisters, anyway?"

"Because she has to be first in the world," Irma answered for her. "At everything."

"Those two have had it coming for a long time," Cornelia told Will, ignoring Irma.

"Yeah, because they wore the same shirt in kindergarten," Hay Lin laughed.

"It’s pathetic, really."

Cornelia froze, trying not to grind her teeth.

Her baby sister, Lillian was standing there, her arms folded. She was eight years old, with her blonde cut in a bob, and wearing her favorite color, pink, as usual. Her favorite thing to do was follow Cornelia around and bug her. Or play pranks on her. Cornelia couldn’t stand her, and it looked like the little brat was going to try to follow them.

"Go away, Lillian," Cornelia said coldly.

"Who’re they?" She was pointing to Will and Taranee. They opened their mouths, probably to introduce themselves, but Cornelia quickly said, "None of your business, so buzz off!"

She grabbed her sisters arm and pushed her away.

"Fine! I’m telling mom you’re failing math!"

As she rush down the stairs Cornelia called, "She’s not here, so NEH!" She stuck her tongue out at her.

Hay Lin and Elyon cracked up.

"Very mature, Cornelia," Elyon giggled. "Sticking your tongue out and all."

"You really showed her who’s boss," Irma said, rolling her eyes.

"You don’t have to live with her," Cornelia muttered, trying to hide her blush.

"Geez, Cornelia!" Will exclaimed with they entered her room.

"You know, I think you should go shopping again," Irma told her.

"Why?" Cornelia turned to her walk in closet that her father had built for her custom last summer. It was larger than anyone else’s at school, even the Grumper Sisters. Well, at least one of the Grumper Sisters. Cornelia had made sure of it. She had to drop fifty bucks of her own to find out, but it was worth it.

 

Too bad Mrs. Grumper’s a model, she thought. That’s the only reason they have more designer things than I do.

 

"Yeah, doesn’t she have enough?" Taranee squeaked.

"I think there’s at least one top in the city that Cornelia doesn’t own," Irma said. She threw her arm over her forehead and pretended to choke out, "What a tragedy!"

Everyone laughed again. Cornelia even grinned, especially when the pillow she threw knocked Irma off her bed. After an impromptu pillow fight, they changed out of their uniforms and into some clothes. Will and Taranee had, once again, forgotten to bring street clothes, but Cornelia had more than enough for them to borrow.

"So, what should we wear to the dance Friday?" Will asked. "And PLEASE don’t say dresses. I…just…no."

"OOH!" Elyon cried, clapping her hands. "We should go as fairies!"

Everyone in the room froze at the word "fairies", as if she’d yelled a curse word. Elyon looked around, confused by her friends’ reaction. "What?"

"I dreamed I was a fairy," Taranee said. "The same dream, for the past couple of nights."

"Really? Me, too!" Hay Lin said. "I could fly, and I wasn’t small or anything, but I could control the air."

"No way, I could control fire!" Taranee said.

The hair on the back of Cornelia’s neck stood up. Before she could say anything, though, Irma said, "I could control water. And fly. But I could make water fly too. It was so cool!"

"I could control earth," Cornelia made herself say. "Every dream. Lillian woke me up both nights, and every time I fell asleep, I dreamed the same thing. I was an earth fairy, except—"

"You were older?" Will asked.

"No way, you had these dreams too?" Elyon gasped. When Will nodded, she frowned. "Why haven’t I?"

"I have no idea, but it wasn’t all magical," Will told her. "In every dream, there was this necklace that was guiding me, and there were monsters chasing me."

"Me, too!" Hay Lin said.

"So the five of us all had the same dream?" Cornelia clarified. She slid down the wall and sat on the floor.

"Yup."

"Sounds like it."

"Pretty much."

"Except for me!" Elyon cried. "I wish I dreamed about being a fairy! I’ve always wanted to fly."

"So, I guess being fairies are out?" Taranee asked.

"No kidding," Irma replied. "We’re fairies way too much already."

　

Everyone grabbed a bite to eat, then headed home via the bus. After waiting with them for a bit, Cornelia headed home, but didn’t go inside. When she wanted think there was only one place for her to go, her garden.

It really was a small garden just off of the huge one that surrounded her house a landscaping company took care off for her parents. But this little corner was entirely her own; the company wasn’t allowed to do more than water and weed there. All plants were her choice, and she handled her own pruning and trimming. As she wandered among her babies, as she privately called them, she noticed a weed here, and random shoot there. She tidied some things up, and while she checked on one that caterpillars had been eating up over the past month, she thought about what she hadn’t told her friends.

There were more than just dreams.

Cornelia had powers.

She couldn’t fly, and didn’t have wings, and certainly wasn’t older. But as she studied the plant, the chewed up stems healed, its color brightened, and the entire thing started growing. Same with the flowers she checked on next, and the little bonsai tree she’d begged her parents to buy off a salesmen on the side of the road a couple years back. She really did have the powers of her dreams, making plants grow. Perhaps she really could summon giant vines or move the earth like she had in her dreams. Whenever a monster had gotten too close to her, BOOM! The ground split and down they went. The ones that survived had been tangled in monster plants that smothered them or held them prisoner.

Cornelia frowned at the gravel beneath her feet and will it to move, shift, something! But nothing happened. Then her cell was going off, and it was time to go back to the real world, where plants didn’t grow twice their size in a few seconds, and the ground stand where it belonged.

It was Irma. Cornelia wondered what Irma was going to make fun of her for this time, but she still answered.

"Hey, Cornelia?"

"What’s up?"

"Um…Remember when I told you I could make water fly? I-in my dreams?"

Cornelia frowned. "Yeah?"

"Well, I’m doing it. Right now."

Once Upon a Dream (Poem)

And yet ANOTHER poem! I couldn't help it! I wanted to write something more uplifting, hopeful.

This is it!

Hope you enjoy! ;)


I know you
At least,
I knew you
Once upon a dream

Oh, wait,
That’s Sleeping Beauty
Whoops!

But I knew you.
And I loved you
And you loved me

It was different back then
Because we knew who we were
And where we were

No questions were unanswered
No obscure path
We knew our place
And we were satisfied

But now we’re lost
Trying to find our other half
And our names
And places
And faces

We look in a mirror
But can’t really see
We walk the world
But don’t know
Or understand

But I knew you
And you knew me
We were in love
Once upon a dream

Lost (Poem)

So I've been feeling down when I think about my writing, mostly because I can't write as much as I want to. When I try to write more than 1 chap in a week, well...you saw what happened. 2 weeks of not being about to write a THING! SOOO frustrating!!!!

*deep breath*

Anywho!

I've been thinking in poetry for the past few days, which meant a poem (or several) had to come out. So I wrote this bad boy! Not as depressing as Darkness, but kinda along those lines, if much happier.

Anywho, here it is!

(And here's where you can check it and several other things on Figment, a website by writers for writers!)
http://figment.com/users/153720-Lorien-L-O-Brien

 Lost and forgotten
These paths and streets
Winding
Twisting
Confusing me

I’m trying to find my way
And the light that guides me
It’s sometimes seems too bright
Too good to be true
But still I follow

I stumble
I fall
I’m laughed at
Scorned
Unwanted

A few love me
I wonder why
Then they fall and
I help them up
Then I know why

I feel so alone
Trapped
Confused
Lost

But I know
Not my way
Nor where I am
Where I’m going
Or what I’m going to become

But I know who I am
WHOSE I am
And I know my purpose

Sort of

I know my light
So I follow

My Writing Table of Contents

This Table of Contents is for all my other writing other than Star Warriors

Warrior

Star Warriors: Warrior - Prologue 1 - In the Late 1980's

Warrior: Prologue 2 - Thirteen Years Later

I'm only going to have these chapters up. You'll have to purchase Warrior when it comes out. I'll keep you updated, never fear!


W.i.t.c.h. The Full Story

W.i.t.c.h. The Full Story: Prologue

W.i.t.c.h. The Full Story: Part I It Begins Chapter 1 Aldarn

W.i.t.c.h. The Full Story: Part I Chapter 2 - Will

W.i.t.c.h. The Full Story: Part I Chapter 3 - Yan Lin

W.i.t.c.h. The Full Story: Part I Chapter 4 - Will

W.i.t.c.h. The Full Story: Part I Chapter 5 - Kaleb

W.i.t.c.h. The Full Story: Part I Chapter 6 - Hay Lin

W.i.t.c.h. The Full Story: Part I Chapter 7 - Taranee

W.i.t.c.h. The Full Story: Part II The War Resumes Chapter 1 - Kaleb

W.i.t.c.h. The Full Story: Part II Chapter 2 - Cornelia

W.i.t.c.h. The Full Story: Part II Chapter 3 - Yan Lin

W.i.t.c.h. The Full Story: Part II Chapter 4 - Will

W.i.t.c.h. The Full Story: Part II Chapter 5 - Kaleb

W.i.t.c.h. The Full Story: Part II Chapter 6 - Cornelia

W.i.t.c.h. The Full Story: Part II Chapter 7 - Yan Lin


Poetry and Songs

Itch - poem

Trapped & Breaking and Entering

Darkness

Lost (Poem)

Shine (Poem)

Once Upon a Dream (Poem)

Drowning (Poem)

Worthless (Poem)

FanFic Poem ~ Lily's Inner Tears

Free - Poem

All Hallows Eve (Poem)

Poetry and We're Screwed

Peace and Drop of Sunlight

Some Girls, Dragons, and For Carrie


Other Writing

PTSD Explanation

Happy "Tell a Fairytale" Day!

Looking on the Bright Side and All that Crap

There's Some Good in this World and It's Worth Fighting For

W.i.t.c.h. The Full Story: Part I Chapter 2 - Will

Hey Guys!!!

So I've been working on my fanfic some more. Wow, I've forgotten so much!!! But just by finishing episode 4, I've already got more ideas flowing!!! So nice to be able to work!!!

Anywho, Part I is what's called "It Begins", not the chapter. Chapter 1 is Aldarn. I'll fix that right now!!!

And onto Part I Chapter 2!!!

Chapter 2

Will - Heatherfield, Earth

Will blew her blood red hair out of her face and glared at her mother. But Susan Vandom was busy gabbing away to the office secretary. The forty-year-old, raven-haired beauty had the uncanny ability to make friends with almost anyone she met, and could easily turn any situation to her advantage, something her daughter had never mastered. It was annoying to watch it in action, especially at her new middle school.

"Stop it, it’ll be different this time," she muttered. "No one here even knows you can read minds!"

The encouraging thought made her smile. But it faded when she sensed a student wondering about what she’d said. She glanced behind her to see an African-American girl about her age sitting in the pink chairs that adorned the front office. Will’s heart started pounding while her body went ice cold. Confusion wasn’t good. Not good at all. It led to questions that Will couldn’t answer, making stupid people to jumped to the wrong conclusions. Which equaled the death of Will’s reputation. Before it was even born.

Will silently cursed herself over and over again while staring resolutely at the back of her mom’s designer boots. She couldn’t believe that she’d actually said that out loud! But all the mental voices around her made hard to think without speaking aloud…

Just when her panic began to overwhelm her, her mother’s voice quieted the now roaring voices in her mind.

"Will, they’re ready for us, honey."

Will sighed and started to follow her mom, still eyeing the floor. But her mother’s hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"It’ll be alright, sweetheart," her mom assured her. "No one’s going to hurt you here. I won’t let them."

Will’s brown eyes dropped from her mom’s. She’d heard that before and had still come home covered in bruises.

Susan Vandom sighed and rubbed her thirteen-year-old’s back. Will just pulled on her pink hoodie and followed the secretary into an office where she slumped into a chair and focused on her purple jeans, red sweater and black sneakers. Both the secretary and councilor were in skirt suits and heels, and Ms. Vandom had also worn a skirt and blazer, making Will feel very underdressed. She racked her brain, trying to remember what the girl had been wearing, but she’d focused on the thoughts in her head, not her apparel. She hoped that the school was super strict about dress code, or worse: have uniforms. The very thought had her shuddering.

The councilor that handled Will’s papers was a plump woman with curly, white hair piled on top of her head like an ivory tower. As Ms. Vandom took the seat beside Will, the woman smiled at them. Will immediately didn’t like her. Not the way those green eyes didn’t match the slick smile.

"Hello, Wilhelmina, Ms. Vandom," the woman said.

"It’s Will," Will corrected.

The woman ignored her. "My name is Principal Knickerbocker."

"You’re the principal?" Will blurted. "Why the heck at you doing this job?"

She would’ve also asked where the corny name came from, but she could already feel her mother’s glare. A history of distrusting authority figures hung over Will’s head, and her mom wasn’t going to spend another school year going to the school for meeting after meeting. Will heard the frustration in her mom’s inner monologue. And insulting the principal of her new school—a private institute none the less—would be the worst way to start the year off.

"Yes, I am," the woman replied, her tone matching her mental disapproval. "Our councilor is out sick with the stomach flu, and won’t return until he has fully recovered. Until then I will take on some of his responsibilities."

"How long do you think he’ll be gone?" Will’s mother asked, a little skeptical.

"Oh not for very long, a few more days at the most," Knickerbocker smoothly replied, that same smile still plastered to her face.

"Okay," Susan said, still sounding uncertain. Will knew that tone—her mother didn‘t trust the school.

"Now, Wilhelmina," Mrs. Knickerbocker said, her bright smile trying, and failing, to impress the fourteen-year-old, "how much do you know about Sheffield Institution?"

"That the name sounds like a prison," Will muttered. "And again," she said at regular volume, "I go by Will."

The phony smile started to crack a little as the principal tried not to show her fraying patience. Will’s mom openly glared, but her mind showed that she was really trying not to laugh.

Knickerbocker cleared her throat and went on. "Well, its history is quite the opposite. This school has existed since 1878 as a school for ladies to…"

Will zoned out while staring just past the principal and out a window. She’d heard the lecture in Knickerbocker’s mind before she’d commented on the name. It was an old school rich steeped in tradition and had a history alumni becoming first ladies, judges, political leaders and even a few Hollywood actresses. The grades ranged from eighth grade to twelfth grade. Eighth and ninth graders had to wear uniforms while the upper classmen didn’t have to. Many of the students here had known each other for years and years, staying in their little circles. Will doubted she’d make friends here, and she wasn’t even sure she wanted to.

"Do you have any questions?" Mrs. Knickerbocker asked right on time. If Will had wanted to annoy her, she’d mouthed along, but that would infuriate her mom, so she did it mentally.

"Yes," Susan replied.

Will tried not to groan as her mom asked question after question, mostly about money. Everything was about money with her mom. She’d been pretending that nothing was wrong and that they’d had just as much before the long divorce, but Will knew better. Things were tight. So she just laid her head back and stared at the ceiling while her mom haggled over every little detail. When she sighed again, her mom elbowed her.

"Stop it," her mom hissed in her ear, and then smiled at Mrs. Knickerbocker.

"Alright then," the principal said, "how about—"

"We choose my class schedule?" Will finished. "Finally?"

"Wilhelmina Mary Vandom."

Will grimaced. She could hear her mother’s anger reflected in her voice.

"Outside. Now."

Will followed her into the empty hall. She knew exactly what was going to happen. She always did. Her mom thought out everything she said. Each word was carefully chosen to get her point across. Meaning that Will knew every word that her mom was going to say before she said it. Susan didn’t care. It always sounded more to the point, and louder, when said out loud.

"This attitude of yours is getting very old very quickly!" She growled. Yeah. Definitely louder. "We sacrificed a lot to get you into this school, and you are not going to mess this up with your cynicism!"

"She’s a phony," Will explained.

"She’s trying to be nice!" Susan yelled, waving her arms around in frustration. It would’ve definitely been amusing, if Will hadn’t been in trouble. "So she has a fake smile on, so what? Maybe she had a terrible morning and is trying to forget about it. Your negativity certainly isn’t helping!"

Will glared at the closed door. "Mrs. Pinkle had that same smile when she told dad to put me in Palo Verde."

Susan froze, her anger fading. Mrs. Pinkle had been the vice-principal at Will’s middle school in Tucson Arizona. That woman had made it personal mission to keep Will under her boot. That had been the last straw in the already strained relationship between Will’s parents. Susan got a divorce, and they’d moved to the small coastal city of Heatherfield, California.

"Will, this isn’t Quail Brook," Susan said gently.

"I know, but—" Will said.

"But it still feels the same?"

Will looked into her mom’s amber eyes, then back down to the floor.

"Will," she touched her daughter’s shoulder, and made Will look at her, "this is a new beginning, a new place. These are different people. They’re not going to attack you, or lock you up over some—nonsense. But they will if you keep up the commentary. Please," she begged as she stroked Will’s cheek, "give this place a chance?" Will looked back at the stupid maroon carpet. "If it turns out to be just as bad, I’ll think of home school. Okay?"

"Okay," Will softly replied.

The two of them hugged, and then went back in the office.

Well, Will told herself, time to try to make a new beginning.

W.i.t.c.h. The Full Story: Part I It Begins Chapter 1 Aldarn

I'm finally done with chapter 1! This book is separated the same way that The Black Jewels Series is, by parts, with each character's point of view being a different chapter.

And sorry for not getting this done sooner, but I had to watch some episodes and get in the zone. Kinda forgot what the heck was going on here. When you haven't looked at something in three years, that happens.

Anywho, here's the first chapter! :)

Part I

It Begins

 

 

Chapter 1

Aldarn

Meridian

 

The crackle of lightning and booming of thunder echoed Aldarn’s tension. The young Quelthar glanced up at the impressive lightshow, but his mind was else ware. Kaleb, his captain, mission leader, and best friend was running late. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem, but tonight it was much more than that. After all, Kaleb was inside scouting out a possible raid on King Phobos’s armory.

Aldarn took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves, but it didn’t help. When he closed his eyes all he saw was Kaleb captured, tortured and finally hung from the ramparts as a reminder to those who would dare to steal from the immortal, sorcerer king.

Where are you, Kaleb? The nervous rebel thought for the thousandth time.

Kaleb was never late. He’d slip in, be there half hour at most, and then slip out, taking one or two weapons with him, or even a whole bundle under the guise of a servant or slave moving something. It was brilliant, the way he’d grab a bucket and mop his way through the entire building, taking note of every room, what was in it, who was in it and at what time they moved around. He didn’t try anything he wasn’t sure he could handle, and did it quickly. At least, that is what he’d been doing. But they were nearing the second hour of this venture and every minute they lingered they neared discovery.

“Kaleb,” Aldarn growled beneath his breath.

He dared not speak any louder. Nor call out, pace, or even move in the slightest. He stood stock still. The two of them agreed to meet beneath the north-western edge of the Thorn Cliffs beneath Castle Metamoor’s wall in the swamp. Close to the edge and built into the wall itself was Phobos’s mighty armory, the only place on the Kadoka continent where large amounts of weapons could be found. Even though Aldarn was two hundred feet below the top of the castle walls, the King was no fool. The guards on the ramparts were handpicked with magnificent eyesight and hearing to notice even the quietest of intruders. Aldarn had almost been spotted twice already; once because of carelessness, the other for Kaleb’s stupidity.

Aldarn sighed again out of nervousness. Trying not to pace, he sent a silent prayer to the heavens.

Almighty Creator, please bless that Kaleb and me get out of this alive. Doing so as free men would be nice. And please bless that your Guardians return. alMen-Queltha.

Aldarn felt a bit calmer after the prayer. Somehow, he felt that they’d survive this hair-brained scheme and live to return to the village. But his good feeling fled when he heard the alarm horn. Gut in his mouth, heart hammering, Aldarn stared up at the wall, trying to hear what the guards were yelling at each other.

“Intruder! Intruder in the armory!”

“Kaleb, you imbecile!” Aldarn muttered. Cursing under his breath, he stepped out so he could see and froze. So long as he didn’t move, the guards wouldn’t notice him.

Up in Metamoor it was pandemonium. Guards were running about like chickens with their heads cut off. No one was giving orders, and the intruder (Kaleb) seemed to be everywhere at once. Aldarn shook his head. His father always said the Guldons were as a race were prone to panic. When the going got tough, they couldn’t find their butts with both hands.

“There he is! Get him!” All at once, everyone tried to grab Kaleb at the same time. Men were shoving each other over, running into one other; one even fell off the wall onto the thorns below. Aldarn tried not to laugh. As a lieutenant himself, he would never let his men fall into such chaos over one man.

Then he watched as Kaleb leapt onto the wall. Phobos’s guards laughed and roared in triumph, thinking they had him cornered. They didn’t. Without looking back, Kaleb dropped a bundle of unstrung bows down to where Aldarn could easily get to them. Then, he threw a barrel of gunpowder with a torch sticking out of the top right into the pack of Guldon guards. Aldarn busted up laughing. No wonder they were panicking. He was throwing grenades that could blow up half a castle. The explosion ripped off some of the wall, and more Guldons fell. Aldarn didn’t move as parts of the building fell all around him. Drawing attention to himself wouldn’t be a good idea as Kaleb needed his help to escape.

Before the now deaf and shell-shocked guards managed to pull themselves to their feet, Kaleb leapt onto a large thorn vine. He climbed down a little ways, jumped onto another, and then a third. A few jumps later and he was in the bog, covered with stinky mud and bog grass. Aldarn grinned triumphantly at his captain and best friend.

“I found that bow your grandfather made when your father your age,” Kaleb informed his humored companion, pointing up at the hanging bundle that was almost impossible to get to.

Aldarn eyed the hundred feet between them and the bows. “Cris can make that neck breaking climb tomorrow morning.”

Kaleb broke off whatever it was he was going to say when an arrow whizzed past his ear. Several Guldons were making the same climb down the vine while archers continued to shoot at the two men. Without another word, the two boys raced and weaved through the bog, trying to stay on the land. Although Kaleb was already drenched, getting any muddier wasn’t wise. It was harder to track someone who didn’t stink in a crowd.

Just as they neared the edge of the swamp, disaster struck. An arrow ripped into Kaleb’s side, and knocking him down. Aldarn slid to a stop, and grabbed Kaleb, dragging him behind a small rise. It quickly turned into a muddy pincushion with arrows constantly hitting it. When Aldarn tried to pull Kaleb to his feet, he only ended up back on the ground with a shriek of pain.

“Kaleb, you must stand!” Aldarn told him.

The guards were drawing closer, and it sounded like they’d brought dogs with them. Kaleb tried again with the same results. He grinned at Aldarn, his face muddy.

“I doubt I can.” Kaleb chuckled at the irony, and gave a soft cry at the pain it caused. “Get out of here, Aldarn.”

“No,” Aldarn replied flatly. “You’re my partner and friend. No.”

“As your captain, I’m ordering you to leave,” Kaleb growled, the humor gone from his face. Aldarn opened his mouth to refuse again when Kaleb said, “Or do you want your father to endure what happened to your mother again? While you’re still in mourning?”

Aldarn froze. His mother had been arrested and ganged raped by the police. Less than a year later she lost the will to live, and committed suicide. That was only a few months ago. Capture meant certain death, by execution or being worked to death as a slave. He glared at Kaleb. He was right. Losing Aldarn would be more than his father could bear and his father was one of only four blacksmiths that would work with the rebels.

Aldarn took a deep breath and growled, “You better end up in the mines, and survive until we free you.”

 

Kaleb gave a dry laugh, and then Aldarn was running, weaving as fast as he could. He didn’t look back as the dogs raced after him or the archers continued to shoot at him. He wouldn’t look back as the guards caught, beat, and dragged his friend to the dungeon and a fate worse than death.