Favorites Feature! February 2010

It's pretty easy to see what I like just looking at these xD These are a whole bunch of my favorite favorites ;]

:thumb87716616: Chapter1 Breaking and EnteringPreface:
My heart was beating as fast as bullet train.
Thud, thud, thud.
I had never done anything like this before in my life.
Thud, thud, thud.
It felt like my heart was going to bounce out of my chest any minute.
Thud, thud, thud.
Why was I doing this?
Thud, thud, thud.
This was a mistake, and I knew it. What possessed me to be so curious?
Thud, thud, thud.
Curiosity killed the cat.
Bang!
I dropped the paper, I was no longer alone.
February (the hour of way too bloomin’ early to count as even being a proper hour)
“Ughhh…” I said, my phone ringing from my bed-side table. I glanced at the clock. It said TOO EARLY. Who the hell was calling me at this hour? Anyone who actually knew me would know I was not a morning person. I decided to look at my phone instead of debating with myself people who could be ringing me.
01885 637429
I didn’t know that number, it wasn’t Becky, it wasn’t Carol, it wasn’t dad and it couldn’t be mom unless she thought Under the Gun‘’She’s an angel,’’ he tells me, grinning from ear to ear, and I smile and nod back, but he’s clearly delirious.  Her halo and wings must be reserved for his eyes, because from what I’ve seen, she can’t stop telling lies.
It’s too late for him now, he’s under her spell, wrapped in her wings and blinded by her halo.  Any kiss he got from the angel should be savoured, for that angel is not coming back.  She’s putting out her true colours, but he’s still smitten, and he can’t help it.
Heaven may have sent him an angel, but it’s taken her away from him just as quickly, and it’s driving him insane.
She’s got a criminal mind and combined with her power over him, she’s dangerous.  She gets him to do whatever she wants, and he can’t say no.  He’s handcuffed to her power with a gun hanging over his head, her finger on the trigger and the bullet heading PathwayThere's a little place, tucked away
A land of no belief
A place where the children lay
Somewhere to end another's grief
Where is that little pathway, I say
So I can fly away, barring all disbelief. :thumb133462093: :thumb51647041: :thumb85617794: :thumb134307251: :thumb133110670: :thumb98737219: One WordIt was sealed in a white envelope with her flowing handwriting addressing my name. There was an ink spot that looked more like it was crossing something out on the back than an accidental mark. I didn’t care what was there; she had made me so bitter now, I couldn’t care less. The envelope had a yellow tinge, like it was old, although I knew it wasn’t. I noticed everything about that envelope, and what was inside.
A note.
That’s all she left me. One single note.
Years I gave her- us, and all she could do was leave me a note.
I remember my hands were shaking ever so slightly when I ripped the envelope open, I was nervous, like I subconsciously knew that she was going to be a coward.
I also remember being startled by the force in which I was attacking and ripping the paper with, I guess I wanted everything to be over. Did I know what was inside? Is that why I was so worried? Or was it normal human paranoia? Paranoia that the person you love is eventually going to leave :thumb138467242: :thumb138548543: A Dog. Part 1.“A dog… A dog will save our harvest…” That was what Dave, the local tiromancer had said after staring at a wheel of cheddar cheese. In Bartholomew’s opinion, telling the future by reading a chunk of yellow mold was crap. But this prophecy was all the town had to rely on if they didn’t want to die of famine.
Normally, Bartholomew could care less about the problems of others, but he had recently realized that this crop failure did indeed affect him. He wasn’t too fond of eating vegetables, but cows needed to eat them, and he did like his beef. So he would’ve gone to find a dog even if the town leaders hadn’t asked him to. Even if his father hadn’t disappeared a year ago after going to a distant land to find one.
The leaders had been all to eager to ask Bartholomew to leave through a portal to this strange world that supposedly contained dogs. Whatever those were. His mother, on the other hand, had refused to let him leave. “It’s :thumb139740320: :thumb143554653: :thumb105045883: :thumb142330007: :thumb143506647: :thumb144021762: :thumb70214695: :thumb107769712: :thumb84176775: I'm a Cliff-hangerDanger.
Danger.
I'm on the brink
Of falling for you. :thumb147222423: It's Called a Dream...''When you dream about being ripped apart and bled dry, you start to hope your dreams won't come true.''
Watching a face twist in horror at my answer frightens me more than the dreams in question.  I've ran out of limbs to count the number of times I've been told to see a psychiatrist.
When I was little, my mother always told me to beware of my dreams, previews of the future.  She dreamt as rarely as a total lunar eclipse as she slept as often as an insomniac, and when she did, they were as graphic as a horror movie.
Occasionally, when she'd polluted her mind with alcohol, she'd tell me about those few dreams she had, about the horror stories that took up residence in the nocturnal part of her mind.
She'd tell me that she could hear her flesh ripping and the blood spurting, that she'd wake up like Salome in sticky red sheets.
Then one day I found her, flesh ripped, coated in blood, heart hanging vulnerable, just how she described, just how the slasher played in my h :thumb99118608: :thumb96529666: :thumb152337215: :thumb149070185: :thumb134479130: :thumb129761176: :thumb150206942: :thumb16679020: :thumb151492144: :thumb152005037: Mr BrightsideI never should have let myself fall in love with her.
One moment of weakness led me to her, an insect to a venus, and now I can’t get her out of my mind.
She’s perfection.  Glistening aqua eyes set against pale porcelain skin, full blood red lips and the portrait framed by golden glossy curls.  Her voice is honey on silk – sweet, smooth and every syllable dripping slowly, luxuriously and teasingly off her tongue.
The first time I saw her, I was a mess.  Lonely, depressed, dragged down by the fact that there was simply nobody to care about me.  
She told me her name was Scarlett, in a way that made it obvious - if it wasn’t already - that it wasn’t.
There was no small talk, no room for awkward moments, just sudden contact and almost an urge for her to get it over with.  Her scent was subtle, her porcelain skin smooth against mine.  As her body melted against me, her arms sweeping around my shoulders and Dancing HorsesShe’s always alone.
She stands and watches the water flow, hears it splash as it pours out of the taps.  She doesn’t use metaphors for how her eyes appear.  She knows her eyes are bloodshot from wearing contact lenses all day so she doesn’t have to hide behind glass frames.
She is who she is.  A broken character, but her heart is not broken.  She is upset, like the many devastated before her, but a person can never be truly broken hearted without being dead.
She doesn’t flinch as her body tingles as she lets boiling water cascade over her straightening curves.  She stays submerged in heat until she feels dizzy.  She pulls herself to her feet and steps onto contrasting cold tiles.  She wipes a hand across the mirror, clearing the condensation, before brushing her tangled hair.  It takes a long time, but she doesn’t notice, her eyes stare on robotically.  She cleans up her w :thumb152741526: :thumb100569796:

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