ChampionOfTheMorningStar
The lunatic Fringe
Hello~
I am looking for a relaxed bit of entertainment in the realm of fandoms.
Here is what I am looking for.
1. Literate, two mid size and interesting paragraphs
2. OOC chat, I would like to get to know you, I find that it makes planing easier.
3. Someone who would like to just go with the flow. I don't really have a plot, I plan to jump straight to it, we can discus a starting situation then jump in and see where it takes us.
4.Though if you have a plot you want to try I am all ears, I have some AU's as well but if you pick a straight rp then # 3 is the plan.
5. As long as we keep in contact I do not really care how long you go between posts. Not even constant contact, just a minor check in every once in a while. However if you prefer a very active partner, I can probably get 2 posts a week.
6. I prefer to rp in pm if you do not mind.
7. I do not care what character you want to play. You can play an OC, I do not care. I will likely play a canon, but again who knows. I also don't really care if you want to tweak a cannon a bit.
8. pairings, if you want them I also don't really care about what they are, MxM, FxF, MxF Canon x Cannon, Oc x Oc, Cannon x Oc.
Fandoms: ( in order of craving) I have included the character I would like from each. And any AUs, if you don't want to use one of the AU's that's fine ^.^ we can simply do a canon compliant one.
Also I am open to cross overs for any
Black Butler; Ciel (PLEASE, I am dying to Rp as Ciel.)
AUs: Beauty and the beast
Season 2 re-write
Modern re telling
Reincarnation
White Collar; Neal
AUs: Neal's past is more than it seems / dangerous
Avengers; Loki
AU: high school
Post-avengers
Any sort of Loki being rescued by the avengers for whatever reason
X-men first class; Charles
AU: Office, school,
Post- Beach divorce,
non powered AU
Criminal Minds; Spencer
Witches of East End ; Ingrid ; OC
AU: The brother escaped at the end of season 1, but he's a child he doesn't remember anything.
Frozen ; Elsa
Something very dark
Batman; Richard Grayson ; Harley Quinn
The Fosters ; Marina ; OC
new Foster AU
Harry Potter ; OC
Also:
-Any gender swapped fairy tale
-Tell me your Au's!
-I am blanking so hard on so many things, if you have a fandom mention it.
-up for almost anything
Alright. Thanks for reading my shit post!
I feel the need to prove myself a bit so here is some samples of my writing, not needed form you! I just feel like I should put them here!
I am looking for a relaxed bit of entertainment in the realm of fandoms.
Here is what I am looking for.
1. Literate, two mid size and interesting paragraphs
2. OOC chat, I would like to get to know you, I find that it makes planing easier.
3. Someone who would like to just go with the flow. I don't really have a plot, I plan to jump straight to it, we can discus a starting situation then jump in and see where it takes us.
4.Though if you have a plot you want to try I am all ears, I have some AU's as well but if you pick a straight rp then # 3 is the plan.
5. As long as we keep in contact I do not really care how long you go between posts. Not even constant contact, just a minor check in every once in a while. However if you prefer a very active partner, I can probably get 2 posts a week.
6. I prefer to rp in pm if you do not mind.
7. I do not care what character you want to play. You can play an OC, I do not care. I will likely play a canon, but again who knows. I also don't really care if you want to tweak a cannon a bit.
8. pairings, if you want them I also don't really care about what they are, MxM, FxF, MxF Canon x Cannon, Oc x Oc, Cannon x Oc.
Fandoms: ( in order of craving) I have included the character I would like from each. And any AUs, if you don't want to use one of the AU's that's fine ^.^ we can simply do a canon compliant one.
Also I am open to cross overs for any
Black Butler; Ciel (PLEASE, I am dying to Rp as Ciel.)
AUs: Beauty and the beast
Season 2 re-write
Modern re telling
Reincarnation
White Collar; Neal
AUs: Neal's past is more than it seems / dangerous
Avengers; Loki
AU: high school
Post-avengers
Any sort of Loki being rescued by the avengers for whatever reason
X-men first class; Charles
AU: Office, school,
Post- Beach divorce,
non powered AU
Criminal Minds; Spencer
Witches of East End ; Ingrid ; OC
AU: The brother escaped at the end of season 1, but he's a child he doesn't remember anything.
Frozen ; Elsa
Something very dark
Batman; Richard Grayson ; Harley Quinn
The Fosters ; Marina ; OC
new Foster AU
Harry Potter ; OC
Also:
-Any gender swapped fairy tale
-Tell me your Au's!
-I am blanking so hard on so many things, if you have a fandom mention it.
-up for almost anything
Alright. Thanks for reading my shit post!
I feel the need to prove myself a bit so here is some samples of my writing, not needed form you! I just feel like I should put them here!
When Spencer woke he turned to face the window, it was slightly fogged from the chill. His bed was set into the wall, where a window was. It was the best part of the old farm house he lived in with his father. He looked down at his math book. It was really a very basic book and he had read it several times, he just wanted to make sure he was solid before the final, not that he really had anything to worry about. He must have fallen asleep reading it last night. He ran his hands over his hair making it stick up, it might be time to get it cut.
He reached out his arm and laid his hand flat against the window, he took a peek at his wrist.
Rachel Elizabeth Evans
He traced the name and took a peek at the timer. It was low today, a long time ago he had learned not to put too much investment in that his timer had jumped between 4 years and 3 hours once when he was in a coffee shop trying to make a decision. Being the genius he was he had left the shop and the timer had settled on a few mouths, only to jump around latter. He had read all the material there was on Soul Mates trying to find out what he would feel, how he would know....
He had read about people who had ignored their mates, he had also read that mates could sometimes feel the others pain. This had terrified Spencer when he was young, going through PT, sick. He was always so scared that somewhere Rachel was terrified and in pain with him. Though it was apparently according to recent studies more of a faint sense of fear, often ignored as a bad vibe.
Rachel, she was always Rachel in his mind. What would it be like when he met her? He would have to call her Rachel, what else? Hello, we were destined from birth to be perfect for each other and fall in love, how was your day Ms. Evans? When he was younger the idea of Rachel had stressed him out. Spencer was not perfect, his body was a burden and he was no knight on a horse. Actually he could never ride a horse his condition prevented that. How would she see him? When their finger's met and both their hearts pumped in beat and sent off a powerful light into the world, like a flare 'I belong with you' what would she say.
"Oh god! I got stuck with a premium parking spot."
He was so scared she would reject him. Though due to the reading he had done it would be impossible for her to reject him after meeting him. Those who didn't end up with their mates often never met them, or tied themselves knowingly to another. Spencer sighed scrubbing his face with his hands again. Pushing himself to a seated position he pulled a forearm support to him, pulled himself standing, found his other and readied himself for the morning. Slipping on old gently worn, yet not ratty loose jeans, a collared shirt, Over that a sweater vest that was brown very soft and plain but for a neat little texture border that went around the cuffs and the bottom edge. His favorite goodwill find possibly ever went over that; a cardigan that was plain black thick, yet light with a chunky floppy collar part that made him feel very very cozy.
He looked at the papers that created a labyrinth on his floor. There was a lot of studying to be done. But, there had also been a lot of studying done. More than half, which meant it was time to splurge and buy himself a XL coffee from Starbucks. He half hated and half loved that the small town he called home had a Starbucks now. He grabbed his coat, wallet and headed out the door, revelling in the fact that he was in almost no pain and could walk to the coffee shop, he took his messenger bag with some notebooks, a textbook, and some pens. After a pause he threw in his current novel an made his way out the door.
Spencer woke to the natural light pouring from the cold window. Rotating his hips gently he looked across the overgrown fields that once belonged to the farmer who lived here. They owned the house now and the fields were no theirs. They were for sale, mostly to developers who wanted to create a modern rustic home to sell to rich people who wanted to 'rough it' on their long weekends by going to a fancy cabin in the middle of nowhere, but still within a 2 minute drive of a small tourist town, a 3 minute drive of a hospital, and a less than 10 minute one to a mall. There were no developers that had bitten yet, but heavy consideration was being put to every sale, the realtors allowed the clients to send out private auditors to test the ground, make measurements of various elevations and take pictures. His father had muttered that when he purchased the farm house he had gotten a 5 minute tour and a lecture on 'authentic wood' before being told there were other buyers interested.
But being the cheapest house that wasn't actually dangerous to live in, his father paid the extra fifteen hundred over the worth. He said it was worth it that there was no mortgage. Spencer had a pretty firm grasp on no so basic mathematics and he doubted that. But he knew what his father really meant was 'I paid so much extra for the comfort my home where I would raise you couldn't be snapped from me'.
Spencer actually quite liked the house, it was a nice size, not tiny not huge. Unique. And cold. He suddenly thought inching the worn old fleece up his body. He reached out placing his hand on the cool glass. This was his favorite thing in the house. His little bed tucked into the wall windows right there, when he was sick or in pain he was still so close to nature. Pushing himself to a seated position he pulled a forearm support to him, pulled himself standing, found his other and readied himself for the morning. Slipping on old gently worn, yet not ratty loose jeans, a collared shirt, Over that a sweater vest that was brown very soft and plain but for a neat little texture border that went around the cuffs and the bottom edge. His favorite goodwill find possibly ever went over that; a cardigan that was plain black thick, yet light with a chunky floppy collar part that made him feel very very cozy. Logan refereed to this look as 'fumpy cold old man chic' Spencer just called it 'timeless'
Throwing the glasses on his face he pushed a hand through his hair and headed out to meet his dad at their little kitchen table, together they ate some pop-tarts and juice. Pills were sorted and swallowed dry with no fuss. They were soon in the small, only really still running out of old car stubbornness, blue bug. It was old but not in the 'vintage' way. It was old in the, cars-should-not-make-that-sound way. He was told to wait in the library for his dad after school, he would be a few hours late. Spencer always came early to school to avoid the hallway madness, armed with a water bottle full of coffee, and the books for all the classes up to lunch Spencer found a midway seat in his art class first period.
Spencer Liked art, not in any significant way just in passing enjoyment of the act of it. He wasn't good, but not horrible, he took the class to give his collage apps some edge, or spin and it gave him something to do that really just slowed down the constant math at the back of his head. His art teacher didn't care for what Spencer drew, he made no attempt to draw a exact copy of a photo or fruit bowl or old masterpiece, he would mostly draw warped versions of people. He liked the idea of people's insides on the outside. He liked to use watercolors to make the people different colors, or sometimes just doodle. He adjusted himself in the hard chair biting the inside of his cheek, he really hated these school chairs. He opened up his sketch book and started to do random math as he thought it out, in very small black letters uninterrupted across the page. Math could be art. He told his teacher often.
I am The Bookcase
“Mamma? Why is that boy over there bald?” the boy was saying.
“Garry it’s rude to stare.” No no stare all you want, I thought peeking from my window. This is the most human intercourse I get until nanny pulls me further into the gloomy maze of doors that holds me within her bird like clutches. I stared at the boy. I stared as if I were the sledge hammer and he the water mellon. Smashing his insides with my eyes but they kept moving along outside where I could not go. I slid down to the grey floor with it’s grayness staring up blankly to me like a dead corpse’s eye. I stared at the wall with its wooden bookcase all the way up. Big cold and wooden. The whole house looked like a home that had been long since forgotten. Like a small cat that no longer received any love. A thing without love? That’s what I am. I am the thing where there’s no love or hope. The thing without place or reason. I am that old book you opened once with purpose and interest that was set aside and forgotten, never opened but once. I am this house, I am the bookcase. Forgotten not loved.
I stared at the bookcase, and I thought. The bookcase feels the same way I do, I know this because I see. The bookcase is full, full of knowledge of truth. This bookcase holds thousands of letters of pages. Not one of these volumes of lonesome purpose has ever been opened when I have been here and there has been very little time that I was not here. I am part of the house for I never leave. I am a bookcase. I lean back and close my eyes.
I must sleep because then I wake up in another grey room in the house. I know it is not the same room for the bookcase is no longer there. In it’s place is a painting and there is no longer a window. The rest of the room is lavishly decorated like most of the house but it couldn’t be more of pure and total discomfort if it tried. The painting was of children playing, laughing it is very dull and hideous. I hate it. Artful perfected strokes form their way across the page, there are bright colors so vivid and bright. It all looks like mud. Mud because it melds with the place it was put in this wood and brick cage of mine. Nanny enters, with a beam of contrasting light behind her.
“This.” Says my warden gesturing to the contrasting light “is Esmeralda.”
“Hello.” She has a stark linen dress that flounces just below the knee and perfect blue bows in her hair that falls in a wild mane of rings round her face. The mane is a color trapped between mud and sunlight and her eyes are a dull blue that wavers lightly in the rooms depressing light. Nanny bows and leaves. I stare at the girl with disinterestedly fogged eyes. She blinks like some sort of night bird back. Then she sharpens her gaze to a point. She shimmies her eyes from my face to feet and back. Turning up her nose she breathes shortly out crossing her arms.
“If your not going to say anything I’m going to leave.” She swivels round her heel to the door. “And that painting is dreadful.” The door bangs shut behind her. I sink my seat.
It’s been more than a day maybe less before Esmeralda re enters. Her dress has been painted green but is otherwise unchanged and her ribbons have remained constant. She marches into the room and I react as if she hadn’t. She stomp stomp stomps her way right up into my nose and bends over till all I can see is muddy hair and dull blue eye.
“Do you talk?” No. I am a bookcase. “Good. Papa says you’re dying.” I say nothing by way of conformation. “Papa also says I have to be nice to you. He says we need to be friends.” She stops and looks from my face to feet again. “Do you want to be friends with me?” I turn my head to one side then the other. She disappears and does not return.
I stay in my prison lying in desperate wait of the one event that can free me from these hallowed halls of grey. I do not see Esmeralda again. I think about her sometimes but not often. I do not care. One day I am older and still I have not been allowed out from the grayness. Esmeralda comes back to see me. She sits on the edge of the chair facing mine and tells me of life beyond the grayness, she tells me she understands me now and it’s okay. She forms words so I don’t have to. I feel blessed. This is the only time in which I was able to let the grayness be grayness. I was not part of the grayness I was me I was free. I played as a child should and forever each day it was only us. Never anyone else. She would laugh and I would be tight lipped and happy. I was so drawn and so awed by the sheer whiteness of it all I forgot the pain because it didn’t matter anymore. Oh how wrong I was how very very wrong.
Esmeralda could not stay forever every day she did not have nothing to do. she would have to not come back at time. But she came back always again and we would have our forever again. Soon though the playing became hard, and she had to leave and not come back for a bit. It was not suposed to be long. She said it would not be long. She lied. It was during this time that the event every man waits for began for me. She was not there when it began nor there when it ended or anywhere in between. It was on my last day that I spoke my first word. It was not easy, but I wanted to. I needed to.
“Eh-zi.”
*************************
A girl sat on a stool her long curly auburn hair fell down past her shoulders her brilliant blue eyes filled with tears as she red the letter informing her of her friends death. She held it to her heart and wept.
“Papa how awful!” She cried.
“You knew he was dying dear, no one could have done anything.”
“All these people!” She cried. “All these people see the world blandly but I saw he made me see it right! I could name I thousand people that should fill his place in the grave!”
“Esmeralda! Esmeralda my dear! Don’t say such things!”
“No. No, it’s true and please” She swallowed and looked her father in the eye “call me Ezie.” She looked down at the letter and smiled through her tears. Don’t worry dear friend she thought we had forever and someday in the distance we’ll have it again.
Okay.
*VOMITS CONFETTI AND RUNS AWAY*
He reached out his arm and laid his hand flat against the window, he took a peek at his wrist.
Rachel Elizabeth Evans
He traced the name and took a peek at the timer. It was low today, a long time ago he had learned not to put too much investment in that his timer had jumped between 4 years and 3 hours once when he was in a coffee shop trying to make a decision. Being the genius he was he had left the shop and the timer had settled on a few mouths, only to jump around latter. He had read all the material there was on Soul Mates trying to find out what he would feel, how he would know....
He had read about people who had ignored their mates, he had also read that mates could sometimes feel the others pain. This had terrified Spencer when he was young, going through PT, sick. He was always so scared that somewhere Rachel was terrified and in pain with him. Though it was apparently according to recent studies more of a faint sense of fear, often ignored as a bad vibe.
Rachel, she was always Rachel in his mind. What would it be like when he met her? He would have to call her Rachel, what else? Hello, we were destined from birth to be perfect for each other and fall in love, how was your day Ms. Evans? When he was younger the idea of Rachel had stressed him out. Spencer was not perfect, his body was a burden and he was no knight on a horse. Actually he could never ride a horse his condition prevented that. How would she see him? When their finger's met and both their hearts pumped in beat and sent off a powerful light into the world, like a flare 'I belong with you' what would she say.
"Oh god! I got stuck with a premium parking spot."
He was so scared she would reject him. Though due to the reading he had done it would be impossible for her to reject him after meeting him. Those who didn't end up with their mates often never met them, or tied themselves knowingly to another. Spencer sighed scrubbing his face with his hands again. Pushing himself to a seated position he pulled a forearm support to him, pulled himself standing, found his other and readied himself for the morning. Slipping on old gently worn, yet not ratty loose jeans, a collared shirt, Over that a sweater vest that was brown very soft and plain but for a neat little texture border that went around the cuffs and the bottom edge. His favorite goodwill find possibly ever went over that; a cardigan that was plain black thick, yet light with a chunky floppy collar part that made him feel very very cozy.
He looked at the papers that created a labyrinth on his floor. There was a lot of studying to be done. But, there had also been a lot of studying done. More than half, which meant it was time to splurge and buy himself a XL coffee from Starbucks. He half hated and half loved that the small town he called home had a Starbucks now. He grabbed his coat, wallet and headed out the door, revelling in the fact that he was in almost no pain and could walk to the coffee shop, he took his messenger bag with some notebooks, a textbook, and some pens. After a pause he threw in his current novel an made his way out the door.
Spencer woke to the natural light pouring from the cold window. Rotating his hips gently he looked across the overgrown fields that once belonged to the farmer who lived here. They owned the house now and the fields were no theirs. They were for sale, mostly to developers who wanted to create a modern rustic home to sell to rich people who wanted to 'rough it' on their long weekends by going to a fancy cabin in the middle of nowhere, but still within a 2 minute drive of a small tourist town, a 3 minute drive of a hospital, and a less than 10 minute one to a mall. There were no developers that had bitten yet, but heavy consideration was being put to every sale, the realtors allowed the clients to send out private auditors to test the ground, make measurements of various elevations and take pictures. His father had muttered that when he purchased the farm house he had gotten a 5 minute tour and a lecture on 'authentic wood' before being told there were other buyers interested.
But being the cheapest house that wasn't actually dangerous to live in, his father paid the extra fifteen hundred over the worth. He said it was worth it that there was no mortgage. Spencer had a pretty firm grasp on no so basic mathematics and he doubted that. But he knew what his father really meant was 'I paid so much extra for the comfort my home where I would raise you couldn't be snapped from me'.
Spencer actually quite liked the house, it was a nice size, not tiny not huge. Unique. And cold. He suddenly thought inching the worn old fleece up his body. He reached out placing his hand on the cool glass. This was his favorite thing in the house. His little bed tucked into the wall windows right there, when he was sick or in pain he was still so close to nature. Pushing himself to a seated position he pulled a forearm support to him, pulled himself standing, found his other and readied himself for the morning. Slipping on old gently worn, yet not ratty loose jeans, a collared shirt, Over that a sweater vest that was brown very soft and plain but for a neat little texture border that went around the cuffs and the bottom edge. His favorite goodwill find possibly ever went over that; a cardigan that was plain black thick, yet light with a chunky floppy collar part that made him feel very very cozy. Logan refereed to this look as 'fumpy cold old man chic' Spencer just called it 'timeless'
Throwing the glasses on his face he pushed a hand through his hair and headed out to meet his dad at their little kitchen table, together they ate some pop-tarts and juice. Pills were sorted and swallowed dry with no fuss. They were soon in the small, only really still running out of old car stubbornness, blue bug. It was old but not in the 'vintage' way. It was old in the, cars-should-not-make-that-sound way. He was told to wait in the library for his dad after school, he would be a few hours late. Spencer always came early to school to avoid the hallway madness, armed with a water bottle full of coffee, and the books for all the classes up to lunch Spencer found a midway seat in his art class first period.
Spencer Liked art, not in any significant way just in passing enjoyment of the act of it. He wasn't good, but not horrible, he took the class to give his collage apps some edge, or spin and it gave him something to do that really just slowed down the constant math at the back of his head. His art teacher didn't care for what Spencer drew, he made no attempt to draw a exact copy of a photo or fruit bowl or old masterpiece, he would mostly draw warped versions of people. He liked the idea of people's insides on the outside. He liked to use watercolors to make the people different colors, or sometimes just doodle. He adjusted himself in the hard chair biting the inside of his cheek, he really hated these school chairs. He opened up his sketch book and started to do random math as he thought it out, in very small black letters uninterrupted across the page. Math could be art. He told his teacher often.
I am The Bookcase
“Mamma? Why is that boy over there bald?” the boy was saying.
“Garry it’s rude to stare.” No no stare all you want, I thought peeking from my window. This is the most human intercourse I get until nanny pulls me further into the gloomy maze of doors that holds me within her bird like clutches. I stared at the boy. I stared as if I were the sledge hammer and he the water mellon. Smashing his insides with my eyes but they kept moving along outside where I could not go. I slid down to the grey floor with it’s grayness staring up blankly to me like a dead corpse’s eye. I stared at the wall with its wooden bookcase all the way up. Big cold and wooden. The whole house looked like a home that had been long since forgotten. Like a small cat that no longer received any love. A thing without love? That’s what I am. I am the thing where there’s no love or hope. The thing without place or reason. I am that old book you opened once with purpose and interest that was set aside and forgotten, never opened but once. I am this house, I am the bookcase. Forgotten not loved.
I stared at the bookcase, and I thought. The bookcase feels the same way I do, I know this because I see. The bookcase is full, full of knowledge of truth. This bookcase holds thousands of letters of pages. Not one of these volumes of lonesome purpose has ever been opened when I have been here and there has been very little time that I was not here. I am part of the house for I never leave. I am a bookcase. I lean back and close my eyes.
I must sleep because then I wake up in another grey room in the house. I know it is not the same room for the bookcase is no longer there. In it’s place is a painting and there is no longer a window. The rest of the room is lavishly decorated like most of the house but it couldn’t be more of pure and total discomfort if it tried. The painting was of children playing, laughing it is very dull and hideous. I hate it. Artful perfected strokes form their way across the page, there are bright colors so vivid and bright. It all looks like mud. Mud because it melds with the place it was put in this wood and brick cage of mine. Nanny enters, with a beam of contrasting light behind her.
“This.” Says my warden gesturing to the contrasting light “is Esmeralda.”
“Hello.” She has a stark linen dress that flounces just below the knee and perfect blue bows in her hair that falls in a wild mane of rings round her face. The mane is a color trapped between mud and sunlight and her eyes are a dull blue that wavers lightly in the rooms depressing light. Nanny bows and leaves. I stare at the girl with disinterestedly fogged eyes. She blinks like some sort of night bird back. Then she sharpens her gaze to a point. She shimmies her eyes from my face to feet and back. Turning up her nose she breathes shortly out crossing her arms.
“If your not going to say anything I’m going to leave.” She swivels round her heel to the door. “And that painting is dreadful.” The door bangs shut behind her. I sink my seat.
It’s been more than a day maybe less before Esmeralda re enters. Her dress has been painted green but is otherwise unchanged and her ribbons have remained constant. She marches into the room and I react as if she hadn’t. She stomp stomp stomps her way right up into my nose and bends over till all I can see is muddy hair and dull blue eye.
“Do you talk?” No. I am a bookcase. “Good. Papa says you’re dying.” I say nothing by way of conformation. “Papa also says I have to be nice to you. He says we need to be friends.” She stops and looks from my face to feet again. “Do you want to be friends with me?” I turn my head to one side then the other. She disappears and does not return.
I stay in my prison lying in desperate wait of the one event that can free me from these hallowed halls of grey. I do not see Esmeralda again. I think about her sometimes but not often. I do not care. One day I am older and still I have not been allowed out from the grayness. Esmeralda comes back to see me. She sits on the edge of the chair facing mine and tells me of life beyond the grayness, she tells me she understands me now and it’s okay. She forms words so I don’t have to. I feel blessed. This is the only time in which I was able to let the grayness be grayness. I was not part of the grayness I was me I was free. I played as a child should and forever each day it was only us. Never anyone else. She would laugh and I would be tight lipped and happy. I was so drawn and so awed by the sheer whiteness of it all I forgot the pain because it didn’t matter anymore. Oh how wrong I was how very very wrong.
Esmeralda could not stay forever every day she did not have nothing to do. she would have to not come back at time. But she came back always again and we would have our forever again. Soon though the playing became hard, and she had to leave and not come back for a bit. It was not suposed to be long. She said it would not be long. She lied. It was during this time that the event every man waits for began for me. She was not there when it began nor there when it ended or anywhere in between. It was on my last day that I spoke my first word. It was not easy, but I wanted to. I needed to.
“Eh-zi.”
*************************
A girl sat on a stool her long curly auburn hair fell down past her shoulders her brilliant blue eyes filled with tears as she red the letter informing her of her friends death. She held it to her heart and wept.
“Papa how awful!” She cried.
“You knew he was dying dear, no one could have done anything.”
“All these people!” She cried. “All these people see the world blandly but I saw he made me see it right! I could name I thousand people that should fill his place in the grave!”
“Esmeralda! Esmeralda my dear! Don’t say such things!”
“No. No, it’s true and please” She swallowed and looked her father in the eye “call me Ezie.” She looked down at the letter and smiled through her tears. Don’t worry dear friend she thought we had forever and someday in the distance we’ll have it again.
Okay.
*VOMITS CONFETTI AND RUNS AWAY*
I like to dive right in as well!
