It was cold, and the frost crisped lightly beneath our soles as we walked.
It was one of those moments where your watch disappears
off your wrist
and the sun speeds up
but you don't really mind.
We talked once in a while, our words condensing in the still air,
dancing in and out of each other before
disappearing with a sigh.
When our frozen words weren't tangling our tongues the silence
stretched comfortably between us,
like the thin black lines between the telephone poles we passed by
except without all the pigeons.
It was cold, and the frost crisped lightly beneath our soles as we walked.
We stopped once or twice at Christ
I've always wondered how sunsets would look
if I had another person to sit next to and watch them with.
Are they the same bloody tendrils I see reaching for me
every evening from my dirty window?
I've always wondered if I really would feel warmer
in a freezing blizzard, walking down lamplit city streets,
another's fingers laced in mine, and the both of us laughing
as we catch the silent flakes on our tongues.
I've always wondered if pain and happiness really do taste
sweeter when you have someone to share it with.
Does it still taste like the fears that I swallow
coming home every night to a silent, dark apartment?
I've always w
With glinting eyes turned toward the setting sun,
the warrior stands solidly on the crossroads
of indecision,
the dying star
throwing blood-red rays across his glittering sword,
leaving reflections of half-remembered memories
and forgotten smiles
flashing on the ground.
Old, white scars intermingle patterns of old battles
with fresh wounds,
stretching across weary skin.
As the sun finally sets,
leaving the world in shifting shadows
and ghostly twilight,
the warrior finally stirs.
With his chipped sword slung
easily across one strong shoulder,
he shifts forward along the dusty path,
the stars under his boot heels
and a smi
I see Nature growing, renewing, slowly, steadily, all around.
I see Her growing at every sunrise, beaming and friendly, eagerly awakening the day,
I see Her growing in the blades of green grass on the fields of lawns, unconquerable and mighty,
I see Her growing in the crib of the babe, resting peacefully on a summer afternoon,
I see Her growing in the slumbering hound, teaching patience to those who have time to watch,
I see Her growing in the quiet Oak, each day reaching to new heights, while helping those beneath it,
I see Her growing in the bird's nest, each chick dreaming of touching the skies,
I see Her growing in the smiles betwe
The Art of Storytelling by Krystalblood, literature
Literature
The Art of Storytelling
Tales.
Cold stone caves, far below the roots of deep, dark, snow-peaked mountains, whispering of mysteries and the slow passage of time. Low new sounds, forming words, open up imagination and wonder in growing, evolving minds.
Fables.
Gusty blizzards, frozen snow and ice bite at the edges of small tents that cling bitterly to icy cliffsides. Small crackling fires inside them throw flickering, dancing shadows along walls made of fur and leather. Long, dark nights and little food encourage nightmares of black-hearted demons that wail shrilly in the winds outside the dwellingplaces, tearing at the tent flaps with cruel, ebony claws.
Myths.
Philadelphia has long been known for it's cheese steaks, sports fans and losing streaks. For the past 25 years Philadelphia has been denied the victory of all major sports championships, but on October 29th the Curse of Billy Penn was finally broken. The Phillies won the World Series against the Tampa Rays, throwing the city and surrounding counties into a frenzy. Two days later, Halloween Day, found me, my parents, and my camera-toting sister pushing our way to the heart of Philly to watch our favorite baseball team parade by in all their glory.
From the moment we stepped off the Ben Franklin Bridge and made our way towards Market Stree
5/13/08
Location: Southern Deadwind Pass
Time: 6:00 CST(Central Server Time)
*Bring all potions, bandages and poisons you'll need, Krystal, we shouldn't need to ressurect you more then absolutely possible. Oh, and make sure you're properly specced before we start, we don't need a girl causing a wipe.
-Guild's Rogue Master Dharok
I folded the piece of parchment and replaced it securely in a side pocket, ignoring my mentor's sarcasm, settling into a more comfortable position on my frostsaber, Rya. My pointed night elf ears twitched at ever suspicious sound and I felt increasingly uneasy being in this silent, dark, ominous valley. Dark cl
The sun's rays thread softly over a sapphire sky,
as the sleeping houses pass slowly by.
The grass grows slowly, bright and green,
and we doze as we drive through this world inbetween.
The semester holds us deep in its grip,
but I know that throughout this bumpy trip
my smiling friends will see me through.
How can I give up with these guardians true?
We are all burdened by a painful past,
but, if we try, only happiness will be the memories that last.
If we keep our dreams in front of us, our future is bright,
the road will be treacherous unless we place our feet right.
I try to ignore these thoughts with such a sad tone,
as our b
The footsteps of the fleeing princess and queen echoed softly into the dark corners of the stone hallway they ran down. Yimbra's heart was in her throat as she tried to keep up with her mother, who was in possession of her wrist. Rahktan had gone to alert the servants of the clan that would be beseiging the Palace within the hour. Even as Yimbra had glanced out the window of her parent's bedroom she had seen the mass of people gathering in the center of the sun-baked city. The fading sunlight had glinted off of chainmail tunics and long swords.
Such an underground clan must have spent months quietly attracting poverty-stricken citizens into
It was cold, and the frost crisped lightly beneath our soles as we walked.
It was one of those moments where your watch disappears
off your wrist
and the sun speeds up
but you don't really mind.
We talked once in a while, our words condensing in the still air,
dancing in and out of each other before
disappearing with a sigh.
When our frozen words weren't tangling our tongues the silence
stretched comfortably between us,
like the thin black lines between the telephone poles we passed by
except without all the pigeons.
It was cold, and the frost crisped lightly beneath our soles as we walked.
We stopped once or twice at Christ
I've always wondered how sunsets would look
if I had another person to sit next to and watch them with.
Are they the same bloody tendrils I see reaching for me
every evening from my dirty window?
I've always wondered if I really would feel warmer
in a freezing blizzard, walking down lamplit city streets,
another's fingers laced in mine, and the both of us laughing
as we catch the silent flakes on our tongues.
I've always wondered if pain and happiness really do taste
sweeter when you have someone to share it with.
Does it still taste like the fears that I swallow
coming home every night to a silent, dark apartment?
I've always w
With glinting eyes turned toward the setting sun,
the warrior stands solidly on the crossroads
of indecision,
the dying star
throwing blood-red rays across his glittering sword,
leaving reflections of half-remembered memories
and forgotten smiles
flashing on the ground.
Old, white scars intermingle patterns of old battles
with fresh wounds,
stretching across weary skin.
As the sun finally sets,
leaving the world in shifting shadows
and ghostly twilight,
the warrior finally stirs.
With his chipped sword slung
easily across one strong shoulder,
he shifts forward along the dusty path,
the stars under his boot heels
and a smi
I see Nature growing, renewing, slowly, steadily, all around.
I see Her growing at every sunrise, beaming and friendly, eagerly awakening the day,
I see Her growing in the blades of green grass on the fields of lawns, unconquerable and mighty,
I see Her growing in the crib of the babe, resting peacefully on a summer afternoon,
I see Her growing in the slumbering hound, teaching patience to those who have time to watch,
I see Her growing in the quiet Oak, each day reaching to new heights, while helping those beneath it,
I see Her growing in the bird's nest, each chick dreaming of touching the skies,
I see Her growing in the smiles betwe
The Art of Storytelling by Krystalblood, literature
Literature
The Art of Storytelling
Tales.
Cold stone caves, far below the roots of deep, dark, snow-peaked mountains, whispering of mysteries and the slow passage of time. Low new sounds, forming words, open up imagination and wonder in growing, evolving minds.
Fables.
Gusty blizzards, frozen snow and ice bite at the edges of small tents that cling bitterly to icy cliffsides. Small crackling fires inside them throw flickering, dancing shadows along walls made of fur and leather. Long, dark nights and little food encourage nightmares of black-hearted demons that wail shrilly in the winds outside the dwellingplaces, tearing at the tent flaps with cruel, ebony claws.
Myths.
Philadelphia has long been known for it's cheese steaks, sports fans and losing streaks. For the past 25 years Philadelphia has been denied the victory of all major sports championships, but on October 29th the Curse of Billy Penn was finally broken. The Phillies won the World Series against the Tampa Rays, throwing the city and surrounding counties into a frenzy. Two days later, Halloween Day, found me, my parents, and my camera-toting sister pushing our way to the heart of Philly to watch our favorite baseball team parade by in all their glory.
From the moment we stepped off the Ben Franklin Bridge and made our way towards Market Stree
5/13/08
Location: Southern Deadwind Pass
Time: 6:00 CST(Central Server Time)
*Bring all potions, bandages and poisons you'll need, Krystal, we shouldn't need to ressurect you more then absolutely possible. Oh, and make sure you're properly specced before we start, we don't need a girl causing a wipe.
-Guild's Rogue Master Dharok
I folded the piece of parchment and replaced it securely in a side pocket, ignoring my mentor's sarcasm, settling into a more comfortable position on my frostsaber, Rya. My pointed night elf ears twitched at ever suspicious sound and I felt increasingly uneasy being in this silent, dark, ominous valley. Dark cl
The sun's rays thread softly over a sapphire sky,
as the sleeping houses pass slowly by.
The grass grows slowly, bright and green,
and we doze as we drive through this world inbetween.
The semester holds us deep in its grip,
but I know that throughout this bumpy trip
my smiling friends will see me through.
How can I give up with these guardians true?
We are all burdened by a painful past,
but, if we try, only happiness will be the memories that last.
If we keep our dreams in front of us, our future is bright,
the road will be treacherous unless we place our feet right.
I try to ignore these thoughts with such a sad tone,
as our b
The footsteps of the fleeing princess and queen echoed softly into the dark corners of the stone hallway they ran down. Yimbra's heart was in her throat as she tried to keep up with her mother, who was in possession of her wrist. Rahktan had gone to alert the servants of the clan that would be beseiging the Palace within the hour. Even as Yimbra had glanced out the window of her parent's bedroom she had seen the mass of people gathering in the center of the sun-baked city. The fading sunlight had glinted off of chainmail tunics and long swords.
Such an underground clan must have spent months quietly attracting poverty-stricken citizens into
The Art of Storytelling by Krystalblood, literature
Literature
The Art of Storytelling
Tales.
Cold stone caves, far below the roots of deep, dark, snow-peaked mountains, whispering of mysteries and the slow passage of time. Low new sounds, forming words, open up imagination and wonder in growing, evolving minds.
Fables.
Gusty blizzards, frozen snow and ice bite at the edges of small tents that cling bitterly to icy cliffsides. Small crackling fires inside them throw flickering, dancing shadows along walls made of fur and leather. Long, dark nights and little food encourage nightmares of black-hearted demons that wail shrilly in the winds outside the dwellingplaces, tearing at the tent flaps with cruel, ebony claws.
Myths.
Current Residence: Jersey Operating System: Zombie Computer MP3 player of choice: Apple Personal Quote: You want guns, gore, violence AND a joke? There's just no pleasing some people..." ~ EN
Favourite Movies
Pirates of the Carribean I
Favourite Writers
Jane Lindskold; J.R.R Tolkien
Favourite Games
Kingdom Hearts
Favourite Gaming Platform
They're all good in their own way.
Tools of the Trade
Scrap Notebook, Ballpoint pens
Other Interests
Gurren Lagann, Kingdom Hearts, Fantasy Novels, Nature
So it's already Janu- *checks calendar* Geez! Already February and stuff has generally improved one drawn out day at a time. Things sucked in the beginning of the year but I got over them in the best way I can; by keeping myself busy. I quickly joined up with costume crew for the Fall drama at our school, making the months of October, November, and December pass by extra quickly. Schoolwork is much less overwhelming (except for math) and I've been focusing mostly on my AP English class. We write a full blown essay about once a week or two, so I've been plenty busy with working on my writing style even if it doesn't show. Although it's general
It's the tenth of October, been about a month since school's started and, as expected, the days and weeks are rolling together into a routine grind. Depressions and grumpiness is being pushed aside as everyone settles into the pattern of work and study for the week, then relax on the weekends. Since the start of our school's home football games, a pattern has been emerging so that every or every other weekend is dotted with football games and fall events shared with friends. We see each other when we can and it's enough for me, for now. High school angst and woes aren't worth the energy, so I'm just trying to get used to it.
Despite the "imp
Get it? Autumn? And fall? They're both the same...?
Nevermind.
So I should probably be updating more often. I'm looking at that nifty little "Journal History" sidebar and I have maybe four from over the school year. Oh well. It's a journal. Exciting.
So summer went fast. And looking at the peppy 'beginning of summer' entry was getting on my nerves so I needed to change it. And so... welcome to Autumn once more! School's started. And you know what that means...ranting/whining time! Hooray!
I'm in my junior year now. Things are already quite different from last year. Two of my greatest grade buddies left for other schools, one being a grea
im not meaning 2 be rude or anything...but im wondering when u mite start up some stories (such as Beginning of the End or UT). i really like reading them. & i kno that school can take up a lot of time, but i really miss reading ur stories. theyre really good. im not juss sayin that. i mean it. juss when u can. im looking forward to the next ones.
Heh, that's true, I didn't finish BotE or UT, but unfortunately they were both intermediate stories that I worked on. As I grow and my writing skills get better I move onto different topics and I don't have the same mindset to keep working on the old stories. >< I'm sorry, but I don't think I'd be able to finish those old stories because I don't remember how I was going to advance them. D: Thank you so much for reading my works though, it really means a lot to me, but I suppose that's what happens to writers. Thank you for understanding. ^^