Under the surface of the ever-moving ocean, it is calm.
There are hardly any sounds bouncing about the vast space, and the ones that are have been muted, many times over. The roaring of a ship’s engines, mighty as a lion, is only a faint humming sound, more felt than heard as it vibrates its way through your body.
You’re floating, floating in a mass of blue. The only thing you can see is blue, blue, and blue – different shades, some lighter than others, some dark as a winter night in the North, but blue nonetheless. Now that you think about it, it’s slightly disturbing – oppressive, even… though that, you then realise, may just be the pressure of the masses of water around you. It’s pressing you in, trying to squeeze you, distort you, until there’s nothing left save a tiny raisin of a person, floating through the endless masses, going where the current takes you. But as soon as these images enter your mind, the oppressing masses seem to lessen as the pressure leaves, and you find you can breathe again, even though a small portion of your brain appears to find that odd – as if you weren’t supposed to be breathing.
This small fact is clawing at your mind, trying to convince the rest of you, but you do your best to ignore it, because honestly, logic is overrated. Instead, you try moving your limbs of the first time, finding to your delight that movement is indeed possible, if slow and clumsy. You bring your hand up to your face, and then stare at it in shock: it does not look remotely like that tiny part of your brain – the logical one – says it should look. The rest of you ignores that tiny minority, as insignificant as a single soldier in a battalion.
It’s pale, that hand of yours. So pale, and thinner than you remember. You stare at it for a while in fascination, giggling to yourself at the greenish tint, and the veins that can clearly be seen under the translucent skin. They criss-cross like spider webs, in patterns unlike those you have previously seen in hands. It’s like they’re trying to spell out something, but that single soldier has been silenced and the rest of you doesn’t realise it, simply lets out a bubbly laugh, watching in wonder as the bubbles rise upwards, so high, until you can’t see them anymore.
Finally tearing your attention from your hand – captivating as it is – you start figuring out how to turn. Your movements are slow, sluggish, and awkward, and the amount of pride you feel at successfully turning yourself around is ridiculous. But you manage it, and that’s where the train of thought stops, because you finally get an eyeful of what’s been behind you all this time.
In stark contrast to the endless masses of blue now behind you, the scene you face now is full of colour and movement. In your head you hear music playing, a lively jig you know you’ve never heard before but still seems achingly familiar. As you’re pushing yourself to the limit, trying to remember it, you catch sight again of the whirling colours.
It takes a while, but your poor brain, frantically trying to revive that single soldier, finally makes sense of the confusion. The blurs slowly begin to resemble shapes – it’s almost as if you were slowing down the action. Whatever it was that happened, you can now clearly see the multitudes of small fishes racing around the space. They’re red, and they’re blue. They’re purple. They’re green, and yellow, and magenta, and indigo, and colours that you can’t even name. They’re polka-dotted, and striped, and tie-dyed, and more. You’ve barely had enough time to register this as the fish suddenly part, revealing to you the mountains of corals behind them.
It is like nothing you’ve ever seen – even though you suddenly remember having seen lots of under-water splendour, some time far in your past. This is absolutely nothing like that. These corals form a magnificent archway, to a place you can’t see. What you can see, however, is the arch itself. It towers high above you; you can’t see where it ends. (This reminds you of laughing, and you let a small giggle escape your lips in a cloud of those tiny bubbles, so constant in their amusingness). To the sides, the walls on either side of the arch extend as far as the eye can see, and you get the uncanny feeling that if you were to follow it in either direction, you’d either quit or die doing it. Everything about those walls screamed endless! and unbreachable! even though you were currently staring at a rather obvious breach – it couldn’t have been more obvious if it had a huge sign hanging from it saying “BREACH WALL HERE”.
The wall itself, though, while not screaming all kinds of things about its breachabilty and whatnot, was really a sight for sore eyes. You struggled to take it all in: the gilded parapets, the pearls embedded in the brickwork, the brilliant, multi-coloured flags flying every thirty feet or so, the marine plants and vines twining themselves up and down the walls; the hazy overall effect, like the wall and the accompanying archway were continually subject to change, never quite finding a permanent form. They radiated colour like so many tiny prisms, all the colours of the rainbow and them some. You could honestly admit to never having seen half of them before.
Even as you begin to drift towards the arch, the poor soldier in your brain starts pounding on the inside of your head, insisting that this is not a good idea. You, however, do not understand how it could be so: the soldier is simply causing a headache, and you find that the closer you get to the arch, the weaker its protests become, until the pounding has finally lessened to a small throbbing. You open your eyes (unaware of when they had drifted shut) and find yourself to be at the very foot of the arch.
Suddenly, you find that listening to that soldier might well have been a good idea. Up close, the arch doesn’t look that inviting, or even beautiful: as you stepped (or rather, drifted) into the effect of the haze, its wondrous properties wore away and you can now see the arch for what it is, not what the haze made it out to be.
The gilded parapets you had so admired are faded and chipped, reduced to a dull brown colour, covered in seaweed and limpets. There are simply round holes left were you thought there were pearls, and the flags hang in limp, grey tatters. The vines have long since died, but they left their legacy behind, covering the wall in its entirety, claiming as much territory as possible before having (you imagine) gone out with a bang.
Upon seeing this, the soldier restarts its frantic banging against your skull, imploring you to get as far from the now derelict arch as possible. You can’t think clearly (you can’t remember when you last could), and your head seems to be full of sand (you wouldn’t even be surprised at that). The soldier continues its solitary beat, and you know that something just isn’t right, but you can’t help but move ever closer to the arch.
You’re getting closer now – ten feet remain between you and the arch – and the fish behind you seem to have restarted their earlier whirling dance. The music in your head begins again, and the confusion from earlier is back, and in the midst of this you’re still drifting towards that arch (only two feet remain). You’re now trying actively to get away, to get back, but for every inch of purchase you gain on the shifting sand, you drift another two forward. The dance behind you is increasing in speed, and the music in volume, and the atmosphere in intensity, until finally you cross under the arch into the invisible wasteland beyond.
Under the surface of the ever-moving ocean, it is calm.
There are hardly any sounds bouncing about the vast space, and the ones that are have been muted, many times over. The roaring of a ship’s engines, mighty as a lion, is only a faint humming sound, more felt than heard as it vibrates its way through your body.
You’re floating, floating in a mass of blue. The only thing you can see is blue, blue, and blue – different shades, some lighter than others, some dark as a winter night in the North, but blue nonetheless. Now that you think about it, it’s slightly disturbing – oppressive, even… though that, you then realise, may just be the pressure of the masses of water around you. It’s pressing you in, trying to squeeze you, distort you, until there’s nothing left save a tiny raisin of a person, floating through the endless masses, going where the current takes you. But as soon as these images enter your mind, the oppressing masses seem to lessen as the pressure leaves, and you find you can breathe again, even though a small portion of your brain appears to find that odd – as if you weren’t supposed to be breathing.
This small fact is clawing at your mind, trying to convince the rest of you, but you do your best to ignore it, because honestly, logic is overrated. Instead, you try moving your limbs of the first time, finding to your delight that movement is indeed possible, if slow and clumsy. You bring your hand up to your face, and then stare at it in shock: it does not look remotely like that tiny part of your brain – the logical one – says it should look. The rest of you ignores that tiny minority, as insignificant as a single soldier in a battalion.
It’s pale, that hand of yours. So pale, and thinner than you remember. You stare at it for a while in fascination, giggling to yourself at the greenish tint, and the veins that can clearly be seen under the translucent skin. They criss-cross like spider webs, in patterns unlike those you have previously seen in hands. It’s like they’re trying to spell out something, but that single soldier has been silenced and the rest of you doesn’t realise it, simply lets out a bubbly laugh, watching in wonder as the bubbles rise upwards, so high, until you can’t see them anymore.
Finally tearing your attention from your hand – captivating as it is – you start figuring out how to turn. Your movements are slow, sluggish, and awkward, and the amount of pride you feel at successfully turning yourself around is ridiculous. But you manage it, and that’s where the train of thought stops, because you finally get an eyeful of what’s been behind you all this time.
In stark contrast to the endless masses of blue now behind you, the scene you face now is full of colour and movement. In your head you hear music playing, a lively jig you know you’ve never heard before but still seems achingly familiar. As you’re pushing yourself to the limit, trying to remember it, you catch sight again of the whirling colours.
It takes a while, but your poor brain, frantically trying to revive that single soldier, finally makes sense of the confusion. The blurs slowly begin to resemble shapes – it’s almost as if you were slowing down the action. Whatever it was that happened, you can now clearly see the multitudes of small fishes racing around the space. They’re red, and they’re blue. They’re purple. They’re green, and yellow, and magenta, and indigo, and colours that you can’t even name. They’re polka-dotted, and striped, and tie-dyed, and more. You’ve barely had enough time to register this as the fish suddenly part, revealing to you the mountains of corals behind them.
It is like nothing you’ve ever seen – even though you suddenly remember having seen lots of under-water splendour, some time far in your past. This is absolutely nothing like that. These corals form a magnificent archway, to a place you can’t see. What you can see, however, is the arch itself. It towers high above you; you can’t see where it ends. (This reminds you of laughing, and you let a small giggle escape your lips in a cloud of those tiny bubbles, so constant in their amusingness). To the sides, the walls on either side of the arch extend as far as the eye can see, and you get the uncanny feeling that if you were to follow it in either direction, you’d either quit or die doing it. Everything about those walls screamed endless! and unbreachable! even though you were currently staring at a rather obvious breach – it couldn’t have been more obvious if it had a huge sign hanging from it saying “BREACH WALL HERE”.
The wall itself, though, while not screaming all kinds of things about its breachabilty and whatnot, was really a sight for sore eyes. You struggled to take it all in: the gilded parapets, the pearls embedded in the brickwork, the brilliant, multi-coloured flags flying every thirty feet or so, the marine plants and vines twining themselves up and down the walls; the hazy overall effect, like the wall and the accompanying archway were continually subject to change, never quite finding a permanent form. They radiated colour like so many tiny prisms, all the colours of the rainbow and them some. You could honestly admit to never having seen half of them before.
Even as you begin to drift towards the arch, the poor soldier in your brain starts pounding on the inside of your head, insisting that this is not a good idea. You, however, do not understand how it could be so: the soldier is simply causing a headache, and you find that the closer you get to the arch, the weaker its protests become, until the pounding has finally lessened to a small throbbing. You open your eyes (unaware of when they had drifted shut) and find yourself to be at the very foot of the arch.
Suddenly, you find that listening to that soldier might well have been a good idea. Up close, the arch doesn’t look that inviting, or even beautiful: as you stepped (or rather, drifted) into the effect of the haze, its wondrous properties wore away and you can now see the arch for what it is, not what the haze made it out to be.
The gilded parapets you had so admired are faded and chipped, reduced to a dull brown colour, covered in seaweed and limpets. There are simply round holes left were you thought there were pearls, and the flags hang in limp, grey tatters. The vines have long since died, but they left their legacy behind, covering the wall in its entirety, claiming as much territory as possible before having (you imagine) gone out with a bang.
Upon seeing this, the soldier restarts its frantic banging against your skull, imploring you to get as far from the now derelict arch as possible. You can’t think clearly (you can’t remember when you last could), and your head seems to be full of sand (you wouldn’t even be surprised at that). The soldier continues its solitary beat, and you know that something just isn’t right, but you can’t help but move ever closer to the arch.
You’re getting closer now – ten feet remain between you and the arch – and the fish behind you seem to have restarted their earlier whirling dance. The music in your head begins again, and the confusion from earlier is back, and in the midst of this you’re still drifting towards that arch (only two feet remain). You’re now trying actively to get away, to get back, but for every inch of purchase you gain on the shifting sand, you drift another two forward. The dance behind you is increasing in speed, and the music in volume, and the atmosphere in intensity, until finally you cross under the arch into the invisible wasteland beyond.
Under the surface of the ever-moving ocean, it is calm.
Sky turns black. Memory fades. through all of this tragedy fate has taken my memories from me. No other thoughts. Heart pounding. Blood racing. No more time for thinking. Think quick and on my feet or death will surely get its grasp on me. As my enemy approaches i draw my sword. Once the tip of the blade is out of the sheath i hear it hit the ground as i feel a warm liquid pouring out of my open chest as blood gushes out of the wound. As i struggle to take my last breath i wake up screaming relieved that it was just a DREAM.
I have this image in my head of a girl who spent the first 17 years of her life being loved. Loved by her parents, her brother and sister, and everyone in school. She doesn't know the meaning of hate. Then this mysterious guy come to her school. He doesn't say much and the only person he notices is her. But he is different then the other guys at her school he is too sexy to be real. They fall madly in love but what she doesn't know is that he has been alive for the last 268 years. He is no vampire but something that can scare the helll out of you. And he has a immortal enemy, and that enemy is the boy who is filled with so much hate all the immortals call him...The deffinition of hate(his real name being Marcus) And the girl so finds out that Marcus will stop at nothing to take her away from him and show her what it's like to be hated
“You can’t!” I screeched, griping the thick grass beneath my paws.
“The whole forest will belong to the Pack of Shadows!” the dark wolf exclaimed enthusiastically, his fur flickering like shadows, “No wolf will stop us!”
I have to do something! I couldn’t let it end like this! Not with the alpha in this state! Not with the pack split in four!
“Out of my way pup!” he tossed me aside like a tiny mouse.
“No!” I leaped at him, biting and clawing with all my strength.
“This is pointless! You cannot defeat me she-wolf!” I felt him bite me and fling me away again. I was too tired to move now, after traveling this far without resting, I can no longer breathe enough to live.
I’m over; this is the end of the Pack of Ice! I lay winded and defeated, awaiting death’s arrival patiently.
~Let You Go~
1: On and on ~ the days go by
Without a sight of you or my sanity
I'm lost not found ~ I wanted to show you , I wanted to tell you...
Chorus: If I say I'm sorry will you believe me?
If I love you again will you never leave me?
I made a mistake when I said no
I never should have let you go...
2: I ring your phone but no one answers, I'm alone
Days are spent reading your old letters, but with a groan,
I'd put them away, In the draw they'd lay until tomorrow...
Tomorrow...
Chorus-
3: This moping, not coping is killing me
My soul is not at rest when I long for it to be
I wish you'd come back or my fears may come true
When I left you, I still loved you and I think you knew
Chorus-
Darlin' don't forget me
I'm locked and you're the only key...
1: On and on ~ the days go by
Without a sight of you or my sanity
I'm lost not found ~ I wanted to show you , I wanted to tell you...
Chorus: If I say I'm sorry will you believe me?
If I love you again will you never leave me?
I made a mistake when I said no
I never should have let you go...
2: I ring your phone but no one answers, I'm alone
Days are spent reading your old letters, but with a groan,
I'd put them away, In the draw they'd lay until tomorrow...
Tomorrow...
Chorus-
3: This moping, not coping is killing me
My soul is not at rest when I long for it to be
I wish you'd come back or my fears may come true
When I left you, I still loved you and I think you knew
Chorus-
Darlin' don't forget me
I'm locked and you're the only key...
Only in my dreams
You're missing, but you're always
a heartbeat from me
I'm lost now without you
I don't know where you are
I keep watching
I keep hoping
but time keeps us apart
Is there a way I can find you?
Is there a sign I should know?
Is there a road I could follow
to bring you back home?
Winter lies before me
Now you're so far away
In the darkness of my dreaming
The light of you will stay
If I could be close beside you
If I could be where you are
If I could reach out and touch you
And bring you back home
Is there a way I can find you?
Is there a sign I should know?
Is there a road I could follow
to bring you back home?
To me...
* * * * * * * * * *
LivHILuvAlwaiz♥jj9