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I could send it to you if you want, but I’m not quiet done with it. I have until the end of the week to finish.
Yes, please!
It is a very sad beginning. 😥
But then it gets happy!!!!! 😈
Uh…what does that even mean??? What is that video???!!! I seriously don’t understand it. Sorry.
"He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose."~ Jim Elliot
Okay, shall I send it before I finish or after? It’s a school paper, not a story, btw. (I wasn’t sure if you knew that.)
It was something i made with canva. lol.
basically, you all snowballed me, so then I snowball machine-gunned you.
Man is born for the fight, to be forged and molded into a sharper, finer, stronger image of God
What! No!!! Must read books! I must have them all for me!!! *distant sobbing*
Girl, the Mark Rober video
🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣
I couldn’t help it. I was thinking about it when I started trucking people, and so I had to make one for myself. lolololol
Man is born for the fight, to be forged and molded into a sharper, finer, stronger image of God
It was something i made with canva. lol.
basically, you all snowballed me, so then I snowball machine-gunned you.
Oh. But…it has a good ending?
Okay, shall I send it before I finish or after? It’s a school paper, not a story, btw. (I wasn’t sure if you knew that.)
Nope. I didn’t know that. But, it only makes me more curious to read it! Could you send it when it’s done? (I’d rather read a complete writing than part of one)
"He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose."~ Jim Elliot
Also, if you are wondering about my feedback for CR, don’t worry! I’m getting there. I have to beta-read something for another person first. Then I’ll get to yours.
"He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose."~ Jim Elliot
Pff, y’all can just destroy each other while I watch. *Crosses my arms with a smirk*
#ProtectAdolinKholin
Sure, I’ll send it when it’s done.
The good ending is I smoked you all.
Man is born for the fight, to be forged and molded into a sharper, finer, stronger image of God
No prob about CR. Get to it when you can!
Man is born for the fight, to be forged and molded into a sharper, finer, stronger image of God
Wellllllllllllllllllllllllll…. XD
There was this truce thing going on.
I still have 10 snowballs available. I am saving them for instant defense against an attack.
You have listened to fears, child. Come, let me breathe on you... Are you brave again? -Aslan
@stephie oooh I love the poems!
"When in doubt, eat cheese crackers."-me to my charries who don't even know about cheese crackers
Here’s 1,255 of the 1750 words I need to write. (still have some more to go🫠)
the first thing is all from 1 scene, but each separated section is random snippets of it bc I’m not being an organized writer today XD it’s Leon/Riker’s 3rd novel
the second part is a couple of scenes from Erich/Esther’s novel✨
“He’s not the father you could never make proud, He’s not the father that hurt you. He’s not the father that was always angry with you, He’s not the father that made you feel worthless. He’s the father that gave up His Son so He could call you His own. He didn’t sacrifice His Son because He couldn’t live without you, Riker, He gave Him up because he didn’t want to live without you. He died long before you were born, paid the debt you could never pay. And do you still dare to believe that your sins are too great for Jehovah to forgive?”
Riker stood, paced across the floor. “I went to prison for five years for my crimes…for my sin.”
“But it’s still not enough, is it?”
“It’s too light. It’s not enough of a punishment for what I’ve done. I deserve death, Isaiah. I know He can forgive all things, but…”
“We all do. That’s what you still don’t quite grasp: that we all deserve death.”
Riker huffed, turned on his heel. He leaned back against the kitchen counter and folded his arms over his chest. He diverted his gaze and whispered, “Then why doesn’t He just give me what I deserve?”
Isaiah smiled. “Because He loves you too much to do that,” he removed his glasses, grabbed a small cloth, and nodded at his Bible that sat on the table, “can you read that final part of what I was reading? I need to clean these.”
A sly yet subtle move.
Riker sighed but stepped forward. “Ja, I’ll read it.”
He sat across from Isaiah, pulled the Bible close, and glanced over the words. There. Isaiah had stopped on verse eight, chapter four of 1 John. Riker began reading in verse nine, “‘In this was manifested the love of God toward us, because that God sent his only begotten Son into the world, that we might live through him. Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins.”
Isaiah smiled, put his glasses back on, and nodded. “Gut, gut. Would you please hand me that Bible?”
Riker slid Isaiah’s Bible over to him. He tapped his fingers on the table.
He worried his bottom lip.
The beratement that spilled from his father’s lips.
The echoing of his father’s heavy shoes upon the stairs, upon the floor.
The alcohol that wafted through the house, making his entire home smell like the father he feared.
The words others would say when he did something wrong, when he messed up, when he failed like he did time and time again, their words that told him to just “wait until your father hears about this”.
The blows his father delivered.
The bruises that formed.
“I saw him, Isaiah. I saw him two weeks ago.”
“Saw-?”
“I saw my father. In the park.”
Isaiah blinked, once, twice. “Did he…?”
“I-I didn’t talk to him.”
“Did he see you?”
“No,” Riker took one deep breath, another, “I ran away…before he could see me.”
Isaiah nodded. He stood, set his Bible on the counter, and faced Riker again. “You didn’t want him to see you, did you?”
He still didn’t want his father to see him.
Riker slowly nodded. “Ja.”
He stood against Hans and others…stood against Nazism as a whole, risked his life to save innocent people, endured torture, and yet he still feared his own father.
‘Coward,’ he admonished himself.
and Erich/Esther book scenes:
Where was the Erich she had once known? Where was the Erich that she’d been inseparable from, so close that everyone regarded them as two peas in a pod? Where was the Erich she’d once cherished, once cared for, once found safety in, even once loved as her closest friend?
All he had been, all he once was, had been stripped away.
She barely recognized the man standing before her.
“How much longer, Erich? How much longer will you pretend to be someone you’re not? How much longer can you keep the secrets hidden?”
Erich quickly turned his head. His cheeks flushed, he made a quick glance around the corner, and he stepped forward. One step, two steps.
He gripped Esther’s wrist and pulled her into the alleyway.
She pulled back, away from the man she’d once seen as her friend, a man she still wanted to call her friend. “Unhand me, Erich.”
She broke her wrist free, stumbled, righted herself but still slightly fell back against the brick wall.
Erich took two steps closer, made two quick glances outside the alleyway, and fixated his gaze upon Esther. He leaned close, leaned in, positioned one arm up and to the left side of her head, as if pinning her to the wall without touching her. “Quiet. You know nothing about me now.”
Esther raised her eyebrows. He must have wanted to put emphasis on his words. “Yiddish?”
Erich leaned closer. “You’ll speak to no one of this conversation.”
“You are not the Erich I once knew.”
“Good,” Erich spat, “he was a fool.”
And yet he had been a kind man, with a knack for making or finding trouble, but still with a heart for others. He had a temper, yes, but one could learn to control their temper.
Just as she had to learn when to hold her tongue.
“Please step back, Erich,” Esther replied, still in Yiddish, “you don’t need to pin me to the wall.”
Erich slowly pulled his hand away, took a step back. Esther stood straight, smoothed out the skirt of her dress, and met Erich’s blue gaze with her brown. “You’ve allowed yourself to believe a lie, Erich.”
“A lie—”
“Where is your Ema, your Abba?”
“It doesn’t matter—”
“Your sisters, your brothers? Do you want them to die too?”
Erich slammed his fist into the wall and snarled in Yiddish, his fist dripping with blood, “They mean nothing to me. They did nothing, said nothing, to stop that Rabbi from forcing me away from my family, from the house I loved, the only place I called home.”
“But they did, Erich…they tried so hard—”
“Not hard enough.”
What others saw as anger she knew as hurt—she still knew Erich well enough to distinguish the difference.
What laid simmering beneath the surface of anger, jealousy, arrogance, and narcissism laid a well of hurt, pain, and the ache of abandonment.
Eight years in an orphanage, ten years with a family that loved him, only to then be left alone again.
“…You’re afraid.”
Erich wiped his fist on his black uniform. His glare deepened. “Afraid of what?”
“Afraid you can’t be loved…afraid you’ll never be—”
“You said it yourself, Esther, I’m not the Erich you once knew…so what makes you think that you know anything about me?” Erich scoffed. “I’d suggest you return home to your family, to the place where you belong with all the other Jews, Esther. Before someone has to get hurt.”
Esther nodded at her childhood best friend. “I will,” she stepped forward, towards the exit of the alleyway, paused, and faced Erich again, whispering, “but I’ll be praying for you.”
‘Save him, Lord. Please.’
~***~
Who did Esther think she was, telling him he was afraid? Afraid of what? That he could never be loved, that he would never be loved?
He wasn’t afraid.
What an idiotic and foolish assumption.
Erich lifted his cigarette to his lips, leaning back against the wall of the officers’ mess.
I have wayyy too many snowballs, but I like to be nice, so I’m not gonna throw many😇
@keilah-h x2 @koshka @mineralizedwritings x3 @rae @elishavet-pidyonWell, not only have I written my last five snowballs, I wrote about 2 000 words.
*chuckles*
And I killed off one of my beloved characters.
*cries heart out*
Anyways, now I have 10 snowballs.
I also really want another chapter from Linus.
"Io non ho bisogno di denaro.
Ho bisogno di sentimenti."For Narnia!
*flings eight your way*
You have listened to fears, child. Come, let me breathe on you... Are you brave again? -Aslan
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