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Well, when Iām done doing all the snowballs Iāve accumulated Iāll have 44 to throw so I will have ample revenge.
History is a wheel that has outlasted many hamsters.
@everybody Iām starting to be a little scared of retaliationā¦
What have I done? XDOh, good xD
Yay!
"Don't shine so that others can see you. Shine so that through you, others can see Him." ~ C.S.L.
yes I know!!!
we just crossed the boarder and ate three hours away from home! I canāt wait!!Fires will rise to testify that 2+2=4. Swords will be drawn to prove that leaves are green in summer
Oh, dear. Not motivation to keep writing! *whines*
Thanks tho XD I was kind of in a rut and now I’ll have to pick up my feet and actually do something
Pray, thou shalt simply add ketchup unto the mac'n'cheese.
Youāre so welcome xD
"Don't shine so that others can see you. Shine so that through you, others can see Him." ~ C.S.L.
@hybridlore Thanks XD Ā I needed the motivation. I got a part of a scene thatās been stuck in my head out finally.
If I had any other older snowballs, Iām just going to forget about them lol
šµMovinā right alongš¶
Hereās what I wrote if anyone wants to see:
In the late morning of one wet April day, the rain had cleared enough that Brea Thorne, age six, could go for a walk with her nanny. And she was beyond ready for it. She jumped and skipped along, looping back every once in a while to her slower paced guardian.
It was about fifteen minutes into the walk when she saw it: the perfect puddle. About ankle deep, very round, and very muddy.
She skipped ahead, then crouched like a human sized spring. The spring released, and she jumped as high as she could ā and found herself dangling in the air, being held up by one arm. She looked up to see the disappointed face of her nanny, a very large and strong woman, but whose face was usually more kind.
āLadies do not splash,ā she said, slowly setting Brea down on the dry part of the road. She sighed softly, examining the little girlās pristine outfit.
āWhat would your mother think?ā
Brea pouted at the puddleās edge for a minute. A small green leaf floated on its surface, seeming to taunt her to come join it. With a final huff, she carefully stepped around it, and continued on the road.
She clung tightly to her nannyās hand the rest of the way home.
Later that evening, the sun was barely a red glow on the horizon, and the bugs began to hum their night song, picking up where the birds left off.
At her desk, Brea scratched uselessly with her pen, not leaving a mark on the page. Frustrated, she dipped it in her empty pen ink bottle, which, of course, did nothing. She picked up the bottle and looked inside. Then she shook it aggressively over the blank page. A single drop fell, and splashed on the white surface. Brea frowned at it. Then she hopped off her chair and went to the window. As she opened it, the cool evening air swept in, blowing her dark curls out of her face. She tossed out the empty bottle, then poked her head out as well, hoping she could see where it landed in the darkness. She couldnāt.
Brea rested her head in her hands, staring out at the silhouettes of trees, and thinking. She needed more pen ink. Father wrote things. He must have some somewhere.
Having made up her mind, she crept downstairs to her fatherās study. It was very large, full of papers and books and partially dismantled bits of machinery.
She looked around carefully, murmuring a bit to herself. āWhere does father keepā¦ā
Suddenly, the typewriter on the desk sprang to life next to her and began typing loudly. Where does faā¦
Brea jumped in surprise at the noise. āNo!ā she said in a harsh whisper. āStop it!ā
It continued typing. S-t-o-p i-t.
Brea took several steps closer. She put a finger to her lips and shushed it. The typewriter sat still. Then, slowly, it typed out a s.
Then a h.
Then another h.
Brea glared hard at it. It shuddered for a second, then stopped moving. Brea continued her search, silently, this time.
šµMovinā right alongš¶
Oh and I guess I need to throw some too.
@rae @hybridlore @freed_and_redeemed @hybridlore @theducktator @elishavet-pidyonThrowing 3 snowballs at each of you
šµMovinā right alongš¶
Okay, I wrote 500 hundred words. I won’t post them here though because they’re part of a story I plan to post soon of The Baron Chronicles topic and I really don’t want to spoil what happens in this story.
Brussel Sprouts
#AnduthForever (š)173 words
Her wide, innocent eyes were of a bluish purple, flecked with white as if some painter had dabbed their brush in white and flicked it with their finger. Then, some magical fairy had come and made all the spots glow like the stars in the sky. Her skin and hair were of similar shades of the bluish purple. Even her little boots and dress were of a similar color.
She reached out with a delicate hand and gently touched a flower. As if the plant had been lit with a strange fire within itself, it glowed at her touch. The girl giggled in delight.
Bryn stared at her, before his tiny voice asked, āWhat…who are you?ā
The girl turned her attention to sad little fawn, and replied with a bright gleam in her eyes, āIām called Starlight! Who are you? And why do you have little horns?ā
āIām Bryn. A fawn.ā His sorrowful blue eyes met her bright purple ones. He couldnāt help but feel a little bit more joyful at her joy.
@grcr āļø2xBrussel Sprouts
#AnduthForever (š)Brea took several steps closer. She put a finger to her lips and shushed it. The typewriter sat still. Then, slowly, it typed out a s.
Then a h.
Then another h.
I love this. I love when humor makes a magical power more endearing.
The exhaustion is strong with this one
@whalekeeper Thanks <3
I like messing with the idea of a world where almost everything you interact with is alive and has its own character. It’s fun.
šµMovinā right alongš¶
I like messing with the idea of a world where almost everything you interact with is alive and has its own character. Itās fun.
Huh, never thought of that as a magic thing before. That’s a new idea for me.
The exhaustion is strong with this one
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