Pity Party of Another Teenage Nothing (fictional)

My university update is coming soon just needed to step back from it for awhile here’s a fictional pondering meanwhile p.s by uni I mean school not the horned horse, unfortunately …


I cried, the wind stinging my face, the pain engulfing… How could she do this? How many times had I been left behind and broken. Here it was again, that moment where I realized how taken for granted I am… There was a minute there, where I was so sure he liked me too, yep I got caught up in that perfect daydream again… And then there’s my teachers, “if only she came to school more.” How bout’ if only you did something about the bullying? HUH?!… 3 more months I just have to make it 3 more months… My dog died last week but I still dream about her, tongue lolling, tail wagging… How stupid could I be! Of course he never liked me. God we barely even spoke, stupid, stupid, STUPID!!! I dramatically put my head in my hands… The boat gently rolls with the waves, the wind growing stronger… What a best friend, one who just leaves me behind, over and over again, COW!…Why do I have to go through all of this? I mean REALLY! What’s the point? As I throw my self over the edge of the canoe, forgetting I was in a canoe, it flips, the fates giving me a reality check… Okay I get the point, cold and shivering I head for shore leaving the canoe behind… Pity party over…

“HIM” Weekly Writing Challenge

I wanted to have this up a bit earlier but my internet was on the frits for most of the day but here it is! 😀

He was born in Africa, and his parents were famous explorers. That was all he knew of his childhood, he remembered nothing, he knew nothing, except that his parents where dead. On occasion though if the wind was blowing just right he would catch a hint of a familiar smell, an exotic smell. So it made sense that he would chase it. He followed this smell, this wind every where within his power to go, and it always lead him to the same place, to the sea. He was afraid of the sea.

He was 20 when he went on his first tour. it was a tour of all the estates in England… there are a lot of estates in England. It was rumored by many he’d even been to the palace several times and was a very good friend of the Queen’s, he laughed at this, him friends with a Queen? He wrote a book it became very popular so he toured some more, to ancient battle sites and historical spots. He wrote books on these as well. He was an adventurer people said, like his parents, all without stepping out of the country. He was content and then the teasing wind would pick up again. “You’ve got to get a hold of yourself,” his publisher told him, “stop chasing air.” That was when his publisher suggested churches.

He remember that church very well, the one were all the stained glass windows were modeled after flowers with faces like something out of a book he once read. He thought he was alone in the church when he heard a yelp and turned in time to see a red haired girl falling of of the organ. She hit the ground with a sicking crunch, he ran to her aide. She didn’t even cry she just held her arm close to her an looked up at him with big curious eyes. “Are you my catipillar?” she asked reaching up and touching the hem of his powder blue coat. His heart melted.

He had never been in love before, his publisher’s daughter always sat beside him at dinner laughing and flirting. But that was just buisness, something that would lead to a sensible marriage, Lou Ann was different. The day before Lou Ann’s birthday he found a baby hare alone in he middle of a field he saved it knowing Lou Ann would take care of it, it spoke to him in a dream that night, “One wish,” it said. Three weeks of utter happness later Lou Ann came to his room holding that little hare, a baby she said. He told his publisher, “she’s mad, she’s makeing it up,” he hold him, “I have a source that says this has happened before, and that she suffers from moon madness. Besides its a bad career move.” He was to nieve, he believed this, maybe he didn’t love her enough to begin with… A bad career move.

He left, He told her he’d be back but they both knew he wouldn’t, he couldn’t even give her one last kiss. As the door shut behind him his heart shattered and the wind picked up. A few months later He recived a letter saying the baby had been lost, this confirmed to him that it had been right to leave, that it had all been a con. He married Lily, his publisher’s daughter, with in the month and he loved her “just in a different way he told himself.” They had twelve children, of these children there was one set of triplets and one set of twins.

He was among the first men to sign up for war though he was older they let him in to teach the younger men, he never was shipped out of England. The war took his leg, in the hospital he fancied he saw Lou Ann dressed up as a nurse. He wished one more time to see her, one wish said the baby hair. Lou Ann, her name as he read the paper, she was doing an art tour, she would be in Belgium. He packed up his family, an adventure he told them, Lily had found the newspaper clipping in his jacket, but still she went as the dutiful but unloved wife she was. This was the first time since his arrival he had ever left England.

He was taken in by Lou Ann’s paintings. “Still searching for wonderland,” he remarked when he saw a painting that held both a blue caterpillar and a white rabbit. He saw Lou Ann from across the room, he saw from the look in her eyes and knew that his publisher, his father in-law had lied. If his heart could of broken again it would have, but you see it had never mended, it always had remained broken since the day he shut the door. He and his family left the next day.

20 years later just before the second world war, when his grandchildren were old enough to have children of their own and his wife was long dead, she died from lack of love as some people do but he was to naive to see even then, the wind called him for the last time. He picked up his crutches and walked into the sea. As he floated into oblivion he could have sworn he heard Lou Ann singing, as always about wonderland, but he, he would dream of Africa.


Counting The Scars/ Weekly Writing Challenge

Lou Ann was from another century entirely, It was not only the sound of her name that suggested it, but the fact that she wore Victorian style dresses even now in the late 1960’s.  She did though, have a surprisingly well kept pair of men’s riding breeches which she would only wear on Wednesdays, no one knew why. Lou Ann claimed to have never cut her hair since she was 30, although she never wore it loose but instead kept it in an elegant crown braid. If you were one of the lucky children on Lou Ann’s street she would invite you for cookies and milk and let you watch her brush her hair. She had to stand on a stool, her hair just skimming the floor.

Lou Ann had only one other living thing in her house and that was an English Hare named Him, after the one who gave it to her. She told anyone who would listen that the hare was 72 years old, Lou Ann being 90. Everyone in the neighborhood  knew this was impossible, except the children of course, who were always wiser when it came to this sort of thing. Lou Ann let him hop around the house at all times. He was clever enough, his cleverness coming with his immense age of course, to hop into his cage to eat and do his business on his own, He slept on the bed with Lou Ann, stretched out on a pillow.

Lou Ann had always been curious, as a child she liked to pretend she was Alice and went in search Wonderland quite often. This almost always came with disastrous results. The first time she looked for Wonderland she fell out of a tree and broke her leg, resulting in a permanent limp. She told her father she had seen the white rabbit hiding in an old woodpecker nest at the top of the tree, this resulted in a sound lashing with a willow switch (before they were sure that the leg was broken, this is important) that gave Lou Ann a permanent scar on her right hip. Her father left the family for India not long after this, teaching Lou Ann that the only permanent things in this world are your scars, invisible or otherwise.

The 50th time Lou Ann sought after Wonderland was the eve of her 18th birthday, and that was when she met Him. This time she fell from the top of the organ in church and broke her left arm for the third time. He had been on a tour to visit every church in England. He was kind enough to give her two gifts, The English Hare, Given on her birthday, and a Baby given not 3 weeks later. The Hare lived The Baby Didn’t… He had left at the first suspicion of the baby saying he needed to finish his tour and would be back, this, of course, was a lie, Lou Ann knew that much. This period in her life left her with at least five new scars.

Lou Ann’s continued Quest for Wonderland led her to nurse through one world war, this resulted to a brilliant scar from shrapnel on her right shoulder, and to give up her ticket on the Titanic, her sister had gone instead. In the 20’s Lou Ann decided to Paint, she was good, so good in fact that she did and entire European tour focused on her paintings. She saw Him one more time at one of her exhibit’s in Belgium, He had a wife and 12 children, 13 more scars. Lou Ann retired on the eve of the second world war, she headed up her neighborhood watch and deciphered codes, retirement suited her.

In the early 50’s Lou Ann searched for Wonderland again and found that her father had died on his arrival to India, eaten by a tiger the records said. Lou Ann bought a house not long after finding out her father’s fate. This is where she now lives, the children, as always, are her favorite. She guides them on their own quests for Wonderland and gives them lots of cookies and stories. The Parents Tolerate her. Lou Ann is now sitting on her porch in a Victorian Ball gown, petting her hare, and counting her scars. In two months time she will go on her last search for Wonderland, and find it…



The world is nothing but glass,

a simple marble sphere.

Am I falling way to fast?

…But then again, maybe it has been years

The world is only a plastic ball,

hollow and incandescent.

Is it possible to forget you at all?

…No we’re to close for that

The Earth is made of mud and air,

dark, and dank, and lost.

Are you even there?

…I guess you could be

The Earth is Made of water,

an ever-flowing orb.

Have I forgotten? I am God’s Daughter,

…I am important, special

Heaven is only fireflies,

Burning and twisting flames.

You are so important to me,

… Do you feel the same?

I suppose what will be will be,

but I hope, it ends with you and me.

Death’s Flaw

Alright here is finally the 11th chapter of our still nameless story….. (insert scary shark music here) sorry it took so long I didn’t realize that its almost been a month Carlee I am so sorry here is my shot at making it up to you… 

Death felt a sense of dread as he watched Evil run his lost feather across his face, his mouth turned upward in a rare grin, revealing pointed teeth, and then Death was torn away with the image of Evil’s “smile” still ingrained. Death found himself in a small room. There seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary in this room, it was painted white, there was  a bed and a small stand with a lamp on it against one wall, and a small window on the wall beside the door, the room was dark. Death sensed could sense a life in the room, a life who’s time was up. As Death turned to the wall behind him, he felt his heart (or something like it) drop, it was the first time in thousands of years, maybe ever Death felt shock, and surprise…

The wall in front of him was papered with drawings, drawings of Beauty and Charm holding vials, of Praiseworthy holding a child in her arms… There were drawings of Evil swallowing Fear, and Temptation on his thorned throne, There were drawings of himself, Death, standing over victims, welcoming Humility to her new life, being the strange shadow on the wall, holding an old woman’s hand as she took her final breath, even a drawing of him plucking a wilted daisy… in the drawings sometime’s his “people” were in their human forms, sometimes they were not. Death backed away to take it all in, it was then he laid eyes on his next victim, a teen boy, barely a man, sitting in a hard wooden chair next to the enormous collage. His innocent eyes took Death in watching his every movement… He could see him? Death felt Fear stretching his fingers towards him and knew Evil was on his way, he had to complete this job before Evil made an appearance…

Death moved closer to the boy, reading him, he got flashes of a small boy eating dinner while his parents fought in the background, he saw the boy’s mother, a model maybe? Call him a freak when he brought her a drawing of her making a deal with Vanity. He saw the boy, older, watching the stars with a girl telling her his dreams, he saw the boy not moments ago finish his last drawing of Mercy, Grace, and a Shadow outside a walled city. Death felt a weight, he felt Sadness embrace him. “You know who I am?” He spoke softly to the boy. The boy nodded. “Then you know why I am here?” The boy nodded again.

“I know what you must do,” said the boy bravely puffing up his chest. Death glanced at the drawings again, shaking sadness off, his heart hardening once again… Evil was getting closer… Death kneeled before the boy and reached out his hands towards him… “Wait,” the boy said, Death hesitated, something he had not done for a very long time, but something in him told him that this boy deserved one last moment of this life…

“I know what your trying to do, you have to stop, you have to accept the prophecy,” The boy stared straight into Death’s eyes his words not faltering.

“I can’t,” Death answered adverting this humans gaze, “I can’t.” he gently took the boys hands and for a moment felt, almost, remorse. The boy became a man in his final seconds, his eyes seemed to age as he drew his final breath, and then he was gone… Death looked to the heavens, tears pouring down his cheeks, “I’m sorry,” He spoke, “I have to.” Death stood up and took a drawing of himself standing in an open field looking… free, and as Evil began to materialize he set the boy’s life’s work ablaze… “I have to,” said Death again fooling himself further, “The prophecy cannot come true.” Evil’s laughter was the first thing to arrive.

Well there it is I hope it was worth the wait check out the previous chapters in the links below (it helps this to make waaay more sense 😉 ) what was Death’s flaw? any thoughts?

#1: The story of evil https://standinginthestorm.wordpress.com/2013/11/15/a-story-of-evil-wicked-witch/

#2: Decus…. http://beforeyoucall.wordpress.com/2013/11/21/proverbs-3130-decus-leporum-and-laudabile/

#3: The two Fears https://standinginthestorm.wordpress.com/2013/11/21/the-two-fears/

#4: Father of Nights http://beforeyoucall.wordpress.com/2013/11/24/the-father-of-nights-darkness-of-temptaion/

#5: Fall of Pride https://standinginthestorm.wordpress.com/2013/11/27/the-fall-of-pride/

#6: The Coming of the Counterparts: http://beforeyoucall.wordpress.com/2013/11/28/948/

#7: A Taste of Revenge: https://standinginthestorm.wordpress.com/2013/12/03/a-taste-of-revenge/

#8: The Council of Good: http://beforeyoucall.wordpress.com/2013/12/06/the-council-of-good/

#9; Time’s Betrayal: https://standinginthestorm.wordpress.com/2013/12/13/times-betrayal/

#10: The Prophesy: The Prophesy | Before You Call 

Before the Dreaming


O.K guys all I want to do is sleep if I can get of this blasted computer 😉 why is it I become a genius only at night?

This Midnight hour lingers on

Thoughts of yesterday are not quite gone

Dreams expectant start to come to life

Causing Anxiety, Tears, and Strife

Darkness catches Hold

 is my hero to be strong and bold?

To many thoughts jump around  my head

its not true, no one sleeps like the dead

They Dream and plan

And Scheme, and scan

is it to late? For a peaceful sleep?

Dear God I Pray My Soul To Keep…

Lost and found

alone and sheltered

forgotten remembered

gone and scattered

In desperate need of silence….

For My Sister

The poem is dedicated to my sister who would have been 17 today.


Sometimes I wish I was a Poem

Ever flowing

Telling my story with an un-kept ease


Sometimes I wish I was a Fairy tale

Where good and true love almost always prevails

or you get to sleep for 100 years 


Sometimes I wish I was a book

With a general plot and one true goal

knowing who is friend and who is foe


Sometimes I wish this wasn’t real life

and you where still here next to me

I think you’d be a Dancer… or whatever you wanted to be