WatermelonLand

*Please read the Author's Comment after this story, as it will explain a lot of things. If anything in this story offends or makes anyone angry, I fully apologize. This is a work of fiction and is not intended to start any arguments, religious, political, etc. Thank yous :3 -- I The Optimist Our President has forgotten something vital in his speech to the world. He is speaking out from that grand podium, adorn with golden tinsels, like snakes sneaking from the tip of the wooden post, and towards the ground, and enumerating each tiny word with a sharp and firm command in his tone. The people below him - for of course, he is situated abov

Lacking: Alta He embodies the perfect replica of a "haunted-chalkboard ghost." Pale, almost translucent skin on a dead-shock, horrified face. Round eyes (as round as dinner plates, maybe?) soaking in the scene before him, as his body begins to shake, shake. Those soft lips of his, more feminine than masculine, is also shivering oddly, a familiar and pathetic tremble that starts upward, and ends downward. If one didn't know any better, one would think that he himself wasn't the ghost - but the victim of one, with the way he was acting. My vision blurs as I turn to face him again. The classroom exudes a quaint, quiet atmosphere, since schoo

Only Replacements It was a beautiful candle lit dinner - in a room filled with the broken petals of sunflowers and the warped bantering of love songs - and a game of hide and seek - the hiding a desperate sprint of escape, the seeking a desperate sprint of desire. It was a little consolation from both sides - rejected and crushed by the one they sought out - and a little nuclear war in the very room they shared, the very bed they laid on, the air they breathed. It was trying to forget and trying to move on, and wishing for something other then those achingly familiar blue eyes of innocence and oblivion - of pure determination and naviety - a

An Exchanging I saw his heart and, I wanted it. -- Everyone claimed he had a good, pure heart. Always trying to help, they would say and smile, always trying to be the hero. They were constantly bothered by his cheerful disposition - his "lack of brains" - and foolhardy demeanor, saying things to veer him off his course of stupidity and occasionally - mayhem. And although, whenever they met his open and wide gaze, the wish of words like 'Go away' or 'Leave us alone' echoed in their minds, there was something else - something almost intangible and murky - beneath those train of thoughts, His heart is a good one. A heart as fake, as cold

An Exchanging I liked his eyes and, I wanted them. -- Everyone thought his eyes were beautiful. They claimed that violet - his pale and light lavender violet - was such a rare color for eyes. That the softness of the hue was a deep and unsettling contrast to such a cold interior. They would gaze upon his face - some unwillingly, those willing perhaps regretting the decision afterwards - and immediately, their expression would change. For the brief second that gazes were exchanged, he could imagine the thought flickering in their mind, How could this monster...have such beautiful eyes? How could a monster have such a light and carefree