Oh Death

WARNING: Religious views, mentions of death...crappy pictures, the works...



Song: Oh Death
Artist: Jen Titus
I own nothing except the pictures and the characters who are as follows: Atil, Agnus, and Theo (the Big Three). There is a story behind this one, but I don't feel so good right now. I might edit it in later if I don't forget.

Here's another short and unactionpacked (is that even a word? Spellcheck says no) video for you. This was also made out of boredom when I really should be studying for three tests tomorrow...or reading a book I want to get finished before Wednesday...or playing Prof. Layton...so many choice and only one of them responsible.

Hmm...anyway I really like this song, it makes me calm for some reason. I guess this could also be a tribute for Supernatural since it's coming on tonight (I think...) Yeah, that's where this song is from, Supernatural, but Jen Titus didn't write the song. It was orignally a bluegrass song or something like that.

Have and awesome filled day and don't cut anybody...it's rude.
:)

Craving for Hands...

Um...WARNINGS? Cannablism (maybe?), murder, Crappy pictures...the usual.



Audio used: Llamas With Hats.
Go check out the original video on YouTube. I own nothing except the pictures used...Mr. Stick, Mr. Figure, and Mr. Stick-Figure come and go as they please.

Wow, this is really short! I made this out of boredom and putting off reading the final chapter of The Scarlet Letter...I only have about five more pages left in that damn book. Maybe I should get on that...later.

I don't really have anything else to say, which is a first. Have a nice day :)

"This reminds me of a puzzle, Luke!"

"Right O, Professah!"

Oh Professor Layton, how I love you so! even when every living thing reminds you of a puzzle ("Oh look professah! Somebody littered!" - "Why, this reminds me of a puzzle Luke!" Oh how I hated that puzzle...it had such a simple answer too.) Mom just got the newest release to America and we've been double-teaming it hardcore...even though she hid it from me for two days...how dare you mom! You're evil! Apparently they go to the future, but I wouldn't know because I didn't get to see the beginning. But I know there's future Luke and he really hasn't changed much (and by much I mean at all. Sure he got taller, but that's about it) Ooooh I can't wait to play it alone and use trusty Trial and Error almost repeatedly before going to someone I know for help and then finally looking it up on the Internet (that goddamn apple puzzle nearly killed me!) Mom's playing it right now...it's a good thing it's a weekend and she doesn't have any homework for her tax class.

In other news, the Scarlet Letter is pissing me off. I can deal with the hypocrisy of Puritans and all of their self hate and sexual tension just fine. It's the needlessly extensive DESCRIPTIONS about pointless things that are driving me up the wall. If Hawthorne were alive today I would write him a very descriptive ten page letter of how I burned his book and how it made me feel completely and utterly satisfied to see all of those repetitive and pointless words go up in flame...and then I would complain about how he made me waste $4 and about 2 weeks of my life reading the damn thing. Don't get me wrong, I understand the book just fine and I supply plenty of conversations and meanings in class. I just hate Hawthorne's writing style. I hated Goodman Brown and The Minister's Black Veil too. I think the character I hate most is Pearl...I know I sound harsh and evil because she's just a kid, but I can't stand her. She acts like such a brat! and her mom just let's her push her around. The fact that she knows she can make her mom do whatever she wants annoys the crap out of me...that and Hester never disciplines her. I think I really started to know this hatred for her when she made Hester put the Scarlet Letter back on. I understand her reasons for it (she was unfamiliar with anything else, but her mom being gloomy), but that still doesn't mean she has to be a freaking brat. Oh, but she's a BEAUTIFUL, INTELLIGENT, child beyond her years...so that makes up for it? I don't think so.

Anyway enough of that rant. (HAWTHORNE!!!!! *shakes fist at sky*) I might be going to D.C. in October! I'm so excited!!! But I might miss Halloween back here...bummer...our plans aren't set yet, so we're not sure. It'll be awesome though! :D

Hellfire

WARNING: greatly implied LUST, Religious views, pedophilia (if you look at it from the actual movie), crappy drawings, MAJOR CREEPERNESS!!!! You have been warned!



Song: Hellfire
From: The Hunchback of Notre Dame
Characters used in this video: Theo, Mr. Stick-Figure, and a statue...they belong to me, although Mr. Stick-Figure comes and goes freely...

Gah! I told myself I wasn't going to make a video with this song because I would ruin it and yet I did it anyway! Ha ha! Take that self! In your face! Wait...damnit... Anyway I love this song to bits and pieces. It's probably my favorite Disney villain song. That's right! This beauty came from DISNEY!!! This was in a kid's movie...but no kid noticed it because of the pretty colors on the screen...at least that's what it was like for me, although I hated this movie when I was younger and now I love it. This song and The Bells of Notre Dame are my favorite.

Okay! On to the video! It's different than what I usually do (Repo!), and this whole thing was basically one big experiment to see what I could do with some symbolism and MovieMaker...crying statues is what popped into my head first...I hope somebody gets the symbolism in that. If not, I failed...oh well this was fun to make, so whatever...interpret it as you will~

I reeeeeaaaalllllyyyy want to do The Plagues from Prince of Egypt sometime because it's one of my favorite songs of all time...but I think I'm going to have the two roles switched so the good guy is the bad guy and vice versa. That should be fun.

P.S. If you want to know who he (Theo) is lusting after that's making him sin and stuff...it's his sister. I know...I'll explain eventually...maybe.

Zydrate Anatomy

WARNING: Drugs, violence, SURGERY, crappy pictures, all that good stuff...



Song: Zydrate Anatomy
From: Repo! The Genetic Opera

Characters used in this one: Atil, Agniatil, Andrea (hey they all start with A!) and all three belong to me. I only own the pictures...nothing else!

Anybody else notice the chair slowly dissapear? I suck with props...

About this: I've had this song stuck in my head for the past week thanks to Lauren. Gah! Lauren, WHY? This and a couple Disney villian songs have been floating around up there and I needed to get at least one of them out. I also did it because Lauren and I have been confusing several classmates when we suddenly burst into song about Repomen and Zydrate and we have to explain things...we need to find time to watch this movie together...it'd be like a sing-along!

I think I'm going to do Genterns and Bravi! next because they're pretty short (neither are even a minute long and Genterns is hilarious!)

Chapter 2

Proceed Right or Left

There are many types of people in this world. I won’t bother naming all of them. I’m sure you can name quite a few on your own without my help. As it were though, we will be focusing on a particular breed of male for now. Please prepare yourself…he can be a bit, what’s the word I’m looking for? Extreme.

Wilhelm, preferably pronounced Vilhelm, was, I’m sorry, is an unusual man. For one thing, he is an albino, which in itself is largely unseen. For another, he has a strange fascination with death.

Take that bit of information as you will.

Now, this first generation German is our first character in this jumbled mess of a story. Why? Well, as life would have it, Vilhelm had a habit of being first in everything. It is no surprise Violet would pick one of his tales first without even looking. But as he would say: “It was the sheer gravity of my absent presence that drew attention to me, of course!”

As I said: Be prepared.

1929

1930ish America is often depicted as gray or bleak, with the weight of the depression heavy on each inhabitant’s shoulders. Particularly in New York, where the soup lines are long and the sleeping figures lying on the streets are many.

Such was not the case with one Vilhelm Veilderschmit (I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to spell his last name, never having seen him write it or having to write it down myself. Veilderschmit is indeed how you pronounce it, I am certain of that). That man was full of life where all others were dead. But then again, that had always been the case.

Perhaps that was why he had two lovely ladies on each arm.

“…left ‘em at the cleaners!” Vilhelm laughed loudly at the punch line to his own joke as the two ladies threw their heads back and laughed, their short hair bouncing merrily. “And he never lived it down!”

This was a typical sight for those who knew Veilderschmit. Always telling crude jokes and loving up the ladies. Who knew where they even came from? It was quite possible that Vilhelm himself didn’t even remember where he picked them up.

It was too bad he couldn’t afford a car.

“Oh Willy!” One of the girls patted his arm as she laid her head down on his shoulder. “Where do you hear these jokes? They’re so funny I could die!”

He would have had so much fun with a car. He would paint it red, though not with paint. Never with paint. And he would show it off to the others. Show them he wasn’t losing his touch. Wilhelm Veilderschmit never lost his touch.

And odd smile spread across his face at the girl’s words. One could only describe it as a mixture of annoyance, malice, and…something else. His pink eyes glinted slightly in the gorgeous afternoon light. “Oh?” he quirked a pale brow and showed teeth as white as his hair.

In the end, no more was said and nothing was to be done. Vilhelm would not get the red he would need to paint his non-existent car. If he had had his way though, which he was often used to getting, there would have been plenty red to go around and maybe even some pleasure in between. That was how he functioned, how he lived, how he was raised. The man was built and bred for war long before the concept had been fully grasped. He knew no other way to live.

I feel that most, if not all of his war instincts will live with him forever. They were certainly with him then, as his record may have proven to those willing to search for it. I think it was those war instincts that didn’t make him freeze and scream when the explosion rocked the earth and plooms of black smoke and fire rose to mingle with the clouds above.

It must have been those instincts that sent him running, though not in the direction you would expect. While all others had frozen or run in the opposite direction, Vilhelm had run to meet the fire. A second explosion shook the earth when he finally stopped in front of the burning and collapsing building.

He stared into the flames, his eyes dancing at the sight while a huge smile stretched painfully on his lips. He was so captivated at the sight he didn’t seem to notice a young woman rushing from behind the building, her glasses crooked on her nose and thick braided hair singed along the ends. Their shoulders knocked together in her haste to retreat the scene, but neither made any move to acknowledge the other. They were both rather preoccupied at the moment.

Seconds later, Vilhelm had begun laughing as he continued to stare into the chaos and burning wreckage. It was just so incredibly glorious! This was what he lived for. This uncontrollable feeling, like the fire in front of him. This was what he had been born for.

It was not a minute later that he was tackled to the ground and shoved into a pair of handcuffs while someone read out his rights to him in a tight voice.

It seemed Wilhelm Veilderschmit was going to jail for a crime he wished he had committed.

1931

The train station was alive and active with the usual hustle and bustle of people coming and going and merely just standing there. We’re going to focus on a stationary subject for now.

Vladimir Kostov was early, he knew this. In fact he had planned on it. How early was he? Oh, about four hours.

He was standing in the exact middle of the exiting area of the trains, where all the incoming passengers would eventually come through to get to the exit of the station. A large bouquet of sunflowers was held gently in his arms so as not to rumple or crinkle any of the bright petals. Wrapped snugly around his neck was a pale pick scarf that contrasted greatly with his long dark coat. Gloved fingers absentmindedly stroked one of the sunflower petals. It appeared as if he was dressed for a mild winter, but the signs of late spring or early summer were visible through the doors of the station.

Vladimir didn’t mind though. He could barely feel the heat. He had decided long ago that he would make himself numb to all temperatures. Low and behold, he did. It was amazing what one could do when one merely put in the effort to succeed.

The man was smiling slightly, as he often did. It was when that smile suddenly widened or dropped that you need worry. But as of now that smile was at a safe level, matching his soft ice blue eyes which were shifting every ten minutes or so from the large clock on the wall to the large open doors in front of him. He had been like this for quite some time, merely standing and watching with those flowers held as if the bundle was a human child in his arms.

No one paid him any mind save for the staff, who occasionally threw worried or confused looks in his direction. They found it curious that a man could stand so still for so long seemingly without any purpose but to watch a clock and stare at passengers stepping off the latest train. Saying they found it unnerving would be a light way of putting it.

In the end the staff at the reception desk decided who would have to talk to the strange and somewhat intimidating man with the sunflowers. “Obviously, he’s a foreigner,” one man in a crisp uniform stated. “He probably doesn’t understand what any of the signs mean.”

“But why would he stand there for an hour instead of asking someone?” a fifteen year old staff member whispered back, shaking slightly as he stared across the floor at the man. The poor boy was new to the job and was quite shy. He didn’t want to get involved with any strange foreigners, especially large ones like the one in question.

The first man shrugged. “How am I supposed to know what’s going through his head right now?”—he had his suspicions of course, but they were far off the mark. Vladimir was thinking of gift he had recently given to a very dear friend of his—“All I know is, it’s our job to help people who may need help and that guy looks like he might need help.” He gave the fifteen year old a light nudge with his elbow. “Go get ‘em, Richie.”

“W-why me?”

“Because you need more experience in the field.”

“You’re just making me do it because you’re too scared to!”

“Get out there or I’ll tell the manager you’re not doing your job!” he hissed and shoved the young man from behind the desk, forcing him to leave his safe haven. The boy stumbled a bit and one of his hands latched onto the edge of the desk. He looked from Vladimir to his colleague, a pleading look on his face. He received nothing more than a finger jabbed in the direction of his new charge. Richie gulped quietly and dug his fingers into his uniform. He took short, jerky steps to the tall man in the middle of the exit platform.

Vladimir was staring at the clock and counting the seconds until he would switch his gaze to the platform when he heard a small broken voice somewhere near his right elbow. “C-Can I h-h-help you with s-something, s-sir?” He looked down to find a shivering boy a head and a half shorter than himself with dirty blonde hair and huge green eyes. Vladimir wondered idly in the poor boy was cold. His chattering teeth certainly indicated as such. Oh, but the child had asked him a question.

“Ah, yes.” He answered and was disheartened to see the boy’s shivering become worse. Was he sick? Surely if you were sick enough to shake then you shouldn’t come into work! Perhaps he would retire to his home after their talk. Yes, that would be best, Vladimir decided. “Do you perchance know when the train The Mayflower will be arriving? I find most time schedules somewhat tiring and needlessly confusing. What with the delays and rescheduling. I am never up to date on this information.” He asked kindly, hoping that he had been clear enough in his speech. English had never been one of his favorite languages, but recently he had been trying to improve.

The boy’s shaking seemed to improve slightly. Maybe this guy isn’t so scary, he thought to himself. He looked the tall foreigner up and down, taking in the sunflowers, pink scarf, and smile. He looked like a giant teddy bear…and yet there was something about him, Richie just couldn’t explain. That something prevented him from becoming still and being comfortable with the man.

“T-The Mayflower?” Richie wrinkled his brow slightly when the foreigner nodded his head happily. He had to think for a second. Remembering every train that came through here and at what time was a hard job, one that he thought he would never master. The name sparked a memory from that morning in the staff room. Something about a maiden voyage…the train’s first run. That’s right! The Mayflower was a new fancy deluxe train coming in from Chicago being run for the first time. It was supposed to be a new style of train built for luxury and comfort rather than just transport. You had to have some serious cash to be aboard that train and on its maiden voyage no less…

“U-um…” he thought back to the time tables for today and glanced at the clock on the wall. “I-it’s not due f-for at least another t-two hours.”

Two hours? Vladimir thought. That meant he wasn’t nearly as early as he had intended. The train schedule must have changed again. Oh well, now he wouldn’t have to wait as long for The Mayflower to arrive. This was good news! He smile became much more genuine as he looked down at the boy. He would have to give him something for his help. One of his sunflowers perhaps? Hmm…but they were for someone else. One couldn’t hurt though, right?

“Thank you, Comrade, for your help.” He pulled the smallest flower from his bouquet and handed it over to the boy. “You should go home to rest now. That shaking does not look good.”

Richie took the flower in confusion, wondering what the man was talking about. He was about to reply when a loud voice called across the room, effectively silencing any and all conversation taking place.

“All station personnel, report to the break room immediately!” both he and the foreigner turned to face the owner of that voice. Richie gulped when he saw it was the station manager. Something was wrong, he could just feel it. With one last glance at the man beside him, who smiled at him warmly, Richie hurriedly walked to the break room, finding that all of the others were already there looking at each other in confusion, trying to figure out what was going on.

The manager walked in one minute after him and began in a hard voice, “The station has just received a phone call from a conductor aboard The Mayflower. It appears the train has been hijacked. We have confirmed an explosion on board, before the line was cut. One of the engines may have been blown but we are not certain of this.”

“What!? How do you know?” a lone voice called out in the following silence.

The manager stared coolly at his colleagues. “The Senator’s wife and daughter are being held for a ransom of one hundred million dollars. If the perpetrators do not receive this ransom before twelve o’clock tonight, they will kill the other passengers one by one until they receive the money. The Senator has been notified of the situation and is making his decision as we speak.”

Richie stared at the manger in horror, the sunflower held loosely in his hand. He thought back to the foreigner on the platform. He had been waiting for someone on The Mayflower. Those sunflowers must have been for someone special.

“He’s going to pay them right?” he hadn’t realized he was speaking until the words were already out of his mouth. “H-he wouldn’t let them kill everyone else on the train…would he?”

The others in the room looked from Richie to the manager in silence. The manager was the very epitome of grim as he focused his stare at the boy.

“It is very likely,” he said, “that the ransom will not be paid.”

Back on the platform, Vladimir was humming to himself, thinking of sunflowers and presents, while the most wonderful feeling burned in his heart.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

What is going on!? Who are these new characters and why do they matter? Will we find out what's happening on the train? Tune in next time for some answers in next week's new episode of...I'm sorry, I've just always wanted to do that XD

*cough* Anyway, I'm not the best at staying focused when I research stuff, so some things are probably wrong, like I wasn't sure about the whole telephone on a train back then thing...so I went with it. Please correct me if I'm wrong.

Yes, TIME SKIPS...'cause everybody loves those *so much sarcasm it hurts* It jumps back and forth, but I'll label each one so it hopefully won't get too confusing.

Point out any spelling or grammar mistakes and I'll give you a cookie! :)

Cell Block Tango

Um, WARNING?: Implied murder, language?, probably inaccurate translations, crappy stick figure drawings, fail acrobatic poses...the works



Oh my! I cannot tell you how much fun I had making this (I'm a freakin' shut in)! It was hard though...I mean, SEVEN MINUTES!? you have got to be kidding me! I pity animators, I really do...but I love them so. Yeah, the girls are bald because I fail at drawing hair. At least their dresses are pretty!

On to other news...WEAR YOUR SEAT BELTS!!! they save lives!...And pinball...lots of pinball (there's something wrong with me)

I need to finish Zyrdate Anatomy so people can listen to the song to crappy pictures moving around in a white background. I love this hobby of mine. It's my friend.

Song: Cell Block Tango
From: Chicago

No Copyright intended...in case anyone wants to sue me or something.

:)

Chapter 1

Establish a Beginning

The only sound in the room was the faint shuffling of papers and the slight come and go of breath in the stale and gloomy air. The room itself was dark and gloomy, so it was not a ‘deeper meaning’ descriptive phrase being used in this context. No. All of the lights were off save for a small lamp resting on the other side of the room, away from the only person inhabiting the tight and fairly depressing space. That said person was kneeling on a thick wooden chair leaning against a black table with many scraps of paper and books thrown about the surface.

Not a very good atmosphere for reading if you ask me. But no one did, so I should not have commented.

She was a small girl with rather short hair, only coming down just below her ears, curling slightly along the ends. Her hair was dark, making it impossible to tell the exact color in this light. Her clothes are nothing worth mentioning though I do suppose I am surprised she is not shivering at the moment, seeing as that room has always been quite drafty. The blinds are shut, preventing any light that might have been outside from sneaking in and illuminating the books and papers fully.

The young girl, Violet, as her name was, did not seem to mind the lack of light though it was somewhat bad for her eyes. In fact, she seemed entirely focused on the materials in front of her, squinting at the small black letters jumbled upon each page. Every once in a while she would smile or frown and move the papers around to begin reading a new scrap. To anyone else there might have been no order to how she placed the papers when she was done with them. But there was a reason for that, though I cannot quite tell you, as I do not know why she placed them in that order myself. I do have some idea, but she and I would both be mistaken if that were the case.

Violet was so absorbed in her study of the books and papers that she did not notice she was no longer alone in the room.

There was a sharp smacking sound near the door as tongue met teeth with an audible click. As I’m sure anyone would, Violet jumped and let out a small squeak, falling back into her chair while hitting the back of her head off the wooden spine of the furniture.

She groaned as she rubbed her head and looked around at the man who had disturbed her in her diligent work. Upon seeing and recognizing the figure in the doorway, Violet sat up straight and clasped her hands in her lap, looking much like a child caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar, if you’ll excuse the overused expression.

“Violet,” a dark voice called from the entrance. Not much could be seen of this new figure, but what could might have sent chills down a sinner’s spine. The man was by no means tall, that much the gloom allowed you to see, but it is not height that intimidates so. Oh no, not usually, though it sometimes plays an important factor. This was not the case, as I have mentioned before. He was fairly thin, dressed in a dark dress suit paired with a tall cane that reached past his hips. White gloves glowed in the darkness. The look of a pure English gentleman would have been complete if he was only wearing a monocle in this left eye and a top hat upon his head. As it was, the man did have a barely concealed English accent. Oh, but I said this man was frightening. It was not the clothes or the voice or figure that might have sent a guilty tremor down your spine.

It was the atmosphere he gave out. When he entered the room a sense of inferiority was draped across your shoulders, weighing you down. It was the feel of never being equal to this man, of never rising in status in his eyes. This man was better than you and he knew it. And he used it. It was a factor that often sparked violence and hatred around him and unconscious despair and depression to spread through the room.

Violet kept her head bowed and a light blush spread across her full cheeks. She could not keep her eyes from darting up and away for the slightest of seconds before dropping back down.

It was silent after the man had spoken her name. Silently and purposefully, yes this man always walked with purpose, he walked to the table scanning the contents with a neutral expression gracing his features. He neither smiled nor frowned, though his right eye twitched almost imperceptibly as his gaze slid over each new book or paper.

Violet had given up on merely stealing glances at the man and was now staring at him fully, nibbling on her lower lip and clasping her hands together in her lap. Her wide eyes shinned, anxiety clear in those bright brown orbs.

The man placed one hand on an old newspaper and began sliding the edges over one another, folding it into a tight, crisp square. Never once did his expression change. It was several moments before he spoke again.

“Violet,” he said, light and casual. “Can you tell me what you are doing with these articles and books?” It wasn’t a question. Not really. This man rarely ever asked questions.

Violet smiled suddenly and resumed her old position on her chair, bringing her knees up and placing her elbows on the table. She either did not see or ignored the man’s right eye twitching at the sight. “I was trying to make sense of it all, Mr. Co-President.” She said in the way only a child could: innocent and naïve. Only a brave or stupid child would not be afraid in this man’s presence.

The man, this Co-President, was obviously used to her behavior or else he might not have acted in the way he did. He began folding another newspaper, hands steady and face smooth.

“Oh? And what has driven you to this?”

Violet’s eyebrows furrowed and her eyes scrunched creating a rather unattractive sight. The Co-President wasn’t looking at her, so he didn’t notice. If he had he surely would have begun twitching again.

“It just doesn’t make any sense. I thought that if I could put the articles and reports in order it would start to become clearer.” The girl stated, looking down at her work. The man had started folding another paper. He didn’t look up from his task when he spoke again.

“And has that been working for you?”

Again, there was that scrunched up face. This time the man twitched.

“No…everything is still all jumbled up.” At this the girl lifted herself onto the table and began crawling around over the papers and books, ignoring the frown and annoyance radiating from the Co-President. “I even started at the beginning!” she said as she stopped near the head of the table where the man had paused in his paper folding. “I just don’t get it.” She mumbled at last, sitting down on the table with a huff and a pout.

The man leaned over the paper she was pointing at and read the large title: “Attack on the Rails! Massacre on the Mayflower!”

“You believe this is the beginning?” the man scoffed as he straightened out and resumed his folding. He was creating a small pile on the corner of the table at this point.

Violet’s pout intensified. “Yeah! There isn’t anything from an earlier date. This has to be it! It’s either that or the attack in the senator’s house…” she said, suddenly sounding unsure. She chewed her bottom lip once again as she looked down at the papers. “But nobody knows what happened in either attacks, so I had to pick the one that was more connected with the other events.”

“You will never become a proper journalist with that mentality, Violet.” He said, meeting her eyes. “Assuming leads to more problems than solutions.”

“Do you know when it started then?” she challenged, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“There is no such thing as a beginning, Violet, just as there are no endings. The story goes on and on until all those who care are gone. And even then it does not end. You must free your mind of the concept of beginning and end to see the greater picture. You will never understand unless you do so.” He was smiling slightly now.

Violet was silent for a moment as she stared down at the papers. She slowly uncrossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. A thoughtful look now crossed her face. Neither said anything until the Co-President sighed quietly.

“Do remember what I told you before on the train? About interpretations?”

“You mean about black and white?”

“Yes. Do you remember what I told you? Some think of black as evil, for example you could think of black magic or the devil. And yet in other places black is the color of fertile ground, a blessing and a grace. In the case of white, we have the same differences. White for surrender and nothingness. White for ancestors and spirits. It all depends on which point of view you wish to look from.”

Violet seemed confused for a moment before brightening suddenly. “You mean I should look at the characters!” she said excitedly before crawling over to the middle of the table and pulling out several old photographs from a rather large pile. She made her way back to the Co-President and spread them all out in a line. “Now,” she said and one would immediately feel the need to rub their hands together in anticipation. “Which one looks like a main character? Oooh! How about him?” she pointed to a picture on the edge of the group.

The Co-President once again leaned over the table to asses her choice. She was pointing at a black and white picture of a man smirking at the camera, throwing a victory sign up with his right hand. He had incredibly light hair and dark eyes, though the exact color couldn’t be determined from the photograph. The man seemed brimming with confidence and maybe even smugness. The Co-President was smiling as he leaned away from the picture. “Perhaps he could be.” He said lightly.

“Perhaps? No way! Look at that confidence! Only a main character could be that confident.” She was pouting again.

The Co-President raised an eyebrow at her reasoning and pointed to another photograph, this time of a meek woman with thick light hair done up in braids. Her face was dominated by thick and blocky glasses resting low on her nose. “Perhaps she is the main character.” He moved his hand to the next one. “Or perhaps him. Or her. Perhaps they all are main characters.”

“You can only have one main character! They can’t all be at the center.” She said indignantly.

“Perhaps none of them are ‘at the center’ as you put it.”

“B-but you have to have a main character!”

“You are not looking at the big picture, Violet. Free your mind of these trivial concepts and look beyond the common outline. You will find an interconnected web with no center. An edged circle forever rotating. Forever changing.”

Violet was frowning now. “So, this story doesn’t have a beginning, an end, or any main characters? How does it work, though?”

“Just as every story does. You start around the middle and eventually get where you want to be. It is as simple as picking a date on a timeline and proceeding right or left. Eventually, you will find what you are looking for.”

“So where should we start?” she asked, looking around herself at her makeshift timeline.

The Co-President smoothed the folded paper down beneath his hands and said, without taking his eyes from his work, “Wherever you like, just know that it may not be clear from the start. You may have to jump around a bit. Be prepared for stepping out of the normal boundaries.”

“Of course, Mr. Co-President, sir!” she puffed up her chest and crawled back to her original seat, taking in her timeline. After a second or two of doing nothing, she grabbed all of the papers and books and shuffled them about randomly before letting them fall back onto the table. She then closed her eyes and tapped around the table until her hand was met with a newspaper. She opened her eyes and grinned.

She had just found her beginning.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Oh my! A chapter story!?...Perhaps...maybe. I don't know. I think I like this writing style. It's different from my usual stuff.

Feed back would be lovely! And if you point out any grammar mistakes or misspellings I'll love you forever! Wow! This is Long!

:)

"These brakes SUCK!!!"

I finally drove yesterday! In our new car to be exact. I was so scared I would wreck it and then we would have to get another car. It was soooooo FUN though! I was freaking out when cars were behind me though and I kept muttering to myself, wishing they would just pass me since I was only going 40 in a 55 mph zone. I drove all the way to the Eden building in Knox(ish) where mom made me do a donut so I could get used to slow turning, because I frankly suck at that.
Those brakes are so touchy! You barely have to use any pressure and you slam into a stop. I kept using a lot of pressure because it didn't feel like I was pushing on the brakes hard enough, so there were some jerky stops. Mom drove to Cranberry and we saw a movie starring 50 year olds waaaay past their prime (The Expendables...I found it hilarious...Stallone running...PFFFT!). After the movie I got to drive around the back parking lot and practice my turns and blinker usage and staying on my side of the road (it must be easier in Europe, because I don't like the right side of the road, I don't know why). I'll tell you one thing though: I'm a damn good parker. One time I parked in the very center of a space! Never once was I crooked. I felt so proud of myself. So far, i think I've only made mom fear for her life twice and that involved a fast turn and a hard stop. I'm doin' pretty good! I can't wait to drive the van (I've driven it once and I think i might have liked it better than the car)
Driving is scary as hell, but so addicting and fun it's crazy!

Mark It Up

WARNING: Strong Language (f**k, s**t, and so on), crappy pictures, crudely drawn organs (brain & hearts, that look nothing like the actual organs), and unimaginative scenes. I think that's it. Enjoy!



I was running on a night high when I made this so that's why it's pretty crappy...or I'm just crappy in general...that's probably it. Anyway, this video features three of Theo's 'children': Andrea, Scott, and Antonio. Theo is hiding from Andrea because she's a psycho...yeah. Scott and Antonio hate each other and secretly wish Theo would die so they could take over in his place.

I'll post the full story one of these days so someone other than me knows the characters and the story...maybe then it'll make more sense. This is one of my favorite songs from the Genetic Opera, this and Zydrate Anatomy. I think I'm going to do a video of Zydrate Anatomy featuring Atil and Agniatil...and Andrea. Pfft! That should be fun, though I think I might try a background with that one. I'm still experimenting with Paint and MovieMaker, you see.

If you didn't see in the video:
Song: Mark it up
From: Repo! The Genetic Opera

9-1-10

Yay! Today was actually alright! But it's a Wednesday, what should I expect? Anyway, pretty eventful day we have here...Jordan's birthday (really 17? you don't look a day over 16!), third day of school (probably the best so far), and I got my driving permit (I can legally drive now!).

Awesome.

Sorry Jordan, I wish I had something for you, but I've been busy the last few days and I haven't had many creativity flashes lately :( I'll draw that comic of Glenn Beck and his chalkboard for you in your planner or something. Just expect it to come out sarcastic and stupid, because I hate Glenn Beck and Fox News. You can look forward to that I guess. I have some money lying around, maybe I could give you some of that...which reminds me, I'm going to have to talk to my aunt about a work schedule...hmm. Maybe I'll pump something out for you soon, just don't get your hopes up.

I love French. Sharing class with a bunch of 9th Graders who think they own the world is annoying, but I have Taylor and Lauren with me so we'll work through it. Today we started trying to talk in conversations, which was basically a recap from the very first French class we took 3 years ago. It's sad to say we know more Spanish than French and keep getting the languages confused: "Como esta?" "No, Lauren, that's Spanish." So many flashbacks to 8th grade! And we had a discussion at our table about how Canadian French isn't any more French than Mexican Spanish is Spanish...or American English is English (we didn't butcher the language...we improved it). We also learned about the differences between the feminine and masculine stresses or pronunciations...also Patrick was the only American in the book and he was from Boston, but Stephenie wasn't from Paris, she was from Fort de France. Also, it's very easy to sound seductive in French...I didn't mean it Taylor! I promise! I only said Hello! Oh, and I taught Lauren how to say a casual hello in Russian. So many languages in French class! Frankie can speak about five languages...it's so cool.