usernames-are-a-drag

As decreed by Miguel Stone, Nadine Mann, reluctantly Shimon Siskin and Seline Stone, who would not stop laughing 1. Rowan must not: pour ink all over Miguel's newspaper; make paper men out Miguel's newspaper and string them across the office and claim that it's International Paper Men Day; wrap fish and chips in Miguel's newspaper; use Miguel's newspaper as a pillow; and he definitely must not eat Miguel's newspaper, no matter how similar the taste is to muesli. 2. Rowan must no try to pick a fight with Nadine. We all know who'll win, and that ugly mug of his doesn't need any more smashing. 3. Rowan must not eat all of Shimon's ice cre

Fires danced in the distance, over the dark, bloodstained battlefield. The flames cast silhouettes, blacker than the night, across the smoking plain which seemed to glow eerily in the moonlight, the dead bodies stark and bare, white as bone. General Nadine stood at the parapet, a leather-clad arm wrapped around a splintery wooden beam, the other grasping her bow. They still attacked sometimes, the enemy. In the dead of night while everyone slept, they sent sprays of flaming arrows and cannon fire. Many of her soldiers died in their sleep, but not in the peaceful way of the sick and the elderly. Others woke to very real nightmares, screaming

I am surrounded by waves Constantly crashing, Submerging me in their Green tinged darkness White crested walls of Ice cold poison Coming to consume me, To drown me in deafening silence Sometimes I see the land And its sunny yellow shore And I feel so close yet am so far away, Trapped in this watery wasteland And I could reach out and call for the lifeguards In their sun yellow and earth red But that would mean first surrendering myself To the ocean

i used to wish on rainbows when the sun would peek out of its covers and shining droplets would run down the foggy car windows and the vibrant colours would cross the sky i'd clasp my hands and pray

I seem to be lost In a s            e            a Of thoughts And they All      Seem               To R e v o l v e Around     u  o Y

I remember when you used to sit and talk to me, in the afternoon as the golden sun swam through the kitchen window and lit up your face and the tiny puffs of acrid smoke that escaped your lips. You'd talk about how you wished you'd painted the peeling blue shutters green, because that was Dan's favourite colour, and maybe he'd have hung around longer. And I'd tell you that a colour wouldn't have stopped him from running off with that girl, and you'd rest your cheek on your fist and look out into the garden, wondering if he was out there somewhere and if he was thinking of you. I remember when you'd come home from work, from the silent office

It was an impulse. A sudden impulse that made me reach out to you as you headed towards the train, your suitcase slung over your back and your coat billowing in the wind. It was an impulse that made me scream, "Wait!" and grab your sleeve and watch you slowly turn around to face me so I could see all the hurt etched into your bright, green eyes. And it was an impulse that made me let go, because I knew that you would leave, no matter what I did or said. But still I whispered, "Stay," and hoped that you could hear it. And maybe it was an impulse that made you cup my face in your hands and smudge the tears away with your thumb and say, "You kno