The Crusader is BACK!

WOW! I haven't come to Gandrieltia in a long time! I didn't realize I was leaving some people hanging! Well, that's not totally okay. Ummm........HI! I've been enjoying myself since the last time I posted. I'm a sophomore now, and *holy crap!* I'm sixteen now! I've made a bunch of new friends, and some I now consider like family. I love all of you! And I can't believe I didn't tell any stories about my part in our Peter Pan production!!!!!! I'll have to elaborate on a ton of different stuff later, considering the time :0. I've been enjoying the same things: band, writing, taking pictures, anything else musicwise, family, friends, pickles with whipped cream (I can understand most of your reactions. I'd be surprised if you liked it too.) and keeping in touch with loved ones. Hmm...... you know, I just feeling ending this post and putting on a bunch of my new poetry, along with whatever is new in my stories (if there is something new. idk? i've been more into the poetry lately!). So, I'm back, and I still love you all! *SMOOCH*

School's out!

School's out. FINALLY!!!!! And I just got through four days completely full of stuff. I thought wasn't going to be busy until I left for my family reunion. Yeah, got that right (whatever). Well, so far my summer's been awesome. Two dances, a senior party, a musical, a crap load of babysitting (don't we all love that?), and a chance to write more and take tons of pictures! YAY! But I'm going to finish this in a mellow tone. Who's up for poetry? Rhetorical question, please no one make any comments on whether you really care for it or not. I, for one, do care. I've been writing a lot lately, so I thought I'd give you guys a look at my 'sensitive' side.

Prelude in Third

Yes. She heard them.
The wind chimes.
Ting…ching…ta-ching ching…chingle ting…ta-ling chingle….
Eyes closed, lips smiling.
Listening.
Yearning for the wind to bow on the grass.
Waiting for the mellow sunlight to spin
And whisper on the glass and the dew.
She was just listening;
Listening with her mind,
Her ears, her heart.
She was listening for the music.
Oh! It was there!
The brook was trickling somewhere to her left,
Standing as the moving melody.
Plittle plittle ching! Cha-ching plittle-little ting! Lickle-ling pling ching!
The musical laugh sang,
Giggling at the beauty of the dawn,
Chuckling at the mist as the air floated serenely.
Somewhere a bird descanted in rapture,
And another creature trumpeted its waking.
She felt the earth thrumming like
A deep, soft bass, smooth and calm.
They all moved together in time,
As she moved her hands in each direction,
Guiding the song of the morning.
Nature was her symphony and music was her purpose.
It was the only thing that let her mind rest
From everything else.
The feelings were too misunderstood
To describe it correctly.
All she felt was music.
Music.
Song.
Dance.




Sidewalk song:

Some treat life like a cash crop
I’m still kinda growing
The tailor stole the farmer’s wife
Both men keep on sewing/sowing
If you meet me along the creek
I bet we’ll catch some fish to eat
Unless Spring steals my bait
They make pipes from bamboo in Babylon




Night song:

Time gave me the slip again
He’s running out on me again
I should sleep, but wasn’t it
Just morning a minute ago?
Sometimes my thoughts talk too loud
I swear it’s never silent
Even when the stars poke their way
Through the blanket of indigo
If you could hold me like an angel
Protect me with your heart
I’ll give you mine for safe keeping
Through the hours plagued with dark
I will hold your heart as well
Keep it warm and tight
If only we could lay that way
Together for just one night




Confusion

I don’t understand
The world tells you to take
And then give at the same time
You know you would give something more, something better
If they only would give you a little more, something just a little better
They don’t give you a break
And yet you come out broken
Ask you to catch others
When you’ve already fallen
Deal me a diamond, a heart, club, or spade
And I’ll go out and dig my own grave
You can’t ever mend enough hearts
To pay for all the ones you’ve broken
The Heimlich has never worked
For someone who’s really choking
Don’t tell me I’m a fool
I’ll ask you if you’re not
We’re not under one rule
The argument changes when it’s hot
I’ll cry for maybe seconds
And then I’ll sock you in the face
You’re gonna tell me it hurts
Well, then I rest my case
We’ve all been criminals once
Do you see us all in jail?
Your life is only crap
When that’s how you write your tale
Look who’s talking about peace
When you started this whole war
The happiest people
Are open to get hurt more
You only say you love me
When you’re getting really angry
Can’t you just admit you hate me
Just to save the breath you’re wasting
How did the apology go?
It didn’t sound quite right
It went ‘I’m sorry, I was wrong
But here’s where you went wrong,’
I know it’s not your fault that
None of these things make sense
It just makes me sad to think
That it’s all at our expense




Who am I?

The ID I have is stolen
Imagination let me have it
But it’s still wrong to keep it
Because I’m not myself
I’m just borrowed
I just keep thinking I have ears
For every problem that I whine for
But there’s just those two on my head
Trying to shut out the noise
Don’t mind me, I drugged with music
That no one else even likes
It was prescribed by this sign
That I saw leaning on dirt for support
And that same day I threw the cards
To cut the house down
I used it to build a tree in my backyard
So maybe I could go way back in time
And learn how to restart
Today I sit here humming
Every wrong note that I know
I hope it’s loud enough
For this cruel, fat world to hear
I’ve been deafened because silence is too loud
Even the night is too bright for me
When all the lights have gone out.




The Turmoil of the Unknown

Questions.
Lots of Questions.
But no Answers.
In my Head,
Thoughts keep Buzzing,
Always.

See.
I see Him
Look at Me.
I don’t Know
What he Sees.
Face?

Want.
Want to Know
If he Sees
Who I Am
Not my Face
Wish.

Dream.
Hope he Dreams
Like I Dream.
Dream of Him.
Him and Me.
Love.

Heart.
Have a Heart.
I want His.
Want his Heart
For my Own.
Beat.





I Want To Be Human

I feel unreal
Like I don’t belong, like I’m different
I wish I could feel
‘Cuz I don’t understand, do you think I should?
Apart from everything
Where I can’t say anything
The language is too hard for me
With pressure pressing hard on me
If I had one wish, I’d say:

I wanna be human
So everyone can understand where I’m coming from
I wanna be human
Where my feelings are so strong
I wanna be seen
As a human being
Instead of feeling alien

Is this a heart?
Is it beating? How can you tell?
Are these hands?
Look what they’ve done without even thinking
Feeling all those eyes on me
Staring at my invisibility
Who’s this creature that’s supposed to be me?
I don’t want anyone to see
The invalid who keeps on saying:

I wanna be human
So everyone can understand where I’m coming from
I wanna be human
Where my feelings are so strong
I wanna be seen
As a human being
Instead of feeling alien

I’ve never felt love before
I’ve never been hated more
I ask for what I don’t deserve
And yet somehow I find the nerve
To come right out and say
Please save my soul today



King of Hearts

He’s a master.
What can I say?
It’s been a long time
Since he stole my heart away.
I almost forgot how to think
Or even how to feel
He got me all confused
On which love of mine is real.

Did those eyes say
What I thought they said?
Did they say ‘I want you’
Or ‘I want you dead’?
No words ever left his mouth,
The silence said enough.
But it just seems all too dreamy
Why are choices made so tough?

There was only one road block
That kept getting in the way.
That’s why I felt uneasy
When he looked at me that way.
If he’s going to have girl
Trail along at his side
Then why should he make me feel
Like he has something to hide?

Red roses are so pretty
But their already opened.
I’m waiting for that special one
For anything to happen.
This guy’s been asking for it
But he seems too suspicious.
Yet I can’t help but keep thinking
That he must be delicious.

I’m not the only one;
I’ve heard dozens of others say
That one twinkle of the eyes
Will make any girl pray,
‘If only he were mine,
Then I’d be quite the angel.”
Except he’s not mine—
At least I can’t tell.

It’d be nice if he was.
He’d probably be great.
It would be either that
Or he’s something I’d hate.
I guess it’s all a gamble
And he has all the cards.
Didn’t I tell you?
He’s the king of hearts.

Okay, I think I can give you guys some pictures now!!

So, now that everyone is away from the computer and my homework is done, I can finally give you all some visual of my life from the past few months. Now, I'll have to say, I haven't been taking too many pictures because I'm still not used to the one gig memory card my dad gave me, and even though I can take almost 1000 pictures now, I still have the feeling that after 20 I'm running out of room. But this is too much typing--don't I give you enough to read already?

This is the lovely random artwork of someone in one of Mr. Palmiter's world geography class. I decided it was an owl, but everyone else felt like calling it the Palmitizer in honor of Mr. Palmiter. The Palmitizer didn't last too long.

Actually, this picture came from Christmas. All my family was over and we were enjoying making gingerbread men. I thought it would be fun to make the gingerbread man from Shrek, especially the scene where the guards are pointing weapons at him and he has a sorry accident. I got my sisters to hold out the knives.

You've already met Melody, my Hello Kitty Homey. There was a band festival (unless I forgot that this was during the choir festival) so this was taken while the band class was waiting for it all to be over.

This is the amazing Colby!! The most interesting piccolo player you'll ever meet.

And this is Ryann! I haven't introduced you all to the awesome Ryann yet, have I? She my soul clarinet sister, and the greatest dancer I know! I'll say that I didn't take a good enough picture of her, but if I'd had a better camera, she'd be smiling bigger.

Taylor Berry, or Blueberry, is the drama queen. I hope she got the hat I stole back to the kid I stole it from.

Trumpet for life! That's how Marissa rolls. It's a shame she doesn't like her picture taken that often, because she always looks awesome, if not unique.

I actually took this picture while babysitting the most awesome kids in the world. Really, how many five year olds do you know that own such an ubersweet hat? And it even made me look good in my own picture! Trust me, that is very rare.

Alright, I'd say that's a good wrap for now. But never fear! I'll get back to my world soon (once school is out) and the imagination will run so free it won't even feel the pants on it (I can't have imagination streaking now)! So, until next time, so long!

Some entertainment while I'm busy....

Alright, I haven't been fair. I haven't given any interesting pictures or news about how well I'm doing. One day when I have nothing else to do, spoiling you all with fulfilling my promises will be all I do! But just so you all can chew on something while that day awaits, I've decided that I won't mind giving little excerpts from the stories I've been writing until people start complaining about them. So here's an idea that fairly new for you all to enjoy! If any ideas sound familiar to you, I'll let you guess where I was getting most of the ideas for this story....

“Wait for Daddy, Laora, we want to wave to him,” Mahrea was saying, holding up her little girl, hardly three months old. The ranks trudged past them, all uniform and organization, young men with the hearts of wise elders. Anastasia watched in her simple awe, wondering what made these men so compelled to fight that they would even go down into the third plane. She couldn’t imagine what horror, what terror they would come to know, and if they returned, how could they live with such memories of such a disgusting, awful place?
“Look!” Mahrea cried. “There he is! There’s Bentam!” She struggled to keep Laora at her side as she excitedly pointed to her husband, the tall and dark Bentam. Anastasia found him, second man in, taking his chance to secretly wink at his wife and daughter before returning to his stiff, focused position forward. Mr. and Mrs. Bell were cheering loudly, now that they had seen their valiant son-in-law making his way to the battle.
Though everyone was so cheery and enraptured around her, Anastasia couldn’t help but feel a dark hand of fear take hold on her. She knew many of these young men, from church, from school, and had been friends with them in her early childhood. And Bentam was as much of an older brother to her as a real older brother would have been. Just watching them march off made her want to count each one, so that she could count them all when they came marching back, and see of they were all there. Any who were missing, whether she knew them or not, she would feel sorry for them. Thoron was not a place to have the last of your memories, she knew. The thoughts in her head became overwhelming, and soon Anastasia could not watch the parade any longer.
“Mama,” she said, turning to her mother. Mrs. Bell looked at her, still grinning with excitement.
“Yes, dear?” she said.
“I’m tired of the parade. May I go home and tidy up the shop for opening this afternoon?” Her mother’s smile shrank, but it remained to a length.
“I’m sorry you’re not enjoying the parade, but go ahead and clean up the shop. I hadn’t thought of what to do about that after the parade before we opened today. Thank you.”
“Welcome, Mama.” Anastasia turned and made her way through the crowd, trying to take the shortcut through an alleyway. She tried to be polite as she gently elbowed and wended her way past the tightly knit throng. Once she’d gotten out of the crowd, Anastasia quietly made her way across the cobblestone street, her shoes clacking loudly on the stones in the alley.
She let her mind wander as she looked around at the quiet, empty town, with the only noises being the distant parade behind, her light breathing and her shoes tapping each cobblestone she trod on. It was so peaceful to be alone and in quiet after all of that clamor and suffocating fear. Looking up at the sky, she breathed in the fresh air. Oh, even in the town, the spring was sweet. Anastasia closed her eyes and walked a little slower, listening for birdsong. Instead, she heard something moving in the shadows.
Opening her eyes again, Anastasia stopped and looked around, keeping herself wary of someone lurking in an alley. She found it curious that someone would be hiding in the outer skirts of the city when everyone was centered at the main street. This time, she listened for anything. There it was again—someone moving, unseen in the dark! Every small whisper suggested impending danger. She took a small step forward and waited. Nothing happened. She continued forward slowly, step by step, trying to be quiet as she could.
Suddenly, a hiss slithered from somewhere behind her. Anastasia didn’t turn around, but instead began running. She’d forgotten which street she was on, but for the moment it didn’t matter. All she should do now was run away from her pursuer. There was a small alley ahead that she might lose them in; they might continue onward without realizing where she’d gone. Pushing faster to get away as soon as possible, Anastasia went around the corner and met a demon.
Anastasia screamed in terror! The demon had rows of long sharp teeth and they were dripping with a black substance that she didn’t care to learn about. It stood on two legs and inched forward, it’s clawed, blistery hands poised to snatch her. The skin looked slick and almost blubbery, but it was bulged with muscle and menace. Anastasia hardly had time to move before two more fell from the roofs above, all advancing on her. In fright, she turned and ran out of the alleyway and dashed through the streets simply trying to get the demons off of her trail. Like dogs, they snarled and gnashed their teeth as they bounded after her.
She turned blindly this way and that, with only the intense feeling of demons leaping at her tail that could snatch her at any moment. Her breathing became loud and panicked. Get away, get away! In desperation she went into a building and began clambering up the stairs. Surely they couldn’t follow her on top of everything! When she opened the door that entered onto the roof she felt a stitch in her side, and she had to gasp for air before continuing. The roof was at least level enough for her to stay balanced. Anastasia kept on running.
She thanked the Creator that all the roofs were connected together; the thought of jumping from roof to roof was unbearable in the state of fright she was in. But from behind Anastasia heard savage growling and she knew the demons were on the roof. Water began to fill her eyes as she struggled to see where she was headed now that she faced the winds above the houses. Keep running! Out of the corner of her eye, Anastasia saw demons racing her on the opposite side of the street. Risking a glance behind, she could see that the others had gained on her. And out ahead was the end of the street—the end of the roof.
She could go no further without jumping off, which she knew would result in injury or death, but if she didn’t, the demons would be on top of her for sure. In making the decision, she slowed before she reached the end of the roof. She looked over the edge—the ground was at least three stories below—and then looked back. The doggish demons were licking their chops as they greedily advanced on her. Anastasia closed her eyes and jumped—but she didn’t land.
Something had caught on her, and Anastasia watched the ground moving fast below her. She was rising high above the roof tops of the town, and gradually traveling lighter. Looking up, Anastasia yelped in surprise as she found a man holding her up in the air, moving her along. They were flying! The demons were nowhere to be found.
“Good day!” the man said to her brightly. He looked down at her like some happy-go-lucky traveler who made a daily activity of flying. It certainly made Anastasia speechless. She could only stare up at him with wide, fearful eyes.
“There’s no need to be afraid of me; I just caught you from falling,” he told her. “But then I must understand your silence. Is this your first time flying?” She felt her head nodding yes. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll bring you straight home.” Anastasia watched as the ground seemed to be turning, and soon the roofs of the town were going past. She looked up at the man again in awe.
He was young, if not less than five years older than her, and very handsome. He had shoulder-length pure black hair that shone almost blue in the sunlight, and eyes just as deep and dark. His features were lean and relaxed, and he had a brightness about him that emanated from his face. The man wore a billowy white shirt and black trousers, with a dark blue coat fastened half-way up. On top of his head was a cavalier hat with a white feather. Anastasia thought how amazing it was that a man so strikingly given would be kindly enough to save her from the demons that had chased her only minutes ago. Now she was floating above the rooftops with this wonderful stranger.
“So, miss,” he was saying. “If you would be so kind to tell me exactly where you live, then maybe I could take you to the right place.”
Anastasia took a moment to collect herself and find her voice. “I live above the jewelry shop, East Central,” she told him.
“Ah, the jewelry shop!” he cried. “Do you work there?” She nodded. “One of my favorite places. If I don’t buy anything, then I shall at least stay to browse.”
It was only a few more moments before they alighted at the door of the shop and went inside. Anastasia instantly went to her duty of tidying up the place, fetching the duster and putting on her apron. The man respectfully looked around at each item, eyeing every detail carefully, like a critic, but he could never say anything destructive about the artwork.
“Beautiful!” or, “How stunning!” he would say every few moments, taking a minute to point out what he loved about every necklace, brooch, and sculpture. Anastasia silently smiled at his comments, and went on to sweeping the floor. When she had finished behind the counter and tossed out what she’d swept up, the man approached her with two things.
“I must know who made these two lovely pieces, so they will see the honor of my having bought them.” He held up a necklace and a sculpted heart. The necklace was a chain that held a clear rhome ball inside of which was canary rhome ball. It glistened and sparkled in the light like the sun inside the moon being revealed. The heart was of scarlet hembrone, just big enough to fit in the man’s palm.
“Oh!” Anastasia cried when she saw these. “Actually, my mother made that necklace.”
“Really?” the man said. “So it seems your family owns this shop.” She nodded. “Well, I should recommend this place to many of my friends. Many men such as I do enjoy these works of art. But you didn’t tell me of the artist for this heart, miss.” Anastasia was surprised that he was so curious.
“Oh,” she stuttered, “Well, I made the heart, sir. That’s one of my first pieces out of hembrone.” She couldn’t stop herself from blushing and shying away. No one had ever bought any of her own pieces, and certainly never those among the first of her attempts. As far as she was concerned, there were several other hearts left for him to choose from that she thought were done much better. But the man had yet insisted on purchasing hers.
“I’ll assure you, miss, that this work is some of the best I’ve ever seen,” he told her. She hesitated before continuing on to wrapping the two items carefully.
“Thank you, sir,” she said humbly and she set the two wraps in a bag and handed it to the man.
He opened a bag that hung from his belt and poured a wealth of gold coins onto the counter.“A tip for your lovely work, miss.” He said before Anastasia could tell him he’d paid too much. “I should thank you, miss. But this whole time we’ve been strangers; how rude of me not to introduce myself! You may call me Wizard Rowl, or simply Rowl, if you wish.”
Anastasia smiled demurely and said, “Rowl. A pleasure to meet you, sir—er—Wizard Rowl.” She had caught herself in time to remember not to call him ‘sir’.
“And a pleasure it was to meet you, miss…?” He left an opening for her to tell him her name.
“Anastasia Bell,” she told him.
“Anastasia Bell,” he repeated. “What a beautiful name! Thank you, Anastasia.” He lifted the hand which rested on the counter and kissed it politely. Then he took off his hat and bowed respectfully. “Good day, Miss Anastasia Bell.” And then the Wizard Rowl walked out the door and disappeared down the empty street.

The Mystery Of Madison Moss: Analyzed by Blogthings

What Your Handwriting Says About You

You are a fairly energetic person. You know how do pace yourself, and you deal well with stress. You range from very outgoing to very shy. You are a shapeshifter who is very versatile. You adapt well, and you look at things from many angles. You are balanced and grounded. You know how to get along well with others. You don't a lot of space, and you prefer to spend time with others. You are a little nosy and intrusive. You sometimes don't give people enough space. You are a free thinker. You are unique, open minded, and artistic. You don't care what other people think. You are a poor communicator. No one really knows exactly what you're getting at.

What Does Your Handwriting Say About You?

Madison Elise Moss's Aliases

Your movie star name: Peanut Butter Jelly Marlo Your fashion designer name is Madison London Your socialite name is Cindy-Lou Who Seattle Your fly girl / guy name is M Mos Your detective name is Horse Arlington Your barfly name is Cookie None Your soap opera name is Elise Cambridge Your rock star name is Twix Car Your Star Wars name is Madjas Mosken Your punk rock band name is The Happy Pickle Ball

The Amazing Meganame Generator

Your True Love Is a Libra

Why you'll love a Libra: Social and charming, a Libra is sure to turn your head in a group setting. Libra has the style and grace to intrigue you... and the passionate soul to reel you in. Why a Libra will love you: You're laid back and patient. Libra doesn't feel rushed to make a decision with you. An appreciator of beauty, you can show Libra all sorts of inspiration - from art to nature.

What Sign Is Your True Love?

Your Hair Should Be Orange

Expressive, deep, and one of a kind. You pull off "weird" well - hardly anyone notices.

What's Your Funky Inner Hair Color?

Your Love Life is Like Titanic

"Promise me you'll survive. That you won't give up, no matter what happens, no matter how hopeless." You think that you only really have one true love in your life. And that you better to anything and everything to be with that person. You tend to be very nostalgic about past loves that didn't work out. There are many secret feelings that you keep to yourself. Your love style: Deep and emotional Your Hollywood Ending Will Be: Bittersweet

What Movie Is Your Love Life Like?

You Are Marge Simpson

You're a devoted family member who loves unconditionally. Sometimes, though, you dream about living a wild secret life! You will be remembered for: your good cooking and evading the police Your life philosophy: "You should listen to your heart, and not the voices in your head."

The Simpsons Personality Test

What Your Soul Really Looks Like

You are a wanderer. You constantly long for a new adventure, challenge, or eve a completely different life. You are a very grounded, responsible, and realistic person. People may not want to hear the truth from you, but they're going to get it. You believe that people see you for how you are, not how you look. But deep down, you know that's not exactly true. Your near future is in a very different place (both physically and mentally) from where you are right now. For you, love is all about caring and comfort. You couldn't fall in love with someone you didn't trust.

Inside the Room of Your Soul

You Are An ENFP

The Inspirer You love being around people, and you are deeply committed to your friends. You are also unconventional, irreverent, and unimpressed by authority and rules. Incredibly perceptive, you can usually sense if someone has hidden motives. You use lots of colorful language and expressions. You're quite the storyteller! In love, you are quite the charmer. And you are definitely willing to risk your heart. You often don't follow through with your flirting or professed feelings. And you do break a lot of hearts. At work, you are driven but not a workaholic. You just always seem to enjoy what you do. You would make an excellent entrepreneur, politician, or journalist. How you see yourself: compassionate, unselfish, and understanding When other people don't get you, they see you as: gushy, emotional, and unfocused

What's Your Personality Type?

You Are More Yang

Masculine Creative Angry Spring Summer Morning Sun Space Active Wood Chocolate

Are You More Yin or Yang?

Star Wars Horoscope for Sagittarius

You are superbly wise and have been known to spread your wisdom widely. You are impatient and pushy when people take your teachings too lightly. And your philosophical side always peeks through. Star wars character you are most like: Yoda

What Is Your Star Wars Horoscope?

Your Karaoke Theme Song is "Since U Been Gone"

You are a very expressive and genuine person. You're not so emotional that you wear your heart on your sleeve - but you're not afraid to show how you're truly feeling. Whether you're singing along in the car or singing on stage, your favorite songs make you get a little carried away. You're definitely the type most likely to dream of becoming a rock star! You might also sing: "Livin' La Vida Loca," "I Will Survive," or "Hollaback Girl" Stay away from people who sing: "I'll Make Love to You"

What's Your Karaoke Theme Song?

What People Think of Your Mouth

People see you as both genuine and spontaneous. You really love life, and it shows. You are easy to get to know. You tend to have a wide circle of friends, and many different interests. While many people know you, no one can exactly figure you out.

What Does Your Mouth Say About You?

KAWAZAOUCHSZXIANGCBSOWAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!

That was my little war cry right there, I was just practicing. My random outcries are losing their touch. And I'm out of touch with you guys!!!!!! I wish I had more time to talk, but you'll have to see me later. When I do have the time, it it so totally major photo album time. HECK YEAH! You finally will get to see my pictures and I can save the story spoilers for later!!! I actually need to get some work going on all of my stories anyhow (plus I need get down some new ideas). If no one looked or noticed, all about me is new, so look in the corner with the lovely picture of the blonde lady (not me) and enjoy. Right now I'm leaving to go to my grandma's because we're helping her FINALLY move into her new house. But I've missed you all and I miss you still! Loves and regards from Waterspryte!

Quiz Day!!!

Your Personality Profile

You are elegant, withdrawn, and brilliant. Your mind is a weapon, able to solve any puzzle. You are also great at poking holes in arguments and common beliefs. For you, comfort and calm are very important. You tend to thrive on your own and shrug off most affection. You prefer to protect your emotions and stay strong.

The World's Shortest Personality Test

Your Scholastic Strength Is Deep Thinking

You aren't afraid to delve head first into a difficult subject, with mastery as your goal. You are talented at adapting, motivating others, managing resources, and analyzing risk. You should major in: Philosophy Music Theology Art History Foreign language

What Should You Major In?

You Are Fall!

Thoughtful Expressive Creative Poetic Smart

What Season Woman Are You?

You Are a Freedom Rocker!

You're stuck in the 70s - for better or worse Crazy hair, pot soaked clothes, and tons of groupies Your kind showed the world how to rock Is that freedom rock?... Well turn it up man!

What Kind of Rocker Are You?

The Keys to Your Heart

You are attracted to those who are unbridled, untrammeled, and free. In love, you feel the most alive when things are straight-forward, and you're told that you're loved. You'd like to your lover to think you are optimistic and happy. You would be forced to break up with someone who was ruthless, cold-blooded, and sarcastic. Your ideal relationship is open. Both of you can talk about everything... no secrets. Your risk of cheating is zero. You care about society and morality. You would never break a commitment. You think of marriage as something precious. You'll treasure marriage and treat it as sacred. In this moment, you think of love as something you thirst for. You'll do anything for love, but you won't fall for it easily.

What Are The Keys To Your Heart?

Your Element Is Fire

Your passion and emotion are as obvious as the brightest flame. You make sparks fly, and your passion always has the potential to burst out. You are exciting and creative - and completely unpredictable. You sometimes exercise control, and sometimes you let yourself go. Friends describe you as sensitive, spirited, and compulsive. Bright and blazing with intensity, you seem mysterious and moody to many.

What's Your Element?

Another dream sequence.

This isn't as creepy as the first one I showed, but it still has a weird factor. I got the idea from a song called Faust, Midas, and Myself by Switchfoot. Any of you who know the song, I hope you like this!

Peter was just walking down the sidewalk a few blocks from his house, casually, with a sort of ho-hum look on his face. Hands in his pockets, nothing was really going through his head. But then he heard soft footsteps behind him, and turning, he saw a man with bronze curly hair and a square jaw smiling at him. His eyes looked deep-set, and yet the pure, bright blue that the sun reflected made them almost pop out. He wore a dark blue business suit that even Jack would be jealous of, but he looked too friendly to have asked for it on his own. Still, the grandeur that emanated from him made Peter feel more nervous than he’d ever felt before. As the man approached, all the color around them drained away, and made Peter all the more spooked.
“Hi, Peter.” The man said. The grace and absoluteness in his voice had an eerie tone to it too, causing every molecule in Peter’s body to chill and attempt to crawl away. The perfection that surrounded this man just made him feel inferior, and meeting him must mean that he’d done something just as unsuitable. Through sheer amazement, Peter was unable to answer.
“Peter,” the man was looking at him.
“Yes?” Peter answered tentatively.
“How’ve you been lately?” The inquiry was nearly a psychiatrist type of question. Still, Peter shrugged as he thought of his answer.
“I guess I’ve been fine. I’m doing well in track and I’ve been getting better in school these past couple weeks. I made Jack happy for once, which would almost have never happened if he hadn’t finally gotten some common sense.” The last remark suddenly seemed to smack him on the mouth. The man didn’t seem to be disturbed by it. Peter found himself looking down at his feet in embarrassment at what he’d just said.
“I have something for you,” the man told him. He instantly turned around and began to walk away. Peter’s curiosity forced him to follow, his feet giving full trust to the other person. It occurred to him then that the man hadn’t introduced himself neither explained why he was there or how he knew Peter. But for the same reason, Peter no longer wished to learn his name or anything else about the man. They simply continued walking.
Coming to the end of a sidewalk some few blocks away before crossing the street to where the sidewalk resumed its path, the man stopped and turned back to Peter.
“You know,” he said as if he was saying a last statement. “It would be nice if you could simply take one step and be anywhere you wanted to be, wouldn’t it?” Peter nodded.
“Well, of course,” he answered. “It would be much faster and more efficient.” The man eyed him as if Peter had proven something. “Exactly,” he said, sounding like he knew he’d been disappointed.
“It would be nice,” he repeated. “But would it be better?” Peter was too distracted trying to decide what his answer would be to see the man turn and begin walking across the road. For a minute, he looked up to see the man was making his way off, and then he blinked. The man in the blue suit had vanished.
Standing dazed and caught off guard for the moment, Peter watched the color drift back into place, deprived of all wits. The man had simply disappeared like he hadn’t been there at all! And the conversation didn’t make sense, there didn’t seem to be a point in the walk at all, and now Peter was stuck alone in the middle of the neighborhood. He turned this way and that frantically, panic simply cracking like an egg and dropping onto him like it had been waiting above his head all along.
Which way had they gone from his apartment? How far? Peter didn’t remember. He hadn’t looked at the street signs. Surveying his surroundings, he found that there were no street signs. Wait a minute. How could there be no street signs? This was a neighborhood! Peter’s straw of fright came up short and he made no final attempt to calm himself but instead began to run back in the direction he had come.
He didn’t understand why he was so scared. Peter knew this road as well as seventeen years of experience could give. He was running right along the highway that surrounded the perimeter of the neighborhood, with the wall of hedges across the street following him. Looking back, Peter wondered if he had missed the turn onto his street. There was no one around to warn him to watch for the stop sign. The impact made everything go blank.
Peter stood up, still bewildered. There was no pain in his head or anywhere else. Looking around, he found that the street he was familiar with was no longer there. Everything was white—the ground, the sky, the air. And it was cold. Flurries of snow blew lightly around him, making it impossible to tell which direction was really up or down. A laughing sound came from somewhere, as if from a speaker hidden in the snow. Peter turned around, just to see if there was any landmark he could find. A hand grabbed his, and he started.
“It’s just me, Peter.” Lisa stood beside him, as if she belonged there. But something was wrong. She was made out of gold, solid gold. A yelp came from Peter’s throat. Her eyebrows furrowed.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. Peter stared.
“You—you—you’re—” He only managed that.
“What?” she said casually. “Made of gold? Why does that matter? I think I’m made of gold. I’m priceless. And look at your self, Peter.” She held up a mirror to his face and Peter saw something just as crazy. He not only was made of gold, but diamond. He had diamond blue eyes, pink diamond lips, yellow diamond hair, and everything else was encrusted in gold. “You’re worth all the world. And you’re mine.” Lisa said it as if she were simply claiming him just so no one else could touch him first. It didn’t sound happy or sweet. There was no heart in it at all. Peter pushed her away from him when she tried to embrace him.
“I’m not yours.” He said. The words sounded dead and defenseless, with no more life than Lisa’s voice. She simply stood and stared at him angrily. Strangely, Peter could see that she was angry, but he didn’t feel her anger. There was something else he didn’t feel. Putting a hand to his chest, he waited for something—a beat, a rhythm.
It didn’t come.
Peter then understood. Even though he and Lisa appeared to be made of riches, they were both heartless beings. Heartless. The word repeated in his ears over and over again. Heartless, heartless, heartless.
Looking in the mirror again, Peter scowled at his face. Then, before Lisa could say anything or try to stop him he threw the mirror as hard as he could away from him. The crashing sound came from somewhere in the distance, and then Peter finally woke up.

I made this one because I felt like it!

The song was stuck in my head and we'd just gone over all the cool stuff about volcanoes, so this is what I did!

Booga!!!!

Hello everybody! I want to say that there's nothing much going on because I can't really think of anything to tell you all. Hmmm... I guess I could say that since we've been working on poetry in school I'd like to show you all to some of my work. Easy! Not all of my work is there, but if you go to www.poetry.com, then look up Madison Moss, you'll find at least ten poems to read. If the link doesn't work, scream and curse the computer and keep trying to get through until it works. I had to do it during this past week because I was trying to access one in particular that I wanted to use.


I know I promised everybody to put a whole ton of photos up, but when I have the time and the patience to do it, you'll get a post with one sentence and about a hundred pictures!

I advise anyone interested to take a look at who Venus Hum is and tell me what they think! Waterspryte says it's time for bed, so I'll see ya'll ater!

I think I'm spoiler happy.

Some of you have already seen this, but I don't care. This is to share, just a bit of fun.



There is a dream in everyone, young and old, that doesn’t meet the common occurring thoughts of Earth. A little something in everyone’s hearts pleads to never grow old, never get tired, and be carefree and humble. The weary often dream that they could fly away to a place where they can enjoy the limitless ends of their imagination, and stay away from the idleness of everyday worries. They watch others who always seem to have fulfilled their quest for happiness, but then think that true happiness can’t possibly be reached by anyone mortal. Few have found the solution, and many of that few have decided that the solution wasn’t what they needed, because they didn’t see it for what it was.
But, as one should see, the imagination can be used in several different ways. It lets us see our handsome young faces smiling at us in the mirror, in a beautiful home the way we would like it, in a paradise land set with numerous adventures and discoveries left just for us. Almost like opening a capturing book and finding ourselves sucked inside and caught in the plot and surrounded by wonderful creatures and people. This is the dream that many may not know exists in each human heart, but they may realize it very soon.
The imagination can also make us sulk. But that is why it has many uses; so that the sulky thoughts can be lifted by happy thoughts.
Happy thoughts. The things that make us feel like flying, that make us feel lighter than the air we breathe. There is one person who knows quite a bit about the great effect of happy thoughts, and sulky ones. And he is the one who has solved his problem.


The wind fingered through his hair delicately as he glided through the sky, searching with a keen eye for the house number fourteen. Dancing across the great orb-like moon, he began to count the houses backward. Twenty-six, twenty-five, twenty-four…twenty-one…. He scoured down the street to be sure he was going the right way; it was still quite dark outside. Then he found the large window with the balcony that looked down into the house garden, the window closed, the white drapes hanging sullenly after waiting a year. Landing softly, he peered in through the glass and tried to see as much as he could, but the drapes obscured his view. With a slight push and a refreshing gust from the wind, the shutters opened peacefully and silently, and the drapes flew up in joy. Funny, he had to stoop down now to get inside the room.
He watched the blankets rise up and down as she breathed peacefully in her sleep, probably dreaming about mermaids or fairies. He could tell it was something nice by the serene smile on her face as the wind from the open window blew a cool draft through the room. Looking around the nursery, he was actually a little surprised to still see dolls and little horses and letter blocks, but a beautiful instrument case he’d not detected before rested against the wall. Now his mother would play him music!
Breathing in, he inhaled the memories that were stored in this room, good and bad. He was glad to see his shadow was now very attached to him, unlike those many years ago, when he’d tried to stick it back on with soap. And the many girlish giggles that had at first made him feel inferior to little Wendy Darling. And flying with John and Michael, and having Wendy as his first real mother. He crawled on top of the blankets as he usually did, and went psst.
“Hey,” he whispered softly into the girl’s ear. “Jane, wake up.” The auburn head stirred in knowing, a slow groan emitting from her throat.
“It’s that time of year again,” he said, still in a low voice. She wiggled. And then he woke her up. “Spring cleaning!” Peter cried, flying up into the air. Jane sat up, a groggy smile still on her lips.
“Oh, the best time of the year,” he sang. “When Mother’s always here. It’s time for spring cleaning, Jane!” Peter landed skillfully on the floor right in front of the bed, staring straight at her, wearing his goofy grin. Jane just sat there and laughed. Peter liked it when Jane laughed.
“Peter Pan,” she said seriously, smiling warmly in greeting. “You’ll never stop being the boy you are.” Peter frowned.
“What’s wrong with that?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She said, shrugging. “It’s what I love about you!” And with that she leaped off the bed and gave Peter a great hug. Then suddenly Jane stepped back in surprise.
“What?” Peter said, immediately alarmed. “Jane, what’s wrong?” She looked up at him.
“Peter, I think you’re taller than me.” She now looked down at his grubby, bare feet.
“What ho? Taller, am I?” he cried, putting his hands on his hips and looking down at his own toes now, too.
“Here, let me see you stand up straight.” He began to puff up his chest, looking proud. Jane shook her head at his silliness. “No, no, let’s stand back to back.” She turned around so she was facing the opposite direction. Peter didn’t get the gist. Continuing to look down, he cleared his throat.
“Jane, what are you doing?”
“You’re supposed to turn around too.”
“Oh,” he said, and promptly turned around like Jane had said. He felt Jane touch the back of his head with her hand as if she were measuring, and then they both turned back to each other.
“Peter, I was right,” she told him. “You’re much taller than I am now. At least three inches.”
“Well, how tall are you?” Peter wondered.
“Oh, I’m not sure. I’m a normal size for my age. Oh goodness, am I seventeen now? Oh, Peter, I feel old—” Peter instantly covered her mouth with his hand before she could finish. He was suddenly very scared. She stared back, wide-eyed, knowing she shouldn’t have said anything.
“How old is seventeen?” he asked tentatively. Jane understood his fear. She knew that he had suffered from learning of her mother’s growing up too late after it had happened.
“Well,” she began nervously. “Peter, seventeen is pretty old. It means that I’ll grow up in a year.” Stroking his hair gently she looked him in the eyes, trying to comfort him. But nothing helped.
“No!” he cried. “You’re not supposed to grow up! I thought you would stay young, for Wendy, because she didn’t!” It wasn’t a normal boy’s whining anymore, though. Jane could tell something was different.
“I’m sorry, Peter, but I don’t live in Neverland all the time.”
“Well, then come with me now and stay there forever,” he said with conviction. “Come on, Jane. That way you can’t grow up.” Jane looked at him, knowing he only wanted a good mother, because he had ran away from his own. But she also knew that she couldn’t simply abandon the rest of her family.
“But what of my mother, Peter?” Jane begged. “I know she hurt you, but would you hurt her back?”
“What do you mean?” Peter asked in confusion.
“Oh, you remember when she showed that she was grown up, and you began to cry.”
“And that’s when you said, ‘Boy, why are you crying,’ remember? How would I be hurting Wendy?”
“By taking me off to Neverland just so I won’t grow up.”
“Do you mean that you want to grow up? Jane, you can’t!” Jane shook her head exasperatedly.
“No, Peter, that’s not what I meant at all.”
“Then what did you mean?” he asked. Jane sighed.
“I meant that it would break my mother’s heart to see me leave, and my father doesn’t even know everything about you and Neverland, so he would get worried. And they have so wanted me to make more friends in school, Peter. All the other girls laugh at me for wanting to play with toys still and I’m often caught daydreaming. Peter, they only want me to enjoy my life down here.” He began to bow his head, trying not to cry. “Oh, Peter! You see, it’s very complicated. I very much wish to stay in Neverland, I really do, but sometimes I think that I would only break everyone else’s hearts. Mother already wants me to forget you.” Suddenly she covered her own mouth, knowing that she’d made a mistake.
“Wendy wants what?” he said incredulously, infuriated, whispering. Jane could do nothing now. She watched him sit down like the big child he was and cuddle inside his knees, and listened as he started to sniffle and sob. Kneeling beside him, Jane put her arm around him.
“Peter,” she whispered softly. He stuffed his head deeper into his knees. “Do you want a kiss?” He almost put his head up, but then burrowed it further into his cave.
“How would that help?” he moaned in a muffled tone. “Thimbles work better.” Jane sighed exasperatedly. No matter how many times she had explained to him that her mother had curiously switched the meaning of the two words when she was younger, Peter either didn’t care or still didn’t understand. “Fine,” Jane said, and she kissed his forehead cradling his head like a mother should.
“Jane,” Peter muttered.
“Yes?”
“If I’m taller than you, how old am I?” The question shocked her.
“Peter, you never get older. You stay in Neverland! How could you ask a thing like that?”
“Aren’t tall people old? Aren’t they grown up, like Wendy? She’s tall.”
“Well, I couldn’t rightly say that. There are plenty young people who are taller than most would be. Why Uncle Michael seems a giant to me still. And he was that big when he was sixteen…. Oh dear.” Peter had pushed away.
“I don’t want to be sixteen! You’re already seventeen, Jane! What if I am growing up? What if Neverland doesn’t work anymore?” Silly as the words sounded, the thoughts were too alarming now; Jane knew they were.
“You know what, Peter. I think that this is too much grown up talk and I want it to stop now. We should be thinking happy thoughts, so we can fly and do spring cleaning. Wouldn’t that be great?” She stroked his head. “Come on, now, Peter. I’m your mother still, and I always will be.” Being the inner child that he was, even though he didn’t know that he really was older, Peter nodded, satisfied, and stood erect.
“I wish I could have seen Tinker Bell, Peter.” Jane sighed. “You need another fairy.”
“I wish I could remember Tinker Bell, Jane. I do need another fairy. But you and I know how to fly even without pixie dust. Think happy thoughts and find the second star to the right and straight on till morning!” And just like a very young girl, Jane did her childish thing and cried “Yea!”
Some thought she was so very strange for being seventeen and pretending she was ten years younger, in spite of all the schooling she was so brilliant at. But Jane didn’t care; she actually laughed at the girls who tried to look ten years older, and enjoyed every moment of her youth, except when she was made fun of for it. She was happy right now, thinking happy thoughts of mermaids and fairies and Indians with Peter Pan, knowing that her imagination was closer to her than anything else.
“Oh, the cleverness of me!” Peter cried in his usual cocky way, putting his fists on his hips in a proud manner. “I know exactly how to get out of grown up talk when flying to Neverland is what I am trying to do.” Jane just looked at him and said sarcastically,
“And I did nothing at all, of course.”
“Oh, well you helped. A little.” He said, not seeming to want to give any credit to her.
“You are the most cocky, most forgetful boy I will ever have met—I will ever have known.” Jane mocked him. He simply puffed up his chest and smiled proudly as he prepared to soar into the clouds.
Before she even knew it, Jane had gone up into the sky and circled Big Ben as she always did, thinking of how wonderful it was just to fly on a cool spring night. Her smile grew even wider as she watched Peter somersault and corkscrew in the air, or lie down as if on a flat surface and lazily float around while suddenly pulling an acrobatic trick or another every once in a while. They both flew further up into the sky until Peter cried, “Head on!” which meant that they needed to go straight forward and on to morning.
Jane streaked through the night air and was dazzled to see the familiar colors dance in her eyes until the royal blue of midnight was a rainbow of bright greens and oranges and reds and yellows and many other splendors. The pretty flashes of light were like being inside a kaleidoscope. Looking down she saw the great ocean and the island she had only been imagining for a year; now she was there, she was back. She could see the mermaids’ lagoon, the Indian village, and the wood where Peter had his hidden home. It surprised her that a ship was anchored at the other side of the island, facing Marooner’s Rock. Peter gestured her to head downward, into the forest. They floated just above the trees until Peter darted inside a sudden hole in the top of an old, gnarled stump that couldn’t have been anything else: the home underground. Jane felt as if she were almost sucked inside rather than gone inside on her own. But she felt sure and exhilarated.
Jane had returned to Neverland.
A great crowing filled the room as Peter was somersaulting around the room in the air, bursting with energy and his pure, boyish, innocent joy. Jane remembered her mother saying something to her when she was young about how people forgot how to fly when they were no longer gay and innocent and heartless. Peter would never forget, as long as he was just that. And Jane knew that he always would be, whether it seemed he was growing up physically or not. Peter landed and stood before her.
“Come, Jane,” he demanded in a funny tone. “We must get to work. It is due time that the spring cleaning has begun!” Giggling, she instantly found the broom and started sweeping all over the place. The broom was also used as a duster, and so the handle had been cut slightly shorter so that it didn’t scrape things. She found some difficulty adjusting to it again, having grown her last bit during the year of waiting. Jane smiled as she swept around the many bunks and hammocks still there in memory of the Lost Boys. They were all grown up now, just like her mother. All of them had done it, her adopted uncles; become a lord, a justice, and many other things that they wouldn’t have wanted to be if they hadn’t left Neverland.
“So Peter,” Jane said. “What great adventures have you had since the last spring cleaning?” Peter, who was going through boxes of old trinkets, and all of his past ‘kisses’, didn’t get a chance to answer before hitting himself in the head by a wooden horse he was throwing over his shoulder. Yelping, he turned around and rubbed the side of his head.
“I have a new Captain Hook,” he said matter-of-factly.
“A new Hook? Peter, that’s not possible. You killed him not too long after you met Mother.” Jane knew about the ship, but she also knew that James Hook was dead; her mother had seen it happen.
“I know that. That’s why this one is new. She’s a Captain Josephine Hook.” She? Josephine? Jane didn’t quite understand. Peter had returned to organizing boxes.
“Peter, really, what are you trying to tell me?” she said.
“Well, Hook had a little sister, and now she’s a pirate. And she’s just as mean as he was. Maybe even meaner, but I can handle that still.”
“Don’t tell me you tried to cut off her right hand, too.” Jane joked.
“I already did.” Peter stated casually. Jane stared at him for a moment, bewildered. And then she began to laugh a little.
“Well,” she said. “Where’s the crocodile?” Peter shrugged.
“Chewing on the clock somewhere. He didn’t get to eat her hand this time. I just sort of threw it into the ocean, and I guess it must have been eaten by some other fish or drowned.”
“Hands don’t drown, Peter, they sink.” Jane told him seriously.
“Oh.” Even if he was taller than her now, and maybe perhaps Jane’s own age, Peter still had so much to learn. “Jane?”
“Yes, Peter?” she eyed him quizzically.
“I want to call all of the Lost Boys back, but the Lost Boys are gone.”
“Oh, I know, Peter,” Jane said sadly. “But maybe we’ll find more. There has to be some runaways who haven’t been claimed for nearly a week. Maybe when we’re done cleaning we shall go and look for some.”
“But I need to get a new fairy first, because the fairies are best at finding them.”
“Where do they live?” Peter scratched his head.
“I forget.”
“Oh, Peter,” Jane moaned. “Some day you’ll stumble upon a fairy nest and think it’s a bird’s nest. Maybe you could try to lure one here with Tinker Bell’s old negligee. Should we try?”
“I don’t know, Jane. You can try, but when I find one, I’ll tell you when you can stop.” Jane’s jaw dropped in awe.
“Peter! You little scoundrel!” She threw a pillow from one of the bunks at him. He smiled teasingly at her, blocking the fluffy thing with his hand. Jane swore if he acted like this to other girls her age they would have either slapped him or instantly fallen at his knees. And then, she did think that as he was very handsome, the latter would have happened more likely. Oh, what to do with a charming, cocky, innocent, boyish, tall person? That was all Jane could describe him as now.
“You didn’t really tell me about your adventures, Peter. You only said that there was a new Hook.” She said.
“Oh, well, not much. I think I did tell you. I cut off Hook’s hand. Josephine’s, I mean. And I remembered that it was the right one the first time, so now she looks just like her brother, except she’s a woman.”
“How did you get into a fight with her, Peter?”
“She was being just like her brother and she kidnapped Tiger Lily. I guess the princess had been caught trying to sabotage something and they were enjoying her punishment.” He seemed to be cheering for the princess on the inside, like he approved of her actions full heartedly. Jane got the idea. Tiger Lily would probably have married him by now if Peter weren’t still so young.
“How did you save her this time?” Jane asked.
“I used my old trick.” Peter shrugged again. Then he began to tell his narrative, using exciting gestures and flying all over the room in excitement of his triumph. “She-Hook was riding in to the rocks on this little rowboat with old Smee and Tiger Lily, as I flew in among the rocks above them. I made not a sound, because I’m Peter Pan.” Jane giggled at his cockiness. She watched him as he flew around the home, reenacting the story joyously. “And then I began to pretend that her brother was in the rock, and I made voices, sounding like the ghost of old James Hook. Smee got very scared; he might have wet his trousers! I told old Josie that her brother was a codfish. ‘No, James, you were never a codfish to me!’ she said, thinking that his ghost was insulting himself.
“And then I said, ‘Yes, I was a codfish, and so are you!’ This time she got suspicious. ‘Who are you?’ she said, and I replied, ‘I am your brother, I’m afraid. What a pity I came to be. My enemy was not worth fighting against.’ At this she became cross and inquired, ‘You had an enemy, brother?’ ‘Aye,’ I said. ‘What kind of enemy? Spirit?’ she said. ‘No.’ I answered. ‘Person?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Man?’ ‘No!’ ‘Child?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Boy?’ ‘Yes.’ She sounded really confused there, when she heard my answer at that. ‘Just an ordinary boy?’ she said, and I could tell she thought her brother was a fool. ‘NO!’ I cried. And then she said, ‘An extraordinary boy. Who can be such a boy?’ And then I finally told her, after making her go through that tedious guessing game. ‘His name is Peter Pan.’
“But She-Hook was smarter than I had predicted and she had come up behind me. But because I used my ears, I was quick to react, so I turned around and fought her while I was lying on my back, and I almost fell off the rock I was perched on. But then she lifted her sword, thinking that she could just finish me off, right there, and I rolled off and flew back up. Her face looked funny when she got surprised; you should have watched us, Jane. She stood there just like a codfish and I slashed her hand off and it fell down into the water while she screamed. You girls scream very loud, you know. I had to cover my ears for a second.”
“I don’t suppose you want to hear me scream any time, do you?” Jane joked.
“No, that wouldn’t be very nice.” Peter murmured quickly.
“Anyway, I pointed my sword at her chin and said, ‘Unhand the princess ye foe!’ in my best big voice. But somehow she had managed to grab her sword as it was falling and she countered me again. But a Hook, even a She-Hook, can never beat me. I had almost cut off her other hand when Tiger Lily made a weird noise because she began to go under water; Smee had chained her up on the rock, you see. So I went down to get her when I saw the mermaids coming in, and they started to throw rocks and shells at She-Hook. That’s how I made my way out quietly while the two pirates were trying to dodge seashells and I brought Tiger Lily home. The chief was very proud of me and he had a big celebration with us. I almost thought I saw a fairy peeking in at our party.” Jane giggled, and then turned very serious.
“You should have tried to catch that fairy.” She told him. He landed with his hands on his sides and simply replied, “Maybe, Mother.”
They returned to their earlier duties of cleaning the home, and when Jane had dusted every corner Peter’s eye could scour, which was a surprisingly keen search for undusted areas, they cheered lightly and then became silent. Peter suddenly perked up.
“Let’s spy on the ship and see what that She-Hook is up to now!” he suggested enthusiastically. Jane agreed and they began to climb out of the home. The two of them smiled as their ears feasted on the noises of the animals and the birds rushing about their day. Jane walked out into the bright sunshine that peeped in through the trees and breathed deeply, closing her eyes in ecstasy. Then just as quickly as she’d begun to hear it, the noise abruptly stopped, was snatched away by something, and Jane opened her eyes in surprise. Turning around, she saw only Peter behind her, looking equally puzzled and bewildered. They listened closely, and looked around carefully, for anything that might betray the presence of something sinister. For a short moment, something chirped, and then was hushed, which made both of them jump. The silence did not suit the usually happy forest, and this made Peter and Jane furrow their brows with great concern. But Peter then bluntly shrugged his shoulders and motioned Jane to follow him as he lifted into the air.

Hmmm....

You KNow? I really don't tell you guys very much about me anymore. Maybe I should have put that in my poll. And even though some of the pictures I've taken can be a little old, I'll just show you what I've got. But first, I must wish you all Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year! And then I have whatever news I can think of.
And first ting I think of is the Christmas Concert that took place last Sunday at the Marysville Stake building, and that was really cool. I played in a string ensemble and accompanied the choir on the very last song. But the highlight of the evening was when Jennifer Thomas accompanied on the piano with a friend who was a soprano on O Holy Night. It was so pretty and so powerful that I cried, right there in the front row, sitting between the two boys I was going to play with not long after this song. I was actually as little scared that I wouldn't get myself together in time to play our song because after the soprano came one song from the choir and then we were on, but I was so touched I was in hysterics. But I did fine. And there are definitely hopes for next year's successful performance, this being only our third annual Christmas concert and already blowing away crowds with the talent and the wonderful, powerful arrangements, just think of the future! So that was basically the big family night (it was also my dad's birthday).
And then Monday became really hectic once I got home from school. Go to violin lesson, and then go shopping for gifts and to find the Chronicles of Narnia soundtrack that I've been wanting forever!!!! My mom cut it really close and I was a few minutes late for Everett Youth Symphony, even though no one said anything about it. I was fairly peeved when I got there, but thanks to the girl I was sitting next to, Stefanie, I was cheered up. She kept digging into her purse because there was a bag of Hugs in there that she was eating out of, and a cd fell out once while she was doing this. It turned out to be Riverdance, and she offered to give it to me. Of course, I asked if she had her own copy at home before just taking it because for a second I was kind of caught off guard by the offer. But anyway, I got it, but because it was so scratched up I could only get half of the songs to play. What I have is still good, though. So then everyone there said goodbye for the holidays and my mom took me out for MORE shopping. I was starting to get really piqued then, until we finally found everything we needed and went home. So I left the house at 3:00 and got home at 9:30. And I didn't any homework done. I crashed.
I really don't remember much about Tuesday because it was pretty uneventful, but Wednesday was band night. Me and my dad always go to Lake Stevens to practice, because thats where our drummer lives. This brings out Ed from Camano Island, and I don't know where Dave lives, but he's Nate's (drummer) brother. And then Liz is Nate's wife, and then me and my dad. I'll just rattle off who plays what: Nate- drums, Ed- lead guitar, Dave- rhythm guitar, Evan (dad)- bass guitar, Liz- extra percussion, Me- keyboards, and we all trade off singing, but Liz sings most often, so I guess she would be the lead singer. But on nights hen she's trying to handle the kids, I try to fill in, even though I have to admit, I can't sing classic rock. Now, just plain classical music and folk and jazz are fine, but I would actually need a good deal of voice lessons for rock to ever happen. It was cool at the start because the missionaries were over and me and my dad knew one of them because they had been in our area for a long time before he transferred. And it was fun to play Jump while he was going out on the drumset for a few minutes. He's good at the drums too, maybe not like Nate, but good enough to get his own band going once he came from his mission.
So we had fun and I got home at 11:00 and instantly crashed (I didn't even change out of my clothes). Thursday was just that kind of day where everyone's bouncing in their chairs because school's almost out for the break and no one can wait. And Friday turned out to be satisfactory. At seminary, we had a really good breakfast (even though I didn't eat too much because I'd already had my normal bowl of cereal). I collected a ton of candy because I hadn't had time to pack a lunch and that was my only chance to get something to eat because I was, and still am, basically broke, thanks to Monday. And then after PE I changed into my real Christmas spirit, which I don't have a picture of, but it looked really cool when I wasn't carry a backpack and purse. In band and science, we did nothing but party and exchange Secret Santa gifts. I got the fuzzy blue socks I'm wearing right now, two Caramello bars (I'm saving one for Christmas, but it's really HARD), and The Beautiful Letdown by Switchfoot. I already had the cd, but the guy who gave it to me, Nate (a really troubled but really sweet guy that basically calls me his sister) couldn't find the receit for me to return it so I'm going to figure out what I going to do with it. If he finds it after break and gives it to me, that'll be fine. And after school I practically messed around until we went to the church Christmas party.
Now, let me tell you about the Christmas party. There was a a small band playing, one guy on guitar, and then a brother and sister who would switch off on fiddle and the brother also played mandolin, the girl also played flute. Strangely enough, I already knew the brother and sister from before. From where? From the old building that Old Time Fiddlers was held at, in an old grange that was bought out about two years ago. When I began going there, the brother was the child fiddle prodigy and his sister was the follow-up. I remember his name is Toby, but I forget her name. My dad recognized them first last night because he'd seen the dad every time I went. But for some reason they just stopped coming altogether, and then the grange was bought and everyone was ousted into the old Arlingotn High School building. But, small world, there those kids were playing for everyone to enjoy before and after the actual program began. I'd forgotten that Toby is actualy younger than me, because he totally looks sixteen, but he's actually fourteen. It was pretty cool to talk to the family afterward while my dad took down all the sound equipment (he's the sound guy for everything, I swear). Eden's friend Jessica kept on getting up on how I should totally flirty and scare the crap out of myself pretty much, but it was fine just talking like I normally do. My parents did their old 'brga about Madison' trip on them, even though I think they just though it was cool that I was just as interested in Celtic music as they were. They didn't seem proud; actually the dad kept telling me to keep up the fiddle until we all had to leave. But it was almost literally like a time warp to the past. Toby still plays better than I do, but then, I need to get out of my whacked up state and start practicing more. So yeah, last night was cool. And then Eden, Jessica and I watched Tristan and Isolde (which I would rather have not wanted to watch, now that I've seen it) and we all spent another hour trying to fall asleep afterwards. So that explains why I'm not at church practicing with the choir right now and writing this post instead. :D!
And you know what? this post is long enough to read, so I'll scare you with the load of pictures later. Now you are spared. BYE!

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Hey-Ho! Another spoiler for all of you!

I really don't know why, but I thought it would be interesting if I wrote a story in journal style. So I did. But, I'll have to say, this excerpt really doesn't give too many clues on the rest of the plot, so enjoy what I have so far of the intro.


Klave-Rand 7; 1,722
Before I tell of my day, I want to give a description of how I received this diary. I go it only yesterday, so telling this shouldn’t be long. Though, I should mention, I do go into detail as if I were writing a book.
I stood in the hip yard in my coat and bonnet, my hands in gloves holding onto my two carrying bags. Sniffing the air, first I wrinkled my nose in disgust, then I breathed in the fresh feeling of the ocean. The ocean was always new, always changing. There was never the same salt in the same place, never the same fish, because everything in the ocean moved. Just like me. I was moving, changing, at that very moment. I would miss living in Lovence, but I had welcomed the idea of sailing to Peventry. My mother began straightening my coat.
“Now remember,” she began, already sounding like she would start bursting into tears, with a pinch of fussiness. “You are going to be living in the finest palace there is. Here, let me retie your bonnet.” She loosed the bow and continued. “The king, I believe, will be teaching you fencing, so do your best to behave politely and be ladylike when you’re not sparring with him. And—” she finished the bow and smiled. “Don’t be embarrassed lest you ever beat him.” I laughed.
“Yes, mama,” I replied. She patted my cheek lovingly, which only made her chin tremble. I could see how hard she was trying to control her emotions; no tears were flowing yet. The foghorn on the boat bellowed so loudly I almost though the sound was tangible. It seemed to push through my veins, telling me it is time to go. I suddenly felt slammed against a rush of joy and a rush of sorrow, and thankfully I was able to embrace my mother before we both went hysterical. I’d always been good at keeping my true emotions under control, even masked. One of the few masteries I’d made during all of my lessons. Ugh! Being a princess should seem frightful to other girls.
“Drieda, dear,” my mother said. “I have a few things for you before you go.” I watched expectantly as she produced a small carrying bag lined with velvet and held closed by a drawstring. She opened it and first pulled out this diary. “I know that it looks old and heavy, but I would that you record your experiences in here. It became mine when I was eighteen, so the same shall be to you.” I began to thank her, but she stopped me and continued. “This book is as old as your great-grandmother and there have been diaries before for generations. Please take care that you never lose it. Write in it often, but you’re not required to make an account of each day that passes. And that is not all.” Handing me the diary, she then took out a bottle of perfume.
“Oh!” I cried. “Mother, I already have—”
“This is not to use on yourself,” she said firmly. I was quieted and listening. “I can’t explain it all now, but if you are ever in trouble, this will aid you. One last thing.” She put the perfume back in the bag and produced two envelopes; one of a normal parchment color, the second was dyed red. “I will give the details of all these things in the first letter you receive from me. I’ve not the time to explain everything now. The bells are calling you in!” In fact they were. I kissed my mother goodbye, took my things, and boarded. My mother’s tears ran silently as the ship began to move on. I need to sleep now; I’ll continue this entry later.

Early Morning, Klave-Rand 8; 1,722
I thought that sailing would be miserable overnight, but my good rest proved me wrong. This assures me that I’ll enjoy the next three months, though I will feel lonely. But loneliness can always be mended! I naturally arise early in the morning. My body falls asleep before the blue is gone from the sky, and it wakes with the sun. I’d probably make a better farmer’s daughter than a princess. People of the court are lazy when it comes to time. All except I.
I guess I should return to what I was telling before. I forgot to mention that my brother had come to bid me farewell also, but he had left before the scene I described. I am glad, though. Mother had to force him to kiss me goodbye, and even then it was a heartless peck on my cheek. He never believed that I should be any good for any kingdom. On no, Drieda Firensa could never rule, but all hail Great King Gordic Hanzal! Ha! And may I repeat his farewell to me? “I hope you can at least keep the dirt off your boots.” I have never met a more immature, impossible, impertinent pest! Undeniably, I shall serve Peventry well, whether I wed one of their noblemen or not.
That is one thing that frightens me about leaving Lovence. I may not have a choice in whom I marry, and my choice most definitely would not have suited. For you see, I liked to be with one of the stable boys, Joabr. He seemed to be the only man throughout the whole palace who knew how to enjoy life. And I’d rather learn to fence from him than the king of Peventry. Certainly a middle-aged man wouldn’t show such grace and poise as Joabr. And the king most definitely can’t be as handsome and charming.

Klave-Rand 11; 1,722
I’ve neglected writing in here for the past few days because I was reading my mother’s story of how she met my father. I wish I could have seen him. He died in battle even before I was born. My first clothes were black, even the blanket I was nursed in. but by the account of my mother he was sweet and handsome. She always said I had his eyes, even the same sparkle he once had. Gordic says that I have the same will to be different, which feels like a small compliment, but all the more of an insult to both father and me. Gordic never regarded anyone highly, though, except himself. It boggles me to think that he’s been king for nearly five years since he turned eighteen. I wouldn’t be in the nearest interest to serve under him for any longer than that.
Oh, goodness, my horrid grammar! I made all that as one body, what a shame! My mind is so scattered in the afternoon; I’ve been forgetting to control my train of thought since I boarded the ship. I guess I must stop here.

Klave-Rand 13; 1,722
What a pigeon I’ve been! I’ve been on this ship for a week and I only just realized that most of what I have been eating is fish! I used to hate fish as a child, but now I don’t mind a bit at all.
I don’t know why, but it makes me think of Joabr. Maybe because he treated the horses with apples and carrots all the time, and none of them got tired of it.
Oh, Joabr was my best friend, and he’ll always hold that title for me. Even though he’s only a year older than I, he proved to be my best teacher. I learned fencing, horseback riding, dancing, and even a few basics about sewing from him. That is only a handful of what he taught. Also, he taught me how to speak Singuine, Butanyan, and Kartekkan, the most beautiful languages yet few others in Lovence teach it.
I especially liked dancing with him because he didn’t abuse it and he respected me. Hardly a guard in our palace could be given the same compliment. But I think he taught me to dance for the same reasons I wanted to learn. It was grace that stopped Gordic from intervening with our lessons. He wouldn’t believe us even if we swore that there was no affair between us. I would say there might have been a great attraction between us, but neither of us came forward with it. I regret that now; it should break Joabr’s heart to believe that I may not like him, and I’m going off to choose a husband of Peventry. I should stop myself before I lose control.

Klave-Rand 26; 1,722
Oh, that conniving little brat! Where has my diary been? That little twerp of a ship’s boy found it beside my bunk and took it to Lord knows where, and decided he’d read what he can. Being a poor child and only eleven, it took him nearly two weeks to go through the end of my mother’s views, and then all of mine! And then once he finished what did he do? The brat gallivanted around the ship teasing me about having such a rude older brother and accused me for being ‘all over the stable boy’. Is that not enough to drive a young girl mad?! Oh, the impertinence of some people.
So beside that problem, I found out from the captain that I might be allergic to dust. Dust! Such a small, insignificant, silly thing that can’t do anything for itself can hurt me! Yes, one would think I already knew this fact, but the housemaids in our palace can’t stand having the knowledge of anything filthy anywhere in the place, even the dungeons, which are seldom used. I would say every speck of dust was lost to every feather duster that prevailed them. So therefore, Lovence was thoroughly clean, if not sterile. But as for me, I have not been accustomed to it and so my immunity is weakened against it. Which would explain the rash I’ve begun to acquire around my neck, arms, and legs. One of the crew’s men said I blushed redder, but it was only a way to make me imagine the problem as a blessing. I’d rather my complexion were naturally red than infectiously colored.
But aside from all of the bad news, one of the navigators found a short cut to Peventry through a strait. So as long as the ship isn’t blown completely off course, then I will be able to arrive in Peventry in a short month. If we hadn’t found this strait then I would have had another two months to go while we detoured around Jirke’dissa’s peninsula. So I will be happy to write to my mother about my early arrival and learn all the things about all her gifts to me.
I still wonder about them. I can understand why she gave me the diary, but the perfume and the envelopes I haven’t found clarity on yet. I tried to sniff the perfume once while I was alone in my cabin and I think I must have fainted because all the memory I have of that moment is smelling something dreadfully odious and then opening my eyes to find myself on the floor and a few hours had passed. All I could understand about it was that the perfume could knock out an opponent, but it didn’t defeat them instantly. Anyone who read this might think that while an enemy was unconscious I could easily kill them, but that itself is dishonorable.
I believe I must say goodnight, because that’s all that I can think of right now to say. So, goodnight, diary.