I was cleaning out stuff from my room, and came across a collection of writings I wrote for a school project at the end of this past year. I read through it, and I've decided to subject you all to the horrid writing that lies within it.

'Knowledge'

To many people in this world,
It seems like knowledge of
Random facts takes
Precedence over having knowledge of feelings, or the workings of a
Child's mind.
I have seen this many times. Parents let the schools and the
Televisions teach their children,
Let the media shove facts down their
Throats.
I am victim of this, myself. I
Blockaded my feelings, rationalizing them as I would a
Scientific paper, cataloging instead of
Feeling.
Perhaps getting rid of the phony
Knowledge standards would clean up this
Mess.
Perhaps it's already too late, and I should just
Let go of my ideas of
Change, of reform.
Perhaps....


'People'

A million smiling sheep are watching me,
Taunting me with happiness.
A million brainwashed drones are greeting me,
Shaking my hand like limp fish.
A million eyes, glassy and dull.
A million limp handshakes.
Is all we are now?
Is there still culture to be found, or has the
Descent into decadence begun?
Are we dying as a race, letting our minds
Atrophy?
Are we waiting for some doctor to come and cut off the
Decay?

The human race has seen its days of
Glory.
We are falling, falling through the black shrouds of oblivion.
There is no future here.
We are destined to be
Extinguished.
Some part of me hopes it will happen within my
Lifetime.




'Secrets'

Secret dreams.
Secret wants.
Secret desires.
You have them, I have them too.
It is part of being human, I think, to want to be more than you are.
Some deny that part of them, creating unfed monsters.
Some try to become their dreams.
Some of us, well, some of us don't dare to dream anymore.
Some of us are too afraid to, too afraid of what others will do to our secrets if we let them
Out of our grasp.
Some of us only dream when we're alone, for fear of being laughed at.
Some of us have given up on our dreams.
I wish that I could be what I dream of.
I wish I could be different.
I wish that I could take the form of the people I write about, and live as them forever.
I wish I could do what my characters can, to heal without scarring, to change their skin.
I want to be more than human.
My species disappoints me. I don't want to be human anymore.
Let me go.
Let me live my life as a different soul.

Old Stuffs

Whilst browsing through my notebooks, I found something that I wrote earlier this year.

Vengeance

"Mr. Mingo, there's a call for you."
"What line, Martha?"
"No line, a personal call. They say that they have news for you about the recent downturn in interest in our company."
"Send them in, then," muttered the slightly pudgy Mr. Mingo, readjusting his tie with a slightly nervous air.

A few seconds later, the door to his office opened and a young girl walked in, an animal draped over her shoulders like a living scarf. Walking to the space just before Mr. Mingo's mahogany desk, she stood straight and tall, chin barely above the edge of the desk. Slowly, the creature unwound from her neck, revealing itself to be a long cat-like creature with fur the color of dark chocolate. Yawning, it stretched languidly, then sat next to the girl, its tail curled around its feet.

Pressing a button on his desk, Mr. Mingo glanced at the girl. She was still standing there, dressed in a little blue dress that came just above the floor, her bare feet digging into the thick rug.

"Send them in, please," he said, eyes still watching the girl as she stood, perfectly motionless, on the thick carpet.

"That is them," came the receptionist's voice, crackling through hidden speakers.

"I see." Removing his finger from the button, he interlocked his fingers and looked expectantly at the little girl and her strange animal. The longer he stared, the more the pair unnerved him, their silence uncanny. It wasn't helping that the girl's eyes met his, fixing him in eyes the color of a winter storm.

"Well?" asked Mr. Mingo, beads of sweat forming on his brow as the girl's eyes bored into his skull. They were dangerous eyes, twin chips of ice embedded in the round white face of a child, framed by obsidian hair.

Suddenly, the creature sprang at Mr. Mingo's throat, sharp white fangs bared as the silent girl drew a long and slender blade from the sash of her dress. Mr. Mingo didn't even have a chance to scream before the pair lept onto his desk, then finished him with lightning-fast slashes and tears.

Faster than it had begun, it was over. The girl and the creature stood back as blood seeped from the wounds they had inflicted onto the desk. Dipping three of her fingers into the scarlet liquid, the girl lifted her fingers to her cheek, painting three stripes of crimson lifeblood there. Dipping her fingers again, she repeated the process on the other cheek, then wiped fingers and blade clean on Mr. Mingo's shirt.

"That was for killing the last redwoods to build power plants. That was for poisoning the last whale with your fish farms. That was for the Earth, Mr. Mingo," she hissed to the dead man. Turning away from the corpse of the World's Almighty Ruler, she walked calmly from the office, the demon-creature once again wound around her shoulders.