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Noises He couldn't breathe. Logan was buttoned up to his collar and was fastened by a leather belt. He peered up to his mother who stood beside him and gave him a dry smile. She pondered around his small figure, stopping every so often too fix his shoulders or adjust the cuffs on his wrists. He had been handled before, yet noting that today was a special occasion, he felt himself growing ill at the thought. Yet, he couldn't object. He couldn't question. Something pinged at the thought. Once being observed by his mother, she went behind him and was silently led to the grand doors in front of him. He dove. The room was busied in affairs

There is no where to hide. It lurks in canvases in broad daylight and not knowing when it'll pounce. It plummets you from your highest climax to the ditches the rotting stench of a hollow pit. It is then you lose all senses. The heart frenzies, the hands tremble, the skin blazes in a cold sweat All around, the paranoia swallows you up. You close your eyes, your breaths shallow, hands are clenched The pulse throbs. . . It is then you begin to wonder less on what is going on, and more on why. Who dares to single you out? Amusement? Cruelty? No one cares. No one envies. No one pities. The ringing drowns out all thoughts and a

Her life was in chains. She was bound forever by a lingering fear that drove her away from anything worthwhile. She had only ever known her whole life to be censored fairytale, where anything she wished for was out of reach. If the opportunity came though, she would avoid. Why? Was it her hesitance to be outspoken? Was it her towering weight of a mother's desire that made her forget her own? Was it her reputation in society that limited her choices? Or if nothing else, was it herself? If daring to to dream was one thing, acting on it was something else entirely.

How is the life we live an obstacle? How do our choices benefit the lives around us, and  to ourselves? Why do we cry on the simplest of mistakes? Why do we rejoice of our good deeds? Are we rewarded by good nature, and suffer consequences of tragic? What do we think of ourselves as? Are we greedy, cheery, dejected? Is this what we make of ourselves as? Or are we something more? Why does it feel as though every decision , isn't worth it? Why do the words we choose, feel meaningless and insignificant? What if life's ropes were cut loose, and we fell? What if no one was to catch us, of what we haunted their pasts? What if th

iOMG Pt 2 Preview Perviously on iCarly: "Look, I know it's scary for you to put your feelings out there. Because you never know if the person you like is gonna like you back. Everyone feel's that way. But you never know what might happen if you don't-" He was cut short by her. Figures she would shut him up...by kissing him?! No. He couldn't register it. No, no. It wasn't possible. S-She sent him hateful birthday cards! She harasses him. She insults him. She HATES him. Yet, why in the name of good fudge is she kissing him? He's not Brad. He's Fredward Benson, the tech nerd on iCarly. Had she lost her mind?! Sam withdrew and it then hit Fr

NOTE: Try to imigiane and whiny Zuko voice for the following story. Coughcough AVATAR ABRIDGED coughcough. Once upon a time, there was a man named Ozai and a woman named Ursa...even though nobody knows why Ursa likes Ozai anyway. They were drunk one night and that's how Zuko came to be. Zuko: So you were drunk when you had me? Ozai: Yes. Zuko: So I was a mistake? Ozai: Yes, Zuko. You were a mistake and you were lucky to be born. Zuko: So is that why you don't like me and why you burned half my face? Ozai: Yes. No one likes you, Zuko. Fangirls enter. Fangirls: What about us? Ozai: You're just breaking the fourth wall. GET OUT OF HERE