gimme-da-money

The other day I sat in an enormous, half empty lecture hall at my college, ridiculously ahead of schedule, waiting for class to begin. Two girls came in and sat in the row just behind me. Now, I'm not generally one to listen in on conversations. Usually I just sit back, shut up, and read my book. But when people discuss things I love, especially when they discuss those things hatefully, it becomes hard to ignore. Long story short, they were both ranting about how Disney fairytale films are a terrible influence on young girls. How figures like Ariel, Belle, Cinderella, and Snow White were hurting modern feminism. They conceded that Mulan was

So I'm blustering through my life at top speed just spending every moment thinking about not the current but the next. Finish Economics homework. Update lab journal. Hang out at Annie's. Get gas in the car because you won't have time tomorrow. That's it --time. Time is such an awful, lovely thing isn't it? Sometimes there's all too much of it and then *pooft* it's gone! And things all start rushing forward at warp-speed-Mr.-Sulu and you can't even really think can you? You just go. Plan plan plan plan plan plan plan and that's not a bad thing, no, never a bad thing at all to plan it's just you can't ONLY plan, can you? You have to live somet

Once upon a time there was a grouchy little peanut named Benny. He lived in a peanut factory and hated everything and everyone and stayed in his house all day and all night doing nothing for fear he might die. And then one morning he got eaten by a chubby 8-year-old named Maurice.

Yesterday, he walked into a coffee shop – an ordinary extraordinary coffee shop – and saw an angel. A real one, not one of those fake ones you see at Christmas time with the silly white dresses and golden halos. She was the plainest girl in there: emerald sweater, blue jeans, black shoes, nothing trendy, with a brownish-blonde flop of hair and two dull gray eyes set in a plain white face – freckle-less and make-up-less. And that's how he knew. He knew she was an angel – his angel. So he sat down on the opposite side of the room like the movies taught him and he watched her sitting with a book reading and he sipped his cof

CHAPTER 21: In The Ballroom Our dynamic duo erupted into the corridor just outside Leota's chamber and into pure chaos. They could feel the fear in the air – they could practically drink it. One enormous oppressive layer lay across the Mansion, but it didn't stop them; it barely slowed them down. Shirley led the way (as usual) relying alternately on instinct and logic. Where would Leota be? In this labyrinth, which door led to the vicious Minotaur? For she MUST still be in the Mansion. She had to be, because if she wasn't then it was too late to take action, and that wasn't an option Shirley Anderson would acknowledge. Rule out the s

CHAPTER 20: Just A Moment "THANK GOD" he screamed when he saw her eyes flicker open. She wasn't dead. Amidst the chaos and panic surrounding them, at least he could be assured that she was dead – she was very much alive. And the first instinct he had was to run. "Shirley, we've got to get out of here," Sean said as he yanked her up from the floor, but just before he reached the door he felt his light companion turn to lead. "You want me to leave?" Shirley asked – well, it really wasn't much of a question, more of a statement. "Yes, Shirley! Of course I do! Do you have any idea what's going on outside? Leota's got every sort of b

It was quick and, yet, it also wasn't quick. The bite was quick – the death was not. His skin crawled, eery muscle twitched, but he couldn't end it like this. Not with the boy staring at him like that – full of vengeance and fury. No, he couldn't bear to see the son who had her eyes look at him like that. So he mustered his strength – every last molecule – and gave the directions. There. Done. Over. His work at last complete, his struggle at last over, but it still hurt, and he still wasn't dead, and she still wasn't there. Obviously, he told himself. Would there be an afterlife? His mind wondered in those last, slow sec

Aye, when the winds turn sour and the sky grows black – "Culpepper." When the rain beats down on a bare boat's back— "Culpepper." That's the time when the Captain sails, haunting the coasts with his frightful wails! Oh, with his— "CULPEPPER!!" "FOR SAINT JIMINEY'S SAKES, WHAT D'YE WANT, YE SCURVY DOG?!" The Captain wheeled around with such force that he sent a few of the barnacles rooted in the left corner of his brow flying. His upper lip twisted into an impossible grimace, his eyes bulged to twice their normal size, and his whole face, which normally resembled mildew in color, blazed red as he stared down the interrupte

We're sailing towards the sun in an orange skiff, just zooming out across the great wide ocean with naught a speck of land in sight, never turning back, never noticing what we're leaving behind. Because it IS behind. It's not gone – never gone, never forgotten – but it's inconsequential now. It's got no sting left. Inflicting no pain, no fear, no sorrow, no remorse – and it never will again – that's the beauty of it! So with these waves breaking up around the sides and the bubbles leaping up to kiss your face and the birds soaring wild and free and the music swelling from God know's where, let's just race – full spe

CHAPTER 1: The Event All our small lives amount to are a series of events. Some are bigger than others, smaller than others, more dramatic than others, but everything we do and everything we ARE is an event, each important in some degree. There is one, however, that dominates our lives. One event that irreversibly changes the way we think and feel and act. It may be a battle lost or a novel written or a soft wish whispered in the dead of night, but whatever the event, its effect is quick and complete. It acts upon the entirety of our souls, altering even the tiny fragments we never thought existed. For Babette Moreau, that life-changing ev