I can, really, really relate to that. I come third!
Rose Popo: The girls' Secret
Dudey rushed out of her room, throwing on her clothes, racing downstairs to see mounds of presents. She was overjoyed. Since this was the first Christmas without her brother, she was sad. But, he had died because of System's wrath. Oh, how Rawry was such a kind 8 year old. Rose grabbed her hand, pulling her, Malty, and Puffy towards the humongous pile of gifts. Malty, who was just 6, raced to the presents with glee. She had an IQ of 141, so she had no problem of finding the presents with her name on them. Dudey was the smartest of the family though. So, she knew she would have to tell rose someday about what she had done. But, it was Christmas. Right now, she was going to open her presents. "OH MY GOD!" Puffy screamed, obviously delighted by the PawPhone Rose had bought her from the Whiskers technology center back all the way from the United Paws. Dudey gently pulled back the wrapping paper on one of her gifts, seeing a shining, shimmering potion laying before her. She looked at Rose, curious. "It's a silver magic potion, each of you got one. It makes you an official part of the Popo family...."
Find out what happens next in the next Rose Popo!
people in dis:
ask to be in the next store and ill try to include u
@WhiteFeathers is senpai she liked post omggg
Your writing is so cool! :)
My only flaw is that I would never that high of an IQ :P
XD it can happen
mine s 141 btw... er yah
took a pro IQ test
might not believe me but.....
but IQ doesn't mean how smart u r, its intelligent question, which just means ur ability
it was a gifted test
I hate gifted
Yep, exactly! :)
ick. im in gifted
gotta go on computer and do it
WASTES MAI TIME XD
Um, well, I wrote this five page short story...?
Anyone want to see it? Is it even legal? It might be long enough to be considered spam...
Your story is not a "Serenity's short stories series", or a "The Serenity Buisness". I dont think its advertsiing, this a a topic where you share your own stories.
Welp, here goes...
I'll put in a folder because it's really long for a forum post
Of all the natural human emotions, perhaps the most unsettling may be the cold, paralyzing stupor of Fear. Unlike its cousin Nerves, which builds up over time like pressure in a geyser, or even Anger, which is accompanied by an overwhelming desire to do, Fear prefers to strike its victims unawares like a viper, trapping them in its jaws and rendering them completely helpless. Indeed, a soul overtaken by fear is a soul left fully unprotected, vulnerable to the more aggressive spirits of Surprise, Embarrassment, Injury, or even Death. One who has experienced these misfortunes through Fear will remember the former foolishness and naivete of his existence with a woeful sigh.
It was with such ignorant spirit that Jazer Rothschild chose to accompany his group of friends down a back route on their way home from school. This particular route passed by an antiquated cemetery, and the boys, being boys, decided as a group to vandalize a few of the statues. One gravestone in particular, a dilapidated marble slab engraved with the figure of the greek god Phobos, stood on the outer reaches of the graveyard, opposite the gate.
Rumor was about the town that this headstone was bad luck. Many foolish men had dared to disturb it, but all had mysteriously disappeared. The citizens of the town had taken the liberty of attributing these mysterious disappearances to supernatural activity. As most might, these teenage boys found the danger and risk involved with the statue quite intriguing.
“Hey, Jazer,” challenged Kas, gesturing to the ancient figure. “You up for some thrills tonight?”
Jazer chuckled, running a hand through his dyed-red hair. “You bet I am,” he responded.
“All right, then go laugh in his face.” The boys had now circled around the gravestone, with Jazer and Kas in the center.
The former smirked, lightly shoving his friend to the outside of the circle. He turned to face the figure, looking it straight in its blank, bottomless eyes. For a second he hesitated, as he had suddenly remembered why it was that all those people had disappeared. As the rumor went, one foolish and reckless enough to laugh in the face of Phobos would be brought to the palace of the demon Fear, and any sane person knew such a fate would mean certain death. Just the thought of such a fate sent chills down Jazer’s spine.
He quickly brushed the thought away. The myth, however haunting, was just that—a myth. And, after all, Jazer Rothschild was not afraid of anything. He squared his shoulders, feeling the lifeless eyes of the figure boring into him, and laughed, loud and long, into the face of Fear.
At once, everything went black. The evening around him darkened into pure midnight, a darkness so black that he should not have been able to see anything. Through the suffocating shadows, Jazer found he could still make out his surroundings somewhat easily, and he was astounded by what now surrounded his presence.
He appeared to be inside of some sort of windowless throne room, similar to what one would find in a medieval castle. He stood at the edge of a long, tattered red carpet, and as he walked along it he noticed, dangling from the impossibly high ceilings, seven grand chandeliers filled with hundreds of white substances that did not give off any actual light. Upon closer examination of the walls, he found them not to be unmarked, as he’d first thought, but covered to every corner with what looked to be skeletons, all bent into grotesque positions like some twisted ballet.
As he neared the end of the hall, Jazer’s attention was drawn to the elaborate, antique throne that sat unoccupied in front of him. It appeared to be made of petrified wood, and the carver had taken great care to include multiple faces, frozen in their own silent screams. Jazer wondered for an instant if the faces had once been people, maybe even the people who had disappeared from his town so long ago. He snickered to himself at his own nonsense.
Without warning, Jazer felt a cold wind against his back, and he whipped around, finding nothing. As he turned back to the throne, he started in surprise. Where there had once been pure darkness there now lounged a pale-skinned girl of about eleven, regarding him with a childish smirk. Her blonde hair was tied up in two pigtails, and she wore a simple, knee-length black dress. On her head was a crown embellished not with jewels, but with the same paradoxical orbs that adorned the chandeliers.
“So you’re the Demon of Fear?” he asked, figuring that was the only possibility of her identity.
When she spoke, her voice had a quality of being everywhere and nowhere at once. Her lips did not move, but her words came from every direction, resonating throughout the room without making a sound. “I prefer Zilthai.”
“Zilthai,” Jazer repeated, leaning against the wall. He folded his arms over his chest.
“And you’re Jazer Rothschild,” Zilthai added, looking him up and down. Jazer noted that her eyes did not have pupils or irises; they were only two red scleras piercing into him. It made him feel small—everything about this place made him feel insignificant. But Jazer was not going to show it, and he definitely was not going be scared of it. He was born without fear, and he would die without fear.
Zilthai’s words brought him back to his senses. “Not as impressive as I’d thought,” she remarked scornfully, seeming almost disappointed at his apparent mediocrity.
“Are you sure about that?” he responded, determined to defend his reputation even to a stranger. “You’ve hardly met me yet.”
The demon chuckled, a quiet, cold sound. “Tell me, Jazer Rothschild,” she challenged, “Did you not laugh in the face of Phobos? Is that not what brought you to my domain?”
“Indeed I did. I am not afraid of anything.”
“Then you are either very brave or very stupid.”
“I like to think I’m edgy.”
“You had better hope you are brave, for stupidity has cost the lives of many great men.” She gestured around the room, her thin hand pausing on the bones in the wall, the faces in the throne, and the orbs in the chandelier.
Jazer was suddenly reminded of how cold it was in the room. He drew his leather jacket tighter around his shoulders, and this made Zilthai laugh.
“I will make you a deal, Jazer Rothschild,” she continued, standing to emphasize her point. “You say that you are without fear, and I would like to test that theory. If even I cannot scare you, then I will grant you passage back to your hometown. However, if I can make you scream, the price you must pay for your foolishness is death. Do you accept?”
Jazer nodded slowly, taking in the full weight of the deal.
“Then I wish you the best of luck.”
With that, Zilthai vanished into the darkness, and the temperature dropped another thirty degrees. Jazer reached to button his jacket, and was startled to realize it was gone, along with the wall he had been leaning against. He stumbled, landing on his back with a dull thud. As he scrambled to get up, a pale hand appeared from the shadows, and he took it.
“Are you all right, Jason?” asked Kas, concern written on his face. Looking around, Jazer saw his friends had all crowded around him, though he did not know where they came from.
“It’s Jazer, remember?” he hissed, hating the sound of his given name.
“Jazer? Since when did you go by that?”
“Since I was eight. You were there!”
“Jason, I think you’re hallucinating. We’re here for you if you need help.”
“I’m not hallucinating!” As he said it, his companions dissolved, and he was alone once more in the clear darkness. Bewildered, he ran aimlessly for a few minutes before he remembered the reason he was here. This was all a ruse, created by Zilthai to try and get him to show fear. Fear was for weaklings, he reminded himself for the third time, and Jazer Rothschild was not weak. Despite his resolve, however, even Jazer himself was having trouble believing it this time.
From behind him there came a thud, and he turned around to find his own reflection in the mirror. But he hardly recognized himself, for his jacket was missing, his hair was no longer red, and the expression on his face was so unlike himself that he recoiled from it on sight.
The expression on his face was one of pure terror.
Against his will, a desperate wailing escaped from his throat, quiet at first, but rapidly escalating to a shrill, piercing scream unlike any ever before. He sank to his knees, unable to control the traitorous sound, and he was vaguely aware of Zilthai’s presence, coming nearer and nearer, and he knew he was about to die; the scream continued to flow out of him like a river, but even over the noise, he could hear Zilthai’s smug voice in his head as the life was drained from him with the last of his scream.
I have to edit it, but yeah. It's a horror story for my Gifted ELA class.
No, please recycle this
I got this trust me
Don't make any new ones I will email @liza
(This was only for while the original Imagination topic was closed, anyway)
Great idea! Here's a story I made when I was bored! XD
The frozen snow felt soft beneath my hooves. I looked up only to see my mother trotting towards me, a look of sadness and grief on her face. My ears perked up. "Mother!" I shouted. "What's wrong?"
"Olive;" She said sternly. I knew I was in trouble. "Your father, he's very ill. I'm not sure..." Her voice trailed off. My eyes began to water. I pressed my head into her warm, thick fur. "Go visit him." She said. "I can't look at him in a situation like this." I nodded and sprinted off to the nursing den. I saw my father lying on the floor of the den, the soft snowy ground crunched every time he fidgeted. "Father!" I shouted. He looked up, noticing I entered the small muddy den. I carefully sat down next to him, staring into his deep blue eyes. He looked just like my mother. His fur was a pale gray, his long tan horns looked old and cracked, like they were buried for 100 years. His face was wrinkled, like a piece of paper folded over and over. His eyelashes fluttered. He smiled at me before drifting off to sleep. I watched his chest rise and fall calmly, and finally, I began to relax.
Ik, it's sed ;-;
I live in a flawed world
Where being perfect is hard
But I live in a perfect bubble
Unshakeable and cannot be flawed
It's made of titanium,bullet proof
I decide to break the walls
So watch me as I shatter them
Because I'm tired of being perfect
A thousand times I fall
A thousand times I hold on to hope
A thousand times I crumble
The hope and wish I held on to
Gone because of words
Gone because.... Just because
The friendships I've had
That crumble to dust
As life sings a duet with loss
I move on from them I simply forget
But I cannot move on
Because words hurt and words ache
I will get it open
Do not worry
And get the dude suspended