26/07/2013 - Feature Time

26/07/2013 - Feature Time
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:thumb385659381: Character File TemplateNAME (SPECIAL NOTE)
Basic bio. Include- pseudonyms/aliases, nicknames, or true names. Multiple personality disorder/ two or more minds in one body? Fill in another template for them and where it says (SPECIAL NOTE) above, please fill in the identifying factor for that character. Ex: NAME (HUMAN FORM)... NAME (DEMON FORM)
Relations
-name: traits that are relevant to his/her interaction with the character, what he/she has to do with the character, how they interact, and so on.
-name: blah blah blah
-name: blah blah blah
-etc.
Physical Appeareance
HEIGHT-
WEIGHT-
BODY TYPE-
SKIN-
HAIR-
EYES-
OTHER- (glasses? sharp teeth? anything not covered above)
Often Seen With
-object
-person
-animal
-etc.
Sexuality
LGBTIQS?
Other
Anything else important not included above (remember, this is about outward appearance, not personality)
SandcastlesOn the beach alone,
brown-eyed, petite, kneeling in the sand
she spent an hour of her life
building something
that'd be washed away by sea. Untitled Fantasy Short“Who sent you?”
“Who sent me?  You did.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Oh I assure you, it is very much the truth...”
The silence that followed was deafening. The two men stood in the center of what must have once been a church.  They were surrounded by devastation, debris from a long forgotten war. There was no internal light source, but luckily it was nearing midday and the light of the sun poured in the room from the cracks in the collapsed roof. The two men circled the room like wild animals, each eagerly searching for a moment of weakness in the other. The two men were kept separate by an immense chandelier lying shattered in the center of the room. In the far corner of the room stood the statue of a warrior angel, shielding its eyes in either shame or fear.
Each man stared at the other with deadly intent.  One, the older by the look of him, was dressed in the heavy flowing brown garb of a colonial soldier. His blonde hair wa Hard To BreatheI can’t tell if I’m drowning,
Or swimming to the shore.
I find myself searching,
But what am I looking for?
Don’t know if I love you,
I don’t know if you care.
All I know is I can’t breathe          
While you’re standing there!
Try to keep up, but I’ve lost track of time.
Try to remember how you stopped being mine.
Try to heal my aches and pains,
Try to live another day.
I listen to my music,
Drowning out my cries.
I focus on the little things,
Keep going on with life.
Tell you that I’m sorry
For whatever I did wrong.
Try to hold onto what’s left of you,
But you’re already gone.
Try to keep up, but I’ve lost track of time.
Try to remember how you stopped being mine.
Try to heal my aches and pains,
Try to live another day. :thumb388174497: :thumb388166430: FFM 25.13 Biiicycle! Biiiiicycle!I picked through the bones of the city, looking for something, anything, I could use or sell. I ducked into the remains of what had once been a grand house, imagining what it must have been like to live there. For a moment, the wallpaper wasn’t faded or peeling, and the stairs didn’t look like they would rot out from under the first foot to step on them. Then I saw it.
It was rusted, and the seat was practically nonexistent, but the bicycle didn’t look like it would fall apart, even without the filter of imagination. On closer inspection, I found that the tires were miraculously solid rubber, and wouldn’t need filling.
I tied my other findings up in my coat, improvising a sling from the sleeves, and shrugged them onto my shoulders. I rode the bike all the way home, on a wave of giddy excitement. The Day The World Didn't WakeMackie’s cell phone rang shrilly, yanking her out of a deep, drug-induced sleep. She fumbled for it over her bedside table, dropping it on the floor in her hurry. She groaned, dropping her head back against the pillow, letting it go to voicemail. It beeped and a moment later began wailing again. Mackie grumbled beneath her breath and leaned over the edge of her bed, picking it up and slapping it against her ear.
“What?” she snapped, palm against the ground to keep from falling to the floor herself.
“Mackenzie!” The voice was relieved, frantic, husky. “Mackenzie, oh thank God you’re there.”
“Tyler?” Mackie mumbled, squinting. She tried to pull herself back onto the bed, and grunted. “It’s the middle of the night, Ty. Go to sleep.”
“Mackie, it’s morning here,” her brother spoke quickly. “Can you do something? Can you go check on mom and dad?”
“They’re sleeping,” M Merchandise MarketingThe general studies speech class that I was forced to take was filled with mostly business majors. And, you know, me.
Today was the day we were going to begin working on group projects and I had brought along my sketchbook in the vain hope that by keeping my head down and busy everyone else could partner with each other and I would be left to work by myself.
The teacher assigned partners. I got stuck with a girl named Nicole who was eyeing my batman backpack with the same apparent trepidation that I was eyeing her false eyelashes with.
The assignment was for an informative speech on something that we both felt passionate about. It was a pretty broad outline and neither of us quite knew where to start.
The few ideas that we did throw around were quickly dismissed. She had never heard of Stargate. I had no idea who Kate Spade was. The only thing we did seem to agree on was Leonardo DiCaprio’s acting skills and the fact that we couldn’t actually do a presentation on that.
Befo FFM 2013,July 23 - Father Edbert's Pumpkin PickersFather Edbert had no idea why the two mail-clad adventurers wanted him to come with them. They had showed up in the middle of his breakfast and demanded he came with them, and he had been too flabbergasted to protest.
"I'm sorry, but, could you two fine gentlemen tell me again what you are looking for in Aberstead?" Father Edbert was interrupted by one of the two, a brute with a flat face and an ugly moustache, pulling at his sleeve.
"'urry up ya fat tosser. Ya got yer spells all ready?"
They were headed for the big barn in the outskirts of the village. Oh dear. Father Edbert dug in his heels to stall them. He had an idea where they were headed, and that was bad. Who was the blabbermouth?
"Spells? Dear sirs, I'm just a humble pastor! I don't ask God for those kinds of favours!"
"Oi wat? You ain't got any spells?" The other one, a greasy-looking man, his hair in a ponytail, glowered at Father Edbert. "Wot kind of priest are you?"
"As I said." Edbert smiled, collecti The Barking ManThis man, he lived in an apartment alone
This man, he made barking sounds all day
This man, he wrote stacks of words on notebook paper
That no one would ever read
This man did not fit into normal society
This man went shopping at three AM
When the stores were crowdless, and he could
Get the good shopping cart
This man didn't know when to stop drinking
His barking became slurred, and sounded like loss
This man lived inside my head until I wrote him down
On paper that no one will ever see jealousy    She was a natural born smoker. Grey poison inserted itself; weaving thin threads of death into and around her bronchial tubes. The vituperation her lungs faced daily always made a small smile bubble up to the surface; she was proud of her pulmonary alveoli working within her sore lungs. 
    He was not a smoker. That was what made their relationship so entirely intriguing. His lips had never come in contact with a paper filter until they met hers. Her cigarette stained hands wove into his hair and brought along death. Which, of course, was the best way to start it; at the roots where no one would notice, until it slowly slipped through to the blood stream.
   They worked together just like the inner workings of the lungs she worked so hard to kill. He attempted to bring her health, breathe into her the life he wanted her to live; just as the alveolar ducts exchange oxygen for carbon dioxide for air to breathe. He desperately wished for her to drop

Whoa, a pretty big turn-out this week!  I hope you enjoy everything on display