lordsmeagol

Core Warez will be at the Florida Supercon, July 1-4. http://www.floridasupercon.com/. We will be selling Pen shirts and would like to offer a discount to the Pen members. If your going to the Con, please stop by the booth and mention your a Pen member!

[swallowed]

WHAT HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN Looking for an inner peace. I begin to see the past. In squares that held time and forever joy. Joy held for a moment no more. What has come and gone never to be again. My only wish to walk back through time and live it once more. So dismal is this day that sun breaks night. The birds begin their song of morning delight. Staring out the pained glass window, I see, I see . Not the future or the past , only now. so take the photographs and put them high on the wall. Know what you miss where you erred . "Triumph!!!!" I say , triumph over that which precludes the day. So when it ends as all days do. Know it with picture and place the rest behind you. Take the photo , put it to the wall of memories that were. As we grow old and start to fade , look to the wall and remember . What you have lived every single day. i know almost a hallmark moment . but i have felt i need to post somthing for some reason.

Hehe. pulls out sledge hammer and sharp needle. I believe this pedestal and his head have grown out of proportion quite a bit. As the first person to post on this invision web site, and knowing Peredhil, I can agree he is nice yeah. So is a strong breeze until it get to such a large proportion it is a hurricane wiping out what is in its path, leaving behind a nice yet changed landscape. So do we all like to be changed? I for one am living matter and have no need of constant influence from the outside. Yet, what will happen to those that need him to stop. Their change has started and they need to regain balance on their own two feet before continuing forward, but his breaking wind is too strong and keeps pushing them. And that is nuff. Oh yeah. He does have smelly feet. And Doctor Evil *is* right - he snores. p.s. he coerces individuals....

Looking back I am a little saddened. This version was not the original. The original was chopped up by an English teacher, to the form it is now. I remember the original having more meat and gristle to it though, on the point of which I like best. That is a hard choice for me. Any of my writings, for I put my self into especially the emotional level. That is one of the reasons I evolved the original. On the topic of making the other one into a full blown story. i must say that is a very good posablity due to the praise i have recived . thank you all .

The alley smelled moldy, like a wet dog, And shoes splashed in small puddles that filled the holes in the street. As a man walked to the door in the back of the alley, He looked up. An old rotted wood sign hung over the door. The sign looked burnt: The paint had mostly fallen off, And only a few letters were visible--- D, E, N, A, T, and an H. The man rembered when the sign was new, Pure white with red letters spelling "SMITH AND SON, DENTAL HEALTH." A flash of brilliant white light Exploded with a thunder clap. A gun. A sound of horror. The man by the doorway dropped. A chip of paint fell from the sign; The letters that were left spelled DEATH.

The alley smelled moldy, like so many mongrel animals that scamper away in the heavy dew ridden streets of a large decaying city. Shoes splashing in puddles that filled the holes in the pavement, a rippling of grayed poxed water, showing that this place was losing the constant battle with time. A man walked to the door in the back of the alley; it began to rain as if on cue, a last desperate, futile attempt to wash sin from the city. He looked up. Water hit his face filling the many crevices in his weather-beaten skin that showed age. The sole source of visibility, an overhanging street lamp, exuded more of a glow then illumination. Showing an old rotted wood sign that hung from discolored clay bricks on a crumbling mooring as if to fall when a strong breeze topples it at any moment. The sign looked burnt; paint had mostly fallen off, only a few captions were visible, nothing that could be formed into anything coherent. Moving his attention to the door with new, fresh paint, and steel knob, standing out like a skyscraper in Egypt. With a gloved hand reaching up grasping the doorknob turning and pulling in a slow methodical motion. A dull metallic click “locked”. Stepping back, in a well practice motion, looking around and producing from his coat a bar, thin tipped with a long shaft. Metallic grinding as it slipped between frame and door. Weight shifting as he leans into the bar, a slight grunt escaping his lips. Brick quickly crumbled and frame gave way; the door flew open one hundred-eighty degrees of arc slamming into the opposing wall. Thunder, echoing through the alley out to a deaf city.

I know this makes me sound jaded. The spot you warmed in my bed. Once yours alone so you believed. Openly has been filled and taken. Now by one less forsaken. Excuse me if I seemed relieved. Even more to turn and not see your head. Did I mention the picture you left has become faded?

Nervous of life and flesh as the canvas spreads forth. Destroy what is whole and wholesome to conjure new images of a desecrated field. Blood and fester freely breed in an ichors pool of pox. Religious zealots smearing all in a baptismal of reds and blacks. Soul sacrifice of innocent to birth pain within an umbilical embrace. The lice of righteousness feed on all.