srsizzy

I think we actually have to read Anna Karenina in our senior year. We have to read an awful lot of books for IB Enlgish...I miss the days of creative writing we once had. And I think it would be more like every other part (parts 1-16) to divide the war from the peace, since that's mostly how it's gone so far.

I'm just making a post to let all know that I still exist. Well, that's not the entire purpose. It's kind of an introduction to my life, and what's going on in it, and why I haven't submitted anything in a while. You see, right now I am in a program called the IB (International Baccalaureate). This program is similar to AP classes, but I think it might be harder. I'm not sure though, I don't know what AP classes are like. The program is recognized by colleges in a lot of other countries. The only thing is the workload. I have a few free hours a day, sometimes none, and no time on weekends. Sometimes it's enough work to not get enough sleep. Soon I'll be getting more work, and have a huge project due in every class in the next two months. So, basically I'm saying that I can't write until next summer. The free time I might have, I have to spend on editing and doing layout for my school magazine, and now I am also the editor for the yearbook. So, though I may do writing for that it will just be articles. I'm not trying to complain or anything, I put myself in this dire situation. I am just finding a way to inform that I probably won't be able to contribute for some time. Even as we speak I should be finishing the last four-hundred pages of War and Peace for next Wednesday's literary seminar, and then I have to read four other "historical" books in the next two weeks. Anyways, enough griping. I'll try to pop in every once in a while. I'll let you guys know when I have more of my book done, but I don't know if and when that will happen. I'm going to try to revise the first four chapters I have by October 31st, and write the fifth chapter by the middle of November, maybe during the break (though this is highly doubtful, since I have some big projects due the following weeks). See you all around.

bitingly

Yeah, I'll admit, I have no idea how college exams happen here. I think it all depends on the college, but all those who have read the story and attended college in the past haven't said anything as of yet. I think they're pretty intense, but I'm not sure, I should probably do some research into it. Dark Town is a fictional city, so the college is too, but I'll see what I can do to make the exam part of it a tad more realistic. I'm glad to hear that people enjoy reading it. That makes me want to post more...I probably will. I have to write it first though. I've thought about how much is explained in the car in Ch 3, and I think it would be better to take some of that conversation and explain it more through the story and less through characters conversing. I read over Wyv's post again, and next time I take a run over the story for editing I'll try to think about adding more physical and characteristic traits to the characters.

Check top of page for Post 09 The Reed Family Aproximately 250 years before the party In a small village in England there lived a very happy community. They prospered in planting grain and many other autumn crops. Every year there would be a harvest festival where the entire town would gather and celebrate the seasons. The people of the village worshipped many things at dusk, though the word "worship" is used lightly here. The evening, when the sun was setting, was the time this village belonged to. At every event, every dinner table, every night, all would sit silently for a few moments as the sun set behind the treetops. There was hardly any strife, and life there went on without any trouble. The village was far from perfect, but got on well enough. Every so often there would be crop failure, and sometimes the winters would be harsh, but the people of the village persisted without complaint. Everyone knew it was normal for these things to happen, but many would fancy the thought that these things happened when they weren't doing things right, or someone did a misdeed. In this way, everyone was able to remain responsible for his or herself, for fear that if they did wrong the whole village would pay. It was an odd belief, and there were many other odd beliefs, but these were what made the community function. One day, a man named Peter Reed appeared. He claimed that he had been on a long voyage, and needed a new home to settle down in, and so he settled there. Peter unpacked the few possessions he had, and moved into a house that nobody remembered existing. It was imagined that the building must have been there the all along without anyone noticing it, because it was hardly new. All these thoughts passed over their heads with very little scrutiny, and things went back to the way they were. Though no one really noticed it, when Peter moved in, the whole village began to change. The farms were more prosperous, the weather was gentler, and the families were happier. Soon enough, everyone accepted Peter as if he had lived amongst them for a very long time. No one knew how old Peter Reed was, but it didn't seem to matter. Sometimes he looked very young, and sometimes he looked very old. All that mattered was that he was everyone's friend. After a year of living in the village, Peter met Alice Lancaster. Alice didn't know of the Reed family, but soon took a fancy to the man. One marvelous afternoon, three months after they met, they were out on a picnic together. As dusk approached, Peter took Alice down to the creek, and they watched as the stars faded into view. Under the moonlight, Peter asked Alice to marry him. Half a year later, the wedding ceremony took place. Peter said he had a very small family, and only a dozen of his family members came, most of them looking as if they were of no relation to him. The only one that returned frequently after the wedding was Peter's brother, Montague. They didn't look alike, but everyone could tell by the way they spoke to each other that Peter and Montague were very close. The ceremony passed over wonderfully. Alice had family travel in from very far, and most of the townsfolk were invited to the wedding. One of Peter's relations, a man who only called himself Falstaff the Wanderer, was the life of the party. He was an odd man with grey skin who claimed he was from across the channel, though he didn't specify any more than that. During the wedding, Falstaff told fantastical legends, and did many tricks, most of which the children thought was magic and set the adults with curious shivers. Some of the guests stayed the night, sleeping on the floors and outside in tents, including Peter's brother. When the time was approaching midnight, Alice could here the two brothers arguing on the porch, and when she went out to see what was going on Montague was leaving. He turned and waved to her, walking off into the night and leaving her with a severely annoyed Peter. A year later, they conceived their first daughter, Isabelle. She was a very sweet girl, and her parents loved her more than anything in the world. As a toddler, she was the life of their home. Her intelligent, beautiful eyes shed light on the small family, bringing happiness to her mother and father, even when Peter returned from a tiring day of working at the mill. He would come in and pick her up, and all she would do is smile and laugh, making Peter's heart warm with happiness. When she grew older, beginning to walk and speak and do the things that aging children tend to do, Alice and Peter had a son. They named him Charles. When he grew older, he was an energetic toddler, and Isabelle sometimes found herself ignored as Charles took the attention of any guests. They both learned to read and write at a small schoolhouse in the center of town. Alice taught her children manners, and their father taught them to work hard, and both of the children grew up sharp and polite. No one in the neighborhood harbored bad feelings to the Reed family. They helped out in the community as much as, if not more than, many of the other families in the village. Soon after Charles turned five, everyone began to learn that Peter was a wonderful storyteller. He seemed to keep it private at first, but soon he was telling tales of adventure that many had never heard, over a fire in the forest or dinner when the town would gather to feast during a festival. Peter told tales of satyrs, nymphs and pixies; fairies, dwarves and magicians; and even sometimes he told of witches, monsters, ghouls and ghosts. Once or twice he told stories of lands far away, where there were god-like beings that socialized with humans and lived amongst them as kings. Charles enjoyed listening to his father's tales more than anyone. His favorites were those of fairies, wisps, wolves, and all other manner of beings in the forest. His sister told him with a condescending tone that none of it was true, and that their father was only telling stories. Whenever Charles asked his father, the only reply would be, "You never know." This kept his spirits up. Charles would always dawdle at the forest's edge before entering, whispering a silent plea for any creatures to let him pass unharmed. Over the years, Montague Reed visited many more times. A lot of the time he tried to coincide his visit with a festival that was taking place. Sometimes Falstaff the Wanderer would accompany him, keeping the crowd entertained with his parlor tricks and stories that weren't much unlike the ones Peter told. The Reed family would always greet Montague with open arms, welcoming him into their home for a week or a day, as long as he was able to stay. Montague said he often had business trips to make (though he never said what kind of business) and he could only stay as long as his schedule permitted. His niece and nephew were both very fond of their uncle, and would often go on excursions into the forest with them. When they came back, they often wouldn't remember what had taken place, but only that they must have had a wonderful time because they were feeling as cheerful as ever. Every year the family would expect a visit from Montague, sometimes two or three times a year. Alice's family would also visit, but it wasn't the same. It was very rare to have a Sir or Miss Lancaster grace the family with their presence. The family was sometimes expected to visit Alice's parents for holidays, but the children never looked forward to this. No one in the family seemed particularly fond of Alice's family except Alice herself. It was curious, but the only relative the children much cared for was their uncle Montague. As Isabelle bloomed into her years of becoming a woman, and Charles fought against becoming a young man, the family continued to prosper in its mediocre fashion. Peter started managing the mill and every so often Charles would come along to help. It was on one of these days that Charles decided to accompany his father that something very peculiar happened. Peter had stepped outside to look at the clouds approaching on the horizon, and when he returned, instead of carrying the bags of grain Charles had somehow conjured them into the air and was carting them across the room with nothing but the wave of a hand. When Charles noticed his father return he became flustered and the bags fell to the ground, spilling grain all over the floor. Peter stared at his son intensely for a very long time. When Charles seemed to be on the verge of tears, his father finally spoke. The first thing he said was that he was not angry with his son, but that under no circumstance could Charles do things like that in the eyes of anyone but his father. Peter then commenced to wave his own hands, muttering under his breath and causing all the grain to gather back in the sacks. Charles was only slightly surprised, and as they worked his father explained to him why the mill had been working better under his management. Charles admitted to Peter that he had learned to move things like that when he was alone in the forest. Now that he felt he had the acceptance of his father, Charles began to use this magic he had learned, but only when he was alone or with his father. Aside from cooking and tending to the needs of the house, Alice could be found mending and sewing dresses and gowns for women in the village. She had taken an interest to sewing when Isabelle and Charles had needed new clothing, and the family couldn't afford much. Now she found the hours of peaceful stitching to be almost ceremonious. Montague visited a few months after Peter found out Charles's secret. When Charles had a moment alone with his uncle, he accidentally let it slip that he could do something that his sister couldn't, but he didn't say what it was. When Montague inquired on what Charles was talking about, the boy told Montague (or "Monty" as the family called him) that his father said he couldn't let anyone know what it was. Montague simply stated that maybe Charles ought not to tell him if his father asked him not to, and dropped the subject entirely. Isabelle began to feel just as unnoticed as she did as a toddler, and could often be found silently cooking in the small room that counted as a dining room and a kitchen. Though she had encountered magical occurrences, she never attributed them to herself, and often thought they were the product of a dizzy spell. It wasn't until she was almost into womanhood when she realized that she could often glimpse into the near future. The fear of being thought a witch and cast out from the village kept her from telling anyone about it; and at night, when she heard sounds that no one else complained of, she was sure to keep her mouth closed on the matter. While her brother grew into this newfound magic, Isabelle turned away from it and found herself neglected by their father more and more, though she never really knew why. Charles never worried of what others may think, because he knew his father was just like him, and as long as his father wasn't frightened then Charles felt no reason to be frightened either. It was a breezy day in August when Montague Reed visited once more. The wind tossed dust and leaves across the road as he strode up to the little house, carrying a leather bag at his side. In Montague's wake ambled a recognized man with grayish skin and scraggly hair. He stood stiffly on the porch behind Montague as the uncle's gloved hand approached the door. Two knocks and Isabelle ran to open the door. "Montague!" A voice cried out from a rocking chair. Alice sprung up, putting her sewing aside and rushing to her brother-in-law, while trying to keep her pace as mannerly as possible. "You must be starving! Oh, Isabelle, could you start up the stove for supper. Peter and your brother should be home soon enough. I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow! Come in, come in!" Montague tipped his hat to Alice with a familial smile, and stepped through the wooden doorframe. He could hardly manage saying, "How do you do Alice?" before she had run over to clean off a chair for him to sit in. His right hand hovered where he had stretched it out for a handshake. "Isabelle is growing to be a charming young woman," he said, trying to ignore Alice's hyperactive attitude. Isabelle blushed as she set up a pot over the wood stove. Montague's follower hovered at the door for a moment. "Oh, you know you can come in for supper as well Falstaff," Alice said, rushing to the door and holding it open. "Oh, that's very kind, but I think I'm going to hop to the pub for a spot of drink." Falstaff bowed his head and began to turn away. "Are you sure? You certainly look as if you could do with a wee bit more than just a drink," Alice said, trying to impress upon the thin man that he needed a good meal. "Let the man be Alice," Montague said, his expression becoming weary. "My assistant is shy around company…just like little Isabelle here," he said with a wink to his niece. Isabelle blushed again and left the house to fill a pot with water at the spout. "Oh, Falstaff, you're like family, there's not a reason to be shy," Alice implored. "Let it be Alice," Montague said, taking on a demanding tone. "Suit yourself then." Alice silently straightened the table up as Falstaff stepped off the porch and let the door swing shut behind him. "The both of you really don't look like you've eaten in ages," she muttered, violently polishing off a candle holder and setting it on the table a little too hard. "All right then, where has that girl run off to? Isabelle?" she shouted. When her daughter ran in and pointed at the pot of water, Alice grimaced and began fussing about the stove. When Isabelle politely asked her to move so that she could prepare the food, Alice busied herself with cleaning some dishes. "Now, now, Alice," Montague cried, short laughs cutting into his speech, "settle down woman! The dishes aren't going to dash off on their own accord. Come, come, and tell me how the year has treated the Reed family!" "Oh, you know Montague, the usual. We missed you on the solstice, but it was a pleasant night nonetheless. Now where are those boys? They should've been back by now, the sun's just setting…" The orange and red hues of dusk were dancing through the front window and Alice shut her eyes as the sun disappeared behind the line of trees. Just then the door opened and in bustled father and son, laughing gaily as they noticed that Montague was sitting before them. Charles ran to embrace Montague, and oddly they both seemed to life one another off the ground. When they released each other Montague looked as his nephew with an odd twinkle in his eye and surprised expression that only Alice seemed to notice. "Charlie my boy, look at you! You're really becoming a man." "That he his," Peter pronounced, stepping forward possessively. For a half of a moment he grimaced at his brother, but then his expression became jovial once more. Again, this change in demeanor was only observed by Alice. "I thought Falstaff was coming, is he here?" "He hopped over to the pub, you know how he is. Should keep the people entertained." The smile slipped from Montague's face, and each man stared the other in the eye a tension grew between them. It was gone though, as soon as Alice noticed it, and the children remained completely ignorant. "Yes, well, we'll have to save him a bit of supper for when he returns," Peter said. Alice smiled as Peter planted a warm kiss on her forehead. He took a seat by his brother and Montague's meaty arm stretched over Peter's shoulder. Peter began to talk about the success of the mill, occasionally stealing glances at his son, and Montague cut in with a small tidbit about his latest business venture. Whenever Alice heard these conversations it seemed to her that they said more than they were actually saying. It was as if they spoke in a secret language, so hidden that no one could notice what the true subject of the conversation was. It was none of her business though, and she kept her nose out of it as her and her daughter prepared dinner for the family. Dinner went by pleasantly, and the family caught Montague up with the current affairs of the village. When Alice had cleared away the dishes and sent the children to bed, Peter and Montague went out to smoke their pipes behind the house. Alice could barely hear the two voices muttering over the sound of the breeze through the window as she lay in bed reading a book. It was never her intent to intrude on the two brothers, and had always allowed them their privacy, but this time she couldn't help pricking up her ears when their conversation became intriguing. "You're going to have to accept that this won't last forever," Montague's voice sounded louder and deeper than normal, though he was almost whispering. "Why must you always change the conversation to this? I know what I'm doing. Have you sensed it in Charles? He's special, and I like to think that perhaps I could raise him to be someone extraordinary, the last of his kind." Peter's tone was full of excitement. "Not the last," Montague exhaled deeply, and continued, "just the last that is allowed. There will certainly be others, and if he has children! I've noticed that he is looking peculiar. Have there been any signs that he knows?" "Yes, yes, amazing development. Recently I've learned that he inherently knows how to interact with…" Peter's voice died out into a whisper and Alice couldn't hear the rest. "…but his sister on the other hand." "I could tell. She doesn't have any of the signs about her that she should. Very pretty, but not a speck of evidence that she's…well…" Montague trailed off and puffed at his pipe. Alice held her breath in anticipation, wondering what exactly he had meant. What was it that Charles had and Isabelle didn't? "It is quite peculiar, really, she's older than him, and such things have always been more apparent in females. I hate to ask it, but are you positive that she is…err…yours?" Alice gasped, and threw her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. Montague grunted, but neither noticed that she was listening through the window. "Of course, positively, come brother, you have to at least be able to tell your own kin." Alice let out a silent sigh of relief. She knew that her husband would never doubt her dedication to him, and it was insulting that Montague, her own brother-in-law, would even insinuate such a thing. "There is a possibility that she just isn't the same…or she gets her traits from her mother's side of the family." "Yes, well, you never know. Maybe it will develop later." The sound of them smoking their pipes was the only thing Alice heard for some time. The smell of the smoke crept through the window, and Alice thought it smelt less like tobacco, and more like something sweeter. "So this is what you're going to do for now…what about when they're gone? Many have tried to lead this life, and it always ends in pain. We aren't meant to live amongst them, we aren't meant to be them. We are merely meant to protect them; and ourselves when it comes down to it." "Montague, I could never imagine leaving this…my family behind. Charles will need my guidance as he grows older, and maybe some day I will be able to take him to…" But Alice dozed off here, and the rest of their conversation played itself out in her dreams, leaving her doubtful that what she had witnessed had even been real. She didn't quite understand it, and in the end dismissed it as something her mind concocted to confuse her, as many people do when confronted with such strange things. The night wasn't over when Alice went to sleep. Though Peter and Montague conversed and smoked until Peter decided to join his wife in bed, something else took place. Late past midnight, halfway between when night becomes dawn and dawn becomes morning, Falstaff the wanderer returned to the Reed family's home. He stepped inside for a moment, and observed Montague not sleeping in the bedding they provided him, but sitting and contemplating in Alice's old rocking chair. Neither of them said a word, and Falstaff turned around and went right back outside. The soft sound of the door closing was such a foreign one in the middle of the night that Isabelle found herself fully awake upon hearing it. The room she shared with her brother was silent, and all that could be heard was the soft breeze outside, yet she found herself unable to concentrate on sleeping. Her eyes felt heavy and her thoughts were sluggish, but there was something in the air that insisted that she leave bed at that instant; the fresh air of the so early morning desired to be inhaled. Isabelle decided that it was no use, and gave in to the peculiar sense. For all she knew she had fallen back to sleep and all of this was a simple dream. A comb was lying on the chest that held all of her best dresses and gowns, and she snatched it up, beginning to comb her long red hair. As she quietly tiptoed into the next room she found her small feet already nuzzled in her slippers, though she had no recollection of putting the slippers on. This added more to the impression that it was all a dream, and she was surely meant to step out the front door and into the unknown world of the deep night. No one was sitting in her mother's rocking chair, and Isabelle hardly noted that Montague was not anywhere to be seen. His spiritual presence was apparent though, and so Isabelle took no notice of his physical absence. While the girl's small hand carefully stretched out to the doorknob, her skin looking paler than normal in the moonlight, nothing crossed her mind. Not her parents' response to her being out so late, not the curious sensations that were running through her mind, not what might be awaiting her outside the door. Nothing that could happen mattered, only what was happening. Without her hand ever touching it, the door slowly opened. Perhaps it had been left open just a little crack, so little that it appeared to be closed. What Isabelle found before her was as unsurprising as the sky being blue during the day, for she had expected it just as much when she awoke. Falstaff was stretched out below an old elm tree that Isabelle didn't entirely remember being before her house. His black eyes shone in the silver moonlight, and his grey fur sparkled under the stars. She approached him slowly, and he eyed her from the short distance without an ounce of the wariness in his eyes that would normally be given to someone advancing towards him late in the night. When she was close, Isabelle knelt at his side, drawing her hand from his chest to his chin, running her fingers through his thick silver coat. When she began to rub her fingers behind his ears, his eyes stared into hers with such a cold intelligence that she almost thought he was telling her to discontinue, but when she lifted her hand he whined softly. She patted his soft head and continued what she had started. Falstaff stood up for a moment, stretching and scratching the earth with his paws. Isabelle leaned her back against the tree in her white nightgown, and allowed him to lay his head on her lap. She continued stroking his fur as she spoke. "Fenrir," the name escaped her lips before she really knew where it was from. "The night is so dark and cold, yet I find it so much more comforting than the soft bed that would welcome me into its covers like a mother hen to her eggs." "These things tend to happen on nights such as this," he growled softly. "The moon is full, perhaps the planets are aligned, and the stars are striving to be as bright as the sun that they emulate. Who knows why such times are of importance. It is the way the world has turned since it was born, as it turns now where we lay, and as it may turn until it ceases to turn any longer." "Will a day such as that ever come?" Isabelle inquired, not daring to guess or hope at what the answer might be. "Only time will tell," Fenrir Falstaff said, licking his muzzle. This response comforted Isabelle in some strange way. The unknown was more pleasing than what the answer may have been. "I do know that many have believed that it would come, and others still believe that it may come, and when it does come none will expect it. They have all told stories of it, but all the stories are so different, and the world can only end in one way and not a thousand." The grey and white hairs on his back stood on end as he said this, and Isabelle smoothed them out with her hands. His breathing was soft and in rhythm with the wind. "It's so displeasing to think of, who would even wish to make stories about it." She didn't emphasize it as a question, but the statement was more rhetorical. No one could have an answer for why one does what one does, or one thinks what one thinks, only speculation, and speculation leads to more questions and builds anticipation for an answer that may never come. This thought passed between the both of them, and they left the statement as it was. "Do you know any of these stories? You seem to know so many, it is like you know everything in the world." "Yes, I know a few, and I know who began them, and I think I know why, but that's left to be thought and unsaid." The deep growl died down, and Isabelle waited respectfully to see if the storyteller could begin to tell a story. The night continued on around them, and all who slept remained blissfully unaware of the girl and the man who were sitting under an elm that had never been. Birds perched silently in their trees, cattle slept soundlessly in their barns, and horses rested patiently in their stables. "Do you see the thin gold chain around my neck?" Isabelle had hardly noticed the collar under the thick fur. It appeared to be thin, as Fenrir said, but perhaps that was because his neck was so thick. The band was less like a chain and more like a ribbon. It was smoother than silk, and was like a collar the richest man alive would have for his servant. The only problem was that it was so tight around his neck. The golden band was digging into his flesh, which kept it hidden under his fur. "Can you not loosen this thing?" Isabelle cried, trying to fit her fingers under it. "No," Fenrir stated simply. "This is where I shall begin my story, with the chain that binds my flesh. It is a story that was told many years ago, by a people that are mostly forgotten." Isabelle shivered in anticipation, and was flushed with goose skin. She quickly flattened out the ruffled fur around the collar, attempting to forget that it was there. "Long ago," Fenrir Falstaff began, "there was a great wolf who was the son of Loki, a trickster amongst all the gods. His name was Ferisulfr. When he was born all the other gods became fearful. Every day he grew more and more, and soon the gods worried that Fenrisulfr could be a great threat to them. There was no way they could kill the wolf, so they decided instead to trap him. If he was chained, or imprisoned, there was no way he could harm them with his great teeth or sharp claws. "And so they set out to build a chain to hold him. From iron the first chain that was made they called Lœthingr, and once it was bound around his body Fenrisulfr was able to break it with one kick of his great leg. The gods were bewildered by his strength, and forged another chain, also of iron, but this one was twice as strong as the first. It was named Drómi. Though it took some effort this time, Fenrisulfr was able to break this chain as well. "Now the leader of the gods, Odin, was severely puzzled. They had made two iron chains, but both had failed to contain the beast that soon would clearly mean harm to the gods. So Odin went to the dwarfs, and requested that they make something strong enough to bind the great wolf, and prevent him from ever doing any harm. They, the dwarfs, took six key ingredients to make this new chain: the sound of the cat's footfall, the hairs of the woman's beard, the sinews of the bear's mind, the breath of the fish's lungs, the saliva of the bird's beak, and the roots of the mountains. These things they brought together, and out of them they made Gleipnir, a chain that was as soft and thin as a silken ribbon, but stronger than any iron. "Now Fenrisulfr had begun to take this whole chain situation as a game, and arrogantly believed that he could break any chain that the gods would attempt to bind him with. But when the gods showed him Gleipnir, and he noticed how meek the 'chain' seemed to be, he suspected some kind of magic intervention. The gods promised that they would free him if he could not break Gleipnir, but he didn't trust them. In order to assure that the gods were telling the truth, Fenrisulfr demanded that one god leave his arm in the wolf's mouth, and if they did not free him Fenrisulfr would bite the arm off. "No one volunteered at first, for they all knew that they could not undo his bonds, until a god named Týr sacrificed himself, holding his arm in Fenrisulfr's gaping maw. They bound the wolf with Gleipnir, tying it around his legs and ankles and body. Fenrisulfr fought and fought to undo the chain, but the more he fought the tighter it held to his flesh. Fenrisulfr immediately demanded that they free him when he realized that he could not break the mystic chain. The gods did nothing but laugh, and it was apparent that they had no intention of doing as they promised, so Fenrisulfr fulfilled his promise. His jaws clamped down and ripped off Týr's arm, devouring it madly as he still struggled to get free. "But there was no way the Fenrisulfr would be able to free himself, and the gods quickly moved to make a permanent prison for him. They took another chain, Gelgja, tying it to Gleipnir, and then tying it to a great rock, Gjöll. Then they took a greater stone, Thviti, and used it to hold Gjöll deep down in the earth. As Fenriulfr cried out in protest they took a sword and lodged it in the roof of his monstrous mouth, holding it open. And this is how they kept him, chained to the earth on an island in a river. "Now, you may wonder how this story relates to the end of the world. You see, legend also told that Fenrisulfr would continue to grow. It was said that when Ragnarök comes, Fenrisulfr will have grown so large that his bottom jaw will touch the earth and his top jaw will scrape the sky." Fenrir Falstaff was quiet now. His deep voice echoed into the twilight, leaving images in the mind of the listener that were as real as dreams. "But that's just a story, right?" Isabelle asked curiously. "The things that are most believed in are merely stories, yet they are continually thought of as truth, aren't they?" Isabelle didn't entirely agree with this, and was about to protest that she didn't believe in imaginative stories more than anything else. "Religions," Fenrir quickly explained. "Religions are believed in by all, yet the only proof that we have is the belief we put in them." Story and characters ©2006 Isaiah Everin Cooper

Silver walks into the dark room, and steps into the spot light. "Wait...what?"

I haven't watched B5, wasn't in on SciFi? I don't have cable, so I never watched it, but I'm not enticed to, mainly because it's "nerdy" fanbase puts me off. But I'd say as far as space/sci fi shows go, the new Battlestar Galactica beats them all. Has anyone seen Lady in the Water yet? I really want to see that soon, but I don't have any money.

...? Milk?

beach

wind

dead

I've been told a lot that I need to decribe more, and I always forget the main characters physical descriptions. So I'll try to get some of that kind of stuff in. As for seeing more of David and them, a lot of people have expressed anger to my answer to that question. The other three aren't going to be in the first book a whole lot more, if really at all. The second book is completely about David, and the last one is mostly about Genevieve. Jeremy gets kind of spattered everywhere because I haven't really thought of anything important that he does. Now, of course, none of this is definate. I won't know what happens until I finish it, but that's the plan I have. I'll try to set up more of a past with Jackson to draw the reader's interest more, but in my mind Jackson is kind of a plain guy. It's his relations from the past that make him interesting, but you'll see what that means in the fourth chapter. I didn't realize this subforum was here and I just saw this (would've responded earlier). Oh, and about the subheader with the warning of profanity, I can't edit my post to change the title. If you or someone else could do that, that'd be mighty helpful. And about moving it, I don't have access to any of those except the scarlet pen (EDIT: nevermind, I'm a dope), and I'm not so worried about it being stolen any more. Thanks for the advice Wyv, I'll try to incorporate the things you said and fix that stuff.

tree

Cars Super suck. I really don't have much else to say. I didn't find it funny, interesting, and the plot was so freaking cliche that...well, I can't even think of what to say. Pointless really, I think it was just made to make a movie/money. But I guess that happens a lot. I wish I didn't spend money on it, oh well.

kitty