






The Other Side of the StorySix hooded figures clustered around an open box in a closed hall. The box was empty of anything save a small, purple velvet cushion. The hall was full of the echoes of ancient voices.
This will not do, muttered the first.
One of the Holy Relics in the hands of a common thief! murmured the second.
Such an act will not go unpunished, promised the third. Agreement susurred between five of the six.
But, the previously silent sixth spoke, in a voice a touch too loud, what if it chose her?
Do you doubt the wisdom of your elders? whispered the fourth.
Or the ri

Why i write storiesPoetry is not my forte
I never can say all I want to say
Unless I want to take many a day.
That's why I write stories.
Poetry's too personal.
It renders useless my arsenal;
Turns serenity into a farce, and all
That's why I write stories.
But here I'm sitting,
And rhyme I'm fitting,
And I'm close to quitting:
That's why I write stories.
Do you comprehend now?
No more words to bend now.
Will this trend end now?
So I can get back to stories?


The Journal Portal
Browse Journals |
Polls |
deviantART [dee·vee·un'nt·ART]
Keep in Touch!
|
Deviousness |
No worries for the pimpage, it's much-deserved Gracie.
and what big is comming? And is it landing on my head?
I promise it won't land on your head.