Song and music video of the moment: "Steal Away" by Park Ji Yoon
I am feeling: Bored 
Gyeah. I'm going to bore you all with a story I wrote back in 9th grade. This story is real shitty, and I don't even think the plot makes sense
at all XD. The title sucks, I spend way to much time explaining the sorroundings of each area and ugh. I wish I could make my stories a lot simplier, but I jsut can't. I throw in so many words that no one in my English class understands, and I remember being in class last year--people were reading other people's stories, and no one even wanted to read mine. Once they start reading it, they're like, "Uhh... yeah. I'll read this later. *wierd look*".
*cries*
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Unwanted Sorrow
By Mil Alba
Voices echoed throughout the midst of the night, as the footsteps of John Morris go
tap tap tap on the surface of the sidewalk. In his had, he tightly grips the paw that had been once detached from the monkey of an old fakir. Tears in his eyes, he halted in front of his desired destination. With a sigh of relief, he knocked on the faded, wooden door.
No answer. He knowcked again, while repeating the name, "Dianne".
"Dianne? Dianne, answer me! I demand you to open up the door this very moment!" He persuaded, "Dianne!"
"They're dead. Mommy and Daddy are dead," she responded in a sighful whisper, "because of me."
"That's not true!" Somehow, he couldn't stop himself from screaming. But why must he be so paranoid?
The girl named Dianne remained silent, while John continues his persuation. "Why... why must you blame yourself? It was! It was I, who accepted the paw, not you! Now stop being so insensibly selfish and open up the door!" Anger, annoyance, sadness and discernment that are pounded together into a sachet of words formed into his part of the conversation. But why must he be so demanding? Was there something behind that door that upheld great importance? Something so worth this petty argument?
"You don't understand," she pleaded, "let me be."
"No." He was set on his goal to get her to open the door. Was he selfish, or was she the ignorant one?
"Please, big brother," she gurgled under the tears that had entered her mouth [or was blood the cause of her deteriorating voice?]. "I want to be alone with them. As my last request, please don't use that dreaded paw to bring me back to life. Please, big brother...."
A long, gratuitous moment of silence alters by while John is wedged in between the disquieting sentimentalism of the mobility amonth that moment of imperceptible time.
"Dianne?" He shrieked, "Dianne! No!"
He fell to his knees and cried.
Two hours passed, two hours wasted. The blood of the forsaken child seeped through the door, like a forgotten and ever flowing river of sadness. John sat there like a helpless stump, passing the time away watching the unaware strangers saunter by. The strangers never once looked back, or even gave a small, insignifaicant, yet condoling look of commiseration.
Yet--a fiendish laughter is heard from a distance, followed by the bawling howls of the cognizant dogs. A laughter being prolifirated throughout the urban streets, as if there were echoes; but alas, it was just the laughter spawning as if daylight shall never be seen above the horizon of the infertile ocean ever again. The laughter was ululated by a man stereotyped as dark, evil and mysterious just by the iniquities of his appearance. Dressed in black, and feard as dressed to kill.
John sat on his pitiful stoop, gloomily looking down--caring not for the world, but for his own selfish loss. Unexpectadly, the mystery man stops within five feet away from the bleakness shadow of John's stoop. Out of curiosity, John employed his blistered lips to blow a cold breath of wind aloft, which projected the bangs on his foredhead to clear out of his eyes, giving him a clear view of the mystery man.
The man was astonishingly handsome, with his black hair cut short and expressionless face, which is highlighted by his beautiful hazel eyes, gave him a numinous sparkle with a touch of cold light. He stood tall and somewhat proud of his lifetime achievements, whatever they were, felt superior to anyone intersecting his way.
"Why, I haven't seen a dismal young man as you in
centuries." He chuckled, "What's with your heartrending image? Why, for all you know, a beautiful young maiden might be passing by. Aren't you a bit worried that your pitiful existance on that stoop will frighten her?" As handsome as he was, he without lacked the sensible manners that would have gone great with his gentelman appearance.
In John's condition, the cataclysmic words impaired his cavernous soul. Even with the man's unsympathetic judgement, John remains silent and continues to gaze at the exterior of the
mentally stable sidewalk.
Aggravated by John's willingly chosen silence, the man decided to verbalize once again.
"What," he chorted, "monkey's got your tounge?"
John alarmingly looked back up to the man brusquely plummeting down into a deep trance, and in his trepidation, his eyes become alarm by this new found distress. "
Monkey? By that, did he mean our monkey? Our monkey's paw?"
Paranoid, he tried reasoning what the man had said to sustain his sanity.
The man looked down at him malevolently, with not even an iota of compassion. "What in the bloody hell are you looking at?" He hissed, "'Twas your fault that your sister is dead, no sense on just sitting there feeling pity for youself." He maliciously continued on, "Use the paw. Use it to get her and your family back to our world," his voice lowered down to a seductive, yet immoral and ticklish mute, "you know you want to."
The rage in John's eyes initiate a swirling rotation around the corrugated textures of his spring-colored iris and his irately flared nose, clearly, he was in ready position to fight.
With a single blow, the man was razed to the ground like a mallet single handedly pounding a chunky and obstinate piece of slaughtered sheep. Amazed by his vigor, he began to sprint whichever way gave the best impression of being the most susceptibility safe by the vicinity of the area.
Stopping at the periphery of an abandoned alley, gasping for precious breath in addition to his heart having to catch up to the rhythmic beat of the presumptously throbbing insides of his satiated cranium, he leisurely sat down to gradually help diminish his
physical pains.
As painful were his pains, not even did they com[pare to his endurance and toleration to the psychological abuse he had received in the not so distant past. But why does he continue dwelling in profoun hyperbole? Bit by bit, his eyelids by some means got heavier with each blink of his eyes, his entire body gradually easing into the comfoprt of lifelessness, and he falls asleep.
Darkness and evil spirits swirl around, uniting into a devilish delight. Positioned in the middle, the paw of the mummified monkey sits and forestalls for the next hopelessly doomed and predestined quarry of a human being to fall into its trap.
An image of John's sister slowly forms out of the dense, black miasma. He depressing figure illustrates how demoralized her soul must be, with her blonde hair turned to black, and the arroyo of blood on her neck that caused her bleeding to trickle down her throat into an eternal stream of twisted destiny--all caused by the paw.
"No!!" waking up in a cold sweat, John hystericall yells out in the eternal darkness, "This can't be! Dianne, you were supposed to live the rest of your soul's fate in peacefulness, not in this place where there is melancholy in the wind, and wistful pain on the Earth!" John screamed at the peak capacity of his lungs, "Why? Why must the gods forsake us as so? So evil and twisted, it makes me wonder why they even deserve such powers that they obtain." He gasped for breath and carried on, "If only
I has such powers. The dominant and influential power of a god, oh how GRAND must the feeling be, to be a god! Yes, that shall be my third and final wish."
Wasting no time, he breathed his concluding and ultimate desire. "I wish I had the power to command and inspire people by the hundreds. No, the thousands--into life, death and prosperity, I wish to be a god. In a selfishly pathetic pursue of my own happiness, I wish to be a mortal god, for I dread to live forever and to be forced to observe the pain in this Earth on an infinite level"
In the rapid roar of the sound of thunder, the impact of a bright, bold of lightning, his wish was granted.
In the next few years, John Morris grew into the name, "Sergeant-Major Morris". The paw has given him the power to conduct young soldiers into gruesome and ghastly battles, all of which ended in the strife and agony of defeat. Indeed, he influenced them
all into their shattering graves.
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This is furthermost, the shittiest story I have ever written in my entire life.
