katiewright
"I'm going on a quest."
He said the words quietly, his voice measured, just as he had practiced. A hush fell over the dinner table as his family processed what he had said.
His older brother was the first to speak, "A quest for what? To find your brain?"
You have been chosen. You are one of the select few who will keep this world alive, now that the virus has been defeated. You have been selected because of the superior genetics that you possess. You will help create the new race. You will be matched with someone with different, yet also superior genetics, to give your offspring the greatest possibility of being extraordinary.
I love the sandcastles that we built together. I wish we had taken more pictures. I miss your love, and the love that those sand castles represented.
They say that Jesus had only 12 deisciples, and that's why we are supposed to be okay with having only a few close friends. I don't like that idea. I like having many people around me at different times.
We were trapped in the compound. They tried to tell us it was safe here, safer than the outside. But I had been outside not so long ago, not like these children of the compound who had never seen real sunlight or grass or felt the autumn breeze cool their faces. I didn't understand what was happening when they trapped me in this underground box, but I so regret having allowed it now.
The cold air was a bit brisk for my taste, and biting. It ripped through my coat and my shirt and my skin, right down to my bones. This is the winter that I ought to be used to, but it's still too bloody cold. 5 years I have spent fighting the ever cooling falls and winters and I still can't help but complain. The weather never satisfies me.
He grabbed my hand and shouted, "Run! "
There was something chasing us, something that by all rights shouldn't exsisit. It was like a strange shadow, but it was alive, and it burned me when it grabbed my arm. I'm scared. I don't understand why this is happening, and I don't even know who this man is but I think he is saving me.
I'm so confused! What does this all mean? This crazy thing that we call life? It's maddening, and it doesn't make any sense, and who decided that this would be a good idea? That we would have to procreate by interacting with other people, and ripping ourselves in half, and screaming to bring into this world a tiny new spirit so that they can grow up and realize that all of this isn't worth it.
I'm a lyrical poet. A songwriter they call me. Writing a song is just like any other sort of composing, except instead of working with an orchestra or the beauty of the English language alone, I meld both together. I write words to music that has never been heard by living ears, not until I'm done at least.
She's so easy.
That was the sentence that often accompanied her name. She had many lovers, and she saw nothing wrong with that, but many people saw it as her being too easy to fight for. She saw it as being easygoing in a romantic way.
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