Penwritten

"We listened to it twice 'Cuz the DJ was asleep." -Regina Spektor, On the Radio We have pride, she says And we stand up for ourselves She sings In a cotton-candy world of Flash-back girls in gladiator shades They dye their hair on Saturday mornings To the tune of "Eleanor Rigby" and drumdrumdrum sets She stands for everyone there This mountain, this sea of freckle-freckle woman, ladies really and her face is plastered on every TV screen across the hills (They are all retro, of course) As families gather in their puke-green living rooms To watch her sing her heart out She makes public appearances On the back of her extinct

 The book took a year to write. Vanilla worked on it night and day, while the fish sang opera to himself. He became so good at it, that he started performing concerts in the city park for free. Vanilla eventually finished, and she read it aloud to the fish. It took a week. When she turned the last page over, he told her that she looked better now that he knew her name. She just smiled and sent her manuscript in to the publishers. The first company sent it back only days later, with an angry letter describing it as "corruptive, manipulative, the-spawn-of-Satan" and so on. Vanilla smiled at these words and mailed it out to another publisher. T

The-girl-with-a-name was almost free. She had gotten rid of the blue and red quilt. She had closed the windows, never to be opened again. All she needed to do was to demolish the encouragement. She just didn't know quite how to go about it. The fish was family, a part of her. She couldn't just get rid of him. Could she? This was a question worth thinking about. Sometimes, there are questions like this, and we have to ask ourselves "how long shall I be thinking?" The-girl-with-a-name thought for a very long time. She even went for a walk, thinking all the while. She walked down by the ducks and threw them bread crumbs. She just couldn't stop

The next morning, she put on her yellow sun hat and closed the windows for the first time. It took effort, but she was able to slam them shut and lock them up tight. She knew that when he came around again, he wouldn't be able to open them. In doing that, she had removed one of the fish's encouragements, and she was already one step closer to becoming the dream. The fish, of course, was not happy with her. He screamed and he yelled and he tore apart her blue and red quilt. In doing this, he consequently removed one of the other encouragements. He was his own undoing, and sulked in the corner for hours at his own stupidity. She didn't attemp

She strolls downs the street, umbrella held high. It's blue, with silver stripes and white lace. Her face is a mixture of pride and suspicion, but the fish at her side reassures her. She always carries him close, in her arms or her bag. This, by the way, is made of crocodile skin. The streets are fairly crowded, but she slips through with ease. She knows how to keep unaccounted for. She knows how to keep the eyes away. The fish tells her to turn, and she follows his command. She couldn't do anything without him. They stop on a corner and she sits on a bench. She wonders why no one keeps their doors open. She wonders why it's raining, and wh

She sighs into the blanket. It's cold, and the windows are still open from when he came through before. He always opens them. She doesn't know why. It happens to be the middle of winter, and the windows are still open. Sometimes, she wishes she could close them, but then her feet start on fire before she reaches the other side of the room. Every time she tries, she is only deterred by her own pain. It's hopeless- the windows will stay open. She shivers and pulls the quilt tighter around herself. It's red and blue- her mother made it when she was younger. The corners are falling apart and there are worn patches all over it, but she won't let

"Blueprints" He was fascinated by the process. The skin quickly grew back, stretching over the cut in seconds. Soon his hand was good as new, the new skin only noticeable by a slight freshness. The robots in his skin were his own invention. They were still in the developing stage, but they'd been successful in all his tests. When they were done, he's certainly make a fortune, and be able to provide for his family. He'd be able to live in luxury for the rest of his life. Not a bad life for a sixty-five year old.   And it wasn't painful either. If anything, it was quite nice. It was a sensation like an adrenaline rush, making one feeling a

The story of the Royal Family is a chapter story, About the early days of the Royal Family. Our Prince is killed, is a short chapter about the fall of Iroh. He lost his son in a mysterious accident. Ozai's dreams come true. Iroh is sixty, Lu Ten was twenty, Ozai is thirty-nine. The story of the Royal Family, Chapter 12: Our Prince is killed. It was mid autumn, the leaves floated softly in the gentle breeze. The trees bared their branches, revealed themselves to the world. Prince Ozai stood on one of the Royal balconies, enjoyed this natural spectacle. He found it appropriate to what would happen later today. He closed his eyes and fe

Lost in the screams of pain is a chapter story, all the stories are about fragments out of Zuko's and Iroh's lives. Zuko goes to his father, he can learn the way of the sword. Zuko's dark life start to change bit by bit. Iroh is sixty, Ozai is thirty-nine, Zuko is eleven, Azula is nine, Mai is ten. Lost in the screams of pain, Chapter 4: Swords and love. Zuko entered the room and watched over his father, the boy bowed deep before the Fire Lord and glared straight into his firm eyes. "Zuko, what have you done after school?" Ozai asked with a more friendly tone. Zuko sighed with relieve and smiled. "Uncle and I have eaten fire fla

Lost in the screams of pain is a chapter story, all the stories are about fragments out of Zuko's and Iroh's lives. Iroh will teach Zuko some basic fire bend stuff and Zuko gets some more difficulties towards his father and sister. Iroh also discovers a new talent of his nephew. Iroh is sixty, Ozai is thirty-nine, Zuko is eleven, Azula is nine. Lost in the screams of pain, Chapter 3: The training. The next day. It's around 6' clock in the morning, it was still dark outside. Most of the inhabitants were still asleep, except for two people. Fire Lord Ozai, who was still in his room, he thought about some new subjects for the next war