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Crow’s chicks,
                                       A true story.


                    The crow’s caw caw were always harsh to my ears as I never liked the tone of it’s dull sound, reminding me the occurrence when I was bang pecked by a crow on my head twice, while too eager to come near to it’s nest to watch the hatching of chicks from a roof top. The unusual curiosity to watch that bird’s nest, its eggs, and the coming out of chicks came from reading of the text in my school days, lesson describing; how a cuckoo deceives the crow by laying her egg in the crow’s nest.
                       When I shifted to reside in a flat near Safari park, Karachi, that inquisitiveness suddenly became a reality. As one day, I saw the he-crow and she- crow difficult to distinguish, picking twig by twig from nearby areas, and making a nest on a triangular niche of a tree at the front of my lounge’s large steel bar grilled window.
                          My interest grew day by day as I watched the birds lay the eggs under the safety of my protected window at same elevation as that of crow’s nest on a bough. The craftiness of crows thrilled me as one crow protected the nest; the other sat on the eggs, turning it occasionally by its beak, sometimes by talons to incubate it uniformly. In addition, how the husband was feeding the hungry wife on eggs with food from it mouth or vise versa, some times stashing the breadcrumbs into the small berries closely knit bunches for urgent situation nourishment needs.
                    Suddenly one day, rare to the area, a whistling cyclone hit the town with winds roaring like howling hyenas. I went to window, was sad to see the trees swinging like a pendulum in blinding storm, many fell down and some branches of the tree on which crow’s nest positioned also fell, making me certain that eggs and nest were gone to the wind.
                     Next day it rained heavily and I was unable to spot the crow’s nest, as the visibility was poor, birds were hiding away somewhere for their refuge from harsh weather. I was unable to spot the crows for three days, but the nest was safely perched as if the clever birds were aware of incoming of cyclone and chosen the strongest branch to make the nest. My disillusionment at the loss of crows hatching eggs turned into delight on a sunny day, when I saw fledglings were chirping in the nest, crows were feeding them through their beaks and my observation that only two chicks were hatched proved incorrect later.
                I watched that while one crow was guarding the chicks from predators such as kites, other was out to procure food. The chicks were growing day-by-day and always famished showing their empty stomach through their open beaks, but their parents fed them well, enduring their own hunger for the sake of their young ones.
                 A loud caw caw from many crows in unison compelled my to rush to my watch as I saw many crows protesting for some swindle they saw and the father crow engaged in a fight with dark black looking fledgling, it was a murder of crows as some literati say o flock of that bird. Soon I realized that it was cuckoo’s chick and crows had realized that reality when it grew large enough to be distinguished between their own chick and an alien’s hatchling. From somewhere cuckoo by its melodic coo called and its chick prevailed upon the crows, warded them off through its sharp talons, and fell from the clutches of foster crows to go to her real mother in the nearby bush.
                After few days, the chicks had grown enough to hop out of nest with their parents watching them always, but had no wings to fly. They jumped from one bough to another, and then were able to take short flights to nearby trees only never the less protected by their parents from falling over.
                         Another incident happened as I saw many kites hovering over the crow’s nest and as many crows, crowing at their level best clamor, that drew me to window to know what had happened. I assumed that as kites were zooming over the crow’s nest, birds of prey might took away one or two chicks of crow by swooping on the nest with talons full open for an easy grab of fledgling. However, the next morning I was happy to note that all the chicks were roosting well in their nest, after some days, they flew away to some distance places and nest became desolate.
                  The close of crow’s chick watching came one day, when I saw the mother crow fuming, her feathers looking like hedge hog’s fluff as her still young crows sitting on the same bough where nest was standing, wanted food from their parents by opening their beaks towards her, and it seemed to me that she was saying,
                   “Go; search your own food now.”
           Bird watching is a great fun as procreation goes on, in a case, when a crow does not peck at you on the head at your bird observation.

         Written by M. R Rambler.

this is part of a short story ive written, its a bit on the strange side but i worked hard on it. id really like to hear some feedback wether it be good or bad.

 A vast plain stretched out under a searing sun and pure blue sky. Small tufts of shrubbery and scraggly trees poked their way out of the parched soil. Wisps of smoke drifted steadily into the darkening sky from a secluded camp. It was hard living out on the plains but some hardy people had managed to find a decent life out here. Not too far away from the camp, a young woman ran steadily and determinedly towards the smoke, pursued by dark and nameless terrors. She was a stunningly beautiful woman. Slim, even in pregnancy, she had delicately sculpted features and wavy black hair that fell to her knees. Intense green eyes were filled with fear at capture and her soft lips were parted in a wordless prayer. She ran a hand over her swollen belly and realized she had not long to go. She knew she would be safe at the camp; her pursuers wouldn’t dare reveal themselves to mortal eyes. After what seemed an eternity of running, she made it to the edge of the camp and her pursuers hissed and swore at her but did not come near the camp. She looked back at them and sighed in relief as they turned around and went back the way they came. Exhaustion overcame her as she was found by two of the plainspeople and carried to a tent and she passed happily into a deep sleep.
 As the morning sun rose in the sky, the young woman awoke and quickly looked around to make sure she was safe. An elderly woman smiled at her kindly and handed her a cup of hot tea. She took it and nodded in thanks to the old woman. She got up and wandered around the camp, speaking to no one, telling them neither her name nor how she came to be here. She accepted their food and hospitality but said not a word. After about a week, the pains started and the elderly woman who stayed with her in the tent rushed to help her deliver her baby. Soon, a baby girl had entered the world. The old woman looked at the child and gasped with fear for the baby was in no way human. Its eyes were yellow and slit-pupiled and its ears were pointed. But the strangest thing about it was that it was covered in a coat of soft silvery white fur. The young woman spoke for the first time.
 “Her name shall be Sabriel and you must guard her with your life for as you can see she is a very special child. Do not ever leave her side and let not the terrors of darkness come near her for she is all of humanity’s hope.” After this strange speech, the woman lay down and died. The old woman looked at the girl and wondered if she should simply throw the abomination in a sack and leave it for the buzzards. But the young woman’s words had disturbed her and she wondered how this freak of nature could save all of humanity. This speculation led to even more questions. What was threatening humanity anyways? Why did the young woman just die? Who could have been the child’s father? The old woman sighed and carried the infant out to see what the rest of the camp had to say about it and see if there might be someone willing to take in the child for she was too old to be playing nurse for a strange furry child. As she walked to the center of the camp, many people stared incredulously at the small bundle in her hands. They had never seen anything like it.
 “The silent one who has been with us this week has died after bearing her child. As you can see, it is no normal child but it still needs care. Do we leave it to join its mother or is there one here that will care for it?”
 “I will care for it”, called a man in the crowd. His name was Leland and he had just lost his wife and daughter to a horrible sickness. He strode up to the old woman and took the child into his arms. The terrible blow to his heart at the loss of his beautiful wife and daughter was partly healed by the baby girl in his arms. He immediately felt a rush of love for the poor motherless child and told himself he would never let anyone or anything ever harm her. He would protect her with his life and do everything to make her happy.
 “Did her mother give her a name?” he asked
 “Yes, her name is Sabriel, replied the old woman.
 “Sabriel…. a strange name for a strange child”, Leland said. “But no matter how strange I shall care for her and try and be a mother as well as a father to her.”
 “Before her mother died, she imparted some very strange words upon me that think you must hear as the guardian of this child. Come into the tent with me for they are for your ears alone,” said the old woman.
Leland sat outside his tent and pondered the words the old woman had told him. The child had curled up at his feet like a dog and had fallen asleep. He wondered what could happen to humanity and what the terrors of the darkness were. These thoughts unsettled him and he went back inside the tent, taking the girl with him. Gently, he put her in the bed that his daughter had used. He wiped away a tear and silently said a last goodbye. This strange infant was his daughter and his life now.
 Eight years had passed since the strange child came into their camp. By this time the plainspeople had become accustomed to her odd habits and bizarre way of talking. Often times she was found talking to the dogs in the camp and she spoke with a peculiar growling voice that was hard to understand. Another thing was her odd eating habits. She ate mostly red meat and insisted on going on hunting trips with her father and the rest of the men. She used no weapons to hunt with but instead hunted with her unusually sharp teeth and the long claws that had developed when she was about five. The only thing that really unsettled Sabriel’s adopted father was that she constantly wanted to wander. She had heard tales of lands where tall trees grew and water flowed through grass covered hills where strange animals roamed such as things called squirrels. Mostly animals here were just jackrabbits, vultures, and some wild boars. She had never even seen a squirrel and idly wondered what they would taste like. She resolved that one day she would travel to these strange lands. She had a good life and her father was a good man but she felt like she just didn’t belong. She did not like the harsh sun and landscape and mostly stayed inside which was quite boring. She felt the urge to travel and planned for the day she would leave the camp.
 Eight more years later, a circus came to the camp. This was a new experience to Sabriel and almost everyone else. The last time the circus came around, she was too young to even remember. The circus only came around once in many years. She was overwhelmed by it all. She passed by the caged animals and saw a large gray wolf in one. It looked at Sabriel and immediately gave a bark of surprise.
 “What is wrong, wolf-brother?” asked Sabriel
 “He promised he would sire no children,” muttered the wolf.
 “Excuse me, but what do you mean wolf-brother?” she asked politely.
 “I am called Sameth and I know your father, young wolf-sister.”
 “Can you take me to him?” she asked excitedly.
 “If you would set me free, I would gladly take you to him. But choose wisely, wolf-sister, for many perils would you face along the way. There are those that would love to have you for their dark plans but fear being seen by mortal eyes. I would do my best to protect you, but I may not be enough. You are safe here but I sense a yearning to travel in you.”
 “Oh yes, wolf-brother, I will set you free and we shall travel to the lands of trees and squirrels!”
 “Squirrels”, Sameth growled, “are the most annoying and impudent creatures I have ever met. You would like them.”
 Sabriel was overcome with joy. Now was her chance to get out of this wasteland! She would feel sorry at leaving her father but she had to find her true father and this wolf could take her! She checked to see that no one was looking as she quickly stole the keys and set the wolf free.
 “Quickly, wolf-sister! We must make haste!”
 Sabriel nodded and got on all fours, signaling to the wolf that she was ready. They ran off, the large wolf leading and Sabriel not far behind. The wind streamed past her, ruffling her fur and she let out a feral howl of joy. They ran on for hours until Sabriel thought she would drop from exhaustion. Finally Sameth stopped and told her that they would rest here that night. She sighed with relief and lay beneath a small bush thinking of the freedom she now had. She felt very sad at leaving Leland but promised herself that she would come back to see him again. Sleep overcame her and she welcomed it, reveling in the sweet night air.

Last time around, I got into a bad way. I was caught red handed leaving a store I just robbed. The money was needed; partly for a fix, partly for food. Now I wasn't new to this and could usually talk my way out of these situations . However, on this occasion, when confronted by three officers with their weapons drawn, I had nothing to say .I always thought running out of words would be the end of the line. I could have tried to communicate in tones and expressions, but the police would never of understood. They would have seen me as a threat, an insult to their stasis. I could have thrown my hands up but they may of just capped me in the knee. So I decided that if I charged them, I would get in too close for them to use firearms. I balled up my fist with rage and fury of all those dead without meaning. I knocked the deputy off his feet, slipped past his backup and took off toward the woods. They fired their sidearms, but God's plan would not have me die with my back turned. Run and run, pant, sweat, lungs bursting with blood vessels. I soldiered on, toward the east, where the land would shortly run out. It takes time to organize a search. They call in the dogs and the department from the next town. By then I led by at least a mile. I stopped to regain my bearings, placed my back against an oak and looked up. I was too tired for poetics, but thought to myself that the stars would make a great hiding place. There I would have the higher ground, and always be looking down. I came to a pool of water reflecting the sky; the result of a creek that lost it's flow. I splashed my face, knowing not to drink. My t-shirt had gotten wet and I figured it is only dead weight any. When the dogs found it they likely caught my scent. Having been a bloodhound, I know their minds. Domestication, food, if not then bark. Showing guts only to sway the bitch to breed. I did well but it didn't suit me. Behind me, I saw flashlights, broken up by trees. They were faint but spread out, scowering the brush. I thought they were hoping to find me like a rabbit, and claim my hide for their mantles. If I thought less, I'd of cooperated. Honesty would be virtue. I would be released in 25; my withered hands and creased face trophies of my defiant younger days. Where would a felon turn after years confined to four walls; to his trade to make ends meet, or to the broken verse of the King James Bible (dictated from the One but edited at will). There is no end to the cycle, and I decided that this would be my last stand. I rubbed my stinging thighs, and used my forearm to clear my brow. Again I started running, dodging bushes and brush; the hunted in a game only the prey takes to heart. A fox with all his wisdom still gets pulled from his hole by a cavalry with muskets and high spirits. For what crime? Theft of a chicken among many, from a farmer with a surplus. With yelping mouths to feed and territory to defend, he is put to death without trial. Without defense or reason. If they caught me I would surely be dead. The flora changed from ancient trees extending skyward, to saplings; new growth. I charged through these , bending the branches, snapping those that wouldn't. If the forest had only known I wasn't with the machines. That I was just a fleeing animal, a passerby meaning no harm I couldn't repay. With each crunch of a leaf and snap of a twig, I learned she could not differentiate between cold steel and my soft flesh. I was as guilty as the anxious woodsman sharpening their axes. Metal aiding metal. The land began to slope downward. Brush became pasture; pasture became bog. Praying for the shoreline , I continued on. With no other choice, I waded into stagnant water; first to my knees and then to my waist. My pace slowed but never faltered. The waters were thick; filled with the essence of dead or dying things. Or the living ones I could never have hoped to understand. With each step I feared being sucked under, and dissolved by natural forces. And my soul would have to linger in this place of little beauty. Maybe I would have grown accustomed. It may be a different place under sunlight. Far back the hounds howled, the beams from the flashlights were dim, but still headed toward me. I imagined the law officials being led by lesser beasts. With their itchy fingers and big bellies, performing their duties to the chirps of walkie-talkies. I still had my pursuers by a mile. But distance between them and I was the only shelter that could have given me any solace. I thought perhaps they would stop where the water stagnants. The dogs would lose the scents amidst the decay and waste. The men could have clocked out and returned to their apartments. Patted each other on the backs and left their safeties off. Exhausted from the chase, and unsure how far the bog ran, I decided to find a place to rest. I pulled myself up onto a wobbly mound of earth and moss. I dripped the murky water back down to its source. It was nearly dawn. The birdsong were all for me. About being hungry. About being alive. As the the sun rose the sky became purple then pink. Steam lingered around the dark water and rotting branches, but daylight changed everything. The expanse of mud, still water and wood shined in a way only that time of day can reveal. Like earth when it was new, untouched and eager to foster life. A sanctuary among the dead and dying essence of it all. And there I sat on a throne of moss and mud, presiding over a kingdom only I was fit to rule. My reverie was broken by the pounding of chopper blades. It moved quick, cutting the air as it searched for a target. They passed too far north but continued to circle back until they had their blood. I was on the move again. A king in exile. The water was no longer a hindrance, it moved me toward my escape. I didn't know how then, but didn't have time to question it. Putting miles behind me, I could see a change in terrain not very far ahead. Quickening my pace, I rushed toward dry land and deliverance from the spiteful sights of the lawmen. My heart pumped fast; my breath had left me unable to hear the chopper returning. It peeked over the tree line, and flew directly toward me. I was exposed. Upon spotting me the aircraft decreased speed and headed back from where it came. Staying on course, I eventually reached the end of the bog. I stepped out of the water directly onto pavement. The sounds of sirens and freeways replaced my heavy breaths. The police were waiting, ready to deal with me in whatever way was most convenient. Squad cars flashed their lights; officers cocked their rifles and handguns. They were no longer aiming at my knees, these shots would be for the kill. Extending my arms and palms forward, I walked the pavement slowly toward them. I tried to take it all in. Looking at the cops faces I saw through the bravado, these men weren't killers. I was sure these men had on occasion stayed up into the night feeling small next to the universe. They were just doing their duty- what they have always been told is right. They were no more at fault then a child reared by an abusive father. "Get down on the ground, Hands behind your head" I continued to slowly approach the waiting police. I thought about the cops children, and their children's children. I thought about my father and his father, and his father's father. "GET DOWN ON THE GROUND, HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD" And it all seemed so simple and so complex. The uncertainty of life is the reason it is worth living. Answering the big questions takes something away from it. "This is your final warning, do as we say or we will be forced to engage you" The crimes I had committed were minor in regard to the grand scheme. It is just circumstance that placed me on that side of the loaded guns. I wondered if there was really any definitive 'right' or 'wrong'. I wondered what the pavement covered over... BANG BANG The first shot put me down, the second is the one that took my life. Picture perfect too, right between the eyes. It happened so fast I didn't feel a thing. I've been returned to my kingdom- in the moss creeping over mud. And in mist hovering lazily above it. And in the murky water, pulling down the dead so they can be used again.

You wake in the morning and go through your daily routine... grip some towels, jump in the shower... you get out you do your stuff and then you maybe grab some stuff to eat... you walk out your front door and stand there... you pause... you think to your self... why am I here, no why am I really here you don’t know where your off to.. Maybe school, work, or just to chill with some people... so why do all this, why live every day is there a meaning is there some purpose to the whole human fucking race??.. What the fuck.
You go to school to learn “skills” that you “need”, and they say you got to know all that shit for what??.. To get a fucking job... why get a job?? To make money to live off of... and it goes in the circle... and you stuck right back to where you first started. Now what?
 Some people say life is all you need... now be more pacific... right this very second stop and think to your self... what do I live for? Now right this very second picture that in your mind... go deep... what do you thrive for... maybe money? No… fame and power? No fuck that...
 I’ve gone over t it many times... and it’s simple... Love... and the search for hopefully one day finding that One person that means everything to you... the person man or woman that makes you feel like nothing ells matters and that you would give up anything and or everything for them.. Unfortunately the search for that one person is where it ends... keep looking...
now when I say love its not just love for that one person... its what you have for your friends... never ever loose a good friend.. A true friend is all ways there for you... and not at all because of what you an offer them... and love for what you have a passion for... anything from skateboarding, art, dodo I could name a million,
 So I'm not trying to get all emo or what ever on you but if you really think... your just living in a cycle that you need to break... go after what you really want at all costs.. Enjoy living by knowing that your getting closer to that one thing... don’t have short term goals... reach for what you really want... something that’s so far ahead of you it almost seems impossible not matter what and one day you will get there.. Live life one day at a time and see where it takes you... Its one huge adventure that can take you anywhere

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REVIEWS?

The Bird, No End.

 I’ve never really seen you, though I see you every day. Almost, every day. Your eyes are the only thing that gives you away; they are the only part of you that conveys something deeper inside you, something more then your eccentric exterior. The window to your soul, the window no one ever looks into, because you close the blinds and the shutters, and you make them look away. You make them all look away. Your hair is long and dread locked, dried up, and braided with dark coloured ribbons, of dirty purples and blue. I think it could be nice if you let it down sometime, clean and loose around your face, but that’s not you. Long hair is a shield, as if you’re trying to hide behind it, hide parts of you, but you don’t care do you? You have nothing to hide, nothing that needs to be shielded and hidden behind a long curtain of darkness. But you do. You have lots that you keep hidden. That no one finds. That no one looks for. Because you won’t let people look.
 I notice when your not there. I notice everything. Almost, everything. I noticed your sketch in class one day, you were sitting in front and to the side of me, I could see it over your shoulder, you weren’t trying to hide it, you have nothing to hide. It was a bird in a cage. The cage wasn’t made of metal or wire, the cage was made of marble, of bones, and stone. But the cage was open. The bird was free but it was caged. It didn’t understand it then. You wouldn’t have told me if I asked. I told you I liked it, I said you had talent. You walked away from me and through it in the nearest bin, a rejected crumpled ball, that wasn’t good enough, because someone else thought it was. And it felt as if you through away me, a rejected crumpled ball, that wasn’t good enough, though I never thought I was. I picked it up; I have it on my wall. Is that weird? Do you think it’s weird? Do you think I’m weird? Do you think about me at all? I tore at my head trying to understand. A free bird, in a cage made of bone. A cage made of stone, with no door. I didn’t understand it, I didn’t understand you. I do now. I do now.
 I look at you and see freedom. I see something I can never grasp. Almost never. I think that maybe that’s why I’m drawn to you, and maybe that’s why you’re drawn away from everyone and everyone from you. I am not drawn away. I am pushed. Pushed by your freedom. You represent freedom to me, in a different way then norm though, I don’t see open expression, I don’t see open plains, or wide skies on which you fly. I don’t see endless space. And I don’t see vast spaces of nothing. The doors are always closed on you. No one really directs talk at you, or asks you questions, yet they wouldn’t tease or torment you. They wouldn’t dare. It’s like an unspoken code, that you exist and are to be left that way. I think that’s why your freedom. No one looks your way. You won’t let them look. You won’t let them see. You won’t let me in. And in that you are free. But I don’t think it’s that simple. I think that you in a way aren’t free, you are caged inside the openness of the world. The sky doesn’t cover, it swallows. There is freedom yes, on the outside, the part that you cannot hide. The part that you can hide, that you do, there is the cage. The bird is you.
 I told you that, one day at school. I wanted to, but I didn’t. Almost, didn’t. It came up before I could stop it, and you reacted before you could stop it. The bird is you, I said, quietly, but so you could hear. You looked at me, straight into my eyes, nodded once, and said, no end. And time and place ceased. Everyone, thing and it ceased to exist. The orbit ceased. And I was strangely there. I was more there then I had ever been, and you had already looked away and gone. No end. I didn’t even have to think, I thought I understood, the bird was the key, the bird is you. You are the bird, the world is your cage, and there is no end. Eternity has no idea, therefore stop digging. No end.
 I didn’t want to speak to you again. I didn’t want to approach you. Almost, didn’t. So I wrote a note, an almost letter and next to it I drew the bird, I drew you. I wrote;
 Bird,
No end.
I understand.
Eternity has no end, therefore stop digging.
The cage is open Bird,
Fly away.
I understand.
 And you returned the note, the almost letter, the piece of myself back, you put it by my bag at the end of one class. You wouldn’t do it in person. I would though. You wrote next to my scrawl, you finished the sentence. You wrote;
 Eternity has no end, therefore stop digging. Stop digging. Stop digging. Stop digging.
 I wondered if you were compulsive. I wondered what you meant by that. Then I noticed the bird, I noticed the pencil rendition of you. Your eye was now the symbol of eternity, the snake eating its tail. And so we returned to the dark ages. We sent letters to one another. We wrote down our souls. I drew you, and you edited. You drew meanings that I couldn’t quite grasp; only once did you explain. I tried to understand. Sometimes your words got fewer. Sometimes all you wrote was no end. I called you Bird, you didn’t call me anything. I didn’t have a name, I never signed my name. I was the nothing of us. And then one day, you explained.
 No End,
Black and white is not straightforward. It is a reference used often as a means to simplify things. If I were to write myself in black and white it would take a life time. And yet I drew myself in black and white. And I rid myself of it. And you found it. I gave myself, without meaning it, at all, to you. The cage is inside me. You understand that. The bird is me. You understand that. The cage is not however metal, this you don’t understand. This you won’t understand without this, without me. Marble and bone and stone, represent death and knowledge and lies. Marble is death, because it will always survive. Marble is a strong rock, and in death we survive. The cage will never die, it will never leave. The bird is always caged. Bone, is knowledge, it is the structure and picture of our form, the protector of our brains, and therefore our knowledge, our security, our power. Power is breakable, as are bones; knowledge however is everlasting, as are bones. Stone is a single word resembling the cliché, written in stone, finality and truth, hence also the lies. There is no beginning to this cage, and no end to it. It will always remain.
 No End.
 It was only ever once a quote. All the other times I wrote it down; I wrote it as a name. A symbol of what you are. If I am Bird, then you are No End. I am Freedom, you are Eternity.
 I’ve never really seen you, though I see you every day. Almost, every day. You exposed to much of yourself to me in that letter. And you never wrote back. You let someone in. You opened your window and filled your lungs with clean air. They’ll never look at you again. They’ll never try, they never did. You won’t let them, you wouldn’t let them. There is one difference though. There’s now someone sitting beside you. Someone else who is different, who hides their eyes and doesn’t talk anymore and doesn’t let people look, and they don’t try. By they don’t leave her alone either. They’ll never leave me alone. I’m the girl that will always sit beside you, some days we’ll talk. Some days we’ll draw together. But they’ll always torment, and tease, they’ll throw every ounce of self hate and issue into my being, I’m the easy target now, you even painted a bull’s eye on my forehead one day. I laughed at myself, at them, at you, at the world. And the world laughed at me. I still have your picture, but it’s been edited. The cage around you has a door now. I am your door. You shut your cage, but you shut me in. And now neither of us can get out. But neither of us will let the other in. Bird and No End. Everything and Nothing.
And you said one day, It’s the end, No End.

Hiya Everyone..
I write short stories and poems.
This is one of my stories.
Please read it and give me your thoughts.
Send them to brokenhrt101@gmail.com
Thanks a bunch.

***

Losing It…
“Kristen! Are you all right!?” Aunt Rebecca yelled as soon as she entered the hospital room. I just smiled weekly as her reply.
 “I’ve been better.” She ran towards me and threw her arms around my neck.
 “I will be forever grateful for what you did today! You came in front of that truck to save my s-son! “ She broke on the last word and burst into tears on my shoulder. I stroked her hair awkwardly.
 “Hey, you know what? It’s fine. No permanent damage, but my legs did really hurt running towards Aaron. After getting pregnant, I don’t think I ever ran like that.” I laughed at the end, but Aunt Rebecca didn’t join in. In fact, she looked even paler then she did when she first came in the room. Soon, I saw Damien at the door.
 “Damien, what did—“I cut short. I noticed something. Something that made me draw my breath in. He was crying. “Damien, I’m fine! Look, it’s me!” This made him smile ever so slightly and he came towards me. He sat at the edge of my bed, leaned in and kissed my forehead softly. When he got up I took hold of his hand. “Damien, is something bugging you?” I asked, wishing that the answer was no. But his grip on my hand got a little tighter.
 “Kristen…” He trailed off after that. I was growing impatient now.
 “Damien, what is it?” I was hoping I kept my impatience on the down-low, but I could even hear it myself.
 “Kristen, somebody died in the accident.” He looked into my eyes. I was confused now.
 “But there was only me, Aaron, and that truck driver. Aaron was fine, the truck driver didn’t look damaged at all. Who could have died? ” I asked skeptically. But then all of a sudden it dawned on me.
 “Damien…was it…?” I trailed off, feeling the tears gathering in my eyes as it sunk in. He sullenly nodded, keeping his own eyes down.
 “It was our b-baby.” He choked up at the end and he too put his arms around me. I tucked my head in his shoulder and cried. I could feel his tears dropping on my head. I don’t know how long we sat like that, crying. All I kept thinking was God, why? Ever since me and Damien had gotten married last spring, we both really wanted a baby. And when I got pregnant, we were the happiest people in the world. But now…
 “Kristen, your father is here and he wants to see you.” Aunt Rebecca announced at the door. I didn’t realize that she had left the room. Damien got up and I straightened up. My father? Why would he be here?
 “No, don’t let him in.” At the name of even mentioning my father, his evil doings replayed like a movie in my head. Every night, after my mother died, he would get drunk and would beat me up for no apparent reason. He was never happy with me. He would remind me ever day or when ever he got the chance that I was a big screw up. And he wasn’t drunk when he would say that. Once when I was 13 years old, he had hurt me so much, I ran away to go live with Aunt Rebecca. Ever since then she had been my guardian.
 “Kristen, I think you should let him in.” I looked at Aunt Rebecca as if she had 3 heads. But her eyes were very serious.
 “Have you lost it?” I blurted out. But she shook her head.
 “No, I haven’t Kristen, but you have to forgive. Your father looks like he will break down if he doesn’t see you. And the Lord said that you have to love your enemies.” You see? This is what you get for having a Christian aunt: Preaching for little things when ever she got the chance.
 “But Aunt Rebecca, he doesn’t even know that Damien and I are married! What if the doctor talked to him and he knows that the baby died?” I could just imagine his reaction.
 “Tell him now then, no better time like the present.” I just looked at her. She gave Damien a look and he nodded. They both left my room. I gave a huge sigh and fell back in my pillow, awaiting my doom.
 My father came rushing into my room, Damien at his heels. He mouthed the words “I’ll be right here.” I nodded slightly.
 I braced myself but what came to me was shock. My father had his arms around me, not strangling, but hugging. I could tell my shock showed and Damien’s too, but my dad didn’t notice. I guess Damien thought we were having a father-daughter moment so he left the room, but watched us through the window. Oh boy, did I regret him leaving.
 As soon as my dad realized Damien left, he got off me. He whipped out his hand and slapped me across the face, hard. I didn’t even have time to defend myself.
 “You stupid b*tch! The doctor says you lost your baby! I want to know what damn baby?!” He was yelling and Damien ran in the room and grabbed hold of him, but that didn’t stop him from yelling. Of course, Damien spoke up. At least, he tried to.
 “Mr. Harrison—“
 “Your not even f—king married!” He started screaming now. I started crying and put my hand on my stinging cheek.
 “Dad!” I screamed, as soon as he tried to lunge towards me again, but didn’t succeed because of Damien’s grip. “I am married!” This made everything freeze. “Dad, meet my husband, Damien.” Dad slowly turned to face him, then back at me. That was when he lost it.
 “You’re married?! And you didn’t even tell you father?!” He kept on yelling and yelling. “You retarded b*tch! What the f—k is wrong with you?! I knew you were a screw up but this--” By now Uncle Peter, Aunt Rebecca’s husband, came and helped Damien drag him out. I broke down on my pillow and cried and cried. I felt a hand on my shoulder moments later.
 “He won’t be coming back now.” I reached back and grabbed Damien’s hand. I scooted over and made room for him to sit down next to me and he did. I suddenly threw my arms around his neck and buried my head in his shoulder. He out his head on top of mine and kept saying things like “Love, don’t worry, it’ll be okay.” I wanted to ask him how, but resisted.

hi all this is my story for world of wercraft im 10 so bear wiht me ok its not the best splling i got ok so enjoy

                              the wer is on
  
             

                      i did not do much on my durd its lvl 6 going on lvl 7 so win i get to lvl 10 i can chang into a bear and keep up with my lvl 30 friends i want to ironforg to get some stff realy amor and a new weopon so it will do for now till lvl 10 noting to do form ther out
                            PART 2
             
                          ok i went noth of stomwind to goldshier on the battle feld and i was on my alt xkiller hes lvl 4 i went pvp and ther lvl 70 blood elf ther he killed me 3 times the end
   


 I KNOW IT SUCKED I WAS BETER WIRTING IT SO YA LOL IF YOU WANT TO TALK TO ME ABOT IF YOU WANT MY HELP IM NOT REALY LVL 6 MY MAIN IS LVL 21 I JUST NOW PLAY MY DURID SO IF YOU WANT HELP EMAIL ME AT HOLLERATME4@HOTMAIL.COM THANK YOU.

Introduction:

It had always seemed strange to him that people acted as they did, but never strange enough for him to take any time out of his day to delve into the situation too deeply.
 This is not to say, however, that he connected with absolutely no one, and, in fact, most who knew him would have pinned him as quite the sociable and likeable fellow. And he was. His friends, although in reality had absolutely no idea who he actually was, were viewed under a more than positive light. They were genuine, funny, and most of all, intelligent.
 At this point in the story, some explaining will be in order, however, it must be stated that our friend did not believe that most people were, by any measure, intelligent. On the contrary, he was fairly convinced that aside from perhaps some unthinkably small percent of the human population, people were largely foolish and slow. But what disturbed him the most was what appeared to be an inability, or a lack of desire, to actually understand.
 He had always felt this way, but unfortunately had never been able to lend any sort of useable definition to what it was that they didn’t understand, and that he did understand. On several occasions, he had even contemplated his own insanity, believing them to be the one’s who understood, and he the lone, confused soldier who still stands proudly armed years after the war has ended.
 But he was not, and he had never even held a gun. All jeers aside, this word, understand, followed him around like an assassin, slowly planning the moment when our friend’s time was up. The assassin’s scope was never far from his temple, and with each person he interacted with, he knew the trigger finger was slowly tightening.
 
 Are we dealing with some metaphysical maniac, here, you may ask? Does this personal truly believe that the essence of an indefinable English word is following him around, ready to snipe and flee? Let us hope not. For if that may be the case, the book to following will be a disturbingly large waste of time, and our new friend a complete and utter dunce. On that note, let us continue.

NoT sUavE At ALL

Anyway, I probably shouldn't tell you this but what the hell..am sure if it hasn't happened to you it will soon or later. Yours trully was as usual feeling really good about himself..for a number of reasons but to name a couple; I was presentable and my music was making me smile. This happened in the subway right after leaving Runnymede station heading east in our beloved RED ROCKET. I was listening to the Artist formerly known as Prince.. Musicology!.. subconsciously moving my body to the beat because the brother can sing! Lifting up my eyes, I found myself hypnotized by a pair of eyes from a heavenly dimension..big, clear and kinda soft..naturally, am a boobs man but these eyes were an exception...So like the law of nature intended, I started tracing her territory downwards..thick full lips, a neck meant for a goddess and YES, she had class. ..I know this because I WAS THERE DAMNIT!..she dressed like she had a purpose in life..crisp white shirt tucked into a pair of nice fitting black pants which almost covered her ankles..Open milkish high heels finished the total package look..My body must have betrayed me because when I looked up, a knowing smile on her face made me feel exposed like a hooker in church. All of a sudden the music in my ears sounds like construction noises..I became acutely aware of my movements..Now, I have never danced to construction noises, so you can understand and appreciate how I felt. Her gaze on me remained steady but friendly until I became completely motionless. Now, should I look away or say something? I have never been this clueless !!! "What are you listening to?" The words rang in my ears for what seemed like eternity. Before my frozen brain could process any possible answers i heard my mouth talking; "Nothing"..What the hell? NOTHING? that's what yours trully said..NOTHING! ..."aah, prince..I am listening to prince"..finally an answer worthy of some respect...but now what?..should I add to that?...She saved me again by mentioning that she loves the singer..All I could do was state the obvious.."I love him too"..what? did I just say "i love prince"?? WTF?? "I mean I love HIS music", I corrected myself much to her pleasure..now she has absolute control on this situation..and the HUGE SMILE on her face is her trophy..I started looking for an exit strategy..THANK GOD for High Park station..yours trully managed a somewhat dignified exit with a quick.."ok cya" then i vanished... NOT SUAVE AT ALL!