LolzEditor

LolzEditor[/b][/u] Short Stories URL The Follower After being followed on his way home, the protagonist is brutally attacked. Is there a link between the two events? Poems URL The Final Surgery They said the surgery would be safe. But it went horribly wrong. URL Black and white How has our attitudes towards other races changed over the past 100 years? URL The Dying Wish He knew his life was ending, so why did he resist death for so long? URL The sin of men- the cold within They could easily have survived, but why did they end up dead? URL Green- the Colour of Envy Is the grass really greener on the other side?

Oh I thought Yassin was a wolf that can transform into a human beacause of the way he was described him. Anyway, thanks for clearing things up. :

The Mercedes behind had its lights dimmed, its sleek, black body blending into the background. I parked my car. The Mercedes followed suit. Anxious to escape from the sight of the driver, I cut through the overgrown woodland, a shortcut to the house. I listened for footsteps behind me. Silence. Apart from an odd thud in the distanceÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâæ I entered the house, locking the door behind me, searching for the sack of white powder I had hidden so carefully. Each step seemed to take longer than the last, and each time, I felt a pang of fear. Crack. Crack. Crack. What was that noise? Five steps away. Four. Three. I heard the bang. The room went pitch black. I could smell the smoke creeping under the doorways. Thump. Thump. Thump. Crash. The front door had been broken down. I saw the silhouette of the man entering, sending a cold chill down my spine. I was trapped inside my own home. I ripped the drawer out, pulling out the longest knife in my disposal. It felt safer to be armed. Nevertheless, I almost screamed when the shadow came closer. It was dark. The manÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s shadow had blended into the darkness of the floor. Suddenly, a torrent of air came rushing down as a weapon came hurtling down inches from my face. Instinctively, I ran into the bathroom, diving into the restroom, slamming the door shut. Creak. Creak. Creak. He was getting closer, but I was armed. If he tried to open the door, a twelve inch knife would be thrust into his corpse. Twenty times. Creak. Creak. Creak. He was beside the door, waiting for me to make a move. I waited. Ten seconds. TwentyÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬ÃâæOne minute. He was still there. The bathroom door slammed shut. Crap. I thought. I donÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t even know if heÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s in here or not. I opened the door an inch. His weapon slammed down through the gap, nearly battering my hand off. It was some kind of mace. He withdrew the weapon. The door opened and slammed shut again. This time I stood still, my weapon poised to attack. I didnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t dare to open the door. The shower taps turned on. The man was toying with me. Or maybe not. Now I couldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t hear his footsteps, but I knew he was still in here- waiting. Rattatatta.Rattatatta.Rattatatta. The shower water poured down, pounding the shower walls, making a rapping sound as it bounced off the walls. I waited. Five minutes. Ten. Rattatatta.Rattatatta.Rattatatta. My hands ached. My arms were tired. The grip on my knife was loosening. Crash. Something had been broken. Somewhere distantÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâæ He wasnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t in the bathroom! I didnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t hear the bathroom door opening because of the shower. I should have made the move now, but I couldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t. Fear. Anxiety. The question- What if he got me? ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâ¦Ã¢â¬ÅWhere is it?ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬ÃâÃ

So...Akka and Yassin are related...but one's human and one's a wolf...

Wow, you're right...it is long. I've only read up to chapter two, and its already getting exciting!

Thud. Thud. Thud. I could hear my heart beating. Beep. Beep. Beep. The surgery machines were turned on. Scrape. Scrap. Scrape. The tools were being sharpened. All I could do was watch. My muscles werenÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t reacting. I was motionless; paralysed. Yet I could still feel pain. Pain from the wound. From where the bullet was removed. More Sedative. I thought desperately. They needed to know. Something cold against my skin. Metal. Thud. Thud. Thud. I tried to tell them. I tried to warn them. But my mouth wouldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t move. Thud. Thud. Thud Suddenly, pain like nothing I have felt before came crashing down on my feeble body, rattling my brain, sending vibrations to every nerve of my body. The needle went in Another eruption of pain. The needle came out. The wound burning like never before. I couldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t cry. I couldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t scream. The pain was kept inside. Thud. Thud. Thud. Each stitch was more painful than the last. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. My heartbeat was checked. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. My heart was pulsing faster. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. I could almost move. Fragments of words. Heart. Stroke. My eyes flew open. Blinding white light. My mouth opened. One word. Help Oh crap. I had realised too late. The shock. The pain. Then, the stroke. My heart set on fire, inflating, bulging, retching. My body went rigid. My mouth snapped shut. My eyeballs bulged from their sockets. Shockwaves coursed through my veins. The world went blank. Forever. __________________________________________________ I saw on the news, once, that a woman had their stomach cut open, but the sedative had failed. She couldn't move, and was lucky to survive the ordeal. This story is based on that incident.

Whats a "System of structure"?

Whip. Flog. Thrash. Pain. Twinge. Sting. Scream. Shriek. Squeal. Effort. Labour. Toil. No time. To mourn. No time. To weep. No time. For sorrow. No time. For rest. Our skin. The colour. Our pride. Our culture. It marked. Us different. It branded. Us Slaves We work. We toil We get. No. Respect. We get. No. Pay. We get. Nothing. My mother. Was taken. Slash. Slice. Gash. Blood. Tears. Horror. She. Was. Deceased. Why. Must. It happen? Why. Are. We different? Why. Are. We slaves? Why. Must. We pay? _______________________________________ 75 Years later. We. Earned. Respect. We. Are. The same. We. Live. In peace. We. Are. Accepted. Blissful. Happy. Content. Their thoughts. Have. Changed. I lie. On. My bed. I. Am. Happy. My grand-children. Come. Worried. Anxious. Concerned. They. Are. White. And I. Am. Black. Openness. Honesty. Happiness. Acceptance. Recognition. Approval. Blacks. No longer. ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâ¦Ã¢â¬ÅTheyÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬ÃâÃ

The end. Was. Near. The symptoms. Were. Clear. The turth. Sincere. Yet I felt. No fear. The final. Good Bye. Was Just. A lie. The. Final. Lie. Before. He. Died. She. Had. To know. Before. His Close. The truth. He must. Bestow. But. his steps. Too slow. He must. Tell Fleur. His vision. A blur. His words. A slur. He must. Tell her. His. Last. Step. On. Her. Doorstep. He slumped. On. The floor. His head. On. The door. His body. At rest. Dakrness. Possesed. Even. At death. His soul. CouldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t rest. Pure boredom has lead me to wasting at least 30 minutes a day writing meaningless stories.

Im not Socialist...I just write about anything I can think of.

Oh okay :(

Envy and jealousy, Stepping stones to hate. We ignore what we have, We want what we donÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t. The young wish to grow, Yet the old wish youth. Hard workers wish to retire, The jobless wish for a job. The grass isnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t always, Greener on the other side. We are under an illusion, Simple trickery to our eyes. DonÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t compare yourself, To the rich and famous. Instead, compare yourself, To the poor and needy. We are lucky to be humans, Instead of a colony of ants. We are lucky to be in the present, Instead of in the past. If we feel envy, When we look at the rich, We should feel lucky, When we look at the poor. Those who keep wishing, And never stop to think. They ignore what they have, They want what they donÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t. The grass isn't always greener on the other side.

Wow I love your stories Can I copy. The way. You write. Your poems. With heaps. Of fullstops? You should make the subtitles stand out more for BlueJay Chronicals. Why does the font change at the end of the chronicals? I couldn't be bothered reading that poem, there was too much scrolling :( ... But I loved this one! :D

Thanks Thanks again Ok, now I deleted it :D Ok I deleted that as well :?

The shoes comment is a bit mean...

Right...Wheres the story?

Warning: Not for the Light-Hearted! The roomÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s once white walls were now splashed with dark red blood-stains. There hadnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t been fresh blood for months- ever since lethal Injections came into use. The room had never been cleaned- it never had to be. Nobody stayed there very long and half the people who entered ended up dead. Today was special. Three people stood in the death room- the criminal, the executioner and the victim. Everyone saw him carried into the death room. Everyone heard the screams. Only one person saw the executioner walk out of the room, his needle still filled with poison. The executioner turned his head and looked straight at the bystander. Their eyes met. The executionerÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s eyes were wild with unprecedented fury. Madrid Butler had not been killed. He walked out of the room after the area was sealed by police, and arrived at the dark alleyway half an hour late. There was something unwelcoming about the dark alleyway, the way it stretched into total darkness, and the dark red graffiti which lined its walls. MadridÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s saviour sat down on an old crate, watching Madrid. The saviourÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s blue eyes and pale weathered skin looked just like they did in the execution room, yet there was something in his expression which mad him look much more sinister. ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâ¦Ã¢â¬ÅWho are you?ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬ÃâÃ

I like ittt

Yea theres probabally heaps of mistakes...I can't really write poems. I haven't even been taught how to write one.

I love it! I give you 9 Kittens/ 10

The midnight moon illuminated the desolate ground, Casting dark shadows onto the barren wilderness. The lava bubbled and popped, Sending sparks which withered into nothingness. Aside from the river of steaming lava, Nothing warmed the ice-cold air. A dying red flame was their only lifeline, Yet all they did was sit and stare. Each held a stick of firewood, Collected for the fire, That was quickly extinguishing. Yet the fire died without a sound. The poor one did not give to the rich, The rich one kept his wealth from the poor. The last one followed and kept his twig. The way these men kept their twigs, Holding them even till death, Represents the con of man, We take but do not give. DonÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t only give to people who give. Sometimes, it is you who must make the sacrifices. -LolzEditor