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Silvery Shadow 13's Writing Journal
I'm going to be posting pieces of my writings here, probably nothing really connected, but it should give everyone a chance to yell at me to keep writing. Mostly, just whatever comes to mind.
Watching, Waiting
I stood in the shadows, watching the dance. It was school organized. I looked of an age to be attending such a thing, so no one would have given me a second glance had they seen me, but people did not see me. Eyes naturally slipped from me. The girl looked uncomfortable in her short dress with tight jeans underneath, and high heeled sandals. She was leaning on the side of a railing, watching, not dancing. I assumed she had come because of her family.
She was perhaps, fifteen or sixteen, and I knew her family wished her to “make friends and influence people”, in a way that would be advantageous to them. They thought her to be a disappointment, I knew her to be anything but.
Her friends danced around her, laughing and joking, sometimes she to would laugh, but mostly, she watched. She shivered in the slight breeze, the wind ruffling her hair over her almost bare shoulders. She said something to a friend that I couldn’t quite hear.
“But you’ve only just arrived, and hardly anyone’s seen you in that outfit, and I went to so much effort to get you into it to.” The girl said loudly, the breeze carrying her voice to me. I wasn’t surprised someone else had chosen her outfit.
“It’s probably for the best, no one seeing me dressed like this.” She muttered darkly as she walked away, coming towards me. I slipped out of the shadows, following her.
“Who’s there?” She asked sharply. I said nothing, letting myself slip further into the darkness. She looked around before finally shrugging and continuing on.
I smiled to myself, she was good, this girl, I was, however, better. I had been waiting for her for a long time, and it seemed to me that she was well worth waiting for.
I watched her make her way home, her silvery blue eyes always watchful, looking around warily. After watching her go inside, I carefully climbed the tree outside her house, finding a branch that would let me sit comfortably outside her window.
I watched her eat ramen noodles alone in her room. I watched her finish her school work and set it aside. I watched her write, in that clear, beautiful handwriting another letter, then set it aside on top of a stack of papers, I could only assume were letters as well. She set a large book on them. I watched as she then turned to the wall, taking down a flute. I watched as she sat on her bed, closed her eyes, and began to play the most haunting, ghostly piece of music I had ever heard. Something told me that no one else, save her and I, could hear it.
I watched her open her eyes, get up, and put the flute away. She then pulled a wooden practice sword from the wall, and as I watched her practice, I realized, no one else looking in at her room would have seen the weapons. She was all catlike grace and agility, she practiced the strikes slowly and with precision.
I watched her set the sword back in it’s place and take a book from the shelf, a manual of mental disorders. She skimmed through it before stopping on a page and settling down in her bed to read. After a time she set the book down beside her bed and turned out the light.
I pulled out a pad of paper and carefully sketched her, then, ripped the paper out silently. I folded it neatly into a paper airplane and tossed it lightly into the room, it landed silently on her desk.
I smiled to myself, as I climbed down from the tree. Tomorrow, tomorrow I would go to school.

958 Words on going through someones stuff
For the record, I have never done this. This was also in the writing arena, but it's here so I can find it if I want to add anything to it, I'm considering a sequal... ninja and now past page 80 in my actual work, so I don't want chewed out over that.

I walked into the bedroom and looked around. You can learn a lot about a person from their bedroom, more than a bathroom, living room, or kitchen. A bedroom is a person’s space, somewhere that is touched by them more than anywhere else. I looked around.
The bed was made, though it had been slept in, it was still orderly. There were two bookshelves, a desk, a dresser, a chair, and a closet. The walls were covered in maps, weapons and instruments. I looked at the books. You can tell a lot about a person from how they keep their books, neat or untidy, alphabetically or otherwise.
Unconsciously we organize our books in a way that makes sense to us. I didn’t wonder about why the dictionary was next to the encyclopedias, or why the sci-fi novels were next to the fantasy. I did want to know why a manual of mental disorders was between the bible and a book of Kipling’s poetry. The poetry looked more used; it had all the signs of a well loved book. On the shelf below it was a book titled The giant book of insults. The other books on the shelf were more interesting.
When you are going through someone’s room and find a book titled How to fossilize your hamster, you unconsciously search the room for signs of hamster habitation, or perhaps an attempt at fossilized hamster. The next book I saw after that, I assumed was a gift, but what sort of person received a book called 51 pranks for the evil genius.
I looked down, there were some older books on this shelf, and some newer. Dragon rider of Pern was in evidence, so was a series of books so long out of print I had thought them lost to time, The Fuzzy series. The book of five rings was also on the shelf.
The bottom shelf contained His dark materials, as well as the entire Harry Potter series. I looked at the other book shelf; it had books on calligraphy, forging, and The biography of a Silver Fox. There were Doctor Seuss books, Calvin and Hobs, Foxtrot, next to a book of nursery rhymes. A copy of Aesop’s fables lay closed on the desk. There was a book on the shelf, all pink, that caught my eye. It was so unlike everything else I’d seen in the room, it simply didn’t belong. It was titled How to win friends and Influence people for the Teenage Girl. From what I had seen, the room’s occupant would not pick something such as that. The book looked unread, no dog-eared corners, no bent edges, or warped spine, though I had not seen a dog-eared corner on a single book in the room.
The headboard of the bed also held a shelf for books. It had the entire Xanth series, though out of order. It had a few books about dragons, and a few manga. The manga were out of order, there were random books in the series, so I assumed they must have been a gift.
I examined the desk more closely, it was neat. There was an open notebook with the beginnings of a letter written on the page it was open to. The handwriting was neat, flowing; it was very pretty, reminding me of the books of calligraphy. There were both pens and pencils sitting loose on the desk, unmarked. Other than that though, it was clean. I opened a random drawer and found a collection of calligraphy pens and inks. I closed it.
I opened one of the dresser drawers. Its contents were neat, folded and organized. It was totally impersonal. Even neat people leave touches of themselves, there are flourishes, but this room was dark, and plain. The only true personal touches were in the books, the maps and the instruments. I had not seen a music player, or a single a CD in the room. I had seen a guitar, a flute, a fife, a violin and a few other instruments that I could not name.
The lack of outside music sources convinced me that the rooms occupant could probably play at least one if not more of the instruments well. I looked at the alarm clock sitting on the floor next to the bed, I checked the time it was due to go off, five a.m. It was early, but that didn’t surprise me.
I next looked at the maps, the was a world map, With Europe on the left, and North America on the right, next to it was a map of Africa, then one of India. There was one of the United States, and one of South America, an individual one of Mexico, and another of the Caribbean. I wondered at the room’s occupant.
I knew I was in the room of the middle daughter, the one the family considered of least value. Yet it was that daughter that interested me. No one keeps so many fiction novels around unless their trying to escape something, but what was it that made the girl flee into her novels, far from the realm that humans could touch.
I looked around the room, trying to guess her age; I decided she was probably in her mid teens. The books I had seen were mostly such as would interest a teenager, and the room more resembled a dark sanctuary then a bed chamber.
I slipped lightly from the room, everything looking the same as when I had entered it. I moved down the hall and to the balcony. I had only to open the door slightly, climb down, and slip away into the night. I would be back, but the next time, I would be invited.

It will never be okay
Your words, cold fingers around my throat, forcing the breathe from my lungs.
Harsh words, like knives shattering the ice, my ice, my heart, my everything.
You speak to me, voice gentle, voice soft, you lie to me.
You say it will be okay, and I scream.
I try to tell you, I try to explain. It’s not okay, it will never be okay.
Not tomorrow, not today, I tell you, I swear, it will never be okay.
It’s not alright, it’s not fine.
I’ve heard it before, it’s their favorite line.
Saying that it’s alright, everything will be okay.
It’s not true.
I’m sorry to shout, sorry to be rude.
I love you, but please, please, please don’t lie to me, not again.
Tell me anything, but tell me the truth.
You told me the truth before, so do it again. The truth is cold, is slashes my heart,
A thousand knives shattering my being, but it’s true.
I know that.
I know also,
It will never be okay.
Some things are unforgivable, and some things, unforgettable. Some things, both.
This is unforgivable, and I shall never forget.
It will never be okay.

Silvery Shadow 13
Community Member
Silvery Shadow 13
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