New Story Thing?

Uh. This won't be continued, but....yeah?  I wrote this to put off homework.  It's in second person because this one line "Your name is Thalia Circe, and you're the best there is." popped into my head and wouldn't get out.  And...well.  Thalia seems to die a lot in situations like these, and I wanted her to not die for once :P So I tried my hand at writing second-person action. Not the best, but hey, it's something to post.


Thal's brother is so crazy.  I may be rewriting Pushing Up Daisies, but Finn is still the same psycho.
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You dive into the drivers seat, shove the key in the ignition, and floor it.

You can't remember the last time you drove a car, and you are certain you've never driven something this modern or fancy. But that doesn't matter right now. You know the big wheel in front of you makes it turn, and that's all you need to know.

One thing you have to give your brothers hit men credit for is that they are excellent drivers with good taste in cars. You've played countless hours of Mario Kart Wii with March and Mirtil, but as you nearly roll over rounding a corner, you realize that it's not the same thing at all.

Someone leans out of the car in front of you, holding something in his hand. You frown, trying to make out what it is. Then there's three bangs in quick succession, and you scream and duck as the bullets shatter the windshield. You wrench the steering wheel to the side and start zigzagging across the road. Curses fly out of your mouth. The man looks slightly stunned.

If the car didn't belong to your psychotic brother, you would be sorry about the windshield. But it does and you're not.

You suddenly realize where the van in front of you is going. You've been on this road so many times that you didn't even take the time to look at your surroundings. Your hands clench tighter on the wheel, your knuckles going white. You don't know what prompted the random attack from your brother, you don't know why his consorts are going this way and if there are some already there, and you don't have time to think about it because all you can think is The Manor, the Manor, the Manor and your heart goes into overdrive.

You slide down in your seat as the man fires at your head again. You fumbled with the glove box with one hand, trying to pull it open. Finally the latch comes undone and you see that your hunch was right. You grab the steering wheel and pull the car straight, right behind the other one. Then you grab the revolver and start shooting.

You've never been the best shot, preferring to fight with your hands and sword. Trying to drive and shoot at the same time is only making your aim worse. But against all odds, one of your bullets hits the man's hand just as he fires again, and he drops the gun, howling in pain. There's a burning in your shoulder and you're very aware of the blood soaking your shirt and jacket, but you can't feel the pain. A hysterical laugh escapes your lips because a bullet just grazed you and there's glass lodged in your arm and you don't care. Adrenaline does funny things with nerves.

You're getting close to Elysium Asylum now. Apparently, the hit men notice too, because they accelerate. You push the car as harder, and the distance is closing, but you won't be able to swerve around and get next to the other car. The gates are visible now, and you're so panicked and confused and high on adrenaline that you just say screw it to the world and crash the cars.

Everything after that – at least how you will remember it – is like a slow motion action shot in a movie. You fling open the door and half roll, half fall out of it. A wheel just barely misses your head. There's a bang and a screech. You look around just as the mess that used to be two cars skids into a tree and something catches fire. A very wounded looking man drags himself from the wreckage and starts hobbling away as fast as he can go.

Another thing you're obliged to give the hit men credit for – they are incredibly durable.

This close to the manor you can hear that there's already a fight going on, but your side is winning easily. You're probably going to fall over soon, you know it, but you feel the need to finish your part. Somehow, your sword is still in your hand. You don't question it, and instead push yourself to your feet, swaying.

Someone calls your name and you start running – in the opposite direction. Your footsteps are heavier than usual, and for the first time the man notices that you're there. He lets out a strangled squeak and starts limping faster. Even if you catch up to him, you know you won't have the energy to take him down in hand-to-hand fight, no matter how wounded he is. He's just too big, and you're just too tired. So you skid to a halt, pull your sword out of it's sheath, and throw it like a frisbee.

The sword spins wildly through the air, and for one terrible moment, you think that you've missed. But then your weapon sticks in his back, and he drops to the ground, dead, you think, or as good as.

You turn around and start limping back to the Manor, suddenly feeling very drained. The gates are open now, and you know that the fight in there is over, too. Some of your friends are standing there, battered and bloody, but nothing too serious, which you're glad to see.

They're all staring at you like you just tried to eat your foot. Even though you're half soaked in your own blood and you're about to topple over, you still manage to feel proud enough of yourself to give them a lopsided grin and a jaunty salute.

Your name is Thalia Circe, and you're the best there is.

----

I have no idea how you drive a car, to be honest, or why there was an attack on Elysium Asylum.  There just was :P

DFTBA!

Thalia

Harry Potter Poem

Tell me it isn't true.  Tell me it hasn't been two months since I posted some writing.  Tell me it hasn't been almost five months since I uploaded a decent sized story.


Uggghhh ;__; I am so ashamed of myself.  I have no idea what happened and I have no excuse.  I've been aware of this, but it hasn't really...hit me until right about now.  So naturally, I flailed around with my documents for a while before realizing a few things: 1) The next part of Pushing Up Daisies is nowhere near done, 2) My Sherlock fanfiction is not ready for posting, and 3) This is the only semi-decent thing I have to post.  It's a whole poem based off ONE LINE in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Askaban where Hermione indicates that she doesn't like to fly, from Hermione's perspective.  I wrote it for school.  It's...not a good poem.  But I hope you take it anyway and allow me just a little more time to get my head together and whip up some fanfiction for you all.
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I really, really don't like flying

But I do suppose it's better than dying

Oh God, Harry, it doesn't matter, we're going to die

Why does getting places involve having to fly?

The stars are spinning, can this really be possible?

Does flying always feel this way? It's so improbable!

I'm holding on so tight, I'm surprised you're still breathing

This is terrifying, my chest is heaving

Has it been seconds? Hours? Everything has slowed down!

I can't remember what it's like to have my feet on the ground

But I'd be lying if I said this isn't at least a little fun

I'm quite tired, and it's almost over and done

We've cheated time, broken the rules once again

I wouldn't have done it if you weren't my friend

We're saving two innocent souls from death row

Is this how every school year is going to go?

Harry, you should know, I'm no longer sure of my stomach contents

Can we please now begin our descent?

The world is starting to look like a bunch of slurred paint

My dizziness is showing no constraint

Is Buckbeak going to be able to hold the three of us?

I know there's no time to worry, though, escape is a must!

The adrenaline is rushing, we're all jacked up so high

How can I call myself a witch if I'm afraid to fly?

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Stay awesome, bloggers <3

Thalia

One Year Ago, On This Yesterday...

...I joined the blogs.

No, this blog right here isn't a year old. But the first comment I ever posted anywhere on the Blogosphere is a year and one day old! :D I totally forgot yesterday, but I remembered this morning. Sorry I don't have a big story for you all, but here is something small I wrote the other day, inspired by this song.

Long live the blogs! <3
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Alexandra spun gently around on the swing. The old chains clacked together, sending flakes of rust spinning down onto her lap. She lifted her feet from the ground and smiled with childish glee as she was whipped around while the chains unwound.

A raindrop slid down her nose. Her shirt and jeans were soaked, her hair plastered to her face. Eyeliner ran down her face in streaks. Alexandra kicked off the ground, splashing in the puddle that had formed by her feet. As she swung, she remembered the times she and her sister had raced to get higher than the other. Other childhood memories raced through her head, bringing with them an overwhelming sense of nostalgia.

Unbidden, more recent memories came to mind. She remembered going to the aquarium a month ago to stare at the whale sharks. Driving a car for the first time. Flunking her French test. Standing in line for three hours with her boyfriend to get a book signed by her favorite author.

Alexandra laughed. To think that visiting her childhood playground would lead to such memories.

'Remembering is such an odd thing', she thought. You can look for ages in your memories for something and never find it. But then one day, maybe in a week or a month or a year, it will hit you. But it won't come alone. A whole avalanche of past feeling and longings and loves will come with it. And God knows what they will be. They may be important or irrelevant or both. They could last forever, or they could just be one instant.

Then she closed her eyes and tilted her head back, letting the rain run down her neck, and thought, 'Nothing is an instant. You can love someone so much or hate them with a passion, but it does not happen all at once. And nothing is forever, because forever is much too long a time for anything.'

HAPPY EXTRA FEBRUARY

It's a leap year.

Today is the leap day.

That is all.

Raising Wonderland, Because We Live, and This Star Won't Go Out - Three Poems

Hmm.  Some poems I wrote for English.  And anyone who has read The Fault in Our Stars, that last one is for you.
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I - Raising Wonderland

Falling through the Looking Glass

Down the rabbit hole once more

In a hallway, long and dark

And through each and every locked door

The caterpillar asks, “Who are you?”

Before the court of the Queen

An answer tumbles off your tongue

Painting a such a fantasy scene

Are you Alice? Can you be?

Why, it's impossible to say

Will you make the Jabberwocky headless?

Will you bring about frabjous day?

You're here unintentionally

You're not fit for Wonderland

What a scared little mouse you are

Can you face what fate has planned?

“Off with her head!” the Queen of Hearts declares

The card guards draw their swords

Run, run, faster little Alice!

Back through all those locked doors!

“You're late for tea,” says the hatter

He's madder than mad, but dearest girl

Some things are bigger than others

And right now, you are bigger than the world

Daring to be braver than brave

You have to move fast to move at all

Though it's frightening, it's so exciting

Why, aren't we having a ball?

Playing chess is a life-or-death game

So subvert the rules, turn them on their head

Transgress the world with a Cheshire Grin

Just laugh and laugh until you're dead

II) Because We Live

My old glow has become a dull light

But it's a proud one, I think

For me, it works, it's enough

Though I may tarnish

Though my edges may rust

I'm still the same girl, with a faint shine

I have a candle resting in my heart

Burning brighter as the days go on

So if my fire ever goes out

Just strike another match

Hand me my needle, hand me my thread

I'll fix myself up again

And if you crack, just come to me

I'll see what repairs I can make

It might be a bit sloppy

And sure, everything is temporary

But I'll do my very best

So that you can keep going

There are times when things just suck

But why do we just sit around?

Wallow in despair and twiddle our thumbs

I want to do something, to give a hug

Just to the world in general

Because, really, everyone wants a hug

If in my lifetime, the world ends

Will it be alright to laugh?

I'm just one of seven billion

And with seven billion reasons to think

And seven billion reasons to live

One starts to feel kind of giddy

And even if I'm insane, that's not the point

It simply does not have a point

But because we're here, because we live

In this world of wrong and of right

Our light might be tedious and dull

But damn, it's still so bright

III) This Star Won't Go Out

That which we call the universe

By any other name would not be as grand

So come, my dear, let's watch the stars

Across time, across history

And gracefully, we'll weave our story

Humans, we wonder sometimes, wistfully

'Will I be remembered when I'm gone?'

But the time will come when we're all dead

And there will be no one to remember

Anything at all

We glide through the world everyday

Being alive, just living life

Yet the universe still gives us a nod

Even though we're all but a moment

A passing impression

This little hatful of days we have

We'll spend it tactfully, but as we please

Our time is limited yet unlimited

Because each second, each minute, each blessed hour

Is it's own eternity

But my dear, so be it if we die

Together, we've had such a good run

There were bad times and good times and weird times

So Godspeed, my love

Because you and I, we had the best of times

Someday we'll all be dead

But the universe will remember us

Infinitely, all of time throughout

And like a fire, scintillating

This star won't go out

Pushing Up Daisies - Part One (REWRITE)

Next part won't have the 'rewrite' in the title. Anyway. This part was very fun to write. I like it a lot. And the man who ran the cemetery will forever be 'the man who ran the cemetery', because I can't think of a good name for him :P And poor Benjamin Anyone.  But hello Fredrick!

___________________________

The mud of the graveyard gave in under Thalia's boots and pulled her down a little bit with every step.  The air smelled damp, which didn't exactly make sense, but she couldn't describe it any better. Thalia walked through the headstones without any real destination.  Her job was to find, and she was searching.

It was a dark, cloudy day, and it was raining.  It was always raining.

She sat down on a bench and closed her eyes thoughtfully, and then her mind slid away.  It spread out, slipping and snaking its way through the graves and monuments.  As soon as they were touched, the consciousnesses of all the rabbits and snakes and other such creatures lit up.  Thalia stopped the movement of her thoughts at a good fifty yard radius.  The simple, vague animal thoughts floated around gently in her head, not clamoring to be heard.  Thalia happily set about picking through them, but nothing jumped out at her.  None of them could be considered worrying or malicious by human standards, which meant that nothing was more than just typically animalistic.  The mind reader sighed, quite literally gathered her thoughts, and kept walking.

Her job was fairly simple: find and capture whatever was eating the new burials.  The graveyard did not discriminate.  According to the man who ran the cemetery, the process was usually a very simple one, as long as the clients payed.  First, a client would provide them with a new body, usually a dead one.  Then the people at the cemetery would clean it up.  Sometimes this involved killing the body, you know, just in case.  The next day, they'd stick the person in the ground, cover it up, mark it with a stone, and what's done is done.

Except that lately, the morning after the burial, the people at the cemetery would find the new graves dug up and painted generously with blood and bits of gore.  There would be no body.

That's where Thalia proverbially flew onto the scene.  It was a simple enough job, but there was one problem: the graveyard was big.  And Thalia was, in the nicest of terms, lazy.  But she kept plodding forward.  She had a job to do, after all.

The rain continued to drum on the world around her.

***

Anyone can recognize a monster when they see one.  It takes no prior experience with such things to know when you are about to be eaten by something that seems to be out of a storybook.  If one would like to arm oneself with the great weapon of knowledge, however, it would do one good to take a quick trip inside a local preschool and ask some of the children there to draw a monster.  Children know monsters far better than their parents, who think the only monsters are criminals and government officials.

Anyone can recognize a monster when he sees one, too.  He was a short, portly man with graying hair, probably somewhere in his mid forties.  He didn't have a wife or children and his parents had died the previous year, but he did have a nice job with the Sanctuary.  He also had a kind face, and despite his odd name, he was generally well liked by people.  Monsters too, apparently.

People were going to miss Benjamin Anyone.

***

The man who ran the cemetery was unimpressed.  Granted, he was always unimpressed, but now he was extremely unimpressed.  It was making him pace.  He didn't like pacing.  Just the other week a dog had bitten him and left him with a limp.  But pacing made him look intimidating, without or without the limp.

He stopped pacing.  “Miss Circe,” he said slowly, trying to hide his irritation, “I'm afraid I misheard you.”

“No, you didn't.”

He ignored her.  “Your words got jumbled in my ears, and I thought you were asking entrance to the ancient and restricted sections of our graveyard.  Would you be so kind as to repeat yourself?”

“I really don't see the point of that if you heard me correctly the first time,” Miss Circe said.

The man who ran the cemetery examined her shrewdly.  She was slumped in on herself,  scowling and dripping water all over the chair and the floor.  He crinkled his nose in distain. Someone would need to be called in to take care of that later, along with her muddy footprints.  The room was starting to smell very much like the graveyard.

“Let me ask you a question.  Do you know the meaning of the word 'restricted'?”  Miss Circe opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off.  “It means that even if you were the most important Grand Mage in the world, you would still not be allowed access to those sections of the graveyard.  Do you understand?”

Miss Circe frowned.  “I don't think it'd say that if I looked in a dictionary.  Where'd you get that definition?”

Putting up with this girl, the man who ran the cemetery decided, was going to be very hard indeed.

“I'm sorry, Miss Circe, but I can't let you into those parts.”  He smiled in what he thought was a fatherly manner.  “Perhaps there are still places you can check?  It's only been about three days since you started looking, and our graveyard is very big.”

She crossed one of her ankles on top of the other knee and raised an eyebrow at him.  The feeling that his mind was laid out like a book for her to read was back.  “I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't speak to me like I'm five.  Also, please remove that ridiculous expression from your face.  It'd be really unfortunate if you got stuck like that.”

His smile faltered, then fell off completely, and Miss Circe gave him an approving nod.  The weird feeling went away as she got up and stretched.  “I'll look in the potter's field, but I'm going to need access to those old graves eventually.”

“I really don't think you will.”

“Something's eating your burials.  Do you want me to find it or not?”

He glowered at her.  “Get out of my office.”

***

The sewers of London are not a pretty place.  In fact, the sewers of anywhere are not pretty places.  The details of sewers are best left unspoken, though they are very wet, dark, and smelly.  The perfect place for a monster.

The monster didn't have a name, but it was a he.  If he did have a name, it would have been Fredrick.  It had always seemed like a perfectly respectable name to him, and monsters do want to be respected, even the ones who like to eat freshly dead things.  Monsters are people too.

Fredrick could be mistaken for a giant snake, or maybe a bird, or perhaps even a turtle.  He actually looked like some sort of demented mutation of all three.  With claws.  Big, sharp claws.

He was quite far away from his usual home.  He didn't normal stray so far – not all monsters like to be adventurers – but he was hungry.  Hunger, in a monster, is a powerful thing.  Blood dripped from his jaws – thick, warm, and wet.  Fredrick's latest meal had been tasty, but quite messy.

One thing is to be understood about monsters, and that is that they don't understand that the dead body they just ingested was your great Aunt Susie.  They just do what their instincts tell them, with minimal thinking.

Fredrick lifted his nose into the air and sniffed once.  Then, with the grim certainty that monsters always seem to have, he turned and started home.

***

Dead people, Thalia discovered, were not good company.

You could walk around a graveyard all day, and not one of them would talk to you.  Ghosts, or at least ones who want to chat, are apparently quite hard to come by.  There didn't seem to be any zombies, either.  That was disappointing.  Thalia would have liked to see a zombie.  It would have given her something to kill.

She sighed in frustration, snapping her mind back.  Not even the potter's field had wielded any results.   She turned and walked back towards the main cemetery.  Nothing was out of the ordinary.  Not even the few dead minds she did happen encounter.  They just promptly told her to shove off, and that was normal for a mind reader in a cemetery.  Was the man who ran the cemetery just setting her up?  Was this all a joke?

No.  She shook her head furiously.  No, there was something.  There were even some things.  Her mind would brush them occasionally, just enough to get a feeling, and then they'd be gone.  Vanished.  That wasn't normal, and that was also the most irritating part.

Thalia stopped by a gravestone and smiled at it wearily.  The stone read 'BEATRICE.'

“Hello Beatrice,” she said.  “I don't suppose you could help me.”

“Why, I do suppose I could.”

Current State of a Story

Err, well......this is not a story, but it has to do with one.

I'm going to re-write "Pushing Up Daisies".

It....it just......it's not what I wanted it to be. When I started "Pushing Up Daisies", it was a much darker, creepier story. It had a more twisted plot with much more adventure. I think I strayed from my original plan because I was worried about keeping people waiting for the next part. So I want to redo it. Everyone who was in the story so far will be in it again, I promise. I can't promise how soon, though. I feel like I introduced everyone too quickly and brought them all together too fast. Timing, people. Timing is everything.

So, yes. Same cast of characters, same title, just new plot. Trust me, I love funny fanfics as much as anyone, but "Pushing Up Daisies" wasn't meant to have humor as a main theme (though there still will be some, obviously)

And another reason I want to redo it is that I'm not happy with my character in it. As I've been writing her more in private projects, and writing other characters, I've come to have her be a more well-rounded person, with more dimension. When I look back at my first blog posts and at my very first fanfiction, and I look at my writing now...it's come a long way, but it still needs to improve.  And so does my OC.

The prologue will still be the same because that was part of the original plot.


I'm sorry about this, but I want to be proud of my writing. Hopefully everyone will enjoy the rewrite as much as they did this attempt.