The colour black never represented me in any way‚ it had nothing to do with my nature‚ until now. Like an owl roaming around the lower east side of New York streets‚ we created the dark shadow of terror. Our masculine body armoured with a leather jacket and painted with absurd tattoos made society turn their heads towards the ground as we walk pass. As the sun goes down‚ the innocence of New York sleeps‚ while the predators hunt for their next victim. It was icy cold‚ yet we could bare it all.
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takes the initiative and gives me a solid punch straight to my stomach. I buckle over‚ coughing and trying to catch my breath. My teammates stand there helpless‚ and anxious about what will happen next. I pick myself up and stand to face Ryan‚ the anger and hatred that I have for him boils over and I lose control of myself. I tackle him to the ground‚ and together we get lost in a tangle of fists. He yanks my hair back‚ and I respond by scratching him across the face. We roll around on the cold floor
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I stop at the edge of the graveyard. I am thoroughly equivocal about what to do. The wind whistles through the trees and the branches rattle the windows of a nearby building. My hands clutch the handlebars of my bike. I stare in the dark at the text message on my phone-- “ meet me in the graveyard at 9:00 and I’ll give you the photo.” My mind implores me to turn around‚ but my heart compels me to keep moving. The rain changes from a drizzle to a downpour. A whooshing sound startles me and I look
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fright bit by bit. Droplets of rain began to pound the earths subtle surface. I tilt towards a abundantly vibrant gleam and descry a sooty cloud hovering me‚ this was a inevitably a trait of a brutal violent storm. Lightening began to roar from the anger of the violent and severe‚ storm. I drag my self towards the mansion. Reaching the highest of the steps‚ I torment my self with worry‚ like walking the steps to hell. Slowly and anxiously I approach the door. It was irresistible for me not to open
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The Pack I looked around me‚ taking in the inky blackness of my surroundings‚ the scent of my brothers‚ sisters‚ and mother before I feel the warm‚ soft touch of my mother’s’ tongue cleansing me. I whine‚ hungrily‚ and start to look for an open teat in which to get food from. I finally found one and begin sucking desperately before one of my siblings can take it‚ and sigh at the taste of the milk. I feel the warmth that is my mother and siblings around me and fall asleep‚ thinking that it would
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from the tree‚ and awake and invigorated too. When looking into her eyes‚ I could see only a reflection of the flames of the camp behind me. When listening to her breath‚ I could hear the primal‚ rage filled grunts from just my visage alone. Such anger‚ could hardly stop herself from flapping those broad shoulders of hers‚ does she think of herself as a bird? Maybe she seeks to intimidate me with her little Viking-esk display? Hell if I know‚ I am honestly more focused on how her flame-like hair
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CHAPTER ONE: The only decoration in my locker was an old ninja turtles band-aid stuck on the inside from someone in a previous year. I hadn’t bothered to peel it off. The blue paint was slowly peeling off and the lock only worked half the time. I pulled my hair out of its ponytail and shook it out before grabbing my textbook out of the locker. My nails were bitten short with chipped blue nail polish. Last class I had destroyed them with anxiety. I shut my locker in frustration‚ knowing the next
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delved into the written word I began to recognize writing as a powerful tool for expression. I turned to poetry and short stories to capture childhood moments‚ expanding my vocabulary and becoming skilled at transferring raw emotions and ideas onto paper. My parents encouraged me to make frequent trips to the library‚ and I often staggered home beneath the weight of a pile of novels. When I entered high school as a published author and poet‚ my writing continued to mature. Although I still marveled
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My buckling legs trudge towards the fireplace to resume my task.The aching in my back resorts to unbearable as my hand reaches for the metal bucket.I squeeze the side of my rib in hopes of lessening the pain but it gets worse. It gets really worse. Unable to bear it any longer‚my knees buckle and I fall on the hardwood floor.My hands grip my sides‚hoping to stop the sudden pain‚but my attempts are futile. My bones crack as I crouch down in agony.But I know I can’t stay on the floor any longer
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Its frosty air makes warm breath turn to a slight translucent haze; continuos sound echo’s around the glossy polished tiling covering the whole bathroom. Being night only reflections from the window lightens the room‚ making silhouettes. Broken mirror shattered sharp like knives over the floor‚ picks up rays which dance along the window sill‚ moist air made it seem like a shower had been taken‚ letting off a putrid smell‚ as though something was withering away in the corner and had been forgotten
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