The Violin Girl And The Flute Boy Once upon a time, there lived a little girl who would not say a word. The doctors all told her parents that there was nothig physically wrong with her. She could talk if she wanted to. She just didn't want to. The girl's parents did everything they could to try to make her talk. They took her to therapists, they withheld privilages from her until she talked, they even tried to force her to speak by yelling at her. But the little girl remained silent. Eventually her parents gave up trying to make her speak. She soon became the family's secret. The little girl rarely got to go outside, and did not go to school. Instead, she had tutors teach her everything. One day, one of her tutors said that it was time for the little girl to learn how to play an instrument. The little girl looked over the selection of instruments. No, no, no! None of these instruments were right! Then she saw it. The violin. It was the perfect instrument! She picked it up, and her tutor scoffed at her. As if that girl could ever play such a beautiful instrument! Why, she couldn't even speak! But the little girl persisted. Her tutor finally relented. The girl picked up the bow, and carefully scraped it across the strings. But instead of the horrible screeching noise that the tutor expected, a beautiful melody flowed forth from the violin. Ever since that day, the girl carried the violin around everywhere. She played it when she was happy, and she played it when she was sad. The girl played her violin all day long. But her parents were still not proud of her. They just patted her on the head and continued ignoring her. One day, her parents were holding a ball, and the little girl was to stay in her room. She locked herself away up in her room, with nothing to do but listen to the sounds coming from downstairs. Then she hears the most beautiful noise. It was a flute! It created the most beautiful music that she had ever heard! The girl grabbed her violin, unlocked the door, and crept downstairs. Sneaking around a corner, she spied upon the party. There! In the center of the room was a boy, about her age. He was the one playing the flute! He was surrounded by people all listening to him and clapping for him. Two people who could only be his parents hugged him and told him he was doing a wonderful job. Instantly jealous, the girl ran back to her room sobbing. Why couldn't she have a #life like that? She began to play a hauntingly sad song on her violin. A few minutes later, there was a knock on her door. Drying her tears, the girl opened the door. The flute boy was standing there, grinning sheepishly. He was still carrying his flute. He reached his hand out to the girl. They shook hands. The boy put his flute to his mouth, and whistled out a short happy tune. The girl giggled silently. She reached for her violin. Taking it in hand, she produced a similar tune. The boy giggled silently. He indicated that they should play together. Soon the two children were creating songs together. The harmonious sounds of their music drifted throughout the house, and soon a crowd of people were watching them. But then the girl's parents came along. They scolded her for attracting so much attention to herself. Then they announced to the crowd that soon they would have another heir, one who was male, and (hopefully) knew how to speak. The girl went quietly back into her room and started to weep. Her parents didn't love her, and now with a new baby on the way, they would never even bother to speak with her ever again! The boy put a comforting arm around her. He played a beautiful song on his flute. The girl just continued to cry. Finally, the boy put down the flute and gave her a small kiss on the cheek. The girl brightened up immediately. She may not have a loving family, but she would always have her flute boy. From that day forward, they would always meet together to share their music with one another. Eventually, they both grew up into adults, and decided to get married. For their wedding, they had an entire orchestra play, but still nothing could compare to the sounds the couple made together. And so, the violin girl and the flute boy lived happily ever after. The End

It was quick. It was clean. It was... Freedom. But at what cost? The day after it reached stores, there were riots. More people died in the riots than because of It, that first week. There were violent protests, and lots of people got hurt. They said that It was from the devil. They said It was wrong. They said It should be illegal. In the end, they were the ones using It the most. A month after it had come out, people began using It. Before that, they had been too scared. But then things had settled down. It was the perfect time for It, too. The economy was breaking down. People were so rude. Everyone was miserable. It was the perfect solution. The end to all your problems. A year later, and the population was finally at a managable level. For the first time in a decade, people could freely walk the streets without worry of being run over, being mugged, or even being raped. #life was improving. But the population continued to decline. The government put a new plan into place. Take It away. The people didn't like that. Not one bit. That month, no children went to school. No people went to work. Offices sat empty. No food was being made, nor water being cleaned. People sat in their houses and slowly rotted away. Then the government quickly gave It back to the people. Along with something new. Children! Grown in labs, and given to families mandatorialy. The population leveled out. Then the real trouble started. Other countries wanted It as well. Wars were going to be fought. Except no one wanted to fight. The solution was simple. Nuclear War. No soldiers, no mess, no fighting. Until the first missile was sent. It was only days before the humans were down to the thousands, and nearly nothing else survived. We live now like rats, squabbling over It like it was the last bit of cheese. After all, It's quick. It's clean. It's the last thing you'll ever need. The Suicide Pill, By Marin Korporal So, take it with water or take it dry, Take it when you begin to cry. In your mouth and in your gut, Soon you will begin to rot. The final goodbye, the last hurrah, Just place it in inside your maw. Feel it soon begin to work, Spasm, shake, a final jerk. Your family will hate your death, So apologize with your last breath. There is no more need to bleed, This warning most won't even heed. So swallow your new pill today! Go on, take it! Don't just play! You need it now, don't even lie, Go on, do it! Stop #life! Die!

The Girl And The Sea Once upon a time, there were several scientists who wanted to study the effects of living in solitary conditions versus a populated area, and the effects these conditions had on the humans' immune system. So they asked for volunteers for these projects, expecting mothers who did not want their children. The mothers signed over control of their babies to these scientists. They were to be raised in complete solitude, never to meet another person. The only supplies they had were dropped off while they were sleeping, by specially trained men in hazmat suits. These babies each grew up in different corners of the world, never knowing a mother's touch, or a friend's embrace. They were never given names, and were not allowed outside. This is one of their stories. I softly padded over to the outside viewing port, opening it. The rain that was drumming against the glass pane splashed into the house in a flurry if raindrops. The frigid wind whistled through the open panes. It may be cold, but at least I could see the moonlight more clearly now. The#moonshone like a drop of liquid silver in the sky. I smiled at the sight. The shadows of the house seemed to retreat a bit. I sighed. The wooden floors creaked beneath my bare feet as I walked over to the food preparation area to prepare the daily evening meal. I coughed into my sleeve. That was the third time this hour. I didn't want to look at my sleeve. I reached up for some spices from the food storage unit, my arm coming into view. There was blood from where I had coughed on it. I winced at the time, and nearly dropped the thyme. I fumbled for the small bottle. I carefully placed it onto the preparing surface. I gently knelt down onto the ground, and reached into the cold food storage unit, pulling out the fish that I knew would be there. But there was no fish there today. I paused and sat back on my bottom, contemplating this unusual predicament. There had always been a fish in there at the evening meal time! There was never not a fish there. It just simply did not make sense. The sun rose after the moon, the air I breathed was full of sea water, and there was always a fish in the cold storage! It was... A fact! I calmly stood up. I mechanically turned to the stairs. I walked up the creaky structure, went into my bedroom, and stared at the small glass box on my wall. The words 'in case of emergency' had been painted there ever since the day I had the capacity to understand them. There had never been an emergency before. The instructions for how to use it had been removed the day I learned what a phone did from the viewing monitor. But that day was different. I had woken up at dawn, feeling quite peculiar. I had expelled waste from my nostrils in a particularly violent method just after I had made my sleeping unit neat again. I turned to my trusty dictionary again for this phenomenon. It was called a sneeze, and usually signified that the person doing it was getting sick. Then later on, I had begun coughing. That had been even more painful than the sneeze. And finally, the fish was gone. My only source of food. Was. Gone! If this wasn't an emergency, then I didn't know what was. Instead of breaking the glass, like I had seen on the viewing monitor, I just simply removed the front panel. I was breathing heavily, my chest rattling like that peculiar children's musical instrument that I had been given as an infant. I slowly reached my bloody arm toward the phone. I picked up the reciever, and moved it to my ear. I waited patiently for an answer. A mechanical voice informed me that, "We are terribly sorry, but the funding for 'Project Immunity' has been canceled, and therefor the project has been terminated. All subjects will be left on their own from now on." I gulped. I may have grown up without any human interaction, but I had never been completely alone before. There were always the people who came in the night when I was sleeping to deliver my food, and the possibility of rescue if I ever pushed my panic button. But now I had no one. I was left to fend for myself. I supposed I still had the people in my books and on the viewing moniter. So I went to watch one of the scenes on the vieweing moniter, only to find that it would not turn on. I noticed that it was getting colder in here too. I dashed over to the food preparation area. My dinner was late, but maybe I could salvage together something from the ingrediants that I still had. I checked throughout all of the food storage areas, but there was nothing in them that I could even snack on, much less make a meal out of. I started another coughing fit. This time it felt as if my ribs were being crushed. I'm pretty sure that I felt one of my lungs move out of place, too. I doubled over in pain. So after that I decided to record all of these thoughts and feelings into a journal of sorts. Of course, since I have no blank books, I have had to write this in the backs of my novels. It has been four days, with no food, heating, or other commodities. I am still very ill, and I fear I may die soon. If I do, and if by some chance you are reading this, please dump my body in the sea. It's the closest I've got to a proper burial ceremony, and I do so love the sea. If I have died, please also give me a name. I've never had one before. I would also like for you to know that if you have found me and I am still alive, I love you. It's no joke, I really do love you with all my heart. How could I not? You're the first person to ever touch me, lock eyes with me, have a conversation with me. In fact, I love you even if I have never met you, and I am already dead. Everyone in this world deserves love. I never got any. So, if you are reading this, please do too things for me. Please accept my love for you, and please spread that love to every person that you know. This will be my last entry. Goodbye. Love, A Nameless Girl, 16 Years Old, The Floating House, The Middle of the Pacific Ocean You put down the book. Tears are running down your eyes. Gathering up the books, you show them to your co-workers. They all look grim after reading them. Staring at the rotting corpse on the bed and thinking of the young woman who wrote this are two entirely seperate things. After deciding that these journals should be published for the whole world to see, you and your co-workers try to name the deceased girl. "Morgan?" Suggests one. "Rose?" Prompts another. "Marin." You say. "It's French, meaning the sea." They all nod in agreement. You set to work giving the poor lady the burial she wanted. Someone decides to give a small speech in her honour. "I may not have known Marin, but I felt like I could identify with her. We've all lived #life alone, in some way. Friends may come and go, but solitude is eternal. Because we were the first to find her, we were also her very first friends. I think that this friendship might be the most important we will ever make. I hope now that wherever her soul is, or even if we don't have souls, that she is happy, and with people that will love and care for her. We are fulfilling this young girl's final request, and we will do so with dignity and honour. Gentlemen, if you please." You watch as they slowly lower Marin's body into the water. You think that this may be the first time that she has been outdoors. The house had no doors, and the windows were too small to climb through. You wished that you could have met her. She seemed very interesting. Maybe you could have hugged her, at least once, before she died. You are now openly crying. You turn away from the now finished ceremony, and you look back at the ship. You think that things might never be the same for you again. "I love you too..." You whisper to the sea.

Book Review: Good Omens This is one of my all-time favourite books. The book itself is all about the apocalypse, and various people; including an angel, a demon, a witch, a witch hunter, and the anti-christ himself; attempting to stop it. Now, one of the many things that I love about this book is the humour. Most of the jokes will make you laugh out loud on the spot, but some of them, however, take a bit longer to realise. You can read Good Omens a million times before spotting every single piece of humour that Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman have worked in there. Another thing that I love about this book is the characters. The two main characters, Crowley and Aziraphale, are just so #lifelike that they almost pop out of the book, looking to either snark at you or comfort you, respectively. The background characters are fantastic too, each with their own personality. Even Mr. R. P. Tyler, the neighbourhood grump, is fun and enjoyable to read about. But what will always leave the most lasting impression on me is the relationships between the characters. It's hard to describe without spoiling anything, but in the end, everything does work out great, of course, and nearly everyone gets their happily-ever-after. But even before then, you can see that the relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley is very close. The snarky banter, the drunken dialogue, and even when they fight all leads up to an unsurprising, but very satisfactory, friendship. It's not just Aziraphale and Crowley that are friends, though. The four horsemen (now motorcyclists) of the apocalypse have to learn to work together, Adam and his friends end up even closer than before, and even the grumpy old witch hunter gets a girlfriend, who is just as old but significantly less grumpy. In short, Good Omens is a piece of art, to be treasured and loved, to be brought with you on vacations time after time again. My copy is so well-loved, some might mistake it for a first-edition print, even though I've only had it for just a couple of years. So, rent it from your local library, or heck, even buy a copy, just read the damn thing! And if you've already read it and are looking for more, I highly reccomend this fanfiction, Manchester Lost, and its sequal, Paradise Thwarted by Moczo.

Bodies Some Royals were lucky. All they got were strangely shaped pupils, or pointed ears, or fangs. But not me. Wherever I went, people always stared at me. Even other Royals. Black feathers covered my entire body, even my hair was soft downey feathers. A long, bone white beak protruded from my face, the end of it usually coloured with blood from my latest catch. My hands and feet were claws. But the most frightening feature was my red eyes. I usually wore dark glasses to cover them up. My glasses couldn't hold back the brightness from within the mall. The lights were bright, the decorations sparkling, and everything seemed to be lit by a cheery glow. I hated it. My first instinct was to tear these motherfuckers into submission, but I knew that if I did, I would be banned from the mall, and then how would I shop for presents? Urgh, Christmas time is such a mess. And since my Mom insisted I celebrate it, I am forced to sit through inane rituals that are mostly about the slaying of my kind. It wasn't even the fun kind of homicide. It's all "holy" and "good". Anyways, the mall was packed with human shoppers, all buying presents for their "loved" ones. I shuffled through the crowds, wincing whenever someone brushed against my feathers. Do they have any idea how much time it takes to groom those things each day?! But I managed to get to my destination fine, regardless of stupid humans. I hurriedly rushed into the bookstore, and set about trying to find a book that my Mom would like. Some sort of mystery book, one that she hadn't read yet. No, no, none of these books are right! I wanted one that would send a message. Something that told her that I actually spent time on this. A bold store worker bravely asked me if I would like any help. I explained that my mother loved murder mysteries, but I wasn't sure what to get her. The cashier had an idea. Why not put together a little mystery for her with the present at the end? I thought that that was a fantastic idea! A couple days later. I watched excitedly as my mother opened her gift. She read the card, muttering the words under her breath. She beamed at me happily. "I have to solve the mystery to find my present? What an inventive idea!" I blushed and told her where I got the idea from. We ran around the house together, her solving clues, and me watching her. Finally she got to the end. She opened the gift. "Oh, thank you sweetie! It's the best gift I've ever gotten." I blushed and mumbled 'you're welcome'. The gift was a fresh human heart, with inky black feathers covering it. It was still covered in sticky fresh blood. I had plucked out the heart myself, from a particularly annoying store patron who had gotten a bit uppity in my presence the day I went shopping. The feathers were my own, molted from my own body. For a while I worried that my Mom might get the wrong message with my gift and think that I was coming on to her, but she understood perfectly what it symbolized. My heart and body, given to you forever. In the end, everything worked out just fine, and I started to feel a bit more comfortable in my own body, knowing that my Mom loved me no matter what.