Wolfblood My shoes pad along the stone floor, mapping out the labyrinth of corridors at my disposable. These walls are my wild, my escape. My ever sensitive nose picks up the faint aroma of meat, I breathe it in slowly and let it enrage every craving I've ever known. My ears twitch at the sound of laughter in the distance and the soles on my feet keep padding along. My eyes, large take in every sunbeam through the windows. I spot things now that I never have before, the way a footprint pushes ever so slightly onto a stone that it leaves a print behind. Human eyes couldn't see it, my other eyes fear it. Someone is nearby and they're not MY kind- they think with my other brain. Every sense in me is heightened, tonight I go back to my other self again. The full#moonis only getting closer and my nerves increase with every passing hour. The exciting kind, like butterflies. My wolfblood is kicking in. ---Wolfblood is a copyrighted children's fantasy television show, I do not own it. Please follow my work, I intend to write more.---

The Longest, Hardest Love Story It started with "I love you", the hope, the fear. Follows is the rejection, the uncut thread, which keeps you hanging for years. The feelings slowly replace themselves, the thrill of the shared knowledge of a feeling present replaces itself with an ache. The thread still uncut refuses to allow pain, but a constant ache only increasing numbness. Feelings fade, not only the good and not only the bad, they fade all the same. The fear is a spot in the back of your mind telling you that he's turning your heart cold, that you'll never feel again and you'll never have the chance to love another. Even one who'd return your feelings. The doubt is that you've held on for too long to let go now. That you wouldn't find someone who you feel the same for anyway. Cut the chord. End the pain. Easier said than done.

Unintentional Joke: I stare at the bee sitting on the window ledge, afraid but still in conversation with my friends. "what are you doing? Leave the bee alone." "it's bugging me"

Inspiration Writing. Boredom. Nothing. Inspiration can come from anywhere, the colour of the sky, a splash of water, the blankness of the paper on which you aim to write. Daunting as it is, a blank sheet of paper was once -many times over- the gateway to another world. Every author once had to look at a plain sheet of paper, as you do, thinking what to write next. What is the point of my story? And what is going to make it real? If they can make it something special, why can't you? Do not consider what it one day will be, consider what it is and what could make it better. If you truly cannot comprehend the next line; close your eyes, open the gate and wonder into the abyss. See your space, your character, and the events then take over them, still unsure? Speak to them. Soon the character will race through the story so much they nor you will ever want it to end. Happy writing.