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 anyone for a story?

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Tayrn Kelli Devin
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PostSubject: anyone for a story?   Sat Oct 18, 2008 6:32 pm

Prologue-
Dreams always happen to fast, donít you think? First youíre being chased by some giant bird, then plop! You wake up. Then, usually, unless someone mentions it, you forget them.
But in the world, there are some people (extraordinary people) who can even remember their dreams. They can describe them with such great detail, down to the last line they had said and the last color they saw.
Some scientists believe dreams are all just black and white. You actually have to think up the colors. Like if youíve never seen a tree before, you might imagine itís blue. Or purple. Or that the sky is made of rainbow unicorns.
One theory (I bet you havenít heard this before) is that if you eat a pickle before you go to sleep, youíll have a nightmare. Strange, isnít it how some people think?
I think that dreams are escapes. Trap doors that allow you to run away from the real world and have things your way. If you wanted the stars to rain tears, then let them rain tears, no one is there to stop you.
Then there are nightmares. The creepy, allusive visions that come to you sometimes after a scary movie or theatrical event that has happened in your life. Maybe your uncle had just died. Maybe you are dreaming and then you see his death again and again and again and again. Once you wake up, the thought sticks in your head. The death, the chase, the something that had happened.
Have you ever thought about the study of dreams? Dreamology? Iím not sure what itís called.
What is the purpose of dreams, anyhow? To entertain? To let out emotions? Maybe itís the way our brain has a party.
The mind is a complex source of matter, something that cannot be solved or worked out. Something that no one understands. Not even the extraordinary people.
Imagination is even worse. Why do we day dream? Why do we think about puppies and monster trucks and muddy swamps? Why do we come up with ideas for books that no one but you shall read? Imagination canít even be described. The images in a mind that prosper on fantasies? No one knows.
And all of these questions may soon be answered.

Chapter one-
My bed was comfortable in the morning. Below the sunlit window, the birds chirping and the light warming my body. I didnít even want to get out. The goose-feather comforters and the squishy pillows were too much. But today- sadly- was the first day of school. I tossed to my other side and peeled open my eyelids, gazing across the bedroom to my cat.
ďHere kitty-kitty,Ē I called, scratching the sheet with my fingernails. He sauntered over; the way supermodels walk, and jumped up onto my bed. He pressed his head to mine, as if saying, ďGood morning sunshine!Ē
ďHey Luis,Ē I smiled; I stroked my hand down his body. Once. Twice. Thrice.
He began to purr. I sat upright, and scooped him up into the crook of my arm. I brought him to the door, set him back on his tall cat condo that my dad had built. The blue shag carpet was his favorite part of the whole thing. The roughness and softness at the same time. And the retro style? Awesome.


The twisted stairway that led to the downstairs had exactly 27 steps. They were made out of the wood that came from a tree in our backyard that never quit growing. We cut it down (due to the rudeness of the city police) and made those amazing redwood stairs. When we had finally pulled out the roots, I planted another seed, just to make sure we could have some shade in the blistering heat. After a while (meaning two months) it had grown to my size. 5í5Ē.
Okay, now for all those math magicians out there, times that by.....24 more months. Do you have it?
Itís exactly 83í6Ē feet tall. And only two years old! Itís wondrous how Mother Nature can make things grow.
The stairs I took one by one. One foot after the other. One...two...three.
Soon I had reached the illuminated kitchen. The hardwood floors (to my motherís request) were put in two years ago. Along with the stairs. And the marble countertops, which were a twilight-y black with grey and white specks flung on them from my fatherís obsessive painting.
Did I tell you about my parents?
Oh, they are absolutely extravagant. My motherís grace, as a professional dancer has made my gracefulness much, much better. And my father?
My, my. He is a catastrophic piece of human.
He works all day in his workshop out back, which is continuously locked by the small gold key that hangs from his neck. But thatís not the worst of it.
He always paints. No matter what surface is in our house, it is most certainly covered in paint. Gold, silver, and teal are his favorite colors to work with. He only works with Albino Arabian horse hair brushes from Handlers farm on west Celtic road. He only uses the paper from Egyptís finest paper makers. And his paint? He makes it himself, of course.

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Tayrn Kelli Devin
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PostSubject: Re: anyone for a story?   Sat Oct 18, 2008 6:36 pm

okay- this is just a random story I thought up. I'll put up more, hopefully, when I have time.

Sorry i haven't been on lately guys. School has been hectic and I have drama and more drama heading my way. So, again, I repeat, sorry.

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PostSubject: Re: anyone for a story?   Wed Nov 26, 2008 6:08 pm

Wow!!! It's really good!!!!

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xx~Mithalia~xx

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PostSubject: Re: anyone for a story?   Wed Nov 26, 2008 8:26 pm

Very good.
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Rosalie Hale

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PostSubject: Re: anyone for a story?   Thu Nov 27, 2008 3:23 pm

that was awesome.
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anyone for a story?
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