I had this idea for a story that went like this...
Ubi caritas est vera, Deus ibi est.
"The mark of your ignorance is the depth of your belief in injustice and tragedy. What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls the butterfly." ~ Richard Bach
once upon a time there was this thing right what i dont know if you ever heard of but it belonged to wasisname or whatever you know that dude who had his head chopped off or something like that anyway he owned this thing and whenever he got really hacked off like hed start firing those arrow things at it but that would just make it worse and then he had to hit it with a stick or something like that and then it caught fire though so he had to get away from the thing really quick before that other thing ran after him on thingalings know what i mean like
Once there was this kingdom, and the prince's name was Jirdan son of Averin son of Bok (who was a bad, evil guy), but the prince wasn't and he was like the most handsome prince ever you would ever see - you would have thought he was like Brad Pitt but back to the story, he was so handsome, but he was also good...
ex umbris et imaginibus in veritatem
"There is adventure in simply being among those we love, and among the things we love -- and beauty, too."
lol thegirlwhofateloves that opening made me laugh.
anyway my worst opening would be,
once upon a time in a land unknown there was this little house on top of a hill, and there was a family that lived in the house and the family was very happy. they had two children and the children were very happy with there family, until one day the parents had a divorce and the children broke up. this is what happened...
Intrduction.
right. i've wretten a billion gazillion storys but i Never posted anything online befour. I hope you like it. thanks.
my fantastic story.
Once upon a time i was by a lovely sparkling bubbling glorious brook and I foud this peny by the brook and stared at it because it was sparkly. on the front i saw a kool date and
---------------
that's all i got right now because you know how it is. writer's cramp and all. When I write more, i ll post it. pleez reviiew even thoug the story is pretty good, i just like to see how good i am.
Johnny placed one of his hands in his buttcheek, and giggled, like a kid who wants a lollypop, and cries, and cries, and cries, and cries, until his parents, who are probably broke ex-hippies buy him the lollypop, and then the kid doesn't even want the lollypop, so he throws it to the ground, and giggles -yet not quite as so.
There you go.
there are many problems in our times
but none of them are mine
Once. there was this thing and it liked this other thing, but the first thing made the second thing mad because the first thing was not really the kind of thing it said it was and they lived in this place forever.
The End
The great, booming, echoing, thunderous clap of noise echoed really badly throughout the wide, hardly-traveled, grassy, and rough plain as Michael Michaels struggled to overcome the majorly fantastical powerful wind as he led his 37 year old white-spotted, with a black spot on the left forehoof and brown streak on the forehead, across the scary land.
"I will have to tell you, you have bewitched me body and soul..." --Mr. Darcy, P & P, 2005 movie
"You pierce my soul." --Cpt. Frederick Wentworth
Freddie woke up ate breakfast went to school to see everyone had died he cried and cried and cried till he died.
We get off to the rhythm of the trigger and destruction. Fallujah to New Orleans with impunity to kill. We are the hidden fist of the free market.
We are the ink, we are the quill.
[The Ink And The Quill (Be Afraid) - Anti-Flag]
"Henry your hypocritical hippo who hypocritical and a hippy."
"So!"
We get off to the rhythm of the trigger and destruction. Fallujah to New Orleans with impunity to kill. We are the hidden fist of the free market.
We are the ink, we are the quill.
[The Ink And The Quill (Be Afraid) - Anti-Flag]
These were autumn mornings, the time of year when kings of old went forth to conquest; and I, never stirring from my little corner in Calcutta, would let my mind wander over the whole world. — Rabindranath Tagore, The Cabuliwallah
