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Young Writers Society


Unfortunately; Fortunately



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Sat Feb 04, 2012 10:19 pm
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NicholasStone says...



Unfortunately, you die with me.
He stumbled slightly, the limp in his leg still there. He dared not to look at the place he used to call home. He could feel the heat from the fire, the fire that he himself had ignited. He blinked back tears, as he limped away.





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Sat Feb 04, 2012 10:21 pm
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SkyeDragon says...



Fortunately, I am revived by a squirrel who knows CPR
Every great writer was once an amateur.





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Sat Feb 04, 2012 10:23 pm
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NicholasStone says...



Unfortunately, the squirrel cannot revive vaporized persons.
He stumbled slightly, the limp in his leg still there. He dared not to look at the place he used to call home. He could feel the heat from the fire, the fire that he himself had ignited. He blinked back tears, as he limped away.





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Sat Feb 04, 2012 10:36 pm
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SkyeDragon says...



Fortunately, the squirrel is actually a wizard who un-vaporizes me THEN does CPR.
Every great writer was once an amateur.





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Sat Feb 04, 2012 10:51 pm
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NicholasStone says...



Unfortunately, he made a mistake, and he killed himself in the process.
He stumbled slightly, the limp in his leg still there. He dared not to look at the place he used to call home. He could feel the heat from the fire, the fire that he himself had ignited. He blinked back tears, as he limped away.





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Sat Feb 04, 2012 11:16 pm
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SkyeDragon says...



Fortunately, you are still dead.
Every great writer was once an amateur.





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Sat Feb 04, 2012 11:25 pm
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NicholasStone says...



Unfortunately, that's bad.
He stumbled slightly, the limp in his leg still there. He dared not to look at the place he used to call home. He could feel the heat from the fire, the fire that he himself had ignited. He blinked back tears, as he limped away.





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Sat Feb 04, 2012 11:42 pm
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SkyeDragon says...



Fortunately, it's not.
Every great writer was once an amateur.





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Sat Feb 04, 2012 11:46 pm
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NicholasStone says...



Unfortunately, I'm coming to your house to knock the sense into you that dying is bad.
He stumbled slightly, the limp in his leg still there. He dared not to look at the place he used to call home. He could feel the heat from the fire, the fire that he himself had ignited. He blinked back tears, as he limped away.





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Sun Feb 05, 2012 12:26 am
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SkyeDragon says...



Fortunately, I have claymores planted all around my house...and on the roof.
Every great writer was once an amateur.





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Sun Feb 05, 2012 8:07 pm
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Justagirl says...



Unfortunately, I don't know what claymores are so I'm going to eat them all.
"Just remember there's a difference between stalking people on the internet, and going to their house and cutting their skin off." - Jenna Marbles

~ Yeah I'm letting go of what I had, yeah I'm living now and living loud ~





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Sun Feb 05, 2012 8:52 pm
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NicholasStone says...



Fortunately, Justagirl exploded because she decided to eat claymores, and now one more person is removed from the equation.
He stumbled slightly, the limp in his leg still there. He dared not to look at the place he used to call home. He could feel the heat from the fire, the fire that he himself had ignited. He blinked back tears, as he limped away.





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Sun Feb 05, 2012 9:03 pm
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tinkembell says...



Unfortunately, because of this the equation is now impossible to solve.
"The rabbit always squeals in the jaws of the fox, but when has another rabbit ever rushed up to save it?" Damon Salvatore
;'( please, my lump, he just needs HUGS <3
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Just keep writing, just keep writing, do-do-do-do-do





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Sun Feb 05, 2012 9:05 pm
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SkyeDragon says...



Fortunately, I have the answer key.
:D
Every great writer was once an amateur.





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Sun Feb 05, 2012 9:33 pm
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Justagirl says...



Unfortunately I ate the answer key before I ate the claymores, so it's been exploded with me.
"Just remember there's a difference between stalking people on the internet, and going to their house and cutting their skin off." - Jenna Marbles

~ Yeah I'm letting go of what I had, yeah I'm living now and living loud ~








"What is a poet? An unhappy person who hides deep anguish in his heart, but whose lips are so formed that when the sigh and cry pass through them, it sounds like lovely music."
— Søren Kierkegaard, Philosopher & Theologian