Self.

Tick.

He awoke with a snap, no longer comatose in a deep and somber slumber, to the deafening chime of the grandfather clock he could not see across the room. The still silence screamed at him, punishing him for all his wrongs he could not recall. The unseen clock made a painful, reverberating noise, so heavy; it left a ringing in his ears for seconds afterwards.

Tick.

He felt certain that the source of the sound was the massive clock occupying his room, separated from him by the pitch black nothingness he could only feel. Was it actually there? Or was he confusing the absence of light for an absence of existence, a void of tangibility? He could not be certain, for one can never be certain of anything when one is unsure of everything.

Tick.

This time, the clock was behind him; hovering above his left ear. It spoke to him, like a siren, uttering coaxingly deceitful words he could never hear, much less understand. He could almost sense its breath on his ear, but not quite.

Tick.

As his ears searched to pinpoint the location of the clock, he developed a new theory. The clock was not moving; he was moving. He could feel it now, yes! His legs below him were gliding above the firm ground, but never making contact. He was walking on the ground he could not feel; traveling across the room that did not exist.

Tick.

He lashed out at the clock, fury pulsing through his veins as his arms flailed at the unseen attacker. His screams pierced the radiating echo from his assailant, silencing the taunting and jeering. He could no longer feel the clock speaking to him, for now his ears were filled with the sounds of his own agony.

Tick.

He howled a bone-chillingly hollow laugh he felt certain nobody could hear. For he had finally realized the clock did exist. It sat ten feet from him, ticking innocently every time it felt it was necessary. It was he who did not exist. He felt awash with remorse; ridden with guilt for disturbing the clock’s sanctity, upsetting its low and beautiful chanting. He could simply wish himself back into nothingness and all would be well again. The terror of nonexistence overwhelmed his body and he collapsed silently to the floor that was not below him.

Tick.

Tick.

He awoke with a snap, no longer comatose in a deep and somber slumber, to the deafening chime of the grandfather clock he could not see across the room. The still silence screamed at him, punishing him for all his wrongs he could not recall. The unseen clock made a painful, reverberating noise, so heavy; it left a ringing in his ears for seconds afterwards.

Tick.

He felt certain that the source of the sound was the massive clock occupying his room, separated from him by the pitch black nothingness he could only feel. Was it actually there? Or was he confusing the absence of light for an absence of existence, a void of tangibility? He could not be certain, for one can never be certain of anything when one is unsure of everything.

Tick.

This time, the clock was behind him; hovering above his left ear. It spoke to him, like a siren, uttering coaxingly deceitful words he could never hear, much less understand. He could almost sense its breath on his ear, but not quite.

Tick.

As his ears searched to pinpoint the location of the clock, he developed a new theory. The clock was not moving; he was moving. He could feel it now, yes! His legs below him were gliding above the firm ground, but never making contact. He was walking on the ground he could not feel; traveling across the room that did not exist.

Tick.

He lashed out at the clock, fury pulsing through his veins as his arms flailed at the unseen attacker. His screams pierced the radiating echo from his assailant, silencing the taunting and jeering. He could no longer feel the clock speaking to him, for now his ears were filled with the sounds of his own agony.

Tick.

He howled a bone-chillingly hollow laugh he felt certain nobody could hear. For he had finally realized the clock did exist. It sat ten feet from him, ticking innocently every time it felt it was necessary. It was he who did not exist. He felt awash with remorse; ridden with guilt for disturbing the clock’s sanctity, upsetting its low and beautiful chanting. He could simply wish himself back into nothingness and all would be well again. The terror of nonexistence overwhelmed his body and he collapsed silently to the floor that was not below him.

Tick.

To all who helped me decide what color shoes, amount of jewelry, style of hair, and dress- a big HUGE Thank you :)

I got that dress, here's how I looked. Whatcha think?!

http://i816.photobucket.com/albums/zz88/coloryello...

Tick.

He awoke with a snap, no longer comatose in a deep and somber slumber, to the deafening chime of the grandfather clock he could not see across the room. The still silence screamed at him, punishing him for all his wrongs he could not recall. The unseen clock made a painful, reverberating noise, so heavy; it left a ringing in his ears for seconds afterwards.

Tick.

He felt certain that the source of the sound was the massive clock occupying his room, separated from him by the pitch black nothingness he could only feel. Was it actually there? Or was he confusing the absence of light for an absence of existence, a void of tangibility? He could not be certain, for one can never be certain of anything when one is unsure of everything.

Tick.

This time, the clock was behind him; hovering above his left ear. It spoke to him, like a siren, uttering coaxingly deceitful words he could never hear, much less understand. He could almost sense its breath on his ear, but not quite.

Tick.

As his ears searched to pinpoint the location of the clock, he developed a new theory. The clock was not moving; he was moving. He could feel it now, yes! His legs below him were gliding above the firm ground, but never making contact. He was walking on the ground he could not feel; traveling across the room that did not exist.

Tick.

He lashed out at the clock, fury pulsing through his veins as his arms flailed at the unseen attacker. His screams pierced the radiating echo from his assailant, silencing the taunting and jeering. He could no longer feel the clock speaking to him, for now his ears were filled with the sounds of his own agony.

Tick.

He howled a bone-chillingly hollow laugh he felt certain nobody could hear. For he had finally realized the clock did exist. It sat ten feet from him, ticking innocently every time it felt it was necessary. It was he who did not exist. He felt awash with remorse; ridden with guilt for disturbing the clock’s sanctity, upsetting its low and beautiful chanting. He could simply wish himself back into nothingness and all would be well again. The terror of nonexistence overwhelmed his body and he collapsed silently to the floor that was not below him.

Tick.

Tick.

He awoke with a snap, no longer comatose in a deep and somber slumber, to the deafening chime of the grandfather clock he could not see across the room. The still silence screamed at him, punishing him for all his wrongs he could not recall. The unseen clock made a painful, reverberating noise, so heavy; it left a ringing in his ears for seconds afterwards.

Tick.

He felt certain that the source of the sound was the massive clock occupying his room, separated from him by the pitch black nothingness he could only feel. Was it actually there? Or was he confusing the absence of light for an absence of existence, a void of tangibility? He could not be certain, for one can never be certain of anything when one is unsure of everything.

Tick.

This time, the clock was behind him; hovering above his left ear. It spoke to him, like a siren, uttering coaxingly deceitful words he could never hear, much less understand. He could almost sense its breath on his ear, but not quite.

Tick.

As his ears searched to pinpoint the location of the clock, he developed a new theory. The clock was not moving; he was moving. He could feel it now, yes! His legs below him were gliding above the firm ground, but never making contact. He was walking on the ground he could not feel; traveling across the room that did not exist.

Tick.

He lashed out at the clock, fury pulsing through his veins as his arms flailed at the unseen attacker. His screams pierced the radiating echo from his assailant, silencing the taunting and jeering. He could no longer feel the clock speaking to him, for now his ears were filled with the sounds of his own agony.

Tick.

He laughed a bone-chillingly hollow laugh he felt certain nobody could hear. For he had finally realized the clock did exist. It sat ten feet from him, ticking innocently every time it felt it was necessary. It was he who did not exist. He felt awash with remorse; ridden with guilt for disturbing the clock’s sanctity, upsetting its low and beautiful chanting. He could simply wish himself back into nothingness and all would be well again. The terror of nonexistence overwhelmed his body and he collapsed silently to the floor that was not below him.

Tick.

Tick.

He awoke with a snap, no longer comatose in a deep and somber slumber, to the deafening chime of the grandfather clock he could not see across the room. The still silence screamed at him, punishing him for all his wrongs he could not recall. The unseen clock made a painful, reverberating noise, so heavy; it left a ringing in his ears for seconds afterwards.

Tick.

He felt certain that the source of the sound was the massive clock occupying his room, separated from him by the pitch black nothingness he could only feel. Was it actually there? Or was he confusing the absence of light for an absence of existence, a void of tangibility? He could not be certain, for one can never be certain of anything when one is unsure of everything.

Tick.

This time, the clock was behind him; hovering above his left ear. It spoke to him, like a siren, uttering coaxingly deceitful words he could never hear, much less understand. He could almost sense its breath on his ear, but not quite.

Tick.

As his ears searched to pinpoint the location of the clock, he developed a new theory. The clock was not moving; he was moving. He could feel it now, yes! His legs below him were gliding above the firm ground, but never making contact. He was walking on the ground he could not feel; traveling across the room that did not exist.

Tick.

He lashed out at the clock, fury pulsing through his veins as his arms flailed at the unseen attacker. His screams pierced the radiating echo from his assailant, silencing the taunting and jeering. He could no longer feel the clock speaking to him, for now his ears were filled with the sounds of his own agony.

Tick.

He laughed a bone-chillingly hollow laugh he felt certain nobody could hear. For he had finally realized the clock did exist. It sat ten feet from him, ticking innocently every time it felt it was necessary. It was he who did not exist. He felt awash with remorse; ridden with guilt for disturbing the clock's sanctity, upsetting its low and beautiful chanting. He could simply wish himself back into nothingness and all would be well again. The terror of nonexistence overwhelmed his body and he collapsed silently to the floor that was not below him.

Tick.

Tick.

He awoke with a snap, no longer comatose in a deep and somber slumber, to the deafening ring of the grandfather clock he could not see across the room. The still silence screamed at him, punishing him for all his wrongs he could not recall. The unseen clock made a painful, reverberating noise, so heavy; it left a ringing in his ears for seconds afterwards.

Tick.

He felt certain that the source of the sound was the massive clock occupying his room, separated from him by the pitch black nothingness he could only feel. Was it actually there? Or was he confusing the absence of light for an absence of existence, a void of tangibility? He could not be certain, for one can never be certain of anything when one is unsure of everything.

Tick.

This time, the clock was behind him; hovering above his left ear. It spoke to him, like a siren, uttering coaxingly deceitful words he could never hear, much less understand. He could almost sense its breath on his ear, but not quite.

Tick.

As his ears searched to pinpoint the location of the clock, he developed a new theory. The clock was not moving; he was moving. He could feel it now, yes! His legs below him were gliding above the firm ground, but never making contact. He was walking on the ground he could not feel; traveling across the room that did not exist.

Tick.

He lashed out at the clock, fury pulsing through his veins as his arms flailed at the unseen attacker. His screams pierced the radiating echo from his assailant, silencing the taunting and jeering. He could no longer feel the clock speaking to him, for now his ears were filled with the sounds of his own agony.

Tick.

He laughed a bone-chillingly hollow laugh he felt certain nobody could hear. For he had finally realized the clock did exist. It sat ten feet from him, ticking innocently every time it felt it was necessary. It was he who did not exist. He felt awash with remorse; ridden with guilt for disturbing the clock's sanctity, upsetting its low and beautiful chanting. He could simply wish himself back into nothingness and all would be well again. The terror of nonexistence overwhelmed his body and he collapsed silently to the floor that was not below him.

Tick.

Tick.

He awoke with a snap, no longer comatose in a deep and somber slumber, to the deafening ring of the grandfather clock he could not see across the room. The still silence screamed at him, punishing him for all his wrongs he could not recall. The unseen clock made a painful, reverberating noise, so heavy; it left a ringing in his ears for seconds afterwards.

Tick.

He felt certain that the source of the sound was the massive clock occupying his room, separated from him by the pitch black nothingness he could only feel. Was it actually there? Or was he confusing the absence of light for an absence of existence, a void of tangibility? He could not be certain, for one can never be certain of anything when one is unsure of everything.

Tick.

This time, the clock was behind him; hovering above his left ear. It spoke to him, like a siren, uttering coaxingly deceitful words he could never hear, much less understand. He could almost sense its breath on his ear, but not quite.

Tick.

As his ears searched to pinpoint the location of the clock, he developed a new theory. The clock was not moving; he was moving. He could feel it now, yes! His legs below him were gliding above the firm ground, but never making contact. He was walking on the ground he could not feel; traveling across the room that did not exist.

Tick.

He lashed out at the clock, fury pulsing through his veins as his arms flailed at the unseen attacker. His screams pierced the radiating echo from his assailant, silencing the taunting and jeering. He could no longer feel the clock speaking to him, for now his ears were filled with the sounds of his own agony.

Tick.

He laughed a bone-chillingly hollow laugh he felt certain nobody could hear. For he had finally realized the clock did exist. It sat ten feet from him, ticking innocently every time it felt it was necessary. It was he who did not exist. He felt awash with remorse; ridden with guilt for disturbing the clock's sanctity, upsetting its low and beautiful chanting. He could simply wish himself back into nothingness and all would be well again. The terror of nonexistence overwhelmed his body and he collapsed silently to the floor that was not below him.

Tick.

It's my senior year in high school. Homecoming is coming up. I'm going with my boyfriend of a year and a half. I really want to look good for him, so I need some advice?

http://i816.photobucket.com/albums/zz88/coloryello...

That's me.

http://www.edressme.com/bt0210.html

That's the dress.

I asked a question about it earlier and came to the conclusion to wear silver heels and simple accessories with it.

What do you think? :) Will it look good on me? How should I do my hair?

It's my senior year in high school. Homecoming is coming up. I'm going with my boyfriend of a year and a half. I really want to look good for him, so I need some advice?

http://i816.photobucket.com/albums/zz88/%E2%80%A6

That's me.

http://www.edressme.com/bt0210.html

That's the dress.

I asked a question about it earlier and came to the conclusion to wear silver heels and simple accessories with it.

What do you think? :) Will it look good on me?

It's my senior year in high school. Homecoming is coming up. I'm going with my boyfriend of a year and a half. I really want to look good for him, so I need some advice?

http://i816.photobucket.com/albums/zz88/coloryello...

That's me.

http://www.edressme.com/bt0210.html

That's the dress.

I asked a question about it earlier and came to the conclusion to wear silver heels and simple accessories with it.

What do you think? :) Will it look good on me?

http://i816.photobucket.com/albums/zz88/coloryello...

That's me. I don't know if the link is working anymore.

Also... what second one?

http://i816.photobucket.com/albums/zz88/coloryello...

That's me.

http://www.edressme.com/bt0210.html

That's the dress.

I asked a question about it earlier and came to the conclusion to wear silver heels and simple accessories with it.

What do you think? :)

I need to know what color shoes to wear with my yellow homecoming dress. I want to wear heels.

http://www.edressme.com/bt0210.html

That's the dress. I'm not the tannest person, but I'm not ghostly pale. I have dark brown hair. What color shes and accessories?

Thanks in advance!

I've been dating my boyfriend for over a year and a half. We're seniors in high school, and the homecoming dance is coming up soon. We went together last year too. The way he asked me last year, he was really romantic and creative, a stuffed toy in my favorite animal, flowers, it just showed a lot of thought and was super cute. This year, he also asked me. Over text message.

I know he was serious because he texted me and asked, so I kinda ignored it and responded to something else he'd said and he texted back "Hellooo. I just asked you to homecoming. Now is when you say yes."

It was a major letdown from last year. At my school, guys typically ask girls in sweet ways, even if they've been dating a while. Has he just gotten too comfortable in the relationship and feels like he doesn't need to try? Is that okay? Or am I being too demanding?

What do you think? Should I talk to him? Ask him? I just simply don't understand why the extravagance last year and the absolute, bare minimum, as unromantic as possible this year. I just don't understand. Would it be okay if I said something to him? Or would that be too high maintenance?

Well I just simply don't understand why the extravagance last year and the absolute, bare minimum, as unromantic as possible this year. I just don't understand.

Gardasil is the (fairly) new vaccine against the human papillomavirus. It is nearly 100% effective in preventing four tyoes of HPV, two of which cause 90% of all genital warts, and two of which cause 70% of all cervical cancer cases.

50% of all Americans will contract HPV at some point in their lives.

How do you feel about Gardasil?

Gardasil is the (fairly) new vaccine against the human papillomavirus. It is nearly 100% effective in preventing four tyoes of HPV, two of which cause 90% of all genital warts, and two of which cause 70% of all cervical cancer cases.

50% of all Americans will contract HPV at some point in their lives.

How do you feel about Gardasil?

Gardasil is the (fairly) new vaccine against the human papillomavirus. It is nearly 100% effective in preventing four tyoes of HPV, two of which cause 90% of all genital warts, and two of which cause 70% of all cervical cancer cases.

50% of all Americans will contract HPV at some point in their lives.

How do you feel about Gardasil?