LIVExINxLOVE

this:

Colors: they define us, describe us, and often defy us. They come in the most assorted variety imaginable, that is, if you could possibly create so many in your mind’s eye. So shouldn’t something so abundantly rare, yet unusually typical and commonly unique be cherished? I suppose that once upon a time (five years ago, to be exact) I would have agreed with that statement. But I have my own special gift of nature. The so-called gift that causes me to loathe each and every shade of color in existence, to yearn for a world of bland variations of grey. Would that really be too much to ask?

OR this:

Allow me to borrow your imagination for a moment: for some reason or another, your senses are at an unusual high. Don’t ask me how you got there, but you’re at the worldwide annual perfume festival (which most likely doesn’t exist, because why would there be a worldwide festival for perfume in the first place?) So, you’re at this festival, and everyone wants you to experience a spritz of this and a sniff of that to top off the already mind-blowing array of fragrances. Don’t forget that only about one of every dozen or so perfumes is even relatively appealing to you, so it’s mostly a big mess. Now compliment each smell with the first color you would associate it with, and imagine that every time you leave the house. Welcome to a typical day in the life of me, Mandy Kline.

or this:

Grandma’s basement was ancient, dark and dank, and filled with endless piles of junk. Boxes, trunks, and bins of every size and shape were scattered across the floor, lining the walls, and towering from to the ceiling. It was exactly four days after Grandma’s funeral and mom was devastated. She couldn’t even walk into Grandma’s house, let alone sort through all her junk, so that job was left up to me. My directions exactly: “Sort out her stuff: keep, sell, throw away.” How I was possibly supposed to discern what was worth selling and what needed to be kept at ten years old, I have no idea.

just tell me what you think

Grandma’s basement was ancient, dark and dank, and filled with endless piles of junk. Boxes, trunks, and bins of every size and shape were scattered across the floor, lining the walls, and towering from to the ceiling. It was exactly four days after Grandma’s funeral and mom was devastated. She couldn’t even walk into Grandma’s house, let alone sort through all her junk, so that job was left up to me. My directions exactly: “Sort out her stuff: keep, sell, throw away.” How I was possibly supposed to discern what was worth selling and what needed to be kept at ten years old, I have no idea.

I had been sifting through Grandma’s gadgets for hours when I came upon a strange pouch. It was made of the purest velvet hands could feel, the violet and gold of royalty, with a silk drawstring. I was just about to toss it over my shoulder into the steadily growing “sell” pile when a sliver of light escaped the bag, thrown across the wall for a second before it disappeared. I blinked, rubbed my eyes and reached out, tentative fingers struggling to hook the thin drawstring between them.

Inside, there was nothing but a little black box. I snapped it open to reveal yet another, smaller pouch. I tugged at the caught zipper, finally releasing it with an extra hard yank. The sack flew from my hands, it’s descent intercepted by the far wall.

It landed hard and a bulky golden chain slipped out, dragging with it an oval-shaped pendant. I scrambled after it, and after a few seconds, I realized that the pendant was hinged: a locket. It was finely crafted and likely ancient, but it bore no scratches or dents. In fact, it was in perfect condition, and still shining as if it had just been polished. In the very center of the locket was a tiny diamond. Intricate tendrils spiraled from the diamond, covering the entire surface of the charm in swirling golden lines. I was utterly captivated by the design and I found myself prying open the locket mindlessly, eager to inspect it further.

With an indescribably jolt in my gut, I landed feet first in what looked like a dungeon (I wouldn’t know, I’d never actually seen one.) Lofty walls of stone stretched so far that they disappeared into shadows. There were no lights or windows, but somehow a dim glow illuminated the place.

I rose slowly to circle the table. I stood behind her chair and placed a timid hand on her shoulder. She covered my hand with her own, squeezing my fingers lovingly. Then she was standing and we were wrapped around each other. Anguished tears poured free now as we mourned over our lost time. But there was more than pain in the tears; there was joy and hope and reconciliation. The fist my stomach had clenched itself into seemed to loosen its grip as my mothers arms tightened around me.

It could have been seconds or days that we stood silently embraced. Passion overwhelmed me completely as I felt a warm, strong hand smoothing down my hair. Tears clung to my eyelashes and streamed down my face as I opened my eyes. A tingling warmth spread from my mother’s hand on the back of my head all throughout my being, and I couldn’t place the feeling. I inhaled deeply and was almost physically jolted as my senses were overcome with a new scent. It was a warm blanket on a winter night, sunlight on a fresh summer day, the rainbow after a storm, a hug on a bad day.

“I’m so sorry,” Mom sobbed gently. She stepped back from the embrace to inspect me. “Oh, look how beautiful you are. All this time I’ve been searching for something to make your Grandma’s death better and here you’ve been all along. Will you ever forgive me, Mandy?” My mother’s short speech sent another rush of tears streaming down my face and rendered me speechless. I nodded fervently and wrapped my arms around her once again. I was unaware of space and time, of everything and anything but the compassion we both felt.

“Mom,” I whispered, and I knew I’d never need to call her Laurie again.

, but all I felt was a tingly sensation that seemed to encompass my entire body

is it to repetitive to say "encompass" then "entire"

if so, how would you rephrase it?

it's the last paragraph of my story...tell me what you think

After a timeless stretch, we disentangled ourselves, sniffling meekly. I glanced over her shoulder, catching sight of the back yard through long, glass doors. Not a wind stirred the contended stillness of the night. Trees and hedges whispered secrets of the darkness, blending naturally into the shadows. The glossy surface of the pool reflected shimmering dots: stars. Most prominent was the glowing light of the moon shimmering upon the water. It was the same light that shone around Gary the Delivery Boy and that had saved my life multiple times. But it was also the same silver-white glimmer that had bridged the gap between a mother and daughter, repaired a broken heart, filled the gap where a mother belonged.

if you get bored, just get a feel for it and tell me where you lost interest

Colors: they define us, describe us, and often defy us. They come in the most assorted variety imaginable, that is, if you could possibly create so many in your mind’s eye. So shouldn’t something so abundantly rare, yet unusually typical and commonly unique be cherished? I suppose that once upon a time (five years ago, to be exact) I would have agreed with that statement. But I have my own special gift of nature. The so-called gift that causes me to loathe each and every shade of color in existence, to yearn for a world of bland variations of grey. Would that really be too much to ask?

Then again, compared to the smells, the colors are bearable. At least I can close my eyes on them. Some smells are light and easy, I would even venture to say pleasant. Then there are others, strong and overpowering, but the most are at some nauseating stage of in-between. One thing’s for sure: when they’re all jumbled up in a frenzy of mismatched aromas, the result is nothing short of a splitting headache.

Allow me to borrow your imagination for a moment: for some reason or another, your senses are at an unusual high. Don’t ask me how you got there, but you’re at the worldwide annual perfume festival (which most likely doesn’t exist, because why in the world would there be a worldwide festival for perfume in the first place?) Everyone wants you to experience a spritz of this and a sniff of that to top off the already mind-blowing array of fragrances. Don’t forget that only about one of every dozen or so perfumes is even relatively appealing to you, so it’s mostly a big mess of unbearable stenches. Now compliment each smell with the first color you would associate it with, and imagine that every time you leave the house. Welcome to a typical day in the life of me, Mandy Kline.

Depressing, isn’t it? There are meager few positives that I’ve failed to mention. I find it easy to manipulate people thanks to my gift; it allows me to read emotions and general thoughts. I also have an uncanny knack for remembering names and personalities based on auras. Still, I think about it day after day, week after week, every since that night in Grandma’s basement.

Some would call it destiny. Others consider it rotten luck or bad karma. I guess you could say it was partly my fault and wholly my choice, but how could I have known any better? It all happened so fast: one minute I was normal and the next my entire world was upside down and inside out.

I’m sorry.

I should stop, shouldn’t I? You’re probably pretty confused, aren’t you? (Maybe now you’ll understand how I feel.) I’ll try to make this a little bit easier to follow. (I wish someone had done that for me.) It all started five years ago; I was ten years old.

this is the climax of my story pretty much...tell me what you think..it's going to be a little confusing probably but...

“NO! You will not leave the Palace of Darkness alive!” The Chloes screeched. They all flung their hands at me simultaneously, shooting a stream of black magic straight at my heart. Time seemed to slow down as my death was hurled at me. Chloe’s green eyes were dark and stormy, her auburn hair flying in an invisible wind. The rest stood behind her, abandoning Gary to join their master.

A blinding white light blazed before my eyes, blinding me. I didn’t feel pain though; I didn’t feel anything at all. The black magic must have hit me, then. I could feel my knees making contact with the drawbridge, angry splinters of wood driving into them.

But it wasn’t me whose shaking knees were running with blood, it was someone else, far away from me. I was in my nice white light, slowly letting my life slip away. Death really wasn’t as bad as they made it seem. Not yet, at least. Maybe the pain would come later.

I cradled my head in my hands, trying fruitlessly to shield myself from the inevitable end. Suddenly, I felt as if I had rejoined with my body. A strong vibration was sending tremors through me, starting in my chest. And when I peeked through the crack in my fingers, I saw that the locket was the source of the light and the trembling.

I surged to my feet, ignoring the bite in my legs, and stumbled through the white vortex of power. The first thing I became aware of was the smell, and my heart sank. Ashes seemed to be flying through the air as I inhaled the scent of the dark aura. But then, heat blasted in my face, smothering me from every angle; unbearable, incomprehensible, scalding heat. And as the dots dancing before my eyes faded, I saw black flames. They were licking every inch of the bridge except for the small section surrounding me. The dark fire was eating away the bridge, and I could hear the wood cracking and sizzling beneath my feet.

“Gary!�� I screamed, oblivious to my own mounting peril. I heard a low moan from across the bridge, ringing in my ears. The flames were flying higher and closing in. The fire seemed afraid of the locket’s power though, and couldn’t spread behind me. I shone the locket in the direction of Gary’s voice, dousing the flame as if the locket was a hose, and forming a meager passageway. I sprinted through the walls of flame, and my heart jolted as I lost my footing. A deep, age-old creaking sounded and the drawbridge began collapsing beneath my feet. Chunks of burning wood were cascading into the mote, and I had to skip over the missing patches to cross to Gary.

When I finally found him, he was crumbled on the ground, a nauseating puddle of red surrounding him. Another deep rumble shook the bridge, and the entire thing collapsed. The wooden slats were sliding into the mote under my feet, and I was slipping quickly to my doom. The water in the mote reared up around us, no longer peaceful or even remotely pleasant. Waves of menace crashed on the sides of the falling bridge, dragging me into their churning depths. The final piece of the bridge tumbled into the water, taking Gary and I with it. I wrapped a frantic arm around his shoulders, dragging him onto our primitive raft and gripping his hand in mine.

I tilted the locket downward so that it’s light shone upon our slat of wood, our lifeline, and thought desperately of anywhere but here. I heard a mad cackle from somewhere behind, but then the silver vortex of light was whirling around us once more, and when it disappeared, so had the Palace of Darkness.

just tell me what you think...but please no "good job! keep writing" ...tell me something helpful

Grandma’s basement was ancient, dark, dank, and filled with who knows what. Boxes, trunks, and bins of every size and shape were scattered across the floor, lining the walls, and towering from floor to ceiling. It was exactly four days after Grandma’s funeral and mom was devastated. She couldn’t even walk into Grandma’s house, let alone sort through all her junk, so that job was left up to me. My directions exactly: “Sort out her stuff: keep, sell, throw away.” How I was possibly supposed to discern what was worth selling and what needed to be kept at ten years old, I have no idea.

I had been sifting through Grandma’s mountains of gadgets when I came upon that one fateful pouch. It was made of the purest velvet hands could feel, royal violet with a silk drawstring. I was just about to toss it over my shoulder into the steadily growing “keep” pile when a sliver of dancing silver light escaped the bag, thrown across the wall for a split second before it disappeared. I blinked, rubbed my eyes and reached out, my tentative fingers struggling to hook the thin drawstring between them.

Inside, there was nothing but a little black box. I snapped it open to reveal yet another, smaller pouch. I tugged at the caught zipper, finally releasing it with an extra hard yank. The sack flew from my hands, it’s descent intercepted by the far wall. It landed hard, and a bulky golden chain slipped out, dragging with it an oval-shaped pendant. I fumbled with the pendant for a few seconds and discovered a hinge, which I opened without hesitation. Maybe that was my mistake. Perhaps I should have hesitated.

The basement disappeared around me and I landed feet first in what looked like a dungeon (I wouldn’t know, I’d never actually seen one.) Lofty walls of stone that stretched so far that they disappeared into darkness surrounded me.

“Laurie! You have kept me waiting longer than I expected… four days it has been. Four days I have waited for you.” It was then that I noticed the dainty chair at the far side of the room; its high wooden back had been facing me.

“I-I-I’m n-not Laurie. I’m Mandy.” I stuttered for the first time in my life that day. What was wrong with me? Her voice wasn’t even all that scary. If only I’d had my gift back then…

“Mandy?” The voice was sharp now, harsh.

“Yes,” I am Mandy. Not Laurie, not mom.

“WHAT?” The chair spun around with a skin-crawling screech, revealing perhaps the most stunning creature I’d ever laid eyes on. She had long, auburn hair that flowed down her elegant back in loose curls. Her lips were full and pink, like a freshly blossomed rose. Her eyes were green as a bright spring day, but they held the depth and wisdom of an elder, adding to her natural grace. Her beauty was astounding, and it was all I could do to keep my pathetic jaw from dropping. “Who are you?” She sneered, disfiguring her flawless face.

“Mandy Kline, I just told you! How many more times should I say it?” My rush of sarcasm probably wasn’t a good idea, but I couldn’t help it.

“Where is Laurie? She is supposed to be the one to discover the locket! Many years I have waited for this day, yet still she eludes me. I want that aura!” The woman’s eyes morphed from pleasant green to gold, then faded into a deep maroon. I can still remember the taste of copper rising in my throat at the sight of her eyes, the nausea that had overwhelmed me so completely.

“Grandma was her best friend. When she died, Mom got lost in herself. She can’t do anything but cry these days.” I didn’t know what it was about her, but something had made me want to make her understand. To wipe the smirk off of her face and replace it with the beautiful smile once more.

“You are Laurie’s daughter, are you?” Her tone softened and her eyes returned to their lovely green. “Well then, I suppose you would do for a substitute. It is worth a try, since you are already here,” She said, more to herself than to me. I recall the panic, the urge to run, the realization that I couldn’t get away, and even if I could, I’d be lost; most of all I remember the sinking feeling of defeat that had settled in my stomach as her haunting eyes had focused in on me. I backed into the wall, gripping the stones for my life. “Calm yourself, Mandy. It will not hurt.”

“What won’t hurt? What are you doing to me? Who are you?”

“Anne.” Before I could even think to dodge her, Anne was before me. She projected her left palm, and I noticed the slash of a scar across the tip of her index finger. My heart had been hammering in my throat, an empty chill creeping up my spine. A streak of rainbow light spurted from the scar, hitting my heart directly. I winced, but all I felt was a tingly sensation in my stomach. It only lasted for a short moment before she dropped the hand to her side.

“Now, was that not simple? No need to fuss. I have a…gift for you.” Her eyes were bright and frie

ok, so just tell me your thoughts on anything and everything about this excerpt..basically Mandy (narrator) is 15 year old who has just basically conquered the bad guy..her grandma died 5 yrs ago and her mom has been a total ***** since partly influenced by the bad guy (long story) so here it is...

“Mom,” I whispered, approaching her with hesitation. She glared at me, condescending and disregarding at the same time. “Mom,” I repeated, this time louder. “I know how Grandma died.”

“Oh really? You know, so do I. A disease called cancer.” Her voice cut me like a knife. For a moment I was shocked, and almost pained at how similar we were. I could envision myself giving much the same answer to the lovely Miss Lara some day.

“No. She could have, would have survived the cancer. It was something else much stronger than disease.” I spoke slowly, aware that at any minute her emotions could flare and this could turn into a screaming match. But I waited patiently, watching her eyes go from indignant to annoyed to confused to curious. The emotions were raw and plain on her face.

“What exactly have you been up to?”

I took a seat at the kitchen table, cringing at its frigid surface beneath my forearms. I traced the veins of marble under my fingers, searching for an answer. The maze of crystals and rocks wound endlessly through the slab of stone, intertwining and flowing seamlessly from one chunk of color to the next. The detail was spectacular, but natural. It was so complicated, but so very simple, just as I needed to be.

And so I told my tale for the second time that night, this time extended with personal comments and a question from my mother about every three seconds. When she finally ran out of questions, it was well past midnight. We sat in semi-darkness, gazing at each other intently.

“I always knew,” she murmured, voice quavering and lip quivering. For the first time in years, we hugged. Her arms were warm and comforting as she gripped me fiercely. I buried my head in her shoulder, letting the tears flow. I cried for forgiveness, for realization, for joy, for hope, and for my inevitable destiny.

After a timeless stretch of love, we released each other, sniffling meekly. A single stream of moonlight fell through the sliding glass doors, casting the kitchen in a silver glow. It was the same silver that shone around Gary the Delivery Boy, the same silver that had saved my life today, and the same silver that had repaired my broken heart, filling the patch where a mother belonged.

“What do you think you’re doing? Go to bed!” She barked.

“Mom,” I whispered, approaching her with hesitation. She glared at me, condescending and disregarding at the same time. “Mom,” I repeated, this time louder. “I know how Grandma died.”

“Oh really? You know, so do I. Cancer invaded her lungs and killed her.” Her voice cut me like a knife running through a cube of ice. For a moment I was shocked, almost pained at how similar we were. I could envision myself giving much the same answer to the lovely Miss Lara some day.

“No. She could have, would have survived the cancer. It was something else, much stronger than disease.” I spoke slowly, aware that at any minute her emotions could reverse and this could turn into a screaming match. But I waited patiently, watching her eyes go from indignant to annoyed to confused to curious. I didn’t even need her aura for that. The emotions were raw, plain on her face.

“What exactly have you been up to?”

I took a seat at the kitchen table, cringing at its frigid surface beneath my forearms. I traced the veins of the granite under my fingers, searching for an answer. The maze of crystals and rocks wound endlessly through the slab of stone, intertwining and flowing seamlessly from one chunk of color to the next. The detail was spectacular, but natural. It was so complicated, but so very simple, just as I needed to be.

And so I told my tale for the second time that night, this time extended with personal comments and a question from my mother about every three seconds. When she finally ran out of questions, it was well past midnight. We sat in semi-darkness, gazing at each other intently.

“I always knew,” she murmured, voice quavering and lip quivering. For the first time in years, we hugged. Her arms were warm and comforting as she gripped me fiercely. I buried my head in her shoulder, letting the tears flow. I cried for forgiveness, for realization, for joy, for hope, and for my inevitable destiny.

After a timeless stretch of love, we released each other, sniffling meekly. A single stream of moonlight fell through the sliding glass doors, casting the kitchen in a silver glow. The same silver that shone around my new friend, the same silver that had saved my life today, and the same silver that had repaired my broken heart, filling the patch where a mother belonged.

you tell me

ok, so this is a mini-resolution of my story, intertwined with the main plot

the girl and the mom have their little reconciliation here, so tell me what you think...does it seem natural?? also...critique my writing in general if you wish

“What do you think you’re doing? Go to bed!” She barked.

“Mom,” I whispered, approaching her with hesitation. She glared at me, condescending and disregarding at the same time. “Mom,” I repeated, this time louder. “I know how Grandma died.”

“Oh really? You know, so do I. Cancer invaded her lungs and killed her.” Her voice cut me like a knife running through a cube of ice. For a moment I was shocked, almost pained at how similar we were. I could envision myself giving much the same answer to the lovely Miss Lara some day.

“No. She could have, would have survived the cancer. It was something else, much stronger than disease.” I spoke slowly, aware that at any minute her emotions could reverse and this could turn into a screaming match. But I waited patiently, watching her eyes go from indignant to annoyed to confused to curious. I didn’t even need her aura for that. The emotions were raw, plain on her face.

“What exactly have you been up to?”

I took a seat at the kitchen table, cringing at its frigid surface beneath my forearms. I traced the veins of the granite under my fingers, searching for an answer. The maze of crystals and rocks wound endlessly through the slab of stone, intertwining and flowing seamlessly from one chunk of color to the next. The detail was spectacular, but natural. It was so complicated, but so very simple, just as I needed to be.

And so I told my tale for the second time that night, this time extended with personal comments and a question from my mother about every three seconds. When she finally ran out of questions, it was well past midnight. We sat in semi-darkness, gazing at each other intently.

“I always knew,” she murmured, voice quavering and lip quivering. For the first time in years, we hugged. Her arms were warm and comforting as she gripped me fiercely. I buried my head in her shoulder, letting the tears flow. I cried for forgiveness, for realization, for joy, for hope, and for my inevitable destiny.

After a timeless stretch of love, we released each other, sniffling meekly. A single stream of moonlight fell through the sliding glass doors, casting the kitchen in a silver glow. The same silver that shone around my new friend, the same silver that had saved my life today, and the same silver that had repaired my broken heart, filling the patch where a mother belonged.

this is the battle scene of my story, but i think it's a bit weak. what do u think?

also, rate my writing and tell me whether or not you would read the rest of this story.

what can i do to make the battle more interesting?

“NO! You will not leave the Palace of Darkness alive!” The Chloes screeched. They all flung their hands at me simultaneously, shooting a stream of black magic straight at my heart. Time seemed to slow down as my death was hurled at me. Chloe’s green eyes were dark and stormy, her auburn hair flying in an invisible wind. The rest stood behind her, abandoning Gary to join their master.

A blinding white light blazed before my eyes, blinding me. I didn’t feel pain though; I didn’t feel anything at all. The black magic must have hit me, then. I could feel my knees making contact with the drawbridge, and I could feel angry splinters of wood driving into my legs. But it wasn’t me whose shaking knees were running with blood, it was someone else who knew pain and love and happiness. I wasn’t there. I was in my nice white light, slowly letting my life slip away. Death really wasn’t as bad as they made it seem. Not yet, at least. Maybe the pain comes later.

I cradled my head in my hands, trying fruitlessly to shield myself from the inevitable end. The locket slipped out of my fingers, humming violently against my chest. But when I peeked through the crack in my fingers, I saw that the locket was the source of the light. It wasn’t the black magic, which meant…

Suddenly I felt as if I had downed a gallon of pure caffeine. I surged to my feet, ignoring the bite in my legs, and stumbled through the silver vortex of power. The first thing I became aware of was the smell, and my heart sank. Ashes seemed to be literally flying through the air as I inhaled the scent of the dark aura. But then, heat blasted in my face, smothering me from every angle. Unbearable, incomprehensible, scalding heat. And as the dots dancing before my eyes faded, I saw the flames. They were licking every inch of the bridge except for the small section surrounding me. Black fire was eating away the bridge, and I could hear the wood cracking and sizzling beneath my feet.

“Gary!” I screamed, oblivious to my own mounting peril. I heard a low moan from across the bridge, ringing futilely in my ears. The flames were flying higher and closing in. The fire seemed afraid of the locket’s power though, and couldn’t spread behind me. I shone the locket in the direction of Gary’s voice, dousing the flame and forming a meager passageway. I sprinted through the walls of flame, and my heart jolted as I lost my footing. A deep, age-old creaking sounded and the drawbridge began collapsing beneath my feet. Chunks of burning wood were cascading into the mote, and I had to skip over the missing patches to cross to Gary.

When I finally found him, he was crumbled on the ground, a nauseating puddle of red surrounding him. Another deep rumble shook the bridge, and the entire thing collapsed. The wooden slats were sliding into the mote under my feet, and I was slipping quickly to my doom. The water in the mote reared up around us, no longer peaceful or even remotely pleasant. Waves crashed on the side of the bridge, dragging me into their churning depths. The final piece of the bridge tumbled into the water, taking Gary and I with it. I wrapped a frantic arm around his shoulders, heaving him closer to me and gripping his hand in mine. Tilting the locket downward so that it’s light shone upon our meager slat of wood, our lifeline, and thought desperately of anywhere but here. I heard a mad cackle from somewhere behind, but then the silver vortex of light was whirling around us once more, and when it disappeared, so had the Palace of Darkness.

I released his arm and he immediately doubled up, hands on his knees. Standing on the drawbridge over the water, he looked so alone, so fragile. I tore my gaze away, addressing all the Chloes at once.

“Look, I already explained to your little master that I’m not going to put up with this. You are not going to win,” I said firmly. They all laughed the same tinkling refrain.

“Seriously. It’s over. So just walk back into your paintings and don’t make me do this the hard way.” I stood proud; shoulders squared and chin up, waiting for someone to question me.

They all looked to the original Chloe at the same time then pounced. They rushed toward me so fast my vision was blurred. I reached for the locket, brandishing it like a magic sword. Their confidence faltered, but only for a short moment. Suddenly, half of them disappeared behind me.

“Mandy!” Gary cried in a quaking voice.

“Just trust me,” I screamed back.

I unclasped the locket, holding it high above my head. It shone with a blinding silver light, engulfing the black aura with its shining power. The two colors seemed to struggle, neither overpowering the other. I looked at the original Chloe, eyes full of hate. Thinking of all the reasons I had to despise her I was filled with a newfound power, and the silver aura had a sudden burst of strength. The black aura faded to grey, then finally silver and blended into the locket’s light.

“NO! You will not leave the Palace of Darkness alive!” The Chloes screeched. They all flung their hands at me simultaneously, shooting a stream of black magic straight at my heart. Time seemed to slow down as my death was hurled at me. Chloe’s green eyes were dark and stormy, her auburn hair flying in an invisible wind. The rest stood behind her, abandoning Gary to join their master.

A blinding white light blazed before my eyes, blinding me. I didn’t feel pain though; I didn’t feel anything at all. The black magic must have hit me, then. I could feel my knees making contact with the drawbridge, and I could feel angry splinters of wood driving into my legs. But it wasn’t me whose shaking knees were running with blood, it was someone else who knew pain and love and happiness. I wasn’t there. I was in my nice white light, slowly letting my life slip away. Death really wasn’t as bad as they made it seem. Not yet, at least. Maybe the pain comes later.

I cradled my head in my hands, trying fruitlessly to shield myself from the inevitable end. The locket slipped out of my fingers, humming violently against my chest. But when I peeked through the crack in my fingers, I saw that the locket was the source of the light. It wasn’t the black magic, which meant…

Suddenly I felt as if I had downed a gallon of pure caffeine. I surged to my feet, ignoring the bite in my legs, and stumbled through the silver vortex of power. The first thing I became aware of was the smell, and my heart sank. Ashes seemed to be literally flying through the air as I inhaled the scent of the dark aura. But then, heat blasted in my face, smothering me from every angle. Unbearable, incomprehensible, scalding heat. And as the dots dancing before my eyes faded, I saw the flames. They were licking every inch of the bridge except for the small section surrounding me. Black fire was eating away the bridge, and I could hear the wood cracking and sizzling beneath my feet.

“Gary!” I screamed, oblivious to my own mounting peril. I heard a low moan from across the bridge, ringing futilely in my ears. The flames were flying higher and closing in. The fire seemed afraid of the locket’s power though, and couldn’t spread behind me. I shone the locket in the direction of Gary’s voice, dousing the flame and forming a meager passageway. I sprinted through the walls of flame, and my heart jolted as I lost my footing. A deep, age-old creaking sounded and the drawbridge began collapsing beneath my feet. Chunks of burning wood were cascading into the mote, and I had to skip over the missing patches to cross to Gary.

When I finally found him, he was crumbled on the ground, a nauseating puddle of red surrounding him. Another deep rumble shook the bridge, and the entire thing collapsed. The wooden slats were sliding into the mote under my feet, and I was slipping quickly to my doom. The water in the mote reared up around us, no longer peaceful or even remotely pleasant. Waves crashed on the side of the bridge, dragging me into their churning depths. The final piece of the bridge tumbled into the water, taking Gary and I with it. I wrapped a frantic arm around his shoulders, heaving him closer to me and gripping his hand in mine. Tilting the locket downward so that it’s light shone upon our meager slat of wood, our lifeline, and thought desperately of anywhere but here. I heard a mad cackle from somewhere behind, but then the silver vortex of light was whirling around us once more, and when it disappeared, so had the Palace of Darkness.

does anyone know legitimate facts for that cuz i'm kinda curious..sorry if this was already asked but i don't think so

team rowling!!!!! by the way :P

You should hold onto that. There’s no need to wear it, but there’s also no need to dispose of it in the ocean. Trust me, I know Her better than most. I would like to be a part of your life. We can fight this together.

Your Great-Uncle, Abe

I read and reread the note until my eyes were sore and the words were all blurred together in an indecipherable jumble. Throughout that, one word still managed to stand apart I whispered it, testing the feel of it in my mouth. Together. We can fight this together. Gary, Abe, and I made an unbeatable force. With our combined strengths, maybe we could bring Chloe down once and for all. Or maybe we could turn her good. No matter how the events played out, I knew one thing was for certain. The three of us would stand together.

the note is significant to the whole story, which would make no sense to readers. but the paragraph following mainly deals with the note so it kinda makes sense i guess.

well, what did you think.

what could be better or worse?

rate the overall excerpt.

i love his books, and i am currently reading Making faces by kevyn aucoin, so would it be pointless to read the art of makeup?

is there anyone who has read both, and if so, are they different enough that it is worth it?

also, which did you like better?

any other good books on makeup?

rate me, critique me, give me an opinion, diss me, whatever you want.

Predator or Prey?

The earth was still. Not even a wind stirred the silent afternoon at the beginning of time. The grass was green where the archer sat. He sat alone, frightfully alone. He was the only man in existence, and he was hungry. The archer crouched low among the weeds, sniffing the air to pick up the scent. He could practically smell the fresh meat stalking him. He whipped his head around anxiously, but there was nothing.

A deep, reverberating thumping took the archer by surprise. He lost his balance and fell to the ground, loosing his notched arrow as he did. The thing whistled into the distance until he could no longer keep track of it. The thumping persisted. The archer took one last breath to be certain, then slid his bow into the makeshift quiver slung over his back and ran.

He ran so fast that the wind tugged at his skin and swept his hair from his face. His vision was a blur, and when the reptilian beast appeared, he could not see it. The beast chased after him, and the archer could hear the thumping, but that was all. The archer sprinted, and the beast followed. They had soon encompassed the entire earth. As the pursuit’s intensity heightened, the earth began to move. It spun in place, over and over again.

It spun so fast that it was unstoppable, doomed to spin forevermore. The archer’s and the beast’s hunt never slackened or ended. Just as the earth was doomed to spin, they were doomed to run.

With the earth’s new motion came the wind. The wind caressed the face of the archer when he thought he would faint, the face of the beast when he lagged to far behind, and the face of the earth when it started to slow down.

Eventually, more men came to be, and even later, women existed as well. The men and women advanced continuously over the years. The tale of the archer and the beast was long forgotten, for, the two had run so fast and far that they had lifted from the earth itself and now ran among the stars, still propelling the earth with their steady motions. Every now and then, on a silent, sunny afternoon, a steady thrum can be heard in the voice of the wind.

i just wrote it..don't do anything bout the grammar, just content. do you like it or is it stupid? rate my writing 1-10

Shine

Many, many years ago, the sky was black. There stars and a moon, but they were black. In the night, darkness was inescapable. Far from the sky, in a small, friendly village lived an old gravedigger name Charlie.

Every night, Charlie would head outside, shovel over his shoulder, and try to do his job. He would stand before a fresh patch of grass and try to dig, but he was forced to feel his way through the job. Eventually the strenuous digging along with the lack of light was too much for the poor old man.

Charlie stumbled and collapsed face-first into the grave he had begun to dig. When the other gravediggers saw him, they assumed he was a poor merchant who could not afford a proper burial. They took pity on the Charlie and covered him with dirt, thinking him to be dead.

Meanwhile, a star called Celia was dancing through the sky. When she saw what was occurring below, she shot to the ground to save the man. Celia arrived before the grave, but as she was naught but a little star, she was unable to remove Charlie from the ground. She tried desperately to call out, but her voice didn’t work the same on earth.

Sadness overcame Celia, and she wept for Charlie, for herself, and for her incapability to save him. She wept so grievously that she moaned and sobbed, but no one could hear her. Soon, she was crying so desperately that she shook in agony. Her tears flowed faster and hotter, until they were on fire.

The fire caught onto Celia, and lit her completely. The flames licking her face burned with fury she had not known possible, and glowed so bright that she lit the entire graveyard.

The gravediggers finally took notice of the flames and approached Celia tentatively. She flipped and bounced about the grave, trying vainly to communicate her silent plea. The smartest of the bunch, a burly man called George approached the grave and began to dig. Celia swirled in approval, and the others joined in.

They uncovered Charlie, who was lying in the grave, awake and sputtering. By now, Celia was so joyous that the flames no longer pained her, but caressed her face in white-hot love. Charlie explained his reason for falling into the grave, and Celia, determined to make sure something like this never happened again, soared back into the sky where she caught every star on fire.

Some, in their panic, joined together in mobs and made strange shapes in the sky. From the earth, Charlie marveled at the constellations with his comrades. Celia’s speedy flight had soon lit the entire sky. It was not like the light of daylight, hot and unforgiving. The light of the night was cool and soft, filled with happiness. When Celia lit the moon, it glowed so brightly that the entire graveyard was dimly lit.

The men on the ground cheered, and Celia sang to them from above. She took her place by the moon, and glowed brighter than any of the surrounding stars. No, she did not glow. She shined.