Kintt and Vhell omg. Both names end in double consonants. SHOCKING.
So, who will be top four?
EG
SK
MoB G Family
And going crazy here...Pandemic
NICE BACKGROUND ZYZ. I LOVE SPOH. AND YOU. AND GODWARLOCK AZAEL.
Um, so that shammy/pally/war EG faced was:
ONE, TWO, THREE. THREE BADDIES. AHAHAHAHA.
Thanks Serrenia, as Kintt said, "ATROCIOUS." WAY TO MAKE PREDICTION BAD YOU TERRIBAD.
Hafu played that shit pretty well no lie. BG9 Idol ftw.
Kintt's rant about Big Macs and Steaks was heartwarming. I love him.
Honestly, the matches have been pretty terrible so far. Really bad play and big mistakes in almost every round. (Not to shit on people, just saying...)
Azael the Unstoppable, AMIRITE?
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Flash Fiction
Six Word Stories:
Thing happened. I changed. She didn't.
She stole his heart. Quite literally.
She was calm, until the end.
I said I loved her. Lie.
Her lips soft, her blade not.
Pain, suffering, death? Coulda' been averted.
THUS ENDS MY 6x6 SQUARE OF FLASH FICTION.
Six word stories, go!
Thing happened. I changed. She didn't.
She stole his heart. Quite literally.
She was calm, until the end.
I said I loved her. Lie.
Her lips soft, her blade not.
Pain, suffering, death? Coulda' been averted.
THUS ENDS MY 6x6 SQUARE OF FLASH FICTION.
Six word stories, go!
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Untitled
Charlotte was nine when she ate her first dream. She didn't mean to.
It was late on a moonless night. She danced into her parents' bedroom, unable to sleep, and she moved, quiet as the still, night air, to the foot of her mom and dad's bed. She paused for a moment, before softly crawling into the space between them. She was scared, unable to stop thinking about the movie. She saw it when she closed her eyes. She told herself it wasn't real, but, alone in the dark, it was.
She nuzzled up against her father reassured by his scent and warmth. She felt safe. The ghosts of the night departed as quickly as they came. They wouldn't mess with her father, she knew. Charlotte smiled, content, and softly ran her hands through her father's messy, rough hair. She felt sleep edging closer. Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier until finally she could fight no longer, dropping her hand as her eyes slid shut and sleep took hold of her.
Except it didn't.
Her eyes snapped open to see trails of light between her resting hand and her father's sleeping brow. Opalescent threads trembling and swaying fragilely to the beat of her father's soft breaths. Charlotte shot up to a sitting position. Her mother, Anna, shifted and turned, but didn't wake. Charlotte slowly moved her hand. She felt a gentle tug. The threads intertwined themselves about her fingers stickily like strands of cotton candy on a hot summer day. She shook her hand. No good. She shook harder. She shook and cried silently and shook, but the strands wouldn't shake lose.
Realizing that all of the shaking had only pulled more of the stuff out, she held her hand still. Her eyes burned in the way that eyes do when sleep-heavy eyes cry. She saw, that even without moving her hand, the strands still unspooled from her father's head. She sat unmoving and watched. She didn't wait long before she felt the tug of a taught line going slack and she saw the tail end of the long wisps hanging limply from her fingers. As she sat motionless, staring at her hand, her emotions shifted gradually from anxiety to curiosity.
She brought her hand to her face to see more clearly. The room was dark but the strands glowed with a gentle, silver luminescence. She felt a strange hunger as her hand neared her face. Dinner was only a few hours ago. She had apricots and cream for dessert. Her favorite. This feeling was different. It was deeper inside than hunger. She cautiously touched her tongue to a piece of the strand wrapped about the back of her hand. Delicious. She smiled and continued, cautiously, nibbling at the long strands wrapped about her fingers, her pace quickening until it was all gone.
Her father grimaced and turned in his sleep. She felt his arm. Cool to the touch. She got up and crept out of bed as silently she came.
As she exited the bedroom, she remembered, hazily, the movie and the nightmares that haunted her. She smiled and gently laughed. How silly that she be scared by such things. She made her way down the hall back to her room, darkness fleeing from her all the way. When she slept, she dreamt fantastic dreams, dreams real enough to touch and hold, dreams of a life she never lived, and when, hours later, her mother cried and cried when her father didn't wake, Charlotte felt content knowing that his memories would always live on.
It was late on a moonless night. She danced into her parents' bedroom, unable to sleep, and she moved, quiet as the still, night air, to the foot of her mom and dad's bed. She paused for a moment, before softly crawling into the space between them. She was scared, unable to stop thinking about the movie. She saw it when she closed her eyes. She told herself it wasn't real, but, alone in the dark, it was.
She nuzzled up against her father reassured by his scent and warmth. She felt safe. The ghosts of the night departed as quickly as they came. They wouldn't mess with her father, she knew. Charlotte smiled, content, and softly ran her hands through her father's messy, rough hair. She felt sleep edging closer. Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier until finally she could fight no longer, dropping her hand as her eyes slid shut and sleep took hold of her.
Except it didn't.
Her eyes snapped open to see trails of light between her resting hand and her father's sleeping brow. Opalescent threads trembling and swaying fragilely to the beat of her father's soft breaths. Charlotte shot up to a sitting position. Her mother, Anna, shifted and turned, but didn't wake. Charlotte slowly moved her hand. She felt a gentle tug. The threads intertwined themselves about her fingers stickily like strands of cotton candy on a hot summer day. She shook her hand. No good. She shook harder. She shook and cried silently and shook, but the strands wouldn't shake lose.
Realizing that all of the shaking had only pulled more of the stuff out, she held her hand still. Her eyes burned in the way that eyes do when sleep-heavy eyes cry. She saw, that even without moving her hand, the strands still unspooled from her father's head. She sat unmoving and watched. She didn't wait long before she felt the tug of a taught line going slack and she saw the tail end of the long wisps hanging limply from her fingers. As she sat motionless, staring at her hand, her emotions shifted gradually from anxiety to curiosity.
She brought her hand to her face to see more clearly. The room was dark but the strands glowed with a gentle, silver luminescence. She felt a strange hunger as her hand neared her face. Dinner was only a few hours ago. She had apricots and cream for dessert. Her favorite. This feeling was different. It was deeper inside than hunger. She cautiously touched her tongue to a piece of the strand wrapped about the back of her hand. Delicious. She smiled and continued, cautiously, nibbling at the long strands wrapped about her fingers, her pace quickening until it was all gone.
Her father grimaced and turned in his sleep. She felt his arm. Cool to the touch. She got up and crept out of bed as silently she came.
As she exited the bedroom, she remembered, hazily, the movie and the nightmares that haunted her. She smiled and gently laughed. How silly that she be scared by such things. She made her way down the hall back to her room, darkness fleeing from her all the way. When she slept, she dreamt fantastic dreams, dreams real enough to touch and hold, dreams of a life she never lived, and when, hours later, her mother cried and cried when her father didn't wake, Charlotte felt content knowing that his memories would always live on.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
(Red) ikal Noise
I'd feel somewhat remiss if I left off without saying anything, if only brief, concerning some of the themes in the last entry. The story is partially about solitude. Both hers and the protagonist's. His is very self imposed -- hers is undoubtedly tied to her situation, but, in a way, equally self imposed. His solitude is a product of boredom and also his feeling that he's swept up in a life in which he doesn't really belong. Hers is a product of shame. She's HIV positive. She feels marked, dirty, cursed, and a danger to those around her.
Realistically, however, most people in her situation would NOT necessarily feel or act this way. Practically speaking, the odds of a HIV positive person passing on HIV are extremely low. Unprotected, we're talking one in three hundred. Protected, one in three thousand. The odds get a little worse depending on your preferences (lol buttsex), but never much worse than one in a hundred. Even "very" risky behavior such as needle jousting only yields a one in fifty chance to pass on the bug. HIV is just not very good at infecting humans. Once it manages to take hold, yeah, you're (sorta) fucked. But it's a fragile bug -- the virus dies immediately on being exposed to air; spilled blood from an infected person is very unlikely to be dangerous.
The point is that many and probably most infected people remain sexually active and simply make sure they always use protection. Some inform their partners, some don't. Becoming infected might change your sex life, but it doesn't necessarily mark it's end. Realistically, when it comes to diseases you might get off some random at a club, HIV ranks lower than most in overall risk.
On the topic of HIV's effect on reproduction, the risk of passing the virus to children is actually quite low if the mother has access to top medical care. Mother to child transmission, even ignored, is one in ten, but practically should never happen if the mother is getting top medical attention. It's still a reasonably big deal as the treatment given to the child is pretty hard on the infant's body and can require lots of additional medical attention. (Liver failure from the PEP etc)
I think the latest story perhaps gives the impression that, if you sleep with a HIV positive person, you're fucked. Not really. In the event that you do end up being exposed to the virus, you should immediately seek medical care, and if you do so within days of the exposure, a PEP can almost entirely eradicate any chance of infection.
I don't like talking about serious shit very often, but the amount of misinformation on HIV out there is gigantic, and I don't want to feel like I added to it. ^^
If you're ugly, fat, or particularly boring, this isn't directed at you.
"When God gives you aids, make lemonaids"
Realistically, however, most people in her situation would NOT necessarily feel or act this way. Practically speaking, the odds of a HIV positive person passing on HIV are extremely low. Unprotected, we're talking one in three hundred. Protected, one in three thousand. The odds get a little worse depending on your preferences (lol buttsex), but never much worse than one in a hundred. Even "very" risky behavior such as needle jousting only yields a one in fifty chance to pass on the bug. HIV is just not very good at infecting humans. Once it manages to take hold, yeah, you're (sorta) fucked. But it's a fragile bug -- the virus dies immediately on being exposed to air; spilled blood from an infected person is very unlikely to be dangerous.
The point is that many and probably most infected people remain sexually active and simply make sure they always use protection. Some inform their partners, some don't. Becoming infected might change your sex life, but it doesn't necessarily mark it's end. Realistically, when it comes to diseases you might get off some random at a club, HIV ranks lower than most in overall risk.
On the topic of HIV's effect on reproduction, the risk of passing the virus to children is actually quite low if the mother has access to top medical care. Mother to child transmission, even ignored, is one in ten, but practically should never happen if the mother is getting top medical attention. It's still a reasonably big deal as the treatment given to the child is pretty hard on the infant's body and can require lots of additional medical attention. (Liver failure from the PEP etc)
I think the latest story perhaps gives the impression that, if you sleep with a HIV positive person, you're fucked. Not really. In the event that you do end up being exposed to the virus, you should immediately seek medical care, and if you do so within days of the exposure, a PEP can almost entirely eradicate any chance of infection.
I don't like talking about serious shit very often, but the amount of misinformation on HIV out there is gigantic, and I don't want to feel like I added to it. ^^
If you're ugly, fat, or particularly boring, this isn't directed at you.
"When God gives you aids, make lemonaids"
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