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It's Actually Jackie's Fault, Not Mine ;D

Jackie is, after all, the one who gave me the blank picture!

The original Team Leather I made:
The second Team Leather:
Team Leather the third:

Also, Mel in Ghost of Tissue Papers Past form:

Hahaha, I'll be excited when/if Swacit gets published. It shall be a happy day, indeed.

EDIT: Ahahahaha, I just made this one, and it makes me laugh.

Lol, I couldn't resist giving him the tiara!


"The Diamond and the Mask" Short Story

The following is my short story for my communication arts class. (And I so love the logo I made!!!) And the title is symbolic. You can figure out why.

            “Alright, Mel, set’s closed. Everyone’s gone home. You comin’?” Mike looked at Melanie Daniels with a tired face, worn out by the day’s filming. “Aren’t you tired?”

            Mel laughed. “Are you kidding? That was the most fun scene I’ve ever shot in my whole life. I can wait to do it again!” She looked up at her friend in her make-up table mirror, her unenthusiastic face and emphasized words belying her words. But one look at Mike’s stressed face gave her pause. “You know what? Go home. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, ‘kay? I’m pretty sure I can close up my own trailer. You need sleep.”

            “Uh, are you sure? I know that… that idiot Cobb made trouble for you today.” His tired, worn face quickly flashed with anger before continuing. “I could stay…” Mike’s face showed how much the idea of sleep appealed to him, even though he wouldn’t admit it.

            “Go. Or you’ll just be of absolutely no use to me tomorrow. And where would I be without my Most Fabulous Assistant Mike Rossum?”

            Mike chuckled as he scratched his ebony-haired head. “You’d be up a creek without a paddle, that’s where. All right. See ya tomorrow, Mel.”

            “’Night, Mike.”

            As Mike closed the door of Mel’s trailer behind him, she sighed. She looked at her face in the mirror, and saw just how much the day’s scene had worn her out. The physical and mental pain she felt reflected on the mirror’s shining surface. The scene that day had demanded her to run through graveyards and catacombs, singing haunting melodies to grim orchestras. And on top of all of that, she had been forced to work with Simon for almost the entire day, even when he wasn’t in the scene.

            Simon Cobb, though the actor of the movie’s hero, was the blunder of the cast. Even the director regretted casting him. Simon’s character was a dashing young man, head over heels in love with Mel’s character, and he would do anything for her. Simon, however, was just about as opposite from his character as a boy is to a girl. Simon could care less about Mel, or any woman for that matter. He was lose with both his language and his alcohol, and some even said with his bed. He didn’t care for anything except for his looks, money, wine, and (so they say) prostitutes. He often caused problems on the movie set because of these things, and one-to-many times he had shown up late, disheveled and drunk.

            Mel was still staring into the mirror, thinking about the stresses Simon had put on her, when she heard… a scuffle? She turned towards the door to her trailer, her dark tawny waves of hair falling out of the last of their bobby pins. She stood, her dress for the day’s scene falling about her, the garnet colored silk skirt of the gown rustling as she moved. She paused, listening for more sounds. When none came, she brushed it off as her imagination, from being deprived from sleep. But then she heard a distinct cry of “Help!” from the soundstage, and she ran to her door.

            Flinging it open, she flew towards soundstage 7 as fast as her pinching heels would take her. This stage was still under construction, and would be used for Mel and Simon’s character’s ‘Almost Kiss’ scene in the snow on an empty sidewalk.

            Her heels clicked loudly across the concrete as she rushed towards what was now plainly a constant struggle; with every step she took she heard more and more sounds of pain, cries of help, and loud echoes of a struggle. Moments after Mel had ran from her trailer, she burst through the door of soundstage 7.

            What she saw there horrified her. A man dressed in a black masquerade mask, high-collared ebony cloak, pitch-colored garments, and inky hair was tightening a noose around someone’s neck, but Mel couldn’t tell whom. It was a man, that much she could see.  The helpless victim struggled against the tall, obviously fit man atop a garishly mustard toned construction lift. Mel watched from the shadows behind some sound equipment, wanting to scream but unable to, as the vile fiend robed in black quickly tied the end of the reasonably short rope to a bar at one end of the lift. Mel could only watch on in horror as the pernicious man dragged his victim towards the side of the tall lift.

            “Any last words, oh esteemed Mr. Cobb?” the phantom murmured with sarcasm from behind the man.

            Mr. Cobb.


            Now Mel got a good look at the victim’s face, and she stared in dumb horror as she saw Simon’s face, bloodied and bruised, fear shouting from behind his wide eyes, but not his now swollen lips. His flaxen hair was tousled and ruffled from the scuffle. Her initial shock passed and her eyes found Simons. She realized that the light must have reflected off her pendant, a diamond that glittered like a fallen star on a silver chain, and that’s how Simon spotted her. She quickly covered the tell-tale piece of jewelry with her hand.

            Simon mumbled something that was so faint that Mel couldn’t hear. But the malevolent masked man obviously could, for he burst out into a deep, cynically joyous laugh. “Miss. Daniels?” Melanie’s blood ran cold at the sound of her name coming from the deep, resonating voice of Simon’s soon-to-be killer. Her breath caught in her throat as the murderer continued. “At a time like this, you’re worried about Miss. Daniels? I thought you were the one who despised women, especially her? You know, that’s the whole reason I’m here. A kind, beautiful woman like her shouldn’t have to put up with dregs of society like you, Mr. Cobb. No, such a rare beauty like that should be shown respect, love, and kindness. You, however, show nothing but how much of a lowlife you are. And with that I bid you adieu, Mr. Cobb.”

            “Who--- are you?” Simon sputtered forcefully; it was becoming harder for him to speak as the world started to go fuzzy, and yet the demonic man’s voice still rang clear in his ears.

            Again, the foul being chuckled, but said nothing. He reached his hand up to the paper-mache mask he wore, a large, malicious grin showing perfect white teeth that almost glowed under the few stage lights. With a grand sweep he removed the mask that hid his identity, unaware that Mel was lurking in a veil of shadows that the lights could not reach. As the mask was removed, she let out a slight gasp.

            The face that was revealed was the face of Mike Rossum.

            Mel started to shake uncontrollably, and had to suppress her gasping breath so that he wouldn’t hear her.

            Simon looked up at his tormentor, full recognition apparent on his face. His eyes slowly swiveled in Mel’s general direction, unable to find the glitter of her pendant that during shooting of the film had become easily recognizable. At that moment, Mel brought the hand that had been covering the diamond to her mouth to suppress her scream as Mike, her good and dear friend, pushed Simon over the edge of the lift. As his fall was yanked short, Simon found the familiar glint of Mel’s pendent and looked at her with a look that showed pain, sadness, and fear. What Mel didn’t realize was that the fear was for her and her safety.

            Mike chuckled yet again as he gracefully jumped down from the top of the lift and onto the faux-snow covered sidewalk. He grinned as Simon made a few final, desperate twitches, and then fell still. He looked his victim up and down, and paused when he looked into his eyes. They weren’t the eyes of someone struggling to breathe; no, they were the eyes of someone staring intently at something, someone, or perhaps even silently communicating with their eyes.

            Mike turned slowly, following the almost visible track that Simon had made in the air with his eyes. Within the gloom of the shadows, he saw something glitter.

Slam Poem, "One Hour"



"One Hour", by Sean McGuire, Period 2 Intro to Comm.

Inspired by Gayle Danley's "Two Pearls"
Subject: Sister Having a Stillborn Son



One hour.

I got to see you,

hold you,

sing to you,

for one precious hour.


I had the chance to tell you things;

Things you'd have never known.

Fables, fairy tales, nursery rhymes.

I smiled through my tears,

telling you how the apple was poisoned,

the slipper made of glass.


I held onto you as if you were


My flesh, blood, life, heart.

But you were my heart, and still are.

It fills up with memories,

intangible memories from that

one hour.


One hour shelter

Shelter you from the very room we were in at the funeral parlor,

from your mother who didn't care,

from the life that was stolen before you were even born.

I wanted to save you, but

I was too late.


You laid in my arms,

cold and gone.

Yet I knew you were actually above,

listening to me tell you the things you now know;

Listening to me tearfully sing

"Mary Had a Little Lamb" because...

Because I didn't know what else to do.


All I have of you are your fingers and toes,

oh, those long things taunt me,

for you had them, too.

And all I have are the memories,

those sad, heart-wrenching memories,

of that one hour.


Matt Smith is the Official New Doctor!!!

 Okay, so if any of you are Doctor Who fans, you've probably heard that Matt Smith is the official 11th Doctor for when David Tennant, the 10th Doctor, leaves the show. Of course, I was upset when I heard this development, because it's just one step closer to David's leaving. But after watching this below video from BBC, I'm much more confident that Matt Smith will be an excellent Doctor.Haha. After one minute of the interview, I could tell that he may (at least) live up to David's style of comedic body movement. Yay.

Video Link: http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=Zog-6SrGxE0

Happy New Year's Resolutions

 Here are my New Year's resolutions (in no particular order)! Woot!

Resolution the First: To finish the story I have started. (I did some character sketches tonight, and just started tonight. So far, so good.) I want to have one draft done by next year... *Crosses fingers.*
Resolution the Second: To tell the person I like that I do, indeed, like them, instead of us just looking at each other while we think the other isn't looking but they see anyway... kinda like immature middle schoolers. *Shudders.* Yeah, it's pretty sad (in the "pathetic" sense of the term) for a 16 year old sophomore and a 17 year old senior...
----------> EDIT: Well, something happened, and... let's just say that said person above is an ass.
... with a hot body.
Resolution the Third: To buy "Sleepy Hollow" on DVD.    ^.^
Resolution the Fourth: To have absolutely nothing to do with my sister. Nothing in the slightest.
Resolution the Fifth: To finish the "Eleanor Rigby" screenplay I started way back in... I guess it was in June, now! Jeeze. Half a year ago. Yeah, I should probably pick that back up again...
Resolution the Sixth: To finally see "Twilight"!!!
Resolution the Seventh: To have good grades. God, do I need those!
Resolution the Eighth: Learn to make the costumes I want to make. Which leads to...
Resolution the Ninth: Learn to sew! Haha, yes, a guy's resolution is to learn how to sew. Never thought I'd need to know how, but there you go.
Resolution the Tenth: Get my full drivers license.    :D

So there's my resolutions. Hope everyone has a good 2009! Happy New Year!!!
Ok, well, it's come to my attention that many people don't know the plot of Dorian Gray, which really annoys me, so after I gave the following summery to someone, I realized it was pretty good. So I'm posting it, with some edits, here. Please read and enjoy. (And tell me what you think!) NOTE: I mention homosexuality in this because it's a theme in the story. I you don't wish to about read it, don't read past the first paragraph. Thank you.

 Well, Dorian Gray is really pompus and self-centered. He's pretty much in love with himself. This is confirmed when he has his portrait painted. At one point, he wishes he could stay eternally young, like the Dorian in the painting. The wish comes true, and it's the PAINTING that ages... each sin he commits, and the Dorian in the portrait becomes aged and wrathful looking. At one point, he falls in love with an actress, who is currently playing Juliet. But now that she knows what real love is, she acts it out terribly. Dorian hates her performance and scorns her. The next morning he hears that she committed suicide because of his actions.

Other stuff happens, too, but I don't want to give to much away. If you want to know more, though, read the book (by Oscar Wilde) or go to the Wikipedia article for a complete summery. :) One of the major themes in the story is homosexuality, because EVERYONE, men and women alike, fall in love with him. The man who paints Dorian's infamous painting, Basil, falls head over heals for both the painting (which is life sized, and his best work ever) and Dorian.

I would really suggest reading the book. Or seeing the movie when it comes out. (I'm kinda curious if the movie will dull down or completely cut the previously stated undertones, like many of the other adaptions of the book. But cause of the following promotional image, the one on the bottom, I don't think they cut it. *Look at the guy to Dorian's right, our left...*) http://www.bloody-disgusting.com/news/14234

Dorian Gray Movie?!?!?!?!?!

Good news: There's a Dorian Gray movie being filmed! *Dances.* It's coming out in the UK November 2009, and stars Ben Barnes in the title role. Go to http://www.theremembrall.org/article/1275/ to read the article I wrote on Fiona Shaw being in it, along with other people.

Fandoms Update! (aka this has no purpose)

Inkheart Trilogy:
I'm almost done Book Two, which is AWESOME. Here's Gwin, My new favorite animal:
GwinGwin is a horned marten (like a ferrit), and is freakin GREAT. "...to play a deadly part in the original tale..." is his tagline.

 Inkheart (Book 1) Inkspell (Book 2) Inkdeath (Book 3)There's the books, in order. Go. Read. Now. AND THEY'RE MAKING A MOVIE! Out Jan. 23rd, 2009. Go watch the video for it: http://www.inkheartmovie.com/ The girl singing plays Meggie.

Run, Rabbit, Run, Rabbit. *Short Story*


Run rabbit… run rabbit… run, run, run…

Run rabbit… run rabbit… run, run, run…

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Goes the farmer’s gun.

Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run.


            I awoke with a start, panting, and realized that tears were streaming down my face. The nursery rhyme my Mother had taught me still played in my head every time I closed my eyes.  Her angelic, porcelain face looking down at me, smiling, pleating my long, blonde hair into two separate braids.

            But then came the first Bang! and she falls back. On the second Bang! she cries for mercy. On the third Bang! she looks at me. And on the fourth and final Bang! a deathly still falls upon my ears.

            Goes the farmer’s gun. / Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run.” I whisper each time into the cold silence that follows the accursed Bang!s. Always the same dream; the same beginning, middle and end, an endless cycle like a merry-go round that spins ‘round and ‘round, like going ‘round the mulberry bush that suddenly ruins everything beautiful by becoming ashes. Ashes! And they all fell down, down, and abandoned me. Why would they do that? Didn’t my Mother and Father love me?

            Minutes later the knock on my door came. I remembered that Nurse Lafosse was supposed to visit me today with a treat for my birthday. The only surprise I got was when Matron Stewart came in, announcing that Nurse Lafosse was “out”. The woman’s warts, wrinkles and clammy hands held no surprise gift for me. No, she told me that I was needed in the ballroom.

            “Perhaps it’s a surprise birthday party, eh?” she grinned, trying to cheer me but instead repulsing me with her yellowed teeth. “Six years old is a pretty big deal for a little girl, hmm? Or, maybe, they want to take you outside. Wouldn’t that be lovely? Hmm?”

            Outside. Oh, what a glorious word! The autumn days had been calling to my ears until I thought I would go deaf from the torture of it and numb from itching to obey. There were just a few days left in October, according to what Nurse Lafosse had said the day before. My favorite time of the year.

            I obeyed Matron Stewart, for obeying her meant the possibility that I might soon be able to obey the wind that tapped my window each night, wailing my name in pathetic moans, trying to trick me to it. And I wanted to be tricked.

            As I passed the many locked doors, however, I heard ramblings. One man was crying for his justice, pleading to no one that nothing was wrong with him having eaten his three dogs. A woman was protesting the fact that Anne Boleyn (who had been dead for hundreds of years, even I knew that) should not be beheaded in seven days from that date.

            Eventually I blocked out these words, staring ahead at the white marble tiles, clean and pristine as always. White. White white white. White Rabbit. Always late, never on time. I turned my six year old face up to Matron.

            “Are we late for a very important date?” I asked in all sincerity.

            “No, dearie,” she replied, her Scottish accent being particularly annoying in the word dearie. “We aren’t late yet, but if we are, I’m sure that Doctor Wallace won’t mind one bit.”

            “Doctor Wallace?” I asked, panicking a little. “W-what does he want with me? What did I do wrong this time? I’ve stayed in my room like I was told! I did nothing wrong! We must be late getting to Doctor Wallace! So late, we never show up! Please, Matron Stewart, please! Let’s go back to my room! I’ll be a good child! I’ll never say another nursery rhyme again, just as long as he doesn’t make me fall! I fell last time… I… fell… and broke my crown. But did Jill come tumbling after? I… don’t remember. I just…” I broke down sobbing.

            “Shh, dearie, it’s alright.”

            God, will that woman never stop using the word dearie? Doesn’t she know that it just makes me more frustrated?

            “Now, buck up. Stand straight and tall. And no nursery rhymes. I’ll be right outside.” And with that she shut the door, leaving me on my own.

            “Maggie?” a deep voice asked, his voice resounding off the walls. “Come here now.”

            That’s when I finally saw him. Tall, taller than most adults, stood Doctor Wallace. He wore an unusual suit for a doctor; a house robe and velvet slippers. Of course, I knew he was doing this for me, and not for his job, just as he did once every month for the past seven.

            “Maggie… come here.

            And so I came. I reached into the sleeve of my dress, an old habit of mine. I used to hide odds and ends inside, to play with under the table when Mother and Father weren’t looking. Bits of ribbon, marbles, and glass shards just to name a few.

            Just as I was about one arm-length away from Doctor Wallace, he reached for me. But all of a sudden, a pained expression crossed his face, and his body shuddered for almost a full minute, gasping for air. Blood dripped from between his legs, and a beautifully shiny, sharp object was protruding from his robe just below the belt.

            Sinking to his knees, he looked up at me. Just as Mother always did in the dream.

            “Maggie,” he croaked before he collapsed onto the wooden flooring with a final heave of blood pouring from his lips..

            I ran.

            I saw that one window was open, one of the few that had no bars.

            I ran out of it. I ran, ran, ran, chanting all the way.

            Run rabbit… run rabbit… run, run, run… / Run rabbit… run rabbit… run, run, run… / Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! / Goes the farmer’s gun. / Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run.”

             A minute later I heard Matron’s old, piercing scream far behind me. But what did I care? He had hurt me. Aren’t those who sin punished for their crimes? Yes, yes. All are punished for their crimes. All indeed, all indeed. Father, Mother, and Doctor Wallace. All punished. A shame about Mother and Father, though. If only they hadn’t fallen down and broken their crowns, then we would all be a family again. But if they hadn’t lost the Queen’s chess match, then their crowns wouldn’t be broken, would they? No, they wouldn’t. We’d be happy. Together.

            All these thoughts ran through my head as I ran down the cobble stone street. I quickly turned a corner, stumbling into an old hag.

            Beware of old hags, for they mean danger.

            I tried to run past, but she saw my tears and made me halt.

            “Why do you cry so, luv’? Whot’s the matter? Where are your parents? ‘Ere, Granny’ll give you a nice juicy apple, yes, that’s right,” she crooned, taking an apple from her market basket.

            Beware of old hags who offer you food, for they mean danger! The apple--- It’s poisoned!

            “No!” I cried, knocking the apple from her hand. “It’s poisoned, you old witch! And--- and I don’t even have any breadcrumbs to lead me back! With out the bread crumbs, I’ll fall just like them, right down the rabbit hole!”

            The hag looked at me, confused. “Now, now, whot’s this? Such a pretty little girl like you callin’ me a witch? No, see ‘ere, I won’t stand for it. You stay ‘ere. Constable! Oi, Constable! I think this little girls needs some---“

            She abruptly stopped, let out a small groan, and crumpled to the ground, a fresh, bloodied wound matting down her dress around her spine.

            Again, I ran.

            The next morning, I saw this:


WANTED: Maggie Howard-Parr

Age: Six (6)

Description: Long, blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin.

Most Likely Wearing: A worn Navy-blue party dress.

Return to: Royal Bethlam Hospital


            And, as if that didn’t distress me enough, this was at the bottom:


WARNING! Is not mentally stable. If this child is seen with a weapon, please contact a nearby constable. DO NOT APPROACH UNLESS SAFE!


            I stayed on my own for a while, escaping into the woods. There I made so many friends; seven tiny men who didn’t hurt me like Doctor Wallace had, a girl who could tame a wild Beast of a man, a countess who had crystal shoes, and even an old man who made me a funny little puppet that danced without strings. These were my friends, who always did what I wanted to do that day.

            None of us ever break our crowns.

            None of us become ashes… ashes.

            None of us fear the farmer’s gun.

.:Zydrate Anatomy:.

Scalpel Sluts:
I can't feel nothing at all!

Drug market.
Sub market.
Sometimes I wonder why I ever got in.
Blood market.
Love market.
Sometimes I wonder why they NEED ME AT ALL!

Zydrate comes in a little glass vial.

A little glass vial?

Scalpel Sluts:
A little glass vial!

And the little glass vial goes into the gun like a battery.

Scalpel Sluts:
Ah! Ah!

And the Zydrate gun goes somewhere against you anatomy.

Scalpel Sluts:
Ah! Ah!

And when the gun goes off it sparks and you're ready for surgery.

Graverobber & Scalpel Sluts:

Amber Sweet:
Graverobber. Graverobber.
Sometimes I wonder why I even bother.
Graverobber. Graverobber.

And Amber Sweet is addicted to the knife.

Addicted to the knife?

Scalpel Sluts:
Addicted to the knife!

And addicted to the knife she needs a little help with the agony.

Scalpel Sluts:

And a little help comes in a little glass vial and a gun pressed against her anatomy.
And when the gun goes of Miss Sweet is ready for surgery.

Graverobber & Scalpel Sluts:

Amber Sweet:
Graverobber. Graverobber!
Sometimes I wonder why I need you at all...

Scalpel Sluts:                                Shilo:
It's clean...
It's clear...
It's pure...                                         It's what?
It's rare...

Scalpel Sluts:                                Graverobber:                                       Shilo:
It's clean...                                       It takes you there...
It's clear...                                                                                                         It what?
It's pure...                                         It takes you there...
It's rare...

Scalpel Sluts:                                Graverobber:                                       Gentern:                        Amber Sweet:
It's clean...                                                                                                                                                   Ahhhhh-ahh!!!
It's clear...
It's pure...                                         Before it cuts you...                               Why agonize?
It's rare...                                                                                                                                                   Oh! I can't feel nothing at all...

Scalpel Sluts:                               Graverobber:                                          Amber Sweet:
It's clean...                                       Cause surgery...                                     Ahhhhh-ahh!!!
It's clear...                                        ... Is what you need...                             It's what I need...
It's pure...                                        ... To change your insides...                  Ahhhhh-ahh!!!
It's rare...                                                                                                            TO FEEL ALIVE!!!

*Whistles Blind Mag tune.*

Hey, that's a Blind Mag song!

Amber Sweet:
Who did that?!?!

*Points at Shilo.*

Amber Sweet:
So you think you got guts?
So you think you got balls?
So you think Mag can sing?

I don't think nothing at all!

Amber Sweet:
So you think MAG has pipes?!
Well it's my time to shine.
When the Repo Man strikes!

What are you talking about?

Mag's contract's got some mighty fine print.

Some mighty fine print?

Scalpel Sluts:
Some mighty

And that mighty fine print puts Mag in a mighty fine predicament.

Scalpel Sluts:
Do do do-do-doo!

If Mag up and splits
Her eyes are forfeit
And if Geneco and Rotti so will it,
Then a Repo Man will come and she'll pay for that surgery.



Ok. So that's "Zydrate Anatomy" from "REPO! The Genetic Opera". I LOVE IT. Go watch the vid. Now.
If  you don't watch, you may die. I apoligize. I'm off to hide from the Repo Man. I should go then. (Hehe, yay for subliminal Repo! references!)