myOtaku.com: squeaker 1

myO Still <3's You

Vitals

Birthday
• 1992-10-09
Gender
• Female
Location
• Oregon
Member Since
• 2005-12-29
Occupation
• Student; Photographer
Real Name
• Arisa

Personal

Achievements
• Good grades.
Anime Fan Since
• 2000
Favorite Anime
• One Piece, Bleach, Element Hunters; Kimi Ni Todoke; Clannad
Goals
• To become an English Teacher. To get a book published.
Hobbies
• Writing, Drawing, Photography, Music
Talents
• Singing, Writing, breathing

myOtaku.com: squeaker 1

Friday, June 1, 2007

AUGH!!!!!
Well, My grade on the Inquiry Project is Questionable, since I did not know we were supposed to have a back cover. I HATE MRS. BOWEN! JESUS CHRIST MOTHER OF GOD!!!!!! *string of curses flies out of my mouth* heh heh…. Anyways…. I didn’t have a back cover…

I will be attending the Strawberry Festival this year ( it’s tomorrow).

We have a NEW project in Mrs. Bowen’s class *mental string of curses at the thought of her* she’s seriously starting to tick me off. What with her “it has to be colorful” idea, and what not. >=(

As you can see, the theme for June is .hack//sign.

I bought two games, not sure whether I’ve said this already of not, but they’re Devil May Cry 2 and .hack//infection ((I think)) .

I’m gonna go now, TTYL!

Word at the village’s small high school was that Anne Astley had sold her soul to the Devil in a pagan ritual or something. It was just a laugh, based on how she acted. Her face was always still and empty, clear as a lake of ice water in the mountains, untouched by man.
Anne wasn’t one to display her herself with a face like a blinking green neon sign. She was silent, said things matter of factly. But she wasn’t removed from life. She was just quiet in it.
Anne’s mother, Del Astley, said she took after Anne’s maternal great grandfather.
Anne didn’t argue with that. She saw the white and black photographs, aged a fine old yellow. His face was more discreet then the other family gathered around him.
When Anne spoke, she wasn’t monotonous, but her voice was solid and possessed a grounded tone, level and calm.
When she was little, she was never demanding or aggravating. She was a quiet content baby. Easier to deal with then her parents’ first born, Cadi. Now she was the stereotypical teenage girl. All mouth, spontaneous actions, and few thoughts.
But Anne was like anyone else, just with her volume forever tuned to low. She wasn’t emo, and enjoyed wearing light earth tones. No dyed hair or piercings. She preferred to use her eyes. Piercing looks was what she used to get across her point, no matter the situation and despite her constant voice tone.
So when Cadi and Anne’s father died, shortly after their brother Collen was born, people who didn’t know her very well shared the looks and muttered slander. Didn’t she care her father was gone? Wasn’t she sad? But they didn’t know her. They couldn’t talk….
It rained softly, a constant sweep of water onto the smooth green grass of the village cemetery. The air seemed grey, reflecting the sky’s mood. Anne stood before the new headstone laid into the ground, the most recent addition to the bone yard.
She was very comfortable, the rain and darkness surrounding her. Her father’s name,
DARRIN ASTLEY
BELOVED SON,
BROTHER,
HUSBAND,
&
FATHER
was set into the polished grey granite.
The funeral had been that morning, and she had worn a black summer dress. Now she was changed. She had slipped out of her house after her family had feasted on the food the friends and family had brought over. Gentle shrouds of rain melted into the fabric of her beige hoodie and blue jeans. It dripped from her hair and nose, but felt good, and the feeling of it gently meeting her body enthralled her senses. Her fervent hooded green eyes drilled into the headstone, reading the words again and again without noticing them.
Anne paid no mind to the array of potted plants and flowers, and bouquets guarding it, leaves and petals now speckled with drops of water.
Anne’s heart sighed, and she knelt down, the pants around her knee immediately forming a dark water spot.
Anne put her hands on the wet stone, rubbing the water around. She was content, the grey atmosphere and rain shutting her in a calm isolated silent world.
A shadow to her left caught her eye and she turned her head. She peered through the curtain of falling rain, the older upright headstones and marble angels, but saw nothing. She glanced back at her father’s tomb, and leaned over and gently kissed the wet stone, over the words DEL ASTLEY. The rain slicked her lips and slipped into her mouth. Anne licked her lips and swallowed. It was refreshing.
Anne slowly got up. She walked away, heading for the delicate iron fence that surrounded the old village’s graveyard.
Just because he was curious, he slid over to where the girl had been kneeling. He reviewed the tombstone. Lots of flowers… New arrival? Welcome to the club, Derrin Astley, he though dryly. He heard the gate clang lightly shut. He turned gracefully and ran lightly to the fence that faced the small dirt road. He perched comfortably on the black iron, watching the girl walk away, her head tipped back, savoring the peaceful weather.

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