A Dialogue Between Life and Death

Life: Shut up, I will kill you.

Death: I am unkillable. As you are.

Life: What?

Death: -_-

Life: People don’t like you.

Death: I don’t like you either.

Life: Shut up.

Death: I give people rest, you give them problems. You suck.

Life: No, you suck. The essence of your very being is nothing. It is nothing but nothingness.

Death: You sound dumb. Just like the lies you tell people which you call “promises of sweetness”.

Life: It is true!

Death: No it is not. You sound like a child, a bit less mature than a one year-old human baby.

Life: WHAT? SHUT UP.

Death: No, you shut up! This conversation is over. Just shut up.

Sorry Letter

Dear Lianne,

                I am truly sorry for saying harsh words to you. I cannot take back time and take back those words, but know that if I were able to, then I will. I know it will be hard to forgive me, but if you can’t, then I won’t push you any further. I just wanted to say sorry, and I know that all I said was painful.

                Again, I am truly sorry.

Sincerely Yours,

Alfred

Letter to God

Dear God,

I write this letter to you, with intentions which will surely please you. Certainly, every person you made is unique, but exceptional people always exist in the eyes of someone. And as such, I have written this letter to acknowledge every single thing that my parents are, have done, and always have been.

Mother and father, I always wonder if anyone could have acknowledged your existence more than I do. I wonder if anyone could see the great persons that you both are. Well, now that I am more than capable of thinking and  deliberating, I have come to the obvious conclusion that no one, nothing can ever be greater than my admiration for you. You are both the greatest persons in the world, amongst, all other greats and famous people. You are the stars which far outshine the other stars in all the constellations in the sky.

In my young and extremely curious years, I have always depended upon my father's intuition and knowledge for every question I had. What's this word? How does this work? Why is this so? What's that? Do you have any knowledge that you may want to impart with me? And most of the time, my curiosity is satiated. Even more, my morals have always been filled with my father's wisdom. He has the silver streaks to prove it too!

And when it comes to doing things, my mother is the guardian angel. Or should I say, platoon commander. If you do it not at the very moment, her reminder will bend time itself, and you'll be forced to do it by something unseen in no time. She instilled in my mind that time is something you should not throw away with unproductive things. She also taught me maybe the best thing I would always need to remember: clean while the clutter's still small, or you'll regret it later. Even if she's a tireless commander, I would never hate or dislike her for it, because it's one of the best and most important things that anyone could have taught their children.

So basically, my parents are the best. They have given me all the necessary things I need, and all the other things they give me now are reminders and wants. So God, as You can always see, my parents, even with their shortcomings, still deserve all your blessings and providence. Protect them always, and keep them away from sickness and danger. You know very well my parents more than I do.

Your Loving Angel,
Alfred

How the Third Year English Rocked My World

Everything that we did during this year's English was fun, and that alone is what separates this year's English from the others. We had Shakespearean masterpieces, Dante's Divine Comedy, and Edgar Allan Poe's The Bells.

It was a lot of fun learning why you can't say Macbeth out loud, the incapacity of Roman people before to comprehend what their rulers say, the quickly-lit romances of a lot of Shakespearean love teams, the life-changing journey of Dante through the three Divine realms, the eeriness in Edgar Allan Poe's every written word, and all the failed performances we've done; yes they were all fun.
I've never enjoyed the English subject as much as now, when the classics were made more known to us. Plus, this year's English added some flavor to my writing now, and I happen to be really happy just because of that. I also learned how to criticize much better now, ha!

So, you see, third year English has molded some of my character now, and I have never been more thankful to a teacher of language and literature. The best English subject!

Why on Earth am I Special?

First and foremost, I just want to say how I despise writing things about myself because my tone always becomes conceited, but at the moment I am intrigued and somehow excited to write with this given topic.

Why on earth am I special?

Somehow, the fact that I have lots of friends and rarely have enemies, gives away pretty much why I am special.
I am special because I am different. Not the usual different, but the different kind of different. I am awkward, clumsy, yet I have lots of friends because I make them feel like they're my brothers and sisters. 

I am special because I am not like anyone at all. 

I am special because of what I do, how I think, what I breathe. 
I am special because I like to do lots of things while I am stressing out because of other things. 
I am special because of what I love. I am special because I am loved.

I am special because of you, person.

I am special because I am weird.
I am special because I write, I draw, I play basketball, I love music, I love to read, I love to learn, I hate school, I love my friends, I love and hate talking.

I am special because I am what I have become, and what I naturally am.

Damn Regrets.

Whenever I hear or read the word regrets, I have this mini-flashback, you know, like those in movies, and think back: regrets, regrets, regrets, why did I do this, why did I believe this, why did everything happen, why did everything blow out of proportion. I am an avid thinker, well, at least with my fourteen-year old mind, not the likes of a philosopher or anyone, uh, anyhow. And as such, my "mini" flashbacks are actually long periods of thinking back. I have some regrets in my life, most of them born of painfully stupid ideas of things I should not care about yet because of my really young age. Well, regrets are there to guide you for the future, so I am actually paradoxically half happy that I have those regrets, and of course, half sad because those regrets are bitterly cold ice picks meant to be stuck on my heart forever.

My regrets aren't things that I can just say out loud, so I would not put them out here in public. Instead, I will say my intentions of how to avoid having regrets. This will be very short. First, I would, or rather, must always think about my actions. Second, understand other people's actions and decisions. That's all.

I Summon Thee Cassie; Let's Talk!

Compared to other book enthusiasts, I have read only a few novels, but I can pretty much say that I read great ones, especially those of Cassandra Clare.
Cassandra Clare is Judith Rumelt's pen name, who is most known for her bestselling series The Mortal Instruments. I first read her book, The City of Bones after reading what was then one of the most famous novels in America, Twilight. My sister bought the book after buying Breaking Dawn, when the book was just new. The plot was all weird for me back then, and I was lost most of the time at the start of the book, but then I persisted and by the middle of the book, I fell in love with it. The witty jokes and great quotes of Clary and Jace and all their friends were really fun to read. The stories, the backstories, the intertwined relationships, the almost lifelike characters, the fantasy world; all of them were crafted perfectly, at least in my own perspective. And by the time of the fourth book, we bought the first book of its prequel series, The Infernal Devices. I really can't put in words how I love this series, all its books. It was perfect, my imagination here was going nuts; it's like I lived with them. I cried at the end of the last book, Clockwork Princess. I just, can't tell you how much it moved my heart.

So much for that. My real purpose here is to draw the power of writing and use it to converse with the books' author, Cassie Clare. *muttering incomprehensible words*

"CASSIE!" I shout out the words, summoning the author of the wickedly charming series, The Mortal Instruments.
"Oh my gosh, where am I? Who are you—" and then I filled Cassandra with all the knowledge she needed, through the power of words. This is power!
"Okay. I'm here now. What would you ask?" she inquired.
"Um, okay. I wanted first to tell you how much I loved your books, especially The Infernal Devices series, but I seem to forgot that I already told you that in our telepathic communication earlier, so I shall now ask you questions. This will seem a lot like a talk show, not that it matters anyway—okay, where do you get ideas in writing?"
"I think Steven King always says 'Wal-Mart.' Harlan Ellison says 'Poughkeepsie.' Lawrence Watt-Evans has a good essay about this. So does Tim Wynne-Jones. And Justine Larbalestier has great advice as well.

"As you can see, this question is the one every writer hates and everyone always asks. The fact is, ideas come from all around you, from everything you experience every day. You see a light on in an abandoned building and you think “I wonder who’s in there and what they’re doing?" The answer to that is an idea for a story. Whether it’s a good story or not is up to you."

I smiled because, I already know this for a fact, but I've never acknowledged it 'til now. I move to the next question.

"Where do you start a book? With plot, characters, or dialogue?"

"I tend to start with characters, but everyone does it differently.  There is no magic formula for the right order to write things in."

"And another, I can't figure out how to plot!"

"PLOT is CHARACTER revealed by ACTION. No, I didn’t make that up; that’s Aristotle. Basically, plot isn’t something that exists outside the rest of your story – the characters, the action, the setting. Make up awesome characters. Put them in interesting situations. Force them to make important and revelatory choices that change them. Make sure that at the beginning of your story your characters want something. Decide whether or not they get it. Those are the elements of your story. The most important thing to remember is that your first reader, and audience, is yourself. Make sure you’re telling a story you yourself are dying to read.

"If you are really stuck with plotting — if you keep starting books only to lose track of where they’re going; if you can’t get past the first chapter, etc. — I would suggest outlining. That means sitting down and writing out a very detailed summary of everything that happens in your book beforeyou start writing it. Yes, some people can just wing it. But if it looks like you’re not one of them, the fact is that most writers outline."

I was filled with all the knowledge I want to know at just a simple question and answer. Wow, no wonder she was very successful.

"Thank you very much, Cassie! I am very much itching to get to writing right now, but before that, I would like to thank you again very, very, very much for William, Tessa, and Jem. They broke my heart, but it gave me such a genuine feeling I rarely feel. And to think they were book characters! Man, I was in tears! Did you cry too while writing their story?"

"My, my, you're welcome. I'm sorry I did that, and it's such a good feeling when someone acknowledges my stories and cries with my characters. They made me cry, too, so much. Very much. It's sad but really fulfilling to finish their story. It was a very fun experience"

"Oh wait, I almost forgot. I have another question."

"Okay, what is it?"

"Do you believe there exists an inequity between gifted or talented people and normal people?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, but I don't believe there are gifted or just normal people. Everyone is special, and hard work, focus, and patience is always the key to everything. The 'gifted' people tend to be just people focusing intensely."

"Thank you, thank you Cassie. I can't thank you enough. I'm very thankful for The Mortal Instruments universe, and I just want to say that I love to write someday works just like yours."

"You're welcome, you're welcome," she chuckled. "Good luck on your writing, and remember, don't wish to write like me; be better than me! Thank you for this conversation!"

"Thank you for your time. It was really great. Bye!" She smiled me a goodbye and I return back to the real world.

Well, that was such a great time. Back to homework, chap!

Walking In Troubleland

I love taking walks, but this walk I am about to take can be the most horrifying ever.

Friday morning it was, an entirety of darkness the next. 

I have never been filled with fear like this before. The sun on the horizon seemed to have lost its majestic shining glory. It almost looks like an eerily dark (darker than usual) night. At first it was silence but then came all kinds of gnashing sounds and shouting. The shouts could have been happy people shouting in a normal setting, but with the uncanny feeling of all joy is lost in this never-land, they give me shivers of the worst kind. I looked around, looked at my body, which is becoming a troubling shade of pale. I put my arms around me, hoping to fend off the cold bite of the wind, but it doesn't seem to come from somewhere, it is everywhere. There are no winds, just a ubiquitous frosty blanket, crunching through my bones.

I started to walk.

I took little steps from where I was standing. There were trees everywhere. I inspected the ground beneath me, and it looks like cement. I turned around to look for signs of life but there was nothing, just plain darkness and fog. When I returned to face my front, I was startled with a figure of a person, an oddly tall one. Filled with fear, I took steps back, but my curiosity granted me courage to try and find out who the person is.
But the question became a what, not a who.

The tall, human-like figure shone with a warm and kind light, and a pair of wings akin to an eagle's shoot forth from its back, and finally takes a glorious stance, encompassing my being with a feeling of assured safety and warmth. The angelic being was glowing brightly with a golden aura. It had tunic robes plated with some medieval soldier-like armor.
It spoke,

"Fear not now, I have been sent to guide you through The Nine Stations of Trespasses. Whatever may happen, do not wander off from me for the Fear would kill you in seconds."
Not knowing what to do, I just nodded to show that I would follow. The angel looks a lot like a man, so I would acknowledge him as a man for the time being.

We trod slowly towards a place that looks like a compound, or a school, but I can't figure much because there was a gate of ivory and cerulean blue at its front.
When the angel gestured something in the air, the gates opened, and a man of brown complexion stood behind it, his expression curmudgeonly. He carefully inspected me, his eyes focusing around my chest. I looked down on my chest too, quickly noticing that I'm donning a school uniform, probably this school's uniform, and an ID. He nodded bluntly, and the angel explained that the First Station and Second Station are situated at the entrance of the compound, for the Trespasses No ID and Late Arrival. 

"The first two Stations of Trespasses are the trespasses concerning propriety and punctuality, the Station of N.I.D., and the Station of L.A., respectively. The next three Stations are for anywhere on campus. You'll see," the angel explained.

We walked around the campus, noticing the number of trees. If it weren't so gloomy around here, the place would have been throbbing with life. While walking around, I also spotted mysterious figures with heads tucked down. I take it that they're students in this campus?

After a few moments, a bell rang, and a multitude of mysterious, dark, smoke-bodied humanoids ran to and fro. There were some who look at most of these humanoids, as if they were about to prevent something. Then, the angel spoke, as if he read my mind, "They are the Sentinels of the Earth, sometimes called the YES-O League. They reprimand and reduce the status of sections with littering students. They are the keepers of cleanliness in the campus. Third Station, the Station of Littering. The next two stations are instilled in the beings of the kindhearted students, where no specific Sentinel guards these stations, the Stations of Vandalism and Bullying. When certain cases are too much for these pseudo-Sentinels, higher ranked Sentinels are called, also known as teachers." Having nothing to say, I just nodded promptly. All these things are suddenly making a weird familiarity, but I shake the idea off.

We walked into a room in a building at the center of the school. Several minutes after the rush of the weird ghost-like figures, they settled down inside different rooms. The angel spoke again, "The last four stations are monitored by high ranking Sentinels called Teachers. The last four stations concern the gravest of offenses in the academic part of students: the Sixth Station, Late Passing of Requirements, including all homework, projects, and others; the Seventh, Manipulation of Scores in all exams and quizzes; the Eighth, Forgery of any degree in any requirements; and the last, the Ninth and ultimate Station, Cheating, in all homework, exams and quizzes, and the like. Offenses concerning the last four stations always result in varying degrees of punishments, most of them extremely serious."
After the angel spoke, all things have become clear to me: this campus is my own school! But then this realization of mine was all too late; the angel has vanished, and the darkness that once encompassed the campus is slowly fading.

I woke up to the image of a car seat.