Before all.. I want to say sorry for my bad english, I had to use a "translator" to translate this.. here is my stroy.. Dientin and his teeth: Dientin had the best teeth of his family, with large tusks on either side of the mouth, bright white, which brushed three times a day with special paste to fangs. The youngest vampire Dráculez family was very proud of his teeth, and the care they gave him. For many years, when his grandfather Count Dracula Dráculez left this world for having bitten Granada shabby, Dientin and his family left aside the habit of biting anything that was red, so do not eat pomegranates, watermelon , tomatoes, cherries, blueberries or strawberries. They were still happy without the red in his life, although sometimes had any relapse and had to see photos of those spoiled food to make sure that what they were doing was right. Halloween Day celebrated it big, and only that day were devoted to bite orange things a like red but not brought them bad memories. Dientin was getting ready for the big party, and wanted to be a tribute biting a orange pumpkin. Suddenly, Dientin felt a sharp pain across his mouth, and the bright white fangs he dropped to the ground. The pumpkin was very orange, but was not in their point of maturity, so Dientin, for not checking the hardness of the pumpkin, was completely toothless. It was a real bad news for his family, but did not have the same fate as his great-grandfather, what happened to Dientin, also marked a before and after in the Dráculez family. All Dráculez tusks removed the same way that Dientin, biting something hard and orange. Dientin felt very sad about losing his magnificent teeth, and spent several days without leaving his secret hideout. When I ran this malaise that consumed him, he went to the cemetery where his parents lived. Seeing their parents too toothless felt somewhat better, but still felt the need to do something to offset the prestige of his family. The toothless vampire had a great idea !. He went to the supermarket and bought all the strawberries, cherries and red foods he found, he went back to his hiding place and prepared a red soup, which when tested, almost fell off how rich he was. When the amount of soup was enough for everyone in your family prove, was the cemetery and there were all, downcast and sad because they could not quite bite anything without fangs. Dientin given to prove its rich soup, and suddenly: - "Dientin, what is this ?, this wine is very good, and is red!" - Said his mother. "You have breached the code Dráculez, something red and no bite!" - Said his father. His brothers did not say anything because they were so busy rushing the container where Dientin had prepared his secret potion. Suddenly they began to notice a strange feeling in their mouth, fangs were growing them again !. It was then Dientin opened his mouth, and everyone saw that again have teeth, and this time were more perfect and beautiful than before the hard pumpkin. Dientin's Family smiled again, and realized that was because of him. Dientin told all the secret of his potion, which was made with all types of berries and red foods high in vitamins, which were grown bones and teeth very fast, and very strengthened. This is how Dientin was again the vampire with the best teeth, and all together learned to overcome negative comments, and legends untested for so many years they had been deprived of health and good humor. END.
Author - Mello Genre - Autobiography Page 256 Black. I saw the ghostly reflections of my mother and father, waving in the far distance. I noticed a white owl, soaring above from the edge of my vision. I had no thoughts in my mind; I could not comprehend where I was. The world in front blurred and I saw myself as a child, standing amidst a field of white snow, frolicking to and fro. As I watched my former self from a distance, tears rolled down my face. My mother and father, in their young and healthy selves, played along. And I continued to watch the perfect sheets of snow become tainted by a myriad of footprints. In seconds, the precious scene faded and radiant rays of yellow light smashed through the bleak black and white world. The extraordinary amounts of light scared me; I felt like a blemish in the ocean of yellow. Inside the sea, soft apparitions of my beloved family wandered around. They smiled with mirth; they sung with passion. I looked past the merry figures and saw myself pouncing on snow again. I now wore a bright yellow and red jacket, bundled up to repel the piercing winds. The radiant child looked up and locked eyes with me. He waved. My eyes opened and I saw the indigo of skies, the green of trees, while frantically gasping for air. The arms that crushed my neck loosened as men dragged the assailant away. Droplets of rain then began slowly falling from the sky as I lay there, thankful for each breath I take. The beauty and value of life is precious. *For those who ask, this is indeed a true story. *Good luck to all other contestants!
The sunlight shined through the stained glass of the cathedral walls as if the room was being eloquently morphed to the innards of a kaleidoscope. Each glimmering point appeared to dance with one another over the pews and steps to an unidentifiable waltz. There was a faint hint of a delicate woman’s perfume that wandered aimlessly through the church hanging on the noses of curious parishioners. The audience was draped in their Sunday best invoking a subtle, pretentious aura. Father Gerard begins his typical clumsy tour up and down the aisles maneuvering his cane and welcoming his congregation. Father signals to the ushers and the procession begins. The hymn was led by a choir that could cater to the pope himself; it appeared as if the ensemble was possessed by otherworldly beings who would chant endlessly. Malcolm had never much liked church. The endless droning and incessant chatter of the congregation alone was enough to discourage anyone from coming back, and yet, there everyone was just like always. Malcolm could never comprehend why these people gathered once a week to sit for hours through fabricated stories and outdated hymns all in the prospective hope that they would be “saved.” This week was different; Malcolm would be turning eighteen this Wednesday making him of legal age. This week would be the last week that his righteous and impudent parents could force him to attend church. This week was his last week of imprisonment and as such he thought it would be amusing to actually observe. The chorale goes silent and in perfect unison the congregation sits and opens their book of scriptures. Father Gerard begins to read: “A reading from the book of Matthew 4:9; and he said to Him, "All these things I will give You, if You fall down and worship me." Then Jesus said to him, "Go, Satan! For it is written th–“ Father Gerard stops and looks at his audience. The sunlight has faded casting a monochromatic curtain over the church. The dainty perfume is overwhelmed by thick and heavy incense that writhes and contorts it way through the shadowy nethers of the pews. Nothing is heard throughout the church as the crowd waits in anticipation for Father Gerards’ next uttered words. The priest glares at the audience with contempt. He calmly raises each arm up, parallel to the ground. One by one his eyes roll back into the sockets. The priest is levitated a mere inch above the altar when he starts to clutch his own neck. The congregation stares in fear; paralyzed by doubt and uncertainty. The ushers and altar boys rush to his side but are knocked back by ethereal force and are held to the ground. The congregation helplessly watches Father Gerard asphyxiate. The priests head nods and his arms plummet to his sides as his whole body goes limp. As the sudden events slowly begin to register amongst the crowd a panic sets in and the room begins to evacuate. Screams and hysterical crying fill the room as the parishioners scurry to the exits. Malcolms’ parents pull at him but despite their efforts he sits there without expression, staring at Father Gerards’ body. “Mom, Dad, you need to leave” he says in a calm and unwavering tone as his parents get forced out of the pew into the rushing crowd. The church is nearly deserted when Malcolm begins to walk towards the priests’ expendable body. A wretched voice cries out from the walls “How did you know it was you I wanted?!” which Malcolm replies “I’ve known for some time. I have seen this scenario play out far too many times in my dreams to know that its’ not a coincidence. Each time it becomes more and more vivid and the instructions have been made very clear.” Still staring at Father Gerard’s body Malcolm proclaims “I know it is I that you wish to possess, as I was born of holy blood; blood which you need to cross into this dimension as a fully formed being. I know too that I am the bastard child of Father Gerard; my existence was hidden and deceived by my parents. Had my father’s will been weak enough you would have engulfed him here, but he sacrificed himself to prevent it. I know too, that I must vanquish you, Malphas.” The voice shrieks back “Damn that archangel!! How dare he utter my name.” The screech causes the stained glass windows to shatter simultaneously as Malphas emerges from the floor as a wispy black presence. The shards of glass sit in the air temporarily suspended almost as if it was snowing. There is a smell of sulfur emanating from the ground which the demon emerged. Malphas drifts towards the priest and enters his body. Father Gerards’ body shifts and squirms in unidentifiable ways and his skin begins to blister and decay; Malphas had entirely possessed an inanimate body. Malcolm stares at the reborn Malphas and emotions overwhelm him. The fear of death creeps into Malcolms’ mind, but it cannot take hold; there is a stronger emotion. Regret and Hatred overcome Malcolm and he runs towards Malphas screaming. Malcolm becomes enraged and punches the corpse continuously as Malphas laughs. Malcolm drops to his knees and stares up at his dead father who is slowly decaying to nothing. Malphas asked “Are you done?” and kicks Malcolm in the chest thrusting him into a pew which collapses on impact. Malphas walks over to the defeated boy and grabs him by the neck. “ANSWER ME” he bellows. Malcolm looks at the demon with one eye and whispers “I told you, the instructions were very clear.” Malcolms’ eyes glow a pale yellow as he grabs the reanimated Malphas at his wrist. The corpses’ wrist beings to burn bright white and begins to boil. Malphas throws Malcolm to the ground and levitates into the air. The shattered glass pieces begin propelling around the cathedral halls in a perfect circle when suddenly they stop. Malphas throws his hands down and the glass pieces begin hurdling towards Malcolm. Malcolm looks to the ground and begins reciting: “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want.” The glass pieces bust into light as they touch Malcolm. “In verdant pastures he gives me repose, besides restful water he leads me: he refreshes my soul.” A piece of Malphas’ reanimated body bursts into white flames. He becomes furious with the chant and accelerates towards Malcolm. “Even though I walk in the dark valley I fear no evil! For you are at my side!” Beams of light burst from Malcolms’ body and begin piercing Malphas. The light radiates from every corner of the cathedral and the wispy black presence begins to retract from within Father Gerards body. “Only goodness and kindness follow me all the days of my life!” The light emanating from Malcolm has completely driven Malphas out of the corpse and then plummets to the ground. Malcolm begins to cry. Malphas takes one final swoop at the boy pinning him to the ground. Malcolm stares intently at Malphas with tears running down his face and shouts: “And I shall dwell in the house of the LORD, FOR YEARS TO COME!” Malphas’ begins to be dragged back through the floor from which he came. Malphas utters with his final breath “You…will…pay for this, Archangel.” Malcolm shutters in disbelief. Had that really just happened? He stares at ground, afraid to raise his head and see his disfigured fathers’ body. Suddenly, he hears another voice: “Malcolm?” “…Malcolm!” “MALCOLM!!! Wake up!!” Malcolm looks up at his dad in shock. “Seriously Malcolm…you fell asleep AGAIN!? Church is over, we’re leaving.” As the family walks out of the church Malcolm looks back on the empty cathedral, once wrought with ashes and broken glass. Malcolm mutters to himself “ I never have to come back to church again.” IGN:Lite or Grave
Kent has a cat. Lloyd has a cat. Kev has a cat. Dylan has a cat. Shaq has a cat, Andy has a cat. Lynda has a cat. Rod has a cat. Nick has a cat. Ray has a cat. Josh has a cat. Cyn has a cat. Marty has a cat. Ashley has a cat. Christine has a cat. Chris has a cat. Jason has a cat. Julian has a cat. Phil has a cat. Angela has a cat. Glenn has a cat. Marty has a cat. George has a cat. Mike has a cat. Rob has a cat. Katherine has a cat. Parker has a cat. OG has a cat. Martin has a cat. Tim has a cat. Jessica has a cat. Xavier has a cat. Andre had a cat. Francis has a cat. Jeff has a cat. Jeremy has a cat. Lou has a cat. Allen has a cat. Alex has a cat. Brian has a cat. Omer has a cat. Stephen has a cat. John has a cat. Who does not have a cat?
Totally writing something last minute because I forgot and have been busy... Hopefully I have time still
Did it~ Word count: 954 Prompt word 'Silence" Spoiler Rain pattered teadrops across a small face, eyes burning against the harsh winter wind as a girl no older than twelve raced across the drowning castle grounds. Hogwarts was supposed to have been a place to call home, but all she found here were lies and bullies. There were people who found every little weakness in the girl and exploited it relentlessly. Even if she tried to not react, it wasn't possible to put up a facade every day of her life. After tonight, all she wanted was silence. And silence was what she received. The further she strayed from the lively castle, the less could be heard. Soon all that was left was the soft whispering of the wind through the trees, the raindrops splashing on the forest leaves. Footsteps sank into the damp earth as visibility reduced- soon, all that could be seen was a small path ahead, illuminated from the lantern that dangled atop her hat. The forest was eery, and though it was "forbidden" she couldn't help but find herself wandering back here when things got tough. The dangers were ever present; she had been warned of the creatures inhabiting the place such as Red caps and trolls, centaurs and acromantulas. Yet there was a pull to the forest that even she couldn't explain. With a heavy sigh, the little blonde leaned against a tree and slid to the ground, lifting her knees to rest her head upon. Here in the silence, the taunting words rang loud and clear in her mind. “You are ridiculous!” Not long after she had fallen off the broom for the hundredth time that night, some older years had begun to laugh at her for it. “How could you expect to get on the Quidditch team if you can't even fly straight?” They sneered at her, pushed her down until she felt utterly defeated. “Go back to sticking your nose in books. You'll never make it out here anyway," It wasn't like the little hufflepuff girl had very much faith in herself to begin with – every night she came out to the Quidditch pitch to practice. Every night she came out to the field beneath the watchful eyes of Professors or Prefects alike, borrowed a broom and flew. Learning to fall without injuries, learning to chase after the smallest things in the distance was tough- bruises and scratches lined her thin, pale face; blood seeped out of a multitude of scrapes, and holes lined her already-tattered jeans. It wasn't until the upper year students mocked her did she finally give up in trying. The old adage “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me” was a lie. Sticks and stones could beat her up any day and she'd get back to her feet to try again, but being doubted or ridiculed, belittled, made her heart sink and removed any will to continue. Knees raised to her chest and hugged tightly to her, she dipped her head to rest upon them. Pale blue eyes frantically searched the dark area around her for any signs of danger. Leaves crunched in the distance on one side of her, a hissing sound emanated from the other. Until the light of a wand shined through the leaves and trees, casting a broken path straight ahead and merely inches from the girl. She closed her eyes and pressed up against the tree, unwilling to be seen as thoughts raced through her mind. Had the other students followed her? Were they going to push her deeper into the mouth of the forest, knowing the dangers inside? Her questions were cut short as a mature, strong voice filled the near-silence. "Sila, what are you doing out here?" She asked, frown lines creasing the older woman's face as she came into view of the little badger. "Two gryffindors told me they saw a short blonde girl running into the forest..." The voice was stern, yet laced with concern and disappointment. Light blue eyes peered up to meet those of who the voice belonged to. It was none other than her mentor, Cygnus, whom she affectionately called 'Zyggy'. Excuses ran through her mind, but there was no lying to the one who trusted her so much. Just how much trouble was she in? "Long story- why forest? I dont know. Forest pulls me here I guess.. Sorry.." she mumbled, brushing aside some long bangs away from her face. "Wanted to get away, to hide. For people to leave me alone--" "This is no place for you to be, when you have no way to protect yourself. If you need to think, can you not find somewhere else? Why here? Why put yourself in danger so? You are scared, you do not wish to be here alone, and yet here you are. Like a sack full of kittens. Let us talk somewhere safer, yes? The forest is not meant for students- especially not during storms such as this," She paused, kneeling down next to the girl for a moment. "Come now, tell me what you want while we head back inside. Call it...a study break, shall we? Enough fear for one night? Or do you still want to be out here for something?" Zyggy reached a hand out for her young pupil's own, before helping the small girl to her feet. The questions were met with a silent shake of the girl's head as they walked out of the forest grounds, leaving behind all the potential dangers and retreating to the comfort of the divination tower. Lessons were always hard learned, and sometimes all it took was the gentle guiding hand to help where none others could.
Talk about last minute, LOL. Word Count: 1391 Spoiler “Be good to others, and you will be great.” Was what she’d always tell him with soft, feathery touches skating down the curve of his plump cheek. He remembered how her tired green gaze would always seem to flicker a bit with an old flare whenever she told him that - as though alluding to an epic once-upon-a-time. “If even the people of the Orients believe it, then it must be an universal truth.” The day the noose was tied around her neck, he knew that she still clung onto that mantra. He’d fought his way through a towering forest of legs, only to fall onto his hands and knees on the cobblestone right beneath the stage. He’d scraped both his knees and his palms, but he’d seen it in her eyes then - that same burning flare. He’d seen it in her feet, when the floor was dropped and she refused to kick while the others around her flailed. He’d seen it in the locks of cocoa hair, fluttering in the faint autumn breeze as her head lolled forward, never to rise again. He would have wondered some more had something wet and heavy not come crashing into his side. “Bloody quim…!“ He grunted, his grip tightening painfully around the rough, slippery rope he was clinging onto as he pushed a foot out at a sharp angle, turning his body a bit and leaning back to keep his position. He lifted his head up to glare at whichever fucking idiot decided this was a good time to barrel into him, “Who the h-“ “Just me, Arthur. Quit getting your bloomers in a knit!” Was what he was met with, along with the biggest, shit eating grin in the damn sea. “Deck’s more slippery than a horny whore’s nethers, and I need new boots, alright?” The blond man turned back to squint up at the sails they were trying to keep steady, turning his face up to the pelting rain before giving another mighty tug to the rope he was holding onto. Arthur pulled back on his own in response, though he kept his head down, his chestnut bangs clinging sloppily to his forehead, “You’d think you’d’ve learnt how to handle yourself by now.” He would have given the idiot a solid punch to the face if his hands weren’t currently full. Hell, time like this, one slip and one careless step and he’d be sent overboard. They were standing so close to the rails of their ship that he could lean over and catch a glimpse the churning sea below. Davy’s locker did not sound like a pleasant coffin, and he highly doubted that either Calypso or their Captain would show them any mercy today. Speaking of their Captain, Arthur flinched a little when the scratchy, gruff voice of said man somehow carried over the howling winds and thundering footsteps on the rain, “Arthur! Julian! You two buggers shut your traps!” He shouted. Arthur didn’t have to look up to know that he’d thrown a glare over their way. Their job was, in many ways, the most important ones. Keep the sails steady so they keep on course or God save their souls if they strayed too far with limited supplies. Still, that didn’t make Arthur want to punch his best friend any less. He’d always tried to keep his mother’s word about being ‘good’, but in a world like his, he had to be flexible in defining ‘good’. His mother had been hung for association with piracy, something he hadn’t understood until she explained to him that one drunken night with a pirate had eventually led to his existence, and then the disownership by their entire extended family. After her death, he’d run straight into the arms of piracy, some twisted part of him thinking it was to honour a father he’d never met, though most of it was because he was sick of living on the streets, and refused to subject himself to the orphanages, or beg his bloody rich grandparents for forgiveness. He’d hitched a ride to a pirate cove somewhere, nearly died in the process, but he managed all the same. There, he had met Julian. Their friendship had started with a fist fight. Arthur, being the younger, scrawnier one, had lost and walked away with a black eye, half his face swollen and his bleeding lips still spewing forth vulgarities that would have made his sweet mother turn in her grave. But by some sick twist of fate, the two of them were recruited onto the very same crew. It was difficult not to find friendship in an experience of shared suffering. They’d grown up together, fought together, pillaged together…everything. Julian was the brother he never had, and he was his. Now they were well into their Captain’s good books and set to compete for inheriting the ship, the treasure and the position, though this competition never drove them apart. They could trust that the other would not abandon them under any circumstances. So long as they helped each other, Arthur would be fulfilling his mother’s word. A scream pierced through the chaos. Arthur whipped his head up, green gaze frantically flickering around the deck of their ship to locate the sound of the noise. Were they under attack? No way - no imbecile would attack them in this weather. But before he could figure out what was going on, he felt the sail give an exceptionally strong tug. The wind was blowing so hard that it felt like he was leaning back against a cushion of air. It felt solid against his back as Arthur threw his weight against the rope. He could feel the rough strands cutting into the thick calluses of his palms, and could see diluted streams of red trickling down his wrist. “Oy, Julian! Pick up you-“ But he was swiftly interrupted by the hoarse screech of another crew-mate struggling to carry over the storm, “Man overboard! Man overboard!” Arthur was already cold. He was numb to the bone and freezing, but just that declaration sent a fresh chill up his spine. His attention faltered. The sail gave way. His Captain screamed at him to keep the sails. Arthur gritted his teeth, feeling the rope dig deeper into his palms as he pulled back one step at a time. His arms were crying out in sharp protest. He didn’t need to look to know. He knew. Someone, some other crew-mate, picked up the abandoned rope beside him. He felt the sail’s vicious fight against him lessen somewhat, but it hardly mattered. He gritted his teeth. He needed to see. He needed to…to help…He couldn’t just…! And then, the next thing he knew, he could feel the heat of someone beside him. “Let go and we all die.” His Captain hissed in his ear, the smell of rum heavy in his breath. A deep fury damn near consumed him as he clung onto the rope. Arthur knew this was a test. Was he deserving of the title? Was he heartless enough to abandon his best friend - his brother? Or was he heartless enough to abandon a whole crew of people for the sake of one? He knew the Captain could very easily call another idiot to come and take his position, but that would negate the point of the test. He felt sick with rage. This was the Captain’s way of choosing between two potential heirs. His breath was shallow. His grip on the rope so tight that his knuckles were bone white. The rope was soaked to the core with his blood. His jaws clenched so tight that he was beginning to grow dizzy. He bit on his bottom lip. The moisture on his face was beginning to taste salty. Arthur didn’t respond to his Captain, who remained standing so close that he could smell the booze even without him opening his mouth. But he didn’t turn to look behind him either, not even when he heard a gurgling, strangled cry, though it cut through him with a pain that no cutlass could do. He didn’t know if he’d imagined it, but he didn’t look. People often say that the path to Hell is lined with good intentions. That day, Arthur took his first step.
Wednesday, Feb. 18, 8:00 A.M. Beep! Beep! Beep! "Ugh," a voice lethargically groaned. Click. The blaring alarm from the nearby vibrating phone was silenced with a lazy touch on its translucent screen. The sunlight shone between the cracks of closed blinds, illuminating an apple imprinted on a laptop which lay underneath the phone. "Well, time to check MapleRoyals." My name is Jaemin, and I like Maplestory. Specifically, I like "old school Maplestory;" that is, I like the Maplestory before the introduction of broken pay2win cash shop items and the dominance of unbalanced classes. Yesterday, I posted in a forum post to try and win some mesos, and although I was not expecting to win, I held out hope. "Ah, damn it! I didn't win anything," I said. Disappointing, of course, but c'est la vie! I quickly forgot about the contest as my attention shifted to a timer underneath a large slime on the MapleRoyals homepage, and exclaimed, "Oh, shit! Slime spawned!" I hurriedly opened up the MapleRoyals client and waited impatiently for the loading program to display that nostalgic logo and jingle. Just a few weeks before, I was reminiscing in overwhelming nostalgia at the Maplestory theme that I hadn't heard in years, but now I barely give it a second thought as I type in my login information. Something strange popped up, though; something I hadn't seen before. "Huh? This isn't the normal error message..." After I clicked login, a pop-up stating the following message greeted me: "Are you ready to experience real Maplestory?" Thinking nothing of the prompt I hastily hit enter to try and make it in time for the boss, but it feels like the blood is rushing away from my head an-- "Huh? Where am I?" I asked myself as I woke up on top of a grassy knoll overlooking verdant plains dotted with farms. "The last thing I remember is trying to get into maple in time for slime..." I take a survey of my surroundings from my adequate vantage point, and I notice some people in the distance fighting what appears to be...a slime?! "What the fuck?! Wait, holy shit!" It dawned on me. I was in Maplestory. Maplestory became real. Holy shit! Holy shit! Wait, but how do I get back home, and what about my family and my life and everything I le-- ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Wednesday, Feb. 18, 8:32 A.M. Two lvl 12 warriors are training in Henesys Hunting Ground ch. 1 when they notice a new character CC into the map. "Hey Jeff," typed one warrior in party chat to the other, "does that guy's name look like ????? to you?" "Yea dude, I think he might've used a foreign language to type in his name, but the different language packs aren't supported so it comes out like that," replied Jeff. "Wtf, he just died in one hit from a slime," typed the original warrior. "His tombstone didn't spawn, where did it go?" "Iunno man, maybe it was just a glitch. RMS is kinda buggy like that," reasoned Jeff. "Hm..." thought the first warrior to himself, "I guess- ah, fuck!" The server had crashed. Back in the room with the apple-imprinted laptop, there lay a body hunched over, face pressed into the keyboard of the mac. Later that day, there was a news story of a university student who had tragically passed away from an aneurysm... ... "Huh? Where am I?" I asked myself as I woke up on top of a grassy knoll overlooking verdant plains dotted with farms. "The last thing I remember is trying to get into maple in time for slime..." I take a survey of my surroundings from my adequate vantage point, and I notice some people in the distance fighting what appears to be...a green mushroom?! "What the fuck?! Wait, holy shit!" It dawned on me. I was in Maplestory. Maplestory became real. Holy shit! Holy shit! Wait, but how do I get back home, and what about my family and my life and everything I le-- Crash.
Im in there twice. @yes Grant, can we submit fan fiction too :c if no I'll start writing a short story lol
No more submissions are being accepted. The winners will be announced tomorrow evening. Thanks for participating everyone, I look forward to reading these later. Best of luck!
