Recent Changes

But it was too late. The snakes blazing eyes flickered to life, and an unnatural sheen flowed out across the scales.
Spot had awoken.
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People often assume that because you’re the silent person in the class, you’re normal. I’m far from that. I go home every night to my pet Killer Unicorn which lives in the river behind the house. It doesn’t look like it has a horn- no one can see it unless they’re a Ryn. Oh, and they hate dragons. Like, really, really hate them. If they see one they will try to kill it, despite how big it is.But then again they try to kill everything, unless, of course, it’s a Ryn, who are people with some kind of bond with the killing machines. I reached the riverside and blew on a dog whistle, something I had trained Ripper to respond to. The water erupted as a massive, jet black stallion leapt out of the water, its blinding white tail and mane flowing behind it, eyes glowing. The horn, half a meter in length, stood out the most. It was blood red like the claws on its lions paws and eyes, and looked as if it would weigh its muscled head down. It nickered, revelling its pointed fangs, which were as poisonous as its horn. It pawed the carcass of a dead animal, mauled beyond belief, towards me. “Good boy. Who’s a good boy? You are! You are! Yes you are! You’re a good boy!” He nickered and did a little dance, prancing around in a small circle, swishing his tail. I rubbed his soft, velvety fur, and he rubbed up and down. I had raised him from a young Cub, when I had found him abandoned by the road with a few bullet holes blasted into his pelt. They should’ve known: It takes more than that to kill a unicorn.
“Stop” I yelled. The world span through me. I was the world, and the world was me.
I put my hands over my eyes to cover the image but nothing changed. I could still see the ground cabbage around me. They gnashed their teeth as they waited for their pray to fall right into their open maws, and there was nothing I could do. Winter blossomed around me, snowflakes, mysterious as they were swirling around their danny pelts, they hopped around, writhing over one another in anticipation.
And there was nothing I could do.
Bicycle called from above. I shut my eyes. It was over. It had come to an end.
And there was nothing I could do.
Sitting by the Sea
Cant help but think Woe-Is-Me
Leave the Sea behind
Bank robbery
leave country
Find man
Cops discover
Run away
Almost caught
Zombie apocalypse
World is doomed
Nuclear war
Turn into zombies
No humans left- died from radiation
Fall in love, settle down.
Wedding
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The Statue
What could a French heroine be doing in a country that she didn’t even know existed? But there I was, dwarfed by her bronze steed. They seemed to ride straight over me into the battle I couldn’t sight; perhaps I would have to be careful not to be trodden under the horse’s hooves. I circled her, saw her sitting straight and tall like she would rise above the saddle. The armour safeguarded both her body and hid the childhood that she left far behind in a rural village. The banner raised high in her confident fist, an emblem of what she set out to do, her principles laid out on its plain surface. I thought about how much I would have liked to know her. There she was, the object of my admiration for years, her name engraved in French below. Jeanne d’Arc.
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Haiku on the Water
Sand and shells the floor,
The sea; a living carpet.
This is the real room.
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Some places are too quiet to tell someone to ‘shush’.
This library has both.
makes no scence!sense! Why bother doesn’t make scence.sense. I slam
They could get me into trouble.
I smile and nod to myself. Then I go to stand up but some people in suits walk past me, two are really skinny the look kind of official. But the last one is skinny and weedy like them but his torso bulged with something that was big square and he had an innocent expression on his face, he was whistling.
The innocent expression was WAY overdone.
The librarian pointedpoints at the trio of balledbald men followed
All too quickly I began to laugh.

A
A Serial Killer's
"I just removed all the pieces that didn't look like him."
On the Statues Populating the Streets of Melbourne
To be remembered why they bled.
Trust me to turn a writing piece about statues into something dark and depressing. Still, relatively proud of this work.
Maps We Drew
Haunted

AsDrewHauntedAs I stand
I turn my head from this awful sight, a sight that spoke to me better than anything else could, and hung my head, the sounds and smells of drunken revelry clogging my senses, invoking an almost sick feeling in my stomach: of longing and disgust. The friends I once had now ignore me – not forgetting. The infamous are never forgotten.
The corner of my mouth twitches into a slight wry smile as I look upon my old livelihood. The small farmer’s produce market, once dominated by cheeses, wines and meats of every variety from my farmholds, now stands empty, cordoned off from the public for investigation. No formal charges would be pressed, this much I know, but that doesn’t change the facts of what I had done. Derek from the newsagent’s looked at me with disgust through his poster-covered windows, not even the brewing sandstorm enough to obscure his look of pure hatred.

On A Serial Killer's Motto
"I just removed all the pieces that didn't look like him."
On the Statues PopulatingPopulating the Streets
Dystopia
Littered amongst the rats
Encased in a skin of earth,
To be remembered why they bled.
Trust me to turn a writing piece about statues into something dark and depressing. Still, relatively proud of this work.
Description of the Maps We Drew
Haunted

As I stand in the centre of town, the wind whipping my air and stinging my eyes, I begin the long trek, my silent goodbyes lost upon all who once cared for me. My feet slowly begin to move, as though with a mind of their own, and I take my first steps forward, toward the sun setting sun in the far west. This quiet, once bustling and full of life, shies away from me, the scar upon my face a constant warning to all who see me. The town hall ceases its small amount of activity, as watchful eyes fill the huge windows.
I turn my head from this awful sight, a sight that spoke to me better than anything else could, and hung my head, the sounds and smells of drunken revelry clogging my senses, invoking an almost sick feeling in my stomach: of longing and disgust. The friends I once had now ignore me – not forgetting. The infamous are never forgotten.
The corner of my mouth twitches into a slight wry smile as I look upon my old livelihood. The small farmer’s produce market, once dominated by cheeses, wines and meats of every variety from my farmholds, now stands empty, cordoned off from the public for investigation. No formal charges would be pressed, this much I know, but that doesn’t change the facts of what I had done. Derek from the newsagent’s looked at me with disgust through his poster-covered windows, not even the brewing sandstorm enough to obscure his look of pure hatred.
Derek’s eyes never left me, even as I passed the bakery which was closed for the day, as were so many others for the time mourning. Days after it closed the smell of bread and pastries still assaulted my nostrils, as it had for so many years before. I felt a tear in my eye which had nothing to do with the wind, as I felt the blood of the tiny young girl upon my hands again. The memory of her golden blonde hair, so like the pastries her mother made, stained crimson as the life bled from her, still haunted my every step.
As if Dystopia wasn't depressing enough. Didn't realise I could be so dark.
Story Written in Five Minutes, with Random Words Chucked in the Mix
Other Side of the Moon
“Stop!” she shouted at the taxi driving past, fervently hoping the driver wasn’t deaf. Or blind for that matter, she thought to herself. I mean, who wouldn’t rather a deaf taxi driver than a blind one?
Unfortunately, the taxi just kept driving, the small child in the back throwing a cabbage at the young woman, as this was the customary greeting to strangers in the town of Inklebury in winter.
The sun set early at such times, and the young woman felt her fear rising as darkness begun to cast its thick and mysterious blanket over the world. Setting off for the nearest hotel at a run, Danny – for such was the woman’s name – sprinted down the street, hoping that she had not arrived in the industrial district of town. If this was the case, she knew perfectly well that she would have no luck with finding a hotel, even if she did have a bicycle.
As the sun set, the world turned black. Danny looked towards the moon. It was full once again. Her fears were confirmed as the beast inside began to stir.
The changes were coming again.
What on earth was this? Bit of fun, came out even stranger than I expected. I mean seriously, how on earth did I get to werewolves?
Blackout Poems
The Story
Shifting beneath the light
The blood of all is dark,
Bubbling and boiling:
Our future seems so stark.
Cracked mirrors and broken reflections
Will be all to tell
Those who come after us
The story of how we fell.
Turned out very rhythmical this one, going to look at turning this into a full song. Again dark and about human nature. I am touching upon the idea that we are killing our world.
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the land is nor cold but wet
but a place for someone to rest
Aboriginal
I feel the salty breeze on my face, it’s like little cold kissers. It sooths my skin from the heat. The sun feels lifeless and dull today. The breeze has a sound, but I can’t seem to make out what message its whispering. I look to the ocean for guidance I look into the deep blue and at first it bleak and toneless as the others, then suddenly something white appears. That’s when the wind and the sun speak to me. I shudder at what they are whispering and the word is death.
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Encased in a skin of earth,
To be remembered why they bled.
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