Current location:	In My Burning Solitude
Current mood:	Stressed And Limited
Current music:	Animal I Have Become / Three Days Grace
Entry tags:	goodbye, life, original post, sesskag

[GoodBye Memories And Hello Harsh Reality]
I Haven't Forgotten Yet . . . And I Don't Intend To Either

I've gotten bad news. Currently, my Internet bill is failing out here in the middle of no where. Yeah. So, like, that means I can't be getting on except for the time I go to the Library, which sucks for you only get 45 min. online time. Well, the problem is the fact that I have to leave and be gone for the rest of the year.

And its driving me crazy for I am reading a lot of fanfiction and I am so flippin' addicted to it and can't imagine my life without it. It is so freaking killing me! I am like a Internet Addict. LoL. I am so going to miss all the TWILIGHT/NEW MOON BELLA/EDWARD ADDICTS, and all of the WOUNDERFUL SESSKAG STORIES out there. I mean it! *SOB* But note that I WILL BE BACK! I think my last day online is Wed. Feb. 28 or somewhere around there.

And so, as the closing of my school journal and such, I'd like to have a grand closing. Haha. My fandom journal hasn't even been started so I can't do a thing there, but I can do something here. We've got 2 original posts here and a SessKag fandom. But the fandom will NOT be posted due to edits and revisions. But there is a SessKag fandom below. Or else friend my_stained_lips for more info. Well, thanks, enjoy the terror. Later, goodluck, and see you sometime next week/month/year!



Title: Walking Over Graves Of Soil And Flowers
Author: a_beloved_sin
Summary: I could hear the dried and dead grass crumble into nothing under my feet. And yet . . . I haven't forgotten.
Written For: English II/Original Post
Genre: Angst/General//Damn Drama
Rating: PG-13 [Lang/Metaphors/Poety/Personification/Parellelism]
Theme: Death, Dark, Blood (Implied Vampires/Nightmares)
Warnings: Written in deep-sea depression.
Disclaimer: Lea. Me. Mine. I and I alone.

Author's Notes: Dramatic, lonely, and tangled. Only I could ever love something this sadistic-ly sweet! This most certainly is another English II reject written for the theme of a failed personification/parellelism, week #2 1/2. Another original posting [like Counter].

Yeah, that and . . . I am so not in Kansas anymore. (Sorry if there are any mistakes; I'm too lazy to go back and edit it. Besides, A Thousand Miles is sounding pretty good about now. That and my chocolate chip ice cream and Dr. Pepper drink are tempting me with horror smiles. God, I hate it!)

WALKING OVER GRAVES OF SOIL AND FLOWERS
BY a_beloved_sin AKA Lea ;)

oOo

I was beginning to enjoy the solitude and rather not the crave for a companion. I was used to it . . . and in a strange and so totally twisted way of thinking outlooks of life . . . I think it enjoyed it too. Yes. We enjoyed it. We only took and took, but we also gave something back in return. Sometimes, we gave more.

It was the bargin, and it was my price to pay. I enjoyed every minute of it; every single ticking pass of the clock, I enjoyed it.

The days grew exceptionally colder. Often, the winds would howl and even the small snowflakes of white fluff were hard and stiff as they were amongst the perils of the breeze. I could see my chilly breath as it rolled out in waves to appear in front of my pale cheeks. And even not the hottest of the chocolate was settling well within me; and by far had already cooled and was in icy chips swirling around in the foam cup.

It was different, and I had changed too. My childish demeanor had long perished and wore away as my innocence was tainted and pitch black. My eyes had long lost their warm and earthy brown in exchange for a hard and honor blood red. My long straight hair had dropped the shine and gleam for a more dark and cury wave that hushed the whispers that dared to lip out. Fingers once short and nail-rid were now long talons dipped in the blood of many and mine. All my past scars and emotional hurts were erased and all I could recall was the embaressment of being a foolish little girl asking for a kiss when not wanted around. But now . . . I was more than that. I was stronger and I could easily get what I wanted when I wanted. I liked it. I had time, and I had fate on my side. The night was mine and the dawns bloody set carved my name is bold. I laughed as the time drew near.

She was so beautiful as a child

Ever so sweet and timid with manners like a good little girl

It was far from night, yet the sun was still low lingering upon the horizon with a even more chill to its outcasted shadow. The twilight was now falling I realized as I witnessed the eve turn to ash and dust. I knew that everything would be placed under a spell and that they would come out to hunt. They always hunted nowadays. It was the only time that they could come out and be themselves and give in to the monster within. The thing within me at the very moment. It was inevitable; they would be here for me any time soon now. Anytime. And like a dog, I would wait for them in the cold.

Winter. I once did not like winter. Everything fell to its seemingly icy hold and grip as it lay rest to lie naked to the bare eye and drifted in a slumer so deep. It was all dead and its death was so silent and beautiful. I did not dare to even think of speaking let alone whispering in mocking hopes to bring the profile out of its spell and cast it witness to look upon what it was becoming in the near dawns.

[But now . . . I adored the icicle and I welcomed the smog and smut of icy bitterness and self pity. I loved it, and now I have come to hated everything I once stood for as growing in solitude and submission; spring.]

The black waters of the lakes came to wallow in waves as it rushed in little waves upon the surface of the mirror, and I found myself intraced by the simple beauty of its bleak sight. I did not wish to disturb the weighing balance that the world had settled into, so I stayed silent and still as I still walked with dampened spirits and low heavy drowning hopes. The forest was so quiet, and I longed for a screaming plea.

So I kept walking deep into the empty forest to witness my rebirthing as it came. I would drink and be anew once more.

But time passed and fairy tales lied

The reflection of the mirror was not made to be

I walked down the lonely lines and neat tucked rows of straight hedges and perfect cut trims. I could hear the dried and dead leaves that had been left from fall crumble into nothing under my feet as I walked upon them with ease throughout the cementary. It was not suppose to be this easy was it? I wondered as I silently sobbed with the pained effort of the required thinking on my behalf and wondered why we were all just so fucked up.

I could hear the blood pounding under the thin sheen layer of skin that my hand had formed into. It pulsed angrily and I found that my nails had indeed bleed and ran down my long, slender fingers to meet and melt with the fresh batch of snow. I watched as it slowly sunk into leave a imprint and hiss a tad when the hot blood finally cooled with a wisp of smoke and powder. And slowly, the pain began to build and grow like any other, but this time; the pain was simmering cold and cool to the touch. I thought it would stop after a while . . .

But then pain would not stop. The overwhelming flooding sensation of raw burning passion erupted over the lid only to fall and scorn everything with its heated feverish touch. But such sweet release it became as I felt the surge of icy air blow into my face and smoother the flaming passions of my own hidden desires and sins. Such act was a forbidden. I was forsaken, but what did it matter? There was no such thing as Heaven . . . well, at least for me.

I came to like the pain, and I can to love the bloody rust. I smirked walking over the other slain. And deep within me, my dying heart gave a final pound as I walked over the plastic flowers and crunched them under the toe of my boot in the lone grave. At long last, I had found it too. There, futher past any headstone before me in the wide spread of the open was perched upon a small rise; a empty grave, a hollow grave, a ironic grave. My grave.

And together we read along what the marker had indicated to bring.

And then one day they woke to find

That the perfect girl had lost her mind . . .

Once upon a time I was young and in love. I learned kindness and caring and I wallowing the basking sun rays of silver and gold gleam. I laughed and I sung when I was in complete bliss. Grades of schooling were fine and my life was in balance and harmony. I had friends and I had clothes, money, shoes and everything that I could have ever asked for in a lifetime of rich wellbeing.

I thought I was freed from the curse of the Moon and I thought that it was all put behind me as I walked into the skies of dusk. But it caught me; the curse ran its course in my veins of blood and smoking despair. And then it happened.

Everything fell apart piece by piece and tear by tear. Holes began to cover my soul and I fell behind in studies with below average marks. I didn't smile and I was constantly tired and ill. My friends had long abondoned me in favor of the new girls, and the teachers just stopped asking what was wong; my voice grew dim and I didn't sing. I didn't even talk anymore. I became mute. Hot wet tears ran down my red coughing cheeks at night to hit the dirty pillow and my lips was stained with red from the constant biting when not satsifyed about something.

I grew more sick and ill each day as I passed in and out of my state of mind. I was seemingly lost to everything that had once existed around me. But the truth was . . . I didn't exist anymore. I had long ago died with the brush of his sweet fangs against my temple as he murmed words of temptation of the dark side, and I let him. I let him drink from my blood and I let the immortality sink into my veins as he happily swallowed my poison in my veins. And when I was dry, he hugged me and made me his.

And so, I looked to the grave that read my name in blood red engravings. Under my boots lay the wilted roses that was upon the snow that covered the grass which laid upon the soil and held within the coffin of a empty soul.

And more than ever, I was alive again. My rebirth was complete. Now . . . it was time to move on.

No, I haven't forgotten yet . . .

After all, I was once dead too . . . Once upon a time in the fluttering snows of twilight's eve, I was dead too.



Title: Surface
Author: a_beloved_sin
Summary: I looked to the waters edge and seen her . . . on the surface.
Written For: English II/Original Post
Genre: General/Damn Drama/Slight Angst
Rating: PG-13 [Lang/Metaphors/Failed Personification|Parellelism]
Theme: Water, Reflection, Otherworld
Warnings: Written in deep-sea depression.
Disclaimer: If you take this one, I really don't care.

Author's Notes: Sorry for any mistakes. Also, this was a English II type-up that I produced when I was walking home from school . . . and went past the park's huge puddles. Another English II drabbled reject. Main idea is that the narrator is the reflection; not the other way around.

SURFACE
BY a_beloved_sin AKA Lea ;)

oOo

The forest was all quiet and resting as the new snows came. Everything was dead on dead silence and eerie. Eyes casted darted back and forth, back and forth, all while murmering their still light mumbles about such. The sticks and grass of the forest floor were damp and wetted with the permit of the rains that had fallen and tumbled down to the earth. Fogs rolled in waves of white moist sheets and covered the lands in a sheet of tranquility.

And there she was; upon the surface of the water's mirror tracing the water with a long lazy finger, her lips in a delicate pout. Her eyes were closed upon the brush of her small round face as she gently hummed a lisp tune. Long curly pitch black hair was lounging upon the banks and ran to dribble into the liquid cool of the underbrush and swayed in time with the rhythm of the ripples. She was so . . . beautiful. So pure and sweet. I looked to her and could practically taste the rush of her running blood. So delious, so delightful. Ah, what a purity.

But she stopped her antics and rose to seat herself upward and stare up at me from where her location was on the water. Her small bowl shaped mouth was in a small pout as she figured the numbers and signs. I swore that I could watch her forever.

And then she stood where as I was still sitting, and I could of swore that my reflection was broke.

But, how?

Was I not her and she not me?

I looked to the water and saw that indeed she was in another world where I was not. Her world was peaceful and bright full of sun and trim. She could smile and laugh as she was in a small grin. The greenery was so lush and full with trees and such growing so tall toward the heavens.

And I looked to my world. The dead walked and the trees came to rot, the nightmares unleashed and the bitch of karma. The curses were upon my heels and I could taste their viles of breaths in the stale air toxin fumes. And I knew . . . that was not true. She ran on angry and I ran on fuel. How pitiful and utterly tragic I became with the realization hit me . . .

Another world. Another world beyond the surface of the water's rippling edge. Put your hand through and fell the other side. Feel the sun shine upon you and smile on your black sooty soul as you stain the grass with dying ashes of the dirtied and unalive. Crawl out like the nightmare that you are and witness the others with smiles vanish at the sight of you as you topple into the line of reality as you settle into the place that you want to call home. Watch as they scatter and scream when you merely want help, hear them call and shout horrid vile words of untamed fury and scream. And then? Watch her walk over with a out streched hand as she hits your forehead and gives it a small push to gather you back into your own world.

You fly back out and hit the dead earth again and hear the waves at your feet again. You look back to the other world's reflection and see them all crowd around again with wide eyes. And when they scatter, she walkes into the picture only to drop a large rock into the puddle.

When the splash and waves turn back into the small pushes and pulls, you see the large rock on your side of the portal thus blocking it.

After all, you were the reflection's dying curse and not she . . .

Why would she want you to come back and ruin all that she worked for only to have to start again?



Title: My Stained Lips
Author: my_stained_lips aka a_beloved_sin
Summary: I always thought of her as a stain on my lips, or even the disease in my life.
Written For: Inuyasha Fandom
Genre: Romance/General/Damn Drama/Slight Angst
Rating: M [Lang/Metaphors/Themes/Scenes/Situations]
Warnings: Sesshoumaru's POV. May be concidered OOC, but its really up to you to decided since we do not know what goes through his head or what he is thinking during the times.
Disclaimer: Inuyasha copyright Rumiko Takahashi.

Author's Notes: Sorry for any mistakes. Cut prelude/opening. Not a complete finished product. Also, this fic will be based entirely upon Sesshoumaru's POV, and since we do not know what the hell he is thinking, we, or rather I, will make up for that. All always prefer to go with Kagome's POV in a situation like this, and I was really hopeful for a more deeper side to his ideas. You may or may not consider this OOC, but that chance is entirely up to you to decided. I shall be posting more in the following months/years. Thanks to all for the support of this chapter!

Including; demonic_kisses, Skye Shiela, and NighttimeBreeze. Also the support of my friends on MySpace, MSN, LJ, and others. Thanks!

MY STAINED LIPS
BY a_beloved_sin AKA Lea ;)

oOo

The city was perfect in the normal view and perspective of a innocent bystander; absolutely perfect. The tall valient buildings and the delicate little layout for fine furnishings and such were all beautiful. Gardens and their many fragent flowers twinkled and sparkled as young love-struck couples walked along the lined paths with hands entwined and sweet kisses to the cheek. Fountains and small ponds gleamed under the warm sunlight and tiny goldfish swam with the quarters exchanged in false hopes for a wish. Bakers sold bread on the commoner's streets and the crepes man was wheeling his trolly up and down the avenue shouting out random names such as coco-nana, strawberry-mello and other odd names for flavors.

Lovely people walked in the lovely city and lovely buildings with lovely maginifcent arches and domes. All was lovely. Ladies in long pastel colored dresses, and petticoats with furs and scarves walked along with small umbrellas to vanquish the blinding light from their pale smooth skin. Their carried their frames tall and proud when walking and held in their small gloved hands a leash which lead a tiny dog or other as a poodle along the bothersome walks.

Men walked along in top hats and firm suits with cane in hand, their mustaches neatly trimmed and hair combed. They talked and said good morning to all those who they passed, and said to have a nice day as well following a wonderful evening. Children ran the streets in taliored outfits and small hats. Little girls carried silk porclien dolls and the boys laughed and hooted as they ran to the small river flowing through the city to play with their fine crafted boats in races against the wind and time. No doubt was their life sweet.

And planted in the middle of the city's clustered seperate standing, there sat a magnificent tower only meant for the greatest artists in the country. The white smooth marble and the coal black decor windows did not clash against the other tan and blue buildings, but complimented the articet of the constution and workers making all proud of their hard work. This is why Paris was a fine city. Very fine indeed.

And so once more upon the passing look of the large suit in the upper portion of the fair and breathtaking building, there sat a young man perched upon a stool (in the balcony) with a carcoal pencil in hand that was upon a sweating brow. Which was more stunning; as the man or the view, I cannot say, but there he sat as if waiting for something that only he was prior to knowing.

The long musclar legs that poked out from the stool's footing were covered in fine and smooth black material pants (slacks), and his white button down collar shirt was opened to reveil a fine psyhic, along with good toned abbs. Long brandishing silver hair was tied back with a small elastic band and ran down the arch of his strong back. Eyes were closed as he leaned into the wall of the building having long ago abandon the metal stool in favor of standing in the solace of the shade against the looming tower.

He was relaxed and complete as he merely stood here and inhaled the more icy airs of being upon the top portion of the suit rather than be stuffy and bothersome with heat. Soon, his figure went limp as he let his guard fall, and shoulders slump against the smooth support. But just as he stopped to rest quickly, he was at it again. Once more was the tall and broad man hunched over the large easel as his hand working with the stick of black to create a masterpiece. And once more was the world nonexistant in his eyes.

Not once did the outside world bother him at all as he fully concentrated on his obessesion. Giggling ladies below and madly barking mutts, grimacing "gents" and cars and whims; none of it mattered when he was in his own little world. None of it. But it mattered to them. So, since their wandering gazes could penitrate his line of work, all they could do was watch as his wrist flicked madly in a rushing scrawl over the paper to make something their snooty eyes could not see. He was a insane one he was. He was insane. Or at least they thought he was . . .

Broad, heavy strokes of the chishled tip carcoal pencil ran upon the smooth texture of the white paper. Fine lines and other small starting figments brought out the shading and the stitches binding the piece together. He panted in excitement as he rushed to bring the finishing product to life. He was so utterly hopeless with this particular muse. And he was at its grasping hold till it was all done and over with.

A small nicely shaped chin, and high defined cheekbones appeared with a natural stunning blush of pink. Nose as small and round as a button and lips as lush and full as the imaginer's dream came to the view of the large paper creating an attractive feature of the defined profile. Pale skin shone in the magistic protraying view as she seemingly danced with vigor upon the surface. Small soft hands with long tipped nails came up to entangle into the belonging person's long and curly hair that which fell around in mass waves. She was a beauty she was. She was a beauty.

But even if this was all in shades of non-color, one with eyes could see that indeed she was in color as she smiled. Something, though, something made her eyes stand out the most in this situation as he grew fusterated with his antics (It was not turning out properly!), but everyone already knew that he was extremely demanding and a perfectionist. Everyone.

Her eyes. They were so full of giving life and love as they sparkled like shadow in the photo. Her eyes . . . even in the colorless world of blacks, whites, and grays, one even knew then, that her eyes were so beautifully blue. Deepest blue and royal purple seemed to mix as the God's will was broke when people saw her eyes. Her eyes . . . there was no word to describe them! They were simply so marvelous! And hidden behind reaching lashes, the eyes clearly stated that she was happy at this fair scene.

It was now that the lads and ladies saw as the man's molten lava frames as they peered over the top of the drawing to see what the people were looking at. They were so cold and unforgiving as opposite to the woman's. But he merely frowned and turned back to look at what his blistering hands had strained over this time and blew stray hairs from his forehead. So sun connected with waters and the planet was in balance.

He was again sighing at the line of coal. He was obessed. And now that he was finished, the man dropped the now small and thin piece of carcoal to let it fall at his feet. He let his feet slip as he fell back upon the the stool and reached up with black hands to wipe his face, thus making smears of coal caress his cheek as it mixed with the sweat to stain his brow. His head once more fell back as if it was causing him a great deal of pain. He exhaled and just looked up at the world's skies cursing whomever up in heaven thought is funny for him to slave over a casual childhood friend and make him long for something that he could not have. He was too old to be throwing a fit, in fact, he was far too old to even be considered human anymore.

Taking the small glasses resting on his nose, and snaped them close before putting them into his pocket, he looked again as what he had done. The all too familar model was becoming deja vu all over again and he quickly decided that he needed a new hobby. So taking his stomach's advice to leave and up heave his morning's contents, he left and walked away leaving the portrait to yellow into the basking sun for he didn't care what happened to it anymore. (Or that was what he tried to tell himself . . .)

It was a girl. A female companion. A lost lover. A dear friend. A young girl with eyes pouring out to the open window as she smiled brightly to light the sulking taints and tired. Her left hair came up to wrap around a lock of hair that she was scattered around her crown as she lay upon the bed she was occupying and gave it a small tug. Her right hand came to modestly cover her breasts that peeked out from the sheets that had bound her, and she knotted her hand into their milky layer. And she smiled as she looked at something. She was young, beautful, and in love. Every girl's wish.

And in the coner, there was a name that spilled over the coner in the dust markings of the pencil. And it said, "Sesshoumaru Taisho."

Author's Summary: Based off of Cappie's Forgotten Wish. He was just another artist with the dream to live big. She was just another island beauty who "seduced" him. When he hurts her, she leaves and he wants to forget. Until they meet again in the big city of La Paris and New York.



Good Bye!

Love, Lea ;)