Excerpt, The Boys of Barr na Sráide. Chapter (?) - "Fathers and Sons"

Cahirciveen, August 1918.

John Sheehan sat outside his cottage, smoking his pipe, and looking over the town, thinking the thoughts that no one is allowed to see inside a father's mind. The sky was a deep shade of orange and there was a strip of blood across the green Binn an Tí.

"Would ye be lookin' at that sky, Conor," said the old man, taking his pipe out from between his teeth, as his son came loping up the hill.

  This is a summary of a story that I will be doing for the NaNoWriMo Young Writers' Program...meaning I won't be on AP much for a month!

  Kerry Nicholas is new to the town of Raleigh, North Carolina. She had just settled down when things start happening. People go missing and are later found-dead. Kerry wants to know what's going on-but how? When she does something foolish, what will happen? Her adventure, taking her to meet many other people, including the mysterious girl who claims to be Kerry's Creator, will keep her on her toes!

In the Oracle of Qeylen, and the truth revealed to him by the Captain of the Hosts of Áronyeh, before he departed across the sea, it is written:

Hear, O Rayôn, these words,
And listen, you his sons, to the truth:
Repent! And turn to the light.
Find wisdom herein, and forsake the darkness.
Do not heed the words of deceit,
Nor follow the counsels of the twisted one.

ApricotPie is going to be closing in ten days now. I know most people have accepted it, but I can’t. I’m not ready to go to the ApricotPie Outpost or to ApricotTarts, no matter how thankful I am to Mary and Kassady for creating those sites. I’ve written here for about a year. I know some people say they saw this coming, but I didn’t. I never expected it to stop.

~I debated whether to post this on the 26th, my third anniversary of joining AP and the last one I'll be able to celebrate on the site. I was going to until I realized that some people might not get to read it within six days.~
III
Despite my resolution, I confess I couldn’t get Seamus Sheehan’s face and letter out of my noggin. And who was Wygate to close his shop on a whim and cavort off to rescue star-crossed lovers?
“May I ask you a question, Wygate?” I asked instead, laying the letter on the desk again.

Alas, for spelling is dead, and with it its brother, proper usage.

Hardly a day, nay, hardly a few hours pass without an automatic correction coming forth from my mouth, be it for a sibling or a character in a movie.
"Are! Are!"
"I, not me!"
"WEREN'T! Gosh!"

However there are a few, a very few, who remember to correct themselves.

And what is it that we're meant to have wrote? ...written!

                                                                    -The Phantom of The Opera

*A/N* The Box is just a random-writing thing. It's not supposed to make sense :):) just to let everybody know.

I can't remember how I found AP. I think the first thing I read was Aisling's "You Know You're a Homeschooler When..." It was shortly after we moved overseas. I followed AP for a little while, but didn't really get involved. Then I stumbled across it again later and decided I wanted to stay for good that time around. I remember days I'd daydream about years from now when our children and grandchildren would be writing on here.

"I didn't see you at the beginning of the battle," Danilos remarked.
Jokk glared at him, clenching his hands around his quoroni.
"Where were you? Hiding in a cave, afraid to come out and face me? You always have been a coward."
Jokk lunged at him, the blades on his quoroni whistling. Danilos lazily brought his sword up to meet it. At the first shock, Jokk felt fear spike into him again. What was he doing? Why had he come back only to face the one man he feared?
"You feel it," Danilos hissed.

26. The Tragedy of the Marble Cat
This marble cat sits
On a marble windowsill,
Watching everlasting asphalt streets.
On marble haunches,
Teases metal cars
With its sleek, cold grace.
Lifelike marble tail,
Slender as hairless stone can be,
Almost seems to swing,
With a touch of imagination.
Bright emerald eyes wink,
Almost intelligently.
But not for all the imagination in the world
Will this marble cat ever
Catch a single real mouse.

27.
I dreamed a dream of sunshine