Rynere drew her knees up to her chest and sighed. She didn't want to travel with whoever this Tass-person was. He seemed too dangerous. She tried to convince herself that the fact that he was a know-it-all had nothing to do with her dislike. It didn't work.

Rynere heard a rustle in the bushes behind her and turned slightly, trying to see what it was.

She nearly screamed when a fuzzy red squirrel hopped out. Rynere scolded herself for being too nervous.

But then, who wouldn't be nervous in her position?

 Dear Crazy Girl




Chapter 1


I guess this story starts. On a Friday, at breakfast when my father , Jim “FedEx“… ok I know what your thinking “ FedEx ? like the mail deliverers ?” , yes . The very FedEx family . I am a descendant of a very rich and popular ancestry . My family are millionaire’s, but the only thing about my family is – We’re kind of mean. You see, my father and his father before him have this tradition of taking other peoples addresses and prank message them. Yes I did this, I know! The protagonist is a big snot.

**I and some of my friends were challenged to write a poem and the only rule was that it had to involve pudding. I present to you a tragic story of love never fulfilled...make sure you have some tissues handy.**

"Archflame?" Varian peered into cave mouth and cupped his hands around his lips. He shouted for Archflame once more. Then he rapped sharply on the gong set into the mountain. Its deep tones belled through the cave, echoing and bouncing into silence.
"Why are you disturbing him?" Fleet muttered. "I know that we are not man-eating dragons, but Archflame does still have a temper. And remember, you are not fire-resistant like me."
Varian ignored him. "Archflame?"

I pulled my hair into a long ponytail and rolled up my sleeves. Time to air out memories, pushing dark shades back. I brooked no funerals.

I only meant to dust them off, to tuck sweet-scented flowers in their folds and hang them up again, but the first one I pulled out I knew I had to wear.

I held it close. "Oh, I love this one," I whispered, the fabric of the memory, all it was made of, rubbing my cheek. Well-made memories like to greet you with a kiss and a warm embrace.

Emily McGirth followed her mother up the stairs to the second floor of the church and into the small conference room. When she reached the doorway, she saw a large mahogany table standing in the center, surrounded by grand black chairs. The furniture seemed to know that it was destined to host people that contained matters of great importance that required the comfort of the furniture to ease the pain of lengthy discussion. Their self-proclaimed magnificence made her feel underdressed in her jeans and T-shirt and unworthy in her youth.

He whispers to her
The story of an enraptured King
He depicts the tale of a passionate Savior
He whispers the story of rebellious royalty
He tells the tale of an ungrateful redemption
He illustrates the legend of a captivated Lover
He tells the tale of an adoring Father
He recounts the story of an adulterating heart
He murmurs the tale of a wayward child
Then He smiles as the tears of the pain,
Of the battle for her soul, begin to dry
And the memories of the past
Fade to the realities of the present

*A/N* Hello! I just had an impulse to write today and this is what came out of it! My personal favorite is Driving (40)....

Dancing.
Just dancing.
It's just You and me.
Though the room is packed full
You're all I can see.

The tears
Stopped flowing
Those tears, they are done.
They ran a long while
But now have finished their run.

I'm happy;
Smiling, laughing,
Because I can see
Beautiful You, smiling,
And now laughing with me.

So we dance
And You catch me
And it's just You and me.