More of Felicity's story :D

Chapter 4
The Sheriff
Frodo and Sam walked in and stopped at the sheriff's desk.

“Well hello kids, what can I do fer ya?”

“Well for one, you can stop calling us kids, 'cause we're not,” Frodo began.

“And....?” asked the sheriff.

“And for another,you can tell us what that guy in the room with a metal door is doing.”

“well,y'all are kids, so no, I wont stop that, but that guy 'in the room with metal doors', as you put it,was caught pick pocketing and was put in jail.”

The next two chapters in Felicity's story

Chapter Two

Frodo and Sam had finally proved, after two weeks at Jim’s house, that they were not children, so they were given horses, and they had a difficult time with them, but finally, they got up on the horses and went to expplore the town. First plac they stopped at was the Barrol o’ Boys Saloon. Sam was trying to sound it out.

“The Bar-rel ‘o Boys Salon? Sal-oon? Sayloon? How do you pronounce that Mr. Frodo?”

“Saloon, let’s see what’s inside.”

“OK Mr. Frodo.”

Newborns are fierce, wild creatures of the wood. They come out judging society and condemning injustice. I did not realize this until a month ago, when I met my nephew.

Tears for the Hopeless, Hope for the Shameful:
How Alyosha Redeems His Novel

This is a story written by my ten year old sister Felicity :)
More later :D

This was written as Lord of the Rings fanfiction, because of the song 'Into the west'

Into The Wild West

By: Felicity Andrews

I have risen up
From the shadows
Though the light
You used to give
Has disappeared
I have come back
To take my revenge for you
And I will not rest
Until I’ve seen it through

I will overthrow the rulers
Who crushed me underfoot
I will watch them scream
And cower as they die
I will have no mercy
For they had none for me
And I will finally be Queen

As the semester draws to a close
Nails off chalkboard
I think to myself
just wow
and wrap my arms around
myself
because inside
I'm stuffed with love and light
and thankfulness and
there was grass under my hands
a breeze tousling my hair
everybody fit
and I stared around the circle and
we knew that this was it
And later on, inside
still warm from the cool of the night
She came in rolling
laughing
giggling
pulling
me
down, hair mingling

Let's play a game. We'll start by reading this poem, then we'll try to gather a response to it and take a guess at possible authors.

#6
you

are

inscribed
in the
lines on the
ceiling

you

are

inscribed in
the depths
of
the
storm
~*~*~

Ok, so, there's a poem with no particular rhyme, rhythm, or meter, written in free verse - all of which speak of a poet living in recent or semi-recent times. The lack of punctuation may remind some of e. e. cummings.

When I first came to my office in London, I noticed him. He sat in the market place day after day, same place as always, same position, on his knees in an attitude of humility. A small wooden bowl was before him, and occasionally, a passerby would drop in a coin or two with a small clink. I never had time for him; he was just another beggar on the streets of London. And one couldn’t give money to all beggars.

and after all this
time
to see you
is to feel the same young
stir

a tugging exuberance
a stomachless feeling
air
and light
they turn

trying to outdo each other
a battle of raw wits
trying to out-prove each other
a battle of what-ifs

and me stuck there in the middle of it
and me clutched there in the midst

and after
then
they stay with me
so
bubbly
lingering
for the day

a golden-glowing
cheekbones-crowing
zero-percent
champagne