This is the script for the first page of my comic book.

Frost had pervaded the air and tumbled into my anxious lungs. It gripped them and crushed until I could no longer breathe. She fell from my hand, ringing out into the air upon her contact with the ground. The cold slowly ushers it's way into unbearable and I curse all decisions prior to finding myself here. My knees crash into the cement, and I am certain the bone is cracked. My hand moves to caress the face and barrel, and sheseems to recoil at my touch.

"Dont you love me anymore?" I asked her. "Darling, please allow my touch!"

My pleading is unrequited. Her last words will follow her stare into my temple, and my brain will breathe its last with her death upon me.

I love you darling.

Goodbye.

hmm?

My eyes were oblivious so far to the light that poured to them; perhaps not so much oblivious as unable to register the disturbance as being light. All in all, I was aware of some barrier between myself and the darkness that had suddenly pervaded everything, but I had no name by which to beckon to it. It evaded my attempts at grasping it mentally or physically. My vision, blurred and shaken, refused to perceive what it actually existed as. It was only a slight difference in what was that now aided in establishing what was now. It separated me forever from the near past, forming a new, and divine present. And yet it concealed the future, which I am sure held its very identity, from my knowledge.

            In an instant, I had become surrounded in light. In this instant, my mind recognized the light as existing and as having saved me from the darkness which engulfed me in the past regrets. This is the future.

http://www.purevolume.com/thestilettoformal

holy geez

Monsiuer Ivin Bruskley

            If one relied merely upon the visual realm as a method of judgment, it could be easily contrived that Monsieur Bruskley was of a highly persuaded nature. His general expression, for the most part, could not be expected to portray very complex reasoning ability. One might think to say that his stare was blank, but really in the sense of blank, it was not so. It did indeed portray emotion, and deeply so, therefore rendering it unworthy of such a title as blank. Monsieur Bruskley was a deeply emotional being, temperamental and dramatic in equal measure. However, it was perhaps this quality (the tendency to display unchecked emotions) that rendered him quite shallow in appearance. Indeed, though, the first perception acquired by visual contact with Ivin could often be accurate if one read in such a way as defined here. He was not much beyond what one could gather by watching his expression. Therefore, indeed shallow.

Some quality in her eyes suggested unwavering optimism. However, to know her was to become intimate with doubt of ones own eyes; whether they were suited for the aid of such conjectures. She indeed existed as a complete contradiction of physical form. A living, breathing paradox.

He was an individual hardly capable of being mistaken in the meaning of his words. A particular quality surrounded his being that could shape his expressions to convey exactly the emotion of the words he spoke. His  mouth, even beyond the mere contractions underwent in forming speech seemed to actually change the ways in which it moved around its syllables to convey deeper meaning, perhaps opening even a portal to his soul. One could be confident in assuming he woukd never lie. He had no such ability to hide himself.

            I can only stare in to the void now. Its lifeless mass looks at me as if any moment it shall lurch forward to consume me. And yet, in these thoughts, perhaps it does begin to consume me. Traveling on the legs of my fear and anticipation it draws my thoughts into its gaping jaws. My screams of horror succumb to it, and my vision is impaired as I stare into the light it even now devours. My last thoughts lend themselves to the void, and it becomes all I thought I had been. In an instant, the loneliness within my own mind becomes painfully apparent to me, creating, in its own creation, a separate void which will suck my emotions, the last of my being, into it. I am alone, apart even from myself. We are all alone.

i care too much about all thewrong things

i wish i had the capacity to be stressed over finals, and to care whether i pass

but i dont

i just dont worry