Blue boy

Hi, I'm sorry. I have a huge project due frighteningly soon, but im here anyways. Comments are officially down, so I apologize to anyone who has tried to comment and failed. I'm working on it, and I will get back to you. Without further ado (because who likes ado?) perhaps though hast read it incorrectly.  WARNING: This one wound up way sadder than I meant. I'm sorry guys!

    The boy was so cold. It seemed to surround him, leaving him empty, hollowed out by the icy wind. His fingertips were already tinged blue and his breath came in white gusts. He shivered inside the hay stack, his horn beside him. Why had he run away from home? Only a crook would employ a kid like him, and a crook definitly had. He worked for hours with spiteful sheep who butted him and stole his sparse food when he called. The only thing that soothed these savage beasts was a blast on a mouldering trumpet given to him on his first day. He didn't like to think about who had used it last.
     He couldn't focus his thoughts any longer. The cold surrounded him, clutching him in a deadly embrace. His muscles tensed against it , but relaxed. He felt warm, truly warm for the first time since the weather had turned. He relaxed, and allowed it to flow through his muscles. He gave in at long last to a sudden desire for sleep, and for freedom.

Beary unhappy

     So, hi guys. I introduce you to our guest blogger Lyric Robbins AKA queen of the Fangirls. Sorry about the time, but Lyric and I have been emailing each other trying to figure this out for weeks. Finally, despite the lack of comments, we have a new voice. I present, Miss Lyric Robbins.
     Hi. My name is Lyric Robbins and I did this as a favour to my friend Emma. I realize it's a little late, but time differences you know. Anyway, please go check out my blog. I'm not as good as Emma with keeping up to date with schedules, but I have been known to be funny at times. So yeah check it out. http://bitsandpiecesfromafangirlsbrain.blogspot.ca/?m=1 (Note: this is the mobile version. To reach the computer version, delete everything after .ca)
    Teddy bear teddy bear do this, do that. The only words he'd ever heard. Show your shoe, say your prayers, go to bed. Commands, hidden as a rhyme. He'd never disobeyed them. Why, he never knew. He always wondered what would happen, but he never tried anything because that voice would come back and he would have to start following orders again. The what purpose, he never knew. But it's not like he cared to.

It's raining

 Hi. I said I wouldn't post, but I've changed the settings. Commenting should be easier now, so please do. The guest blogger is coming, but she's still working on her post. She's really cool, although I've never really met her in person. This post was my attempt to make you cry, or at least feel sad. Did it work? Either way, you read this one wrong I think.

   The old man knew that his time was a time gone by. He had grown old, and the world had moved on without him. He had fought for what he thought was right. He had fought for freedom and the people he saw had already forgotten. They lived their lives and often wasted their lives without remembering the cost. 

    As the rain poured down outside the large house he couldn't bring himself to sell, the tired veteran climbed slowly up the steep stairs. He didn't stop, ignoring the pain from ancient wounds until he reached the top of the staircase. He winced once, limping to the bathroom. With shaking hands he downed pills for memory, for strong bones, for pain, and prepared himself for bed. 

     "He didn't go in pain."

     "He'll never be forgotten."

     "At least he's with Evelyn now."

     "I'm sorry."

    

Happy Halloween!

Hello! Happy (late) Halloween! This is my 13th post, ironically enough. I'm doing pretty well for views but my muse needs fuel. I need comments, suggestions! Even a blow by blow of how terrible my blog is would be helpful. COMMENT or no guest blogger. No post at all next week.
Now, I'm not avtually sure there's aright way to read this one.
  The gingerbread witch had one holiday she hated worse than all others. Now that she didn't eat children, she had chosen a more suburban neighborhood. Close to the "organic" market and with full broom service, it was the ideal location. Except for one thing. Halloween. 

    The children swarmed her house, yanking off whatever their fat little hands could carry. They shoved their bags full of her house, and then had the nerve to knock on her desiccated door and ask for more candy. Next year though, she would turn their rhyme back on them. She would full their noses with a scent so foul their candy would taste like feet for a month. She would fill their room with a waterfall so large their beds would slosh. And then she would hand them a lollipop and say "Happy Halloween!"