The Writer's Café

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I haven't typed at all this week, and probably won't next either. I've not had any time to do anything, so sorry. I don't suppose I should get people to start anticipating my story if i'm never going to get a chance to finish it.
 
A black void of despair,
Empty of all hope and kindness,
As she stared mindless,
Her face etched with loss,
She had been fired by her boss,
Then her husband died,
She cried,
And baked her only cat into a pie,
She ate the pie with a sigh,
The pie made her hi,
She then curled up and cried,
As she contemplated suicide,
Alas, she failed,
The police took her papers and filed 'em,
Before sending her to an insane asylum,
She was put in a straight jacket,
To avoid creating a racket,
She was suppose to live out her years,
In a cell,
She ended up fighting through her tears,
And now has a story to tell,
About her escape from the asylum,
After the police took her papers and filed 'em,
She was sent to an asylum,
The asylum couldn't contain her,
So she broke out with some help,
From a mysterious sir,
The sir sold kelp,
He broke her out and killed the guards,
With a few glass shards,
They all fell,
And that's the story she had to tell.


THE END!
 
Your emotions flow outward as a new mother, scared and loving
your love surrounds us all
insecurity is your enemy the savior your courage
for here a road we must travel, a goodbye we must endure
Our past life is no more- there is only me, and you.
 
Feather, if you're gonna act like things are ok now, you must be fooling yourself and need to sort this anger out before it happens again and you say something you REALLY regret... I guess you've been warned
 
Lemme tell you all a story. The last story I'll ever tell.

It is about a good friend of mine, who I went to school with for many years.

He was a nice, respectable guy who had good humor and charisma. But then, he started having spasms of anger, lashing out at anyone who so much as nudged him towards annoyance. After such spasms, he would proceed to act as though he was perfectly calm and nothing had happened. Later, he'd begun lying to us about eachother, because of an illusion that we were stealing his friends. The three of us (there were 4) now don't go anywhere near him.

Feather, that's you. Nobody, and I mean NOBODY, can do what you did and then just brush it off.

FanFic doesn't have long to live, and we can thank only one person.
 
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