<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953502736485156642</id><updated>2012-02-16T11:56:56.649-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Stories of the other world</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>the blood shed left on that snowy day./ /</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>18</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953502736485156642.post-5061835289639338592</id><published>2009-05-19T05:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-19T05:13:05.373-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Okay.... Just changed skin... Pic something wrong.. I can't bother to care....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3953502736485156642-5061835289639338592?l=storied-floors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/feeds/5061835289639338592/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/05/okay.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/5061835289639338592'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/5061835289639338592'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/05/okay.html' title=''/><author><name>the blood shed left on that snowy day./ /</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953502736485156642.post-7064672489535136386</id><published>2009-05-12T06:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-12T06:54:16.345-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The girl blinks, in front of the computer, she gives no emotion at all as she types. She suddenly sighs, breaking the silence in the computer room. Her heart feels heavy, and she just isn't in the mood for anything. She just had a quarrel with a friend, and her friends are getting more persistent in getting their needs cared for. She sighs again, this time a tear gently secretly slipping down her left eye. She closes her eyes, and heaves a sigh of sadness. She stares into the sky and thinks to herself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Is this suppose to be my life until i go to a different class from my present classmates? Or will I remain depressed, unable to even express myself to who i have thought are my good friends?" she mumbles to herself as she questions life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pondering over, she decides to get some rest or talk to someone. Maybe she can listen to the radio.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" Will it cheer me up?" she again ponders, deciding to give it a try as she walks up t0 her room and rest.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3953502736485156642-7064672489535136386?l=storied-floors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/feeds/7064672489535136386/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/05/girl-blinks-in-front-of-computer-she.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/7064672489535136386'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/7064672489535136386'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/05/girl-blinks-in-front-of-computer-she.html' title=''/><author><name>the blood shed left on that snowy day./ /</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953502736485156642.post-6994550519158926185</id><published>2009-05-07T06:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-07T06:35:22.646-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>THe girl smirks in front of her laptop. She looks at her facebook account regularly, due to her friend's influence. Her friend requests from other people, Janson, Ashley... She sighs.. Tomorrow is maths. Thinking of her exam results which was just a mere 35, she felt slightly sad. After all, maths was her next strong subject after art. She wanted to take the aesthetics course the next year, but she couldn't. Her dad would strongly forbid it, just like he will if she ever got a boyfriend. She sighed. She wasn't suppose to be on the laptop, but she decided to take the chance and type a post. She wiped the sweat off her brow, and smiled. It was time for her to sleep, and be rid of all these annoying revisions for mathamatics and physics.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3953502736485156642-6994550519158926185?l=storied-floors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/feeds/6994550519158926185/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/05/girl-smirks-in-front-of-her-laptop.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/6994550519158926185'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/6994550519158926185'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/05/girl-smirks-in-front-of-her-laptop.html' title=''/><author><name>the blood shed left on that snowy day./ /</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953502736485156642.post-3290685518832402028</id><published>2009-05-03T05:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-03T05:29:18.540-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The girl types on her computer, doing the latest math assignment her teacher gave. she scanned through the question, then clicked on an answer anyhow, recieving crosses many times. She did not have the heart to do this properly. She sighed. The next day was history, and she could not remember the notes and all the information. Unlike her sister who could just blab out everything she read, the girl shaked her head the first time she tried. She looked at the time. 8.25. Her parents wanted her to eat dinner, but she refused to, until she finished her assignment.&lt;br /&gt;~.~&lt;br /&gt;A few days ago was the competition on their board game. She wondered what did she do to deserve such stress. It had piled onto her stack of stress, containing work stress, expectation stress and after exam stress. She was participating in the cultural fiesta during June and she also was in choir, who were presenting in Kranji's SYF fiesta 2009. She wasn't a SYF singer, unable to pass the test, but she still somehow felt happy that they were having a concert after the exams, although i would mean expectation stress. She smiled faintly to herself. Her hunger was rising. She sighed and left to finally eat.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3953502736485156642-3290685518832402028?l=storied-floors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/feeds/3290685518832402028/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/05/girl-types-on-her-computer-doing-latest.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/3290685518832402028'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/3290685518832402028'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/05/girl-types-on-her-computer-doing-latest.html' title=''/><author><name>the blood shed left on that snowy day./ /</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953502736485156642.post-3105879235894363588</id><published>2009-04-29T07:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-29T07:35:52.106-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Lalalala... I am extremely bored, tml need to go school. wanna sleep!!!!! Sian... I wanna cry. but not so emotional as ******nyahahahaha. He's going to kill me.....  Better hide liao.. okay..sian.. i think i go play cabal...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3953502736485156642-3105879235894363588?l=storied-floors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/feeds/3105879235894363588/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/04/lalalala.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/3105879235894363588'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/3105879235894363588'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/04/lalalala.html' title=''/><author><name>the blood shed left on that snowy day./ /</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953502736485156642.post-5244540872277204840</id><published>2009-04-28T07:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T07:20:48.244-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Okay... This is going to be a short post cause my dad'll be coming down any moment to start scolding me for not going to sleep. Okay... Not going to type story today cuz not inspiration. Got writer's block... Okay... He's here... I really got to go.. Man.. Let's see...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One step one leap&lt;br /&gt;A little spin, her face a grin&lt;br /&gt;The path is left empty for colours&lt;br /&gt;She's tainted it black,herself, a loner&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Draw a picture&lt;br /&gt;colour it white&lt;br /&gt;It becomes black&lt;br /&gt;No matter how hard you try&lt;br /&gt;~.~&lt;br /&gt;Okay random poem i typed on spot.. gtg good luck for e exams!!! ^^&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3953502736485156642-5244540872277204840?l=storied-floors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/feeds/5244540872277204840/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/04/okay.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/5244540872277204840'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/5244540872277204840'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/04/okay.html' title=''/><author><name>the blood shed left on that snowy day./ /</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953502736485156642.post-6826831389712156492</id><published>2009-04-22T07:27:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-22T07:34:11.980-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Emptiness(a short poem)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Outside my window&lt;br /&gt;I stare at the stars&lt;br /&gt;Feeling empty inside me&lt;br /&gt;I long for someone&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everything's changing&lt;br /&gt;And I'm wondering why&lt;br /&gt;Left alone, away from home&lt;br /&gt;With no one by my side&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Emptiness came&lt;br /&gt;Sucked the life out of me&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm just like a shell&lt;br /&gt;No soul, hollow, empty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's a house nearby&lt;br /&gt;And the whole place, filled with light&lt;br /&gt;I knock on the door&lt;br /&gt;But there's no answer from inside&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dejected, Rejected&lt;br /&gt;From the crowd that seemed so pure&lt;br /&gt;And now, i realise, they are&lt;br /&gt;Devils trying to be demure&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My eyes have no emotion&lt;br /&gt;But my heart is in pain&lt;br /&gt;And I long for that someone,&lt;br /&gt;Who will free me from this place&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The path is dark and wretched&lt;br /&gt;And there's only one ending here&lt;br /&gt;The fear of dying dissolves me&lt;br /&gt;Leading me to the road of despair&lt;br /&gt;~.~&lt;br /&gt;To be continued if ever...&lt;br /&gt;~.~&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3953502736485156642-6826831389712156492?l=storied-floors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/feeds/6826831389712156492/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/04/emptinessa-short-poem-outside-my-window.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/6826831389712156492'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/6826831389712156492'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/04/emptinessa-short-poem-outside-my-window.html' title=''/><author><name>the blood shed left on that snowy day./ /</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953502736485156642.post-7011087168966280654</id><published>2009-04-09T18:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-09T18:24:41.890-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The girl stares out at the window. She smiles and grins. Lovesick? Maybe. Hate? Nah. Happy?Duh! She laughs at the people's comments. Rarely people tagged but, when they did, as she sat behind her laptop screen, she would smile with joy. She allowed spamming. It was the only thing  she could keep her blog alive. Speaking of alive, she couldn't wait for her new church's concert "Get Alive". Then, she smiled. Today was her church -that she grew up in- practice for their easter performance. Her sister was taking part, and she wanted to go. But she had dance. Maybe if she didn't go for channel heaven... It was so conplicated... How could she decide?&lt;br /&gt;~.~&lt;br /&gt;She would go on the computer and chat. If anyone was awake at this hour. Or maybe hop to people's blogs. Then she decided to go facebook. Wonder who knew she had one. Her annoying schoolmate Janson said she always cooped up in her room and didn't do anything outside there...&lt;br /&gt;~.~&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3953502736485156642-7011087168966280654?l=storied-floors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/feeds/7011087168966280654/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/04/girl-stares-out-at-window.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/7011087168966280654'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/7011087168966280654'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/04/girl-stares-out-at-window.html' title=''/><author><name>the blood shed left on that snowy day./ /</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953502736485156642.post-4911214857103523550</id><published>2009-04-07T02:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-07T02:48:02.319-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>She sighs, and stares outside the window. So bored.... For now, she decides she would rather sleep that do her work.. She walks out and stares into the sky. A breezy day.... Wonder if he's awake... She stares at her friend who is moaning away acting sad cause her friends are teasing her. She smiles at her friend's reactions to their teasing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Crazy... she sighs and stares at the girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee" the girl laughs and everyone follows her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;~.~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Situated by me lala and mao mao&lt;br /&gt;please guess who is who.&lt;br /&gt;have fun!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3953502736485156642-4911214857103523550?l=storied-floors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/feeds/4911214857103523550/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/04/she-sighs-and-stares-outside-window.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/4911214857103523550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/4911214857103523550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/04/she-sighs-and-stares-outside-window.html' title=''/><author><name>the blood shed left on that snowy day./ /</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953502736485156642.post-2545746821677581648</id><published>2009-04-04T21:09:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-04T21:56:33.937-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cursed Love - Prologue</title><content type='html'>She stared at the flower, which was encased in a box. She stood up, and paced back and forth, in circles. She sighed and went back to her original position, her head on the table, as she continued to stare at the flower.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why don't you go out to the village and find him?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Zenith, who would believe that the girl they met at the midsummer's ball would be the cursed daughter of Lord Riseal? Would you? Besides, what's the use Zenith? It's not like he's going to break the curse..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You can always try... Mistress Lotelia? It's time for your lesson."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It is? Oh... Umm... Joshua? Why are you in a dress?" Lotelia gave a questionable look.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zenith turned around and saw Noel in a black frilly dress, combined with white intricate designs. She stared blankly at him before literally rolling on the floor laughing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It was..."Joshua was starting to blush.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                                              "No doubt Mistress Loretta's work..."Lotelia sighing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"As i was saying, How about Noel? He seems fit.. To your description i mean..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lotelia gave a look at Zenith.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Joshua... Joshua... Why is it always him? Am I so unfortunate to have my life intertwined with his till my life seems to surround him? To be cursed by the devil is already terrible enough, but being teased and tortured by human pleasures is terrifying..." Lotelia sighed as she finally got out of her chair and  strolled off for her dance lesson.&lt;br /&gt;~.~&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3953502736485156642-2545746821677581648?l=storied-floors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/feeds/2545746821677581648/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/04/cursed-love-prologue.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/2545746821677581648'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/2545746821677581648'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/04/cursed-love-prologue.html' title='Cursed Love - Prologue'/><author><name>the blood shed left on that snowy day./ /</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953502736485156642.post-4126030123878855344</id><published>2009-04-03T09:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-03T09:40:38.637-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Blood tastes better than chocolates&lt;br /&gt;~.~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A petite girl sits on the tree, staring down. Her eyes are the shade of bloodshot, her mouth painted black. She was as pale as the moonlight and her contrasting black clothes made her outstanding. She takes out a pocket watch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"22 00 hours... 2 more to go..."&lt;/em&gt; she murmurs to herself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The wind starts to blow, and from the building, emerges a thin yet strong looking tall boy walking towards the tree. He wears black also, but he is the shade of human skin. He stares upwards and smiles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ready?" he asks the girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"You're 2 hours early. "&lt;/em&gt; the girl sighed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh well, what could she expect from a low life human aristocrat vampire. All they knew was to suck blood at night when the moonlight shone as bright as the sun. Midnight. It was too early for her to kill anyone. How she craved for blood, but her condition only allowed her to suck blood at the stroke of twelve. She gave a lift off her feet, and landed on the ground with agility and grace. She pulled out her pocket watch again. 23 00. just one more hour.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Let's... play a game. How about hide and seek?"&lt;/em&gt; the girl gave a meanecing smile, her eyes tensed up, after all, if she wanted blood it had to be sweet...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Alright!" the boy grinned and ran off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The girl breathed in. She licked her lips. Her nobility gave her the ability to smell blood. It was going to be sweet. She picked out her watch. 23 59. Time passes so quickly when she was having fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Dong..."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bell rang. It was finally midnight. She took in one long breath and vanished.&lt;br /&gt;~.~&lt;br /&gt;The boy that ran away sat on a chair under the sakura tree and rested. A wierd thing happened. Two red blood eyes, sweet with satisfactory, stared at the boy. The girl appeared, and rested her hand on his shoulder. her nails almost protruded his skin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"&lt;em&gt;Found you. Now you shall pay the consequence..."&lt;/em&gt; The girl grinned, her face twisted with devilish joy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The boy turned around startled and shocked by what the girl said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Please... Mistress Lotelia!!! Please! Let me go!!"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The girl sucked up the blood in his body and licked her lips. She cracked her knuckles. It was time she put an end to all her family's misery for the past eight thousand years. Taking out a bar of chocolate, she bit on one part, and spitted it out. Her chocolates didn't taste as sweet as the blood just now. She sighed with an evil plot, before making a dash to the headquarters, where her prize layed.&lt;br /&gt;~.~&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3953502736485156642-4126030123878855344?l=storied-floors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/feeds/4126030123878855344/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/04/blood-tastes-better-than-chocolates.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/4126030123878855344'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/4126030123878855344'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/04/blood-tastes-better-than-chocolates.html' title=''/><author><name>the blood shed left on that snowy day./ /</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953502736485156642.post-1507826793245787863</id><published>2009-03-24T06:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-24T07:01:18.055-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>~.~&lt;br /&gt;I smile at Ngai Yan and grins. Since you say so... &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;Alright! I shall! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Soon after that, i see Clarissa reading a book. Well, it didn't look like a book, but a notebook. Then i realise that it was my notebook and she was reading my story! I grin at her and say," &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;Like my stories? Of course you do!!!"&lt;/span&gt; And I start to laugh like mad as i meet up with Ngai Yan and Maria as we walk home.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suprisingly, everyone's acting strangly....&lt;br /&gt;~.~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's go out! open my mind&lt;br /&gt;let's go! sweet dream other side&lt;br /&gt;ima tokihanatsu kago no soto e&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sabitsuita kagi nariyamanu kodou&lt;br /&gt;kidzuiteta "mou...modorenai"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ushinawareta hibi ga (Hey baby why?)&lt;br /&gt;aoku tsunagatteku (I want to cry...)&lt;br /&gt;kowagaru jibun ni maketakunai yo&lt;br /&gt;unmei kara nigenai "hitori ja nai"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;soba ni iru tatoe donna ni&lt;br /&gt;kanashii yume da to shitemo kamawanai&lt;br /&gt;kimi no namida ni furetai yo... baby&lt;br /&gt;I pray... "shinjite"&lt;br /&gt;tsumetai kioku no yami kirisaite&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;kizutsuita 翼(hane) yasumaseru izumi&lt;br /&gt;tobikomu sube ga wakaranakute&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;taikutsu na basho iradachi ya fuan&lt;br /&gt;bokura wa kyou mo nayamu kedo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;kurai sora wo miage (Baby...for you)&lt;br /&gt;susumu kao wo agete (I'm here for you)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;aku naki omoi wo kaban ni tsumete&lt;br /&gt;fumidasu kokoro no yami wo furiharai&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;semeru ame no oto kanashiku naru nara&lt;br /&gt;yasashii kimi no tate ni naru&lt;br /&gt;shinjiru koto wo yamenaide always&lt;br /&gt;I pray...sono 瞳(me) ni&lt;br /&gt;chiisana kiseki wo utsushite misete&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ah… ah… ah… ah…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Hey baby why?… I want to cry… Hey baby why?&lt;br /&gt;Hey baby why?… I want to cry…&lt;br /&gt;I'm here for you… yeah…! believe yourself)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;soba ni iru soko ga donna ni&lt;br /&gt;kanashii yume no naka demo kamawanai&lt;br /&gt;onaji 瞬間(toki) wo ikite itai with U...&lt;br /&gt;I pray..."kotaete"&lt;br /&gt;moshi yurusareru narakimi no namida ni furetai yo... baby&lt;br /&gt;I pray... "shinjite"&lt;br /&gt;tsumetai kioku no yami kirisaite&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Pray by Tommy Heavenly6]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3953502736485156642-1507826793245787863?l=storied-floors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/feeds/1507826793245787863/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/03/blog-post_24.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/1507826793245787863'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/1507826793245787863'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/03/blog-post_24.html' title=''/><author><name>the blood shed left on that snowy day./ /</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953502736485156642.post-7911107405609657310</id><published>2009-03-24T06:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-24T06:42:58.866-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Another short story cause i can't think of what to write for the main one.... Sian....&lt;br /&gt;~.~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A Little Song&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;~.~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Barcarolle. No.6 from &lt;em&gt;Troiseme Recueil de Chants &lt;/em&gt;(Third Collection of Songs). The music repeats itself. It's apparently raining and tonight, hell's brewing up a storm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Boom!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A awake from my dream of music, right at that moment, Fantasy Impromptu by Chopin was playing in my head. Xin Yue... Was he real? My mind is confused by everything, it's just as if my dream world is as real as reality. I stare out of the window hoping to see nothing, but alas, i get a shock of my life. A petite young boy around the age of six is staring at me. His eyes are fiery red, which brings me almost into a hynoptic trance. I suddenly awake and realise, He's actually floating in the air, and i'm at some distant place, definitely not at home. The room spins a little and i find to see that i'm still at the music room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Big sis? Is that you?" the boy calls out, tilting his head to the left side.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I blink.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It is you! Tis a time for a celebration! Come! Let us sing and play! I'll go get big brother!" he runs off in a joyful tone and soon comes back with a bed-dragged hairstyled Xin Yue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I blink, and start to laugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What's so funny? You don't look too good yourself!" Xin Yue smirks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stare at myself. True enough, my clothes were all crumpled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The boy smiled cheekily at me, " Come big sis! Pick up the violin and play with us! Big Brother will play the piano, and i'll sing!!!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The violin? What in the world does he think that i can play the violin? Oh well, guess i'll give it a try... I pick up the violin and i breathe in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I slowly start to play the tune of Ave Maria, gentle and sweet. I smile faintly as i soon find myself going to sleep in a extremely soft but still, comfy bed... Tonight, my dreams will be full of cotton candy and sweet things.&lt;br /&gt;~.~&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3953502736485156642-7911107405609657310?l=storied-floors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/feeds/7911107405609657310/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/03/another-short-story-cause-i-cant-think.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/7911107405609657310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/7911107405609657310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/03/another-short-story-cause-i-cant-think.html' title=''/><author><name>the blood shed left on that snowy day./ /</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953502736485156642.post-5478740577068174300</id><published>2009-03-23T02:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-24T06:43:31.837-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;~.~&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;A short story forced upon by Ngai Yan&lt;br /&gt;~.~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Craving &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;for more&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;~.~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;The antique school building. A few miles away from the rest. It's past has always been a mystery, and now i'm going to solve it....&lt;br /&gt;Okay... Maybe i'm alittle too brave for my own good, but still, who cares?&lt;br /&gt;So let's say it all starts on a breezy day after school eh?&lt;br /&gt;No... It's raining... really heavily...&lt;br /&gt;~.~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Mmph! Just a little more! Got it!"I finally grabbed onto the branch at the top window.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pulling out my hairpin, i did a little jiggling and wiggling and... " There!" I finally unlocked the window.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I push open the window and i crawl in to dry myself. Where was I? I seemed like a music room. True, it certainly was.... There was a grand piano. I curiously stepped towards it, and stroked it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Knock! Creak!!! Oh-"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I turned around to find a guy staring at me. A blue tie! He's in the same year!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm sorry! I didn't know there were people here!! I'll take my leave." I did my best to restrain myself from screaming and walked out of the room...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay... Not walked out... He stopped me before i even did...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"My name's Xin Yue. Would you like to listen to a tune?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I gasped but replied, stuttering, "Yes- I-i'd love to!" Smiling, i followed him to the grand piano and noticed that there was a score at the piano, although there wasn't one before. The cover page said: Chopin. Fantasia Impromtu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's! I though it was very hard! Don't tell me you can play it?" I was shocked to see a musical genius other that the stuck up in my school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He started playing on the grand piano and I closed my eyes as the music swept me into a different world, bringing me in deep slumber. Then, i suddenly felt the soft pressed lips of someone else. Xin Yue. He left and i finally opened my eyes.Tears dropped from my eyes as i craved for more, more of him. Yet, I was unable to find him. It was as if, just a dream...&lt;br /&gt;~.~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3953502736485156642-5478740577068174300?l=storied-floors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/feeds/5478740577068174300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/03/blog-post.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/5478740577068174300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/5478740577068174300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/03/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>the blood shed left on that snowy day./ /</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953502736485156642.post-1799432672632645202</id><published>2009-03-23T00:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-23T02:37:09.018-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>The winter brings an autumn chill,&lt;br /&gt;while summer dims and spring brings ill.&lt;br /&gt;The ignorant still, remains not known,&lt;br /&gt;Darkness blurs in moonlight tone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A white one walks on grave and bones,&lt;br /&gt;The teeth of death where sickness grows.&lt;br /&gt;To be a half, foreseen untold,&lt;br /&gt;brings fear throughout, in heart and soul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One will walk across two worlds,&lt;br /&gt;hated by and banished whole,&lt;br /&gt;eternal damnation, SHE shall seek,&lt;br /&gt;a silent stare is all she'll need.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Be free from spells,&lt;br /&gt;Released to Earth.&lt;br /&gt;Her one true love,&lt;br /&gt;will save her still.&lt;br /&gt;~.~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" What do you say Misa? Do you want to be set free?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Whatever,"Misa shrugged nonchalantly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; "Well, there is another option..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hmm... What is it???" Misa turns in interest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You kill your true love..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" What? That's just like comitting suicide!!!" Misa shrieked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It's either that or you're stuck like this forever..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;" Fine... I do it my own way..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The portal shuts down and Misa is all alone again in her room. She stares at her reflection. She is actually quite beautiful, if not for her scar... She touches her cheek, thinking. What if she could break the spell? She sighs and stares at her reflection one more time before she heads off for another day of school as a new student.... again.&lt;br /&gt;~.~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Author's note:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hello everyone! Okay... It's just Clarissa, Ngai Yan, Joyce and Qian Ying... Oh well, I'll just continue typing this story till i'm sick of it and i'll try to find a way to end it. Everyone please tag so i can write tag stories!!! &gt;~&lt; Thank you all!!!  ")&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3953502736485156642-1799432672632645202?l=storied-floors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/feeds/1799432672632645202/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/03/winter-brings-autumn-chill-while-summer.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/1799432672632645202'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/1799432672632645202'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/03/winter-brings-autumn-chill-while-summer.html' title=''/><author><name>the blood shed left on that snowy day./ /</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953502736485156642.post-1851170009892219848</id><published>2009-03-23T00:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-23T00:16:31.520-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Lydia continues to walk down the path and soon meets up with Ngai Yan again. Her hand is bleeding. Ngai Yan is shocked at Lydia's nonchalance as &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Lydia shrugs, " It's just a little blood."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joyce walks by and beats Lydia with a hard slap and tells Lydia to link her blog. &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Lydia nods&lt;/span&gt; and runs off while Ngai Yan follows.&lt;br /&gt;Ngai Yan tells Lydia that she has already linked Joyce's blog and tells her to link as soon as possible. &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Lydia sighs and says," Alright..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She soon meets up with Qian Ying who is busy thinking of things to blog. &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Lydia grins and tells Qian Ying that she'll definitely support her.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Clarissa suddenly comes out of a nearby music shop and she passes Lydia what she forgot to take after she left. &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Lydia smiles and says, "thanks."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lydia reaches home after a long day and &lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;decides to check out Qian Ying's new blog, as she opens her notebook and starts to write her stories before she types it on her blog.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;~.~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay... Going to type stories.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3953502736485156642-1851170009892219848?l=storied-floors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/feeds/1851170009892219848/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/03/lydia-continues-to-walk-down-path-and.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/1851170009892219848'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/1851170009892219848'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/03/lydia-continues-to-walk-down-path-and.html' title=''/><author><name>the blood shed left on that snowy day./ /</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953502736485156642.post-2648477588296932679</id><published>2009-03-15T04:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-15T04:22:07.047-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Tagged replies.&lt;br /&gt;~&lt;br /&gt;Etc. Boring boring messages are on my board. Hurry up and tag more interesting things.&lt;br /&gt;~&lt;br /&gt;A girl in black hair walks down the road and tells Ngai Yan, &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;" I'm not an auntie..."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She takes out her daily planner and &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;updates&lt;/span&gt; her list of blogs incase of losing her blogger account.&lt;br /&gt;Qian Ying appears and the girl &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;shrugs her shoulders as if saying ' i dunno'.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;The girl smiles at Clarissa &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;says hello&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;~&lt;br /&gt;Nice? Nyahahahahahahahahahaha!!! I'm so smart!!!!!~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To be continued...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3953502736485156642-2648477588296932679?l=storied-floors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/feeds/2648477588296932679/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/03/tagged-replies.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/2648477588296932679'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/2648477588296932679'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/03/tagged-replies.html' title=''/><author><name>the blood shed left on that snowy day./ /</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3953502736485156642.post-8472206172304082857</id><published>2009-03-14T01:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-14T02:33:21.079-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hell is silent-Part 1</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;She gives a frightening smile,which glooms the whole school. The weather is cold, an aura hovers around Misa. It is black.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;~.~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Stairway, Konowa Middle School]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What do you think you are looking at? Is it this mark? Do you think it's too pretty and you want one yourself?" Misa sarcastically remarks to the girl staring at her as she gently strokes her scar on her cheek.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The girl laughs mimically,as she walks towards Misa,"Hah? That scar? You must be crazy.Who would want an ugly scar like-"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Misa grabs the girl's hand and whispers," Oh dear... One wrong step and it may cause your life.. Or maybe just you face hmm?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She strokes the girl's face and using her sharp fingernail, draws across the girl's cheek. The girl tries to struggle out of Misa's grip but she is unable to do so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How mean... I suppose you want to leave me so quickly? Suite yourself..." Misa chuckles and lets go of her grip on the girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The girl falls backward down the stairway. By the time she reaches the bottom of the stairway, the girl lays unmovable, dead. Misa starts to walk down the stairway and looks at the girl. The girl's eye's are open wide. Blood starts to flow from her forehead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Pity she was on the top of the stairway..." Misa grins an unearthly grin as she drops a black cloth, printed on it, the word death before she walks away, from the death scene.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;~.~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To be continued...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3953502736485156642-8472206172304082857?l=storied-floors.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/feeds/8472206172304082857/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/03/hell-is-silent-part-1.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/8472206172304082857'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3953502736485156642/posts/default/8472206172304082857'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://storied-floors.blogspot.com/2009/03/hell-is-silent-part-1.html' title='Hell is silent-Part 1'/><author><name>the blood shed left on that snowy day./ /</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
