hi i made a practice place

[anzie]

this is all


the text in the world


lalalalalalalalallala


jingle bells


etc

hey hey

you you

i don't wanna

argh

v5

what are you doing

i will murder you

murder most foul

Lorem Ipsum is simply dummy text of the printing and typesetting industry. Lorem Ipsum has been the industry's standard dummy text ever since the 1500s, when an unknown printer took a galley of type and scrambled it to make a type specimen book. It has survived not only five centuries, but also the leap into electronic typesetting, remaining essentially unchanged. It was popularised in the 1960s with the release of Letraset sheets containing Lorem Ipsum passages, and more recently with desktop publishing software like Aldus PageMaker including versions of Lorem Ipsum Lorem Ipsum is simply dummy text of the printing and typesetting industry. Lorem Ipsum has been the industry's standard dummy text ever since the 1500s, when an unknown printer took a galley of type and scrambled it to make a type specimen book. It has survived not only five centuries, but also the leap into electronic typesetting, remaining essentially unchanged. It was popularised in the 1960s with the release of Letraset sheets containing Lorem Ipsum passages, and more recently with desktop publishing software like Aldus PageMaker including versions of Lorem Ipsum Lorem Ipsum is simply dummy text of the printing and typesetting industry. Lorem Ipsum has been the industry's standard dummy text ever since the 1500s, when an unknown printer took a galley of type and scrambled it to make a type specimen book. It has survived not only five centuries, but also the leap into electronic typesetting, remaining essentially unchanged. It was popularised in the 1960s with the release of Letraset sheets containing Lorem Ipsum passages, and more recently with desktop publishing software like Aldus PageMaker including versions of Lorem Ipsum Lorem Ipsum is simply dummy text of the printing and typesetting industry. Lorem Ipsum has been the industry's standard dummy text ever since the 1500s, when an unknown printer took a galley of type and scrambled it to make a type specimen book. It has survived not only five centuries, but also the leap into electronic typesetting, remaining essentially unchanged. It was popularised in the 1960s with the release of Letraset sheets containing Lorem Ipsum passages, and more recently with desktop publishing software like Aldus PageMaker including versions of Lorem Ipsum

Lorem Ipsum is simply dummy text of the printing and typesetting industry. Lorem Ipsum has been the industry's standard dummy text ever since the 1500s, when an unknown printer took a galley of type and scrambled it to make a type specimen book. It has survived not only five centuries, but also the leap into electronic typesetting, remaining essentially unchanged. It was popularised in the 1960s with the release of Letraset sheets containing Lorem Ipsum passages, and more recently with desktop publishing software like Aldus PageMaker including versions of Lorem Ipsum Lorem Ipsum is simply dummy text of the printing and typesetting industry. Lorem Ipsum has been the industry's standard dummy text ever since the 1500s, when an unknown printer took a galley of type and scrambled it to make a type specimen book. It has survived not only five centuries, but also the leap into electronic typesetting, remaining essentially unchanged. It was popularised in the 1960s with the release of Letraset sheets containing Lorem Ipsum passages, and more recently with desktop publishing software like Aldus PageMaker including versions of Lorem Ipsum Lorem Ipsum is simply dummy text of the printing and typesetting industry. Lorem Ipsum has been the industry's standard dummy text ever since the 1500s, when an unknown printer took a galley of type and scrambled it to make a type specimen book. It has survived not only five centuries, but also the leap into electronic typesetting, remaining essentially unchanged. It was popularised in the 1960s with the release of Letraset sheets containing Lorem Ipsum passages, and more recently with desktop publishing software like Aldus PageMaker including versions of Lorem Ipsum Lorem Ipsum is simply dummy text of the printing and typesetting industry. Lorem Ipsum has been the industry's standard dummy text ever since the 1500s, when an unknown printer took a galley of type and scrambled it to make a type specimen book. It has survived not only five centuries, but also the leap into electronic typesetting, remaining essentially unchanged. It was popularised in the 1960s with the release of Letraset sheets containing Lorem Ipsum passages, and more recently with desktop publishing software like Aldus PageMaker including versions of Lorem Ipsum

mission 2: moving scrollbar outside the picture.

^ reminder to self.

[anzie]

[presto] Lorem Ipsum is simply dummy text of the printing and typesetting industry. Lorem Ipsum has been the industry's standard dummy text ever since the 1500s, when an unknown printer took a galley of type and scrambled it to make a type specimen book. It has survived not only five centuries, but also the leap into electronic typesetting, remaining essentially unchanged. It was popularised in the 1960s with the release of Letraset sheets containing Lorem Ipsum passages, and more recently with desktop publishing software like Aldus PageMaker including versions of Lorem Ipsum Lorem Ipsum is simply dummy text of the printing and typesetting industry. Lorem Ipsum has been the industry's standard dummy text ever since the 1500s, when an unknown printer took a galley of type and scrambled it to make a type specimen book. It has survived not only five centuries, but also the leap into electronic typesetting, remaining essentially unchanged. It was popularised in the 1960s with the release of Letraset sheets containing Lorem Ipsum passages, and more recently with desktop publishing software like Aldus PageMaker including versions of Lorem Ipsum Lorem Ipsum is simply dummy text of the printing and typesetting industry. Lorem Ipsum has been the industry's standard dummy text ever since the 1500s, when an unknown printer took a galley of type and scrambled it to make a type specimen book. It has survived not only five centuries, but also the leap into electronic typesetting, remaining essentially unchanged. It was popularised in the 1960s with the release of Letraset sheets containing Lorem Ipsum passages, and more recently with desktop publishing software like Aldus PageMaker including versions of Lorem Ipsum Lorem Ipsum is simply dummy text of the printing and typesetting industry. Lorem Ipsum has been the industry's standard dummy text ever since the 1500s, when an unknown printer took a galley of type and scrambled it to make a type specimen book. It has survived not only five centuries, but also the leap into electronic typesetting, remaining essentially unchanged. It was popularised in the 1960s with the release of Letraset sheets containing Lorem Ipsum passages, and more recently with desktop publishing software like Aldus PageMaker including versions of Lorem Ipsum[/presto]

[anzie]

[presto] It is seven hours and thirty-four minutes since she was woken up by the shouting from her new neighbour’s house. It lasted a couple of minutes. The voice was so full of fury that she wanted to call the police. Her husband stopped her, suggested tiredly when the voice finally shut up that they visit the next day to see if anything was wrong. She fell back to sleep with unease in her heart. Mary wrings her hands around the handle of her basket nervously, staring at the newly painted house with all the uncertainty in the world. “Come on,” her husband says, and they walk down the path together. He raises his hand to knock. The door opens on the first touch and she nearly flinches. Her husband gives her a soothing pat and cautiously enters. “Sir? Madam?” he calls - he knows there’s a man from the day he moved in, and maybe a woman who came with him, but that was just too brief a glimpse for him to be certain - but there’s no reply. Mary peers around her husband at the newly furnished house. Stray boxes were strewn around, the only evidence she can see that the neighbours have only recently moved in. “I’m afraid you left your front door open…” As he trails off they become aware of a young, weak voice that’s barely audible. With a glance at Mary, her husband cautiously follows the sound to the basement. He freezes, turns and tries to hurry Mary away, out of the basement. “We have to go, come on, we’re leaving,” he tells her in a hushed tone, moving to try and block her view. But she’s taller than him on the steps, and the words are torn from her, “Oh God! Oh God!” The naked boy is half curled over their neighbour, fingers running over the man’s roughened, wizened face, and his voice is the one they heard, singing nursery rhymes. As she stands there he finishes Mary Had a Little Lamb and starts Ring Around The Rosie, his voice hoarse from use. His matted blond hair can be beautiful, long, framing his girlish innocent face, and his eyes are fixed on the man, full of complete and utter adoration. Ring around the rosie, a pocketful of posies, a-tishoo! A-tishoo! we all fall down. And he sits in a pool of his own blood, the shallow gashes on his back having left smears of maroon and one leg is twisted awkwardly under him. He remains oblivious to his injuries. Oblivious to their presence. Oblivious to the gaping hole the neighbour’s head, revealing things that should not be seen outside of the an operating theatre. Ring-o-ring-o Rosie, a pocketful of posies, Ashes! Ashes! we all fall down. “Oh God,” she says again, and passes out.

[presto] [/presto]

[anzie]

[presto]

It is seven hours and thirty-four minutes since she was woken up by the shouting from her new neighbour’s house. It lasted a couple of minutes. The voice was so full of fury that she wanted to call the police. Her husband stopped her, suggested tiredly when the voice finally shut up that they visit the next day to see if anything was wrong. She fell back to sleep with unease in her heart.

Mary wrings her hands around the handle of her basket nervously, staring at the newly painted house with all the uncertainty in the world.

“Come on,” her husband says, and they walk down the path together. He raises his hand to knock.

The door opens on the first touch and she nearly flinches. Her husband gives her a soothing pat and cautiously enters. “Sir? Madam?” he calls - he knows there’s a man from the day he moved in, and maybe a woman who came with him, but that was just too brief a glimpse for him to be certain - but there’s no reply. Mary peers around her husband at the newly furnished house. Stray boxes were strewn around, the only evidence she can see that the neighbours have only recently moved in. “I’m afraid you left your front door open…”

As he trails off they become aware of a young, weak voice that’s barely audible. With a glance at Mary, her husband cautiously follows the sound to the basement.

He freezes, turns and tries to hurry Mary away, out of the basement. “We have to go, come on, we’re leaving,” he tells her in a hushed tone, moving to try and block her view. But she’s taller than him on the steps, and the words are torn from her, “Oh God! Oh God!”

The naked boy is half curled over their neighbour, fingers running over the man’s roughened, wizened face, and his voice is the one they heard, singing nursery rhymes. As she stands there he finishes Mary Had a Little Lamb and starts Ring Around The Rosie, his voice hoarse from use. His matted blond hair can be beautiful, long, framing his girlish innocent face, and his eyes are fixed on the man, full of complete and utter adoration.

Ring around the rosie,
a pocketful of posies,
a-tishoo! A-tishoo! we all fall down.

And he sits in a pool of his own blood, the shallow gashes on his back having left smears of maroon and one leg is twisted awkwardly under him. He remains oblivious to his injuries. Oblivious to their presence. Oblivious to the gaping hole the neighbour’s head, revealing things that should not be seen outside of the an operating theatre.

Ring-o-ring-o Rosie,
a pocketful of posies,
Ashes! Ashes! we all fall down.

“Oh God,” she says again, and passes out.

[/presto]

[presto]

Kitty fookin' Keeni

[/presto]

[anzie]

[presto] It is seven hours and thirty-four minutes since she was woken up by the shouting from her new neighbour’s house. It lasted a couple of minutes. The voice was so full of fury that she wanted to call the police. Her husband stopped her, suggested tiredly when the voice finally shut up that they visit the next day to see if anything was wrong. She fell back to sleep with unease in her heart. Mary wrings her hands around the handle of her basket nervously, staring at the newly painted house with all the uncertainty in the world. “Come on,” her husband says, and they walk down the path together. He raises his hand to knock. The door opens on the first touch and she nearly flinches. Her husband gives her a soothing pat and cautiously enters. “Sir? Madam?” he calls - he knows there’s a man from the day he moved in, and maybe a woman who came with him, but that was just too brief a glimpse for him to be certain - but there’s no reply. Mary peers around her husband at the newly furnished house. Stray boxes were strewn around, the only evidence she can see that the neighbours have only recently moved in. “I’m afraid you left your front door open…” As he trails off they become aware of a young, weak voice that’s barely audible. With a glance at Mary, her husband cautiously follows the sound to the basement. He freezes, turns and tries to hurry Mary away, out of the basement. “We have to go, come on, we’re leaving,” he tells her in a hushed tone, moving to try and block her view. But she’s taller than him on the steps, and the words are torn from her, “Oh God! Oh God!” The naked boy is half curled over their neighbour, fingers running over the man’s roughened, wizened face, and his voice is the one they heard, singing nursery rhymes. As she stands there he finishes Mary Had a Little Lamb and starts Ring Around The Rosie, his voice hoarse from use. His matted blond hair can be beautiful, long, framing his girlish innocent face, and his eyes are fixed on the man, full of complete and utter adoration. Ring around the rosie, a pocketful of posies, a-tishoo! A-tishoo! we all fall down. And he sits in a pool of his own blood, the shallow gashes on his back having left smears of maroon and one leg is twisted awkwardly under him. He remains oblivious to his injuries. Oblivious to their presence. Oblivious to the gaping hole the neighbour’s head, revealing things that should not be seen outside of the an operating theatre. Ring-o-ring-o Rosie, a pocketful of posies, Ashes! Ashes! we all fall down. “Oh God,” she says again, and passes out. [/presto]

[presto] Kitty Keeni District6 LeoLegrand Twelve Dancin' around big eyes as well We live in cities you'll never see on screen Not very pretty, but we sure know how to run things Living in ruins of the palace within my dreams And you know, we're on each other's team [/presto]

[anzie]

[presto]

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Aenean auctor ipsum diam. Maecenas fringilla tortor non elementum ultricies. Curabitur aliquam leo sed erat lacinia venenatis. Proin ante tortor, volutpat eleifend nisl ac, suscipit tempus ante. Aenean a volutpat risus, quis rhoncus sapien. In consequat feugiat enim, sit amet fringilla ante aliquam a. Nullam ac urna sed mauris bibendum rhoncus nec in metus. Aliquam euismod, leo eget pretium faucibus, ipsum mi fermentum mauris, auctor consequat risus est sed enim. Pellentesque sollicitudin arcu in malesuada volutpat. Pellentesque vel metus iaculis, sodales tellus ut, aliquam est.

Vestibulum ante ipsum primis in faucibus orci luctus et ultrices posuere cubilia Curae; Aliquam est ante, rutrum iaculis scelerisque vel, pellentesque et risus. Sed eu metus non libero dictum commodo a ut odio. Aliquam a magna tempus, placerat nisl a, dignissim metus. Donec cursus ante ac ligula dictum consectetur. Vivamus ornare lectus vel dolor iaculis, quis mattis ligula aliquet. Praesent molestie massa id fringilla varius. Donec venenatis quam sed tortor adipiscing semper. Duis et nisi vulputate, congue ligula sed, lobortis tellus. Vivamus varius nibh pulvinar massa gravida dignissim. Nulla sit amet egestas ante, eu facilisis metus. Sed vitae molestie felis. Aenean dapibus dignissim leo ac commodo.

Curabitur sodales feugiat iaculis. Vivamus a consectetur metus, sed pretium odio. Pellentesque rhoncus leo lectus, eu eleifend lectus dapibus at. Aliquam rutrum nisi ut neque pharetra dictum. Proin lacus ligula, imperdiet vitae arcu ac, placerat pellentesque odio. Integer lorem nibh, luctus ut convallis eget, dictum id dui. Ut pellentesque facilisis magna, vitae bibendum ipsum bibendum sit amet. Quisque facilisis purus vel est gravida, id tincidunt dolor blandit. Phasellus turpis nunc, ullamcorper non erat in, facilisis pretium erat. Quisque nec metus vehicula, commodo nibh nec, pretium libero. Phasellus ut tristique est. Mauris ornare nunc elit, vel auctor mauris consectetur condimentum. Pellentesque eu gravida nisi. Suspendisse odio dolor, tincidunt eget nisl quis, posuere porta justo. Ut vitae laoreet ante, id cursus enim.

Cras dictum erat arcu, in porttitor velit bibendum sit amet. Praesent non viverra augue. Proin quis cursus libero. Vestibulum odio lectus, facilisis id iaculis ut, eleifend a est. Vivamus non elit quam. Aliquam in viverra quam. Etiam nec nulla a tortor ullamcorper tempus. Duis tellus leo, eleifend sed adipiscing non, consequat sed quam.

Duis ut felis nec urna pellentesque laoreet. Suspendisse et tempor libero. Quisque sem magna, sagittis at odio sit amet, aliquet blandit nunc. Aliquam dictum pharetra lorem quis viverra. Fusce ac fermentum leo. Nam bibendum dapibus ante at faucibus. Cras at accumsan augue. Vestibulum sed faucibus augue, nec tempus nisl. Vivamus nec congue arcu. Nullam a ante at dolor vulputate hendrerit eget a arcu. Nam ut lorem lacus. Pellentesque sit amet convallis felis. Nullam nec euismod ipsum, in venenatis nisi. Donec mollis mattis interdum. Praesent est quam, auctor ac massa nec, mollis consectetur felis. Proin varius aliquet porta.

lyric
lyric
lyric

[/presto]

[anzie]

[presto] Kitty Keeni District6 LeoLegrand Twelve Dancin' around big eyes as well We live in cities you'll never see on screen Not very pretty, but we sure know how to run things Living in ruins of the palace within my dreams And you know, we're on each other's team [/presto]

[presto] It is seven hours and thirty-four minutes since she was woken up by the shouting from her new neighbour’s house. It lasted a couple of minutes. The voice was so full of fury that she wanted to call the police. Her husband stopped her, suggested tiredly when the voice finally shut up that they visit the next day to see if anything was wrong. She fell back to sleep with unease in her heart. Mary wrings her hands around the handle of her basket nervously, staring at the newly painted house with all the uncertainty in the world. “Come on,” her husband says, and they walk down the path together. He raises his hand to knock. The door opens on the first touch and she nearly flinches. Her husband gives her a soothing pat and cautiously enters. “Sir? Madam?” he calls - he knows there’s a man from the day he moved in, and maybe a woman who came with him, but that was just too brief a glimpse for him to be certain - but there’s no reply. Mary peers around her husband at the newly furnished house. Stray boxes were strewn around, the only evidence she can see that the neighbours have only recently moved in. “I’m afraid you left your front door open…” As he trails off they become aware of a young, weak voice that’s barely audible. With a glance at Mary, her husband cautiously follows the sound to the basement. He freezes, turns and tries to hurry Mary away, out of the basement. “We have to go, come on, we’re leaving,” he tells her in a hushed tone, moving to try and block her view. But she’s taller than him on the steps, and the words are torn from her, “Oh God! Oh God!” The naked boy is half curled over their neighbour, fingers running over the man’s roughened, wizened face, and his voice is the one they heard, singing nursery rhymes. As she stands there he finishes Mary Had a Little Lamb and starts Ring Around The Rosie, his voice hoarse from use. His matted blond hair can be beautiful, long, framing his girlish innocent face, and his eyes are fixed on the man, full of complete and utter adoration. Ring around the rosie, a pocketful of posies, a-tishoo! A-tishoo! we all fall down. And he sits in a pool of his own blood, the shallow gashes on his back having left smears of maroon and one leg is twisted awkwardly under him. He remains oblivious to his injuries. Oblivious to their presence. Oblivious to the gaping hole the neighbour’s head, revealing things that should not be seen outside of the an operating theatre. Ring-o-ring-o Rosie, a pocketful of posies, Ashes! Ashes! we all fall down. “Oh God,” she says again, and passes out. [/presto]

[anzie]

It is seven hours and thirty-four minutes since she was woken up by the shouting from her new neighbour’s house. It lasted a couple of minutes. The voice was so full of fury that she wanted to call the police. Her husband stopped her, suggested tiredly when the voice finally shut up that they visit the next day to see if anything was wrong. She fell back to sleep with unease in her heart. Mary wrings her hands around the handle of her basket nervously, staring at the newly painted house with all the uncertainty in the world. “Come on,” her husband says, and they walk down the path together. He raises his hand to knock. The door opens on the first touch and she nearly flinches. Her husband gives her a soothing pat and cautiously enters. “Sir? Madam?” he calls - he knows there’s a man from the day he moved in, and maybe a woman who came with him, but that was just too brief a glimpse for him to be certain - but there’s no reply. Mary peers around her husband at the newly furnished house. Stray boxes were strewn around, the only evidence she can see that the neighbours have only recently moved in. “I’m afraid you left your front door open…” As he trails off they become aware of a young, weak voice that’s barely audible. With a glance at Mary, her husband cautiously follows the sound to the basement. He freezes, turns and tries to hurry Mary away, out of the basement. “We have to go, come on, we’re leaving,” he tells her in a hushed tone, moving to try and block her view. But she’s taller than him on the steps, and the words are torn from her, “Oh God! Oh God!” The naked boy is half curled over their neighbour, fingers running over the man’s roughened, wizened face, and his voice is the one they heard, singing nursery rhymes. As she stands there he finishes Mary Had a Little Lamb and starts Ring Around The Rosie, his voice hoarse from use. His matted blond hair can be beautiful, long, framing his girlish innocent face, and his eyes are fixed on the man, full of complete and utter adoration. Ring around the rosie, a pocketful of posies, a-tishoo! A-tishoo! we all fall down. And he sits in a pool of his own blood, the shallow gashes on his back having left smears of maroon and one leg is twisted awkwardly under him. He remains oblivious to his injuries. Oblivious to their presence. Oblivious to the gaping hole the neighbour’s head, revealing things that should not be seen outside of the an operating theatre. Ring-o-ring-o Rosie, a pocketful of posies, Ashes! Ashes! we all fall down. “Oh God,” she says again, and passes out.

Lachlan Callaghan District 6 . Brendan Ruck . Eighteen And your name remains the same All that has changed is this pretty face So pull the trigger It never gets closer You want to start over But never start over

[anzie]

[presto] It is seven hours and thirty-four minutes since she was woken up by the shouting from her new neighbour’s house. It lasted a couple of minutes. The voice was so full of fury that she wanted to call the police. Her husband stopped her, suggested tiredly when the voice finally shut up that they visit the next day to see if anything was wrong. She fell back to sleep with unease in her heart. Mary wrings her hands around the handle of her basket nervously, staring at the newly painted house with all the uncertainty in the world. “Come on,” her husband says, and they walk down the path together. He raises his hand to knock. The door opens on the first touch and she nearly flinches. Her husband gives her a soothing pat and cautiously enters. “Sir? Madam?” he calls - he knows there’s a man from the day he moved in, and maybe a woman who came with him, but that was just too brief a glimpse for him to be certain - but there’s no reply. Mary peers around her husband at the newly furnished house. Stray boxes were strewn around, the only evidence she can see that the neighbours have only recently moved in. “I’m afraid you left your front door open…” As he trails off they become aware of a young, weak voice that’s barely audible. With a glance at Mary, her husband cautiously follows the sound to the basement. He freezes, turns and tries to hurry Mary away, out of the basement. “We have to go, come on, we’re leaving,” he tells her in a hushed tone, moving to try and block her view. But she’s taller than him on the steps, and the words are torn from her, “Oh God! Oh God!” The naked boy is half curled over their neighbour, fingers running over the man’s roughened, wizened face, and his voice is the one they heard, singing nursery rhymes. As she stands there he finishes Mary Had a Little Lamb and starts Ring Around The Rosie, his voice hoarse from use. His matted blond hair can be beautiful, long, framing his girlish innocent face, and his eyes are fixed on the man, full of complete and utter adoration. Ring around the rosie, a pocketful of posies, a-tishoo! A-tishoo! we all fall down. And he sits in a pool of his own blood, the shallow gashes on his back having left smears of maroon and one leg is twisted awkwardly under him. He remains oblivious to his injuries. Oblivious to their presence. Oblivious to the gaping hole the neighbour’s head, revealing things that should not be seen outside of the an operating theatre. Ring-o-ring-o Rosie, a pocketful of posies, Ashes! Ashes! we all fall down. “Oh God,” she says again, and passes out. [/presto]

Lachlan Callaghan District 6 . Brendan Ruck . Eighteen And your name remains the same All that has changed is this pretty face So pull the trigger It never gets closer You want to start over But never start over

[anzie]

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Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Aenean auctor ipsum diam. Maecenas fringilla tortor non elementum ultricies. Curabitur aliquam leo sed erat lacinia venenatis. Proin ante tortor, volutpat eleifend nisl ac, suscipit tempus ante. Aenean a volutpat risus, quis rhoncus sapien. In consequat feugiat enim, sit amet fringilla ante aliquam a. Nullam ac urna sed mauris bibendum rhoncus nec in metus. Aliquam euismod, leo eget pretium faucibus, ipsum mi fermentum mauris, auctor consequat risus est sed enim. Pellentesque sollicitudin arcu in malesuada volutpat. Pellentesque vel metus iaculis, sodales tellus ut, aliquam est.

Vestibulum ante ipsum primis in faucibus orci luctus et ultrices posuere cubilia Curae; Aliquam est ante, rutrum iaculis scelerisque vel, pellentesque et risus. Sed eu metus non libero dictum commodo a ut odio. Aliquam a magna tempus, placerat nisl a, dignissim metus. Donec cursus ante ac ligula dictum consectetur. Vivamus ornare lectus vel dolor iaculis, quis mattis ligula aliquet. Praesent molestie massa id fringilla varius. Donec venenatis quam sed tortor adipiscing semper. Duis et nisi vulputate, congue ligula sed, lobortis tellus. Vivamus varius nibh pulvinar massa gravida dignissim. Nulla sit amet egestas ante, eu facilisis metus. Sed vitae molestie felis. Aenean dapibus dignissim leo ac commodo.

Curabitur sodales feugiat iaculis. Vivamus a consectetur metus, sed pretium odio. Pellentesque rhoncus leo lectus, eu eleifend lectus dapibus at. Aliquam rutrum nisi ut neque pharetra dictum. Proin lacus ligula, imperdiet vitae arcu ac, placerat pellentesque odio. Integer lorem nibh, luctus ut convallis eget, dictum id dui. Ut pellentesque facilisis magna, vitae bibendum ipsum bibendum sit amet. Quisque facilisis purus vel est gravida, id tincidunt dolor blandit. Phasellus turpis nunc, ullamcorper non erat in, facilisis pretium erat. Quisque nec metus vehicula, commodo nibh nec, pretium libero. Phasellus ut tristique est. Mauris ornare nunc elit, vel auctor mauris consectetur condimentum. Pellentesque eu gravida nisi. Suspendisse odio dolor, tincidunt eget nisl quis, posuere porta justo. Ut vitae laoreet ante, id cursus enim.

Cras dictum erat arcu, in porttitor velit bibendum sit amet. Praesent non viverra augue. Proin quis cursus libero. Vestibulum odio lectus, facilisis id iaculis ut, eleifend a est. Vivamus non elit quam. Aliquam in viverra quam. Etiam nec nulla a tortor ullamcorper tempus. Duis tellus leo, eleifend sed adipiscing non, consequat sed quam.

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[/font][/div][/div][/font][/div][/div][/div]

[/div]

[anzie]

[presto] It is seven hours and thirty-four minutes since she was woken up by the shouting from her new neighbour’s house. It lasted a couple of minutes. The voice was so full of fury that she wanted to call the police. Her husband stopped her, suggested tiredly when the voice finally shut up that they visit the next day to see if anything was wrong. She fell back to sleep with unease in her heart. Mary wrings her hands around the handle of her basket nervously, staring at the newly painted house with all the uncertainty in the world. “Come on,” her husband says, and they walk down the path together. He raises his hand to knock. The door opens on the first touch and she nearly flinches. Her husband gives her a soothing pat and cautiously enters. “Sir? Madam?” he calls - he knows there’s a man from the day he moved in, and maybe a woman who came with him, but that was just too brief a glimpse for him to be certain - but there’s no reply. Mary peers around her husband at the newly furnished house. Stray boxes were strewn around, the only evidence she can see that the neighbours have only recently moved in. “I’m afraid you left your front door open…” As he trails off they become aware of a young, weak voice that’s barely audible. With a glance at Mary, her husband cautiously follows the sound to the basement. He freezes, turns and tries to hurry Mary away, out of the basement. “We have to go, come on, we’re leaving,” he tells her in a hushed tone, moving to try and block her view. But she’s taller than him on the steps, and the words are torn from her, “Oh God! Oh God!” The naked boy is half curled over their neighbour, fingers running over the man’s roughened, wizened face, and his voice is the one they heard, singing nursery rhymes. As she stands there he finishes Mary Had a Little Lamb and starts Ring Around The Rosie, his voice hoarse from use. His matted blond hair can be beautiful, long, framing his girlish innocent face, and his eyes are fixed on the man, full of complete and utter adoration. Ring around the rosie, a pocketful of posies, a-tishoo! A-tishoo! we all fall down. And he sits in a pool of his own blood, the shallow gashes on his back having left smears of maroon and one leg is twisted awkwardly under him. He remains oblivious to his injuries. Oblivious to their presence. Oblivious to the gaping hole the neighbour’s head, revealing things that should not be seen outside of the an operating theatre. Ring-o-ring-o Rosie, a pocketful of posies, Ashes! Ashes! we all fall down. “Oh God,” she says again, and passes out. [/presto]

[presto] Kitty Keeni D6 . Leo Legrand . 12 Dancin' around big eyes as well We live in cities you'll never see on screen Not very pretty, but we sure know how to run things Living in ruins of the palace within my dreams And you know, we're on each other's team[/presto]

[div align="center"][table style="width:550px;height:390px;"][tbody][tr][td style="border:0px inset #ffffff;padding:0px;border-radius:0px;"][div style="width:550px;height:390px;background-color:#ffffff;padding:0px;background-image:url(http://i362.photobucket.com/albums/oo66/FallingIceAngel/tablekitty2.png);border:0px inset #ffffff;border-radius:0px;"][div align="center"][div style="float:left;width:350px;height:390px;padding:0px;background-color:#000000;"][presto][img alt=" " src="http://i362.photobucket.com/albums/oo66/FallingIceAngel/kittytablesadface1.png" style="max-width:100%;"][div style="width:340x;height:360px;overflow:auto;text-align:justify;opacity:0.6;padding:10px 10px 10px 10px;border-radius:0px;"]

[font face="candara" color="#ffffff"]It is seven hours and thirty-four minutes since she was woken up by the shouting from her new neighbour’s house. It lasted a couple of minutes. The voice was so full of fury that she wanted to call the police. Her husband stopped her, suggested tiredly when the voice finally shut up that they visit the next day to see if anything was wrong. She fell back to sleep with unease in her heart.

Mary wrings her hands around the handle of her basket nervously, staring at the newly painted house with all the uncertainty in the world.

“Come on,” her husband says, and they walk down the path together. He raises his hand to knock.

The door opens on the first touch and she nearly flinches. Her husband gives her a soothing pat and cautiously enters. “Sir? Madam?” he calls - he knows there’s a man from the day he moved in, and maybe a woman who came with him, but that was just too brief a glimpse for him to be certain - but there’s no reply. Mary peers around her husband at the newly furnished house. Stray boxes were strewn around, the only evidence she can see that the neighbours have only recently moved in. “I’m afraid you left your front door open…”

As he trails off they become aware of a young, weak voice that’s barely audible. With a glance at Mary, her husband cautiously follows the sound to the basement.

He freezes, turns and tries to hurry Mary away, out of the basement. “We have to go, come on, we’re leaving,” he tells her in a hushed tone, moving to try and block her view. But she’s taller than him on the steps, and the words are torn from her, “Oh God! Oh God!”

The naked boy is half curled over their neighbour, fingers running over the man’s roughened, wizened face, and his voice is the one they heard, singing nursery rhymes. As she stands there he finishes Mary Had a Little Lamb and starts Ring Around The Rosie, his voice hoarse from use. His matted blond hair can be beautiful, long, framing his girlish innocent face, and his eyes are fixed on the man, full of complete and utter adoration.

[i]Ring around the rosie,
a pocketful of posies,
a-tishoo! A-tishoo! we all fall down.
[/i]
And he sits in a pool of his own blood, the shallow gashes on his back having left smears of maroon and one leg is twisted awkwardly under him. He remains oblivious to his injuries. Oblivious to their presence. Oblivious to the gaping hole the neighbour’s head, revealing things that should not be seen outside of the an operating theatre.

[i]Ring-o-ring-o Rosie,
a pocketful of posies,
Ashes! Ashes! we all fall down.[/i]

“Oh God,” she says again, and passes out.[/font]
[/presto][/div][/div][/div][/div][/td][td style="border:0px solid #ffffff;padding:0px 0px 0px 0px;border-radius:0px;"][div style="float:right;width:200px;height:390px;padding:0px;background-color:#000000;"][presto][img alt=" " src="http://i362.photobucket.com/albums/oo66/FallingIceAngel/kittytablesadface2.png" style="max-width:100%;"][div align="right"][div style="width:180px;height:390px;padding:0px;text-align:justify;opacity:0.6;padding:100px 10px 10px 10px;border-radius:0px;"][font face="candara" color="#ffffff" size="3"][div align="center"]Kitty Keeni
[font size="2"]D6 . Leo Legrand . 12
[font size="1"][div][i]Dancin' around big eyes as well
We live in cities you'll never see on screen
Not very pretty, but we sure know how to run things
Living in ruins of the palace within my dreams
And you know, we're on each other's team[/i][/presto][/div][/font][/font][/div][/font]
[/div][/div][/div][/td][/tr][/tbody][/table][/div]

[anzie]

[presto] It is seven hours and thirty-four minutes since she was woken up by the shouting from her new neighbour’s house. It lasted a couple of minutes. The voice was so full of fury that she wanted to call the police. Her husband stopped her, suggested tiredly when the voice finally shut up that they visit the next day to see if anything was wrong. She fell back to sleep with unease in her heart. Mary wrings her hands around the handle of her basket nervously, staring at the newly painted house with all the uncertainty in the world. “Come on,” her husband says, and they walk down the path together. He raises his hand to knock. The door opens on the first touch and she nearly flinches. Her husband gives her a soothing pat and cautiously enters. “Sir? Madam?” he calls - he knows there’s a man from the day he moved in, and maybe a woman who came with him, but that was just too brief a glimpse for him to be certain - but there’s no reply. Mary peers around her husband at the newly furnished house. Stray boxes were strewn around, the only evidence she can see that the neighbours have only recently moved in. “I’m afraid you left your front door open…” As he trails off they become aware of a young, weak voice that’s barely audible. With a glance at Mary, her husband cautiously follows the sound to the basement. He freezes, turns and tries to hurry Mary away, out of the basement. “We have to go, come on, we’re leaving,” he tells her in a hushed tone, moving to try and block her view. But she’s taller than him on the steps, and the words are torn from her, “Oh God! Oh God!” The naked boy is half curled over their neighbour, fingers running over the man’s roughened, wizened face, and his voice is the one they heard, singing nursery rhymes. As she stands there he finishes Mary Had a Little Lamb and starts Ring Around The Rosie, his voice hoarse from use. His matted blond hair can be beautiful, long, framing his girlish innocent face, and his eyes are fixed on the man, full of complete and utter adoration. Ring around the rosie, a pocketful of posies, a-tishoo! A-tishoo! we all fall down. And he sits in a pool of his own blood, the shallow gashes on his back having left smears of maroon and one leg is twisted awkwardly under him. He remains oblivious to his injuries. Oblivious to their presence. Oblivious to the gaping hole the neighbour’s head, revealing things that should not be seen outside of the an operating theatre. Ring-o-ring-o Rosie, a pocketful of posies, Ashes! Ashes! we all fall down. “Oh God,” she says again, and passes out. [/presto]

[presto] Kitty Keeni D6 . Leo Legrand . 12 Dancin' around big eyes as well We live in cities you'll never see on screen Not very pretty, but we sure know how to run things Living in ruins of the palace within my dreams And you know, we're on each other's team[/presto]

[presto] It is seven hours and thirty-four minutes since she was woken up by the shouting from her new neighbour’s house. It lasted a couple of minutes. The voice was so full of fury that she wanted to call the police. Her husband stopped her, suggested tiredly when the voice finally shut up that they visit the next day to see if anything was wrong. She fell back to sleep with unease in her heart. Mary wrings her hands around the handle of her basket nervously, staring at the newly painted house with all the uncertainty in the world. “Come on,” her husband says, and they walk down the path together. He raises his hand to knock. The door opens on the first touch and she nearly flinches. Her husband gives her a soothing pat and cautiously enters. “Sir? Madam?” he calls - he knows there’s a man from the day he moved in, and maybe a woman who came with him, but that was just too brief a glimpse for him to be certain - but there’s no reply. Mary peers around her husband at the newly furnished house. Stray boxes were strewn around, the only evidence she can see that the neighbours have only recently moved in. “I’m afraid you left your front door open…” As he trails off they become aware of a young, weak voice that’s barely audible. With a glance at Mary, her husband cautiously follows the sound to the basement. He freezes, turns and tries to hurry Mary away, out of the basement. “We have to go, come on, we’re leaving,” he tells her in a hushed tone, moving to try and block her view. But she’s taller than him on the steps, and the words are torn from her, “Oh God! Oh God!” The naked boy is half curled over their neighbour, fingers running over the man’s roughened, wizened face, and his voice is the one they heard, singing nursery rhymes. As she stands there he finishes Mary Had a Little Lamb and starts Ring Around The Rosie, his voice hoarse from use. His matted blond hair can be beautiful, long, framing his girlish innocent face, and his eyes are fixed on the man, full of complete and utter adoration. Ring around the rosie, a pocketful of posies, a-tishoo! A-tishoo! we all fall down. And he sits in a pool of his own blood, the shallow gashes on his back having left smears of maroon and one leg is twisted awkwardly under him. He remains oblivious to his injuries. Oblivious to their presence. Oblivious to the gaping hole the neighbour’s head, revealing things that should not be seen outside of the an operating theatre. Ring-o-ring-o Rosie, a pocketful of posies, Ashes! Ashes! we all fall down. “Oh God,” she says again, and passes out. [/presto]

[presto] Kitty Keeni D6 . Leo Legrand . 12 Dancin' around big eyes as well We live in cities you'll never see on screen Not very pretty, but we sure know how to run things Living in ruins of the palace within my dreams And you know, we're on each other's team[/presto]

[presto] It is seven hours and thirty-four minutes since she was woken up by the shouting from her new neighbour’s house. It lasted a couple of minutes. The voice was so full of fury that she wanted to call the police. Her husband stopped her, suggested tiredly when the voice finally shut up that they visit the next day to see if anything was wrong. She fell back to sleep with unease in her heart. Mary wrings her hands around the handle of her basket nervously, staring at the newly painted house with all the uncertainty in the world. “Come on,” her husband says, and they walk down the path together. He raises his hand to knock. The door opens on the first touch and she nearly flinches. Her husband gives her a soothing pat and cautiously enters. “Sir? Madam?” he calls - he knows there’s a man from the day he moved in, and maybe a woman who came with him, but that was just too brief a glimpse for him to be certain - but there’s no reply. Mary peers around her husband at the newly furnished house. Stray boxes were strewn around, the only evidence she can see that the neighbours have only recently moved in. “I’m afraid you left your front door open…” As he trails off they become aware of a young, weak voice that’s barely audible. With a glance at Mary, her husband cautiously follows the sound to the basement. He freezes, turns and tries to hurry Mary away, out of the basement. “We have to go, come on, we’re leaving,” he tells her in a hushed tone, moving to try and block her view. But she’s taller than him on the steps, and the words are torn from her, “Oh God! Oh God!” The naked boy is half curled over their neighbour, fingers running over the man’s roughened, wizened face, and his voice is the one they heard, singing nursery rhymes. As she stands there he finishes Mary Had a Little Lamb and starts Ring Around The Rosie, his voice hoarse from use. His matted blond hair can be beautiful, long, framing his girlish innocent face, and his eyes are fixed on the man, full of complete and utter adoration. Ring around the rosie, a pocketful of posies, a-tishoo! A-tishoo! we all fall down. And he sits in a pool of his own blood, the shallow gashes on his back having left smears of maroon and one leg is twisted awkwardly under him. He remains oblivious to his injuries. Oblivious to their presence. Oblivious to the gaping hole the neighbour’s head, revealing things that should not be seen outside of the an operating theatre. Ring-o-ring-o Rosie, a pocketful of posies, Ashes! Ashes! we all fall down. “Oh God,” she says again, and passes out. [/presto]

[presto] Kitty Keeni D6 . Leo Legrand . 12 Dancin' around big eyes as well We live in cities you'll never see on screen Not very pretty, but we sure know how to run things Living in ruins of the palace within my dreams And you know, we're on each other's team[/presto]

[anzie]

[presto] It is seven hours and thirty-four minutes since she was woken up by the shouting from her new neighbour’s house. It lasted a couple of minutes. The voice was so full of fury that she wanted to call the police. Her husband stopped her, suggested tiredly when the voice finally shut up that they visit the next day to see if anything was wrong. She fell back to sleep with unease in her heart. Mary wrings her hands around the handle of her basket nervously, staring at the newly painted house with all the uncertainty in the world. “Come on,” her husband says, and they walk down the path together. He raises his hand to knock. The door opens on the first touch and she nearly flinches. Her husband gives her a soothing pat and cautiously enters. “Sir? Madam?” he calls - he knows there’s a man from the day he moved in, and maybe a woman who came with him, but that was just too brief a glimpse for him to be certain - but there’s no reply. Mary peers around her husband at the newly furnished house. Stray boxes were strewn around, the only evidence she can see that the neighbours have only recently moved in. “I’m afraid you left your front door open…” As he trails off they become aware of a young, weak voice that’s barely audible. With a glance at Mary, her husband cautiously follows the sound to the basement. He freezes, turns and tries to hurry Mary away, out of the basement. “We have to go, come on, we’re leaving,” he tells her in a hushed tone, moving to try and block her view. But she’s taller than him on the steps, and the words are torn from her, “Oh God! Oh God!” The naked boy is half curled over their neighbour, fingers running over the man’s roughened, wizened face, and his voice is the one they heard, singing nursery rhymes. As she stands there he finishes Mary Had a Little Lamb and starts Ring Around The Rosie, his voice hoarse from use. His matted blond hair can be beautiful, long, framing his girlish innocent face, and his eyes are fixed on the man, full of complete and utter adoration. Ring around the rosie, a pocketful of posies, a-tishoo! A-tishoo! we all fall down. And he sits in a pool of his own blood, the shallow gashes on his back having left smears of maroon and one leg is twisted awkwardly under him. He remains oblivious to his injuries. Oblivious to their presence. Oblivious to the gaping hole the neighbour’s head, revealing things that should not be seen outside of the an operating theatre. Ring-o-ring-o Rosie, a pocketful of posies, Ashes! Ashes! we all fall down. “Oh God,” she says again, and passes out. [/presto]

[presto] "Astra" Astra Vincent D2 . Anna Arendshorst . 17 Don't let them in, don't let them see, Be the good girl you always had to be. Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know. Well now they know.[/presto]

[anzie]

[presto] It is seven hours and thirty-four minutes since she was woken up by the shouting from her new neighbour’s house. It lasted a couple of minutes. The voice was so full of fury that she wanted to call the police. Her husband stopped her, suggested tiredly when the voice finally shut up that they visit the next day to see if anything was wrong. She fell back to sleep with unease in her heart. Mary wrings her hands around the handle of her basket nervously, staring at the newly painted house with all the uncertainty in the world. “Come on,” her husband says, and they walk down the path together. He raises his hand to knock. The door opens on the first touch and she nearly flinches. Her husband gives her a soothing pat and cautiously enters. “Sir? Madam?” he calls - he knows there’s a man from the day he moved in, and maybe a woman who came with him, but that was just too brief a glimpse for him to be certain - but there’s no reply. Mary peers around her husband at the newly furnished house. Stray boxes were strewn around, the only evidence she can see that the neighbours have only recently moved in. “I’m afraid you left your front door open…” As he trails off they become aware of a young, weak voice that’s barely audible. With a glance at Mary, her husband cautiously follows the sound to the basement. He freezes, turns and tries to hurry Mary away, out of the basement. “We have to go, come on, we’re leaving,” he tells her in a hushed tone, moving to try and block her view. But she’s taller than him on the steps, and the words are torn from her, “Oh God! Oh God!” The naked boy is half curled over their neighbour, fingers running over the man’s roughened, wizened face, and his voice is the one they heard, singing nursery rhymes. As she stands there he finishes Mary Had a Little Lamb and starts Ring Around The Rosie, his voice hoarse from use. His matted blond hair can be beautiful, long, framing his girlish innocent face, and his eyes are fixed on the man, full of complete and utter adoration. Ring around the rosie, a pocketful of posies, a-tishoo! A-tishoo! we all fall down. And he sits in a pool of his own blood, the shallow gashes on his back having left smears of maroon and one leg is twisted awkwardly under him. He remains oblivious to his injuries. Oblivious to their presence. Oblivious to the gaping hole the neighbour’s head, revealing things that should not be seen outside of the an operating theatre. Ring-o-ring-o Rosie, a pocketful of posies, Ashes! Ashes! we all fall down. “Oh God,” she says again, and passes out. [/presto]

[presto] "Loptr" Astra Vincent D2 . Anna Arendshorst . 17 Don't let them in, don't let them see, Be the good girl you always had to be. Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know. Well now they know.[/presto]

[presto] It is seven hours and thirty-four minutes since she was woken up by the shouting from her new neighbour’s house. It lasted a couple of minutes. The voice was so full of fury that she wanted to call the police. Her husband stopped her, suggested tiredly when the voice finally shut up that they visit the next day to see if anything was wrong. She fell back to sleep with unease in her heart. Mary wrings her hands around the handle of her basket nervously, staring at the newly painted house with all the uncertainty in the world. “Come on,” her husband says, and they walk down the path together. He raises his hand to knock. The door opens on the first touch and she nearly flinches. Her husband gives her a soothing pat and cautiously enters. “Sir? Madam?” he calls - he knows there’s a man from the day he moved in, and maybe a woman who came with him, but that was just too brief a glimpse for him to be certain - but there’s no reply. Mary peers around her husband at the newly furnished house. Stray boxes were strewn around, the only evidence she can see that the neighbours have only recently moved in. “I’m afraid you left your front door open…” As he trails off they become aware of a young, weak voice that’s barely audible. With a glance at Mary, her husband cautiously follows the sound to the basement. He freezes, turns and tries to hurry Mary away, out of the basement. “We have to go, come on, we’re leaving,” he tells her in a hushed tone, moving to try and block her view. But she’s taller than him on the steps, and the words are torn from her, “Oh God! Oh God!” The naked boy is half curled over their neighbour, fingers running over the man’s roughened, wizened face, and his voice is the one they heard, singing nursery rhymes. As she stands there he finishes Mary Had a Little Lamb and starts Ring Around The Rosie, his voice hoarse from use. His matted blond hair can be beautiful, long, framing his girlish innocent face, and his eyes are fixed on the man, full of complete and utter adoration. Ring around the rosie, a pocketful of posies, a-tishoo! A-tishoo! we all fall down. And he sits in a pool of his own blood, the shallow gashes on his back having left smears of maroon and one leg is twisted awkwardly under him. He remains oblivious to his injuries. Oblivious to their presence. Oblivious to the gaping hole the neighbour’s head, revealing things that should not be seen outside of the an operating theatre. Ring-o-ring-o Rosie, a pocketful of posies, Ashes! Ashes! we all fall down. “Oh God,” she says again, and passes out. [/presto]

[presto] "J" Astra Vincent D2 . Anna Arendshorst . 17 Don't let them in, don't let them see, Be the good girl you always had to be. Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know. Well now they know.[/presto]

[presto] It is seven hours and thirty-four minutes since she was woken up by the shouting from her new neighbour’s house. It lasted a couple of minutes. The voice was so full of fury that she wanted to call the police. Her husband stopped her, suggested tiredly when the voice finally shut up that they visit the next day to see if anything was wrong. She fell back to sleep with unease in her heart. Mary wrings her hands around the handle of her basket nervously, staring at the newly painted house with all the uncertainty in the world. “Come on,” her husband says, and they walk down the path together. He raises his hand to knock. The door opens on the first touch and she nearly flinches. Her husband gives her a soothing pat and cautiously enters. “Sir? Madam?” he calls - he knows there’s a man from the day he moved in, and maybe a woman who came with him, but that was just too brief a glimpse for him to be certain - but there’s no reply. Mary peers around her husband at the newly furnished house. Stray boxes were strewn around, the only evidence she can see that the neighbours have only recently moved in. “I’m afraid you left your front door open…” As he trails off they become aware of a young, weak voice that’s barely audible. With a glance at Mary, her husband cautiously follows the sound to the basement. He freezes, turns and tries to hurry Mary away, out of the basement. “We have to go, come on, we’re leaving,” he tells her in a hushed tone, moving to try and block her view. But she’s taller than him on the steps, and the words are torn from her, “Oh God! Oh God!” The naked boy is half curled over their neighbour, fingers running over the man’s roughened, wizened face, and his voice is the one they heard, singing nursery rhymes. As she stands there he finishes Mary Had a Little Lamb and starts Ring Around The Rosie, his voice hoarse from use. His matted blond hair can be beautiful, long, framing his girlish innocent face, and his eyes are fixed on the man, full of complete and utter adoration. Ring around the rosie, a pocketful of posies, a-tishoo! A-tishoo! we all fall down. And he sits in a pool of his own blood, the shallow gashes on his back having left smears of maroon and one leg is twisted awkwardly under him. He remains oblivious to his injuries. Oblivious to their presence. Oblivious to the gaping hole the neighbour’s head, revealing things that should not be seen outside of the an operating theatre. Ring-o-ring-o Rosie, a pocketful of posies, Ashes! Ashes! we all fall down. “Oh God,” she says again, and passes out. [/presto]

[presto] Astra Vincent D2 . Anna Arendshorst . 17 Don't let them in, don't let them see, Be the good girl you always had to be. Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know. Well now they know.[/presto]

[anzie]

[presto] It is seven hours and thirty-four minutes since she was woken up by the shouting from her new neighbour’s house. It lasted a couple of minutes. The voice was so full of fury that she wanted to call the police. Her husband stopped her, suggested tiredly when the voice finally shut up that they visit the next day to see if anything was wrong. She fell back to sleep with unease in her heart. Mary wrings her hands around the handle of her basket nervously, staring at the newly painted house with all the uncertainty in the world. “Come on,” her husband says, and they walk down the path together. He raises his hand to knock. The door opens on the first touch and she nearly flinches. Her husband gives her a soothing pat and cautiously enters. “Sir? Madam?” he calls - he knows there’s a man from the day he moved in, and maybe a woman who came with him, but that was just too brief a glimpse for him to be certain - but there’s no reply. Mary peers around her husband at the newly furnished house. Stray boxes were strewn around, the only evidence she can see that the neighbours have only recently moved in. “I’m afraid you left your front door open…” As he trails off they become aware of a young, weak voice that’s barely audible. With a glance at Mary, her husband cautiously follows the sound to the basement. He freezes, turns and tries to hurry Mary away, out of the basement. “We have to go, come on, we’re leaving,” he tells her in a hushed tone, moving to try and block her view. But she’s taller than him on the steps, and the words are torn from her, “Oh God! Oh God!” The naked boy is half curled over their neighbour, fingers running over the man’s roughened, wizened face, and his voice is the one they heard, singing nursery rhymes. As she stands there he finishes Mary Had a Little Lamb and starts Ring Around The Rosie, his voice hoarse from use. His matted blond hair can be beautiful, long, framing his girlish innocent face, and his eyes are fixed on the man, full of complete and utter adoration. Ring around the rosie, a pocketful of posies, a-tishoo! A-tishoo! we all fall down. And he sits in a pool of his own blood, the shallow gashes on his back having left smears of maroon and one leg is twisted awkwardly under him. He remains oblivious to his injuries. Oblivious to their presence. Oblivious to the gaping hole the neighbour’s head, revealing things that should not be seen outside of the an operating theatre. Ring-o-ring-o Rosie, a pocketful of posies, Ashes! Ashes! we all fall down. “Oh God,” she says again, and passes out. [/presto]

[presto] Aiden Pierce Capitol . Matthew Gubler . 15 Rise above, gonna start the war! What you want, what you need, what'd you come here for? Well, an eye for an eye and an 'F' for fight They're taking me down as the prisoners riot[/presto]