Naruto Fan Fiction ❯ Cherry Blossoms in the Moonlight ❯ Prologue: Hearthache ( Prologue )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: MoonbeamNightGoddess 
Caught in the cliche good vs. evil scheme of life, one kunoichi must succeed where others have failed, and retain what little sanity she has left. With an anceint bloodline,a mental ancestor she may just do that. Sakuraxvarious, other pairings
Anime/Manga: Naruto Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 11.28.2008 | Updated On: 11.28.2008 | Pages: 1 | Words: 886 | Visits: 239 | Status: Work In Progress
Caught in the cliche good vs. evil scheme of life, one kunoichi must succeed where others have failed, and retain what little sanity she has left. With an anceint bloodline,a mental ancestor she may just do that. Sakuraxvarious, other pairings
Anime/Manga: Naruto Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 11.28.2008 | Updated On: 11.28.2008 | Pages: 1 | Words: 886 | Visits: 239 | Status: Work In Progress
Rough Draft- Special Place
Creative Writing
Courtney Dawson
Period 2
I. Child’s Play
Having an escape from reality is a basic necessity in life, especially for teenager. Life in this period of time and growth for people my age is stressing, confusing, and annoying as hell. We’re always jerked around by what our parents say about us, or how people our age treat us. Being a teenager is in truth scary, stressful, and damn near maddening when we try to perceive what the world really wants from us. Such pressures are hard to handle, even driving teens to do stupid things to fit in, appease the world, or try and drown our own individuality.
From my take on things not everybody is going to love you, let alone like you. Why try to be something you’re not when its just so less tiring on your part to put on a mask of who you want people to see you as. It gets old after a while, trust me. But while living in your own skin, being the person you want to be is gratifying, life always has its draw-backs. People may shun you, hate you, or be weirded-out by you by just simply not agreeing with them, or doing something totally out of the social order. Most people are ants, they heed the queen’s call, what is perceived as normal (What is normal anyway?), and go about like good workers. For some people this life works, going with the flow or following orders. Others don’t fit into this mold. Hey there are some very different people out there, that’s what DNA mutations are for. Humans are broken up into two categories: people and politicians. Since the latter is predisposed to lie to the other, life can be a hectic, and at times very horrifically wonderful.
But it’s not just the way you hold yourself, or the way you live your life, it’s also about how you escape life. And no, sleep does not count. Its how you go to that special place, that one route to peace that people go to when the world has seemingly turned against them, and they want a way out. For some people its that old park bench, the horse barn where they first learned to really fly unlike in dreams, or that little cozy spot under the stairs that no one knows about. For me I have had several places of refuge, all changing and crazily messed up. Oddly my first escape route was not my room, but rather the old swing set at my elementary school in CT. Next came a small dense crack of foliage created by evergreen trees and the fence that separated the creek from the playground. The Tower, an old wooden fort I braved to climb up to escape the eyes of the other children and look on like a silent watcher on their tiny worlds as I glimpses happiness and reviewed my life. That was where I met by best friend for the first time, someone who I would eventually loose contact with after I moved up here in 8th grade.
II. Abyss
Then in a period of my life I had no physically escape, when I was just becoming an adolescent and the world was very cruel. My world had come tumbling down with my parents divorce, and the ever growing alienation of my peers in sixth and seventh grade. No longer at the elementary school, I had no playground to run to, no salivation in forgetting my troubles as I seemingly flew on the swings, no longer pretending I was dinosaur and making weird growling noises as I emerged from my ever green cave alone in my game as the other kids played flag football. No longer watching the world pass beneath me in the tower of splintering wood and monkey bars. I was alone, my room, what I called a home was no longer sacred, no longer a haven from the world, it simply became a cell in which I stayed in before I left to go the rest of the prison outside those doors.
III. Sweet words, sing thy guiding song!
I found my solace on the tip of a pen, and the edges of a razor. Life grew harder, and I died seemingly everyday. Reading offered a world I could exist in, school work offered the distraction I needed, but writing offered the sweet nothingness of being in control, holding on to what I wanted to because I wrote it all out. Writing is still my special place, my imagination my ever distracting friend who whispers horrible and tender things into my head. But my new room when I moved to Delmar became my true room, my true pinnacle of feeling safe, and being my main route of escape. It’s a royal purple with lavender crown molding and creme white ceiling with ok carpets, and heavy curtains to keep the light out during the weekend. I had found makeshift escape, and I had been the only one to create it.
V. Hellenistic
Creative Writing
Courtney Dawson
Period 2
I. Child’s Play
Having an escape from reality is a basic necessity in life, especially for teenager. Life in this period of time and growth for people my age is stressing, confusing, and annoying as hell. We’re always jerked around by what our parents say about us, or how people our age treat us. Being a teenager is in truth scary, stressful, and damn near maddening when we try to perceive what the world really wants from us. Such pressures are hard to handle, even driving teens to do stupid things to fit in, appease the world, or try and drown our own individuality.
From my take on things not everybody is going to love you, let alone like you. Why try to be something you’re not when its just so less tiring on your part to put on a mask of who you want people to see you as. It gets old after a while, trust me. But while living in your own skin, being the person you want to be is gratifying, life always has its draw-backs. People may shun you, hate you, or be weirded-out by you by just simply not agreeing with them, or doing something totally out of the social order. Most people are ants, they heed the queen’s call, what is perceived as normal (What is normal anyway?), and go about like good workers. For some people this life works, going with the flow or following orders. Others don’t fit into this mold. Hey there are some very different people out there, that’s what DNA mutations are for. Humans are broken up into two categories: people and politicians. Since the latter is predisposed to lie to the other, life can be a hectic, and at times very horrifically wonderful.
But it’s not just the way you hold yourself, or the way you live your life, it’s also about how you escape life. And no, sleep does not count. Its how you go to that special place, that one route to peace that people go to when the world has seemingly turned against them, and they want a way out. For some people its that old park bench, the horse barn where they first learned to really fly unlike in dreams, or that little cozy spot under the stairs that no one knows about. For me I have had several places of refuge, all changing and crazily messed up. Oddly my first escape route was not my room, but rather the old swing set at my elementary school in CT. Next came a small dense crack of foliage created by evergreen trees and the fence that separated the creek from the playground. The Tower, an old wooden fort I braved to climb up to escape the eyes of the other children and look on like a silent watcher on their tiny worlds as I glimpses happiness and reviewed my life. That was where I met by best friend for the first time, someone who I would eventually loose contact with after I moved up here in 8th grade.
II. Abyss
Then in a period of my life I had no physically escape, when I was just becoming an adolescent and the world was very cruel. My world had come tumbling down with my parents divorce, and the ever growing alienation of my peers in sixth and seventh grade. No longer at the elementary school, I had no playground to run to, no salivation in forgetting my troubles as I seemingly flew on the swings, no longer pretending I was dinosaur and making weird growling noises as I emerged from my ever green cave alone in my game as the other kids played flag football. No longer watching the world pass beneath me in the tower of splintering wood and monkey bars. I was alone, my room, what I called a home was no longer sacred, no longer a haven from the world, it simply became a cell in which I stayed in before I left to go the rest of the prison outside those doors.
III. Sweet words, sing thy guiding song!
I found my solace on the tip of a pen, and the edges of a razor. Life grew harder, and I died seemingly everyday. Reading offered a world I could exist in, school work offered the distraction I needed, but writing offered the sweet nothingness of being in control, holding on to what I wanted to because I wrote it all out. Writing is still my special place, my imagination my ever distracting friend who whispers horrible and tender things into my head. But my new room when I moved to Delmar became my true room, my true pinnacle of feeling safe, and being my main route of escape. It’s a royal purple with lavender crown molding and creme white ceiling with ok carpets, and heavy curtains to keep the light out during the weekend. I had found makeshift escape, and I had been the only one to create it.
V. Hellenistic