...curiosity arousing her, she brushes past the old iron gate. she notices the sentinel lying on the ground in a pool a pool a pool of blue goo? she shakes her head and decides it's only a figment of her imagination.

her eyes focus intensely on the path in front of her. upon reaching the front door, she gingerly reaches out a hand, and half-heartedly begins to turn it. to her surprise, but utter fear, it gives way. standing silently, she takes a deep breath. then with both palms of her hands firmly pressed against the door, she pushes it open.

::in she walks::

her eyes dart about, then focus on the writing covering the walls ::squinting her eyes:: a blue glow coming from the crevices in the stone, make it hard to decipher the words. she moves in closer, and places a hand against the cold, damp stone.

::whispers to herself:: "like a yearbook" she scans the entries before her...

'happiness is a warm gun...happiness is the bottom of a canyon...happiness is...'

'a glass tear - one drop frozen in time, lingering on my face, as if on display for the world to see, like a faberge egg sitting on it's throne...'

::eyes some altered graffiti::
she sees that it originally read, 'i love tapanga!', but now reads, 'i hate tapanga!'

'black glass - glassy black ...screams bounce in the darkness...'

'little boxes open, little boxes close, little boxes weep, little boxes pose...'

'i am a part of her, a part of who she is, was, and will always be...'

'class of 1998 rules!'

'my heart is lost in an echo. it's like the emptiness you feel in your tummy when your the sensation of fear you feel, when you know something bad is about to knowing your heart is about to break, so your mind fervently searches for an escape pod...'

::sigh:: "i know that feeling..."

'one by one, the ghosts slip through the cracks in the wall...'

'alexander, you are the keeper of my soul - the only one who holds the key. i am aching to hold you, but at the same time, i am always too frightened to draw nearer...'

she spies the tiny piece of broken chalk on the stone floor. ::she bends to pick it up::

she finds a clear space on the wall, and begins to write, adding her thoughts to the wall, as all the many others did, who have passed here before her. she spills her heart out, 'Blather'ing if you will, as if she were home, laying on her bed, writing in her journal. she wonders if they experienced the same feelings she did, when she first layed her eyes upon these blue walls. did they feel as drawn to it as she was? did they feel it? will the one's who pass through after me, walk with a light foot, in respect? will i return here, and if i do, will it feel the same?

::she bites her lower lip::

her voice echoes throughout the many rooms, as she says aloud, "i hope so...". lost in thought, she continues scratching out her dreams and fears onto the cold, blue stone...
god welcome back 010605
dB I never thought of it like that.
I wish blather was carved in stone deep in some mountain somewhere, rather than stored on a tiny hard drive in some server thousands of kilometers away.
It'd be the greatest thing. To see all the words at once.
All the thoughts of mankind would be here. All the hopes, dreams, delusions, and tripe, would all be there. It'd be real.

We're home.

*Much Peace*
girl_jane Damnit. The sheep got out. 020310
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