What do you think of this writing? I'm fifteen (Like it matters)?
Ding. The bell rings once. People look up at the speakers on every street corner. Ding. People begin running to their homes, gathering their children in a matter of mass chaos. Ding. They turn on their televisions and radios to the only channel that is permitted. Ding. Everyone directs their attention to the screens, and everyone hushes. It is four o'clock. It is time to listen. A tall man with black shaggy hair walks onto the stage that is reflected on the screen and straightens his long, black winter's coat. He directs his olive green eyes to the screen and smirks. "Celia will be a moment, peasants," he says right as he flashes a perfect white grin to the cameras, and walks behind the curtains where Celia probably was. For a moment, people shuffle on their couches and chairs, holding their children close and giving them the occasional Christmas present. Suddenly, a group of men in black coats appear on the televisions, with the reappearance of the man in the coat: Loki Tallow. They all look back for a moment and move out of the way, except for Loki, who stays calmly in the center. A cloaked figure enters the picture and stands firmly beside Loki. Nobody had actually seen Celia Dupoint's face or body yet. Nobody knew how old she was, or if she was ugly or pretty. All they knew was that she was evil - a world dictator. They knew she was short and small, but nothing else. Celia is a mystery. "Deshni fo, hel Nay di zhi kou fruwn!" Obey me, for I am your queen! Every recites the words that they must to Celia, and she laughs her sick, childish laugh. "That is right, my loyal followers! I am Celia Dupoint, your queen, and you will obey everything I say. You see, I have my own Christmas present for you all to feast your eyes upon. Loki!" Loki grins again and rips off Celia's cloak, revealing a body they never would have expected. Celia was pale - completely white, with eyes so pale you couldn't tell her iris from the whites in her eye. Her hair is black in contrast, shoulder length, with big lose curls and straight bangs. One thing is certain, though; Celia can't be any older than twelve years old. The people gasp, and exchange glances with their family. "Today's messages are very important," she says. "As you can see, I, Celia Dupoint am not like the rest of you! I'mstill older than I appear, but here are my new rules. For those of you over age twenty, you must cut off your right arm and throw it in a fire as a sacrifice for myself. Loki will check with the city commandos for all of the cities in the month of January to make sure this ritual has taken place. "If you are over thirty-five, you will be killed as sacrifices in February. So, parents, say good-bye to your children in the next few weeks. Everyone that disobeys these rules will have to deal with me during March. You see, friends, this is your Christmas present to me." Celia grins and hugs Loki, who must be at least ten years older than her, before turning and waving at the crowd one last time before repeating "Deshni fo, hel Nay di zhi kou fruwn!" and walking off stage. Ding. The hour is over, and the televisions automatically change onto a show about Celia's castle. Everyone sighs, as Christmas is ruined, but Celia simply sits in her office, looking down at a book and reading it. Loki walks into the room, removing his coat and sitting beside of her. "Good job, Princess," he says with a deep, hoarse voice. Celia looks up and smiles a perfectly white smile. "You don't think I was too harsh, do you, Darling?" she asks with fake compassion. "Of course not. You were only ordering what you wanted them to do," he responds, stroking Celia's hair right before pressing his lips to her's. "Good, " says Celia as they pull apart. She stands up, puts a coat over her skin tight black clothes, and looks out the window, only to notice that it is snowing. Celia is disgusted, and closes her blinds. "Loki, make me some tea.

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What do you think of this writing? Would you read on?
Ding. The bell rings once. People look up at the speakers on every street corner. Ding. People begin running to their homes, gathering their children in a matter of mass chaos. Ding. They turn on their televisions and radios to the only channel that is permitted. Ding. Everyone directs their attention to the screens, and everyone hushes. It is four o'clock. It is time to listen. A tall man with black shaggy hair walks onto the stage that is reflected on the screen and straightens his long, black winter's coat. He directs his olive green eyes to the screen and smirks. "Celia will be a moment, peasants," he says right as he flashes a perfect white grin to the cameras, and walks behind the curtains where Celia probably was. For a moment, people shuffle on their couches and chairs, holding their children close and giving them the occasional Christmas present. Suddenly, a group of men in black coats appear on the televisions, with the reappearance of the man in the coat: Loki Tallow. They all look back for a moment and move out of the way, except for Loki, who stays calmly in the center. A cloaked figure enters the picture and stands firmly beside Loki. Nobody had actually seen Celia Dupoint's face or body yet. Nobody knew how old she was, or if she was ugly or pretty. All they knew was that she was evil - a world dictator. They knew she was short and small, but nothing else. Celia is a mystery. "Deshni fo, hel Nay di zhi kou fruwn!" Obey me, for I am your queen! Every recites the words that they must to Celia, and she laughs her sick, childish laugh. "That is right, my loyal followers! I am Celia Dupoint, your queen, and you will obey everything I say. You see, I have my own Christmas present for you all to feast your eyes upon. Loki!" Loki grins again and rips off Celia's cloak, revealing a body they never would have expected. Celia was pale - completely white, with eyes so pale you couldn't tell her iris from the whites in her eye. Her hair is black in contrast, shoulder length, with big lose curls and straight bangs. One thing is certain, though; Celia can't be any older than twelve years old. The people gasp, and exchange glances with their family. "Today's messages are very important," she says. "As you can see, I, Celia Dupoint am not like the rest of you! I'mstill older than I appear, but here are my new rules. For those of you over age twenty, you must cut off your right arm and throw it in a fire as a sacrifice for myself. Loki will check with the city commandos for all of the cities in the month of January to make sure this ritual has taken place. "If you are over thirty-five, you will be killed as sacrifices in February. So, parents, say good-bye to your children in the next few weeks. Everyone that disobeys these rules will have to deal with me during March. You see, friends, this is your Christmas present to me." Celia grins and hugs Loki, who must be at least ten years older than her, before turning and waving at the crowd one last time before repeating "Deshni fo, hel Nay di zhi kou fruwn!" and walking off stage. Ding. The hour is over, and the televisions automatically change onto a show about Celia's castle. Everyone sighs, as Christmas is ruined, but Celia simply sits in her office, looking down at a book and reading it. Loki walks into the room, removing his coat and sitting beside of her. "Good job, Princess," he says with a deep, hoarse voice. Celia looks up and smiles a perfectly white smile. "You don't think I was too harsh, do you, Darling?" she asks with fake compassion. "Of course not. You were only ordering what you wanted them to do," he responds, stroking Celia's hair right before pressing his lips to her's. "Good, " says Celia as they pull apart. She stands up, puts a coat over her skin tight black clothes, and looks out the window, only to notice that it is snowing. Celia is disgusted, and closes her blinds. "Loki, make me some tea. Fate- Celia isn't actually twelve. It explains better later, but Celia had a growth deformity which caused her to stop aging. She's really about 18. She does the whole limbs thing because she feels deformed, and thinks that if she deforms other people, she won't feel as bad. Loki is actually a demon that stole her soul and helped her become the dictator.

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Do you feel like people look up to or down on you?
or somewhere in between? Do you feel stepped on, or are you the one stepping on other people? I feel like people who can relate to me look at me on an equal standing, and people who think they're smarter b/c they're interested in let's say science & I'm not think they're better in that way.. but we both know I'm better when it comes to looks & style I feel stepped on a lot of times by people who just want to feel superior and have no respect for other people.

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