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lederhosenGlowing red eyes looked at her, she turned her eyes away from the sight of the glowing orbs. Each one stood at least seven feet in height, weighing around six hundred pounds, easily. They were covered in thick mangy fur, pointed ears, snout and large sharp canine teeth. They stood there on legs the size of tree trunks, with hooves instead of feet. They looked as though they had each had eaten several people already. As the one who had been moving towards her came closer, she spotted the white glowing figures appear. Watched in horror as the dark engulfed the white. She could smell the bitter putrid smell of brimstone that suddenly hung heavy on the air. Elisa knew there was a time to stand and a time to run and turning she did just that. But she would be back another day. She didn't look back as she ran. She really didn't want to know if anything was chasing her...
He walked over to the bookcase choosing and taking from it an old book, covered in reddish brown leather with beautiful etchings on it. He held it as though it were precious to him, he opened the yellowing pages that were starting to crumble and looked at the small hand painted picture within. He glanced down at it, at the family that were there. His parents and brother and there by his brothers side was himself. The way he was before he changed, before that fatal night. He didn't want to think of the time that had passed since he last had seen the sun, felt its warmth on his skin. He closed the book and replaced it, knowing no one thought him strange, not anymore. Because he was a writer, and everyone knew that writers were a strange breed. Didn't keep regular hours, and kept to themselves a lot.
In the large ornate bookcases in front of him, he glanced at the book there, most of which were those he had written. This was not the only occupation he had held. How many had he had in the centuries he had lived among the humans? How many more would he add to it in the centuries to come? He grew weary of the existence that he now lived.
...but if you think the WRITING'S bad, have a look at the webdesign. There should be a word especially to mean "crappy animations that keep making the page resize so the scrollbar keeps winking in and out of existence", so I can scream it as I swing a bloody machete.
Original review of the above via![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jazzmasterson, thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-syndicated.gif)
lonecat for the author's website.
He walked over to the bookcase choosing and taking from it an old book, covered in reddish brown leather with beautiful etchings on it. He held it as though it were precious to him, he opened the yellowing pages that were starting to crumble and looked at the small hand painted picture within. He glanced down at it, at the family that were there. His parents and brother and there by his brothers side was himself. The way he was before he changed, before that fatal night. He didn't want to think of the time that had passed since he last had seen the sun, felt its warmth on his skin. He closed the book and replaced it, knowing no one thought him strange, not anymore. Because he was a writer, and everyone knew that writers were a strange breed. Didn't keep regular hours, and kept to themselves a lot.
In the large ornate bookcases in front of him, he glanced at the book there, most of which were those he had written. This was not the only occupation he had held. How many had he had in the centuries he had lived among the humans? How many more would he add to it in the centuries to come? He grew weary of the existence that he now lived.
...but if you think the WRITING'S bad, have a look at the webdesign. There should be a word especially to mean "crappy animations that keep making the page resize so the scrollbar keeps winking in and out of existence", so I can scream it as I swing a bloody machete.
Original review of the above via
jazzmasterson, thanks to lonecat for the author's website.
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no subject
Date: 2004-09-12 05:41 pm (UTC)I propose: "scrollwinker" (n., usually used in plural "scrollwinkers"). Crappy animations that keep making the page resize so the scrollbar winks in and out of existence.
Ex. "I hate that site. The color scheme suxxors and every page is full of scrollwinkers."
no subject
Date: 2004-09-12 07:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-12 07:38 pm (UTC)Those are some freaky eyes, all right!
no subject
Date: 2004-09-13 08:33 am (UTC)I know Schadenfreude is the pleasure you get from another's misfortune. Does German have a word from the perverse pleasure-mixed-with-pain you get from another's terrible writing? :)
no subject
Date: 2004-09-15 11:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-15 11:22 am (UTC)Haven't you ever heard of giving someone the hairy eyeball?
>:)
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Date: 2004-09-15 11:36 am (UTC)By the way, I wish to fan your icon with peacock feathers and feed it peeled grapes.
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Date: 2004-09-15 11:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-15 11:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-13 08:37 am (UTC)And your last paragraph is about to land you in
no subject
Date: 2004-09-13 04:12 pm (UTC)