||[May. 16th, 2006|10:24 pm]
|[||my toes feel...
|||||Pazu is now one years old||]|
My life, utterly summed up in quality 12.6 statements:
1.) I want a motorcycle, though practicality sake is saying get a hybrid car.
2.) I spend my lunch period at Border's, which is a total of .56 miles from Action Publishing, my work on a lake.
3.) I've almost died twice this week. First time, I reported him to the police. Second time, flash floods aren't lethal, wimps.
4.) I am unwilling to cash my first check from the government as the federal treasury of the United States has beautifully formatted checks.
5.) I am tempted to buy a DSLR every day.
6.) I become more depressed as the trial period of Painter X is almost expired.
7.) I have become accustomed to car grease up to my elbows.
8.) I go to wealthy golfing ranges at midnight.
9.) I have sworn a scalding revenge on Harding University for giving me Hell for months, though I have won for finally getting all my documents to Colorado State.
10.) I viciously murdered a lobster named Rolf yesterday in a very excrutiating boiling death.
11.) I have become the back booth bar goer...though I don't drink any alcohol there.
12.) I just applied to become a professional Texas Hold'em Card Dealer.
12.6) The most breath taking place in the world...is at the very top.
Balloons had always taunted her. When she was younger, anxiety would rip through her as she watched these floating beings. Would they...dare they pop around her? Allowing that defeaning sunction of air that brought terror to her young, sensitive ears.
She shook her head. That was years ago. Multiple years ago, in a time when these inflated horrors chased her. Not anymore. Her gun rested at her hip. She had spotted her target.
Not anymore. Her head sported the colour of her prey, and she always struck at sunset...the same time that they dare struck her. No longer does she run from her fears. Now she hunts them. Paid to eliminate her personal enemies, she is now the assassin.
The Balloon Assassin.