Jazz Feylynn Famous Quotes
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Tongue and hand tied. It cut me off, trapped and held me within my own silent dark word tomb.
Every bloody mark had assassinated my writing along the way.
The stopwatch threat hung over me. I set the timer with shaky clammy fingers. The silent reckoning with the not-so-silent alarm blast at the end of the merciless countdown commenced.
My eyes hunger to read more books then time allows me to devour.
Everywhere that is not in shadows is reflecting the brilliance of the light
This assignment could damn well project all the words across my face and the ink stain my hands a gory mess before I finished it.
I am off to the pages racing my way through to the story's finish line - the end.
That did explain his sucky home life growing up but didn't excuse the way he treated others. Was there childcare for abused werewolves?
Into the ash I dripped my pen and came out with fire.
Science explains the Magic of Spirit.
Pull up a chair and get comfy as the pages get flying for a wild ride through many different worlds of story. I'll catch ya later after I turn the next page, chapter, or maybe two, or ...
Looking deeper, I see not subjugation, but a tool of power to control my fate in the world of man that symbolizes my ownership over both my nature spirit and wolf-self.
One two, one two,
Type a word or two.
Arrow left, arrow right,
Keep those fingers nice and tight.
Keys up, Keys down,
Move those digits all around.
One two, one two,
Type a word or two.
Be careful. The conditions are treacherous with mud-sucking tentacles pulling shoes and socks into the murky bottom while smearing grime on those who passed by.
Now you're being ridiculous. If your mom changed into a carrot, I'd think she'd change back before someone ate her, werewolf or not.
The cold bright moon hung low in the sky. Weeping as it set.
Under bright scarlet hair, teachers' favorite pigmentation of ink, the awful cast splashed and dripped down his face, a grisly reminder of mistakes bruising that had bruised.
Butterflies are but petals upon the sky.
You and your brother have had moments. Don'tcha think the collar's a bit much?" I could imagine Jessie hogtied with whatever was at hand by his big bad sis.
Future and past meet during the present.
A word garden blooming within the tangled weeds.
No electricity, fridge, TV or game console. I guess changing from human was enough fun and games for werewolves.
The leaves' autumn colors were muted in the shadows they settled among.
Give me a sec to catch my thoughts.
Okay, I know she thinks her little bro stinks but that sounds like she's tracking him by his stench.
What blooms from beautiful seeds of thought becomes a symphony of colorful abundance.
My nerves did a jitter dance,
Amanda took the lead following her sense of smell. On the other hand, I followed a werewolf who was leading me by her nose. Not sure, which of us was crazier.
The ink line drawing flowed the cursive journey,
created on paper canvas that brought the story to life.
I set the timer. The silent countdown, with the not-so-silent alarm blast at the end of the twenty-minutes commenced. The ticking and tocking started its merciless countdown.
I assumed this yoke would encase me as well as any another hobble. Only this one bound the mind.
Yes, Dad collared me before I was even born. Nevertheless, he made me the one in authority of the collar and myself.
Maybe it's a green thing or a wolf thing or a short-circuit thing. I don't seem to know anything.
The sand boiled the moment
the sun burned over the horizon.
Dream images swell against the mind's sleeping inner shores
Maybe that's why the Westmores never allowed any pets. Hard to keep them off the menu.
My nerves did a jitter dance, stuck between two wolves.
Her blue eyes glowed headlight red into my leafy greens. Those eyes were freaky.
His eyes forward didn't deviate from the off-road trail, his chiseled jaw gripped shut during the ride. He didn't release any sound of explanation until we arrived.
His eyes, if anything, gleamed even more bright, having found the treasure he sought.
