Personal journal

How do you explain to a seven year old why her friends are suddenly keeping a way from her, why people are nasty and hateful to her, why they are are starting to get violent towards her,

God knows but I`ve tried to explain that people are afraid of her because she is different from most people, a more loving and caring child you`ll have trouble finding but people can`t see past their own fears and bigotry.

Dainéal’s Dream

A Thaisce (My Treasure)

Sweet Dreams-16.…A Waking First Breath.

Chapter 16

I was sweaty from dancing, I was almost buzzed from the whole night where it just seems like my life is finally gelling, turning into something real and It’s running through my veins. The music, the food, the dancing…god I love dancing I feel like I shook off years of bullshit out there on the dance floor. The friendship of some of the other girls and even that solid, but fucked up friends thing I have with Jennifer.

Ayad had never been someone who really fitted in. He had not been not as muscular or manly as most of the guys in school. It actually had been a relieve to him when the gouvernment some years ago had cancelled sports-lessons because of the costs.

Dainéal’s Dream

AthrẠ(Change)

Damn!

copy right yada yada may be posted on any free site as long as i get the credit for it. Must be of age in your area to read
This just some thing i did late one night hope you all like it , comments welcome

The tears were coming fast as I placed the nail tip on my finger.
Here I am.How has it come to this?My struggles for most of my life,
being an outsider,being different.
The compulsions and desires to be a woman.Always there under the surface,in the shadows and the realm of dreams.

“Yeah.” Mary Beth smiled. Then she looked to Tracy. “Is h..she okay?” She remembered the lecture about using the right words in time.

Both Mary Beth and her sister looked a little worried at the intensity of Sage's glare. “No.” Mary Beth said.

Thanks to Djkauf for the editing.

Please note, but to the almost graphic nature of this post, I upped the rating. I promise the fun stuff shall return someday.

On Sunday morning, Justin got up stealthily and tried to conceal his vomiting from his father. It didn't work, the simple layout of the house defeated him; the only bathroom was in between his bedroom and his father's.

"Are you okay, son?" Harold Bock asked.

"Yeah, Dad, I'll live." The nausea had seized him as he lay awake in his bed wondering if he would ever talk to Zoe again, talk to her alone. He'd probably see her at school, though she was a senior and he a sophmore. Their schedules would not naturally intersect that often.

When does reality begin and fantasy end?