Lisa Wicker, a girl of twelve, was walking down the school hall with her best friend, Peter Micheals, when the intercom turned on.
"Attention students, a young boy, Jack Meldo, died yesterday afternoon. We would like to now take a moment of silence for him." announced the school principle.

The taxi stopped in front of the main entrance of the airport. Raman gave him a handful of currency notes and he smiled when he saw the surprised expression on the driver’s face.

I am your great fan…

The list continues…

An Ode to Moran.

Some say inspiration comes from God, others proclaim that’s a farce; does it really matter? What is the concept of inspiration? Are there right and wrong inspirations; if so how can you tell the difference?

This is not really a poem…more feelings of what it is kind of like living with D.I.D… I’m struggling at the minute at being anywhere and some alters seem to be leaking more into me and…well I dunno, it’s hard to explain. I know some people have noticed this… I was annoyed slightly because some people seem to think living with alters is like how they have characters for their books in their heads… or the fact they like many different things depending on their mood…which I can understand the comparison, but you are very wrong…also the fact that I am a writer and use some of my alters names in my novel they seem to think they are right- I use their names because it is the only way I can gain concentration to look and actually see something in reality long enough to write something!

How my best friend makes me feel better.

A method behind all this madness.

This artwork is amazing and is for sale for any offers.