xxxfalloutgirl

   Golf is a game that is appreciated by many around the world. It is played by the old and young, the fat and slim.   It is a game that is virtually public to anyone and everyone, as long as they have the green fees to participate.   If everyone (including the very old or out of shape) is eligible to take part in a golf match, then is it really a sport? Is golf really that much different from say... a game of chess or a round of billiards?   What characterizes a sport?   Having been a sports fanatic for most of my life, to me, a sport is defined as an activity involving physical exertion that requires skill. A sport must also have a

When the first baby laughed for the first time, the laugh broke into a thousand pieces and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of faeries... Simply a yellow, shimmering light in the mist of a dewy morning, Tinker Bell, shines brightest for her childish boy, Peter Pan. Wedged between two worlds, the tiny faerie finds herself loving this befriended boy in more ways than one. But, alas! The humans do not accept her and the faeries laugh at her for sporting such a foolish notion. Tinker Bell ardently would lay down her life for that of Peter's, she finding it difficult to compete with his attention to other adoring female co

A twinkle of light tears through Neverland Jungle, rustling leaves and creating a commotion as boys below her shout and laugh, trying to catch up to her. One of the most beloved faeries of Never Neverland, Tinker Bell remains a favorite creature among the children, her bright humor drawing forth the littlest child in each of them. Birds shoot upwards into the thick canopy as the tiny light dashes past, startling and interrupting their morning songs. Tinker Bell races towards the center of a giant, enchanted oak tree, her little wings flapping at full speed. The boys claw after her, keeping up with her every movement. One little boy reaches up

As little Casey steps up to bat, he puts on his helmet, and takes off his hat. He picks up his stick, and runs to the plate, slamming his slugger down to meet its stake. He twirls his bat 'round and 'round, up over his head and down to the ground. He stares at the ball holder, eyes 'pon hand. Then his eyes swirl back down and gaze at the sand. He points his bat straight at the ball, telling the ball holder he had clearly made his call. He slams his foot down, down to the ground, and the pitcher laughs 'pon the mound. The pitcher pitches the ball, and a look crosses his face, a look of bliss. Little Casey takes a hard swing...

In the shadows, he lurks there, watching. He watches everything through his two golden eyes. He is misunderstood, no one understands, everything he has had to go through. Everyone hates him, but not "hate" as you would think. A "love", yet a misunderstanding they show. His heart burns as the time unfolds before him. He is dying, yet no one knows. He loves like no one ever could, yet no one loves him back, but no one ever should. He still lurks in the shadows, watching, waiting.... until time unfolds before him, and death will take his place.

He kills with no mercy. He kills with no shame. No one understands him or his game. His eyes seem cold and cruel, yet something else is there that he hides. Underneath all of the hatred and cruelty lies a personality that no one can shadow. He's King of the alley, King of the hall, King of everything, yet he's nothing at all.

The bloodied grip of thy trigger. The gruesome slip of thy hand. "Die..Die..", said the bloodied figure of a man. The trigger is pulled, and the gunshot heard. But the bullet? Ahhh.. of course, the bullet. "In that tree, behind your head." Whoops, there goes another. Now you're dead.

Loud, shrill, without reason, lasting, lasting through the season. Shrieking, yapping, they're coming our way. They're coming south, and they're here to stay. Noisy, blaring, I want them to stop. I wave my arms and away they hop.