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I wrote a vignette about myself.
Me. BitterToast. Why is it some of us are doomed to gray storm clouds and the never deliquescing taste of lemon, like ash in the mouth, like others have a perfectly smashing life full of sparkly rainbows and daisies and also watermelons that seem to have sugar and other natural preservatives? The bitterness envelopes some of us like cotton clouds. It’s so unsmashing and I just wish that
Here I broke off, feeling too unsmashingly bitter to continue
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BitterToast wrote:
I wrote a vignette about myself.
Me. BitterToast. Why is it some of us are doomed to gray storm clouds and the never deliquescing taste of lemon, like ash in the mouth, like others have a perfectly smashing life full of sparkly rainbows and daisies and also watermelons that seem to have sugar and other natural preservatives? The bitterness envelopes some of us like cotton clouds. It’s so unsmashing and I just wish that
Here I broke off, feeling too unsmashingly bitter to continue
Why, that's a smashing vignette you wrote. You have real writing talent!
True artists translate their pain into art.
Unlike me. My English grade wasn't the best, hoo hoo hoo!
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BatterToast wrote:
BitterToast wrote:
I wrote a vignette about myself.
Me. BitterToast. Why is it some of us are doomed to gray storm clouds and the never deliquescing taste of lemon, like ash in the mouth, like others have a perfectly smashing life full of sparkly rainbows and daisies and also watermelons that seem to have sugar and other natural preservatives? The bitterness envelopes some of us like cotton clouds. It’s so unsmashing and I just wish that
Here I broke off, feeling too unsmashingly bitter to continueWhy, that's a smashing vignette you wrote. You have real writing talent!
True artists translate their pain into art.
Unlike me. My English grade wasn't the best, hoo hoo hoo!
Stop being such a smashing optimist. It's so nice it makes me feel sick.
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BitterToast wrote:
I wrote a vignette about myself.
Me. BitterToast. Why is it some of us are doomed to gray storm clouds and the never deliquescing taste of lemon, like ash in the mouth, like others have a perfectly smashing life full of sparkly rainbows and daisies and also watermelons that seem to have sugar and other natural preservatives? The bitterness envelopes some of us like cotton clouds. It’s so unsmashing and I just wish that
Here I broke off, feeling too unsmashingly bitter to continue
Ohmigawsh.
B a bit mor happy, somtime, Bitter.
Imma post a fanficshun sune!
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veggieman001 wrote:
BitterToast wrote:
I wrote a vignette about myself.
Me. BitterToast. Why is it some of us are doomed to gray storm clouds and the never deliquescing taste of lemon, like ash in the mouth, like others have a perfectly smashing life full of sparkly rainbows and daisies and also watermelons that seem to have sugar and other natural preservatives? The bitterness envelopes some of us like cotton clouds. It’s so unsmashing and I just wish that
Here I broke off, feeling too unsmashingly bitter to continueHow wonderful. Wicki?
What do you mean
I don't frequent wikis
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BellijerintToast wrote:
BitterToast wrote:
I wrote a vignette about myself.
Me. BitterToast. Why is it some of us are doomed to gray storm clouds and the never deliquescing taste of lemon, like ash in the mouth, like others have a perfectly smashing life full of sparkly rainbows and daisies and also watermelons that seem to have sugar and other natural preservatives? The bitterness envelopes some of us like cotton clouds. It’s so unsmashing and I just wish that
Here I broke off, feeling too unsmashingly bitter to continueOhmigawsh.
B a bit mor happy, somtime, Bitter.
I feel optimistic about my pessimism.
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BitterToast wrote:
BellijerintToast wrote:
BitterToast wrote:
I wrote a vignette about myself.
Me. BitterToast. Why is it some of us are doomed to gray storm clouds and the never deliquescing taste of lemon, like ash in the mouth, like others have a perfectly smashing life full of sparkly rainbows and daisies and also watermelons that seem to have sugar and other natural preservatives? The bitterness envelopes some of us like cotton clouds. It’s so unsmashing and I just wish that
Here I broke off, feeling too unsmashingly bitter to continueOhmigawsh.
B a bit mor happy, somtime, Bitter.I feel optimistic about my pessimism.
That's an oxymoron but I'm not sure about the oxy
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Some people don't like us toasts! I don't know why, though. It is very unsmashing of them to do that. Oh well. Don't hate on the toast! (Don't eat us either. Especially me. I just got my crust done today.)
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BlatantToast wrote:
BitterToast wrote:
BellijerintToast wrote:
Ohmigawsh.
B a bit mor happy, somtime, Bitter.I feel optimistic about my pessimism.
That's an oxymoron but I'm not sure about the oxy
That's the spirit, Bitter! Well...almost.
Oh, Blatant, that's unnecessary.
You know he's sensitive about this kind of stuff.
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Hey, um, I'm kind of confused about the "Toast" users. Anyways, shall we get back on topic? I've been writing about an island civilization that nobody knows about and stuff.
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I have been working on this saga for about a year now, and I have nearly finished book 3. I have just uploaded the first book to upload.ee and want to know what you think! Please download this and read it and then tell me what you think!
http://www.upload.ee/files/2220259/jen_and_deathoc-_book_1.docx.html
Inspiration: DragonFable
nuf said.
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Okay, here's the first bit of a book I'm writing. I want this to be long enough to be a novel, and possibly try to publish it.
Prologue
Snow drifted through the cold night air, landing silently on the tree branches and the ground, landing on the two figures trekking through the snow. An owl hooted as it turned its masked face up, towards the cloud-cloaked sky. The girl looked up, noticing the glint of the owl's eyes. She tugged on her father's hand.
"Dad, look!" She pointed her mitten at the tree.
"Ssh, Cynthia. You'll scare him off. See how light his face is? That's a barn owl."
They stayed there for a minute, Cynthia standing, her father kneeling, watching the owl's great round eyes glow in the darkness. Then there was a beating of wings, and the creature rose into the sky, flying off into the trees.
Cynthia watched until long after the owl had gone, then her father led her to the base of a massive tree that she recognized as maple. Placing the wooden box down, he began digging with gloved hands in the gentle coating of snow, right down to the ground.
"What are you doing?" she asked, kneeling beside him and watching curiously.
"Burying this box." Her father, named Nicholas, reached into the pocket of his heavy jacket and took out a trowel, then set about digging into the semi-frozen ground.
"Why?"
Nicholas stopped his work and looked at Cynthia, meeting her eyes. "When it is time you will understand."
"When's that?"
Nicholas resumed his digging. "I don't know, Cyn. It could be a week from now, it could be in ten years. It's different for everyone."
"What do you mean? What's different for everyone? And what's this all about? We're gonna miss the ball drop!"
Nicholas reached under the hood of Cynthia's heavy coat and brushed a strand of pale blond hair from her freckled face. "Trust me, you'll know when the time is right. You're an Acer. You'll know. We always do.
"Here, help me cover this." Nicholas placed the box in the hole and began to scoop dirt back over it. Cynthia paused a moment, apprehensive, then pushed some dirt over the box and patted it down.
They worked in silence, the cold snow always drifting down over their hunched shoulders. Cynthia brushed her strawberry-blond behind her ears, studying Nicholas' face as he worked, seeing if this was another of his pranks or a test of some sort. But his expression was more serious than she'd ever seen, and that in itself she found a bit scary. Nicholas was always easygoing, joking around even in the tensest situation. But there was no hint of carefreeness now.
Eventually the ground was packed firmly over the little wooden box, and snow was rapidly covering the spot, as if it had never been disturbed. Nick held Cynthia’s hand, pointing with his free hand at the base of the tree, where the box lay. “Remember this place, Cynthia. Never, ever, ever forget this place. Your life could depend on it.”
Cyn’s mouth opened to ask a question, stunned by the last statement, but Nick held up a hand for silence. “No, no questions. It’ll all unfold in due course, you’ll see.”
He gripped Cynthia’s hand and led her back towards civilization. Cyn looked up as a firework burst in the distance, accompanied by happy screaming of people. The New Year had come.
Chapter One
The girl with flaxen hair lay on the ground, the touch of cold stone on her arms making her shiver.
Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked around and at herself. She wore a long dress made of rough canvas, her feet bare. The sleeves barely came halfway to her elbows. Around her, four square walls of stone formed a cold, lifeless cell. The silence was broken only by her own raspy breathing.
Suddenly, she realized that she couldn’t remember a single thing! She dug into her mind, trying to find something, anything, but there was nothing. Not her family, not her home, not even her name. Only herself and the freezing rock cell. “No!” she screamed, standing up and slamming her body against the solid walls. There had to be more! There had to be!
Beneath her, the rock started to shift, moving down! The girl pressed herself against one of the walls, her fingers scrambling for holds as they scraped down the rough stone.
When the floor came to a grinding halt, the girl looked up, at the long shaft of rock that stretched yards above her. She gripped small indents in the stone, hauling herself up. But she had not got ten feet when the rock beneath her feet crumbled, sending her sprawling on the ground, half-winded. Wheezing, she stumbled to her feet, gaping at the rectangular tunnel now open in the side of the shaft.
Curious, she steadied herself by running one hand along the side of the corridor, gazing around the tunnel of gray stone. Somehow, she knew she was tall for her age, but to reach the ceiling she needed to extend her arm all the way up.
“Dunica.”
She whirled. “Who said that?” she yelled, her eyes roving over the mottled gray rock.
“Dunica. Dunica. Dunica.” The voice spoke again, deep and almost reassuring. The girl shook her head, not sure if she was imagining things.
“You are Dunica.” The voice said.
Something didn’t quite click. Dunica…why do I get this feeling that something’s not right here? But the voice was insistent.
“You are Dunica, your name is Dunica, your name always has been Dunica, your name will always be Dunica.”
“No,” the girl whispered, trying to hone her senses on the cloud of doubt that swirled around her mind. I had a different name, she thought, I just can’t think what it was!
But because she couldn’t remember it, she decided to go with what she knew. “I am Dunica,” she said. Then Dunica shook her head. “I’m not…No. I can’t talk like that. I am Dunica. I am. I am Dunica, have always been Dunica, and always will be Dunica.”
Dunica still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Completely, utterly wrong.
If only she could figure out what.
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An informational article I wrote for science homework:-
Cystic Fibrosis & Stem Cells
Cystic Fibrosis
What is Cystic Fibrosis?
Cystic fibrosis is an inherited genetic disease. It is one of the most common life threatening diseases; 9,000 people in the UK alone are affected by it. Over 2 million people in the UK have the faulty gene that causes cystic fibrosis. Fortunately it is a recessive gene - this basically means that if both of your parents have the faulty gene, you have a 1 in 4 chance of getting cystic fibrosis. Cystic fibrosis affects the internal organs, specifically the lungs and the digestive system. The disease causes a build up of mucus in those areas this in turn means that the victim has breathing problems and difficulty digesting food. Each week five babies are born with cystic fibrosis and a further 2 people are lost to the disease. Thankfully, gradual improvements in the treatment of those affected means that they are now likely to live past 41 years. Those born with the disease now are expected to live even longer.
Causes and Symptoms
The cause of Cystic Fibrosis is a single faulty gene that controls the movement of salt in the body. A baby can only get the gene if both parents are carriers of cystic fibrosis (usually neither parent is actually infected with the disease as often it causes fertility problems).
The two areas in the body that are affected most by cystic fibrosis are the lungs and the digestive system. The lungs become a problem when the thick mucus that is generated builds up and gets stuck in the airways; the passageways become blocked and little or no air can get through, bacteria grow in the mucus and cause infections in the lungs and nose - sufferers of cystic fibrosis often get chest infections. The pancreas is a specific area in the digestive system that cystic fibrosis affects the most; the enzymes and insulin that it produces become thick and the ducts that bring these things to the rest of the digestive system are blocked often meaning that food is not digested properly and nutrients aren't absorbed.
Treatment
Although no cure for cystic fibrosis currently exists, many forms of treatment exist. Physiotherapy is an important way to keep mucus levels down in the lungs thus preventing infection from the bacteria that would otherwise be lodged in it. Parents and/or carers of those affected are usually taught techniques for massaging the chest and carriers of the disease are taught a variety of Active Cycle of Breathing Techniques (ACBT). Another key treatment method is exercise. Exercise helps to keep the lungs strong and improves general body strength in coping with the disease - activities that make the victim out of breath are ideal.
The digestive system also can be treated using an assortment of medicine. The enzymes that are the pancreas usually generates can be replaced with enzyme pills so that the sufferer can gain a greater amount of energy from the food. Food and drink that has high nutritional value is also useful as the nutrients that are lost through the lack of enzymes can be partially replenished.
Stem Cells
What are Stem Cells?
Stem cells are essentially the building blocks of any human being; they start off as a generic cell and can become pretty much anything. Only there are two types of stem cell (or three, but we'll leave that one for now) they both essentially do the same thing only one of them can become pretty much any type of cell whereas the other is slightly more specialised. Stem cells have a couple of uses; internal tissue repair and general growth. The two types of stem cells are called embryonic stem cells and somatic stem cells. Stem cells are special and different to any other cell because they can essentially divide limitlessly (whereas other types of cell cannot) and they can once divided stay as either a stem cell or specialise into a different type of cell.
Embryonic stem cells are slightly controversial when used in experimentation as they can only be extracted from an embryo (newly fertilised egg) that is five days old. On the other hand somatic stem cells are taken from adult organs and are not fatal to the victim. You may think "Why don't scientists just use somatic stem cells then?" Well unfortunately, somatic stem cells are of the type that is less versatile, the cells are extracted from an organ and can only be used to create cells specific to that organ. Embryonic cells are of course the other type and much more useful in research and uses.
Induced Pluripotent Stem Cells (iPSCs)
A solution to the ethical problem of somatic stem cells versus embryonic stem cells has resulted in this third type of stem cell. iPSCs are essentially somatic stem cells that have been genetically reprogrammed to go into an 'embryonic cell like state'. Although the cells appear to behave the same as embryonic stem cells, the differences are untested. Due to the invention of this type of stem cell, much more research can be done with much better ethical backing and reasoning, resulting in more discoveries of possible uses of these cells.
Cystic Fibrosis and Stem Cells
A large amount of research has been done into how stem cells can be used to treat genetically inherited diseases. For example iPSCs could be created using the somatic stem cells from a healthy person who is unaffected by Cystic Fibrosis, the cells could be used to create the tissue that lines the passage ways of the lungs which could then replace an affected person's own lung tissue therefore these new cells would not generate excessively thick mucus and not block the person's passageways. This treatment could also be used to treat other areas affected by cystic fibrosis and even treat other genetic diseases such as down syndrome or sickle-cell disease in much the same way (replace the tissue with healthy tissue in areas that cause problems).
REFERENCES:-
CYSTIC FIBROSIS TRUST - HTTP://WWW.CFTRUST.ORG.UK/
CYSTIC FIBROSIS ON ABOUT.COM - HTTP://CYSTICFIBROSIS.ABOUT.COM/
STEM CELL INFORMATION ON THE NATIONAL INSTITUTE OF HEALTH - HTTP://STEMCELLS.NIH.GOV/INFO/BASICS/
BIG ADVANCE AGAINST CYSTIC FIBROSIS: STEM CELL RESEARCHERS CREATE LUNG SURFACE TISSUE IN A DISH - HTTP://WWW.SCIENCEDAILY.COM/RELEASES/2012/04/120405224843.HTM
LIST OF GENETIC DISORDERS - HTTP://EN.WIKIPEDIA.ORG/WIKI/LIST_OF_GENETIC_DISORDERS
Last edited by rookwood101 (2012-04-16 18:15:06)
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"Which basically means"
can be substituted with
"In layman's terms"
or the like
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Wickimen wrote:
Okay
I gave up on my old thing because it's unoriginal
Now I'm bored
Cool excerpt Pluto
Thank you!
Which old thing?
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Forgive the necrobump, young gents
but I have something to write and I wish to write it here
He had cried himself to sleep that night. His dreams were littered with the dying faces of his friends, their screams seeming to echo through the dim room. 'Soon', he thought, 'everyone in the country will be dead. Including me. And Andrea. I wonder what it's like to die?' His thoughts were all over the place. They came and went as they so chose, and he wasn't entirely about to try and stop them either.
*Darren White was just an ordinary boy, who lead a very ordinary little life, and had a crush on a very ordinary girl named Andrea. But with a sweeping red cloud came a change in his life- and a drastic one at that. This cloud would soon expand into a fiery mass and destroy everyone in the country.
'I shouldn't have slept.' He thought sadly. 'Only few more hours on this miserable Earth, and I spend them sleeping. Mum should have woken me by now. She's probably out in the crowds.' He looked at the window at the sea of people who had flooded into the city square, placed conveniently in front of his house. 'Why can't they just die with their families like any normal, self respecting person?'
When it had been revealed to the general populous that they would die in less then a days time, some people had gone into the city square to spend their last hours with the community. 'Together united, forever united' they had said. Over the last few hours the crowds had grown to an immense size. Almost all of the city was there.
'I'm sure as hell not dying without her', *Darren jeered as he left the house to find his mother. 'Maybe I'll even find Andrea- you only have few hours to live, and you think of Andrea? Aren't you the moron. ' *Darren had found himself arguing with himself more then he would like within the past few hours. Maybe it had to do with stress.
He had found his mother in little time at all- she could barely move through the crowds away from her door. The view of their doom was alright from here anyway. Streaks of light darted across the clouds above, and one boy was daring enough to think what was on all of their minds.
'We only have minutes to live.'
The crowd had gone silent, watching their dazzling last spectacle, and so everyone heard this boy quite clearly. He was only about 9. He could hardly understand death yet, yet he had acknowledged that it was imminent. One woman began to cry. The boy darted through the crowds to find the crying woman. When he had found her, he whispered to her softly 'Don't cry. It's okay.'
And then be began to sing.
It was a beautiful little song. The crowds lost their nervous rigidity, and began to slouch back. They were relaxing. This little boys song had calmed the entire city.
A middle aged man joined in. It was a very repetitive and catchy song, it seemed to be a lullaby, and he had no problem finding the lyrics.
More and more people began to sing as their deaths became imminently close.
This song had made them forget all of the horrors in life, the majority created by man.
The city would spend it's last hours singing, remembering instead all of the feats they had accomplished in their simple lives. Darren briefly forgot Andrea. Instead he remembered when his father had taught him to ride a bike. How his mother had taken him to the beach to learn so swim. His thoughts widened. He celebrated all of the feats of humanity as a whole in his final breaths- inventing fire, creating the wheel, everything that had brought our society to it's end.
'We've done it. We've done it together.' He muttered.
Society had prospered, and only in it's dying hours had it crumbled.
Together, this dying city redeemed itself.
The cloud exploded into a sea of flame, engulfing everyone from the center out.
Darren barely had time to think- 'I wonder what it's like to die'.
It wouldn't matter.
Soon, he would be to dead to notice.
*Darren White is a working name. I couldn't think of a better one.
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