Rossyfoss

In the wake of night. We sit with our hearts in our hands. And stare blinking into the sunlight. We don't know what to say, or write. We just sit around down in the bad lands. Because we know better then to wait for a white knight. We stay awake until our Sclera are no longer white. We all just hope for those people to be cheering from the stands. We just continue to fight. We start to near our height. That is when things become less of a demand. This is when we start to think 'things might turn out all right' I am not saying that life is always like flying a kite. I don't want you to misunderstand. Maybe FathomTwain has a little bit of

There once was a girl. She was a simple plain looking bird, not someone you would remember if you saw her. She had brown hair, blue eyes and a scar placed just between her eyebrows. As I said you would not remember her if you saw her. She was born in a small town, went to a high school that had a graduating class of three hundred. She got straight A's in everything but gym. She worked as a waitress in her home town, at a small restaurant. However behind those blue eyes and that scar was a brain that could challenge that of Einstein and the like. Every night she would draw amazing inventions in a little journal. Inventions that could change