Other People's Writing

And the pesants rejoiced.

Until the dragons showed up and ate thier sheep.

Then the dragons rejoiced, and all was well. That is, until....

The army of cloned BoPeeps with their killing staffs infiltrated the dragons' mountain hideout, stole all their gold and maidens and took them away to begin a lesbian colony where they spent every moment rejoicing. Until....

All of the men from the village began to realize that they were always horny and had no one to cook them dinner or mend their clothes. To fix this, they became homosexuals and broadened their horizons, learning to cook, clean, and mend. Until....

The next generation - because there was no next generation because no one had been reproducing. EXCEPT the dragons and the sheep. The dragons, still nursing their wounds because dragons take a long time to heal, you know, moved into the lowlands and found that grass was quite tasty - more tasty, in fact, than sheep, and they, in their new vegitarian bliss, lived. Until....

They found out that the sheep had switched their diets to human males, since the men had long since forgotten how to fight or defend themselves. Once the population of males was decimated in the village, the sheep finished off their lesbian colony, and after that, decided to....

Create more humans to eat from DNA they found in a petrified blue dress. They waited patiently for the experiment to reach maturity....

And once it had, realized how entertaining a meal can -really- be. The only problem with the sheep colony's cloning experiment was their need for variety in their food. They simply converted back to vegetarians, but then were fighting with the dragons for food. The dragons retaliated by creating a deadly neurotoxin that....

Turned the sheep pink. Not only did it confuse them because they thought each other were roses and tried to eat each other, but the dragons had no end of mocking them and laughing and laughing. Occassionaly, they would discourse about the foolish humans that had killed themselves off. They also liked to talk about....

Peanut butter, which was odd, since peanut butter had yet to be discovered. The dragons simply enjoyed the way the word rolled off their forked tongues.... peeeeanut buuuuutter. The sheep eventually became used to their pink color but were quite bitter towards the dragon clan. Still, they decided to be civil, and joined with the dragons in a bond of peace. Once a month, the dragons and the pink sheep would put on an annual play called....

'The folly of those that believe that they can, in earnest, exist in sameness without bad ends' OR 'Sharp.' The first was prefered by the dragons, it being a very dragony title. The sheep, on the other hand, loved obscure one word titles. What was really shocking, however, was the end of the play. It went like this....

Setting: Exterior, dusk
A lone dragon sits on a hill. As he gazes out at the audience, he is reminiscing about the old days.... the days of his youth. With visible effort put into recalling the past, he tells the audience about how he once fought a war.... a pointless war which ended with much destruction and chaos. At this point in the play, he is pummeled with pink rocks, representing the sheep, and those sheep are, in turn, destroyed by a comet. The moral of the play, it turns out, was....

'The comet always wins'

....and in the end, the comet did win. Both the dragons and the sheep were killed off, as was this story.

Don't be fooled by me,

Don't be fooled by the face I wear,

For I wear a mask, I wear a thousand masks, masks that I'm afraid to take off, and none of them are me.

Pretending is an art that's second nature to me, but don't be fooled, for God's sake, don't be fooled.

I give you the impression that I am secure, that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well as without, that confidence is my name and coolness my game, that the water's calm and I'm in command, and that I need no one.

But don't believe me.

Please.

My surface may be smooth, but my surface is a mask, my varying and over - concealing mask.

Beneath lies no smugness, no complacence.

Beneath it dwells the real me, in confusion and fear, in aloneness, but I hide this. I don't want anyone to know it.

That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind, a nonchalant, sophisticated facade, to help me pretend, to shield me from the glance that knows.

But such a glance is precisely my slavation, my only salvation.

And I know it, that if it's followed by acceptance, if it's followed by love,

It's the only thing that will assure me of what I can't assure myself: that I'm really worth something.

But I don't tell you this, I don't dare, I'm so afraid to, I'm afraid that you'll think less of me, that you'll laugh.

And your laugh would kill me.

I'm afraid that deep down I'm nothing, that I'm just no good, and that you will see this and reject me.

But I play my game, with a facade of assurance without, and a trembling child within.

And so begins the parade of masks, the glittering but empty parade of masks.

And my life becomes a front.

I idly chatter to you in the suave tones of surface talk,

I tell you everything that's really nothing, and nothing of what's everything, of what's crying within me.

So, when I'm going through my routine, please don't be fooled by what I'm saying.

Please listen carefully, and try to hear what I'm saying, and what I'd like to be able to say, what for survival I need to say, but what I can't say.

Honestly, I dislike the superficial game I'm playing, the superficial phony game.

I'd really like to be genuine and spontaneous and me -- but you've got to help me be me.

You've got to hold out your hand, even when that's the last thing I seem to want or need.

Only you can wipe away from my eyes the blank stare of the breathing dead.

Only you can call me into aliveness.

Each time you're kind and gentle and encouraging, each time you try to understand because you really care, my heart begins to grow wings, very small wings, very feeble wings, but wings.

With your sensitivity and sympathy, and your power of understanding, you can breathe life into me. I want you to know that.

I want you to know how important you are to me, how you can be a creator of the person that is me, if you choose to.

Please choose to.

You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble, you alone can remove my mask, you alone can release me from my shadow world of panic and uncertainty, from my lonely prison.

So do not pass me by.

It will not be easy for you,

A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.

The nearere you approach to me, the blinder I may strike back.

It's irrational, but despite what the books say about man, I am irrational.

I fight against the very thing I cry out for.

But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls.

In this lies my hope.

My only hope.

Please try to beat down these walls with firm hands, but with gentle hands for a child is very sensitive.