Gemeni identici. Irlandezi. Cantareti. Oh my wizard god.
John and Edward, everybody.
luni, august 15
Cum am ajuns eu sa scriu doua carti in aproape treizeci de zile
Am scris. Mult. Nu conteaza cat de bine am scris, ci cat de mult am scris; pe asta se bazeaza Camp NaNoWriMo: sa scrii 50000 de cuvinte intr-o luna. Eu am scris peste dublul acestui numar in 36 de zile si, sincera sa fiu, a fost amuzant. Am scris in engleza, pentru ca m-am dezobisnuit sa scriu in Romana, oricum o sa ma mut in the US cand mai cresc. Astea sunt personajele.
Wolf & Logan Morgan
Wolf mi-a stat alaturi, primul meu personaj care a ajuns intr-o carte si a reusit sa treaca si in a doua. Geamanul lui, Logan, a murit in prima carte, insa Wolf l-a intalnit la sfarsitul celei de a doua carti ... din cauza unor lucruri. Amandoi sunt amuzanti, putin enervanti, insa inteligenti si pot sa vada ceva bun in orice persoana; sunt extrem de importanti pentru plot, si sunt si foarte puternici, controland Puteri. Puteri in sensul de "mutatii" -- controlul focului pentru Logan, copierea tuturor abilitatilor vazute si o minte extraordinar de puternica in cazul lui Wolf.
Cain
Cain e ... cel mai bun prieten al gemenilor. Poate controla vantul si e foarte intelegator cu cei doi, insa si-a luat porecla de "Cain" dupa ce l-a omorat din greseala pe fratele sau mai mic.
Charles
Wolf se intalneste cu Charles pe tren, cand pleaca spre Rochester, Minnesota, sa ajunga acasa. Devin prieteni repede, insa ceva nu e in regula cu el.
Sterling
Okay, wtf, this guy ... e un idiot la inceput, insa devine prieten bun cu Wolf dupa ce moare Logan si il sustine. Insa, la sfarsitul celei de a doua carti, ceva iese la iveala.
Cam astia ar fi personajele cele mai importante. :)
vineri, iulie 22
I’m a zebra.
Yes, a zebra, and it’s snowing in Africa like there’s no tomorrow and I have no idea what to do. I’m scared. The lions have left and they’re hiding somewhere, but I have no idea what to do now. Being a zebra is hard, you know, being on the edge of being eaten every single day, running around as lions chase you … but it’s quite fun once you get to be able to use your legs properly—at about ten-fifteen minutes after your birth. We don’t have that much fur or anything and now, my hooves are freezing and I have no idea where mommy is; how the hell am I supposed to gallop my way through this stupid snow?
You might wonder why I know that it’s called ‘snow’. Well, a bird, Pyro—he likes fire a lot, mind you—told me about it and how it felt. I have always wanted to see it, ever since I was a little, little zebra … but it was hard and it took me long time to realize I was never going to see it. I slid into depression for about three hours, then went with AJ to gallop around for a bit so our legs weren’t going to get all locked in one position and all that. Now, as I see it and feel its coldness and the wind hitting my skin through my fur, I can say that it isn’t really pleasurable. It’s a pain, really, and I have no idea how other animals survive with it on their manes. Ugh, disgusting.
“Pyro?” I neigh as silently as I can while I slide downhill through the snow and try not to break a leg by falling. “Pyro, you there?”
There’s a rather loud chirp and the bird hits me in the face; I, of course, lean on my hinds and kick at the air, screaming like an idiot, before I stumble over and fall into the snow. Pyro chirps once more, indignant and annoying, and I snap my jaws so near his tail that he actually has to leap into the air to escape.
“You idiot!” I yell, frowning. “What the hell are you doing?”
“You called after me,” says the blue bird and jumps over to me on top of the snow. “It’s snowing!”
“Oh, really?” I ask him sarcastically as I flick one ear back and forth and get up from the snow, shaking myself. Though the sun isn’t shining, I can see stuff pretty well and I glare at Pyro, who’s staring at me like I’m some kind of hyena who’s going to eat him. “What?”
“Your—your stripes!” gasps the bird, and his beck hangs open. I raise my eyebrows—well, what I think that are my eyebrows—and then laugh.
“Didn’t you see my stripes before? Are they really that hard to see?” I ask him mockingly, turn my head, and blink. “What the—“
They’re gone.
My precious little stripes, gone! I’m white as a freaking … as a freaking … hell, I don’t know how white are other zebras, but I know I’m not a zebra anymore without my stripes. Shock rises up in me and I can’t stop staring at my side—in a sudden moment of inspiration, I jerk my head to the side to look at the opposite part of my body and I’m greeted by the same whitenes. Then, as I turn to stare at the snow, I see them: dark stripes sliding down the snow, wetting it and making it slowly and evenly of a dark color. I blink. Again. And again. And again.
“Oh, God,” I neigh rather loudly as I turn around over and over again, my eyes wide in shock. “I’m white! My stripes! My stripes!” I scream, before I start kicking at the black snow and pat it with my hooves until it is white again.
I’m too shocked to say anything and I simply let myself fall on top of the snow and I stare at Pyro, the blue parrot, and I see my reflection in his brown eyes: even there the stripes are gone. I shake my head in disbelief. It can’t happen! It can’t happen, because I was born with the stripes, I’m sure of that. It rained so many times on me and they didn’t go away at all, but … but what if the snow had something which made the stripes go away? What if I won’t have any stripes again?
But then, as I throw my head back and try to locate the stripes again, I see them. They’re slowly drifting through the air, floating, carried by no one … with a neigh and a scared chirp from Pyro, who ducks and covers his head with his wings, I leap at my hooves and begin galloping to the floating stripes. I halt right besides them and look back at the bird, who’s just staring, shocked, then I lower myself and slide in between the stripes.
They stick to my skin immediately and I breathe in, relief washing over me. I have my stripes again. I have my stripes again! My mane shakes as the wind blows, and I slowly press my hoove down and through the snow, to the knee, take it up and … the stripes are still there. I neigh happily and trot over to Pyro, who grins toothlessly at me.
“Nice job, Akanai,” he says and I nod. “You look good.”
“Thanks, Pyro,” I say and smile. “Now, let’s find mommy.”
Pyro nods and takes flight. I glance back at the lions staring hungrily over to me after having slid out of their shelter, stick my tongue out, and break into a run after the blue bird, neighing happily. I don’t care if I’m going to be eaten or not or if I’m going to freeze to death. I have my stripes and that’s all I need, for I cannot be a zebra without black stripes covering the rest of my white fur.
And that’s the story of a zebra, Akanai, who lost his stripes and found them seconds later, floating in the air. That’s the story of me, and I’m going to pass it on until it becomes a legend.
That’s the story of a zebra who wasn’t a zebra anymore, then became one again.
That’s my story.
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