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Post by celticbear on Mar 31, 2012 20:50:33 GMT -5
I can't understand how some people can be so hateful to somebody just because their Skin and culture is different! I DO NOT LIKE PREJUDICE PEOPLE! NOR DO I LIKE THE KKK! WE ARE ALL GOD'S CHILDREN! Glad Keith stayed with Damo till he went back to asleep!
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Post by meagab15 on Mar 31, 2012 23:08:11 GMT -5
who are the kkk?
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Post by pattydear on Apr 1, 2012 1:34:18 GMT -5
Meagab15, "KKK" is an abbreviation for Ku Klux Klan, which is an American terrorist group originally formed in the Southern U.S. after the Civil War ended.
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Post by pattydear on Apr 9, 2012 23:59:05 GMT -5
(Short section...... I hope you all had a happy Easter!)
Damian went into the classroom. He’d never been to school at all before in America. He was nervous. “Hello,” a lady behind a desk in the room said. She stood up. “You must be the McGinty boy I heard was coming. I’m Sister Veronica. Please, take a seat.” Damian sat down among the desks in the classroom. His desk was next to that of a boy with a rather largish nose and curly hair. “Hi,” the boy whispered, shyly. “My name’s Sandro.” “My name’s Damian,” Damian replied. He kept staring at the boy’s nose. The school day proceeded. It was much duller than the school back in Ireland. During lunch, Sandro said to Damian, “What’s your name again?” “Damian.” “What? Your accent is extremely hard to understand.” “It’s not like yours is any better.” “I don’t have an accent. Well, maybe I do, since I hear my parents talking all the time, and… English isn’t my first language.” “English isn’t my first one, either. My mother taught it to me early on, though.” “Oh. I didn’t learn English early on. It was too hard for me.” “What was your first language?” “Italian. Lots of other Italian Americans and Italian immigrants can’t understand the dialect my parents speak, though. There are lots of dialects. Which language was your first?” “Irish.” “Oh… That’s a real language?” “Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?” “Because Irish people talk just like British people.” “Some Irish are British, because of the Anglicans who want England’s king to rule them. That’s what Keith said. Keith’s taught me a lot about political stuff, lately.” “Keith?” “He’s one of my godfather’s servants. Still, judging by how fond my godfather is to all of his servants, I’m guessing he’s the godfather of them *all*, which makes us one big, happy godfamily.” “Really? And he pays them to do work for him?” “I don’t think so. I’m guessing he’s the real breadwinner of the big, happy godfamily, and they’re the ones who rule the roost while he’s gone. Well, at least, Zara rules the roost. Paul tries to, but he gets distracted by Deirdre’s pretty eyes.” “Gross! Godbrothers should not fall for their godsisters!” “They aren’t *related* related, just godrelated.” “Still, it’s awkward.” Sandro laughed. He then scratched the top of his large nose.
From the next day, onward, Damian never saw Sandro ever again, at all, anywhere.
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Post by celticbear on Apr 10, 2012 21:09:28 GMT -5
Cute update! And I'm sure George pays them! But I like Damian's outlook on how the house is really run! OK I'LL BITE, PATTY WHAT HAPPENED TO SANDRO!
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Post by meagab15 on Apr 11, 2012 17:37:35 GMT -5
poor damian
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Post by Deleted on Apr 12, 2012 20:38:29 GMT -5
THE KKK KILLED SANDRO I KNOW IT!!!
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Post by pattydear on Apr 20, 2012 18:30:37 GMT -5
He did see Sandro’s sister, though. Her name was Valeria. Her nose was almost as large as her brother’s, and her hair was almost as curly. She seemed to take some odd interest in Damian. She asked him ever so many questions about himself. Damian soon felt an odd interest for her. She seemed a bit mysterious to him. He couldn’t quite figure out why she was so mysterious, though. One day, after school, she said, “Wanna come to the Italian neighborhood?” “Okay,” he said. “Where is it?” “In one the ghettos.” “Oh…” “What’s wrong?” “Keith warned me about the ghettos.” “Why warn you, when he knows that he himself might end up there? It’s just a residential area for people who aren’t American-born, and for people, who aren’t white, and for people who aren’t Protestant, and for other such people.” Valeria and Damian walked down several filthy streets until they got to the Italian neighborhood- the *nearest* Italian neighborhood, to be specific. Valeria shouted something in Italian to a man behind a market stall. She walked up to the man. Damian followed her. “Noodles!” he said, looking at the stall. Valeria and the man laughed. “Stale noodles, to be specific,” Valeria said. “Some are moldy, in fact. It’s better food than what my parents would eat back in Italy.” Valeria grabbed Damian by the hand and dragged him over to the other side of the street. “Hurry,” she said. “I see Giuseppe, my cousin. He’s bad news.” “Bad news?” Damian asked. “Yeah. He’s a gang leader.” They walked on until they got to an old woman who was sitting on the street side. She was leaning her back against a barrel, and her eyes were wide open and staring as if they were looking at something distant. “What is it you see?” Valeria asked the old woman. “I see an apple falling from the sky,” the old woman said. “As it falls, it collects scythes and pickaxes into it. It is speaking in some unintelligible speech.” The old woman instantly became very still. “She’s gone into a trance again,” Valeria said. “I’ll come back and talk to her, later.” She and Damian started walking. “Who was she?” Damian asked. Valeria answered, “Her name is Flora. She’s a bit of a newcomer here. She came only about fourteen months ago from somewhere in the Salem area in Massachusetts. She’s a witch.” “A witch? Really?” “Yeah, which is very strange, since she’s from near Salem.” “How is that strange?” “Over a century or two ago, in Salem, some real witches and some supposed witches were executed. For some reason, though, Salem now seems to be home for more and more witches nowadays.” “Why aren’t they being executed, though? Witches are dangerous.” “Flora isn’t. At least, she’s proven herself to be safe so far. She seems to genuinely care for people, and… for nature.” Damian and Valeria kept walking on and on. The former got easily overwhelmed, as everywhere in the streets he would be hearing nothing but people yelling in Italian. It got into his head, and reminded him of the machines in the poor house back in Ireland. After a while, he heard Valeria say, “Here’s where I live!” It was an apartment building, with three stories to it. Valeria and Damian walked in. It wasn’t kept up very well- somewhat like the house Damian had lived in when he was still living with his father. “My family lives up here,” Valeria said. She and Damo went up a flight of stairs. At the top of the stairway was a hall with creaky floorboards. Valeria opened a door at the end of the hall and went in. Damian followed her. They appeared to be in some sort of parlor or living room. “Mama!” Valeria shouted out. “Sto a casa!” A woman came out of a door from what looked to be a kitchen. She rushed over and hugged Valeria. “Lui è…?” the woman asked. “Lui è Damian,” Valeria replied. “Lui è di mia scuola.” “Solo un amico?” “Si, Mama. Non ho pericolo amore con Damian.” The two of them laughed. “Damian,” Valeria said, “this is my mother.” The woman, Valeria’s mother, shook hands with Damian. In from the hallway came five grubby little boys. They were all arguing. “Those are five of my brothers,” Valeria said. “They’re always fighting with each other.” In from the kitchen came a little girl. She hugged Valeria. “This here is my sister Bianca,” Valeria said. “Don’t worry- she doesn’t bite.” “How many siblings do you have?” Damian asked, with his eyes opened wide at all of the little children. “About fourteen,” Valeria replied. “Seven are dead, while seven are alive.” A man came in from the hallway. “Giorno è buono, no?” he said. He rushed over to Valeria’s mother and gave her a kiss. He then hugged all five of his little boys, the little girl, and Valeria. He then started talking excitedly in Italian. After a little bit of everyone listening, everyone laughed. Except Damian, as he didn’t quite understand what was so funny. Suddenly, there was a loud noise from outside. “Oh, no!” the man said, looking out the window. “Giuseppe…” Valeria looked out the window. “Lui è con Zio,” she said. “Non molto pericolo, no, Papa?” “È pericolo,” the man, Valeria’s father, answered. “Giuseppe è di l’Infierno.” “Carino…” Valeria’s mother said reproachfully and somewhat sternly. “Hide!” Valeria said to Damian. “Giuseppe would hate to see you.” She looked about. She then took Damian by the hand and dragged him into the kitchen. “Into the cupboard!” she said. “He’d never look in there. It’s always bare and foodless, anyway.” Damian remained in the cupboard for over half an hour. All that time, he heard yelling in Italian in the parlor. When the yelling stopped, he heard stomping feet and the slamming of a door. The cupboard door opened. Damian saw Valeria. “Sorry about that,” she said. “My cousin is such a pain.” “Why’d I have to hide?” Damian asked. “Giuseppe believes that Italians are the best of races,” Valeria answered. “Therefore, he’d hate you, because you aren’t Italian. He’s just that way, and we can’t change him. At least I don’t hope for any change him, as it is so unlikely.” Silence. “I better be going home,” Damian said. “George would be getting worried, since it looks like it’ll be getting dark outside soon.”
Damian slept fitfully that night. He had a cramp in his back. By the time he had to get up to go to school, he finally felt relaxed and ready to snooze for hours on end. Of course, he still had to go to school, though.
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Post by celticbear on Apr 20, 2012 20:44:40 GMT -5
Wow! Vale has a huge family! But that is something the Irish and the Italians have in common, huge families! Still wondering what happened to Valeria's brother! I don't like Valeria's cousin. I hope Damian never meets him for real!
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Post by Deleted on Apr 24, 2012 19:56:24 GMT -5
I agree
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Post by pattydear on Apr 27, 2012 17:13:04 GMT -5
Damian woke up around midnight one night. He wasn’t in his room, though. He was lying among grass and shrubbery that were apart of an exotically colored landscape. As his eyes opened, he instantly saw the bright sky. He blinked to adjust to the light. My, how beautiful it was! There were purple and puce clouds among an atmosphere of orange and yellow. There was a blue sun, and green stars. The grass was green, of course. Well, kind of green. The trees which were dotted here and there were also kind of green, mixed with hues of neon. Down the middle of the landscape was a path, which was pure white and shone ever so brightly. Damian stood up and walked onto the path. He walked down the path. Down, down, down he walked, not having the slightest idea where he was headed.
He walked down the path for about an hour- or, rather, for a year, as he felt rather out of time itself- when he saw lying in the middle of an ancient corpse. The corpse looked rather like one of those in the Danish bogs which are constantly being studied by archaeologists. Damian cautiously walked up to the corpse. “Um…” he said. “Hello?” The corpse instantly sat up. “Why, hi!” it said. “Thank goodness you came! I’ve been waiting for someone who can rub my piggy toe- it’s aching.” Damian rubbed the corpse’s piggy toe, with a grimace on his face. “Does it feel all better now?” he asked. “Yep,” the corpse said. “Thank you.” The corpse stood up and stretched its arms. It then deteriorated into dust.
Damian walked on for another hour or year on the pure white path. Then, he saw lying in the middle of it a middle aged woman. Damian cautiously walked up to the woman. “Um…” he said. “Hello?” The woman instantly sat up. “Why, hi!” she said. “Thank goodness you came! I’ve been waiting for someone to pluck out my gray hairs.” Damian, with a grimace on his face, plucked out all of the woman’s gray hairs. The woman stood up. Because of her lack of gray hairs, she was almost bald. She instantly touched her head. “Now the wind’s gonna make it cold!” she complained. She melted into the white path.
Damian walked on for another hour or year or so on the path. After a little while, he saw lying on it a girl. “Cathleen!” he exclaimed. The girl, Cathleen, instantly sat up. “Wow,” she said. “You sure look happy today, which is weird, especially since you were so grouchy yesterday.” “What?” Damian asked. “What do you mean yesterday? I haven’t seen you since I left Ireland.” “Ireland?” Cathleen said. “You’re so funny! You always did love making up places- strange ones, full of fantastic monsters and beautiful princesses.” “Ireland is real…” “That’s what you said about America, and England, and even about China. Come on, Damian. Let’s look at reality here.” Cathleen stood up. She walked over to Damian. She put her hand to the back of his head, and kissed him right on the mouth. “Please,” she said, “don’t bother with your made up places.” “Made up places?” Damian said. “I never made up a place in my whole entire life.” “Now you’re flat out lying.” “I’m being serious. Honestly, Cathleen.” “Cathleen? Why are you calling me that? You haven’t called me that in years.” “Well, what do I call you?” “I… don’t know. If I think about it, maybe I’ll remember.” Cathleen got off the path and sat among some shrubbery and bushes. “Please, Damian,” she said, “sit down with me and tell me about your made up places.” Damian sat down next to her. “Well,” he said, thinking, “I suppose you’ve heard me talk about Earth.” “Oh, yes,” she said. “That’s where all of your made up places are on.” “Speaking of which, what is this place we’re at right now?” “Silly! You know where we are!” “No, I don’t know where we are.” “Well, we’re in the country Yugandlish.” “Yugandlish? And, it’s not on Earth?” “Of course it’s not on Earth, as such a planet isn’t real. Yugandlish is on Kolob.” “And Kolob is… where in the solar system?” “Near the Deli.” Damian shuddered, because he remembered something bad that had happened once while he was at a deli. He then said, “I’ll tell you about Earth, and its wonderful country Ireland.” He told Cathleen all about Ireland. He told her for hours- or, rather, perhaps years- about Ireland. After talking, Cathleen gave him a little kiss on the cheek and said, “I must go, now. My father pointed at a star last night, and said that is was actually a satellite. He said that he’s pretty soon- like, in a few minutes- going to give me it.” The middle aged woman appeared out of nowhere. “Come, Cathleen,” she said. “Your gift is waiting.” “All right, Father,” Cathleen answered. “Goodbye, Damian.” Cathleen and the middle aged woman disappeared into nowhere.
An hour, or rather a year, later, the corpse appeared out of nowhere. “Hello, Damo boy!” it said. “Have you been sitting in that shrubbery all this time?” “Yes,” Damian answered. “Why?” the corpse asked. “Don’t you want to run about and have fun?” “No, because Cathleen is gone.” “You can still visit her, you know. All you have to do is disconnect your spirit from your body. Your spirit will then fly off to where she is.” “Oh, goody! Where is she?” “On her satellite- or, to be more specific, on her dwarf planet.” “Dwarf planet?” “She really deserves a bigger one, but she loves that little speck of space dust.” “What’s she call it?” “A rather stupid name, that’s what she calls it. The name is Earth. She says she was inspired by a friend to call it that.” One of the corpse’s legs instantly fell off. “I hate it when that happens,” the corpse said. It put its leg back on, then walked off.
Damian woke up, in his own room. He was sweating. He got out of his bed, and walked to the window. Outside, it was same as normal- streetlamps, filthy road, and sepulchral buildings. He turned around to go back into his bed. He let out a yelp. “Oh, Emmet!” he said. “Don’t startle me like that! How long have you been in here?” “I came in when I heard you up,” he said. “You were extraordinarily noisy.” “Sorry,” Damian said, looking down at his feet, ashamed. “You were also talking in your sleep. Were you dreaming?” “Yes. It was a weird dream, though. It was so, so, *so* weird.” Emmet simply laughed. “G’night, Damian,” he said, and left the room. Damian went back into his bed, shivering because his sweat had already cooled down and there was a bit of a draft coming from the window.
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Post by celticbear on Apr 27, 2012 20:48:58 GMT -5
Patty! What did poor Damian eat before going to bed to give him such a weird,interesting, fantastic dream!
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Post by meagab15 on Apr 28, 2012 0:56:27 GMT -5
wow i had the weirdest dreams once lol
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Post by pattydear on Apr 29, 2012 22:51:21 GMT -5
Meagab15, if you can remember those dreams, I would suggest writing them down in a journal somewhere. Weird dreams are very handy to put on paper.
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Post by pattydear on May 6, 2012 20:57:57 GMT -5
“Hello, Damian!” Valeria said one day right before school started. “Guess why I’m so happy?!” “Um…” Damian started to say. “Well, you know, I’m not a very good guesser…” “Still guess!” Valeria looked very excited. “Um… Well, maybe you… got a new scarf?” “A new scarf? Who’d be happy with that?! Scarves are only good for choking people you hate! Guess again.” “Well, I’m guessing you… are going somewhere fun soon.” “Other than a few mud puddles here and there, there aren’t really any fun places I expect to go to. Guess again.” “I can’t guess. I’m all out of guesses.” “Well… He kissed me!” Damian very well knew who *he* was- the boy Valeria liked, Dmitri. “When did he… kiss you?” Damian asked. “Well,” Valeria said, “he was walking me home from school yesterday. Before we parted ways… he kissed me. It’s as simple as that.” “Talk of kissing?” a voice said. That voice belonged to Sister Veronica, who had walked up to where Damian and Valeria were talking. She gave her two students the look. “Sorry,” Valeria said. “We won’t talk about such things again.” “You’d better not,” Sister Veronica replied. “You should keep all of your conversations- and your minds- pure and innocent, especially you, Valeria. I heard that you’re going to be sent to the convent if your family can’t afford to feed you.” “That’s what my parents are talking about.” Valeria suddenly got very serious. “And, if there is no opportunity for me outside of those walls, I shall have to become one of you.” Damian was shocked. “You mean…” he said, “you’ll become a nun? That’s awful!” “How is that awful?” Valeria asked. “Maybe I want to be one.” “Well, do you want to be one?” “Only if Dmitri dumps me.” Sister Veronica said, “Both of you sit down. I have to start class soon.”
After school hours, Damian saw Valeria with Dmitri. They hugged, then Dmitri went on his way home. Damian walked up to Valeria. “Wow,” he said. “You sure have made quite an impression on him.” “I know,” Valeria replied. “My mother taught me how to do that with the masculine heart.” Damian laughed. He then went home. At home, he saw Keith and Emmet sitting on the floor, staring at something. “What are you looking at?” he asked them. Emmet replied, “Keith found a beetle.” All three of them watched the beetle. It went this there and that there. It went to and fro. It then crawled onto Emmet’s leg. “Agh!” he said, jumping up. “Get it off me!” He shook his leg, and the beetle flew off. Damian laughed and laughed and laughed. Emmet smiled and kissed Damo on the head. “Happy laddie,” he said. “I hope you don’t get upset in a few minutes.” “Why would I get upset?” Damian asked. “It was Keith’s fault!” was all Emmet could reply. “No, it wasn’t!” Keith said. “It was *your* fault, Emmet!” “Nuh-uh!” Emmet said. “How could it be *my* fault, when I told *you* to do otherwise.” “Um, guys,” Damian said. “I’m getting kind of worried.” “No need to be,” Emmet said. “Yeah- no need to be!” Keith said. Zara, entering where Damo, Keith, and Emmet were, said, “No need to worry, because I’m here to fix whatever these buffoons wreck up.” “Hi, Zara!” Damian said. “How was your day?” “Terrible,” Zara answered. “I hate babysitting these grown men.”
In his room, Damian saw on his bed a puppy. “Hey there,” he said to the puppy. He went over to pet it. Instantly, the puppy turned into a large tiger. It pounced on Damian. Damian fainted.
When he woke up, he found himself lying on the floor. There was no sign of blood, and there was no sign of a struggle. “I hate it when this happens,” he said to himself.
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