It seems that yet again I have been foolish...But none of that matters anymore. The matter has been corrected(I hope anyways :)), and life resumes it's normal course. I could go on living like this forever...Except I can't. Pity.

I really feel like writing some fiction, I'm kind of in the mood. Let me see if I can get done before my grandparents from B.C. arrive. On a sort of unrelated note: I love nighttime...It's so peaceful, and quiet. It gives me some room to just...Think about the day, what I did right, what I did wrong, and write cool blog posts like this one. I love this blog....I don't know how I survived without a place to express myself. Anyways, back to the fiction(note: I have no idea where this story is going, or what it's about. Any correlation between this story and reality is purely coincidental).

A crisp, biting wind rustled through the carpet of fallen leaves, stirring them up in swirling patterns that no man could match. The whistle of the wind was broken only by the occasional cracking branch that a small animal accidentally stepped upon, on its way to a warm and safe location. It was into this haven of nature, with a soft step and graceful movement that would have been suitable for a princess, that she entered. She was like the queen of the woods, her dark green dress complimenting the brown and red colours surrounding her, her gentle footfalls barely stirring the dead branches and leaves, her hands brushing against the tall trees, and lightly running through some nearby bushes. It was like a shockwave then, when a sob escaped her delicate lips, the sound seemingly growing and echoing through the lonely forest. Her dark brown eyes were unfocused, remembering the horrible events that had just occurred. It could not be real, she refused to believe it. A tragedy beyond thought, a disaster that could never be fully described. How could death come so quickly and cruelly, snatching away the one that she loved so dearly. They were going to be married, tomorrow, at seven 'o clock. The invitations had been sent, all the guests were expected. How could she face the world, how could she even face her own reflection? She fell to her knees beside a small pool of stagnant water, the tears coming freely now, running down her cheeks and mixing with the liquid beneath her. She remembered his face, the vivid image flashing through her mind, faster than words could ever express. All the joy that was bound inside of the memories was quickly changing into grief, and it would never be able to revert back. The emotion was building inside of her, boiling up, and flowing out into that pool of water. That water, so unsympathetic, so heartless, just like the single bullet that had taken his life away, just like the killer behind the gun, driven mad by his loneliness. There would be no justice. His blood, which had come forth so easily, had been indistinguishable from the blood of the murderer. How could she go on? There was nothing to look forward to, nothing but the looks of pity, the hundreds of reporters flocking to news like a bunch of seagulls to French fries, the words of comfort that held none. She stayed there, even while the wind howled around her, leaves flying against that anguished face, and continuing on, in patterns of indescribable complexity.

Well that was depressing...