Blurring inside my head. Something lurks, and it will not be driven away. Tears and laughter never expressed scream for freedom, and I cannot do either. I cannot laugh, I cannot cry, and outside this mind of mine, I am invisible. My expression is my story, and my story is buried beneath the layers of cold, bare rock. You see a beautiful mountain, but this mountain you see is only a cloak, a cover for the darkness that hides below, waiting, waiting, waiting. I cry for help...nobody hears me. I try to tear down a mountain, but I am doing it all wrong. I work for the unimportant, and I neglect the urgent. I watch myself rise, and then fall, backwards, farther, never gaining. I know what is wrong with me, and yet, I refuse to give it up. I make a token effort, and fall, backwards, into the slimy pit that lets few out of its grasp. I refuse the help offered, and I reach for my downfall for assistance, and I fall again, backwards, deeper, sinking. Am I drowning?

The cold wind blew across my face, and raindrops splashed against me as I walked slowly, aimlessly. I wandered, drifting across a field, past dark houses and unlit factories. I was lost, and it didn't matter. The darkness of the night matched my heart, and the tears on my face mingled with the rain pouring down. Agony rose from within me, it surrounded me on every side. I was on a hill, I could see her here, I saw her with her little smile, the one only I understood, the one that gave me hope, and made me afraid. I could see her walking up the hill towards me, only I was there with her, and she held my hand, and spoke words that lingered in the air with their beauty and their love. I saw myself, kneeling in front of her, and I saw her look at me, and smile. The rain pooled around my feet, and I fell, and I saw her again, lying there beside me, and she was gazing far above, the stars shining brightly, and I saw my star, but I didn't have to look up to see it. I buried my face in my hands, and into that blissful darkness floated the words, "Guess who?". And I screamed, her name, and I screamed at the memory, and I could see her again, and she was looking at me, and I could see her pain, and I could hear myself say, "I'm sorry". I saw her smile at me, and I could not watch any longer. I poured my terrible sorrow out against our stone, and I saw the engravings, and I saw her hand scratching out her name, and I saw how my hand joined hers, and I saw us form the heart, and I saw her smile at me. I cried, and I could hear her crying beside me, and I saw myself take her hand, and I saw her tears falling, and I silently comforted her, and I cried, and was silent.

Essays are like apples. One a day keeps your mind sharp, and keeps you away from the mental asylum. Anything more that, and it's just a bad idea.

This template is starting to get on my nerves.

Anyways, I need your help. Actually, I need your words. This is my dilemma: Apparently, putting nutmeg on cooked green beans is not quite as popular as I thought it was. I was under the assumption that it was a universal "thing to do". And so, I need you to answer this question:

Do you put nutmeg on your green beans?

The answer I like wins an apple, or an essay, whichever you prefer.

Due to pressure from someone who doesn't even know it:

Mr. Keith needs to stop being such a mean guy. He doesn't seem to care about others and the only thing on his mind is getting lunch time over with! I hate lunch time.

Keith needs some luv... ...waiting...

Keith needs to say something about Andy's mom. Andy's mom is a very nice person.

KEITH NEEDS KNIFE It's hard to eat lunch quickly without one.

Keith needs to go for somebody like Paris Hilton or Pink. I've heard they don't bother with lunch at all.

Keith needs to stop making the effort to get along with his father. My father likes his lunches slow and steady. He doesn't understand that it's not actually a Tortise vs. Hare race.

Keith needs the carbs. But not at lunchtime.

Have I ever told you I really like you?

Heating pad for me neck. Arr.

Whipped Soap. Tremors of Darkness. Strange Suspicions.