User:Echostar

To-Do List: do exams; create Divination practical exam; get on chat with Bond; make new teacher characters; add user and hair colour categories to character pages; expand Ruby Young & Paige Turner, edit charts on Ashley Flame, edit welcome messages, edit setting-up guide proposal. (if you think I need to do anything else, feel free to add it)

This user page is currently undergoing editing.

My username is Echostar, but you can just call me Echo. I consider myself brave, stubborn, wise, and intelligent.

Characters
Teresa Waters

Ashley Flame

Ruby Young

Paige Turner

My Wiki
I have a new roleplay wiki called http://panemroleplay.wikia.com/. If you would like to help out it would be very appreciated!

Once Upon a Time
If you are a fan of the ABC Family series Once Upon a Time, I will automatically consider you "cool". Also, please take the poll below:

What is your favorite Once Upon a Time episode? Pilot The Thing You Love Most Snow Falls The Price of Gold That Still Small Voice The Shepherd The Heart is a Lonely Hunter Desperate Souls True North 7:15 A.M. Fruit of the Poisonous Tree

Writing
If there's one thing I'm proud of, it's my writing. I write short stories and poems all the time. Here is some of my work.

PLEASE do not steal these writing pieces.

"A Journey to Save"
This is more of a religious short story, so if you don't believe in God or something please don't criticize it.

I stood in the corner of my religion classroom. The desks had disappeared, leaving the classroom bare. I turned to my left, and saw the Lord beside me. Before I could speak, a banging sound startled me. Turned toward the closed door, I saw a group of sinners looking through the door’s window. These sinners were searching for the Lord. They had a gaunt look in their faces and a light of desperation in their eyes. Tears ran down their cheeks as they howled and cried for Jesus. They could not see their Lord.

The Lord turned and said to me, “Go and open the door, so that they may be received into My kingdom. I will walk beside you.”

I took a step forward. Instantly I was swept in a world of blackness. The outraged cries of Lucifer in my ears, and the smell of blood overwhelmed me. For a moment, I was afraid.

“Do not be afraid,” the Lord told me. “Listen.”

Feeling weak with relief at the sound of God’s voice, I strained to hear beyond Lucifer’s cries of blood and death.

“Lord, help me!”

“Oh, Lord, where are You?”

The faint, muffled cries of my brothers and sisters barely reached my ears. “Can’t You help them?” I begged the Lord.

The Lord smiled, his eyes twinkling. He took my hand and said to me, “Come; let us run.” The Lord and I ran together. Lucifer pursued us with false whispers of glory and promises of fortune. Twice I stopped along the way. The Lord turned and looked into my eyes, giving me the will to go on. He pulled me up hills I could not climb alone, and carried me when my strength failed. The voices of those waiting at heaven’s door grew louder with every step. With the Lord I ran, never letting my gaze wander from His holy face. Despite the blood and the darkness, inside I felt a curious peace.

When we reached the door at last, Lucifer stopped, his curses directed toward me, a soul he could not claim for his own. I opened the door with a joyful heart, and the Lord cleansed His long-lost children. Together, we departed to God’s kingdom.

"Sadness"
I wrote this story a long time ago, so it's not one of my best ones.

Sitting at the river's edge, I allowed my gaze to wander over the flickering water. Reflecting back was my grieving face, pale from distress and exhaustion. How I wished for the end of this dark era. For how long would death linger?

A soft breeze swept back my thinning golden hair as I took in my battle scars. I could no longer believe that fighting could grant me rest, but it was all I could do then. Silently observing, I stared at my missing ear-tip; the cut above my eye; the long, deep scar on my neck that had been reopened countless times... how many scars must there have been? How many weights brought on by those I could not save could be bared by my broken soul? There was no hope left for me. My heart was growing heavy and my steps were growing weary after so many years of war. When would this terror end?

I felt a light touch on my shoulder. Eyes hollow, I turned my head to see my husband standing beside me. His brown eyes betrayed his many worries for me. He could never completely share my feelings, but he knew well of their existence. My husband's hopeless pity sent chills down my spine. The love and concern in his eyes brought tears to my own.

My husband's shoulders sagged, and his expression grew even more somber. He sat beside me and gave a small smile in a vain attempt to be comforting. I put my head on his shoulder in reply, letting him stroke my hair.

"Honey...." My voice cracked, and a tear dropped to the ground. I felt my husband put his arms around me, pulling me closer to him and his beating heart.

"Shh," he whispered in my ear. Another tear escaped me. My husband tried to wipe the tears away, but the floodgates had opened. I buried my face into his shoulder, crying, my tears dotting his flannel shirt. He rested his chin on my head, letting me cry.

Each tear was like ooze from an ugly, infected sore. When a tear fell, it was like a lark was singing a mournful song, so unnerving and awkward to witness; yet my husband saw beauty in my tears. He held me more tightly when I sobbed, and he cradled my head when my body started shaking. At one point, I felt the top of my head grow wet. My eyes clearly portraying my engulfing misery, I lifted my head to see tear streaks upon my husband's kind face. I longed to comfort him as he tried to comfort me. I wanted to let him know that everything would be okay, despite the lack of truth; but he was crying because I was in pain. My husband loved me with a such tenderness that often made my heart lift, even when I was haggard with grief. He touched me deeply, and I watched, misty-eyed, as our tears dampened the shore of the river, darkening the sand until it met the river waters.

Eventually, our tears subsided. As one, we stifled our sobs and tried to stop shaking. I lifted my head and took in my husband's gentle gaze. He kissed me dearly on each streaming cheek, and he held my face in his hands. Together, we wiped away the other's tears. My husband always knew that somewhere inside, I was hurting. I could bring a trickle of peace when no one else could; and it was for him that I could almost live.

"Resurrection"
This is one of my best short stories.

The rays of sunlight shine effortlessly down over the schoolyard. The leaves glisten too brightly. The windows, ajar, reflect my pale face. Nothing is real save this paper, this pen, and the numbness engulfing my spirit.

A boy died today. Funny, boys die every day; but this boy touched my heart. What a feeble attempt this must be, to put my feelings into words. I reflect back on the story I heard in religion class some time ago, when my teacher met a woman whose brain had been damaged by a stroke. She could no longer put her thoughts into words. I feel like this woman; and yet, as I rest my head upon the cool brick of the wall, my hand glides over the page.

Everyone in this room knows of this boy. His death was announced to the school this morning. How many truly knew him, I shall never know. Most do not. They stared at me today as I ate my lunch in silence, when on any other day I would have spoken with energy and confidence. They noticed that the sparkle in my eye had dimmed. No one spoke to me about it, but I saw the confusion that seemed to cloud their gaze.

People fly past me as though they are but gusts of wind. Their voices echo as if in a dream. Nothing is real save this paper, this pen, and the numbness engulfing my spirit.

I and the boy played together in a meadow. This meadow stood at the edge of an abandoned archery camp. The sign on the first tree read, ‘Archery practice field. Proceed with caution.’ How carefree I felt when I raced into the field, with the boy waiting for me.

I and the boy would race around the meadow, laughing in peace and happiness; or we would stand in the middle of the meadow in silence, letting the sun warm our skin. Often we would lie in the grass and talk, or draw pictures in the bare dust. No worldly man would ever understand this place; but every small moment was special. The ordinary became extraordinary; the ugly became beautiful. We had everything we needed in this meadow.

As we grew older, the boy would still wait for me. What we did in that meadow never changed. We wished for nothing but to talk and play.

When I heard the news, I came to the meadow with tears running down my cheeks. The boy, now a young man, took me in his arms, and we cried together, our tears darkening the earth. No words of comfort or despair were exchanged. We each knew what was to come. He was leaving.

He was never frightened or worried, only sad that our time together was coming to an end. I was fearful, angry, and depressed. I hid my feelings well at home and school; but when I came to the meadow, the dam burst, and he would take me in his arms once more as I cried. For many days, we did not speak to one another.

Yesterday, I finally spoke to him. “Will you ever come back?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

A flicker of hope and relief rose in my heart. Since then, his final word to me, the word ‘yes’, has echoed over and over in my mind.

I did not know that when he would leave, he would also die.

He told me he would come back.

Until then, nothing is real save this paper, this pen, and the numbness engulfing my spirit.

"Gone"
This is a short sequel to "Resurrection".

Blood dapples the pure white snow like the vibrant petals of the reddest rose. The cold is spread evenly across the frozen ground. There is no wind to muffle the sounds of birdcall scattered in the trees. Each trill of notes startles me as I hide in the hollow tree, where true silence can be found.

Her vision is focused on the pond of ice at her feet. Water that has not yet frozen remains the surface: her tears. There are no sobs, gasps, or whimpers from her; only her tears that form a stream on her white cheeks, and a pond on the battleground.

Life is disposable, as disposable as gushing blood from the deepest wound. Life is gone in seconds, when the beholder does not desire seconds of daily bread. Her heart is neither powdered nor hardened; rather, it is blazing with philosophical respect of control. Tragedy has widened her path and cleared all mist, and she jogs to the gold of a flashlight.

Her wings are black, but they flap with grace. She is at peace with the knowledge of what is to come soon. Sincerely, she is saddened, though not remorseful, by her sacrifice. The gleam of silver next to her is her secret and her refuge.

She has opened up more parts then a mortal can count. The little girl from the meadow has faded away in my absence. Now she is tender, and her wicked wisdom makes her devoid of folly. She is numb from the cold, and she does not realize her blindness.

One day, the silver will find its mark, and the blood shall come forth from the perfect cloak. I am not in the proper state of being to go out to her. She must be apart and alone, no matter the grief of mine, and her fate must be determined by her alone. Letting my own tears fall, I cast a final, lonely glance at her before returning home.

"Non-Cancerous Survival"
''This is a more religious poem, dedicated to cancer survivors. There's excessive use of figurative language, so it may be a little hard to understand, but the point is that everyone has a different interpretation of it.''

I am the Harvester of the Bitter Seas

Feel not my wrath

But my words of encouragement

As you try to grow

You are surrounded by angry seas

They attempt to blind you

From the gentle sunlight

They saturate your stem

They crumble your leaves

They destroy your flowers

Fear not, my sons

Be still, my daughters

The mercy of the Emperor

Anchors you to the sand

The growth of distrust

Is what truly tears you apart

You are not without eyes

But your view is hidden

Open them

And you shall see

The life of bitterness

Is strange in its simplicity

Strain to see

Past the churning waters

In a miraculous state

You grow

Harder and harder is your task

As you strain yourself

So much that some fail to notice

The strengthening stem

The growing leaf

The blossoming flower

Just when you believe in forever

You break the surface

And for the first time

You can see the sunlight

Until the time of frozen waters

You bear your fruit

Which I harvest for your King

Your flowers turn to starshine

When your time is at an end

And you are a part

Of everything

The Emperor Himself

"Lifted"
This is one of my best poetry pieces.

We live in the desert

Though never was it dry

Bigger than the ocean

Water floods our hotel of sand

Gentle waves lap at our feet

Hungry

But like a mother lion

Caring for her cubs

The waves lift us

As the sun rises higher

In the mid-morning of our lovely death

We follow the path of the sun

As we float in wonder

Larks sing their peaceful melody

In harmony with the whisper of the wind

In tune with the splashes of the waves

All the while, the sun beams

Holding hands with my sisters

We add our voices to our sweet melody

Full and of beauty is our death

Some sisters fade

Others are lifted

But more sisters awaken

As the waves grow in power

Yet still gentle are they

As the sun moves slowly

Toward the thin clouds above us

The days of thunder and hail

Are behind us now

We know there will be showers

We know there will be snow

We know this is not home

We know this is not life

But the ice is no more

Always shall it be gentle water

Until the wind lifts us

And we pass beyond the mist

In perfect being

Life

"The Author"
This is my most recent poem.

A sudden realization

Set her pen on fire

As she wrote across the page

A story to inspire

The voice of the teacher startled her

She looked up from her daze

And answering correctly

She met her teacher's gaze

On her desk already

Was the homework from last night

She bent down and kept writing

Letting her mind take flight

As her teacher crossed the room

She lifted her eyes once more

She was asked, "Would you write

Your answer on the board?"

Working quickly without focus

She did as she was told

Then she wrote and wrote again

Her story must unfold

Her teacher said, "Was your homework done

Before you came to class?"

Not really hearing, she answered "No"

When she should have answered "Yes"

Now she sits in detention

Her desire is at hand

On her desk sits a story

Whose words are far from bland