Biography

The name is ELY. Pronounced similar to Alley but I don't live in alleys and neither could I be found there. I'm in love with Century Gothic, Kristen ITC and Rage Italic. And, abit of Tahoma. They're famous, like obviously you'll know who they are. I'm a die-hard fan of White, Pink and Gray. Not much of Black. Chocolate and Cheese are my two best friends, they're always by my side whenever I need them. My greatest enemies are Liar, Backstabber, Hypocrite and Nag. I hate them alot. World would be sucha better place without them all.

bold underlined strikethrough italic

Mediabox

"If we live our life in fear,
I'll wait a thousand years
Just to see you smile again "

Sweetdesires

Did I hear someone said "cheese" or "chocolate"?

Ben & Jerry's Ice-Cream
Ipod Touch
Cinema: Watch Legion
Part-time Sales Assistant Job
That Handbag from Prada
Your wishes here

Tagboard

cbox recommended.
preferred maximum width to be 200px.

Linksboard

Meet the people I love♥

friend friend friend friend
friend friend friend friend
friend friend friend friend
friend friend friend friend
friend friend friend friend

Pastentries

Are you sure you want to turn back the time and read about my past?

♥ February 2007
♥ March 2007
♥ August 2007
♥ September 2007
♥ October 2007
♥ January 2008
♥ February 2008
♥ March 2008
♥ April 2008
♥ May 2008
♥ June 2008
♥ July 2008
♥ August 2008
♥ September 2008
♥ October 2008
♥ November 2008
♥ December 2008
♥ January 2009
♥ February 2009
♥ March 2009
♥ April 2009
♥ May 2009
♥ June 2009
♥ July 2009
♥ August 2009
♥ September 2009
♥ October 2009
♥ November 2009
♥ December 2009
♥ January 2010
♥ February 2010
♥ March 2010
♥ April 2010
♥ May 2010

Creditorials

NEVER REMOVE THIS SECTION!

Layout Designer:
♥chocodiiction-lovesxoxo*
Others:
♥ ♥ ♥

Monday, January 26, 2009

STORY-TIME!♥

PS: human beings!
read until the end♥

The dining room was a mystifying revelation, masking humours afluttering against the placated glass frames; scaling conundrums of queries. The night sky was a parched stairway of spiralling aspirations and ostentatious parades. Soft hushes nursed a grudge, a fore bore, a curse, a warning and a tale. The restricted footsteps preceded by light chorus droned the slightest of miffed agony. Unfinished cooked-up fables were long forgotten, sifted if ever; only from beneath dust-rimmed goggles and bequeathed thanksgivings. The moment was an instantaneous beauty in gaiety.

She spoke, first, in the muted-like tone. Her voice was a tender bestow loathed by loquacious inhibitors, an utterance of simple bliss unattained by mortals. "Tom, dinner is ready.." It was a scared and timid one to relinquish. Gone and effaced were the garrulous and cantankerous hollering. One go and it was unequivocally on the same parallel of tons of sufferings and chronicles of ordeals underwent to retrieve her timely satirical disposition. The glare that shot back revoked all past hatreds that fulminated harangue. "Jane is waiting for me," he hesitated considerably distant. "I will not be back." An ingrained vilification obsolete and slanderous in the unctuous calling. Years of rebellions rebuked sycophantic rights.

"But Tom..you know your father. He won't be happy about your departure just like that," her eyes reddened, vision forcefully obscured. "Please Ma, he is no business of mine to intercept," he muttered sorrowfully, words cut across the room brusquely, dishevelled imps hurled grotesquely; curled sideways and in knots of balls. " No, Tom. You have to stay.." the wrinkled and wretched pallor grimaced. She grasped the stained edges of her antique armrest, arduous periods of humiliation and workload penned articulately on those ludicrously pitiable veins. " Just shut up!" he, with the foolhardy temperament, dashed over and left a five-fingered imprint on the ashen visage. She had long gotten used to it. No nonplussed paranoia, purely reserved anomaly.

"Aah..wahh.." the incessant wailing fondled the implicit tenacity. She wormed past the aghast demon before her and went, in a cooing voice, to assure the pallid infant. The lullaby songs eased not a weasel of her baffling anguish. " Ma,please! Stop deluding your senses. The baby's surreal. Open your eyes!" he bellowed. "No, Tom. I don't permit you to say something as obtuse as that. She's a babe, ain't it?" the same soothing voice whispered in postulation. She clung onto the supposed infant which sounded auto-reactively, another hand clutched staunchly on her deceased husband's one. His hand had grown stiff and cold from years of neglect, the existent odour amidst the alfresco. The garb he had on were torn and tattered after mishandlings, rodents and pests rapaciously groping.

The mother gawked half-wittedly at both dears and haplessly flinched. She was alienated by her son's unbecoming ardour and incinerations were abundant. The son wispfully absolved from hardcore tears and left, an ebullient torture. The mother stood unscrupulously in her designation, unstalled by ramshackles as she persistently renunciated, "No, Tom. You have to stay.." the compounded reality of losing two kinds proved exceedingly harsh for her and yet all that sustained were unspoken grizzles. At times, delusion is a steadfast custodian to be reckoned with.