G13
is a shooting star leaping through the skies
Recognized Member

What else do you keep in mind?

I'd suggest simply not going.

Noooes!

Tate Modern rules state that. xD

It really doesn't, I'm just trying to dodge the question.

No weapon created my men can destroy me.

None of that was in the draft. Only stories of her virtues, her triumphs, and all of the amazing things she had done in life. The boy revealing nothing bad about her, and told his father only the good in her.

After finishing it she heard one more knock upon her door. She opened it to the same boy, who held the same smile on his face.

In tears, the women fell to her knees, hugging the boy for the first time as she cried tears into his shoulder.

After that though, the child stopped coming. The old woman couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't shown up for months now, though answer soon came. A clipping in her news paper revealed the upcoming true story of her life. A picture of the author and his son, the boy that constantly visited her, was posted in the paper.

The old women was in tears, the on person she enjoyed seeing so much was there to gather her life story, and unlike any one else, this boy knew all the dark secrets of her past, all the incriminating things she had done before.

Yet after the article, a knock came at her door. There stood the little boy, smiling the same smile he always had before. THough this time he brought her something. A stack of papers that looked like a rough draft of a story.

Angered, she snatched the paper from his hands and slammed the door. Over the next few days she read over the draft, curious as to what horrid things were to be published about her, but something stunned her.

However, many days later, the boy returned and repeated the events of their previous visit. However this time the old women invited the boy in, thinking he may be genuine. Not knowing what to say, she told him a story of her younger years, where she was working in her fathers farm.

She sent him on his way after, and a soon this became a weakly ritual.

The boy would show up once a week, and hug the women. He would listen to another story of her life, until one day he learned who she really was.

At one point, she was a famous actress, known throughout the world, though she had disappeared. She was known for being a saintly person, one who could do no wrong. However tabloids constantly tried to pin anything they could on her, but it never held true.

This reminds me of a story I once heard as a child.

There was a sad old women who lived alone. The only thing she ever wanted in life was a friend, but she was the only old women in town, and none of the younger folk were really the kind to befriend an old lady.

That all changed one day when a young boy, no older then ten, came knocking on her door. She answered, and asked the little boy what he wanted, trying to hid the lonely bitterness that she felt constantly.

However, the little boy smiled without saying a word. The women was about to ask again, wondering if the boy just didn't hear her, but before words could escape her mouth the boy did something unexpected. He stepped forward and hugged the old woman.

COnfused she was at first, but the confusion was quickly replaced with anger.

Don't pity me, she told the boy, pushing him away. She closed the door between them and reterned to her beaten old rocker.