ARE YOU EVER IN NEED OF SOMETHING TO READ, BUT HATE WRITING YOUR OWN STORIES? WELL THEN COME TO ME! I LOVE WRITING AND I AM GOOD AT IT TO. (TO READ MY WORKS, GO TO FORUMS, I AM THALIAFLAME98) TO GET A STORY FROM ME, FOLLOW THESE INSTRUCTIONS!!!

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     ~GIVE ME YOUR USERNAME

     ~TELL ME WHAT GENRE (HORROR, ROMANCE, FAIRYTALE, ECT..)

     ~TELL ME ANY CHARACTERS YOU WANT AND WHAT THEY LOOK LIKE.

     ~TELL ME HOW LONG YOU WANT IT

     ~TELL ME WHEN YOU WANT IT

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FOLLOW THESE INSTRUCTIONS AND I WILL COMPLETE THEM!! DEPENDING ON HOW LONG THE STORY IS, EACH PARAGRAPH WILL BE 1,000-2,000 TU EACH. TO MAKE UP FOR THE PRICE, IF YOU ABSOLUTLY HATE THE STORY, SEND ME AN RMAIL EXPLAINING WHY YOU HATE IT AND HOW I CAN MAKE IT BETTER. (I ONLY DO THIS BECAUSE I HAD SOMEONE RIP ME OFF ONCE TO MANY TIMES) IF YOU TRULY DISLIKE IT, I WILL SEND YOU ALL OF THE MONEY YOU PAID. I HATE CHAT ROOM TALK, SO I PROMISE TO USE PROPER SPELLING AND PUNTUATIONS. (I WILL CHECK MY SPELLING BEFORE I SEND IT TO YOU!!!) THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!!

P.S. I WILL NOT ACCEPT ANYTHING INNAPROPRIATE. (NO BAD LANGUAGE BESIDES CRAP)

    THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!

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Punch, kick, punch, kick

My fists and the soles of my feet pounded my opponent in time with each other like a metronome.  She flailed her arms around in a lousy attempt to block my blows.  Adrenaline rushed through my body, a feeling that I treasure so much.  Her face was as red as an overripe tomato as I pummeled her to a pulp.  After about fifteen seconds, her eyes rolled to the back of her head  and, swaying ever so slightly, she collapsed to the ground.

"K.O.!" cried the referee, lifting my arm into the air, announcing my victory.  The crowd roared like thunder.  I smiled and waved triumphantly

 I watched glumly as Angel fiddled with her plastic doll on the couch. She coughed a few times and rasped, " Gina...can..you..get...me...some...water?" The poor 5 year old had a stomach virus, along with a scratchy voice. I nodded and trodded to get my sister some water.

 Sirens wailed. Red. Blue. Red. Blue. The to bright lights flashed and the noise exploded in my ears louder than it should have. Everything had happened so fast. The bloodcurdling scream, the bang, the unconsiousness. My mother, father, and I were speeding along in the ambulence, watching the near broken body of Angel. She had collapsed, almost immeadietly after I left her alone on the couch. No help. My mother's eyes were blinded with tears, watching her little girl grow weaker, second by second.

 "It has effected her Cerebellum." Dr. Wilson reaveled to us. Angel lay on the hospital bed, unable to move a limb. I stared in horror as my eyes trailed the tube up her nose, leading down to her throat so she could swallow. A wave of shocking electricity washed over me. She couldn't even swallow on her own. All Angel could do was bl
ink without any help. A monitor stood stifly at her side, counting her heartbeats as if they were soon numbered. Another scary machine make freak noises, helping Angel breathe. Dr. Wilson showed us on an X-Ray that there was a dangerous and life threatening amount of fluid between Angel's skull and brain. He then pointed out that the Cerebellum was the bottom part of your brian, aiding all of your movements. Angel's was damaged. The small hospital room was decorated with posters and pictures that friends and family had made to cheer Angel up. They didn't work. The sun lazily rose up and made the sky glitter like a million diamonds. "Look Angel," My mother whispered. She gently turned Angel's head and rejusted her arms and legs so she could see the beauty. A wail escaped from Angel's chest. She couldn't talk, whisper, moan. The small, tortured girl brokenly gazed at the sky through the open window. The spring breeze rustled her hair. Agian, tears filled Angel's eyes, and she wished it could be all over, forever.

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