I'm a bit fan girl for Peter Pan (I mean who wouldn't want to be this kid), Percy Jackson takes second place and Power Puff girls Z had third. Wow, they all start with P.

I cannot stop thinking, I get inspiration to do something, make an outline or doodle and then work on it once I've finished my main project. So I'll be mostly behind in my work, but that will keep me busy after I've finished with one, I can immediately start on another. The only reason I'm not multi-tasking is because I am lazy and most of them are just spur of the moment.

I have a DeviantArts page and you can find me here:

https:///dinoarcher

Quote from a fortune cookie:

"Good writing is clear thinking made visible."

D* put this

R* on your

E* page if you

A* prefer your

M* imagination

S* over reality

Personal Motto: "Have Faith, Strike True"

Here's a story for your enjoyment and this is about 95% true, I think. :-/

I was so excited, finally dad and I had finished the plane we were fixing up.

It was a cloudy day, as if it knew what was coming. We paid no heed to the clouds both thinking of flying over those fluffs.

Dad had strapped me in to one of the pilots seats; he put his foot on the wheel to keep the plane from moving when he pushed the thratol. I didn't see him put his foot there; I was mesmerized by the propeller spinning, blending into itself.

I don't know what possessed me to do so, but I pushed on the thratal which was a long rod with a white button. The plane moved with a jolt; dad was thankfully not close enough to get hurt, although I nearly took his head off. I had no idea what I was doing but the plane turned to the right missing the hangar door.

We had pulled out another plane earlier that day and put it to the side. Big mistake.

BANG!

The plane I was in crashed propeller to propeller. Both were ripped, showing the material they were made of. I quickly unbuckled myself and hurried a safe distance away from dad.

The look of shock was plastered on his face as he stared at the destruction I caused. He dropped to his knees and cried. That was the only time I saw him cry, so broken.

I didn't know what to do, so I did the only thing that came to mind. I ran. I didn't get far, but hid behind a cement block and cried myself, knees tucked in.

I wasn't there long, but I wished I did.

And now it has become a family joke (and not the first time I tried flying a plane, the first time I was like 3), mind you I was only 9 when this happened and it was freaking scary back then (I had an anxiety attack when I was writing this and it lasted for about 2 periods but didn't get one while typing this). Later on that year I wrote to Santa to give me like 2,000 dollars or something to pay it off. It's weird, I think I'm cursed so I'm unable to drive anything on wheels; I think this because a while ago dad was teaching me how to ride a scooter, I panicked then hit a curb. Surprisingly, in both accidents, not a scratch happened; so if you ever meet me, don't ask me to drive there is an almost guaranteed accident where I'm unharmed and you in a hospital. Also, I've been told that this story is popular on three continents; I think, since putting it on my profile, it's popular worldwide (sort of).

Here's another story and it's kind of inspired another story I've come up with, don't know when I'll get back to writing but when I do, I hope it turns out awesome. This is what I dub The Little Demon:

You know that little voice in the back of your head, that's not your conscious, that's your personal little demon. Ever since we were small, it's been drilled into our heads what is right and what is wrong, feeding that conscious. But what of the little demon? Oh it's in there alright, growing silently plotting; waiting for your to SNAP.

Most people don't even want to deal with the little demon, after all it did scare us in our childhood as monsters under our beds and haunted us in our sleep. So we try to lock it up; it still whispers though, just barely audible of how worthless you are. As for the rest of us, we listen to the demons a little too closely.

Still it grows until it consumes you, hungers for your very being; to tear you, consume you, and throw whatever's left away. It'll look for its next victim, wearing your skin. For you will be nothing but a withered husk, a mere puppet, a host to the little demon.

It starts living your life. It hates you, hates everything you are, hates everyone you know, and hates everything you do. It claws at the walls of your being. It desires your destruction, attacking where it hurts most. It wasn't everything you have but that isn't enough, it's never enough. It whispers of temptation for its closer to you than you think. It'll always come after you, long after you're dead and gone.

The little demon laughs at your doubt, your weakness, and your hesitation; thinking itself better than a weak human. It'll strike you from the inside, where you are most vulnerable. It pokes at your psyche, looking to break you.

When you grow up all alone, with people there one moment and gone the next, you tend to think a lot; and when you think a lot the demon likes to slip in a suggestion or two. Suggestions of jealously, anger, self-loathing, resent and with each dark thought, the demon grows. Grows until it finally consumes you. You think you can control it, but it'll just slip through your fingers; showing sides you never wish others to see.

Don't believe me? Look at yourself in the mirror. I'm sure you've wished you could change something of yourself: more honest, too much of a coward, wished you were somebody else. You may with this was a dream but let me a sure you, it's all to too real.

The demon has already sunken its claws into your being. Your teetering on the edge of the demon's waiting jaws and no one will hear you scream. One false move...

Put this on your profile if you can hear the demon lurking.

[I want to try these chain things, there's already a bunny after world domination, why not a demon too?]