Things I shall do when I’m 18

Just ’cause I can. And because the "List" function isn’t working.

  1. Get drunk.
  2. Donate blood.
  3. Rent "The Book of Revelations" and look the cashier right in the eye.
  4. More to come.
  5. Visit a site that says "18+" only and laugh at it.
  6. Attend an event/have a meal in a pub somewhere.
  7. Buy something rebellious, like a masamune or contact lenses (though neither of these).
  8. More to come.

Tribute to Angel

Four archers, donned in night black leather armour, horned helmets on their heads, approached their prey. They were a fierce team, spread out across the field as they closed in as one. Each of them worked in perfect unison to cover the others at all times, and all four of them were now entirely focused on hitting one mark.

Angel took a deep breath and bent his knees, lowering his stance. This would be tough. The first arrow shot- BAM! Angel threw out his arm and the arrow halted in mid-air, three meters away from him. The second was released- BAM! it froze, the first dropping to the ground as he shifted his focus. BAM! the third, BAM! the fourth. All four arrows lay still in the grass. The archers exhaled in frustration and bewilderment. This was new. Angel returned his focus and all four arrows lifted into the air. They swivelled, each aiming at the archer whom released it. Throwing his hands forwards with a surge of energy, the arrows forward a few meters before descending into the grass uselessly. Angel grimaced and tried again, picking just one of them up. He drew his right hand back to his shoulder, invisible wisps of pearly energy linking his palm with the arrow, and- SNAP! He launched his palm forward with such speed his arm blurred. The arrow launched forward as though it had been fired from a catapalt and impaled the second man from the left. But rather than just stabbing into flesh and armour like any normal arrow would have done, its shaft passed three quarters of the way through him. He looked at it in awe and suddenly felt a little sick at the sight of it. He collapsed and Angel took a slight bow.

Would it be nice?


Learning to drive, in many ways, is like going to university. There are hazards, teachers you hate and things you love. You feel in control when you’re organised and might panic when you’re disorganised. But I find the greatest parallel is that oftentimes, when I climb out of the car at the end, I’m exhausted, and terrified, and hurt and upset. And I know that I’m going to have to climb back in sooner or later, and I take my metaphorical bottle of whisky and I sit down and dull the aching by the fireplace. Yet I know that no matter how hard it is, I need it. I need the skills I learn to be able to pass my driving test so I can be a qualified driver.

My father is not an easy man to work with. The car is silent, save for his instructions, my stomach tensed in knots as I try my best not to give him reason to yell at me. And yell he does. There’s always some fault he wants to yell at me for and once he gets started he really can’t stop. I received a compliment today- well, almost. A compliment is far too much to hope for. He said “That’s how you should do it!” in the same voice he said “You’re too far to the left! Speed up, you’re dragging! When I say STOP you immediately hit the brakes!” It may as well have been an insult for all the aversion he put into it.

I know I’m just whining, and I know I’m not the only one who goes through this. I really should just suck it up, build a bridge and get over it. But every time I climb out of that car, I always feel a little shaky, and never entirely sure of myself.

I don’t know why I wrote this. Desperate cry of attention, I guess. Pssht. Deal with it already.
But I have to post it anyway. Just to say to myself I wrote it.