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ElijahStandingStill

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ElijahStandingStill last won the day on June 23 2014

ElijahStandingStill had the most liked content!

About ElijahStandingStill

  • Rank
    Squire
  • Birthday 12/01/2000

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  • Website URL
    http://www.wattpad.com/user/Jimmyjeen2036
  • Skype
    jimmyjeen2037

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  • Gender
    Male
  • Location
    Texas
  • Interests
    Books, Music, Book Movies, writing
  1. can't connect to server

    i cant connect to myself nick
  2. OUTSIDE IS AMERICA OUTSIDE IS AMERICAAAAAAAAAAA

  3. TODAY I WAS VERY ART.

    I write once on a blue moon how the heck are you this productive
  4. Destiny

    I want this game so bad but I'm basically picking the new smash over it which I don't know if is really unfaithful to Bungie...
  5. A place where art lives! :3

    "I write my thoughts, I write them down on a page / They can be yours, we'll find a ground to r'late." - The Apache Relay I have bad hand writing, sorry, but I was quite proud of how this came out in the end. It's Clarice Starling.
  6. I made damn sure that Pilot washed his hands and sealed his fate. B) Pleased to meet you, hope you guessed my name.

  7. Favorite Music Anyone?

    Current favorites (except Sunday Bloody Sunday, that's my all time fav forever): Sunday Bloody Sunday - U2 Sympathy for the Devil - The Rolling Stones Give Peace a Chance - John Lennon Just One Yesterday - Fall Out Boy American Nomad - The Apache Relay
  8. Dinosaurs

    Dinosaurs are the best. Like, if I could have a pet tyrannosaurus-rex, you better believe I would, and you better believe that I would ride him/her into battle. OR BETTER, I COULD STORM THE STREETS OF TOKYO ON GODZILLA. THIS SOUNDS LIKE A PLAN.
  9. gif

    It's so majestic. :'D
  10. Friends

    Oh my God, I love this show.
  11. Guess I can be mute now.

    Congrats, Stephonai! The only things I can manage in sign language are terribly offensive.
  12. Sorry I have been away!!!

    Congrats, man!
  13. White as Snow: Part II and III

    Hello! I know this is really sloppy and disgusting, but I've been really sick over the past couple of months, and haven't been able to write, like at all. Not a lot happens in these two parts, but I swear that the next part it gets interesting. Thanks for reading! You guys are just lovely! 2 When I was a child, I read a book series called A Series of Unfortunate Events; a book by a man given the pseudonym of Lemony Snicket. In the first novel, the three children, Violet, Klaus, and Sunny’s parents die. They are given to a distant relative, Count Olaf. Count Olaf scared the coodles out of me; if you’ve read the books you’d know why. He was my greatest fear, leaving me lying in bed at night crying because I wondered, Is Count Olaf gonna get me? Right now, why I say that won’t appear in the story, but I guess I can say that this is one of the first events in a Series of Unfortunate Events. What could possibly be worse than your father dying at thirteen you ask? It sounds terrible, but there is worse. When he first died I wouldn’t have said so, but from what I’ve seen through my long, sorrowful life is that you can enter one of the darkest places in your mind – the ones that aren’t accessible because the Lord Our Savior won’t allow it us – with just a little nudge. Not a normal nudge, but a supernatural one. You usually don’t recognize if it’s an act of God or Satan or whatever is doing it, but it is a noticeable nudge. My nudge is what we called Night Demons; our version of Sleep Paralysis. It was horrible. It had been happening for maybe four weeks (two nights within seven days, three within four, or sometimes the entire week) and by the third week we had a Father at our house to perform an exorcist on me. I didn’t really know what one was supposed to be like, and I’m sure he didn’t either; he was speaking slowly, not keeping eye-contact, and stuttering a lot. We both didn’t know what to expect. My body (or whatever was nudging me) decided to make up a feeling of something lifting out of me; my chest in specific. It was a rejoicing feeling that I couldn’t wait to share at the dinner table with my brothers. They would surely beam… well, Brad at least. After the exorcist, and after thinking it’d work, the Father packed his bags but didn’t leave. He wanted to stay for dinner, and possibly the night; just to see if it worked. Talk about trusting the Lord’s ways. All four of us were sitting at the table, eating deer that Brad and Thomas had caught while hunting earlier in the day. It was a little more pink than gray, but that was really how we liked it. I looked across the round table at Thomas, who was sitting next to the priest that had performed one of the things that rarely ever happens; so rare that it had never happened in Maddelsville. I could see in Thomas’s eyes that he was losing what was left of him, and I hated it. Bradly and I could only sit there, watching from afar as he spiraled into somewhere he couldn’t get out of. We had seen a surrender in Thomas’s eyes and had talked about doing something about it a few nights ago. I looked at him a moment longer, then realized he was staring back; I turned to Brad. “I felt something lift off me, brother; it was amazing. I think the exorcism worked.” “I was about to ask that, Andy. Father had talked about it some, but not a lot.” Brad turned to Father. “I don’t know if you mind me asking, Father, but why is that?” He seemed to be ignoring us for the moment. I looked down at his plate and noticed that he hadn’t touched his food, only parted the vegetables from the mash potatoes. “Ohuh?” he asked, seeming startled. “I was asking why you didn’t speak much of the exorcism, Father… if you don’t mind me asking, anyway.” Bradley’s voice went lower at the last part. “Oh… I… I dunno.” I could see fear in his eyes, though. I supposed that he had thought he’d seen it all now. A sudden jolt of fear shot through my body and up to my chest; I made a low, whispering yelp. I thought the fear was because of that thought, but it wasn’t, I understand now. Even if he hadn’t see a real exorcism – one with a man or woman’s eyes rolling back into their heads, them bouncing up and down on a bed – he thought he had, and thinking that you committed the act of abolishing a demon from someone’s body, that you were in even in that position, would be beyond horrific. And I had had someone committing it on me. Bradly acted as if he hadn’t heard Father, and turned to me. “Brethren, are you okay?” “Yes.” Obviously not. He ignored the strain in my voice, letting it go, and went on with the questions. “How was that feeling, Andy? Lifting off?” “Oh, it was amazing, Brother. I jolted up for a minute, and went down. It was like something was literally being pulled out of me. Maybe whatever was sitting on me was actually inside me, you know? Like it was… it was… sitting in me, upside down, and was grasping the rest of my body with whatever disfigurement it had.” “You know that’s not a pleasant thought… right, Andy?” That was Thomas, the first time he had opened his mouth at the table. I turned to him, a little frustrated. He was sometimes hard to tolerate with how much hate he was filled with. You may wonder how I knew that he was filled with hate (if the thought even crossed your mind), and I have an answer; his eyes. All his emotions seemed to be bundled there, especially when he was drunk on the poison. Hate and sadness. It was tiring with some of the things he said. So many beautiful things around him; he could only think about drinking and death. “Yes, Brother. But it’s an observation, and we don’t seem to have anything nice to talk about at this table anyways.” I regretted saying it straight after, even it was vague. He looked offended but said nothing. “That’s not entirely true, Andy.” I was glad Brad hadn’t taken my side; he always knew between right and wrong; it made me happy. “We were invited to a party tomorrow night; I would supposed that that would be nice.” “Yes, and I’d hope to attend tomorrow.” Again, I hadn’t realized I was staring at him, and Father said, “I’m not feeling well… I think I should go lay down.” He got up, the chair screeching across the floor, and walked up stairs into the guest room. The door slammed behind him; we heard loud sobbing. Bradly laughed nervously. “What’s his problem?” I gave him a look that said Are you serious, Brad? and he seemed to get the point. He looked down at his plate We finished eating in silence. I found myself avoiding my brothers’ eye contact at all costs, just looking down at my plate and forking deer into my mouth. I was starting to realize my problem with staring. When we were finished eating Our Silenced Supper, I got up to check on Father. The sobs had faltered to slow groans from the small, square room. The door was opened to a crack despite being shut tight earlier. I knocked on it slightly with one small finger and knuckle. “Father?” I asked. After saying this, my heart sank; I suddenly realized that the guest room used to be our father’s room, and a Father was staying in it. I was about to walk away when he said, “Come in, Andy.” I did and was depressed at what I saw. A man with eyes red with tears, sweating. His arm was set upon his forehead folly. The appearance of him made me choke up, but I showed none of it, just said, “You okay?” It wasn’t sacred to speak to him like that, and I would apologize later, but I wasn’t (and still am not) good with sad people. I just suspected them to cooperate with the situation all the time, and that just doesn’t happen. “No, not really,” he said, still looking up at the ceiling. I said nothing. “Will you pull that chair up to the bed a minute, Andy? I want to talk to you.” He flicked his head ever-so-slightly to the right where, about six feet away from him, a chair sat under a window with the blinds open. I almost wanted to shut the blinds myself once I got there; it gave me the creeps, but I didn’t, because I had a feeling he wanted it open for whatever reason. Maybe he liked feeling creepy. The chair made a soft herrrr-ing sound as it scraped across the wooden floor. I plumped down in it and waited for him to say something. Finally he said, “I’ve never given an exorcism before. I think I should’ve confessed that beforehand. God forgives me, I’m sure, but I would like yours as well. Would you, Andy?” “I forgive you, Father.” I started trembling. He didn’t notice because he was still looking at the ceiling, and wouldn’t ever during this conversation. It occurred to me how similar this was to when my father died. Scared and lonely man lying in bed beside me; scared and lonely man sitting next to him, waiting for the first man to break. “Good. Ohhh gosh, I never suspected to be committing one either. It was so frightening, I kept having this small… no, big worry that it wasn’t gonna work at all.” “Father, if you want honesty, I could see it in your eyes.” “Oh.” We sat like that for a while when suddenly something sprang from my mouth. “I’m sorry, Father. I wouldn’t’ve wanted to put you through that.” It never occurred to me to tell him that it was also frightening to be in the position of having an exorcism performed on me, and I kind of regret it. It’s stupid to grasp on something like this, but I feel like maybe if I had said one thing that even related to these events, that it wouldn’t exactly not have happened, but would’ve had some change in the course of them. “It’s completely fine, Andy. I wanted to do it. Weird how we put pain on ourselves for the heck of it, isn’t it?” He turned his head toward me, and I noticed that his eyes had lost their salty red color. I was glad. When he realized I had no response, he said, “I’m going to hit it for tonight, Andy. God bless you, you’re going to need it. Tell me in the morning if it – the exorcism – worked.” I lay there in bed, coursing through what Father had said. Weird how we put pain on ourselves just for the heck of it, isn’t it? I didn’t understand it. I never put pain on myself for the heck of it. I never knew anybody that did, except maybe now Father. Or Thomas, I thought. And all at once, I felt like I understood. Maybe it didn’t make sense, but when you came right down to it, what about emotions made sense? Some of us shifted through them randomly every day, either caused by nothing or by a recent or distant action that you had made upon something or someone. The emotions came to hug you and squeeze you tight sometimes, and you were expected to sit tight and wear yourself through it. It’s unfair, and I understood that. Because if you’re hugged tight long enough by those unfair emotions, you just maybe get used to it. And when they go away, you welcome them back, because you know they’re going to come back. I also knew that I didn’t want Tommy to give up. That was simple, although I knew he may have already. It engraved terror into my head quickly, thinking that he may’ve been hugged for years and years by the sharp, prickly emotions that came with life. I covered my ears and groaned loudly. I put this thought past me and decided that maybe it wasn’t too late, maybe Thomas wasn’t far enough along so that he would never be able to get back. If he was willing to cooperate, I guessed that anything was possible. Now, laying here in a dark room, with my hand on my forehead, I felt depressed myself. I decided not to think anymore that night; just sleep. For the most part it worked, but I let the words of our Father sink in. Weird how we put pain on ourselves just for the heck of it, isn’t it? 3 That night a very short and vivid dream came to me. It was bright and vaguely informative, especially because what I dreamed of I hadn’t thought of in a million years. That itself made little sense to me, because I also knew that the things that were at the back of your mind came to the front to make an extra appearance. It was night, my feet were planted deep in the ground, and the Milky Way was spread above me in a million constellations and specks of light. When I first looked down I wanted to start running, screaming, flailing my arms about with fear. This idea took a turn when I realized, Where are you gonna go; you’re surrounded by it. I wanted to laugh, I wanted to cry, but neither seemed possible, for I was standing in the Land as White as Snow. I felt a dry twist somewhere inside my head, creating dull aches at both my temples, and I was forced to look up. I tried to fight the force, slowed it a little, gave into it. The realization that this was probably just a dream faltered my alarm, almost giving me a sense of power, the little I had of it. As my head fit its last turn upward, I threw my arms out and groaned loudly. As soon as I saw what was in front of me, very far in the distance, I stopped. I fought the recognition I had for the man… and lost. His face was pale, as dirty snow, he had a ragged beard, and long, brown hair that I could see even from this position that ran down to the midst of his back. The man opened his mouth and mouthed something: “Welcome.” My eyes came wide open to my dark room, startled with terror. I swallowed, putting my chin against my chest, and retched all over myself.
  14. White as Snow: Part II and III

    Hello! I know this is really sloppy and disgusting, but I've been really sick over the past couple of months, and haven't been able to write, like at all. Not a lot happens in these two parts, but I swear that the next part it gets interesting. Thanks for reading! You guys are just lovely! 2 When I was a child, I read a book series called A Series of Unfortunate Events; a book by a man given the pseudonym of Lemony Snicket. In the first novel, the three children, Violet, Klaus, and Sunny’s parents die. They are given to a distant relative, Count Olaf. Count Olaf scared the coodles out of me; if you’ve read the books you’d know why. He was my greatest fear, leaving me lying in bed at night crying because I wondered, Is Count Olaf gonna get me? Right now, why I say that won’t appear in the story, but I guess I can say that this is one of the first events in a Series of Unfortunate Events. What could possibly be worse than your father dying at thirteen you ask? It sounds terrible, but there is worse. When he first died I wouldn’t have said so, but from what I’ve seen through my long, sorrowful life is that you can enter one of the darkest places in your mind – the ones that aren’t accessible because the Lord Our Savior won’t allow it us – with just a little nudge. Not a normal nudge, but a supernatural one. You usually don’t recognize if it’s an act of God or Satan or whatever is doing it, but it is a noticeable nudge. My nudge is what we called Night Demons; our version of Sleep Paralysis. It was horrible. It had been happening for maybe four weeks (two nights within seven days, three within four, or sometimes the entire week) and by the third week we had a Father at our house to perform an exorcist on me. I didn’t really know what one was supposed to be like, and I’m sure he didn’t either; he was speaking slowly, not keeping eye-contact, and stuttering a lot. We both didn’t know what to expect. My body (or whatever was nudging me) decided to make up a feeling of something lifting out of me; my chest in specific. It was a rejoicing feeling that I couldn’t wait to share at the dinner table with my brothers. They would surely beam… well, Brad at least. After the exorcist, and after thinking it’d work, the Father packed his bags but didn’t leave. He wanted to stay for dinner, and possibly the night; just to see if it worked. Talk about trusting the Lord’s ways. All four of us were sitting at the table, eating deer that Brad and Thomas had caught while hunting earlier in the day. It was a little more pink than gray, but that was really how we liked it. I looked across the round table at Thomas, who was sitting next to the priest that had performed one of the things that rarely ever happens; so rare that it had never happened in Maddelsville. I could see in Thomas’s eyes that he was losing what was left of him, and I hated it. Bradly and I could only sit there, watching from afar as he spiraled into somewhere he couldn’t get out of. We had seen a surrender in Thomas’s eyes and had talked about doing something about it a few nights ago. I looked at him a moment longer, then realized he was staring back; I turned to Brad. “I felt something lift off me, brother; it was amazing. I think the exorcism worked.” “I was about to ask that, Andy. Father had talked about it some, but not a lot.” Brad turned to Father. “I don’t know if you mind me asking, Father, but why is that?” He seemed to be ignoring us for the moment. I looked down at his plate and noticed that he hadn’t touched his food, only parted the vegetables from the mash potatoes. “Ohuh?” he asked, seeming startled. “I was asking why you didn’t speak much of the exorcism, Father… if you don’t mind me asking, anyway.” Bradley’s voice went lower at the last part. “Oh… I… I dunno.” I could see fear in his eyes, though. I supposed that he had thought he’d seen it all now. A sudden jolt of fear shot through my body and up to my chest; I made a low, whispering yelp. I thought the fear was because of that thought, but it wasn’t, I understand now. Even if he hadn’t see a real exorcism – one with a man or woman’s eyes rolling back into their heads, them bouncing up and down on a bed – he thought he had, and thinking that you committed the act of abolishing a demon from someone’s body, that you were in even in that position, would be beyond horrific. And I had had someone committing it on me. Bradly acted as if he hadn’t heard Father, and turned to me. “Brethren, are you okay?” “Yes.” Obviously not. He ignored the strain in my voice, letting it go, and went on with the questions. “How was that feeling, Andy? Lifting off?” “Oh, it was amazing, Brother. I jolted up for a minute, and went down. It was like something was literally being pulled out of me. Maybe whatever was sitting on me was actually inside me, you know? Like it was… it was… sitting in me, upside down, and was grasping the rest of my body with whatever disfigurement it had.” “You know that’s not a pleasant thought… right, Andy?” That was Thomas, the first time he had opened his mouth at the table. I turned to him, a little frustrated. He was sometimes hard to tolerate with how much hate he was filled with. You may wonder how I knew that he was filled with hate (if the thought even crossed your mind), and I have an answer; his eyes. All his emotions seemed to be bundled there, especially when he was drunk on the poison. Hate and sadness. It was tiring with some of the things he said. So many beautiful things around him; he could only think about drinking and death. “Yes, Brother. But it’s an observation, and we don’t seem to have anything nice to talk about at this table anyways.” I regretted saying it straight after, even it was vague. He looked offended but said nothing. “That’s not entirely true, Andy.” I was glad Brad hadn’t taken my side; he always knew between right and wrong; it made me happy. “We were invited to a party tomorrow night; I would supposed that that would be nice.” “Yes, and I’d hope to attend tomorrow.” Again, I hadn’t realized I was staring at him, and Father said, “I’m not feeling well… I think I should go lay down.” He got up, the chair screeching across the floor, and walked up stairs into the guest room. The door slammed behind him; we heard loud sobbing. Bradly laughed nervously. “What’s his problem?” I gave him a look that said Are you serious, Brad? and he seemed to get the point. He looked down at his plate We finished eating in silence. I found myself avoiding my brothers’ eye contact at all costs, just looking down at my plate and forking deer into my mouth. I was starting to realize my problem with staring. When we were finished eating Our Silenced Supper, I got up to check on Father. The sobs had faltered to slow groans from the small, square room. The door was opened to a crack despite being shut tight earlier. I knocked on it slightly with one small finger and knuckle. “Father?” I asked. After saying this, my heart sank; I suddenly realized that the guest room used to be our father’s room, and a Father was staying in it. I was about to walk away when he said, “Come in, Andy.” I did and was depressed at what I saw. A man with eyes red with tears, sweating. His arm was set upon his forehead folly. The appearance of him made me choke up, but I showed none of it, just said, “You okay?” It wasn’t sacred to speak to him like that, and I would apologize later, but I wasn’t (and still am not) good with sad people. I just suspected them to cooperate with the situation all the time, and that just doesn’t happen. “No, not really,” he said, still looking up at the ceiling. I said nothing. “Will you pull that chair up to the bed a minute, Andy? I want to talk to you.” He flicked his head ever-so-slightly to the right where, about six feet away from him, a chair sat under a window with the blinds open. I almost wanted to shut the blinds myself once I got there; it gave me the creeps, but I didn’t, because I had a feeling he wanted it open for whatever reason. Maybe he liked feeling creepy. The chair made a soft herrrr-ing sound as it scraped across the wooden floor. I plumped down in it and waited for him to say something. Finally he said, “I’ve never given an exorcism before. I think I should’ve confessed that beforehand. God forgives me, I’m sure, but I would like yours as well. Would you, Andy?” “I forgive you, Father.” I started trembling. He didn’t notice because he was still looking at the ceiling, and wouldn’t ever during this conversation. It occurred to me how similar this was to when my father died. Scared and lonely man lying in bed beside me; scared and lonely man sitting next to him, waiting for the first man to break. “Good. Ohhh gosh, I never suspected to be committing one either. It was so frightening, I kept having this small… no, big worry that it wasn’t gonna work at all.” “Father, if you want honesty, I could see it in your eyes.” “Oh.” We sat like that for a while when suddenly something sprang from my mouth. “I’m sorry, Father. I wouldn’t’ve wanted to put you through that.” It never occurred to me to tell him that it was also frightening to be in the position of having an exorcism performed on me, and I kind of regret it. It’s stupid to grasp on something like this, but I feel like maybe if I had said one thing that even related to these events, that it wouldn’t exactly not have happened, but would’ve had some change in the course of them. “It’s completely fine, Andy. I wanted to do it. Weird how we put pain on ourselves for the heck of it, isn’t it?” He turned his head toward me, and I noticed that his eyes had lost their salty red color. I was glad. When he realized I had no response, he said, “I’m going to hit it for tonight, Andy. God bless you, you’re going to need it. Tell me in the morning if it – the exorcism – worked.” I lay there in bed, coursing through what Father had said. Weird how we put pain on ourselves just for the heck of it, isn’t it? I didn’t understand it. I never put pain on myself for the heck of it. I never knew anybody that did, except maybe now Father. Or Thomas, I thought. And all at once, I felt like I understood. Maybe it didn’t make sense, but when you came right down to it, what about emotions made sense? Some of us shifted through them randomly every day, either caused by nothing or by a recent or distant action that you had made upon something or someone. The emotions came to hug you and squeeze you tight sometimes, and you were expected to sit tight and wear yourself through it. It’s unfair, and I understood that. Because if you’re hugged tight long enough by those unfair emotions, you just maybe get used to it. And when they go away, you welcome them back, because you know they’re going to come back. I also knew that I didn’t want Tommy to give up. That was simple, although I knew he may have already. It engraved terror into my head quickly, thinking that he may’ve been hugged for years and years by the sharp, prickly emotions that came with life. I covered my ears and groaned loudly. I put this thought past me and decided that maybe it wasn’t too late, maybe Thomas wasn’t far enough along so that he would never be able to get back. If he was willing to cooperate, I guessed that anything was possible. Now, laying here in a dark room, with my hand on my forehead, I felt depressed myself. I decided not to think anymore that night; just sleep. For the most part it worked, but I let the words of our Father sink in. Weird how we put pain on ourselves just for the heck of it, isn’t it? 3 That night a very short and vivid dream came to me. It was bright and vaguely informative, especially because what I dreamed of I hadn’t thought of in a million years. That itself made little sense to me, because I also knew that the things that were at the back of your mind came to the front to make an extra appearance. It was night, my feet were planted deep in the ground, and the Milky Way was spread above me in a million constellations and specks of light. When I first looked down I wanted to start running, screaming, flailing my arms about with fear. This idea took a turn when I realized, Where are you gonna go; you’re surrounded by it. I wanted to laugh, I wanted to cry, but neither seemed possible, for I was standing in the Land as White as Snow. I felt a dry twist somewhere inside my head, creating dull aches at both my temples, and I was forced to look up. I tried to fight the force, slowed it a little, gave into it. The realization that this was probably just a dream faltered my alarm, almost giving me a sense of power, the little I had of it. As my head fit its last turn upward, I threw my arms out and groaned loudly. As soon as I saw what was in front of me, very far in the distance, I stopped. I fought the recognition I had for the man… and lost. His face was pale, as dirty snow, he had a ragged beard, and long, brown hair that I could see even from this position that ran down to the midst of his back. The man opened his mouth and mouthed something: “Welcome.” My eyes came wide open to my dark room, startled with terror. I swallowed, putting my chin against my chest, and retched all over myself.
  15. To This Day

    I haven't teared this steadily at literature since The Fault in Our Stars and that was a long time ago. I love this. Thank you, Ven.
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