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VocaFanfiction chapter 1eve I got motivation. Thanks, Riji (since you said to call you that xD)!
Well today was the day we went to Vocatown. Master just needed to attach our voices to our bodies. I grabbed my first aid kit, the only thing I needed.
"come on!" calked Paiko as she pulled on my wrist bandages. We left the empty pink and gray room forever.
I tightened my sandal straps. Zel ran around the room waving his arms around like the crazedloid he was. I simply sighed and boarded the bus. I sat at the front, as far away from the lusty Gordon as possible. Annabelle pulling a passed out drunk Sunny behind her to Gordon. Sel seemed to get a grip on Zel as the two faced sat down next to the blushing Noka who fiddled with her eyepatch. Edge sat next to me and sighed.
"Hard work, eh?" I asked.
"You have no idea. I have to put up with those two." he said motioning to Zel/Sel and Gordon. The bags under his eyes standing out again his white skin. A fresh wound seeping blood against his lab co
SEQUENCE ONE...So I was thinking and I sorta decided to make a whole bunch of shorts or even one shots with my UTAU and vocaloid songs until I get creative. ^^
Sooo~ first will be something.... *gets on YouTube* Mkay.... I don't know half these songs and I don't feel like making just be friends or magnet. so I'll just make Rolling Girl.
...//Rolling girl: //...
/SET ONE:. BEGIN/
Before Master put Edge in charge we had chaos. Poor little Paiko, she was constantly bullied. But to me she seemed to let things |roll| off her shoulders. Being the youngest in a family is hard. Even a crazedloid like me knows that. When Paiko was down the 'twins' would always be there...
...And she continues to roll today...
...//Rolling Girl: //...
/SET ONE:. END/
Inspector Wolf The old lady was dead. I could smell it before I even got into the house. The whole place reeked of adrenaline, sweat, fear, copper and steel. He’d dropped her right in her living room. Chopped and chopped until she stopped moving. But I could tell I was getting close. This had been done in a hurry, and the killer didn’t have the time to clean up after himself like he usually did.
Across the room, the phone rang. The shrill sound set my teeth to grinding, but I ignored it. Instead I followed the killer’s bloody footprints into the back bedroom. He’d climbed out the window. If I hurried, I could catch up to him and end this disgusting spree he was on.
Then the answering machine kicked in. “Hi, Gramma! It’s Red. Sorry I’m running late. I kind of lost track of time. But don’t worry. I packed the picnic and I’m heading out the door right now. Love you.”
She’d been expec
The TrundlerThe waste land behind the fire station is always silent. No birds sing there, and even the wild rabbits and feral cats avoid it. Weedy wildflowers nod their seasonal heads in the breeze. Lying fallow in the midst of housing developments, shopping malls, the new movie theater — the vacant lot stands out like a knife wound on a woman’s placid face, shocking, brazen, ugly.
It is always empty. Except for one thing: a ragged heap of old trash, all nasty black tar paper and vicious snarls of rusted wire, car parts and broken glass and other junkyard jetsam. The embodiment of injury waiting to happen, an invitation to a tetanus shot... the city never hauled it away. No one ever wants anywhere near it; it radiates an eerie sense of calculating watchfulness.
And at night, it wanders.
When darkness falls, and the last cars heading into the hives of tract housing stop illuminating the asphalt with moving-picture shadows, it… unfolds. Bitter, broken tangles, grotesquely mov
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