Owls, swarming around my head, wet paint touching my face, orange bees, slashing at my pale skin. I ran. My foot slipped, on a patch of wet paint, my brown ruffled skirt was torn, and covered in green slime. I grabbed my knife, cutting by beautiful skirt off, so I could run faster. I went into a painting I recognized well. Too well. I had unfond memories of this one.

Sorry, it's so short! Anonymous  1, are you S.E.? Anonymous 100, are you Rose Bud?

Can someone guess who I am through my writing?

Um, not gonna guess right now, but cool, here's mine:

When I arrive at the train station I can tell there's been a mistake. It reeks of old tuna and dirty armpits (sorry only thing I could think of). There are rats scuttling around and the ticket master is wearing rags. I feel out of place in my flowing blue gown and glass slippers.

"Um, I need a train ticket to Lurania," I tell the ticket master. "I can't find anywhere else that had them and they said you did."
"That's right, Princess," he says. It takes me a minute to realize-how did he know? I'm not wearing my crown, or my earrings, or my classic hairstyle. I'm not wearing orange and nt wearing my necklace.

The ticket master notices and winks. "This is a special place, sweetheart. We know a lot of things... not minding the outward appearance."
I blush as I realize I've been wrinkling my nose. He hands me the tickets and I give him the money, then I go to the waiting room.

Old dump, I think, before catching myself. Don'tmind the outward appearance. I show the guy at the booth my ticket and he gestures to a seat. I sit next to a old woman in rags and a man holding a hat with two coins in it.

My money pouch feels heavy, and I try to keep it from clinking as I sit down. They notice, though. Then I realize what I need to do.

Never mind that dumb prince. He has plenty of money. I slice open my bag and seperate the money into two equal piles. So much. I hand the money to them.

"Please share it with your friends," I tell them. They're sobbing and clutching the bottom of my dress in thanks. My face feels hot and I excuse myself.

My train comes, I board, and I never come back.

Anonymoose, I'm not guessing you, but that was a really good small text! ^.^

Please guess me! My writing is on the first page.

You guys already guessed my real name! It is Abigail C. I used that before I made up my pen name. So you don't have to keep guessing. You can guess what my pen name is though!

Um, I'll write a poem. You guys try to guess!

The landscape is painted with a brush of white,

While the windows shimmer with candle light.

The light leaves shadows upon the snow bright,

And they dance and glide, all through the night.

The homes smell like ginger, apples and pine,

As family comes and babies whine.

The fireplace crackles and the ornaments shine,

While the table is set, people ready to dine.

In the air is cheer,

Christmas time is here.

Have fun!

Brown eyes. Colored in blood.

Is this me?

Yes, it is.

But it doesn't look like me...

Nothing is what it seems...

How can I trust you?

You can't.

Who are you?

...I'm YOU.

I don't trust... Myself?

No. You do. But you don't trust me.

But You're me? Why am I so confused? I know I shouldn't.

You aren't confused. You understand. That's why you don't understand.

I'm you.

I'm you. 

This was a cool idea, whoever thought of this! This is a story that I technically didn't start yet... Well, I'm starting it now!

The room was musty, air heavy with grieving, sorrow, and tears. Many another girl had knealt at this bedside, holding the icy hand of their own dying mother. She laid there, brown hair gray in the moonlight from spiderweb-laden window. Lucia's sobs echoed in the emptyness, all the other beings still as stone, seemingly lifeless as her mother. Her usually bright face was streaked with tears that her mother could no longer cry, that her cold-hearted relatives were too creul to let show. Lucia spun around, hand still on her mother's, soft brown eyes overflowing.

"You never let me say goodbye to her! You lied to me, told me everything was going to be alright. You kept me away, and now she's gone!" She started sobbing again, burrowing her head in her mother's blankets.

"I always knew she would do something stupid and die young. It must've been that little... Wretch she married. He was the wrong type," the aunt whispered, slyly taking another step away from her sister.

"What did you say?" Lucia shrieked, snaking over to her aunt. Lucia's hand rose, tear-soaked from crying. She brought it up, up, then swung it at her aunt. The aunt's skin was warm and dry, as if she had never cried in her life. "I hate you!" Lucia screamed. "My parents are both dead! You just stand there, you don't shead a tear for your sister! You won't put flowers by my mother's grave, just like you said you wouldn't for father if he'd ever been found!" Anger mixed with the grief, so strong that Lucia couldn't hold herself back. She just stood there, face in her hands, sobbing. Before her, the aunt froze.

The brass chandelier came down fast, missing the aunt by inches. Little glass crystals shattered on the oak wood floor, sending little shardes in every direction. The sound was spectacular, ringing of glass and metal on wood mingling with the screaming of the relatives, each terrified in their own right. Lucia stood there, listening to the sound, the aftermath of her outburst. She started sobbing again when the aunt's shrill screech died into open-mouthed scilence. Her power was coming back again, and there was nothing Lucia could do to hold it off this time.

Lucia ran back to her mother, still crying, and knealt again, careful not to touch the bed. She reached out with her third hand, one full of strengh but invisible to the human eye; her magical hand. She groped through the grimy blankets, power surging through her. Finally she found the cold, clammy wrist of her mother, skin pulled tight around prominent bones. She lifted, and her mother's pale arm rose above the blankets, quivering. The hand was limp, and Lucia produced another strand of energy.

This was not the first time Lucia had tried to make somebody speak, but she hadn't tried in five years, since she had first discovered her power. The energy slithered to her mother's soft face, warm eyes closed. Her mother's mouth opened, and her voice, soft, rasping, pierced the silence.

"Lucia..."

To hear her own name was enough, enough to convince her that har mother really had loved her, really cared. The relatives fled the room, each yelling something about the dead, witchcraft, trickery. Lucia stayed where she was and her mother's hand fell limp, a plume of dust rising from the quilt where her mother's hand had landed. 

Lucia looked around, eyes narrowed with sadness and fury. A shadow fell across the room, and the man flitted away from the window just as Lucia spun to face him. His pale skin had signs of scars, and his eyes looked flooded with tears... Permant... Black... Tears.

Yay... So I'm not sure if this is my best writing or not! While I'm at it, do you like it? Any constructive critiques?