Yeah, so I'm new. You can check out my userinfo for information about me. I figure I should post a poem/prose.
Tip-Toe Slowly, sibling:
She tipped over the long way down, and stared below at the cold ground where the body lay.
"Dear, dear, dear. You've seemed to have taken a fall. Well then, we'll just have to clean you up and dress you up for the grand old ball."
Below lay a meadow of tampered poisoned blood, amoung it lay a weary woman. Cold from head down. She was kicked off, maybe even pushed. But who could tell?Not a sould was around.
"What did you say? You don't remember the ball!? Well of course my dear friend we planned this a while ago. Don't you ever so remember when I shouted out my bad little intentions? How you called out to the screaming police and I laughed in your laughter. Oh why little sister, how you've become so naive."
And in the blood come a small little moan, the woman. Still breathing but not for very long.
"Now then, don't speak! I'll come down and help you. Don't you dare make a peep."
For in a moment after the shout a small woman raced down the stairs. With one battered hit to the head, her sister was dead. Some say it was an accident and others say it was planned all too well. I spoke to the woman who killed her sister, sick little twit she was.
By Michelle Lipori
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