happymage

Catherine: I am Heathcliff. Heathcliff: No, I am Heathcliff. Catherine: No, I am. Look it says so right here in the book. Heathcliff: Hmm... that's odd, who wrote the book? Catherine: Someone called Emily Bronte Heathcliff: Don't know her. Do you? Catherine: Nope. Heathcliff: So how did Ms. Bronte describe me in the book? Catherine: Let's see... Well it says here that Heathcliff is the darkest character ever written about in English literature. Heathcliff: Since when are people judged based on skin colour! And anyways, my skins not that dark! Catherine: I think she meant dark as in evil... Heathcliff: Oh. I feel horribly stupid rig

Scene I: Living Room [Madam is sitting on a couch centerstage. White lights fade in to 100% when the music fades out.] Madam: (shrill, annoyed tone) ALFRED!… ALFRED!… ALFRED! [Alfred walks onstage towards the couch] Alfred: (frustrated) Yes Madam Poisson!? You DO NOT have to shout! I could hear you the first time! Madam: (furious) How dare you talk back to me! Alfred: I can do how I please! You aren't the one in charge around here! Madam: (soft, evil tone) As you know, [Stands] the master is not with us anymore… WHICH MEANS I AM IN CHARGE NOW! Alfred: (restrained anger) He is only dead because you killed him! Madam: You think so do y

(PERFORMER, wearing a shirt stained with blood, limps towards the BENCH on the stage, stage is brightly lit as some DEPRESSING FUNERAL MUSIC plays in the background.) PERFORMER: Hello. You must be wondering why my shirt seems to be stained with blood. Well don't worry it isn't blood... it's tomato sauce. (DEPRESSING FUNERAL MUSIC stops playing) You see a couple of minutes ago i was just run over by a very large truck, that just so happened to be transporting a fresh batch of tomato sauce to the supermarket. Oh and by the way, don't bother calling an ambulance, i will be dead soon anyway. I have been having the worst week of my life.

I rest on the warm, rusted sand. My body lays wasted. I think of my past, Reflect upon my life. Will i be remembered, or will i pass away in annonymity? I lay here alone on this dark, lonely beach. Left alone waiting for my soul to expire.

Paul P. Smotchberry seemed like a typically, successful, British man in his early twenties. He was a freelance photographer who was paid large sums of money for most of his work. He owned a large and chic flat near the British Museum, as well as, a brand new Mini Cooper, a classic 2003 Aston Martin Vanquish, & a popular digital art gallery near Leicester Square. However, once you got to know him, it really did not take long before you realised that Paul was a bit odd. Every fourteenth day of the month, Paul would do something people found really bizzare ­ he would look for a part of the sky that he hadn't seen before and would proceed to mar

The echos of WAR stain my mind. The innocents that will die. The murderers that won't cry. The souls that will never return. The echos of WAR stain my mind. The old saying comes to mind: FOLLOW THE LEADER OR QUESTION WHY?