Another Assignment.

Lol--this was fun, another assignment from Creative Writing.
It's supposed to be an argument between a guy and a girl, to try and display that sad little opposition, like how the guy states only facts, never feelings, and the girl is so indirect, it's almost painful... ya. :P this was fun.

*--just a side note, when I came up with names, I was listening to Radio/Video by SOAD. Ha... "Sweet danny and lisa... they take me away from... uhh uh uh..."



The Argument.

“Danny?”
Two friends out for a bite to eat at a local diner one rainy evenings looked up, the man with dark brown hair stopped stirring his drink with his straw when he heard his name called with a high, girlish voice of surprise. His friend—a woman with sandy hair—started with the same deer-in-the-headlights expression. They both looked up from their table, and stared with the same taken aback expression.
The woman who had just turned from the bar, holding a drink of her own in manicured nails, beamed pleasantly down at Danny, her smile bright and white, her burgundy hair full around her pretty face.
“Oh my God, Danny is that you?”
Daniel's jaw almost dropped—both in shock, and in his own too-good-to-be-true fortune.
“Joyce?”
He stood up, almost knocking the chair back off its feet, and pulled Joyce into a tight hug. His drinking-friend turned away, flushing red in the cheeks, and sipped her drink tersely, running a hand through her sandy hair.
Joyce was laughing ecstatic. “How have you been? I haven't seen you forever!”
Daniel pulled from his hug and held Joyce back to get a good look at her.
“I-I don't believe this—I thought you said you were going to New York?”
She beamed and shook her head, burgundy waves bouncing on her shoulders. “Turns out I'm needed back here.”
Her white teeth flashed brilliantly. Daniel smiled back brightly.
Daniel's sandy-haired friend stirred her drink awkwardly, down in her seat. She glanced up at them from beneath her eyebrows.
Joyce let out another laugh, then seemed to notice Daniel's friend she had not yet been introduced to yet. She withdrew from Daniel and smiled lightheartedly, holding out her hand.
“Hi, Joyce Redwood.”
The sandy-haired woman smiled half-halfheartedly, set down her drink heavily, and took her hand.
“Sorry, this is Lisa,” Daniel interjected, slightly flustered, still smiling. “Lisa, this is Joyce.”
Still shaking Lisa's hand, Joyce questioned innocently. “Oh, are you two...?”
Lisa was about to open her mouth, but Daniel interjected once again.
“We're friends from work.” He said it with a grin, and bent over to give Lisa a one armed hug around her shoulders.
“Nice to meet you, Lisa,” Joyce smiled brightly.
Lisa gave her half a smile, glancing at Daniel as he pulled away from her.
Joyce shifted enthusiastically from foot to foot, obviously too happy to stand still, and was about to say something else when a jingle came from her pocket.
“Oh!” She jumped and fumbled for her phone, looking into the caller I.D.
“Um...” She flashed white-toothed smiled at Daniel. “I'd better take this. Hey, nice to see you again Danny.” She was turning away, half way to opening her cell phone, when she added:
“Call me some time.”
She beamed one last time, then walked away.
Lisa stared with wide, exasperated eyes down at her drink as she stirred it slowly.
Daniel, still smiling, let out a deep breath then settled back down next to Lisa. He ran a flustered hand through his hair as he watched Joyce walk away, to the exit of the diner.
“Didn't think I'd run into her,” he laughed. Really, it was too good to be true.
Lisa gritted her teeth.
Just then, the waitress appeared with a platter of their orders—two toasted sandwiches.
They both thanked her as she set them down for them—Daniel, enthusiastically, Lisa, with a half smile that did not reach her eyes.
As Lisa stared at her sandwich, Daniel dug in, unable to keep the smile off his face. He was almost laughing to himself.
About four bites in, Daniel finally looked up, chewing lightheartedly, to look at his friend.
His face half fell. In mid laugh, seeing Lisa poke moodily at her sandwich, he asked:
“What's wrong with you?”
Lisa's eyes flicked up and narrowed. “Nothing.”
Daniel lost the enthusiasm in his chewing. He set his sandwich down and withdrew, sitting up straighter. Napkin wiping his jaw, he questioned nonchalantly, “Did they screw up your sandwich?”
Lisa snorted in disgust and sat back roughly in her chair.
“No they didn't screw up my sandwich!” she snapped back.
Daniel lifted his eyebrows, taken aback. “Then... your drink—”
Lisa slammed a hand to the table and got to her feet, her chair rocking back loudly.
“You're unbelievable!”
Daniel was in mid-chew, staring up at her in shock, as she stormed out the diner.
He blinked once before scrambling to leave the money on the table, along with his half eaten sandwich, and sprint after her.
“Hey!” he yelled after her, pulling his collar around his head as he ran down the bleak, rainy street, Lisa five sidewalk squares ahead of him. She stomped onward, with crossed arms, and ignored him furiously.
“Hey! Lisa, wait up!”
Daniel caught up with her, brown hair sopping with rain-droplets.
“What's wrong with you?” he panted, hurrying to keep up.
Lisa wheeled, furious. “What's wrong with me? You don't even know!”
Daniel, attempting to pull his collar up further up over his head, nodded and answered, “You're right, I don't.”
Lisa looked him up and down in disgust. “Ugh!” She turned on her heel, and stormed off into the rain again.
“Hey! Oh, come on, Lisa, let's get out of this rain!” He ran after her.
Exasperated, throwing her head back to the pouring sky, her sandy hair now a deep brown, turned and walked backwards, shouting, “Did you ever think, just once, how I feel?!”
Daniel panted to keep up with her, rain dripping from his nose. “Ya, all the time!”
“No!” Lisa stopped dead, Daniel almost ran into her. Infuriated, she jabbed him into the chest with her forefinger.
“No you don't!” She shoved him back a step. “You don't—because if you did, you wouldn't have been such an idiot back there!”
Daniel stared at her like she was being possessed. She glowered up at him, ignoring the rain cascading into her eyes.
She shook her head in exasperated disbelief, clenching her jaw, when his expression didn't change from complete confusion.
She took a deep breath and added in a quiet, malicious mutter. “You should think on that.”
She then turned. But Daniel caught her by the arm.
“Enough walking away, alright?” he pleaded. “I'm done chasing you.”
Lisa looked at his arm, biting her lip. She was glad it was raining.
“You have been for some time, haven't you.”
Daniel let out a breath of exasperation. “What's gotten into you?! Lately you've been.... It's like we can't go out to eat without it turning into a huge fight.”
Lisa narrowed her eyes up at him. She shook her head.
“I still can't believe you haven't figured it out yet.”
Daniel sighed and scrutinized her, his brow furrowing in concern. Rain streamed down the fringes of his hair.
“It's Joyce, isn't it.”
Lisa looked down, shaking her head. “Your ex....” she growled moodily.
“Not ex,” Daniel pointed out in a matter of fact way. “She just got back from out of town.”
He couldn't help a smile spread across his face.
Lisa caught it out of the corner of her eye. She looked up, her expression tainting again in disgust. She shook her head furiously. “Ugh!”
She yanked away from his grip, Daniel caught off guard, and stormed off again.
He let out another breath of exasperation, letting his head fall back as she stomped away down the street. “Lisa, come on....”
She didn't look back.
“Lisa!”
She kept walking, arms folding around herself as the rain beat down on her.
He threw out his hands in frustration.
“Why do you even care?!”

To Danielle.... :)

So dani! Today in creative writing today we had an exercise of character development and perspective! We were told to write about an incident that seemed like such a big deal to you when you were a little kid.... and show how when you think about it now, it seems a little ridiculous and dramatic. :P
But when I wrote it, it kinda made me feel like there was more than just vain little kid crap in it. :) I feel like it was probably the biggest turning point that spun me in a new direction... even if it was... 3rd grade. :P hehe....


To my best friend.
:)


(True Story)

It was third grade.
The worst year of my childhood.
I had only one friend. A 'best' friend.
Apparently the meaning of that statement was unknown to me at that time.
That 'best' friend influenced me like nothing I understood.... not until much much later.
I was timid, I was shy, I was easily influenced as a little 3rd grader. And that certain 'best' friend--only friend--took advantage of that fact.
I was her sidekick.
She pushed me around and told me to say and do things I didn't think to refuse; like repeat insults to the other girls, like how to say swear words, and how to turn up my nose.
She even taught me to glare.
You know that way you narrow your eyes? Yea--just like that.

Now my sister was in a different class, with different friends.
Every time she saw me during recess she never missed a chance to tell me to stop being mean to her friends.
Yes. I was the evil twin.
She was a good big-sister-by-three-minutes. She invited me to go play with her during recess.
I itched to go--I knew what I was doing was wrong, I didn't want enemies. I wanted more friends...
Not just one.
But that one 'best' friend... she told me if I went, she wouldn't be my friend anymore.
I was scared to lose my only friend.
So I didn't go.

Third grade went on.
And the day came when my 'best' friend drew the line.
She said something. Something bad.
The teacher heard.
And she pointed her finger at me.

Now, looking back on the incident, what she said wasn't even that big of a deal. All she said was "So and so is the worst teacher in the world!"
So what? It was her opinion. (And my opinion too. Still is.) That teacher scared the living daylights out of me.
For good reason.
I got in big trouble.
That was my worst nightmare as a little third grader.
She yelled at me out in the hall. Everyone in class could hear--including my 'best' friend.
It traumatized me.
It was horrible.
I'd never been yelled at like that before.
After my lecture--eyes red, short little gasps sucking through puffy lips--I thought at the time I'd never be able to get over it. Every time I even thought of it my heart would skip a beat and my insides would flush hot, a mixture of shame and chagrin.
But now I grin back at the memory.
Because of that incident, I've stayed with a much more respectful group of friends.
I took a turn at a very early age.
I was spun in the right direction.

That day I went to recess and I found a single girl.
She was crying alone.
She was just like me.
I sat down next to her, as blunt as ever...
And just said "Hi."

That girl moved away in 4th grade.
We still see each other almost every weekend.




LoVe YoU
DaNi C

YoU TaUgHt Me ThE ReAl MeAnIng
Of A BeSt FrIeNd.

The Suspense...oh man, the suspense.... KATIEs HORROR STORY! :D

Halloween project... read it. :) Hey, do you know Dewey Bluth? That park? Ya. This is real.

:P

Oh, and don't forget to comment. :D

Passed Possession

It was past 3 am.

The yellow florescent lights lining the ceiling of the Trax-train shone dimly from the glossy, black window, obscuring Madelyn's ghostly reflection. Her pale skin seemed translucent against the night outside as the seemingly empty blackness tracked by. Her eyes looked only to be void irises as she stared at herself, though she was hardly repulsed by her reflection—she felt tired enough that it made sense that her eyes would look so empty. Tonight was her first night-shift at work downtown. Now she just wanted to go back to her apartment and sleep.

Madelyn was the very last person left on Trax—her seat the only one not vacant. The only thing keeping her awake was the occasional jolting as the train swayed back and forth as it took a gradual turn.

As her station—the very last one—finally drew closer, Madelyn groaned and readied her bag, promising herself that after her night-shift had expired, she would never accept another ever again. The monotone voice broke over the speakers, and Trax slowed. Madelyn got to her feet and stretched.

The train lurched to a stop; Madelyn had already stumbled to the automatic door, rubbing her eyes. The doors slid open,a gust of autumn air blew at Madelyn's face as she stepped out into the dimly lit, dreary Trax station. She shivered and tugged her jacket tighter around herself, dipping her head against he frigid wind.

Leaving her completely alone, Trax closed its doors once more and took off the opposite direction, almost sluggishly, unwilling to bellow through the dreary, night. Madelyn took no time to watch it leave—she had already set out from beneath the florescent-lit station, the biting air urging her into a brisk walk. The wind was still acting up, tossing her hair around in separate wild strands, out from beneath her hood. The florescents flickered as she pushed from the glass station, as if beckoning her to come back.

Madelyn cursed herself for choosing to ride her bike. Saving a buck of gas was not worth freezing to death pedaling all the way back to her apartment. And it was pitch black.

Her bike was chained to a tree in the park behind the station. She dug in her bag for her lock key, her teeth chattering as she bustled up the grassy slope. She was walking with her head down, swearing when her frozen fingers couldn't find the key. She didn't take notice of the vacant, bleak little playground as it emerged in sight over the hill, with its faded plastic coloring, twisty slide, monkey bars, and its rustic old swings, which swayed and squeaked in the wind. As she paused to rummage furiously in her bag, she stopped directly in front of the slide with the orange plastic covering—the one enclosed in a cylinder, like a tube, like a tunnel. Her legs could be seen through the dark hole, which in more lighthearted hours, children could be seen clambering in and out of, laughing while maybe playing a game of tag. But, with the wind billowing and howling as it whooshed through the dark tunnel of the round, orange slide, no child—of their right mind—would want to climb into that pitch black hole.

Madelyn, hearing the eerie monotone howl of air blow through the abandoned slide, felt an involuntary, unnerved chill shudder down her spine. The air became inexplicably colder at that moment; the shadows of the monkey bars seemed to cast a morbid omen across the whole playground, and the rusty-chained swings swung and rattled with even more fervor. She let out an urgent hiss through clenched teeth when she finally grasped her bike key.

When she looked up, without explicable reason, she caught something out of the corner of her eye. She had barley taken half a step before stopping dead, her spine gone stiff.

She stared straight ahead without blinking, her heart jolting into a sudden frenzy. There—she had sworn she had seen it—in the black mouth of the playground slide—had been....

Her breathing elevated rapidly. She froze on the spot, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. But, even though she had seen it, nothing happened.

She stood there in a fit of shock for a long moment. Her terror simmered down, though not enough to stem the surge of nerves. Her bones thawed from their locked position, though she did not relax.

Her head turned. She stared at the slide.

She swore to herself that if there was even one noise, one hint of movement, any indication that something was in there, then she was gone.

So, Madelyn, pulsing with a rush of adrenaline, hair billowing around her stricken face, heart hammering into her ribs, slowly, slowly, bent to look inside.

She saw nothing but black. She squinted.

Then she blinked.

A sharp breath escaped her lips.

She swore she saw it—a shadow had shifted, at the end, the top, a shape, flitting out of view.

Breath rapid and shaky, Madelyn stood up and looked over the top of the slide, to the height of the platform, expecting it to be staring straight at her. But there was nothing there.

Her heart was beating into her lungs. She backed away, stricken in a new panic, and turned on her heal, to break into a run, but stopped dead with a yelp, a hand flying to her chest. But Madelyn blinked again, and what she had seen, sitting on the bench, had vanished.

Panic was now bursting from her heart. She lurched into a run and scrambled with her bike chain, her fingers too shaky to turn the key. She kept checking over her should, at the shadows of the playground, and the slide, and the bench, finally yanking the chain from the bike's wheels. She threw her bike onto the road and clambered onto the seat, trying to control her breathing.

“Paranoid, paranoid, paranoid!” she screamed in her mind.

Holding her breath, as if to give herself one last chance to prove herself wrong, Madelyn looked once more over her shoulder, gripping the handlebars fearfully.

Her eyes bulged wide.

There was definitely something—someone, a small girl, with a mass of tangled dark hair—sitting at the edge of the slide. Watching her.
Madelyn's blood drained from her face.

The girl smiled, then withdrew with pale, twitching, spidery limbs, back into the slide.

*************

“Why is there never any milk?!”

Madelyn slammed the refrigerator door shut, cursing to herself hysterically yet again that night, her teeth still chattering from the crisp air that had followed her through her apartment. She threw the nestle hot chocolate packet on the counter and stomped over to the sink. Her pet goldfish's buggy eyes followed her across the small kitchen from where he floated in his bowl.

Madelyn was both panicking and fuming with herself as she filled a mug with water from the tap and set it in the microwave. One, because her hot cocoa wasn't going to taste as creamy as it would with milk. Two, she was freezing. Three, she was stupid enough to ride her bike to the Trax station that afternoon, and four, she was practically going insane with what she had seen back at the creepy playground.

“Oh and five,” she added in a high, erratic cry, turning to her goldfish where he watched her, his fins undulating in the water as she stirred the hot-cocoa with a spoon. “I'm tired. After this week, never take another night-shift, got that Fruitcake? Don't let me take another night-shift! And don't let me ride my bike tomorrow either!”

Upon sipping her hot-cocoa, and bundling up in a thick blanket, Madelyn then plopped down shakily on her sofa and flipped on the news. It was as if she refused to acknowledge what she had seen back at the park as she stared with wide eyes at the T.V. She fell asleep just moments after the breaking news from the last afternoon had begun to replay, though as her denial was only enough to allow her a fitful sleep. She stirred, groaning, as the reporter's voice droned distantly to her ears...

“Today was full of remorse and alarm when two incidences at the downtown Trax-station occurred within the same hour this morning. Jonathon Partridge, 32, died today when he stepped in front of a departing train. Incident under investigation, though the most apparent reason is suicide.... And not too long after, a panicked father issued a missing child report—six year old, Lucy Baker—is about three feet tall with long, brown hair. Lucy was last seen at 11:00 at the downtown Trax station....”

***********

It was precisely 3:09 a.m—she counted the minutes—when Madelyn clambered off the train and started off at a hurried walk, to the park where she had parked her car.

Climbing over the grassy hill, once more, only this time clutching her car keys, Madelyn stared wide-eyed at the playground, practically running past it. The night was different than the last; it was still, the rusty swings were as still as stone. Completely silent. No wind, no sounds. Just darkness, and shadows, and frigid, biting cold.

The mouth of the slide seemed to suck at the air around her as if to swallow the very night.

Madelyn ran past it, heart practically jumping from her throat, and threw her car door ajar, only to collapse behind the wheel and slam it back shut. the still silence of the night—which seemed to be trilling with its own shrillness—was cut off from sound, exempting Madelyn's shallow gasps of air. She clutched with white knuckles at the steering wheel with one hand, while the other held the key.

Her car was directly facing the black mouth of the slide.

Without starting the car, Madelyn only stared. Stared into the looming darkness before her.

Paranoid, paranoid, paranoid...

Her breath then turned icy in her throat.

It was undeniable that she saw it. This time, she didn't blink, she couldn't blink. Out of the shadows, a shape emerged from beneath the slide and crept up the playground steps, to very top.

Madelyn's nerve shattered into panic. She jammed the key in ignition. The headlights streamed over the playground, right through the mouth of the slide.

She screamed. A gust of wind exploded from the slide, jolting the two rusty swings into a rattling, violent torrent, and blew all the way through the glass window of Madelyn's windshield.

There, inside, enveloped in the glowing, illuminated red shadows, was the crouched, smiling form of the pale, sickly girl.

The wheels screeched on the pavement as Madelyn lurched backwards and spun into gear, turning the steering wheel as fast as she could.

Madelyn was stricken in tears and hyperventilation—beyond panic—as she sped back to her apartment, the shadows of the road jumping out at her from every direction. She refused to look behind her after she'd almost crashed when she'd though she glimpsed a shadow of something through her rear mirror, sitting in the back seat.

But what she didn't' see—or wouldn't—was a small, stretching shadow, crawling beneath her very own seat.

Madelyn crashed through her apartment door, slamming the chain in place, and ran to the refrigerator. She was soaking in cold, clammy sweat, and tears streaking her checks, she threw a tub of mint chocolate ice cream on the kitchen counter, next to Fruitcake, and started shoveling it into a bowl. A bead of cold sweat slid down her neck; she let out a breathy sob and tore her jacket off.

As it fell to the kitchen floor in a heap, Madelyn shivered on the spot with her eyes squeezed shut. She cupped the ice-cream bowl in both hands.

Paranoid, paranoid, paranoid....

Why did she have to be so alone?

With a deep, tearful breath, Madelyn opened her eyes and looked down.

Fruitcake was staring attentively at her, his fins undulating back and forth, up and down, like they always did.

She smiled through tears. “Hey, Fruitcake...”

Somehow, her shoulders found a way to relax. She set the ice-cream down with a small clunk, and looked around at her apartment.

She refused to let panic take control of her. Everything was fine, she was seeing things, she hadn't slept well since Monday, it wasn't real.

Madelyn set the bowl of ice cream next to Fruitcake and bent down to pickup her jacket. Whenever she got upset, she would shove her favorite jacket in the dryer and warm it up for comfort. That sounded nice—to curl up on the couch with her favorite, warm jacket, and watch a Disney movie...

Fruitcake watched her as she bent down to throw her jacket in the dryer, and set the timer for five minutes. She then walked back to crumble a few flakes of fish food at the surface of his bowl. Fruitcake ignored his food and instead watched Madelyn scoop spoonfuls of ice cream into her mouth.

The timer beeped.

Madelyn set the ice cream down again. She strode to the dryer. Without thinking twice, she pulled the latch.

She then let out a blood-curdling scream.

There, among the tangles of her jacket, were the dead limbs and mangled corpse of the pale, sickly, grinning girl.

Her dead, black eyes snapped open.

With a strangled scream, Madelyn was thrown back in a tremendous gust of wind. Her head cracked against the back wall.

******

Outside the laundry room, Fruitcake leapt from his fishbowl. He flopped onto the kitchen counter and floundered weakly in the smallest of puddles, suffocating in nothing but air.

There in the puddle next to the half-eaten ice cream bowl, Fruitcake's gills flapped hopelessly, his tiny sides heaving, as the laundry door creaked slowly open.

A tall form sauntered meekly from the frame, her brow darkened, her mouth curled into a crooked, sick sneer. Her long, light brown hair was dripping with something scarlet in the back of her scalp, from the gaping gash, revealing an ivory paleness that was her exposed skull.

Behind her, half of Lucy Baker's frail little corpse was hanging out of the dryer, arms outstretched to the floor, hands crooked and wicked, like dead spiders. Her eyes were now empty of everything except death.

Fruitcake's round little mouth gasped for relief from his asphyxiation, his buggy eyes staring up at Madalyn as if begging for her to put him back in his bowl.

But Madalyn, now no longer Madalyn, smirked down at dying Fruitcake.

The possession was black in her eyes, seeing death as bliss. The possession that had captured that man who had witnessed it's first suicide, then craved a release, to feel that death again—that violent, rapid death—had thrown itself before that hurtling train. Then the girl that had seen it—she hadn't seen death before, but had she ever felt it. In the end.

There was no end to death, not yet, not for this possession. So as the goldfish took it's final pathetic heave, the smirking Madalyn turned slowly away, and faced the curtains where the balcony was.

Hurtling, rapid, violent, bliss, death.

The curtains blew open. She loomed over the balcony railing.

Her eyes stayed wide open. They watched, and remained watching, even after the ground whooshed up, and crunched through her skull.

*********************************

Ponder the Concept of the Ione....And maybe Iris.

(Just somethings I wrote today; sort of a way of brainstorming/being creative.)

"Ione."
The concept to me was perplexing. I didn't know who or what "Ione" was. Not the slightest clue.
I was too afraid to ask anyone, for any time the subject came to mind--any mind--emotions clouded and stormed over with remorse, apprehension, dread, and some sort of fear.
Fear. What could possible scare these people? These people of power, of prestige...
And if it scared these people, then it most definitely scared me. I didn't want to feel their dread, or remorse, or fear.
"Ione" to me, felt like a poison.
A poison that spidered and spread among the vast entities of overlapping minds. A poison that meant something... Something bad, something dreaded, something dire...
"Ione" meant something was coming.

*****

Iris

She'd never thought for herself. And thinking for herself--even the thought of thinking for herself-was the foremost, most terrifying idea that could taint her reverence.
There was the thought of killing.
There was the thought of stealing.
And there was the thought--that went right along with "killing"--of passing that black, bloody judgment to those who dared to oppose the Hand, to those who, in fact, chose to defy the indefeasible, the supreme. The crucifer.
All those thoughts were not terrible. Not as terrible as the first thought.
The blood was necessary. It was apart of what she'd chosen--her first and only choice--to be.
But the thought of thinking. The choice of choosing. That was what scared her the most. And the fact that she was thinking--actually thinking--to defy that final judgment terrified her. She had made a choice--once and only once before--and the result of that choice...
The blood, the betrayal.
The loss.
The thought of defying that Hand.
She wished she'd never made that first choice.
What should she chose now?

:D Brainstorming for Novilla

K, so, in case you haven't heard, I have to write a Novilla ( short novel ) for creative writing. :D :D
:D

And Cami... Bliss Cami... gave me a SWEET idea!

:D :D :D

K, I'm not going to say much, but I'm going to use my new "Blank Page" and write down my brainstorming today!


*********

Oh man, I'm going to love writing this one; out of everything I've written, this one is going to be with the most adult characters. Dark--I mean really dark--too. Scary dark, bloody dark... Oh man... XD

K, CRUCIFER!! Crucifer... yes yes, he's the one; perfect name for the Black Hand Prestige :D
"It is my calling--and only mine--to crucify!"
"The hand of judgment is not yours! Not gods! But mine! Only I will crucify!"

.....................

Iris... Iris, isn't that a catchy name? Yes, yes.... I think so. That's HER name. :D :D
Which used to be Irina, which meant "peace." To bad now.....

DAMIAN!! ah, reminds me of Damon, but NOT! The hand names him that--"to tame."
His old name--Daniel. "God is my judge."

"Only God is my Judge."