PuertoWolf

1. Gundam wing: frozen teardrop the seven novel series. YAYA another Duo is born! Heero got frozen, Trowa gets like silver hair, and they put boobs on Quatre( its his clone ) 

2. On eBay I found Deathscythe hell Custom for $9.00 OMG GONNA GET IT

Cuts

Whatever you want to call them; all they do is evil.

knifes

blades

Whatever it is; all they cause is harm.

Sobs

Tears

Whatever you see; all they represent is sorrow.

Enemies

foes

whoever they are; they just want to pull you down

Cut

Slice

Whatever you do; the effect is always blood.

When the knife comes crashing down; the screams wont be heard aloud.

When you cry on the inside full of fears; no one will notice just because there are no tears.

When you hide salty tears in the shower; you'll never see your real power.

When you push away you bros; all you do is make more foes.

When you scream and no one comes; it doesn't mean your life is done.

Today nineteen year old Zillah rested upon a large glacial rock on the sides of the great mountain. It was early August so the cool stone surface felt good on her hot simmering skin. She lay there many nights after warrior training classes. It was a great mental relief for she was the only girl in the school. The boys teased, poked, and proded at her nerves in the season early on, but once she showed them what she could do with a mere knife they quieted in awe. She was an artist of any weapon gracefully keeping her paintbrush on its toes as she twirled a dance of blood and honor. The men started to warm up to her, and started to treat her like a soldier and friend than a small girl to flirt and joke with. The village girls her age had other thoughts about Zillah.

They spent most of their days of gossiping snickering about her. About how she dressed in battle armor. Of how Zillah was such a tiny warrior the guys were only taking pity on her. They snitched about her dirty dreadful looking skin and how she would never get any man to mate with looking like an old beaten rug. Only few though were brave enough to slander her in front of her face. Most of the girls worried about her muscular tone clobbering them like some wild animal. Others thought she was a Carthaginian in disguise ready to attack. Most of thought she was an old regretful man ready to pounce every time she could. The worst one was that Zillah had scythes for hands and that she covered them with her sleek charcoal gray gloves; that was how she supposedly took on ten Carthaginians with only her "hands". But the talk was all rumor and no one except the girls her age seemed to believe it. Some only believed it in fear if they didn't they would not be prepared for when Zillah attacked them.

"Where are you going to?" spatted one of the girls to Zillah. Zillah raised her eyebrows in surprise. Where else would she be going beside combat training.

"Oh, you know, I'm out to get my filling of blood." Zillah bared her teeth which were stained with blood from the lamb she was eating. The girl screamed and fled yelling for her father. Zillah giggled at the little joke as she lay on the rocks now looking into the dusk sky. Of course she had to explain to her father and the girl's, but it worried her no more than the thought of death by now. Beautiful pinks, crimson red, and radiant oranges were drowning the sky at this time as the golden sun made its decent down to Earth. Clouds whisked away from the beautiful scene blending into the colors until they were no more. Zillah propped herself up and jumped to her feet. It was time to go home. She brushed up against the little green hairs poking from the Earth and thought to herself: The world isn't growing better, yet it is not growing worse; it's just turning as usual. She thought of the girl, then she thought of how the war never came. Thoughts were always spiraling in Zillah's mind. What she lacked in size she covered up with skill and speed. Her train of thought made her a skilled soldier and a quick learner. She then jogged home.

The house was dimly lit upon arrival. Her brothers were at the entrance waiting for Zillah. One leaned against the wall and one sat cross legged on the dirt floor. Zillah was confused but she dared not speak and interrupt the disturbing silence. One of the brothers took her hand and led her away. Past the common room and to the hall they went. The older boy cocked his head to the door of their parent's bedroom. The door was slightly parted open. Cautiously Zillah peered in. What she saw both horrified and befuddled her. It was her father and her mother. Tembo was crouched down cradling their mother in his arms. She didn't seem hurt or dead. She wasn't bloody or bruised. Her eyes shifted to the state of the room. It was in shambles. Cloth torn and stripped from its place. Furniture thrashed around; small chunks of splintered wood scattered like someone had robbed only that room. Zillah reluctantly pulled her gaze from the scene. She stepped back into the common room where her brothers were waiting. 

"What's going on?" she whispered to the two of them. They themselves looked confused and shocked, but they were home before she was so they must know something. 

"Mom went berserk." the younger one spoke up after a long silence. "Well..." he was unsure about his wording. All of them knew that their mother was a calm woman. There had to be some sort of enraging motive to drive her, as Zillah's brother said berserk.

"Don't listen to him." her eldest brother told her.

"Why are you two here?" asked Zillah. Both her brothers were married and the eldest with kids. 

"We saw sis in the streets running." Then youngest said. 'She was running like she was escaping and we couldn't keep up with her." Zillah didn't even know her older sister wasn't here. Well she wasn't that much older; only by one year. Her older sister was always causing trouble in the family. Getting into fights with their parents, stealing, she hadn't even moved out yet. The only reason Zillah was here was because she was in warrior training and her father was helping her along with that.

"Well." started the eldest brother. " Sissy was just sitting around the house," 

"Like normal." the other one interrupted.

"Hush." scorned the older one. "Mom was nagging her about how she never did anything and to be more like you; active."

"More like me!" Zillah was astounded. Her mother hated her tom boy attitude and combat training.

"Like you because yo do things." he continued. "Well that was exactly how sis responded that you were nothing but a wretched warrior boy." Zillah's lifted her eyebrows." Mother agreed and began rambling on about you and your traing and how you always bring your dirty weapons in at dinner time. Sis always was looking to pick a fight and switched sides defending you. She called mother some pretty foul names." Zillah giggled. It was just like sis to do so. But her brothers were not laughing.

"She moved the fight into our parent's room where she screamed and threw. The fight was now about you. Sis knew she was losing so she stormed out of the house running. That was when we saw her running in the outskirts of town by my house. Father told us the first part of the story." 

"The fight was about me? She left because of me?" Zillah didn't know what to say. It was a foolish decision. Her sister was gone because of her and her mother traumatized. She stormed into her parent's room. Her  mother was no longer in the arms of Tembo, but in her bed resting. Her father leaned against a wall still looking down as Zillah barged in. 

"Father." Zillah called out to him in a low voice. Tembo looked up and went to his daughter. Zillah explained what her brothers told her. "Is it true? All of it?" she needed to be sure. 

"Yes." Tembo confirmed "And your mother does not want you to fight anymore." Zillah took a step back in amazement and dissapointment. She could not believe it. This was a quarrel between her mother and sister. It was selfish that her passion could be taken away when she had done nothing. Tembo had a tendency to read minds some way.

"I don't approve of her choice and she will probably forget once your sister comes home." he assured her, but it wasn't good enough.

"So we can still train?" Zillah asked. Her father smiled and nodded.

"How about in a week, next Sunday we can practice by the river you and me." Zillah nodded. It was comforting that her family was still one with so many different decisions. She needed to keep going she couldn't go back now.

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The house awoke with mournful cries that reached the heavens and back. One funeral was held for both of them. Zillah's mother died in her sleep; peacefully. Her sister was drowned in the river with an arrow in her back. Everyone cried inside and out. Zillah shed no tears yet was full of sadness deep within that was reluctant to come out for various reasons. The whole village showed for the procession. Old couples, single young girls, little boys, cripples, blind, people who hid their hatred, but were forced to show. They all cried fake tears nothing but water. Zillah cried no tears, but the ones on the inside. Blood tears; the ones when a greatly loved one passes but you must be storng so their soul cannot be sad. Cold eyes watched as two wooden boxes were lowered deeper and deeper with nothing but a slab of stone to cover them up. It was all fake, but their deaths were real. 

Zillah came then went to her mind. she watched as leaves fell from a shriveled black tree. It was once a tree that bore fruit. Maybe the tree would have lived longer if people didn't nail into it or hang the burdens of a body on it. Zillah was brought up in a land of both Gods and monsters. She believed everything did happen for a reason. But that tree, for it to die, was uncalled for and could have been prevented. She didn't in a sense though care that the tree was dead, in her sadness she was happy. In her happiness she would become sad. Tat was just life though; the yin-yang of the world that never stopped circling. She needed to be more than tough. She already stopped fearing death, but now she could not be scared of life either and the scary pattern of good and evil. How strangers become friends can easily tell how friends become strangers. She was no longer scared, she was ready to battle whatever life threw at her and she would kill it.       

     

A young girl sat in the basement of her small house.  She quietly rested upon a  low table; her brown eyes in deep concentration at her father.  A war was approaching her small African town.  Attacks from the north were sweeping every city, house, and man clean, stripping and pillaging their families straight down to their very own bones.  The girl's family fled their apartment in the big city to take refuge in the tiny village praying the Carthaginian army would not seek out the remote location.  Her father, Tembo, was a great army commander.  He leaned againts the mud brick wall clearing off dirt and blood from his sickle.  He looked up to check on his young daughter every now and then.

Her name was Zillah. An old ancient name used in the bible that the Hebrews used. Despite their African culture Christianity had spread to them from the Roman Empire. Zillah's family sought to it as protection from all the wounds their hearts and minds had endured.  When her family decided to escape the city so did others... many others.  Crowds bustled the sandy streets.  That night there had been a mild storm the family planned to use as camouflage.  In the midst of the crowd and the whipping winds, Zillah's mother had gone astry and her youngest brother killed from the stampede he could not beat.  The rest of the family kept a steady run all night until they reached the village. They could not go back for the body, but after hours they could finally mourn.  Zillah's mother had returned after five days of wandering in the desert.

"Why do you sit here?"  Tembo asked his daughter. He already knew the answer. He knew the answer everyday when Zillah would sit and watch him.  Zillah, although a young girl, wanted to be a warrior.  Ever since her brother died she wanted to fight. Of course she did have two more brothers and a sister, but she locked herself from them in a cold harsh way.  Even being the youngest she thought of herself as a noble warrior and her siblings civilians she was obliged to protect. Her mother disapproved of this, but her father decided to give her a chance of the warrior life hoping to scare her away of her dream.

Zillah actually would be thought of as a woman and not a killer.  She had beautiful black curls that flounced gently about her shoulders; carefully caressing the shape of her face.  Her beautiful brown eyes were almost black. They looked like two perfect beads made of obsidian for the face of a doll of some sort. Her skin a smooth dark caramel color, was evenly painted on her body.  No blemishes, no scars, just perfection on Zillah's petite figure. If she didn't move she could have been a wax made doll, but she wasn't.

Zillah tried to get scars, but would never succeed. She would get in fights with the village boys.  Bruises were her favorite thing to decorate her legs with.  Scraped knees and cut elbows were another fashionable trend on Zillah that were always wore proudly. Mud caked her body from neck down.  Dirt would make-up Zillah's face.  Cut lips, bloody noses, black eyes all to prove herself as a mini warrior. Sand was always grained deep in her shirts and dresses, which she would fuss to wear. She would rather try on her father's leather chest piece.

There was a great pond on the dusty wood door at the top of the stairwell that lead into the basement.  Tembo looked up from sewing a loose piece of bull leather from his knee pads. Zillah followed his gaze to the door. There was silence. The next moment an even greater boom jerked the door.  Dust scattered in the air. Tembo did not have to warn Zillah to be silent in body and mouth. Then the third time came in rappid booming pounds. The hinges wouldn't hold for much longer and the noises were getting louder. Tembo drew up his spear in a cold defending way.  He stance d himself to ready for an attack.  Zillah went around the wall so not to get in the way.  In a matter of seconds the door exploded off its hinges and crashed to the floor below scraping Tembo's left shoulder. He couldn't believe his eyes.  It was a Carthaginian, luckily just one as far as he could tell.  The enemy had full armor on. Tembo had his work clothes and a rusty spear in hand.  Zillah drew a knife which she had smuggled from her mother's kitchen months earlier and always kept it in her boots ready at hand.

The enemy let out a loud cry and lunged his attach with his sword. In response Tembo readied his spear in a defensive position; it was better to take the blow than to try and try the luck of dodging the melee attack and hopefully spearing the man first. The blow knocked Tembo hard to the ground and only made a slight incision in the long handle of the spear. Quickly Tembo sprang to his feet and struck at his opponent. Swiftly the norther African man dodged the strike with an easy slide to one side. He quickly rebounded and sliced his sword into the skin of Tembo.  It scraped the larger man and made him tumble back into various crates and jugs on a shelf. Light beamed from a window above. Zillah did not care about hiding her shadow. She dearly wanted to help her father. Gathering all her courage she took a deep breath and entered the battle zone. Knowing she would have no chance attempting to stab the enemy she flung the knife at his face. The copper tool slit off the man's ear with precision; the accuracy of a trained warrior. He looked over to who threw the knife. Zillah was too late in retreating back to the safety of the wall hiding her. The 

Taking the opportunity not to continue the battle, but to save his daughter, Tembo leaped forth with his spear jabbing his enemy in the side. The Carthaginian skid around and madly fought against Zillah's father. Knowing the foe knew of her location Zillah retreated under the table. She heard the wild clashing of metal, slicing of wood, grunting of men. Each man drew out long hard pants. She observed the fast twists and turns, dodges and jump, skids and slides performed perfectly as if the two had practiced this wild dance of anger so not to hit each other at all. Drips of blood, dancing feet, slashes of weapons; Zillah observed it all. She watched in awe as her breathe was drawn out of her at the amazing sight. It wasn't until the very last moments until Zillah became in any way scared. 

Tembo blocked an attack from the other man and quickly turned. The enemy took a slice at Zillah's father only striking a part of his shoulder blade. Tembo leapt in the air out of a new rage of adrenaline and kicked his foot into his foe's neck slamming the man hard into the ground. He landed right in front of Zillah's watch. She could tell by the rippling of the skin in his neck it was broken and he was paralyzed. Tembo shoved a foot into his chest to crush the ribs. Just then The enemy's head fell into the look of Zillah's eyes as she lay on the ground herself. Angry brown eyes stared at her. Her attention was only drawn within his eyes for a few seconds. She saw a whole lifetime, a family, a soul that cared. Her focus was soon obstructed of a shiny, newly polished, sickle, swiping across the air pressing into the Carthaginian's neck. Ugly red blood splattered onto the girl's face. The once lively eyes were now cold with death rolling into a puddle of its owners own blood now streaming across the floor like an ocean. Zillah barely swam there before her father knelt down to her. She was very shocked.

"Zillah?" Tembo's smooth cello like voice pulled the girl out of her trance. She sat up and her father came under the table and wrapped his arms around her. She wasn't sad anymore, but now became aware of the hot tears streaming down her cheeks. Her whole body was wracked with shivers that she didn't want; she wanted to be strong. It was as her father read her mind,

"Thank you for being so brave." Zillah smiled a smile of not acceptance that she was okay, but a smile that held pride. 

"He died father." that scared Zillah the most. Not the fight, the bloodshed, the grueling story held within a person's eyes, but the death, the end of life.

"God's finger touched him and he slept." Tembo explained. Zillah however was too matured even at her age to accept that. Tembo knew.

"But," he said. "Death-the last sleep? No, it is the final awakening." he told his small daughter. Zillah left to wash up. Tembo then realized what he had done. Was it not my plan to have war scare her out of her dream? He thought. Then why did I corrupt it. He knew that it was meant to be. Zillah was meant to be a warrior and Tembo was indeed happy with his decision.