Taken From Home Gardens Books: Book 1: The Runaway Boy

Words could explain our lanes, paths, thrones asyleum segregated the vampires we 32 are beset away from eachother on the earth. I love your existence, but try to fathom what the jealousy really is. It twists & suspends, unspins, & drearies our lives until we speak upon these details that we need to reveal just like on www.mydiary.com back in highschool trials. A vampire spoke simultaneously upon the thoughts Reginald whispered upon the pages of his Journal PC T-Mobile. Reality hit when he heard the other vampires speak and saw them across the way. Reginald needed a response about historical alignment to be processed so everything would all make sense. Unwilling to adherence perfect, perpetual silence now enlightened him. All hollows, hw screamed... across the pages. He beheld homework assignments scheduled just this second ago. "You say a lot of things, you're alright with me. Staying silent had got problems," stated Reginald unto his brethren Comrade. "Go breathe up a smoke to talk more, vampires...32 xiv. On fire." Someone breathed to bring the lighter, a reptile. Let it go. Kisses made of music derived from them, derived from them, derived from them, and derived from them endlessly over all the centuries. Wasting away is the proposition of becoming a runaway. An adolescent on the run is a charge on all their records since 14 years old. Shakers and movers they are. The runaway formulated the vampires entombed inside their embolism pyramid throne tomb, otherwise known as Home Gardens. "I believe we are birthed here," sayed Comrade. Deleted from the roadside life, the werewolves often that they were is now locked down at Home Avenue in their birth-quarters entitled Home Gardens, throne to all 32 vampires XIV. Freddy Kroegxivre grew hungered, now ready to go fetch supper for the nightmare was real. "We're gonna do this," Freddy Kroegxivre whispered. All hollows eve wills to teach each vampire beholds a different name, for we archangelic differed demonic destinations, hand coordinated at a natural segregated birth defect. It is said that each vampire is uninfectionate enough and, in fact, arche non-mixable d.n.a. Ghosts encrypt to hell ho segregated, separated thrones of the undead. The 32 vampires XIV a different placement than each other. They even vomit separate food. They feed on vomit d.n.a. forum from different muzzles, made of different mouths untransfixated and non- mixable. "Would you sit where The Man In The Mirror sits, The Candy Man?" the vampires ranted. Freddy Kroegxivre felt amused, although serious and unsettled. Good form, foreign copped. Good question, form perculated a series of invention of the word proof vacated. Eyeballs were unoffended. The Crown of Freddy Kroegxivre slain a wonderful, sickened b***h was annoyed at his own crown for some reason. "It's alright," said Freddy Kroegxivre. The vampires listened to each other's' rantings and speech, plus spoke and ranted day in, day out; night after night. It was a daydream. It was a nightmare. . .come true to be honest with you. JeepBerz Keeperz caught Freddy Kroegxivre's attention about being his twin, foot-wise. Freddy Kroegxivre loved all of the vampires so much. He couldn't fathom them being the same person as him nor inhabitable. "Is that what subject this journal is about? Yeah!!?" said inquiringly The Wild DeJango. Cardi B---Blue Face ----=played on the YouTube TV Video Channel Radio. It was a story of song. You see, us Vampires tell stories. Be it scary stories, horrors, comedy, eery tales, they're all the truth. They're all real life based. Basis is of the very second the story is told. The stories we tell to each other are possessions owned by real life events, live. Doctor Jeckles & Mister Hydez is possessive over the love on our beloved family of 32 vampires XIV. A question: "Why does everyone eat separate food upon separate plates and do we not trade food, eating and feeding only ourselves?" This question makes Freddy Kroegxivre wonder somberly and petrified. Secretly, there is only one answer which leads to another question. So, so daring. "Talk to me," this is what every vampire feels and thinks, so remember the difference between the fact that each vampire beholds his own place or throne verses the fact that we as vampires have and hold similar feelings and thoughts. It's the topic of incest I talk about in our writing. Sheila Riddler walked entombed enex the others. She lived at 421 Kaweah St. Apt. D for eight years and wondered really whom would ever take her place there at ikit Tiki Gardens. So untouched ever since the rainstorm arrived. You see, everything is alright, really though. She was sent entombed straight back to Home Gardens where she was birthed after she and the rest of the vampires---all 32 of them---took care of business. They had just come back about paying there rent down payment. 5000 words could, knotted in her stomach, fathom how she felt. Quenton Crowson sent his mother Miss Terry straight entombed into her bedroom lair to write her feelings inside of an electronic diary. He was quite nice to her. He allowed her to live there for a reason. He deeply explained Miss Terry was the vampire that was born there. And, recently, I started to understand better than I ever did before. I'm a gun-blowin', knock yo act growin' type of agent that will vouge forum each and every Vampire if he belonged there everyday of his life...birth stripes...and all hands buster act the hell up or knots! Quenton Crowson's eyes burned with anticipation and agitation. His mind was beyond standing aside and brandishing his patience. Quenton's impatience was much stronger. He noticed Wale Carter held money in his hand. He noticed the money peculiarly. The peculiarity was that Wale's money was never seen by him before. In my opinion, Wale had his own money. It was made of him and only processed and stayed never strayed from his own system. Tracy Higgins turned toward Quenton Crowson and started to mutter a request, "Would you like to smoke a cigarette with me?" Tracy Higgins replied, "Yes, and let's pray for the past." They both placed their computers down, readying to type- up their diaries together. Tracy Higgins passed a cigarette from a pack of Marlboro Red 20's unto Quenton Crowson. Next, he passed Quenton a Black BIC Lighter towards Quenton's hand. Quenton slowly lot the cigarette. Tracy began to light his cigarette as well. How he longed for something rolled, teeth in agony. Quenton retorted, "Bloody hell!" three times in a row, row. Woah! "What's wrong?!" inquired Tracy ultimately surprised. After a few moments of mental corrections occurred, Quenton responded with laughter. "My jaw hurts grotesquely!" "Have you undermined to go to see a dentist by any chance? Maybe you should. You think?" Tracy responded drearily as he decided to recant an old rap song in a whiny female-like vocal tease. He sounded as if he were making fun of the woman he was imagining to be. The beastly song was very entertaining to Quenton, so Quenton joined in, in something like a feature. The rap song spoke of 'bad b-words' and the backside in such amusement, Quenton and Tracy laughed inside of themselves. Money came to game. "By the way," began Quenton Crowson, "I was wondering if we could write a journal together based upon poetic forum. You know, actual poems? What do you think, Tracy?!" "Wow!" said Tracy Higgins with such drastic shock. "How beautiful," he continued in a whisper. "Yes, why not?! I would love to. I'd love to!" Respectfully, poetry was very popular in Tracy's mind-set. He could not refuse. Worry suddenly crossed Quenton's mind about money. If his Cash App did not receive the money everything would be horrible. Wearily, he decided to pray. "They could be like poetry formed prayers," Quenton briefly stated.