I live in England no one has them it's an accent from 1940 that we unluckily are still portrayed by that or a cockney accent neither of which does anyone have. Just saying
At about 6:00 p.m. I heard a knock on my door. I was too sick to open the door, and thought maybe she would just leave. But instead I heard a small noise coming from my door knob, and my door subtly opened. She picked my lock. "Max... I told you I'd be here after work. I'm here to take care of you. I told my supervisor I'd be off for while taking care of you. So, until you get better, I'm all yours." She said that trying to be comforting, but I could not help but to painfully shake my head. "Max, I don't know what's wrong with you, and why you don't want help, but I really want to help you!" She said, now pleading. My eyes were still closed, so I don't know what she was wearing, or doing. But I laid there for the next five minutes, and very suddenly felt a whole world of relief as she put a cold rag on my head so delicately as to ease it on. "There, there..." She said as if I was her child. "I'm not your child." I said defiantly as I could with my hoarse voice. "I'm trying to help, you don't need to have an attitude." She said in a sardonic manner. I just sighed, and relaxed. Pretty soon, I was asleep. I am dreaming now of my mother, and her child. As if everything was okay again, but only for a few moments. Only after she said a set of words did I realize it was not a dream. "It's not your time." Her voice was of an angel's. I instantly woke up gasping. Catching my breath as relief came washing over me, as if most of the pain subsided instantly. I looked into Sheila's eyes as she had a shocked look on her face, and said: "I'm okay." With my voice growing stronger. "Max... You-you stopped breathing!" She said sounding intrigued. "I'm breathing now." I said with a slight smile. I was obviously still sick, but not as bad. I fell back to sleep, obviously needing more rest. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Ooo, interesting thing going on here...
he still is a kid..just doesn't wanna admit tht he loves to be pampered like one...yet...how'd he stop breathingsorry I Mia-ed for a lil adambut m back to catch up on yr storyhope alls gg well BUMP
Adam is the best writer I know here's a poem so he's not low: All writing done; done without fault Dramatic update's telling of suspense As we do read, our minds are whirring Makes me proud to call this thread…phenomenally sensational