Televised Revolution

When we think of television, the first thing that may pop into our brains are sleazy "reality" television full of cat fights, shopping, and booze, or of deep south shows about ducks, guns, and wrangling alligators.
Television is this, of course, but it's a lot more than that too. Television has the power to change lives, minds, and societies.
Take Star Trek for example. Not the new, flashy, JJ Abrams Star Trek, but the old one with really bad graphics. Star Trek creator Gene Roddenberry created something beyond a television show in the late 60s; he created material that was revolutionary. Utilizing the excuse of Science Fiction, he shot down the Imperialistic, Racist, Sexist, Capitalist establishment that, perhaps without knowledge, was publishing his work. I remember one episode in particular; the episode titled "Let That Be Your Last Battlefield" features two duo-chromatic aliens, Lokai and Bele. At first glance they appear almost identical, but it becomes clear that Bele's people have subjugated and enslaved Lokai's for hundreds of years. The reason? Lokai is white on the right side and black on the left side, Bele is white on the left side and black on the right. The blatant ridiculousness of inequality based on skin color cannot be ignored in this context; nor in the real world. How could they justify themselves after having their own hypocrisy shown so obviously to them?
I think that episode--and the show in general--is one of the main reasons I decided to become a social activist. I see things every day that I can't accept, things I can't live with. So I try to speak out, to share my point of view, to bring awareness and understanding to the issues of the world. The future Star Trek offers us is possible; but not if we can't achieve equality. That's what TV taught me.

Here's the Dealio

Well hello world, long time no see. I've decided to actually start using this blog I have and post some of the things I've written. So be excited. ;)

Fanfiction.net

Hey guys!!! Ok, so there's this website called Fanfiction.net where you can write fanfiction about pretty much anything!!!!! If you guys like reading stories, check it out!!!!! I've got, I think....five? Six? Stories posted on the site, so look up Firegirl210 and check me out!!!!! And, if you would read and review my stories....I would be sooooo amazed!!!! And happy!!!! Please do!!!!!
~Firegirl~
<3 u!!!!

Beneath the Mangrove Tree: Prologue

This is another little thing I've been working on for quite a while now, and so far I only have a few chapters... But here it is anyway. The parts in a different language are Elvish.

Prologue:
I’ ona en’ i’ hisie fea
The Gift of the Mist Spirit

Mist crept across the beach towards the little village. Small thatched cottages nestled against one another in the night, the windows dark and the cobbled streets deserted. Unseen to all, a figure walked in the Mist, seeming to carry it with her. She swept through the streets, spreading Mist like a muffling blanket as she went. She stopped in front of a particularly small cottage with a blacksmith sign hanging from the door. Her eyes turned upward to the one small window, and her thin, bloodless lips curled into a smile. The window was open, and Mist was already swirling around it. She stepped up to the door and placed her hand against the roughly hewn wood. The door clicked open, and she stepped in. The Mist curled around her bare and slender feet, covering the floor of the little cottage in seconds. A door led to the rooms in the back of the cottage where the Blacksmith and his wife slept soundly with their infant child asleep in his cradle. The Mist Spirit, for that was what she was, softly slipped up the stairs, her feet making no sound on the creaking wood boards. She looked around the room at the top of the cottage. There was a cot in the corner, occupied by a sleeping woman; the Blacksmith’s faithful servant Claudia. The Spirit shook her head. Humans were such cruel little creatures. She moved to the cradle that held the tiny sleeping infant daughter of the servant. She reached down and gently lifted the girl from her nest of blankets. Claudia rolled over, her light skin and black hair prominent in the pale light from the moon muffled by the Mist. The Spirit gently brushed a lock of the wispy black hair from the baby’s forehead. The baby opened her eyes, and The Spirit was shocked at the brilliance of them. They were the same shade of green as the leaves of the Willow that grew deep in the forest. ‘Could this be the child of prophecy?’ Her skin was a creamy tan, and her eyes were bright as glittering green emeralds. The Spirit took out a pouch of powder from her belt and drew a tiny pinch of it. She blew softly, and it swirled around the baby’s neck. There was a small flash of light, and the Spirit set the little girl back in her cradle. Before her eyes, a small mark appeared, curling gently around and around on itself. It would appear to others only as a birthmark. But to herself and other spirits, it was a sign of the child’s true identity. The small mark finished spreading and revealed it final shape to be a tiny pink rose nestled against the baby’s neck. The Spirit said a soft prayer for the child.
Ra er ken he varna
Great One keep her safe
The Spirit disappeared the way she came, leaving only the lingering Mist and the mark.

Excpert from Fallen

Fallen
Even Angels can Fall…
And when they do, terrible things happen.

This is a little portion of my story Fallen. (This is like, in the middle. But it's just enough to get you wondering, eh?)


Aranel cracked an eye open as pale moonlight streamed into her room. Calime was sleeping on her giant beanbag chair in the corner, his lanky form gracefully draped across its indented surface. The clothes were a bit too large for him as they belonged to Her brother, but they were better than his battered tunic. His hair caught the pale light and seemed to reflect it back at her, shimmering like liquid silver. His closed eyes were a shocking and unnatural silver, a shade darker than his hair. His pale skin was marred by scabs from the cuts he had obtained in the forest, and his face was tight in pain. Then his features smoothed over, and he looked peaceful and perfect for a moment before his brow furrowed again and he turned over, breaking the spell he had cast over her and shivering. She slowly slipped out of her bed and grabbed a blanket out of the closet and draped it over him. His face relaxed a bit, and he pulled it tighter around himself in sleep. She turned and suddenly found herself breathless; the painting of an angel on her wall was a golden reflection of the silver boy asleep on her chair. She glanced back at him, wondering... no, of course not. That was ridiculous. She scolded herself for her foolishness;

Angels didn't fall from the sky.

~

Hello World!!!!!

This is my blog, and I hope you will all love it!!!!!!!!! My name is Firegirl, and this is my Blog, Into the Inferno.