Rapunzel. Narfi style.

The sun's heat was beating down on the tall tower, where a young girl was sitting. The young girl was cleaning, trying to keep her dirty blonde hair out of the way. And failing. She had never cleaned her hair, not once. So it was greasy, long, dirty hair. That reached out of the tower and to the ground. This girl happened to be called Rapunzel.

Oh, and she had dead bodies in her hair, was that mentioned? Rapunzel had been stolen from her parents in their Kingdom by a jealous witch who raised her as a servant. The Witch would come every day to see how Rapunzel was and give her some food, but not too much, she didn't want her to be fat. Rapunzel was cleaning because it was only a few hours before The Witch came. Meaning Rapunzel had to make everything spotless in time for her arrival.

Rapunzel was a pretty woman, and had many suitors. Most of them tried to free her by climbing up her hair, they tripped and snapped their necks, getting tangled in her long locks. The Witch would make Rapunzel work even harder when she saw a new addition to the growing amount of dead bodies in her hair.

"Rapunzel! Oi, Rapunzel!"
Rapunzel ignored the voice and carried on cleaning. Eventually, she felt a tugging on her hair and rushed to the window, her current suitor was climbing up her hair.
"What are you doing?" She hissed, her face twisted into a scowl.
"Trying to free you!"
Rapunzel rolled her dark eyes, glaring down at the man. "Get OFF!"
"You want to be free, don't you?!"
" . . . Well, yes. But you're only going to-"
"Then at least let me try!"
The determined look in her eyes made Rapunzel hesitate, maybe he would succeed? Maybe she would be freed? The sudden hope that flared in her refused to be quenched and she smiled down at the Suitor. "Okay then."

Of course, it didn't take long for him to snap his neck. Rapunzel tried to shake him out of her hair but he only got tangled. She wasn't too panicked until she heard; "Rapunzeeel!" Called out in a sing-song voice. She looked around at the messy tower and looked down to the ground. Maybe she could escape? She looped her hair around the bed and lumped out the window, keeping a firm hold on her hair. Her head stung as the hair pulled in the other direction. She almost reached the ground before she ran out of hair. So she hung, suspended, about halfway down the tower. She started to panic.

The Witch eventually appeared, looking out of the window from Rapunzel's bedroom, she looked up to see her and started crying.
"Rapunzel! You betrayed me, why?" The Witch sounded genuinely hurt, causing Rapunzel to cry more.
The Witch start cutting on Rapunzel's hair, causing her to panic. "No, no, no, no, no!"
"Haha! Yes!" She cackled as the last of Rapunzel's hair was caught, and she fell.

If this were a happy story, Rapunzel would have somehow Ninja'd out and saved herself. However, it's not, it's a Narfified story. And Narfi's a bitter girl. So Rapunzel fell to her bloody death and people found her mangled body, assumed it was a dead dog and poked it with a stick, then moved on.

AND THEY ALL LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER.

Narfi out.

The Princess and The Frog. Narfi style.

About a few hundred or so years ago, there was a princess. She was princess of some sort of land. She didn't really know, she wasn't one to pay attention. The Princess was a beautiful girl, with long, flowing, dark hair and bright green eyes. She had pale skin and curvy legs, a nice pear figure and pointed ears, she looked like a fairy from a distance. A very emo-like fairy. This Princess was called Dahlia and everyone loved her. But the problem with Princess Dahlia was that she was a moody b*tch.

Princess Dahlia was obsessed with herself and her looks. Like many stereotypical girls. The Princess often fussed over her hair, or how much she was eating, she was also anorexic, because she purged the majority of meals she had eaten. She was convinced that she was fat. Dahlia was always angry at someone and her face seemed in a permament scowl, if someone gave her the wrong coloured dress, she'd sentence them to death.

For the Princess' eighteenth birthday, her parents organised a large party. Dahlia didn't like this idea, it meant someone would screw up and give her the wrong present. They always did. So she decided to command everything at the party. And she came down the stairs into the ballroom wearing a tight teal dress, at least, it was meant to be tight. It looked two sizes too large. She walked with elegance down the stairs to people who were paid to clap and say she looked amazing. Which was true.

The whole party seemed rather pathetic, no one seemed to enjoy themselves. Princess Dahlia fumed silently at this while she went out onto the balcony.
"Hey," said a voice.
Dahlia looked around, expecting someone to be near her. Instead, sitting on the balcony next to her was a fat, ugly toad. Princess Dahlia recoiled slightly in disgust.
"Ew. Was that you who talked?"
The toad croaked, "No. It was the air. Yes, it was me, you dim b*tch."
Dahlia stepped away from the toad, tempted to squish it with her foot. "What do you want?"
The toad croaked again, hopping closer to her. "I am actually a prince, from another land. A witch turned me into a toad, and she said that in order for me to be human again; I need a kiss from a princess."
Dahlia raised an eyebrow and flicked the toad away from her, wiping her finger on her thigh. "Find another princess. I'm not kissing a toad."
"Just once?!"
"No," Dahlia said with an air of finality, but seeing the sadness in the toad, she felt a bout of pity and picked it up. "Just once."
She kissed the toad. It wasn't an enjoyable experience, the toad's skin was bumpy and horrible, and it was slimy from the water of the pond below. She placed the toad back down.
Nothing happened.

"What is this?" The Princess demanded when she saw that the toad had not changed into a prince. She felt betrayed. However, the toad seemed just as confused as she did. He hopped back.
"Are you not a princess? Why haven't I changed?!"
The Princess, disgusted with herself, ran up to her bedroom and hid under her bedcovers. Her horror refused to leave, she couldn't stop thinking of the kiss.
Eventually, she fell asleep.

In the night, she was visited by a witch, the exact witch who turned the prince into a frog. She looked upon The Princess. To punish her for not helping the frog; she decided to cover The Princess' face with warts and her skin became spotty and horrible, her cheeks became ruddy and her eyes bulged slightly out of her head. The Witch left feeling achieved.

The whole family in the palace woke to a terrified scream from Dahlia's room, The Princess was staring at herself in horror in the mirror. She was ugly! Tears streamed down her face, and her family couldn't look at her, couldn't talk to her. They were horrified that their daughter was suddenly horribly ugly. The commoners of the Kingdom spoke about her harshly. And she was teased by her sisters.

Eventually, this grew too much for the Princess, and she hunted the Frog down, begging he would help her. The Frog looked upon the Princess, and remembering her coldness towards him, refused her.
So the Princess ran off into a forest, and hid. She starved to death.
In the Kingdom, it was said she had become a monster in the woods, and killed mis-behaving children. This was to make the children behave.
But they never actually knew the truth of the Princess Dahlia. They never knew what had happened to her.
She was just forgotten.

I don't have a clue what to do.

I've noticed that this blog is just a load of random posts mingled together to make . . . A blog. A rubbish blog at that. So I've decided to do something and ask you what you think I should do with this blog.

So, what do you think I should do with this blog?

I guess I could rant about the everyday oddities of life, like those stupid self-serve machines in Tesco, that ALWAYS mess up! WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH THEM? D8

Or maybe you could suggest what I do?
Maybe . . .
Hm . . .
What am I best at?

I enjoy writing, but how can I use that for my blog? I enjoy puzzles and riddles, challenges . . .
Oh dear.
Any help?

Lindsey Stirling. And Violins. Oh yes.

I guess it was about time I did this. A few of you may know that I deeply, deeply love string instruments. I love music without any lyrics.
No, that doesn't mean I like Dubstep. The heck is Dubstep anyway? I'll Wikipedia it. One second.
Oh . . . That's Dubstep . . . Okay then.
Anyway, this instrumental music is mainly classical or classic rock. Y'know, Beethoven, Tchiaskovsky . . . I really need to learn to spell his name, Hans Zimmer, Jesper Kyd . . . The usual.
It also means I like VSQ. God they are epic, I'm glad they were shown to me when I was ill, I could appreciate it more then. I just like listening to violins when ill. I like Lindsey Stirling too.
Hell yeah.

A friend of mine, Winter, mentioned Lindsey in one of his posts. I agree with him when he says that Lindsey is amazing. She is. When I first saw Lindsey, I didn't expect much. She's small and pixie-like, she doesn't look like someone who'd be amazing with this stuff.
I now laugh at how wrong I was. Ha.

Violins are sexy, too. If there was a name to rhyme with "sexy" that I could give a violin. I would. Alas, creative enough I be not. Anywho . . .


I'm going to go develop my novel now, maybe write a story for someone if they decide to demand it. Otherwise, an uneventful sick day I shalt have.
Narfi out.

Idols.

We all have idols, someone we look up to. They may not be real, they may just be  . . . In a sense, another form of ourselves. The "person" I look up to is pretty much myself. Or someone I accidentally created in a fit of self-loathing. I called that person Narfi. Narfi became developed, Narfi became a better version of me. My pen name became Narfi. This dominated me, took over.
Not that I was complaining.

Narfi was meant to be everything I wasn't. That didn't work out. Narfi ended up as a way for me to be who I truly was, for me to be able to show the world that I could be creative. There were loud voices? Narfi was a chance for me to scream louder. I never took that chance, nor do I intend to. But I guess I owe my mind a big "thank you" for allowing me to create a psuedonym that became much more than just a name. It became a whole personality. People began caring for "Narfi".

This isn't me saying that I'm envious of Narfi. That would be silly, Narfi and I both share the same skills, we are the same person. Yet Narfi was always more glamorous in my eyes. Whenever I doubted myself and my talents, Narfi (and numerous others whom I shan't name in respect of their anonymity) beat down that doubt and threw it to Kingdom Come.

So, now that I've told you a little bit of private information, I'm going to ask that for once you all interact with me. Even you who usually don't. After all, who would I be to judge? I'd like to ask you to tell me your idols. Who do you look up to when it seems there is no hope in yourself? Or who helps you overcome these trying times?

I'd like to tell you a little story, of when I was younger. I was a bit of a problem child. I had a foul mouth and used curses as terms of endearment, I was small for my age and skinny. Quite a bit of a difference to now, if I say so myself. When I was younger, I was actually quite pretty. I don't know what happened. I had bright icy blue eyes that always seemed to be fixed on you in a glare. I had a sharp pointy chin that I liked rubbing mysteriously to seem evil. It didn't work . . . I wore quite tomboy clothes, combat shorts, a hoodie and trainers. Long brown/ginger hair and pointy ears. I had pointy teeth, too. A pearly white. I was very stubborn, and a moody brat most of the time. I would happily beat someone to a bloody pulp with a spoon if given the chance. I always got into accidents and would be rushed into the hospital. Oops. Another accident.

Now, on with the story. Once, I was feeling quite lonely, this was on my birthday. Mum had gotten angry at me again and slapped me, sending me up to my room. She had taken our belongings out the previous week because our room was a mess and she hated that, she was always pulling on her hair and having a panic attack when she saw too much mess. She'd then started screaming and panicking over the silly thing. I'll admit, I never got on with my Mum, quite often I cursed at her and threatened to run away. Even now the idea of running away seems appealing, but I know I wouldn't last a day before I was kidnapped and raped or killed. My Mother also used to complain about hearing voices in her head, when she first had my older sister, OJ. She heard a voice telling her to throw the baby in the river. She was all panicked and stuff.
It's a bit obvious where I get my fascination of Mental Illnesses, isn't it? I realise now, my Mum would have been diagnosed with Severe OCD and possibly Schizophrenia.

I found myself growing up to hate my Mother, I couldn't stand to look at her half the time. I spent all my time in my bedroom, creating little stories with characters whom I could relate to. Most of them didn't have any parents, some had problems with their mothers. Others just didn't want to know their parents. I realise now that I was a bit . . . Well, I didn't want to know my Mother, end of. I wanted to live with my Dad and forget my Mother even existed. I never cried often, not in front of my Mother. When I cried I usually hid it, I was always good at biting back those emotions. Not anger, though. Never anger.

When I was angry, I seemed a complete different person. I have never been able to hold in anger. Whenever I got angry, I'd scream at the top of my voice, I'd curse, I'd hurt people. Both physically and emotionally. I'd break whatever was in my path and whoever disagreed with what I'd do could pee off, because I was going to rant and anything they said would just get me angrier.

Moving back to the story, I was alone in the bedroom, telling myself a story. When I started thinking. I was wondering why I'd built this emotional wall of anger just to protect myself from crying whenever my Mum ranted on about how I was worthless and ruined her life. I started to upset myself with pessimistic thoughts. What if she was right? What if I would get nowhere in the future? What if I'd end up like my own Mother? I started to cry. It was then that I heard, as clear as if someone were speaking right next to me; "Sh. Calm down, it's going to be fine. You'll be successful. You'll be a great person, and your Mum will calm herself down, she's going through a hard time."
I imagined I felt arms around me to accompany this sudden voice, and I let it lull me into a calm.
I realise now that this isn't a good thing, it almost confirms my worries about my Mental Health.

It was then, though. That I started developing people or "characters" to help me out. And it was then I started looking towards them as idols.

So the next time any of you feel like you're worthless, let your imagination take you. Create people who would more than happily show you to a good place in your mind, where you can feel what you want to feel. Rant how you need to rant. And if not, then I'm always here to listen ;)
Because as worthless and bad as you feel you are sometimes, in my eyes, you are f**king perfect.
^,^

Coldplay, and sexy hair.

So, today, I've been listening to Coldplay.
I listen to Coldplay quite a lot. I can't really stop myself from liking Alternative Rock, and Coldplay is my favourite band, anyway. I have also been developing Gwenyth and Ancora. They're character's in my novel. I'm determined to get this thing far. No matter what, and listening to Coldplay today, I've realised . . . I've been too depressed and uninspired lately, that's going to go.

You have all had to listen to a depressed Narfi drone on about how her life sucks. When it doesn't. My life is actually pretty good. Starting from today, you will all have your Happy-Narfi back. Coldplay many people *Cough*ILIA D<*cough* say is depressing, but for me, they make me happy. They drive me through the day, and give me inspiration, hope. I could burst into tears randomly, but I don't. I hold that shiz in, people.

I also noticed Chris Martin had sexy hair. I'm serious, I could just nom it all >D
Anyway, moving on . ..
You know who has sexy hair?
Most people in animes. . . I don't understand why. I mean, Naruto's hair . . . So. Damn. Sexy. And RDJ's hair! He's not in an anime, but his hair is luscious :3
Why am I talking about hair, you ask?
Because I'm epic. That's why.

Love.

Love is a feeling everyone wants. Everyone needs. It doesn't even have to be a feeling, really. Now, I'm not neccesarily talking about the type of love that soppy singers write about, and teenagers angst about. The type of love I'm talking about is the human sentimentality. The need to spread love, to feel love, to be loved, to kill love. A psychologist, Harry Harlow, studied "The Nature of Love" in which he described his findings on comfort deprivation in Rhesus monkeys. He said:
"... Contact comfort was an important basic affectional or love variable.. Insuring frequent and intimate body contact of the infant with the mother"
This implies that to feel loved, the monkey needed a hug, pretty much. The monkey needed to feel that someone loved it. It needed the tender touch of a loving mother. Well, don't we all? Many people who snap don't have anyone to love, to lose. We all ache for a loving touch sometimes. It doesn't have to be from a lover, quite often we just want a hug from a family member. I often find myself aching for someone to hug me, to comfort me, to whisper in my ear "It's all going to be okay." Especially when sick. This, I'm not sure what causes it. I'd love to know. I'd love to grab a mind and pick it apart, finding out exactly what makes someone tick.

More specifically, the mind of a criminal. Oh dear God, I'd love to be given the honour to be called in to inspect a dead body, find out how it died, and deduce from the wounds inflicted on the body what type of criminal we're looking for. The mind of a criminal is a truly wonderful thing, their view on "right" and "wrong" may not always be different, but their view on the world, on people, is.

Oh God, I'm going all creepy now.
Ahem, I shalt depart before I start revealing odd things.
Goodbye, Space Cadets!