Ookla the Absent

I don't think my answer is correct, unless Blaze wants to step in and say I was right...

Mistborn. Kelsier makes her stop wearring the earring...

That's really good!

Fear

Hm, I'll have to think about that more. How about English?

4! What's a Power Ranger! (OK, I actually do know what they are, but that's about it...)

Truth.

Ellipses

@Oversleep: ??? How?

English isn't *the* hardest. It's up there, and most of it's problems stem from being a hybrid of at least three different languages, with loanwords thrown in for good measure, etc. But it's probably not *the* hardest. Japanese is honestly probably worse, and Russian, Arabic, and Khoisan may be as well (though I have less experiance with those, and can't say for sure). So English is really freakin' hard. The only reason it makes sense to native speakers is 'cause that's what they grew up with. My pet peeve: When my English speaking friends say that Spanish is hard.

Rage!

That sounds... beautiful.

Skaa.

A bit of an unusual hobby, if you don't mind me saying, but to each their own. Might I ask what you intend to major in?

Not the other way around?

Hadron, as in the supercollider?

The pictures are the best.

If you don't mind sharing, what is your native language? What sorts of hobbies do you have? Any artistic sort of pursuits?

Blue

I guess I stand corrected?

My brothers decided to wash my car, so now it doesn't have algae growing on it!

Dead in a bathroom.

I have many stories. Some are true, some are not. Some are about me, some are not. For many I am never sure. This is not one of those. This is very real, and very personal. Someone dies. My brother has a friend. He is also my friend, but he is my brothers friend. The friend has a brother a few years younger than he is. I ask forgiveness from this friend. He does not know that I tell the story, but it is a story that must be told. I tell it not for pleasure, but because it is a story of a life, and those must be told. This is not a story of pleasure. This is not a story of pity. This is a story of Truth. There was a campout. Some of the boys of our church, ages ranging from eleven to fourteen or so, and some of the fathers went. The friends father went. I did not go. My father did not go. My brother went. That night, my father, another brother, and I went. There was a hike to arrive. We hiked. We did not arrive. We came to a fork and slept on the trail, in the dark. We woke up. We walked a short way, and found the lake, and the camp, and the boys. We joined them, and ate. Some went off to play by the lake. They played. They played a log game. They rolled small logs into the water. They threw stones into the water. They found a large log to roll into the water. What happened next is the story. It is their story, but I tell it. This is not a cautionary tale. This is not a story of right and wrong. This is not a story of good or bad decisions. They rolled this large log. The friend, his brother, and a friend. The log rolled, and with it, the brother. The brother was caught by the log. The brother's head was caught. Panic. Screams. Calls for the adults to help. One father ran down the mountain to call for help. The story spread down the mountain, through the beacons of the hikers. We followed, my father and brother and I. We calmed another father, then went down the mountain. The next day was Easter.

[Y]MMV: [Your] Mileage May Vary