Anyone can write for fifteen minutes a day. But imagine how fifteen minutes of creative writing each day could change your life. Fifteen minutes of writing practice a day, and I can turn you from an aspiring writer to a daily writer.
How does The Write Practice work?
1. Start by finding something to write with.
Your computer works great. Or grab a spare sheet of paper and a pen. If you have a journal, use that.
2. Then set a timer for your writing practice.
Use the timer on your phone or this digital timer.
Timing your writing practice is a core element of deliberate practice. Here's why timing your practice will help you:
- Stay focused. For fifteen minutes, focus on your writing and nothing else. Afterward, you can take a break, but for now, just write!
- Urgency. You only have fifteen minutes. See how much you can write in such a short time!
- Easily achievable. Fifteen minutes is not very long, but it could make a huge difference in your writing. Who knows? After writing for fifteen minutes, you might want to keep going.
3. Start writing.
For this exercise, you can write about whatever you want, whether a story or a journal entry or whatever comes to your mind.
If you don't know what to write about, here's a story idea:
A young woman/man stumbles across a dead body in the woods. What does they do?
Take your idea, and write for fifteen minutes. Happy writing!
4. Share your writing practice for feedback.
To become a better writer, you need feedback. Don't hide your practice away. Share it, get feedback from other encouraging writers, and start to grow.
In the writing box below, post your writing practice.
Don't be afraid. We're all in this together. Let us help you become a better writer.
5. Give feedback to other writers.
Now that you've posted your writing, read a few practices by your fellow writers and give them feedback. Remember to be encouraging and specific, using the Oreo method (positive-constructive-positive).
- Start by telling them what they did well in their practice.
- Then, share a few ways they can improve.
- Last, repeat something they did well.
Giving feedback will also make you a better writer faster, helping you see what works and what doesn't in other people's writing.
Ready to Become a Better Writer?
Fifteen minutes a day. That's the beginning of what it takes to become a better writer. Start today.
Follow the steps above to begin your writing practice. When you're finished, sign up to get our daily writing practice right in your email. When you sign up, you'll get a free copy of our eBook 14 Prompts.
Have fun, and happy writing!
PRACTICE
Let's get started with your first practice. First, set a timer for fifteen minutes (or use this one) and start writing. Today, you can write about whatever you want!
When you're finished, post your outline in the Pro Practice Workshop here (and if you're not a member yet, you can join here).
And after you post, be sure to give feedback to at least three other writers.
Welcome to The Write Practice!
I started writing a short story, thanks to this post, but now my ideas have blossomed into an entire book! Thanks!
Wow! How exciting! Good luck with your book project!
Thanks!
So it took me much more than 15 minutes because I’m not a native english speaker, here it goes! (first time sharing my writing with anyone btw)
Fist practice; The Sleeping Man.
Young Jerry wanders the magical woods, he loses his balance once or twice, but he gets up. He always gets up.
In a clearing in the midst of the magical woods, covered in red autumn leaves, young Jerry sees an old man. Young Jerry approaches the pile of leaves, the old man’s eyes are closed shut. “He is sleeping.” Young Jerry thought. “But why would anyone sleep in such a place?”
With a smile on his face, young Jerry outstretches his hand to touch the old man’s wrinkly face, to wake him up. So he could enjoy the magical woods, but the old man’s face is as cold as ice.
“These leaves aren’t enough” is the first thought that crosses young Jerry’s young mind. With wobbly legs and untrained hands, young Jerry starts to gather the leaves scattered around the old man and dumps them on his his face, his chest, his legs and any uncovered freezing part of him.
“Oh thank goodness.” Young Jerry looks behind him to find his mom almost in tears “Daddy and I were worried sick.” she walks to him, picks him up and starts walking away.
Young Jerry looks over her shoulder, the old man is entirely covered in leaves. He hasn’t woken up, but he is warm now at least.
Interesting. A youngster who hasn’t yet learned what death is covers a body with leaves. I wonder if it has happened in real life?
I like your idea. Although you could use some practice with tenses and translation ( I know its hard ). example: “So he COULD enjoy the magical woods” should be “So he CAN enjoy the magical forest” and “Magical WOODS” Should be “Magical FOREST”
Anyway, I am not a teacher but that is two cents.
I’ve wasted so much being her. Now, here I am–new. I’ve got sparkling clean rivers of time rolling out before me, and I can’t think of what to do with them. I’m past my prime, but I’m just beginning. Everything I was is gone, and I am a child, born again, seeing for the first time with eyes out of focus. Busy blurs stream by in unknown shades and hues. Before, life was black and white. No warmth. No heartbeat. Now, I’m alive, and the heat of my existence is pounding in my throat. My senses are overloaded, but all I want is more. I feel like a lost dog that’s been allowed into a stranger’s house to eat. Every morsel I find is a delicacy. Each bite pulls me deeper in for more.
Stay awake and keep on eating!
She was almost there. The day had started not warm, but definitely not this chilly either. She understood why her grandma had a cold. She could feel the cool winds brushing at her back, under her soft red cape. Holding tightly to her basket, she ran along the path. Such a tiresome journey for such a young thing.
“Grandma, I’m here!”
No answer. Maybe she didn’t hear me, she thought.
Louder pounding this time. “Grandma, open the door! It’s cold out here.”
The heavy pounding released the latch and the door swung open. “Grandma, where are you?!” she demanded. Setting down the wicker basket, she noticed the room.
Clothes hung restlessly over furniture and sprawled across the floor. Shards of broken dishes crumbled beneath her tiny feet. Fear began to creep up her neck – a cold shiver, a shaky hand, a darting glance into every corner.
She slowly began to back toward the open door. Searching for movement. Straining to hear a familiar sound. It was then that she saw it. From the corner. Gray and shaggy, like an old dog that had been out in the rain. But larger – much larger.
She turned and ran back down the path that had brought her here. As she passed the small shed where her grandma kept her gardening tools, she tripped. Looking down, she saw what she had been looking for.
“Grandma!” she screamed. Her shrill scream caused the birds nesting in the trees to scatter and the animals in the nearby woods to flee. All, except the one that had it’s eyes on her. The pause of the young girl was just long enough for it to reach her.
She again tried to run, but it was too late. The furry beast leapt on her and with one swipe of a powerful paw, she lay there beside her grandmother, silently.
Jane and James were out on a hike. It was a great day to be out hiking in the woods. But Jane told James she could smell something very nasty. Yeah I smell the same thing, What is that smell? It smells like a dead rabbit. I think said Jane. They hiked on wards. Look over there James what is that? Said Jane. James walked over to it to get a closer look and it was a dead body. Jane it is a body of a young lady. Do what James? It is a dead body. Jane started to freak out because she knew they were about 40 miles from any towns and any help. James can you tell what happen to her? she asked. Yeah it looks like she was shot in the head. What? We did to get the hell out of here and get help. She said. Yeah I know. James said. But i think i know her. What do you mean you know her? I have seen her before I just cant put my figure on it. I think she is on the top 10 most wanted list. James you would know cant you ever go anywhere without having to do your job? Sorry baby it just happens. yeah yeah I do know her. Her name is Dawn Johnson. She was in court not to long ago for rapping and killing a guy. She got 25 to life. As they were moving her from New York upper state prison. A van hit the transport car she was in head on. She was able to get free and walk off. No one has been able to find her until now. Who in the hell shot her is what I am wanting to know? Jane asked
Well, It flowed nicely. it kept moving from the next detail to the next. The grammar is what killed it, however. I feel if you just paid a bit more attention to the spelling of words, and remembering to put quotations around the characters speech, it would make the insignificant plot holes all the more forgivable.
Thanks Ryan,
Means a lot to me. Yes i know the spelling is one i need to work on. It is really hard to remember that when I only have 15 mins. to do this. LOL But I will be working on that. Yes the quotations well i am still learn or relearning it i should say. Really means a lot thank for you intel. I will put it to work on the writing.
I could have kept going but this was 15 mins worth. Thank you for the inspiration.
A thin crust of ice covered the soft snow powder and when Ben walked over it he could feel the layer of ice try to hold the beginning of his weight but then as he leaned forward it would pop and his big brown boot would plunge through the powder to the frozen earth below. He popped and popped through the snow crossing through the leafless wooden forest touching the rough bark for the maples to help keep him steady. His socks begin to get wet as snow melted and dripped through the eyelets of his boot. “nice shortcut”, He mumbled to him self. He kept popping, pop, pop, pop, then a different sound, He paused, looked down and the ice was already broken. He stepped into something else’s foot print. The powder below had begun to already begun harden in these boot holes. He looked around in a circle to see if the owners were still around. Not one pop or crunch to be heard or seen. He noted two sets of tracks. He traced the steps with his eyes through the trees and spotted a small red/yellow plaid flag on the ground in the distance. He squinted hard then curiosity followed the prints through the trees, touching his blue tinted hands to the froze bark of passing trees.
Wow! This is great! I loved how you use imagery in the beginning to really set your reader up. I think you could work on your “readibility.” Sometimes the grammar or word order of your sentences made it hard to read your story in one go. I would have had to stop and then re-read some sentences over and over to get the meaning. It would help to read your story out loud while editing and revising it to see where in the story your “flow” is disrupted. While writing, we don’t notice this, but once we read it aloud, you can definitely see it. Otherwise great start!
Stephanie, Thank you for taking the to leave me feedback. I agree, I definitely should get in the habit of reading out loud when I am editing. Much appreciated!
The young woman, aged 20, a college student from Boston with blond hair and blue eyes was walking through the forest. Her leather mahogany Frye boots brushed through the fallen leaves of the forest. She takes a right turn at the fork when from the corner of her eyes, she sees something. Amidst the red, orange, yellow mix of leaves on the forest floor, she spots something blue. Like a dark denim blue. As she slowly inches forward, she sees that the dark blue denim is longer than it is wide and resembles legs. She sense in her gut that something is wrong. Something is amiss. Yet she continues moving forward. The long dark blue denim ends and she sees a red and black plaid flannel shirt that has blended in perfectly with the forest floor. Her worst fears are confirmed. She finds at last a face with two sunken and empty eyes staring straight at her. A body dead, motionless, lifeless, gone. Her 1st instinct, as would all, was to scream. But her scream, to note, was much lower than a female’s, almost like a male’s. The young woman next frantically reaches to her back jean pocket to call 911. Her hands, jittery as if she’d drank a gallon of coffee loses hold of her phone and drops it right on top of the dead body. The young woman shrieks again. Too scared to retrieve her phone, the young woman sprints back the way she came, and back to the parking lost where she finds an elderly white couple. She runs up to them and without a greeting demands for a phone. The confused elderly man slowly pulls out his phone to which the young woman quickly snatches and punches the number 9-1-1.
At the end, the dead body is taken away by the ambulance and the young woman explained to the police why her phone was on top the dead body. The young woman’s story is believed and she returns back to her normal life.
~~~~~(below: CAPS indicate change from previous story) ~~~~~~~~
The young woman, aged 20, a college student from GEORGIA with DARK NAPPY hair and BLACK eyes was walking through the forest. Her 5-YEAR OLD SNEAKERS FROM THE CLEARANCE SECTION OF WALMART brushed through the fallen leaves of the forest. She takes a right turn at the fork when from the corner of her eyes, she sees something. Amidst the red, orange, yellow mix of leaves on the forest floor, she spots something blue. Like a dark denim blue. As she slowly inches forward, she sees that the dark blue denim is longer than it is wide and resembles legs. She sense in her gut that something is wrong. Something is amiss. Yet she continues moving forward. The long dark blue denim ends and she sees a red and black plaid flannel shirt that has blended in perfectly with the forest floor. Her worst fears are confirmed. She finds at last a face with two sunken and empty eyes staring straight at her. A body dead, motionless, lifeless, gone. Her 1st instinct, as would all, was to scream. But her scream, to note, was much lower than a female’s, almost like a male’s. The young woman next frantically reaches to her back jean pocket to call 911. Her hands, jittery as if she’d drank a gallon of coffee loses hold of her phone and drops it right on top of the dead body. The young woman shrieks again. Too scared to retrieve her phone, the young woman sprints back the way she came, and back to the parking lost where she finds an elderly white couple. She runs up to them and without a greeting demands for a phone. The confused elderly man slowly pulls out his phone to which the young woman quickly snatches and punches the number 9-1-1.
At the end, the dead body is taken away by the ambulance and the young woman explained to the police why her phone was on top the dead body. HOWEVER, HER STORY IS NOT BELIEVED BY THE POLICE. THE POLICE BRING HER AND THE ELDERLY WHITE COUPLE TO THE STATION. THE COUPLE CLAIM TO BE WITNESSES. THAT THEY SAW THE YOUNG WOMAN WALKING WITH THE MAN NOW DEAD AND THAT THEY HEARD A MAN SCREAMING. DESPITE THE HOSPITAL ALLIBI’S SHOWING THAT THE DEAD BODY WAS AT LEAST 2 DAYS OLD, THE POLICE IMPRISONS THE YOUNG WOMAN FOR MURDER. THIS 20 YEAR OLD COLLEGE STUDENT’S LIFE HAS NOW COMPLETELY CHANGED.
Sadly, two common stories that should have the same ending.
A critique note: First, Realistically an old white guy would not pull his phone out at all for the black girl ( thats a joke, but not really ). Second, I think you should add more “showing” then “telling” when describing a scene. It takes a lot more time ( for me anyway ) but I find the writing ends up being so much richer.
Thanks for sharing.
Hi – thanks for your feedback. I do agree that I need to have more “showing” in my piece. I’ll definitely work on that. Thanks for your tips!
Some people are hard to talk to. Why is that? While most of the time they are for the reasons most obvious, such as the person having a lack of manners, or even that the person is just uninteresting to you, there is more to it. I was talking to this girl on the phone that I met on a dating site. She is strictly just a female to talk on the phone to, for it is very unlikely we will meet. So after having talked about four times now, I can honestly say I am not that too eager for there to be a fifth time. Just for your information, the first conversation we had was probably best one we had, and this was the first time talking to each other. We ever mentioned the next day the fact. However, for some reason It has become, shall I say a chore, to engage in a conversation with her. It is not because she is not nice or exactly uninteresting. For example, I was talking to Emily the other night, and quite frequently during our conversation of still getting to know each other, there were lulls in the conversation. Now this is relatively common to happen, especially between people who are still getting aquainted with each other, but guess who had to think of something to talk about mostly every single time? Me.
A young couple happily in love, in there mid 20’s away on a weekend away in a log cabin.
Joe asks Jennifer “would you like to take the dog for a walk and take advantage of the scenery” to Jennifers reply “of course I would love to,ill get the dog ready”. Off they went through the woodlands, the sun was beaming down through the bright blue sky filled with big white puffs of clouds. Joe was throwing the ball for Ben the labradoor to fetch back, meanwhile Jennifer was taking photos as memories for there scrab book back at home.
The floor was dry, mud effect. Imprints of horse shoes along the trail, the leafs on the trees were brown and crispy but beautiful to look at. They walked out for about an hour when suddenly Ben was missing, Joe threw the ball and he hadn’t brought it back, jen began to panic and then out into the distance was Bens bark ,the young couple began making their way in that direction. Ben had lost his ball in a pile of fallen leafs, as Joe began moving the leafs he discovered a body, stone cold , blonde hair,lacerations on the wrists and arms, Jennifer began to scream with fear and tears began rolling down her face like condensation on a shower screen, Joe dialed 999 and explained the events that have just taken place.
A man opens a jar of peanut butter. He doesn’t seem to be too satisfied with the look of it, though. It just does not seem the way it should appear. Out of all the jars of peanut butter this man has opened in his life he has never seen one like this before. Without hesitation he throws it out, and goes into his living room. He turns on the T.V, and a screen with static appears. The man then remembers all the times this has happened in his lifetime, and how much worse it was then with even older television sets. Basically, he thought that the quality of the static could have been way more powerful and unsettling. The volume of the T.V could have emphasize the shrill sound, too. The man then gets up and stares out of the window. He spots an older man struggling to keep him self balanced while walking to and from his mailbox. Suddenly, the man tumbles onto his concrete door-way. The man peaking out of his window remembers all of the elderly people he has seen in his life-time. He has seen them hurt themselves even more than this old coot has now. He has seen them cut thereselves, bump their heads, and worse. Seriously the man thought, this is nothing.
I am going out on a whim and completing this writing exercise. I decided to go with the subject:
** A young woman/man stumbles across a dead body in the woods.
What does she/he do?** Enjoy… (apologies for the formatting…I tried to toy around with it and fix indentations and all that but it still did not come out correctly)
On a cold and foggy winter morning, Alice decided to take a jog through the woods. She’d been jogging nonstop for about an hour before she began to feel quite winded. She switched her pace to a slow stroll and proceeded lightly through the thick woods. She glanced back and forth through the tree line as she listened to the sound of her lungs filling and expelling air. Suddenly, something caught her
eye. “What was that,” she thought to herself.
She slowly crept towards the object that caught her eye. As she drew near, her vision became clearer but her breath…more unsteady. A tattered and torn dress became apparent. Purple ribbons of cloth blew in the wind, almost in sync with the dark black hair that flowed from the corpse. The woods began to howl and taunt her. They poked and prodded at her. Her senses heightened, as if they were never truly there. The smell of rotten and putrid flesh filled her
nostrils and replaced the air that she had lost while jogging…filling her
insides and making her stomach turn. Her eyes played tricks on her and she started to become faint and disorientated. Then…she thought…who did this to you?
Moments after this thought dawned on her, she heard a nearby crackling. Surely, it was a twig…but the crackling she heard was more relateable to her heart bursting out of her chest. She cocked her head ever-so-slightly and noticed a large dark figure peering through the fog. She also caught a faint glimpse at something shiny and red. She knew what was behind her, even though she barely saw. Her chest tightened, her heart and lungs pumped…and her legs propelled her onward through the fog. She heard the dark figure trampling the terrain behind her, as if an enraged elephant was charging at her. I have to keep moving…I have to get out of here…
After minutes of running, a bright orange fabric burst through the trees. It was another jogger in the distance…unfortunately they were too far to hear the commotion. She stopped and attempted to scream with the remaining breath that she had. Just as she attempted to open her mouth she felt a sharp thrust. And in an instant her breath and words abandoned her.
A sales associate at a store is clocking in for his shift. After having done that, he notices a pretty blonde standing in back of him waiting to do the same. He has never seen this girl, and is even more bewildered by her beauty. He walks onto the floor of his department, thinking about her. He wants to know where she works in the store so he can have a chance to say something. At the end of his shift, he is now clocking out. However, instead of how it was before, he is now standing in back of the new girl. She turns to leave, barely noticing him, and begins to make her way to the front of the store. Not knowing when she works next, and in a pure state of impulse, he says to her to “wait up.” The girl is very startled by this request from a person she does not even know. The boys clocks out and approaches her. She does not seem to be too interested, however. He greets her and asks her some questions about her self. She then starts to appear annoyed and asks the gentleman “Why do you want to talk to me for?” The boy, taking not even a second longer than…well a second, replies “Cause’ your pretty.” The girl then says “Exactly” and continues walking. The boy seems very disappointed. Maybe he will talk to her some other time. If she will allow it. What other reason would it be for?
He woke in near darkness, shivering. His torn t-shirt wasn’t much protection
against a rainy November evening. He wouldn’t have risked a fire even if
he’d had matches. The gash on his left arm throbbed and had been bleeding
again. He clenched his teeth on one end of the piece of t-shirt that he’d tied
above the wound, wrapped the other end around his right hand, held his breath,
and pulled. The pain pierced his arm, and his eyes watered in his effort not to yell.
He cleaned the blood around the wound with his lips and his tongue, and the
familiarity of its iron taste somehow calmed him. The bleeding stopped.
How to make it back to the cabin and Amy and the girls, before they gave up on
him and left for home? He reckoned they didn’t have much reason to trust
him anymore. He peered through the back of the lean-to for several minutes.
Nothing moved. He heard a tractor-trailer speed past a mile away on Highway 2.
“Now or never,” he said to himself, “alive or … No! I’ll make
it. Full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes.”
He used his right arm to push himself up and stood stock-still for another full
minute. He saw nothing move, but his scalp tingled with the feeling that menacing
eyes were tracking him. He breathed slowly, silently, the scent of pines in his
nostrils. He looked for twigs that could snap underfoot and give him away. At
length satisfied, he began treading carefully on the forest floor, his feet
sinking into the thick covering of fallen pine needles, stealing from tree to
tree. The rain had stopped. A light breeze came up, and brought a familiar
rotting smell, over to the left. Even before he turned and looked, he knew he
would see the body of his son. His head was split open, bone chips and brain
spattered on a rusty axe on the ground near his feet. “No! Rafe!”, he roared as
he crouched and ran, heedless now of danger.
hi. i am intrigued by this which is a good thing! i want to read more so i can say you have captured my attention and made me curious about your character’s story; very important aspects of a good story! i would caution against using well trod turns of a phrase like “Full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes” … see if you can create as meaningful a phrase yourself. Rafe — great name! i look forward to more
Tracey – thanks so much for taking the time to read and comment. I agree with your reaction to his cliche-like thoughts, I was a bit lazy in a couple of spots! I looked for something a bit uncommon in a name, and I figured Rafe would be a good one for him to “roar”. I am also intrigued by this, maybe I’ll keep going with it to see who all these people are! I actually stole the first line from the Game of Thrones series of books, it was Jaime Lannister who “woke in darkness, shivering”! I happened to be reading that when I was thinking about this writing practice.
This is good. I really like the short punchy sentences that are to do with the sense of being out in the woods. It is really well paced and I like the flow of it too. If you knocked this out in 15 mins then bravo. Are continuing with this story because, you know what? This makes me want to read more.
Many thanks – it probably took me an hour to do this. I appreciate the positive feedback, and your encouragement makes me lean towards fleshing it out into something, not sure what yet.
Enjoyed it very much. Grabbed my attention immediately. Would want to know, till the end.
This was like an excerpt from the middle of a novel. It flowed well, there was the right mix of description and action. I wanted to just keep reading.
This is excellent, thank you! I’ve started day one. So much fun!
A guy walks into a bar. He takes a seat right next to the door he entered in. Realizing he is the only patron in the bar, he decides to strike up a conversation with the bartender. He starts the conversation off with a joke: “A guy walks into a bar…”
Ed walked through the woods looking for that ridiculous chicken. He’d come this way once before but now the path had turned off, away from the farm. He could see a bit of light in the distance but he had no idea where he was, really. He only knew that Rosie the chicken had wandered off again, his Mom was late home from work again, and he was alone…again
Our chickens are free-range; they get to go where they please. Rosie seemed best pleased when leading Ed on wild goose chases; “Ha”, he thought, “I should change that to wild hen chases”. The light in the distance was coming closer but not yet so close as to help with Ed’s footing; he tripped over roots and stumbled on rocks. That gave him a strange outlook on the woods sometimes because, if you lay where you fell, you might find half-rotted logs and all manner of mushroom. At 9 years old, mushrooms were exotic. Ed had no interest in them when Mom served them for dinner but here, all dewy and weird looking, he was interested indeed!
His Gran had warned him against eating any mushrooms. In fact, his Gran had warned him against so many things when they first moved here that he couldn’t remember them all.
He lay there contemplating old home and new home; old rules and new rules for awhile but then he thought he’d caught a glimpse of Rosie’s white tail feathers up ahead.
He picked himself up from the wet ground and kept on after that bird.
As he came into a clearing the source of the light presented itself. There was a small but strong fire surrounded by 8 or 10 small but strong boys sitting on stumps. Ed stood stock still and listened hard. The boys were all dressed the same and sort of strangely too. They laughed at something until an adult came into view, dressed strangely too, short pants, kerchief. The adult poked at the fire a bit and kneeled down to give the boys instructions Ed could not hear.
Just then, Ed caught a glimpse of Rosie. She had, as always, fallen asleep where she stood when the sun went down. On this day she had made it to a stump of her own on the other side of the fire boys. Ed would have to get her but wasn’t sure how to do that without (Timer)
Too bad about that timer, no dead body! I actually thought it was Rosie who was going to turn up dead. Lots of humour here, mixed in with the ominous mystery of those boys and the adult – it works for me! Love it when Rosie falls asleep in her tracks! One thing which might need fixing is the point of view maybe – “Our chickens are free-range” seems like first person, a switch from third person elsewhere: “Ed walked…”
Regards,
John
I do like it. It has a nice style/pace. Although I feel like a lot of details are thrown in, and I get confused. The transition can be improved, Also. I think it was interesting.
A man named Stan is walking down the street. He is walking at a fast pace, yet he looks very tired at the same time. He passes by a coffee shop, then figures he could go for a cup. He orders his cup of coffee and sits down at the closest table nearby, which also happens to be the smallest. Stan is exhausted yet he really wants to get home and lay down. Work was rough that day. He still has a little more of his trek to his house to complete. He slightly burns his tongue on the steaming beverage, trying to finish it quickly so he can be on his way. He decides to just throw the remainder of it away in the trash, realizing that if it hasn’t cooled down a little by this point, it will take more time that quite frankly Stan is not willing to wait. He then makes his way towards the door, and out onto the sidewalk. About thirty minutes later, Stan arrives at his house. He quickly puts his belongings away, and then plops down on his couch. The inevitable in this case, would be for Stan to fall asleep relatively fast, yet he does not. He watches tv.
Walking through the woods, a couple stumble upon a dead deer. Flies are swarming around, and the smell being emitted is just a little too much for the man and the woman, especially the woman. Therefore, they continue to walk along the path past the rotting carcass only to discover that a humongous puddle blocking their way. This puts a bit of a dent in their plans, for they were trying to find a quiet place to be alone together. As they turn to walk the way they came from, they notice a nice bench fairly near the dead dear. Perhaps they were to distracted and repulsed by the deer to realize a seat in an otherwise peaceful area. They sit down, and put each others arms around one another. The deceased animal has suddenly not become an issue, because they are enjoying being together in the quiet. All of a sudden, They hear from what it sounds like a bird cawing in the distance, more than one. Vultures swoop down, flying rapidly around the body, and near the couple. In a moment of fear, they run through the puddle.
“Stop correcting me,” John said to Millie. It appears that john misread the name of an item on the list of special’s printed on a sign. They are sitting in a diner, on a Friday night. They have just arrived and gotten a table. John reaches for a menu almost immediately upon taking a seat in the booth, where Millie takes a few seconds to take off her heavy jacket and placing her pocket book to the side. “Aren’t you gonna take off your jacket?,” Millie asks of John. John pretends he doesn’t hear her, and continues reading. After making up his mind on what to order, he folds the menu back up and slides it to his left. He then notices Millie yet still reading her menu. He then asks her a rather similar question, “Why did you take off your jacket?.” “Ummm cause I feel more comfortable, and it is warm in here, and yeah, it is a heavy jacket.” The waiter then arrives to ask them what they will have. See”, John said, “maybe if you weren’t busy with all of that you would know.
Harold
A man is sitting at a library computer. He is just doing some senseless web surfing. He goes onto his pinterest account. There, he spots a picture of an absolutely beautiful girl. Feeling very excited from the picture, he decides to see more photos put up by this female user. As soon as the page changes to the next, the man is confronted with a particularly revealing picture. Realizing he is at the library, he right clicks the exit button as fast as his next heart beat. He looks to his left and his right, and in back of him to make sure nobody has seen the obviously not suitable material for a library. He logs off and makes his way to the bathroom. When he exits the bathroom and takes a sip of water from the fountain, a little girl, about six or seven, sees the man and asks why he was looking at those dirty pictures. Speechless, the man stutters and explains that it was an accident. She explains to him that she was in the children’s section that is located on the other side of the computer. She goes on how she was reading a book, and as soon as she lifted her eyes up, a vey inappropriate picture was visible. “Library is for reading, not that.” The man agrees with the little girl and they both wlk away.
Sometimes Laura really hated her husband. Today was one of those days. As she wandered the wooded property surrounding their home, Laura reflected on last night’s events that led her to feel this loathing toward James. He once again discovered Laura was having an affair. His reaction was always the same, that of a kicked puppy. He would grow sullen, sometimes cry and pout like a child. It was disgusting. She knew the kind of man she had married, an investment banker who spent his time behind a desk staring at a computer and calculations. He was soft. Not at all who she had imagined she would end up marrying, but Laura did what was necessary to improve her status. To cope with her disgust of her relationship, she spent the last nine years with various lovers to satisfy her need for a strong man to ravage her. She knew James would never ask for a divorce, no matter how tired he grew of her infidelity. He needed her intimate knowledge of his clients as much as she needed his wealth.
Laura continued to wander aimlessly, taking in the sounds of the woods. As she approached a large cluster of boulders and bushes, the sound of metal hitting stone drew her attention. She navigated her way through the underbrush quietly so as not to give herself away. She noticed movement through the trees and quickly recognized her husband’s unmistakable form, shoveling methodically. When she drew closer, she saw James was not alone. At his feet was what looked like the body of a man, wrapped in plastic. A black tennis shoe protruding from the wrappings at one end and a tuft of blonde hair peeking through the other. Laura, intrigued by the scene before her, continued forward. James stopped when he saw her, but instead of the usual timid expression Laura expected, she was met with a cold stare. She glanced down at the body lying at her feet. Even with the majority of the skull caved in and blood coating what features remained, Laura knew who it was. Stephen, her most recent lover. When she looked back up into James’ grey eyes, she couldn’t help but smile. There was a rush of heat that began to course through her as she reached out to grab James by the collar of his shirt. Laura pulled him to her and kissed him with a passion she had never thought possible. (timer)
This was very intriguing and although I at first thought the characters were going to be flat and typical, now I’m very interested to know more about them! Great job!
Thank you! It is the first thing I have written in a long time and am trying to get back into the swing of things, making sure I am writing at least SOMETHING every day. Maybe I will use these characters as a premise for an actual story or novel…we shall see!
A thief who just got out of jail for the same type of crime is at it again. “Your a serial thief,” one of his buddies told him. At that exact moment, he began to crave cereal. He is going to the closest store and he is going to steal a box of it. A fairly minor crime, in his opinion, that if he plays his cards right, and acts like he has been doing this for some time now, in which he very much has, will get out of there Scott-Free. He pushes his apartment door open, and quickly makes a right turn. He walks down the sidewalk headed in the direction of a gas station. He walks in calm and confidently, and heads down the aisle where the rather limited selection of cereal, especially when compared to an actual grocery store, is located. The man grabs a box of froot loops. Looking up at the front of the store, he notices the clerk talking to a very attractive female customer. At that exact moment, he forces the box down his pants, and then walks out the door.
“No ,no ,no ,no ,no ,no. Do it right or don’t do it at all!,” a tap dance instructor harshly explains to her student. The student, a teenage girl, does not seem to be that thrilled with this class, or the teacher. In fact, it most surely could be both. The girl is not the ideal tap dancer, though. Fed up, having to endure three hours prior of constant yelling and complaining, she silently walks away, not saying a word to her instructor. The woman takes a few seconds to realize this sudden action, and finally says” Go ahead, honey. your not the standard, feminine girl this class is made for.” The girl quickly reaches down to her left foot and snatches her heavy shoe off of it. Standing up now, the girl hurls it at the woman. She lets out a light scream, and falls down. The girl then lets a small chuckle.
Hi! I’m just starting writing a book. It’s going to be a chapter book.Joe Bunting really inspired me to write. I always thought I would never finish my book, but now that Joe encouraged me I will, I will finish my book.
“Walking is boring. Running, now that is not as.” This boy thinks a lot, as you can tell. He has to think about running instead of walking this way, instead of actually doing it. However, that is the main reason the boy wants to run so he can get out of his mind a little bit. He wants to run so much in one time that he will feel at one point that his heart will reach the maximum speed a heart can reach. He is moving now, in a gigantic park. This park has a trail that goes through an open field, the woods, and even in relatively rocky areas. The boy could care less, cause all he wants to do is see how far he can run.
I feel like this could be the beginning of a fascinating story about this boy. I like that there is a lot of character development in this. I’d tighten up the language a bit (just cut out anything extra, like “as you can tell” and the whole sentence about the park, since we only need to know the boy is ignoring the park). Great start and I hope you can follow this up with some more story about how the running and the boy come together!
Thanks. I was trying to include as much character development, to maintain a focus. I definitely will write more!
A young boy, named franklin, comes running home on day. The look in his face is not pain, its the exact opposite. Franklin runs across his front lawn diagonally to his door and enters. He spots his parents in the living room, and before even entering their area, he screams of enjoyment. “What is it Frankie?,” his father asks his son in anticipation for the answer. Franklyn takes his book bag off of his back and plops it on the ground. He then unzips it and pulls a paper out. “Look!,” Franklyn exclaims as he runs towards his parents with the paper. His mother takes the paper out of the excited boy’s hands and looks at it, along with her husband. “It says “F” Franklyn.” “Looks like your still daydreaming, huh?”
Oh dear. What is it with Franklyn? Does he got special needs? Am I gonna hate his parents? What happens next? O.o
Letters from a widow:
“It’s been cold lately. Not the cutting sharp cold of autumn, but the dull ache-in-your-bones damp cold of a winter that has gone on too long. The sun came out for a couple hours yesterday, but overall it’s been grey and it’s starting to wear on me. I sit at home and wonder, if you were here, would we go out? Would we bundle up and head out to eat somewhere or go see a movie? But, of course, we wouldn’t. We always stayed home, wrapped in blankets and our routines. But I still wonder. Maybe things would be different. If you were here.”
“I went to the store yesterday to grab groceries for the week. My appetite has tapered off, like it usually does when I only have me to worry about, and I’m trying to remember to make meals instead of just snacking all day long. But the grocery store is no fun without you. I buy a package of our favorite cookies and no longer can depend on seeing your smile when you pull it out of the bag. I have to remember to only buy the ice cream flavors I like—no one will eat the cookies and cream. And then I feel guilty about all the times I only came home with chocolate and didn’t bring home your flavors. You said you didn’t care, but now I regret not showing you that extra kindness. You always brought chocolate home for me. ”
“The kids called today. I spend lots of time talking to the girls and even Caleb will call frequently, even if he doesn’t want to chat as much as the other girls. I remember doing this with my mom. She was always busy, but she still took the calls. I wish you were here to hear their lives. But you wouldn’t sit on the phone the way I do. You would just get the short version from me later. Still, it would be nice to share with someone who understands our girls and our relationship with them. But you aren’t here to talk to. So instead I think of you and feel sad after each call. I hope you are listening from heaven and if you are, I know you understand what I’m thinking and are laughing with me at the naïve and wonderful way the world works—our girls making the same mistakes we made, worrying about the same things, calling mom when things aren’t working. There is a sort of justice in life after all.”
“I read the news headlines everyday when I lay down to nap. I scroll through them and realize that history really does repeat itself and that we humans never learn. I wish you were here to laugh at the stupid things that come up, and to feel the overwhelming hopelessness when evil reappears and innocents face tragedies. How do we hold enough love in our hearts to feel for everyone? And how do we as a race still somehow avoid helping and caring and fixing all the things that we have broken? I don’t know what it will take, but with each new generation I see that we just still have so far to go. Do you remember when I told you I wished I had gone to help people sometime in my past? You told me to go anytime I liked—that you would support me. That meant the world and I didn’t go because of our family, but now it’s too late and I simply wait helplessly as people suffer and I feel like a hypocrite for even feeling sorry for them. Do you think I’ll ever escape that feeling? I wish you were here to tell me that I can still go and do the great things I dream of. Even if you are just making me feel better.”
“I burnt the dinner tonight. Like usual I was trying to do too many things and the house filled with smoke and the pan turned dark. I ended up eating a microwave dinner. I’m not sure why I even bother trying to cook anymore. Perhaps because it feels like I should be eating real food. But you’re not here and the kids are gone and I am just so damn lonely that in some ways it feels right to be eating a stupid microwave meal alone at the table way past dinner time while the dishes soak in the sink. I will go to bed and start again tomorrow and it will be fine. But for now I relive all the times I burnt dinner and knew that even though you loved food and your mother cooked great meals you never judged me on that. I was not only my harshest critic, but my only critic. Except the kids. I smile as I remember how the kids used to tiptoe around asking you to make dinner—you do it the BEST dad! They’d crow if I wasn’t in the room. I never really took offense, because I liked your food too. But you always stood up for me, even when you didn’t know I was listening. And you always ate my burnt dinners, even when I didn’t. I still don’t know why you did that, but it will always be how I picture family dinner—all of us as I apologize and say “you don’t have to eat it, we have lots of other stuff” and you saying “no, it’s fine. Thanks for cooking dinner” as I smile apologetically and we share a moment of appreciating each other over the kids loud complaints. I miss those times.”
Dear Christi H.,
I love your “Letters from a widow:”. And I don’t like tragedies. I don’t like to cry. You convey the widow’s emotions well through her thoughts. I really felt the pain from her. Her description of the weather sets it up immediately; it reflects her mood. It felt real. I could imagine each of the scenes she describes. The pathos that things would probably be the same, not the way she would like, even if he were still alive, touched me. Very real. Very human.
I didn’t realize that each section was a different “letter” until the end, when I started to critique it and noticed the title. If that is the case, and I’m still not sure if it is, and not just the first letter in a book of letters, then dates or times might help with continuity. I felt a little hiccup in my brain after the change of subject at each break, despite the skipping of lines. Perhaps you could add some graphic between each section to help the brain change gears? Or maybe her say she knows she’s rambling a bit, (even though letters often do)? Wasn’t sure it was done at the end. Was it? If so, maybe something to signify that to the reader? Maybe a repetition of something from the beginning? Just thoughts.
Good job conveying her loneliness and love by what she tells him and the things that she remembers. I especially liked the appreciation she shows of little things he did that meant a lot because they showed his love for her. And she treasures them. Especially the ones that no one else did, or could do, because they weren’t him. She misses him. And it’s beautiful.
While reading this you can strongly sense how this lady must feel, that is a quality that I believe cAries this story. It’s well written. I would personally suggest adding a bit of humor to maybe a old situation that they encountered. Just to lighten the load.Expecially when it does not seem like more than one letter because of the tone. Whether intended to be one or not I believe adding a dash of humor to a good memory that she will soon regret , could add value. But in general this is a beautifully written story.
You captured each reflection so vividly. I
I f
You captured each reflection so vividly. It is almost as if I can hear you say, if I only knew that he would be gone so soon I could have been so much more. I could almost hear him say through your description. I love you and appreciate you just the way you are. What comes to mind is the song ” Don’t go changing just to please me , you never let me down so far ….I love you just the way you are.” Your story gives hope that love is real and continuous regardless of physical presence. Keep on writing
Thank you! I’m so glad you caught the emotion of the piece.
Yes. You stated this perfectly. My husband died of cancer almost 2 years ago. This is where I am.
Thank you for the compliment! And you’re right–a couple humorous things would really round it out better, since that’s what life is made of!
Thank you Karen for the kind comments and the good critiques. This was a 15 minute practice so it was written “on the fly” but you’re exactly right–it needs more structure to delineate the letters and organization. I appreciate your reading and critique. Thanks again!
Thank you Karen for the kind words and wonderful help with this piece. I agree–dates would really help! I’ll have to add them. Thanks for your reply!
Christi h, I loved your Letters from a widow as well. I had to stop and regroup a few times though. Next month will be a year since my beloved husband died after battling with cancer. I felt her emotion and often thought this is how my husband and I were. Especially on cool days bundled under our blankets hooked to our routines. I was thinking of writing a letter to my hubby just as you did here to honor his memory and tell him I miss him and still think about him often.
Oh Debra, thank you for your comment and I hope you are doing okay with all the emotions you must still be feeling. I’m sure a letter to honor and “talk” to your husband would be beautiful.
Christi, you’ve conveyed so much sadness and despair. All her joy is in the past, isn’t it? She has nothing to look forward to. Now she remembers the details that she might have taken for granted as they happened. I’m wondering if this is meant to be a story or if it’s simply a vignette. If it’s the latter, it seems like a marvelous starting place for a story. What happens next? If it’s meant to be a story by itself, I think it lacks that “what happens” element. I hope you keep working with it!
Thanks Lewis! I honestly didn’t think of where the story would go from here, but it would be interesting to see what happens next! I’ll have to keep fiddling to see if I can get some plot that matches it.
Christi, I really enjoyed this post (not that enjoyed is the right word, but still). I think the tone of the piece was conveyed extremely well, and I think the structure helped it to do that. I liked that each paragraph started with a simple sentence, went on to talk about what happened, and then elaborated on feelings. I’m not sure, as others seemed to be, that these were each the stories of different characters… I felt they were all from the same person.
Thank you–yes, they were all the same person. I just did the 15 minute window, so I’m not sure where the story would go from there. But the focus on feelings seems to be something everyone likes so I’d probably follow that pattern. Thanks again for the comment!
Oh man. It’s like I want to sit down and have cup of tea with her so she can let all that out. Very touching.
Thank you! I appreciate the comment.
I have no words to describe how I am feeling right now, just after reading this..All i can say is that I felt the pain you portrayed..It teaches us to value our relations before they are gone and not to take them as granted.. Maybe i will call my parents right away and ask about their whereabouts.
I too thought it was well written. Awesome piece of writing I thought!
Thank you!
Thank you! I hope you had a good conversation with your parents 🙂
Man, this is really a tear jerker letter and count me in. I’m a sucker for this type of story and this is really really good.
Thank you–I’m not sure where the story would go from here, but I am also a sucker for this type of honest, somewhat sad, real story.
It brought tears to my eyes. It felt real. What a beautiful piece of writing!
I feel sorry for her. You made a very good writing by making me feel sad and you explained and described your character.
Thank you–I’m glad you were able to “see” the character.
Thank you–I’m glad you were able to catch the feeling of the piece.
That was a very touching story. I have a hard time critiquing it because I didn’t find anything you need to fix. It makes me want to hug my husband and tell him how much I love and appreciate him!
Thank you! I’m glad it motivated you to such a good act!
Nice piece of writing. You deserve kudos for writing “Letters ….” within 15 minutes. Your language along with the idea, is very good. Inspite of the widow missing her hubby, I was expecting some sort of twist at the end. That would have made the story even more interesting. All the best wishes with your writing practice and keep on writing.
Thank you! I honestly didn’t even think about tying it together into a story–I look at the 15 minute windows more as a basic practice of putting words on a page, less of a complete story. I’ll have to figure out where the story would go from here! Thanks and best of luck to you too.
(Note how famous cookies and cream is) OMG, this makes me feel sooo bad at writing now… (Hey, what can you expect from a teen who’s recently interested in literature and journalism?) I suppose it’s the same review and comment: the ending. Was expecting something a little more exciting or twisty lol. 😉 😉 😉 😉
Thanks for the compliment and response–I look forward to reading some of your work!
Ahahaha, doubt I’ll even dare to post anything here…
Wow. I wish I could write like that. You just put so much emotion and feeling into it. I loved it, and don’t have any suggestions! Great job.
Thank you so much! I just tried to put myself in that moment.
Well, great job doing that!
Beautiful! Your writing reminds me of that song that Kris Kristofferson sang with Joan Baez called “Hello in there.” My Mom has been a widow since November 2003. I, now, sort of understand what she feels. I’ve been trying to get her to write down stuff…
Thank you! I hope your mom does write down some things…it is so key to helping the rest of us understand how people feel in any given situation.
This is an emotionally touchy piece of writing, built out of the ordinary, trite everyday activities anyone could have expected to sound insipid and unappetizing. You are great Christih!
Thanks Leaven! I did worry about it sounding too emotional, so I’m glad it hit the right tone 🙂
A great job. I could feel your pain and longing. I, too, was a young widow at age 33.
Thank you! I am actually not a widow, but I just tried to channel what I would write if I were. I hope that that is not too presumptive, as I’m just practicing trying on roles for future writing. I’m so sorry for your loss and wish you the best.
Christi this was very good. I’m surprised to see you say you are not a widow. Maybe you are walking beside someone who is? Because you captured a lot. I am younger than the character you portrayed, I keep thinking I’m a young widow but I guess you could call me a middle aged widow – I’ll be 50 this year. But I have school aged children so my situation is very different than what you described.
But the feelings. You captured the feelings. This part grabbed me:
“I sit at home and wonder, if you were here, would we go out? Would we bundle up and head out to eat somewhere or go see a movie? But, of course, we wouldn’t. We always stayed home, wrapped in blankets and our routines. But I still wonder. Maybe things would be different. If you were here.”
Well done.
Thank you for your kind comments, and I’m so sorry for your loss. I can’t really imagine what it would be like to have young kids and be going through this kind of pain. I wish you and your family the best.
Thank you
A really tender and deep write. As I was reading your words, I saw the scenes about your life and every feeling inside your heart.
Amazing! You must be the best writer in the world. Keep it going.
Haha, thank you.
Very good
Thanks.
I have to say that I like it very much on a personal level. I can’t add any more feedback just yet because I’m not “qualified”. I’m just starting this amazing writer’s journey myself.
Best of luck!
Chuck
Best of luck on your writing Chuck!
Hi my name is Shelby helona. This story is really good and it reminds me of my dog that died and I know you are under stress right now but I can help you get back to your real life and dream because I been there in under stress but I got help and I am offer it to you. For you to think about it. You can reach me at shelby.helona@gmail.com and I will post my story today in a few hours
Wow, wonderful image and fantastic story. Loved how all the memories and love was poured out in this and all done in 15 minutes. I will keep working on my writings, as you gave me hope I can get to this point.
Thank you and good luck with your own writing!
So touching. I could feel that you put your heart in every words, every moments that you was telling. Even it is not your own story, but in my perspective it is really real in the way it has been done by your own beautiful mind!
Thank you so much.
It’s so detailed and beautiful keep it up
Thanks.
Your piece is very talented. The words resemble that of a real widower would say and do in her casual life. Including remembering the cold, harsh memories of the past.
Thank you very much.
I love the descriptive style of your writing – you bring such sadness and nostalgia to the piece. I really like the way you make the mundane everyday things have such meaning. Lovely
Thank you!
Nicely done.
Thank you
Hi Christi, I really enjoyed your piece of work. It made me see the scenery of what you have describe. I would have one comment: I didn’t fully understand that each paragraph is meant to be a separate letter. Otherwise, it is really nice. If you did this in 15 minutes, I feel like I need to learn a lot! 🙂
Thanks! I did do it in 15 minutes, but it sort of just spilled out. They aren’t always like that 🙂 And I appreciate your advice–I’ll have to put a date or something to break it up more.
I can almost walk in those places. I like it. Thanks for sharing.
I enjoyed ur story from top-buttom
My eyes filed with tears as I read your post. It is very nice work!
so beautiful , because for me you talked about things that happen in the real life and it seem coming from the deepest place of your heart .
Thank you!
Enriching! It’s more of a life experienced than a story created.It brings the real life of a widow.A good writer you are Christih
Thanks Agustus!
I can really feel the pain on your work. This is a very excellent piece. I wish I could do the same.
Thanks Heart. Best of luck in your own work!
Its really beautiful and heart touching. It made me cry. You are awesome!
Thanks Simran!
Very, very nice
Thanks Kenneth
So beautiful. i wanted to keep on reading. i wish it were longer.
Thanks Kaushik. I’ll have to see if I can make it a longer piece somehow.
Awww!!!!! this is so sweet. I love how you wrote it. So sweet. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks Whitney! I appreciate it 🙂
It is so lovely, sweet and sorrow. Thank you. Nice writing.
Thanks Jin.
I enjoyed reading this! It was so sweet and well written.
Thanks Jackie!
Very touching piece. I enjoyed the way you wrote it as a dialogue, which helps develop the narrator’s voice, something I could use in my own writing. I wonder if you could deliver still more impact using more specific details to bring it to life, like the microwave meal – what exactly was it? mac and cheese? or chicken parmesan? You do a great job of conveying your narrator’s emotion. Love it!
Thanks Jorge! I’m sure more details would help–I’ll see how to work that in. Thanks again.
The piece is very touching and i’m thinking the feeling when the the grief will reach me.
Thanks Chiara.
I really like this.I felt the sorrow and the connection between them. I notice it was quite a few months ago now, I hope you are still writing, it was a pleasure to read 🙂
Thanks Claire! I haven’t written for a while and need to get back to it. Thanks for the reply and encouragement.
I really love how you were able to use ink to replace the blood in your heart by really describing the intense emptiness in you or the characters heart. You did an amazing and beautiful job conveying that this was indeed a memory of memories with the choice of perspective you wrote from. In the beginning I saw that, what looked like to me, were too many commas that kind of damped the feel of intensity. Maybe a few better choice of words or simplified way of expression would have made your piece even better. I must say, in conclusion, that many hearts will be touched by this beautiful work of art. I like how I was able to read and understand what was happening and how it felt. I’m the future info ever read anything else from you I would like to see some thoughts from the other characters and how they differ from one another. Make it more personal. But you did an amazing job with what time and space you had. Great work.
thank you for the reply! I love your critiques and will definitely work on them–they are very helpful. Thanks again.
Whoa whoa whoa whoa was that even the whole story? Where is the ending? Wow was that a season or something? I admit it is better than mine
I was doing a “fifteen-minute practice” so it does end abruptly. I’ll have to see if I can work it into a longer piece somehow. Thanks!
I cried when I read this. I can imagine the feeling. Kudos to you!
Thank you!
This is beautiful. The pain and heartbreak drips from the rich prose. If the goal of a writer is to write one true thing, you’ve far exceeded expectations. There’s almost too much truth in it for my depressive nature. Thank you for sharing this – and giving me the chance to be a widow for a while.
This compliment makes me want to cry–thank you so much! I think that “this is truth” is the best compliment I could receive.
Awesome! As an older woman who’s been alone for many years, I recognize this as *truth*. All the little details: cooking for one, a microwave oven that is “stupid” (lots of stupid stuff in my house), the loneliness, the good memories that make you smile, the loss of a loving and kind life partner, all really hit home for me. Fine writing. I can see it as a short memoir piece in a magazine (especially something like Redbook, Ladies Home Journal, Good Housekeeping, and no doubt others, you’d have to research the market. Or as part of a longer story, or even a novel. I don’t see anything here that needs to be fixed. I did notice that as the narrative progressed, the paragraphs got longer and longer. That might be something you could think about, and possibly break the last one – for instance – into a couple of shorter ones. Sometimes when I’m reading books, especially nonfiction, it’s easy to lose my place when the page is really packed with just one or two paragraphs, but that’s just me. Also, I’m impressed that you wrote all of that in only 15 minutes.
I look forward to seeing what you write for next time.
Thanks Toni! I don’t know how to use it yet, but I’ll have to see where it fits best (and work it up the rest of the way). I did set a timer and this piece just spilled out. I always take a couple minutes afterward to clean it up a bit and format. I love your advice about keeping the paragraphs short. And yes, I am a fast typist 🙂 Thanks again!
I loved they way you made this story! You are going to be a great writer.
You could turn this into a larger story
Trail of death:
The man was running on his normal trail through the lush forest near his house. One he’d run countless times before. So much so that he no longer thought on these runs, as if he was running on autopilot. It’s perhaps only for this very reason he managed to notice something that would turn his world upside down.
…
Shady Grove was a quant town with a population of a few thousand. Most people knew each other. It was the kind of idyllic town that still saw people leaving their doors unlocked at night. This was about to change.
…
Frank Hill noticed mound of fresh earth just off the trail he was running along. Given his knowledge of this particular section of the forest he thought it odd this was there. He approached curiously.
“What could have caused this?”, he muttered to no one in particular.
Just a few feet away his heart started beating faster. He spotted something he hoped wasn’t what he thought it was. As he squatted down directly over the mound of earth he brushed at what had caught his eye.
He leaped back when his fears were made reality. Poking out of the ground was part of a human foot.
His mind reeled at what he was seeing. How could this be possible?
He slowly stood up in a daze, not noticing the shadow that was moving through the trees beside him.
Just in time he turned to see something flying at his head and dropped below it’s lethal arc.
His mind was chaos. All he could do was think of escape. He made his way back to the trail at a blinding pace and began his escape.
The shadow could be felt by pure instinct directly behind him. It was unclear how close he was but Frank didn’t dare turn around. All his focus was ahead…
Nice. Very creative. This is very good and inspirational. Keep it up.
Your writing caught me from the title. I am a 74 year old widow of eight years and so many of the things you wrote were things I have been thinking. I am twice a widow. My first husband died of leukemia in 1976. I met my second husband in 1987 and we married in 1988. He died in 2009 of multiple organ failure. Unlike you, I have had no children but I have a sister who has kids that serve as substitutes for me, I guess. Anyway, it sounds like you have the makings of an excellent book, and it is very well written. Good luck to you.
Ausum…
fabulous. You are pro in writing and expressing it with perfect belance.
Goodness. I am SO in love with this. If not for my difficulty in crying, there would be tears on my cheeks right now. Thank you so much for giving me this. Thank you so so much.
This is my first time reading and/or responding to another’s creativity. And after reading this, I am thankful that this was my first. It drew me in with a mixture of beauty and remembrance. I thoroughly enjoyed this snip it as I recalled some of my unwritten letters to anyone. BEAUTIFUL!
This is so sweet. I started tearing up. Amazing job!
Superb !!!!
Idea is good but there are some grammatical and punctuation mistakes….overall your writing is good
We should not only appreciate each other but also need to criticise so that we may be able to polish our writing.
I am also writing a story in these days and after completing my story I will also share a piece of my writing overthere
OMG…….That’s wonderful. I am in tears tbh. It felt so real. Its really impressive.
It so nice.can tell how you feeling.
Loved how you described the pain using the description of the knife.
Robin just wants to have a boyfriend. She has so much love to give, she just needs somebody to give it to.
She is sitting in Mr. Alra’s English class. She finds the boy who sits next to her attractive. So, she finds an opportunity to talk to him and jumps at it. ” You like this class?” Robin asks the boy, whose name is not known. “Yeah, I do. Your in it.”
This is a really good start on your story. I can feel emotion. It’s sweet, especially the boy’s response. It makes me want to read on, hoping it stays sweet and he’s not a jerk.
There is a little bit of choppiness in the flow. You probably already know you have some grammar problems to fix. The second sentence is a run-on, which you should either make into two sentences, or put in a semicolon instead of the comma. The semicolon would be nice because it gives different lengths to your sentences and better flow. In your last sentence, “Your” should be “You’re” because he’s saying you are. You have a preposition “to” at the end of a sentence, which isn’t correct grammar, but it feels right because that is the way these characters would think and talk in this setting.
That seems like a case of breaking the rules on purpose because it works better. Your short story or novel nicely fits the schoolgirl romance genre, which is in demand. Might make a nice paperback. You definitely elicit the squeal, the heartthrobing, and the aaah factor that make them popular.
Thanks Karen. I could have definitely written more then. I try to come from a place in my writing where I get inside the characters in the story and write according to the way they would most likely think and talk.
That is so-o-o cute! I really like his response!
Too cute! I’m seriously hoping he’s not a jerk… My only complain is that this post is too short lol. I’m a fool for love stories.
Writing practice (15 min. tell the story, no editing from https://thewritepractice.com/how-to-write-a-short-story/)
Gardening technique –
So, we lived in Texas where it’s really hot, and I wanted to grow a great garden. We had access to a lot of land so we could grow a lot of food, really nutritious food that would cost me very little. So I sat down with my adult daughter, Frances, and went over all the different ways to plant that I had used, tried, or read about and thought had merit: square foot gardening, french intensive planting, raised beds, mulch. And we started a garden. First seedlings, because we wanted to get started right away. I bought cheap seeds, some that I could only get at higher prices, and a few I really wanted to try but never had. I usually try a few new ones each year. I tried just one new one a year, but I’m too impatient for that; I want to see them all now. And I want to save the money those unusual colors, varieties, or fruits/veggies cost at the store, or even Farmer’s Market. So I let each kid who’s interested pick what they want to grow and they usually want to try something new, too. So I get several new ones without having to do the intensive learning for a new thing all by myself. I even let them have their own gardens, sections of mine, or rows if they want. They get excited. I get help. They get invested in their plants, learn new things, and teach me. Or they ask and we learn together. That’s how the most effective way to plant I have ever seen or used came into being. It wasn’t even me. I was the catalyst. Frances put it all together. And we had great results. We grew watermelon in north Texas in the summer. Our neighbor who is an amazing gardener said she had never been able to grow watermelon there. We brought in wheelbarrows full of several varieties of melons that summer.(timer)
I wrote a short poem instead today!
Hollywood, the fantasy world!
Many of us have grown up watching Bollywood movies and also believing that everything that they show is true. Some things come true and some not.
Don’t let the world of fantasy take the practicality out of your life! It is indeed funny that most of us, being in younger age, believe all those happy feelings will stay for life long. At times it affects our relationships as things happen to the contrary of our thinking.
It is best to embrace life as it comes and not live in your fantasy world!
I thought I will always hang out with those four best friends I had in school.
But they went their different ways soon after.
I thought I will always have my friendships intact and always nurturing.
But all along, I gave them up and made new ones.
I thought I will find my dream guy in college and live with him happily ever after
But soon, he told me that I am not who he is looking for.
I thought people will talk about my flawless love life
But people did have their apprehensions after all my fights and cries.
I thought I will go on vacations or parties every weekend
But later, I myself never wanted to be a part of them.
I thought I will land up in the best company to work in.
But the best company never gave me the chance to show my mettle.
I thought I will always work hard and climb the ladder of success
But soon I realized that I never wanted to work there.
I thought my spouse will bring a rose every anniversary of month.
But we know deadlines are important than anniversaries.
I thought my days will start with a kiss and end with a kiss
But aren’t we tired so much for that?
I thought my partner will leave all work and come when I demand
But soon I realized the nonsensical part of it.
I thought my parents will shout at the choice of my partner
But I was amazed to see them welcome him with open arms.
I thought my friends will stand by me always
But they were nowhere to be seen in the vicinity
I thought the life will be all riches and luxuries
But I soon got drowned in debts and loans from friends and banks.
I thought my father will cuddle my cheeks when I go out to work
But he always left for his work in a hurry.
I thought of meeting my friends and singing songs all night
But I myself stopped taking those invitations.
I thought of dancing and swimming all my life.
But I realized taking care of home is equally important.
I thought the touch of a man will impregnate me
But even the kisses failed to reach my heart at times.
I thought I will get all pleasures of life.
But I soon realized you have to even give to feel love.
Hey Shagun. I like the way your semi-poetic story rolls along. I just noticed a few grammar mistakes, but overall I found it to be very raw and honest. Good job!
A restaurant is full of people. It has so many people inside of it, and so much food on their plates. Waiters are running around, almost literally, to make sure their patrons are satisfied. Tons of dialogue is being exchanged, the voices of the workers included, laughter is heard rather continuously, in between them eating.
Harmony, however does not like this much. He would rather much be eating dinner in the comfort of his own home, then having to endure all of this. He would be doing just that, too, if his friend hadn’t thought of the idea to try out the place, an Italian bistro.
The two men walk out. “Hey,” his friend says, looking at harmony. “For a guy named harmony, you don’t take much joy in much. That was a good restaurant.” “I agree, he says.”
A truck passes by a motel. Less than a minute later, the truck drives into the empty parking lot. A man, as rugged and shady as would expect from a trucker, hops out onto the ground. He then makes his way into the office to get a room. Once he has checked in, the trucker goes to his assigned room. Without taking anything off or putting anything away, he collapses on the bed. He suddenly hears a knock on the door. He opens and not a soul is there. He lays back down and before long the bang is heard once again. The trucker then goes outside, and with a gun in his hand, fires one off into the sky. The motel owner then runs out and wonders what is going on. The trucker explains to the worried tenant that someone is harassing him. The man then explains to the trucker that the screen door often bangs. “Jeez. No wonder people are weary of truckers. You guys don’t waste much time before showing how completely nuts you are, like in the movies!”
An Evacuee’s Letter Home, One That Never Gets Sent:
Dear Mummy,
I don’t understand Mummy, I don’t understand at all. You always used to say I was a good girl, your special little angel. But Mrs Walker says I’m a very, very naughty girl and she hits me, Mummy, right in the face and I don’t like it, I really don’t! You never used to hit me, never ever. And I started crying when she hit me because it hurt, Mummy, it hurt but Mrs Walker said it was what I deserved, and I shouldn’t cry, but I couldn’t help it Mummy, the tears wouldn’t stop, they just wouldn’t!
And then she shouted at me, but you never shouted at me, and I was scared, so I just cried harder and harder, and she grabbed me, and put a hand around my mouth, holding it shut, and pinched my nose, and I couldn’t breathe, Mummy, and my lungs were bursting, and I wanted to scream, but she was holding my mouth shut, and the tears wouldn’t stop streaming down my face, and then it all started to go black, and I couldn’t see anything, and I think I fell asleep but in a really, really bad way, and I thought I was going to die!
But I know I deserved it, I deserved all of it, Mrs Walker told me so. She said I was a devil, sent from Hell, and I need to be punished, and I was a very, very bad girl. Why did you tell me I was an angel, Mummy? Why did you tell me I was a good girl? Why did you lie to me, Mummy?
I’m really, really hungry, Mummy, Mrs Walker said devils from Hell shouldn’t get fed and she wasn’t wasting her hard earned money on me. She told me I should have died at birth, and then she wouldn’t have to put up with me. Oh, Mummy, I’m an awful, awful girl, and I deserved to be killed. Why didn’t you kill me, Mummy? You must have known I was from hell, and not an angel. Mrs Walker says you should have just put me out of my misery, and I think so too. Devils shouldn’t live on Earth with all the good people, like Mrs Walker. I know she’s good because she tried to beat the devil out of me, spending her precious time trying to rid me of sin.
But it didn’t work, Mummy, and now I’m locked in a room, and she hasn’t let me out for ages. I’m really thirsty, Mummy, and really hungry, and I need something to eat, and I’m crying and screaming for someone to let me out but no-one can hear me and – Mummy, please! I don’t think Mrs Walker is coming back! She’s never going to let me out! Mummy, help me!
I stayed awake, my eyes not shutting a tad, except for blinking, but even that was rare. This night, I don’t know why I cannot go to bed. I mean I am technically in bed, but I mean actually sleeping. I’m tired, too, yet extremely restless. Don’t you hate that when You really want to do one thing, but Instead a more powerful force is keeping you from doing that and instead causing you to do another? I have gotten up and walked around a couple of times, and still I have not gotten rid of this energy. There were times where I would lay without the urge to get up, or even, god forbid, think. So, I didn’t have really any coffee today, and I did quite a bit of work. Although, I did get to relax a bit more often then usual. I’m doing a whole lot of thinking, and when I think of it, that may be just the deterrent of this situation. Maybe if I stop thinking about why I can’t go to sleep, and actually go to sleep, who knows, maybe I’ll find the answer.
A dog keeps barking. The owner has yelled at it several times, begging for silence. He has finally given up. Suddenly, there is a bang on the door. Knowing that it is going to be an upset neighbor, he expects the worse. He opens the door and to his surprise, a man claiming to be homeless asks to come in. He says no to the stranger and practically slams the door in his face. He hears the barking continuing and lets out a scream. He goes outside in his shed and comes out with a shovel. He starts to dig a hole in his backyard. When the hole finally becomes large enough for, say a human, the owner of the unrelenting canine hops in. Once in, he puts his two fingers to his mouth and whistles. In that exact moment, the barking stops, and the dog runs outside to the hole in his owner lays. He begins to bury the man, and does not bark once after that.
Her startled eyes were what he noticed first. Her mouth was open but no words came out. She didn’t need to say how shocked she was, poor thing. Surely raised in the city rutting wasn’t something she’d seen before with animals. Of course her mother’s legs wrapped around his naked torso wasn’t as horrifying as the moans of pleasure emanating from the woman under him. He wanted to stop, pull a blanket over them both; but the fingernails tearing into his back left him out of control. When he came he whispered in her ear, “Your daughter is here.”
Like a horse throwing a rider she was up and robed in the comforter. He rolled naked off the far side of the bed hooking a pillow to hide his disgraced parts. “Father Damian was helping my aching back.” His errant parishioner said to her innocent eight year old. “Daddy doesn’t need to know, right?’
Tears had started to wash the child’s face. “You’ll just say I’m lying–like last time,” she said turning away to let them sort out their own justifications.
Satisfaction held sway; however he dreaded placing the host in the mouth of the child’s first communion.
this is not actually a story but it’s what comes to my mind now. i’d like you to give me your opinions
thank u 🙂
walking along the sea in a mildly cold night, waves roaring in a raging way so intimidating yet so intimate, breeze upheaves wisps of her hair that dangle over her eyes. she was looking at the shiny stars brightening the vast pitch-black sky, and she wandered if it is fate that reunited her with her once-bestfriend earlier today or it is a mere coincidence. like hundreds of miscellaneous events that we encounter all the time. like thousands of faceless people that we pass by every day. but she wasn’t faceless, this one had a face, a one that she knows very well, with her hazel eyes not green not brown but a little bit of both, her dark brown hair that lies over her shoulders and her teeny tiny mouth that almost always smiling.
staring at the distant stars, she kept running the day’s events in her head. she could swear it was a coincidence cause she never takes this road to her work, she only took it because she had to be somewhere before work. a sheer random act that led to one of the happiest moments she has had in a very long time. yet isn’t that what fate is all about, shaping our life in the least expected way. like when you pump into an old friend just because you took a different road. or when you avoid a catastrophic accident just because you woke up a little late and missed the bus.
small and insignificant events that mean absolutely nothing on its own yet when put together it turns our life upside down like fate has a mind of it’s own.
maybe this is how the universe works. maybe the trivial and random coincidences are fate’s way of doing things, like marionettes pulled from high above by strings in the hands of men.
she closed her eyes and shook her head trying to sweep out these philosophical ideas that will only lead her to question her own existence. she continued to walk along the sea when she found a fish on the shore drifted by the surging waves, flipping, crying helplessly for life. she wandered if it’s by coincidence that she stumbled into this fish or it’s already written in the stars that shine above. she laughed for the idea of the fish having a fate for its own, she knelt down, gently held the fish, gave it a soft assuring kiss then sent it back to where it belongs.
I think what you have here Ahmed is a very insightful, enjoyable little story. Yes I do think it is a story, that you could elaborate on even more. Nice theme about philosophy.
A cool mist swept in between the shadows of the tall Evergreen wood. The unusual white fog was heavy that night, but stranger things had occurred. I had reached out my hands in hopes to navigate through the air’s density; except, I stumbled upon something below me. It was harder than the soft earth nor was it stiff like the befallen trees. My eyes were eager to uncover what this was under the blinding veil.
Darkness crept around me, though, my sight was clear. Then, a face emerged from an ethereal light that reflected my own! Again, darkness claimed my vision, but faded into a transparent and blurry glow.
A young woman/man stumbles across a dead body in the woods. What does she/he do?
Peter ran out fo the house as fast as he could, he needed that break, a break of his monotonous life and the constant mother and father disputes, he couldn’t tolerate anymore their same complaints about their same old stuff, he could barely imagine what do you have to pass through to fall completely out of love with a person that used to be your partner and best friend. It hurt him immensely, but barely their parents could see that, they were mainly focus in hurting each other.
He was not thinking properly when by apparently hitting a rock he felt hard on the floor, he cried out in pain as his knee was bleeding badly, he coursed several times out loud, but when he turned around to see what was the cause of his physical suffering he lost his breathe, he was unsure if what he was seeing was real, if the girl on the floor was real, if the blood on her chest was real, if all the blood, the dirt the mess, her beauty were real; in fact everything seemed so unreal that he thought he might be sleeping, but unfortunately not he was not sleeping, the pain in his knee reminded him it was completely real, he thought about running and avoid getting involved in what apparently was a horrible murder case, however, betrayed by his curiosity, he turned around and slowly reached the girl’s face, carefully he took out his silver hair from her face.
He was shocked about this particularity, he had never seen a girl sharing his same characteristic, the one who make him so unique, his silver hair, he was so proud of it, even though he didn’t know where did his genetics went wrong as his both parents have brown hair, but this girl, she was special too, she, in the middle of leaves, blood and chaos she had the same silver bright hair, thin and soft as cotton, mesmerised by this fact, suddenly, his heart almost froze, in discomfort she spoke, she wasn’t dead, just badly badly injured. Peter couldn’t believe his eyes, she was moving slowly and mumbling incomprehensible words, he couldn’t take her home, their parents will be asking a million questions and he was not ready for this, in fact, he didn’t want to share this secret. He was feeling he could finally do something of his own and help this strange beautiful silver hair girl, but he had to react fast, she was dying, that was a fact.
Betty was sitting in her front yard as usual coloring. She was only 5 at the time and lived in a little white house with a old red wooden fence on Maple street. The fence flung open, and standing there was Robby. “Ugh, it’s Robby again..” Betty thought was she continued to color. Robby was Betty’s mom’s best friend’s son. He was over a lot, scene Betty’s mom watched him when his mom was at work. The gate slammed shut and Robby walked over to Betty and without a word he started spiting saliva all over Betty’s coloring book. Betty screamed! Yet again Robby had destroyed another piece of her art. Robby knowing that Betty’s mom would soon be out to scold him, ran out the old red gate and around the corner. Betty still screaming was confused when she saw Robby come back with a little red Rose.
“Betty!” The man said with a loud tone, to make sure that she could her. Betty was knocked out of her daydream. “Www-what did you say?” She stumbled to get the words out. The man looked at her and with a strong, confident voice he said “I said, will you make me the happiest man in the world, and be my wife?”. As a smile swept Betty’s face she told him “Has long as you promise not to drool on my coloring books. Of course, I will!”. Robby Laughed, as he pulled out a little red Rose and slips a ring on her finger.
Sooooo… This is the first I’ve written in years. This post gave me some direction and this is where it went.
Aria longed for adventure, so much so that she had put herself in many precarious situations throughout the years. Each time she read a book she found herself “sucked in” as it were, drawn to the fantasy so much that she could barely tell the fantasy from reality.
One day, while walking home from school she found herself in such a precarious situation. She decided that the normal path through the park was beautiful but just too dull for her tastes and so she chose to delete it from her mind. Wandering this way and that, albeit in an otherwise north western direction, she stumbled upon fallen logs, moss covered trees, and toadstools she could almost see tiny fairies flittering from. These tiny fairies took shape in her mind’s eye and called to her, beckoning her to join their fantastical world of wonder and delight. She brought herself to the now. So often had she hoped and dreamed to be sucked in to such a magnificent fairy tale and each time she wasn’t she became a little less heartened. A little less innocent, a little less herself she felt. “Delusions…” she told herself this time. “Nothing more than petty childhood dramas and fairy tales.”. Disappointed once again she continued her way to the north-west, still marveling at nature’s magnificence. She saw here wonder and brilliance and majesty. She prayed as she walked for some sort of direction. Little did she know that she would stumble upon direction in the cruelest of ways before long.
Aria had almost come to the edge of a clearing, one of which she imagined mystical unicorns, rainbows, and leprechauns. How naïve. How wonderfully naïve she was. Just as she was clearing some brush and taking another step she found her stride pardoned. Not a stumble, not a squish, but rather a misplaced footing of an odd nature in such a landscape. Looking to her feet she expected to see some form of roots to trip over or some disheartening garbage to ruin the scenery. But no, and once she looked down she wished she had seen such. Before her feet, surrounding her in fact, was a body. A cold pale, rotting corpse of which only appears in horror flicks. She didn’t scream; she didn’t believe what she was seeing. So lost in fairy tale fantasy was she that the upended bones and wasted face seemed some plot line in an epic adventure to her. Moments passed and she dared not move. Fleeting moments occurred to her in which the corpse became animated and reached for her, pulling her down into some dark and dank abyss that would become her grave. But she stayed herself. She waited for the long impending doom that usually accompanied others in horror flicks. “Soon some serial killer will appear out of the woods” she told herself “I will run to the clearing calling for help and the killer will silent me with a quick slash to my throat”. But none of that came. All that she heard was the sounds of birds chirping, of insects buzzing, and of her heart beating.
After what seemed an eternity, although only a minute or so, Aria realized what she had come upon fully, and the heavy weight of mortality crushed upon her. Sorrow filled her heart, and duty called to her. Carefully, so as to not disturb the poor soul who rested here, she took a few steps backward, took out her phone, and dialed 911.
Heather longed for adventure, so much so that she had put herself in many precarious situations throughout the years. Each time she read a book she found herself “sucked in” as it were, drawn to the fantasy so much that she could barely tell the fantasy from reality.
One day, while walking home from school she found herself in such a precarious situation. She decided that the normal path through the park was beautiful but just too dull for her tastes and so she chose to delete it from her mind. Wandering this way and that, albeit in an otherwise north western direction, she stumbled upon fallen logs, moss covered trees, and toadstools she could almost see tiny fairies flittering from. These tiny fairies took shape in her mind’s eye and called to her, beckoning her to join their fantastical world of wonder and delight. She brought herself to the now. So often had she hoped and dreamed to be sucked in to such a magnificent fairy tale and each time she wasn’t she became a little less heartened. A little less innocent, a little less herself she felt. “Delusions…” she told herself this time. “Nothing more than petty childhood dramas and fairy tales.”. Disappointed once again she continued her way to the north-west, still marveling at nature’s magnificence. She saw here wonder and brilliance and majesty. She prayed as she walked for some sort of direction. Little did she know that she would stumble upon direction in the cruelest of ways before long.
Heather had almost come to the edge of a clearing, one of which she imagined mystical unicorns, rainbows, and leprechauns. How naïve. How wonderfully naïve she was. Just as she was clearing some brush and taking another step she found her stride pardoned. Not a stumble, not a squish, but rather a misplaced footing of an odd nature in such a landscape. Looking to her feet she expected to see some form of roots to trip over or some disheartening garbage to ruin the scenery. But no, and once she looked down she wished she had seen such. Before her feet, surrounding her in fact, was a body. A cold pale, rotting corpse of which only appears in horror flicks. She didn’t scream; she didn’t believe what she was seeing. So lost in fairy tale fantasy was she that the upended bones and wasted face seemed some plot line in an epic adventure to her. Moments passed and she dared not move. Fleeting moments occurred to her in which the corpse became animated and reached for her, pulling her down into some dark and dank abyss that would become her grave. But she stayed herself. She waited for the long impending doom that usually accompanied others in horror flicks. “Soon some serial killer will appear out of the woods” she told herself “I will run to the clearing calling for help and the killer will silent me with a quick slash to my throat”. But none of that came. All that she heard was the sounds of birds chirping, of insects buzzing, and of her heart beating.
After what seemed an eternity, although only a minute or so, Heather realized what she had come upon fully, and the heavy weight of mortality crushed upon her. Sorrow filled her heart, and duty called to her. Carefully, so as to not disturb the poor soul who rested here, she took a few steps backward, took out her phone, and dialed 911.
“Get out.”
Those were the last words my mother ever spoke to me. They perfectly summarized out relationship. I would have found it poetic at the time, if I wasn’t so enraged. Some people use that term loosely, but I’m not one of them. On a day-to-day basis I get angry pretty regularly, say if someone at work uses the shared microwave to warm up their gross leftover fish, or if I get cut off in traffic because some jerk thinks his schedule is more important than anyone else in the world. That level of anger happens pretty often, to almost anybody, but this was something different. This was a white hot emotion, seething inside me, in my stomach, in my chest, in my head. A fire demanding to be let out, to be heard.
I let my anger have its way. I slapped her across the face, hard. She fell in an almost comical way, the way that would make you chuckle if it was shown in an old-timey cartoon. Her head jerked to the side as the back of my hand made contact with her cheek, her legs gave out, and her face was coated in shock. Her surprise was understandable, as the people who have the nerve to strike their mothers are usually terrible, and that was not a word anyone had ever used to describe me. I was a good kid. That’s how my parents described me to their insufferable friends when first introducing me, that’s how my teachers felt about me throughout grade school, and that was the image I had maintained throughout my life. Until this moment that is, but that’s besides the point. Ellie Manning was a good kid. And good kids don’t slap their mothers.
I didn’t check to see if she was okay. I didn’t even look at her. She had told me to get out, and that’s what I was going to do. After all good kids always listened to their mothers.
great piece
I love this piece. I really don’t have anything for you to improve… Are you going to add to it? I would love to see more!
Beautiful written. Story flows. The reader feels and is in the shoe of the character. Perfect.
Powerful moment clearly depicted! Esp. enjoyed your description and comparison of the character’s anger at the moment of the slap. Also thought your development of the conflict between her self-image and her action creates a nice dynamic. Would love to see what led up to the conflict and what happens next!
Anna wanted to be away from everything. Her boss, her family, her friends all seemed to annoy her lately. Her fist clenched to the point of her long nails going into the palm of her hands she controlled all the words that were ready to come out of her mouth. Smith, her boss of ten years has become unbearable. All he wants to do his get on her nerves. Her quite response to his yakking this morning was, “I will see what I can do.”
She was about to slam the Alan J. Smith etched glass door, but controlling herself and letting all her will power drain, she gently shut it as she turned her back toward him and left. Oh… she wanted to beat him to death.
Not bothering to go to her desk she dashed out of the office and ran down the twelve stories into Fifth Avenue. The bitter cold was freezing her tears as they were falling from her hazel eyes. “Help… help… help” she was whispering to herself, reaching out to her rational soul. Her tears freezing over each other, she kept walking and panting. She felt like throwing up, but was afraid her heart would come out.
Anna stopped in her tracks in the middle of the crossing at Fifth and 22nd unaware of the screeching and honking of the yellow cab. She looked up. Blinded by the clear winter sun and dizzy from the running she knew she was losing control. The tunnel she was seeing was dark and narrow. What was happening to her, she panicked. “I am getting a heart attack,” she tried voice but nothing came out of her mouth.
She opened her eyes. Where was she? Who was the handsome young man looking at her?
I HAVE NO REGRETS FOR LEAVING MY PARENTS.
Staying in a comfort zone is like eating honey and drinking milk without ceasing. I would do it for the rest of my life. In late December last year, i got an excuse to leave the comfort fortress of my parents. I felt my ever increasing age was demanding for my resilience to be tested in perhaps my own apartment or a foreign land. Thank God, an internship placement with a media house knocked right at my door.
I could not think twice about changing my mind. My parents have been a loving family that want the best for their children. I experienced all types of thoughts that were provoking me to cancel the opportunity. Thoughts like i don’t know anyone in Rwanda, will i eat food to my full like i do at home?, will i have money to buy all that i crave for? not forgetting this small country is not a English country but rather the natives speak french and Kinyarwada.
First forward am in Kigali right now being the taught the basics of journalism and media in this nation. Nevertheless, am proud that i have managed to get along with the few friends i have met and interacted with. The Local communities have been an eye opening to me, as i have managed to blend in and try to learn the few local dialects.
That aside am contented with the decision i made to travel thousands of miles away from Uganda to experience all whole new breed of people and the environment. this has given me a sensational mood that i can stand with Christ by my side to help me overcome an threat
Thanks to this post.
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A bird gets hit by a beer can. This drunk man, sitting on his front lawn is throwing them as he empties the alcohol out of them. Joey, the much younger, not to mention much more responsible paper boy, stops his bike as he passes by and explains how he has heard it is illegal to have an open container outside. Yet, even though he acknowledges what the adult is doing is wrong, he cannot so easily dismiss the impressiveness of him hitting that bird with that can. He explains how, especially considering the fact that he is drunk, that being able to hit a bird with that can is like finding a needle in a haystack. “its like trying to catch a squirrel, or being able to smack a fly with your bare hand.” To prove his point, Joey spots a squirrel and runs for it. After running around like a mad man, Joey is unsuccessful in even getting remotely close to the animal. The drunk man then belches exceptionally loud. Suddenly, he then spots a fly on his arm, probally attracted to the beer scent spilled on his arm. then, without hesitation, he smacks the bug, killing it immediately.
Waiting to get on the train, A business gentleman reads the paper, quietly. There are no sounds at all; no people at all. Only the occasional train passing by, making the usual massive sound is pretty much all that is heard around this station. The man looks around, and even though he is enjoying this peacefulness immensely, he finds it rather too good to be true. He then returns to his reading. Suddenly, he does hear something quite nerve-racking. A little kid begins to run amok the station, yelling maniacally, with his mother following close behind. The dad starts to yell at his wife for chasing him around, and then they start to argue, with the young child still carrying on. The security guard then comes up the stares, and talks to the parents, wondering what’s going on. Suddenly, there is a loud thud, and the kid begins to cry as loud as he was screaming. The man is extremely annoyed. He thought he has gotten lucky, for this trip of his has been quite painless up to this point. He did speak way too soon. The train then arrives, and the business man, along with the small family gets on board with him.
I opened my eyes and realized I was still alive. “Fuck!” I exclaimed; then I fell asleep again.
THE FUCKING END
Harambe wept.
I murder the dick, I bury the dick then I resurrect the dick.
I punch Nazis for a living.
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The
Edge
Thaddeus
slammed the brakes of his Prius and gunned the accelerator at the
same time out of the total confusion and panic that whipped at
his mind. His
car side swiped violently before coming to a stop. A great cloud of
brown dust ballooned up and out to the vast emptiness where the
rest of highway 36 had been and as
it rose higher dispersing as it went, where the rest of Muncie had
been and as
Thad gaped in disbelief, where the
state of Indiana was meant to
be. Shakily removing the seat belt he slowly got out of the car. He
walked on rubbery
legs for a few meters before halting at the edge of the void where
the rest of the Northern hemisphere had once seen fit to stretch
out. Now there was nothing. He peered directly over the edge and down
as far as the eye could see. There was much to see with the naked eye
but his mind was not handling the information very well, feeling as
it did suddenly naked and without the proper filters to receive such
undiluted reality. He shuffled back to his car and slowly collapsed
to his knees against the drivers door. ‘ Oh dear God’ he uttered
feeling like he might retch out of fear and shock.
Deep
blue sky above and now behind remained studiously ignored as he drove
back to the house hoping that it and his wife and daughter were still
there and not simply vanished with the rest of Illinois. So far so
good and he could see that his cousin Mark was still on earth as he
his car, a Ford pick-up, was in the driveway. Thad’s
mouth felt dry and he still felt a little shaky but as he slotted his
key into
the lock he began
to wonder if he really had seen that impossible sight. After all it
was
impossible. How could the
world still turn with a quarter of itself missing? The
answer of course was that it cant. Entering
into his sitting room, he speculated that it may be a common
psychological phenomenon connected with sleep deprivation; and oh boy
had he got that by the truckload. Working for ones father in law had
its major downside. He was about to wonder if Mr Renwick Sr and owner
of Aluminium fittings Inc. might have vanished into a massive sink
hole in Springfield, when
sounds from upstairs halted his thoughts. He had
more reason to feel shaky and sick now. The new bed they had picked
out a month ago was clearly being tested for its durability. The
acoustics of the house were still working fine as always. They
normally snitched on him on unguarded moments of spleen venting or
cussing over the utility bills one Christmas when both his in-laws
came for dinner. It had taken him a week to realise why the meal had
been consumed in near silence. Now the house snitched on his wife and
her lover.
This as far as I got in fifteen minutes
The Edge
Thaddeus slammed the brakes of his Pontiac and gunned the accelerator at the same time. Total confusion and panic that whipped at his mind. His car side swiped violently before coming to a stop. A great cloud of brown dust ballooned up and out to the vast emptiness where the rest of highway 36 had been and as it rose higher dispersing as it went, where the rest of Muncie had
been and as Thad gaped in disbelief, where the state of Indiana was meant to be. Shakily removing the seat belt he slowly got out of the car. He walked on rubbery legs for a few meters before halting at the edge of the void where the rest of the Northern hemisphere had once seen fit to stretch out. Now there was nothing. He peered directly over the edge and down as far as the eye could see. There was much to see with the naked eye but his mind was not handling the information very well, feeling as it did suddenly naked and without the proper filters to receive such undiluted reality. He shuffled back to his car and slowly collapsed to his knees against the drivers door. ‘ Oh dear God’ he uttered feeling like he might retch out of fear and shock.
Deep blue sky above and now behind remained studiously ignored as he drove back to the house hoping that it and his wife and daughter were still there and not simply vanished with the rest of Illinois. So far so good and he could see that his cousin Mark was still on earth as he
his car, a Ford pick-up, was in the driveway. Thad’s mouth felt dry and he still felt a little shaky but as he slotted his key into the lock he began to wonder if he really had seen that impossible sight. After all it was impossible. How could the world still turn with a quarter of itself missing? The
answer of course was that it cant. Entering into his sitting room, he speculated that it may be a common psychological phenomenon connected with sleep deprivation; and oh boy
had he got that by the truckload. Working for ones father in law had its major downside. He was about to wonder if Mr Renwick Sr and owner of Aluminium fittings Inc. might have vanished into a massive sink-hole in Springfield, when from upstairs halted his thoughts. He had more reason to feel shaky and sick now. The new bed they had picked out a month ago was clearly being tested for its durability. The acoustics of the house were still working fine as always. They normally snitched on him on unguarded moments of spleen venting or cussing over the utility bills one Christmas when both his in-laws came for dinner. It had taken him a week to realise why the meal had been consumed in near silence. Now the house snitched on his wife and
her lover.
Hey, my posts have been marked as Spam!!
As far as I got in fifteen minutes
The
Edge
Thaddeus slammed the brakes of his Pontiac and gunned the accelerator at the same time. Total confusion and panic whipped at his mind. His car side swiped violently to a
stop. A great cloud of brown dust ballooned up and out to the vast emptiness where the rest of highway 36 had been and as it rose higher dispersing as it went, where the rest of Muncie had been and as Thad gaped in disbelief, where the state of Indiana was meant to be.Shakily removing the seat belt he slowly got out of the car. He walked on rubbery legs for a few meters before halting at the edge of the void where the rest of the Northern hemisphere had once seen fit to stretch out. Now there was nothing. He peered directly over the edge and down as far as the eye could see. He saw far and he saw much
but his mind was not handling the information very well. He shuffled back to his car and slowly collapsed to his knees against the drivers door. ‘ Oh dear God’ he uttered feeling like he might retch out of fear and shock.
Deep blue sky above and now behind remained studiously ignored as he drove back to the house hoping that it and his wife and daughter were still there and not simply vanished with the rest of Illinois. An hour later and the wide porch and steep
gables of his home greeted him. So far so good and he could see that his cousin Mark was still on earth as that was his silver Prius that was parked in the driveway. Thad’s mouth felt dry and he still felt a little shaky as he approached his front door. But, as he slotted his key into the lock he began to wonder if he really had seen that
impossible sight. After all it was impossible. How could the world still turn with a quarter of itself missing?. Entering into his sitting room, he speculated that it may be a common psychological phenomenon connected with sleep deprivation; and oh boy had he got
that by the truckload. Working for ones father in law had its major downside. He was about to wonder if Mr Renwick Sr and owner of Aluminium fittings Inc. might have vanished into a massive sink hole in Springfield, when sounds from upstairs halted his thoughts. He had more reason to feel shaky and sick now. The new bed they had picked
out a month ago was clearly being tested for its durability. The acoustics of the house were still working fine as always. They normally snitched on him in unguarded moments. Sometimes he felt the need to vent his spleen over the utility bills or cuss the neighbours
generally. It meant that the neighbours and the electric company probably heard him. One Christmas dinner had been spent in near total silence with the in-laws because according to karen the phrase “Fucken tight-wad” really carried. Now the house snitched on his wife and her lover.
This is as far as I got n 15 mins.
The Edge
Thaddeus
slammed the breaks and gunned the accelerator of his Pontiac at the
same time. Total confusion and panic whipped at his mind. The car
side-swiped violently before coming to a halt. A great cloud of brown
dust ballooned up and out over where the rest of highway 36 had been. As
it rose higher dispersing as it went, over where Muncie was meant to be
and as Thad gaped, where the state of Indiana was meant to be. Shaky
hands released the seat belt and he very slowly got out of the car. He
walked on rubbery legs for a few yards before stopping a foot from the
edge of the void where the rest of the Northern hemisphere had once seen
fit to stretch out. Now there was nothing. He risked a peak over the
edge. He saw far and he saw much but his mind was not coping with the
information. He shuffled back to the car and collapsed to his knees by
the drivers door. ‘ Oh, dear God ‘ he muttered feeling like he might
retch out of fear and shock.
Deep blue sky above him and now
behind him remained studiously ignored as he drove back. He hoped that
his wife and daughter were still there and that Illinois had not
suddenly vanished too. An hour later and the wide porch and steep
gables of his home beckoned to him. So far so good. His cousin Mark was
also still on earth, as that was his silver Prius in the drive. Thad’s
mouth felt dry and he was still a little shaken up as reached the front
door. But as he slotted the key into the lock. but he began to doubt.
Had he really seen that impossible sight? It was after all impossible.
How could the world still turn with a quarter of itself missing. The
answer of course was, it couldn’t. Entering into his sitting room he
speculated that it might even be a common psychological phenomenon
connected with sleep deprivation. Oh boy had he caught a truck load of
that. Working for ones father-in-law had a major downside. He now
wondered if Mr Fenwick Sr and owner of Aluminium Fittings Inc had
vanished into a giant sink hole in Springfield. Sounds from upstairs
broke into his thoughts however. He had another reason to feel shaky and
sick now. The bed that they had picked out a month ago was obviously
being tested for its durability. Also Karen and Mark’s appreciation of
this fact could be heard clearly. The odd acoustics of this old house
were at least still working fine. They normally snitched on him in unguarded
moments. He sometimes had to vent his spleen over the utility bills and
cuss the neighbours in general. One Christmas dinner had been near total
silence with both his in-laws because according to Karen, the
phrase ” fucken tight-wad” really carries. Now the house snitched on his
wife and his lover.
A young woman/man stumbles across a dead body in the woods. What does she/he do?
Sheila tiptoed through the mush of dead leaves, trying to maintain her balance, looking for the stick.
“That damned dog,” she thought. “He’ll be the death of me.”
Jett was away to the left, snuffling around.
Suddenly she was upon it.
The eyes met hers. Shock ran through her body. The air around froze. She was gulping in great chunks of air. Somewhere there was barking. She looked away. Perhaps there was something to distract her in the distance. She looked back, taking it in.
The man was old. Wrapped in a worn greatcoat. His arms across his chest as if resting. The face was white, parched. Wisps of hair lay across his head.
“Jett!”
The dog bounded over and immediately began nosing the corpse. Because this was a dead body. The realisation hit and her legs wobbled. She grabbed the dog by the collar to pull him away and to steady herself.
Sheila never brought her mobile with her in the morning. This was her time.
I stared from behind the front seats of our family car out through the dirty windshield. A short woman stood in front of my Daddy, shouting at him as he screamed back at her. Daddy’s face was so red. He held my baby sister tightly as the lady reached out to take her from him. My little brother sat beside me, sniffling, trying to hide behind the passenger seat. When I saw tears start to slide down Daddy’s face my heart began to pound. I could hear it hammering in my ears. I saw Daddy’s shoulders slump. He shoved my sister into the woman’s arms and ran back to the house, disappearing through the front door. The lady rushed off to her car and put my sister into it. She came back to us and opened our back door.
“Come on kids, you’re coming with me,” came the stranger’s voice. I jerked my eyes around to look for my Daddy. He hadn’t come back out of the house. Why was this woman taking us? Why was Daddy letting her? I looked back to my little brother who was now looking back at me, eyes wide and watery.
“Come on, let’s go,” she said more urgently. Her eyes also darted to the front of the house, then back to my brother. She put her hand out towards him. He waited to see what I would do. I nodded at him, not sure what else I could do. He put his tiny hand into hers and followed her to her car. I slid across the back seat, my leg shaky as I stepped out onto the soft grass. Tears started to sneak down my cheeks, but I swiped them away. It would do no good to cry. It never did. I made my way to her car and followed my brother into the backseat. The lady locked my door and shut it with a loud slam. She rushed into the driver’s seat and gave a second loud slam, then slapped the lock down into place. The engine roared to life. My brother and I twisted around in our seats to stare out the back window. Daddy finally came running out of the house, and I felt a moment of hope. But he stopped at the end of our yard, tears falling freely down his face. He just stood there, with his hands over his mouth, looking so sad.
“Daddy!” I cried, as the car jerked forward, pulling away. He got smaller and smaller as my heart broke more and more. I choked on the sob that felt stuck in my throat and slumped back down into my seat.
“Where are you taking us?” I asked, just above a whisper.
“You’re going to stay with a foster family for a little while,” came her reply. I wondered what a foster family was, and what was wrong with the family I already had. I reached over to hug my brother who looked so small and scared.
“It’s O.K.” I said, in a braver voice than I felt. I forced out a little smile, the dried tears making my cheeks feel tight. “I’ll take care of you.”
This is as far as I got n 15 mins.
The Edge
Thaddeus slammed the breaks and gunned the accelerator of his Pontiac at the
same time. Total confusion and panic whipped at his mind. The car
side-swiped violently to a halt. A great cloud of brown
dust ballooned up and out over where the rest of highway 36 had been. As
it rose higher dispersing as it went, over where Muncie was meant to be
and as Thad gaped, where the state of Indiana was meant to be. Shaky
hands released the seat belt and he very slowly got out of the car. He
walked on rubbery legs for a few yards before stopping a foot from the
edge of the void where the rest of the Northern hemisphere had once seen
fit to stretch out. Now there was nothing. He risked a peak over the
edge. He saw far and he saw much but his mind was not coping with the
information. He shuffled back to the car and collapsed to his knees by
the drivers door. ‘ Oh, dear God ‘ he muttered feeling like he might
retch out of fear and shock.
Deep blue sky above him and now
behind him remained studiously ignored as he drove back. He hoped that
his wife and daughter were still there and that Illinois had not
suddenly vanished too. An hour later and the wide porch and steep
gables of his home beckoned to him. So far so good. His cousin Mark was
also still on earth, as that was his silver Prius in the drive. Thad’s
mouth felt dry and he was still a little shaken up as reached the front
door. But as he slotted the key into the lock, he began to doubt.
Had he really seen that impossible sight? It was after all impossible.
How could the world still turn with a quarter of itself missing. The
answer of course was, it couldn’t. Entering into his sitting room he
speculated that it might even be a common psychological phenomenon
connected with sleep deprivation; had he ever caught a truck load of
that. Working for ones father-in-law had a major downside. He now
wondered if Mr Fenwick Sr and owner of Aluminium Fittings Inc had
vanished into a giant sink hole in Springfield. Sounds from upstairs
broke into his thoughts however. He had another reason to feel shaky and
sick now. The bed that they had picked out a month ago was obviously
being tested for its durability. Also Karen and Mark’s appreciation of
this fact could be heard clearly. The odd acoustics of this old house
were at least still working fine. They normally snitched on him in unguarded
moments. He sometimes had to vent his spleen over the utility bills and
cuss
the neighbours in general. It meant that the neighbours and the
electric company probably heard him. One Christmas dinner had been near
total silence with both his in-laws because according to Karen, the
phrase ” fucken tight-wad” really carries. Now the house snitched on his
wife and her lover
This is really a draft–just stream of consciousness:
Mary stumbled across the corpse, literally. Her dachshund, Davenport, pulled her off the path and into the woods and she indulged him. She always indulged him. Unlike her boyfriend Harold whom she tried never to indulge because he was always trying to lead her astray, or so she thought. Strangely, Davenport ran right past the body. Maybe because it was so fresh. It looked like it had hardly stopped breathing. A man about Mary’s own age, she guessed. Davenport, stop. She called and yanked on the leash. He yelped in surprise, not being accustomed to being yanked on. Now the corpse had hi attention and he started nuzzling its face and hands, then under its arms. What shal I do Mary asked aloud. I don’t think I want any part of this situation, but here I am. She turned abruptly and headed to home, pulling on Davenport’s leash again and getting the same surprised Yelp. Mary doesn’t tell anyone about the body. She reads the paper and watches the news looking for some mention of a man who’s gone missing, but there’s not a word. How could he be unmissed? At last she goes back along the trail to see if he’s still there. Maybe she was fooling herself. He is there, but he doesn’t look so nice anymore. Flies have landed on his skin and laid their eggs and his leg looks like something gnawed at it. Nothing very big, but still. The path is on private property belonging to the rich people in town who run the tourist busses and fourteen tshirt shops. It’s a beach town after all and that’s how they make their livings. Now it’s winter and there are no tourists. It turns out that the dead man is the son of the rich man’s wife. She killed him because he was going to bring disgrace on the family because of his having spent thousands on trying to produce a hither to unknown screenplay by Tennessee Wiliams. Williams had died in ***, but Mike claimed to have found the work in an antique store in an old chest of drawers. Only it turns out the screenplay is a fake. Mike wrote it trying to mimic Williams’ style after watching Streetcar seventeen times locked away in his room. The mother has to hide the scandal from her husband who never liked Mike from the day he was born. Even implied he wasn’t his son. And she wasn’t sure herself. But she knew she was his mother and that was all that mattered. She didn’t mean to kill him. She met him out here to talk some sense into him, persuade him to leave town. When he refused, she vented her frustration by beating on his chest. He laughed. Then she took him by the ears and pushed him backwards down the hill. He fell and lay still. Oh well, she said. I guess that’s how it has to be. She hit him hard right above his left eye with a stone, then took his cell phone and smashed it on another rock, taking all the money and his wallet out of his pocket. By the time they found him…
I like this as it seems Mary is imagining all that has happened while looking at the body. I like the use of the dog tugging on the leash. That is nicely timed in my opinion.
Murderers in
the Woods
He was going to do it and he was doing it today. He
knew Martin would be somewhere around the park if not on the trim track that went through the woods. He was sure that his mums former boyfriend would be there and around ten am on a Thursday. It was an observation among many over the the last six months. Six months of tracking and lets face it stalking the
guy like a deer, had found pay dirt. Darren was already at the the
southern edge of forty six square miles of parkland. He, unlike many
of the people who came through here, had brought a Colt 45 pistol. A
1911 to be exact plus twenty cartridges. It was a souvenir brought
back by his late father when life in the Far East had been exceptionally hazardous to all. Darren planned to be as dangerous to Martin Johnson, the prick. He had made his mother sorry that she was alive. Martin would be in the throws of deep regret if he had anything to do with it. He walked parallel to one of the meandering
dirt paths heading North. He kept a distance of a few yards stopping
to listen here and there for any movement. Martin would be punctually
heading West in twenty minutes a hundred yards or so distant. Darren
needed to be in good cover before then and without anyone else on the
track to notice him. He gripped the gun inside the right pocket of
his olive coloured army surplus jacket. Its weight reassured and
frightened him. He was really going to kill someone. He would be a
murderer. People like Martin turned others into killers because there
are no laws against someone being an arsehole. Darren was forced to
assume the role of judge and he would be the gallows and Lord how
Martin would swing. The oxygen thief had sunk his last avocado
smoothie. He stopped again listening. Only the sounds of the sparrows
and the wind in the trees that heaved and yawed unsteady in the
easterly wind getting up to cause mischief later in the afternoon if
the report was anything to go by. He stopped as soon as he started
again. He noticed stillness of the body first, then how the body lay
on its back and then the awkward angle of the limbs. In the tall
grass near a clearing, a man possibly in his sixties lay staring up
at the sky. Hesitantly Darren moved forward to see for sure. He saw
the open but blank staring eyes and now the gaping mouth. A heart a
attack perhaps?. Probably more common that one would think especially
for men over fifty doing exercise in the woods. Darren peered closer.
A large gash in the man’s neck had let a great deal of blood to soak
the ground. Not a heart attack. Darren suddenly felt queasy. Then to
his right, roughly ten yards away two women bounced along jogging and
chatting breathlessly. Darren needed to get out of here asap but the
women had seen him and had slowed. Possibly from the look on his
face; one could always read his face according to his aunt , they
stopped their talk and walked hesitantly before seeing the body too.
‘ Um……I think…..Darren stammered but the women were quick in
reaction and one brought out her phone and waited for a connection
as she and her friend looked at from the body to Darren and back
again. Darren felt panic start to overtake the sick feeling as he
felt the gun still pressing into his hand.
A young man/woman stumbles across a dead body in the woods
Eliot Fonder gasps when he peers down at the corpse of a young woman. ‘Who was she? and does she have any family?’ were the two pressing questions that consumed his mind. ‘Well, I can’t just leave her here. If she has a family they will want to know what has become of her.’
So the young man reached down to pick up her small bodily frame and ran. He ran. And he was fast. Running happened to be a hobby of his, as well as a lifestyle. He came upon the highway where he stuck his thumb out to signal that he needed to hitch a ride into the nearest town.
An older man,in his 60’s, scruffy, with compassionate green eyes pulled over to the side of the road in an old beat up green ford truck. “Do you need some help son?”
“Yes. I found this woman’s body just ten minutes ago in the forest over there.” Eliot pointed across the road. “I don’t know what happened or how long she has been dead but I need to get to the sheriff’s station.”
“Of course. Put her body in the back and I’ll drive you over there right now.”
He was going to do it and he was doing it today. He knew
Martin would be somewhere around the park if not on the trim track that went through the woods. He was sure that his mums former boyfriend would be there and around ten am
on a Thursday. It was an observation among many over the the last six
months. Six months of tracking and lets face it stalking the guy like
a deer. Darren was already at the the southern edge of forty six
square miles of parkland. Sixty percent of which was covered in
trees. He, unlike many of the people who came through here, had
brought a Colt 45 pistol. A 1911 to be exact plus twenty cartridges.
It was a souvenir brought back by his late father when life in the
Far East had been exceptionally hazardous to all. Darren planned to
be as dangerous to Martin Johnson, the prick. He had made his mother
sorry that she was alive. Martin would be in the throws of deep
regret if he had anything to do with it. He walked parallel to one of
the meandering dirt paths heading North. He kept a distance of a few
yards stopping to listen here and there for any movement. He gripped
the gun inside the right pocket of his olive coloured army surplus
jacket. Its weight reassured and frightened him. He was going to
really kill someone. He would be a murderer. People like Martin
turned others into killers because there are no laws against someone
being an arsehole. One could not be sent to wing from the gallows
because being a colossal prick. Darren was forced to assume the role
of judge and he would be the gallows and Lord how Martin would swing.
He stopped again listening. Only the sounds of the sparrows and the
wind in the trees that heaved and yawed unsteady in the easterly wind
getting up to cause mischief later in the afternoon if the report was
anything to go by. He stopped as soon as he started again. In the
tall grass near a clearing, a man lay on his back. He noticed
stillness of the body first, then how the body lay on its back and
then the awkward angle of the limbs. Hesitantly Darren moved forward
to see for sure. He was dead and no doubt abut that. He could see the
open eyes and gaping mouth. A heart a attack perhaps?. Probably more
common that one would think especially for men over fifty as this man
looked as Darren peered closer. A large gash in the man’s neck had
let a great deal of blood to soak the ground. Not a heart attack.
Darren suddenly felt queasy. Then to his right, two women bounced
along jogging and chatting breathlessly. Darren needed to get out of
here asap but the women had seen him and had slowed. Possibly from
the look on his face; one could always read his face according to his
aunt , they stopped their talk and walked hesitantly before seeing
the body too. ‘ Um……I think…..Darren stammered but the women
were quick in reaction and one brought out her phone and waited for
a connection as she and her friend looked at from the body to Darren
and back again. Darren felt panic start to overtake the sick feeling
as he felt the gun still pressing into his hand.
Based on the prompt:
Lauri tripped on something. She winced as she lost control of her arms and fell face-first into the substrate. Before she pulled herself back up however, and before she even had time to curse herself, a strange feeling; and a sudden, pungent smell came over her. Lifting herself up on her knees, she could see that she landed on a patch of loosely compacted dirt and moss in a tiny clearing with just a few shafts of light racing down from the branches above. They illuminated the patch: how had she not noticed it? Her heart skipped a beat. Scampering back up, she saw what she had tripped on. It was a small stone, taller than it was wide, buried in the ground and leaning very slightly towards the area where she fell. It looked to her, oddly, like it had been there for years, unlike the freshly disturbed crust above it.
There was a moment of frightful pause; Should I call the police? But then, being the desperately curious type that she was, she began digging. Digging, and digging, and digging. And then she found it. A blindingly blue tarp in nearly perfect condition from what she could tell. It was neat and wrapped with care… wrapped and tucked around a large mass, like one might tuck in a loved one. Lauri stepped out of the hole in a panic. Her hands bled from the frantic scooping of dirt and rock. She began to turn to run to her car, but then stopped in a splitting moment of calm. Bending down, she clasped her hands in prayer and stayed a moment. Then she turned and walked back down the trail towards the road, cell phone in hand, dialing 911.
This is good, I love your descriptions of her surroundings.
It’s good. But I feel the second paragraph needs some improving. Maybe more action and telling.
IF you don’t understand, what I mean. Then here, I’ll put it simply. Try to describe what she is feeling when touching the ground. What she feels around her.
So far you got a good message to the reader about your topic and what happened. But know you got tot make the reader feel they are with the character.
But, still it is an excellent story background. Keep up the good work.
What you wrote flowed well. My only stumbling point was why,
after tripping on a stone, she thought she should call the police. Did the
disturbed earth look like a grave with a tombstone? And why would she do so
much digging without tools? So, more description of what she thought she saw
would have helped. But your language is rich and evocative, and I especially
liked your use of active verbs.
go fuck yourself
A young woman/man stumbles across a dead body in the woods. What does she/he do?
After spending what must have been years is the same woods, she had started to give up hope of ever going home. Her favorite season before being brought to the woods was winter; she loved feeling the snowflakes on her face, going home to get warm, and drinking hot chocolate. Now when snow fell it covered her whole body hiding it from view or possible discovery. Some days she could hear footsteps and the sound of laughter as the sounds faded into the distance dashing her hopes once more. Today the snow is starting to melt and she hears the now familiar sounds of footsteps coming near. There is also something different which gives her hope; a dog runs up sniffing and barking excitedly. She can hear a young man’s voice calling to the dog, “Max, Maaax”, the closer he gets the more she thinks this might be it. He calls once more, “Max, here b…”. His voice travel I left off as he catches sight of her. She heard sounds of choking as he turned away and lost his lunch into the nearby bushes.
Memoirs of a War Hero:
Day 26
“It’s cold in the camp, the winter is harsh. Food is hard to get, our men are dying, our sargent died of hypothermia. I haven’t gotten a letter in months. Maybe its the snow, or maybe my family has given up.”
Day 27
“Still no letters, we had to leave camp, the Germans attacked, Dimitri was mortally wounded, from a shot wound. It seems less and less likely we can protect Moscow, Camp 7 was overrun too.”
Day 35
“The tides have turned, but Dimitri died, and the saddest part was we couldn’t have a funeral. I haven’t ate in two days. But the British should be here with supplies in two days.”
Day 37
“The British were supposed to be here, but all we got was Nazis. Half of us died. We stumbled across a small village, and I and the others were finally able to eat.”
Day 43
“This time, the Romanians attacked, we were able to hold them off, but 40 of us died, I lost Khazov to frostbite, and I suffered a shot to the stomach, and I may not survive, so I mailed this to my wife:
Dear Martha,
I hope everything is okay. Khazov ad Dimitri died, and the sergeant, our last leader, died of hypothermia.
We were supposed to get a British supply delivery, a week ago, but it never came. I lack in letters from you, I hope everything is okay.
I suffered a shot to the stomach, and I may not survive.
With my dying breaths,
Khaliv
I mailed the letter, with hopes of a returning one, but even if I got it, I probably wouldn’t live to see it.
(This is fiction but stuff like this happened all the time in World War II, especially in Operation Barbossa.)
By: Chase S.
I’m not done yet, I will keep adding on when I have time
-Chase S.
“It was but a faint flicker among the fallen pine brush. Perhaps a discarded candy wrapper or residual morning dew that had yet to pass away. Otherwise insignificant had it not been for the solitary sunbeam that seemed insistent to shine on this particular point on the ground. The curiosity consumed Henry, a silent beckoning, a nymph-like compulsion to approach the shimmer hidden amongst the forest’s fallen soldiers, in all their autumn hues. The leaves were like the ocean, frozen in time with its ebbs-and-flows, summits, and plateaus; it was at a point of one of the summits that Henry saw that it was a pocket watch, hanging by its chain yet at the same time resting against its leafy foundation. Upon closer inspection, Henry noticed that both the hour and minute hands were missing leaving behind the second-hand in a soliloquy of timekeeping. Henry’s eyes followed the second-hand until he was nearly hypnotized, but the trance was broken by a sharp breeze.”
You’ll be in for three nights they told me as I lay ready for my operation. Three days, what would i do for three days. Three days – such along time to be in bed with only strangers about and nothing to do. I guess the first day i will feel like- excuse the french- poop and then after that- I hope I feel better by the hour, except for the third day which is usually the day when the blues hit and all you want to do is cry. Just as well i had my magazines tucked away in my bag. Imagine my surprise when the Dr came around the next day and said I could go home- What! Isnt that to soon? Aren’t I supposed to rest up and be looked after and have my meals delivered…Well theres no place like home, I guess.
Writing prompt: “You are the wind’s interpreter. What is it saying?”
Move, change, let go because you’re not in charge. Do i come or do i go? You’ll never know, but does it matter? In a breeze I’ll carry leaves away, in a twister, your house. I’m relief in the summer and cruel in the winter. I billowed your sail and you came closer to shore. Then I grew tired of east so i blew west until I fell still, and you longed for my return. I like this power I have. I am the violent gust that broke the locks of the upper room where Fire and Spirit rushed in to turn 12 failures into martyrs. You’ll never see me but you’ll know my path. I ushered the Gospel out.
Of late, I have opportunities pouring in.I wonder how it happens?Is it because, I have real talent? or is it because, I have got a grand daughter recently born to my daughter, who is so cute.She was born in a very auspicious star namely Thiruvonam.When I told my step brother about her birth and the star in which she was born, he immediately quipped : Goddess Lakshmi has come to your home.” In fact it might be a sheer coincidence that consequent to her birth in an auspicious star I have opportunities pouring in.Again I think for a while. Will there be any other reason for the recent upward swing in my profession.Perhaps, I may attribute it to my habit of waking up early in the morning between 0430 a.m to 0500 a.m.I may even attribute it to my habit of walking for 20 minutes immediately after waking up within the compound of my house, i.e under the portico.Finally, I have come to a conclusion: the upward swing in my profession is due to the above mentioned combination of factors : My grand daughter’s birth in an auspicious star;my habit of waking up early in the morning and above all my habit of walking for 15 to 20 minutes to get myself warmed up.Of course, I forgot a very important but a very vital factor: immediately after waking up early in the morning, I used to drink half a litre of potable water.that helps me to keep fit.
What I have written above is not an imaginary tale but a true account of myself.What is special about it?I am 60 + and I am also a late bloomer too.
A young woman/man stumbles across a dead body in the
woods. What does she/he do?
As Roy sat there, in the office, listening to his coworker
drone on in the middle of a meeting, his mind wandered. For some reason, he had
recalled the time when, at the age of 14, in the middle of a camping trip with
his family, he and his brother came across the motionless body of what he had
presumed to be another camper. At first, he had thought that, the man must’ve
been asleep. But when he walked around the man, to get a better look at him, he
didn’t seem to be moving at all. Roy and his brother tried to wake the man up;
but soon they realized that he simply would not wake up. Simply put- the man
was dead. While his brother ran off to go find their father, Roy stood there,
motionless, staring at the man. His eyes were closed, and it seemed as though
he had died instantly, without a struggle of any kind. Did the man have cancer
or some other disease? Had the man comsumed poison? Roy didn’t know. And in the
end, it was pointless to wonder. What struck Roy was the sight a dead man
itself; he hadn’t thought much about his plans for the future, but the sight of
a dead man right before his eyes would end up making the young man act as
though his next day would be his last. No longer, would Roy laze about and do
nothing around the house. No longer, would he sit around and play videogames;
no longer, would he waste any more time. Roy wanted to accomplish something,
before he died
This is a good first draft. Now take it a little farther. Remember the five senses. is there a smell, is there a feel of eeriness in the air. You can have Roy come back to the present, inspired by the memory, stand up, interrupt his co-worker and quit his job to go do something amazing. With this draft the world is an open book.
(Write about the blues in the night…)
I loaded up my Subaru wagon with all my camping equipment needed for the weekend. God I loved that car. It was the perfect vehicle for long summer days, a trip to the river, a drive to the mountains. My favorite thing was that I could fit my daughter’s toddler mattress in the back of it perfectly and protect myself from the rain. My girls of course thought I was a little crazy and my friends were usually jealous that they didn’t think of it first. This weekend my daughters were at their dad’s and I was looking forward to enjoying the company of my friends up at the hot springs at Mt. Baker, finally a weekend I didn’t have to work.
My friends are an eclectic group of musicians, the type that are particularly creative after several joints and a bottle of Apple Pie. They brought their instruments everywhere and this weekend would be no different. I often allowed them to have band practice at my house and though my kids don’t remember it now I recall them asking me if this was ‘normal’. My response is, “Not likely but we are in good company with great music so I think we should take a moment and enjoy that normal is based on your point of view. At this time, it is our normal.” Now before you get all huffy, my children were never exposed to pot smoking and my friends understood in order to indulge it was to be done away from the girls. It is of course legal in Washington now and as bad as smoking cigarettes is compared to marijuana I say it is about time the states decided to make it legal and use the money to put back into improving our state instead of allowing it to go to the illegal dealers.
Anyways, I drove up with a friend of mine to Mt. Baker. Brent’s guitar was an extension of him and I drove content in having him play his own songs during the drive. Brent always made me think of an educated hippie, content to live off the grid and yet he knew the value of owning your own land and being your own boss. He worked during the spring and summer as a landscaper with his own equipment and a couple of employees and then during the rainy season he would go visit his brother in Hawaii and soak up the sunshine. Brent owned a piece of property outright along a beautiful stretch of highway between Darrington (where I currently lived) and Rockport. He had built a yurt on this property with an outdoor shower and outhouse. I often brought my girls over to help him work in the garden and loved spending time there because it was something I yearned to do myself but was too afraid to try and fail. His music always reminded me of a mix between Jack Johnson and Jason Mraz and it was fun trying to figure out if his song was political or about a woman from his past. I believe to this day he has written about every woman that has crossed his path, except me. Not sure what that really means but I find it interesting.
We finally arrived to our destination and I’m excited to see there is no cell service. No random phone calls from my mother checking in with me this weekend, no text messages from my grandmother telling me I need to come to work and fill in for another unreliable bartender. Also interesting were the family of Russians at the base of the trail that had set up camp. They had a huge cast iron pot set up and I had never seen anything that big being used while camping. They had three kids, two girls and a boy, that were adorable. I don’t know what it is about kids that makes them like me so but these kids were no different and soon I had new ‘friends’. From the base of the trail it is a 10-minute hike into the woods before arriving at the hot springs, where some of my friends would be setting up camp. Brent had an ingenious idea of putting his hammock up in a tree on the path and having me join him when it came time to bunk down for the night. Since my divorce, I have been on the mission of discovering new experiences, as long as they are not harming anyone, and so with a bit of trepidation I agreed to try it out when it was time to sleep.
Brent played his guitar for the Russian family while we waited for our friends to arrive. Kimmy and Shannon arrived together with J.R. Shannon brought his guitar while Kimmy and J.R. brought their voices. Shannon’s long bright blonde hair and thin frame always reminded me of what a typical rocker would look like. I adored his girlfriend Kimmy who often joked that Shannon’s love for his guitars was deeper than his love her. Unfortunately, it was true and years later their relationship ended, though they are still in a band together. J.R. was the first person I met in Darrington other than my sister upon arriving and something about him resonated something within me. Besides the fact that his deep, slightly scruffy singing voice attracted most women around him he also was very easy to spend time with without the need to speak. He looked like a serious teenage boy in a backwards baseball cap, slightly baggy jeans and a t-shirt. Underneath that cap was a loss of hair and in reality, he was in his mid-twenties with a toothpick frame and a baby face. After my divorce, I found some of my favorite moments was visiting with him while mindlessly listening to music and occasionally contemplating the singers intent with the lyrics. I truly loved this group of people and still think about them to this day, the time I spent learning more about enjoying the moments.
The last person to show up was not a usual addition to our group but I always lit up when seeing him. Mel was an elder man, short and balding with black frame glasses. He played several instruments and just had a love for music. On this occasion, he showed up with an instrument that was so big it was sitting in the backseat and protruding through the front passenger window. I walked up to him as he was struggling to get the instrument from the vehicle. “What on earth is that Mel?”, I asked laughing.
“This is my bass instrument.” He responded.
“You do realize it’s a ten-minute hike into the woods. You decided to bring the biggest instrument you own?” I asked him fondly.
“Of course,. It’s going to sound amazing with all the trees surrounding us. Believe me it’s worth the pain in the butt.”
I can’t help but to have a love for this gentleman that shows such love for his music. I wish I had kept in touch with him because he probably was the first person that showed me how take the time to enjoy the music itself. He strengthened my love for listening to instruments without the words.
I know at this point your thinking what did I play or sing, how did I contribute to this musically talented bunch. I wish I could say that I had an amazing voice or carried a keyboard that I could play like nobody’s business but the truth is I’m not sure how I fit into this group. Maybe my love for people in general and my genuine fondness for their music, in any case they let me tag along and occasionally I could play the tambourines. Every band needs a roadie, right?
Before we headed up the Russian family offered to feed all of us in exchange for music later in the evening and everyone agreed. Just another reason to try new things, getting the opportunity to meet interesting people along the way and experience generosity that is rarely shown with your own neighbors.
Once we settled around the Hot Springs the fire was started as the sun began to set, the joint was passed around, and the Apple Pie flowed freely. This was one of my favorite memories. The fire dancing, shadows playing on the ground, laughter and music. The stars were clearly shining overhead, unlike when I lived in the city. Though there was always a part of me that said, “This is foolish, get back to work, this is not how normal people live.” I refused to listen to my inner critic on this night. As the night ended and I faced my fears by climbing into a hammock that was over the top of the trail and nestled into the warmth Brent provided. I looked above me. I could still here Mel playing his Bass with the moonlight overhead trying to reach thru the trees. A few people walked below us not realizing that we were hanging above them cocooned and being cradle by the blues.
Thank you for sharing your Letters from a widow. I liked the way you convey the sense of loss through food. I can totally relate to that. When my husband died, for months, perhaps even the first year, I continued to shop as if I had two people to feed whilst at the same time, like you say, forgetting to cook proper food for myself. I love remembering my own journey through loss and grief by reading your letters and seeing the cathartic power of expressive writing. thank you for sharing.
Moonlight: A Father’s Curse
He ran. His lungs struggled to gulp enough air to keep him from passing out. His chest heaved with the effort to breathe through the burning pain. He knew if he had to run much longer his lungs were going to catch fire. His legs were not in much better shape. They had begun cramping right about the time his lungs began to burn. His heart pounded hard in his chest but he knew he needed to keep running.
He wasn’t afraid. He had a sense of urgency to get back home as fast as possible. He knew what had killed the man he came across in the woods. Everyone in his small township would have known what had killed the man. There had been blood everywhere and parts of the man had been missing. The body had not been dead long as indicated by the steam that still wafted from the shredded gut of the poor victim of misfortune.
Joshua was very aware that his hands were bloody. He was aware that the branches that whipped at him had left cuts and scrapes on his arms. He was convinced that the slashes where the blood had to have come from, however, when he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, it came away smeared with crimson. He stopped and looked at his hands just as he was reaching his home.
A terrible tearing sensation tore through his body and he let out an agonizing scream. He looked up at the sky and saw that the cloud cover that had kept the forest so dark was now beginning to unveil the bright full moon. “No!” he shouted. He could not be there. He looked at the window of the house and saw his wife’s terrified face. “No!” he shouted again. He wasn’t supposed to be there. He turned to run but was immediately grabbed by strong rough hands and chains were wrapped tight around him. “It’s OK Joshua.” He heard the gruff deep bass voice of his father. “We got ya lad.” He could feel his arms being bound behind his back. He did not struggle or fight. His mind was just clear enough to know who they were and that they were helping him. They were helping him to protect his wife and children.
“Who did he get?” he heard his brother ask their father.
“I guess we find out in the morning.” His father replied, “Next time I tell you we need stronger chains, you bloody well get me stronger chains.” The old man scolded his younger son. “Alright Joshua, let’s get you into the basement and chain you back up. Then your brother and I will go clean up your mess.” The old man stroked the back of Joshua’s head with true affection. Joshua let the two men lead him around the house at a brisk trot. As he felt the pains that he knew would lead to another transformation, he knew that his family was safe.
Excellent intro Aiden. It reads well for me.
Wow your writing is very good. I love your short sentences, with the way the words used to describe the details flows so gently. Makes it convenient to read. The descriptions are clear and the story had a great twist to it.Your words are also not to doctoral it is kept simple. Really fun piece to read.
The struggle between the dual self was slowly revealed. The full moon and loving family members told the reader he was a ware wolf. His submission to his dad & brother and sense of family while leaving the scene of the crime is confusing. Regardless, the story unfolds and the reader anxiously wait to read what is next.
Pretty good stuff. I’m intrigued to see what happens next. I like the line “The old man stroked the back of Joshua’s head with true affection.” I enjoy seeing a family dynamic where the entire family isn’t torn apart and hating someone for being a werewolf. I’d keep reading.
The description of his running through the woods grabbed my attention right away. the twist of it being a vampire story made it even better. Its amazing how one idea can be written in so many interesting ways.
Nice work. Are you sure he is a vampire, Laura? I think he is a werewolf. Cant wait to read more. It amazes me how you can make the words flow so easily. It makes me think of Anthony Hopkins in Wolfman.
I dig this. Really nice. Love the short sentences and the detail description makes me jealous (that’s precisely my kryptonite). Keep it up!
Werewolf !! Who’s with me ?
Auuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!
Intense. I touched my neck to check if chains were not there. The fast paced telling is probably a result of short sentence. I’ll note this as I learn further. I am eagerly waiting for a sequel.
That was a great read and I could picture what you were describing what the dead man must have looked like and the main character that was bei!ng chained up. Since we are told on this writing challenge to critique the stories, I would probably describe what the main character looked like before his transformation back to a human since it sounds as though he is a werewolf. When I reached the end of the story, I was pulled in and I was left wanting to find out what happens next. I enjoyed it!
I love this story idea! “The old man stroked the back of Joshua’s head with true affection.” is a really descriptive sentence, as it shows how the people in his family feel about him. Unlike most werewolf stories, he is not hated. He is loved, and that is very meaningful. Overall, great job!
Your story really clung me on. I would love to hear the end of it and any prequels (if any). It really is stunning. Great work! Good job!
Aiden: Very fast paced. I was trying to figure out
what had happened, what was happening next and then what would happen. The
story kept my attention and, even though I am not into werewolf stories, I felt
some sympathy for the main character. If
this piece is the background or lead in to another, longer story then it is the
right pace. But as a story in itself you might want to slow the pace and put in
more detail. I did like the way you involved more than one character. That
makes it more interesting.
Very intriguing!
very cool, i don’t like werewolf story’s but you managed to keep it exciting and intersting by intruducing elements i havent seen before!
very engaging. I was captivated by the way you described his run from the site to his home. ”He wasn’t afraid. He had a sense of urgency to get back home as fast as possible. He knew what had killed the man he came across in the woods. Everyone in his small township would have known what had killed the man. There had been blood everywhere and parts of the man had been missing. The body had not been dead long as indicated by the steam that still wafted from the shredded gut of the poor victim of misfortune’ loved this part if your story.
I think I lost track of the time and I worked on this about 45 minutes – don’t worry about grammar – I just threw this together as new story line – I don’t know where it is going quite yet or if it ever will. Good to be back.
It never fails to amaze me how sensitive your senses become
in the dark. I am a little deaf in one ear and yet, turn off the lights and I
hear everything.
The problem becomes distinguishing what is normal and what
is something you should concerned about.
Then there is that sixth sense, the one that makes your skin
tighten and your hairs rise. Instinct, some people don’t have it or enough it
seems. Don’t walk down dark alleys is a pretty common sense thing and yet
people charge down them all the time only to find the reason you don’t go down
dark alleys.
That’s where I am right now, a dark alley. I don’t even know
how I got here . Oh I know physically how. My problem is that I should have
seen it coming. It was all there before me, but I chose to ignore it and now.
It is dark, I am here, and there are the reasons you don’t go down dark alleys.
I have no real play here; I am outnumbered and have no
cavalry coming to save the day. I have been here before, but as you get older
you aren’t supposed to find yourself in these situations anymore. You want to
know how I got here, okay.
Five days ago I was sucking down a beer at Chick’s bar and I
met Chrissy. Light brown hair, highlighted, enough makeup to make her eyes
interesting, but nothing crazy, nails done with two colors, jeans and a nice
shirt, fit about forty. Nice looking.
She chatted with the barmaid and I guess I was the topic of
their conversation. She threw me an eye and I wasn’t going to respond, but the
barmaid gave me a look like, come on now. So, I struck up the conversation. We
talked for about an hour and half and then I had to meet my friend Andy to
discuss a job he needed help with. There was something about her that put me
off. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something.
Chrissy asks if she could go along for the ride, promising
to be quiet as a mouse and stay out of the way. I raised my eyebrow and rolled
my eye indicating to the barmaid if she thought she was okay. She shook her
hand and threw it out. I guess this was all up to lady luck tonight.
I weighed the conversation and her actions over the last
hour and half and decided to take a chance. We left and headed out the door to
meet Andy.
Andy’s face said it all. First off he liked what he saw in
Chrissy, but he also didn’t want her there. I told her to wait in the car while
we toured the construction site.
I was gone fifty minutes and true to her word she stayed in
the car, didn’t ask any questions. This is when the rub came.
Chrissy asked if being in the construction business was
hard. I told her I know a lot about the business, but my company provides
security.
Though coy, it was obvious that she knew all about me. I
told her she should come clean and tell me what she wants. Everybody wants
something it seems these days.
She began telling me about her childhood. I stopped her and
told her I don’t do psychotherapy nor do I provide retribution for deeds past
due.
Bent over, finger tips white pressing against her forehead.
Groaning she sits up and grabs my right arm. I slam on the brakes jolting her
forward. This allows me to remove the
pistol in my right shoulder holster.
Yeah, yeah, that’s right I had two beers and was carrying a pistol,
please, save it.
I grab her left arm and push it towards the dash making it
impossible for her to strike at me with her right.
Eyes wide, mouth agape, the force of my pinning her arm is
turning painful and she begins to grimace.
She tells me she only grabbed my arm out of frustration. She
isn’t looking for revenge. She is looking for her younger brother who her father and mother abused.
She continues to tell a tale of woe, unfortunately not all
that unfamiliar these days. She kept referring to her father as a queer
pedophile predator. As if pedophile wasn’t sufficient. I let her tell her
story, thinking she needed to vent some. Twenty-three years ago they arrested
him and they are going to let him out in two weeks. The Doctors say he is
reformed and will have to get his medicine every week from his parole officer.
This why she is looking for her brother. You got to love Florida.
She was sobbing a bit and I released her arm and even
holstered my pistol. In her story her father only liked boys making me wonder
where she fit in.
Mascara running down her face, I told her there were some
baby wipes in the glove box. She went about fixing her face.
I told her that I don’t do that kind of work, never have. I
asked her where she got the impression I could help her?
All she would say is that two people told her he could help
her. That was enough, I knew which two people.
Two years ago I helped a friend who had a friend find out
what happened to an abusive priest. He had been moved several times within the
US and then disappeared somewhere in South America. I have a few contacts in
South America from my time in the military. It all became clear to me.
I explained that it was totally different, all I did was
make a few phone calls and my contacts were able to locate him. That was all I
did, nothing more. In truth what I didn’t tell her was that I had arranged for
him to trial. He is currently in jail working his way through the justice
system.
Chrissy looks at me, her voice hoarse from tears and tells
me she knows what I did for them. She isn’t asking anything like that.
Shrieking, “I just need help in finding my brother.”
She tells me she has been to three other Private
Investigators and they have all failed or were bought off not to tell me.
This got my curiosity, why would he pay someone not to tell
her where he was. So I ask the question, “Why makes you think your PI was paid
off?”
There are a few facts that Chrissy left out of her story.
One that her father is who the papers called the Gay Don years ago, a major
crime figure in Florida. He was the one who managed to get casinos legalized in
Florida. He also ran almost every gay, LBGT club in Florida. He got a part of
all the drugs and prostitution that went on in and around them. The case came
back to me, it was national news and anyone over 50 would remember it.
She also forgot to mention that she used to be his son
Robert and her brother’s sex at the moment is unknown.
As intriguing as the case is it is not the sort of thing I
do or care to be involved with. It has too many ways to become a headache for
me.
As soon as I explain that to Chrissy, she goes off about it
being because I am a homophobic racist. A little stunned since I helped gay man
and that is how he, she came to me. Then she apologized saying it was her
frustration at not being able to get any help. It was as if her father was back
in power, but he isn’t even released yet, how could that be.
She rambled on for another five minutes about every
conspiracy theory she could imagine. I drove her back to Chick’s Bar where we
met and told her I will give her a call tomorrow and let her know if I can help
her or not.
She thanked and apologized to me again. She rested her hand
on my arm and looked into my eyes. If the eyes are the window to our souls then
his or hers have been sucked out because I saw nothing, not anger, not hope,
not desperation, they were the eyes of an empty shell.
The Body in
the Woods
He was going to do it. He was doing it today. He knew
Martin would be somewhere around the park if not on the trim track that went through the woods.
He was sure that his mums former boyfriend would be there and around ten am on a Thursday. It was an observation among many over the the last six months. Six months of tracking and lets face it stalking the guy like a deer, had found pay dirt. Darren was already at the the
southern edge of forty six square miles of parkland. He, unlike many of the people who came through here, had brought a Colt 45 pistol. A 1911 to be exact plus twenty cartridges. It was a souvenir brought back by his late father when life in the Far East had been exceptionally hazardous to all. Darren planned to be as dangerous to Martin Johnson, the prick. He had made his mother so sorry that she was alive. Martin would be in the throws of deep regret if Darren had
anything to do with it. He walked parallel to one of the meandering dirt paths heading North. He sloughed through undergrowth keep a distance of a few yards from the path. He stopped to listen here and there for any movement. Martin would be punctually heading West in
twenty minutes and a hundred yards or so distant. Darren needed to be in good cover before then and without anyone else on the track to notice him. He gripped the gun inside the right pocket of his olive coloured army surplus jacket. Its weight reassured and frightened
him. He really was going to kill someone. He would be a murderer but he would, at long last, know satisfaction in his life. People like Martin turned others into killers because there weren’t any laws against someone being an arsehole and so no hangman’s noose reserved for total wankers. Darren was forced to assume the role of judge and he would be the gallows and Lord how Martin would swing. The oxygen thief had sunk his last avocado smoothie. Darren stopped again, listening. Only the sounds of the sparrows and the wind in the trees that heaved and yawed unsteady in the easterly wind getting up to cause mischief later in the afternoon; if the report was anything to go by. He stopped as soon as he started again. He noticed stillness of the body first, then how the body lay on its back and then the awkward angle of the limbs. In the tall grass near a clearing, a man possibly in his sixties and in natty red shorts and back T-shirt, lay staring up at the sky. Hesitantly Darren moved forward to see for sure. He saw the open but blank staring eyes and now the gaping mouth. A heart a attack perhaps?. Probably more common than one would think, especially for men over fifty doing exercise in the woods. Darren peered closer. A large gash in the man’s neck had let a great deal of blood to soak the ground. Not a heart attack. Darren suddenly felt queasy. Then to his right, roughly ten yards away two women bounced along jogging and chatting breathlessly. Darren needed to get out of here asap but the women had seen him and had slowed. Possibly from the look on his face; one could always read his face according to his aunt , they stopped their talk and walked hesitantly before seeing the body too. ‘ Um……I think…..Darren stammered but the women were quick in reaction and one brought out her phone and waited for a connection as she and her friend looked from the body to Darren and back again. Darren felt panic start to overtake the sick feeling as he felt the gun still pressing into his hand.
WRITE A STORY ABOUT A SCHOOL YARD FIGHT USING ALL SIX ELEMENTS OF STORY TELLING
It was a friday and every friday it has become a tradition in my school were by students must always engage themselves in a fight with each other either the senior students versus the junior one or between class mates.
This friday wasn’t an exceptional one at times I think deeply what might be the cause of this every friday fight, rumor has it that it’s the spirit of those students who lost their lives while in school, that their spirits are still roaming the school premises causing students to fight each other but that’s hideous to hear to me it’s a mere superstitious believe or isn’t it?…
The school authority along side the disciplinary committee have tried endlessly to put an end but failed; the fight as always is cause by a senior student whom by trying to exercise his seniority in the school yard over stepped his boundary.
During lunch time as usual most students do find fun in playing football instead of having lunch, my class mates decided to play football among themselves as the match was in progress a senior walked pass the field unknowingly my mate fired a shoot towards his direction which barely touched him. The senior picked offense accusing the student of intentionally kicking the ball towards his direction and trying to make an ocean out of a drop of water even with the thousands of apologies coming from both the players and my mates he paid deaf ears to it and made move to seize the ball;while the student with the ball refused to let him have it after much words exchange he advanced with a clinch fist towards my mate who was with the ball which resulted to a serious exchange of punches and with his mate watching the joined in beating my him and my mates couldn’t hold back but engaged in a group fight, we the girls rather than shout and throw objects at our seniors, mocking them the fight lasted for 10 minutes before the teachers came in to separate them and took the key fighters and some of us who were watching to their office for questioning which I was among.
Everyone said their piece and when it my turn to say I had to exaggerate to drive home a bad impression about the senior students especially him and maybe cause I don’t like him nor his attitude due to this he was suspended indefinitely.
Inside my head I thought to myself that I was a little bit harsh on my statement or was it the judgment that was harsh but well either ways he deserves it cause to me I think he brought it upon himself even though am not much of a football fan but I think him walking on the field while a match is going on is wrong at least this will serve as an example to the rest that wants to or think of involving in school fight and to me I foresee the long practiced tradition coming to an end if fighting issues are handled like this or even better
14 Prompts – Out of Place
My friend Karin invited me to her house for Christmas that year. Her family would be there. All of them. Well, not her Dad, of course. He had died years ago. Her mom would be there. Her sisters, Emma and Sarah. Emma would be bringing her longtime boyfriend. Her brother Jack was coming in from Seattle. He wasn’t involved with anyone at the moment. At least he hadn’t been the last time he and Karin had spoken. But, Karin had pointed out how Jack always did keep them guessing so who knew. He could very well show up with the love of his life as they all were when they were. Until they weren’t. Her aunts would be there. Her cousins, their husbands and wives, and their children. Karin groaned about her husband’s family year round. But, it was Christmas. The season required setting aside differences in favor of tidings and joy. So, they too would be there. All, it seemed, were welcome.
I didn’t have anywhere to go. My Mom and Dad were living miles away in Arizona and even so had decided to spend the holidays with my sister and her family in Florida. My husband and I were separated and on the doorstep of divorce. I made sure I had the kids for Christmas Eve and Christmas morning. I wanted them to wake up in their beds to the magic of Santa and the joy he would bring. And, it was magic. Wrapping paper flying. Screams of delight. Eyes wide with wonder after each new discovery under the tree. When the last gift was opened, though, there was no time to settle in and play. It was off to their Dad’s side of the family to go through the magic of discovery all over again. After the handoff I closed the door behind them and turned around to face the leftover mess. To face the stillness. To face the emptiness. I lunged like a projectile onto the couch, pushed aside boxes, dragged a blanket over my head, and howled. After all the shopping, all the wrapping, all of the keeping it together -the tension of the season and the situation flowed through my tears and out my sobs. In that moment I decided I would go to Karin’s. I needed connection. I was going to take her up on her invitation.
When I turned onto Karin’s street I saw the cars lined out up front. The festivities were in full swing and through my sadness I felt grateful for the invitation. I would not spend Christmas with my children but I would not be alone. Walking up the drive I could see Karin’s family and friends through the window. The lit Christmas tree was spectacular and shining brightly in the background. I rang the bell and waited for the door to open. And, I waited. I shouldn’t be here I thought but I rang the bell again. Karin’s daughter Maisie opened the door and ran off. I stepped inside and Karin spotted me from across the room. She hurried over and hugged me and wished me a Merry Christmas. Her husband appeared and took my coat. We walked over to her mother who smiled tightly and gave me a loose hug. Emma waved to me from across the room. I excused myself and cut through the crowd to greet her. She held out her hand to show me a dazzling engagement ring. She was incredibly happy, glowing, and giddy in love. I hugged her tight and told her how happy I was for her. I moved from Emma to Sarah to Jack and on to various cousins and aunts and uncles until I had greeted them all. There was eating, drinking, and a whole lot of merry going on. Surrounded by people, I couldn’t seem to hook a solid conversation. I spotted an inviting chair near the fireplace and sunk in. I sat back and took it all in. And, sitting there on the sidelines, I recognized that while I was welcome here I was an outsider. I was an outsider on the inside looking in and in that moment I felt as empty as I had when I closed the door to my children heading off with their father.
my soul
I had recently read that the spirit of each in this life have created other spirit fit in with her and meshes. But the sad thing is that these spirits do not actually meet but remain sporadic. We may find the spirit complementary us but it is very hard to win it. The reason for this is that those lives her books for another meeting in the eternal afterlife shall win and contentment that meeting. And remain that spirit this world tormented because they are far away from her twin sister, but this year life. I’m still dreaming about how my life will be near you, O my soul, always beautiful and something that is imagined. They say that what God has taken you always have because it will not please you. But I never imagined that you bring me sorrow. But I think the Lord reward you and I think that there is still what is beautiful lies ahead. The time has not come yet nothing else. Yes, our lives have changed a lot but I’m still dreaming and I hope I do not know why. Just what I understand, I’m still your need closeness.
“sorry my English is not good, I use google translate to change to English”
my soul
I had recently read that the spirit of each in this life have created other spirit fit in with her and meshes. But the sad thing is that these spirits do not actually meet but remain sporadic. We may find the spirit complementary us but it is very hard to win it. The reason for this is that those lives her books for another meeting in the eternal afterlife shall win and contentment that meeting. And remain that spirit this world tormented because they are far away from her twin sister, but this year life. I’m still dreaming about how my life will be near you, O my soul, always beautiful and something that is imagined. They say that what God has taken you always have because it will not please you. But I never imagined that you bring me sorrow. But I think the Lord reward you and I think that there is still what is beautiful lies ahead. The time has not come yet nothing else. Yes, our lives have changed a lot but I’m still dreaming and I hope I do not know why. Just what I understand, I’m still your need closeness.
WRITE A STORY ABOUT A SCHOOL YARD FIGHT USING ALL SIX ELEMENTS OF STORY TELLING
It was a friday and every friday it has become a tradition in my school were by students must always engage themselves in a fight with each other either the senior students versus the junior one or between class mates.
This friday wasn’t an exceptional one at times I think deeply what might be the cause of this every friday fight, rumor has it that it’s the spirit of those students who lost their lives while in school, that their spirits are still roaming the school premises causing students to fight each other but that’s hideous to hear to me it’s a mere superstitious believe or isn’t it?…
The school authority along side the disciplinary committee have tried endlessly to put an end but failed; the fight as always is cause by a senior student whom by trying to exercise his seniority in the school yard over stepped his boundary.
During lunch time as usual most students do find fun in playing football instead of having lunch, my class mates decided to play football among themselves as the match was in progress a senior walked pass the field unknowingly my mate fired a shoot towards his direction which barely touched him. The senior picked offense accusing the student of intentionally kicking the ball towards his direction and trying to make an ocean out of a drop of water even with the thousands of apologies coming from both the players and my mates he paid deaf ears to it and made move to seize the ball;while the student with the ball refused to let him have it after much words exchange he advanced with a clinch fist towards my mate who was with the ball which resulted to a serious exchange of punches and with his mate watching the joined in beating my him and my mates couldn’t hold back but engaged in a group fight, we the girls rather than shout and throw objects at our seniors, mocking them the fight lasted for 10 minutes before the teachers came in to separate them and took the key fighters and some of us who were watching to their office for questioning which I was among.
Everyone said their piece and when it my turn to say I had to exaggerate to drive home a bad impression about the senior students especially him and maybe cause I don’t like him nor his attitude due to this he was suspended indefinitely.
Inside my head I thought to myself that I was a little bit harsh on my statement or was it the judgment that was harsh but well either ways he deserves it cause to me I think he brought it upon himself even though am not much of a football fan but I think him walking on the field while a match is going on is wrong at least this will serve as an example to the rest that wants to or think of involving in school fight and to me I foresee the long practiced tradition coming to an end if fighting issues are handled like this or even better
She walked with a skip in her step down the familiar path taking in the warm, sweet air. Her sneakers hit the pavement with the rhythm she knew so well, and she even welcomed the itching sensation that was beginning to move in her thigh muscle. This day was one she had waited for for months with surprising patience. It was the day she received news from the majority of the colleges she had applied to early decision in the fall. The cherry on top was her acceptance into all four of her top choices, and generous scholarships from two of them. It was not surprising then, that she could not think of a better way to celebrate then to go for a run on her neighborhood trail. Approaching the stretch of trail she loved the most–the stretch with trees to its left and a lake to its right–the runner decided to sprint until she reached the crossroads at the start of the forest path. Sweat dripping down her neck and forehead and the breeze assaulting her airways, she ran with the vigor and enthusiasm that had been culminating in her all day. It was this state of complete fixation that landed her face down on the sandy trail, staring directly at what appeared to be a corpse that judging from the bright red, undried blood drenching its torso, had been alive less than an hour earlier. The runner let out a scream that startled nearby birds out of their branches. The breeze no longer felt warm, and her itching was replaced with a sick, churning feeling in her stomach. Not fully believing her eyes, the runner pinched herself repeatedly to make sure she was not the victim of a twisted dream. Glancing cautiously around her as she was now hyper aware of her surroundings that suddenly felt unfamiliar and unwelcoming, she approached the body. Trying to get as good of a look as she could while staying three feet away from the corpse, she peered down at the face. Whoever it was that the body had belonged to had died with his eyes open; the runner stared into vacant, frozen eyes. The person’s mouth was open as well, and flies were already beginning to settle on the tongue. What the runner saw next however, turned the churning in her stomach into an unbearable sickness that triggered a rise of bile in her throat. The corpse’s blood-soaked torso, upon closer look she noticed, had been gutted. Somehow, the stomach of this person had been opened, and its contents emptied out onto the grass beside it. With almost no hesitation, the runner lurched forward and vomited onto the sandy, pebbled trail.
Sticky, partly coagulated blood oozed down from the outside of her bony ankle and it reminded her of all the times she had been with her brothers and ended up getting a scratch, a graze or a bruise. Thankfully nothing had ever been that bad, the only permanent scar was the small chip in her front tooth from when she had fallen off the bed whilst wrestling with James and had hit her face on the chest of drawers. Charging forward in her usual way, the twigs snapped underneath her feet and the leaves made a pleasing crackling sound. Other girls, plenty she knew of, wouldn’t dream of stepping foot into the forest at night, but she was not other girls and had been raised in a way that didn’t involve dolls and pink fluffy kittens. She was one of the boys, better actually, she was a hybrid of feminine and masculine, with the confidence and strength of a boy, but with also the innate power of intuition and emotional intelligence of the female, the best of both worlds. Nothing scared her, except being alone, not as in spending minutes and hours with her own company, that was something she relished, alone as in being all alone in the world, being abandoned, like her mother had abandoned her before she could even form any memories of what having a mother felt like. Sometimes she thought it would be less painful if her mother was dead, rather than the reality of just not being wanted by her. She turned the pain into anger and used that anger to motivate herself to want to make a good life so that she never became anything like her. She rounded a large oak and lying on the damp bed of leaves was a woman’s body.
She walked with a skip in her step down the familiar path taking in the warm, sweet air. Her sneakers hit the pavement with the rhythm she knew so well, and she even welcomed the itching sensation that was beginning to move in her thigh muscle. This day was one she had waited for for months with surprising patience. It was the day she received news from the majority of the colleges she had applied to early decision in the fall. The cherry on top was her acceptance into all four of her top choices, and generous scholarships from two of them. It was not surprising then, that she could not think of a better way to celebrate than to go for a run on her neighborhood trail. Approaching the stretch of trail she loved the most–the stretch with trees to its left and a lake to its right–the runner decided to sprint until she reached the crossroads at the start of the forest path. Sweat dripping down her neck and forehead and the breeze assaulting her airways, she ran with the vigor and enthusiasm that had been culminating in her all day. It was this state of complete fixation that landed her face down on the sandy trail, staring directly at what appeared to be a corpse that judging from the bright red, undried blood drenching its torso, had been alive less than an hour earlier. The runner let out a scream that startled nearby birds out of their branches. The breeze no longer felt warm, and her itching was replaced with a sick, churning feeling in her stomach. Not fully believing her eyes, the runner pinched herself repeatedly to make sure she was not the victim of a twisted dream. Glancing cautiously around her as she was now hyper aware of her surroundings that suddenly felt unfamiliar and unwelcoming, she approached the body. Trying to get as good of a look as she could while staying three feet away from the corpse, she peered down at the face. Whoever it was that the body had belonged to had died with his eyes open; the runner stared into vacant, frozen eyes. The person’s mouth was open as well, and flies were already beginning to settle on the tongue. What the runner saw next however, turned the churning in her stomach into an unbearable sickness that triggered a rise of bile in her throat. The corpse’s blood-soaked torso, upon closer look she noticed, had been gutted. Somehow, the stomach of this person had been opened, and its contents emptied out onto the grass beside it. With almost no hesitation, the runner lurched forward and vomited onto the sandy, pebbled trail.
Moving In (This is a book im working on with a close friend of mine and I wrote most of this previously but the fifteen minutes allowed me to add more depth and details to my work.)
“I think that’s it, Dad.” I said to my father as he brought in the last of my things. Today I was officially moving into the dorm room, located south of the main building at the University of California campus. My parents drove down with me, against my will I may add. I thought I was perfectly capable of driving from Chino Hills to L.A alone. Their minds were averse to the idea, though.
“It looks nice,dear.” Mother said now,placing a hand on her hip. Her eyes scanned the area. She shook her head at the other side of the room,which laid bare.
My roommate,whom I didn’t meet prior,was nowhere to be found. I think she was going to be coming in later. Hopefully,I won’t have to wait too long to set up the shared space. I’d gone and bought the essential college dorm materials: the mini fridge,a microwave,and lots of cork-boards for reminders and such. I’d even managed to snag an extra duvet set and sheets.
I looked around at my side of the dorm and sighed. By now,Dad had wrestled all the boxes inside and the bags of things had accumulated the floor beside my new bed. My work was going to be cut out for me later when I’d unpack all alone.
“Well,it looks like this is it,hon.I think it’s time for us to go.” my mom stated as she walked behind me.
I turned around as she put her cold hands on my bare shoulders.
“You’re an adult now,Brooklynn. We expect you to act like it.” she warned and looked at me sternly. Her eyes had grew a little softer,but were still red from when she had a break down in the car earlier.
My going away had left her and my father alone. I was the last child to leave,after my big sister Brittney. The loneliness would drive my mother crazy,since she looked over Brittney and I’s tight schedules since we were first born. I hope she’ll learn to find something to do with her time now that all of us kids were gone.
“I understand,Mom.” I gave her a tight hug,never wanting to let go. But when I finally did,I heard sniffling and saw my dad on the verge of tears. He always cried when the time was there to let go. I quickly ran to him and gave him a warm embrace.
“I’m going to miss you so much.” He choked now. The tears that left his eyes fell on my shirt,leaving a wet mess. I didn’t mind,since I knew this was all going to be hard on him,maybe even more harder than it was on my mother. I was his youngest daughter. I knew it was going to hurt him if I went away and left him to not be there when I needed him.
“Aw I’ll miss you too Dad.” I said in his shirt. The familiarity of his cologne filled my nose and I took in as much as I could.
I wouldn’t see my family for another 3 months,when Thanksgiving Break rolled around. That’s a long time without smelling my dad’s signature scent everyday and my mother’s cinnamon perfume.
I let go of my father,who joined my mother and wrapped an arm around her. They stood,smiling at me and I felt happy. After a moment,my parents moved toward the door.
“Bye Brooklynn. We love you!” they shouted and left. I watched as they climbed into their car and headed to close the door.
“I love you too!” I yelled back,my voice soft. I was truly on my own now,no cousins to call over,no friends to console along with me,only myself and my things. It’s time to start my own life.
Since class didn’t start till tomorrow,I decided to start unpacking. The amount of belongings I had were a lot,and suddenly I wished that I’d brought lighter.
I threw my wavy black hair up into a ponytail and started opening the boxes. Each one was marked with my signature handwriting on the side,labeled with a color coded marker and organized to a T. Most of the things I’d packed were light and simple,so an hour later,one box was left.
On the side,it read ‘History’. This was one of the most important of all of my things. Many of my childhood memories were found in this one box.
Most people would say that their parents had all of their pictures from when they were little. For me,I have all of my images and old nicknacks myself. The very first time I moved at six,I decided to collect my own things to keep,that way I wouldn’t lose anything. Even then,I knew how important it was to keep up with small personal items when you moved away.
I glanced at the keepsakes from inside. Majority of the stuff were from my old friend,Greyson Maxwell,my cousins Cameron and Chloie,and boys I used to have play-dates with when I lived in Nebraska. One of the many things I hold dear is a photo album.All of the adolescent pictures from my young life are in here. One picture always catches my eye.
It’s a picture of me,at about the age of 11 or 12. I’m sitting in the grass,reading a book and another little girl,Greyson, is sitting next to me with a book as well. We are smiling,it’s a sunny day and our expressions are captured perfectly. When I look at this picture,I can recall the way the wind moved,the feeling that was running pure through my skin.
I sighed,and closed the photo album. Greyson used to be my best friend. I’d known her since I was a baby. We’d had some of the best memories together with these two guys,one who was a blonde and the brother of one of my other friends,Kenzie, and the other who had black hair,like mine. The four of us made many fun moments together and now I couldn’t tell you their names if I’d remembered.
The door opened a few seconds later and in walked a girl with dark brown hair. Finally,my roommate was here. I stood quickly,throwing the album on my bed and moved towards my new partner in crime. I placed my hands on my sides.
“Hi.” I said and smiled warmly. The girl looked around the room,most likely figuring out where she would be placing her bags. “Sorry,I didn’t know where you were going to put your stuff but I figured you wouldn’t care which side you’d sleep.” I apologized.
“Hey,you must be my roommate?” she questioned. I nodded.
“Yeah.” I told her.”My name’s Brooklynn.”
She walked over to me and pulled out her hand. I shook it as she introduced herself.
“I’m Greyson.”
Part of Chapter 2 of a book I’ve been working on:
“By Saturday, Win felt like she needed some serious alone time to decompress. Her teachers and guidance counselors had all warned the seniors in September about tthe amount of work their teachers would be giving them before their college applications were due. They hadn’t lied. Win spent hours now doing homework, which she felt was a little excessive, considering the sheer volume of work wasn’t something that any college applications she had yet to tackle asked about.
“She was used to spending time alone, so the fact that her parents had a lengthy buisness meeting and that Ari was visiting cousins didn’t phase her. She pushed thoughts of schoolwork from her head and instead thought about what she could do to relax.
“Finally, after scanning through her phone, Win settled on going to see a movie. There weren’t any high claiber films out that she had a burning desire to see, but there was something that had at least three explosions in the trailer that she figured would be brainless fun.
“Though Win had a habit of running to most places, the movie theater was a bit far, particularly considering the February wind had picked up this week. If she didn’t run, Win had to take one of the family cars, which always called more attention to her than she liked.
Quick apology for typos (I forgot to spell check) and for the fact that this might be a bit boring. It’s definitely not the most interesting part of the book!
I enjoyed putting my own sci-fi spin on the story idea. I only just started writing and English is not my first language, but I would really love some feedback on this guys!
Private Baldric drove through the pines of Section 4. His mind occupied. It had been a difficult year on PARAD-3. He needed to clear his thoughts, drive somewhere, drive nowhere. Their supply station had been targeted for the third time that year. There was nothing they could do with what they had been provided with by the Ruling Government. They fought, he fought, as brave as they could but the fight had been lost before it had even started. Baldric lost his right leg and was released from duty until he learned to operate his electromechanical prosthetic. He had tried his best to get a replacement bio-limb on the black markets of Earth, but his funds were insufficient. He had no choice but to stay on his hellish home planet and have a piece of rusty metal be attached to whatever was left of him.
Driving was easy, it was the walking that cost him all his efforts and left him feeling incapable. He was angry. Angry with the Ruling Government and with the senate of PARAD-3. He was angry with those lazy criminals back on Earth that wouldn’t provide him with a new leg because of ‘insufficient funds’. But most of all he was angry with himself. How could he have let it come to this?
“This bullshit job comes with bullshit pay”, he murmured. He grabbed the cigarette pack on the seat next to him and as he reached in his pocket to pull out his lighter, the buggy hit something and came to an abrupt halt.
“What the…”. Baldric stepped out of the buggy. A young man in bright orange ranger overalls was lying dead in the middle of the road. Baldric cursed himself for not paying attention. He could have found a way around the body, pretending he had never even seen it. He lit up a cigarette and leaned against the front of the buggy that housed its engine. PARAD-3’s suns started to set and the only thing keeping Baldric warm was the toxic smoke filling his lungs. He didn’t want to drive back to base yet, he couldn’t stand the looks of pity from his squadron. Policy was to bring back bodies upon finding them, so they could be burned before the forest beasts got to them. He smirked thinking about how desperate that idea of defending a dead man’s honor was. He limped to the back of the buggy and started pushing things aside to make room for the dead ranger.
“I guess I’ll be a good soldier”, he grunted. As soon as he had cleared out the back of his vehicle, he pulled out his two-way radio to inform base camp he would be bringing in a body. He hesitated. His mind wandered, stumbled upon a memory.
“Point your gun in another direction.” A saying his mom used to tell him when he would get stuck piecing together a puzzle or couldn’t remember the right path through the pines on their way home. She helped him rearrange his thoughts and dissect his problems from alternative angles. She made him feel like he was never stuck.
“Point your gun in a different direction.”
He was stuck now. He had been stuck for years at that rotten supply station. He slowly clamped back his radio onto his jacket. “Fuck it.” He figured those crooks back on Earth would supply him with enough funds for a one-way ticket of off PARAD-3 if he supplied them with a body.
“Well, a body minus a leg”, he said out loud as he glanced down at his metal limb.
“It’s cold up in the mountains. My god it’s cold.”
He turned to me. His eyes locked onto mine. Those pale blue eyes shimmered in the flickering of the camp fire. Years of sun and whipping wind eroded his face into a wrinkled hide. His cheeks were covered in coarse copper whiskers, but the top of his head lacked any hair whatsoever. On his left knee rested a felt hat which he wore out to keep his head from burning in the sun. The man wore a dark coat, patched together by various pieces of hide and rag cloth. Rugged. That is one word you could call him.
“So how long have you been guiding in these mountains?”
The rugged man gave a chuckle. As if amused by any doubt I had in his capabilities. His eyes turned towards the flames rising and falling in front of us. A quick jet of air blew, and I hurried to pull my fur collar around my neck. The man sat there solid like some sort of statue. At that point I knew the answer to my question. No man sits that steadfast in a place he’s foreign to.
-“Well lad I can tell you that I’ve done my fair share of hikes through these passes. I can take you through the shortest path and get you to the other side… say in a few hours at most.”
Slowly, he aimed his head to the bucket beside him, pursed his lips and shot out a jet of crude liquid.
“But what if I’m not trying to go through the shortest path?”
He shot another spray into the bucket besides him. A thin stream of spittle glided down his lips and pooled on his whiskers. In one motion he whipped the spit of his chin and then placed his hand on my shoulder. His pale eyes locked directly onto mine.
“You know the stories about these parts, don’t you?”
“I’m familiar.”
“These mountain trails don’t lead to good for nosy people like you. You know how many folks die up in these parts? The longer stretches of trail are littered with snowy graves of people who tried to brave these parts for the myths people have thrown out into the world. Hell half the people who die up in those mountains ain’t ever found. They don’t even rot. They just die. Crushed by some avalanche or freeze. Then the snow just falls and falls on them. Keeping them just like they were when they died… that of course unless some scavenger digs them up and picks their bones clean of flesh.”
“Look you can try and scare me all you want but I hired you and I’m paying you to take me where I want you to take me. If you have any hesitations about this then I can just find some other guide.”
Another harsh breeze whipped through. The canvas of the tents clapped in the violent breeze. The fire shifted and twisted, the flames gave us the seductive dance of their churning glow.
“There is no other guide that knows these parts like I do. I’ve been in these parts for damn near twenty years. Hell that’s probably as long as you’ve been on this earth.”
“So you’ll take me where I need you to?”
“Kid that’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is if you try to go up into those mountains without anyone but me than you’ll end up the pickings for some dog. Best if you just go through the normal pass and leave whatever curiosities you have as curiosities.”
“I can’t do that.”
I enjoyed putting my own sci-fi spin on the story idea. I only just started writing and English is not my first language, but I would really love some feedback on this guys!
Private Baldric drove through the pines of Section 4. His mind occupied. It had been a difficult year on PARAD-3. He needed to clear his thoughts, drive somewhere, drive nowhere. Their supply station had been targeted for the third time that year. There was nothing they could do with what they had been provided with by the Ruling Government. They fought, he fought, as brave as they could but the fight had been lost before it had even started. Baldric lost his right leg and was released from duty until he learned to operate his electromechanical prosthetic. He had tried his best to get a replacement bio-limb on the black markets of Earth, but his funds were insufficient. He had no choice but to stay on his hellish home planet and have a piece of rusty metal be attached to whatever was left of him.
Driving was easy, it was the walking that cost him all his efforts and left him feeling incapable. He was angry. Angry with the Ruling Government and with the senate of PARAD-3. He was angry with those lazy criminals back on Earth that wouldn’t provide him with a new leg because of ‘insufficient funds’. But most of all he was angry with himself. How could he have let it come to this?
“This bullshit job comes with bullshit pay”, he murmured. He grabbed the cigarette pack on the seat next to him and as he reached in his pocket to pull out his lighter, the buggy hit something and came to an abrupt halt.
“What the…”. Baldric stepped out of the buggy. A young man in bright orange ranger overalls was lying dead in the middle of the road. Baldric cursed himself for not paying attention. He could have found a way around the body, pretending he had never even seen it. He lit up a cigarette and leaned against the front of the buggy that housed its engine. PARAD-3’s suns started to set and the only thing keeping Baldric warm was the toxic smoke filling his lungs. He didn’t want to drive back to base yet, he couldn’t stand the looks of pity from his squadron. Policy was to bring back bodies upon finding them, so they could be burned before the forest beasts got to them. He smirked thinking about how desperate that idea of defending a dead man’s honor was. He limped to the back of the buggy and started pushing things aside to make room for the dead ranger.
“I guess I’ll be a good soldier”, he grunted.
As soon as he had cleared out the back of his vehicle, he pulled out his two-way radio to inform base camp he would be bringing in a body. He hesitated. His mind wandered, stumbled upon a memory.
“Point your gun in another direction.” A saying his mom used to tell him when he would get stuck piecing together a puzzle or couldn’t remember the right path through the pines on their way home. She helped him rearrange his thoughts and dissect his problems from alternative angles. She made him feel like he was never stuck.
“Point your gun in a different direction.”
He was stuck now. He had been stuck for years at that rotten supply station. He slowly clamped back his radio onto his jacket. “Fuck it.” He figured those crooks back on Earth would supply him with enough funds for a one-way ticket of off PARAD-3 if he supplied them with a body.
“Well, a body minus a leg”, he said out loud as he glanced down at his metal limb.
For not sleeping well last night Markie wakes with excitement and anticipation. After she showers and dresses she grabs a bangle. she holds the bangle in her mouth while see checks her gear in the range rover. Tent-check, sleeping bag-check, she continues this until she is satisfied. The drive to the Smoky Mountains was quicker then she thought it would take. It helped that there was little traffic for New York to here. She looks at her watch to remember the best time to travel. She parks at the Sugarlands Visitor Center parting lot, outside of Gatlinburg, TN. Markie took her time looking through the library of brochures. She chose a few; map of the Appalachian Trail, wild life on the trail and one about the flowers and foliage on the mountains. She sees a grey haired woman sitting behind the counter with reading glasses hanging around her neck on a Perl chain.
She ran the same path through the woods every day. Into the trees from her backyard, down the ravine, over the bridge across the stream, up the hill past the warming hut for snowmobilers and hikers in the winter, through the dense trees and into the clearing. She’d check her time and run back again. Once in a while she ventured past the usual clearing, on special occasions like when she had more time or something. Today, she decided to run a little farther. She went through a particularly dense area of trees, this wasn’t her first time here. As she ran, she looked over into the trees at a familiar spot; the ground looked like it had been disturbed. It can’t be! She looked so intently that she tripped over something and fell to the ground – scraping up her hands and face. She cried out in pain and rolled over to see what she tripped on. It was him; it couldn’t be him. She went over to the body that lay on the side of the path; she had tripped on his legs. Who did this? She ran over to the disturbed ground – someone dug him up and just left him on the path for her to find. Or worse, for someone else to find. How did this happen? She frantically looked around for someone watching. The woods were too dense; if there was anyone, she wouldn’t be able to see them. Someone was taunting her, they must have known she’d come back here. After all, she was the one who put him there.
~ AM I DEAD?! ~
It was midnight and she was in the woods. She knew she aught to stay at home but nevertheless she was here. She could not remember when or how she reached this deep into the woods and wondered for a moment why exactly she came here. When nothing came up she shrugged it off as if walking around in the woods at this hour was normal.
“Now how am I going to get out of here?” she asked aloud from no one on particular considering she was alone.
Turning around twice in her position she tried to remember, anyhow, a way out of this hellhole.
It was an eerily silent night except for the slight crunches of dried leaves as she stepped on them, moving towards nowhere.
Suddenly she heard it. A slow whisper of her name carried by the wind flowing towards her. She stopped dead in her track. Straining her ears, she listened and then as she heard it again she sprinted forward into a run. She was running, running as she never had before, running as nothing mattered, running with all her will perhaps running for her life.
Suddenly she stumbled over a hard object, falling flat on her stomach. Harshly jerking herself upright she looked down at what it was and paled. It was a body, a dead one for that matter. Slowly pushing it to the side she revealed its face. It was none other than herself, her very own self. Looking at her own dead body she gave such an agonizing scream that everything melted away, everything , the trees, forest, the night, her dead body and including herself melted away…………
Zenya woke up with a start.
“Oh” she said, absolute relief evident in her voice “just a nightmare”
For next hour, she is just going to write. She doesn’t know how it’s going to happen but she knows that this will be the first hour, when she isn’t going to think that how miserable life is, after her world turned upside down last year or maybe it’s just yesterday. She isn’t sure but she knows after that moment she isn’t the same happy kid, how can she be, how can anyone be. She never seemed to lose hope before but now she has. The day her closest friend left her, saying nothing, was the last day for all the hope she had got. She knows that there are bigger problems, worst scenarios happening to people all around her. But this is her worst scenario. Although nobody around her seems to understand that but she knows that her feelings are real. Because she has read love stories for all of her life and never questioned their rationality back then how can she do that now.
She sighed and moved towards the entrance of classroom. She knows that she can never start fresh, not after what she has gone through, but she knows that the world has it’s own ways of bringing hope to our lives and so until then she’s just going to live.
How stupid is this she thought to herself? Why did she ever get out of the car? She knew the answer it was because that loud mouth jerk she had been out with was dead drunk. Taking her chances walking seemed liked the better idea. Until now, she hated walking through the woods. She wasn’t afraid, it was a mess, and these amazing black patent leather shoes she found on sale were getting ruined. It wasn’t easy walking in them either, every time she took a step, and she sunk into a hole. A farmer could follow her around and plant seeds in the holes that she was making, and have a bumper crop by spring.
The fact that she was wearing a skirt didn’t help matters either; her stockings were torn to shreds. She was combatting the darkness by holding up her iPhone and using it as a flashlight. She then she tripped over something, must have been a log, but whatever it was, she tripped, fell and was on a down grade, she rolled ass over tea kettle, every time she heard a crack of a branch, she prayed it WAS a branch and not one of her body parts. That was all the needed. She held onto that phone for dear life though. She had a feeling she might need to call for help. Just as quickly has she started rolling down the hill, she stopped. The ground had leveled out. She put her phone in her pocket and slowly started to feel where she hurt. She wiggled fingers, toes, then arms and legs, miraculously nothing seemed broken.
“What else was going to happen tonight” she thought to herself. Not one to dwell on things, she started walking up the hill. She knew crying out or sitting there wasn’t going to do her any good. She realized that she had lost a shoe rolling down, took the other one off, carried it in her hand and hobbled back up the hill to where she started. All the while looking for her other shoe, she got up to the top and was hoping to find it where she had tripped.
She got the phone back out and was using it again to light her way, that’s when she saw it, her shoe, she was so happy, if happy could describe the way she was feeling. But elated that she wouldn’t be walking the rest of the way barefoot. She grabbed the shoe, put both of them on and that is when she distinctly felt a squish in the bottom of the shoe she thought she lost. Not only that, it was too big on her. Her first instinct was to get that shoe off her. Then she realized that it was impossible that her shoe had gotten bigger and full of liquid while she was rolling down the hill. She directed her light at the shoe in her hand and screamed it was full of blood. Then she looked on the ground and realized what she had tripped upon, it was a man, but he was in a dress, with a bad wig on, dead, just plain dead in front of her. She knew that was why the shoe was so big. She dialed 911 and it took ten minutes for her to get the operator to believe her, and to figure out exactly where she was in order for the police to find her.
I love the situation you have come up with here and the manner of discovery ( via the bank white light of the cell phone) and while preoccupied with the pressing matter of finding her way home. I feel that this could be fleshed out well with this primary concern on its own. Now there’s a body. I think more of a description of the body including more detail on the style of wig and shoes other than that they are big. Also you placed an emphasis on WAS and not branch and not “one of her body parts”. I highlighted this because I think there is room for more dramatic language here; A basic fear that could be explored more. Nice start Laura, keep going.
Wow, thanks so much, and for being so quick. I will work on it over the weekend.
It amazes me how so many different people can come up with such varied twists and plots with one idea. Very nice Laura
Thank you so much, would love any feedback on the reworked piece I just submitted!
I’ll check it out and let you know. Would a apreciate any comments on my piece if you scroll down a bit, please? It’s full of grammes and spelling mistakes but anyways…
I left a couple of comments on your story. Keep working on it, can’t wait to see what happens(ed) Thanks for sharing
I like your style. You have a humoristic way of describing a scary situation. You could perhaps just put a little more meat on the stick? If that makes sense? What happens next?
I could sense the humor in this story and I loved it. It’s light and not so severely serious.
The best part is how you grab the reader’s attention. In my opinion it is one of the most important points a reader should have. Especially if it’s the first chapter or beginning of a story.
Another excellent point you did well in, was having the story flow with each other. Usually people can’t get it right. And is the hardest part of the story.
So, well done. Hope to hear more.
I
liked this piece. It flowed and was easy to read. I could have kept going on
and on if you had written more. It could use some minor editing but the only
change I can think of is to try putting in more of the other characters, like
the drunken date or the phone operator. It might or might not make it better.
In any case I’d recommend: keep writing
F.E.A.R. fear. Four letters, with very big lesson. Sometimes when you think something wrong is happening to you. You are in fact making that situation up, I do that a lot. That feeling you get when a bad dream controls you. A dream that consists of all your major phobias towards the world. The dream that keeps you awake amongst the nights. A dream, that makes you wonder into the wilderness of your thoughts. The strangling feeling, the feeling that the hells devil will bestow over you and poke its evil red horns through your pumping heart. I hate fears, I hate the idea of it, but without it I wouldn’t be who I am. Without that you wouldn’t be who you are. Sadly, god has not left anyone fearless, including himself, space and time.
My dream. I woke up sweating, or unless I was awake amidst of my nightmare-ish wonderland. I don’t know what to call it, I just, sighs, don’t. I was awake. In the bus. Going stop-by-stop and then the harbour bridge comes by, my heart slows down, or goes faster? I can’t hear it, I struggle to hear what pace my heart goes in. so, I do the only thing I can. Look in the front, at a bunch of other hairs, sitting peacefully as I squirm for comfort. I was battling with my inner consciousness. Battling with the imagination the bus might fall off the bridge at such a height, but I refrained myself. “I can do this, I can go through this nerve wrecking time of my everyday life. I should be used to it.” I chant in my already worked up head. Then I gazed forward looking at the still peaceful hairs or at least that’s what I thought. Until my imagination swarmed further into the deep ends and turned the hairs into a gigantic bunch of mini spiders, coming towards me. I shuffle in an unnerving manner. I should be used to it, the bridge, the imagination, the life as a bus rider. But looking at me at the current stage, I can presumably agree to the fact I am not. Only, I still let my fears take the best of me.
I reworked my original story a bit. Not sure to end it here, or continue on and solved the crime or at least find out the victim was? Anyone have an opinion?
How stupid is this she thought to herself? Why did she ever get out of the car? She knew the answer it was because that loud mouth jerk she had been out with was dead drunk. Taking her chances walking seemed liked the better idea. Until now that was, she hated walking through the woods. She wasn’t afraid, it was a mess, and these amazing black patent leather shoes she found on sale were getting ruined. It wasn’t easy walking in them either, every time she took a step, her heel sunk into a hole. A farmer could follow her around and plant seeds in the holes that she was making. He could have a bumper crop by spring.
The fact that she was wearing a skirt didn’t help matters either; her stockings were torn to shreds. She was combating the darkness by holding up her iPhone and using it as a flashlight. She then she tripped over something, must have been a log, but whatever it was, she tripped, fell and was on a down grade, she tumbled ass over tea kettle, every time she heard a cracking of a twig or branch, rolling crack, rolling crack, it seemed she was falling in slow motion. She prayed that every time she heard a crack, she prayed it was a branch and not one of her body parts. She held onto that phone for dear life though. She had a feeling she might need to call for help. Just as quickly has she started rolling down the hill, she stopped. The ground had leveled out. She put her phone in her pocket and slowly started to feel where she hurt. She wiggled fingers, toes, then arms and legs, miraculously nothing seemed broken.
“What else was going to happen tonight?” she thought to herself. Not one to dwell on things, she hobbled up the hill. She knew crying out or sitting there wasn’t going to do her any good. She realized that she had lost a shoe rolling down, took the other one off, carried it in her hand and hobbled back up the hill to where she started. All the while looking for her other shoe, she got up to the top and was hoping to find it where she had tripped.
She got the phone back out and was using it again to light her way, that’s when she saw it, her shoe, she was so happy, if happy could describe the way she was feeling. But elated that she wouldn’t be walking the rest of the way barefoot. She grabbed the shoe, put both of them on and that is when she distinctly felt a squish in the bottom of the shoe she thought she lost. Not only that, it was too big on her, how was that possible, she grabbed the shoe off her foot, how was it possible that the shoe had gotten bigger and full of liquid? She directed her light at the shoe in her hand, it was full of blood. Then she looked on the ground and realized what she had tripped upon, it was a man, a dead man.
She dialed 911, gave the dispatcher her badge number and name as identification. It took a few minutes to explain where she was so that they could find her. She told if the responding officers get lost, try to ping her phone for her location.
She said, “Marge, can you have whoever responds to the call bring me some clothes, the clothes I’m wearing got ruined out in the here and the coroner may need them as evidence. I literally tripped over the body.”
“Sure thing Detective, someone will be there as soon as possible, just sit tight”
“Sit tight” Sounded like that was all she could do, she walked over to a tree stump and sat down. Careful not to mess up the scene any more then she already had. Using her phone she started taking notes with her phone, it kept her busy and she wanted to get these things down while they were fresh in her mind. From her angle she could see that he was in a dress, a black sequined dress with a red and gold flaming phoenix on it. It was a gorgeous dress, from what she could see. Then she saw his wig, it was a bad wig, but how could he go with such a frightful wig, it did nothing for his ensemble. That sounded so insensitive even when she heard herself think it in her head, but it was just so odd. It stuck out in her mind. She had an aunt that owned a wig shop and her Aunt told many stories over the holidays about her variety of clients. Cancer patients, bored housewives needing the spice of their home life and some of them were men that dressed in drag. This with though was nothing like the one those men ordered. Her Aunt always said that the wig and makeup seemed like an extremely important part when they were putting together an outfit. This wig was nothing like the ones those men ordered, it was a bad Halloween costume wig, bad blond and stringy.
That wasn’t the only thing that she was thinking about. It was hard enough being the new detective on the force, but if the story came out that she had been on a blind date, the squad would be kidding her for months.
Finally she saw the squad car followed closely by the coroners truck. “Great she thought to herself, they would have to send Marshall on this call.” A tall clean shaven deputy got out of the car followed by a plain clothes officer with a bag in his hand. “Hey Detective Burns, here are the clothes you asked for, then he asked with a grin, what, nothing to do tonight? So bored in the new town that you had to go into the woods searching for work”?
She just grabbed the bag out of his hands, and said “Funny Marshall, start processing the crime scene, I’ll change in the coroners van, they can bag the clothes I’m wearing for evidence processing.”
It took hours to gather all the evidence, but finally everything had been collected and the victim was on his way to the morgue. There had been no ID on the body, so there was nothing that they could do until they coroner hopefully to ID him through fingerprints or dental records.
She had them drive her home and took a long hot shower, she stayed in that shower until her fingers were all pruny, she slid down the wall of the shower and sat in the tub letting the water run over her till she felt clean and relaxed enough to slip into her bed. She didn’t even turn a light on, she felt her way in the dark, felt the cool crisp sheets, her head hit the pillow. She didn’t even remember the exact point that she fell asleep.
Suddenly her alarm was going off, “can’t be” she thought to herself, but it was, it was time to get up and try to figure out what happened last night in the woods to that poor man.
The child felt from the bike. Again.
Tragic, right? This boy is already eleven and he still cannot ride a bike.
-I’m not trying to ride that… thing again. Never again.-
-It’s a bike, my love; – her mother said. – and I know you can do it. Retry!- Her mother was lovely and she would give her life to save her child’s.
-But, mum! I’ve already tried five times!-
-And why you don’t want to retry again?-
-Because it’s difficult! And it hurts!- he answered, showing his redden knee.
-Oh, my love,- she said, -it is nothing. I know you can try one last time. Do you believe me darling?-
-Yup, mommy, I believe you. I’ll try again.-
So he jumped on the bike, and the tried another, last time. He started moving the pedals, and he tried to not fall off.
And he did it! OMG, he did it! He’s riding a bike!
-mum, look! I can ride a bike now!- the boy screamed happily.
He was so excided that he got off the bike and runned to her mother arms, while secretly his father was taking a photos of the two hugging tighly.
This was the last time he ever hugged her mother. Because suddendly a light made its apperance and it killed her mother and, mysteriously, not him.
Her mother was kind and lovely, and all it remains is a photos took by his dad.
The same boy, now a twelve years old man, was looking at that same, ruined photo.
He was at the cemetery, in front of her mother’s tomb.
-Happy mother’s day, mummy.- he whispered, remembering that instants made of gold immortalized in that piece of paper. -Happy mother’s day.-
This is my first practice. Sorry for any orthographic errors, I’m not a native language speaker.
The Body
‘Emily.’ He’d said and it would be the last thing that Thomas
Lassiter would ever say. The name escaped from his lips after much
effort as he lay dying on the forest floor. His last thoughts came in
silent images. Memories of his youth sun-flashed and faded in his
mind that blurred trying to remember the evening just gone. He could
remember his parents and his first Christmas. He remembered his wife,
her round face smiling as she offered him some wine. “ Drink my
love ” she had said. But he had no idea how he had got here. He
had tried to see if he was near a path but he could not move at all.
He thought of how he had never liked the woods at night and it had
been a childhood fear that he’d never really shaken off. Everyone
knew the devil came to get you at night if you were lost in the
woods. He would never let the kids go near them after six pm because
of his insistence they were dangerous. Now it seems he was to be
crushed under the weight of heavy irony as he lay staring at the
clear night sky between the ranging branches. He saw how the night
was not so dark or lonely up there. A million pristine suns lit up
silent eternity and the immaculate white light of those stars could
reach down from heaven into this darkness. So beautiful, he thought.
Real darkness, encroached by inches on him down here. He knew he was
dying. The lifeline holding him together had been cut and how easily
he’d rolled out .He remembered how he had seen himself, yesterday, in
the hall mirror as if for the first time. He’d argued with his wife
that evening, a terrible row where things had been said at long last.
He had gazed into the mirror and had really seen himself after
thirty-seven years. The grief had made its mark. He allowed the
mirrored truth of himself to settle. He was the other side of time
now and as old as his own father had been when he had gone. He really
did have his daddy’s eyes after all. Then, he cried like a baby. Now
his dry tongue, dystonic in desperate movement, tasted air for the
last time. He watched the stars and he wondered as he wished and then
he whispered, ‘Emily.’ For three days his body lay there. His eyes,
seeing no more, were visited, as was his gaping mouth, by glistening
teams of bugs and flies that gathered in humming clouds and larger
creatures that skittered in and out. The dilatory action of decay
began. His body, becoming purple and swollen with gas, finally burst
on that last morning. This was the body that a girl of ten years old
named Abigail found. She had seen it for all of twenty seconds. The
memory would last her whole life. It would always catch up with her
and usually in suffocating dreams. As she ran crying, she was sure
the dead man was close behind her. He was boiling with maggots and so
close she could smell the decomposition racing away in his lolling
head. She had sobbed out her discovery to her foster parents through
stinging tears and then through white faced shock to the police.
Everyone called her Abby. It was some years later that she found that
Abigail was her middle name. Her birth parents had first named her
Emily.
I missed the chance to enter the competition but here is my In the Hole story for what it is worth
In the
Hole
Ray Bagley made a wish. He looked down. Nothing had changed. He was
deep in it. He had to stifle the urge to gulp. He wanted to reach up
to his brow and swipe at the little drop of perspiration tickling at
his skin. Outside, hurricane Irene tried at the window seals and the
door frames, and the whole pier seemed to sway with the wind. The
light fitting above the table with its little brass cherubs swung in
small movements making shadows wave and nod in quick time. Near
enough three grand in large size notes lay in the middle of the
table. In the pile, a set of car keys lay out of reach too. They were
his. He needed to bluff this like a pro or he was going to be so far
in the hole he would never get out. He had a three and a seven of
clubs. It was all high-end Diamonds in the turn. Not so much as a
twitch could be afforded. To his left, the bulk that was Detective
Inspector Jerry ( Big J) Collins C.I.D (Ret) set down his Davidoff
Cigar and blew thick cloud of white smoke into the middle of the
table. To his right, the circumspect Sgt. Tony Anders (Ret) or Popey
as he was called rearranged his chips. He was an original from
Jerry’s class of 86. The late Superintendent Charmers; God rest his
soul, had remarked that Anders looked like Pius XII especially with
his thick lenses. Desk sergeants from all over Kent constabulary
referred to him as “Popey” ever after. Front left on the other
side of the round gaming table was D.C Kevin Lederer. Thirty-five and
lean-hungry for the chase, he sat next to the empty chair of D.C
James Porter. Porter was otherwise engaged and had been so for nearly
five minutes. He was holding up the game and prolonging the agony for
one Detective sergeant holding out like the Alamo in the face of
certain annihilation. If he didn’t get his money back he may be
looking at losing the house and continuing the investigation of the
missing Dartnell brothers, from a friends couch. Big Jerry re-lit his
Grand Cru and waved out the match in three rapid strokes. Eighteen
games of poker had proven that this signified not a blessed thing.
Win or lose, Big J had to have his stogie. Big J, however, was not
known for his patience. ‘ Porter! He yelled. Get your arse in ere
boy!. There was no answer from the toilets. They were off to the left
beyond the antique and now silent One Arm Bandits and the motionless
figurine of Ahmed the teller of fortunes in his glass case. With his
thread-bare and dulled red turban, he was as old as the pier that had
been built in 1851. His painted fire eyes stared down blindly
awaiting one more seeker of fortune. After Ahmed were the bat-wing
doors leading to the rest-rooms. There was only a single bulb
lighting the way there and the rest of the pier, closed for the
Winter, remained in darkness. C.I.D had been playing poker here since
time out of mind. Big J and Popey were the only two left of the
original crew. ‘ What’ve you got Big J, a couple of aces? Asked
Kevin, leaning over his own cards. ‘I know what I have is gathering
dust, Kevin. Porter! Ray wondered if Porter had a couple of duds but
just couldn’t fold. He was the dealer and quite happy with Popey’s
small blind. Ray had put up as did the others. They had got the turn
and Ray had seen a small glimmer of hope but then Porter, who had
been looking peaky all evening had then excused himself rather
sharpish. Big J had tried to stop him, saying that the game needed to
be finished but Porter had bolted shouting that the turtles head was
poking out. They had all laughed but as they listened to that
hurricane out there screaming at the whole coast, the tension ramped
up. They waited. Ray listened to the waves beat against the iron
supports. A hollow moan in d-minor reverberated sounding like
inevitability. Ray wondered why he had to risk everything on the turn
of a card. He had one broken marriage because of it and now hell
sounded like it was coming for the rest of him. ‘ I think the ghost
must have got him’. Said Popey. Kevin and J looked at him. ‘ You
what? Asked Kevin leaning on his cards again. ‘ The ghost, you know,
of Emily Blake’. Big J was thoughtful for a moment. ‘ You’re not
talking about the women who jumped off the end of the pier are yer?
‘ Yes, the very same. In the Winter of Nineteen O three. They reckon
that, now and then, she is seen by people who have made their money
through wicked ways. Others say that they don’t see her but are
suddenly lucky on the fruit machines or get a win on the roulette
table’.
‘ You do come out with some old twaddle’ said Big J wedging the cigar
back into his mouth. ‘ I assure you it is true’ said Popey removing
his thick lenses. Again, this was significant of nothing as far as
his game was concerned, and he began to clean them with his
handkerchief. ‘ Mickey the fence saw her. He was making a tidy profit
here for years but then one day he upped and left without a backward
glance. Scared him stupid. He moved to Sittingbourne and has been a
recluse ever since’. He replaced the glasses like he had made his
case for the defence and was letting it rest on that witness alone. ‘
Bollocks’ muttered Big J. ‘ Well, that’s what I got from him and even
his rivals ‘ Popey said and smiled an unreadable smile.
‘ Porter’s a cheating bastard. I’ll bet he’s been scared to death on
the lav.’ said Kevin picking up his phone. After a few moments of
prodding at the screen, he said ‘Here it is. Ms Emily Blake of London
Road died after throwing herself off the Pier at Margate. She was
found after approximately three days in the water. The body had been
severely disfigured by the time they got her out of the water.
February the twenty-eighth……today. A great gust lifted the roof
and made the door to the promenade shake and rattle violently. Ray
felt the skin tighten on his head. For a moment he dared imagine
seeing a figure on the board-walk beyond the door or face at the
window. The face of a woman, her bifurcated flesh after three days in
the formless dark, white and hanging. There was another long
reverberating sound of monstrous waves crashing into the uprights. ‘
Kevin, go and see what’s the matter, would you? Asked Big J resting
the remainder of his cigar. He made a sideways glance at Ray. ‘
You’re not about to shit your brains out as well are you
Baggers? Ray felt himself slip further down into the hole. He had no
chance of stealing the blind now. He would have to fold and resign
himself to his dark fate. Maybe. Maybe he could just as easily die
owing and simply bet all he had left and go all the way down into the
pit. He looked towards the door and wondered. If it came to it, would
he take what was left of his train wreck of a life and walk out and
then over the guard rail and down to the depths?. The thought even
comforted him for a moment. Ray and Emily, floating in the sea,
R.O.T.T.I.N.G. From the left, beyond the bat-wing doors they
heard Kevin cry out. ‘ Oh my God! He emerged holding a hand up to his
mouth. His head moving from side to side, he seemed to stagger.
Behind him, a white face appeared. ‘ Oh, my dear God! Kevin went on ‘
That stinks! Porter sheepishly resumed his seat. ‘ I think I have
destroyed the plumbing boys, sorry.’ His face paled even more under
the lamp light as he picked up his cards. ‘ You make me wanna spit,
Porter! Jerry shouted waving the air in-front of his face. Porter
ignored that and dealt a card from the top. They were in the river
with a King of diamonds. He placed a bet and threw in another three
hundred in. Kevin folded and Big J chucked his cards into the pile.
Popey saw Kevin’s bet showed his two pair of tens. Ray felt dizziness
begin to overtake him. The pier rocked with the storm as another
hysterical shriek of gale force wind battered the land. The little
brass cherubs, loves young dream, smiled their heartless smile.
Porter suddenly showed his own cards. Two pair of Kings. ‘ You little
sod’ cried Big J. ‘ You spend half the night on the lav and then come
out here with a pair of kings? Ray stood up shakily. The room seemed
to swim in his vision and he thought he may pass out or throw up. The
door beckoned. He looked down and saw a Jack of diamonds and then
sliding the bottom card into view saw that was the Queen under there.
For a moment the wind dropped as if the storm itself had caught its
breath and there was just silence. Then, ‘You saucy sod, Big J
uttered in disbelief. Kevin and Porters mouths gaped as Ray suddenly
punched the air. ‘ Thank you Emily you beauty! he yelled grabbing at
the cash and chips. Popey smiled. Jerry spat.
The body
‘Emily.’ He’d said and it would be the last thing that Thomas
Lassiter would ever say. The name escaped from his lips after much
effort as he lay dying on the forest floor. His last thoughts came in
silent images. Memories of his youth sun-flashed and faded in his
mind that blurred trying to remember the evening just gone. He could
remember his parents and his first Christmas. He remembered his wife,
her round face smiling as she offered him some wine. “ Drink my
love ” she had said. But he had no idea how he had got here. He’d
argued with his wife that evening, a terrible row where things had
been said at long last. He had tried to see if he was near a path but
he could not move at all. He thought of how he had never liked the
woods at night and it had been a childhood fear that he’d never
really shaken off. Everyone knew the devil came to get you at night
if you were lost in the woods. He would never let the kids go near
them after six pm because of his insistence they were dangerous. Now
it seems he was to be crushed under the weight of heavy irony as he
lay staring at the clear night sky between the ranging branches. He
saw how the night was not so dark or lonely up there. A million
pristine suns lit up silent eternity and the immaculate white light
of those stars could reach down from heaven into this darkness. So
beautiful, he thought. Real darkness, encroached by inches on him
down here. He knew he was dying. He could not anything; not even the
cold. The lifeline holding him together had been cut and how easily
he’d rolled out .He remembered how he had seen himself, yesterday, in
the hall mirror as if for the first time. He had gazed into the
mirror and had really seen himself after thirty-seven years. The
grief had made its mark. He allowed the mirrored truth to settle. He
was the other side of time now and as old as his own father had been
when he had gone. He really did have his daddy’s eyes after all.
Then, he cried like a baby. Now his dry tongue, dystonic in desperate
movement, tasted air for the last time. He watched the stars and he
wondered as he wished and then he whispered, ‘Emily.’
For three days his body lay there. His eyes, seeing no more, were
visited, as was his gaping mouth, by glistening teams of bugs and
flies that gathered in humming clouds and larger creatures that
skittered in and out. The dilatory action of decay began. His body,
becoming purple and swollen with gas, finally burst on that last
morning. This was the body that a girl of ten years old named Abigail
found. She had seen it for all of twenty seconds. The memory would
last her whole life. It would always catch up with her and usually in
suffocating dreams. As she ran crying, she was sure the dead man was
close behind her. He was boiling with maggots and so close she could
smell the decomposition racing away in his lolling head. She had
sobbed out her discovery to her foster parents through stinging tears
and then through white faced shock to the police. Everyone called her
Abby. It was some years later that she found that Abigail was her
middle name. Her birth parents had first named her Emily.
In the
Hole
Ray Bagley made a wish. He looked down. Nothing had changed. He was
deep in it. He had to stifle the urge to gulp. He wanted to reach up
to his brow and swipe at the little drop of perspiration tickling at
his skin. Outside, hurricane Irene tried at the window seals and the
door frames, and the whole pier seemed to sway with the wind. The
light fitting above the table with its little brass cherubs swung in
small movements making shadows wave and nod in quick time. Near
enough three grand in large size notes lay in the middle of the
table. In the pile, a set of car keys lay out of reach too. They were
his. He needed to bluff this like a pro or he was going to be so far
in the hole he would never get out. He had a three and a seven of
clubs. It was all high-end Diamonds in the turn. Not so much as a
twitch could be afforded. To his left, the bulk that was Detective
Inspector Jerry ( Big J) Collins C.I.D (Ret) set down his Davidoff
Cigar and blew thick cloud of white smoke into the middle of the
table. To his right, the circumspect Sgt. Tony Anders (Ret) or Popey
as he was called rearranged his chips. He was an original from
Jerry’s class of 86. The late Superintendent Charmers; God rest his
soul, had remarked that Anders looked like Pius XII especially with
his thick lenses. Desk sergeants from all over Kent constabulary
referred to him as “Popey” ever after. Front left on the other
side of the round gaming table was D.C Kevin Lederer. Thirty-five and
lean-hungry for the chase, he sat next to the empty chair of D.C
James Porter. Porter was otherwise engaged and had been so for nearly
five minutes. He was holding up the game and prolonging the agony for
one Detective sergeant holding out like the Alamo in the face of
certain annihilation. If he didn’t get his money back he may be
looking at losing the house and continuing the investigation of the
missing Dartnell brothers, from a friends couch. Big Jerry re-lit his
Grand Cru and waved out the match in three rapid strokes. Eighteen
games of poker had proven that this signified not a blessed thing.
Win or lose, Big J had to have his stogie. Big J, however, was not
known for his patience. ‘ Porter! He yelled. Get your arse in ere
boy!. There was no answer from the toilets. They were off to the left
beyond the antique and now silent One Arm Bandits and the motionless
figurine of Ahmed the teller of fortunes in his glass case. With his
thread-bare and dulled red turban, he was as old as the pier that had
been built in 1851. His painted fire eyes stared down blindly
awaiting one more seeker of fortune. After Ahmed were the bat-wing
doors leading to the rest-rooms. There was only a single bulb
lighting the way there and the rest of the pier, closed for the
Winter, remained in darkness. C.I.D had been playing poker here since
time out of mind. Big J and Popey were the only two left of the
original crew. ‘ What’ve you got Big J, a couple of aces? Asked
Kevin, leaning over his own cards. ‘I know what I have is gathering
dust, Kevin. Porter! Ray wondered if Porter had a couple of duds but
just couldn’t fold. He was the dealer and quite happy with Popey’s
small blind. Ray had put up as did the others. They had got the turn
and Ray had seen a small glimmer of hope but then Porter, who had
been looking peaky all evening had then excused himself rather
sharpish. Big J had tried to stop him, saying that the game needed to
be finished but Porter had bolted shouting that the turtles head was
poking out. They had all laughed but as they listened to that
hurricane out there screaming at the whole coast, the tension ramped
up. They waited. Ray listened to the waves beat against the iron
supports. A hollow moan in d-minor reverberated sounding like
inevitability. Ray wondered why he had to risk everything on the turn
of a card. He had one broken marriage because of it and now hell
sounded like it was coming for the rest of him. ‘ I think the ghost
must have got him’. Said Popey. Kevin and J looked at him. ‘ You
what? Asked Kevin leaning on his cards again. ‘ The ghost, you know,
of Emily Blake’. Big J was thoughtful for a moment. ‘ You’re not
talking about the women who jumped off the end of the pier are yer?
‘ Yes, the very same. In the Winter of Nineteen O three. They reckon
that, now and then, she is seen by people who have made their money
through wicked ways. Others say that they don’t see her but are
suddenly lucky on the fruit machines or get a win on the roulette
table’.
‘ You do come out with some old twaddle’ said Big J wedging the cigar
back into his mouth. ‘ I assure you it is true’ said Popey removing
his thick lenses. Again, this was significant of nothing as far as
his game was concerned, and he began to clean them with his
handkerchief. ‘ Mickey the fence saw her. He was making a tidy profit
here for years but then one day he upped and left without a backward
glance. Scared him stupid. He moved to Sittingbourne and has been a
recluse ever since’. He replaced the glasses like he had made his
case for the defence and was letting it rest on that witness alone. ‘
Bollocks’ muttered Big J. ‘ Well, that’s what I got from him and even
his rivals ‘ Popey said and smiled an unreadable smile.
‘ Porter’s a cheating bastard. I’ll bet he’s been scared to death on
the lav.’ said Kevin picking up his phone. After a few moments of
prodding at the screen, he said ‘Here it is. Ms Emily Blake of London
Road died after throwing herself off the Pier at Margate. She was
found after approximately three days in the water. The body had been
severely disfigured by the time they got her out of the water.
February the twenty-eighth……today. A great gust lifted the roof
and made the door to the promenade shake and rattle violently. Ray
felt the skin tighten on his head. For a moment he dared imagine
seeing a figure on the board-walk beyond the door or face at the
window. The face of a woman, her bifurcated flesh after three days in
the formless dark, white and hanging. There was another long
reverberating sound of monstrous waves crashing into the uprights. ‘
Any witnesses?
‘Dunno J.’ Husband said she was tired of life. He got her money.’
‘Oh yeah? I would have sent you and Ray here down to see if he wanted
amened his statement.’ There was a sound like thunder or even
breaking timber to the gathered few as another gust shook the
building. ‘Kevin, go and see what’s the matter, would you? Asked Big
J resting the remainder of his cigar. He made a sideways glance at
Ray. ‘ You’re not about to shit your brains out as well are
you Baggers? Ray felt himself slip further down into the hole. He had
no chance of stealing the blind now. He would have to fold and resign
himself to his dark fate. Maybe. Maybe he could just as easily die
owing and simply bet all he had left and go all the way down into the
pit. He looked towards the door and wondered. If it came to it, would
he take what was left of his train wreck of a life and walk out and
then over the guard rail and down to the depths?. The thought even
comforted him for a moment. Ray and Emily, floating in the sea,
R.O.T.T.I.N.G. From the left, beyond the bat-wing doors they
heard Kevin cry out. ‘ Oh my God! He emerged holding a hand up to his
mouth. His head moving from side to side, he seemed to stagger.
Behind him, a white face appeared. ‘ Oh, my dear God! Kevin went on ‘
That stinks! Porter sheepishly resumed his seat. ‘ I think I have
destroyed the plumbing boys, sorry.’ His face paled even more under
the lamp light as he picked up his cards. ‘ You make me wanna spit,
Porter! Jerry shouted waving the air in-front of his face. Porter
ignored that and dealt a card from the top. They were in the river
with a King of diamonds. He placed a bet and threw in another three
hundred in. Kevin folded and Big J chucked his cards into the pile.
Popey saw Kevin’s bet showed his two pair of tens. Ray felt dizziness
begin to overtake him. The pier rocked with the storm as another
hysterical shriek of gale force wind battered the land. The little
brass cherubs, loves young dream, smiled their heartless smile.
Porter suddenly showed his own cards. Two pair of Kings. ‘ You little
sod’ cried Big J. ‘ You spend half the night on the lav and then come
out here with a pair of kings? Ray stood up shakily. The room seemed
to swim in his vision and he thought he may pass out or throw up. The
door beckoned. He looked down and saw a Jack of diamonds and then
sliding the bottom card into view saw that was the Queen under there.
For a moment the wind dropped as if the storm itself had caught its
breath and there was just silence. Then, ‘You saucy sod, Big J
uttered in disbelief. Kevin and Porters mouths gaped as Ray suddenly
punched the air. ‘ Thank you Emily you beauty! he yelled grabbing at
the cash and chips. Popey smiled. Jerry spat.
The first thing I could get my mind to focus on was the screams. It came in high pitch waves of sound that made me feel sick to my stomach. It swirled around me, filling every open space, until
it felt like I couldn’t breathe. Darkness swept over me like water falling from a cloudburst. I fought the ripples, like someone fighting to claw he’s way out of a dark hole. I threw my head back, in an attempt to get air into my lungs.The action knocked me of balance and I fell to my knees.
My knee hit a rock and the searing pain, brought me back out of the dreaded darkness. It evaporated like a cloud of white smoke. My throat felt sore, hoarse and dry. Swallowing is a painful
deed. The screams subsided. The screams were my own.
A squeaking sound drew my attention and that was when I saw it again. The screams threatened to start up again and I swallowed hard at the bile rising in my throat. A body, suspended in mid-air
swung to and fro, to and fro. It was tied to an overhead branch. Ants were crawling up his legs and all over his chest. There was a large gaping hole with half his intestines spilled out. Some unknown critter game out his nose and his eye sockets were just hollow cavities.
In the distance I heard the yelping of excited dogs. Voices too faint to make out what was being said, drifted closer on the breeze. I have to get away. I don’t want to end up like this
corpse dangling in front of me. This is not how I want to die. I need to camouflage my sent. I tried to remember how to do it, but my brain is just a black piece of nothing. “Think!!” I told myself. I lifted my hands to my temples. ‘’Think!!
I passed a stream earlier. If I could double back, the water might provide a little safety. Instead of going forward, as they think I’ll do, maybe I can try and find my way back to the compound.
Maybe I can find a phone there, or even a weapon. If I can only find my way back in these God forsaken woods.
The start of this story is captivating. I wish there was a way for me to highlight the text or change the colors, it would read more fluidly if the grammar and tense were fixed. It is scary and full of creativity, but as an example, the first line
“The first thing I could get my mind to focus on was the screams. It came in high pitch waves of sound that made me feel sick to my stomach.”
Should read more like this : The first thing I could get my mind to focus on were the screams. They came in high pitch waves of sound making me feel sick to my stomach” Good luck with the story, hope to read more of it.
PROLOGUE
The devil told us his name. It was Amersian Dakmon. He lived in the depths of the earth where there was only darkness and death. He had taken and killed our family and friends, now we were back to give him a taste of his own medicine.
PART 1 OF 3
STRIKE 1
My name is Eden, I am 13 years old and I am victim number 1.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Aaaaaaahh!!”
Two years ago I was reading in my room when I heard a bloodcurdling scream. I ran as fast as my panicked legs could. When I got to the dark living room there was a trail of red, oozing blood leading outside. Creek!! Went the door as I waited to see what horror my eyes were about to witness. There in plain sight was my brother, motionless, on the ground. His eyes were always filled with happiness and love, but now, they were filled with fear and pain.
I looked around I didn’t see my mom.
What da flip happened here, I thought.
Then everything froze.
All the darkness in the world came together to show me the root of all evil.
His skin was the color of blood,he had horns, was dressed in a cloak of darkness, you could see the fire behind him, in one hand a black trident, in the other my mom.
“MOM!!!” I yelled
“Hahaha.” he laughed in a deep, deep -but I mean like really deep- maniacal laugh. I tried to sound as brave as I could ” What do you want with us?”
“How pathetic.” He leaned over and said in a mocking voice” You think you’re so brave?”
“I am not afraid of you…you…evil monster,” I said with fear. He pulled my shirt and made me rise in the air “You must follow my orders or you and your mom will be joining your brother. Hahahaha”.
“Don’t do it!” My mom pleaded “How am I suppose to something I have no idea about?!” I screamed.
“Oh really?” He snickered “Well, let me tell you what I want you to do. I want you ……..to bring me the Scriptures of Wonders.
“What da wha?” I said perplexed.
“I said the Scriptures of Wonders.” The devil said.
“Ok. I’m suppose to get a book that I have no idea where it is, what it does, and how to get it. Well I think this is going to be fun.” I said sarcastically.
“If I knew where it is do you think I would be asking you?” he said.
“Maybe,” I responded
“Whatever. Find it. Or you die. Hahaha,” he cackled as he disappeared -along with my mom-into smoke.
STRIKE 2
My name is Essence, I am 16 years old and I am victim #2.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It happened last year on May 27 while my best friend and I went for a walk in the forest. Marcus was commenting on the cardinal birds when he abruptly stopped.
“Come on man, what happened? Cat caught your tongue? Haha.” I laughed.
Eerie Silence.
“Dude it was supposed to be a joke.” I turned around. Nothing, all that was there was empty space. “Marcus! Marcus! This isn’t funny.” I yelled. Where could he have gone, I thought. “Ey…sence!!! He…lp!!!” said a faint but helpless voice. I ran and ran into the direction of the voice. I was now in the outskirts of the forest and I could clearly see there he was being held by someone familiar.
“What do we have here? Well isn’t it Eysence Worth. Having a walk in the forest I see? Hahaha.” He said mockingly.
“Not AGAIN!!! Really? Why do you keep appearing?” I yelled my lungs out.
“What’s wrong Mr. Worth? Can’t I come for a visit?” He said in a whiny voice.
“Of course you can. I always enjoy our quality time together.” I said sarcastically.
Not.
“Well I’m not here for some ‘quality time,’ boy. He said in a voice that will make your body shake.
I shook.
“So, what do you want?” I said, confused, I mean, it’s not like I’m a mind reader.
“You know EXACTLY what I want.” He said staring at me in the eye.
What did he want? Wait, could it be?
“No it…it can’t be. I won’t do it” I said nervously
“Oh I’m sure you will.”
“Ginshi lamuq pon!!”
As he recited the enchantment I looked at Marcus terrified.
He was turning a sickish green, wrinkles were appearing, and in some parts his skin was falling off. His eyes told me he pain he was passing through.
At last he fell onto the fresh grass.
“WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM!!”
I cried
“Will you do it!! Will you do what I want” he said steadily
“Sniff. Fine…I will do what you want, but once I do it you have to heal Marcus.” I said with no fear. After seeing what happened to Marcus I have no fear. As long as I can help Marcus, I will do anything.
“I knew that would do the trick. Hahaha!! If you don’t do it I will kill you and everybody you love” he growled
I might have been wrong, I’m still scared.
“Ok. Where do I start” I said asked.
“I don’t know, just start somewhere” he shrugged.
“Really?” I said impatiently.
“Get it or face the consequences. Hahaha!!” He cackled.
Suddenly he vanished like a magician.
I stood there in ignorant bliss. Then I remembered…
“Marcus!! ” I ran to his side.
“Eysence” he said in a weak voice.
“Yes buddy” I said trembling.
“Find Strike 3” with those words he fell into a deep sleep.
STRIKE 3
Our names are Irena and Vlyad, we are 11 years old and we are victims #3 and #4.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
We were in Mr. Athens’ class. Then the overhead speaker roared “Irena and Vlyad please report to the office. Irena and Vlyad please report to the office.” When the overhead speaker finished, immediately all the heads in the room turned. We just sat there thinking why we were being called.
“Well don’t just sit there go to the office” Mr. Athens said sternly.
With that we stood up and speed walked out and Slam!! closed the door. Once we were out we took a deep breath.
“Vlyad why do you think they called us?” I asked
“I don’t know what you’re so worried about. Every time they call us it’s for something good” He said impatiently.
“I know it’s just. I got a bad feeling about this one” I whispered.
“You always say that and nothing ever happens” he whispered back.
At last I calmed down but I had this weird feeling. I just couldn’t explain it. We kept walking until we reach the office door. We slowly and carefully open the brown, wooden door. Normally there would be some kind of noise in the office but now there was only an unsettling silence.
“I told you” I said.
“Shhh” he shushed me.
“Hello is anybody there?” I said trembling.
“Come in kids” said a deep deep-but a really deep- voice.
We slowly tiptoed on the crooked floor.
Not that we were deeper in we could see a Devil.
“Sweeeeet. Is there a costume contest? Because if there is that devil costume is totally LIT!” said Vlyad very enthusiastically.
“Haha. Well my child I’m glad you like my attire. But this isn’t a costume.” He said.
With that he pick something up from behind the desk and rose it up.
“Principal Hale!!” we screeched.
“What happened to him!!!” I hollered
“Well I might have done a little something ” he said with a smirk.
“Vlyad…” I started but suddenly everything went black.
“Ugh” I heard in the distance. I felt something hot on my skin but thought nothing of it at first. The pain became more and more intense, “Ahhh!! Freaking poop!!” I hollered as I immediately awoke. It was the devil’s trident up in smokes, burning my skin.
“Hahaha” he cackled
“What are you? What’s happening?” I hear Vlyad as he darts his eyes around.
“I see you’ve awoken” the devil responds.
I just glare at him.
“I am Amersian Dakmon, also know as…. The Devil” he says with a devilish grin.
“Ahhhhhhhh!!!” we hollered
“We’re going to die!!”
“SILENCE!” and with a flick of his hand our mouths zipped.
“Ummm um uu mu.” says Vlyad
“Muum umm mmm” I reply
I turn as the Devil raises his trident to our frightened faces.
“SHUT UP!”
We froze…and nod
Opening line
When he opened his eyes he knew right away that he was definitely somewhere
else. Everything was completely unknown it was surreal. And the color it was
almost as if he was wearing orange tinted glasses. The ground above his feet
was half a foot deep golden sand and it only got deeper as he staggered
around disoriented. He caught his balance after franticly darting in every
direction then stood still. The initial shock soon wore off enough for his brain to
function properly again.
When he opened his eyes he knew right away that he was definitely somewhere else. Everything was completely unknown it was surreal. And the colour it was almost as if he was wearing orange tinted glasses. The ground above his feet was half a foot deep golden sand and it only got deeper as he staggered around disoriented. He caught his balance after frantically darting in every direction then stood still. The initial shock soon wore off enough for his brain to function properly again.
I took a deep breath, “your next Heather!” The secretary called, I nodded, and stood up, brushing whatever off my green dress and tightening the ribbons in the back. My shot, I thought, smiling, ignoring the sick feelings in my stomach. “I think I have a nest of butterflies.” I whispered, to myself… Like always. But I have to shake off any nervousness; this was my chance, a chance to become famous.
I was auditioning for a part in a movie, a movie. I was trying for the part of the star, and the biggest reason they even asked me was because I can do Irish dancing. But I wasn’t the only one going for the part of Iris, I was 1 out of 21, and the only one never to be in a movie. I knew… kinda, how to act, but I am really hoping that my dancing would get me through.
“Ready, Hope?” The lady was standing at the door, I walked over and smiled, “I hope.” The lady just gestured me and I walked in. I stood in front of three people; they were all sitting at a table. The one on the far right was a man, with jet black and glasses on. “Hello Hope, I’m Michael Web, would you like to start?”
“Yes, thank you.” At least the beginning would be dancing. The woman in the middle pushed a button and some Irish music started playing. I took a deep breath, and started.
It’s so easy, I thought, I let the music flow over me, but not taking me completely, I let each step touch the ground with enough weight to making a nice tap, but light enough to let me go to the next smoothly and with ease. My arms were on my side, and still. They weren’t important not now. After about 2 minutes, the music ended. I looked up, not even breathing the slightest bit hard. I’ve been dancing for almost 10 years, I started when I was five, and now I’m practically fifteen. “Good job, Michael said, “Now could you say some lines for us?” “Yes.” I said, trying my best to read his expressions, but I say nothing.
I held up my paper, and was about to start. “Stop, we want you to read these lines instead.” I gulped. “Okay.”
“From Eddie and Linda I learnt to let go. To clean and to make space for new things to come. To try new things, new kinds of foods, no places to go. I learnt that you are never old to say stupid things, or sing or laugh for the silliest things. Every person in your way, is there for a reason. I learnt to give new opportunities and that your are never to old to make new and valuable friendships.”
I reworked last week’s story, a young woman/man stumbles across a dead body in the woods. Would absolutely love any feedback on it. It went in a direction, I wasn’t suspecting. My question is, do I leave it here, or make it into a longer story?
How stupid is this she thought to herself? Why did she ever get out of the car? She knew the answer it was because that loud mouth jerk she had been out with was dead drunk. Taking her chances walking seemed liked the better idea. Until now that was, she hated walking through the woods. She wasn’t afraid, it was a mess, and these amazing black patent leather shoes she found on sale were getting ruined. It wasn’t easy walking in them either, every time she took a step, her heel sunk into a hole. A farmer could follow her around and plant seeds in the holes that she was making. He could have a bumper crop by spring.
The fact that she was wearing a skirt didn’t help matters either; her stockings were torn to shreds. She was combatting the darkness by holding up her iPhone and using it as a flashlight. She then she tripped over something, must have been a log, but whatever it was, she tripped, fell and was on a down grade, she tumbled ass over tea kettle, every time she heard a cracking of a twig or branch, rolling crack, rolling crack, it seemed she was falling in slow motion. She prayed that every time she heard a crack, she prayed it was a branch and not one of her body parts. She held onto that phone for dear life though. She had a feeling she might need to call for help. Just as quickly has she started rolling down the hill, she stopped. The ground had leveled out. She put her phone in her pocket and slowly started to feel where she hurt. She wiggled fingers, toes, then arms and legs, miraculously nothing seemed broken.
“What else was going to happen tonight?” she thought to herself. Not one to dwell on things, she hobbled up the hill. She knew crying out or sitting there wasn’t going to do her any good. She realized that she had lost a shoe rolling down, took the other one off, carried it in her hand and hobbled back up the hill to where she started. All the while looking for her other shoe, she got up to the top and was hoping to find it where she had tripped.
She got the phone back out and was using it again to light her way, that’s when she saw it, her shoe, she was so happy, if happy could describe the way she was feeling. But elated that she wouldn’t be walking the rest of the way barefoot. She grabbed the shoe, put both of them on and that is when she distinctly felt a squish in the bottom of the shoe she thought she lost. Not only that, it was too big on her, how was that possible, she grabbed the shoe off her foot, how was it possible that the shoe had gotten bigger and full of liquid? She directed her light at the shoe in her hand, it was full of blood. Then she looked on the ground and realized what she had tripped upon, it was a man, a dead man.
She dialed 911, gave the dispatcher her badge number and name as identification. It took a few minutes to explain where she was so that they could find her. She told if the responding officers get lost, try to ping her phone for her location.
She said, “Marge, can you have whoever responds to the call bring me some clothes, the clothes I’m wearing got ruined out in the here and the coroner may need them as evidence. I literally tripped over the body.”
“Sure thing Detective, someone will be there as soon as possible, just sit tight”
“Sit tight” Sounded like that was all she could do, she walked over to a tree stump and sat down. Careful not to mess up the scene any more then she already had. Using her phone she started taking notes with her phone, it kept her busy and she wanted to get these things down while they were fresh in her mind. From her angle she could see that he was in a dress, a black sequined dress with a red and gold flaming phoenix on it. It was a gorgeous dress, from what she could see. Then she saw his wig, it was a bad wig, but how could he go with such a frightful wig, it did nothing for his ensemble. That sounded so insensitive even when she heard herself think it in her head, but it was just so odd. It stuck out in her mind. She had an aunt that owned a wig shop and her Aunt told many stories over the holidays about her variety of clients. Cancer patients, bored housewives needing the spice of their home life and some of them were men that dressed in drag. This with though was nothing like the one those men ordered. Her Aunt always said that the wig and makeup seemed like an extremely important part when they were putting together an outfit. This wig was nothing like the ones those men ordered, it was a bad Halloween costume wig, bad blond and stringy.
That wasn’t the only thing that she was thinking about. It was hard enough being the new detective on the force, but if the story came out that she had been on a blind date, the squad would be kidding her for months.
Finally she saw the squad car followed closely by the coroners truck. “Great she thought to herself, they would have to send Marshall on this call.” A tall clean shaven deputy got out of the car followed by a plain clothes officer with a bag in his hand. “Hey Detective Burns, here are the clothes you asked for, then he asked with a grin, what, nothing to do tonight? So bored in the new town that you had to go into the woods searching for work”?
She just grabbed the bag out of his hands, and said “Funny Marshall, start processing the crime scene, I’ll change in the coroners van, they can bag the clothes I’m wearing for evidence processing.”
It took hours to gather all the evidence, but finally everything had been collected and the victim was on his way to the morgue. There had been no ID on the body, so there was nothing that they could do until they coroner hopefully to ID him through fingerprints or dental records.
She had them drive her home and took a long hot shower, she stayed in that shower until her fingers were all pruny, she slid down the wall of the shower and sat in the tub letting the water run over her till she felt clean and relaxed enough to slip into her bed. She didn’t even turn a light on, she felt her way in the dark, felt the cool crisp sheets, her head hit the pillow. She didn’t even remember the exact point that she fell asleep.
Suddenly her alarm was going off, “can’t be” she thought to herself, but it was, it was time to get up and try to figure out what happened last night in the woods to that poor man.
As he stands there, just waiting for a customer to come, his eyes are focused steadily, and rather intensely on a fellow cashier. He won’t for a second forget how he got him in trouble earlier. Earlier that day, the co-worker of this man tells their boss that he was talking to a customer, not working. He was working, just making friendly small talk to the customer, because she had some questions about a product she had bought. A lot of workers do that, especially that deal face to face with the customers. During his break, he then explains this to his boss, and that every cashier, not just his co-worker, should get in trouble for what he did earlier that day. Later, the boss calls that man to his office.
My first 15min essay:
It is might be the most notable part of my appearance look this days, everyone that knew me before growing it might be overwhelmed when they will see it at the first time. I’m talking of-course about my beard, and particular why it is very good for me to keep growing it.
Firstly, because shaving consume a lot of time growing a beard is ideal for me to not wasting my time at this regular task at the morning. Secondly, from the aesthetic point of view it makes me look much more manlike in contrast to a my shaved appearance. Thirdly, growing a beard is a sign and message from me to the world that I like myself as savage and I’m the type of guy that breaking convention. In a conclusion, beard has an huge impact on saving my time, increase my muscular appearance, and enrich my message to the world that do not try to mess with me, I’m doing my things my way as I got the option.
I will appreciate any kind of feedback (syntax, structure, style, vocabulary) thanks!
Two female friends who haven’t seen each other in a long time bump into each other on the street. They apparently are very glad to see one another. They decide to get a cup of coffee. The one girl orders coffee, whereas the other orders tea. The coffee drinker has numerous face-piercings, where the tea drinker has a clean, piercing-free face. Coffee has brunette hair, and tea has blonde. Brunette has a rather crude mouth, where blondie is relatively conservative in her conversation with her estranged friend. While they continue to converse, both of them are saying to themselves in their heads “why was I ever friends with this girl.” So maybe they weren’t as happy to see each other as much as they displayed when they ran into one another.
A kite is sitting in the hall of a house, leaning right next to the front door. Next, the bright red kite is seen in the bright blue sky. However, the kite is then let go, causing it to spiral off into the trees. The kite is laying on the ground near a tree. A random squirrel comes along and stands on top of it. The kite is then seen being picked up. It is thrown into a garbage can. The next morning, the garbage man comes. He empties the trash can in which the kite is in, and tosses it into the truck. Moments later, he goes in the neighborhood in which the boy who’s kite it was lives, staring out the window. The boy sees him take the trash from his house. He then proceeds to get all of the houses.
Janelle stopped dead in her tracks. A dead body was in lying in front of her, right in front of the small fort she had made as a small child.
The body was obviously one of a young woman. Blonde hair soaked with blood was stuck to her forehead. Her neck was slit open in one clean slice. Her wrists were also sliced, and at her mouth, two fangs stuck out of the top of her mouth. The smell was horrid, it smelled like… well, a dead body.
Janelle felt her hands go up to her head and run through her long thick black hair. She started to walk backwards but tripped on her heels. Yelping, she struggled up and turned around, going as fast as she could.
Janelle slammed the door behind her and slowly made her way over to the phone, the image of the dead body still in her head. When she grabbed the phone, she was vaguely aware of typing 911 in.
The voice on the other end sounded desperate. “Hello, you’ve reached 911, what is the problem?”
Janelle tried to form words but nothing came out except for a squeak.
“We’re coming right away.”
The lady on the phone hung up and Janelle and sighed took deep breaths to calm herself down. When 911 arrived, Janelle almost sprinted to the front door, pulling it open. “A body… it… sliced at the neck and….” Janelle shook her head, tears coming to her eyes.
A man was standing there, listening to her, his eyes widening. “Show me.”
She closed her eyes and walked outside, feeling vulnerable and afraid. Aware of people following behind her, she began to walk back to the body. Her palms were sweaty and her hair plastered to her head. She knew she still had tears in her eyes, and blood on her from falling over when she saw the body.
Janelle stopped abruptly and turned around towards the medics and police. “It’s… close by now. I don’t know if I want to go any farther.”
They didn’t say anything, but pushed past her and marched on, coming closer and closer to finding the body. Janelle knew what was happening before it did. Her eyes got heavy and she started breathing heavily before she passed out, falling out onto the white snow, a dark figure on white.
Can one get lost in a look alike city where he was born? With every road trails, coner store, hills and even the houses numbered exactly in the format of your city. This are my thoughts as i journeyed for adventure, in my look alike birth city.
My heart beat similar to the tempo of the classic tune being played, as I move slowly, with my hands touching every part of the way, not to miss out on not even the slightest feeling ; like the touch of the hair. My eyes navigate as my hand turn to touch all right My imagination heightened to the clouds, as I made the first stop to touch the silk-hardened texture of the hills, it brought ease to my troubled soul, seeing the emotion caused by this hardened hills.
My next stop was a dried out lake from whence I could see adventures mixed with pleasure n fear written all over the gate. As I aproach the gate, “have you been here before” I was asked by the invisible gate keeper enclosed in my mind, do you know what happens to most men after coming to this place? These questions keeps reading deep inside of me. It’s was dark and I couldn’t afford to go back, “forward it is” I said to myself, as I decided to go in and have the first-best fun experience of mine life.
“Are u man enough” the voice said again…. Don’t mess up this place…. *Wink*
Second day of 15 minutes essay about Hackatons-
The formal definition of an “Hackaton” is an portmanteau word between “hack”, by means of develop or expand, and “marathon” by means that the activity occurred in limited time but can go far away as an analogy to a long distance.
The purpose of this activity is to invent or to sprout a technology ideas. The format of the activity is by splitting all the participations into a severals teams and to drive the people who participating in the Hackaton to sharp their ideas and take them to the cutting edge, usually there is a competition between the teams and a prize for the winners.
For a person who loves technology, create, likes the environment of competition and time pressing, this kind of event is like an heaven.
To me, after participating in a several of those events, I found it very exiting and educating, because I learn a lot during the event by myself and from the people around me that want to help. Nonetheless, the main emphasize in the event is on developing and demonstration new ideas, It is always a big joy to win in an Hackaton.
I would like any kind of feedback. Thanks you.
They fought again. He forgot their anniversary. She spent too much on food and presents.
He emphasised how important his job is, she emphasised how little time she gets to spend with him.
He yells, she cries.
They walk grudgingly on the streets in painful silence.
Wind blows and the skies roar of thunder. Droplets of rain fall all over. They still keep walking further.
Now the rain gets heavier and they look around for shelter.
Nothing in sight, they stand in the rain, getting drenched.
That’s when they notice a red telephone booth right in front of them. Confused but desperate they get in and watch the rain drop splash harder on the ground.
She shivers and rubs her hands. He stares at her with guilt and a mounting desire.
He takes off his coat and wraps it around her shoulders. She bows her head in silence, toying with the coat.
He cups her chin in his hand and lifts her head so that their eyes meet.
His eyes plead forgiveness, her eyes plead need and longing for love.
They keep staring at each other for few seconds, their breathing getting heavier by each passing second.
He whispers, “I am so sorry baby. Let me make it better “and she nods and whispers back “Please!”
He wastes no time and touches her lips with his. Their kiss deepens with a raging passion as the thunder silences the sounds of their moans.
The rains stop and they come out of the booth.
They are fighting again for some new reason but they keep holding their hands in a tight grasp
Steve had been taking a short cut through the woods after an
afternoon in the pub with his friends. It wasn’t supposed to have been a long
session but once the beer started to flow, the idea of going home seemed less
and less appealing. It was only when he realised that he had run out of money
and it was starting to get dark that he started to make a move. His friends had
offered to buy him a few more beers but he needed to get home and try to get
some sleep before starting work early in the morning.
The night was cool and crisp as he came outside and he
zipped the jacket up as far as it would go and pulled his hands into the
sleeves.
Satisfied that he was as warm as he was going to be, he set
off at a fast pace towards the woods. He had lived in the area all of his life
and played in the woods more times than he could count.
As always, as soon as he stepped into the woods, the outside
noise seemed to be deadened by the trees. He relaxed slightly, happy to be away
from the noise of the pub. As he skirted around a large tree, he heard
something moving in the undergrowth. He threw a look over his shoulder but
nothing else moved, shrugging his shoulders he continued on the path.
A few moments later, there was another noise, a faint
thrashing noise. This time he stopped, trying to pin point the location. It
seemed to be coming from over a slight rise to the left of him. He started to
move off but stopped again. What if it was animal that was injured?
Surpassing a sigh, he turned towards the noise and scrambled
up the incline.
As he reached the top, he twisted his ankle on a loose rock
and tumbled down the other side, to come face to face with a corpse.
He screamed and back peddled as fast as his damaged ankle
would allow him. The pain was intense but he somehow pushed it away and hobbled
away into the night.
HELP
Deep dark woods seem lovely where they begin but once you have travelled deep enough , they make you wish you had not given in to their beckoning to begin with.
Shankar lay breathing heavily on the uneven forest floor . He sensed darkness approaching. There was a rustle amongst the leaves as if beings were hurrying through them to get back home before dusk. Shankar made an effort to raise himself and fell back on the ground. He lifted his head and turned back to see what broke his run. He could not see through the dense green but his eyes caught a blue glove lying on his left.
Shankar’s heart beat faster . Was another human here by chance? The blue glove’s owner perhaps knew the way out or maybe he had some water ? Either way Shankar knew if he had to make out of the forest alive, he needed another human. With a faint glimmer of hope, Shankar hosted himself up and looked around.
He did find the owner of the blue glove but not in a form that could help Shankar out. The other pair of the blue gloves was clutching a .5mm pistol even as the owner of the hand lay stiff and dead.
Shankar backed a few steps and felt an urgent impulse to continue running. This could be his last day too if he did not make it back to civilization as soon as possible. He had to force himself to take each step that led up to the dead body spread on the forest floor.
The man was a non native and his backpack contents seemed spread across the floor. He had fallen on his face and his pistol still lay fitted in his hand. Shankar heaved the body to roll and instantly realised the cause of death.
There was a neat circular wound at the side of his forehead which looked more than a few days old. A burst of morbid odour filled the air and Shankar’s despair darkened.
He forced himself to be as steady as he could be . The man lying before him had given in to the idea that he couldn’t escape the forest alive and had acted upon an impulse that Shankar had been fighting for days.
The 0.5mm beckoned and he found his hand extricating the weapon out of the dead man’s grip. The sensation of metal against his skin felt good and he smiled before he released the trigger .
“Familiar Feelings”
There he was again, scrutinizing over his options and their outcomes as if he wasnt already aware of the possibilities, while finding himself in the same situation as always with a feeling that lately had become all too familiar. His head hung shrugged low towards the ground and his face clandestinely hidden away under his faded sweater’s hoodie hoping that nobody would notice his scattering eyes wandering aimlessly. Weeks of strugglling and stressing over his drug addiction without solution had grown into weighty tension that burdened his persona heavily daily.
Vulnerability grew inside him as he stared down at what remained of his last paycheck. “You want it or not man, …” muttered his dealer impatiently in a disapproving tone, “ … I dont have all day”. He hesitated for a second and took a deep breath as if he were about to make a life-altering decision. Although he was opposed to the idea at first, he fell victim to the gripping clench of drug abuse once again and handed over the last of his cash. Hastily, he snatched the folded up piece of paper and shoved it deep into his pocket. “Thanks … ”, was all he managed to whisper incoherently before exiting the clutter-filled car. The inanity of thanking this stranger baffled him with slight humor momentarily, forcing him to crack a quick and soft laugh to himself. Rarity had become of his laughter in the last couple months from his strenuous battles with life. What once used to be joyous hollers of laughter were now replaced with sheer painful cries of sorrow. Whatever meer joy he felt briefly had instantly absolved with the thought of the chaotic madness that layed ahead.
Upon entering through the back of his house he made his way into the dimly-lit garage and stood still for a second in the middle of the room. He came depressed at the sight of his newest favorite hang-out spot. It reeked of old cigarette smoke, forgotten dirty laundry, and utter misery. His thoughts raced eratically with chaos. Suddenly he was flustered with an overwhelming urge to vent all his hidden frustrations that he kept bottled up and confined within his conscience. Devastated at the fact that he was alone again and was like this for some time now. Single handedly, he managed to push away all his friends and family members one by one as he burning down those bridges with his childish cries about how unfair life was towards him, but never making an effort to change his habits. Overwhelmed from the never ending bark of his guilt-stricken conscience combined with a strong desire to cry and scream at the top of his lungs til’ popping a blood vessel filled him with a sickening sense of self loathe. Just another feeling that lately had become all too familiar.
Walking in a very fast manner, a boy with a worried look on his face makes his way across his schools playground, towards the neighborhood in which he lives in. He looks back occasionally, but is much more intent on moving. He actually transitions from power walking to sprinting. He finally makes it through the shortcut that leads from the playground to the street, when a dog of a different breed and color of the one that was chasing him appears around the corner. Suddenly, the dog that was chasing the boy appears as well, running through the short-cut. The boy is cornered, and these dogs look vicious. Then a man from one of the houses slams opens his screen door, running with a baseball bat towards the two angry canines and terrified child. The dogs scurry, The boy thanks the man and the two walk away.
A rock rolls down a roof. A boy on his bike witnesses the rock fall, but he is not sure where it came from; he saw it just roll down from the corner of his eye. Curious about where it came from, the boy rides his bike onto the street on the other side.
Sometimes people enter your life at the most random of moments for the most obscure rasons,& end up becoming so important that they leave a mark on your heart…
Yes,you did the same….
This is for you driver uncle…!!
“You have to come dear,you are not a baby anymore. Do you know how many friends you are going to have ? Are you going to miss those funny games & sweets ? Now get ready fast & I will drop you to school.”
That was first ever interaction of him with me.He was just an expert in managing the people;so it is not neccesary to tell you that it was me ,was refusing to go to school because I didn’t wanted to miss Tom & Jerry Show..!!
Tukaram Sukhdev Bhosale,Tukaram uncle for me was a big source of freshness & he was a place of enjoyment for me !! Being from the family of businesses persons I always get attracted to the people with great enthusiasm !
The rain pours down. “its raining, its pouring, the old man is snoring,” Young Robbie chants quietly to himself as he stares out the window, with his grandfather catching some z’s quite loudly on the couch. Robbie decides he is not going to be that kid who just watches out the window as it rains. Bored, he gets up, walks slowly passed his snoring grandfather, and goes outside. I mean, there is no one there to tell him no, right? Running about in this torrential down-pour, the boy gleefully enjoys getting soaked. His long black hair falls in his face. Suddenly, he hears thunder, and scurries back inside. He was wearing his waterproof watch that tells how much he ran, in which he forgot he had on.
I just completed my first 15 minute writing practice. I welcome any thoughts, suggestions, etc.
Different:
He seems happy today. I love days like today. When my son wakes up with a smile and grogginess at the same time. It reminds of the young actors I used to watch on soap operas. They would wake up for their full days at school, get ready and comply so nicely with their family and of course the chef, the housekeeper and the nanny. Isn’t that how real life should be?
Let me introduce myself. My name is Sam. I am married, have two sons, two dogs, a guinea pig and a fish. Our house is usually filled with noise from a variety of sources including: the TV, dogs barking, kids fussing, radio blaring, me fussing, guinea pig squeaking (he is never full, ever!), etc. These sounds are probably pretty typical of most families on our block, but we are different, or at least I feel we are different or maybe it’s just me who is different from the others that live in our neighborhood.
She let out a piercing shriek in the midst of the dark and still forest. As she stumble at what she thought a frozen log, she saw a bruised arm beneath all the fallen leaves. She is slowly moving away from the arm, knowing it is connected to something much more. But as she moved away, something else caught her eye. Another arm can be found a meter away, Another shriek escaped her and her eyes began to water. She knew now. A dead person underneath all the fallen leaves from the dead forest. She stumblingly tried to run away but she knew that she needed to tell someone. anyone. Farther and farther, she continued to run breathless. I need to keep running, she muttered to herself. There is something here, she continued. As she continued to run, her mind brought her back to the lifeless body.
“Clementine! Come quick!”
“What is it?” She was happy, today had been a good day, no fight so far. “Oh, another one!”
“What should we do?”
Flynn
seemed harassed, not upset, nor scared, just annoyed as though his car
broke down in the middle of the motorway. The corpse of a middle age man
was lying in front of him. No trace of fight, violence or wrong doing
of any kind. Just a lifeless body.
“Let’s bury him with the others.”
Clementine,
his partner, was already on her way back, she knew exactly what to do.
“We will need the spade, the shovel and the car” she thought. Why on
earth did they come and die here, her favorite path. This piece of land
was home to hundreds of flowers – how else would it be so beautiful –
and yet, they all come here to die. What a waste ! Waste of her time,
his time. couldn’t they expire somewhere else! But she knew better.
“Hold up,” cried Flynn “maybe we should call the police this time.”
“Why?”
“Three dead men in just over a month, all of them within 500 yards of our property don’t you think that’s odd?”
Clementine was infuriated.
“We
are not having this conversation again!” she hissed “Didn’t you say
that you longed for peace? How is calling the police going to achieve
that?
“They won’t do anything anyway…apart from ruining your life, and mine.
“If
you want it to stop, you will have to solve the issue yourself,” she
uttered in a softer voice “you know that’s a message, you always
knew…They will never leave us alone.”
Flynn was standing straight,
staring at the emptiness, his dark brown eyes were glazed over. He
wasn’t smiling yet he appeared content. This had to stop and who better
than Clementine and him to put an end to it. Who were they fooling
anyway… Countryside life was never meant for them.
I love the way her eyes spark when she really wants to tell me something exciting about her day, but her infant tongue rolls around the words, spoken language just out of her grasp. We have our own language of gazes and gurgles and giggles which binds us in our own precious world.
I love her hair first thing in the morning. the way it matts into a wild birds’ nest at her crown, the rest of her fluffy mop like a young penguin’s down feathers; an eternal fuzz that you can’t help but bury your nose in to inhale that unmistakeable scent which warms your soul.
I love the way her laugh jangles through the house like a breath of life. The walls seem to glow with a new vivacity, protecting a precious cargo, a new purpose. And that infectious chuckle, it seems to absorb into the bricks and mortar, filling spaces that I didn’t know were echoingly sparse before.
I even love the lurch of my gut when she cries. I love how my exhausted bones ache to nurture her burning lungs as they howl into the night for comfort. My heavy eyelids and stale breath peal into insignificance as I bundle her close to my breast and she settles, content with her cheek nuzzled at my heartbeat. She is a labour of our love.
She has your smile. Sometimes her dark fuzzy hair and wicked grin are such a replica of yours I have to look away. It hurts.
I hate the way her eyes laugh like yours did. The innocence of her searching gaze such a carbon copy of your own that I have to tear my eyes away to avoid hot, raw tears splashing on her unknowing cheeks.
I hate that I still reach for you in sleep. My arm searches through rumpled sheets and cavernous quilt to pull your body close in the dark. You feel almost touchable, in between sleep and awake. I hate that just as my arm feels the remnants of your body heat she cries, snapping me back to the cold crispness of your empty side of the bed, which seems to scream at me louder than her own wailing.
I hate that I have to do this alone. I hate that she will have to live without you teaching her to ride a bike, cheering her first steps, without knowing how it feels to sit proudly on her fathers’ shoulders only to get pins and needles twenty minutes later and scream to you to make it go away. I hate that I will have to do all the night feeds, all the parenting, the coaching and disciplining and teaching and loving enough for two because you had to leave us here, alone. You had to die and leave us forever compensating for a heartache that will never go away.
She is changing every day and you are missing it. She is learning every day and you aren’t here to be her number one fan. She is on the verge of her first words and I am petrified that it will be ‘dada’ that comes out because if it does, I will lose the fight. The tape will tear, the glass will smash, the dam will collapse, and I will fall apart every time she speaks a name which will forever echo to the space where you should be stood, next to me. I am holding myself together with tape and glue, which threatens to come unstuck every damn day. But I am holding myself anyway, forcing the pieces together and scrambling through each day for this tiny little being who is the only piece of you I have left.
I love that she is my girl. I love that we made her. But I can’t stand that you’re not here to see it.
First try at writing in 15 minutes
I kept running. I could not get out the image out of my head. It was imprinted on my retinas. What started as a hunting expedition in the woods did not take long to turn into one of my worst nightmares. I had stumbled across it in the clearing. One moment I was enjoying the serenity that nothing but the musky smell of sun dried wood, the chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves beneath my feet gave me, and the other I was ready to vomit. It was a ghastly apparition. Recalling the scene sent goosebumps down my spine, I tripped, and fell. My feet were bleeding and the threadbare rucksack had snagged into the branch of a tree and spilled out it’s contents while i ran. I cried, it was my brother’s.
Then it hit me. I looked back and saw an apple lying a few feet behind me. suddenly it dawned on me that I had left a trail. There was no time to lose so I got up and started running. Then I heard it. Steadily growing closer, an unearthly sound. I dared not look back, but was overcome with a sense of foreboding. Was this how it was going to end?
I did not want it to. I ran harder. I was followed. I could sense it, feel it’s rotten breath on my neck. I tumbled through the woods, tears streaming down my cheeks and stinging my eyes. The world swam in front of me. The trees swayed, and it felt as if the stars had come out. But it was mid day. Then I heard my brother calling out my name. My head swam and I fell down. It seemed like an eternity. I saw my brother take out his sword and charge. I wanted to call out to him, warn him, but I could not move my mouth, let alone my eyes. The last thing I remember was the sound of steel followed by a hiss
When I opened my eyes my brother was kneeling next to me. There was soot on his clothes. He registered my coming to senses and his eyes softened. His face looked concerned. Strange.
“Was I dreaming?”
He sighed.
“No, looks like you’ve met them too.Earlier than I expected.”
On a winter night, wind blowing cold, freezing air, Veronica is walking calmly in the woods. Veronica was at a camping trip with some friends and decided to take a walk through to woods. Veronica is a strange girl, she’s very mysterious when it comes to revealing some parts of herself, shady some might say. Veronica lost her parents when she was young, she’s a foster kid and when she moved to her new city, she actually found it appealing. She made some new friends and feels comfortable with the whole situation. I’ve been watching her for some while now, she has no idea. I planted some dead bodies in the woods, just to finally catch her. After months of planning this I think it will finally come to a rest. Veronica likes challenges, so I gave her one. One may think I’m just flat out creepy, that I just stalk people for a living, but everything has a purpose, I don’t understand why people find it unappealing. Once Veronica came in to the exact spot where I lured her I knew this plan was to be a success. I still remember her face when she saw what I had planted to distract her. Her lungs full of air, she let out a scream that made all of her friends come and find her which ruined my whole plan. So much for my plan being a success. What I didn’t or couldn’t understand is that most of her friends didn’t even react to the dead bodies, like they have been there before. They all looked at each other’s faces with a peculiar stare, then when I understood what they were doing, I was in complete shock. They reacted almost mechanically, like if they have been through this time and time again. They calmly removed the bodies from where they were, cut them up in pieces and burned their flesh. Right in front of my eyes they burned the cadavers of my mother and father. I thought it was a very good sacrifice to kill my mother and father, for what I was about to do anyway. I loved them very much but the want for that girl overpasses everything in my life and now I will never get her because her little worrying friends had to come to the rescue. I don’t understand why or how people care so much for each other, we’re just flesh and bones, we just want, we don’t love. Like for example, I wanted Veronica so bad I was willing to give up my parents life just to be with her, I wanted her, but never love. Maybe lust, and even that is too strong word to describe what I feel. Veronica was one of my best victims, even though I never actually caught her, just making her feel even a little disturbed because of me would make me the happiest person on earth. At last, Veronica went away with another family, results they were abusing her at her home, how irony makes it’s course in our life, am I right?
Shelly’s Mysteries
“It is remarkable,” I said, just as I skimmed through the smooth and rough textures on that paper with my fingers. She replied with shyness that seemed to me like she was guilty of something, guilty to create something so perfect with paint, “thank you.”
Shelly is my new best friend from class. She is adorable and quiet. However, leaves me in perplexity with certain strange behavior that she often delivers. I pretend to love the strange part of hers but the inside of my heart can breathe air of fear.
Often, she would dive into deep talks when both of us are done completing our homework or just came home from a Friday night movie. I listened to her in silence as she went on and on about her past life and felt pity for herself. Shelly would never tell about what had exactly happened; instead she would speak of emotions of description so deep that people like me would hardly enjoy her company. Only her thoughts would blow as fast as wildfire and it would get difficult for anyone to catch up to her speed. Shelly often have referred to”lost love” and even showed me simply organized poems relating to this topic. I wonder whether she was once badly hurt by her loved ones or not because the “lost love” that she had spoken of is exceptionally beautiful and melancholic that no other teenager can ever speak of.
loving or hating, creating or destroying.
what do we have?
Miracles or curses?
Love or hate?
who has the right to take everybody’s lives?
And who did it?
Searching for reality
while burning in the fire
and sinking in the darkness
Who wants the life to be miserable?
Falling over and over
walking in the darkness
searching for a light
Sadness, hate, disappointment
emotions that remained with me
when will they go, and say goodbye?
When will I see the light , that I have waited.
It will come one day .
we don’t know who will die and who will live .
we wish for mercy, to forget our faults.
betrayal, deception are illnesses.
they won’t go alone , but will try to stop them.
The future is unclear, and the present is bleak. Where is my soul and heart?
fighting ,dying , crying or laughing?
when will I see the light?
the light that I have missed .
it will come , but it will be hard to see.
there will be no miracles or wishes.
just shocking reality. When will this mess go away,
will stop burning my heart?
and stealing the smile from my face ?
what a darkness I’m getting through.
perhaps, it will go forever
or it will never fade.
light , darkness.
cold,hot.
black, white.
love,hate.
loyalty,betrayal.
opposites working together to stop whom?
the humanity is fading , and the grief is getting over.
when will these opposites stop working together?
they won’t , unless we turn thing around.
where love starts blooming and the hope begins spreading .
that’s when the humanity is going to be restored.
i hope you like it! i’m 13.
loving or hating, creating or destroying.
what do we have?
Miracles or curses?
Love or hate?
who has the right to take everybody’s lives?
And who did it?
Searching for reality
while burning in the fire
and sinking in the darkness
Who wants the life to be miserable?
Falling over and over
walking in the darkness
searching for a light
Sadness, hate, disappointment
emotions that remained with me
when will they go, and say goodbye?
When will I see the light , that I have waited.
It will come one day .
we don’t know who will die and who will live .
we wish for mercy, to forget our faults.
betrayal, deception are illnesses.
they won’t go alone , but will try to stop them.
The future is unclear, and the present is bleak. Where is my soul and heart?
fighting ,dying , crying or laughing?
when will I see the light?
the light that I have missed .
it will come , but it will be hard to see.
there will be no miracles or wishes.
just shocking reality. When will this mess go away,
will stop burning my heart?
and stealing the smile from my face ?
what a darkness I’m getting through.
perhaps, it will go forever
or it will never fade.
light , darkness.
cold,hot.
black, white.
love,hate.
loyalty,betrayal.
opposites working together to stop whom?
the humanity is fading , and the grief is getting over.
when will these opposites stop working together?
they won’t , unless we turn thing around.
where love starts blooming and the hope begins spreading .
that’s when the humanity is going to be restored.
Sara went out that morning for her usual 5:15 jog. She had been doing it for the past few months now, and even thou she didn’t enjoy the sacrifice of waking up at 4:30 to shower, have her green smoothie ready by 5:00 and be out the door fourteen minutes later; she (and everybody around her) had started to notice the fruits of her labor. Skinny legs, a tighter butt and a flatter stomach were just some of the many benefits the changes she had been working on lately.
That and the satisfaction of seeing the incredulity on the faces of the people who doubted her. “You? Losing weight and working out? Really? How come? Great job!”
Idiots.
If it weren’t because people like them (just like 90%of the worldwide population) would never admit their faults, each of them should be apologizing to Sara for all the bullshit she’d been thrown at since childhood.
These kinds of things were the stuff Sara always had in her mind. Conversations that would never come to pass, flawless revenge moves and the delight of offences returned (many years after they’ve passed).
“It’s pathetic” she confessed to herself as she skipped a few songs on her playlist. Who the hell puts Adele on cardio?
Sara took the curve she’d alway takes to getbto the bridge (then downtown and then back to her place), when she saw an strange lump laying in the middle of the road. It looked like a rolled up carpet, with a few leaves on top from the nearby trees. “Ugh” she sighed. “I forgot I left you here”.
Sara looked around to make sure nobody was nearby, and took an alternate route.
Explanation of what is Free software.
Last week I encounter the term of the “FSF” which stands for Free Software Foundation. It is a organization which promotes the use of free software.
What is free software you may ask? It is a software that is free to run, copy, distribute, change and improve.
The philosophy of the FSF is to liberate the users from a unknown programs that they run on their computer and not to shackle them to the intentions of the programmer who wrote that program.
There is a different between the term Open source and Free software. The first is a little looser than the other in terms that it gives less freedom in some situations.
Open source means that the source code of the program is open to everyone to take a look, but there are some cases it cannot be modified due a restriction in the hardware that run the program, like in Tivo product that restrict the software from running un-signature programs (which means that only the Tivo company can distribute their programs). The inability to make modification of the program is violating the freedom from the user perspective.
There are about 4 freedom issues that the FSF is promoting.
The first one is the freedom to run a program as you wish for any purpose. The second one is to study how the program works and change it as you wish. The third is redistribute a copy of that program to any other person. And the last one is to redistribute the modification that you might done to program. A program is free software if gives all those 4 requirements.
Although it is might sound confuse free software might cost money. The term Free software doesn’t distinguish in the way that get copy of the software ( by paying money or not) but after you get the software if you have the all freedom that mentioned above.
Does Ubuntu is a free software? No. because although it free , there are some programs that comes with the operation system that violate one of the four freedom that had just mentioned, like there are programs that doesn’t give the user study its source.
I am an Australian novice writer. I hand-wrote this first and then typed it up using a little editing. It is Australian grammar and spelling. i wrote for half an hour.
The body in the forest.
Diana’s jogging is steady and sweat glistens over her lightly toned body. The forest is filled with warm sunshine though showers are predicted later. Today she is jogging alone. Checking her watch she registers that she has run now for 30 minutes and decides to take a break. After slowing to walking pace she makes her way to the picnic area where there are tables and seats. Instantly she feels the same peace she experiences every-time she’s here.Easing into a seat she notices the clumps of colourful wildflowers springing up around the area and then to her left a man’s foot protruding from under a covering of branches.
I go hiking at the same park every weekend. Normally, I’m just looking for things to take pictures of for my instagram account. I’m sure I’ve taken a photo of every interesting thing in this park at least twice, but it’s the only park within driving distance. On this particular weekend I couldn’t take any photos.
Shortly after I began my hike, I was struck with the most offensive odor I’d ever smelled. Thinking that someone had dumped trash in my pristine park, I went to investigate, hoping that I could stir up some outrage on the internet. What I found could not be posted online, or anywhere else. I found the town’s butcher. Not anything he’d cleaned, but the man himself.
He was tied to a tree about three feet off the ground. He’d been gutted. His entrails were wrapped around the base of the tree. For some reason, I felt…nothing. I called the police. They did not believe me at first. I asked if they would prefer the local news station ruining their crime scene. They were there in six minutes.
I haven’t eaten meat in almost a year. The smell alone causes images of that day to flash before my eyes.
It turns out the murderer’s plan worked. They caught him about a month ago. He confessed his plot. He wanted to create a worl in which butchering an animal was seen the same as butchering a person.
Puppy Love
A young man, Evan, is walking through a dark forest, trying to find his way back home after another attempt at finding Jessie, his golden retriever that had ran away three days before. As his feet dragged across the dead leaves on the forest floor, he thought about what Jessie could be doing in that moment. If she was dry, warm, safe. His cloudy thoughts distracted him and he was suddenly jolted back into reality when his foot was stopped by a mass under the leaves. He started to walk around it but he soon realized that the mass was rather large and curiousity got the best of him. He kneeled and cleared some of the leaves away. He looked down at what he had uncovered and after about 30 seconds of registering what exactly he was looking at, he fell backwards with a yell. His breathing was uneven and his hands were shaking as his wide eyes starred at the dead body in front of him. He could see dried blood on the side of the body’s mouth. They were a teenage girl with soft blonde hair and glassy brown eyes which had lost all life. Her skin was stark white and her clothing was ripped and dirty. Evan stood up slowly and considered running home and telling someone but something about this girl intruiged him too much. He slowly knelt down, scared, as if she would jump up and strangle him. All he could hear was the wind through the branches of the trees and his own heavy breathing. His heart was still recovering from the shock and it was beating fast. He kneeled next to the girl and uncovered more of the leaves. She was scratched up and bruises were scattered around her wrists and arms. Evan was scared to look any further, as if he was doing something wrong. He searched to find a cause of death but none of the scratches were extreme enough and he couldn’t see anything that would lead to death. He started to look for any form of ID or something that could tell him simply who this girl was. He slowly lifted her arm and saw a bracelet. It was very tattered and it seemed to be made of velcro. He held his breath and brought it closer to him. As his eyes adjusted to it, he chocked out a scream and scrambled backward. Tears started to fill his eyes and he stood up as quickly as possible and started running. He couldn’t see where he was going through his tears and the dark that was settling on the forest but he didn’t care. He just needed to run somewhere, anywhere. He realized that he was still holding the charm bracelet and he threw it on the ground and ran faster. Out of no where, his foot caught on a root in the ground and he went flying, landing at the base of an oak tree, hands first. His wrists spasmed and instead of trying to get up again and keep running. He pulled his knees upto his chin, held his shaking hands close to his chest and sobbed into the dry leaves. He couldn’t get the image out of his head; a pink velcro collar with “Jessie” scratched into the metal plate wrapped around a dead girl’s wrist, stained with blood.
The breeze feels stale but calm. I wonder if we will get a good helping of snow this winter, thought Laura. “What do you think Butch?” “We gonna’ get a big heap of snow this winter?” Butch didn’t respond. As a matter of fact Butch doesn’t talk at all. Well, cause, he’s a dog
so there’s that. Butch stared blankly at Laura as she expected an answer to her rhetorical question. Butch and Laura set off on a walk in the woods behind her house. What a lovely morning it is with the sun kissing the meadows and the clouds kissing the valleys. A morning walk always helped Laura clear her head and start her day off right. It also gave butch a good opportunity to get some
exercise in before Laura headed to work in the city.
Although she preferred the country atmosphere, she worked right dab in the middle of downtown Detroit city. Real estate broker, none the less. Laura liked to keep these two worlds separate. Her city life job and her country life living were never to collide. The balance kept her content. It was just Laura and Butch in that big ol house. Laura liked it that way. She preferred her men like she preferred her ice cream. Delicious but only on occasion. And she always went out for ice cream too. She wouldn’t dare bring a tub home.
Up ahead Butch heard some rustling in the leaves. He ran off barking as Laura called out to him. She waited a couple minutes to allow Butch to explore some. She called out once again but heard silence. She headed in the direction that Butch gallivanted so hastily to. As Laura got closer, she heard Butch whimpering. But he wouldn’t
respond to her calls. “Oh no, what did he get himself into now,” Laura
whispered. Suddenly the crisp stale air smelled of rotten fruit. Butch must have run a quarter of a mile out from where he heard the rustling. With Butch loudly whimpering Laura was able to locate Butch on the path. As she got closer she saw Butch crying at a pile of rags. Odd, she thought to herself. Butch has never been scared of a bunch of ol’ rags before. She got closer to inspect the drama. As she approached the pile of rags she realized it wasn’t a pile of rags
at all. It was clothes, not piled. But clothes still attached to…….a person. A decaying person….. but a person none the less. Taken back, Laura turned and heaved. “Nope,” she muttered. She didn’t want to throw up her breakfast as she stood hunched over trying to gain her composure. She gave herself a couple of minutes to breathe in fresh air before returning to the site of a rotting corpse that lay just inches away.
A BEAUTIFUL SCAR
Sensation of my heart is boundless and envision of my brain is beyond infinity. I may be strongly named as “wishful thinker” or even “fantasist”. I am more influenced by thinking to myself, talking to myself and worrying to myself. Most of the times, I never seeked people to share my feelings, but even if I try to, paradoxically I have got brilliant room full of empty people. Being alone is deservable but being so lone is not so enjoyable. Silence is divine but unspoken words are not so peace. Being loved by someone is treasured but knowing you have got only a pack full of untrusted well-wishers aren’t really so cool. So does I was grown up with my childhood, made up with my teenage and sarcastically enduring my adulthood.
Technically, I am more used to be alone, silent and surrounded by untrusted dudes which I really never regretted because these always been part of my life throughout. From the beginning till now, standing alone and creating silence been my favourite part, may be its because I am Piscean or a February born. But the third one, “untrusted rabble” aren’t one of my wishes. I easily trust people and they over-trust to hurt me very fluently and frequently. “Why does this particualry happens to me everytime when other people enjoys the essence of trusted people with them? Is that anything wrong on my side or everything wrong on side? And why do I always think on other’s way point of view than being true to myself?” If I brainstorm, the unconvinced solution I get for these inverted hooks is that there is nothing incorrect in me.
We start to overthink about all these issues though we have got better things to do in our life. Its is because its an obvious truth that our life is majorly lacking with three magical elements – Love, Loyalty and Long-lasting. I neither got all these superpowers together from one nor one among these, even seperately. Miserable is the word. Damn. Life sucks, huh? Here, I am staring at my smile on the mirror figuring out what I needed is all the way with me. Let me interrogate those people who patently shooting me with “What more you needed than loving friends?, What more you needed than long-lasting realtionships?, What more you needed than loyal people around you? I just put them with one single question triggering my pistol ready, “Why do you even need people to experience all these superpowers which is just closely hidden into you in self?” We are always on searching mode for people who can grant us love, but one can only understand their meaning of life, if they are ready and kickstart to love themselves, being loyal to oneself and long last it forever.
As I go deep, deep and digging so deep, few question marks pops up pointing me, “Why don’t you stop complaining people and ofcourse you and observe what life is trying to teach you?, Who are you going to trust, if you don’t trust yourself?” In my case, I always been trying, trying, trying to change me, mould me, adapt me to please someone, to care for someone, to act nice to someone. But at the end of the day, I am restless finding me no where. I was pleasing people, over-trusting, pouring love to them for hurting me constantly and to pull someone into my life to give it a meaning. But all I found on my path was mere disappointment. I find myself at the end line of trusting realtionship, friends, family and you name it.
I am more cautious to make clear I do have bag full of people around me, cup full of friends, spoon full of well wishers and the fellow gave birth to this useless thinker and I still feel so isolated standing somewhere hanging at the bottom line of this earth figuring and wondering, “How my life is going to be and how I am going to deal with it without a pillar(what we call as “people”)? So many interrogations, imperations and exclamations circling around me, but I am just going to deal it with an assertion, “Calm. Go with the flow and let it go”. It doesn’t sound so wise but it really works. Sometimes, being logical, practical and talking reality can be scary but on the world’s last day, this is the one gonna make you survive. If someone on the world feeling so lone, trapped by the silence and tired of jerks, remember, other people need other’s help to stay cheered but for you, you are the playmaker of their smile and your own happiness.You are meant to be the creator. You are the one who can give right meaning to your life.Your life will change one day, the way you wanted it to be. Nothing is permanent. Until then, Live. Love. Laugh with your forever beautiful scar and my most trusted relationship partner, “Mr.Smile” !
KeepSmiling,
Mrs.Smile 🙂
I am a new writer and this is my first time doing this because I realized that I was taking a lot of things I signed up for for granted. Hope you like it…
She stared at the rampikes that continued down the road as she trembled. The mass grave she previously crawled out of mocked her. Lots and lots of bodies, well, skeletons. How did she get there? Standing up, she reached for the fence that separated her from the supposed sanity of the real world and the stench. Determined turned desperate. The jagged edges of the metal frames abused her hands as she scrambled to find an exit. A scream. She had to break the grip her conscience contained her with. A slit. The gap in the fence drew her close. She forgot about the potential survivor she had left behind and crawled through. She was relieved yet worried. She progressed up the narrow path that lead to who knows where. What more could a lost soul do?
I am a new writer and this is my first time doing this because I realized that I was taking a lot of things I signed up for for granted. Hope you like it…
She stared at the rampikes that continued down the road as she trembled. The mass grave she previously crawled out of mocked her. Lots and lots of bodies, well, skeletons. How did she get there? Standing up, she reached for the fence that separated her from the supposed sanity of the real world and the stench. Determined turned desperate. The jagged edges of the metal frames abused her hands as she scrambled to find an exit. A scream. She had to break the grip her conscience contained her with. A slit. The gap in the fence drew her close. She forgot about the potential survivor she had left behind and crawled through. She was relieved yet worried. She progressed up the narrow path that lead to who knows where. What more could a lost soul do?
Wow. This is a nice story, it has great details. I really want to know what happens next.!!! Good job.
“Please don’t die my love”, she said, with tears in her eyes as Duke bled profusely; “remember you promised not to leave me”.
Duke had been shot on the evening he was supposed to see the love of his life, Barbara, whom he was to take out on a date. With a height of 5ft9, just a few inches shorter than Duke, she had the most charming features a woman could ever have but the distinct feature that always had Duke fall in love each single time he set his eyes on her was the innocence in her gaze which was what made his heart jump when he first met her at the photography studio.
Few days back, a special reservation for two was made at the grand opening ceremony of an exquisite seafood restaurant downtown. It was the perfect place to make his intentions known since he couldn’t do it at sea, on a cruise ship. His dream has always been to propose to the love of his life, sailing on a cruise ship. Time was running out though, so he just needed to propose; “There is still a lifetime ahead of us so the cruise ship can wait”, he said to himself. At least, the smell of fresh sea food would give him the feeling of a sea voyage, all he needed to do was just imagine.
On Friday, at 6:00pm, her phone rang, it was Duke calling, not necessarily to remind her of their date but just to check up on her.
“Hello my darling Barbs”, he said.
“Hello my son, what’s up?”, she replied in a playful and happy tone.
“I’m so excited about tonight and I’ve been battling with what to wear because I want to look handsome for you”, he said. “This tie is killing me”, he continued, as he tried on the new tie he bought on his way back from work.
Duke hated suits and ties but wanted to ” fulfill all righteousness” because it was a very special night for him. Barbara on the other hand, thought it was just one of those nights where her man missed her and just wanted to make up for lost time that week by taking her out. She was looking forward to their night out and didn’t want to be late because she had watched the advert about the ceremony on TV earlier on that week and the restaurant was offering free dessert to the first ten people to show up for their grand opening ceremony. She loved dessert because it was mostly cakes and chocolates and if you think diamond is a girl’s best friend, think again.
“You want to wear a tie?”, she asked; “Wonders they say, never end. Well, I’m excited because I’ve always wanted to see you in a suit. I’m doing my manicure and pedicure now and you really need to see my dress. I’m literally dressing to kill you so please try not to get a hard on when you see me because there will be ladies there and that’s supposed to be for my eyes only”.
“Are you having a sugar rush or are you just being crazy?” he asked as he giggled. “Don’t flatter yourself, that’s my job. I have to hang up now, I’ll pick you up by 8:30pm”.
“Okay my love”, she replied. “See you soon and don’t choke on that tie”.
He hung up, and while looking into the mirror, he screamed ecstatically, “Thank God it’s Friday”. Then he picked up the engagement ring from his drawer and took one more look at it, looked back at his nervous self in the mirror and said to himself, “You’re the man, you can do this”. After that showboat moment everybody normally has infront of the mirror, he sang and danced to the shower and just as he was about entering the shower, his phone rang.
“I thought I just to spoke to her”, thinking to himself. “I know it’s you, Barbara”; but when he picked up his phone, it was Francis, his friend and colleague at work.
Francis was considered Duke’s closest friend in the office due to the fact that they graduated together from the same university. They were professional petrochemical engineers and they both ended up in one of the biggest oil producing and servicing firms in the oil sector and they became quite close. Oblivious to Duke, envy and hatred had slowly taken over Francis because of fear that Duke was going to triumph over him and become the next person to fill in a top vacant managerial position they were both vying for in their firm. To Duke, it was just a simple case of “may the best man win”.
This was the conversation that ensued;
“Hello my man, how you dey?”, Francis asked in vernacular.
” Splendid”, Duke replied.
“Sorry to disturb you, are you free?”, Francis continued. “I really need to see you now and discuss something very important with you concerning some work at the office, please it’s very urgent”.
” Are you okay?, Duke replied. “You sound like you just saw a ghost”.
” I’m fine, it’s nothing, just let me know if we can meet right now”, Francis continued.
“Okay bro”, replied Duke. “I have an engagement tonight with Barbara but I can spare a few minutes. Where do we meet?”
“Meet me at our usual spot”, Francis answered. “I’m there now, please don’t keep me waiting”.
Their usual spot was the town’s zoo a couple of miles away from Duke’s residence where he normally went to when he needed to take a break from himself. Duke was the animal lover between the both of them. He had three dogs, a talking parrot, a monkey, few rabbits and guinea pigs. He got the rabbits and one of the dogs which happened to be a West Highland white terrier with Barbara in mind and the moment she saw them, she immediately got emotionally attached.
Still thoughtful about the urgency and importance of Francis’s call, he put on his track suit, grabbed his car keys and drove off to meet with Francis. He got to the zoo at 6:45pm and was shocked not to find Francis’s car parked at his reserved parking space. Duke immediately picked up his phone and called Francis. He got no answer the first time and after trying for the second time, Francis finally answered.
“Oboi I don reach, where you dey?”, Duke asked in vernacular.
“I’m inside”, Francis replied. “Walk down to the reptilian section, you’ll meet me in front of the chameleon’s cage”.
“Strange”, Duke wondered. He was getting more uneasy. “When did you start liking reptiles and why didn’t you park at your parking space?”, Duke asked.
“You ask too many damn questions”, Francis said with an unsual harsh tone. “Just meet me there,!”.
Duke however, had a funny feeling in his gut that something was wrong and decided to take precautionary measures to counter any danger or mishap in the course of this meeting. He switched his phone to silent mode and hid it in his stocking. He normally came up with dumb ideas like this when he got nervous.
He got into the zoo but headed to the zoo’s cafeteria to get a bottle of water because his anxiety made him thirsty and he was warmly attended to by his female admirer who happened to be a waitress there, Martha. In fact, he had quite a few but Martha was a good friend because despite her crush on Duke, she respected his relationship with Barbara and she was the one who told him about the new sea food restaurant that was set to open in town before he went to check it out. Remember?. All these took few minutes as he was still in a hurry to meet up Francis.
“Finally, you made it”, Francis said with a firm handshake, as Duke walked over to the chameleon’s cage and leaned on the railings in front of the cage. At this time, 7:00pm to be precise, the zoo was usually almost empty because it was getting to closing time.
“Sorry for dragging you out, I’m in serious trouble and I need your help”. Francis said. I’m not who you think I am” and as Francis was about to explain what was going on, two tall, able bodied men wearing hoodies showed up behind them and pointed guns at them.
“Turn around slowly and you dare not make any funny moves or make the slightest noise if you still want to live”, said one of the strange men with a deep, calm voice. It was then it dawned on Duke that what seemed like was going to be the best night of his life has taken an unusual twist. Duke recognized one of the gunmen as Francis’s friend who normally comes to the office to visit during lunch breaks. Before he could think of an escape plan, he found himself outside the zoo where the gunmen men parked a black 2016 Honda Civic Sedan. Francis’s phone was seized and was ordered to get into the back seat while Duke was searched. Tempers flared up when they couldn’t find his phone on him but he was able to convince them that he forgot his phone in his car after which he was struck on the head with a gun that sent him into an unconscious state and then thrown into the trunk of their car.
Now, this is where I’m supposed to draw the curtains on this story and say “WATCH OUT FOR PART TWO”, but I’m sure you are really interested to know what happened; like did Duke still get to propose to Barbara?, What was Francis involved in? Did Duke die?. Well I’m going to tell you, still in the course of this story just because I appreciate you for reading the story this far; you’re the best and you deserve to know how it ended. I also really want to finish this story in one piece.
Pardon me for digressing, I needed to take your mind off the drama but let’s get on with it. “STAY WITH ME”.
After a while, the ride became bumpy and it helped to bring Duke out of his unconscious state. His head was hurting and as he struggled to gasp for air due to the air tight nature of the trunk, he tried to recall what happened and what he was doing inside the trunk of a moving vehicle. In a split second, his memory came back and in the midst of all the confusion, he remembered his phone.
” Oh, thank you God”, he whispered to himself. He managed to reach for his phone but couldn’t make a call for fear of being heard so he sent a message to the only person he could think of at the moment, Barbara, and the message went like this;
“I’ve been kidnapped. I don’t know where we are headed because I’m currently in the trunk of a car. Please don’t try to call me because I might be caught. Just inform the police and wait for further information and no matter what happens, just know I love you”.
Just as he pressed send, he noticed the car came to a halt. He quickly put his phone back into his stocking but little did he know that they were out of town and there was no network coverage, so his message bounced back.
It was already 8:55pm and the event was 9:00pm. Barbara, who was already beautifully dressed to kill her man had already been calling since 7:35pm but couldn’t reach Duke. She had already gotten acclimatized to the fact that there’ll be no free dessert but wasn’t bothered because Duke would still buy her anything she needed as long as it was within his reach.
“But this is unlike Duke”, she thought to herself and deep down in her heart she could feel Duke wasn’t okay because he always kept to time and she could always rely on him. The tension kept building up when she still couldn’t get through to him 30mins later and at this time, she had forgotten about the date. She tried calling Francis and he also wasn’t reachable. It was then she decided to drive to Duke’s house to find out what was going on.
Meanwhile, Duke had been dragged out of the trunk and was ordered to lie faced down on the bank of a lonely river oustide town, while Francis was being tortured.
“Please I need more time”, Francis screamed in excruciating pain as he was been brutalized by the deadly fists of his abductors. “I will get you your money”, he continued.
“We’ve given you enough time and your time is up”, said one of the strange men, “You either return our package or the money to us, or go to hell”. As they made their threats, they continued torturing him and then, their focus and agression was transferred to Duke.
“Who is this?”, they asked Francis, “Is he the one with our money?”.
“Please spare me, I don’t know what you’re talking about”, Duke answered. He was already trembling in fear but the strange men had no compassion on him as they walked to where he was lying and started kicking him all over his body with their steel toed boots. ” Francis, what is wrong?, what have you dragged me into?”, Duke appealed to Francis but he was too weak to say anything at the moment. They continued with their cruel act until they ruptured his ribs. He pleaded with them to no avail as he was brutally battered.
“Una no wan talk abi?!”, the men exclaimed in vernacular as one of them pulled out his baretta, and pointed it to Francis. “For the last time, what did you do with our package?”, he asked and as Francis tried to solicit for more time, he was shot twice in the head and tossed into the river. At this point, Duke realised it was over and as he watched the man who pulled the trigger on his friend walk slowly towards him, his life didn’t flash before his eyes but he cried instead and shit himself. Yes, he cried and shit himself! Full of anger, the gun wielding man screamed, “Screw you!”, as he shot Duke twice on his chest. Duke laid there in the pool of his blood and his shit, as his abductors rushed into their car and drove off.
All these happened, while Barbara was still at Duke’s residence. She got in with her spare key hoping to see Duke probably sleeping oblivious of the fact that his car wasn’t even in his garage. She met an empty apartment unfortunately, but found his neatly arranged suit and she became very restless.
“Maybe I should call the police and report”, she thought to herself, but she quickly realised that Duke is an adult and he was only gone for about 3hours, so he couldn’t be declared missing. “This could also be one of his pranks”, she said and at that moment, there was nothing else she could do but sit down in her worried state and wait for him to come and explain what the joke was all about or at least call. As she was about to sit down on Duke’s favourite couch, her phone rang.
“My Duke; please let it be my baby”, she said, as she hurriedly rushed to her bag to get her phone. Pulling out her phone from her bag, it was her wild and nosy neighbor, Elizabeth, calling her to invite her for a cocktail party at one of the popular clubs in town.
“Please, I’m not interested”, she replied with a disgusted tone, “You know I hate noisy and crowded places. Thanks for the invitation though, goodnight.” She hung up and put her phone aside. Still wondering what might have happened to her sweetheart, her phone rang again and this time, it was Duke.
Fortunately for Duke, the bullets that went through his chest missed his heart, neither did it damage any internal organ so he was still alive but was loosing so much blood and his time was running out. What gave him strength to fight on was the desire in him not to leave Barbara alone in this world. It was going to break her in so many ways that will also make him roll in his grave. So his love for Barbara made him muster up whatever willpower he had left and dragged himself on the ground. He was soaked in his blood and his shit didn’t make things easier either because it was weighing him down. He was still trying to figure out where he was because it was dark and he was dizzy, but with one little hard-fought step at a time, he saw the headlight of a car and was able to follow the lights and come out to a road.
On reaching the road, he had lost energy and slumped but something immediately caught his attention as he collapsed heavily to the ground, it was a billboard that said, “Drive safely…Your family needs you…” Duke could recall that there was an identical billboard like that close to the river bank that he normally took Barbara to at the earlier stages of their relationship and also, a few times when she still needed to go there. He was immediately relived because that was exactly where his abductors brought him to. Again, he drew strength from the joy that he wasn’t really lost and remembered his phone was in his stocking. “Finally, my dumb idea has given me a lifeline”, he thought. He reached for it and there was network coverage. “God is watching out for me”, he said as he put a call through to Barbara.
“Sweetheart!”, she exclaimed and as she was about to start nagging how worried she was, she was interrupted by a subtle voice. She hardly heard nor understood what she was hearing. “Duke are you okay? it’s that you?”, she asked trying to listen more carefully and then she heard him say, “Barbara, I’ve been shot and I’m dying. Come and help me”.
“OMG! JESUS! My baby, where are you?”, she asked as she burst into tears. At that point, he had lost so much blood and with a faint voice he said, “I’m at the entrance to River Barduke” as he felt the phone falling from his hands. That’s the name they gave the river; they were so much in love when Duke first took her to the river and their foolishness kicked in.
Barbara pulled herself together, picked up her car keys and rushed to the scene. The river was closer from his house than it was from the zoo so she was able to get there in 10mins. As she approached the entrance, she saw Duke still lying on the ground. She parked close to him and seeing him almost giving up the ghost, she was supernaturally filled with strength and she lifted him up and put him into the back seat of the car.
“Please don’t die my love”, she said, with tears in her eyes as Duke bled profusely; “remember you promised not to leave me”. This words gave him strength to hang on. Few minutes later they got to a nearby hospital and he was stretchered to an emergency ward and immediately operated on. Barbara wanted to stay with him but a nurse adviced her to go home that she needed to clean up and afterwards she could come back. The nurse went ahead to assure her that Duke was in good hands. Barbara wasn’t assured though, but she saw reasons because Duke would need clean clothes and provisions after his treatment.
She drove back to his house, cleaned up and put on one of his numerous track suits. As she went to his drawer to get a few clothes for him, she stumbled on something that tried to put a smile on her face but she was too broken to smile. Nevertheless, she went along with it to the hospital.
Two days later, as she laid beside him on his hospital bed, she felt movement and behold, Duke was awake. She quickly alerted the doctors and when they came and found out that he had gained consciousness, gladness filled the atmosphere. Duke opened his eyes and as he saw Barbara, he was filled with joy and he just burst into tears. She hugged him softly because of the bandage around his ruptured ribs and with tears in her eyes she whispered into his ears, ” Thank you for not leaving me”.
As days passed, Duke grew from strength to strength. He was still very sad about Francis’s death and was still trying to figure out what really led to that terrible incident so all he could tell Barbara was how he and Francis were abducted by strange men and shot. Although, he was constantly being visited by the police and was questioned. She consoled him and suddenly he got into a playful mood and said, “I’m sorry I stood you up in respect to our date, a gentleman like me never stands a lady up.”
Barbara chuckled and said, “YES, I WILL.”
Surprised at her reply, he asked, “Are you high? What the hell are you saying?”
She smiled again and said, “YES, I WILL MARRY YOU, I saw your vows you wrote and I saw the beautiful ring you got. You’ve really not lost your sense of style”. She immediately reached for her bag, brought out the note and the small black box containing the ring and gave it to him. “Let’s just get over with it”, she said and waited, as she left him blushing and flabagasted. Still in slight pains, he tried to get up and go down on one knee but Barbara told him to forget the drama and just get on with it.
He cleared his throat and as he was about to read his vows, the dream about the cruise ship struck him. He sighed, shook off the thought and started reading, “I never thought I was good enough to be loved by someone but you came into my life and changed that perception. There’s no one I want to do life with forever and grow old with and I promise to be the very best I can always be for you. Will you accept to answer my name and be the mother of my babies?, Will you marry me?”
“For the third time, Yes I will”, Barbara answered as she stretched out her arm and received the engagement ring.
Few days later, Duke was discharged, preparations were made and he finally got married to the love of his life.
If you’re still wondering what happened to the strange men and Francis, it turned out that the strange men were drug lords wanted by the police and were apprehended few weeks later after the heinous act that led to the shooting and killing of Duke and Francis respectively. Francis was involved in drug trafficking and his last deal went awfully wrong and that led to his execution. Duke was just a victim of circumstance. Francis’s body was later washed up back on the same river bank and discovered by the police.
THE END!
My first ever short story.
Here is my practice story, tell me if you guys like it.
I can remember that day as if it were yesterday. The night air was crisp, the sky dark, as if the stars all went out spontaneously, although it was also bright, pale milky moonlight poured across the leafless trees, casting odd shadows upon the ground. A slight fall breeze whispered among the trees in a quite voice. The forest always captivated me at this time of night, I would go there to think, or to watch the stars in a particular meadow I favored. I never found it to be an eerie, or dangerous place.
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I started towards the forest, taking long strides until I reached the treeline. I slipped into the darkness and proceed to follow my usual trail. I crossed a small crackling brook and headed towards the meadow in which I would gaze upon the stars at. I stopped walking when I realized that the usual animal noises were amiss. The crickets, beetles and bats had fallen silent. I thought nothing of it and delved deeper into the woods. Once or twice I though I heard the cracking of a twig or branch but I shook the thought from my head and rendered it silly. I crossed the tree line encased around the small meadow and took a few steps into the open. A nearly fell back startled; a large pack of black crows flew up into the air with a few glides of their greasy wings. I found this little engagement to be quite unsettling. I headed towards the bolder that was near the center of the meadow but soon stopped as I thought I saw something shiny in the distance. I wandered away from the boulder and towards the mysterious object. It was a silver pocket watch attached to a small silver chain. I tried to pry open the pocket watch but only to my disappointment. It wouldn’t open. That is when I smelled the strange iron-y dead smell. It smelled like a dead animal or something. I follow the smell and came to a dead body. It had giant scratches across its body. Some kind of animal killed it. At the sight of horror, I dropped the pocket
watch, and as it hit the floor the cover popped open. Scratched onto the watches face was the words, “Your Next:. Just then a branch cracked.
Waking up in the morning I didn’t find Harry beside me, thinking that he must have left. I picked up my mobile on the side stand and checked the time to be 10 already. My sister suheena who was sharing my room was fast asleep. Making sure not to wake her up I walked to my wardrobe and picked up a burgundy color short skirt and a plain white top with an denim jacket to complete the look. I went to take my shower and on coming out I found that my sister had woken up and was making the bed. She looked at me pausing her work and flashed a smile and I mirrored it with a wink.
“Hey, I guess you have to go meet Harry at 1 right?” She asked me continuing with her work
“Hmm……Yeah! And how do you know that?”
“Your mobile reminder” she said with a huge grin on her face. I completely forgot that I had to meet Harry at 1 and thanks to my sister and my mobile reminder to remind me about it.
“Oh yeah thanks i’ll have to get dressed soon…” I said wearing my denim jacket.
“And yeah we not have a lunch today in fact we will have a brunch OK so come down soon I am leaving!”
“Yeah sure thanks!” I said smiling to my sister and applying my eyeliner. Though I was not a big of makeup I made sure I apply a little to protect my face from dust. As well as some eyeliner. On completing my makeup I went down to the dinning Hall for my brunch. On checking the time I found that it was 12 I had one complete hour to go. So I patiently ate my food there was silence in the hall with only the sound of the forks and spoons
“Yeah mum, Harry had called me at 1 for some surprise so I guess I will be going there maa.” I said breaking the silence in the hall.
“Yeah sure love please go.” My mom replied With a smile and I knew she was happy.
I soon finished my lunch and so did the others. Everyone were busy with their own work. The men were busy with their talks and some women in household work and some in gossip. We children ended up in the garden for some fun. At around 12:55 I went to the boy’s farmhouse and niall popped up on opening the door. he gave me a hug and let me in. on walking in i saw that the living room was messed up with food all over the place. and i knew it was niall’s work. he is he only person who cannot stay without eating. I laughed looking at niall and he shrugged his shoulder with his usual grin on his face. i walked up to harry’s room and as soon as i opened his door the cool breeze of the AC hit my face. harry was in his black skinny jeans and the tattoos on his body clearly visible, his long hair falling on his shoulders. his back was faced towards me. the sight of him madde the butterflies in my stomach flatter. he turned back to look at me and i felt the butterflies would come out and fill the room.
“hey! good afternoon! good to see you. i was just about to come to your place. you ready to go?” he enquired.
“good afternoon! yeah i am ready! its you who is late!” i replied and he stuck his tongue out.
He took the his white shirt in his hand and walked towards me, he was just inces away from me and my back was touching the cool walls.”you look stunning!” he whispered on whereing his shirt. i took hold of his shirt in fists and pulled him closer. ” so do you look haz!” i whispered leaving a peck on his lips and slightly pushing him back to get some air.
he stood there with his eyes wide open and with a shocked expression. i stood there myself cheeks turning red on blushing. there was this awkward moment of silence.
“will be waiting haz! come soon” i said leaving the room and the astonished harry there.
i walked to the living room and sat beside niall. we watched starwars and he offered me some of his food but by the time i took it i was late he took it back laughing at me and i rolled my eyes. soon harry came out fully dressed and looking at him i stood up gave niall a good bye hug and left. we got into harry’s porshe 911 sport classic. yeah i know about cars dont worry. and drove to wherever we had to go. the car ride was filled with me and harry talking about some stupid stuff and ending up laughing our stomach out. after a complete 20 minute ride we reached our destination. i got down to find out that we were in the SYCO MUSIC office. i looked at harry and he smiled placing an arm on my shoulder and leading me inside.
it was a pleasent place, the white furniture and the glass decorum gave it the classy look it had. we went onto the second floor and harry took me into a room. on opening the door i found out that it was a studio. i smiled at what happened
*flashback*
i was on my bed and harry was with me and we were just having a good talk when harry suddenly questioned me “shirley what is your dream?”
i turned to face him and raised an eyebrow pretending to think.
“harry i always wanted to be successful and make my parents proud but i dont know how? i seriously cant recognize my talent. i love to draw, i love to sing, i am really good at sports as well as want to be successful with studying what my parents wanted me to… i am confused harry i dont know….”
“ok ok chill Shirley…dont worry i already recognized your talent.”
“and my i know what is that?” i questioned him to know what my talent is in such a short period of time when i myself could not do it in so many years.
” you will know that tomorrow.”
“please harry tell me what it is!” i pleased him and he only gave me that evil smile of his.
“hmmm….yah dont forget to meet me at 1 after your lunch”
*flashback over*
harry and i walked into the recording studio and he turned on the equipment. it had some microphones and a glass plane in the front. he told me to sing any song i wished to. and he walked to the room behind the glass. i started to sing my favorite song ‘fireflies’ by owlcity and he looked at the switches in front of me and adjusted them. and when i completed the song i saw harry giving me a huge thumbs up and a wink. i left the recording room and went to where harry was. to be honest i dint know a lot about these equipments but i am sure i will get to know them soon. he started my song and i sounded really good to be honest. as soon as my song began the smile on harry’s face grew big and he hugged me by the shoulder. just then someone i heard someone clapping from behind and i tured to find simon cowell standing with a huge grin on his face. the smile on my face disappeared making me blush like an idiot.
“you are meant to be here shirley! i never knew you could sing so well. though harry told me about it i dint believe him but now i will have to i have no choice.” he said coming closer to us and making me blush more. i could feel my face turn red like a tomato.
“i am not that good simon. sining is just my passion and nothing else….’
“and i am sure you can turn this passion of yours into your career.”
“what?” i was completely confused on what Simon said so i looked at harry asking him to explain Simon’s statement.
“yes Shirley last night hen you told me about you dream i thought why not i show this singing talent of yours to Simon and then the world.”
“but harr….” Simon cut me off saying ” i don’t know anything Shirley we have a written song and finding for a perfect voice for it and i guess i found it.”
“yes shirley, now our task is to convenience your parents on this deal and then start your recording for your first solo debut.”
i had this creepy feeling at that time and all that could say was ” ok haz as you wish!”
“thank you so much Shirley” he said jumping on top of me with a bear hug. and i hugged him back.
“Thank you Shirley, do come and meet me if your parents agree to this.” He said smiling and shook my hand.
“hmm….uncle Simon i guess we’ll leave now and hopefully return with a good news.” harry said looking at Simon
“sure harry, i really hope we get a positive response.” he replied and both of them hugged
Later harry and I left the recording studio and drove back home and harry accompanied me to seek permission from my parents about this deal but before that we went to meet the boys and tell them about this, on getting this new they literally jumped in excitement and happiness. all the boys and myself went to my house and all he adults were in different places and on asking my aunt I got to know that my parents were in their room on the arrival of the boys everyone we passed through greeted them.
we were standing in front of my parents room “anyways boys i will first speak to my parents and then if they dont reply positively then you speak. is that fine?” i said turning to face them.
“sure Shirley we will stay silent until the time comes. now knock the door so that we can go in.” liam replied the as usual being responsible he is.
I knocked on their door and my dad opened it. my mom was folding some dry cloths. We entered in and the boys greeted my parents and so did they return back.
“mom, dad we wanted to talk to you about something are you free to talk about it?” i asked them not being sure if they are ready to talk about this.
“yeah sure sweetie tell me we are always there to hear what you say” my mom replied with a sweet and gesturing smile.
“mom its actually about my future you know like…. i finished my….a-aa..” i started off but could not say what i wanted to…
“come on Shirley come to the point and say what you have to i cant wait to know your parents choice” harry urged me to come to the point but i could’nt dare to do that.
“i cant do this harry, you please tell them” i told him and he came forward with that smile that never disappears on his face.
” hmm….aunty, uncle……” he started off and then took a deep breath.
” i’s actually that shirley has got an excellent offer with which she can become famous all over the world. its such an opportunity where until now none of the artists have got. she can become a famous star in a night.”
“but what is that offer harry?” my dad asked with confusion visible clear on his face.
” uncle in the moring shirley and i went to the SYCO studio and i just wanted shirley to sing something. Also then I wanted Simon to hear how she sings. I am sure you know who he is.”
“Yes, I do know him.”
“And then after Simon heard her sing he was impressed and offered her the song he was waiting to get a perfect voice. And so then we came here to talk to you about it and take your permission to go for it. Because once she does this song there are chances for her to become a star and then her concerts and new offers, new songs, interviews and all that stuff. Her life will be completely changed. So…..”
“Are you serious?? The media will ruin her life. She won’t have any privacy, whatever she does will be know to the whole world.” My mother said with that concern and fear in her eyes.but then she is true in what she said, for a second even I thought accepting that contract was not right. But then Harry. Spoke again.
“Aunty that’s what I said. But I assure you that we will not let the media spoil her life. We will make sure she has her privacy. Though we can’t stop it completely but to an extinct I will protect her.” Harry tried assuring my mother. And what did he say?? ‘I’ will protect her?? OMG!! This is going to be so difficult for me!. Anyways I am confused myself if I should take the contract or no. Though my dream was to be one but now I don’t want to face the consequences. And now it totally depends on my parents decision because I don’t think they will not want my safety they will surely think about it twice and then take the decision.
“Mom, dad now it completely on you. I don’t mind if you say a now and if you say a yes too the same goes. So now it’s in your hands please do what you like”.I said to tell them that I am fine with whatever they decide.
“Harry please stay back in the room we want to talk to you and yeah you people wait for a while outside. Harry will be there with our decision” after about thinking for a minute my dad said and so we all walked out leaving dad inside.
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OMG!! 150+ reads?? Thank you so much guys!! This means a lot. I wouldn’t have achieved this without you. Thank you so much for this.
Yeah so I will be updating you guys regularly now. Cuz I am free of this deadly exams and I am a bit free though my collage starts in a few days, but I will update you guys for sure.
Thank you so much again guys! And please do vote, comment and follow they give me motivation to write more for you.
Beatings
The phone rang three times before she decided to pick it up. She is not always open communicating with others during her self-reflecting time.
“Hello! Tiffany, I started having more frequent contractions,” briskly said Sara.
“My husband is outside the city. What am I supposed to do? What if my water breaks and I have to deliver my baby at home? Oh my god! Oh my god! Are you listening to me Tiffany? I need your help!” said Sara in a trembling voice.
Hello! said Tiffany.
Tiffany listened to Sara to allow her to feel better. Pregnant women need to talk. They need a good listener. Someone to just listen to them without interruptions.
“Yes dear, I’m listening to you. You are a brave woman, Sara. Congratulations!” replied Tiffany in a placating voice while trying to reassure Sara.
“You are going to be the best mom ever. You can come and stay in my apartment”
“That’s great! Can you come and pick me up to your apartment?” strained Sara.
Tiffany, felt the need to postpone her priorities to go help her friend.
because her friend could not drive and her husband is out of the town.
After Tiffany picked her up,
“what do you think about calling my baby Collin?”
Sara started to have rapid contractions, so Tiffany encouraged her to endure.
Afterwards, in her apartment in Yelltown, Tiffany sat in her white chair at her white desk, surrounded by pens, paper, and a laptop in her new apartment in Yale town. From the large glass window she could see the lightly tinted blue sky and the beautiful cotton like clouds and a golden crowned sparrow perched elegantly on her windowsill. The bird was smiling a mischievous smile only she could recognize. Her gaze shifted then towards the soft, light, creamy white and beige wall. Most of the stuffed furniture was symmetrical and rigidly shaped. Light silver pillows were thrown on the blue sofa. On the wall hung an abstract painting. At the right of her desk was a chess table that she received as a gift from her dad. This chess board was of monumental value, and it brought back wondrous memories from when she was a child. As she glanced at it, she brought to her mind, the sunny days when she and her father would sit out in the garden, playing game after game, that she never won. But she didn’t care because it was those memories that mattered the most. The memories that reminded her of her wise and devoted, energetic father and it was like he was watching over her, while simultaneously feeding her mind with great ideas and inspiration. These were the many reasons why she decided to buy a place in Vancouver. Vancouver was like the abstract painting that hung on her wall: different colours, lines, shapes, and meanings yet they all fit together to create something magnificent, something no one could imagine existed. Her apartment was like her own palace of creativity, where she would spend two weeks a month to enjoy moments of solitude. Tiffany adored reading, and her favourite place to do so was the local library. Yalletown was near the Vancouver Public Library, a library that has seven floors. With a warm cup of camomile tea, she would spend the majority of her late nights engrossed in the latest novel. This is how she ended the day, because it allowed her to go to sleep to anticipate what happens in the book, and give her ideas about writing. When Tiffany wrote, she could escape to anywhere she wanted. She always secretly imagined that characters from books gathered together in the library when everyone was gone, and one day she wished those characters would visit her. Frustrated, Tiffany crumpled the first two papers she was writing and left her messy desk to prepare a cup of tea. To relax, she indulged in the luxury of sipping a cup of Mighty Leaf tea. She could easily switch off the rational thinking side of herself and allow herself to go with the flow of ideas dancing through her. Then, Sara knocked on her door.
Sara was tall and had fine features. Her untidy red hair was combed back from her forehead and coiled with a large pin at the base of her neck. Her eyes were blue as the door of her apartment. She was wearing a blue print dress and flat white shoes. Her pale face was red, her round eyes conveyed a message she could not decode.
Tiffany’s apartment has always been a sacred space where she could read and write. After the day Sara knocked on her door, Tiffany felt an openness for change. With a cup of tea between her hands, she opened the blue door and welcomed Sara in. She felt invaded at first but then she felt relaxed. Her cup of tea was still warm. She could smell the lemon mixed with camomile and see the steam from the cup she was holding.
She invited her friend Sara in for a cup of tea. She poured from a Chinese tea pot into a beautiful ceramic cup. Sara wanted to pamper herself and relax in a hot tub so she could go to sleep later. Hot tubs help pregnant women to have their contractions and facilitate the labor process.
Tiffany returned back to her sacred desk and breathe in the smell of lavender. There she usually meets with her characters, who come to visit her from time to time. She has been waiting for a long time. Maybe they did not know where she was. She knew that characters are attracted to the minds that best create the stories where they belong.
She has personal rituals that she performs when getting ready to welcome characters for her new short stories. She started with deliberately awakening her senses while eating an Italian pizza, followed by French macaroons. She went for a massage session. She put on her favourite scarlet dress. She used to like magenta, but decided to wear scarlet. She put a bouquet of bright purple tip tulips in a glass vase on her desk. She lit the purple candles on her desk and started to write on her computer. The keyboard was like her piano. She was engrossed in playing a symphony with words when she heard her friend Sara crying. She had started her contractions. She was sweating. She bit her lower lip to hold back the tears welling within her eyes. She swallowed her spittle. Tiffany’s hands were clenched around Sara’s shoulders to support her as she walks. An hour later they decided to go to the hospital. Many thoughts flashed in Tiffany’s mind. What if characters came to visit her that night? What if the characters did not find her home.
She changed her dress and helped her friend get ready. They then went to B.C Women’s Hospital and Health Centre. Sara was waiting for her turn to be checked. A Caucasian nurse measured her blood pressure, weight, and height. Sara was carrying a baby in her stomach like Tiffany was carrying the idea of her book in her heart. Both were ready to deliver when the time came.
After a while, the nurse invited Sara to the delivery room. Her husband came to the hospital that night. He felt sorry he was out of the city last month, she was grateful for his support her during her hard time. Edward could not enter the delivery room during her labor. He could not hold her hands to show support. He could not stand to see her in that situation. While she felt pain and pleasure he only felt pain.
Sara was following the instructions of the nurse. Her contractions started to be harder and more rapid. Dr Carmen entered the room with Edana the nurse, and declared to Sara that it’s your moment of ultimate pain and pleasure.
The doctor told Sara to push the baby out. Tiffany made an effort to push her baby out. She knew from a person she trusted that she is talented and she could be a writer.
After a moment of ultimate silence, Sara heard her baby crying. The nurse put the baby on her chest. Nothing mattered to her now. Any pain now felt resistible. Sara felt serene and enjoyed her moment of creation with her husband. Tiffany then left and went to her apartment where she delightedly sat on her chair at her desk and allowed words to go out through her and submerge. She was smiling. She joyously welcomed a new lovely character who spent the night chatting with her.
Her apartment from that time on, became the place where she invited other characters. Now she has great company.
How would you communicate if you lost the ability to speak?
If I found that I couldn’t communicate verbally, I would write.
Writing has always been my favourite way to express myself, more so than speaking. It seems safer, somehow. I guess that is because you need to organize your thoughts when you are writing. It isn’t as spontaneous as speaking.
Spontaneity is overrated. It is messy and filled with the possibility of saying the wrong thing. It can create confusion and muddle the message.
Writing the words down on the page gives me a concrete way of utilizing them. I can rearrange and eliminate the words that do not communicate my message accurately and effectively.
I love finding the right word, building the best sentence, and creating an eloquent powerful statement.
The solitariness necessary for superlative creative writing is not in any way a sense of loneliness. It generates a kind of freedom that resonates in my soul. In the silence of this place I can be my truest and most magical self. All things are possible.
My thoughts turn to the gospel of John. It says, “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen His glory as the only Son of the Father, full of grace and truth.”
Why does my mind make this leap from writing is important to the Divine?
The Word that became flesh was Jesus Christ. Jesus embodied the total Message of God, everything He wanted to communicate to man.
God message began with writing it down by people who He had inspired. We needed the concrete words on paper before all generations could understand the message encapsulated in the life of Christ.
The stories of mankind have much to teach us. Their messages reveal pain, suffering and failure. But also, the boundless joy of successful achievement after overcoming obstacles.
Christ used storytelling as an effective method to get His point across. Perhaps the storytelling of writers is part of this sacred work, carrying messages that need to be heard. I rejoice at that prospect and can hardly wait to begin this wondrous journey of being a writer.
I was walking threw the woods, because I was adventuring around. I suddenly come across a dead body with shock I was , so scared . I couldn’t even move , so I reached into my pocket and I grabbed out it phone to call 911 , but there was no service , so I started freaking out saying to myself “ what should I do ” , so I was thinking maybe I should run back to the road to see if there was any service , so I did . A few minutes later . I had service .Than I called the police I was telling them that what the issue was . The police said that they were on their way hours later . The police had finally arrived and the ambulance came , saying to myself I feel pretty proud of myself about telling someone about this . And not just leaving it out here without letting anyone knowing because who else would want to see such thing as that , so that’s why I called for help plus I was alone to I was scared myself saying to myself ” what if there’s someone still out there” because the body well the blood wasn’t dry yet and the officer came to me and said what I knew or how or when did I get here the officer was asking me questions like I was the criminal here , but I was t I was explaining to them when and why I was out here I think that they was asking me that stuff because I was the only one to find her . And the only one who is out there , and the blood wasn’t even dry . And yes I was afraid of what was going to happen because it felt like I was the one who to be blamed for all of this , so the officer wanted me to come with him back to the department with my sweaty palms a d my sweaty face because I’ve been adventuring for awhile now , so we were heading to the police department the department was surrounded by policies with scaress inside what is going to happen to me I shouldn’t be scared because I didn’t do anything.
Alright, this is the 1st chapter of my story. Killed it if you needed but please give me a constructive feedback.
Sticky Note of Destiny. :
Preliminary Note.
Sticky note is just a small pieces of paper with re-adherable strip of glue on its back.
You can tear it off whenever you want to use it and easily throw it away when you finish using it. You won’t remember where the notes that are filled with tasks have been thrown.
But can you imagined when you get used to it and in one day you can’t find it all around ?
By that time you will realized that this small piece of paper is actually a very important paper.
—
Catherine Higgins was a sticky note girl.
And by being a sticky note girl, it meant that people in her office will stuck sticky notes filled with menial tasks, requests and other ‘as needed’ duties on her like she was a walking bulletin board.
She often felt bad for being ignored. Ninety percent of the people in the office didn’t even bother to know her name and they just referred her as ‘the sticky note girl’ though she had been in the office for five years. Her cousin, which happened to be worked at the same place, oftenly reminded her to do something but still, she didn’t feel right about correcting them.
” Catherine. ” she looked to see her cousin and co-worker, Maylene Dossier, sitting at her desk. ” Did you hear that human resources is giving a free trip to Kahima Perfecture for the best employee of each department this year ? ”
Catherine smiled, her round glasses sliding down slightly at the motion ” Why would I bother with that anyway ? ”
” Off course you should bother. Listen, ” Maylene bent down her waist and whispering something to Catherine’s ears.
” Are you sure ? ” Catherine eyebrows knitted once Maylene pulling away.
” Thousand percent sure. ” Maylene responded cheekily.
” I don’t know, May. It just a rumour anyway, ” Catherine shaking her head and smiled as she turned to the mountain of files and documents in her desk. ” I never won such a thing. Besides, I have no one to go with. ”
” Allright, it’s up to you then. ” Maylene shrug then slide down and return to her cubicle next to Catherine’s ” But if I were you, I might thinking about a manhunt starts from now. ”
Again, Catherine just smiled at her cousin suggestion. Off course Maylene won’t have problems to find a date with all of her shrimmering strawberry blonde, voluptuos figure and outgoing attitude. In fact, Maylene treats all of her dates like she was using Kleenex, throwing them right away after she done with them.
While for Catherine, she was another story.
” KITRIDGE !! ”
Catherine jumped at her boss’s, Jarvis Crane, bark and turned quickly to see him standing behind her back. ” I need you to go to downtown and pick up the gift basket that we’re sending to the Reinheardt Corp. ”
Jarvis stuck a sticky note with the address at her shoulder. Catherine teared it and she saw that it was a store in the largest mall located in the center of Siglus, Pryley Perfecture capital city.
” Don’t dawdle. You’ll have to go to the courier and have them send it out ASAP then grab me a latte before my afternoon meeting. ”
Catherine nodded and her boss quickly disappeared back into his office at the end of the hallway.
” Her name is Catherine and thank you !! ” Maylene suddenly called out before looking to her cousin ” Seriously Cath, you need to school that man. ”
Sighing, Catherine stood up and grabbed her purse before heading out to complete her new errand.
—
Kay Reinheardt was in love.
Having the chance of became the new age Cassanova, Kay is falling head over heels for Elina Davidson since their first meeting at highschool and now, they were the quintessential perfect couple; young, succesful and shares the same eyes and hair colors.
At 28, Kay was now the youngest CEO of the Reinheardt Corp. A series of company that had flourished from his father’s popular chain of restaurants and recently taking over a new phone application company.
Elina Davidson always wanted to be a movie star and she was quickly climbing the ladder of her career as a primadona at one of the Broadway theater after hours of acting and singing classess and hundreds of painful failed auditions.
Her aim now is Hollywood.
Kay new that she would get there. Elina has her ‘as hard as rock’ head and fast learning skills so she could play any part from the sweet, hot-headed Elizabet Bennet to slutty and playful Vivian Ward in the remake of famous old movie, Pride and Prejudice and Pretty Woman. Elina has natural talent in acting and he was going to be there when she landed her first big screen role.
As her husband.
” Sir ? ” Kay snapped out of his reverie to see the saleswoman holding out the ring he had the jewelry store custom made for his fiancee. ” What do you think ? ”
He looked around to make sure that no one is outside of the shop was peering in. A picture of the CEO Kay Reinheardt purchasing an engagement ring would feed the hungry eyes of the paparazzi and blowing two months of careful plan.
A nice trip and princess-cut diamond ring will make a perfect proposal.
” Perfect. ” Kay responded before handing the woman his credit card.
—
” Gosh. ” Catherine hissed as she held the heavy basket in front of her. ” Five kilos of fresh fruit ? Who in the earth going to eat this ? ”
She could barely see things in front of her as she walked through the crowded mall. Jarvis hadn’t even bothered to give her money to pay for a taxi so Catherine had to walk the obscenely large basket over the courier office.
As Catherine continue her inner tirade about her stupid, big belly boss, she didn’t realized that she was walking right into the dark – haired man preoccupied with the open jewelry box in his palm.
Then the collision between them seemed to happen in slow motion, like what happen when Neo clashed with Agent Smith.
Somewhere between the rain of grapes, tangerines and bananas. Kay lost the ring.
Kay immediately fell to his knees in search of it, hastily looking up at the girl as she arranged her large glasses back on her tiny face. ” You fool !! ”
” I’m sorry. ” Catherine cried out as she struggled to toss the smashed fruit back into the basket. ” What did you lose ? ”
” My fiancee’s ring, you fool !! ” he examined the ground around him. Tossing aside the scattered fruits in his way and ignoring the outcries of the shoppers being hit with the flying produce. ” Do you know how much that ring cost ?! ”
” I – I’m so sorry. ” Catherine responded as she began to crawl on the floor to clean up the mess. ” I’m really sorry — “.
” Spare me that sorry !! ” Kay continued to look around the cheaply – tiled floor of the mall. He could only imagine what someone would do with a hundred thousand shal ring. ” I need you — ”
He stopped midsentence at the sight of the girl.
He were amazed at her apricot skin and weather-streaked blonde hair which made her having a fresh, vital look. Her feature bore the streakingly appealing symmetry often found in those Scandinavian ancestry-the straight nose and fine nostrils; shapely, bowed lips and sapphire blue eyes with golden sparks beneath arched bow of pleasing contour.
It’s the big, rounded glassess that ruined her perfect sculpture.
” What ? ” Catherine blurted out as the man in the navy suit gaped at her. Her eyes went over his shoulder where she spotted a shiny piece under a mall bench. ” There !! ”
Jumping to her feet, she ran and dove under the bench to grab the ring which slipped onto her finger easily.
” Got it ! ” Catherine turned to the man and held it out triumphantly.
” Jesus !! ” Kay went to her and wrapped his hand around her wrist. ” Don’t you know that it’s a bad luck to have other woman wearing your fiancee’s ring ? “.
” Bad luck ? What bad luck ? ” she instantly asking without thinking.
” Arghhh .. Nevermind. ”
Plucking the ring from her finger, he glared at the young woman. ” Good luck with the fruit. ”
” Huh ? “, Catherine reply idiotly.
Turning around, Kay rushed down the mall corridor leaving Catherine to pick up the remaining contents of the basket.
—
Two weeks later …
” Excuse me everyone. May I have your attention please ? ” Euphemia Connor, Human Resource manager, called out to gathered crowd. ” As I already announced at the beginning of this year, we had few changes in personal appraisal system and now each department will have one of their own employee of this year. ”
Catherine continued typing reports that Jarvis wanted for his meeting tomorrow. She had worked through lunch since he needed her to gather the information from their company portal and the process had been majorly bogged down when her computer crashed.
Her stomach worms began to transformed into a raging and starving komodo dragon. Her vision blurred as she looked over at the crowd of people waiting in anticipation for who will be the best employee to be called.
She never won these things.
Euphemia opened the envelopes one after another and shouting out loud names. She begin with her own department then moved with marketing, finance, IT support and ” the last one is … ” she purposedly paused to add a dramatic moment. ” Catherine Higgins from General Affairs. ”
Several people looked around at one another in question as they saw nobody stepping forward.
” I don’t think there’s anyone with that name working here. ” someone from the crowd told the woman holding the paper.
” Hey !! Wait !! ” Maylene, who had just emerged from restroom, shouted.
Catherine felt someone grab her wrist to stand her up and she looked to her co – worker in confusion.
” What ? ”
Maylene ignoring her cousin and shout again. ” Ladies and gentleman. I proudly present you, Catherine Higgins from General Affairs. ”
Catherine looked over to the crowd who was clapping their palms.
Euphemia emerged from the sea of people to stand in front of her.
” Congratulations dear. ” she handed Catherine the manila envelope. ” Inside are your plane tickets and your hotel reservation for this weekend. You get Monday off with pay to recover. “.
The woman shook Catherine’s limp hand. ” Have fun. ”
” T – thank you. ” Catherine said to the manila envelope in her palm before turning to Maylene with her eyes wide in amazement.
” See, I told ya’ ” Maylene smirk then winked.
” Oh, my God May. I – I .. ”
” Easy now, darl. ” Maylene firmly placed her hands on Catherine’s shoulders to , her smile bright in excitement. ” You’re the best now and the question left is …. ” Maylene closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before she glued her forehead to Catherine’s. ” Who are you going to take with you ? ”
Crap. She didn’t think of that.
This is what I wrote, it’s the beginning of my first chapter of my story. Please give feedback!
“Cadence! Cadence what are you doing up there you’re going to be late to school.” yelled Jade while full of frustration.
“Coming mum, just packing up my bag.” replied Caydy in a relaxed tone opposite to her mother’s.
Around two minutes later, Caydy hurried quickly down-stairs and put on her dull black school shoes. Jade came into the room and started lecturing Caydy about when people should pack their school bags.
“I’m telling you this for the hundredth time Cadence: pack up your bag before going to bed. Two minutes of your reading time won’t kill you but going out two minutes late to school in the morning can.” declared Jade, “And take the bike with you today: so that you may have a chance of getting there before 8:30.”
Caydy stood up, got her bag and took the bike carefully out of the garage, slid onto the seat and cycled to school.
The road to school was very short. It would take around 7 minutes walking and 4 minutes by bike. Caydy would normally walk to Tessa’s house – which is on the way to school – then finish her journey to school along with Tessa. Although today, Caydy was cycling alone as Tessa would be at school by now.
Suddenly, Caydy saw her phone ring. Luckily, she was wearing her earplugs which were already connected to her phone. She looked at the name; it was Abi. She pressed answer.
“Hi Abi, what’s up?” asked Caydy.
“What do you mean ‘ what’s up ‘? Where are you? We’re worried about you, especially Tessa.” said Abi. You could notice a slight tone of fear in her voice.
“I left the house late because: I forgot to pack my bag before going to bed yesterday night. Again. But don’t worry I’m on the way.” replied Caydy calmly.
“Caydy, its 8:28. We’re the last people outside now. You must hurry.”
“Ok, I’ll be a minute. “replied Caydy” You guys go inside, I’ll …”
Suddenly, while not noticing, Caydy’s bike tripped over an unusual rock lying in the middle of the footpath. The bike flipped forwards and threw Caydy off it where she landed next to a tall old tree. Caydy lay on the floor with blood soaking through her tights staining the cement which lay between the bricks. If anyone would be in Caydy’s state by now they would either be screaming or feeling the pain while trying to hide it and get over it. But Caydy was in neither of these states.
“Abi, Abi help! Quick! “shrieked Caydy.
Caydy tried to get herself up – but when she did, she collapsed instantly smacking her head on to the concrete pavement. Her phone sat facing upwards on the rough floor a couple of centimetres away, still on call with Abi.
“Caydy, Caydy what happened? Where are you?” asked Abi.
No one answered. Caydy still lay on the floor, breathing rapidly but with no sign of her consciousness. Tessa snatched the phone out of Abi hands and put it on speaker.
“Caydy, what happened?” said Tessa in a panicking tone.” Are you okay?”
But still with no hope, no one answered. All they heard where the sound of quick breaths going in and out rapidly.
“She’s not going to answer. Something happened, you go inside. I’m going to go back in the route Caydy usually takes and check what happened to her.” instructed Tessa.
“No! If Caydy isn’t here by registration: we tell Mrs.Levings. We can’t risk you going out too.” said Kyla.
But Tessa wasn’t listening. She ran out of the school gates to check on her cousin.
“What if something really has happened to her?” thought Tessa. “I hope she’s okay.”
Tessa kept running at her fastest speed. She was sweating madly as if someone was pouring a bottle of hot boiling water on her head. Her legs started to get tied up as they couldn’t keep hold of her. As Tessa turned the corner; her eyed where pulled towards a figure of a 16 year old girl thrown on the floor with a river of blood rushing out onto the footpath and then sprinting till they reached the sewage hole on the road.
“Oh my God! “whispered Tessa.
She was frozen to the spot. She couldn’t move as all the fear and thoughts of all the bad things that could’ve happened to Caydy came to her mind. Tessa suddenly remembered what they have learnt about in their last history lesson: The beginning of heat strokes- Douglas J.Casa. As it was quoted by the video they watched, it mentioned: “Heat strokes are 100% survivable although if action isn’t taken quickly then the victim might not have a full chance of survival. You should always call for help immediately in this matter as cell damage can begin 30 minutes after the victim is affected by the heat stroke.”. Tessa started breathing rapidly and quickly ran to Caydy. She kneeled down next to her and put her hand on Caydy’s jumper above her chest. She was still breathing. Tessa quickly took out her phone from her backpack to call the ambulance. Just as she was opening her phone, she collapsed.
Some years ago I moved to South Africa from the UK. Now I’m considering writing about the experience but I wrote this in a little more than 17 minutes, so please excuse…
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
Considering Moving to South Africa 1994
‘You want to move to South Africa?’ Asked my mother.
‘Wasn’t there a security problem there?’ Queried my father.
‘You can’t be serious?’ My mother added.
The tone of their questioning was no different to experiencing a cross examination by the Head at my former school, and that was a long time ago. But I was serious. I felt more than ever I wanted to go. To move. To leave London.
‘Didn’t you also leave your home country to come here – once upon a time? So what would be the big deal about me and my husband leaving?’ I said.
My parents lapsed into silence. They should have realised that running to the so called Promised Land was something we were good at doing; emigrating was in our blood. Always hoping wherever you lay your hat, it would be in our own home, where you no longer pressed your nose against a window pane and looked in.
I went to the local bookshop to the travel section and purchased a book on moving to South Africa. The book I chose was honest about moving to South Africa: a country that was beautiful but with a history of discrimination and division, it seemed to say. I even made contact with the South African embassy, and asked to be sent some literature or magazines on the country. About a few days later, I received a newsletter and SA newspapers.
But what was motivating me to be doing all of this. Why the need to leave, I asked myself. Having graduated from University in the 80s, my husband and I had lived all over the UK and now Croydon. I had worked in several places but I hadn’t a clue as to what I really wanted to do. I wanted to study various things do part-time or full-time courses but what – I didn’t know. Friends were doing things, I felt. Moving on from their flats into long term houses; making progress in their work, holidaying several times a year. And even though we had a mortgage on a flat, we were far away from owning a house in the better parts of Croydon but I felt stuck: fear crept into this mix of pessimism.
Of course, I would be eternally grateful to England for enabling me to go to school, winning a scholarship to study Music, obtaining a grant to go to University. Grateful for the health service which made it possible for me to enjoy continual good health. But I felt at this point, England had given me all it wanted to give, and it simply was not going to give me anymore. I could feel the top of my head touching that proverbial glass ceiling and the more I pushed, the more it kept its resilience.
And somehow, observing the number of TV programs and documentaries on SA, I felt as though the whole thing was enticing me to come.
It was also timely that my husband had been invited to attend a work shop in Cape Town to present a paper on the importance of Information Technology in Africa. He called me the day he arrived and gushed about the city’s beauty and lushness. His hotel room gave him an unlimited view of Table Mountain and intended on his final day to take cable car to mountain. But also, I mentioned to him there was no harm in checking out the recruitment agencies to see if they had anything to offer.
Two days later, he called and told me he went to three agencies, and one, definitely felt there was something for someone with his skills and experience…
There is nothing much I could offer. I have no luxurious cars, no fancy dogs to brag about, no sparkling jewelries to model, and no elite parties to recommend. I only have myself, and my heart is the only thing I can offer.
No matter how many times I try to be positive about my future, something bad always happens in the end. I end up liking a guy liking my best friend. I have a crush on someone who is going to use my kindness. It now has occurred to me that love is not my thing – romantic love, that is. I am the kind of girl that people does not refer to as beautiful at first sight, they would have to know me to say that. I do not have such wonderful body, I have fats overlapping more fats. My voice sounds manly, my legs hairy, my teeth are imperfect, my eyebrows are thick, and my haair is frizzy. In short, I am someone you can describe as unattractive or in honest terms, ugly.
Ugly people like do not end romantic things happily. We can dream about good things, let our minds wander, but when reality hits you, it is something that can really wake you up. Guys do not like ugly girls. Girls like me like guys who are out of their leagues. I like guys who are out of my leagues. I consider these guys perfect, and they consider me less than ordinary. I used to have glasses and I did not want to think of the things they know about me.
My mother is such a beautiful creature that even she is married and have a baby, some Chinese suitor still comes to her offering things. Her mom would shoo him away but to no avail. My mom attracts a lot of guys and even at her golden age, men find her alluring. I do not have the kind of smile she has, the charisma she brings into the room. I can be inside a room plenty of poeople and nobody cann hardly notice me (unless my friends look for me). I am the girl satisfied to be the girl at the side of the room, watching, observing, thinking what could have happened if things are not this way. I guess you can call me a dreamer because I am. I spend most of my time dreaming of scenarios that are never going to happen in the future.
I am the girl with broken dreams. Since I am ugly, I guess there is little to no chance of landing to a perfect job since perfect jobss are for perfect people and perfect people reproduce more perfect people. I wonder what happened when my mother conceived, did I develop naturally? Are they sure I am their daughter because, if my parents are so good looking, what happened to me? You would have thought I inherited my father’s dimples and charms, my mother’s physique and style, but no. I simply came from another world. I guess there are times my parents thought I thought of myself as a boy. My mom gets mad when I say that my things are “too girly.” She would bellow “Are you a guy!?” and it does not matter where we are. I used to think that whatever toys boys can have, I can too because how can I play with them if I do not know what they are playing? I like to befriend both sexes. And I think being too friendly with guys scared her.
Maybe have a lot of guy friends is because I am ugly. They do not fall for me because, what is there to fall for? My fats? Damn! They can be friends with me as much as they like without worrying of hurting my feelings or making me fall for them. All they know is
—– 15 mins is up ——-
Edgar’s .38 special felt heavy in his hand. He barely felt the burn of chilled steel laying flat in his numb palm. He stared at it with the conviction of someone who has nothing to live for. The moon’s reflection on the hard barrel of the six-gun was brighter than the dancing reflection on the river.
> He sat in an old oak rowboat; the wood rotting in places. Edgar’s pale blue eyes unfocused as they filled with tears. He blinked and a drop of salty water fell from his ghostly face. He wiped both eyes with the back of his free hand, blinked hard, then opened them. His eyes focused on the water beginning to pool up in the bottom of the boat. He frowned and looked at the moon. It was like the world was asking him to die sooner.
> His late-wife had always thought the world was out to get her. Panic attacks and anxiety isolated her to their studio apartment, where she would, for hours or days, stare out of the window overlooking the city streets below. The crimson veins in the whites of her eyes pointed to her dilated pupils, thin grey irises eclipsed by the deep black.
> He thought of her then as the water soaked into his white walking shoes. He licked his lips, they were cold, cracked and he tasted blood on them. The iron reminded him of growing up in the farmlands of Wisconsin. The well water was rich with an iron taste that he had altogether forgotten since he moved to the Twin Cities.
> The Mississippi river was wide here, and the current was slow. October in Minnesota was always cold, not cold enough to snow, but it often got below freezing at night. Edgar’s heavy winter jacket was doing little to keep the cold out. His finger tips were blue, and his feet might as well have not been there at all. The water was up to his ankles and he couldn’t see his feet any longer. He looked back at the city skyline behind him. White lights on black structures sprawled across the horizon. He turned and faced forward again, The trees were beginning to close in on the river bank and they were getting denser.
> He raised the gun absent-mindedly as his frostbitten fingers closed on the grip. He pulled a lever and flicked the gun to the side, a metallic thud as the cylinder came into view; six bullets. He flicked the gun to the other side and it snapped back into place. His thumb caught the hammer, and he pulled it back, surprised his frozen hand could still do the work. He turned the gun until the barrel looked him in the eyes, silver ring and black hole. His index finger squeezed. An ear drum piercing bang, and a hot white light from the blackness. Then, nothing.
Trapped
I wake up in a cold dark room. My head hurts and the only thing I can hear is myself breathing. The silence kills me and the darkness makes me feel alone. It feels like forever, when all of the sudden bright LED lights come on blinding me.
I soon learn that I’m not alone. Children and adults ranging in age are handcuffed to chains attached to the wall. I am sitting in the middle of the room surrounded by people staring at me. I start asking questions. “Where are we?” “Why are we here?” No one answers me. I have an over whelming feeling that we are not making it out of here alive.
I hear a door slam open and everyone screams. I don’t make a sound. I am completely frozen and feel as if I can’t breath. A women and two men come in and walk straight over to me. I try to back up to the wall but for some reason the people just push me towards them. My heart is pounding and I’m shaken in fear. They grab me and pull me out of the room.
I struggle thinking this is the end for me. I pray please don’t kill me I don’t want to die. Please! Please! Please! I start to cry and scream. Why are you screaming someone ask? I feel completely stunned by this question. What? I barely get out. Why are you screaming? They say again. What are you talking about why wouldn’t I be screaming? Your going to kill me. Who told you that the lady says. No one I say. So Your not going to kill me? Will at least not yet the lady says.
I loved your story I was captured from the very beginning. You had very strong imagery, I felt like I was apart of the story and could see what the characters were doing. The only thing that tripped me up was the ending. The dialog when the two characters are having a conversation. Maybe try and change the words to make it flow with the rest of the story. Other than that it was great.
What would I do if I stumble across a dead body in the woods?
If I came upon a dead body in the woods I would cover my mouth from the stench first. Then I would find the quickest way out of the woods to notify someone more qualified than me. I would not touch it. I would never get that look of vacant staring out of my mind.
I don’t think that I would be that upset. I think I would somehow separate myself from this body. I would view it more as a dead oppossum or squirrel than a human. Ideally, the body would not be mangled or stabbed or otherwise harmed. In my mind at this time I would think that this person died of natural causes hiking along a trail. Heart attack.
I do think that if I saw a body laying in a valley as if it fell off the trail on the ridge that would be upsetting because I would be able to relate to it. I could just as easily fell off the ridge in this person’s position.
Isn’t that weird and probably narcissistic? I would not be able to relate to just any dead human. It would have to be a human that I could understand. I think in my mind I would reconcile this person as having lived a kind of life that would seemingly end up in this position and somehow that makes it alright? At this time it feels the same as if I’m reading about it in the newspaper. I’ve become immune to the notion that people are just murdered and I’m able to reconcile it in my brain as that person must have done something to have it coming. What kind of thinking is that? No person has death at the hands of another person coming. Why am I parceling out people in the human race? He should die. He shouldn’t die.
But still at this moment in my life I think I would think that if I found the person murdered. I would think okay what did that person do before it happened to cause another to believe it is necessary?
Fountain of Youth:
All of a sudden, I heard a uproarious blast originating from the separation. I could see the smoke emitting into the mists. Who brought about this fiasco? Was the primary thing that went over my cognizance?
Edward a tall, strong, sharp, quick talker rearranged forward and backward. It was then he ventured into his pocket hauling out his phone to call 911.
“No signal is going through, said Edward in a suave tone.
“Come on Edward we must quickly go tell the crew what happened to our meetup spot”, I said.
Debris fell to the ground as both of us ran to safe grounds. My stomach snarled, my knees clasped, I even let out a rush of gas. I as often as possible looked back to ensure Edward was directly behind me. Poor thing was trialing from a foot away. He was running for his life yet his legs couldn’t hold tight any more.
I decided we would take a shortcut, it was best for him. I doubt he would see any problems. I ventured off the zigzag asphalt trial and headed towards the lumbar wagon. It was bent over in the middle of a green pasture waiting for its rightful owner to haul it away.
When we reached a cross road Edward rapidly sat down. His eyes intensified and he continued panting for air.
(Edward). Marty, ss…sss…stop, in a wispy voice.
(Marty). I sure will buddy. Trying to soothe his contious.
(Marty). I think we’re safe. I pondered our next move. Let’s head south.
I decided to continue through the woods and steer clear of the anyone seeing us. If we went east someone might stop and question us.
Two quirky men, tailored jumpers, slicked back black hair, with penny’s on walking along the street. Except we looked like we’ve hit a post and been whipped in wind.
The breeze feels stale but calm. I wonder if we will get a good helping of snow this winter, thought Laura. “What do you think Butch?” “We gonna’ get a big heap of snow this winter?” Butch didn’t respond. As a matter of fact Butch doesn’t talk at all. Well, cause, he’s a dog so there’s that. Butch stared blankly at Laura as she expected an answer to her rhetorical question. Butch and Laura set off on a walk in the woods behind her house. What a lovely morning it is with the sun kissing the meadows and the clouds kissing the valleys. A morning walk always helped Laura clear her head and start her day off right. It also gave butch a good opportunity to get some exercise in before Laura headed to work in the city.
Although she preferred the country atmosphere, she worked right dab in the middle of downtown Detroit city. Real estate broker, none the less. Laura liked to keep these two worlds separate. Her city life job and her country life living were never to collide. The balance kept her content. It was just Laura and Butch in that big ol house. Laura liked it that way. She preferred her men like she preferred her ice cream. Delicious but only on occasion. And she always went out for ice cream. She wouldn’t dare bring a tub home. What does a real estate broker have in common with a country girl? Nothing.
Up ahead Butch heard some rustling in the leaves. He ran off barking as Laura called out to him. She waited a couple minutes to allow Butch to explore some. She called out once again but heard silence. She headed in the direction that Butch gallivanted so hastily to. As Laura got closer, she heard Butch whimpering. But he wouldn’t respond to her calls. “Oh no, what did he get himself into now,” Laura whispered. Suddenly the crisp stale air smelled of rotten fruit. Butch must have run a quarter of a mile out from where he heard the rustling. With Butch loudly whimpering Laura was able to locate Butch on the path. As she got closer she saw Butch crying at a pile of rags. Odd, she thought to herself. Butch has never been scared of a bunch of ol’ rags before. She got closer to inspect the drama. As she approached the pile of rags she realized it wasn’t a pile of rags at all. It was clothes, not piled. But clothes still attached to…….a person. A decaying person….. but a person none the less. Taken back, Laura turned and heaved. “Nope,” she muttered. She didn’t want to throw up her breakfast as she stood hunched over trying to gain her composure. She gave herself a couple of minutes to breathe in fresh air before returning to the site of a rotting corpse that lay just inches away.
She looks around the sun was settling down. Her heart started to pump harder. She examines the body it had wounds. Bullet wounds. All of the body two on the upper right hand shoulder and one near the heart and blood all over the stomatch. It was a man ..she couldn’t identify the face it was covered in blood.
But something she saw was recognizable .it was diamond ring in his hand . Jorge ! She screamed
Today. Tomorrow. The next day. She wasn’t sure what to get over. Whether the sights she had seen would ever leave her seemed unanswerable. If only she could conquer the feeling, the acid burning urge in her throat, her stomach clenched tight as a fist. She was the one who had started the murder – unintentionally, of course – but yet she felt responsible. What had she really wanted?
Maybe she should just try to get over feeling guilty. What happened wasn’t what she had intended, but the results hurt worse that the anger that prompted her thoughtless confession. She had told the murderer where his ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend were hiding – picnicking, actually, deep in the woods. She hadn’t known about their relationship, not until he had already run away with a weapon, not until it was far too late. Yet her motives were hardly better, speaking out loud her jealousy over a man who barely knew her, who rarely saw her, let alone knew her heart.
She kept walking over the dry leaves on the sidewalk, trying to pretend she was someone else. Someone meaning herself, before things started happening, before the book and before its words. She knew they were meant for her, but she still hadn’t listened. Hadn’t listened to her own voice reading them, hadn’t heard them in her heart. Surely the book had given her courage to keep going, this far from home, a profession from Orleans in a small American town. It was too late to go back now, too soon to call this home. She had wanted so much to belong to someone, or so she thought, but maybe what she really wanted was for someone to belong to her, to be under her control.
Maybe… It was all too much. She had to let go of something now, but she couldn’t let go of her memories. The scenes flashed before her over and over. Her jealousy, seeing the man she admired with someone else. Her drinking, terrible wine at a low-class party, her talking about the man to a crowd, a random group of people she hardly knew, then the roar and dash to the door of someone she had never seen before, brandishing a knife. As soon as he left, someone turned to her ask asked, didn’t she know that that man had courted that woman before, and that he was nearly mad?
He followed them out to the woods, and she trailed behind, wanted to charge after him, but frightened, half-drunk and fatigued from her shoddy diet of tomatoes and cigarettes, money spend all on books instead of food most of the time. Her heels sank into the damp ground under the leaves, and when she got there, she saw the bodies on the ground, the murderer running away through the woods, crashing through brush like a bear in the dark. Then she ran back again to call the police from the library phone. Walked home. Found the key to her own front door, at least the door to the house she had lived in then. Lived in now. Looked at the mirror, saw her skin smoother and soft, hair dark, eyes brighter than before. The book was gone now, waiting for her in the distant future with so many years left to relearn. It was yesterday, but it felt like forever, stretching away into the past, a scene endlessly receding. And the words of the book had told her, clearly as if she had read the words in English or in French, “Do not covet.” Now that she had, she thought she would never return to her time again. From the past. Was there nothing else to assuage her heart?
Uncertain Stride:
Tonya walked in place and took in the cool crisp air as she
warmed up to start her morning run. Sixty seconds in she took off. She moved to
the rhythm of the beat of Missy Elliot’s latest hit blaring in her ear.
She waved back at the elderly couple who sashayed by her.
Consumed by her workout, every step she took consumed her full attention. She
noticed someone ahead moving around in the wooded area up ahead. She felt a
sudden sense of uneasiness and slowed her pace to observe the activity. The
strange man dressed in an all-black warm-up suit, black white sox cap and big
dark shades step out of the woods and onto the trail. He treaded into a slow
jog, moving in her direction.
She could hear her own heartbeat from the
anxiety that was building up inside of her. She didn’t know if she should turn
and dart in the other direction or play it cool and continue her pace past the
suspect stranger.
We all hated school at some point. Some of us have even fallen into depression on Sunday nights because let us face it, every Monday was a damn nightmare. Assignments, projects, seminars, record works, and the worst of all, exams.Monstrous blood sucking due dates made us puke. Math killed us. History tortured us. The number of times we thought ‘if I had a knife i would stab those bloody scientists right through their stomach’ during lectures were apparently uncountable. Still every day we pick ourselves up and drag ourselves into our schools just because there were some filthy idiots waiting for us there. When i say filthy idiots, i mean it in the sweetest way possible though. Those people without whom we would have never survived our school days.Our friends <3.
They laugh at you for no reason. They boo boo your lame jokes. They irritate you to that point where you just want to kill yourself. They borrow stuffs from you and you never see it again.They call you the weirdest things. They steal you lunch boxes. They pass dirty jokes on paper bits during class hours. In short, they made your drastically horrible school days to memories you can cherish forever.
If you ask me, I wouldn't address them as friends. I would probably go with "ah those bloody retards". They loved me , my bunch of idiots. They stood with me through thick and thin. They defended me in my absence.They never ever tried to hurt me. They humiliated me always but the moment somebody else did it they turned against them. They made plans to form a band with me during my history teacher's unending lectures on World War 2 and Hitler and what not. They lied for me. They got into trouble for me. They owned me and i owned them and that is all we cared about back then. Now when i look back i feel i haven't thanked them enough.My vocabulary falls short every time i try to describe what they meant to me. So i guess i would just leave it right here 🙂
Rain is falling down to wash our sins after months of being decieved by evil who decorated every filthy way by which we disobey our maker,merciful God, who created us in the first place and we can’t imagine one breathe without him .Rain is a symbol for hope that comes after ages of darkness .I am determined to write the most beautiful words in this magnificent moment so as to be read by wonderful people who like to appreciate the one’s skills . Water fills the floor with ditinctive spots , carrying within splendid qualities of human being, from love, mercy, tolerance , forgiveness, to passion , which fantastic writers won’t be ever tired of spending time using their precious ink to express their thoughts which are to make the history of the abcoming generation. These kids are worth every word of my pen , every miniite of my time , every drop of my ink , every coin of money , and every immortal thought of my wide imagination to write the history of our age so that these gifted boys grow up knowing that their parents, or ancestors , didn’t spare one piece of effort while deciding the future by paintings drown by knights, not painters as supposed, who carried the sword of hard work, the shield of determination , and the helmet of passion so as to bring up all the hidden skills to team up together, serving one goal that is to fullfil the message we are created for and to be the person you really wanted to become, which in my opinion is the biggest challenge human has ever faced in the entire life. Why writing in this moment is special is a question not be answered by ordinary words since they are not good enough to describe the indescribable .Friends are every where , making the noise of life , and laughing at the simple things most people usually don’t notice. what an amazing memorable moment that is worth consume my emotions to create distinguished words , pulling the attentions to these small seconds in which we feel the beauty of our lives .In my point of view, blood should be shed to write the exciting details of our moments
Can I still talk?
It has been a while for now. I am not entirely sure where the reasons lie or what causes them. It is a rather huge pickle. I am constantly loosing the ability to speak. This event keeps driving me crazy. I cannot remember when it has started. The issue just keeps growing. The mind steadily is rising the walls. It is shutting behind bars, locks and chains. The person inside is frightened and lost.
“Why is it happening to me?”, he asks himself day and day regularly.”Is there not enough sunshine above my head? Am I always alone? Do I not travel enough? I do read a great number of books, don’t I?”, reckons the man. “I can laugh alone see joy in small details that make me happy all the time. So, why you that resides in me cannot share that joy with other kindred souls?”
“I do share my thoughts. However, all the things I say change in various ways as soon as they leave my mouth. A metamorphosis happens. The words twist and swirl the main message. Therefore, the story is no longer the same joyful image from our head.”, answers he.”the vivid colours, adventures of the lifetime, songs of the ages. None of these are left as it was in our head”, continues he,”should I continue this list? Should I enlarge this loss of ours?”
“Stop it!”, I snapped,” I know this already. This is old news. Old ashes that should have been carried away in wind.”, the mind trails off in that moment without finishing the sentence.
I am confused how to write, i have many experiences but how become the best writer?, i feel has many mistakes when i want to write and i am very nerves because i think my grammar is so bad. Can you give sites or book that can help me become a writer?.
May this is about what i feel and i think this my project has many mistakes and thanks for your feedback and may be you can can give suggestion what about i have to do.
You know that movie The Bucket List? Everyone talks of bucket lists now. What’s your bucket list? I never had a bucket list. I’ve had just a vague sort of wanting occasionally surfacing to mind of interesting sounding things.
My friend Jody and I got to talking one day. She is 58 and she doesn’t feel so hot anymore. There’s psoriasis down her left arm. Looks like spilled ketchup left to dry. If she checks behind her to see if the oven’s turned off and, at the same time, opens the back door…whoops, there she is on her knees. Me, I’m 55 and I’ve been sick half my life with arthritis and a twisted back. Anyway, we kind of think we should just throw our dried up old selves into the wind and see which way we dance.
“Who cares?” Jody said. “We may not have much life left. What does it matter what anyone thinks or if they think we’re demented or not?”
Her cockeyed left eye winked
“I’d love to do some of that kooky stuff I dreamed of, but I don’t know if I can. Everything hurts.”
“But everything hurts whether you do anything or not.”
I thought about this. All those times I had to grit my way through the yard work or had to force myself to keep going just to reach my parked car and drive home. You may be thinking, “Yard work!” But hey, it’s a giant mountain when you’re in pain. My grandmother had this. My Dad said he could remember her every morning rubbing her hands, the tears dripping onto the countertop. But then she would fry the eggs, and scrape the bacon grease into the lard can and scrub the dishes and all else that had to be done.
“You know, good point! I’ve never had a bucket list but if I thought hard enough I can probably remember some things that I’ve come back to time and again and those could be on my list.”
Jody grabbed our empty coffee cups and went to get us refills. “We’re going to need sustenance to put this together.” She pulled out the donuts and paper towels and rummaged round in the junk drawer for some pens.
Hello S,
I don’t know exactly how long it’s been since the last time, but I know its time to write another letter. I’ve been in the hospital and I want to make sure that you know our contract isn’t broken. Writing this has been the first thing I’ve done since I woke up, in fear that I’d been out for too long and missed a deadline. We both know that I don’t want that to happen, and since I’m just listing off things I know let’s try another one. Shall we?
I know that right now you’re sitting in that same old chair, with your feet resting in the notch in the wall that you’ve slowly worn down over the years to a perfect sized foothold; reading this letter with that same disgusting smirk on your face that you’ve had for so long. Strange enough I almost miss that house, if you can call it that. Nothing is the same here, out in the real world. There is so much that I could have done, so much I could have learned and become. The experiences, the education, the love, the laughter, the life. I missed it. I despise you for everything you did to me. The time I wasted down there. The time YOU forced me to waste in that godforsaken bunker can’t be relived or taken back. The part I understand the least is that I miss it. Down there everything was simpler. There were no other people to entertain or worry about or meet. It was just us, and well you know, but I’d rather never speak of that again. I know you can understand why.
This is all I can bear to write to you. You egotistical, narcissistic, sociopath. I want to reiterate that fact that I was in the hospital and unable to write any other letters. I am following the contract. I never want to see that bunker again. You know that. I know that. No one else should ever find out. I will send another brief letter soon. I hope you die in that hole of yours and I hope it happens soon.
Wishing you a long and painful death,
Thalia Bartanellio
Sitting
here reflecting, wondering what if my classmates never bullied me.
Where would I be? Would I have my children if life’s circumstances
didn’t shove me into the path it did? Where are those who made my Junior
High School years miserable? Did they succeed? Do they remember me and
regret their actions? Hmmm, probably not. As
a Christian I know I need to forgive those who have offended me and
most of the time I don’t even think about them. Yet have I truly
forgiven if I still remember when my mind isn’t occupied? God knows that
I love Him and I love people. Life’s struggles have molded me into a
very compassionate and giving human being. This is why I look back and
wonder would I change anything if I could?
At the age of eleven I was a
Christian who’s outfits were still selected by my mother. This made me
stand out among the others. While everyone wore name brand jeans here I
was with a white button-up blouse and checkered white and blue skirt. I
laugh as I think back at how clueless I was. I was so protected from the
world I knew nothing. I was an innocent child who still played with
dolls in middle school. Some of the boys would grab my rear and three
girls hit me whenever they had a chance. They ridiculed me in class and
no one helped. One day those three girls started swinging towels and
hitting me on my face in front of the classroom and I fought back. I was
on the ground while the three hit me. I think back and wonder where
were the teachers? In another occasion they tore my shirt while I was
in the stairwell. There was this boy who saw that I had bent over to
pick up a pencil from the floor and he kicked me up my behind so hard I
spent months not being able to sit correctly. As I shared these memories
with my mother just a few days ago I wondered why I never went to her.
As the bullying continued I began to cut classes. I didn’t want to be
there any longer. My personality began to be affected by all the misery.
I started drinking and smoking and not showing up to class. I was now a
troubled teen who’s mother had to be called into school constantly. If
only help would have arrived sooner we could have avoided my downward
spiral. I no longer cared about anything, I began to stay out of school
for weeks at a time. I also changed at home, my mother no longer had
control over me. I began to disappear for days at a time just to have
the freedom to do as I pleased.
My drinking and drugging while on an
empty stomach affected my mind terribly. Everywhere I turned people
pointed and laughed at me, at least it’s what I saw. Trash bags on the
sidewalks transformed into giant water bugs. I thank God that I still
have my sanity because others have not been so fortunate. I will never
forget the time when I had to meet my friend Billy to return his jacket.
I reached his place and leaned on a car while I waited. I looked into
the car and saw three old ladies pointing their fingers and laughing at
me. I looked away and then back only to see the car was unoccupied. Then
I saw Billy coming towards me so I stretched out my arm and said
“here’s your jacket” but my arm went right through him and dropped. I
wonder now who witnessed that and how crazy I must have looked. I was
just thirteen years old when this happened. I can now look at people who are on the streets having a conversation with someone we can’t see with understanding
and compassion. I know there is hope for them. A couple of weeks later I
was admitted into a mental ward for almost two months. While in there I
attracted a young guy who became obsessed with me. Here I was locked in
with him. He was so violent that he attacked my psychiatrist during a
jealous rage. I made it through that ordeal and was released. I returned
to school but continued to cut school with my two best friends Rosie
and Alva. About three months after being released my friends and I were
smoking weed and drinking instead of being in school. Afterwards we had
decided to go to the park as we always did. The difference this day was
that instead of Rosie and I crossing the highway as usual (while Alva
crossed the overpass), I was busy talking to someone else therefore
Rosie grabbed Alva. Alva was struggling trying to let go and yelling
“No! no!”. We were drunk and thought it was funny. As the other friend
and I talked, I glanced at Rosie and Alva, I saw them running reaching
the highway divider. As I looked away I heard a loud Boom! and just froze as I
saw Rosie up in the air and land almost a block away in her face. We ran
towards her. Our other friend turned her over and her teeth were caved
in. Blood gushed out of her mouth. In shock I look around and see Alva
on top of the metal divider. She looked like a rag doll, she was
screaming in pain but alive. My God how I miss Rosie! She went into a
coma and her family decided to let her go. Life has not been the same
for Alva and myself without Rosie. A few months after her death I
dropped out of school. Never made it to the ninth grade but did get my
GED in 2006. I am a single mom of four and thankful to God for helping
me make it through all those obstacles. There are more experiences to share but will pause here.
Buckets of Wonderment is a fine example of a “work ” that embodies soul. The story transcends geographical location, race, class and ethnicity and illuminates the universality of women’s lived experiences. The reader experiences a sense of leisure and tranquility afforded a passenger on a cruise ship, to disembark at will at any port of call, to drink In the wonderment found there before embarking on the next leg of the journey. A beautiful read!
Rain is falling down to wash our sins after months of being decieved by evil who decorated every filthy way by which we disobey our maker,merciful God, who created us in the first place and we can’t imagine one breathe without him .Rain is a symbol for hope that comes after ages of darkness .I am determined to write the most beautiful words in this magnificent moment so as to be read by wonderful people who like to appreciate the one’s skills . Water fills the floor with ditinctive spots , carrying within splendid qualities of human being, from love, mercy, tolerance , forgiveness, to passion , which fantastic writers won’t be ever tired of spending time using their precious ink to express their thoughts which are to make the history of the abcoming generation. These kids are worth every word of my pen , every miniite of my time , every drop of my ink , every coin of money , and every immortal thought of my wide imagination to write the history of our age so that these gifted boys grow up knowing that their parents, or ancestors , didn’t spare one piece of effort while deciding the future by paintings drown by knights, not painters as supposed, who carried the sword of hard work, the shield of determination , and the helmet of passion so as to bring up all the hidden skills to team up together, serving one goal that is to fullfil the message we are created for and to be the person you really wanted to become, which in my opinion is the biggest challenge human has ever faced in the entire life. Why writing in this moment is special is a question not be answered by ordinary words since they are not good enough to describe the indescribable .Friends are every where , making the noise of life , and laughing at the simple things most people usually don’t notice. what an amazing memorable moment that is worth consume my emotions to create distinguished words , pulling the attentions to these small seconds in which we feel the beauty of our lives .In my point of view, blood should be shed to write the exciting details of our moments
She’s been running all her life. Unlike others who plow through their obstacles, she ran. Although there comes a time when people stop running and decide to face their fears/obstacles. If only do overs were possible.
She was running but she was tired of running. She thought she finally had something worth holding on to, worth staying for. The past has an ugly way of showing it’s ugly face. Something she ran away from many many years ago has caught up and it is a shit storm.
Something happens to people when they’re cornered. The fight or flight response is triggered and well in this case, there’s no flight option anymore, just fight. But how do you fight something that you’ve always ran away from?
It helps when there are people around you that can support you. Friends, and family who can understand. But what about if there aren’t any and you’re alone in your battle. Will you still fight even if you’re bound to fail? yes? I don’t know the answer to that because I’m the one who has been running for a long time. Mind you I don’t like to “run” but I seem to run from everything else. It’s a pretty bad habit I’ve had which I only realized now.
I wish I could have a do over, but I can’t . Life doesn’t work that way. It would be too easy of it did. I’ll have to put on my big girl panties and come at life with everything that I’ve got.
The truth is that I’m afraid of failing. Ever since I was a child, people around me always had certain expectations. Expectations that, back then, I could still fulfill. As I grew older, the expectations and the pressure grew. I wish I could just tell them all to fuck off. Easier written than done.
I don’t know when I’ll stop running, but I want to stop. I want to just stand and take a deep breath, enjoy the view, walk leisurely and enjoy every moment. Our time on this world is limited and I don’t want it to be a race towards the end. I want to savor each moment. Is that too much to ask?
Emily in the Hole
Ray Bagley made a wish. He looked down. Nothing had changed. He was deep in it. He had to stifle the urge to gulp. He wanted to reach up to his brow and swipe at the little drop of perspiration tickling at his skin. Outside, hurricane Irene tried at the window seals and the door frames, and the whole pier seemed to sway with the wind. The light fitting above the table
with its little brass cherubs swung in small movements making shadows wave and nod in quick time. Near enough three grand in large size notes lay in the middle of the table. In the pile, a set of car keys lay out of reach too. They were his. He needed to bluff this like a pro or he was going to be so far in the hole he would never get out. He had a three and a seven of clubs. It was all high-end Diamonds in the turn. Not so much as a twitch could be afforded. To his left, the
bulk that was Detective Inspector Jerry ( Big J) Collins C.I.D (Ret) set down his Davidoff Cigar and blew a thick cloud of white smoke into the middle of the table. To his right, the circumspect Sgt. Tony Anders (Ret) or Popey as he was called rearranged his chips. He was an original from Jerry’s class of 86. The late Superintendent Charmers; God rest his soul, had remarked that Anders looked like Pius XII especially with his thick lenses. Desk sergeants from all over Kent constabulary referred to him as “Popey” ever after. Front left and on the other side of the round gaming table was D.C Kevin Lederer. Thirty-five and lean-hungry for the chase, he sat next
to the empty chair of D.C James Porter. Porter was otherwise engaged and had been so for nearly five minutes. He was holding up the game and prolonging the agony for one Detective sergeant holding out like the Alamo in the face of certain annihilation. If he didn’t get his
money back he may be looking at losing the house and continuing the investigation of the missing Dartnell brothers, from a friends couch. Big Jerry re-lit his Grand Cru and waved out the match in three rapid strokes. Eighteen games of poker had proven that this signified not a
blessed thing as far as his game went. Win or lose, Big J had to have his stogie. Big J, however, was not known for his patience. ‘ Porter! He yelled. Get your arse in ere boy!. There was no answer from the toilets. They were off to the left beyond the antique and now silent One Arm
Bandits and the motionless figurine of Ahmed the teller of fortunes in his glass case. With his thread-bare and dulled red turban, he was as old as the pier that had been built in 1851. His painted fire eyes stared down blindly awaiting one more seeker of fortune. After Ahmed
were the bat-wing doors leading to the rest-rooms. There was only a single bulb lighting the way there and the rest of the pier, closed for the Winter, remained in darkness. C.I.D had been playing poker here since time out of mind. Big J and Popey were the only two left of the original crew. ‘ What’ve you got Big J, a couple of aces? Asked Kevin, leaning over his own cards. ‘I know what I have is gathering dust!. Porter!. Ray wondered if Porter had a couple of duds
but just couldn’t fold. He was the dealer and quite happy with Popey’s small blind. Ray had put up as did the others. They had got the turn and Ray had seen a small glimmer of hope but then Porter, who had been looking peaky all evening had then excused himself rather sharpish. Big J had tried to stop him, saying that the game needed to be finished but Porter had bolted shouting that the turtles head was poking out. They had all laughed but as they listened to that hurricane out there screaming at the whole coast, the tension ramped up. They waited. Ray listened to the waves beat against the iron supports. A hollow moan in d-minor reverberated sounding like
inevitability. Ray wondered why he had to risk everything on the turn of a card. He had one broken marriage because of it and now hell sounded like it was coming for the rest of him. ‘ I think the ghost must have got him’. Said Popey. Kevin and J looked at him. ‘ You what? Asked Kevin leaning on his cards again. ‘ The ghost, you know, of Emily Blake’. Big J was thoughtful for a moment. ‘ You’re not talking about the women who jumped off the end of the pier are yer?
‘ Yes, the very same. In the Winter of Nineteen O three. They reckon that, now and then, she is seen by people who have made their money through wicked ways. Others say that they don’t see her but are suddenly lucky on the fruit machines or get a win on the roulette table’.
‘ You do come out with some old twaddle’ said Big J wedging the cigar back into his mouth. ‘ I assure you it is true’ said Popey removing his thick lenses. Again, this was significant of nothing as far as his game was concerned, and he began to clean them with his handkerchief. ‘ Mickey the fence saw her. He was making a tidy profit here for years but then one day he upped and
left without a backward glance. Scared him stupid, so they say. He moved to Sittingbourne and has been a recluse ever since’. He replaced the glasses like he had made his case for the defence and was letting it rest on that witness statement alone. ‘ Bollocks’ muttered Big J.
‘Well, that’s what I got from him and even his rivals ‘ Popey said smiling an unreadable smile.
‘ Porter’s a cheating bastard. I’ll bet he’s been scared to death on the lav.’ said Kevin picking up his phone. After a few moments of prodding at the screen, he said ‘Here it is. Ms Emily Blake of London Road died after throwing herself off the Pier at Margate. She was found after approximately three days in the water. The body had been severely disfigured by the time they got her out. February the twenty-eighth—today. A great gust lifted the roof and made the door to the promenade shake and rattle violently. Ray felt the skin tighten on his head. For a moment he dared imagine seeing a figure on the board-walk beyond the door or face at the window. The face of a woman, her bifurcated flesh after three days in the formless dark, white and hanging. There was another long reverberating sound of monstrous waves crashing into the uprights. ‘
Any witnesses?
‘ Dunno, I dont think so, J. Her husband said she was tired of life or something. He got her money.’
‘Oh yeah? I would have sent you and Ray here down to see if he wanted amened his statement.’ There was a sound like thunder or even breaking timber to the few still around the table as another gust shook the building. ‘Kevin, go and see what’s the matter, would you? Asked Big J resting his cigar. He made a sideways glance at Ray. ‘ You’re not about to shit your brains out as well are you Baggers? Ray felt himself slip further down into the hole. He had no chance of stealing the blind now. He would have to fold and resign himself to his dark fate. Maybe. Maybe
he could just as easily die owing and simply bet all he had left and go all the way down into the pit. He looked towards the door and wondered. If it came to it, would he take what was left of his train wreck of a life and walk out and then over the guard rail and down to the depths?. The thought even comforted him for a moment. Ray and Emily, floating in the sea, R.O.T.T.I.N.G.
From the left, beyond the bat-wing doors they heard Kevin cry out. ‘ Oh my God! He emerged holding a hand up to his mouth. His head moving from side to side, he seemed to stagger. Behind him, a white face appeared. ‘ Oh, my dear God! Kevin went on ‘ That stinks! Porter
sheepishly resumed his seat. ‘ I think I have destroyed the plumbing boys, sorry.’ His face paled even more under the lamp light as he picked up his cards. ‘ You make me wanna spit, Porter! Jerry shouted waving the air in-front of his face. Porter ignored that and dealt a
card from the top. They were in the river with a King of diamonds. He placed a bet and threw in another three hundred in. Popey folded. Now was the moment for Ray. He could actually feel the sea and the darkness down there calling him. He put the last of his money in. Big J folded, chucking his cards into the pile. Kevin put his money in. Ray felt dizziness begin to overtake him. The pier rocked with the storm as another hysterical shriek of gale force wind battered the
coast-land. The little brass cherubs; loves young dream, smiled their heartless smile. Porter suddenly showed his own cards. A pair of Kings. ‘ You little shit’ cried Big J. ‘ You spend half the night on the lav and then come out here with a pair of kings?
‘Wait a second, Ray hasnt shown his cards yet! shouted
Popey. Ray stood up shakily. The room seemed to swim in his vision and he thought he may pass out or throw up. The door beckoned. He looked down and saw a Jack of diamonds and then, sliding the bottom card into view, saw that was the Queen under there. For a moment the
wind dropped as if the storm itself had caught its breath and there was just silence. Then, ‘You saucy sod ‘ Big J uttered in disbelief. Kevin and Porters mouths gaped as Ray suddenly punched the air. ‘ Thank you Emily you beauty! he yelled grabbing at the cash and chips.
Popey smiled. Jerry spat.
The color of red is a color I thought I would never see. The
red on my hands, on my clothes. There is something about this color that makes
me want to see it more. I desire it. The color helps me escape from the pain
inside. the pain of losing someone very near and dear to me. My mother. My
mother is my love, my savior, my deliverer. She helped me with everything. The
pain of her death hurt me more than when my father died. He was an alcoholic
and it never accrued to me that he was hurting her. There is something about
him that I needed to find out. To know. I feel like he is hiding a secret about
my past. About my future. I sigh as I mentally cursed. Grabbing the blue towel
that was on the wall, I wiped the blood off of my hands. The blood of my next
victim, my next torture with no answers. I looked at the man. His face blooded,
covered in burn marks, no more hair, or eyes. I chuckle as I remember what this
man looked like. He was my mother’s murderer. He took away my sunshine,
forcefully, ungratefully.
I wanted revenge, and revenge I got with a price. Luckily, I
did this in secret. I looked down at my bloody clothes. I sighed, pissed that I
ruined another outfit. I walked out of the room, my basement. The gray walls
were transitioned into a red and white wall. I sigh again as I walked all the
way to my bathroom, taking off my shirt in the process. I walked into my
bedroom, the bash walls tormenting me with its color. I looked at a closed door
that was across the room. I walked over to the bathroom, shutting and locking
the door in the process. I took off the rest of my clothes and turned on the
shower to hot. I looked in the mirror, my brown hair a clumped mess. I messed
with my hair to try to get all of the knots out. I looked to my right, where
the area full of steam was starting to rise. I walked over to the bathtub, and
walked in. I shut the curtain and looked at the brown tiles that covered this
area. I grabbed the shampoo bottle and poured its contents on my hands. I put
it in my hair and scrubbed it in my hair. I sighed in pure bliss, all the tense
muscles in my body become loose as I scrubbed my hair harder. I finally thought
that my hair was clean and rinsed it under the pressure of the water. I was
about to wash my body as I heard a knock on my door. “Sir, you need to hurry up
with your shower.” I sigh as I turned off the water.
This is a small memoir of a youthful indiscretion. It might be upsetting for some as I tried to present the unvarnished truth, more for my own sake than for sake of the story.
I can’t remember all the teachers names so I have used the nicknames we used and that will need to suffice.
——-
Notes from a foolish youth
I was in 2nd year of secondary school, I attended a local public school called Colaiste Eanna. It was my choice to attend this school, which involved massive fights between me and my dad…my mom weighing in on my side more to get at my dad than for my sake. My dad had wanted to send me to a rugby school where I would finally be how he wanted me to be and play the sport he loved. I was raging against loses I couldn’t understand leading from my parents’ separation, trying to prove to my dad that I didn’t need him anymore than he apparently didn’t need us. It was a mistake to attend Colaiste Eanna but one that I was too immature to avoid.
It was during a history class being taught by one of the last remaining teaching christian brothers, whom the kids called Benny. We all made up terrible stories about how he molested boys who got out of line or came from abusive homes. No one had ever seen him do anything but we were sure nonetheless. Benny was teaching that day and not that it makes a difference but I probably wouldn’t have done anything if it had of been any other teacher because I would have been too afraid.
I was sitting with John Kelly, another semi posh kid like myself trying to find a persona that wouldn’t be ridiculed by the working class boys. The only rule really was that you couldn’t be yourself, that would have been social suicide…or so I thought at the time. We were amusing ourselves by using a ruler to flick things at Benny while his back was turned, just little bits of paper or rubber. Nothing too big lest he actually feel it but enough so that other boys would see it and know how cool we were.
Tom Mangan, who was sitting in front of me turning around and spitting on a ruler and pretending to flick it at Benny. This started us down a road of flicking spit (yes, it’s as gross as it sounds), nobody was actually trying to hit Benny with the spit, just pretending to do so for humourous effect (humour in the eyes of little boys is not funny to anyone else really). I always had an issue with seeing boundaries before I crossed them, often only realising I was past them after I had gone too far. This was to be one of those times.
I loaded the end of my rule with spit, pretended to flick it a few times. I don’t know what got into my head but I decided to actually do it, I flicked a bit of spit on the back of Benny’s jacket. Not much but a line had been crossed. This led to John Kelly following suit, we both flicked several little spits on Benny’s back. The rest of the class obviously noticed this and a rumble of snickering and cajoling started making its way around the room. With each murmur I saw that far off boundary recede away from me, each snigger was a shot to the gut. A mounting sense of doom took hold of me as realised that I had done this to person not the school clown we pretended Benny to be in the schoolyard.
For his part Benny was getting more and more agitated with the class rowdiness, he told them to be quiet, started threatening those who wouldn’t comply and trying to keep everyone focused on the matter at hand. The class ended before he could get really angry, which I initially thought was good thing but the crowd around me after he left made things far worse. The depth of the trouble I was about to experience became clear when one of the worst students in class admiringly remarked that “ he would never be man enough to do that”. Oh dear, that guy had been suspended three times that year already. I was panicking inside but attempting to put on a brave face….I didn’t even hear what the others were saying after a while but their nervous excitement fed into my building sense of despair. Mr Durney arrived for the next class which helped remove the external noise but did to quell my internal monologue. My stomach was churning, I was sweating and my mind awash with worry. About 10 minutes into class our vice principal, Mr O’Reilly, walked in with a serious expression and asked Mr Durney if he could interrupt.
Mr O’Reilly was a classic product of the Irish education system; wry, witty and tough as they come but also fair in his application of the rules. He didn’t go into detail, just simply stated that someone in the previous class had done something to the Brother and that they should own up for it now or else things would be a lot worse. It was nearly a relief to stick up my hand to own up for the action, which I did after his second warning. Mr O’Reilly took me out of class and with more dignity than I deserved brought promptly down to the principal’s office in silence.
Benny was nowhere to be seen as the principal, Mr Vaughan, came in looking stern, he signalled for me to enter his office with him. He sat me down and told me to explain what had happened, and attempted to get me to say why it had happened. I answered him truthfully on the first part with the exception leaving out anything that might incriminate John (Colaiste Eanna had a prison feel for me and I had assumed the TV criminal’s creed of never narking). I could give no answer on the second part, I still struggle to understand why I did it except out of some cruel carelessness that I tapped into day. My parents were rung, I had to explain it all over to my mom through tears this time as the immensity of the situation dawned on me. Mr Vaughan helped explain where I couldn’t pluck up the courage. I will never forget the look in my mom’s face, not disgust or anger but pity.
I got suspended for three days and had to write a letter of apology to Benny. I still couldn’t explain why in the letter but tried to convey my shame at the actions I had taken. I don’t know how Benny took the letter as I was asked to never raise it with him, at his request but I thank him for his understanding. You see this was a turning point for me, besides the suspension I wasn’t massively punished by the school and the teachers; in fact I was helped. They didn’t have the resources of other schools but they did have sports programmes so I was conscripted in the athletics programme by Mr Fanning as a way to keep me occupied. Mr Fanning also advised my mom to get me into reading and suggested the first young adult book I should read, The Eyes of The Dragon by Stephen King, kicking off a new reading phase in my life.
I know that if Benny had been a lesser person there would not have been these attempts at redeeming me, instead there would have been an expulsion and a massive upheaval in my life. This event coloured all of my behaviour in future years in school, although it definitely didn’t turn me into a star pupil it made me see my teachers through different eyes and no matter what I thought of a teacher’s personality I never again did anything to interfere with their space and person. To this day I remember the Brother’s actions after this incident anytime someone does anything that, intentionally or unintentionally, negatively affects me and I try my hardest to be as forgiving as Benny was to me.
This is so good! I loved it!
I really enjoyed this! Well done 🙂
The weather was beautiful and Jess and Tad are taking their regular walk into the woods holding hands. They enjoy the trees and the arrival of the spring birds. Jess looks up and points to the bird above her in the highest tree. Ted turns around to look up at the bird she is pointing to.
Jess taking a step forward and gives out a soft scream holding her hand over her mouth. Tad spins around and grabs Jess to keep her from falling. Tad looks down to see a man’s body lying across the path. He reaches down and places his hand on him. He feels the man to see if he is still alive. Tad slowly rises and stands up with a frown on his face and gives a large sigh. “He’s dead.”
Jess backs away with her hand over her mouth again. “What now?”
“We have to contact the police. I have my cell phone but can’t use it here. We must hurry back to the pasture and hopefully the cell phone will work there.
They take off as fast as they can to reach the pasture.
Jess walked as fast as she could but had to step carefully between the many rocks and boulders. Tad, being taller was able to take larger steps and was able to make a greater distance in from of Jess. He was in an extreme rush to get to an area that he can call the Police.
As they continued down the hill Jess heard Ted make a sharp call. As she stopped and looked ahead she saw Tad was lying on top of some boulders. He wasn’t moving. She attempted to walk faster than before still being careful to reach safely where Ted was laying.
It seemed like she was taking a very long time to reach him. By the time she was almost to his side she saw that he was awake and had waived his hand. She took a few more steps and finally reached him. She bends down and placed her hands on Ted’s hands.
“Ted are you okay?” I saw that you had fallen and came as soon as I could.”
Ted grabs her hand and gives it a strong squeeze. He manages to answer her. “I think I broke my leg.” He then leaned his head down on the boulder at his side. “I think I landed on top of the cell phone too, it might be broken.
Jess kisses Ted on his forehead then scoots down closer to Ted’s leg. She bends down and sees that Ted’s leg is twisted. She scoots up to Ted’s head. She tries to smile but can’t. She touches Ted’s shoulder. He turns his head toward her.
“I think your leg might be broken. If not you still won’t be able to get up or walk.”
Ted closed his eyes and had a frightened face.
15min went by fast.
The sky had a grey hue. The clouds buried the sun leaving a grey hue. The wind was weak. It blew only so often, and when it did the trees hisss’d or one could call it a cry. One would only see a faint glow reaching pat the trees canopy of leaves. The silence could be peaceful or dismal. The poor wretch would perceive the latter as he stared down death. He wore a nice jet black that did not match his countenance. But the anguish that possessed his features stained his countenance before he stumbled upon the corpse.
this is just an excerpt from my story trying to set the scene:
Alone stood a little wooden house in Washington state with rickety wooden steps leading to the stained glass door and an old gnarled apple tree in the front yard with a spectacular garden in the back. Well this garden wasn’t so much a garden as it was the wild flowers that grow in the area and the white picket fence positively overgrown with weeds standing overlooking the woods engulfing the house, but this natural ruggedness is what gave it its beauty. In the attic room of this little house lived a girl or a young lady rather who was about to wake to the sound of the rain pitter-pattering against her windows and the smell of bacon wafting up from the kitchen below. “Melanie breakfast” called the oh so familiar voice of her mother from downstairs.
My First Story
STUMBLING ACROSS A DEAD BODY IN THE WOOD
A lady called Sandy took her usual walk in the forest. Just
few minutes before she goes deeper in the bush, she discovered something
unusual. She saw an object that she could not well identify with. Moving
closer, she realized it was an old man. Thinking that the man was just napping
or may have passed out, she greeted, :’hi there”. Again she said, hello do you need help. She
kneeled down and realized that there were no signs of live.
Her eyes were wide open and so was her mouth. She shouted
oh, my God, Oh my God. Next, she started running really fast from one direction
to another, shouting Help, help, help. Whilst running she could not help
turning back to see if there was anyone behind her. Infront of her was a small
pond and a wharthog came in the same direction. As scared as she was she
shouted, oh noooo! And then she fell in the pond because in her mind, she
thought the body will rise and follow her.
She swam her way out crying still for help and looking
behind still. There was an animal sound and that too just scared her even more.
She ran up hill and luckily came across the a couple. The man asked, hey there. She got so
frightened as she only heard a voice and did not see the couple yet. She
screemed, whaw and done she fell.
The couple pulled closer to her rescue. She was still in
schock and scared as hell. Just pointing
the direction of the body. The man said: “common, tell us what is happening.”
Then she went like uuuhm, uhhhm I saw a dead man in the forest. The lady with
the man’s eyes got big and said, oh my God,: “a dead man?
The man then said, where did you see that. She then just
said right in that direction. The man told his wife, Caroline, shall we
see. His wife then said let’s get the
police to come. Then the man said, well what if he is still alive. Then the
wife said, well you go see, I will remain right here. In the debating process
the warthog again came running and then then Calorine screemed and fell to the
ground.
The man said, hey you little trouble maker! Helped get his
wife up and asked if both ladies were ok. He called the police and asked them both,
common let’s get out and wait for the police on the road. Both ladies quite had
it for the day and must have a good story to tell.
In a split decision, I decided to take Black Jack out for a ride and to relax on his back as much as possible. He is a skittish horse but a wonderful ride when you put him into his gait. We decided to go down the road behind my neighbor’s house. It was a gas well road and rough. The only
creatures that use it are those of us to like to sit the back of a horse. And the, lone black bear out for food, coyotes stealing neighbor’s chickens or cats, and the owls as dusk starts to turn the night dark.
It had been a beautiful day and quite warm for an April day. Last evening it rained harder than I ever remember. It can down in washtubs. I waved at Mitch as I led Blackjack to the mounting block. He told me his favorite words. Be careful, I love you.
I like to pretend that I am an Indian scout finding different tracks that can be attached to local animals. So I was excited with the idea I might see a bear track or bobcat track in the soft ground. I knew it would be a quick ride since dark was setting in quickly. I was surprised to see vehicle tracks in the area. I couldn’t tell if they were from a truck, an ATV, or something else.
Heading into the west, sunset was settling in.
I had never in my lifetime seen such a dark, crimson sunset. It gave a red glow to everything around it. I was watching the sunset and thinking I was only about one mile from the barn when Blackjack let out snort and reared on his back legs. When he came down, he turned in a 180◦
spin around and I went out of the saddle. My head and face landed on something puffed which I was thankful for eventhough, I had worn my helmet. I felt my body to make sure nothing was broken when my hand touched another hand. I set straight up and when I turned my head there it laid. A dead mutilated body drenched in the crimson red of the sunset.
The white of the eyes glowed red and the opened mouth showed red teeth. It was then this gut wrenching scream came from the lower part of my abdomen and Blackjack headed home. I looked at the body and screamed even longer and louder. Thinking, “Thank God, you can’t wake the dead.”
I started running back from whence I came when my neighbor and Mitch heard me scream and saw Blackjack run to his stable. They took a look at the badly swollen body and called the police.
Ready, Aim, Fire!
The doorbell ringing in the middle of the night had become a habit for the drug-filled kids at the park near my home. Forty years in the same neighborhood meant nothing to these junior thugs. The crime rate had spiked off the charts in the past four months. Armed robberies, car jackings, mail and package theft in broad daylight the norm, blatant thefts with no regard for ownership or right, just to feed the drug habits of the City’s young and middle class.
Enough was enough for this resident. The gun shooting and ownership class six months ago a distant memory, but the notion of a home invasion ruining each night’s sleep now was too much to bear without a balance of power. Stay on your side of the wall and survive, enter my homestead and perish.
The manager of the indoor shooting range knew me, I knew the owner. They all recommended a larger caliber gun, but I refused. Having never shot a pistol, the .22 caliber seemed plenty to me. I insisted on the red laser pointer from the tip of the barrel to the villain. I had no stomach for an encounter, but neither did I relish being the victim my neighbors read about the next morning in my hood.
A lawyer by trade, business, not criminal was no help. I learned the basic New Mexico law of self- defense and what it meant 40 years ago in law school, of little help now in the asphalt jungle of Albuquerque’s searing summer of stolen property and invasion of privacy.
A concealed carry permit a recommended asset meant nothing to this peaceful denizen of the Hill neighborhood. What started as a peaceful play to live and play had turned into a circus of not whether, but when they would attack and how much damage they would inflict, wounds mortal or deathly.
A libertarian from birth and a social liberal, the mere possession of this pistol offended everything I had ever stood for or believed. But the terror of reading each day on the Hill’s website what they had done to my innocent friends and long-time neighbors made my blood curdle and my sleep non-existent.
When the kids were around there was no chance of a gun in this abode. Ten years later, and crimes against humanity I had never expected to confront now, it was as necessary as milk and cereal, dog food and cat food. I hid it under the bed in a special case so the cleaning person would never see it. I practiced once a month for two hours and despite being elderly, with fuzzy sight and slight hearing loss, I knew if it came down to them or me, I would not go silently into the night.
The alarm system meant nothing, it only told me when they were coming for me, not whether, nor what to do when the alarm went off. Sure enough, their rehearsed doorbell rings tolled the bell for me this Tuesday at 4 a.m. and they quickly broke the lock on the screen door and with a pipe wrench broke both the key lock and the splintering of the door jamb quickly followed.
I was readier than I could ever have imagined. Gun in hand, the dogs barking furiously, but of no help, I crouched behind the twin bed and turned off the safety, slippery index finger trying to stay on the trigger guard, before placing it on the trigger. I heard them laughing as they entered, a lark to them, my life to me.
They cased the house and it was less than a minute before the dogs followed them into the master bedroom, one behind the other. The red light of the laser shined upon the chest of the first intruder. Instinctively I fired three shots and heard nothing, the second thief turned and ran, no sound coming from his partner in front.
Ambrosia was running in the woods one foggy, October evening and she spots something up ahead on the path and as she gets closer, she stumbles upon a body! She screams and puts her hand over her mouth and fights back the urge to throw up. She quickly grabs her phone out of her back pocket and as her hands are shaking, she dials 911 and slowly turns around to see if anyone is nearby. The 911 dispatcher comes on the line and she proceeds to tell them what she sees. As she talks, her voice is shaky and barely audible. She looks at the body again and notices it is a man and his grey t-shirt is soaked in blood. She slowly bends down to see if she can see him breathing and asks if he is ok. When she notices he is not moving, she knows then that he is dead. She tells the dispatcher her location and is told to stay where she is and there would be help on the way.
As the shock starts to wear off, she suddenly becomes afraid that the killer may be close and watching her. She tells herself that she is never going to run by herself anymore especially not in the evening. She did not intend to be out so late but she lost track of time and was enjoying the scenery and was also listening to her favorite book on her phone. Time seemed to creep by and she was starting to worry that the police would not be able to locate her and she would be stuck with this body for hours. She looked at her phone and noticed that only 10 minutes had passed since the 911 operator mentioned that help was on the way. She said a silent prayer for the man and his family that was probably home and worried about where he was and why he had not called home yet. Who was he? Was he married? Does he have anyone at home waiting for him or did he live alone? Does he have any children? She could only hope that they would be able to cope with the loss of their loved one. She heard sirens in the distance and was relieved as they drew closer and that she would finally be able to go home and put this day behind her which she knew was not going to come easy and it would haunt her for the rest of her life.
Suddenly, he applied brakes in the middle of night , somebody is toppled
on the road . We panicked as there are number of cases of mugging ,
people try to decieve in order to get money.Heart was racing and brain
was predicting at high rate , who the person is ? who did it? another
hit and run case? if reported then we had to log through police
unnecessarily? if some mugger is there? if he had a gun? should I go and
check ? Heart and thoughts were racing at same rate .Darkness cripples
you ,She was not moving , face was on opposite side of car’s engine ,
yellow kurta and green lowers .We gazed at each other in the car trying
to find to what we should do as no blood was there so possibility
increases that we are stepping into another mugging story.She was still
and her hair were scattered and mostly covering her face . I took the
courage and was trying to step out but then Somu asked me to call police
first .We called police and unexpectedly somebody smashed on the window
.We left in haste without hurting the
so called coprse .
Sitting here reflecting, wondering what if my classmates never bullied me. Where would I be? Would I have my children if life’s circumstances didn’t shove me into the path it did? Where are those who made my Junior High School years miserable? Did they succeed? Do they remember me and regret their actions? Hmmm, probably not.
As a Christian I know I need to forgive those who have offended me and most of the time I don’t even think about them. Yet have I truly forgiven if I still remember when my mind isn’t occupied? God knows that I love Him and I love people. Life’s struggles have molded me into a very compassionate and giving human being. This is why I look back and wonder would I change anything if I could? At the age of eleven I was a Christian who’s outfits were still selected by my mother. This made me stand out among the others. While everyone wore name brand jeans here I was with a white button-up blouse and checkered white and blue skirt. I laugh as I think back at how clueless I was. I was so protected from the world I knew nothing. I was an innocent child who still played with dolls in middle school. Some of the boys would grab my rear and three girls hit me whenever they had a chance. They ridiculed me in class and no one helped. One day those three girls started swinging towels and hitting me on my face in front of the classroom and I fought back. I was on the ground while the three hit me. I think back and wonder where were the teachers? In another occasion they tore my shirt while I was in the stairwell. There was this boy who saw that I had bent over to pick up a pencil from the floor and he kicked me up my behind so hard I spent months not being able to sit correctly. As I shared these memories with my mother just a few days ago I wondered why I never went to her. As the bullying continued I began to cut classes. I didn’t want to be there any longer. My personality began to be affected by all the misery. I started drinking and smoking and not showing up to class. I was now a troubled teen who’s mother had to be called into school constantly. If only help would have arrived sooner we could have avoided my downward spiral. I no longer cared about anything, I began to stay out of school for weeks at a time. I also changed at home, my mother no longer had control over me. I began to disappear for days at a time just to have the freedom to do as I pleased. My drinking and drugging while on an empty stomach affected my mind terribly. Everywhere i turned people pointed and laughed at me, at least it’s what I saw. Trash bags on the sidewalks transformed into giant water bugs. I thank God that I still have my sanity because others have not been so fortunate. I will never forget the time when I had to meet my friend Billy to return his jacket. I reached his place and leaned on a car while I waited. I looked into the car and saw three old ladies pointing their fingers and laughing at me. I looked away and then back only to see the car was unoccupied. Then I saw Billy coming towards me so I stretched out my arm and said “here’s your jacket” but my arm went right through him and dropped. I wonder now who witnessed that and how crazy I must have looked. I was just thirteen years old when this happened. I can now look at people who are on the streets having a conversation with someone we can’t see with understanding and compassion. I know there is hope for them. A couple of weeks later I was admitted into a mental ward for almost two months. While in there I attracted a young guy who became obsessed with me. Here I was locked in with him. He was so violent that he attacked my psychiatrist during a jealous rage. I made it through that ordeal and was released. I returned to school but continued to cut school with my two best friends Rosie and Alva. About three months after being released my friends and I were smoking weed and drinking instead of being in school. Afterwards we had decided to go to the park as we always did. The difference this day was that instead of Rosie and I crossing the highway as usual (while Alva crossed the overpass), I was busy talking to someone else therefore Rosie grabbed Alva. Alva was struggling trying to let go and yelling “No! no!”. We were drunk and thought it was funny. As the other friend and I talked, I glanced at Rosie and Alva, I saw them running reaching the highway divider. As I looked away I heard Boom! and just froze as I saw Rosie up in the air and land almost a block away in her face. We ran towards her. Our other friend turned her over and her teeth were caved in. Blood gushed out of her mouth. In shock I look around and see Alva on top of the metal divider. She looked like a rag doll, she was screaming in pain but alive. My God how I miss Rosie! She went into a coma and her family decided to let her go. Life has not been the same for Alva and myself without Rosie. A few months after her death I dropped out of school. Never made it to the ninth grade but did get my GED in 2006. I am a single mom of four and thankful to God for helping me make it through all those obstacles and sparing my life that day.
The sky showing between the interfaces of two worn, weather-stained buildings had that luminescent quality. There didn’t seem to be a cloud in it anywhere. Amy pinched her face in the door crack, as little poking outside as possible. It seemed secure enough under the purple awning which led in a long arc to the street. The darkness it provided would make her less visible to the outside world. A motor bike buzzed past. The girl’s yellow dress was hiked up to her hips, her red sandals firmly planted on the deck. Amy felt the chagrin of envy. I’m going to miss stuff like that if I can’t beat this thing, she thought. She pushed the door wider, the screech startled her and she sprang back letting it bang.
“Are you all right?” Mrs. Whitehall stood behind Amy, an anxious look on her face. She stepped closer to peer into Amy’s eyes, straining forward as if waiting to catch Amy should she fall.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to block the door. I was just trying to decide about an errand. I mean I’m trying to figure out where that specialty grocery store is. I can’t remember. Is it right or left from here and on which street do I turn?”
Mrs. Whitehall’s shoulders sank and her face collapsed into a smile. “You must mean Dominica’s? They have the greatest artisan breads there.”
“Yes. I think that’s it.” Amy clamped her teeth and separated her lips but it wasn’t a smile. It felt awkward on her face, like maybe she had a milk mustache she’d forgotten to wipe off.
“I’m sorry Grace, there’s nothing more we can do at this stage. If things change, we’ll be in touch straight away”. With her heart sinking lower with every step, Grace Stoke emerges onto the street from her barrister’s office in Drumcondra. She looks up and down the street, at the people going about their daily business and wonders how things got this messed up. She pulls her hood up over her face and slumps to her bus stop. She just wants to get out of here. How can the case be tossed out so easily? They assured her she would win. Now, it can’t even be brought to court! She wishes she had someone to turn to right now, someone to comfort her and tell her it’ll be alright. She wipes this pitiful thought from her mind as easily as she wipes the single tear sliding down her cheek. She can’t think like that. She has learned the hard way that she can’t rely on anyone.
She thanked the bus driver and got off at her stop. What a waste of a Saturday. She turned the key in her apartment and swung open the door. She was welcomed by the smell of her housemate’s curry dinner. She and Olivia had been living together for three years now, since Grace started her secretarial job in Greene and Co., a swanky advertising agency on St. Stephens Green in Dublin. They weren’t exactly friends as such, Grace wasn’t the friend type, but they were friendly towards each other and liked living together, it suited them.
“Hey Grace, how was your day? Want some dinner, I’ve made way too much. Greg was meant to be coming over, but he got called into work,” Olivia’s voice sang out as she rushed around the kitchen finishing her food. The place looked like a bomb hit it. Grace wasn’t in the mood for company, so she just muttered “no thanks. I’m off to bed”. Olivia picked up on Grace’s mood straight away, “Hey, what’s wrong? You look worse than my curry!”. “Nothing you can fix”, muttered Grace as she felt the world of worry on her shoulders grow heavier. Olivia stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, “Try me”. Grace’s face grew tight with annoyance. “I don’t want to talk about it. I just had a shitty day, that’s all. I’m going to bed.”
As the last light of the day faded against the wall of Grace’s bedroom, she thought back over what the barrister had said, “Not enough legal merit”… Pft, what a pathetic way of telling someone their case is bullshit. Just say it was too long ago and we can’t prove it now. She wondered if she would ever have any luck. Ever since she was a small child, doors had been slammed in her face and she was constantly being let down. She should have been used to it by now, but this, she just couldn’t let it lie. She had to get justice.
“Shut up you little bitch……this is all your fault”. “No, please, stop…….that hurts”. “You deserve it…….I’ll show you!” Grace woke up terrified in a cold sweat. She sat bolt upright in her bed, her light brown hair stuck to the back of her neck. It took her a minute to remember where she was, that they couldn’t hurt her anymore. She couldn’t live like this anymore. She knew what she had to do.
Out in the woods:
A cold gust of wind sent a shiver down her spine as she vigilantly trudged forward into the darkness of the woods. An eerie silience filled the atmosphere. Dry leaves cruched beneath her feet. She hesitated to move forward as she took in the view before her.
A feeling of dread settled over her as soon as she spotted the trail of blood. Biting her lip, she lumbered across a heap of leaves, unleashing the horror that stood before her.
She froze in her spot, opening her mouth to scream, but all that was heard was a feeble sob.
Her face felt numb, cold, and drained of blood. She sucked in for air, attempting to choke a sob, but her knees gave way and buckled. Tears welled in her eyes, rage burning through her veins. She couldn’t hold it in anymore. She let out a guttural scream, pounding her fist on the damp ground.
“How could you?”, she screeched into the void, calling out to the beast which had turned her world upside down. She knew who it was. But he was long gone. The silence of the night swallowed her screams. The only other sound she heard was her heavy breathing.
She knelt beside the figure on the ground.”You were my only family left”, she whispered to her brother’s lifeless body. She cradled his head on her lap as she wept tears of pain, loss, and grief. She could almost imagine that he was asleep, if not for the large trail of scarlet that trickled down his throat, and the fact that he was never going to awaken from this slumber.
All that remained of him now were her memories. Her life was broken, like shards of glass – never to be whole again, and painful to the touch. Her hands began to tremble, unable to control the flood of emotions she was going through. Her fingertips turned icy cold, mirroring the cold body that lay on the ground.
His eyes, once bright and joyful, now stared at the starry sky, devoid of any signs of life. Her soul seemed to slip by; just as his had, but she had to survive. For him. Her sorrow was replaced by an uncontrollable rage – a desire to bring an end to her misery and to avenge her brother’s death.
As she took his hand in hers, she noticed a crumpled piece of paper in his hands. It was frayed at the ends; on the verge of being torn. She carefully pried it from his fingers and opened it, a smile forming on her lips.
You’re next, Ellora.
It just made her job easier. Time to switch roles. Time to be the predator.
Out in the woods:
A cold gust of wind sent a shiver down her spine as she vigilantly trudged forward into the darkness of the woods. An eerie silience filled the atmosphere. Dry leaves cruched beneath her feet. She hesitated to move forward as she took in the view before her.
A feeling of dread settled over her as soon as she spotted the trail of blood. Biting her lip, she lumbered across a heap of leaves, unleashing the horror that stood before her.
She froze in her spot, opening her mouth to scream, but all that was heard was a feeble sob.
Her face felt numb, cold, and drained of blood. She sucked in for air, attempting to choke a sob, but her knees gave way and buckled. Tears welled in her eyes, rage burning through her veins. She couldn’t hold it in anymore. She let out a guttural scream, pounding her fist on the damp ground.
“How could you?”, she screeched into the void, calling out to the beast which had turned her world upside down. She knew who it was. But he was long gone. The silence of the night swallowed her screams. The only other sound she heard was her heavy breathing.
She knelt beside the figure on the ground.”You were my only family left”, she whispered to her brother’s lifeless body. She cradled his head on her lap as she wept tears of pain, loss, and grief. She could almost imagine that he was asleep, if not for the large trail of scarlet that trickled down his throat, and the fact that he was never going to awaken from this slumber.
All that remained of him now were her memories. Her life was broken, like shards of glass – never to be whole again, and painful to the touch. Her hands began to tremble, unable to control the flood of emotions she was going through. Her fingertips turned icy cold, mirroring the cold body that lay on the ground.
His eyes, once bright and joyful, now stared at the starry sky, devoid of any signs of life. Her soul seemed to slip by; just as his had, but she had to survive. For him. Her sorrow was replaced by an uncontrollable rage – a desire to bring an end to her misery and to avenge her brother’s death.
As she took his hand in hers, she noticed a crumpled piece of paper in his hands. It was frayed at the ends; on the verge of being torn. She carefully pried it from his fingers and opened it, a smile forming on her lips.
You’re next, Ellora.
It just made her job easier. Time to switch roles. Time to be the predator.
All suggestions are welcome 🙂
Wow… Did not expect that ending, although it was pretty obvious anyway. Nice twist though. ‘Cause I was thinking she’d probably jump off a cliff like that “NOBODY LOVES ME” genre. Okay, to the point. Epic description, and in my opinion, that’s pretty important to master. But mistakes….hmmm….probably nothing. Well done! I hate cliffhangers, so…eh. Gimme a sequel or I’ll give you a virtual punch in the groin.
Thanks for your feedback!
And yes, there will be a sequel…but you’ll have to wait until I write it. 🙂
(P.S. Virtual ouch XD )
Make it snappy XD
Haha!
I thought this piece was very well written. Good descriptions and imagery.
Thank you so much! 🙂
Thank you so much! 🙂
Yes, yes, keep going. This was like chapter two of a novel
and I want to follow Ellora pursuing the murderer, and catching him. Keep
writing.
I will when I’m free, thanks!
I will when I’m free, thanks!
A young woman stumbles across a dead body in the woods. Screaming hysterically she started to run, she kept running until she came to a large brick house with vines running along the wall on one side of the house. On the other side of the house was a two-car garage; beautiful hydrangeas and other assorted flowers were everywhere. She walked up the walkway shaking as she got to the house she felt as if someone was watching her. She looked around but didn’t see anyone she came up to a white door with brass handles then she pound on the door feeling heart pounding, she was hoping some would answer. As she started to walk away from a frail gaunt looking women approach and opened the door ajar. May I help you? The woman at the door stated. Ma’am sorry to disturb you and I know it is late, but I need to use your phone to call the police the young women stated shakily. I came across a dead body in the woods. Certainly, the other older woman asserted. The young women thought the older woman may be about 60. She was wrapped in a old raggedy shawl, at first, the young women didn’t realize that the older woman was walking with a cane. I’m sorry, let me turn the light on in the living room and you can use the phone there I will give you privacy. Would you like a cup of hot tea to warm you up my dear you are trembling. Excuse me while I make us some tea while we wait for the police. As the young lady looked around the house she view pictures of a young woman and man, other photos were of six people in one photo, a pic of older couple, next to a German shepherd. On the far right of the room was a table with old gawky ornaments of elephants, a cat, and dogs.
This is my first feedback so it might a better for you.
The story begining was not good as I felt the lines sounded familier. Howver as it progress it’s stare curiosity. The old womens house is discriptive and as an audicne it feels relaxed same as having a cup of tea.where are you going to take us on this book would like to hear more .
Good job
Many weeks have passed, and even though my mind is still convincing me that I am going insane, I will ignore it and go on with my daily routine.
Usually, the sun rises up, people worshiping it because of its glorious orange glow. But I really don’t see as to how it is so wonderful since my favorite color is not orange, but a mix of purple, blue, and lime green. Or something like that. Maybe red was a part of it.
Anyway, the sun rises, and to my surprise, birds are always yelling outside of my window. It’s not like the birds are mad at me, but they do seem to be targeting someone in my neighborhood every single day, directing their chirps to the neighbor to the left of my house. I hop off my bed, enter the kitchen, eat a delicious meal of a half-eaten potato and powdered flowers to garnish it. No, not flour, flowers! After submitting to the daily routine of dental hygiene, I get along with my day, beginning with my job.
At work, I end up transporting myself into an alternate world where anything I can think of becomes reality. Nothing special, since I sometimes am pulled out of it to see my other cubicle mates dozing off by their computers, but I feel as if my mind is better than theirs. Not really sure why; it’s just a hunch.
I inhale my lunch and go back to slamming keys on a computer, forming English symbols used to communicate with other people without making direct eye contact, taking the fun out of seeing people with lazy eyes drooling over their desks and staining their clothes. I tell them that I accidentally spilled on them earlier, and they never even notice the difference.
Eventually, I get out of work, kicking the door of my house in only to cause another dent in the wood, and to keep that simple memory from fading, I score a tick mark beside the dent along the various other engravings on the door. I never thought writing hieroglyphs could be so lazy.
I eat half a potato for dinner and put it in the fridge, and I do all my hygienic duties before entering a nice, deep sleep.
At the end of the day, I think to myself, “This could never get old,” but instead of being contained in my brain, it slips off of my tongue. I chuckle a bit and fall onto my bed.
And as I stare up into the ceiling, I think to myself, “I wonder where my sanity went,” not for any real purpose, though, other than seeing myself staring up in a dark room and proclaiming it dramatically.
(This is my first time sharing on this site. I will continue to use it to develop my writing skills. Thanks for feedback)!
ONE
Jeff
Relationships were always hard for me. I told this to myself to cushion the pain of my now fourth failed relationship in less than two months.
I lay in my steel framed king size bed all alone after a horrible last night unready to move anywhere.
I was just about to go back to sleep that my phone rang. I took it out of my pocket and answered it.
It was Jacob.
‘Where the hell are you?’
huh.
‘Was I supposed to be somewhere?’ I enquired.
‘You’re late for your meeting and we can’t start without you.’
‘I’ll be there in 15.’ I said.
Cursing myself for forgetting about such an important meeting, I got up and went straight to the bathroom picking up my file for a quick brush up.
After spending 15 minutes going through what’s needed and not really paying attention to anything else, I grabbed the keys to my porsche and headed for work.
The morning was quite sunny for mid December and as I got into my car I looked back at my apartment which sat quite comfortably, bathing in the sun.
I made my way out of the driveway and was rewarded instantly with traffic.
Not again.
I was already late and this traffic made it harder for me. I have always had a problem presenting presentations. No matter how hard I had prepared, my mouth would always close up. Being late put me in a disadvantage and I knew if I needed to land this client for my company, today was D-day.
Anxiety aside, I focused on the things that could go well. Jacob had promised me a promotion if this went well. After all, Chairman’s was a big company to land.
‘Move!’ I heard someone shout at me and I got back to reality to find a clear road up ahead and zoomed past.
Something on the dashboard rang, I looked and………
There were flowers everywhere. The smell made me nauseous.
‘Glad that you’re awake. You really had us worried there.’
It was times like this when I felt I was the luckiest person. Jacob even though my boss cared for his employees like his friends. I was sure to have got my employment termination letter the first thing when I woke up if I was working for someone else.
‘My life sucks, man.’ I said to Jacob.
That’s all I could remember to have said for another week.
I’ve always been much of a clean freak. Staying in a hospital for a week in the same bed under the same sheets gave a rising panic attack. When I woke up this time there was no one around my bed. I felt relieved that no one was. I could try remembering what happened that day but that too soon failed as my eyes fell on the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and I had seen many beautiful things. Her beauty wasn’t of the obvious sort. She had a relatively round face and she looked heavier than she seemed. Her curves seemed perfect corner to corner. But most of it, it was her eyes that made me not take my eyes off her. There was something in them, an aura even while she lay her eyes on a hardbound cover whose cover I didn’t recognise.
She was in a bed four rows to my left and she had a bandage tied up from her ankle right up to her knees. Her leg was attached to a small pole at the foot of her bed.
She too like me seemed to have been in an accident.
She didn’t once look at me in the few minutes that I was staring at her. A man, in his fifties was constantly looking at me and then her and when I looked at him, he smiled and gave me a thumbs up. I smiled for reasons unknown to me but it was a welcome smile. It had been a few weeks.
Desperate to get to know anything about her I tried to get out of my bed but couldn’t. Only then did I realize, my left leg too was tied to the foot of my bed.
I guess this is where they keep the broken legs, I sneered and got back to sleep.
The next morning when I woke up, I asked the doctor where I was and why I wasn’t able to remember anything about the leading upto the accident and everything since.
‘you were in a coma for two whole weeks.’ came the reply from the doctor who looked pale from all the over work he was made to do.
I can help look after that lovely lady over there, I thought and found myself grinning.
TWO
DUSHKA
Just how much longer will I be here, I groaned. I was frustrated. Frustrated that I had missed my chance for an audition at the National Ballet theatre. An opportunity that wasn’t easily available to everyone. I had been slogging at my art for so long.
The part I hated most was I didn’t get a chance to fight. The auditions were held only once a year and I couldn’t bring myself to wait another. Why did I ever try an Uber!, I groaned again.
The hospital was another thing I found myself complaining about. It had different sections for different types of injuries and I found it odd that I was the only woman in my section. Rest of them were old men who couldn’t tell their hands from their legs. There was a guy who was about my age who was particularly good looking. But then again, in here I could find anybody attractive. I noticed he had the same leg fractured as mine.
‘Was he in a car accident too?’ I asked the nurse the next day. ‘And how much longer do I have to be here? Can I get a wheel chair and leave?’
‘Yes and no.’ she said.
‘He was lucky to survive. Door wouldn’t open during the rescue.’ the nurse added.
‘Oh’.
I looked at him. He seemed peaceful but there was a hint of regret in his eyes too. A feeling a disappointment.
I got my you-can-go-now nod a week later and I gladly collected my stuff to head home. On my way out I noticed that he too was gone. I didn’t know when I missed him. Hoping he would be at the bill desk I jogged my way there only to find it completely devoid of people except for the receptionist who was too busy managing bills to notice anything.
He was gone. I sighed.
I stepped out of the hospital and ordered a Uber hoping that atleast this time the ride wouldn’t lead me back here.
The sun was shining brightly here in Santa Barbara. It was one of the best cities in the US with a population of roughly 90,000. The small population made you feel closer to the people around you…
I told my Uber driver to go around Kellogg Avenue to see the atmosphere around the theatre. It was all quiet. There was a hot dog stand in front of it and the seller seemed as bored as me. What I would have given for an opportunity like that. I got home and my depression led me straight to bed. My depression seemed strange to me. All I wanted to do was sleep yet when I did go to bed I couldn’t fall asleep.
I Opened my laptop to find an IM from Andrea asking me why I didn’t make it to the audition. She had no idea about my accident. I told her. She had been my best friend since high school and we had drifted apart when she went for management studies while I studied literature.
She gave an instant ‘OMG!! are you alright??!’
‘Yeah.’ I said.
‘Who got in?’
‘You won’t believe it. Beth did. She didn’t have you to compete against though.’ Andrea said. This was another reason I was dying to get selected for the ballet team. They selected only one person from each town and having been from such a small town I had thought I had a pretty good chance of getting through.
‘It isn’t in my fate, I guess.’ I sent back.
She sent an it’s okay something else will come up, I know a few people in the hiring team. I got tired of all the attention she was giving me and closed my laptop.
I was used to this kind of attention. It seemed strange to me. I had seen my friends in school who were the only child of their parents who got all the love and attention in the world. Maybe they had a bit too much time to spare and lots of money to while around with their children. My dad never got that sort of time. He would lose a day’s earnings if he played with me. He always said. That never got my attention. My attention was spurned when he said he would have to do two days’ job in one.
My dad made furniture for people here In Saint Barbara. He was particularly proud that he had once sold a dresser to Tim Robbins. The only person from here to ever have a part in a Hollywood movie.
I had always been someone who was older than her age, mentally. I never cried when I had no one to play with when little. I never cried when my only single toy broke. I had a strong feeling of gratitude I had not seen much adults have.
Well, it would have been great if gratitude won you some luck, wouldn’t it?
THREE
JEFF
A week later I was discharged and I headed home. I had lost a potential client. Jacob was trying very hard to make them understand the reason I didn’t make it to the meeting. Another week of nagging and they agreed to meet me in New York to make my presentation and win them over. Jacob gave me the good news over the phone.
I had ample time to review the presentation as the meeting wasn’t for another month.
A month later I was prepared. Hopeful of that promotion. I carefully drove myself this time to the only domestic airport here for a 10 am flight to New York.
My hotel was in Layette Avenue in Upper Manhattan. It was the first time I was travelling to such a huge city and was scared about the stories of robbery, murder and drugs that I had heard. Every step I took was a careful one. The hotel was one of the many buildings which once served a different purpose a long time ago. In my case, before people were charged insane amounts to stay in style, the building served as a courtroom for attorneys.
I was on a tight schedule but I wanted to explore the city. My meeting wasn’t for another two hours. I figured that I would just go for a walk nearby. So after a quick wash up in my room I headed out. I picked the least busiest looking road and continued.
I chose the ally to the right of the hotel which seemed more quiet. I passed two hot dog vans and was really impressed by the Chinese market that sold everything; Chinese food; Chinese ornaments; Gadgets; Books; All the way from the airport to the hotel I saw people who were in a rush. Too busy to notice anything else but themselves but I felt that this part of the city was less rushing and more inviting. Everything has it’s pros and cons. Even the best city in the world did. I noticed the time and went back to my room.
The meeting was a huge success. I managed to land the company for a five year deal. My company would benefit a lot from this. That was for sure.
On my last day in New York after having failed to generate any sort of energy to do any sightseeing because of the crowd around which I feel has over whelmed me a lot, I decided to just spend some time in a cafe with some coffee and a book. I called for a taxi and went to cafe Beau which was a decent coffee place in the middle of the city. It was early in the evening so it was quite quiet.
I ordered a cappuccino and started reading my book. I don’t know but for some reason all the restaurants and bars that I had been to in New York were dimly lit. It was difficult to get any reading done in that low light so I closed it and began to think of what my goals for the near future should be. I thought about how staying in a relationship was proving to be difficult and why I should only concentrate on my career right now and that maybe there was no girl right enough for me.
As I thought about this, I rolled my eyes at myself and I caught myself looking at something two tables next to me. It was something familiar.
She was reading a book, sitting alone. I recognised that style of holding a book. There are certain traits every person does which seem unusual but is kind of like their identity.
The smell of anesthetics filled my brain. This month had been very frustrating with the break up and the accident. My life had gone into total chaos. This was a rare familiarity for me. It was welcoming. I tried to get a good view of my target but couldn’t. Maybe it wasn’t what I was thinking. With some despair, I paid for my coffee and headed out. I was gonna pull my shit together once I was home. Once I reached outside I looked back to the table two tables in front of me. The girl was still reading. How she was reading in that light, I had no idea. She looked up when the waiter came near her and I knew then that I wasn’t wrong.
It was her.
I recognised the round face, those curves and those deep eyes filled with mystery.
I found myself smiling at her sight, yet again…
DUSHKA
I am so freaked out right now. I was exclaiming to Beth over the phone.
I was laying on my bed in my hotel room in New York. Beth wasn’t joking when she had told me that she had connections with the casting agency. She managed to get me an exclusive audition for the ballet here in New York.
‘Can’t you use your connections and just have me selected. That will be so much more easier.’ I said.
‘That’s not the way it works.’ she said, ‘and don’t worry, you’re gonna do great.
‘But I am going to be the only one auditioning there with I don’t know how many people watching. I hope everyone there is blind.’
After spending the whole night tossing and turning on what was without a doubt the most comfortable bed I had ever lay on, I got up and got dressed hoping the day wouldn’t be a total disaster. The audition was in New York’s premier dance theatre.
When I got there I was greeted by 16 judges who I thought had no other job to do this early in the morning. I was introduced to their dancers who would be joining me to help with my routine. I thought about the reward at the end of the day. I got into my stride quickly gliding my way through stage and doing all my moves effortlessly. A moment ago I swore I had worms crawling through my head telling me how much this was going to suck. There is something about doing something you love. You get into a tune that makes everything around you vanish.
After 15 minutes I was told to stop and go home and wait for the results. Another thing to be worried about.
The sun was already setting when I came out of the theatre and I moved around to explore the city. I hadn’t done any sightseeing as I was there only for a day. I remembered I had a book in backpack and started looking for a cafe to read me book. I was looking forward the calmness it would bring. I found a cafe Beau which I found to be unusually dark and quiet. Maybe it’s a couple’s place. I wondered.
I was proved right when I entered as all I could see were couples showing PDA. I found a decent place away from people calling each other different food items.
I opened my Dan Brown and sat down ordering absolutely nothing.
Half an hour of reading later, unable to concentrate further I picked up my phone and started playing on it. A man with distinctive features walked in and took a table behind me. It was the same man from the hospital for whom I had run my way to the reception for a second glimpse. I got the second glimpse now.
Sitting in the dark made It harder to get a good look at him. He was tall and lean with broad shoulders. He wasn’t the best built but was very attractive nonetheless. I continued to read but the memory of the hospital with both our legs bandaged came rushing in.
I found it surprising when I remembered that I wanted to see him again at the hospital and he was here in this unknown city at which I was only for a day. Maybe he’s from here and had an accident in Santa Barbara I thought. I was in a dilemma as to whether it would be better to approach him but I had no clue what so ever if he had even seen me in the hospital. He surely would have. I was the only girl there. He would have. I was just about to go up and talk to him when I saw that he was getting ready to leave. I turned my attention back to my book and saw him walk past me.
Damn.
I missed my chance.
Unaware if I would ever see him again I cursed myself at all the time I took trying to decide.
He wakes up wondering whether his father still home, He jumps frightenedly off the bed running to look around the house to find him, He does, He looks at his father smiling with tears in his innocent eyes, “Good morning” the little boy greets, “you want some milk” His father replies dryly.
His mother comes to him with the sadness of the world in her eyes greeting “Good morning Hasan” she says, walks into the kitchen where she pours some milk to Hasan and mix it with chocolate the way he likes it, He looks at father and asks “please give me 2 dinars so I buy chocolate at school”, His father looks back at him, ignores him, keeps eating his breakfast with no reply; Hasan looks at his mother standing afar looking angrily in complete silence, then feels sad and ashamed, the poor child thought He’s the reason his parents treating him that way.
Hasan drinks his milk quickly and runs to his school bag taking his school books, He brought the book to the kitchen where His parents were in silence, He showed his parents his marks and praising notes written in them by his teachers, He observed so closely, He sees they barely looked at them, “Good for you Hasan” his mother said.
My first 15 minutes:
The first thing he noticed was the smell. Walking through the woods you always smelled a thousand different things, but this was different. This stood out. Not because it was so strong, and getting stronger as he kept walking. It stood out because it was wrong. Out of place. This wasn’t a smell that belonged here. Common sense told him that it was probably a bad idea to keep going and find out what smelled so bad. But he chose to ignore common sense today (and most days his friends would say), and kept going.
As he kept walking the smell kept getting stronger, and he struggled to identify just what it was that he was smelling. He’d never smelt anything like it before. He’d spent a lot of time in nature, in the woods, the mountains, even the desert for a crazy hike. But none of those places held a smell like this. He’d worked for fast food restaurants, animal shelters, and other places, and none of them held a stink like this. He was getting more and more curious, and at the same time more fearful of what he’d find.
As he approached a clearing in the woods, the smell was the strongest yet, and that’s when he noticed something else. There was almost no noise. The woods were always full of the regular sounds of animals moving, hunting, eating, and just being animals. But now, quiet. He stopped, fearful of approaching and finding out what would silence the animals. This part of the woods hosted enough hikers, that the animals had for the most part gotten used to humans around, and so just went about their business.
Summoning his courage, he took the final few steps into the clearing, and is senses were immediately assaulted. The smell, which had be so strong up to now hit him like a wall with nothing to get in its way. He would have gagged and thrown up, if the sight hadn’t so completely robbed him of the ability to move. And the sound. That terrible sound. That terrible screaming sound. That terrible screaming sound that he slowly realized was coming from him. That realization snapped him out of his shock, he fell to his knees, his stomach took over, and he threw up.
Once he’d emptied his stomach, and gotten his dry heaves under control, he looked up again, absent-mindedly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The shock was less sever this time, but still, seeing the dead body laying spread eagled in the middle of the clearing rocked him to his core. He’d walked the woods a hundred times. He’d been through this clearing dozens of times. How could this have happened here?
As his shocked mind slowly started to move again, he began to wonder, how long had the body been here? This wasn’t a regularly traveled part of the trails, but it wasn’t uncommon for someone to pass through. Surely he wasn’t the first person to stumble on this grisly find. It must be recent he though, there’s no sign of any bite marks, or other wounds that would indicate an animal had killed or been eating this person. They were simply laid out spread eagle, and slit cleanly right up the middle, with their guts spilling out all around them.
At that thought he froze again, and slowly began to look around the clearing. No animal ever killed that cleanly, and even if it did no animal would ever just display a kill where anyone could see. No animal except one. And there was no animal in the woods that would cause all the other animals to become silent when they’re around. No animal except one. He felt a chill run through his body, and an uncontrollable shiver ran through him.
He didn’t see or hear anything, but suddenly all that mattered was leaving. He stumbled to his feet and ran. Blindly he ran, not caring where he went, as long as it was away from that horrific site. He ran, and kept running until he got back to the main ranger station at the head of the hiking trails. He had no idea where he was running, but he’d been on those trails so much that his body had taken over and carried him where he needed to be. He rushed to the station and told the rangers about what he’d seen. They called the police, and then grabbing their rifles, set out for the location he’d found the body.
It couldn’t have taken more than an hour to get there, but when they did, the body was gone. And so was the smell. It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t smelled a thing this time, and that had been the first thing he’d noticed. Worse still, there was no sign of any blood or anything else that would indicate there’d been a body. The police arrived and they searched for a while as well, but no one turned up anything.
He was cited and fined by the police for calling in a false report, and as news spread, he rapidly became a laughing stock in town. For weeks, he couldn’t show his face without someone laughing at him, or mocking him. It was definitely a low point in his life.
Then one day, he received a handwritten letter in the mail. It said only;
“I’m sorry for making you look foolish. I’ve been made a fool of before, and it’s a terrible feeling, one I don’t wish on anyone. However, I couldn’t have my work discovered too soon, and so I chose what I thought the lesser of two evils. It’s a shame you ran off when you did. You would have been a great help in finishing my work. Who knows, maybe someday you will be.”
With trembling hands, he read the letter again, then turned it over, but there was no name or signature anywhere on it. Looking at the envelope, there was no name or return address there either. That feeling of cold dread stole over him again. He was standing in his kitchen, in his home, but there were eyes on him. He knew it. He could feel it. And he knew that they’d always be watching him.
‘Success’ for a Dying Man
Few years ago, I was a real ‘coward’. I was a coward because I was a puppet in the hands of my Ego and self assumed connotations about Success. Anything that separated me from success, disgusted me. My first priority was success. For me, success was money, name, fame, casinos, girls, boozing. Everything else took a backseat or rather I never cared whether it was there. But, I was a terrible blockhead to not realise this sooner.
It was the year 2011 and I had been conferred with the unbeat title of, “World’s most Successful Enterpreneur” for my Networth amounting to xyz Million American dollars. I felt on top of the world. With this I became a hero in my own eyes, more for the fact that I was a “Self Made Man”. I preferred or rather loved being called “A Self Made Man” because it gave me thrill of grandiosity over the plathora of sacrifices I had made to reach to this position. I had survived penny lessness during my struggle period.I had gone through the pain of being mocked at for going out of the way in persuit of my dreams. I had survived a failed marriage as my spouse was not upto mark for an achiever like me. I had survied a terrible heart attack and also a liquour overdose. What kept me going during all these trials was only one thing and that was “success”. I had gone through enormous amount of ordeal to grab this fortune. Never did I realise that it was the other way round.
You might have understood what makes me call myself a coward when I was a grand success. For those who have not, these are the feelings of a dying man who was once so obsessed with success that what he was left with in the end was only “Success”. Nothing else.
Today, on a grim April evening of the year 2017 I am saying this on my forlorn death bed, as regret takes over me. My emotions, for the first time ever are rolling down my cheeks and my medals seem to mock at me for my being the biggest loser ever. I know this misery is going to end very soon as I am not going to survive this disease but I still believe in going on, this time with a realisation of being courageous enough to say sorry to the perfect spouse I once had, to giveup my grandiosity and donating my pent up turnover to the best NGO’s, to register myself for donation of my organs after my death to the needy. Apart from this, my life seems to be nothing more than a trash can reading “Success” in bold letters.
The success of my sort is a preface to those seeking it at any cost. When life ditches you, success hides itself in the backyard, money seems to take revenge on you and lonliness becomes your only companion. If ever in life you have to chose between success and life; for goodness’ sake, chose life. Be courageous enough to let go of your ego and chose happiness. Success won’t earn happiness. A success is worth only if it is earned by sacrificing your inner vices. A success emanating from sacrificing your health, relationships, friends and happiness is no less than fumes emanating from your own pyre. Nothing is worth a Million dollar smile, nothing is worth a lovely spouse and your family and nothing is worth more than happiness. You ought to believe a dying man that if you have all this till your last breath, you have lived a Successful Life.
I remember being so comfortable with myself – comfortable only when all by myself – that if nothing felt right, I would just go someplace where nobody was, preferably with my headphones, and just, see. Or not see, close my eyes and breathe. Imagine whatever I wanted there to be in front of my eyes. Innovate scenarios so out of this world, that I find it hard to explain. Let solitude tangle all around me and trigger goosebumps.
I would let matters flow in my head. It’s not like I was always able to stop the train of thoughts. If i was too stressed, I would let those fears, or matters or whatever, swarm in my head. And let my mind do the rest. It often has a very clear answer, and of course, suggests a course that is too daring. this inner me also tells me that I AM supposed to be taking really brave steps. It was EXPECTED of me.
I let that inner me flatter myself. It often makes me so powerful within, I obtain this attitude. I start realizing I have a lot to do.
I often feel so empowered I’m sure I could do even if no one was here with me. Physically. Even if I was the last person on Earth.
I could do without ANYBODY.
The door opened. Lyra yelped in surprise, her head turned toward the sound. In the doorway stood her husband, flanked by his guards. A moment passed, neither moving nor speaking. The young lord with her leapt to his feet.
The action snapped Caedis out of his trance; “Seize him!” he said. The guards surrounded the youth, their spears pointed at him, preventing him from reaching his sword.
“Throw him in the dungeon!” Caedis said. “Both of them. Ensure they do not see each other.” Lyra protested as she was led from the chamber, but her words fell on deaf ears.
***
After concluding his business of the day, Caedis returned home to his estate. He made his way to the dungeon. Upon entering the torture chamber, he gazed long and hard at the setting. The unfortunate young lord stood chained to a wall facing the jailer, who stood fingering the tools of his trade with glee.
On the opposite wall stood his wife, her arms chained above her head. She sobbed through her gag; Caedis had discovered the hard way how annoying her tirades became when she was displeased.
Caedis strode toward her, his eyes piercing through her own. “I have been betrayed before, and I dislike the taste of that despicable vintage. But I will be merciful, to you at least.”
I thought your story was very good, and well written. I re-read it twice to make sure I got it all. I love the sentence “I dislike the taste of that despicable vintage.” Good choice of words throughout the story.
The fear to love and be loved
Read that again and let your thoughts be forged
In the reality that sometimes one deals with one
Maybe both we have to war
Ever asked why we love?
Why we all desire to be loved even more?
Yet the fear be stronger than both desires
Maybe I speak for myself, I’d never want to do more
The fear to love and be loved
Got me writhing for so long
You’d be shocked of how much I want more
To feel loved and to love
I’m not afraid of what I’d be called for I know we all have the same urge
Less expressed in some, others with a huge surge
The fear to love and be loved
The former my own carried cross
Daily the struggle,visible the battle
Don’t be deceived by the selfless acts
That I daily doubt,
For within are the selfish thoughts, wrapped skilfully you know not.
The fear to love and be loved
Heart’s weeping all night long
The truth comes too strong
The war too much of a cost
Maybe my definition of love be wrong
The fear to love and be loved
Mine has nothing to do with fear to be hurt
Rather the fear that I’d hurt and so be hurt
And so my trust be rust
Inkless pen…
As the wind picked up, our visibility became narrower like the thick fog on a Boston Harbor. The temperature was frigid; the rope was getting harder to hold onto. This definitely wasn’t an easy task after all; the climb so far was very treacherous. Your footing had to be right on the mark, the slightest little slip could cost you your life and your partner as well. We had trained for five years for this expedition and we were the only Americans on a ten man team. An avalanche of an unfathomable size had delayed our climb for two days now, our food rations were limited. The following next day the skies had cleared up enough to see for miles and the challenge to reach the summit was still in everyone’s thoughts.
“Good morning gentlemen my name is Abdul Vladimir and my climbing partner is Marco Shahwani. We will be leading this expedition. The climbers I have placed behind us will be the American team JC Blakely and Bryan Donner who goes by Chigger. The last two climbers are considered to be my anchor, I want the Ukraine team team to be my anchor. We are a ten man team, gentlemen please let’s not argue. I have placed you in this order by experience and strength. We will all reach the top of this mountain, so please pace yourselves there is no rush. May God be with all of you.”
I thought this piece of writing was very good. Description and dialogue were both “right on.”
This is my first 15-minute exercise!
The Last Place to Be:
Justin sprinted down the street desperate to get home. They were after him again. Maybe Carter could help. After all, she was the magical one of the two of them. Justin reached his doorstep, but never even got the chance to open the door. One of them was blocking the door, and another behind him, grabbing his shirt.
“Got him, Boss.” the burly man in front of Justin spoke into a walkie-talkie .
Not this time! Justin thought furiously. Just as suddenly, a surge of power rushed from the tip of his head, to the bottom of his toes.
All his built up anger, sadness, and mostly fear flew out in a loud “bang!”
The guy behind him was knocked out, but the man in front of him was only knocked down, taking the front door with him.
This time, Justin ran, fueled by straight up terror.
“Hey kid! There’s no escaping. We’ve got you whole family, even the girl.” a gruff voice from behind him came.
“She was ferocious too!” a voice from in front of Justin this time chimed in, stopping Justin in his tracks.
They had Carter? This was bad. Very bad. In fact, it was worse than anything he had ever imagined!
Suddenly, Justin was struck with a crazy idea. It could get him killed, but it was worth a chance.
He raced to the dock, pretending not to know where he was going. Weirdly, no one noticed a 14 year old being chased by kidnappers.
Justin kept running, until he was at the edge of the dock. He spun on his heel, putting an expression of shock on his face.
He was captured. Not only taken, but willingly. He was going to get his family out of the Web Alliance’s home base.
The only problem with the plan? There was no way into the base. However, Justin had already solved this problem.
They loaded Justin into the back of a truck, and drove off. Justin was on his one-way trip to the last place he should have wanted to go, but today it was the only place he wanted to go.
I’m intrigued with your combination of magic and Web Alliance. I want to know more about both.
Thank you! I am so glad.
The fairies sat around the ancient mushroom, their skittish feelings showing at every noise- their wings fluttered.
Trix, the council leader spoke, “We don’t know what is attacking and we haven’t identified a pattern. So, any fairy could be next. Honestly, we aren’t sure who to trust.”
“Trix, pardon my asking, but how do we know it’s not you who’s attacking?” a rather bold fairy named Firo asked.
The rest of the council shot him dirty looks.
“Well… I suppose you just have to have faith in me. See, us fairies have a very strong gut feeling, so if you feel something just isn’t right, please tell me. Also, someone has to lead, so if you get convinced that it is me attacking, some other fairy will take my place. The people may question that fairy- and on goes the cycle.” Trix said wisely, looking from face to face with his large green eyes.
“Thank you.” Firo replied solemnly.
“So what now, Your Honor?” another fairy, Tesa, asked.
“It is yet to be determined.” Trix declared, then ended the meeting.
Three days later, Trix was dead.
Ezra Bloomington took his place, only to find the fairy community in a state of growing tension and distress. Everyone was paranoid.
“Oh dear. What shall we do?” a little fairy named Acorn fretted one evening.
“We’ve been asking ourselves that for quite a while now, haven’t we?” Ezra replied a bit sarcastically because Acorn was pretty annoying.
At the next council meeting, Ezra was prepared.
“Fellow friends, I understand the situation is worse, but I am sure it could get worse. I order to protect the citizens, I suggest we move.” he said softly.
The declaration was met by immediate protests. The fairies were appalled by the very idea of such a thing.
“We have lived here for- well…- forever!” a fairy in the back of a crowd roared when the council suggested moving.
Before any more comments could be thrown at the council, Ezra held up his hands.
“Stop! I know we have lived here for a very long time, I know it is a sacred place, but it is the best way to protect us! Besides, I have already arranged a trade with the pixies: they will help the council guard this hollow, in return for three treasures. The requested one diamond, one ruby, and one emerald.”
The crowd gasped. Who was this new leader of theirs?
Very interesting story. Great imagination.
Thank you!
Interesting combination of fairies and murders. Fairy tales for teenagers?
I’m not sure if that is it. I just thought it would capture attention!
The Every Thing (draft opening)
Annie’s father hadn’t always been a quiet man. He used to smile a lot – especially at her mother, whom he affectionately called his ‘darling flower’. He brought her flowers every fortnight, a different bunch each time, and as he handed them over he would say: “Flowers – for my darling flower.” It was a running joke that he never seemed to tire of. Annie remembered a time when he would make jokes that were so bad, everyone within a mile’s radius would cringe, but also laugh, because it might have been funny. Or maybe it was funnier to laugh anyway, because it was bad. It’s an endless loop. Charles used to be excitable, and passionate, and he was bursting with ideas. “I have a great idea”, he would say. “Hear me out!” And then he would pull out the most elaborate, detailed blueprints on large sheets of paper. The ideas could come at any moment. He even unrolled his plans over dinner, sometimes getting them marked with food stains. Once, he presented an idea so enthusiastically that he knocked a full jug of water off the table with his elbow, and it smashed all over the floor. The water made the shards of glass wet, and difficult to sweep up. Annie’s mother was so cross that she nearly tore up the blueprint, but it was only water, so she forgave him quickly – but not after first putting shoes on Annie’s little feet, to protect her. Usually the plans were about some new mechanism that he had worked out, or a sketch of an invention he just thought of. At first, Annie wanted to ignore the sketches and plans and blueprints. She thought they were too complicated for her, and that she wouldn’t understand them. But, after her mother died, those ideas became the only way in to his mind, impossible to enter any other way.
Very quickly, everything changed. Like when the power goes out, and suddenly the electricity doesn’t work anymore. Charles no longer smiled. Or laughed. He once made a half-hearted joke, long ago, but it wasn’t worth remembering. But, he still invented. He kept his machines going, but they were only for him now, no one else, or he thought so anyway. Annie, only nine years old at the time, still crept into his study every night, eyes absorbing every detail of what he had written and created that day, until the words became so fuzzy that she could no longer decipher the individual letters. Sometimes she would make her own copies of his notes, so that she could read over them in her own time, and try to understand her father through his machines.
On a bad day, his handwriting was very hard to read. It would be crossed out so viciously that the words were just dark lines, like those censorship strips in her father’s movies. Sometimes there were even holes in the paper from when he pressed too hard. If it was a sadder day, the pen ink would be blurry and smudged, which is how Annie could tell that he had been crying. He would never cry in front of her, but she knew that he did when he thought she wasn’t looking. She cried, too, but she would never tell him that. On good days, there were more sketches, more arrows. The pages looked fuller, more complete. His blueprints and scientific journals showed more emotions than his face did, even when there were no words. Something about that comforted Annie, like there was always a way for her to connect, even if he didn’t know it.
Annie was very careful to always read his journals only when she was sure that he was asleep, or out of the house. If it was night-time, she wouldn’t switch any of the hallway lights on, and she crept silently. She knew that if she kept to the sides of the hallway and the stairs, there was less chance of the floorboards creaking, and less chance of waking her father. It was best to move her feet one in front of the other, placing her heel on the ground first, then slowly inching forward, toes last. Leaning heavily against the wall for support, she would turn the door handle to his study deliberately slow, feeling each spring groan and creak as she did. Luckily, the door wasn’t very creaky, so once she had opened it she knew that was mission accomplished. The eagle is in the nest, I repeat, the eagle is in the nest. Charles always kept his blueprints out on his desk, but his journal was always on the middle shelf, next to the cabinet. His bookmark – a yellow ribbon – stuck out from between the pages, like a snake’s tongue. Target locked.
She loved the leather covered journal. Not just because it represented her father, but by itself, it was a great mystery to her. Even if Anne could not understand her father’s cursive, or the ideas he wrote about, she liked tracing the lines of his words, seeing the complexity of his diagrams, and where the ink from the fountain pen complained and spluttered. Interwoven with all his equations, he had a code, too. Often just single letters stood alone, or he would have an acronym of sorts. She found that the most common side notes were Ref J? and P.E.D., but there was no clue as to what these meant. Annie supposed that it was a scientist thing – she remembered that he once said that scientists have a ‘habit of shorthand’. Probably to keep their ideas a secret, so that other scientists couldn’t copy them.
She did this every night, until a woman arrived.
“Annie-bear,” her father called out to her. “Come down! There’s someone I want you to meet…”
Not one to ignore her father, Annie put her book down and went downstairs. There, in the doorway, was the thinnest woman that she had ever seen. The woman was almost as tall as her father, and she had straight dark hair that stroked her collarbone. Strangely, Annie was reminded of her maths homework, and the sharp edges of isosceles triangles. But triangles were confident, and this woman was not. She was playing with the rings on her fingers, large chunks that hung heavy on her joints, and smiling nervously at Charles. Annie noticed, with crushing dismay, that Charles was smiling back. When he noticed Annie on the staircase, he coughed and straightened his back, as if to regain some lost composure, and he put and arm around the woman. “Hey Bear, um… this is Hélène.”
Annie’s stomach twisted.
Hélène reached out a skeletal hand. “I ‘ave heard so much about you! It’s so lovely to finally meet.”
As her words blended into each other, Annie realised that she had a slightly French accent. “I haven’t heard anything about you,” she wanted to say, but she swallowed the urge.
Instead, she smiled slightly, and shook her hand. Annie was scared that her own twelve-year-old hand would crush this woman into dust.
“Pleasure,” she said, simply. And perhaps a little darkly.
Kate was “fed up” with Evan and his late night activities. It was 9:00 pm and he still wasn’t home. He’d been sheepishly coming home about 10:00pm three or four nights a week for the last month.
“Where was he?” sue wondered, “Out drinking with the boys again, or with another woman?”
Her anger erupted as she snapped at the kids when putting them to bed.
“No stories tonight, I’m too tired. Just go to sleep,” she yelled. “Tomorrow, I promise I’ll read you a story.”
She sighed loudly and hung her head as she closed the door to the boys’ bedroom. She silently prayed, “God please help me! I can’t do this anymore. I can’t stay in this situation anymore. I’m going crazy and so are the kids.”
The sound of the garage door being opened jolted Kate back to the present. She hurried into the kitchen to busy herself with the dishes, hoping Evan wouldn’t notice her distress. Maybe he’d just ignore her and head upstairs. That seemed to be the norm lately. He purposely avoided her, but tonight she didn’t care. She wasn’t in the mood for a fight.
Evan braced himself as he walked swiftly into the kitchen. Kate was standing at the sink doing the dishes, her eyes downcast. “She looks tired,” he thought. He was too, but it had to be tonight. He had to come clean! He set some books and paperwork on the table and pulled out a chair.
“Kate, I need to talk to you.”
Kate froze for an instant. Her heart lurched and her body stiffened, but she calmly answered “OK.” She turned then and faced him, trying to hide her fear.
Evan pulled out another chair and said, “Please sit down. This may take a while.”
A silent “Help me God” repeated itself several times in Kate’s mind. She took the seat and waited, fear clearly showing in her eyes.
“Kate, I know I’ve been gone a lot at night lately. I need you to try and understand why. I started going to some AA meetings with a guy from work. He’s been going for years. I quit drinking a month ago, and have been trying to work through some issues and get to the heart of ‘why’ I really drink. I’m making some progress, but it’s an extremely painful process.”
Crying softly, Kate half stood and gathered Evan into her arms…
I have not written much since college many moons ago. Even then, non-fiction, due to my courses, was my general field of engagement. Since then, only occasional journal entries have been the bulk of my writing. Just psychotic rambling on paper. Today, I decided to be creative for the 15-minute exercise. I exceeded 15 minutes but ran out of gas quickly. I did not edit, reorganize, or even reread this exercise except to correct spelling on the underlined words. I’d like to get feedback on my original stream of thought. Feel free to tear it apart. Thanks in advance.—- BTW, I used Joe’s story idea above.
It was a peaceful stroll just like any other. A steady but calm walk on a mildly dusty path amidst the greenery. Quiet enough to hear his breathing and occasional dragging feet. He stopped to draw his camera. Something looked interesting. He longed to master the golden spiral but nothing was there. Just a plain shot of the plain. So, he continued forward but decided to cut through the bushes hoping a different angle may present an opportunity. The silence, again, deafening, allowed him to hear an inordinate amount of buzzing. Bees? He hates bees. Deathly afraid of them ever since that sting he received when he was a young boy. A sting so strong it blasted through the canvas of his imitation checkered “Vans” and the usual thick knee high tube socks everyone sported those days. After carefully glancing he realized, and saw, it was in fact flies. But so many? He approached to investigate. A sudden odor presented itself. Unreal. One step back and it’s not there but every step forward the scent increased with the intensity of an exponential function. The buzzing increased and about now the flies started to bully him. Pushing him back as if to say “stay away! This belongs to us.” Ever the curious, he brushed aside a few branches. A flurry of insects and smell overwhelmed him enough to push aback. His ears buzzing from the thunderous clashing of bugs with his ears. He tried once more, raising his Grateful Dead Tee above his nose to shield himself. As he approached he noticed the area infected was much larger than he anticipated. The outline was familiar yet still vague. He swung around the mound hoping to identify what it could be. With each passing step along his arc it became clear this was once a living creature until he came face-to-face with it. He kept quiet about the brewing anxiety inside him. Startled as he had never encountered a dead body. Sure a dead cat, dog, opossum, or other stars of roadside killings… but never a human body. He wondered, “fuck! what do i do? Grab your cell jackass and call the cops!”
He did but his transmitter read quite legibly, “No Service.” It was at this point a calmness came over him. He decided to approach.
Breathing calmly his thoughts, “how did this guy get here?” He could tell it was a man due to the facial hair. He could tell It once had been groomed as the topography across his face varied. Still battling the flies for control of their treasure, he stretched out his left arm but pulled it back deciding to use a rag to create somewhat a sanitized barrier between him and the body. He tried again but this time without the intent of moving this poor fellow. A few branches and leaves were brushed aside and he made sure to not disturb the scene. The body lay on its left side, left leg somewhat outstretched with the right knee, bent, touching the ground across his body. Scanning up, the hiker noticed the same form with the body’s arms: left outstretched, right, slightly bent brushing across his face. Right eye open and infested with maggots on the inner corners. It’s been awhile but not so long that his flesh was eaten or rotting but clearly the process was onset. The hiker swung behind. No blood so far or sign of foul play but his expertise is in event planning not forensics. He reached for his wallet which luckily was in the rear right pocket of his jeans, Levi’s of course.
“Was this guy dumped? He doesn’t look like he was beaten but he doesn’t look like he was camping or even hiking. Best I can see, he was going for a walk and dropped dead but he looks late thirties. Couldn’t be a heart attack. May there’s some ID.”
No ID. No cards. Not much of a wallet either. Just an empty money clip, a couple rewards cards including a Starbucks stamp card. Buy ten get one free. “Looks like he’s had eight. Two more and he would have gotten an Iced Coconut Macchiato. No sense in wasting this card. I will complete it’s destiny.” the walker quietly tucking the card into his shirt pocket. “Looks like this body may have been poached by other vultures. Hmm, I wonder how long ago? I better get out of here.”
After one more scan, he felt a slight lump on his jacket. He checked the outer pockets. Nothing. He gently lifted the stylish puff jacket to reveal an inner pocket to which his focus commanded him to inspect. “More cards? shit! money. ten, twenty, twenty, five, and one-two-three ones. fifty-eight bucks”
The hiker tucked the booty into his inner jacket pocket and decided he had enough. He quickly made his way back to the main trail where he once had trekked but instead of continuing onward to his original destination he decided to go back to his car at the trailhead. His pace was a little more brisk than before only slowing when others were spotted in the distance. A malaise would come over him. As the approaching crossed paths he simply smiled offering a friendly “hi.” oNCE PAST the pace picked up again. This repeated until he reached his car. “Someone will find him, right? I could inform the ranger. fuck. but I’ll be stuck here. They may even suspect it was me. but the poor guy can’t just lay there…”
With the twist of the key, his engine started. He reversed no differently than if he was exiting his garage to the nearest Starbucks for his morning coffee and pastry. He grappled with his iPhone, “Siri, where is the nearest Starbucks?”
It was daybreak in the heavily wooded forest, and the sun was just starting to creep through the slits of pine. Each ray pierced the cold, still frozen dirt, barely having space to thaw. There was a small path off in the distance, usually hidden from sight, as the forest had begun to take it back as its own, but today, it had been illuminated by the morning light. And down the path was a little girl. She was running, tripping, then running again. Her eyes, a deep brown, sister to the pine from which she was running away, were drizzling with silent tears. Her expression was vacant, as if her brain had signaled her body to rid itself of all emotion and thought, only movement, only enough to get her away from…the body.
Sorry if this gets posted more than once, Disqus marked it as spam the first time.
Story Prompt – A young man/woman stumbles across a dead body in the woods. What does he/she do?
The first thing he noticed was the smell. Walking through the woods you always smelled a thousand different things, but this was different. This stood out. Not because it was so strong, and getting stronger as he kept walking. It stood out because it was wrong. Out of place. This wasn’t a smell that belonged here. Common sense told him that it was probably a bad idea to keep going and find out what smelled so bad. But he chose to ignore common sense today (and most days his friends would say), and kept going.
As he kept walking the smell kept getting stronger, and he struggled to identify just what it was that he was smelling. He’d never smelt anything like it before. He’d spent a lot of time in nature, in the woods, the mountains, even the desert for a crazy hike. But none of those places held a smell like this. He’d worked for fast food restaurants, animal shelters, and other places, and none of them held a stink like this. He was getting more and more curious, and at the same time more fearful of what he’d find.
As he approached a clearing in the woods, the smell was the strongest yet, and that’s when he noticed something else. There was almost no noise. The woods were always full of the regular sounds of animals moving, hunting, eating, and just being animals. But now, quiet. He stopped, fearful of approaching and finding out what would silence the animals. This part of the woods hosted enough hikers, that the animals had for the most part gotten used to humans around, and so just went about their business.
Summoning his courage, he took the final few steps into the clearing, and is senses were immediately assaulted. The smell, which had be so strong up to now hit him like a wall with nothing to get in its way. He would have gagged and thrown up, if the sight hadn’t so completely robbed him of the ability to move. And the sound. That terrible sound. That terrible screaming sound. That terrible screaming sound that he slowly realized was coming from him. That realization snapped him out of his shock, he fell to his knees, his stomach took over, and he threw up.
Once he’d emptied his stomach, and gotten his dry heaves under control, he looked up again, absent-mindedly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The shock was less sever this time, but still, seeing the dead body laying spread eagled in the middle of the clearing rocked him to his core. He’d walked the woods a hundred times. He’d been through this clearing dozens of times. How could this have happened here?
As his shocked mind slowly started to move again, he began to wonder, how long had the body been here? This wasn’t a regularly traveled part of the trails, but it wasn’t uncommon for someone to pass through. Surely he wasn’t the first person to stumble on this grisly find. It must be recent he though, there’s no sign of any bite marks, or other wounds that would indicate an animal had killed or been eating this person. They were simply laid out spread eagle, and slit cleanly right up the middle, with their guts spilling out all around them.
At that thought he froze again, and slowly began to look around the clearing. No animal ever killed that cleanly, and even if it did no animal would ever just display a kill where anyone could see. No animal except one. And there was no animal in the woods that would cause all the other animals to become silent when they’re around. No animal except one. He felt a chill run through his body, and an uncontrollable shiver ran through him.
He didn’t see or hear anything, but suddenly all that mattered was leaving. He stumbled to his feet and ran. Blindly he ran, not caring where he went, as long as it was away from that horrific site. He ran, and kept running until he got back to the main ranger station at the head of the hiking trails. He had no idea where he was running, but he’d been on those trails so much that his body had taken over and carried him where he needed to be. He rushed to the station and told the rangers about what he’d seen. They called the police, and then grabbing their rifles, set out for the location he’d found the body.
It couldn’t have taken more than an hour to get there, but when they did, the body was gone. And so was the smell. It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t smelled a thing this time, and that had been the first thing he’d noticed. Worse still, there was no sign of any blood or anything else that would indicate there’d been a body. The police arrived and they searched for a while as well, but no one turned up anything.
He was cited and fined by the police for calling in a false report, and as news spread, he rapidly became a laughing stock in town. For weeks, he couldn’t show his face without someone laughing at him, or mocking him. It was definitely a low point in his life.
Then one day, he received a handwritten letter in the mail. It said only;
“I’m sorry for making you look foolish. I’ve been made a fool of before, and it’s a terrible feeling, one I don’t wish on anyone. However, I couldn’t have my work discovered too soon, and so I chose what I thought the lesser of two evils. It’s a shame you ran off when you did. You would have been a great help in finishing my work. Who knows, maybe someday you will be.”
With trembling hands, he read the letter again, then turned it over, but there was no name or signature anywhere on it. Looking at the envelope, there was no name or return address there either. That feeling of cold dread stole over him again. He was standing in his kitchen, in his home, but there were eyes on him. He knew it. He could feel it. And he knew that they’d always be watching him.
If I wrote for a characterization comment, do I have to comment on here too?
It was daybreak in the heavily wooded forest, and the sun was just starting to creep through the slits of pine. Each ray pierced the cold, still frozen dirt, barely having space to thaw. There was a small path off in the distance, usually hidden from sight, as the forest had begun to take it back as its own, but today, it had been illuminated by the morning light. And down the path was a little girl. She was running, tripping, then running again. Her eyes, a deep brown, sister to the pine from which she was running away, were drizzling with silent tears. Her expression was vacant, as if her brain had signaled her body to rid itself of all emotion and thought, only movement, only enough to get her away from…the body.
I really liked it. I got a little confused when you mentioned “sister to the pine” but I think it meant her eyes were the same color. Is that correct? I loved “her expression was vacant.” Great description!
Thanks for the feedback! I was talking about eye color 🙂
It was a sunny morning, the smell of wet trees is still in the air after a rainy night. Ann decided to go out for a walk around the neighborhood to enjoy the weather.after walking for sometime she decided to walk past the deserted area of the neighborhood to go sit in the woods behind them, she walks in she sees the trees has been abandoned a long time ago and the grass are almost to her knees as she takes few steps she stumbles across something she twist her ankle and fall, she needed time to get up since her ankle was hurting her when she turn to look at what made her fall she figured a dead mans body she started to freak out only to hears voices coming from the deserted houses she gets up and limps as fast as she could to her house when she gets home she immediately calls the police, after the police inspects the place for sometime they tell her there is no trace of anything there and maybe the fall made her imagine things and advised her not to go there for her own safety, but that wasn’t true she know what she saw and she knows this isn’t over yet.
Nice plot. I ran out of mental breath. It needs punctuations. Otherwise, it is a good start.
“Letters on the Windowsill”
I looked back at my journal today. I found a note dating back seven years. It read, “James wrote to me today. He told me that he missed me, and how much he loved me.”
If I had found that a year ago, I would have burned it, just like I did to the other letters and notes. Now it just makes me sad.
“Dear Eliza,
I miss you. Four years ago, the war started. I was a young man then, and I was called to serve for my land. I have been away from home ever since.
My love for you tears me up, taunting me to endless heart break. I don’t even pretend to know your feelings. I haven’t been able to send money because as I have told you time and time again, I don’t trust the postal services.
The merchants won’t give us assistance, or supplies! They are afraid they will be punished “when” we lose. Too bad for them, ’cause you know what? These underdogs don’t know when to quit!
I love you dearly, and I miss you. I am getting less and less time to write everyday now because there is so much at stake.
Your not-so-secret admirer,
James”
That was an on-going joke we had. The secret admirer thing. When we were young, you would leave notes signed, “Your secret admirer” on my windowsill. I never even suspected it was you!
When you told me who it was, I thought, “He is mine. He said so, and he is poetic too! I didn’t know he had that in him. When Danielle heard, she said to be careful with him. That he would do what it took to keep his reputation up, and it would probably break my heart. I laughed at her. My older sister, always looking out for me.”
Little did I know just how right she was!
I appreciated your Thank You. Keep up that good writing and you will we a great writer.
Sophie and Danielle rolled out of bed, Danielle going into cat mode- literally. She shape-shifted into a grey tabby, stretching. Sophie became an orange tabby, following suit.
Ten minutes later, Danielle was at the door, saying impatiently, “Come on! Could you go any slower?”
“Actually I could.” Sophie replied with a sly smile and mischievous twinkle in her eye.
She was crossing the room over to her twin when she put her plan into action.
“A sloth?!” Danielle shouted.
“Why, yes.” Sophie responded in a long, drawn out voice.
“Great. A talking sloth. We’re going to be late! Burkhard and Mr. Rhynes will be mad!”
That’s when Sophie did it. She went from sloth to cheetah, sprinting down the hallway to the meal lounge.
Now it was just a race.
Danielle was a little behind, but she had a sixth sense. They were neck in neck when they rounded the corner. Danielle’s sixth sense told her to slow down. She did, as lately she had learned to trust her instincts.
There he was, Mr. Rhynes walking calmly to come get them from dorm thirteen.
Danielle came to a stop, but Sophie wasn’t so lucky. She collided with the man, knocking him over.
She turned into a bird and flew out of the mess, but the older man just wasn’t what he used to be.
He had tumbled, and looked sort of banged up.
“Girls! I told you not to go racing in the halls!” he roared.
He sat where he was, his perfectly gelled hair now spiky. His suit was wrinkled, and apparently he had bitten down on his lip pretty hard. It was swollen and bleeding.
“I am so sorry sir!” Sophie cried out, offering to help him up.
He accepted the offer then said, “I know you are new, and want to test your powers. I don’t blame you, I was like you too. I lost my temper again- don’t pay me any mind!” the man the girls had come to know and love came back out, shining through the odd character mood change.
From Good To Bad
The sun was starting to go down, the wildlife was chittering all around getting their last preparations in before it was time for sleep. Or the nocturnal creatures were getting ready to start their night. I loved this time of day it always makes me feel at peace. We had been hiking all day through the woods my legs were starting to get tired it was time to find a place to camp. “Annie, I am tired lets find a place to set up before it gets dark”. I said “Alright Sasha, I know of a clearing near a stream not far from here. We can camp there, it’s quite a tranquil little spot you’ll love it”. Annie replied
We walked for a while longer and came upon the clearing, it was beautiful, weeping willows made a barrier around the clearing a small slope covered with grass and tiny flowers that lead down to a small stream. It was the perfect spot to end a long day.
We sat around the small fire we made to make a dinner of sausages, bacon and beans and looked at the stars in the cloudless sky. Not a breeze was stiring. Right in that moment we just enjoyed the silence of the woods before we had to go back to busy city life tomorrow.
I woke with a start not sure what had roused me from my sleep. I listened quietly as Annie slept soundly beside me. I heard nothing, I was about to lay back down, then I heard it again a scream in the distance. “What the hell” I thought, to scared to move. “Annie, Annie” I whispered she didn’t even stir “For the love of god Annie wake the hell up will ya”. I said whilst giving her a shake. She startled. “Bloody hell Sasha what you doing I’m trying to sleep here”. she said rather annoyed. “Shh quite, I heard someone scream”. with fear in my voice
Then suddenly the scream came again closer this time but was abruptly cut off. Annie’s eyes were so wide. I’m sure mine looked the same. We said nothing just sat there shaking in the silence. Hours ticked by slowly as we sat still as statue’s listening until the sun finally penetrated the night. With a sigh I looked to Annie and asked “Are you ready to move because I don’t want to be here any longer”? “What the bloody hell do you think”. Annie replied in her usual snarky tone that I loved about her
“Well, are we going or not”? She said as we both realised we still hadn’t moved. After packing our gear up we headed back the way we came. The forest didn’t seem as friendly today it felt dark and foreboding. We walked for about half an hour, when I noticed something in the distance. “Oh my god! Annie, that’s not what I think it is is it”? “Well this shit just got real all of a sudden didn’t it” she replied. I took out my phone and dialled the police. When they finally found us huddled close but not to close to the woman laying with her unseeing eye’s. We were so relieved to see them. We explained what we heard and how we came upon her and just wanted to get out of there. We were so shaken up that they gave us a ride home. Were we finally felt safe.
Abby was practically skipping through the woods. Her pigtails bouncing along with the bag she carried over her shoulder. The sparse sunlight kissing her skin as she thrust her face skyward and took deep breath after deep breath, taking in the forest. She looked around and saw her trail markers as usual and her smile widened. Her eyes were bright with excitement, she was heading to her grandmothers house!
She suddenly became very aware of the silence around her. No birds chirping or critters nattering, just the sound of the light breeze tickling the tops of the trees. She slowed and looked for her favourite boulder on the trail ahead. She stumbled. The smile dropped off her face as she saw the crushed foliage and broken branches veering off to the left just before the boulder. Worry and unease settled into her belly like a heavy cold lump. A twig snapped. What was that? She whipped her head around and squinted into the mass of trees now in front of her. She wasn’t used to having company in these woods. And if she was quite honest, she didn’t much care for it.
She quietly dropped to her knees and pushed her bag under a dense bush a little ways off the main path. She rose and brushed off her hands and knees, no one could know she was cutting through here. She carefully pushed aside what was left of the remaining branches and set off down the violated trail. Her green eyes like lasers, scanning the area as she slowly and uneasily stepped out into a familiar clearing.
To her short-lived relief the clearing seemed to be unchanged. It looked just like she remembered. But something just wasn’t right. Perhaps what was most unsettling was the feeling of another presence, of what she couldn’t quite tell; yet she was absolutely certain she did not want to stick around to find out. Her skin started to crawl as she slowly turned back the way she had come. The hair on the back of her neck was standing straight up. The forest that had once been her refuge, that had provided her with comfort, had turned into an ominous and disturbing place in the blink of an eye.
Then she saw it. The bright white in stark contrast with the rich dark soil. Just the tips poking out, yet she knew with a sinking feeling what had revealed itself. Bones. She actively fought back tears. Two steps back towards the path and she caught a glimpse of a man crouching down, hiding almost. Her heart was pounding; did he see her? No that was definitely his back. He gave no indication that he had noticed her.
With her heart in her throat she tried to silently inch towards the man. She could see that he too had discovered a different pile of bones and he seemed to be inspecting them closely. Perfect. There was her shovel hidden inside a hollowed out tree within her arms reach, she couldn’t believe her luck. Her sweaty hand closed around the shaft of the shovel. With the familiar weight in her hands, the tension released from her shoulders and she swung with all her might. The blade of the shovel made a sickening crunch as it connected with the back of the man’s head. He fell face first into the pile of bones he was studying so intently. Abby gave him three more hard hits to his head and back, for posterity’s sake.
No one could ever find her homemade cemetery in the woods. She would make damn sure of that. Grandma would just have to wait while she cleaned up and welcomed her new “friend”.
Tried this one all day.. work a little and then come back to it.
Brilliant ending to an immensely interesting story. I think the story is mostly all there, you just need to work on the way you construct your sentences- the grammar is correct but a lot of the time they don’t seem to flow well. This is definitely one of my favourites in this comment section.
Well done! Keep up the good work. 🙂
Thanks Jess! I appreciate it!
Hilarious, I haven’t yet read the other stories and ours is quite similar beginning with a skipping girl. I will leave you a little note about this story in a bit after I’ve a chance to read and digest.
I’m 15 and this is my first time writing on something like this so it is probably bad.
My gray little box:
My gray little box. I don’t know if I can live like this anymore. This desolate feeling edging in my core. I don’t know why I was put in this box or when I’ll leave, but my head hurts from just thinking and not doing anything with my thoughts. I’ve been shuffling through them for over a month and I’m starting to just think the same things over and over again, “Why am I here? When will I leave? Why am I here? when will I leave?” Maybe this is someone’s sick experiment. Maybe there are others going through the same torment I am. Of course I’ve thought all these things before. I sit in the corner of the furniture less gray concrete box. I’m sure the others if there are others have already killed themselves. I’ve thought about that a lot. Suicide. I don’t know if I can bring myself to that, but I’m losing my mind. Maybe that was the point of this thing. To make people go crazy and kill themselves. See how long they last. I keep going back to my family and how they will react by me killing myself. They probably already think I’m dead though. So what’s the point of worrying. I then begin to bang my head against the wall repeatedly.
I’m not even sure if I can write. Sometimes I think I’m not so bad, especially considering that I am not a native speaker. Other times I can barely articulate my thoughts. For some weird reason I write much better in English than I do in my mother tongue, but that’s a different subject altogether.
When I was young I lived abroad and went to an American school. That is where I picked up my English. I used to write essays for the whole class, so maybe that’s where I got the idea that I can write. I used to read a lot at that time, which I’m sure greatly influenced my writing. Why do I even want to write now? Well, let me see… I have tons of thoughts going through my head, sometimes I think my head will explode. A lot of ideas are swarming in there, some crazy, some not so much, and I just wish I can write them down in a concise and engaging way. I find it even kind of healing to write down your own thoughts. It makes one think straight, doesn’t it? It’s like, when something is on your mind and you talk to a friend about it. You ask your friend for advice, but the moment it comes out of your mouth, you don’t need your friend’s advice anymore. It just becomes clearer to you. Does this also happen to you?
I also wish I could write fun and engaging stuff, something that would entertain others and make them smile. Nothing hilarious, just entertaining and engaging. It would be great if I could muster up a blog post in no time about subjects of my interest. I would be happy to know that some of my work brought value to another human being. I’m not thinking of making a career out of it, just a hobby. And no, no, I am not at all thinking about writing a book or even a short story! Maybe one day if I have kids, I might think about writing something for them. Inventing a magic world of wizards and fairies…maybe. For the moment, I am thinking more of non-fiction writing. Subjects related to life, relationships, friendships…work, money, habits…hobbies, sports, nature. You know? So I am not sure if this website is even for me, what do you think? I love the idea, of hanging out with everyone, practicing writing and receiving comments and feedback!. I’m only questioning because I definitely cannot call myself a writer. Is a writer wannabe enough to join the club?
First
off I just want to say this is not my story I made this up to honor the girls
who actually are sexually abused. I actually have the privilege of living with
an awesome family who loves me a lot so here is…
The child who hurt:
I am sitting alone in my room, well I
call it my room. It is actually a dark closet that is only big enough to fit my
cot, and my worn pillow. My brother gets a real room, and he doesn’t hurt.
Daddy doesn’t hurt him. Why does dad do this to me. I shake every time someone
comes near me. I tremble when my teacher tells me my dad is here to take me
home. I know I shouldn’t go, that I should tell someone or scream, but I don’t.
I stay a faithful daughter and go into the car.
He drives me home, and tells me to
wear my dancing clothes. When I was little it was a pink dress. Now that I’m
sixteen it is a short black dress, that almost shows my but, and emphasizes the
swell of my breast. He likes it because then it is much funnier to him. Then he
calls me into his room. I want to run, to shield myself, to hide, but I don’t, I
go to the room.
He
is on his bed, in his white tank top. My brother at his side. He has set up the
pole, played some music. “Listen and watch son, this is how you do it. Dance
for us.” My father says to my brother, who does nothing to help me. He is
eighteen, he is dad’s favorite. I dance, my normal one. He smiles and rises
from his seat, he starts to unzip his pants. He touches me and I feel the pain.
The
next day I go to school boys try to grab me. I slap them. My father keeps my
beautiful to please him. He doesn’t want me to be ugly and skinny. Boys think I’m
a slut and they try to make me sleep with them, but I haven’t slept with anyone
except my brother and father. When will it go away, I am so cold, please help
me.
Two
years go by… Now I am eighteen. I have a daughter. My father started to make
boys pay to sleep with me. So now I am sold meat. I luckily had my baby. She is
so beautiful; I would never let her go through the things I did. So I ran away
from my home. I have been staying with her at the local homeless shelter. Soon
I will go to the police and tell them all the horrors I have been through.
Lan wasn’t sure whether the mountains were warning her. Her
father taught her to tell the weather by looking at the mountains. She tried to
learn hard, but she never could be as good as he was. He had intuition that she
lacked. He always kept his people safe. Now that he was gone, it was her turn
to do the job, but no matter how much she looked she didn’t know what was
coming.
“If the sky around mountains is red, expect radiation winds
and tell people to go underground for a few days at least,” he would say. “If
the sky is pink, it is safe to stay in the village.”
Lan looked at the mountains again. The sky around was
something between red and pink. What did that mean? No matter what shade of
color the sky was, her dad always knew what it meant. She couldn’t read shades,
she could only read weather when colors were definite.
Going underground was never easy on her people. They had to
leave their houses and crops, bring enough food to last them and their animals
several days. It was cold, dark, and dump there. She didn’t want to make them
go underground unless they had to. She didn’t want them to be washed over by
radioactivity either. Her father told her of the ancient books that their
ancestors used to pass from generation to generation. The books were telling
about the legendary battle that took place when people were semi-gods and could
fly in the sky and talk to each other across oceans. The books said that great
battle almost destroyed all people and left the radioactive winds behind. The
survivors were punished by God. People couldn’t be semi-gods anymore and were
banned from flying and other wonderful things they were used to be able to do.
Life that came after the great battle was hard. Many died of radioactive wind.
The ones who survived the winds looked less and less like semi-gods. Lan didn’t
know anyone who looked like semi-god people, at least, not according to her
dad’s descriptions.
Anyway, the books were lost after generations of straggles
with fires, famines, and diseases. The books were lost, one by one. Now people
had to pass knowledge through generations by telling stories. Just like her
father did. One day she would have to tell it to her kids. Tell everything she
knew. Yet, she felt she could never be like her father. He really knew what he
was talking about. She didn’t. But she had to decide something today and
radiation winds seemed like worse of the evils. She will tell people to go
underground, just in case. Maybe, just maybe, after a while she will know the
sky just as well as her dad did. He did remind her many times that mastery
comes with practice. For a moment, Lan felt as if her father was with her. She
gave herself a hug with her two arms, while wiping tears away with her third.
If dad was here, he would hug her now, right before heading back to the village.
From Good To Bad
The sun was starting to go down, the wildlife was chittering all around getting their last preparations in before it was time for sleep. Or the nocturnal creatures were getting ready to start their day or night. I loved this time of day it always made me feel at peace. We had been hiking all day through the woods my legs were starting to get tired it was time to find a place to camp. “Annie, I am tired lets find a place to set up before it gets dark”. I said “Alright Sasha, I know of a clearing near a stream not far from here we can camp there it’s quite a tranquil little spot you’ll love it”. Annie replied
We walked for a while longer and came upon the clearing, it was beautiful, weeping willows made a barrier around the clearing a small slope covered with grass and tiny flowers that lead down to a small stream. We could see the stars in the cloudless not a breeze to be felt It was the perfect spot to end a long day.
We sat around the small fire we made to make a dinner of sausages, bacon and beans and just enjoyed the silence of the woods before we had to go back to busy city life tomorrow.
I woke with a start not sure what had roused me from my sleep. I listened quietly as Annie slept soundly beside me. I heard nothing, and as I was about to lay back down, I heard it again a scream in the distance. “What the hell” I thought, to scared to move. “Annie, Annie” I whispered she didn’t even stir “For the love of god Annie wake the hell up will ya”. I said whilst giving her a shake. She startled. “Bloody hell Sasha what you doing I’m trying to sleep here”. she said rather annoyed. “Shh quite, I heard someone scream”. with fear in my voice
Then suddenly the scream came again closer this time but was abruptly cut off. Annie’s eyes were so wide. I’m sure mine looked the same. We said nothing just sat there shaking in the silence. Hours ticked by slowly as we sat still as statue’s listening until the sun finally penetrated the night. With a sigh I looked to Annie and asked “Are you ready to move because I don’t want to be here any longer”? “What the bloody hell do you think”. Annie replied in her usual snarky tone that I loved about her “Well, are we going or not”? She said as we both realised we still hadn’t moved. After packing our gear up we headed back the way we came. The forest didn’t seem as friendly today it felt dark and foreboding. We walked for about half an hour, when I noticed something in the distance. “Oh my god! Annie, that’s not what I think it is is it”? “Well this shit just got real all of a sudden didn’t it” she replied. I took out my phone and dialled the police. When they finally found us huddled close but not to close to the woman laying with her unseeing eye’s. We were so relieved to see them. We explained what we heard and how we came upon the body. We were so shaken up that they gave us a ride home. Were we finally felt safe.
An afternoon coffee ponder . . .
I sit in the cafeteria of my local supermarket and take a sip of my latte. The cash tills beep
incessantly, which strangely does not irritate me, as perhaps it should. I ponder the thought, for just one moment, of how rich I would become if I was to receive a monetary pound for every beep.
But that thought duly stimulates a realisation that the agglomeration of beeps will add up to much more as it feeds the gluttony of this supermarket giant. I guess this is the nature of this insatiable
beast. A beast we continue to feed. A beast created by human wants that far exceed our staple needs.
Dilemma of the misunderstood teenager :
I felt cold in spite of the burning sun on the hot sunny day. Not that I needed a sweater or something, I needed an ice cream, maybe two, ok I don’t know how many, alright? Yeah, this was what worked for me mostly when I was not in the mood, although an inevitable urge sprouted within me for taking a puff which is mostly conventional for people for busting stress but I preferred to bury the urge instantly.
I remember I was looking for an ice cream parlor where I can just sit down for some time and catch up with my brain. It had a lot going on with, the day or say since a few days. I wasn’t sure if I should return, or just fly away from everyone in the lives of whom I was a chaos or at least, they pretended so.
It just came to me that they don’t even know how miserable I feel. Everything seems normal to them. It won’t If I never returned. Can I really do this? Can I give myself the leisure to do something I really want for least this once? Why am I thinking so much? I need something for my brain to relax.
I found a cafe on my way after running my eyes all over the streets of the unknown city where I came in a hope of escaping the reality. So that for at least a few moments I won’t feel like living in my own world, but all in vain. I changed what was outside for my eyes to see but what about my inner self? How should I get rid of all the guilt I am feeling for the ones who don’t even deserve it.
I took the third stool on the right side of the cafe. The cafe was more like a bar, and they had bar stools all over for everyone even if you were there to get something for your empty stomach. Anything works for me, I thought. I am here to talk sense to my flickering brain light, not for my hunger. I order for a vanilla and the waiter served it in no time. I pulled out my kindle from the last compartment of my bag and began reading one of the Lemony Snicket’s series. I was always into books, all sorts of them. They helped me in feeling out of the place, and I loved it. Suddenly, I felt the desert spoon didn’t felt cold in my mouth. When I shifted my vision, I saw the bowl was empty. I signaled the waiter to bring another. The same happened to the second bowl and this time when my eyes were searching for him, he suddenly appeared in front of me with another bowl. I don’t really remember how many times the scene played on repeat mode.
He watched the people march. As a child, he couldn’t do anything, but he knew someone who could. Or so he thought, the moment he saw is “savior” being the leader of the front, he realized he lost. They lost. All of them. In the cities you wouldn’t see such a morbid tradition as to bury people alive for their souls to grow as plants. The forest became a cemetery. Each plant being a dead human, poisoning the naive person who tried to visit someone’s grave. It was the rule the village lived after. If someone committed a crime, they are to be buried alive. After some time they become the dangerous plants that grow from their corrupted souls, as the elder say. And the sad part is, sometime, if you have the courage or stupidity to wonder through the Dead Forest, you see a small little flower, as white as snow, they are rare, but as they come from pure souls buried for someone’s lie, they can be used as cure by the shaman. His mother was to drink a potion made with one of these flowers each month for her to live. As her body would weaken and colapse if she did not, she didn’t approve of this tradition, after all, she lost her brother this way. Just a lie in the right place and anyone could be gone, it didn’t matter your place in society. You can be a child, woman or man, shaman or leader of the village. If you stole, if you killed, if you did something forbidden, you were to be be buried alive in the forest next to the purple lake.
I posted this two days ago but showed up in my inbox as spam not sure why. Sorry if annoyed by seeing this twice wasn’t sure if it was posted or not.This is my first writing prompt so I’m sorry for grammar errors as I just typed away with what ever came over me. It is short and I need to work on getting more out faster.
My Wonderland
Every time I leave the house I feel as if something is looming over me. The feeling of death is always lurking. Like I have to on my P’s and Q’s and if I let my guard down for even a second it’s going to happen. All I want is to let my hair down and enjoy the world around me. Yet I can’t. I’m afraid! I leave the house telling myself everything is going to be okay. A pep talk you could say. I start to feel confident. I get the kids ready and in the truck with seat belts on and put it in reverse to back out of the drive way. The whole time telling my anxiety to buzz off. Kids are in the back anticipating their friend’s birthday party with so much excitement that I’m envious! A small smile on my face as I here all their plans to play with their friends and how much fun they will have. We pull in go inside and I feel the pressure building up in my chest. My heart is beating as if I’ve never met these people before. Deep breaths as the kids run off to join in on the fun as I set back and focus on breathing. Praying no one comes over to make small talk I set back and observe my surroundings. The fake laughs and smiles rumbling from parents around me and I say fake because just the other day she was downing her sister-in-law and her parenting techniques along with the way she treats her husband. Yet acts as if she’s never said a bad thing about her. I don’t want to be here around all the fakeness looming around. I want to be back in my oasis where I belong. Where I control my surroundings and know what to expect. I’m in a crowded room and feel as if I’ve never been more alone. Yet it’s my fault setting over here by myself. The minutes ticked by feeling like hours and the inevitable of the small talk lingered around me like thick humidity in the air. The sounds of their voices go in and out like a bad signal on an A.M. radio picking up every other conversation. Somehow nodding my head in all the right places. I tried to focus on the laughter and screams of the children and the beaming glow radiating from them. Relief came over me as the party was coming to a close. No more fabricated stories of how great their lives are or gossip spewing from their mouths like regurgitated nonsense. The drive home came natural as I am finally at ease knowing I will soon be where I fit in, in my own little wonderland.
First
off I just want to say this is not my story I made this up to honor the girls
who actually are sexually abused. I actually have the privilege of living with
an awesome family who loves me a lot so here is…
The child who hurt:
I am sitting alone in my room, well I
call it my room. It is actually a dark closet that is only big enough to fit my
cot, and my worn pillow. My brother gets a real room, and he doesn’t hurt.
Daddy doesn’t hurt him. Why does dad do this to me. I shake every time someone
comes near me. I tremble when my teacher tells me my dad is here to take me
home. I know I shouldn’t go, that I should tell someone or scream, but I don’t.
I stay a faithful daughter and go into the car.
He drives me home, and tells me to
wear my dancing clothes. When I was little it was a pink dress. Now that I’m
sixteen it is a short black dress, that almost shows my but, and emphasizes the
swell of my breast. He likes it because then it is much funnier to him. Then he
calls me into his room. I want to run, to shield myself, to hide, but I don’t, I
go to the room.
He
is on his bed, in his white tank top. My brother at his side. He has set up the
pole, played some music. “Listen and watch son, this is how you do it. Dance
for us.” My father says to my brother, who does nothing to help me. He is
eighteen, he is dad’s favorite. I dance, my normal one. He smiles and rises
from his seat, he starts to unzip his pants. He touches me and I feel the pain.
The
next day I go to school boys try to grab me. I slap them. My father keeps my
beautiful to please him. He doesn’t want me to be ugly and skinny. Boys think I’m
a slut and they try to make me sleep with them, but I haven’t slept with anyone
except my brother and father. When will it go away, I am so cold, please help
me.
Two
years go by… Now I am eighteen. I have a daughter. My father started to make
boys pay to sleep with me. So now I am sold meat. I luckily had my baby. She is
so beautiful; I would never let her go through the things I did. So I ran away
from my home. I have been staying with her at the local homeless shelter. Soon
I will go to the police and tell them all the horrors I have been through.
The perfectionist:
It was obvious he was dead; partially covered by mud and leaves with an arm and leg flung outstretched and looking like someone who got too hot in the middle of the night. The man’s body lay unnaturally still. His broken and bloodied finger nails were covered in dirt and his eyes were wide open and terrified. The exposed side of his body registered the relief of his escape while the rest, the part that had failed him, remained buried. At first it was shocking. How the ..? What had gone wrong? Hadn’t the plan been followed to the letter? “Fuck,” she sighed, as she picked up her shovel and started to dig. She can’t afford these kinds of mistakes, she’ll get it right next time.
1998 india “pious a beautiful women whose husband is disabled was working as a maid in the mayor’s house, pious has twins so she used to wake up every day feed her babies and leave them with her best friend who was living with her than head to her work, because of her beauty and decency the mayor was getting attracted to her day after day,he tried several times to tell her what he feels but she didn’t give him the opportunity because she wasn’t seeing another man than Marko, the Mayor was all angry about the way she treated him “how could a cheap maid treat me this way” he wanted to revenge.One night he told her that he is going to make a feast so he need her tp spend the whole day there and so did pious, the poor lady thought that she will do her work as usual then go back to her home but not as the sly Mayor arranged.Pious was working while the Mayor’s friends were gathering around the dinner table drinking fast they were extremely drunk when she eentred the room the friends were amazed “what a beautiful lady” the 3 Mayor’s friends huddled around her she was very scared pious is too weak to resist them than the worst thing happend Pious was rappedby the Mayor and 2friends of him , not much later a rumor spreaded over the country and Marko heard it he accused her for a crime that she didn’t commitedand he wanted to deprive her of her kids but when it was dark she packed up her things took her babies and left the country toward a secluded vilage in the southren of india, she was broken pious didn’t even know a way that leads to that vilage , while she was standing waiting for someone to help her the third Mayor’s friend passed next her ……..i’ll finish it soon please i need your feedbacks this is the first time i write a story
You have a great story, but its lacking a few things. Detail and paragraphs. Don’t worry your story isn’t horrible or anything, it just needs a few tweaks in it and it will be fine.
Hello, Aicha. You have quite a story here. It seems as though you are speaking it aloud to someone, as perhaps at home or among friends someone might ask you to tell a story. Or it seems as though someone asked you to tell them the story from a movie (a film) or a play.
There are problems with the spelling and punctuation, but you have the important part, a story to tell. It is fairly easy to fix spelling and punctuation but if there is no story it’s hopeless!
Are you sure you want to write in English? Your English is good but I bet you know at least one other language better.
The story you have written is long enough for a book or a movie. That means many events or scenes. Perhaps the next step is to pick one event or scene and write it as a story by itself.
Perhaps the first line in a story might be: ‘the Mayor was all angry about the way she treated him “how could a cheap maid treat me this way” he wanted to revenge.’
If you would like me to help with the English leave a comment on the little piece of writing I just posted.
Fabulous plot outline, Aicha. There’s enough material here for a whole novel, maybe. I wonder how you could manage to clean up the grammar and such without losing your unique voice. I really like the stream-of-consciousness nature of the narrative. . .
Wow. I think you did a great job, indeed if this was actually your first experience writing.
You’re the writer and have full control of her destiny, please give her a happy ending! I really liked it. It had good relatable human emotion. Like her first thoughts being about her children.
This is only very short, hope it’s OK;
‘A View of One’s Own’
The dark night sky began to furl over the baby blue sky of the day gone by, beginning the process of erasing all the hours that had gone before it. A woman sat alone in an empty hair salon excluding the young hairdresser who clipped away at her bird’s nest hair. Snip, snip, with her scissors. It had been a while since she had darkened her hairdresser’s door, and hence taming the beast took a lot of work. As she worked on transforming the monster that resided on top of her head into a masterpiece, the woman stared gormlessly at herself in the mirror, then down at her good friend Grazia. ‘New Twist in Tale for Bradgelina’, she screamed at her. Shock, horror. Lies. The woman looked down at her coffee with its frothy milk and chocolate sprinkles shaped like a badly drawn love heart. It reminded her of a homemade tattoo that a teenager would scratch on into their skin in the heat of a hormone driven moment. By now, it had long gone cold. The posters that adorned the salon’s walls looked aloofly into the distance, seeming to look at nothing in particular, but ignoring her, in her little seat, with her little bird’s nest head of hair. For a fleeting moment, the woman allowed herself to look out of the salon’s window. The sky was now dark, an inky black. Street lamps cast a soft sodium glow on the road outside as cars purred past. The woman could see both her own sad reflection, and that of the world going by simultaneously. It felt very odd, like two worlds colliding, theirs and hers, us and them. Yet she couldn’t recognise a single car, they were all red, blue and green, black and white strangers to her from her seat in the hair salon.
This is only very short, hope its OK;
‘A View of One’s Own.’
The dark night sky began to furl over the baby blue sky of the day gone by, beginning the process of erasing all the hours that had gone before it. A woman sat alone in an empty hair salon excluding the young hairdresser who clipped away at her bird’s nest hair. Snip, snip, with her scissors. It had been a while since she had darkened her hairdresser’s door, and hence taming the beast took a lot of work. As she worked on transforming the monster that resided on top of her head into a masterpiece, the woman stared gormlessly at herself in the mirror, then down at her good friend Grazia. ‘New Twist in Tale for Bradgelina’, she screamed at her. Shock, horror. Lies. The woman looked down at her coffee with its frothy milk and chocolate sprinkles shaped like a badly drawn love heart. It reminded her of a homemade tattoo that a teenager would scratch on into their skin in the heat of a hormone driven moment. By now, it had long gone cold. The posters that adorned the salon’s walls looked aloofly into the distance, seeming to look at nothing in particular, but ignoring her, in her little seat, with her little bird’s nest head of hair. For a fleeting moment, the woman allowed herself to look out of the salon’s window. The sky was now dark, an inky black. Street lamps cast a soft sodium glow on the road outside as cars purred past. The woman could see both her own sad reflection, and that of the world going by simultaneously. It felt very odd, like two worlds colliding, theirs and hers, us and them. Yet she couldn’t recognise a single car, they were all red, blue and green, black and white strangers to her from her seat in the hair salon.
I had never been good at talking with people, nor had I been good at making friends. Never good at anything really. Today would not be any different.
Silence. Silence as I walk along the same path. The only path that I’d ever walked on, at the same time each day for the past 10 years. The same footprints, in the same places, never changing. Never faltering. The same as it had always been.
I wonder what it’s like to be out there? To be with the rest of the people in the streets, in the town square. I guess I’ll never know. At least now I’ve been given the task of getting the well water and gathering wood and berries. With this task I am finally able to escape from that prison,even for just for a little while. The dirt and smoke trapped in that place are nauseating. I can’t stand staying in the main halls for more than a few hours. It’s funny though, since I have lived there all my life, or at least what I can remember of my life. Even now I can’t get used to the filth and the grime that percolates through the air.
At night when I sneak onto the rafters, climb to the roof, or crawl through the open windows I can see the stars. The smog wafts out to the night sky. The air is clearer up there. It’s easier to breathe and see without a cloud of dirt contaminating the air. The stars are so bright! I’ve never seen anything like it, and when I sleep up there I dream of the sunlight; the clean warmth and light on my face. The fresh air wafting in and taking over the decrepit place which I’m chained to. I wonder if I’ll ever really be able to leave and truly escape. Will I ever be able to forget about this wretched place? Oh, how I would thrive in the world. Just thinking of the animals and the flowers! Would they grow around me as I lay in the soft grass of spring meadows? Would the animals lay near me or cower in fear of what I am? Am I really too ugly and monstrous to look at? I’ve never seen myself. Nor have I any recollection of a parent from whom I can base my features. Alone in this world I truly am. How pitiful that is. How horrid. But what other life am I worthy of? what else but this low and humble life I have been forced to endure. I will walk this path the rest of my life. No dreams or wishes will ever change the fact that because of what I am I will never be accepted. A monster, I suppose. That’s what I am. Or is that what I only believe myself to be? I guess the world, as well as myself, will never know.
I turned to the door, inhaled deeply as i lay my hands on the knobs, i pushed the door open, it somehow felt heavy as in front of me unraveled something very nostalgic,
Groups of people laughing and talking, sitting arround the room,
… My worst fear.
They could not hear me, nor can i hear myself, their loud chatter and laughter made me feel anxious.
Nevetheless i walk inside nobody heared my steps nor did anyone see me every body was deaf and have tunnel-vision, i’m walking straight to the back of the room, i see it was all empty seats, exactly what i have back then.
I sat on the creaking old chair beside the window, and infront of me was the same view i have in high school.
Everyone was already busy with each other, theres nothing left for me to fill, i came to the realization that nothing exactly changed i just moved to a different school, i didnt actually change, the people didnt change, nor did the whole earth, everything was the same
i was wrong to expect something in such a small span of time.
I took my notebook and lay it on the armrest, this time i didnt write on it nor did i pretend to be preoccupied, i didnt needed to, instead i laid my cheeks on the notebook and face the window, “the only thing that’s alive it seems”( see ch 1)
I imagined what could have happen if i arrive just a bit earlier,
Where everyone was sitting here awkwardly waiting for anyone to male a move, surely someone would have talked to me. And i should be laughing with them around in a circle.
…it was a happy thought, though i never actually knew what it really feels like have friends, i concluded it was ectatasic as everyone looked so happy and couldnt care less what ever happens arround them.
Yet here i am again having no place in this room except this creaking old chair besides the window.
Haha i forgot i was writting this as a comment , then my timer rang so i didnt get to fix all my mistakes.
This is my first 15 minute short story and an plot was a bit difficult to pinpoint with all of the ideas I currently have flowing through my head but I was able to come up with this. Sorry for all of the lower case I’s, by the way.
____________________________________________________________________________
I’ve never been one to stress about something as minuscule as dress but as i scooped myself through my mother’s body length mirror i felt a lump rise up my stomach. Curse my napped up hair, curse my rounded features, and most of all: curse the hideous magenta of this stupid homecoming dress and whoever created the color in the first place. Truly insane, they must have been. I should have said no when Kit asked me to accompany her to the dance but how could I’m her big sister and it’s my duty to teach her the ins and outs of high school life. Now i regret even thinking i had a chance at helping her. The dress i looked sexy and fearless in just five years ago now hugged to me in a very uncomfortable way, to the point that air was a bit of a struggle to accumulate.
“Sid, do you want some help?” Kit approached me in her dazzling silver dress and 3 inch heels. Ah, how satisfying it is to see your little siblings molding into you.
“Nah,” I let out an exasperated sigh. “Maybe just help me pull down the bottom? I sorta can’t reach it in these heels or this dress.” A chuckle escapes both of us as she approaches me and squats down, adjusting my dress.
“Ya know, if mom was here to see you in this dress,” Kit paused for a bit, as if to sequence her words in a manner that wouldn’t upset me. Before she could finish her thoughts, i continued her sentence.
“She would be all over us taking pictures and fangirling,” I whispered.
“Yeah,” Kit gave me a sad smile. “Exactly,” She then walked away, most likely to my room to get the car key. My theory was confirmed when i heard her shout from the front door to hurry and get in the car.
Daily word prompt
Daily word Prompt: Panicked
May 6, 2017
Llissasbookviews
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“Daily word Prompt: Panicked”
via Daily Prompt: Panicked
alarmed, scared, nervous, afraid, agitated, hysterical, overwrought, worked up, lose your cool, freaked out, terror stricken, freeze up, have a fit, running scared, terrified, frightened, cold feet…. all of these describe this word perfectly.
Panicked: {pan-ik} (noun)
the past tense of panic – feel or cause to feel panic
Watching her play was bliss for her, her laugh warmed her soul. That day started off wonderfully, we had a nice warm breakfast, then got dressed and headed out to walk over the three blocks to the park. She was dressed in one of her favorite dresses with her pretty clap shoes. We skipped, then hopped, then ran, then walked those three blocks laughing and giggling the whole way. She of course wanted to swing on the swings first, then she went off to play with a few of the other children that had convinced their parents to bring them to the park on this beautiful spring morning. I’d like to say it happened so fast, but it didn’t feel that way, the whole thing seemed to go into slow motion. I went over to the benches with a few other mothers I knew in the neighborhood. We were all talking about how fast our babies were growing up, I looked up to check on her, I didn’t see her- pure panic filled my heart. I began to walk around the playground, but still I didn’t see her, I looked inside all of the little tunnels the kids climb in, she wasn’t there. I walked around the playground again calling her name. The other mothers called their children and asked them if they had seen her, one of them said she walked off towards the bathrooms nearby. They said they were playing hide and seek. The children had found everyone but her. I’m nearly hyperventilating and more of the parents begin to look. Everyone has stopped playing and talking to help me look for my heart, my happiness. I’m a complete mess thinking of all of the what ifs. What if she is lost, what if she was taken, what if she’s hurt? All this panic in a matter of minutes. Minutes later I hear hollering, yelling, and then come here! We had found her! She’s here! They found her, stuck behind a building and a tree. She squeezed her little body behind there but couldn’t get out. First moment of panic over only to panic again. We can’t get her out! Call someone, anyone, help. A few dads begin to try, but its not working and it making her cry. Time to call for help. After the call is made I go over to her and talk with her, my heart. She says mama I’m scared and mama I’m sorry. I hug her and give her comfort the best I can. The fire department comes, they can get her out its just going to take some time. 2 hours later they have my little girl out and off to the hospital. She’s safe and finally once again in my arms. ~the end~
Little Dead Body
There was a body in the middle of the road.
I stood alone and watched.
It was small, and pale, and flat. Hair was matted to the skull, too red and bright to look at. So many things were that same color: not-real blush on my mother’s cheeks, the sky just before the sun slipped away to hide, leaves fallen on the road like tree tears. Blood. It made the girl’s skin so white, like a piece of paper without any ideas on it.
Dead.
I turned to look at the car. It was white – a ghost car playing pretend. It wasn’t moving now, just standing there, spent, slightly slanted maybe, its wheels turned diagonal as if wanting to speed off and away, with the rest of the car or without it, just close their eyes, forget what happened, move on like everything was the same. The sun was strong; it felt like accidentally poking a pencil in your eye. I squinted. The bender was a little dented, maybe, but there was no telling now. Maybe it had already been dented before. The girl probably hadn’t mattered to it, living or dead.
It didn’t seem fair. Dying should be more dramatic, a grand show, like something you would watch on TV, displayed across the screen in bright dancing colors. Like in that movie my dad liked to watch, about this man and this girl who were friends. Only there it was the man who died, in this big flashy explosion, and it was the girl who stayed alive and remembered him for always and cared for his plant. My dad always cried at that point, with his beer in his hand and his eyes turning moist and bloodshot. I hated when he cried. He always got really drunk when he cried. And after he got really drunk, he got really mad. And after that…
Well. I closed my eyes.
Nothing was ever like on TV, and my dad hadn’t died for me.
I stood and watched over my dead body. Because there was no one else.
A young woman stumbles across a dead body in the woods
She was young and sturdy and loved exercising and keeping her body fit and for that she was willing to stretch herself to any extent. So she decided she would run in the woods every weekend. It was an ordinary Saturday morning and she started early, even before the sun had come up. It must’ve hardly been half past five when she started from her house. The woods were not very far from where she lived and she loved driving the car right upto the edge of the forest, listening to the birds chirping early in the morning gave her a feeling of calm and well being.
She parked her car under a tree, took her phone and waist pouch and after checking the locks she started running her usual route. It was still a bit dark when she started but that had never been a cause of worry for her. Determined to complete her target of 15 miles she enthusiastically ran trying to maintain her pace.
She was setting up her watch to time her run when all of a sudden she stumbled over something and fell. She picked herself up and looked back to see what she had stumbled on. And to her shock it was a body. She was frightened to the core. Her body shivering and sweating at the same time. She didn’t know what to make of it and what to do further. On closer inspection it turned out to be the body of a teenage girl, who it seemed had been brutally murdered by smashing her head with a stone. The stone still lay beside her body and it seemed like not much time had passed. She was scared, maybe the murderer was still lurking around, on the look out for more victims. As soon as this thought crossed her mind she turned around and started running back faster than before. She was panting and gasping for air after running so fast. She managed to reach the car and acting very fast she unlocked the door and climbed into the safety of her car. She locked all the doors from inside and took a few deep breaths and collected herself. She was now in a dilemma whether or not to inform the police. She was aware of what she’d have to go through once the police were involved. Yet she didn’t want the culprit to get away so easily. She dialled 100 and told them whatever she had just seen and gave them the exact location of the place. Her heart still beating very fast and still feeling dizzy from the smell o blood and the sight of the smashed face, she drove back home. She could not get the image of that girl out of her mind. Her face had been disfigured beyond recognition and her body lay in a pool of blood. It seemed someone had killed and thrown her into the woods.she reached home and washed her face and sat down angry and scared at the same time. Why did it have to be herself who stumbled across the body?
I stepped outside yesterday. Both feet solid on the porch.
It was terrifying and exhilarating. But in the end, too much. Karen says it was
good progress.
I won’t see Karen again until next week. She’s taking Mia to
the beach in Maryland.
I think about the two of them roaming the coast line,
picking up shells like we used to do and I feel sad. I picture them stepping
into the foamy surf, and then going deep, past Mia’s waist. I can’t think about
that because the panic feels like stepping onto the porch. The breathing starts
again – the short bursts of air and long seconds of holding my breath like I’m
drowning.
I told her not to go. She gave me the look – part sympathy,
part exasperation. I knew it was no use after that, but I had to keep trying
until she finally left. Kissed me on the cheek, said “Goodbye mom” and made a
visible effort not to slam the door on the way out.
She’s so good to me. You would’ve slammed the door. Remember that time? I was worried about the trash man. It was so hot that day. I ran out with a glass of lemonade and you hollered after me, “Damnit Jean, he doesn’t want your lemonade.” But the trash man tookit, thankful. Drank the whole glass in one shot.
That was months before I got sick.
Sometimes I find myself talking out loud to you. I come into the kitchen and call out asking if you
want me to bring you anything. Other times, I’m relieved you’re not there to look at me anymore.
Karen says you wore me down. You undermined my confidence.But she doesn’t understand. You were my confidence. Those summer afternoons when you were out mowing the lawn. You used
to wave to me with your big straw hat and your grin. I bought that hat for you
because your poor scalp got so red in the sun. I wanted you to be comfortable. And
you wore it, because I was right.
You told me the truth. Sometimes you slammed doors and said “damnit.”
And that was OK, because you also listened and told the truth. “You can’t let
these things bother you. You have to let it go.” That’s what you used to say.
And sometimes, it helped.
I don’t sleep much anymore. I’m up most nights until 3 or 4. I take long naps on the little window seat you made for me, because it feels good – the sunshine on my face.
I sit a lot. Watch TV, infomercials mostly. I hate everyday in this house. And every day, I begin by stepping over to the door. I tell myself, it’s not so bad out there. It’s bright, like sitting by the
window, only I’ll be able to feel the breeze too and hear the mockingbirds and
the sparrows. I’ll be able to smell the honeysuckle – it’s always so fragrant
early in the morning. And yesterday, I opened the door and stepped onto the
porch. It felt so firm, sturdy for a moment. And when I went inside, everything
looked a little less ordinary.
Here is my practice story, tell me if you guys like it.
I can remember that day as if it were yesterday. The night air was crisp, the sky dark, as if the stars all went out spontaneously, although it was also bright, pale milky moonlight poured across the leafless trees, casting odd shadows upon the ground. A slight fall breeze whispered among the trees in a quite voice. The forest always captivated me at this time of night, I would go there to think, or to watch the stars in a particular meadow I favored. I never found it to be an eerie, or dangerous place.
*****************************************************************************************************************************
I started towards the forest, taking long strides until I reached the treeline. I slipped into the darkness and proceed to follow my usual trail. I crossed a small crackling brook and headed towards the meadow in which I would gaze upon the stars at. I stopped walking when I realized that the usual animal noises were amiss. The crickets, beetles and bats had fallen silent. I thought nothing of it and delved deeper into the woods. Once or twice I though I heard the cracking of a twig or branch but I shook the thought from my head and rendered it silly. I crossed the tree line encased around the small meadow and took a few steps into the open. A nearly fell back startled; a large pack of black crows flew up into the air with a few glides of their greasy wings. I found this little engagement to be quite unsettling. I headed towards the bolder that was near the center of the meadow but soon stopped as I thought I saw something shiny in the distance. I wandered away from the boulder and towards the mysterious object. It was a silver pocket watch attached to a small silver chain. I tried to pry open the pocket watch but only to my disappointment. It wouldn’t open. That is when I smelled the strange iron-y dead smell. It smelled like a dead animal or something. I follow the smell and came to a dead body. It had giant scratches across its body. Some kind of animal killed it. At the sight of horror, I dropped the pocket
watch, and as it hit the floor the cover popped open. Scratched onto the watches face was the words, “Your Next:. Just then a branch cracked.
I stepped outside yesterday. Both feet solid on the porch.
It was terrifying and exhilarating. But in the end, too much. Karen says it was
good progress.
I won’t see Karen again until next week. She’s taking Mia to
the beach in Maryland. I think about the two of them roaming the coast line,
picking up shells like we used to do and I feel sad. I picture them stepping
into the foamy surf, and then going deep past Mia’s waist. I can’t think about
that because the panic feels like stepping onto the porch. The breathing starts
again – the short bursts of air and long seconds of holding my breath like I’m
drowning.
I told her not to go. She gave me the look – part sympathy,
part exasperation. I knew it was no use after that, but I had to keep trying
until she finally left. Kissed me on the cheek, said “Goodbye mom” and made a
visible effort not to slam the door on the way out.
She’s so good to me. You would’ve slammed the door. Remember
that time? I was worried about the trash man, he was so sweaty. I ran out with
a glass of lemonade and you hollered after me, “Damnit Jean, he doesn’t want
your lemonade.” But the trash man took
it, thankful. Drank the whole glass in one shot.
That was months before I got sick. Sometimes I find myself
talking out loud to you. I come into the kitchen and call out asking if you
want me to bring you anything. Other times, I’m relieved you’re not there to
look at me anymore.
Karen says you wore me down. You undermined my confidence.
But she doesn’t understand. You were my
confidence. Those summer afternoons when you were out mowing the lawn. You used
to wave to me with your big straw hat and your grin. I bought that hat for you
because your poor scalp got so red in the sun. I wanted you to be comfortable.
And you wore it, because I was right.
You told me the truth. Sometimes you slammed doors and said
“damnit.” And that was OK, because you also listened and told the truth. “You
can’t let these things bother you. You have to let it go.” That’s what you used
to say. And sometimes, it helped.
I don’t sleep much anymore. I’m up most nights until 3 or 4.
I take long naps on the little window seat you made for me, because it feels
good – the sunshine on my face.
I sit a lot. Watch TV, infomercials mostly. I hate everyday
I’m here in this house. And every day, I begin by stepping over to the door. I
tell myself, it’s not so bad out there. It’s bright, like sitting by the
window, only I’ll be able to feel the breeze too and hear the mockingbirds and
the sparrows. I’ll be able to smell the honeysuckle – it’s always so fragrant
early in the morning. And yesterday, I opened the door and stepped onto the
porch. It felt so firm, sturdy for a moment. And when I went inside, everything
looked a little less ordinary.
To anybody
Have you ever had had a sister who bothered you for ever and would never stop. Well my sister always did that. Sometimes I wish I could get her back for everything she did to me.
But hey she can always get you in trouble while she goes laughing at you for getting in trouble. but hey maybe I might get her one day.
Future Jobs
people all around the world are looking for a job. Some people want to be doctors, teachers, coaches, and many more .When I grow up I want to be either a doctor or a engineer. But I’m still deciding. Hopefully I will choose the right job. I will make new things start new ideas. I might be even famous . But that all depends on if I do good in school.
I’ve tried twice to post my writing practice here and I can’t seem to find it anywhere. Any suggestions?
I had the same thing happen to me. when I go into Disqus it shows that what I posted was spam. I sent a msg to the admits and they have no idea either.
Well that’s a bummer! If you’d like some feedback, I’d be happy to read your post and offer my thoughts, for what it’s worth 🙂
I suppose you could post it here in the comments. They don’t seem to be flagging us now…otherwise, I’m not sure how to give you my email address without sharing it with the entire interweb.
I’m trying again….Here goes!
__________________________________
I stepped outside yesterday. Both feet solid on the porch. At first I thought I might even make it the seven and a half paces to the stairs. But in the end, it was too much. Karen says it was good progress.
I won’t see Karen again until next week. She’s taking Mia to
the beach in Maryland. I think about the two of them roaming the coast line,
picking up shells like we used to do and I feel sad. I picture them stepping
into the foamy surf, and then going deep past Mia’s waist. I can’t think about
that because the panic feels like stepping onto the porch. The breathing starts
again – the short bursts of air and long seconds of holding my breath like I’m
drowning.
I told her not to go. She gave me the look – part sympathy,
part exasperation. I knew it was no use after that, but I had to keep trying
until she finally left. Kissed me on the cheek, said “Goodbye mom” and made a
visible effort not to slam the door on the way out.
You would’ve slammed the door.
Remember that time? I was worried about the trash man, he was so sweaty. I ran out with
a glass of lemonade and you hollered after me, “Damnit Jean, he doesn’t want
your lemonade.” But the trash man took it, thankful. Drank the whole glass in one shot.
That was months before I got sick. Sometimes I find myself
talking out loud to you. I come into the kitchen and call out asking if you
want me to bring you anything. Other times, I’m relieved you’re not there to
look at me anymore.
Karen says you wore me down. You undermined my confidence.
But she doesn’t understand. Those summer afternoons when you were out mowing the lawn. You used to wave to me with your big straw hat and your grin. I bought that hat for you
because your poor scalp got so red in the sun. I wanted you to be comfortable.
And you wore it, because I was right.
You told me the truth. Sometimes you slammed doors and said
“damnit.” And that was OK, because you also listened and told the truth. “You
can’t let these things bother you. You have to let it go.” That’s what you used
to say. And sometimes it helped.
I don’t sleep much anymore. I’m up most nights until 3 or 4.
I take long naps on the little window seat you made for me, because it feels
good – the sunshine on my face.
I sit a lot. Watch TV, infomercials mostly.
I hate everyday in this house. And every day, I start by stepping over to the door. I tell myself, it’s not so bad out there. It’s bright, like sitting by the window, only I’ll be able to feel the breeze too and hear the mockingbirds and the sparrows. I’ll be able to smell the honeysuckle – it’s always so fragrant early in the morning. And yesterday, I opened the door and stepped onto the
porch. It felt so firm, sturdy for a moment. And when I went inside, everything looked less ordinary.
Is it true that everyone deserves a second chance?
The therapist kept saying that day after day. Her words burnt themselves into my head like a mantra would—“We all make mistakes. It’s a normal part of life. What really matters is that you learn from them, and use them to help you grow as a person.” She truly believed the things she preached, refusing to give up on any of us.
I wonder…..would she look at me the same if she knew what I did?
I knew that I wouldn’t. Even outside the confinement of that festering hellhole they dare called a ‘correctional facility’, I didn’t trust myself to be around humans. Or anitos. Or terrarians. Or any other race that occupied this sector of the galaxy, for that matter. I’m surprisingly dangerous, for a 5 ft tall human man. My victims had learnt that the hard way.
The main thoroughfare of Lupin IV saw a huge amount of traffic each day. I guess it would, being a merchant city. I easily blended into the crowd, just another earthling among the dozens that visited the city to trade. One of the advantages of being assigned to this remote place was that nobody ever recognized a criminal, something that the council kept in mind as they assigned me here. Wanted me to readjust to society in a peaceful environment. Free as I was though, I knew that the smallest offense would send me back. Even now, they still had me chained down. Though who could blame them. I would do the same for me, if I was in their place.
Trudging through the streets, my chest panged at yesterday’s memory.
Unfortunately, I found out that Lupin treats ex-cons like crap the hard way. The interview was going great, the terrarian glad that he had finally found a decent shop keep. Then he typed my name in the Intercelestial database. The militia was quick to arrive after that.
I shook my head. Damn it! Remember… nobody is going to want lowlife scum like you. Get used to it.
Sheer happenstance found me in front of a narrow byway. A yema pup was shuddering in a corner, harassed by a small band of xali. Let the militia handle it. Don’t get involved. Somebody probably already called them anyways.
The howl of pain that escaped from the yema’s muzzle stopped me in my tracks.
“Oy! Leave ‘im be.” I said. The humanoids laughed, causing their yellow antennae to bob up and down. Their pitch black color failed to hide their sneers.
“HAHAHA! Why? You gonna make us, human?” One of them answered.
“Only if I have to.”
“Tough luck, ya shit.” Another one said. “Fuck off.”
One of them prepared to strike the pup. It never made contact.
Years of dormancy dulled my instincts, but they were enough. My clenched fists found the surface of soft xali flesh, with gelatinous blood splattering all over them. In an instant, the first one dropped down to the ground. Then two. Then three. Until only one was left.
“Now get.”
The xani quivered for a moment before it fled past me, leaving the alleyway. After my adrenaline lowered, the thought of violating my probation hit me like a speeding truck. I only got two steps far before I felt a tiny pair of hands wrest themselves around my legs.
“Thank you.”
The pup was gone before I could utter a single word.
Like before, the militia wasted little time in responding to a call. The Chronium cuffs stung at the smallest fuss. They probably anticipated that something like this would happen. After the standard statement of my neo-miranda rights, they started to lead me away, to their barracks no doubt. The council’s gonna be pissed. I didn’t mind though. For a fleeting moment, my thoughts reared back to what the yema pup said to me.
My escorts didn’t notice me smile. Maybe I still had some hope left after all.
Mark Branson was going on his nightly run in the park. Well, run was a bit of an exaggeration, he was currently half-heartedly jogging uphill. Peel Street was ridiculously steep, and he knew that he should have gone up Drummond and taken the stairs, but no, he wanted a challenge. It was November and the 9:30 air held the first hints of winter; each breath he took in stung his lungs and the exhales left a cloudy impression. When he eventually made it to the base of the mountain he congratulated himself. It was no easy feat for a man in his mid-40s to take up running when the whole of his P.E. history involved reaching for a TV remote, as evidenced by his gratuitous gut. This is why Mark found himself on a mountain park at 9:30 when he could have been half an episode deep into Game of Thrones. It’s easier to get in shape if there are less witnesses to the “in process” part.
He had been running for about 3 weeks now which was his most successful attempt yet. This particular bout of motivation came after a disastrous Halloween party when people kept asking him if he was Porky Pig instead of Bugs Bunny, despite the fact that they successfully identified his wife as Lola Bunny. “Rabbit ears look completely different from pig ears, you assholes!” Thought Mark as he dragged himself along his usual trail. In any case, the following morning Mark unearthed the running shoes he received for his birthday back in April, strapped them on and made a goal of conquering Mount Royal by the time he turned 47. Peel Street had sucked out most of his drive for the night, so he decided to take a shortcut on a small dirt path other similarly lazy joggers had made in the past.
It was a little overgrown, Branson felt guilty when the naked branches slapped against his torso. He was considering turning back, but he could see civilization’s light burning only 10 minutes away, and if he got back early maybe he could make up for his lack of diligence with a spot of couple’s cardio with the wife. He was contemplating that entertaining possibility when he felt himself flying face first towards the ground.
—————————
Let me know if anyone wants to know what happens to Mark! Also any criticisms you may have are welcome.
Hi people!!!!
This is my first essay which i am posting here.Hope you guys love it.Also before you hate my writing abilities just keep in mind that English is not my native language so writing in it does not come naturally for me.Anyways,n here’s the essay I wrote in my college.
UNCONVENTIONAL
“Acting your age”is a well known phrase.How does one know whether the person standing infront is’acting their age’?I t is a generalized observation like you can’t expect old ladies to discuss hottest fashion trends.You’ll feel grandmas and grandpas starting their sentences with’back in my day’.You can’t expect to hear this in a primary school.Even if you do ,it feels weird ,5-yr-olds saying’ back when we were young’.Similarly young girls would like barbies more than cars.This is the image we have in our minds regarding some age groups.
However,what if someone isn’t that way?What if their behavior is -we might say-unconventional?In the world where we care too much about our image , a person may feel neglected or different from others .I s it wrong that we don’t have the same feelings as that of a person in our age group should have?It is possible to be that way regardless of age group.
Teen girls think about fashion,boys and their relationships ,rather fantasize about it.A girl caring less about her looks and more about out-of-the-world-ideas is absolutely normal . that’s what happens to me.You won’t call me a ‘typical teenager’if considered a few aspects.I don’t make heads turn or eyes wide with my looks or clothes.And mind you,this doesn’t mean I want to.It just means that I know fashion ain’t my cup of tea.I prefer being simple.A top or a t-shirt(occasionally a hoodie or shirt)is what I am wearing 90 % of the time.I don’t think there is anything wrong with it .or me.That’s just me.Maybe dressing up simple is my fashion statement.
That reminds me of one more thing that doesn’t make me typical-makeup.It is a age when girls are expert in applying make up.Here I am a 16 yr old who doesn’t know the difference between a mascara and an eyeliner.Not kidding I really don’t know.(remind me to google it up later).But on the other side, I love nail art and nail polish.You’ll never see my nails without nail polish on them.
There might be some girls you know.They aren’t teacher’s pets but areloved by them.I am one of those I keep to myself(expect my 3 buddies). I talk to people ,laugh and joke about but I always draw a line.This doesn’t mean I am an introvert but I am no extrovert either.Its somewhere in between.
Most girls of my age have boyfriends to roam around with.They already have 3 or 4 exes.But I am not like them.I can’t go beyond friendship with a boy.I just don’t want to.I don’t think there is anything wrong with it.Being an Indian,we have considerably less exposure to the western culture.And I am fine with it.
I have qualities of my own.I want to grow up and give my parents a kind of lifestyle they are trying to give me.I don’t think I am wrong anywhere.And anyways,all these girls showing off have nothing of their’s , its all their daddy’s money I am not jealous .I was before.I used to think,’why can’t I be like them?’.Then I Realized that I had a far more better gift than their looks. I have the ability to introspect.They would never know where they went wrong or what their capabilities are.But I know me.I had the power of words. No one would take their advice seriously.When a girl I barely know was feeling down,she came to me. She told me she loved me because I was a good listener and I had feelings.
So even though I am not typical,I have got better qualities.I don’t have a boyfriend but I have a heart,while their’s is engaged in a soon- to- be -broken relationship.Though I am not typical ,I have my virtues. One day people will realize that a not-so-attractive girl is also capable of not-so-ordinary things.This is the only thought that keeps me going throughout the day….
*SO THIS WAS MY FIRST ESSAY WHICH I POSTED HERE.I LOOK FORWARD TO READ YOUR VIEWS ON MY WRITE-UP.CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM NEEDED
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“Oh, gross,” Lydia choked through her hands as she stumbled into the trees retching. She crashed through the branches and dead leaves, breaking the stillness of the forest. A bird sang in the distance.
“Hermit thrush!” said Edwin. “Come on! This way!”
“Are you serious?” I said.
Behind his coke bottle glasses, Edwin’s eyes grew huge and his mouth hung open making him to look like a fish out of water, choking out it’s last breaths. Or the opposite of breaths since it’s the air that’s killing him.
“We are standing in front of a dead body, and you want to go chasing after the hermit thrush?”
“Yes! That’s what we are here for! This guy’s not going anywhere; he’s dead. The thrush is on the move! Come on, come on, come on!” Binoculars bobbing around his neck, Edwin dashed off into the woods, loose clothing and bags streaming behind him.
“Thanks,” I called out to him. “Thanks for leaving your only brother all alone with a corpse in the woods. Dad would be proud, you know.”
I knelt down next to the body. It was eerie to see the whiteness of his skin against the rich tones of the leaves covering the forest floor. Both dead, both natural, but one was right and one was not.
“So,” I said to the dead guy. “Looks like it’s you and me. Wish I was enough of a nut case to go running off into the woods for some reason, but seems I got the sane gene. Talking to a dead guy, though? Maybe not.”
A lone beam of light from my mini key-ring torch did nothing against the suffocating darkness. As I stumbled across the path I could barely cotain myself and against my wishes, let occasional whimpers escape my shivering mouth. It was undeniable fear creeping through my brain at every angle. But I was not dead yet – every branch slapped in my face reminded me of that.
I dropped each foot gently, hoping to avoid tripping or much worse recking my brand new vans. This is why I knew immediately when it wasn’t the ground my foot landed on.
A scream ripped through the air burning my throught raw. Each hair seemed to stand up individually on my neck and I stood immobile with fear. Once I had calmed down I shone a torch on the twisted male and felt for a heart beat. What repulsed me the most was how warm the dead body remained. That meant the kill was still fresh- and I was sure it was a kill- which meant the killer was still near.
Regaining, whatever commen sense my fear hadn’t blocked out I fumbled into my pocket, eventually yanking out a cellphone. Before I could enter even the first number a hand gripped my shoulder- the knuckles glowing white. As he ripped me down to the floor I realised I was to meet the same fate at the body less than a metre a way.
It is the first paragraph from the story which I have done.
“The Dead of the Desert”
It was a smooth, filled with grief, calm air around. A pretty silence! His heart was refusing to beat continuously and his eyes were looking tired; it was John Crinton who was lying on his death-bed, recalled his past and called his son, David Crinton, who was managing a bowl of soup, right beside him. David was a scholarly ambitious young man who had a smart figure and flexible shining muscles, filled with blood.
He did symbol to David to sit, stick to him, saw continuously with deep eyes towards him, as if his soul were flew away, and he were just a rotten wood, but his breath came back, and he winked his eyes, tried to utter something but failed .David held his father’s hand, abraded a slight and gave a smile of condolence, said, “I know, father, although, perhaps, your shade upon me shall be no more, yet you have done your job well; you have enabled me enough and taught me enough, though there is no legacy.”
John nodded and gestured towards a shovel that was hanging against the wall of the room.
“Do you need this?” asked David, bringing the shovel to him.
He nodded again and signed to dig the paved flour. Initially, David was curious, but he started digging; for he wanted to fulfill the eventual desires of his father. He thought he might be digging his father’s grave right there. He brought some other necessary tools and dug the grave. It took two hours. After throwing the shovel on the grave’s side due to tiredness, he saw a rusted tip of a metal, clenched it with utmost strength and drew it out. It was an iron box, locked with a heavy lock, which seemed of old times. When he moved towards his father, became wonder struck to see that the man’s life had deceived him, “Hauh–(exhalation) He felt the presence of two Shadows that recently went away smoothly, silently.
“Ah–! Human beings are no more than that.” he muttered.
one day a man and woman decided to go for a walkk in the forest. As they walked farther into the
forest it began to get thicker and harder to get thru the trees and brush. The man was in the
lead and was slicing the thick branches to get thru. As he swiped a large branch he stumbled and
slid down a steep ravine. When he came to a stop he lifted his head and saw that he had fell onto
the body of a small boy. The girl managed to climb down the steep hill and joined her companion
next to the lifeless body. She grabbed her cell phone out of her back pocket and tried to dial
911 but she had no signal. No knowing what to do they decided to figure out where they were and
how far from the road they were. Figuring they were about a mile and a half f rom where they
first entered the trails, the man decided he would go for help. The female started to argue that
she didn’t want to be left alone with the body, and said that she would go and he could stay. He
finally gave in and explained to her which way she should go. She started climbing up the steep
hill that they just came down, and after a few stumbles she managed to get to the top. Plunging
thru the thick brush it seemed like forever before the brush started to thin out and she was able
to move a little faster. After about 45 to an hour she finally made it to the end of the forest.
She pulled out her cell phone again but still didn’t have a signal. Since they were out in the
middle of nowhere and at least 10 miles from the nearest gas station she had to try and wave cars
down. After about an hour and only 5 cars that past her, there was finally one that slowed down
just l ong enough to see what she wanted. She explained that her friend and her found a dead
body in the woods and have to get ahold of the police and ambulance. The lady in the car offered
to drive her to the nearest gas station so she could try and use their phone to call. By the
time she got to the gas station and made the call it had already been over 3 hours since she had
left her friend. She c ontacted the police and they got to the gas station in approx. 35 mins
and picked her up and headed back to where she left her friend. Now finally back to the entrance
of the forest where they entered the forest her the police and the people from the ambulance
tracked back thru the brush to where she had left her friend and the lifeless body of the small
boy. It took a few attempts for the EMT’s to drag the gerny back up the hill once they
carefully put the boy on and strapped him in. Finally back to the road the EMT’s put the boy in
the back of the ambulance and headed off to the hospital. The police then got the report from
the couple on exactly what happened and how they came upon the body. The stated that there would
be a complete investigation into the death and to find out who the boys’ parents were so they
could notify them of the unfortunate death of their son. The couple headed back to their car and
traveled back to their hotel which was approx. 20 miles away. They had been hungry, but after
what had transpired the past c ouple of hours they no longer were hungry.
I’d been sitting a few minutes. Long enough to catch my breath and take a couple sips of water. He really pissed me off this time. David, my now ex-boyfriend. He begged me to stay. I couldn’t. Not this time. Note to self. The last time I walked these woods it was the ticket master at the Verizon Center, this time… shit. It was Beth Ann. My best friend. There’s no making up after that. I, after many heartbreaks and all types of woman, who David obviously had more lust for, finally felt deep seeded disgust.
Directed at David of course, but believe me I fight every day convincing myself that it wasn’t me. All of it is a reflection of David’s character. He cheated. Not me. Still, a part of the repulsion I feel is because I ignored his infidelities. I allowed him to belittle me for three years. Now, in my wake, I am left alone to face all my friends. The reason I’m hiding out in these woods.
I grabbed my bottle from the rotted tree trunk I’d leaned up against. The bottom of my hiking shorts were damp from the soil beneath. Previous rains had saturated the forest, but it was beautiful with mature leaves and peaceful winds and enough coverage to conceal me from the cruel world. I’d stay forever, but it was time to face the girls. Time to feel the humiliation. I took another sip of water and leaned on the log to get to my feet.
I wasn’t quite upright yet when I saw it, or rather her. Her eyes were glassed over in a murky film, her face swollen. Blood everywhere. I threw my hand over my mouth, gasping for air at the same time. I looked around for someone, anyone to help. No, not help. Witness. I stumbled back and leaned forward. Bile gushed from my stomach. My breath loud and deep from within. My mouth quivered. I can’t cry. I have to think.
OK, I didn’t kill her. So why feel guilty? Why, because the dead girl is Beth Ann. Think. Think. Think. David. He did this. “Dammit.” He’s set me up. He knew I’d be hiking these woods. Everyone knows I hike here. I’ll leave. Say nothing. No, I can’t. I can’t leave her here. Oh my god, I’m sorry Beth Ann. “Fuck!” Why am I sorry? Oh, you’re going to pay for this. David. You will not tread on my heart again.
I reached for my cell and dialed 911.
Ann
She looked out to the sea, wondering when she was to see him again, but no one was out there. Was his ship on its way, or was it sunk? She could not bear to even think about it. Her heart hurt so much, and the distance was awful indeed. She folded her hands and prayed for his ship to return. Her words was short, but sweet. She stood there with her hands folded still, looking out, with her eyes full of worry and distress. She waited for him everyday, alas he never came. But she waited for him still, hoping that one day he would come home .
This text below took me more than 15 min. It took me about 2 hrs but at least I started to write.
******
As the dawn breaks, Jeff zipped up his windbreaker, adjusted his baseball cap, opened the back door and step outside. He walked to the end of the cul-the-sac where a small path leads into the Monroe Forest Trails. Jeff picked up his stride, took a deep breath of fresh air and let it out with a big sigh of gratitude on this beautiful day.
After a few feet in, Jeff turned right to take the Zodiac Trail. Blinded by the strobe-like effect of the sunlight passing between the trees, he slowed down his pace, lowered his head to let the brim of his cap shield him from the sun. Scanning the grounds of the trail ahead, Jeff saw a dark lump in the middle of the trail. Jeff froze. Is it an animal? A cub? Where’s the mother bear? He examined his surroundings for an exit just in case.
“Psst.”
No reply. He cleared his throat.
“Psst.”
Nothing! Not a sound nor a movement. His heart pounding in his chest, Jeff crept towards the mysterious lump with his left hand up as an added sunvisor.
“Psst. Hey!” Still nothing.
Creeping forward until the lighting of the surrounding dissipated the shadows, Jeff saw that it was a body curled up in a fetal position.
“Hello! Are you O.K.? Can I help you?”
No response. Jeff darted to give assistance to the victim.
It took me more than 15 min. for my first attempt. In fact it took me about 2 hrs. I’m just starting to write.
*****
As the dawn breaks, Jeff zipped up his windbreaker, adjusted his baseball cap, opened the back door and step outside. He walked to the end of the cul-the-sac where a small path leads into the Monroe Forest Trails. Jeff picked up his stride, took a deep breath of fresh air and let it out with a big sigh of gratitude on this beautiful day.
After a few feet in, Jeff turned right to take the Zodiac Trail. Blinded by the strobe-like effect of the sunlight passing between the trees, he slowed down his pace, lowered his head to let the brim of his cap shield him from the sun. Scanning the grounds of the trail ahead, Jeff saw a dark lump in the middle of the trail. Jeff froze. Is it an animal? A cub? Where’s the mother bear? He examined his surroundings for an exit just in case.
“Psst.”
No reply. He cleared his throat.
“Psst.”
Nothing! Not a sound nor a movement. His heart pounding in his chest, Jeff crept towards the mysterious lump with his left hand up as an added sunvisor.
“Psst. Hey!” Still nothing.
Creeping forward until the lighting of the surrounding dissipated the shadows, Jeff saw that it was a body curled up in a fetal position.
“Hello! Are you O.K.? Can I help you?”
No response. Jeff darted to give assistance to the victim.
interesting piece of work ,i enjoyed reading it
A SECOND TIME AROUND
After 38 years of marriage to my high school sweetheart, my husband was snatched away at the young age of 58. He died of liver disease. I always said that if he died first, I’d NEVER marry again. I would not find someone who would be “good enough.”
Well —- NEVER say “never”!!! After being a widow for 3-1/2 years I met a man (also widowed) who swept me off my feet and we were married within three months. I met him through the local paper’s ads for singles. I had called the number a couple of times before, but those I met just didn’t meet my expectations. I was looking for someone to enjoy movies, dining, etc. with. Marriage was the furthest thing from my mind. I was getting along fine (I thought) by myself, but I missed being able to share outings with someone.
While reading the singles ads on a Saturday evening, I saw an ad from a man who was a year older than me and who liked the same things I did. Thinking that this might be promising, I called the 900 number and punched in the ad number to leave a message. Thinking “the third time’s a charm”, I said, “OK, Lord, if I don’t find a companion this time, I won’t try again. I’m leaving it up to You.”
The next morning I went to church as usual and when I returned home there was a message on my answering machine from a man returning my call. He left his number and asked me to call him back. I did and during the course of our conversation I found that he was a bit younger than me, not older, and he liked other things that weren’t in the newspaper ad as well as some things that were. We agreed to meet at a coffee shop that afternoon at 4 p.m. After we hung up, I checked the newspaper and I saw that the ad number I had entered was off by one digit. The ad I had intended to answer was above the one I had entered. God certainly does work in mysterious ways because, that WRONG ad number turned out to be the RIGHT one!
We saw each other almost every day from then on and before we knew it we were talking marriage and making plans. Needless to say my two adult children were a little apprehensive when they first learned of all this, but after they met him, they knew it was OK.
We’ve now been married just over 15 years and this second time around is such a blessing and so peaceful. Little things that used to provoke me before don’t now. A good example is snoring. I was irritated when my first husband snored and kept me awake. Now when I hear my new hubby snore, I thank the Lord that there IS someone next to me and instead of the snoring keeping me awake, it lulls me to sleep. The Lord saw fit to literally ‘sprinkle’ a little more happiness into my life. My new married name is “Sprinkle”.
I’m in love with my best friend:
He’s my best friend yet I fell more connected to him more than what a best friend should. This foolish heart of mine chose my best friend of all people. How could I let this happen?
But can you blame me – my heart?
He’s the only person that stayed with me through my bad times. He helped me stand on my ground as everyone pushed me down. He stayed while everyone left me.
We weren’t suppose to keep secrets from each other but how can I tell him? Tell him that I love him more than a best friend should? If he has someone else as his girl?
He love her and She loves him, while i’m here on the background loving him with all my heart. He told me that our friendship comes first before anything relationships he have. Should I be happy that he priorities our friendship more than he priorities his relationship with the girl who is the reason why everyone is so against me?
I may be selfish because I stayed on his side despite of the fact that his girl doesn’t like me. But then again can you blame me? If I said that I can’t keep my back on the only person who made me feel like I exist?
He’s my best friend and yet I fell in love with him despite the fact that he has someone else as his girl.
There were a time when I wanted to walk away and let them have their relationship in piece. But why do I always go back? back to his side?
may be because of the fact that I’m in love with him or may be I’t the fact that I’m his best friend.
I can’t tell him what I feel, It’ll not do anything good aside from break our friendship, the only thing I have as a connection to him. I hate it but it’s the only option I have to b able to stay by his side, by my love’s side.
I posted my story a couple of days ago but I haven’t seen it anywhere, so am posting again. Sorry if you see it twice.
==============
A SECOND TIME AROUND
After 38 years of marriage to my high school sweetheart, my husband was snatched away at the young age of 58. He died of liver disease. I always said that if he died first, I’d NEVER marry again. I would not find someone who would be “good enough.”
Well —- NEVER say “never”!!! After being a widow for 3-1/2 years I met a man (also widowed) who swept me off my feet and we were married within three months. I met him through the local paper’s ads for singles. I had called the number a couple of times before, but those I met just didn’t meet my expectations. I was looking for someone to enjoy movies, dining, etc. with. Marriage was the furthest thing from my mind. I was getting along fine (I thought) by myself, but I missed being able to share outings with someone.
While reading the singles ads on a Saturday evening, I saw an ad from a man who was a year older than me and who liked the same things I did. Thinking that this might be promising, I called the 900 number and punched in the ad number to leave a message. Thinking “the third time’s a charm”, I said, “OK, Lord, if I don’t find a companion this time, I won’t try again. I’m leaving it up to You.”
The next morning I went to church as usual and when I returned home there was a message on my answering machine from a man returning my call. He left his number and asked me to call him back. I did and during the course of our conversation I found that he was a bit younger than me, not older, and he liked other things that weren’t in the newspaper ad as well as some things that were. We agreed to meet at a coffee shop that afternoon at 4 p.m. After we hung up, I checked the newspaper and I saw that the ad number I had entered was off by one digit. The ad I had intended to answer was above the one I had entered. God certainly does work in mysterious ways because, that WRONG ad number turned out to be the RIGHT one!
We saw each other almost every day from then on and before we knew it we were talking marriage and making plans. Needless to say my two adult children were a little apprehensive when they first learned of all this, but after they met him, they knew it was OK.
We’ve now been married just over 15 years and this second time around is such a blessing and so peaceful. Little things that used to provoke me before don’t now. A good example is snoring. I was irritated when my first husband snored and kept me awake. Now when I hear my new hubby snore, I thank the Lord that there IS someone next to me and instead of the snoring keeping me awake, it lulls me to sleep. The Lord saw fit to literally ‘sprinkle’ a little more happiness into my life. My new married name is “Sprinkle”.
The sun was sinking in the clouds when a young beautiful woman was walking down the street with her dog. She looked happy—little did she know that her life was going to be upside down. Her dogs’ leg looked dysfunctional maybe she took him from a shelter. As she walked at the backside of a shop she smelled something bitter—it smelled pungent. She started coughing and went near the backside of the shop and saw a dead body. It was ruthlessly mutilated; it had scratches on every part of its body. She couldn’t tell whether it was a boy or a girl. The smell of that body made her sick and she suddenly threw up near the dumpster. After a while of throwing up on every corner of the dumpster, she called the police, while they were on their way she noticed a head band beside the dead body. She picked it up though she knew it was the evidence and should not have been touched. She took it and said to herself “oh Betty! What did you do?” Who was Betty? How the woman does know Betty could do something like that? But those questions were for the police.
There hadn’t been any element of surprise about it. I knew it was time. It had to happen some way, but I didn’t want it to be true all the same. I wanted to tell her that I loved her, that she was precious to me beyond measure. But I just couldn’t. I sat there gaping at her cold shell for the rest of the night.
It’s funny how when someone is alive, you hardly ever notice them, but when they die, everything wonderful about them comes rushing into your memories, your heart telling you how you ought to remember them.
A week she had suffered. In pain and agony, all alone, without telling any of us anything. She hadn’t wanted to trouble us. When her skin started telling what she hadn’t, it was already too late and I never got to have a last word with her.
I now look at her face, her sweet old face with many many wrinkles, one for her each year on the planet. My sweet grandmother. She would soon be put beside the living and the dead in the earth, never to be seen ever again.
Humans do like closure
Thoughts of the day.
Life is tough. Growing up I often heard the phrase, “Life’s tough, get a helmet.” I never truly understood what this meant, life seemed so simple to me at the time. I wake up, I eat, go to school, do some homework, eat again, play some video game, or some other mindless task. Sure there were the bullies, the “cool” kids and plenty of other angsty teenage drama, but other than that, life was good. Life is still good, but life is also tough. The older we get the more stuff we bare witness to, this world can be a nasty one, and certainly different than the sheltered life I knew growing up.
There was a time in my life where I suffered through some great depressions, not that I ever really considered suicide but I was, for a long while, in a melancholy state of mind. This state of mind stuck with me from the time of starting college, to just a few months before my son was born. Sure there were happy times, my marriage to my college sweetheart for one, but there was always this nagging feeling, like the depression and the sad times were just around the corner. Not to mention the constant anxiety that I put on myself, whether it be social anxiety, or anxiety of how I’m going to pay the bills this month. There was also an anger deep inside me, even now I don’t know it’s origin, it’s something I would like to further explore someday. Perhaps writing my thoughts and feelings will help me to work through those feeling that I once felt so deeply, but for now I simply accept and enjoy that those dark feelings are no longer present.
What changed? Certainly not the stress of life. The bills didn’t stop, the stresses of being a preschool teacher were present, the typical marital fights were there, the wear and tear of life was all still there. I still feel sad at times, and there are times when I feel anger, but they’re no longer a lingering feeling that seem to hover over me, just waiting to engulf me in sorrow. I can’t say honestly what changed my frame of mind. Perhaps it was simply the fact that my wife was pregnant with our first. One thing I know for sure, however, is that I see the joy in the world around me. I understand that the trees and the flowers are not beautiful by default, but it is my own waking mind that determines their beauty. Our perception of the world around has a drastic affect on all things, I began to see joy in many other aspects of life, even the sad parts. I realized that I was truly blessed and without getting preachy, I began to see God in the good, and in the bad.
While I may not be the richest man, certainly bills are still difficult at times, I may not be the strongest man, and my career maybe isn’t where I expected it to be, (also the internet sucks at my house!) but despite all that I am alive. I am alive in this magnificent, and often terrifying world. Alive to share the joys of life with the people whom I love most. I am alive for the first time in my life. So yeah, life is tough, but there is joy to be had in both the hard times, and the good times. I think we all can use a reminder of that from time to time.
Hello. my name is Samaan Numair.i want a help in writing a story. can anyone give me an idea for the following beginning….My car broke down on the dark cold night. It was all alone. There was dark everywhere and a chill wave passed through my spine.
you can email the idea at my email id .samaan.numair@gmail.com
THE DREAM LOVE
-MIHIR BOMMISETTY
I do not see myself as a decent person. I realize that the notion of right and wrong is something relative. It all depends on the concrete situation, since something you consider good can be unpleasant or offensive for someone else under different circumstances. There is no universal good. I, in particular , think that it’s of primary importance that things should be good for me, even if it might seem a bit egocentric. Yet this principle has never failed me.
Actually, one can be selfish only to a certain point. I think that this moment in one’s life comes when you meet the one and only person you want to spend the rest of your life with. This is the time when you begin to crave for a real home, and you ponder what it really means to be a man. For me, this moment had not come yet. Even by my standards, I was not a good man, but it was of little importance to me, and i didn’t have to worry myself with how to try to change this fact.
So far my life had passed in wandering in forgotten and far-off places, and unwittingly, the carefree days turned into carefree years. I had visited so many towns that I no longer remembered their names. Nameless little dwellings at the edge of desolation and survival had been my home for a day. In the larger towns to the east, I did stay long enough to get acquainted with the darker sides of human life. But who am I to judge why the darker side of life is more fascinating? Some people claimed that I had killed dozens of men. But I knew that they were not so many, and for sure they wouldn’t be missed. The devil of youth was in my eyes. I faced every challenge with a head held high and a grin. The other attribute of youth I truly possess-overflowing confidence-was no stranger to me, either.
I had nowhere to o in particular and plenty of time to get there. I was merely following the curves of the old and obviously unused road, filled with curiosity as to where it would lead me. Well, it reached an inn or at least to some thing that passed for one around here, and beyond it there was nothing-only woodland. I decided to spend the night at the inn, so i moved toward the old massive building , able and withstand the whims of time and men who visited such amazingly beautiful and totally useless parts of the world. The main hall was spacious, a little dim but clean and well kept. There were wooden benches next to the tables, and the floor was covered with straw. Obviously, this was not only an inn but also the home of the innkeeper and his wife.
As I entered the inn, I saw them sitting around a table to the counter, having dinner. Both of them were middle aged and not so thriving but seemed happy. T he innkeeper stood up to greet me, and I halted so that he could have a good look at me and size me up with his judging gaze. During my wanderings, I came to understand certain things about people, and i knew everything about the man standing in front of me. I had met hundreds like him, who were in pursuit of happiness and a place to call their own. People feeling at ease both in the towns and in the wildness. Men and women who were not used to bend down to authority. They were good-hearted and I was always glad to have such people close to me in times of trouble-not one caused by me, Of course. But they also had one annoying streak in their character-they considered themselves the salt of the earth and didn’t listen to anyone’s opinion or advice.
It was clear he didn’t like me a bit, but at the same time he was not shocked by what was standing in front of him.
“Good evening. We don’t have so much visitors lately, but as long as you have money to spend, you’re welcome.” He was precise and to the point.
I held back my smile. I’m never wrong. He offered me a bed and a meal but, at the same time, kindly reminded me that these services were not for free. He was not rude but knew what he was offering and its worth. I gave him a silver coin and sat next to them.
They were nice people, and the absence of visitors also meant the absence of news. Dinner went for hours while I was telling them the hottest gossips. Came up with the most shocking and spicy stories. Now the family would have something to talk about for days ahead. What is this world coming to? Later, i found my room to be quite charming-small and dusty, with two beddings. You should be amazed at what people call a bed these days! I threw my bag on the one and lay down on the other, without even taking off my shoes. I was so tired….
The waves crushed below my feet. The wind messed my hair, an attempt to blind me. Even up here on the rocks, i could feel the salty sprinkles that the wind deliberately lashed across my face. I don’t remember how i came here, what i was doing, or even who i was, but obviously things didn’t look good. I was just standing there, and strangely enough, i was enjoying the rough sea. I saw the life itself in vast, delirious chaos of waters and wind.
Despite the fury of this untamed beautiful nature, I felt at peace. I raised my gaze to the sky, and the clouds parted. They opened a small gap, and the moon’s rays slipped toward the earth. They reflected on the ground and glowed. High in the rugged skies, there was a dragon gliding. Black as night, it was flying above to get me. I was convinced that it had come for me and that there was no escape. How can it be possible? I don’t even believe in dragons! Its wild roar broke through the wind, and it dived toward me. I had to get away and go somewhere far, far away from here. I turned and froze. All the fear gathered inside of me melted away and vanished and gave place to unnamed terror. Just a few steps away from me there was a figure draped in black, holding a deadly weapon in its hands. Clearly I was alone, pushed to this corner of the world, with nothing to protect myself. I was close to the edge, and i knew it. The silhouette moved toward me and raised its head. It slowly pulled down the hood while i stood as if in a daze, gasping for breath. Extremities were playing inside me tonight. A waterfall of black curves dropped underneath the hood. The greenest eyes that i had ever seem stared at me, and i found myself drowned in them. I could never imagine a more perfect face. It was both gentle yet and strong and complete. My wanderings had come to an end. She was here, and i had nothing else to ask for. She was the one i would love for life, and without her, life would be a living hell.
I woke up sweating and sat on the bed. The same old dream, night after night, was becoming more and more obsessive. A t least this time i didn’t wake up screaming. The moment the dragon dives toward me and i turn around and try to run, i usually wake up-except for tonight. And that face. I hope and wonder if this dream is sent to me by someone or something, it was only a dream, yet i had fallen in love with the girl, and i had to find her. I was awake the rest of the night , staring in the dark, while her scorching eyes burned inside of me.
Next morning, i went down to breakfast and probably something in my manner gave away my feelings, so i was left alone in peace to have my meal. I paid, and after saying good-bye, i continued on my lovely path. I had no intention of going back, so i turned towards the woods, without any specific direction, just following old trails left by animals. I didn’t care where they would lead me. I kept on walking and remembered that damned dream. The whole day passed in wandering. As night fell, i stopped at a small, sheltered meadow, the kind that people believe is visited by sylphs. I started a fire but wasn’t feeling very hungry, so i lied down and hoped to sleep and be visited by the same dream. I wanted to ask her so many things. Consciousness tried to give way to oblivion.
Perhaps i was too eager; no dreams came that night. I tried to calm myself by listening to the sounds of the forest. I had always found peace in the nocturnal serenity and the hum of nature. The sound of a branch breaking. Then another one. No wild animal makes noise. Someone was coming toward me. I stood up cautiously and alert, the knife ready in my hand, pointed in the direction of my visitor. Clearly someone was walking across the meadow toward me. Maybe there was no malice intended, and it was just a youngster who was about to experience one of the greatest mistakes of his life. The night visitor stepped into the ring of light, and everything became clear.
The girl from my dream was standing in front of me. She was here, yet it was totally surreal. Still she was flesh and blood and full of energy overflowing underneath her clothes.
“I’m totally freaked out.” Well, i can’t be blamed for not knowing what to say to a girl.
She smiled and sat opposite to me.
“How….Why?I……” I couldn’t stop babbling.
“Slow down! Stop! Too many questions, too little time. Will you come with me?”
“You know that i want you.” Finally, i said something deep.
I felt as if her face grew paler, but maybe i was wrong. I knew absolutely nothing about that girl, after all.
“I know. Believe me, there isn’t anything i want more than to be together. And we will be together as long as it is possible.”
“As long as it is possible? What do you mean? There isn’t anything that can keep me away from you.”
“you’re so naive……you don’t get it, do you? I’ll have to pay dearly even for the little time we’ll be together.”
I stood up and moved toward her. She took my hand. For the first time everything was perfect. I was at that place where i was supposed to be. I was home-here, with her. It didn’t matter wfat she said. The important thing was that she was next to me, and i wouldn’t let anything-or anyone-keep us apart. Not even death do us part.
We walked through the trees and enjoyed the touch of our hands and the fact that we were together. We reached a creek, its water lit by the moon light. She pressed her body next to mine, and our lips joined in a kiss. Time stopped, and we were the only two people on earth. Her dress fell to the ground, and she ran to the creek laughing and dived into the silver water. She emerged from it, sparkling all over, and in that moment i knew that i was the only one to witness such beauty. We were together, and we were one. This was our night, and this was our world.
Hours later we rested on dew-sparkled grass and watched the break of dawn.
“ I must go, my love,” she said. “you should know that i have never loved till now, and my heart belongs to you. May be someday we’ll be together, free from the worldly chains.”
“But……..“ I began. She placed her finger on my mouth and nodded.
“Don’t. Only remember me. We’ll meet again. I promise !”
She stood up and, without looking back ran towards the trees. Even then, I could see her cheeks covered in tears.
“I love you,” I cried. I guess I always know what to say.
She halted and turned around. For a moment i thought she’d come back, but she turned and was lost in greenery. Next to the creek, i was at a loss, and far off, I heard the swift flap of massive wings.
Eternal Meeting …
She was trying hard to be inattentive , playing down her heart rate and convincing not to listen to those clamors outside . Her mother pushing , her aunt scolding , her father lamenting over that teenage fragile soul . She wanted to remain negligent to the reality of lost beat , lost sigh , lost life and lost beloved.
The figure that was a godmother and guardian for her . A tay of light , a flower in spring , a full moon , an oasis in desert , a beauty of youth , a wisdom of an age , a hope in disappointment and a revolution in dark ages , was lying outside covered in white cloth , cotton clots in nostrils , eyes shut eternally and face bearing perpetual satisfaction.
Her grandma was gone to profound slumber forever . A pivotal person around whom her life revolved was no more . And it was grandma’s last funeral rituals . Everybody was screaming and crying their hearts out but in vain.
Following long thought war , she decided to see her grandma for the last time until she herself die. Walking out from room to garden seemed a weary desert stroll.
Entering the hall , she crossed the lane of neighbouring women weeping silently .
The moment she reached the main door to garden, after a great traumatic thought flow, she lost balance !
With those shivering legs she cried out … grandma !!!
As though her grandma is listening her heavy , sorrow laden , lifeless screams. She burst into tears bearing the memories of hugs and cuddles , love and sacrifice , her grandma’s anti-septic and healing kisses in pain , courageous words on failure , restlessness during her illness and a broad smile on her grand daughter’s victory.
These flashbacks were tearing her inside and suddenly with a thud she fall and met her grandma .
Response to the prompt: A young man stumbled across a dead body in the wood. What does he do?
At first it looked like a carcass of a dead animal, but at a closer look, he realised that it was a corpse of a dead boy. It then dawned on him that the boy must have been murdered – the knife marks on his body were still fresh. The dead boy was a teenager. He was dark, tall,and had a brown hair. His shoulder was broad and he was athletic built. Such a lovely creature was terminated prematurely.
After examining the dead body, Dave started to ponder on his next line of action. Was he to involve the police? Was he to walk away? Was he to search for the murderer alone? After carefully examining his options, Dave decided to alert the police. When he decided to alert realized that he was not with his mobile phone. He has to trek for twenty minutes before he arrived at the nearest police station. Finally, he collected a crime report form and reported what he saw in the woods.
I’m intrigued! Great start. This sounds like the opening paragraphs of a mystery story. And what happens next? What kind of person is Dave and what is he doing in the woods? Does he know the boy? When the police examine the presumable crime scene, will they wonder or believe that Dave knows more than he reported? That he is the killer? If so, what is his motive? I see lots of possibilities here for a whole story with Dave as the central character or as a mere passer-by that we never see again. Maybe a police officer or detective will be the main character. Maybe a long flashback makes the boy the main character? Lots of different ways to use this beginning. You obviously have the talent — would love to see what you decide.
Definitely starting off well, of course it’s pre-edits, but it shows good potential for a good crime novel.
I know this isn’t the place to ask this, but I’m not getting anywhere so am hoping one of you has an answer. I have tried twice to post a story and both have not shown up but is marked as spam. Have any of you had that happen and how did you get it fixed. Thanks for any help. (Hopefully this won’t be ‘spammed’ too).
Hey there. I have posted four or five stories and they have all be marked as spam.Yet one or two made it after a few weeks. I have no idea how to fix that. This is why I dont post anymore. I have since worked on projects and posted them to publications such as Glimmer Train. I have discovered that many publications prefer that your work has not been published online anywhere else. So I am glad in a way. I came here originally to test the work with other writers. I will have to just carry on sending it all to my brother and a couple of friends for feed back. I hope your stuff comes through. btw your work seems to be readable on my hotmail. I dont get how that
works.
Thanks for responding. Thought I wasn’t doing something right. Have been getting disgusted with this site too and may look somewhere else. Will check out Glimmer Train. Thanks again for your feedback.
OK here is more from a prompt I started working on yesterday, about tossing a rent bill under your bed to have a clawed hand coming out with a wad of cash in it –
Robin, looked at the hand that was still glowing blue, as she grabbed at the hand he offered her. Glancing at his face again, trying to look fearless instead of frightened. She pulled up, falling forward to be embraced by this strange man. Feeling the warmth and muscles beneath his clothes that reminding her this was not a dream.
Robin’s mind started to race what was this total stranger doing here. And why was she being hugged by him. Pushing off from him, she sought the physical distance that her mind cried out for. ” Explain why you were under my bed.” She stuttered out. Then turning towards the kitchenette began the search for the mugs and tea bags.
As the water poured into the tea kettle, Leon watched her, no wonder she was trembling. He had forgotten about the gauntlet he was wearing. Let alone the fact he was hiding under her bed. How can he explain this, on top of the other facts he now had hidden.
Clearing his throat, ” Sorry for the rude introduction” Leon’s voice was strained at best. Looking down at the gauntlet, he began to shut the mind link to it. The blue glow started to fade, to reveal the grey metal underneath. Leon, pulled it off as he pondered the fact that it more then just stood out, it was a frightening sight.
Placing the gauntlet on the wood table with a metal clank. He noticed the woman shutter and twist around searching the source of the sound. He tried not to show his teeth as he gave an attempt at a smile. Leon, wasn’t sure that smile helped any as he eased himself into the chair next to him.
The night was cold and damp and the wind sliced through her like a sharp knife. As she adjusted her jacket and hood she remembered another night like this not so very long ago. Only that time she came out of it all right. But now!!! There was a big doubt settling in her mind that things would NOT be ok.
As she continued walking through the woods her foot hit on something that didn’t seem quite right. She was unable to really see what it was as the trees made the night even darker. She stopped and nudged the object and it moved some . . . wasn’t a rock, she knew. Hesitantly she bent down, trying to make out what this could be.
Horrified, she realized it was a body . . . it was not be breathing. Oh my . . . what should she do? This was like a nightmare happening all over again. Why would this exact circumstance be happening again?! If she did the same as she did last time, would it be okay again? It was a fluke before . . . she was lucky to not be under suspicion, but this time?
This was almost like that movie about the guy who keeps waking up every morning and doing the same thing over and over and over. Was she in some kind of time warp? How could she make it go away? In order for this to go away, she decided she would have to do something different than the last time.
She carefully nudged the body over and over until it rolled down an incline into the creek below. She stood there contemplating on whether or not she should go down there and hide it better, but decided that if there weren’t any footprints going down the side, she surely couldn’t be tied to the crime scene.
Hello everyone.
Running. It was all
I could think of as the sweat was dripping on my lips and on other places where
I did not want sweat… No my thoughts drifted off again, I need to stay focused,
I have to keep running. I have been running for 2 hours now, the only thing
that keeps me going is the fear of being found. They know I can never get too
far in this place. As I am running, I dodge the remaining few trees before I
will enter the wide plains. I know for a fact that I could never outrun my pursuers
there. The sounds of people shouting instructions to each other enter my ears.
Listening to the words is hard, but I can still feel my hard thumping just that
little bit harder, pushing its limits. I just know that they must still know
where I am.
As the last trees
are now metres behind me, I know I have to find a way to shake my pursuers off.
I can not think of anything, I just see images of the militia of my village
capturing me. In the image, I try to argument that I had not stolen anything,
at least not on purpose. Without thinking about how bad that argument is, I
stop thinking for a moment, I hear the shouts getting louder and know that the
militia is very close now, I look around and I lock eyes with one of my enemies.
For a moment my
mind goes blank, I only see a huge black screen, as if I have closed my eyes.
What is a fraction of a moment, seems like another hour in which I rest. When
colour comes back into my vision, I expected to once again see the plains, but
slowly only blue comes into my mind. I am shocked, I must be going blind. “Wait,
do blind people only see blue?” No, that would be weird, I notice sounds.
Recurring sounds in a smoothening rhythm, making me relax as I start to see
patterns in the blue. My feet are wet and I begin smelling….
Salt?
I shock away as if my body is scared of being
safe. How did I get here? Wait,
rest.. Yes. Everything turned black again.
I was walking in the woods. My friendwas with me. We were discussing the reports of recent disappearances of people that were being reported so fervently by the news channels and radio. Apparently, over fifteen people had vanished from society.
Suddenly, my feet treaded on something soft, which was unusual. I looked down and yelled. A female dead body was lying on the forest floor. It was covered with blood and her eyes were open and vacant.
We closely examined the body, and recognized her from the news reports of missing people.
“Should we report it?”, my friend asked fearfully.
“Wait”, I said, “there is something strange about this death.”
“Who cares? Let’s just report it and get out of this mess”, my friend insisted.
It was then that I realized what was wrong. Turning her over on her back, I confirmed my suspicions. There was a bite mark on her neck, probably snake fangs.
We called the authorities and gave them our location. Ten minutes later, the place was crowding with policemen and medical staff. They decided to look for more bodies-and indeed, on searching the woods, they found four more dead bodies of the missing people, with bites on different parts of their bodies. It was then decided that trainers would be appointed to clear the forest of such dangerous animals as snakes and carnivores. The dead bodies were taken away and the police thanked us for informing them about the mishap due to which many future deaths would be prevented.
My friend and I returned to our homes, but not before celebrating with a hamburger, fries and Coke. I narrated the incident to my family, who said that they were proud of me.
THE END
Yes My Love
The two had went inside the coffee shop to escape the rain. Helped on its way by the wind, the droplets pounded on the glass windows pleading with the couple to step back out into the dreary gray afternoon. The shop itself was small and inviting and the two had sat in the middle of it, directly under a warm yellow light that was trying to caress and massage them into a place of comfort. The couple however resisted, smiling at each other ostensibly with discomfort and the first prickle pricks of hatred lying right under the surface. Their eyes were both listless, neither wanting to be alone with the other and feeling alone with each other.
“How was your day my darling?” He said trying his hardest to mimic genuine affection.
“Wonderful my love, I woke up and had some breakfast and then you called me and now I’m here,” she said absentmindedly.
As she finished the two cups of coffee were set down on the table, two identical maroon colored cups steaming wisp of vapor into the air. He had ordered his drink for the both of them. The man who served the two of them was above-average in most respects, he was tall, had a chiseled and intentional face, and lean muscle peaked up from under his long sleeve white shirt. The server’s deep brown eyes locked with her’s for a moment and he smiled lightly.
“Two Cafe Americano’s,” he said maintaining his gaze for a second more and then walking away the soft smile still plastered to his face.
“They have such nice people working here don’t they my love?” she said wistfully watching the server recede.
“Yes they do darling,” he said gritting his teeth.
After the server had receded back into behind the counter she looked back to him and they shared another hateful smile between each other. For a moment there was silence as they both sipped on their black nectar’s with mutual muted disgust. They were caught in some awful dance, picking up and putting down their drinks in unison and took three sips of the coffee while staring vacantly into eachothers eyes. Their minds were blank as both tried to think of what they should say in the situation.
“The weather is quite terrible isn’t it,” Love said to Darling.
The couple looked out at the rain which had given up its ardent cry and adopted a languorous drip to portray its apathy.
“I kind of like the-,” Darling begun.
“Oh please say yes to me my darling.”
“Oh yes my love the weather is quite terrible.”
He sat back in his chair proud of his conquest. He had long since beaten her into submission with his constant criticism and objections and now she was his, a malleable putty in his hand, and he loved this power. He needed it.
“Oh my darling don’t you love being with me, our love could conquer anything and we are never alone and we care for eachother so much. Oh please say yes to me.”
“Yes my love.”
“And no one could ever come between us and I am the perfect man and you are my trophy and together I can do anything and you will stand cheering my on at my side.
“Yes my love.”
The words automatically tumbled out of her mouth, and she had gotten used to the constant affirmations. Her mind usually wandered when he got to this state and now as he was becoming drunk off a mix of his own conceit and the cafe americano her apathetic mind was sitting on a bench outside in the apathetic rain. She knew that he wanted to control her thoughts and with that her being and had at first given it to him out of a genuine love for him. That was gone now and all that remained was routine and appearances.
“-and no man can ever really stand up to me in your eyes. Yes in your eyes I’m the perfect man, any taller would be too awkward, any shorter too dwarfish, any skinnier too lanky, any bigger too plump, any handsomer too pretty, and any uglier too disgusting.”
“Yes my love,” she didn’t need his impetus anymore. She knew where he was going.
“Like that imbecile server that gave us our drinks, much too awkward, much too plump, much too pretty, I know that you agree with me my darling.”
She sighed and was silent for a second as he passed back into sight. He looked back over to the table and her eyes locked once again with his and for a moment she was inside those brown eyes and fantasized within them. She would leave the table and the server would run to her and they would embrace and kiss and love each other passionately in front of Love and she would be free! Free at last!
“Well my darling aren’t you going to say yes?” Love asked his dam of insecurity cracked and flowing out into his words.
She sighed again and looked back at him. She tried her hardest to remember loving him, the days when they were so young and so hopeful and she truly believed all he said to her. She tried to remember their first kiss under that tall maple tree when he had pulled her over tenderly and their lips met and it felt like their two beings had become one and where melting together like mixed ice cream on a hot summer day. She tried to remember the first time they proclaimed their love to each other on that dark night illuminated by street lamps all around that seemed to light the way to an endless future together where their love would be like those streetlamps fighting away the darkness of the world around them. She tried to remember the day when he had gotten on one knee and told her that their love for eachother would last them many eternities and that the love would outlive every single particle that was, is, or would be on this damned planet.
She could remember the events but couldn’t imagine the feeling.
“Yes my love,” she said as apathetic droplets of rain died on the windows.
In this piece I was trying to portray the ennui and general listlessness of a couple that I know. Love itself is one of the greatest things we have as humans but the question is what to do when it fades away? Hope any reader enjoys it.
Once in the evening, I was in the bus on the Eastern Metropolitan Bypass, coming from my office. There was an auto rickshaw going at a moderate speed just before our bus maintaining a dangerous distance already. I was sitting at the Driver’s cabin, saw a young man around age of 30 sitting on the edge of the back seat, suddenly fall on the road without any notice. Auto didn’t stop at all & it gone by leaving him alone on the road.
Our bus driver took a shuttle break, stopped nearby the young person, fainted on the road side ! 2/3 persons from our bus including me rushed to the spot for his help! Someone sprayed water on his mouth to get back into sense ! But it didn’t. All then gone by thinking next course of action to informing police and probable legal issues might creep into their mind ! But I thought in different manner , my Conscience knocked me first to take him to nearby hospital. Let hospital take next decision. And I did it. I think morality and minimum responsibility are Going away from the mind of people. Let hope to change the society a bit in the year to come !
It was beautiful day in September. Pulling on a heavy overcoat and some fluffy boots, Lillian walked out of her cottage and into the woods. The red and orange leaves crinkled under her feet. A few minutes later something rustled in the leaves behind her. Sharply turning around, she found nothing. Walking further, she started to hum a lullaby that she recollected from her childhood. There was a noise behind her again, and she turned again only to find nothing. Becoming a little more aware of her surroundings, she continued her walk. Again hearing something behind her, she whipped around only to find a dark figure smiling maniacally at her. The figure’s face was half covered by a hood, showing only the bottom half of its face. The smile erupted into laughter, which led Lillian to believe that the figure in front other was actually a man. Turning around to run, she found that she could no longer move her feet or legs. Knowing that something was holding her back, she tried harder, but to no avail. A pair of hands caught of her by her waist and turned her around, bringing the man back into her sight. A hand moved to her mouth before a scream could escape. Seeing him remove his hand, Lillian saw a chance to shout for help, but to her surprise saw that her voice did not come out. With a flick of his wrist, her mouth clamped shut.
“You oughta come with me” she said, “he’s really good, and it’ll be fun” She piled the four of us into her rusty blue pinto. It smelled intensely of old smoke and french fries. An ineffective cardboard pine tree hung from the knob on her radio. I squeezed into the pseudo back seat with my knees pressed uncomfortably close to my chest and listened to her tell us all about her new love, who was currently working at the Westerner.
The four of us worked the swing shift and since we had finished up all the work early the boss told us we could clock out and go home. But the night was young and Sherry was so excited for us to meet her new devastatingly handsome drummer boy and it did sound fun so we all went along. My newlywed husband would probably be asleep already anyway.
Sherry dove out of the car and ran inside as soon as we reached our destination. The other two girls followed her so they could be introduced. I stepped inside a dimly lit smokey bar and stood there a minute so my eye’s could adjust. The band was playing some crying-in-your-beer song and there was Sherry dancing and clapping, watching her young cowboy in rapturous delight as he strummed on his drums. I headed toward an empty table and nervously pulled a cigarette out of my bag. I had just started trying them out so I would fit in with the people at my new job. Flash, Flash, Flash. Suddenly three lighters blazed in my face and there stood three eager, grinning young cowboys clamoring to light my smoke. “Hi, what’s your name?” “Want a light?” “Well hello there gorgeous.” I stepped backwards and quickly hid the cigarette in the palm of my and hand and put my hands in my pockets. “Um, no thanks” I murmured, “That’s OK, I need to get back to work now” I rushed back outside and called my boss to please come and get me and take me to my car. “Why didn’t you stay?” he asked as I climbed into his pickup truck. “I couldn’t stand it” I told him. “I felt just like rat bait”
Hey, this is my first writing practice. I’d love to know what you think.
Walking down the aisle to an older man who neither loved her nor cared for her was not what Asha had planned for her 18th birthday. To be honest, she had not planned for it happen ever. But here she was, standing patiently as the neighbourhood tailor measured her waist for altering their mouldy, 200 year-old, family bridal dress. The man, the dress, the hour, nothing was right. And, wait for it- the worst of all, her belly was starting to show; yes, she was pregnant too.
Asha thought of herself as mostly an overachiever at school. From the age of seven, when her citified aunt had finally convinced her parents that in the 2000s a girl too needed education, she had topped her class of kids of mix-matched ages trying to draw apples. It had helped that her family had the largest holding of lands in the village; she got to be friends with the money lenders’ daughters. They often lent her their colouring books, the occasional Tinkle, and sometimes even the Manorama yearbook. She also got to hang around when they sold their used papers to the local raddi, managing to steal at least one Classmate notebook from the piles. All in all, life was good education-wise. She had, after all, passed her matriculations with a mighty third division!
Bodily, life was not so good. Being one of the first to join the new Economic Farmers’ Market, her father had also been the first to join the Importers’ Guild. These were, in fact, two of his greatest achievements, as often narrated in detail by him to any dumb villager who dared question his authority. But, achievement or no, the family had to suffer. All the wheat went to the big mill in the next town, and the dal was imported directly to some city. They had their cucumber patch though, and mother (Oh that clever cook!) had been improvising for years. So it was rather surprising when the visiting doctor announced that the kids were– malnourished! How dare he challenge mother’s cooking?! It would have still been fine had father not sold the supplements to the only parents who had hale kids; yes, the lenders. But no, “The weak must help the strong be strong”. Asha cared not who had coined such wisdom.
And now, Shakti had joined his uncle’s business in town and she was left pregnant. What ill-luck that the doctor had done his five-yearly rounds only two years before! She did not feel too well; she did not enjoy sharing her cucumber fry with an unborn child.
Back to the present though, mother was asking her what colour bindi she would like. What? Choices? She was considering what to say when she realized it was her aunt who was being asked. Relief! Decisions were not her forte, after all. And here we will leave her for the time being- thinking deep thoughts on life and love.
A young woman stumbles across a dead body in the woods. What does she/he do?
Now a young woman was walking a dark forest at night and she stumbles into something. It was a dead body, and she freaked out. She didn’t know how to get help and she was taught about that yet. She had to go find older adults to know what to do. What there in front of you was a hotel, and older couple were coming out. She said, can you helped me. I was heading home and lost my way in the woods and stumbled on a dead body but I didn’t know what to do. They didn’t want to talked to young women because they didn’t know her name, but tell she was really freak out. So they asked the young women what her name was Julie. Julie asked for there name is. They said Mary and David. They ask Julie if she know what to do, she didn’t know. They taught her and took her home, it was a very scary day for her. She asked her mother Josephine and her father Devin, why they haven’t teaches her what to do if she saw a dead body. The parents were thinking why she was asking that question. They just told her, thought you were not ready for it but it time to teach you now. She said you don’t know the story and you guys didn’t answer your so I had to do the shortcut in woods at night. They said what happened to you. I made to night school but after it was the teacher wanted to speak to me after class, and I told her I had to go to make it to the bus. I miss it and then I try to call both of you but it went straight through voicemail. So the only other choice was going into the woods at night because your house was not far away, but she end on a wrong road and she stumbled into a dead body and she did know what to do. She ran into these two older adults and they took care of it for me and taught me what to do next time. So she was brave
This is my piece. I know its not great.
Her bones crackled. The cold rain pattered all throughout the day. And the thought that it might wash her adventuring footsteps from the forest had her sprinting with clutched excitement to Oasis Springs. Secluded and segregated behind her house, she knew not many others knew of its iridescent existence.
Covered in shrubbery and surrounded by whistling trees, this came near to a second home. Millie stretched her popping limbs and ambled to the shallow entry where a soft green patch rose comfortably on a sloping path. Blue trenchcoat ruined, she stopped just as her knees bowed to the earth.
There, blood diluted on little pollen heads lay a worm mottled body, blackened by forgotten age. Her fingers slapped her mouth shut just as her throat rumbled and bolted backwards, slim body hunched over.
Minites scrape by with each salty tear and as her sanity quieted, she knew what she had to do. She fell on her knees and began scraping dirt under her nails. No way was she going back to prison. Especially not for her step-father.
no title
“los angeles 2017
the future feels like it’s on the verge of reaching the outer edges of dawn. this funny feeling, a feeling of anxiety. nervous neurons. the accumulation of events in which we find humanity at a fulcrum. a feeling that makes my arm hairs stand on guard.”
that’s it – took me 15 mins to tap that out on my keyboard – i will practice everyday starting with this little ditty – thanks for the inspiration –
There was always something eerie about being on 31st street after dark. It could be the way all the lights seemed to click off simultaneously at exactly 9:03, or the way even the crickets seemed to know they ought to be quiet. Maybe it was due to the strict curfew the town had enacted, creating a seemingly perfect setting for a horror movie.
But reality always has a way of being more terrifying than a movie that you know you have the power to turn off. As a kid growing up on 31st street, the strangeness just seemed to be routine. Every morning as the sun rose, the curfew was lifted, and life was brought back to the street. There were children running back and forth to each other’s houses, and their mothers calling their names for lunch. The old widow next door tended to her garden, and fathers were sent off to their suit-and-tie jobs. But every evening at exactly 9:00, the entire neighborhood locked their doors, and three short minutes later, the houses turned their lights off one by one.
I made the mistake of being out past curfew one night, riding my bike down the road coming home from my best friend Kevin’s house. I rode down the street at exactly, 9:03, and watched as every light in the block turned off, including my parents’. I raced to my house, and threw my bicycle down, running to the front door and reaching for the doorknob just to find it had already been locked. I suddenly felt an immense fear grow inside me, as if someone, or something was watching me. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I pounded on the front door, wailing for my parents to let me in.
Then I heard a voice whisper, seemingly just behind me, “Are you afraid of the dark?”
I whipped around just as the front door opened and my mother’s worried face appeared. “Jonah,” she said, reaching her arms out for me, her expression looking as if she had just seen a ghost. I turned back to her, wondering if I had just heard one, and hurried through the door. She rung the bottom of her nightshirt in her hands and swiftly locked the door behind me.
After that, I had no intention of ever going outside after curfew again. But as my luck would have it, it would not be the last time I was locked out of the house. One evening, years later, I had decided to go see a basketball game on the other side of town, and as the rowdy teenager that I was, I paid no attention to the time, not realizing until I was on the bus back towards my side of town that it was already past 9 o’clock. Before I stepped off the bus, I could feel the hair on the back of my neck raise. I looked back to the unshaven bus driver, wondering if he would instead drop me off at my friend Kevin’s house, but he yawned, checked his watch, and then raised his eyebrows at me as if to say, “You getting off here, or what?”
I stepped off the bus, and in seconds the driver had turned the corner. I was alone. I began to walk down the road, which at 9:36 was completely shrouded in darkness. I could hear footsteps racing behind me..
No title
“It has been hard for me lately, you just left me in this darkness and now im lonely.After we spent 5 years together as a couple now you left me because you found another woman who you thought can take all your problems away from you.The problem here is that you don’t even want to share your problems to me and you didn’t even dared talk to me. Every night when Im asking if you have a problem you just ignore me like Im not your wife.Did you even loved me?Because I don’t think so.You should have told me personally that you don’t love me anymore, instead you loved another woman behind my back when I wasn’t watching.You lied to me and It hurts me because after all those years we spent together I thought you were committed in our relationship but I was wrong, It was only me. I hope you are happy now but I will never forget those memories we shared together.”
This is my first time writing and I would love to hear some suggestions on how to improve on my writing thank you 🙂
The Summer Morning
Narrator
It was a sunny day, and on that sunny day there was a girl. A girl named Isabelle. She was a very bright girl not one you would see at school, or walking on the street Isabelle was a kind girl. With a sweetheart Isabelle swept every body into her arms because everyone she talked to she showed respect. And she had manners.Isabelle never liked anyone but everyone liked her. Isabelle has a little brother. His name is Jake. Jake is a normal little boy. Very different from Isabelle, But there was one thing they had in common they both showed respect. They grew up wit strict parents and still do. This is why they are kind. Once on the first day of school Isabelle had an idea her idea was to bring flowers to her teacher. That day her teacher liked her already. And one time Jake gave his teacher a box of chocolate and he liked him already. But Jake and Isabelle do have their differences. Jake is VERY messy. He would roll in mud. His room is filled with clothes to the point where you couldn’t see the floor. While Isabelle, IS very tidy she hates mud, she is very organized, and her room is so tidy to the point where the the room sparkles. At this point you might be thinking,Isabelle would never hurt anyone and that she’s such a sweet pea. If so you’re wrong. Though she is nice to people outside and to her parents. Isabelle is not so nice to Jake. Like i said they have their differences. Since Jake always messy Isabelle put up a sign saying “ Jake is not allowed to step in this room if so Their will be terrible consequences.”
Because of the sign Jake not even allowed to give her her mail. (yes she gets mail) It come the point where Jake can’t even look at her room door. So one day Jake put up a sign. It said “Isabelle you are not allowed to step foot into this room if so i will splash you with mud. It was so bad they had war tidy vs messy. Sometimes Jake would sneak inside Isabelle’s room and put worms everywhere. (Isabelle did not go in there for a week) and Isabelle would sneak in Jake’s room and clean it up. Jake hated that. It was horrible.
SEVEN DEGREES OF DRAMA
“Hey, Joe,” said Lisa. “Have you ever considered learning a trade like welding so you could make more money?”
Joe took a drink of beer. “I don’t need to learn a trade I’m doing just fine.”
“But we need to save money so the kids can go to college.”
“Lisa, that’s a long way off. Besides, they might not want to go to college.”
“But what if they do? College is expensive, we need to help them.
“They can get loans.” said Joe.
“Yeah, but if we have the money we can at least pay part of their tuition. And, besides, don’t you want to someday get a bigger house?”
“I would be happy living in a tin can with you.”
“Geeze. I can’t believe you’re thinking like that.”
“Sorry.” said Joe.
Joe’s views on their finances worried Lisa. As a kid she had developed a fear of ending up destitute due to her father Lou’s attitude towards money.
“You kids think I am made of money!” Lou would say. “I just don’t have the money to give you kids. I’m already having a hard enough time saving money because it all goes for the bills and feeding you kids. You kids act as if I should be paying you for just breathing. Geeze, there you go again expecting me to cross your palm with
silver for every little thing you do. You need to quit pestering me for money I don’t have. If I wasn’t working you kids would go hungry.”
But despite Lou’s negativity, Lisa did find some humor. “You know,” Lisa said to Joe one time. “My dad is such a tight wad that you can hear the presidents in his wallet gasping for air.”
“Whatever.” Joe said.
Lou’s cheapness was not spared on his wife Ellen. On payday he gave her just enough money to buy food for each meal, school lunches, and house supplies. Snacks were forbidden because Lou wouldn’t let the kids eat between meals. If Ellen did buy snacks, she had the kids eat them before Lou got home from work. Lisa would also sneak food at night. She got caught once by Lou and got whipped with his belt. It still did not stop her from sneaking food.
Ellen also had to ask Lou’s permission to buy something for herself. One time, without Lou’s approval, Ellen bought a cream colored sequenced top and flared leg pantsuit on sale at a discount store. She hid the pantsuit in the closet, and told Lou about it after the kids were in bed. However, Lisa was still awake and listened as Ellen rationalized the purchase.
“Lou,” Ellen said. “I bought an outfit today.”
“For who?” Lou said.
“Myself.”
“Why? You don’t need any clothes—you got a closet full already.”
“But I don’t have anything nice to wear.”
“What do you mean you don’t have anything nice to wear? What about that dress you wore at Jean’s baptism?”
“That dress is four years old Lou! And the other clothes I got are getting faded and ratty looking!”
Lou chuckled. “Oh come on, Ellen.
You’re clothes look just fine. Besides you don’t need to wear nice clothes to do housework and take care of kids.”
“But, I do need something new to wear to your company Christmas party.”
“Ellen, it’s only October.”
“But I deserve it because I’ve been working hard around here!”
“Okay. Go put that outfit on now, I want to see it.”
Lisa saw Ellen go into the master bedroom. A few minutes later Ellen came out with
the pants suit on.
“How do you like it?” said Ellen. “Don’t you think it’s nice?”
There was a brief silence.
“Take off the pants and bend over like you are lifting Jean out of the playpen.” said Lou.
Lisa could not believe what she was hearing. She wanted her mom to say something.
“That top is too short I can see your underwear.” said Lou. “Take that outfit back where you got it from and get my money back.”
Lisa thought for sure her mom would say something. Instead, Lisa saw her mom go back into the master bedroom and slam the door. A short time later she came out dressed in her night clothes with the outfit in her hand.
Ellen threw the outfit at Lou.
“Here’s your damn outfit!” said Ellen. “You can return it yourself you cheap bastard! You know I bust my ass around this house cleaning, cooking, and taking care of your damn bratty kids while you spend hundreds of dollars on your airplanes,
hunting, camping, and fishing trips! Then you have a fit when I spend a lousy
$14.00 on something nice for myself! And don’t expect me to cook your breakfast
in the morning Mister—you can starve for all I care!”
Lisa was glad her mom stood up to her dad. Ellen went back into her bedroom slamming the door behind her. Lisa could hear her mom talking, but couldn’t make out what she was saying due to the thick plaster walls. Lou remained in the front room for a few minutes before turning off the light and going into the bedroom.
“You can keep the outfit.” said Lou as he closed the door. A short conversation ensued and then the sound of the shower. A few minutes later Lisa heard the bed squeaking and fell asleep.
Lou would have his breakfast tomorrow morning.
Turn Away:
I’m tired, she thought with a sigh as she forced her body to move down the worn path she made as child pushing the fall leaves as she moved. Avery remembered how she use own these woods, when she ventured further than most dared to out of sheer curiosity, a need to explore. She new this land front to back, the landmarks, and the warning signals sat the tip of her mind ready when needed. If ever needed again. Time had passed since her ignorance as a child, since she grasped her curiosity whole and explored everything that peeked her interest. She learned of the real world of the real dangers, as a child she had never thought of what if… she got attacked…got lost…got hurt, selfishly pursing her on ambition until it finally hurt. Just not her, since than she stayed to path and wouldn’t leave unless it costed her life. For a brief moment Avery staggered, pausing to catch her steps when something caught her eye.
That wasn’t here this morning.
An animal was her first initial thought and with that in mind she walked faster, somehow peering down at the ground as she pace to see a human foot print. Questions and scenarios popped in her mind all of her moving off the path and having time of her life re-exploring the crack and caves that lied ahead if only she took step. Avery turned to autumn scenery from here the bare trees, and soothing wind along with a clear blue sky. Couldn’t this be enough, she asked and as if answering old memories from her laughing and playing in the shallow river no more than a mile teased her. Sympathizing with the need to abandon the trail, It wouldn’t hurt, she told herself. It fall most of the wolves and bears, would be east by now across the highway and into new feeding territory.
Before she and anytime to think of a con in her head she moved following the trail with a small grin on her face, ears opening to her surroundings looking for the serene fall bird melody that she remembered. It played distantly familiar at the back of her mind and expecting the fall bird echo in reality she waited, but the song never came. She didn’t think of it much, but a frown changed her mood and moving forward would forever change her life for the worse.
Their was warning of death like you picture in the movies, no breath of frigid air to cause her spine to shiver in her skin walking forward was perfectly normal until she saw it. Death, blood, murder at first sight you could tell this man was gone. He sat frozen against a tree, dark blood spotting his clothes and the poor leaves beside him. His face was beaten, and disfigured the murderer had given it time to swell before finishing the job. Avery couldn’t move to terrified inhale a release the scream caught in her throat, her finger began to shake and clasping them for some sort of stability she closed her eyes. Her over active imagination worked against her, placing the body in mind specifically capturing his dead blue orbs and opening them to reality, she backed away peppered to turn and run until she couldn’t anymore till she was home, safely in shelter and could cry in the arms of someone she loved unlike this man this man would no longer cry again or hold someone again. Her eyes moved, past the tree catching something much like the outline of a figure only then did she scream running until she was till she couldn’t anymore.
Avery crashed through the woods, she heard no further footsteps but her mind was working against her and all she could see was that man and his frozen eyes along with the reason she stuck to the path. The man who had died protecting her from the beast of woods, someone she loved someone who loved her he told her never again to go journey to the den of animals. He was right, almost as flipping a switch she shut down stopping her heavy breathing and panic as she forced her pulse to calm.
She wouldn’t think of the man again nor would she step a foot on that trail. As if pulling a string in her brain the knots of fear and worry untangled and she stood straight, walking toward her house with a grim smile.
Even though she was prepared to forget someone wasn’t and after that day she was a target.
(Unedited)
As she stepped through the doorway, her heart started to pound. Could they hear it? Tha-dump! Tha-dump! Was it trying to escape? She hoped that she wouldn’t mess up today because it was her first day as an exchange student. She had flown from Japan to the USA. This was the most nervous she had been in her life, but it was intertwined with something else. It was the exhilaration of following her dreams. People stared at her as she bowed, “Thank you for having me!” Blushing, she quickly remembered that Japan’s courtesy was not known in America. American schools were much different, especially in the way that uniforms were usually not mandatory. She would have to get used to choosing her clothes for school. The teacher introduced her, “Class, this is Megumi Hatanaka.” Everyone murmured excitedly as she looked around. “You may call me Megumi,” she announced, “I am very happy to be here.” “I am the English teacher, Mr. Rais,” he welcomed Megumi and motioned for her to take a seat.
(I’m okay with constructive criticism, I’m just in middle school.)
It was a wonderful evening and Isabelle decided that she wanted to go for a walk in the forest. She live in a small house with her husband near a small but very beautiful river. It was Thursday and that meant that her husband won’t be back until Friday. He worked in the city and it was just easier for him to live there during the workweek. So Isabelle dressed up she put her cosy shoes which are perfectly for a walks in the woods. She opened the door and the first thing that made her an impression was that it was deadly quiet even the birds didn’t made sounds. So she decided to go on the simple route near the river which leads to the small lake. The route is just about 20 min if you go with slow tempo. Isabelle was so happy that she decided to go for a walk because lately she needed a time to relax, her past month was filled with some tasks at her work and she was literally about to go mad if she won’t take a break. Even something so small like an 1hour walk. She had just passed the half of the route and she knew that because on the middle route there was a very unique tree that can not be confused with any other. It was a small, pretty old birch and it was so beautiful, it bark was wizened and it was like this tree was telling a story. She continued and after another 10 minutes, she was where she was supposed to be at lake Sedova. Lake Sedova was nothing special but everyone, who saw it saw something magnificent in it, maybe the fact that the lake was so normal made it kind of special. Isabelle sat on a rock and started staring at her reflection. Her blonde hair and blue eyes looked even more colourful than they were and her lips looked bloody red.
“I was filled with excitement as we alighted from the bus. The journey was long and my foot was already aching. This was the first time I had been to Aba market. My mom promised that if I took first position in my class that term, I could go shopping with her. It was a very large market at the eastern part of Nigeria and people usually came from far and near to buy things there because they were cheaper. I had heard so many things about the market and couldn’t wait to go there. It was rowdy and there were lots of people carrying different things moving in various directions.
After about two hours, we were at the clothing section when suddenly, we heard loud noises as if there was a stampede. We were in a three storey building so I got a good view of that part of the market. I noticed that some people were chasing a young man and shouting ‘Ole, Ole’. I didn’t speak Yoruba but I understood that that word meant ‘thief’. They finally caught the guy and started beating him. By then, people had gathered around and some were recording with their camera phones. Someone put a tyre around his neck and before I could figure out why, they lit him on fire. I watched in horror as the burning man tried to save himself. In my head, I kept repeating the words ‘drop and roll, drop and roll’ willing him to put out the fire before it killed him. It wasn’t long before he fell to the ground. Then I knew he was dead. The crowd started dispersing thick black smoke was rising to the sky. I could perceive the strong smell of burnt meat and I felt sick. I had heard of thieves being lynched at major markets like these but seeing it first-hand was terrifying. This man was a thief but did he have a family? Will his charred remains still end up being buried? Will anyone grieve for him? Will he go to hell and continue the agonizing struggle as flames consumed him? Is this what hell is like? These were the questions that went through my mind as we rode home on the bus.
I opened it slowly fidgeting fingers. I don’t know why was I trembling or why did my heart skip a beat as soon as a felt it. The scent soo close, yet soo far away, from me, from my body.
It can’t be. He couldn’t. There is no way.
But I knew the scent, it wasn’t a lie. He left scars in my heart but a lesson in my brain.
So I run. I run in, half expecting to see him, half knowing he choose the same path as me – to disappear.
What he left inside was a memory of pain, love, regret, hope. I took a step in the room; the room that made as one soul, one heart, one body. The room that brought me to reality, to past, to future. There I opened my eyes to hundreds of roses. Roses from the past. Old, dry petals fell off, as the breeze from outside briskly hit them. Not believing my own eyes, I closed them.
Gently opening the doors that I long ago locked, so feelings wouldn’t overpower my knowledge. Now they where open. Emotions that is the only thing you can call them, feeling for someone that I knew I will betray. I searched deeper, even deeper until the day that we last said a word to each other. I had roses in my hand but I never intended to smell them or even say thank you to the owner. I looked rapidly into his eyes, scared that he would read mine. With confidence I smiled, even laughed but inside I was breaking. I told him, the revenge plan that I never thought would reach its finale. I could see his confusion, his fear of losing me, his first love.
I jumped up quickly, brushing everything off, locking everything behind. I learned a lesson, a rule I should follow – never take vengeance if you don’t truly mean it.
TWO TYPES OF PEOPLE
Do not judge by appearances a rich heart may be under a poor coat – Scottish proverb
From my experiences and point of view I have observed two kinds of people in my life which according to me are hardest to identify.
People judge you from outward appearance but god sees your intentions,your heart and judge according to it.We do not have a right to judge anyone even if they are very cruel with us or others because who knows which deed has made the god happy.
So,here are the two types of people.
1.Famous among people but not famous before god.
2.Not famous among people but famous before god.
A young woman stumbles across a dead body in the woods. What does she/he do?
Now a young woman was walking a dark forest at night and she stumbles into something. It was a dead body, and she freaked out. She didn’t know how to get help and she was taught about that yet. She had to go find older adults to know what to do. What there in front of you was a hotel, and older couple were coming out. She said, can you helped me. I was heading home and lost my way in the woods and stumbled on a dead body but I didn’t know what to do. They didn’t want to talked to young women because they didn’t know her name, but tell she was really freak out. So they asked the young women what her name was Julie. Julie asked for there name is. They said Mary and David. They ask Julie if she know what to do, she didn’t know. They taught her and took her home, it was a very scary day for her. She asked her mother Josephine and her father Devin, why they haven’t teaches her what to do if she saw a dead body. The parents were thinking why she was asking that question. They just told her, thought you were not ready for it but it time to teach you now. She said you don’t know the story and you guys didn’t answer your so I had to do the shortcut in woods at night. They said what happened to you. I made to night school but after it was the teacher wanted to speak to me after class, and I told her I had to go to make it to the bus. I miss it and then I try to call both of you but it went straight through voicemail. So the only other choice was going into the woods at night because your house was not far away, but she end on a wrong road and she stumbled into a dead body and she did know what to do. She ran into these two older adults and they took care of it for me and taught me what to do next time. So she was brave
the story starts within a coaching institute in a small town a boy name Mac after completing his high school have to choose his career.He took maths it was 5 July 4’o clock in the afternoon the coaching class started a girl name Nancy was sitting just front of Mac.He saw her and thought who is she because she was the only girl in the Institute. After the coaching, he went back to the home he saw the same girl going back to home on foot. For a movement, he thought to ask her to give her lift and then soon he accelerate and went home.After a couple of days in the coaching, it was going well. One day during the break the girl looked at him and gave a smile to him from that day they started having long conversation and up to 2 years these things became habit smiling while looking to each other students in the institute thought there is something between both of them but it wast like that they were just good friends.And then the time came to say goodbye because it was the end of class 12th and the last day of coaching.
i will continue this in the next session
Prompt 1 of 14 Prompts: Write about a time that you felt out of place, awkward and uncomfortable.
I slowly make my way down the staircase. The darkness I can see from the glass-pane door below looks foreboding and unfriendly. The staircase itself is a deep shade of muggy brown, and as I open the door and enter the basement below, I immediately want to leave. The room is small, U-shaped, really. In front of me is the bar and next to that, on the left is the massive DJ set behind which stand two shady-looking men. On the right is a table laid which junk food, of which the smell activates my gag reflex. On one side of the U-shaped room is the photo booth and dance floor and on the other is a common area with sofas. The room, however, is terrifyingly small. Lights attached to the ceiling let out shades of dark blue and red. Do they not know, the darker the color of the surrounding or wall, the smaller the room looks and feels? Or the fact that the red projection makes it feel like steaming blood is coming from the ceiling? The room is bathed in other colors too, greens and blacks and yellows. The combination is suffocating. It’s distracting. The worst thing about this basement meant for parties, however, is the sheer, immense number of people and the horrible cacophony of songs playing in the background, booming on the speakers and making me want to rip my ears out. A party, that’s where I am. And I loathe it. I start walking into the room as even more people start pouring into the room from behind me, pushing me away as I stand, blocking the entrance into the room. As I find myself suddenly surrounded on all sides by bodies, my heart starts pounding as my claustrophobia kicks in. I push my way forcefully through the crowd into the most empty place I can find, which is a small spot at the corner of the room as I try to steady my breathing. This is not where I want to be, I think desperately. But it’s courtesy, I guess. Simple social manners and acceptable behavior to make an appearance at a party to which you’re invited to. I don’t fit in here. The music is loud, and so not my style. It’s meaningless lyrics, mixed with electronically produced white noise. The food is bathed in oil and I could never eat it without wanting to throw it all up. The people are the worst. Some try saying hi to me, engaging in conversation. As I stand in my little corner, I politely reply, forcing myself to smile and dreaming about when this nightmare would finally be over. I don’t engage in conversation, however. They laugh, they dance, they eat and drink. They grind against each other, their sweaty bodies constantly in contact. It doesn’t matter to them. They’re here for a good time, and a good time is what they’re having. My heart contracts and my stomach drops. Why can’t I be like them? Why must I push myself into a corner? Why do I have the inability to enjoy myself at such places? The thought of this isolation among such a huge number of people is possibly the most painful feeling. It’s not fair. I can’t make myself talk to them. I cannot sustain a proper conversation with more than two of these people. I can’t dance, I can’t have fun the way they want me to. I am here, solely to wish the girl a happy birthday and leave, no matter what that might look like to them. On a rare occasion where one of them do, indeed, come and try to talk to me, I find my hands clenched into fists behind my back and my feet tilted in the other direction. My mind wandering as I try my best to focus on what they’re saying but I can’t. I just want to leave. I feel a sudden wave of exhaustion take over me, and the room becomes even darker. The corner doesn’t seem as friendly as it did before; no, now, it threatens to push against me, into the crowd. I suddenly register the lowness of the ceiling and the proximity of the closeness of the farthest person around me. I close my eyes as my Adam’s apple bobs up and down. Sweat starts coating my forehead and hands. People start grabbing me, trying to get me to dance. I fake laugh and push them away, telling them I’m far too tired and that I don’t know how to dance. Like vicious animals, like predator pouncing on prey, that only seems to encourage them. “We’ll teach you,” they say. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fun!”. What won’t be fun, I think, is when they realize that I don’t belong here. What won’t be fun, I think, is when I make a fool of myself, when I embarrass myself and these people make a mental note never to engage with me again. I suddenly spot the birthday girl. “Hey!” I say and I quickly wrap one arm around her and let go. I say happy birthday, and then pretend to check my phone. “Listen, I’m so sorry, there’s been an emergency at home. I need to leave now,” I say, panting and hoping she falls for it. Of course she does. She’s far too happy and there are far too many people here for her to care whether or not I’m here. I dash for the entrance. I run up the dark steps. I get into my car. And I sit, alone, waiting to get home. And I’ve never felt more alone.
Written in 30 minutes, just one long, continuous paragraph showing my stream of thought when I read the prompt.
I haven’t thought of a title for this story idea yet.
It was very cold; he had not expected the ground to be so cold. Small specks of white fell from the sky and covered the earth. He knew it to be snow, but he had not known what it was like to have it fall on his skin, like pins pricking lightly at his body. He turned around and watch as the ship with its silver sails drifted peacefully away into the curtain of snow until all that was left were the waves of the sea gracefully swaying. Then he turned his attention to the people, all two hundred or so, that were left, like him, on this new land. They looked up at him, waiting for his instructions, but even he did not know what to do. They were all in such a new place, but what he did know was where they were going. Far off, to the southeast, high in the sky was a light that shone so bright that it gave each individual of the large company a shadow. He was taller than all of the rest, and he was stronger, his body was built and well defined, perhaps that was why he had been chosen to lead them. Or maybe that wasn’t the reason.
“Balethorn, it is best that we move on,” a man said as he approached, “I am sure that everyone is ready to move, seeing as we have all been on that rather cramped ship for who knows long.” It was true, the ship ride was very long, and even Balethorn, standing atop a hill not knowing where he was or what may lie ahead, was ready to press onward.
“Yes I agree, we do need to be moving,” Balethorn replied
This is only the very beginning, and I know its not much to comment on, but anything helps, Thank you!
My dog and I went for a walk on a warm sunny day. I decided to walk through the nature preserve near my home. I needed some time to think and what better way to do that then to be in solitude. Dio, my dog, really loves to take walks as well.
We walked for about a mile when I saw buzzards flying around in the sky. I also noticed an odd smell lurking in the air. As I continued to walk, Dio got a little jumpy and anxious. He pulled me to the left around a patch of palmetto’s. That’s when I saw it.
The body had to have been there for a few days. I covered my nose and mouth, trying not to gag and throw up, “What the hell.” I said. Dio sniffed the body. “Dio, no get away from it.” I told the dog as I had pulled him back.
I immediately pulled my phone from my pocket and called 911.
“911. What is your emergency?” the operator said.
“Hi, I’m in the nature preserve and I have come across a dead body.” I told the operator.
“Where exactly in the preserve are you ma’am.” the operator asked again.
Taking a breath, I told the operator my location. The operator dispatched the police and other law enforcement offical’s to my location. The operator told me to stay there until the police arrived and not to disturb anything.
The police showed up fifteen minutes later. Dio began barking as they approached us. The first officer walked over to me. Taking out a pen and pad, he began asking me questions.
“Hello ma’am. I am Detective Robert Jones. I’m going to ask you a few questions.” the detective explained.
“Okay.” I replied to the detective.
“Ma’am have you touched or disturbed the body at all?’ the detective asked.
“No I haven’t. My dog did sniff it though before I could pulled him away.” I explained.
“Have you seen or witnessed any suspicious person’s on your walk this afternoon?” he asked.
Thinking back on our walk, “No, no one at all.” I replied.
The detective, writing my responses down in his notepad, asked a few more questions and took down my information.
Detective Jones flipped his pad closed, “We need to clear the area so we can do our investigation. Thank you for your time. You are free to go home and I will contact you if I have any other questions.”
“Okay.” I replied as I pulled Dio’s leash and we began walking back towards home. Silently I said a prayer hoping that whoever was responsible for this death was caught and the family find peace.
I know it might not be as useful in french for feedbacks, but hey, publishing is a good step. So here is my 1st practice. (and buy the way, if someone knows of a good place like this to post stories for feedback but in french, let me know).
Camping:
Un nouveau courant d’air frais me réveilla de nouveau. C’était la deuxième nuit de mon périple en camping, mais je n’avais pas beaucoup dormi. Le soleil avait déjà dépassé le sommet des montagnes, et bientôt ma tente se réchaufferait rapidement. Une autre journée chaude. Certain à présent que je ne pourrais me rendormir, je repoussais paresseusement le dessus de mon sac de couchage. Je grelottais à cause de l’humidité prise dans mes vêtements, et je me préparais à sortir pour laisser les premiers rayons du soleil me réchauffer.
À peine dehors, une odeur distincte se fit sentir, une odeur qui ne laisse place à aucun doute: quelque chose de mort se trouvait à proximité. C’est une odeur qu’on n’oublie jamais.
La première fois, j’avais cinq ou six ans, et un petit écureuil était tombé dans un tonneau abandonné près de chez moi. Les pluies printanières avaient remplies le cylindre, et cela faisait sûrement plusieurs jours que l’animal était tombé dedans quand on commença à sentir l’odeur putride qui s’en dégageait.
Je marchais lentement sur le chemin que j’avais emprunté deux jours plus tôt pour installer mon camp, et l’odeur s’intensifiait ou diminuait selon le vent. L’herbe était couverte de rosée, et mes pieds étaient complètement trempées par les gouttelettes froides. Les arbres faisaient régulièrement disparaitre le soleil, et je plissais les yeux chaque fois qu’un rayon retrouvait son chemin jusqu’à mon visage. À demi aveuglé, je progressais laborieusement, repoussant les branches et les hautes herbes, avant de déboucher sur une vaste clairière qui menait à la falaise, haute de plus de deux cent mètres au-dessus de la plage.
L’odeur de mort me pris à la gorge, me donnant l’impression que je ne pourrais plus jamais m’en débarrasser. Une puanteur tenace, qui colle et s’imprègne dans les pores de la peau, dans les narines et les yeux. Il parait qu’après que des policiers ont travaillé sur des scènes de meurtre, ils donnent des cigares aux enquêteurs pour couvrir et faire oublier l’odeur de mort qui est si forte.
Évidemment, dans cet endroit isolé, aucun policier ne mettrait les pieds ici avant plusieurs jours, voire plusieurs semaines. Et d’ici là, je serai parti depuis longtemps, en prenant soin d’effacer le peu de traces que j’ai laissé depuis avant-hier.
Here is my attempt. Wrote it in around 14 minutes then gave it a quick proofread. Please let me know your thoughts. Thank you!
Samantha awoke suddenly, sweat dripping off of her and drenching her sheets. It was raining outside and the rain drops were lightly pattering on the window. Samantha slowly and cautiously rose out of her bed, slipping her cold feet into her pink slippers. She had been woken up by a loud noise coming from outside her cabin, she was partly grateful that something had woken her up because she was in the middle of a terrible nightmare, all she remembered from her dream was two red eyes looking back at her from the darkness. She grabbed the torch and baseball bat that were both lying next to her bed and carefully peered out of the window, making sure that most of her body could not be seen from outside. It was hard to see much through the rain but she could make out, around 20 meters away from her house into the forest outside a dark silhouette stumbling around.
The loudness of her breathing finally became apparent to her as she strained her eyes to make out the shape. It was fruitless however. Turning her torch on and ensuring she had a firm grip on her bat, Samantha moved toward the front door and stepped out onto her porch. She scanned the surrounding tree line with the beam from her torch until it rested on the dark silhouette. It was a man, and he looked extremely drunk.
“Are you okay?” she cautiously yelled out to him.
There was no response, so Samantha tried again. Again the man continued to just stumble around the forest, he was travelling away from the cabin and appeared to be no threat so Samantha walked back to bed, chuckling to herself for being so stupid.
Samantha lay in bed and began drifting back to sleep, she closed her eyes and again she could see the red eyes peering back to her. A moment before she fell asleep she heard a shockingly scared scream coming from the forest. Without a moment of hesitation she grabbed her torch and bat and ran out to the forest in the direction she last saw the man.
Samantha stumbled in the dark and fell on top of a soft pile. It took a while for her to shine the torch on the ground she lay on but when she did, she let go of her torch out of shock. She was lying on the man. He was dead.
Samantha did not know what to do, she looked at the man’s face and saw blood dripping from his eye sockets. Samantha could not find her torch in the dark and decided to run back to where she believed her cabin was. However when she turned she stopped still, skin pale as a ghost she stared into the dark red eyes that were staring back.
So I started my writing exercise and at about 5 minutes left I did not like what I wrote. It felt forced and rushed. Do I now edit it and post it anyway?
I am still new to this
A young woman stumbles across a dead body in the woods. What does she/he do?
Now a young woman was walking a dark forest at night and she stumbles into something. It was a dead body, and she freaked out. She didn’t know how to get help and she was taught about that yet. She had to go find older adults to know what to do. What there in front of you was a hotel, and older couple were coming out. She said, can you helped me. I was heading home and lost my way in the woods and stumbled on a dead body but I didn’t know what to do. They didn’t want to talked to young women because they didn’t know her name, but tell she was really freak out. So they asked the young women what her name was Julie. Julie asked for there name is. They said Mary and David. They ask Julie if she know what to do, she didn’t know. They taught her and took her home, it was a very scary day for her. She asked her mother Josephine and her father Devin, why they haven’t teaches her what to do if she saw a dead body. The parents were thinking why she was asking that question. They just told her, thought you were not ready for it but it time to teach you now. She said you don’t know the story and you guys didn’t answer your so I had to do the shortcut in woods at night. They said what happened to you. I made to night school but after it was the teacher wanted to speak to me after class, and I told her I had to go to make it to the bus. I miss it and then I try to call both of you but it went straight through voicemail. So the only other choice was going into the woods at night because your house was not far away, but she end on a wrong road and she stumbled into a dead body and she did know what to do. She ran into these two older adults and they took care of it for me and taught me what to do next time. So she was brave
Cassie caught wind of a horrendous smell and let her curiosity get the better of her. In a result she blindly followed the smell only to stumble upon a decaying dead body. The feeling of shock and fear consumed her as she looked closer. She noticed that it was a young woman probably mid 20’s. She was wearing a tennis outfit which would explain the almost eye blinding silver tennis bracelet around her wrist. The bracelet was one the first things to catch cassie’s eye because of the light from the moon reflecting on the charms. Cassie was compelled by it’s beauty so much that she reached for it. As her hand was only moments away from touching the band she heard a cracking noise as if someone stepped on a stick. Cassie’s head snapped in the sounds direction checking to see if anyone was there. She waited for another sound to appear but after a few minutes she turned her focus back toward the jane doe. Confused and in a daze she ripped the bracelet off of jane’s wrist a made a run for it. She wasn’t thinking straight so much so that she didn’t even notice that some of the charms fell off. ……It’s not finish yet but I would love to hear your feedback.
Samantha awoke suddenly, sweat dripping off of her and drenching her sheets. It was raining outside and the rain drops were lightly pattering on the window. Samantha slowly and cautiously rose out of her bed, slipping her cold feet into her pink slippers. She had been woken up by a loud noise coming from outside her cabin, she was partly grateful that something had woken her up because she was in the middle of a terrible nightmare, all she remembered from her dream was two red eyes looking back at her from the darkness. She grabbed the torch and baseball bat that were both lying next to her bed and carefully peered out of the window, making sure that most of her body could not be seen from outside. It was hard to see much through the rain but she could make out, around 20 meters away from her house into the forest outside a dark silhouette stumbling around.
The loudness of her breathing finally became apparent to her as she strained her eyes to make out the shape. It was fruitless however. Turning her torch on and ensuring she had a firm grip on her bat, Samantha moved toward the front door and stepped out onto her porch. She scanned the surrounding tree line with the beam from her torch until it rested on the dark silhouette. It was a man, and he looked extremely drunk.
“Are you okay?” she cautiously yelled out to him.
There was no response, so Samantha tried again. Again the man continued to just stumble around the forest, he was travelling away from the cabin and appeared to be no threat so Samantha walked back to bed, chuckling to herself for being so stupid.
Samantha lay in bed and began drifting back to sleep, she closed her eyes and again she could see the red eyes peering back to her. A moment before she fell asleep she heard a shockingly scared scream coming from the forest. Without a moment of hesitation she grabbed her torch and bat and ran out to the forest in the direction she last saw the man.
Samantha stumbled in the dark and fell on top of a soft pile. It took a while for her to shine the torch on the ground she lay on but when she did, she let go of her torch out of shock. She was lying on the man. He was dead.
Samantha did not know what to do, she looked at the man’s face and saw blood dripping from his eye sockets. Samantha could not find her torch in the dark and decided to run back to where she believed her cabin was. However when she turned she stopped still, skin pale as a ghost she stared into the dark red eyes that were staring back.
desires by wish
It was a mild and breezy quiet evening on Saturday , he was with his family in a park to enjoy his weekend.his family had a spouse with two cute and sweet kids.they were studying nursery with a lots of wishes.the parents had desires to fulfill the wishes of those nursery kids,but they can’t able to do it.so they tries to convince them and they made the kids to think as much their ability and ask them”don’t expect the things that are out of our world,our world is small and we have to adapt and satisfy for what we have”.these words change kids world and they act with full of maturity and work with cope and hope. they studied a lot,work hard and smart too and make their wish as desire .they too know the hurdles in the expectations and the difference between the wish and desire too.
here the parent made the child to realize their situation and gives the them the confident to get the situation and then make your wish.if yoyu do so then your wish becomes an achievable desire and it does not hurts you even it takes too much of time.
this is my first writing and i need a lot of suggestions and guidance from you all
OK. My first writing post. I can already see one major problem and that is I read and edit as I write and so do get much done in 15 minutes. This is all I have to show for my 15 minutes, but a least whoever reads/critiques it won’t have to wade through much.
The path was familiar and yet changed. The trees seemed smaller than she had remembered as a child and the trail wilder, but the meander of it, the twist and turn and rise and fall were the same. It had been at least 15 years since her last visit home and all through dinner the woods bordering her childhood home were calling to her. The woods had been her sanctuary from the noise and chaos of the small farmhouse she shared with 6 siblings and her free-spirited but self absorbed mother and absentee father. Away in the woods, Lark could hear herself think, and those thoughts were far from the brick and faded yellow clapboard tucked back along rural Route 14.
I woke up sweating it was dripping like i was standing under the shower. I don’t understand why everyday i wake up in these cold sweats. I keep having those same dreams the one well I’m falling from a cliff and i never hit the ground this is the third day i have had this dream . I pace the floor trying to figure out what is this dream trying to tell me.I grab my keys and i had out in the blazing sun speeding to this psychic that i knew had all the answers to this crazy dream and i need to know oh my every light keeps catching me i will never make it there in time i wanted to be the first person she saw As i approach the door the sign that says close is still blinking but i know she’s inside i started pounding on the door and pounding then i heard i slight creek of the door and i saw her poke her head out the door her cheeks was bright red and her eyes where bulging like she saw a ghost Its you she said and tried to push the door closed i stuck my foot inside but she kept backing away like i had a evil spirit she didn’t want to come near me listen ms i need your help i need to tell me what the dreams mean no she scream so loud my ears started to ring get away get away death is all over you i don’t want the bad energy from you…
This is my first time trying to write so please be honest with me
On the Swings
The sun is shining, not a cloud in the sky. All of her favorite friends are at the playground. Abigail can’t wait to jump out of the van and start climbing. But as soon as Mama puts her down, she remembers just how big the playground is, and all her sisters’ friends too! She immediately comes running back to Mama. Mama carries her over and greets all the other mamas, She always has to go through this ritual, and include Abigail in it too. Like Abigail doesn’t know who these ladies and children are. They only see each other every week! Abigail does not want to say hi to everyone, she just wants to be safe in Mama’s arms and never get down. Definitely does not care where Ella is or what she is doing…
Oh!!! The swings! If Mama can stop talking for just a minute Abigail could make her understand she wants to be swinging. Ugh!!! Mama insists Abigail cannot swing because the baby swings are full, but she knows those other swings are empty work just fine.
At last Abigail pulls Mama over to the big kid swing. Mama picks Abigail up and places her on the big kid swing. After far too many reminders to hold tight, Mama finally pushes her and like a big kid she is swinging. Her feet dangling high above the ground just flying through the air.
From here Abigail can see all the big kids playing and climbing the rocket shaped jungle gym. She can hear all the mamas and grandmas chit-chatting away. She can see the giant that is so much fun to climb. Abigail looks up into the clear sky and sees a plane soaring across high above her. She hears the birds singing their song in the not to distant trees, and the babies babbling in those baby-sh infant swings.
Abigail holds on tight and begs Mama to push her higher just like her big sisters always do. Now all her sisters are on the swings and she has to share Mama’s pushing hands. But thats okay.
Because when Abigail is on her swing very little can rob her joy. The wind blows her hair, the sun warms her face, fresh cut grass fills the air, and the ground below her rushes in and out of sight. Abigail loves to swing, to feel free and safe. Mama behind her, encouraging her and her sisters beside her, joining in the fun of the swings. On the swings, all is right and beautiful.
I am not very experienced, sorry:
Yet again, my dog had run into the woods to do his business. I always try to make it obvious to him that he’s absolutely welcome to urinate in the lawn, but unfortunately, he does not understand me. Sighing internally, I start jogging, following the noise of his clambering footsteps.
He’s running farther than usual. I wonder why? Nonetheless, I still diligently track his whereabouts and continue following. He comes to a sudden stop, and starts sniffing. Questions appear into my mind. Is he sensing something? Is he searching for something? What is he doing?
Now, he’s clawing at the dirt and mud. I find this strange, but I reluctantly help him. We’d be here ’til tomorrow if I didn’t interfere. He starts barking and swipes even more furiously at the ground, dirt flying up into our faces.
Suddenly, we see a piece of clothing. I tug onto it, and pull, but it unfortunately rips. I don’t have a good feeling about this, but I continue. A pungent smell is detectable. Why does it feel so familiar to me?
Before I can stop my dog, he pushes away a piece of dirt that reveals a decaying skull.
OK, for what its worth…
The southeast squalls were still howling. It was now a week and still no sign of this foul weather letting up. We were running out of time. We had committed to chartering our yacht out of the Virgin Islands and had bookings we had had to fulfill. We were anchored in Salvador in Brazil, some 3,000 miles away. Our plan was to have already been well on our way. But it was foolish to venture out into these open seas in such weather. After all there were only three of us on board. The two young girls were very inexperienced and, to be quite frank, I had only done one ocean crossing myself. Hardly the experienced crew. That was why we really needed good weather.
A few days later saw the winds let up somewhat. We had to leave. We couldn’t wait any longer, so taking advantage of the respite we upped anchor and motored out of the protected bay. But as we rounded the bluff and turned into the open seas we were pounded with heavy swells churned up by the weeks of heavy winds. The bow flew high over the waves and dived deep into the following valleys sending streams of water rushing along the decks. To make things worse, out of the protection of the bay, the winds and squalls were still quite strong. We made slow headway into the oncoming waves so were so fierce. If we could get further out from the land the seas would not be so bad. We could then turn further north and have the southeast winds on our aft quarter. This would be more comfortable sailing and we could make some good speed.
Suddenly out motor stopped dead. My heart also stopped. Panic rushed through my mind. What had happened. Without our motor we could easily be driven back onto the rocky shore which was not far away. In those fleeting moments of indecision my eyes fell upon a length of rope, the sheet of the jib sail, stretched out over the side of the boat and it was tight as a drum. The sheet was washed overboard with the crashing waves washing along the decks. The sheet had wrapped itself around the propeller! Disaster. I could not dive overboard and try and cut it free. That option briefly entered my mind, but that would be certain death. Our only option was to raise some sail and try to power the boat away from the coast.
Jumping into action, staggering along the heaving decks and trying to hold on for our lives we managed to raise a small foresail. With some wind in the sail we started to gain control of the heaving ship and managed to turn it away from the coast. But we were still seriously in danger.
She stopped dead in her tracks, the sweat running down her back dripped slowly and there was one bead that crept into her left eye, clouding her vision. Her heart pounding like a drum beat from the tunes of a wild Haitian vudu dance. Her mind scrambled to think of what to do. Dammit! She must have left her phone on the kitchen table as she was late – again, for her morning run. Mandy looked around her, hoping and praying for the sight of another human coming her way. Surely she wasn’t the only person on this trail. Gosh, there were runners here all the time. Where was everybody, especially now that she needed some human contact?
“Ok. Breath Mandy, breath!” She audibly told herself. Her mind was telling her to look away. She’d never seen a dead body before. But her heart suddenly felt a deep sense of compassion for the corpse lying in a lump on the side of the road. This was someone’s child. Someone’s girlfriend? Someone’s sister. Maybe the corpse was still alive. She had to bend a little closer and see if there was an incy bit of life left. Maybe this girl wasn’t dead after all. Mandy looked left and then right and then straight ahead and then behind her one more time to see if another human was headed her way as she slowly bent over, her arm shaking slightly, reaching out to touch the girl, desperately hoping to find some form of life there. What was that she remembered about finding a corpse on Law & Order? You don’t touch a dead body, something to do with tampering with evidence. She quickly pulled her hand away. The thoughts were running through her mind like a brood of mustangs on the loose. Was this some kind of set-up? Was there someone watching her?
LatchKey
The apartment was quiet. But then it was always quiet. At least during the day when her parents were at work. Summer days were the longest; not only because of the regular seasonal tilt of the globe but also because of the lack of school to occupy the hours.
While other children look forward to the endless summer day of play and friends the languid days of endless sun only served to magnify her loneliness. There were no adventures to the beach, packed in a station wagon with siblings and friends. No afternoon trips to get ice cream cones. No slip and slide or sprinkler dashes. No. The apartment building did not allow such things. Adults only. Just quiet.
She wandered from room to room, day dreamed out the large picture window, teased the cat with a feather at the end of a string. Andy and Opie, Lucy and Ricky, kept her company some afternoons, but they were much like the other people in her life beyond the TV screen; never asking her to join in the conversation.
“Good morning” I said as I waved to the receptionist walking into work this morning. An almost robotic act as I’d been doing it for several months now, day in and day out, walking past people’s office smiling and waving absentmindedly. I got to my desk and logged into my machine, looked over my set of tickets and checked my voicemail. The phone rang almost immediately and I let out a frustrated sigh, “I haven’t even had my coffee yet.” “Hello IT, this is Junior how can I help you?”. I said with a smile. The voice on the other end was bright and peppy, far too peppy for being this early in the morning. “Hi yeah my computer isn’t working. It was working the other day but it’s doing this weird thing now. I went to Starbucks yesterday and used it on their WiFi and now it’s just not connecting, can you come over?”. I knew exactly what was wrong and didn’t need to go over so I said “Try clicking on the…” “Can you just please come over?” *click*.
My patience had been running thin this particular Monday as I’d just gotten back from vacation and was imagining myself back on the beaches of California with my beautiful fiancee, enjoying the Sun and reading my favorite book. As I got to the client’s desk, she started to rattle of other “weird” things her machine had been doing. I smiled as usual and nodded my head in such a way that gave the appearance that I cared. I fixed her machine by changing the WiFi network she was connected to and without even so much as a thank you, she started describing her other issues. “How long has it been doing that?”. “For about 3 months now, but I always just click off of it”. “Ahhh well this machine seems to be pretty out of date, when was the last time you rebooted it??”. “Ugh that’s all you guys do, I swear I could do your job if that’s all it takes.”. “Well there’s bit more to it, but rebooting allows the operating system to…”. “Don’t use your fancy words on me, Junior, just fix my machine.” “Yes, your majesty” I said as I took a deep, overly exaggerated bow”. She laughed gutturally as I looked up at her from my ridiculous position. “Jenna seriously, don’t you have anything better to do than to give me a hard time, and how are you so peppy this early in the morning?” “Pshhh don’t hate just because your life sucks. I woke up at 5:30 for yoga, then I meditated and aligned my chakras, bitch”. Now I was the one who laughed. I told her she was good to go as the machine booted back up into Windows after configuring many older updates. “Don’t call me again today, Jenna, you’ve used up your one call for the day. ADIOS!”
Am hi am not sure if what I wrote fits the practice but it is the way I feel and am extremely appreciative to anyone who reads this
To a girl and two men
Whether you are a friend ,a crush, or even my cousin … my life changed since I met you then. …. hi who once was my friend .. I thought we are going through this together ..my life changed since I met you ten years ago remmeber? … years of us next to each other sharing laughter … cases where I was there for you … and we said it’s forever. . After that you changed that forever and you wanted this to be over. .. god… it hurted me deeper …. but time is a healer .. my life changed since you left … you made me stronger … wiser and it turns out that what was once hurt now is a big gift …I hope for a better life for you … and someday you will realize that I once was with you … and your life has changed since you left me .. too …..
Until you say that you like me I want to tell you thank you crush … I feel blessed …always been nerdy .. quite. . And a mess .. but still you thought I was the best … actualy there is no crush. .. it was just that girly side of me looking for the one I guess. ..meanwhile … my only one stay safe till the day you see me with a dress … and say that your life is changing this time at last …
There you are cousin didn’t see you for so long … since you made me feel that family is a place where I don’t belong .. remmeber you made my childhood a nightmare. .. when you locked me in a dark room and left me alone there … I remmeber I cried for help please .. dad wasn’t able to help he was so weak lying in hospital dealing with cancer disease. .. you made a big wound there is noway is going to be healed. .. I hoped after this years you would be someone as much better .. but the way you look made it for me so clear you still seek for glory by using others biggest fear. .. my life changed since I met you .. dear … Am no longer fear you … no in fact am sorry for you .cause I thought your life changed too … yet … I know that as long as look only for money .. you will never do
Sorry for any spelling mistakes not a native speaker… Am and who wrote the story up there it is amazing keep going and thank you again
She lay on the bed wanting this to be her permanent island. The clothes she had thrown off lay heaped on the other side of the room. As long as Elodie couldn’t see them, they like everything else didn’t exist. She felt her sagging skin propped up by a billow of fat. She turned restlessly on her side pushing the falling strands of hair away from her face. Where was he now? Maybe she should have left him there after all. On the tray with the half-bitten burger sat a fly quivering its translucent wings in the early morning light. She felt under her stack of pillows assured that the pouch was still there. He was a good boy. Beneath his bravado, and spit, she worried.
Hello I am frustrated on writing and I don’t know where to starts but I love to write everything I want to tell everyone what on my heavy heart through writing. I need guidance some writers and authors.
Take 15 minutes and write out what’s making you feel this way. Don’t worry about it being perfect, just write. Put on pen what’s in your heavy heart.
Hailey has been wandering the woods for the past couple of hours now. She didn’t want to admit it before but she is completely and undoubtedly lost. There is dirt caking her nails, her favorite shirt has been ripped to shreds and her feet are killing her. As she looked up into the sky she knows that it is only a matter of time before it starts to rain. “I should’ve looked at the forecast before I left. I almost grabbed my jacket before I walked out of the house today!! And now it’s going to rain, big whoopdy fucking doo!” She screamed this into the empty abyss that was the night sky. This has been the worst week of her entire life. She found out she was adopted, lost her job, and now she is lost in the woods. It’s a hard knock life.
She scanned the area and found a tree with a large hole in it. This will have to do she thought as she climbed in. It was a lot bigger than she thought it would be. Kind of like a cave. Hailey crawled on the floor for quite a bit before she found an opening in which she could stand. There was an echoing sound and when she stepped it felt cold like tile. She walked forward slowly until she felt metal. Her fingers stuck to the metal like it was some sort of magnet, and the force from getting her hand off of the metal flung her back into a button. Lights flooded on, and after being in the dark for so long she had to blink a couple of times to get used to it.She looked around and stumbled as she tried to go back through the hole in the tree and into the pouring rain.
Everyone in town had heard the legends of the government experiments that they do in the woods. The older siblings often told the younger ones that if they were bad the government would take them and make them into monsters. No one was scared because they had always been just that, legends. What hailey saw that day both confirmed those legends and ensured the bounty on her head.
No one see something like that and lives. This is the type of thing that people disappear for.
Alone in the Woods:
For what seemed hours I trudged along that winding path, led not by a willingness to continue my exploration of the Black Forest, but by an instinctive desire to escape what lurked in its recesses during the night. The fault was but of my own, for had I not embarked on this expedition to collect samples of flora in Württemberg alone, I would not be in this precarious situation. My shuddering breath began to materialize in the air as the temperatures quickly lowered. Looking up at the towering Picea and Abies, spruce and fir, threateningly swaying in unison, an intense desire to find civilization washed over me. The sheer size of the flora only heightened the solidarity and desolation of my surroundings. As the last few rays of sunlight began to falter somewhere over the horizon, my desperation grew, for I had nothing to illuminate the impeding darkness that was blanketing the forest. Picking up the pace, I continued along the trail, hoping to find something… anything… Halting in my tracks, I came to a sudden realization obscured by my previous state of despair. The farther I delved into (or out of for that matter) the Black Forest through this way, an unsettling sensation was telling me to turn back, to run, to not follow that little traveled path. What other alternative did I have? Wander the uncharted expanse of the Black Forest aimlessly like a fool? However, at the moment of my realization, the sensation of getting as far away as possible grew inexplicably. Observing my surroundings with a keen eye, something was not quite right; the path had been recently disturbed, broken twigs lay on beds of dead leaves and needles. I looked up at the trees and saw severed branches precariously hanging from their trunks. Something had clearly passed through here; something big. Of all the fauna mentioned by the old man back in the village from which I had departed, none could cause destruction of this magnitude. I could only but chuckle for I was hoping to find something… anything… and so I had. I was not alone in the woods as I thought after all. The sun had fully set behind me by then; the moon dimly shining from above. Yet, in the distance ahead I saw an ember emerge from the darkness, bringing into view an unexpected sight that provoked within me a sense of both fear and relief. A small cabin, a cabin in the woods…
I love this – I am drawn in by your story-telling. So nicely descriptive without slowing down the action. I can hardly wair to see where this story leads…
Thank you, I have always wanted to write something like this and decided to take the plunge into the world of writing. I will continue to work on this for sure, perhaps I can send you the full story in the future.
” I loved him so much”. she sat in the chair tearing at her oversized gray sweater. She blinked multiple times trying to fight back the tears that burned her umber eyes. But after all, she let them. Let them roll down her chocolate skin.
Rae Quinn Ledger was 29-year-old women and now a widow. She was a quite woman, kind and calm. Lately, she needed to scream and be angry at the world. This was her grieving the best way she knew how. Talking to someone, anyone.
“How did you and your husband meet?”. Dr. Martinez asked. She was calm. A little too calm for Rae, it was mentally driving her up the wall.
She sniffed and wiped her eyes”I met him at my sister’s wedding. He was a friend of my brother in law. We talked for the rest of the night and we became friends, which led to dating”.
” You informed me that you were married for two years?”. She asked.
Rae covered her mouth to prevent her from crying any more than she’d done already. In response, she gave a slight nod. She leaned back into the cushioned chair and breathed in slowly, calming herself down. Rae’s eyes drifted around the room, the lemon scent lingered over to her very sensitive nose, making it crinkle. Dr. Martinez glared at Rae, studying her as usual.
What was really wrong with Rae? How long would it take for her to recover?
Dr. Martinez had many patients with similar situations, but different hearts. Some had a love that could consume you and others that turned out to be an obsession. After a while of thinking, Dr. Martinez adjusted her glasses and began to speak.
“Next week, we are going to discuss how you feel. Until then I want you to get out of the house, get some sunlight”. She said laying her clipboard beside her.” Rae, you have been doing great, especially since it’s only been a month. Come next Tuesday and Friday”.
“Wait, twice next week”. her eyes red from her tears.
“Yes”. Dr. Martinez stood up and walked over the door, turning the golden knob on the old creaking door, and opening it. The door let out a long squeak sound.
Rae clutched her purse and walked out of her office.
“Head up”. she whispered.
Rae obeyed Dr. Martinez and walked with her head up. Outside of her office was another patient. Male, tall and was a toffee colored. He looked like he was in his late forties. He had a long nose that reminded you of a rat. All he needed was so whiskers and big ears. That’d do the job. Dr. Martinez welcomed him into her office and closed the door.
Down the hall from Dr. Martinez was a water fountain, where a man was drinking, clenching his thirst. He’d looked down the hall to see Rae, walking in his direction. She looked familiar but he couldn’t pinpoint where he’d seen this small woman.
His slender green eyes watched her enter the bathroom and waited for her to return. Rae was in the bathroom for about 5 minutes until she came out and was ambushed by the man.
” Uh- um my name is Adrian Wells. You look very famil-“. Adrian had stopped talking as soon as he realized that he had shocked the woman.
Rae breathed out for she had been holding her breath for a moment. Her eyes narrowed and she slid away from Adrian. Moments had passed until she held out her shaky hand.
” I’m Rae Ledger”. she forced a smile
At this moment she had thought, instead of grieving over Micheal she could be making friends. Taking that step into a normal life.
Rae had talked to Adrian in front of the office till about 2 a.m in the morning, giving small details like where they were from and funny childhood memories. Not about their gritty woes. No. They didn’t want to talk about that. After Rae had left to go home, she hadn’t seen Adrian Wells for almost half a year.
A young woman believes there is something in the woods. It is dangerous and will kill. Now this is just a feeling she has. But to ease her mind, she sets outs and goes to the Emerald Forest. It is dark and lonely. Trees are tall and all stand tall.
The sun is shining through the trees. It is very hot and she is getting tired. Her bones feel as though she is melting. She stops and takes a drink of water. But the water won’t come out. She moves on and walks for a while but her steps are slowing.
She looks up to the sky and stumbles across a dead body in the woods. There are worms coming out of the body and bite marks are all over the body. She is shocked and a little scared. But she made sure he was dead. She made a grave for him and pulled him in, then covered the grave and found some flowers to put around it. She did not know the person but to pay her respect, she said a prayer for the person.
When she was through she saw crows sitting on the branches with a web of black lace that was hanging all around. Wolves came out and their fangs were ready to be used. She thought wow, I am going to die from the wolves. But the wolves did howl and the vampires came out. One took her and bit her neck and she was turned into a vampire.
You leave me every night. You sink into sleep and I sink into despair. While you dream peacefully, I am at war with my imagination. I am left, alone, standing in the wreckage you created, fighting the demons that threaten to drown me in anguish.
You have already woken up from the nightmare, come to your senses, and are doing the work of rebuilding. The light of day brings hope, clarity for me. But at night, the demons come to play.
Please don’t leave me behind.
Jonathan looked over the edge. It was darker and more horrifying than he thought. The cold, bristly wind slashed his back, like a whip. The night was going to freeze.
Jonathan took a deep breathe and began to focus on his task. He took off his pack. Landing roughly on the ragged, stone floor. He unzipped the top pouch and fished out a long grappling hook.
He unfastened it steadily. Once, free from its entanglement. He swung the hook above his head at full speed. When the hook was racing over his head at the right momentum, he wanted. He swung it across the long abyss.
The hook flew gracefully, into the air. It landed loudly on the opposite mountain side. The sound echoed loudly, playing over and over again, like a broken record.
Jonathan pulled on the rope, ensuring the hook was secured on the jagged wall. Once it was. He zipped up his pack, flung it over his shoulders, and strapped it tightly. While the rope still in hand.
He looked over the edge, once again. All he could see below was the darkness of the unknown.
He gulped and breathed in the cold ghastly air.
He pulled harder on the rope, then…..
Jumped up into the air. His body swung swiftly toward the mountain. Breaking the strong wind’s direction.
Jonathan could see the mountain coming closer and closer to him. As he moved, his body swung in a curvy way.
Snap!
Suddenly, he began to fall, not rise. But fall. His body lay falling down, at the side of the mountain. Johnathan could see half the rope dangling in the air, while the other falling by his side.
He moved his hands in the air rapidly trying to hold onto something, anything. But he couldn’t. His vision turned to be useless. All he could see was black. Complete black.
Jonathan could feel his body get pulled more and more stronger to the Earth’s Core. He kept falling falling, until…..
A sudden rapid force broke in. Causing his body to flip up and oppose the motion.
He wasn’t moving anymore, he felt. But neither was he falling down. NO. He felt something was lifting him, or in other words, levitating him……
To be continued.
5am in the morning. Still dark. Silence still rules. No one is in sight. I am still in the deepest grooves of sleep. Some heavy air hangs still in my head. I’m not sure it was hanging IN my head or ON my head but I am quite sure heavy air was present.
A slight knock on the wooden door. My heart pounded faster than before. I could hear the pounding in the deepest parts of my ear. My stomach joined in – making wild and strange sounds that brought alarm to my body. My legs were slowly giving away. They could no longer withstand the weight of my body.
“Open the door or…..” The booming voice reverberated throughout the small building which had been my house for the past night.
My head became a mess of confusing and opposing forces. ” Should I open the door?” kept ringing in my heard.
“Are you going to open that door?”, the voice rang again, this time punctuated by sparks of fury and anger.
The
woman in the woods
The day started
like every other. She turned the battered Audi off the busy A30, easing over
the compacted mud of the woodland car-park. Josh was wagging his tail excitedly
as they left the bumper to bumper commuter traffic behind.
Here was peace.
As she walked the well-trodden paths, the sunlight dappled through the early
summer canopy – the ground soft with the fragrance of recent rain and the damp
foliage pushing the hum of traffic to a distant, unobtrusive hum.
Josh was
bounding ahead, scrabbling in the undergrowth head down and eager to make the
clearing he knows so well – the clearing where they will play fetch with the
old chewed ball she carries in her pocket. Meanwhile, she walks behind…head
down also. Lost in thought. Lost in her world.
“Josh…here boy…come
on” – she trills. She is taking a different path, one that leads further into the
woods, away from the field. The dog stops. Hesitates and then turns and
follows.
Together, side
by side now – they delve deeper into the woods. The path grows narrow and the
canopy closes. The noise of traffic is gone now – swallowed by the trees. The
shade is welcome, the smell of the under-growth more pronounced – but after
10minutes of walking the path peters out to nowhere.
Josh stops.
He growls….head
low. A warning of something sensed. Something suspicious, lurking.
She continues
though, as if keen to explore. Ignoring the dog who holds back. Tramping over the
ivy and ground cover…
Finally, she
stops. Listens – but here are just the birds and the sound of something
rustling in the undergrowth.
In front of her,
the grass grows long…rich and green. It reaches to her knees. She skirts the
grass and sees the old watch nailed to the tree by it’s cracked leather strap. She stares at it a long time…reaches out and
touches it’s rusting bezel.
It brings back
the memory of that night. The culmination of oppression without end. The dreams
of youth – of a man who she loved, but who changed. It brings back memories of
countless bruises, countless excuses and tears which flowed but only when she
was sure she was alone.
A man who left
her…but who she cannot quite bring herself to leave.
A man she visits
but once a year.
She turns.
“Come on
Josh..here boy”
They leave the
glade to it’s solitude and return to the sunlight and the world outside.
The woman in the woods
The day started like every other. She turned the battered Audi off the busy A30, easing over the compacted mud of the woodland car-park. Josh was wagging his tail excitedly as they left the bumper to bumper commuter traffic behind.
Here was peace.
As she walked the well-trodden paths, the sunlight dappled through the early summer canopy – the ground soft with the fragrance of recent rain and the damp foliage pushing the hum of traffic to a distant, unobtrusive hum.
Josh was bounding ahead, scrabbling in the undergrowth head down and eager to make the clearing he knows so well – the clearing where they will play fetch with the old chewed ball she carries in her pocket.
Meanwhile, she walks behind…head down also. Lost in thought. Lost in her world.
“Josh…here boy…come on” – she trills. She is taking a different path, one that leads further into the woods, away from the field. The dog stops. Hesitates and then turns and follows.
Together, side by side now – they delve deeper into the woods. The path grows narrow and the canopy closes. The noise of traffic is gone now – swallowed by the trees. The shade is welcome, the smell of the under-growth more pronounced – but after 10minutes of walking the path peters out to nowhere.
Josh stops.
He growls….head low. A warning of something sensed. Something suspicious, lurking.
She continues though, as if keen to explore. Ignoring the dog who holds back. Tramping over the ivy and ground cover…
Finally, she stops. Listens – but here are just the birds and the sound of something rustling in the undergrowth. In front of her, the grass grows long…rich and green. It reaches to her knees. She skirts the grass and sees the old watch nailed to the tree by it’s cracked leather strap. She stares at it a long time…reaches out and touches it’s rusting bezel.
It brings back the memory of that night.
The culmination of oppression without end. The dreams of youth – of a man who she loved, but who changed. It brings back memories of countless bruises, countless excuses and tears which flowed but only when she was sure she was alone.
A man who left her…but who she cannot quite bring herself to leave.
A man she visits but once a year.
She turns.
“Come on Josh..here boy”
They leave the glade to it’s solitude and return to the sunlight and the world outside.
I like the way you are able to describe details in a way that is intriguing and that manages to capture attention. As for the general premise of the story, I believe it has good potential to be developed further.
From as far back as I can remember, I was taken care of by my mother. Mom was always by my side, I made sure of it. I was somewhat of a ‘clingy’ child, maybe due to the fact that my father was not home much, forcing me to grow up with just one parent. I don’t remember much about my childhood: a birthday party here, a Christmas morning there. We had a nice little house with a huge back yard, a couple of blocks off of the Santa Barbara beachline, across from Shoreline Park. My little cousins lived just a short distance from us, so we would have many sleepovers and trips to the beach together.
I remember the little things, like my cousin and I playing on my swing set in my back yard, the huge avocado tree with the big black widow underneath it, opening the doll house I wanted for Christmas when I was maybe 5 years old, laying on my dad’s stomach when I was unable to sleep, a birthday party when I was about 6, riding my new purple bike with the banana seat and tassels, opening up a Ken doll that I was so embarrassed about getting at a big family Christmas celebration. On one weekend when the family was over, there was a huge earthquake in San Francisco, that we were able to feel 300 miles away in Santa Barbara, where the refrigerator had moved across the kitchen floor, TV’s and mirrors had fallen off of their pedestals, and the swing set my cousin and I were on was rocking back and forth like we were on a boat on troubled waters.
Wow, what a memory! You’ve done a great job evoking the feelings and atmosphere. 🙂 I’d love to see the reaction after the earthquake.
A young woman across a dead body
One day a bountiful young girl was walking all alone in the woods, it was kind of quite there, the only noise she heard was that of beautiful birds singing kwi kwi kwi, what I wish I was like birds, as she was walking she came across a man wearing full black, black jacket, black pants and a black mask covering his nose and mouth plus dark glasses, the poor young girl was so scared because the man was coming toward her, what should I do she asked herself, maybe I should just go and ignore him she thought, so she decided to ignore the man, as she was walking toward him, he body started to shiver and her heart was like bomb boom boob om boom, which made her become even more scared, but what could a poor young girl do, after passing him, her body started cooling down beat by beat, and then she decided to run as fast as she can, while running she realized that she had gone deep into the woods, oh no I have to go back home, she checked her phone, what! It’s almost eleven pm, she made a U-turn and straight home, as she reached her house she found her door widely opened, oh no who broke into my house she asked herself, her body started to shiver once again, as she was entering the house, right in front of her eyes in front of the door she saw a dead body lying down with blood all around her house, I’m screwed up who killed this man, what should I do, she then started crying because she was so scared, but what could she do, she then decide to clean up the mess, although she was scared she had great courage, she removed the dead body put it outside and called the police, while waiting she started thinking on her own, I think the man I met on my way is the man that killed this man because he was so suspicious
I have never done this,but here goes …….
A sharp pain rushes through my back, a call from my body.
A cry to be repositioned in the bed it lies on. As a person unable to do simple tasks much less care for herself, bed has become a faithful friend. No longer just a place to rest my head after a tiring day. Now it has become the first to greet me in the morning as it listens to my morning prayers, the gym upon which I practice simple movements, a catcher for crumbs as I practice the simple task of chewing, there to agree with every thought and witness tasks that are better left unsaid. The faithful partner that is there when I decide to put my thoughts into words. When it comes time to transfer to a wheelchair at the end of the day the bed is there to receive me.
A sharp pain rushes through my back, a call from my body.
A cry to be repositioned in the bed it lies on. As a person unable to do simple tasks much less care for herself, bed has become a faithful friend. No longer just a place to rest my head after a tiring day. Now it has become the first to greet me in the morning as it listens to my morning prayers, the gym upon which I practice simple movements, a catcher for crumbs as I practice the simple task of chewing, there to agree with every thought and witness tasks that are better left unsaid. The faithful partner that is there when I decide to put my thoughts into words. When it comes time to transfer to a wheelchair at the end of the day the bed is there to receive me.
.
I have never done this,but here goes …….
A sharp pain rushes through my back, a call from my body.
A cry to be repositioned in the bed it lies on. As a person unable to do simple tasks much less care for herself, bed has become a faithful friend. No longer just a place to rest my head after a tiring day. Now it has become the first to greet me in the morning as it listens to my morning prayers, the gym upon which I practice simple movements, a catcher for crumbs as I practice the simple task of chewing, there to agree with every thought and witness tasks that are better left unsaid. The faithful partner that is there when I decide to put my thoughts into words. When it comes time to transfer to a wheelchair the bed awaits for my return at the end of the day when it can receive my body again.
PARADISE
The view was breathtaking. The sky a clear blue with big cottony clouds suspended on it. The sun peeking behind a cloud shining warmly. Rolling hills dotted with wildflowers. Distant mountains capped with snow standing majestically surrounding the valley.The scene was fresh after a light shower. The trees dripping water from the leaves. The valley had a new clean fresh look.
The autumn trees swaying in the wind,the different coloured leafs floating around and falling quietly down. A quaint stream reflecting the sky flowing down from afar at a lazy pace its surface disturbed only by the falling leaves creating mesmerising ripples.
The silence of the valleys only broken by the burbling stream and the occasional squirrels squeak or the birds chirping. It was all so peaceful.
She was standing atop a raised mound. Smelling the fresh earthy smell like after a rain. Her feet tickled by the grass. The dew on the grass making it wet. The sun felt great on her. The air so clean and crisp filled her lungs. She took deep breaths but it was never enough. She walked down by the stream her feet falling on dried leaves kmaking a crunching noice.
She threw some pebbles in the water creating hypnotising ripples. As soon as another stone hit the surface everything started to blur. She grasped the air frantically not wanting to let go but to no avail. Everything blurred into one. She was back sitting in a hard cot with darkness so profound it was almost suffocating after her dream. The vision felt more real to her than the reality. Hot tears trailed her check dripping onto her lap. Sad was all she could think. Sad she wasn’t in the valley. Sad she woke up too soon. Sad she was in prison.
Marie on her way to her daughter’s hostel.
Marie’s car suddenly stopped on the road in the wood. The weather was cold, and the wind was blowing from east to west. It was dark she could barely see anything. She opened the bonnet and went out to see what was happening with his car. She opened the hood, and she could not figure it out. Marie got back behind the wheel and tried her luck for the last time before the battery of the car was dead. She had no choice but to abandon the car and walk as far as she could. Marie took her umbrella, put on her wool jacket and started walking. She walked for an hour and all the way long she was murmuring to herself “what if a wild animal comes out of the wood and attacks” then she say it is not possible it is too cold for animals to go out where there are no chances of finding their preys. Then Marie said to herself what if someone attacks me and robs my belongings. Again she said to herself not possible no human would survive in this weather to wait and ambush someone. She was in deep thoughts that all of in sudden saw a body lying on the road. A body that was torn apart seemingly by a wild animal or got hit by a lorry. She ran onto it to see if he was alive, but the man was long gone. She was terrified, and she felt that she was not able to take a breath. Marie took out her mobile phone out of her pocket and with a lot of difficulties as her hands were too cold to dial any number, she dialed 119. A police officer on the other side answered. “Hello. How can I help you please.” Marie replied there is a dead body laying on the road. Police Officer was trying to calm down Marie and said. Tell me your exact location. Marie… 15 minutes is over.
Amara Evans was sick. Sick of this family, of this house, of this school, of this life. A constantly rejected, bullied, hated, outsider, there was only one option for escape: running away.
“Mom!” She called. “I need something from your purse!” “Make it quick!” Was her reply. “I don’t want to deal with your whining anymore you pig!” Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes as she thought, “You won’t have to deal with me much longer.” She wiped away her tears angrily and snatched her mom’s wallet from her bag. Then she shouldered her maroon backpack and left her Mom, Dad, and Brother behind.
It had been a week now. Living on hotdogs and spoiled fruit, and sleeping on that dust coated bed in the motel. Amaya had picked a place right next to the evergreen woods where the air was free of pollution, and the breeze tasted like crisp snow and pine needles. For once, her life wasn’t tortured or miserable (well, not as much.) but that didn’t prepare her for the dead body.
It had been a regular Sunday morning. The cold turned her ears and nose red, and she let her copper hair down from its usual braid. She breathed into her cupped palms and let the warm air heat her frigid skin. The snow crunched under her combat boots and the air smelled of damp tree bark. Amara sniffed and drank the rest of the water from her navy canteen. She refilled it in the stream nearby, fixing her beanie, tying her boots, until she looked up and screamed. A body, swollen with water, gray skin peeling off in flakes, flecked with dark blood lay floating in the water, a few feet away from her.
The Russians shot down a UFO. Upon finding the craft in the forest , five very large aliens exited the black sphere. While the aliens were spinning clockwise into a large orb, a blinding white light appeared, all the aliens disappeared and the troops were turned into stoned.
Sorry if it isnt that well, this is my first time showing people my work!
The flower amongst the thorns
There once was a green bud that had emerged from in between the thorny bushes. The thorns all stared at each other in pure shock for they had never witnessed such a thing throughout their lives.They wondered how on earth something blossoming with life can emerge on a place so dark and ugly. All the thorns were staring at the bright green bud until one of the thorns spoke up,
“Do you thorns really think this bud will emerge and survive, because in a place like this , nothing as pretty as this can actually stay for long…”
All the thorns felt their hearts twisting in pain as they thought of the green bud withering and dying.
After a while they went back to their original selves and lost hope in the bud. The thorns only felt pity because they knew that the bud wont stay for long.
Meanwhile the green bud was still thinking to itself , to be able to bloom and meet the sky and the sun, and all of the beauty of the outside world. The bud felt great warmth in its heart every time it thought of the outside world that it had always dreamed of. The bud gathered all its might and slowly started to bloom. The thorns were not able to notice until the bud became bigger in size.
After many weeks the bud had grown into a full sized, beautiful blossomed flower. The thorns were amazed and some were still in shock of what they had seen. The flower was a sunny and bright blossom. It had a positive attitude at all times and had never failed to surprise the poor thorns with its kindness. Soon the thorns grew a bit of softness on the flower and had some warmth towards the beautiful flower. The thorns had slowly started to lessen and more buds were blooming. The thorns were happy in being able to find an end to this dark life of thorns and was soon replaced with the happiness of the flowers deep within the heart.
Please comment on this, because it would mean a lot to me! 🙂 thank you!
Trying to see what I can do with 15 mins.
“It was with some trepidation that Karen gingerly made her way towards the prone figure on the ground; holding her dog close on a short leash. She swallowed the lump in the her throat and hollered a shaky “hello” to the figure still on the ground. She was still some distance away and for all she knew it could just be clothes and tangled garbage that washed down in the last flood. The goosebumps on her arms and the million thoughts running through her mind told her otherwise.
The dog was getting antsy know. Not necessarily from the situation, more that he wasn’t used to being held so close and confined, at least not this far from the road. The dog was haphazard to storm off exploring, not fully understanding the magnitude of the situation.Karen strengthened her grip on the leash, shortening it some what and pressed on.
One step forward and she found some resolve. A second step forward and something glistened in the sun, burning her eye temporarily. A third step forward and she wished that she was right the first time and this was just an unfortunately shaped pile of garbage. A fourth and she was closer now, almost able to make out the shape. A fifth step and she had still not found any definitive human features – the garbage dream remained intact.
A sixth step forward and the first sound she’d heard other than the beating of her own heart echoed through the valley – the obnoxious sqawking of a raven. The sound had startled her, steps seven, eight and nine had been taken in haste – more like a jump and stumble than three steps.
The tenth step saw Karen standing directly over the figure now. She felt her head beating in time to her heart. She could barely think, instead completely engrossed in solving this mystery. She felt a little light headed as if she was looking at herself from outside her own body.
The dog had gone quiet, no longer trying to get free of the restrictive rope, but nose pressed into the object doing his own investigation. She needed to do the same and picked up a thin branch of about two inches that had been broken off a tree; likely as the result of the object’s rapid descent into the gully.
She tentatively pushed the end of the branch into the side of the object not too aggressively but with enough force that it would cause considerable discomfort to a person had they been conscious. No response and she tried a different tactic; using the broken end of the branch as a wedge she pushed it under the object and quickly flicked it up causing the object to roll, tightly closing her eyes in the process.
With a light thud, she heard that something had been uncovered. Squeezing with all her might to keep her eyes shut she searched for the courage within to finish the investigation. With a deep breath and a prayer to every god that she find nothing, she slowly opened her eyes catching that same glistening in the sun.
A wedding ring.”
It was with some trepidation that Karen gingerly made her way towards the prone figure on the ground; holding her dog close on a short leash. She swallowed the lump in the her throat and hollered a shaky “hello” to the figure still on the ground. She was still some distance away and for all she knew it could just be clothes and tangled garbage that washed down in the last flood. The goosebumps on her arms and the million thoughts running through her mind told her otherwise.
The dog was getting antsy know. Not necessarily from the situation, more that he wasn’t used to being held so close and confined, at least not this far from the road. The dog was haphazard to storm off exploring, not fully understanding the magnitude of the situation. Karen strengthened her grip on the leash, shortening it some what and pressed on.
One step forward and she found some resolve. A second step forward and something glistened in the sun, burning her eye temporarily. A third step forward and she wished that she was right the first time and this was just an unfortunately shaped pile of garbage. A fourth and she was closer now, almost able to make out the shape. A fifth step and she had still not found any definitive human features – the garbage dream remained intact.
A sixth step forward and the first sound she’d heard other than the beating of her own heart echoed through the valley – the obnoxious sqawking of a raven. The sound had startled her, steps seven, eight and nine had been taken in haste – more like a jump and stumble than three steps.
The tenth step saw Karen standing directly over the figure now. She felt her head beating in time to her heart. She could barely think, instead completely engrossed in solving this mystery. She felt a little light headed as if she was looking at herself from outside her own body.
The dog had gone quiet, no longer trying to get free of the restrictive rope, but nose pressed into the object doing his own investigation. She needed to do the same and picked up a thin branch of about two inches that had been broken off a tree; likely as the result of the object’s rapid descent into the gully.
She tentatively pushed the end of the branch into the side of the object not too aggressively but with enough force that it would cause considerable discomfort to a person had they been conscious. No response and she tried a different tactic; using the broken end of the branch as a wedge she pushed it under the object and quickly flicked it up causing the object to roll, tightly closing her eyes in the process.
With a light thud, she heard that something had been uncovered. Squeezing with all her might to keep her eyes shut she searched for the courage within to finish the investigation. With a deep breath and a prayer to every god that she find nothing, she slowly opened her eyes catching that same glistening in the sun.
A wedding ring.
My friends and I were hiking in the Maracas Heights when all of a sudden we heard Tonia burst out a loud scream. We immediately went over to see what was the problem to our surprise it was the carcass of a dead half naked woman in the woods.
We pulled ourselves together and called the police to report what we saw. We were so terrified that our minds were filled with confused thoughts. We didn’t know whether to stay or to go. We were afraid the police will accused us of murdering the woman.
Finally there was the sound of footsteps trotting in the bush, it was the police who had arrived at the scene. They ask us a few questions and then proceeded to take the body to the forensic science center to do an autopsy. After the autopsy was done they came to the conclusion that she was raped and murdered and left there for three days.
Attempts were made to identify the body through the media and then the family came and identified the body as Jane Watson she was missing for one week. They Thanked us and rewarded us with the sum of ten thousand dollars.
One of the ways I’d been writing lately is poems to my fiancee. Poems like the following sample;
Diamonds and Gold,
They hold no value.
For riches, I do not care.
The only thing of worth to me,
Is the love that we two share.
Expensive gifts
jewels of gold
will eventually tarnish
as they grow old
The most precious of gems
Won’t ever compare
to the love that we two share
The gold on a wedding ring would fade
And the diamond could lose its finish
But the love that I have for you, it will never deminish
I consider myself richer
than the wealthiest heir
For the riches they inherit
will never compare
To the love that we two share.
I am afraid that it needs to happen. I wish I had more time to have a chance to explain myself, or to find out what is really happening to me. Why is nobody listening to me? I did not do it. I could not do all of the things people say I did. I do not remember how this would be possible. I do not want to be the person that everyone thinks I am. Really, it was not and it is not me. Something bad is happening to me, I cannot explain it. I guess my folks are right and I need to get help. I need to go behind these white walls and protect people that I care about from me. It is like million knives inside my chest when I am standing here and hoping for you to come and see me. I wish I could explain, but I do not have an explanation. Will you let me to say goodbye at least? Or, do I need to leave now? Please, let me reach you and please look at me. It is still me. They say I am dangerous to you, but it is still me. Believe me, I never meant to hurt anyone. Why would I do that? But they say, I did it, they say I hurt people. But how? My head is spinning, my heart is racing, but I cannot grab any single thought to understand what is happening. Why does my mind betray me? I do not want to be the lunatic that needs constant supervision. I do not want to be imprisoned and drugged. I want to live as a normal person. I want to live outside the walls, and I want to meet with you, guys. I want you to stop being afraid of me. Please, look at me, just once. Please, I am begging you, look me in the eyes and let me know that everything will be fine. I need a friend more then ever, I need to know that you still believe in me. Hence, you do not even open the door. You let me stay in front of your gate, ringing your doorbell, pretending that you are not at home, and I pretend not to see you behind the curtains in the upper window of your fancy house. You and your baby in your hands, looking at me as if I am a parasite that needs to be killed. Luckily, I see sadness in you eyes, is that right? Please, do not shake this feeling off! It is still a hope to me. A hope that you remember me. It does not matter what others say, it is still me and no rumours can take it away from me. Please, remember me, stay my friend, I need you so much. I know you need to protect your family. I know that you listen to them who spread this toxic lies that I am a danger to you now. I cannot beat these lies as they say that they are true. They say I cannot distinguish the truth and lies anymore. Maybe they are right as everyone do believe in these words and therefore I will go behind the walls, because it hurts me that you do not feel secure because of me. I will go and I will sacrifice my life in order that you can live with no fear of me. But please, look at me one more time and make me believe that we are ok. My life is ending right here. I am losing everything I believed it is worthy to live for. I will not have a family that were both dreaming about, and I will never be standing behind the curtains with my baby in my arms. I am going to live for death once I enter the white walls, as there is no coming back from that place.
Now I know, you will not open this door. You just pretend to not to stand there, you want to be invisible as I am a problem for you. You do not need this, so you will wait until I give up and leave. I understand. I know that if I ring one more time, you will feel uncomfortable and annoyed and the sadness and compassion will go away from your eyes. I cannot lose your bond; I desperately need you to stay with me. I want you to believe that it is still me. The girl that took the same bus to go to school with you. I am still your friend who were there for you when your heart was heartbroken. I was there for you when you did not have any place to go. I hold your hand when you lost your grandma. I hold your hair when you vomit after lots of drinks and cigarettes. I was always here for you no matter what. It is time to go. You will not meet me for the last time. I know that now. My heart is broken; I just needed your help. But I understand. They say I am dangerous, you never know when it comes. For the last time, I look at you to see whether you are there for me. Will you come visit? Please? Now, I do not even know whether I want you to see me there, drugged and not with my senses. I do not know what they will do to me. Will I even recognize you? I wish you could come and I hope I will remember you. I hope they have a cure for me, but we both know that the risk is too high. It is for the rest of my life. I am going to loose myself entirely. They will not kill the demon they will kill me.
My phone rang at 2:00am. I wasn’t dreaming yet. I looked at the phone with my pirate’s eye. It was her.
I didn’t answer. But she called again. It was always irritating to hear her voice, i knew it would be just as irritating to hear her new story. But I couldn’t ignore her anymore. I had to take it. If I didn’t, i knew she’d just go crazy and do something worse, like last time.
She was alone at a bar. Exactly that place where all of Satan’s creations go play, so you may imagine it is already a downward spiral from here. She fell in love with this horned Adonis and ended stretching and moaning until sunrise.
Problem with Sacred Horned Adonis was that he was poisoned with Chlamydia and she cried and raged for two months straight after that, developed a severe depression, crashed her car and lost her house.
She had tried to tell me about him before, but i hadn’t taken the call.
In a sense it was my responsibility, being an older brother and all, but I felt like I owed aboslutely nothing to her after all those dark years of hell back in our old house. I thought whatever happened to her now, she deserved because she is completely responsible for her actions. I had nothing to do with that. I was right. And I was wrong as well. I sighed in resignation.
It’s stupid, but it’s the very first thing I’ve ever written, so that might explain the prose 😀
‘The forest’, he thought.
‘The only path leads to the forest’.
Running across a road that seems to be forgotten by any living creature, except for the row of ants stumbling beside it, Myke finally dared to look over his shoulders once more after what felt to be an hour and once again his body seemed to be frozen to the ground as dry as his mouth. For a moment his thoughts vanished and the only thing he could think about was one of those zombies from a movie on television that looked exactly like what they actually were: A decomposed human risen from his grave with everything that once looked alive, now dead and rotten.
But that’s where the similarities end.
The creature that had been chasing Myke might look like a dead human, but it sure as hell had the energy and speed of one that’s alive. It also seemed to have grown quite a bit in it’s revival, easily reaching two meters as opposed to Myke’s small posture of a meter and seventy.
Moving with what Myke thought was the speed of a hyena and the agility of a monkey, the beast worked to outrun (or in some cases, outcrawl) him and it almost succeeded, when Myke percieved an opening through the outskirts of the forest. With all his energy and concentration, he tried to choose the smoothest path through the tall grass, now reminding him of a hostile jungle vegetation trying to hinder his leave from the forest, except in this case hindering its entrance.
The sun shone bright and high in the sky, burning its mark on Myke’s uncovered arms, and the sky boasting of its cloudless appearance, as things should be in a beautiful summer afternoon. Though how normally the air is filled with delightful smells of flowers and grass, it now reeked of death and decay.
Suddenly an animalistic roar that could chill the toughest of man to the bone snapped Myke back into reality: ‘How could that sound belong to something that was once human’, he pondered, and when a cold shiver ran through his entire body, he started running faster to the forest-opening.
LET’S TALK… HARRY POTTER
https://bradpdcachia.wordpress.com/2017/07/15/lets-talk-harry-potter/
So, recently I got interested in the franchise, Harry Potter. So technically, yeah, I am what you would call a Potterhead.
I have found out that my Hogwarts house is Ravenclaw (fits perfectly), my patronus is a Kingfisher, my Ilvermorny house is Thunderbird (doesn’t really affect me since I am from Europe), and my wand: Beech wood with a Unicorn hair core 13¾” and Unbending flexibility (Pottermore)
I really liked the film series. From 1 to 7.2. The way these films are made is just amazing! Even the actors are great… Some of my favourite actors being Alan Rickman as Severus Snape who I thing played his role perfectly; also Rupert Grint as Ronald Weasley who I enjoyed watching as an actor especially in the first film (Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s/Sorcerer’s Stone), mostly when he reacted to certain situations and made it look funny; and Emma Watson as Hermione Granger who I also think played her role quite well.
Currently, I am finishing off reading Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s/Sorcerer’s Stone which is the first book I am reading from the book series. I have never been a fan of reading before, but now that I have been introduced to Harry Potter, I read whenever I find some free time.
From all the Harry Potter characters, I think that one of my favourite characters is Neville Longbottom. He starts off as an accident prone child. Every second of his life, he used to experience the worst situations that anyone can find himself in. One of my favourite parts from the films & the books is when Professor Dumbledore says:
“It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr Neville Longbottom.”
Here, Neville starts changing into a more confident, brave and strong man (after all, that’s how a Gryffindor should be). In the end, we see Neville like we have never seen him before when he kills Nagini (Voldemort’s snake/one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes) and stands up to Lord Voldemort to defend his friends.
Let me know in the comments below… who is your favourite character from Harry Potter? In which Hogwarts house are you?
The storm clouds were approaching. It was the tornado season. The air was breathing. She walked out of the house and looked up to the sky. Her thoughts were racing. Oh, how she loved the mysterious weather and was excited with anticipation. She ran back inside to look at the TV weather report and saw the approaching storm. It was a monster headed right toward her town. In one breath, she was excited in the other she was scared to death. As she ran out the back door again she saw the horse in the distance. What to do? how can I help the horse out of the weather. She ran across the field but the horse was startled and ran away. As she looked up at the sky again it began to rain. Her heart was now racing. She was in the middle of the field about 1000 feet from the house and on the horizon, well, their it was a monstrous tornado. It began to hail, the winds picked up and were holding her back from running as fast as she could to the storm shelter. The thunder and lightning were beyond scary. She was now terrified. Not being able to make it to the shelter she found a rope laying on the ground and tied herself to a pipe that went several feet deep into the ground. About that time, the tornado was about to pick her up but the rope held her down while her legs flew to the air. She was in awe! She was looking up into the middle of the tornado. As fast as she flew to the air it was over. A few years passed and she found a new life. Chasing the heart of tornados in the heart of the country. How could she have known her quiet, boring life would turn into such a thrilling one. She now chases, reports and writes about her experience.
She thought to herself, you never know where life will lead. She decided that from now on she will enjoy the journey! – Lynn A. Hansen
A young woman/man stumbles across a dead body in the woods. What does she/he do?
It’s was a cold December and there was no one in sight, as we walked along the path in our local forest, we noticed something large in the bushes.
Hei, I say to my boyfriend what’s that?
I don’t know he replies – it looks
Hei, “Be careful”
“I will” Tom replies
We walk towards this large black plastic cover, as we get closer we notice a foot poking out from under the plastic sheeting
“Oh my goodness “I say
“Don’t go near it, call the police- call the police now”!
Shit, what the fuck has happened here?
We call the police and tell them of what we have come across and our location of the forest. And we wait for there arrival- while waiting
We just stare at each other not saying a word. Just thinking what could have happened? and who is this person? what was they doing? how old is she/he? how long have they been there? I start to cry as I’ve never been in this situation before. Tom hugs me and says everything will be fine, the police will be here shortly and we can go home and forget about this. I smile at Tom hoping that would be the truth but I keep thinking of this person, how they got there, what must their family be thinking? The police arrive and take down our details and they offer to take us home. I ask the policeman to let us know what happened and who is the person? And what happened ?
They said will we been in touch soon. 3 weeks have now gone by and still we haven’t heard from them and I wonder about this person and what happened?
Here is my thought:
” Now, currently, I don’t know what to write, for which topic. I know many things, but when it comes to writing I didn’t know what happen, I couldn’t able to write down those things, even on those topic which I feel I have good grasp over it.
Nevertheless, I’m going to write yesterday experience. So I went to a meetup, it was on “Computer Vision” — a hot topic is tech industry. It was organised by ‘Women Who Code’ (don’t be sad with the name 🙂 they don’t discriminate. Is name is because it was started by some women, who works as tech industry. They want to educate people to learn code, and special emphasis given on women — as it name implies.
We were introduced to a group of instructor. Who also happen to be a student of nearby college. Mine college is also near this place.
They give brief introduction on ‘Computer vision’. What this all about. It’s application. How this field are changing the current tech market scenario. It was all interesting. They work very hard and tried teaching effectively and efficiently.
Now here comes, mine turn, to be honest it didn’t understand whole concept. Maybe because I’m new to this field. Maybe it could other reason — I don’t know. ”
Guys, please review and give me some advise as to how I can improve my writing ability. I know I’m not good at writing. But I really want to a good writer. I never interested in writing before — Yes, not in my native language. But now I have deep desired to aquire this skill, I never knew the importance of writing. I have been working hard for writing and grammar part. I also write at Quora, so far I have received 30k views.
Thanks.
My first piece of writing, tried my best…
NOTE: this is just a beginning because i couldn’t think much about this. It is incomplete…
“Once ahead in time, there was a man who lived in a digital forest. You might be wondering what is a digital forest, I did too… It is like a city in a forest, as there was a lack of space in the city and everything was going much packed, the people didn’t have homes to live, toilets to freshen, kitchen to cook, and balcony to rejoice. There was no space in the nation except the forests. But still there is a huge problem to solve, the government didn’t allow deforestation, so people came up with the idea that they make the forest their homes without destroying it, simple as that isn’t it? Nope! There are still many problems to overcome. They thought, and thought, and thought, kept on thinking but no solution.
After a few days, a kid comes on the platform and gives his opinion. He said, “ What do we have? Do we have heads? Do we have hands? Do we have hearts? YES! We have it all. So why not using it. Think with your ‘hearts’, get it in action with your ‘brains’ and forward it with your ‘hands’. I have an idea that we should in a plane over the forest… the balloons should be arranged in such a manner like our current buildings in our city. We would have gliders to commute, and clouds for weekend picnics… or we can also make an invisible floor up there”. People didn’t react positively but still had got what the child tried to convey. They felt that it wasn’t possible. As plenty of resources would be used up in vain.”
This is my first time writing, so I know I will make some mistakes. But I hope you can show me so that I can improve. Thank you.
A young woman stumbles across a dead body in the woods. So, you may ask: How did she get into the woods? Turn out, she was having a picnic by herself. Tired of the modern, busy city life, she decided to have some fresh air. After hours of walking, she found herself in a place she wanted. A peaceful scenery with blowing grass. She put her bag down, thinking that the day couldn’t be any better. She turned around, looking at the scenery. Her eyes was full of joys. After a while, she turned to her bag, expecting to have lunch while enjoying the scenery. But things didn’t go that way. A monkey was trying to steal her bag. Seeing that, she chased after the monkey, angrily, of course. She was so close to catch it, until she stumbled across something. The monkey escaped. So frustrating, she looked back, and realized that she had just walk into a dead body.
Every writer has a different view of looking at this – I’d look into more of comedy writing or sketching
With the heavy backpack on his back looked exhausted and tired from the long walk he has endured as he managed to bring down the heavy backpack filled with camping gears. He reached for the water storage bottle, while his eyes was busy scanning the quiet wood he empty the bottle of water in his mouth and his head.
He was convinced on the perfect location to mount his tent. As he layer down to sit on the plain leveled grass field, he felt was seem like a piece of wood. while still gazing around the woods he reached for what he thought was a piece of wood,tried to pull it out but couldn’t as it was greasy and hard to pull. turned to see what it really is, to his surprise it was a decayed human hand. out of shock and fear he screamed and fell on his back.
My first practice
Here is a short write on the idea above:
The Dead Man Walking
Joe was walking in the tangled woods of the deep Northern Main woods on a Fall day as the leaves were turning yellow and orange. He had spotted a large freshly dig grave. The grave could not have been more than two or three days old for the animals had not gotten to it. He knew this for there were not claw marks around the dirt but he did spot shoe prints.
These shoe prints were large, the size of a big man for the impressions were deep in the soil. Joe wonder how could the man be out of the grave for the soil had not been disturbed but, the shoe directed lead from the beginning of the grave outward. He was determined to follow this mystery into the forest and divulge the answer to all.
Proceeding forth deep into the forest, Joe found himself entangled in the snares of the twigs of the trees and loosing the man’s tracks. He had lost his way and his goal; what was he to do now? Joe forged ahead hearing a stream, thinking that a man resurrected from the dead must be thirsty for he would be. Finding the slow moving clear cool stream, he found what he was looking for the tracks of the dead man. No, this this could not be a dead man for he walked on two legs and was headed towards into a town.
The story was amazing. Really touching.I loved it
A woman stumbles across a dead body, At first she didn’t know what it was, first thing came to mind was to run because she didn’t know if someone was around or something was going to get her too.So she runs and calls for help she stopped at the first house she sees knocks on the door, and man opens the door with a strange look in his eyes wondering why is there a girl at his door.The woman start yelling there’s a dead body in the woods call the police the man said calm down and come in and have a seat, I will call for help. While the man was on the phone the woman couldn’t sit still she kept looking out the window because she couldn’t believe what she just seen. She has never seen a dead body before and she figured if there’s a dead body in the woods,who could have placed it there, is the killer close are am I at the Killer’s house.
The weight of slumber laid heavily on her. Had she really dozed off? She was supposed to be somewhere but her head was so clouded she couldn’t think of where. As consciousness crept over her the feeling of being cold made her shiver. No, not of feeling cold. It was the memory of feeling cold.
It was a hot July evening and she had nodded off propped up against a tree. She hadn’t even remembered sitting down. She brushed sleep from her limbs as she stood. The sun was setting and the rustle of squirrels scurrying back to their nests for the evening could be faintly heard.
A panic set in as she realized how late it was. She was supposed to meet Brian for dinner and she had wanted to gussy up a bit before they met up. She didn’t feel tired anymore as she started back up the path toward her apartment. They had just started dating but this wasn’t like any other relationship she had ever had. They connected on a deeper level. She hated to think the thought but it floated into her thoughts unbidden again. He could be the one. They had only been dating a month and she knew that only time could really tell if this was the real thing but her gut told her he was it. Her heart had confirmed the same but although it was less romantic her gut was a much more reliable source than her heart from past experience.
She suddenly stopped in her tracks, shivering again. Something was wrong but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. Her eyes shifted looking for something, she knew not what, in the woods. The wind blew her hair around her face and stung her eyes. She pulled her hair to one side and started walking quickly again but this time she was walking back to the tree she had been sleeping against.
The unmistakeable fear that she had left something here, something important, filled her. Leaves had been blown into a pile at the trees’ base. She fell to her knees and started shifting through the pile. A hand suddenly emerged and she gasped as she jumped away. The hand was a sickly bluish-green and well manicured. She could see a red sweater peaking though the shuffled debris.
Dread and a deep sadness poured over her followed by a sickening twist in her stomach. Who was this, how had the body gotten here, and had she really been sleeping by it this entire time? She turned her face away. Dry heaves shook her body. Not even a hint of stomach acid surfacing. She felt weak but still managed to throw herself back away from the body as fast as her crab walk could take her before collapsing.
She needed to run for help but she was frozen. What had happened to this poor girl? She managed to prop herself up on her back stretched arms. The girl was wearing a sweater just like the one she wore today. What a creepy coincidence. Panic struck her again. Her head whipped back and forth. She wasn’t supposed to be here! How long had she been here. She was supposed to meet Bryan. It was late in the day. Something wasn’t right.
Sudden realization pierced her. She knew in her gut the answers to these questions. she knew her gut was true the same way she knew Bryan was the one. She stood up on wobbly legs and moved closer to the body. There staring back at her was her own face. Not as she knew her face to be but a distorted, mirrored version. Her eyes were bulging and her skin a sickly green but it was her.
That swing:
I’m going home. Walking down the familiar roads that led to my house. At the end of the street there is a park where I used to go play often when I was little. When I get to it I pause for a moment, memories darting through my head. I make my way over to the swing and sit down on the highest one, my feet just touch the ground – no matter how much i’ve grown since I last visited this spot, I’m still very short. Using my little legs I start to push the swing, using my body to build up momentum by leaning into the swing.
I’m not getting high enough, (I always used to feel like I would launch off the swing and land on the branches of the tree far far above me) so I stand up on the swing and lean even further. I’m getting much higher now. The swing is getting faster and faster.
Up, and I’m a little girl again, Ma is standing behind me, pushing me, and even as I get further away with each swing, she seems so big. A comforting presence that I know is always going to look after me.
Down, and I remember the last time I saw her, she was so old, and she looked tiny. I could have easily picked her up if I tried. I didn’t.
Up. I’ve just fallen off the monkey bars and banged my knee, my mom rushes over to me and bundles me up in her arms, picking me up so she can kiss my owie better.
Down. I hear my mom shouting, but I can’t see her, and my head is sore and I can’t get up and find her.
Up. The big trees i’m swinging towards are pine trees. In winter we come and collect the pinecones for kindling. Once we tried to find some pine nuts as well, but they tasted awful so we left them behind.
Down. I’m angry, and my sister is running away from me. I don’t want her to do that. I want her to stop. “Stop! Stop Running!” I scream, and throw something at her. I don’t want to be left behind.
Up. The trees are so far, but I’m going so high that I could touch them If I just reach up a bit.
I stretch my arm out to grab at them but I’m not going up anymore. I can’t tell which way i’m going. The trees are spinning around me and merging into the ground, which seem to have swapped places with the sky, and it’s getting closer but it’s all blurry and then I’m on the floor.
I’ve fallen. My whole body is sore, I don’t know what hit the ground first. Everything is still a bit blurred and I realise I am crying, the tears being squeezed out of my eyes by the pain. No one is running to kiss my owie better. I have no protection. The sky looks nice, circled by evergreen branches. I just lie on the ground for a while, feeling the pain and looking up at the sky, but no one is going to come help me so I get up. I brush off the dirt, and try to do the same with the pain, and then keep walking. I want to go home.
I know its not that good, but I want to get better, so any constructive criticism is welcome.
The visuals are great. I really like the “up” and “down” lost in thought on a swing. I think the grammar and some of the sentence structure could use some work. Overall it’s pretty good. The feeling you’re trying to convey is clear and I think that is important.
The weight of slumber laid heavily on her. Had she really dozed off? She was supposed to be somewhere but her head was so clouded she couldn’t think of where. As consciousness crept over her the feeling of being cold made her shiver. No, not of feeling cold. It was the memory of feeling cold.
It was a hot July evening and she had nodded off propped up against a tree. She hadn’t even remembered sitting down. She brushed sleep from her limbs as she stood. The sun was setting and the rustle of squirrels scurrying back to their nests for the evening could be faintly heard.
A panic set in as she realized how late it was. She was supposed to meet Brian for dinner and she had wanted to gussy up a bit before they met up. She didn’t feel tired anymore as she started back up the path toward her apartment. They had just started dating but this wasn’t like any other relationship she had ever had. They connected on a deeper level. She hated to think the thought but it floated into her thoughts unbidden again. He could be the one. They had only been dating a month and she knew that only time could really tell if this was the real thing but her gut told her he was it. Her heart had confirmed the same but although it was less romantic her gut was a much more reliable source than her heart from past experience.
She suddenly stopped in her tracks, shivering again. Something was wrong but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. Her eyes shifted looking for something, she knew not what, in the woods. The wind blew her hair around her face and stung her eyes. She pulled her hair to one side and started walking quickly again but this time she was walking back to the tree she had been sleeping against.
The unmistakeable fear that she had left something here, something important, filled her. Leaves had been blown into a pile at the trees’ base. She fell to her knees and started shifting through the pile. A hand suddenly emerged and she gasped as she jumped away. The hand was a sickly bluish-green and well manicured. She could see a red sweater peaking though the shuffled debris.
Dread and a deep sadness poured over her followed by a sickening twist in her stomach. Who was this, how had the body gotten here, and had she really been sleeping by it this entire time? She turned her face away. Dry heaves shook her body. Not even a hint of stomach acid surfacing. She felt weak but still managed to throw herself back away from the body as fast as her crab walk could take her before collapsing.
She needed to run for help but she was frozen. What had happened to this poor girl? She managed to prop herself up on her back stretched arms. The girl was wearing a sweater just like the one she wore today. What a creepy coincidence. Panic struck her again. Her head whipped back and forth. She wasn’t supposed to be here! How long had she been here. She was supposed to meet Bryan. It was late in the day. Something wasn’t right.
Sudden realization pierced her. She knew in her gut the answers to these questions. she knew her gut was true the same way she knew Bryan was the one. She stood up on wobbly legs and moved closer to the body. There staring back at her was her own face. Not as she knew her face to be but a distorted, mirrored version. Her eyes were bulging and her skin a sickly green but it was her.
The First Days
She stood at the very edge of the cliff. Her heart began beating faster and faster. This was it. This was her chance. All her life she’d been waiting for an opportunity like this. She held her breath, took one last glance at the world behind her, and jumped into the glowing portal that lay fifty feet below.
As she fell she closed her eyes and thought this is the way to go.
She had so many ideas and so much work to do. But she knew she could do it. It would help people and animals also. As she fell the last thing on her mind was I am really going to make a change to the world.
One there will be jobs for everyone who wants one. There will be food for everyone. People will own their own homes and cars also. Kids would be able to go to school no matter how poor they were. There would be medicine for the ones who needed it, even if they could not afford it. People would not kill anyone just because they could. There would be rich people who would pay for their crimes No matter how much money they have.
Teachers will help all children even if they are poor. There will be no bully in schools. There will be no drugs, drinking, or guns at school. Children will not be left home alone.
There will be no abuse to children, adults, or animals. Anyone who abuses or sexually hurts them will spend the rest of their life forever and never get out of prison.
The first paragraph was so strong, you did a great job of getting me interested by creating an air of mystery: is she going to commit suicide, what was the glowing portal, why is this an opportunity worth being excited about? I got the idea that it was a baby being born, but this wasnt followed up in any way so I cant be sure (that is my first tip- you need to follow through). My second tip is going over and editing what you wrote – I found quite a few grammar and punctuation mistakes that could have easily been rectified if you read through. Some examples of this would be: “It would help people and animals also” which just doesn’t flow right, and “One there will be jobs for everyone who wants one” where you need some punctuation after one.
I would also suggest that you find a way of showing thought. In “As she fell she closed her eyes and thought this is the way to go” you could do this by adding speech marks: she closed her eyes and thought: “this is the way to go.” or by putting the thought into italics, but there are many other ways you could experiment with.
I think the thing that is most important for you to do is link up the beginning with the end, it felt like they didnt have anything to do with each other, in fact it felt like there was no end- don’t leave your stories open ended unless it’s necessary.
Sorry this was so long, I hope it helps, and good luck in your future writing. 🙂
A monkey dream
“A dead body!! ” A shocked Jane exclaims.She moves seven steps away from the dead body,but something stops her.”What am I going to do now? Do I leave this place immediately? What of my camera? Do I leave it here? Or do I leave with it? What if they confiscate it?,but they’ll see only monkey photos,those don’t relate to this.What if someone comes right now and find me here? God!..”
Jane got a camera as a birthday gift from her uncle.It was a dream come true for her for she really needed a camera of her own to own the world and it’s creatures in it.Two weeks of adventure with her valuable gift to the woods made her keep memorable antics of nearly all inhabitants of this forest.Today was her last trip to the woods before embarking on a journey to the lakes and rivers for fishes and crocodiles.She was specific in this last trip.To capture monkeys.She really needed to include these ugly tree-hoping mammals in her album.
Suddenly she hears voices approaching the scene,men voices,as if arguing.She tries to hide.They reach the scene.One man suspects something,looks back,sees a terrified Jane.
My childhood thoughts
Why do I crave love from my mother?
Why does she push me away constantly.
Why does she only love the boys?
I seek attention from a woman that does not really want me. She constantly tells me that girls are no good. They bring trouble home, they just chase the boys and let them do dirty things to them.
Why do I seek her affection? I go to bed at night and pray to God that I will grow a penis by morning, then she will love me. But when I look in the morning I am still the same, a girl and unwanted. I dress like a Tom boy and play with the boys doing boy stuff like football, fishing, tree climbing and just rough and tumble stuff. Maybe if I act like a boy she will like me.
I am the youngest of eight, four boys and four girls but two of the boys died before I was born. The two surviving boys get all the spoils and cuddles. The older girls are much older and don’t want a scruffy little Tom boy sister around them, they have more important stuff to do.
I hang around with Dad he’s OK but always at work, so not too much hanging around with him, but I feed and exercise his greyhounds and pigeons,
Dad loves me in his own way but is not a cuddly person, shows his affection by giving me his time when he’s around.
My best friend Alan and I go apple scrumping around the district, and we get up to all kinds of mischief without being caught.
Don’t know where I’d be without Alan, he is the best friend anyone could want and he puts up with my pestering; his parents want me to live with them, but his Dad likes me in a way that is not normal, he wants to touch me in places that are private. I can’t tell my mum because she would say that I am asking for it. That’s what she said when I told her my brother tried to do things to me that hurt, I knew it was wrong but he kept telling me it would only hurt the first time, but I ran and tried never to be alone with him.
I was 9 years old at the time, but hey it’s my fault for being a girl.
I wonder at times how I managed to grow and develop into a decent person, married now with two children of my own that have all the love and cuddles they need, and more.
Sue G.
It was around evening, when the young boy Adam who was roaming in the woods as he was upset with what had happened with him in his college. His teacher had scolded him for being involved in fight with his classmate. As he was walking around the woods with this thought of frustration, he stumbles across something on the way and as he look back to see what it was, he will be shocked to see a body of a young lady lying dead on the ground. As he closly observes the body he sees the neck cleaved into two halves and blood all around. Having seen this Adam right away call the police and inform s about the incident.
After few minutes the police arrives at the spot and enquire Adam about the body. And after all the investigation they allow Adam to go home. And after few days the police officer asks Adam to come to the station to talk related to the murder. As Adam meets the officer, the officer speaks about the incident and tells Adam that adam had no link to this murder and they had founded out the killer who was non other than the lady’s boyfriend who had killed her with an sharp knife, when he founded out that she had an affair with other person.
My first lesson:
The breeze felt brisk in his face. He had been wandering for a while, finding his way out of the Forrest. Sound of cars in the distance, to pass through the terrain in that direction was too hard, it’s necessary to walk around the hill to reach the road.
When he turned to the right, he saw something white under a tree. A dirty sheet. The shape looked scary–”maybe a body” he thought. Scared he realised this might be a body.” Oh, don’t be such a kid” he thought.” just something somebody has thrown here”. He walked closer, but the dreadful feeling did not leave him. Less than ten feet away red spots underneath the sheet became visible. Now, he a got scared. His hart pounded hard in his chest, the wind became even cooler.
He looked around, ”Anyone else in the Forrest” he thought. Not a sound from anybody for the last hour, so why should there be anyone now? His mind panicked from fear for the obvious in front of him.” What the hell do I do now” he thought.” Calm down, you fool, just have a peek and see what’s there.” He looked around for a stick to use to poke the sheets.
On his right he found a broken branch from a tree nearby. Took it and moved closer. Poked on the sheet, it was soft but still not too soft. ” This is likely a body of a dead living thing” he realised. He was about to puke, but held it back. Now he must see what’s in the bundle.
He used the stick to move the sheet to the side, a hand was visible, then an arm and then the face. There was no real face to see. The nature had taking its toll. Now he turned around and vomited. He felt his strength leaving his body. He had never been so chocked before in his life. Everything… (15 minutes ended here)
The wind blew a bitter chill across the town, and with it came the first hint of winter. There were many preparations to be made before the snows arrived, and Tessa knew there was not much time left. She pulled her worn woolen shawl tighter around her shoulders and hurried on, hoping to catch Mrs. Miller at the granary before she closed up for the day. She peeked into the basket, surveying the contents within, and sighed, her shoulders dropping. The apples had a mottled, sunken look and she counted at least 3 worm holes. This meager crop was all she had left to barter with, but she feared it would not be enough. Pulling herself up to her full height, she squared her gaze and pushed through the door to Mrs. Miller’s shop.
When fourteen year old Bexley, goes to visit her grandparents in Cannon Beach, Oregon one summer she bumps into fifteen year old, Quinton. They think nothing about it as the summer passes and Bexley goes back to her house in Brooklyn, New York. It wasn’t until the following summer that they bump into each other once more. This time they decided it wasn’t an accident. They decided to spend the summer together. Going to the beach, getting ice cream, watching movies at the old theater. But once the summer was over life went back to normal as if they never met. As the years pass and Bexley’s grandfather has a heart attack. Seventeen year old Bexley is the first to rush to her grandfather’s side. And who does find there on her little trip?
“Are you sure you want to do this?” my mother asked for the hundredth time this morning.
“Yes, mom, I’m positive I want to go and see my grandparents.” I reassured here.
“But they live so far away.”
“Mom, they live in Cannon Beach, Oregon. I’ll be fine.”
“I trust her, dear, don’t worry. Our little girl knows what she is doing.” my father smiled.
“Thanks, dad. Now I have to finish loading the car. My flight is in an hour.”
“Oh, alright.” mom sighed. “I’ll get you some snacks.” mom walked into the kitchen.
“Mom, I can’t-” but dad stopped me.
“Just let her go. She cooks when she’s stressed.” dad said.
“Alright, can you help me load up?” I asked.
“Sure thing, are you excited?” dad and I walked up the stairs.
“Well, this is my first time going on an airplane and I’m going alone, so, I’m more nervous than excited.”
“You’ll do fine.” dad rubbed my back.
“Mom, you’ve already given me ten thousand hugs, I need to go. My plane’s about to leave.”
“Dear, it’s time you let her go.” dad stepped in.
“Oh, alright.” mom dapped her eyes with a tissue.
“Mom, I’ll be back at the end of the summer, I’m not leaving you.”
“Oh, I know. It’s just hard to see my little girl leave me.”
“I know now I have to go. Bye!” I gave them both one last hug before boarding my plane.
“Grandma! Grandpa!” I yelled as I ran over to them.
“Bexley! Oh, how you’ve grown!” Grandma wrapped me up in her arms.
“How old are you now? Twenty-two?” Grandpa joked.
“No, grandpa, I’m fourteen.” I smiled.
“Fourteen! My, my. Well, your grandmother has been cooking all day. I say we go home and eat some good food.”
“Sounds great! Let’s be just go grab my bags. I’ll meet you at the car.” I said.
“Alright, dear.”
I turned and ran to the luggage. I watched to see mine come through. Finally it did. I reached out and grabbed the handle only to bump into someone else. I looked up to see a boy with shaggy blonde hair and simple but beautiful blue eyes. He wore a plain blue t-shirt and blue jeans.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I said.
“Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” he responded.
“I know I’m short but you don’t have to point it out so rudely.” I snapped.
I wasn’t mad at him. I only wanted to see how he would really act in front of me.
“Well, I wasn’t meaning it that way but you’re free to your own opinion.” he turned and walked away.
I shrugged and grabbed my suitcase. I ran outside to see my grandparents waiting for me. Grandpa helped me load the suitcase and backpack into the back and held the door so I could climb in.
“Thank you.” I said.
After we got back to the house, grandma dished out some delish food and we ate hardily.
The summer went rather slowly. It was colder in Oregon then it was in Brooklyn so I was always wearing jeans and a light jacket. But I liked it. I went to the beach, got ice cream, and went shopping. But all by myself, I hadn’t been to Cannon Beach since I was five. I don’t really remember it that much but mom and dad love to talk about the time when I ran into the ocean but as soon as the water touched my feet I ran in the other direction screaming.
My dad grew up in Cannon Beach and in the same house my grandparents are living in to this day. He was a surfer, always hanging out on the beach. But of course, he had friends and I don’t. I thought I would have fun and I did but not in the same way it would be if I had friends.
When the summer was over I said goodbye to my grandparents as I boarded a plane. I would be going back to school and have to wait until the next summer.
WALKING BY:
She was walking down the street with her head down, always in a rush when suddenly she was met by this overwhelming feeling. Unable to move, barely able to breathe, she was forced to lift her head in order to get some air. Aware this was something she had no control over, she closed her eyes while placing one hand on her chest and the other around her neck. When she opened her eyes, there he was, walking by. He says to her” slow down darling, you almost missed me”. His presence was tightly wrapped around her, his smile put her at ease, his voice was the source of blessedness. Instantly, she saw visions of herself saying I do. Delivering their first baby while he holds her hand and wipes away the sweat from her forehead. Gracefully getting through the challenges of life together with enough love for one another to last a thousand lifetimes. This all played out in her mind while he kept walking by. Something told her to slow down more often so she may never miss what it meant for her. What she felt in that moment changed her. She was no longer in a rush, no longer walking, she was floating.
In the small corner of a slightly dimmed room, Harry struggled to find words as his memories and imagination alike played around inside his mind like a disobediant toddlers not following his commands. Blue light emiting from the laptop, of an empty microsoft word page, stabbed him in the eye reminding him of his incompotency.
No, I can’t do this! Screen of a laptop swiftly dropped and closed in a thud as Harry pulled on it, his frustration winning the battle over his rational mind. He covered his eyes with his hands, his elbow on the edge of the table, wallowing in self pity, frustrated.
Harry was a writer, despite his current condition. His main goal was to get published. He knew he had a gift. He wrote several short stories which he had shown to his friends who complimented his original way of thinking. He also gained an online audience which, after some constructive criticism, praised him on his originality. He was satisfied with himself. He has now decided to try writing a novel. A full length novel, which would get him recognized in writer’s community and hopefully to the general public, skyrocketing him towards his goal of becoming a famous writer.
His mind was blank. All the imagination seemed to have evaporated from his mind, all the creativity left him for dead. Harry was now facing a failure. His own mind had started to trick him to believe he wasn’t good enough, that he will never ever reach for the stars. His experiences in life could not possibly match to his wish to write a novel everyone would read.
No! No! No! Harry shouted more loud each time, until he abruptly stood up, sending his chair spontaneously wheeling backwards hitting the couch behind.
I will not fail! Harry yelled at himself, loud as he could, appearing as though he was fighting with an invisible enemy. At that moment, Harry heard a soft voice. Soothing and relaxing, yet at the same time, assertive and authoritative. He felt a feeling in his heart, glowing warmth discipating through his entire body. Bright light lit up slightly dimmed room in front of him. In the middle of the room, in front of Harry, what he immidaitely thought was an angel, stood an entity eminating light from it’s celestial body.
Overwhelmed by the intensity of light, and the warmth he felt inside of him, Harry dropped to his knees, his gaze locked on the entity in front of him.
“Harry, you are a writer. Don’t be intimated by the unknown.” Divine, relaxing voice echoed throughout the room, into Harry’s heart and soul.
“I am, but I haven’t lived a life of one. I have no experience in life. Only my imagination and that is not enough” said Harry, looking down at the glowing floor, resenting himself.
“Let me take you on a journey then.” said the angel, reaching his celestial hand to Harry.
First, Harry froze in place, quickly going over the possibility of going mad, but everything he was hearing, seeing, even touching was too real for it to be imaginary. He agreed, hint of hope in his eyes.
Harry reached for the angel’s hand and found himself in the desert with three great pyramids in sight basking in the yellowish glow of a rising sun. He bewildered in amazement as the angel beside him, looked upon him, reaching his hand once more. Harry took it. He now found himself in Stonehenge. Under the silver moon giant monolithic stones aligned to form a great mythical place. They looked as if they have just been planted there. He must have gone back into time, he thought.
Journeys he was on were filled with great landscapes, vast green fields of flowers, towers and castles, majestic blue oceans and mighty rivers, white, snow covered fields stretching for miles on end. Harry’s eyes wide open with each and every gaze upon the beauty of the scene in front of him. Excitement took over his entire body. Experiences he lived will surely give him something to write about.
Amazed, his heart pounding, beating out of his chest, he looked upon the angel with amazement and admiration, and asked where would he lead him next. Angel looked at him, and said. “Wherever you want to go.”
Harry thought over it in a second, and quickly, euphorically he yelled. “Space!” He remembered that he has always tried to write a science fiction. This would be a great experience.
Angel reached with his celestial hand once more to meet Harry’s and they found themselves in the midst of a vastness of space, filled with shining stars, planet’s orbiting around the glimmering sun.
Colorfull display of planets and bright glimmering of the stars, vastness of the nothingness and the glow of the sun, captivated Harry so much that he started to glide across the eternal void of space itself. He wanted to visit planets to see if they harbored any life. He would be first to discover it, and then he would become famous. Thoughts of being famous and money started their enchanting dance inside his mind, and quickly, he foundhimself back in his room, kneeling infront of the angel.
“What happened? Where are we? Why are we back?” Harry reached out his hands, almost in a pleading sort of way towards angel, begging him to go back.
“We never went anywhere.” Angel stated.
“What do you mean?? The pyramydes, stonehenge, space? We weren’t there?”
“No. We weren’t. You were.”
“I do…n’t under…stand, what do you mean??” His eye browes frowned, and his eyes teared up close to a brink of a flood.
“You see Harry. Places I have led you exist only in your mind. We have traveled only in your mind, which has no boundaries of time and space. Everything is possible there. You just have to believe.”
Harry gazed at the palms of his hands, questioning reality more and more, simmering flame of anger burned inside of him. His head fell down, and his back arched as he relaxed completely. He stood there, kneeling, watching the palms of his hands.
Only the shelves on the wall filled with books met his gaze as he brought his head back up, to meet angel’s once again. Angel wasn’t there. He found himself kneeling at the floor of his room, contemplating all that has happened. Could it have all been real? Thoughts rushed through his mind as he stood up, pulled his chair back to his desk, opened up his laptop, opened a blank word document and started typing.
“I believe.” He said as the words started to fill up the once blank white page.
Hi, so this is something I wrote in 15 minutes as a practice. Story familiar to us all, when we have no idea what to write about, and the feeling that goes along with it. It is only our beliefs that shape our reality, and hopefully I have conveyed it right. Please let me know what you think.
In the small corner of a slightly dimmed room, Harry struggled to find words as his memories and imagination alike played around inside his mind like a disobediant toddlers not following his commands. Blue light emiting from the laptop, of an empty microsoft word page, stabbed him in the eye reminding him of his incompotency.
No, I can’t do this! Screen of a laptop swiftly dropped and closed in a thud as Harry pulled on it, his frustration winning the battle over his rational mind. He covered his eyes with his hands, his elbow on the edge of the table, wallowing in self pity, frustrated.
Harry was a writer, despite his current condition. His main goal was to get published. He knew he had a gift. He wrote several short stories which he had shown to his friends who complimented his original way of thinking. He also gained an online audience which, after some constructive criticism, praised him on his originality. He was satisfied with himself. He has now decided to try writing a novel. A full length novel, which would get him recognized in writer’s community and hopefully to the general public, skyrocketing him towards his goal of becoming a famous writer.
His mind was blank. All the imagination seemed to have evaporated from his mind, all the creativity left him for dead. Harry was now facing a failure. His own mind had started to trick him to believe he wasn’t good enough, that he will never ever reach for the stars. His experiences in life could not possibly match to his wish to write a novel everyone would read.
No! No! No! Harry shouted more loud each time, until he abruptly stood up, sending his chair spontaneously wheeling backwards hitting the couch behind.
I will not fail! Harry yelled at himself, loud as he could, appearing as though he was fighting with an invisible enemy. At that moment, Harry heard a soft voice. Soothing and relaxing, yet at the same time, assertive and authoritative. He felt a feeling in his heart, glowing warmth discipating through his entire body. Bright light lit up slightly dimmed room in front of him. In the middle of the room, in front of Harry, what he immidaitely thought was an angel, stood an entity eminating light from it’s celestial body.
Overwhelmed by the intensity of light, and the warmth he felt inside of him, Harry dropped to his knees, his gaze locked on the entity in front of him.
“Harry, you are a writer. Don’t be intimated by the unknown.” Divine, relaxing voice echoed throughout the room, into Harry’s heart and soul.
“I am, but I haven’t lived a life of one. I have no experience in life. Only my imagination and that is not enough” said Harry, looking down at the glowing floor, resenting himself.
“Let me take you on a journey then.” said the angel, reaching his celestial hand to Harry.
First, Harry froze in place, quickly going over the possibility of going mad, but everything he was hearing, seeing, even touching was too real for it to be imaginary. He agreed, hint of hope in his eyes.
Harry reached for the angel’s hand and found himself in the desert with three great pyramids in sight basking in the yellowish glow of a rising sun. He bewildered in amazement as the angel beside him, looked upon him, reaching his hand once more. Harry took it. He now found himself in Stonehenge. Under the silver moon giant monolithic stones aligned to form a great mythical place. They looked as if they have just been planted there. He must have gone back into time, he thought.
Journeys he was on were filled with great landscapes, vast green fields of flowers, towers and castles, majestic blue oceans and mighty rivers, white, snow covered fields stretching for miles on end. Harry’s eyes wide open with each and every gaze upon the beauty of the scene in front of him. Excitement took over his entire body. Experiences he lived will surely give him something to write about.
Amazed, his heart pounding, beating out of his chest, he looked upon the angel with amazement and admiration, and asked where would he lead him next. Angel looked at him, and said. “Wherever you want to go.”
Harry thought over it in a second, and quickly, euphorically he yelled. “Space!” He remembered that he has always tried to write a science fiction. This would be a great experience.
Angel reached with his celestial hand once more to meet Harry’s and they found themselves in the midst of a vastness of space, filled with shining stars, planet’s orbiting around the glimmering sun.
Colorfull display of planets and bright glimmering of the stars, vastness of the nothingness and the glow of the sun, captivated Harry so much that he started to glide across the eternal void of space itself. He wanted to visit planets to see if they harbored any life. He would be first to discover it, and then he would become famous. Thoughts of being famous and money started their enchanting dance inside his mind, and quickly, he foundhimself back in his room, kneeling infront of the angel.
“What happened? Where are we? Why are we back?” Harry reached out his hands, almost in a pleading sort of way towards angel, begging him to go back.
“We never went anywhere.” Angel stated.
“What do you mean?? The pyramydes, stonehenge, space? We weren’t there?”
“No. We weren’t. You were.”
“I do…n’t under…stand, what do you mean??” His eye browes frowned, and his eyes teared up close to a brink of a flood.
“You see Harry. Places I have led you exist only in your mind. We have traveled only in your mind, which has no boundaries of time and space. Everything is possible there. You just have to believe.”
Harry gazed at the palms of his hands, questioning reality more and more, simmering flame of anger burned inside of him. His head fell down, and his back arched as he relaxed completely. He stood there, kneeling, watching the palms of his hands.
Only the shelves on the wall filled with books met his gaze as he brought his head back up, to meet angel’s once again. Angel wasn’t there. He found himself kneeling at the floor of his room, contemplating all that has happened. Could it have all been real? Thoughts rushed through his mind as he stood up, pulled his chair back to his desk, opened up his laptop, opened a blank word document and started typing.
“I believe.” He said as the words started to fill up the once blank white page.
When we found ourselves stuck, ideas absent from our mind, we only need to see the world is inside us, we only need to believe, for everything to come to light.
Hi, so this is something I wrote in 15 minutes as a practice. Story familiar to us all, when we have no idea what to write about, and the feeling that goes along with it. It is only our beliefs that shape our reality, and hopefully I have conveyed it right. Please let me know what you think.
The Fall That Broke My Heart
“I just need to get my phone.” She said in a hurry as she opened the front door. Melody has been planning to visit Le Bernardin, a French restaurant, with Caleb for a long time, but her vet cabinet takes most of her time, especially after she moved from France to America.
“Finally doing it after two months of “Tomorrows” “Said Caleb holding the menu.
“We deserve an award for our procrastination skills.”
“Our? You mean “My”
“Fine Mr. On time, MY procrastination skills.” She smiled and added after a few seconds of silence:” I don’t care about this Cale.”
“About what?”
“This; Le Bernardin, people, New York. All I care about is that I’m with you, you’re all that matters t—‘ oo Caviar”
“Mhm, I believe you.” He said smiling, “Maybe you should’ve said that before I paid a fortune for a dinner.”
“I’m not complaining though, it’s a nice addition.”
“An expensive one.”
They spent the evening, laughing, giggling, talking about their wedding, and the future. Mei and Caleb left the fancy restaurant, and decided to walk home.
“Quelle saison!” said Mei with joy, leaving Caleb behind.
“Don’t you have fall in France?” He said, jokingly.
Mei walked for a while, then turned to face Caleb and kept walking backwarded.
“Fall is beautiful everywhere; here, France, Iraq, Norway–
“YOURWAY babe.” Said Caleb, holding her hand and pushing her towards him before she stumbles on a rock.
Melody laughed.
“You’re fall to me then; you’re beautiful here, France, Iraq and Norway. You’re beautiful wearing this black tight dress and high heels, beautiful when you have your hair up and minions’ pajamas on, you’re beautiful when you call me “mon amour” and when you threaten me of divorce if I don’t have breakfast with you while listening to the hideous poems you write. To me, you’re fall.”
“Je t’aime.” Mei smiled and kissed him.
________________________________________________________
Next morning, Mei and Caleb were having breakfast together.
“Remind me to buy a new frame for my father’s picture on the wall.”Said Caleb
Taking a bite of her omelet Mei nodded, “Do you miss him?” she added.
“More than I can put into words.”
Mei held his hand and he held hers, she was going to say something to comfort him but his phone rang.
“Yes, yes I’m on my way.”
“Cale, you didn’t finish your breakfast.”
“I have to go babe, It’s urgent. I finish at 13:00, why don’t we meet at our usual spot in central Park then go get lunch?”
“Okay, prends soin de toi.”
« Je t’aime. »
« Je t’aime . »
Melody crossing the street, to get to the bench Caleb and her always sit on. It’s 13:15, She’s late as usual. But Caleb isn’t there.
Mei sits on the bench, the wind playing with her hair, the orange leaves are falling down the tall trees, covering the floor, it smelled like rain but it wasn’t raining and a man singing “Delilah” and playing the guitar not too far from her. To her, it was poetic.
Her phone rings, It’s Caleb. She answers;
“Caleb, I’m waiting for you.”
“Hello Maam…”
*Three years later*
In the same park, at the same time, on the same bench; sits Melody. She’s holding a notebook; a tear skips her eye as she writes:
“It’s no longer beautiful, not without you. Not here, not in France, not in Iraq and not even in Norway. I’ve been waiting for three years for it to be beautiful again but it never is. Nothing is anymore. Three years, three falls…But I never seem to hit the ground Cale, it isn’t fall anymore, its abyss”
The wind is playing with her hair, the orange leaves are falling off the tall trees covering the floor, it smells like rain but it’s not raining, and a woman is singing “If you go away” by Neil Diamond, but it’s not poetic. It’s no longer poetic, nothing is anymore.
The End
I just did the 15 minutes writing exercise, below is the story that came up. This is a real story by the way. Your comments are very much appreciated.
The aftermaths
And there was and aftermaths of that meeting, indeed. That night I could not sleep. I was just furious! How come people can be so despotic and undermining? And that Harganette, with such an air…
All the stories I encountered in the past years entangled like serpents in my head, invasive, without asking any kind of permission to get in, deep inside my brain. I woke up several times in the middle of that warm night, ‘I should complain, definitely, well…oh no, because if I do, I would have to face another of their dismissals, or even worse… a constant war, but one of lion to mouse, where I would be the mouse, of course.’
On the next day I shared my story with the usual clan: Narnia always so encouraging and welcoming; ‘whatever you do, sweet heart, remember to put it in your prayers.’ Celine, always so direct and straightforward; ‘Well my sweetie, I can see how unhesitating are you of carving your own tomb, go on then!’ and finally Dr Freshly ‘ Well, you know that whatever complaint, formal or informal, will have to pass by the Head teacher’s hands.’But Dr Freshly, you do not understand.’ – I clarified snappily- ‘my complaint is against the Head teacher.’ I could see her face changing from blue to red then to pale brown again. She looked at me for about half a second, more than enough for her to process the bomb I had just thrown directly to her face.
‘Er, mm, er, of course, you can. You go and e mail Ms Tiles for her to pass the matter to the Chair of governors.’
I like the sense of suspense in this piece which was clearly heightened by the trauma of the narrator, which you have also stated was a personal experience, which perhaps is reflected in your piece, as there seems to be so much raw emotions which I love. I liked the use of your language, such as the simile of the serpents but perhaps you could have stated at the end, what the matter at hand was, but I feel like that is just due to my captivation to know what is going to occur next now!
Dear Shanaz,
I am delighted to hear that you like my piece. This is part of a memoir I am writing, but it is going really slow. Please let me know where I could send you more as I write it.
Dayami
Hi,
So sorry for the late reply. On what media are you able to send me your next piece? I would love to read it,
Shanaz
Tears over her pillow. She can’t erase all the memories of the other man she slept with last night. Asking herself why? What had happened? So many questions that leads to tears of ocean. Calm, but meaningless. As she get up to bed and lit a cigarrete to exhale every sadness that she has. Wanting to start a new but she don’t know how to start or is it even worth starting over. Everything is falling as she finish her ciggarett still asking herself why. Until when she will ask, not until she emptied one case of her cigarret.
“But I can’t do this anymore.” The words that she will give every man who falls in love with her. For some reasons, man coming after her gives her fire and not an ordinary excitement. Some other word stronger than thrill. “Can no longer do this…” everytime an opportunity of a new life knock on her door. Always turn down. The truth is, even if she ask she already knew what is it that keeps her lie. She can’t even be honest to herself becasue she already knew it. Afraid of the history to happen again. Drowned by her own lake of anxiousness, she no longer wants to believe that being happy is even possible.
“Why?” she already knew it but keeps asking it. She can’t accept that she just created her own cage. Cage of insecurities, hatred, melancholy. Unending wandering, lifeless wandering about a thing that she already knew. She will be forever poisoned by the cage that she created by herself. Not knowing that the key is the answer that she already knew.
“Summer is still not over which annoys me. I’m not a huge fan of summer. I prefer…fall. It’s the perfect combination of warm and chilly, and it’s beautiful. All the leaves from the trees and plants change into multi-coloured works of art and fall away. The season is perfect for taking beautiful scenic pictures. It’s also the perfect time to start making hot cocoa, and lighting a fire in the fireplace. This season creates a sense of comfort, warmth and reflection. It’s the perfect season to spend time outdoors with my friends and family. I love it, and can’t wait for it’s arrival. Right now, the only thing I can do is wait.”
“I spend most of time reading. Sometimes in the library, sometimes in my room. It depends, if I have a ride. I’m writing a story on my laptop. I tried coming up with a title, but couldn’t figure it out. I guess I need help with the title of my story. I have ideas, which I write down in my journal. I plan it out and write it down. I guess I’ll just finish writing the story first.”
“Summer is still not over which annoys me. I’m not a huge fan of summer. I prefer…fall. It’s the perfect combination of warm and chilly, and it’s beautiful. All the leaves from the trees and plants change into multi-coloured works of art and fall away. The season is perfect for taking beautiful scenic pictures. It’s also the perfect time to start making hot cocoa, and lighting a fire in the fireplace. This season creates a sense of comfort, warmth and reflection. It’s the perfect season to spend time outdoors with my friends and family. I love it, and can’t wait for it’s arrival. Right now, the only thing I can do is wait.”
[All I can say is that it certainly won’t measure up to christih’s piece but I’m still desperate for feedback. It’s my immediate instinct to make a thousand excuses for the terrible quality of my writing but I’ll spare you what would undoubtedly be my endless babbling about nothing.]
I’ve never been a people person.
Except, the problem is, no one believes they are a people person. Every tiny interaction sets off such a spark of uncertainty and discomfort and uncontrollable brain-fidgets (because it’d be weird if you actually fidgeted, right? But shit, now you’re standing perfectly still. Are you breathing? Fuck, now you’re being so still it’s weird – and so on) that complete confidence around people is rendered impossible.
But I am exactly the opposite of a people person. Though I long for the comfort and solidarity and companionship of my friends and family and even strangers, I am more often than not entirely crippled by fear. I have had to excuse myself on many occasions to catch my breath in the bathroom because what the actual fuck am I doing talking to him he hates me I know he does I mean he’s never said anything to me about it but I mean I’m me there’s no way he doesn’t keep me around as some sick joke or something he’s just patronizing me and I’m a nuisance in his life and he’s too nice to tell me to get the hell out and I’m just gonna get the hell out and save him the trouble of having to tell me.
And there’s another friendship gone and destroyed by my social anxiety.
But her? She never seemed to set off the same chain reaction of destruction like everyone else did. I felt safe around her.
I was always half-convinced she kept a diagram of my vulnerable points in her pocket, complete with a set of needles to exploit them. She left nothing in question and yet left so many obscurities and discolored obscenities in her wake when she left that speaking to her felt like leaping into the deep end of the swimming pool – I was never brave enough to swim for the bottom but I loved the thrum of adrenaline in my veins when the water hit me and I couldn’t breathe. I watched her through a spiraling kaleidoscope and wished I could be like her and yet dreaded the day I would ever even resemble any part of her.
When she told me she loved me, I lied prone and still across the railroad tracks and listened raptly as her haunting whistle grew closer and closer with every passing moment.
And yet I felt safe around her. Her impossible problems were mountains I knew I couldn’t climb and there was nothing wrong with turning my attention the smaller hills presented by everyday stressors like homework and whether or not my crush on her (crush – I never understood quite why we called it that until I met her) meant I was gay or if I was just hopelessly fucked up. I could graph her highs and lows with a sine curve and ride them like bumps on a bike trail. I might wreck once in a while, but she’d help me up and assure me that if I’d just checked the tire pressure before I set out maybe I would still be okay.
I actually really LOVE this piece! I love how relatable this is, knowing I am a person who is socially anxious, and therefore this love hate relationship is intriguing. The only thing I can say, is at some points, the grammar needs to be checked, just the commas at several points. This did however add a spark of breathlessness to when I was reading, and made everything more fast paced, which is interesting, as I felt like I was the narrator of this piece, but I still do think that at some points you need to add commas. As there was a sentence which was about three-four lines long and I physically could not read that much in one breath (I was reading a loud as I wanted to hear the words). In terms of the way you write, I liked the whole extended metaphor/symbolism of being confined and some vehicle of some sort tying you down and pulling you off and somehow it was her as well – loved it!!! 😀
It was quite late and cold. She could see the full moon peeking from the trees as she walked through the woods in the dark, the flash light was the only other source of light besides the moon. She realised how stupid it was to come here in the middle of the night to look for her necklace, but it was precious to her and she really loved it which is why she was out of her house as soon as the realised that she had lost it and in the woods, looking for it in this dark and dangerous place. She felt like she saw someone or something from behind the trees from the corner of her eyes, but there seemed to nothing there once she looked closely. She could have sworn she saw something move but it might as well be her imagination since it was really quiet and no one was as stupid as her to actually come here at this hour. She was almost sure she was being paranoid as she kept looking back in that direction even as she walked away from there until she heard a loud crack somewhere, which awfully sounded like a twig breaking. She looked forward only to see nothing again. She felt something under her feet through her shoes to realised it was her who caused the sound by stepping on a twig. The trail where she lost her necklace was close. Now all she had to do was look for her necklace and once she found it, she could leave this dreaded place. She had never been really scared of these woods, since she had hiked these woods as a kid but this was the first time she was here at night. The woods looked different at night.
I found the exercise quite difficult, this is all I could write in 15 minutes.
Emrys:
She stared at the brink before her for some time. Beautiful trees surrounded her, they seemed to be as the titans of the ancient greeks. Towering above all around them as if they abhorred the state of humanity. In the wilderness, they were separate from those whom had shunned them. This is where she felt most comfortable, outside the circles of her kin who seemed to go mad in the name of “progress”. She had come here with one goal: to end her life. To stop the mad beating of the heartless heart who continued the existence in this Earth. But she could go on no longer, and after all, isn’t this the one unalienable right of all species? Everything that ever lived had to die, taking the decision to do so when we gre tired seemed to be the most rational thing to do. Taking the last two steps was simpler than she thought. It must’ve been the incessant practice she had in her own imagination. The fall felt was just as she had imagined. The end came to her, or so she hoped.
Darkness.
No form, no time, no space. There was nothing, yet there she was. In the back of her mind she knew that this would be the case. How could any of us think otherwise? From Nothing we came and to No-Thing we go, isn’t it obvious? We could’ve never existed if we hadn’t already existed. A circle, Eternity stretching on to either side and we were everywhere in the center. It was made known to her that she would be named Emrys and be born upon a fortunate family in this world. A family whom would unveil this Truth while she was in flesh.
Light.
Once again she had returned and as always amnesia had overtaken her.
I like the concept of this piece and I never would have guessed you were talking about amnesia but I instead thought you were talking about suicide throughout this but I liked the twist to the piece. The relatable aspect is very philosophical in terms of how the narrator seeks comfort that there is an eternity due to how nothing can come out of something (ex nihilo) but I do feel perhaps this either needs to be elaborated on more or there should be more to add to the narrator and her sense of comfort. I feel like the narrator should always be relatable to the reader and consequently this feeling of getting comfort out of the unknown should perhaps be elaborated on. Nevertheless, I like the specific line of “From Nothing we came and to No-Thing we go, isn’t it obvious?”
How would one know the difference between love and lust? Or do they go hand in hand? There is a sense of beauty in secrecy but to what extent, as is what is behind closed doors, good or bad? Is it rightful to keep these things hidden from society and their open doors? He would speak gently to you, thoughtfully, and tell you stories about how it should be like now and also in the future. You want to believe him and you feel like you have to believe him because he is ever so passionate in making you want to do so. This sense of desire yet disgust which you feel for him, has turned into endless phone calls and text messages, which you feel like you have to keep a secret. But why? Is it really because you feel like your family is going to disagree with this or is it because you know it is wrong, and you are doing so anyways? From the endless phone calls, which are spiraling through every evening, it turns into the endless checking of messages, but what is there even to show, if you are already talking to him most of the time anyways? Your friends are concerned; your parents are concerned about your mental health, and last of all you are concerned of yourself, due to your high academia decreasing speedily. What is there even to say anymore? There is a constant keyword endlessly tugging at your knotting mind: marriage. How could some people actually be ready for such a deadly word yet? I believe this dreadful word is a barrier to my open doors in the future, but right now there currently are no open doors and the sky is appearing cloudy with a weather forecast of rain with hints of thunder and rain. I feel like I need to be catapulted through the mist and slicing through the clouds, in order to reach the rainbow on the other side. I need the colours, which will soon mix together to form a new colour and thus make my final destination – but right now I am not quite there yet. Maybe I do need this push to make it to my final destination. Maybe this needs to stop being such a deathly secret and then I can get there and achieve my destination of where I belong.
She is standing at the window staring at the old man crossing the road. The old man is slow but steady as he takes the help of his stick to maintain the balance, and crosses the road finally. She is still looking as he turns to the left lane and gradually disappears. She loves to look outside her window, staring at nothing and trying hard not to think. She hates to think, she would rather love to forget that she has no answer to the hundreds of questions popping up in her mind. She is petrified. Her thoughts are once again coming back to her, in her mind, to where they belong. She wants to scream, but there is no one who she could ask for help. Her friends make fun of her and laugh that she is full of rubbish ideas.
She tries hard but she can’t stop herself from thinking. Its been years of struggle. She wants to have a great idea that she could work upon and start her own company. She has tried to do the same so many times, but none of her ideas work. Each time she gathers courage and starts afresh with the most promising idea that she has thought of, thinking that this particular idea is sure gonna work, she fails miserably. Her friends have started calling her names, some concerned ones suggest she should join back her previous company, but wait, her inner voice says, she is still not done. She thinks of yet another idea and feels like giving her best shot to it.
She has stopped meeting her “so called friends” now. Each time she fails, her mind is once again flooded with many more ideas. Should she keep following her dreams and see them crash one after the other or should she join back work? Is it wrong to chase your dream? She wants to become an entrepreneur and prove to the world that even after her 100 failed ideas, there is one such idea that will surely work for her. So, shall she keep trying till that one idea strikes her someday?
A young woman stumbles upon a dead body in the woods. She screams but then realizes that no one will hear her this far into the woods. She pulls out her phone, hoping for service but has none. She starts roaming the woods hoping to find a cabin or camp ground, But no luck. She walks back to where the body was. It wasn’t there. She begins to panic. Someone heard her scream. She starts running. Where? She doesn’t even know herself. She was so worried about getting away from there that she didn’t know she was actually running towards trouble. She stops to take a breather after running for some time. She’s looking around at her surroundings. She sees a warm glow. Shes starts to walk towards it. She stops at a cabin. She was hoping to find safety. She knocks on the door. After knocking for a while she gave up and started to leave. She hears movements from within the cabin. She turns around to see a man. “Can I help you?” He says with a deep tone. “Oh hello. I was just looking for some help, I was wandering the woods and got lost.” She says sweetly. The man nods and allows her into his home. Little did she know he was the one who put the body there. He was the murderer that went missing years ago. Little did she know that was her last day.
The roll of thunder shook the crystals dangling from the candle chandlers suspended high above, and then it vibrated the stonewalls and filled the sitting room. Phillip was resting on the Kline in front of the rock fireplace absently twirling her wedding bracelets with his index fingers. “I can’t believe it’s been five years since she told me her answer was no.”
He exhaled noisily as he sat up and dropped the jewelry on the wooden floor at his feet. The sudden movement elected a small twinge and he reached up and softly touched the wound on his neck. Instantly, thoughts started flooding his mind and images of last night’s events started tormenting him again.
The king got up, went to the window, and pushed open the shutters. He ran his fingers through his blonde hair revealing the wrinkles that ran across his forehead. He leaned forward, placed his elbows on the windowsill, pressed his puffy eyes and flushed cheek against the cool stones, and let his gaze wander towards the dark clouds forming in the sky.
As he stood there in the window, the relaxing music coming from the castle yard filled his ears.
He closed his eyes when he recognized that it was a lyre, and involuntarily thought back to another time when her sweet voice had sung along with identical musical notes.
After the memory of the tavern that he once had visited faded, he got an idea.
He turned from the window and glanced across the room, rapidly spotting what he was looking for. He crossed the room and stood looking down at it.
Then he sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of it and reached out, caressing the lid, dust covering his fingertips. After he had dusted his hands together, he again reached out and traced the white cross on a blue shield that had laurel branches surrounding it on the lid. The coat of arms of Greece he had proudly worn on his chest for the three years he served.
He lifted the brass latch that held the lid closed and the hinges creaked as he pushed it open. When he leaned over, the sweet lavender perfume and cinnamon tickled his senses, eliciting a sneeze.
The first thing his hand reached for are the daggers that were lying on top of his uniform that had been neatly folded inside years before. After a quick inspection, he laid them beside him on the floor as his eyes caught sight of a pouch that was lying half way under the clothing. He bit his bottom lip as he reached down and plucked the pouch out of the chest.
He laid the pouch in his lap hesitating to open it. An exasperated sigh escaped his lips as he grabbed the bottom of the pouch and emptied the contents into his lap. His fingers wandered over the trinkets and he picked out the seashells that he had found on their evening walks along the beach.
After setting them aside, he glanced over the last of the items noticing the dinars lying there. On the face of the coin, there was the image of the town of Amphipolis, the closest village to where they had docked their ship on the shores of the Aegean Sea.
A knock on the door interrupted his trip down memory lane.
“Come in.” He managed to say as his voice caught in his throat.
The door opened and his servant stepped inside. “Excuse me, my King, but I have a message from your General.”
His mood immediately perked up at the mention of her. He does not want to sound desperate so he waits a beat before he responded. “What does she want?” he finally asked.
The roughness of his voice made the man visibly winch and he revealed the information immediately. “She wanted to see you later this afternoon.” Then he turned and left.
For the first time that morning a huge smile found its place across his face and a giddy laugh escaped his throat, as he thought of the possibility of the meeting, might it be a change of heart on her part.
He immediately shoved all the stuff around him back in the truck and trotted off to his private baths to prepare for her arrival.
The roll of thunder shook the crystals dangling from the candle chandlers suspended high above, and then it vibrated the stonewalls and filled the sitting room. Phillip was resting on the Kline in front of the rock fireplace absently twirling her wedding bracelets with his index fingers. “I can’t believe it’s been five years since she told me her answer was no.”
He exhaled noisily as he sat up and dropped the jewelry on the wooden floor at his feet. The sudden movement elected a small twinge and he reached up and softly touched the wound on his neck. Instantly, thoughts started flooding his mind and images of last night’s events started tormenting him again.
The king got up, went to the window, and pushed open the shutters. He ran his fingers through his blonde hair revealing the wrinkles that ran across his forehead. He leaned forward, placed his elbows on the windowsill, pressed his puffy eyes and flushed cheek against the cool stones, and let his gaze wander towards the dark clouds forming in the sky.
As he stood there in the window, the relaxing music coming from the castle yard filled his ears.
He closed his eyes when he recognized that it was a lyre, and involuntarily thought back to another time when her sweet voice had sung along with identical musical notes.
After the memory of the tavern that he once had visited faded, he got an idea.
He turned from the window and glanced across the room, rapidly spotting what he was looking for. He crossed the room and stood looking down at it.
Then he sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of it and reached out, caressing the lid, dust covering his fingertips. After he had dusted his hands together, he again reached out and traced the white cross on a blue shield that had laurel branches surrounding it on the lid. The coat of arms of Greece he had proudly worn on his chest for the three years he served.
He lifted the brass latch that held the lid closed and the hinges creaked as he pushed it open. When he leaned over, the sweet lavender perfume and cinnamon tickled his senses, eliciting a sneeze.
The first thing his hand reached for are the daggers that were lying on top of his uniform that had been neatly folded inside years before. After a quick inspection, he laid them beside him on the floor as his eyes caught sight of a pouch that was lying half way under the clothing. He bit his bottom lip as he reached down and plucked the pouch out of the chest.
He laid the pouch in his lap hesitating to open it. An exasperated sigh escaped his lips as he grabbed the bottom of the pouch and emptied the contents into his lap. His fingers wandered over the trinkets and he picked out the seashells that he had found on their evening walks along the beach.
After setting them aside, he glanced over the last of the items noticing the dinars lying there. On the face of the coin, there was the image of the town of Amphipolis, the closest village to where they had docked their ship on the shores of the Aegean Sea.
A knock on the door interrupted his trip down memory lane.
“Come in.” He managed to say as his voice caught in his throat.
The door opened and his servant stepped inside. “Excuse me, my King, but I have a message from your General.”
His mood immediately perked up at the mention of her. He does not want to sound desperate so he waits a beat before he responded. “What does she want?” he finally asked.
The roughness of his voice made the man visibly winch and he revealed the information immediately. “She wanted to see you later this afternoon.” Then he turned and left.
For the first time that morning a huge smile found its place across his face and a giddy laugh escaped his throat, as he thought of the possibility of the meeting, might it be a change of heart on her part.
He immediately shoved all the stuff around him back in the truck and trotted off to his private baths to prepare for her arrival.
How I went to Hackathon
Early morning, I woke up and began to going to the train. In my childhood, every trip was something awesome, full of expectations. But now I’m 21 and I have lost this gift to look at the world with children’s eyes. I have really few things to impress me.
Hackathon – “What?” I thought, for a second … But in fact, I did not even think what it is, and why I’m going to another region, in Ternopol. The only thing I wanted to do was just go somewhere.
The less you expect – the more you get. How it works sometimes. And this is how it worked this time. At 13 o’clock I arrived in the city, the impressions of which were quite positive. From this hour I found myself in a crowd of people unfamiliar to me, but this did not disturb me at all. Surprisingly, I felt comfortable, as if I had caught a wave of calm and confidence, and it played an important role the next few days.
We came to our base. Settled down. Now we have gathered in the conference room for acquaintance; gradually I start to understand what we will do here, but I still do not understand what it can give me.
In the evening I spent my time wonderfully. I met a lot of interesting people, and just enjoyed having fun time. In the morning we had to start work on creating projects.
We were divided into 6 groups and, as they say, accidents are not accidental; I was part of the best group of all. Not so much I was captured by our project, which we developed, as by a constant work in the group, and constant communication with the cool people. Also, besides this, I have gained the experience and knowledge that I want to use and not put far into the shelf.
All of the above was not just simply. This trip has affected me. Influenced by the way I began to look at my kind of occupation that I wanted to do. I am now motivated as never before, I want to create and act, and do it with pleasure.
I want to finish with a slogan that was true for me: “Expect less – get more, but keep on developing.”
Women are not just WoMEN
It’s a beautiful village in the pleasant dawn, dew drops on the yet tobborn buds. A young woman started from her home to fetch water. One the way to the river,she stumbled across a dead body in the woods. She was shocked!
The dead body was a little girl who was heavily wounded , she had nail markings and scars all over her body, her face was also smashed. At first the young woman thought that, some cruel animal would have been attacked her but only later she realized it was not the animal that tampered her but a group of inhumane monsters! She doesn’t know what to do. It is still dark and no one was out there to help her.
The little one would have been tortured so much, the way she looked was horrible,half naked,scars and scratches, she no more looked like the little innocent girl. The woman couldn’t stop the number of thoughts running over her mind. Who is this little one? Where did she come from? What wrong she did? Why this have been done to her? But the questions were unanswered. She couldn’t even imagine herself in the place of the little girl, the mere thought itself haunted her. But here it was all done. Why did they do this to a little one when there are lots of women in the Village? However this cruelty should never been done even to the worst enemy.
Meanwhile, the Sun was up above the horizon and people started to walk past the woods, some stood there spreading rumors about the incident and some felt pity of the dead girl. Soon they cleared the body and everything was fine within minutes. The young woman went on with her work. While coming back she heard some unusual noises, the voices of the victims of rape, shouting for help! She felt the pain and fear in the voices that nobody is going to lend a hand.
The woman stood there with a powerful determination, she took a daunting decision of being the first person to help those soundless voices. She’s now returning home but she’ll come again. She’ll come again ferociously in that crack of dawn to find those beasts and give them the pay for their dirty deed. Women are not just women!
The roll of thunder shook the crystals dangling from the candle chandlers suspended high above, and then it vibrated the stonewalls and filled the sitting room. Phillip was resting on the Kline in front of the rock fireplace absently twirling her wedding bracelets with his index fingers. “I can’t believe it’s been five years since she told me her answer was no.”
He exhaled noisily as he sat up and dropped the jewelry on the wooden floor at his feet. The sudden movement elected a small twinge and he reached up and softly touched the wound on his neck. Instantly, thoughts started flooding his mind and images of last night’s events started tormenting him again.
The king got up, went to the window, and pushed open the shutters. He ran his fingers through his blonde hair revealing the wrinkles that ran across his forehead. He leaned forward, placed his elbows on the windowsill, pressed his puffy eyes and flushed cheek against the cool stones, and let his gaze wander towards the dark clouds forming in the sky.
As he stood there in the window, the relaxing music coming from the castle yard filled his ears.
He closed his eyes when he recognized that it was a lyre, and involuntarily thought back to another time when her sweet voice had sung along with identical musical notes.
After the memory of the tavern that he once had visited faded, he got an idea.
He turned from the window and glanced across the room, rapidly spotting what he was looking for. He crossed the room and stood looking down at it.
Then he sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of it and reached out, caressing the lid, dust covering his fingertips. After he had dusted his hands together, he again reached out and traced the white cross on a blue shield that had laurel branches surrounding it on the lid. The coat of arms of Greece he had proudly worn on his chest for the three years he served.
He lifted the brass latch that held the lid closed and the hinges creaked as he pushed it open. When he leaned over, the sweet lavender perfume and cinnamon tickled his senses, eliciting a sneeze.
The first thing his hand reached for are the daggers that were lying on top of his uniform that had been neatly folded inside years before. After a quick inspection, he laid them beside him on the floor as his eyes caught sight of a pouch that was lying half way under the clothing. He bit his bottom lip as he reached down and plucked the pouch out of the chest.
He laid the pouch in his lap hesitating to open it. An exasperated sigh escaped his lips as he grabbed the bottom of the pouch and emptied the contents into his lap. His fingers wandered over the trinkets and he picked out the seashells that he had found on their evening walks along the beach.
After setting them aside, he glanced over the last of the items noticing the dinars lying there. On the face of the coin, there was the image of the town of Amphipolis, the closest village to where they had docked their ship on the shores of the Aegean Sea.
A knock on the door interrupted his trip down memory lane.
“Come in.” He managed to say as his voice caught in his throat.
The door opened and his servant stepped inside. “Excuse me, my King, but I have a message from your General.”
His mood immediately perked up at the mention of her. He does not want to sound desperate so he waits a beat before he responded. “What does she want?” he finally asked.
The roughness of his voice made the man visibly winch and he revealed the information immediately. “She wanted to see you later this afternoon.” Then he turned and left.
For the first time that morning a huge smile found its place across his face and a giddy laugh escaped his throat, as he thought of the possibility of the meeting, might it be a change of heart on her part.
He immediately shoved all the stuff around him back in the truck and trotted off to his private baths to prepare for her arrival.
I am tired. Don’t misunderstand. It’s not that I am overworked or tired from lack of sleep. I am tired because I know too much. I have seen too much. What is that old kid’s song? Knowledge is power. That may be true but power is draining. The world is not as it seems. The naturals, that’s what we call them, spend their time worrying about paying bills and buying cars with the right safety features for their children. They have no idea what could happen. I am glad for them.
…
I am no longer a natural. I am not an elite. The elite were made. I was born a natural and altered. I could pass for the elite by looks. We are given genetically “pleasing” features, tall, symmetrical eyes, not too far apart, not too close together, full lips, high metabolism etc. We look like the equivalent of a suburban housing development with an HOA that restricts the color of paint and brick to three types and colors. We look generic without character but pleasing.
From the prompt:
A young woman/man stumbles across a dead body in the woods. What does she/he do?
On one cool Saturday morning, Sam began his weekly hike with an expectation to finish before noon today. He was late to the lunch with his wife for past couple weeks since the hike took longer than Sam expected. He parked his car in Point Trailhead parking lot and began walking to the hike entrance which was about 15 minutes away from the lot. It was about three to five hour hike afterwards depending on the physique of the person.
As Sam diligently walked up the hike trail he reminisced the light that was flowing through the leaves of the trees. Sounds of birds chirping and squirrels running around added to sweetness of the experience.
‘This is why I go hiking. Sweet smell of woods, sounds of birds, and sweetness in nature itself,’ Sam thought.
Sam had been hiking this trail for about two years now ever since he was introduced to it through his close friend Daniel.
It seemed as just couple minutes passed by, Sam felt a heavy air and it was more silent than he has experienced.
‘Something’s off,’ he thought.
He looked around and far away, right by the trunk of a tree he vaguely spotted a hand. A human hand! He cautiously walked toward the tree. Going around the tree that are two to three trunks away from the hand, he saw a woman in hiking clothes laying on the ground. Sam ran to the body and checked her pulse. She was cold.
‘I need to call for help!’ Sam thought and he rushed to his emergency phone. When he pressed the red button on the phone, it immediately dialed 911.
“This is 911 what is the situation?” a recipient answered.
“Hi, This is Sam McKay and I was hiking at Point Trailhead trail. There’s a dead woman laying in the wood and I need someone here quickly,” Sam informed.
“Okay sir, I’ll send a team right over. Could you tell me the exact location?” recipient asked.
“This is about 9 minutes into the trail by walking,” Sam informed the recipient.
I stood in the corner as I always do, watching my father gamble with my life. A part of me was worried what would happen when he lost, but the other part was eager. Usually he would leave the table with a full bag of gold tied to his waist. Not tonight though. Tonight he would no longer have his greatest bargaining chip. Me.
“I wager ten pieces of gold,” said the dingy pirate scum that my father always hung around with. “And I’ll buy that girl a drink.” He pointed at me. “And maybe a room for the night,” he added cackling.
“Your ten, add twenty,” said another. This man had a hood over his head. I tried to catch his eye but he turned his head toward my father.
“Alright boys,” my father said. I had his speech practically memorized. “You want to make this interesting, listen up.
“See that beautiful lass over there in the corner?” He pointed at me. Heads turned my direction. I have never gotten used to that.
The dingy pirate smirked.
“She’s my daughter, and I know exactly what kinds of thoughts you’re thinking about her right this second.”
The dingy pirate shifted uncomfortably, but the man in the hood simply stared at me.
“Either I slit your throat right now for thinking about her that way, or you bet all your gold. If you win, you can take her home to do with whatever you want.”
The pirate dropped his jaw. “Ye be serious are ye?”
“Serious,” said my father.
“Well be done with it then! I bet everything I have. Two hundred pieces of gold.”
“I’ll match that,” the hooded man said.
“Let the dice fall then,” said my father. “Shall I have the first go? Three sixes.”
And around the table the men called what they believed the dice showed. The dingy pirate was the first to lose. Men got careless when my father brought me into the betting pool. But not the hooded man. My father did not know what he was up against.
“Six twos,” my father said.
“Liar,” the man said in almost a whisper.
The men revealed their cups. My father had four twos, the hooded man had none.
“No! My father yelled, and he watched horror struck as the man took his gold, strode over to where I was standing, and led me out of the pub.
As a part of Asian Immigration community living in Chicago, English has a different point of view for me. Before arriving to American, only wealthy families or educated families have the rights to learn English. Although I did not consider myself rich, but I got the chance to learn speaking and reading in English in learning centers. I adapted different accent from teachers all around the world with accents such as Polish, British, Indian, and Australian. But I did not have many times to practice my English because English is not a very popular second language when I was studying, people communicated with national language. Based on that education I received, I passed the IELTS with a scoring of 7.0 but with 6.0 only for writing and speaking.
After I arrived to America, the English I long proud of, is now considered to myself a broken English. I realized that I could not speak fluently enough as an native speaker, but at the same time I was receiving an college education where everyone speak an common ground of one language- English. Slowly, I began to grow a self low-esteem, and it had me disconnected in social life. I refused to speak as I scared that he/she or they would laugh at me. As inside my community, where I lived, they never used English to communicate. Small community speaking native language which is Vietnamese.
A young woman/man stumbles across a
dead body in the woods. What does she/he do?
It is cold; the afternoon sun is sinking behind the Sequoias. Holding my arms across my chest, I shiver keeping pace with the shadowing light. I’m not watching where my feet are, and I slip into a small gully nearly flat on my face; had something solid yet at the same time soft not blunt my fall. I look down, is that long hair beneath a gray knitted cap? It’s a body lying face down in a ball covered with forest debris. I’m suddenly afraid, and the urge to run for my life overwhelms my senses; the killer might be lurking in these woods. Wait, what if it’s not dead and needs help? Before I can decide the shadows become night and I quickly feel for the mini flash light packed inside my parka breathing a sigh of relief as my fingers touch the cold metal. But the feeling of well being quickly dissipates as I shine my light onto the faceless head of hair and see……….
I froze. What was I looking at? I stared for a long time, studying the shape and colors. Then it hit me, knocking the breath from me. This was a person. A person. Their flesh already had a mottled look, parts were missing and their face and neck looked like it had been mauled by some creature. The air that had been knocked out suddenly came roaring back into my lungs, then released again in an earsplitting scream. I turned and began fumbling back through the woods, branches and brush tearing at my hair and clothes. I tried to shut out what I’d just seen but the sight was burned into the back of my eyelids and he smell coated the inside of my nose and throat. I gagged and stopped short to vomit, leaning against an ancient oak. I tried catching my breath, wiping my mouth on he back of my sleeve. I finally got my breathing under control and took stock of my surroundings. I didn’t remember this part of the forest on my nature walk that brought me to the corpse. I glanced up to see the position of the sun to possibly get my bearings. A sudden silence and chill fell over the forest. The birds and insects chirping and humming had abruptly ceased. I glanced around, peering around the tree and spotted a large cloaked figure through a small copse of saplings. There was no where to run without drawing attention to myself.
Once upon a time there was a young boy who was very happy helping old people also the disabled people a day one of the days he saw an old man working the middle of the road where cars passes very fast and the boy run to save the old man who is in danger to hit a car, fortunately he met and hold his hand and said uncle this is very danger place move aside, the old man said my son you are very good boy you saved my live because i couldn’t recognize whether a cars road or people’s road because i can’t see, and i don’t have a boy or a girl who will take me to the market, people used to help me but nowadays they got bored to help me, the old man said what ever you like and where ever you like to go your children can do it for you they will not leave you alone, the young boy got emotional tears and said uncle where is your house? the old man answered and gave the address of his house and the young boy said dear uncle don’t worry from now on i am like your son i will help you do what ever you like every day i am here for you
Hi! I’m /super/ new to writing so this isn’t going to be the greatest as my writing/ grammar is a bit choppy but i would really appreciate some feedback. Thanks!
The needle poked through my skin. There was a sharp pain that someone who’s not used to it would wince at; The kind of pain that you would slightly tear up at. Though, I don’t wince nor tear up, I’m used to the pain. Everyday a needle in against my skin. Yet I know if I don’t handle it, I will not live. My life depends on this pain and these pokes. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven units of medicine. “Make sure to eat,” my mother says to me, a concerned tone in her voice. I eat and I eat and I eat. Sometimes i wonder if it’s my fault that i have to do these things. Sometimes i wonder if I cursed myself with insecurity. But I’m still alive, and I’ll keep fighting.
Please note that every reader is different, so what some readers like, others don’t. Personally to me – there is too much description at the very beginning. You are just rehashing the same thing over and over. When you get to the part about your life depending on it, I, as a reader, think: oh, this is interesting, tell me more. But you don’t. Also not sure how food comes into play (it is not entirely obvious). Also, how does life relate to insecurity?
I hope this helps.
Tzath walked up to the fortress gate. The fortress was actually outside Tsageri proper, a jumble of stone walls on a rocky promontory. Looking back from the height he could see the road and river crossing that made Tsageri a trading center and also a good place for a fortress. Times were calm, so the garrison was small and the gate was open. Seeing no one, he walked into the gate and nearly bumped into a guard in the shadows, who asked, “Help you, sir?”
Tzath asked, “Where can I find the monk Maximus? I was told he is living in or near the fortress.”
The soldier looked Tzath up and down, then said, “The heretic monk and his friends are in the old tanner’s house up the road a bit. You can find it by the smell.” He chuckled, but with a frown. “Are you a heretic too?”
” The moon’s shinning glare made it’s way into the room . At first; I felt nothing
happening but; the vision of the moon light over powered me. Once bitten, I thought to myself. The idea, of humans transforming into crazy wolf like creatures, was insane. ” What a joke! ” I so thought but; reality quickly over
come my doubt. Broken down over a table, the growing pains of tranforming
took shape.”
I’m alone in my room, listened my favorite music while my body is lying down on my bed. The bed which is almost the same of my age that came from my granny. I could almost see the stars that shining on the dark sky that tried to comes out to my open window. It was a window which is made up of coconut wood and bamboo tree having a wide opening. Many people noticed our house since it’s different from the usual house in our barrio. And I agree with them every time they will say that it’s so enjoying and comfortable to stay in our house. We are surrounded by sugar cane and with a variety of trees that mostly mango trees. It was already eleven o’clock in the evening and I am supposed to be sleeping on that time but there is something that made me think. I could not explain what I have felt a few days ago. There was someone who is bothering me and he is Leandro. I met him unexpectedly one day afternoon when I am on my way to home. He was introduced my friend Margaret. At first he doesn’t even get my attention although he was a kind of man you can display anywhere and brag to anyone. He has a broad shoulder and a firm chest, with muscles that suited to his height which is almost 5 feet and nine inches tall. A kind of a man that you will feel safe and secured once you are with his arms. He smiled with me the same with his eyes that really speaks even its not. Once you see him you cannot resist giving a second look. Especially when he speaks, he sounds like a real man and he talks with dignity. Lately, he was always on my mind I really want to see him often because it brought too much joy in me. I am so excited every day and I was disturbed by his courtship, love letters, smiles, and eventually his presence. I think I’m in love with him. It is a great feeling ever, something that you can treasure, and makes you smile even you are alone. But I believe in destiny that if we are really meant for each other I know that God will make a way for us.
There were some people who will come to your life that and you will think that really meant for you. A person that makes your heart beat so fast yet makes you cry. And somebody who will say you “I hope you will find a guy who will love you not as dearer as what I have but as real as what I feel” Is this love?
Here’s my story-
May/June 1768
I sit here in my quarters comprising of a mug, a plate and a pile of dried Zelkova leaves where I am writing this. Which hour of which day it is I am not aware. For starters, my name is Paul Okonji. I was very mercilessly snatched away from my family a few weeks ago. Many of our tribe were through coercion packed in hundreds and shipped off to Europe by a group of white people. I had often heard frightening tales of Africans being taken away by the whites as slaves, but had never in my worst nightmare thought of being that African. Where my sisters and brothers are I do not know, and the truth is I don’t want to know. Lest I find out the state of their hapless misery I might end my life!
These diabolical white masters roam around in a wagon with their eagle eyes and dangerous whip, ready to peel our skins off any moment we take a break. They make us work like donkeys all day long.My slumbers of late have been disturbed and twice I have been whipped and trashed for showing signs of lethargy.
The hygienic conditions are worse than that in our villages. I’ve heard stories of fatal maladies ranging from dysentery to blindness. We work and live under inhumane conditions where our food and beds are shared by rats and rodents alike. Food is a luxury. We are fed two times a day; before sunrise and after sunset. It’s a meagre meal of, sweet potatoes or maize and sometimes mackerel.
.
My quarters are shared by two other men both of despondent and taciturn disposition. Despite the silence that ensues after each meal and day I have come to known that we’ve been here for four days. They tell me that no escape whatsoever is possible. We are stuck in this awful place for the rest of our days! Oh Lord! How and why such horrible circumstances beset me I do not know.
All I want is to see light again. To see my family again. To be a child and be in my mother’s arms again; to be a brother and embrace my sister again; to be a boy and play again; to be a man and live again!
‘Oh, how horribly cold it is! I wish mom had never dropped me off at her rotten sister’s “country home”. How cheap it even sounds! Country home. You have roll your mouth like this kuh-un-tree. Ew. Just, no. I have so much to do! I have to buy a new dress for Sunday’s dinner with Ron; catch up on Gossip Girl – WAIT, what am I stepping on?’
Kashmira, who’d been walking through the woods, looked down.
“Aaarrrrgh! No, no, no, NO! Help! Help! Mummy!”
The girl screamed bloody murder, until, she felt, her tiny tonsils could take no more of the rapid oscillations she imagined that they did inside her neck. She clutched her throat and gawked, again, imagining her eyes to be bulging, at the dead body of a woman. Her head was caked with mud, with tufts of red hair showing here and there. She was wearing a denim jacket, and jeans, and – Kashmira heaved over and vomited before anything else could be made out.
“This is HELL!” She screeched, cursing her fate with a raised fist.
This story is funny, well done bringing humour into a creepy situation.
The 2nd paragraph (1 single line starting with Kashmira) breaks up the story, doesn’t flow well between the two scenes. I would shrink it to “Kashmira, looked down” and combine this line with the paragraph above.
The last line is hilarious, I bet it was “hell”. Well done.
Short Story of mine i did a long time ago:
There is an eighteen year old boy who has been fighting since he was only fifteen years old. His name is Freddie Long Legs. Boxing has been in his family for generations, its a tradition past down to the next generation. Freddie’s Grandfather was the first Native American Indian to ever compete in the Olympics of boxing.
A boxing tournament was coming up for Freddie Long Legs; he’d been waiting for this day, for a long time. He has to fight Larry, a big guy with muscles. Freddie’s father, Gary Long Legs is his coach. The tournament was finally here, it was time for Freddie, Gary, Larry and his father to sit down in front of the cameras and reporters.
“Freddie, so I have heard that you have never been to the Olympics, is this true?” asked the female reporter.
“Yes,” said Freddie Long Legs.
“Where did you learn to fight?” asked the male reporter.
“Well I beat up this big cow boy on the Reservation, showed him a thing or too, also my Grandfather was the first Native American to ever compete in the Olympics of boxing from his tribe,” said Freddie Long Legs.
“Who is your Grandfather?” asked the male reporter.
“Black Cloud,” said Freddie Long Legs proudly.
“Well I’m not a cow boy, I am the nearest good thing there ever was,” said Larry.
“Hey Larry, when are you going to take him out?” asked the female reporter.
“When am I going to take him out? When you beg me for more….then I’ll take him out,” smiled Larry.
“Freddie what do you have to say about that?” asked the male reporter.
“A big mouth is a sign of fear and ignorance,” said Freddie Long Legs.
Larry jumped out of his chair and yelled.
“I’ll take you on right now, Tonto! You, the Lone Ranger, Silver, your hold dang posse!” shouted Larry.
Freddie just smiled; Larry and his father went to their locker room as did Freddie and his father.
“How are you feeling?” asked Gary.
“Good,” said Freddie taking a breath.
“Are you ready?” asked Gary.
“I am ready,” said Freddie.
Gary brought down a box off of a shelf above them and opened it.
“This was your Grandfather’s, I want you to have it, that’s if you want it,” said Gary Long Legs.
Freddie looked at his father and smiled, then they both walked out into the arena.
“Good luck son,” said Gary Long Legs.
The bell rang.
“Touch gloves?” asked the referee.
So they touched gloves.
“This will be the last time your gloves ever touch mine,” smiled Larry.
“We’ll see about that,” said Freddie Long Legs.
The bell rang again.
“FIGHT!” shouted the referee.
They started fighting, Larry kept hitting and pushing Freddie into the corner.
“Put your hands up son, hit him with your right!” shouted Gary Long Legs.
The bell rang again, Larry went to his corner, and Freddie went to his.
“He’s strong,” Freddie catching his breath.
“Your strong, he does not have what it takes, remember who you are fighting for?” asked Gary Long Legs.
“Apache Nation,” said Freddie Long Legs.
“Good, now take deep breaths, suck in some air,” said Gary.
The bell rang.
“It’s my turn,” said Freddie.
“FIGHT!” shouted the referee.
They started fighting, Larry was still pushing and punching Freddie into the corner again. Finally Freddie pushed Larry and got into the center of the arena and faced Larry.
Larry kept punching Freddie, and backing him into the corner, finally Freddie Long Legs started to growl, and show his teeth, there were native women chanting, drums being played, men chanting, then Freddie quickly moved to the left and hit Larry from behind. Then he just started beating on him as he was growling, everybody jumped up and started cheering, and yelling Freddie, Freddie. Gary just looked and smiled and was very proud.
Larry dropped to his knees and fell over, Freddie stopped growling and dropped his hands, everybody started cheering and clapping, Freddie started to look around and the native women and men, and the drums had stopped, he could finally hear the crowd. Gary came running inside the arena and gave him a huge hug and smiled.
“Where’s the Olympics anyways,” smiled Freddie.
They both laughed and walked to their locker room.
“You don’t even know when it happens do you?” asked Gary.
“What, what happens in the ring, I don’t know, I just fight,” said Freddie Long Legs.
“Crossing into the Spirit world is a very powerful thing, they have chosen you, figure out why they call you?” asked Gary.
“Great, I thought only medicine men had to deal with this,” laughed Freddie Long Legs.
“Let’s go home,” smiled Gary Long Legs.
So they packed all their belongings and went home.
Freddie Long Legs never did go to the Olympics, as he got older he had a wife, a son and a daughter. His son wanted to be a fighter also. So Freddie taught him everything he knew about boxing.
The years have come and gone, Freddie Long Legs is now a Grandfather himself. He tells his grandchildren stories that were told to him long ago by his father who herd them from his father and great Grandfather. Freddie Long Legs was 80 years old when he died.
“God said it was time for him to come home, He has a plan for us all either we know it or not, we do not know when our time is coming only He does. But the question is? Are you ready?
Hello, I am just starting out on my writing journey. I think I have an idea, now I am just trying to commit it to paper. This is very rough and I simply set my timer at 15 minutes and started writing. So this is by no means edited or even finished. But please let me know your thoughts.
– I am not leaving for long; I will be back just as soon as I can – Henri looks at Marian, trying to convey the feelings that the words just cannot.
– – Why does it always feel so short when we are together? Why does it seems that I cannot speak fast enough, I cannot look long enough.
Marian looks around at the crisp white starched table covers, small crystal glasses, immaculately polished tableware. It almost feels like she is trying to commit every single detail of this restaurant setting to memory. There is the usual lunch buzz, people chatting, children crying, waiters rushing and dodging the tables with orders.
Amongst this chaos, Marian looks at Henri and tries to commit each detail of his face to memory, as if for the last time; his slightly unkempt brown hair, his slightly unshaven face, his dark eyes looking at her. Marian takes in the small scar which he has over his right eye brow, which he knows he got when he was skating as a child – in that life which happened before her. She raises her eyes to his and tries to convey all the emotions that she is feeling and which she cannot express, for which she cannot find the words and, maybe, for which no words would be sufficient.
It seems like they are the only people at that moment, despite the restaurant being pretty full. Marian hopes that her eyes show the love and not the deep longing and the utter devastation at the goodbyes that are coming just too abruptly.
And then they are out on the street, walking, not quite touching, although close enough to feel each other through the clothes. Marian almost thinks that they are afraid to touch, as that will open up a whole dam of feelings and force them to talk about things for which neither of them is prepared.
– Please do not be sad, I miss you already. Henri is facing her now. He places his hand on the side of Marian’s face, holding it there just for a second. Then his hand glides down to her hand and lingers there.
– I do not want this to end. Marian is holding his gaze, holding on lightly to his fingers. She know that once they break contact he is gone.
And then he turns around and walks away. Marian lifts her head, rearranges her face into one that – she hopes – does not betray the longing that she feels and walks the other direction. Half way up the block she turns. Marian can just see Henri walking, head stooped low, hands in the pockets of his pants, moving inevitably away.
Marian takes in every detail of her surroundings and tries to commit this to memory. She does not know how long she will have to hold on to this memory this time around. Marian shakes her head, smiles and enters the building.
Hello, I am just starting out on my writing journey. I think I have an idea, now I am just trying to commit it to paper. This is very rough and I simply set my timer at 15 minutes and started writing. So this is by no means edited or even finished. But please let me know your thoughts.
– I am not leaving for long; I will be back just as soon as I can – Henri looks at Marian, trying to convey the feelings that the words just cannot.
– – Why does it always feel so short when we are together? Why does it seems that I cannot speak fast enough, I cannot look long enough.
Marian looks around at the crisp white starched table covers, small crystal glasses, immaculately polished tableware. It almost feels like she is trying to commit every single detail of this restaurant setting to memory. There is the usual lunch buzz, people chatting, children crying, waiters rushing and dodging the tables with orders.
Amongst this chaos, Marian looks at Henri and tries to commit each detail of his face to memory, as if for the last time; his slightly unkempt brown hair, his slightly unshaven face, his dark eyes looking at her. Marian takes in the small scar which he has over his right eye brow, which he knows he got when he was skating as a child – in that life which happened before her. She raises her eyes to his and tries to convey all the emotions that she is feeling and which she cannot express, for which she cannot find the words and, maybe, for which no words would be sufficient.
It seems like they are the only people at that moment, despite the restaurant being pretty full. Marian hopes that her eyes show the love and not the deep longing and the utter devastation at the goodbyes that are coming just too abruptly.
And then they are out on the street, walking, not quite touching, although close enough to feel each other through the clothes. Marian almost thinks that they are afraid to touch, as that will open up a whole dam of feelings and force them to talk about things for which neither of them is prepared.
– Please do not be sad, I miss you already. Henri is facing her now. He places his hand on the side of Marian’s face, holding it there just for a second. Then his hand glides down to her hand and lingers there.
– I do not want this to end. Marian is holding his gaze, holding on lightly to his fingers. She know that once they break contact he is gone.
And then he turns around and walks away. Marian lifts her head, rearranges her face into one that – she hopes – does not betray the longing that she feels and walks the other direction. Half way up the block she turns. Marian can just see Henri walking, head stooped low, hands in the pockets of his pants, moving inevitably away.
Marian takes in every detail of her surroundings and tries to commit this to memory. She does not know how long she will have to hold on to this memory this time around. Marian shakes her head, smiles and enters the building.
Very simple and detailed.
Well, I first of all make research and know what others has already written about a particular topic.
I now list out my points and begin to write
Trixie’s foray into the woods that day began as these stories often do. She skipped along the tacky path, blond ponytails, bound in red velvet bows, springing with each step. Her lightly freckled cheeks were dimpled by her smile, her blue eyes twinkled, and she rubbed a stick along the creviced trees like she would her rainbow xylophone at home. Trixie’s voice rang cheerfully throughout the maples “Tra la la, tra la la, de, da, da.”
The sun’s dusty rays pierced through the forest, lighting Trixie’s path, and yet creating swarthy voids better left unoccupied by a wee girl such as her. The forest compost and coolness mingled in a usual earthy scent. Her bubble gum popped occasionally between choruses of her repeated tune.
Her right foot landed in a squishy spot, putrid ooze squirted about. Her left foot missed its mark and her bottom found the forest floor with a thump. Her expression lost is gayness and her neatly pressed dress quickly changed from blue to goo. Trixie let out a shout.
Scrambling backwards crabwalk style, Trixie’s back found a trunk. She slid up the ancient tree, moss further staining her dress. Then she turned and ran the way she came, the eyes akin to hers stared lifeless at her wake.
Maggots dropped from Trixie’s dress littering the ground like the breadcrumb trail Hansel and Gretel left. Round and round Trixie went panting with tears staining her ashen cheeks. Brambles further marred her dress and scratched her perfect skin. Her once tidy pigtails now resembled a birds nest twigs and all. She ran and ran and ran until her little legs gave out. Trixie sat upon the ground and pulled her knees to her chest. She laid her cheek to knobby knee and squinted her eyes shut. She rocked herself back and forth her sobs the only sound. Then from behind her came a shadow not quite right. The birds had all ceased their calls, the air was still, and Trixie’s arms shivered with goose bumps.
The shadow slithered and slurped up all the light – a black hole amongst the bushes, sure to increase Trixie’s plight. As the chasm approached a rosy hued aura materialized around the girl. With a flash so bright a burned image of the forest’s shadows would linger in your eye, her spirit swept away the dark leaving naught but a girl like shell.
My story of “miracles”
Every day one hears of personal stories of miracles…
Is there room for one more?
I say: ” Of course !”
Just about every story that came into my life I chose to read… many tears later- I so understand. Beautiful! Life changing!
So- with every story there is a beginning.
Once upon a time…
Sigh- this is not a fairy tail!
I have to laugh at myself, I am not a writer but a good story teller… at least I have been told that.
I loved movies and books that started- “Once upon a time… ” I would get so excited, I guess that’s the kid in me.
Ok- deep breath, I’ll start in my mid twenties.
Yes! That’s a good place to start!
Before that time will take another story to write…
Yes! We all have stories to tell and crosses in our closet.
Oops- did I just write that? Yes indeed!
Something in my heart compelled me to write this… so after I write about my miracles I will share my personal memoirs.
Ok- where were we? Oh – yes.
I have to get comfortable.
I’m sitting at my patio table surrounded by my pretty flowers and shrubs, with some, well, gone- the deer decided to enjoy a lush dinner…
I used to get so upset- all this work and passion of planting to enjoy…
I’ve learned to plant mother natures beautiful plants that the deer do not like.
One time they ate some while still in their containers I bought them in- really?
We learn…
I breathe in deeply and enjoy my surroundings. I take a sip from my glass of water and my eyes stroll down my yard…
Oh- the beauty of Mother Nature, there is no better artist than her!
I picture my first encounter…
I’ve been given the gift of recalling certain moments in my life in pictures, vivid pictures.
I love to take you there.
Oops, I guess 15 min are up.
Perhaps tomorrow I’ll write 15 min. more.
Hopefully I will get to write my miracles.
Fiona’s boots made gentle muffled thuds as she navigated the narrow path. The forest was damp and lush, the path with a natural layer of decomposing matter which barely acknowledged her foot prints as she passed through. Mack, her heeler, trotted beside her when he could. He was occasionally distracted by a hidden smell, taking a moment to examine it like a detective with his magnifying glass.
The light was dim because of the thick canopy but the sun was bright, showing dappled patches of light on the lower trees.
Fiona was not really fully present. She had only been on the path for 20 minutes or so, and it always took time for the gentle quiet forest to settle her mind down. She was thinking about work, about Grant, ruminating and letting it all turn over in her mind like compost, seeing what was going on the bottom layers.
And suddenly her attention was snapped back into the present.
The shape, ahead just off the path.
Still.
Her breath came quick and shallow as her mind tried to process. Mack’s ears were alert and he trotted ahead, she called him back, trying her most enticing voice but it came thin and high, alerting him further.
She quickly realised there was no danger in the large shape on the ground. But what had brought it there? Was there something else, someone else still around? It was so disconcerting to run into one other person out here when you felt you were so alone.
As she approached she heard the word ‘horse’ in her mind. Was it? Dark shining haunch, tangled tail, still legs. What on earth was it doing here?
A snap and a flurry off to the left in the scrub had her crying out, hand to chest, heart racing in the moment before she saw the wallaby fleeing. Mack looked like he might chase but she had his focus back on her in a moment, they practised that all the time, she couldn’t take him on hikes if he hunted the small animals.
Her body was on fire with the confusion and surprise of the last few minutes and she attempted to slow her breathing by force, the exhale juddering out of her.
The big old brumby had landed awkwardly in the scrub, he looked uncomfortable. Her throat was tightening at his majestic still body, laying on its side over some small bushes. Blood, a wound. A bullet? Yes, but also… a knife, several wounds. Her hand found the horse’s chest. Still but warm.
She stood straight again and spun slowly, staring with eyes, ears, nose into the graduating bush all around her. She slid her back pack from her back, rummaging through it’s contents in her mind before she’d even opened it. Did she bring her knife? Should she even get it out? She imagined herself fumbling with it while a stranger laughed at her.
My First Writing Practice:
Yesterday I have watched a seminar about how to become a group leader in science. To me it is more about how shall I compensate my mentorless study/training life with a self-made mentor.
Let’s look at what a good group leader should do:
1. You should make your people feel safe to fail. Yes, there are potential issues of screwing up, wasting time and no further funding. But just like a great parent, you don’t show or talk about your anxiety to your kids. Find your colleague or friend and throw your negative emotion and worry away. Kids need safety without condition. They need to know the world is welcoming them and they are encouraged to explore, to play and to learn. That is the only way to grow up. As a father, you support them without taking freedom from them. You let them play the glass, hold it, knock it, and even throw it. You keep silent but you are aside and watch. Whenever there is dangerous, you show up and take the chance to teach. It is exactly the same as a group leader, young people who just join the scientific world. They want to run the gel in a slightly changed protocol modified by themself, try the experiment purely designed by their own thinking. As long as the lab safety rule is followed, let them do it. Otherwise how did they learn what is the problem and how to explore new things. You, as a group leader, can keep constant active discussion with them both before and after the experiment. In this process, students can learn how to observe, how to analyze and most importantly how to think. Meanwhile, they also kept the track of how did themself think and figured out what is the difference. Logic will tell you both which one is better, which part need to improve. This is the important moment for you to learn from young people. That is why teaching is always beneficial. You will be impressed how much you have gained in the end.
Cozy mystery.
Woman trying to rebuild her life after losing childhood sweetheart. Has supportive family but decides to relocate to historic town in coastal South Carolina to fulfill her dream of having a large B&B. Want book to honor the military so, military members and/or families who, despite their own losses, have had joy come back into their lives. Unpopular local is killed–poisoned w/ botanicals. Woman becomes involved in discovering murderer. Also has light romantic attraction w/ one or more locals (hunky sheriff [find a way to make that not cliche]) and either town bad boy or millionaire (he could be both). Develop a new best friend who is a bad/dangerous or out of comfort zone influence. Pets? What does her family look like? Profession…something to do w/ the arts…decorator, wedding planner, caterer … something to give her a background for running a B&B. Honor and acknowledge local history & traditions. First in series (in 2nd book they find a skeleton while renovating).
This outline seems interesting, Meg. I hope you will write this as a book. I love romance.
Thanks! Story is written but I’m working on revisions.
A young woman discovered a body in the woods.
Grasses crunch under Myra’s feet, as she walked home from the grocery store. It has been very hot the last few weeks. She wiped sweat from her forehead with one hand, while carrying two plastic bags with the other. Sunrays filtered down among the leaves of the forest near her home. It will be cooler soon, as the sun comes down, she thinks. She hummed a tune from the latest drama series that she watch every week. “ A cold glass of ice tea will surely taste good soon. Then I’ll start cooking beef stew and rice for dinner,” she thinks.
She is still humming when she suddenly falls on her hands and knees. One bag falls from her grip. “What happens?” she thinks. She looks down and sees only a pair of gray trousers and leather shoes. The rest is covered by bushes on the side of a path.
I love your random story of the day. It is great that you are trying to maintain your individuality in college. I didn’t realize about the conformity in college. Good luck!
It was a dark and gloomy night, the clock struck midnight and the forest was empty. You would not be able to hear a pin drop. It was as quiet as a mouse… Until a loud scream was heard. Then there were footsteps in the crunchy leaves. They got louder and louder until the footsteps stopped.
It was a young man in dark clothes; you would not even know there was someone there. He heard another loud scream, like a horror movie scream. But different!
“Oh hello Emily you look scared darling, can I do anything for you!?” The man cried sarcastically
The girl got off the floor and smacked the man in the face and he passed out. She was a karate girl and had a black belt. She was the screamer and was shoved in by this man. I assume as he was sarcastic and the girl did smack him one so I think you should decide.
“Oh by the way Frank the flipping nightmare in my daydream, you were warned, if you attack me again this would happen. Always midnight!
Just the first thing that came to mind:
The wind whipped through the trees, carrying the icy bite of the impending winter. The moon round and bright above barely making a dent in the darkness. Howls of creatures throughout the forest rang out, their cries sending shivers down less courageous folks’ spines. Through the trees, a woman with a dark blue velvet cloak was seen running towards the echoes. Branches ripped her pale skin, blood sticking to the offenders as she tumbled through. Her was breath calm and steady, she was no fair damsel in terror.
Moments later the cries stopped, and just as they did, so did she. Her green eyes scanned the trees, the shadows, and a smile crept on her lips as she spotted something within the gnarled branches that caught her eyes. This, she thought as she reached out to touch the blackened bark, this is exactly what I need. She pulled the smooth stone out, and felt energy course through her palms. The faint smell of the ocean breeze radiated from the stone. She turned it over, letting the coolness wash over her hands, and held it in the beam of nearest moonlight. Turquoise and amber shimmers danced off the stone.
Just as she was about to put the stone into her pocket, a blur came from beside her as a bone crushing weight slammed into her crashing her to the ground. The stone tumbled out of her hand, and a tidal wave came crashing out of the rock. What was once a dark forest was now an equally dark lake.
I know it is not that good. Been out of practice. This is the most substantial thing I’ve wrote in ten years. But I need to be braver.
Hola everyone! I grouped more than 15 min write 🙂 Excited and a bit stressed to have your comments!
Thank you in advance :))
The Dream
Our Connection
It all started with our connection: Annette and I met on a very special leadership course. We knew we would be working together down the road. We had connected on so many values from day one. From day one I had told her I am a big fan of hers. And a couple of months later we delivered a workshop while climbing on the trees.
Mind you, Annette and I both have a clinical fear of height but together we climbed high while having fun teaching others how to make a cheetah roar (we had imagined the sound of the lion in MGM movies introduction but in reality the cheetah roar is very disappointing – google it).
This trees day was our first co-leading experience. And it marked us forever. Our bodies remember that when I am with this dudette, I am safe somehow. I can be afraid of heights but not have death anxiety. And it was the same for her. So it’s written in our system now.
It sounds a lot like tonight. We were and still are both freaking out about our dream but when we’re together we feel we can laugh about it a little at least, and even go meet people and speak about it and actually inspire them!
We just came back from a dinner with a great person – a real VIP – who is so excited about our dream! And it made us realise that yeah… it is getting real real.
The fear of heights and not taking it personal
The fear of heights. That’s what it feels like tonight.
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.” Marianne Williamson.[1]
This quote stayed with me since the first time I heard it in a Nelson Mandela speech. But it never hit so close to home like tonight.
I feel my deepest longing coming close. We are about to create our dream. It is getting more real by the day. And it scares the shit out of us.
It takes courage to say I have this dream. And I want to go for it. Who am I to have such a big dream and go for it? Why would I be able to do it anyway? Yes I have always been a great achiever in my “previous life in the corporate world” but I have failed so much lately!
My fear is telling me: don’t take it personal. Don’t own the dream it’s bigger than you. Don’t make it yours.
Well as I write this I realise that I am loving my fear. It keeps me grounded and aware of my limitations. Aware also that when this happens, it won’t be me who made it – it would have been through me. Like a new human comes to life through the parents but doesn’t belong to them.
And from this perspective I can write about the dream without being overwhelmed.
So yep, this dream wants to come to life through Annette and I. The Theory U[2] – one of the most advanced leadership theories developed in MIT – talks about sensing the emerging future. We feel a future wants to be born and it revealed itself to us. And here’s what it looks like, what we saw.
My Dream/Our Dream?
I got to a place yesterday where I was about to write and describe my/our dream.
I say my then turn it to our but in reality what I will be describing is my view, what I saw because the same dream manifests in 2 or 2 zillion perspectives depending on the who is looking. We know that. Classic.
And yet, we feel a tiny guilt for saying “my” in a collective project. My perspective doesn’t mean we’re owning the whole. We’re just describing a perspective that happens to be ours. So no need for guilt. It is “my” thingy/view I am going to be describing. Like literally the “view from my window”: the dream is out there, I saw it, Annette saw it, I saw that it had brown eyes and it walks with confidence, Annette saw that it was interested in pasta making (where did this image come from!?)… whatever!
We see different facets. And if we withdraw from owning what we saw as individuals (or groups) for the sake of conformity, for the sake of who-do-you-think-you-are, for the sake of peace and harmony, we’re getting it all wrong – and by the way harmony and peace won’t happen this way, just a fake version of harmony that boils energetically with unseen tensions – worst kind of wars.
So dropping the guilt. And I want to make space to writing purely from my own eyes. Then with Annette we will play the “Yes! And…” game to consolidate our view of the dream.[ I felt that in the part of not owning the drean and the we/I , it got a bit repetitive, but I did get the message you’re trying to send. It just felt redundant after a few phrases. Maybe this part was a bit long and the message could be delivered in a shorter way? —> thank you perfect]
Yes! And… stress
We have been pretty stressed this week so far that we’re playing the “Yes! And…” game less than usual!
And we noticed it, named it, laughed (a stressed laughter) about it.
Because we are taking it personal of course. We think that it’s our thing – we’re geniuses – wow – but maybe we think we’re geniuses and in reality we just suck and will do a lousy thing and no one will believe in us or fund our projects.
Not taking it personally and seeing it as something outside of us that we’re seeing/describing/working for, makes this part easier, right? We covered that already.
It sounds so easy and trivial, this theory of perspectives and everyone having their own truth and blabla… ok good, we got that.
No but I am not sure we really get it. Like I know I have been repeating this idea so much but this is the whole difference. It’s like theoretically we are in a place of awareness most of us where we understand: we love differences and diversity, we know we have our own biases, we know we look at the world from our own eyes and what we see is only our perception. Awesome. Super cool. Progress in the thinking.
We get it conceptually and we dream about it and about saving the world by having this view of it. And that’s the first step. The second is really experiencing it.
It’s a whole different story. I have seen literally hundreds of failures in very promising projects, dreams, organisations, relationships because we don’t know (not in the mind but the real knowing) yet how to navigate the paradox of being 2 or many to share something in common.
And it’s a paradox because it sounds contradictory: my view is true v/s your view is true. And in reality it is not. It’s a yes, and. The same thing that makes my view true makes your view true and there is a place for all of these truths to meet, express themselves, and broaden their understanding of the bigger truth that encompasses and includes both or more.
Annette and I both know this idea very well. We work with it. We “teach” it. Yet this week we’ve been a mess at playing it. And it’s good too.
The Yes! And… doesn’t work when we are going towards proving a point. Or being attached to being heard. If we’re not heard enough, we cannot let go and be in the Yes anding mode.
We need to be heard. Both of us. And we will fight until we are heard. Both of us. Of course we can break-up – happens – but not the case in here.
That’s how we function as an ego system. The eco system doesn’t work well until it recognises each of the egos in it. And the ego will talk and fight (not always externally, many times internally) until it’s heard. Until it’s existence is acknowledged.
Under stress, when the stakes are high, when the attachment to the outcome is strong, when it’s difficult to say I show-up and let go at the same time, the egos rises strong for survival.
With Annette we know that. And we went through it still. Because it’s healthy. And we’ll keep on going through it down the road I am sure.
The difference is we acknowledge it and name it and talk about it, and it helps us deepen our connection, by seeing our humanity and weaknesses with tenderness and heart.
Covered most of the “Yes!… and”.
But see? Look how many times I have been close to describing this f*** dream and didn’t!
Let’s feel the fear and do it anyway[3]…

[1] The full paragraph by Marianne Williamson (Warning! She mentions GOD in there. So if you have a rejection of the word/the concept etc… just replace it by your own definition of this bigger thing – human family – whatever works for you):
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
[2] Theory U: “Theory U proposes that the quality of the results that we create in any kind of social system is a function of the quality of awareness, attention, or consciousness that the participants in the system operate from. “
https://www.presencing.com/theoryu
[3] Nice book: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/653396.Feel_the_Fear_and_Do_It_Anyway
Anna could not believe her eyes as she gaped down at the horrific sight below her. This was not happening, could not be happening to her she thought as she looked down not believing her eyes. “I’m dreaming” she repeated out loud to herself over and over, while squeezing her eyes shut. Below Anna’s feet was the body of a older man, around forty or fifty. His face was bloody and bruised and the body was beginning to deteriorate. This stuff only happened in movies she thought! She was having a very hard time coming to terms with the horrific sight, and was breathing heavy, panicking, mind racing, and body numb. This was the best day of her life. Most people would experience all these symptoms out of empathy and fear, Anna was not most people. Overcome with excitement she reached down and began to rummage through his pockets, wallet, phone, keys, all transferred to Anna’s greedy hands. “Sucker” she thought, all the better for me. Anna could not help a slow malignant smile from spreading across her ghostly features. Pale and bony, covered with dirt and grease from her latest mischief. Which just so happened to be stealing a young boys dune buggy. Anna’s day was off to a great start and it was only noon! Anna kicked some recently fallen dead leaves over the man’s body and continued on her way. She could not believe her luck, and as she walked, Anna began to whistle a slow melody to herself. The sound echoed throughout the cold dead trees, and reverberated back to her. Little did Anna know that she was now in the sniper’s crosshairs. “Sucker” he thought to himself as he squeezed the trigger. Anna died happy.
—
On war, suffering and evolution
(Beirut, 4th of march 2016)
I have heard yesterday from a friend that a war between Israel and Lebanon is being prepared for the summer…
And I went through a lot since yesterday night. From plans to ship my parents with me to Europe and settle there and leave everything behind and forget about this country and this region, to immense anger about this country and this region and our never ending suffering in this region to resignation and taking it as it comes.
In the last war of 2006, I have suffered so much. And thankfully we were all safe and sound. We lost nothing material. I was living in Paris back then and I had come back to Lebanon for my summer vacations of 3 weeks, I arrived on the 12th of July, at night and my parents suggested I stay home instead of going out with the friends who were waiting for me to arrive. Their parents had suggested the same. We stayed home thinking we’ll just skip the night and see each others the next day. A couple of hours later I was awakened by friends and family calling us at 4 AM to make sure I arrived because the airport has just been bombed.
The war had seriously started. We spent a day in Beirut — a horrible day and night. The next day we decided to go to the north which is safe.
It lasted a month, the north got hit, i ended up leaving the country through Syria/Jordan and left my parents behind 2 weeks after my arrival.
I was back then a member of the democratic left movement that we had founded in 2004.
I was spending my days on the computer writing the latest website breaking news — the ones that were following up on the giving the names of the dead people. When. Where. How. What is being bombed. What school is open to receive people. What shelters are available.
Gosh I cannot describe what is happening now in my body as I recall this. I was outraged. Literally. I don’t get it. I still don’t get it. My body shakes. For separation and killing and suffering and war.
Please world do something — you cannot allow all this. Please people of the modern world please listen to our pain, help us stop this. I was praying — I was not a believer in god or anything but kept praying in my heart for the good in people to listen and do something. Please people can’t you see that children’s bodies are being cut in million pieces. That families are being destroyed. That monsters are being created. That hatred is fuelled.
I went back to Paris with ANGER. ANGER. RAGE.
I remember sleeping the first night in my place in south of Paris (Paris 14th) and being frightened by the planes taking off from Orly airport.
We started a sit in on “Place de la Sorbonne” to show people what’s happening. To urge some action and political pressure to stop the war.
The war ended eventually, with almost 1191 civilian killed and 4409 wounded on my side, and 44 civilian killed and 1384 wounded on the other side.
Who won?
And it was left there hanging, waiting for the next round ever to come.
My body is shaking. I was angry yesterday so angry as if it was happening tomorrow. I am crying and sad today as if it was happening tomorrow. Because it is happening tomorrow. One day tomorrow. No matter when. Because it happened already tomorrow, one day in the past tomorrow. Too many times. And every day in Syria. And every day somewhere.
I think I never sat with this pain that I carry in my body around war. And it’s all coming back to me today. My body is processing.
I feel weak in my body. Devastated.
—
Why?
Why do we do this?
There must be a reason.
This morning I woke up with my optimism value speaking.
Zoom out and everything seems perfect. How. How can this be perfect.
Maybe we need this new war and all the other ones yet to come for our evolution. Maybe we actually need to go through this suffering and pain to evolve to our next version of Human species.
There is a movement today pointing the way of love and compassion and being ONE. It is there. A lot of us are seeing already.
What about the rest of us?
What about the craziness in our world? What about the wars ongoing? What about the ones to come? What about all the inequality that is still there?
Do we need them now, do we need to go through the dip, the deepest dips, that is getting darker and darker, till everyone realises and evolves?
I wondered what our ancestors species had to go through for the first humans to be born. I am curious about if deep pain and suffering was the precursor.
I am sitting with both deep pain and my internal process and my soul knowing that we’re on our way, we are onto something beautiful. And that our role is to show-up, speak-up, contribute, work on our own growth etc… Until we realise that we are one and that we own this collective suffering. And that by changing our mindset we can actually do something about it. We are already doing something about it, we’ll do it even more intentionally, and with an inclusive mindset.
I don’t know what to do to stop the coming war from coming. A part of me says let go. A part of me says fight for it you can stop it. A part of me says yes do something AND the war will come anyway. Yet do something and it won’t be lost. Do something to keep the journey towards love going and keep enrolling people in it.
There is so much to be done for all of us here in this region on a deeper level. On a trauma level also first… To process the pain and anger and hatred and disbelief that is in our dip…
Great
My windows blackened , in the dead of night , wind growing louder & the rain pitter-patters . My room jam-packed with books & papers scattered all over my room . A steaming cup of Cinamon Dolce latte on my desk . Merely lit by the illumination of , my laptop as i frantically typed my easy . Dripping down my face , salty tears burnt my cheeks as my brain forced out words on the laptop , my finger-tips begged for rest , as i fought to focus my blurry vission on the screen .” My eyelids had to stay open untill this essay ends , else i will have my head in clouds by tommorw ” i pep talked .
(I’ve been writing for a newspaper, and I’ve been a part of serial publication. It’s a really good way to develop your skills. This is my next piece:)
“They’ve made any opposition illegal. Say, for example, anarchists. If the Grand Government finds them…” I draw a line across my throat.
Emmett’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Really?” I nod solemnly. “But…aren’t you an anarchist?”
“Yeah. All us Roses are.”
“Does that make you a criminal?” I ruffle his black curls playfully.
“Nah, not really.” His eyebrows crinkle in confusion, and I laugh wryly. “It’s ‘cos the Grand Government are all jerks, meaning it doesn’t count. They will kill me if they find me, though.” I mean it as a joke, but my brother’s face falls.
“I don’t want you to die, Benny,” Emmett whispers sadly. I sigh, pulling him into a tight hug, and tell him, softly:
“Don’t worry; you’re protected here.”
Suddenly, the entire safehouse rumbles. Emmett and I are on our feet in an instant.
“Earthquake?” he asks. In London? As if. But there’s no mistaking what that was.
“Get to the bunker,” I mutter. Emmett hesitantly walks to the door, when the room shudders violently. One of the support beams comes crashing down, missing my brother by an inch.
“C’mon, run!” I say, sprinting to the door. I fling it open, and together, we race towards the north exit.
Bang! A gun goes off somewhere ahead of us. I stop abruptly, my brother immediately copying me.
“No, no, no,” I say, ushering him westwards, “you need to escape.”
“So do you,” he replies indignantly.
“Screw this, we haven’t got time! I’m a Rose. You’re not. So get out of here.”
“But I’m not lea-”
“No buts,” I tell him firmly. “Get lost.” Reluctantly, he does as he’s told. Only once he’s safely out of sight do I head on. As I turn the corner, I glimpse three Skinheads walking in my direction. Damnit! Somehow, they haven’t seen me yet. I duck back and press myself against the wall, holding my breath. It’s hardly a plan, but there’s no time for anything else.
I feel for my gun, but it’s not there. Oh, god. I must’ve left it in my room. Someone screams, and I hear a sickening crunch. Then laughter. Bloody Skinheads. I have to get away; I can’t help the others without a weapon.
I take a step back. And another. Three steps, and –
Creak.
“Hey!” Oh, damn. “You hear that?” Another laugh. And then the Skinheads appear around the corner, grinning menacingly.
I’m done for.
This is a chapter I made for my book in 15 min
Chapter ten
The auction
Alex stood there, watching, and saw Jason emerge from the cellar. She looked at him and saw his face was grim. “What’s the matter Jason?” She said. He said nothing. “Jason what’s wrong?” She asked worried. “We are here.” He changed the subject. “What did they do to you?!” She yelled. “They gave me a taste of our life now.” Then silence
When they arrived at the shore she was chained to other slaves walking to the auction. She whispered to Jacob “What is wrong with your brother?” She asked him.” “Don’t know won’t ask.” She stopped the conversation there since she knew she wouldn’t get anything out of him”
When she got to the auction all of them where put up to the block. When it was her turn she was all nerves. They talked about her good qualities and she felt sick. After they were all done a man bought Alex, Jason, Jacob, and two other slaves. “It must be fate!” She thought.
Friday.
A gentle push was all it took, the bicycle fell to the ground with a musical clang and the crash of metal parts on pavement. Mouth twitching upward at the corners but trying to keep a straight face, Matsushima Koutaro’s chest swelled with satisfaction, the rush of committing a trivial act of property destruction joined the heady wash of alcohol and left his head swimming and ears ringing pleasantly.
In his lack of equilibrium the world took a moment to rise and fall. But, like a seasoned sailor on the deck of a familiar ship, he weathered the swell, along with the roiling in his stomach, his body’s protest at having been subjected to another night of excessive drinking.
Opening eyes he hadn’t realized were closed, Matsushima looked straight ahead and, taking a deep, fortifying breath of humid night air laced with fried food and cigarettes, concentrated his scant coordination and took a step forward, tripping over the bicycle lying like a broken insect at his feet. He regained his balance and looked around, once again becoming aware of his surroundings, the neon lit street and the people who walked past, eyes averted, pretending not to see what he had just done. The rational part of his brain encouraged his feet to move, and soon the irrational part caught up urging them to do so at speed, directing them at a run, away from the scene and toward the subway entrance, where the last train would be arriving at any moment.
—
Sometimes he likes to watch it. Watching with mixed feelings of nostalgia and envy, self pity and self destruction; his life’s crowning glory.
On screen, the mortar board descends like a guillotine, while his parents watch with delighted titters behind the camera, and from the platform degree in hand, his own eager eyes seek them out, brimming with pride and the prospects of an exciting future. That was the start of it, the decline. The routine.
Every week it went, and still goes, like this: Wake, work, eat, sleep, repeat. Wait for Friday.
The monotony of the working week took the focus of his dissatisfaction so completely, that for two years he failed to recognize that the repetitious loop operates not only Monday to Friday, but week to week, month to month, year to year. Now he misses that time, when Friday felt like an escape and the weekend a reprieve.
Now, amended by awareness, it goes like this: Wake, work, eat, sleep, repeat. Wait for Friday. Mandatorily drink self to oblivion on Friday night, spend Saturday playing mobile games and recovering. Spend Sunday with family. Repeat indefinitely.
He wishes he could feel alone in his misery, but every day he sees the people around him doing the same thing, living out the same miserable routine, and surely they must be as miserable as him. But for whatever reason, he seems to be the only one cracking. He’s fracturing, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. Despite the alcoholic haze and the undertones of shame and guilt that have since tainted the memory, he remembers it as clearly now as it had been then. The satisfaction that came with pushing over that bicycle, the relief in seeing the world changed by his hand; by such a small and petty act of rebellion, but an act that was his own.
Along with the memory, a new idea has been insinuating its way into his head and worming it’s way through his thoughts.
“What if,” it hints, tapping persistently at the inside of his skull during idle moments, “you could do more?”
–
before reading this thing, i want you to know that
1. English isn’t my mother language
2.this is the FIRST TIME ever I’m trying to write something up.
3. I’ll be so happy if you will give me some honest opinions keeping the above two points in your mind. be it negative or positive,
He was one of those people who
would go to any limits for loving and caring for his family unlike many. He would
go to any length to make sure his parents are okay and if anyone is in need of
anything. What he wasn’t aware of was the unlimited horrible envy his younger
brother had on him. Just because he always got first position in whatever he
did. He would love his brother deeply not knowing what feeling he had in his
heart until that day. It was indeed a horrible day which changed his life
forever.
His younger brother was engaged
to a girl who happened to be their first cousin as well. When the older one threw party celebrating
his admission in his favorite university, every member of their family was
invited. He was so happy for him as it was not his brother but him who is going
to live a dream life ahead. But what happened that day completely changed his
perception. The fiancé was, disgustingly, more in love with him than the one
she should be, and when he knew that fact, he started avoiding her whenever
they met. Ultimately, that girl thought of taking revenge.
When everyone was busy chatting
outside of their house in a spacious lawn, that girl went into the lounge,
there he was, alone, trying to connect one of his friends to know why he called
him in such an emergency. That girl made a drama, grabbed him and showed like
he tried to rape her. He was in utter disbelief and out of anger; he slapped
her and tried to pull her away. With her screaming, his parents and brother
rushed inside the lounge along with guests and saw that scene and thought what
any sane person would when seeing that.
His furious father slapped him
hard, the envious brother wanted to kill him right away. A shocked mother not
believing what is her sinful eyes are seeing. Every one believed the victim, in
this case, that girl. His father ordered him to leave that house immediately. To
his utter disbelief, everyone wanted him to do so. That boy, ever so loving and
caring, couldn’t imagine that his own blood relations would do such thing to
him. To be heard is the right of any person involved in whatever the crime it
may be. That’s what he was deprived of. He left the house with nothing but his
essential papers as father didn’t allow him to bring anything else. He was there,
on the foot path, all alone, being numb and dumb what his life is going to be. He
hadn’t even completed his school at that time.
And then the real story starts of
his long, hard, inspiring journey which you might not want to miss.
The midnight air was cool and brisk against Gareth’s cheeks as he walked into the woods. He could smell the earth as he ventured deeper into the forest. It was a cold night for September, he thought to himself. There was something about the sound of the forest at this hour that calmed Gareth. He needed to clear his mind. So he continued walking. Time went on and Gareth was walking aimlessly, just breathing in fresh forest air. Until his body told him to suddenly stop. His instincts went wild. The forest sounded different here. It was almost like everything came to a halt, even the movement of the air. And so did Gareth’s heart when he saw what was lying on the forest floor in the distance. Gareth’s curiosity got the better of him and he approached the bundle of cloth on the ground. It was a body, wrapped in an old woven blanket. It looks to have been thrown onto the ground, as the persons limbs were hanging out of the wrapping. Gareth could not see the persons face, not even if it were a man or a woman. Gareth panicked for a moment. He should not touch the body, he thought. And in that moment Gareth felt slightly guilty, and he did not know why. He knew he did nothing wrong. It was merely an accident he stumbled upon the scene. The scene, he thought. This is likely a murder scene. He needed to get out of here. He did not want any part of this. He had enough troubling him as it is, he didn’t want to any part in this. Gareth scrambled around looking for the best way to leave. He rushed in the opposite direction of the body hoping no one was around to see him. He got to the edge of the forest, close enough to where he entered. He thought he should just go home and forget all about this. And so he did. But Gareth wasn’t able to forget that night in the forest. His decision to leave the scene without helping that poor lifeless body find peace, haunted him for the rest of his living days.
LOVE STORY:
“True love never has a happy ending bcoz true love never ends”
A story about a girl Rhidhima and a boy named Aamir
Rhidhima was a nerdy girl who was always indulged in her studies.Her world was confined only in her books.She wanted to feel her parents proud of her.She was intelligent too.She wanted that people should know by her name .Rhidhima was a hindu girl.One day while coming back home after school she saw a short handsome boy who was busy with his friends.All she noticed was boy’s smile.His smile was soo cute that any girl could fall for him.That smile made Rhidhima to fall for him.
Everyday she noticed him nd his smile.She remembered his face so one day as she reached home she opened her facebook and tried searching his face as she didn’t knew his name.After lot of struggle she found the boy and his name was Aamir.She sent her request ,he accepted and then started their first chat.
They then become familiar and one day Aamir proposed her.Her heart overwhelmed with joy because this was what she wanted .She accepted the proposal. Aamir was also in love with her.They loved eachother with pure heart.
.One day they both planned to meet nd hence fixed the date of meeting.But maybe destiny didnot wanted this.Rhidhima got selected for college out of state and she had to apply there soon otherwise her admission would be cancelled.
In ordr to feel that they are close to each other they talked on phone every night.They both were craving to meet each other.
Finally after 4 long months Rhidhima went home for vacations nd then they planned to meet. Rhidhima dressed up nicely and even Aamir too coz they were meeting for the first time. Aamir was waiting for her in the park.She went there shying, he smiled at her ,she got confidence to look at him, as he looked upto her with smiling face her heart started beating faster.This was the time she realized the first feeling of love.
She was getting nervous so the boy holded her hand saying he loves her and will never leave or replace her.After listening these words she started crying as she wanted the guy which will never leave her alone.The boy then hugged her and wiped her tears.That hug was the best hug of her life,so tight and so warm. They then sat in a park and talked for 4 long hours.This was the time which was so precious for her.
She had the one with whom she could share her feelings,tell her happiness nd sorrows and tell her all secrets.The boy too loved her very much.He treated her like his doll.She had never got so much love from anybody.While coming back to home after her meeting the boy kissed her forehead making her feel secured.He then kissed her lips telling her he will never leave her.Then they had lot of meetings.
.But it is rightly said that destiny wants something else.It so happened that the Aamir’s father had known about his relationship and also the boy was of other religion ,his father warned him. So according to father’s decision he stopped talking to Rhidhima.They both cry a lot every night thinking of each other,time spent together,neither that boy made any new gf nor girl made new bf.
This was what called TRUE LOVE story.
True love doesnot mean taking decisions against the society against nature,it means sacrificing one’s love for the happiness of family.
.
.
sorry for mistakes..english is not my main language and hence the words used are simple
I’ll try my best to be good in english
Why did I come across this website?
My names is Jackie, I have always been a terrible writer. I do not know how I even made it this far in college, but I did. The reason I subscribed to this site is because my university requires us to take a writing exam before we can graduate. I have took this exam and failed twice. At my university, if we fail the writing exam, remediation is mandatory every time. Now that I am in my last semester, I am beyond stressed and scared to retake the writing exam. I have completed everything else required, except the writing exam. I have signed up to retake the exam on the 30th, hopefully for the last time.
When I failed the second time I was looking into ways on how I can improve my writing. I have written so many sample essays and I feel like I am still not improving. One day when I was sitting in remediation, I observed what I was doing wrong. I notice that I take forever to think of what I should write. I can be given any topic and still be dumbfounded. Ofcourse I had ideas and once I would write them down, I would second guessed myself. This also happened when I took the exam. Once I did know what to say time was almost up, so I breezed through it.
I know for a fact my problem is thinking of what to say in enough time and starting an introduction and my nerves. I would like to improve on this problem before I retake the exam. I am open to suggestions, so I can move past this chapter in my college career.
Bethamin was looking down at a sword. a wicked black blade curved out of a handle that was shaped like a human skull. No, she was wrong, it was a human skull. The skull was small, but big enough to wrap a hand around, A child’s skull then.
At a closer inspection of the sword Bethamin noticed something bubbling out of the blade. Was that a face she just saw? No, it just disappeared. She was just seeing things. It was this place, with all of those bones and death, that was the reason.
As Bethamin tried focusing on anything but the blade, something tugged at the corners of her eyes that made her focus on the blade itself. As she considered the sword something moved underneath the black metal. Yes, that was a face bubbling inside the blade, was it screaming at her? No, it couldn’t be, this was just a sword, but before she could stop herself, Bethamin gingerly reached out with her right hand and touched the black surface of the blade.
“Blood, I want blood, oh the nectar, so sweet; So nice to drink, to bathe, to gulp, to guzzle; so red the I tears that falls; so sweet the flesh that tears, so fine material, the flesh to cut, to tear, to rip”
Bathamin removed her hand, stopped and breathed. What had happened? She touched the blade then the delicious red liquid. the rendered flesh it was so sweet. Bathamin cringed at the pictures and sensations that appeared in her mind. she suddenly realized that It was not her thoughts that she heard or saw, it was the swords.
I love perfumes and the art of perfumery. It’s amazing how the conglomeration of different flowers and woods can create such smell that can evoke a lot of memories. I personally think Chanel was right by saying “You are not fully dressed without a perfume.” I love my perfumes because they give me confidence in any occassion that I attend, and I always get compliment from other people. I have been told many times by friends that whenever they smell something nice, they think of me or think that I am just around the corner.
This is my first writing. I published this on MEDIUM but I’m not confident of how I did it. I’m glad I found this page and I hope I could get some feedback from you guys to help me become a better writer. I’m a graphic designer and IT guy by the way so it’s totally new to me. I appreciate your help. Thank you.
– – – – –
3 Reasons Why Starting Something Can Be Painful and Difficult
If you are experiencing this. It is normal. You are not alone.
Let us look into different perspectives to understand why.
First, environmental factor . The earth is roundish and has gravity. Its constantly changing due to multiple energy forces — internal and external. Observe how fluids float in spherical shapes (demo by NASA astronauts). They form and move because of matters and energy surrounding them. Then look at how plants and animals grow. Why some trees grow taller? Why do seashells move to another shell? Why do chicks kick and break their eggshells? They start searching for a bigger space to be able to grow. Now compare this to our own body. How do muscles grow and how our brain stores information. Well, it is not easy, it is uncomfortable and sometimes painful. We only grow when we feel tight and awkward. This is true in many situations. People are complacent and not ready to go out of their comfort zone because they are stuck in their environment or their moods control them. Their belief, standard and view of life and happiness discourage them to look far beyond. The expression “no pain, no gain” is quite relevant to ‘fear of growth‘ or ‘fear of knowing’.
Second, mechanical — it takes time to start a very cold engine and it needs to be warmed up first, especially if the car has not been used for a long time. Everything you do has a process. Putting up a bonfire, pitching a tent, running on a thread mill and even learning a new language. You have to start from the beginning, from being slow and cautious, realizing that mistakes are inevitable and part of growth. This is a synopsis to ‘fear of what other people think or say’. So you prefer not to move, not to be seen or heard, afraid of being different. However, even the most reticent person has an inner desire to be liked and to be noticed.
Lastly, psychological — this is the most important of all. This could even change your views on the first two. It is your mental attitude. Your mindset justifies things from right and wrong, clarifies the need of doing things, provides reasons to start over, or inspires you to do something new. Your state of mind gives you the power to overcome fear or how to respond in an approaching experience (fight-or-flight response). It is considered as ‘fear of overcoming oneself’.
All those factors rely on your deepest emotion. We are all intellectual and emotional beings living in a ‘fear-or-greed’ world. We respond to advertisements because it touches our feeling. Successful brands make us feel good and look great, it connects us and we find comfort. Similarly, we move when there is a threat or recognition. We improve when we are stressed. We grow when we have ambition. Our experience gives us a willpower to change or create something amazing.
“The people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones who do.” — Steve Jobs
I sat in the green plastic yard chair, watching the pillar of smoke from the fire swirl around and through the circle of shadows around me. I held my guitar close in to my chest, and leaned back to squint across the fire, watching K., his shoulder length white hair swaying in time with his body as he gently tapped out the beat on the drum he held between his skinny bare legs. The kid across from me was plucking out a figure of notes and harmonies on an eight string acoustic. The sounds he pulled from the strings danced out into the dusky air as J. and A. swayed in time together just outside the circle, their lean bodies moving in time to the rising moon, just now clearing the treetops.
It seemed a perfect night, but I was increasingly feeling out of sorts. I had brought my guitar to the retreat on whim, not really thinking there would be all that many players at the retreat. But, as I soon found out, I was in the midst of some powerful and accomplished players that night, and my practice now felt weak and I felt inadequate compared to their natural ease with their instruments and knowledge of the scales. So the longer I sat with them that night, I became more and more disconsolate. Slowly shuffling my chair back out of the main part of the circle. The dark forms of the trees in the surrounding forest leaned in and increased my claustrophobia. My head felt tight and my heart pounded in my chest. All I had wanted to do for weeks now was to find someone to play some music with, and now that I was here, in the midst of it, I couldn’t seem to find the right notes.
I stood up abruptly, thinking, enough already, and looking about for the soft shell guitar case, began to fumble about with the chair to move it out of my way, when I felt the warmth of a hand on my arm. I spun about, almost too quickly, losing my balance for a second, before I realized it was T. , who’s gentle grasp now pulled me back down to my seat. “Just play,” she said to me in that soft violet toned voice . . .
Spring 1798
“Carlo, where are you going?” his Mother asked
“What about your lessons and your chores?”
But Carlo was already out of earshot and racing past the sheds, past the ponies, past the fields and the silk mill ,on his way up the hill to Giovanna’s house. He knew she would be waiting for him . There was an opening in the high wall and they would be able to see each other even if it was only for a few moments .Her governess was always on the look out for him. Carlo knew how she regarded him-a lowly boy from the village of Tregolo. But Carlo did not care .He would see his beloved Giovanna and that was all that mattered. Carlo’s mother watched him race up the steep hill to the Bonacina estate. She wondered what would ever become of her wayward and work shy twelve year old son.
CHAPTER 2
Spring 1802
The mood was sombre in the Bianconi household after Signor Vandroni’s visit. He had come to ask that Carlo be sent away, far, far away from Giovanna.
“There is no future in it, she is betrothed to someone else”. His tone was pragmatic and full of authority.
” The young men in the area will soon be conscripted into Napoleon’s army”, he continued. “Another reason for your son to leave. The sooner he goes the better. Giovanna is a dutiful daughter, she knows what has to be done for the good of all concerned”. He could barely conceal his fury at the clandestine relationship that had grown between his steward’s second son and his only daughter.
After Signor Vandroni left, Carlo’s mother sat and wept. She wept for her lovely, charming, good natured boy who would soon leave her. Of her five children Carlo had the kindest heart.
“He must go without delay,” Pietro , her husband, said.
“He must go without delay,” Pietro , her husband, said.
”I will arrange everything. We have savings. He can travel to London with some of the other boys in the village. I will contact Andrea Faroni. He is a good man . He will take care of him. He will be alright”.
Mr. Faroni , a local artisan was about to emigrate to England to set up a print selling business there. He had decided to bring three boys with him from the village to learn the skills of print mounting and selling. Pietro asked Faroni to bring Carlo with him as well. And so it was arranged that Carlo would stay for eighteen months in London. Maria wept for the loss of her beloved boy who filled the house with laughter and fun. She wept for what lay ahead for him. The world is a harsh place without family or friends for protection she thought.
“Who will protect our Carlo?” she asked her husband.
“God will protect him, you wait and see”.
At the farewell gathering family, friends, neighbours and school companions came to say goodbye. Carlo seemed jubilant at the thought of the adventure that lay ahead. His mother looked at him. He was tall for sixteen years, handsome, charming and polite. He had underachieved in school but she knew he had a keen brain. “Most importantly,” she thought, “he is kind and loyal. Kindness is everything. My beloved Carlo will make his way in the world,” she reassured herself but in a far away country, not here with us”.
She caught Carlo’s eye and they met in the hallway.
“I cannot bear to leave you”, he sobbed.
“I cannot bear to leave my beloved Giovanna. I want to stay and protect her”.
They hugged for a long time. Then Carlo pulled away.
“I must go to see her”, he said.
Carlo left the house un-noticed and raced up the hill, past the sheds, past the ponies ,past the fields and the silk mill to where Giovanna lived. He had a pebble in his pocket which he would leave as a farewell token if he did not see her.
“Please God, let her be there,” he prayed.
She was waiting. She motioned him to a side gate which someone had unlocked and they embraced. She was tiny to hold. He showered kisses on her hands, her forehead, on her hair, and then on her face. She was incredibly beautiful. Her thick black hair hung loose over her shoulders and her dark eyes glowed with pure joy at seeing him.
“I will come back Vanna”, he promised. “One day I will become a great man and I will come back to marry you. Know that I will love you forever”.
She knew that he loved her. She knew it from his many kindnesses, his joy at seeing her. She felt she had always known him ,had always loved him .She could not remember a time when she did not love him.
“I have a present for you”, she whispered. It was a peacock’s feather in a little wooden box.
“Keep it with you always as a reminder of our happy times together and my love for you”. He pledged that he would .He hugged her again.
“Come with me,” he urged. “Come with me this very moment. My uncle will marry us tomorrow”.
Giovanna knew that this was impossible. She was duty bound and honour bound to her father and family name. But for just a moment events hung in the balance. There was that moment when her life could have changed forever. In her heart of hearts she felt they would find a way to be together but for now she had to honour her father’s wishes. Such is the way with life. We choose in a moment and in that moment our future is decided. Often we do not realise the enormity of the moment until it has long passed.
As they parted Giovanna felt sustained by Carlo’s love for her and by his promise to return. At sixteen it was too difficult for her to look at the reality of what was happening. She chose not to see that at that moment a rendering had occurred that would set her and Carlo on separate life journeys. Journeys that would prevent them from ever knowing the consolation and companionship of a life lived together. She had, at that point in time ,no idea of the heartbreak that lay ahead for both of them.
CHAPTER 3
“Come on lazy bones”, cajoled Giuseppe .”We’ll never get to where we’re going unless you lot stir yourselves” .It was early morning and Giuseppe, the eldest in the group, was urging his companions awake. They had walked for several days now and had long since left Tregolo and the Plain of Lombardy behind. The foothills of the Alps are cold even in summer. The air was clear and crisp . The lakes and mountains were azure blue. Little chapels dotted the landscape here and there. The low sound of cowbells was reassuring and the scent of wild thyme underfoot invigorated them. They had slept in a barn on mounds of hay and after a breakfast of bread, cheese and milk began their ascent of the western side of the mountain range.
As they ascended green valleys gave way to cold grey slopes. A mist hung around them and the sun was hidden behind walls of rock. Carlo and his companions followed the old road built by the Romans centuries before. They deftly navigated the perilous slope in stages. Ahead lay Switzerland and the hospice of St. Bernard where they would be given a warm meal and a comfortable bed for the night. Then onwards through France until they reached the port of Le Harvre from where they would sail for London. Each was lost in his own thoughts. Each endured the hardship as best they could. Carlo’s thoughts turned to Giovanna and his mother. It seemed to him that years had passed instead of days since he had seen them both. He felt in his breast pocket for the little wooden box. It was still there safe and secure.
CHAPTER 4
Dusk
The dying light, the burning darkness
The sweet smell, the calming sensation.
Keep me here till it all ends.
Right along this way, there’s a place
I go there sometimes, just sit and gaze
Voluptuous panic for the future, reminiscence of the old days.
This twilight overwhelms me,
These colours mesmerise me, a collage of all the shades of life.
My heart’s so full, I could just dive and fly.
As the dark reaches out, the spell is broken.
I look around, there’s hardly anyone.
The dusk disappears , the collage is spilled with a brush of black.
I am aware now, I am back.
Letter for avni:
It has been years since I have come to achieve my goals.sometimes it’s very difficult to achieve in something. Though it’s hard, you have to try and trying is never bad.I know that you can do It and you have the capability to do something.
There is a secret to everything and you will learn that today.The secrets are:
You can
You will and
You must be a winner!
Life is too short and in each or everyday there is a time.Use your time wisely, time is precious and you got to use those 24 hours. Don’t waste your valuable time in “non-valuable things.”(when I say that I mean stupid things. Things that are not necessarily need ed OR unimportanted things/useless ones).
You are here (on earth) for a purposes. You are aslo here because of god. The lord loves you that’s why he protect you and guides you to the right parth. Thank the lord for what the lord has done in you!
May god bless you!
Writing exercise: A young woman/man stumbles across a dead body in the woods. What does she/he do?
Autumn mornings were my favourite time to run, especially out in the country. Mother nature in full glory, the leaves painting a perfect canvas of colours against the bright blue sky. Along my jogging route, I would take a path off the road that lead into the woods, along a high ridge, then back out onto the road a mile further. The run I took last October would be the last one I would ever go on in those woods.
About ten strides into the path, the invigorating smell of crisp, cool fall air was replaced by something foul. I assumed an animal met it’s end somewhere, and I didn’t care to find out. As I continued on, I saw something orange on the ground. Upon closer inspection I realized it was a safety vest. When my eyes took in the scene, I almost fell back. The orange vest was layered on top of a camouflaged coat, completing an ensemble of matching pants and hat. The lifeless body of a man lay before me, with pale, blue tinted skin and a trickle of blood by the corner of his mouth, with a broken arrow piercing his chest. The smell was worse that anything I could have ever imagined. I turned away, dropped to my knees and wretched.
The hunter became the hunted.
“The forest was dark and scary, i walked in the cold air look around. The night have the taste of treating but i go on because i have to reach the cottage in the village.
I was there because i wanted to visit the hills of the country, but suddently the incident came.
The car broke out and i stayed to walk alone in search of somebody to help me.
Nobody was there and I waited hours before to decide to pass through the forest, the last way to reach the little village and meet somebody borrow me a phone for call my family.
I try to set up my thinking when my feet strumble in something so big and plump…”
I was always a good student, a good daughter, a good sister. That is, until the day of my best friend’s death, when He walked out of her life and into mine, and once we’d met, He had me wrapped around His finger.
That’s when it started. The drinking, the smoking, the longer sleeves, skipping class, and even not coming home for days at a time. All because of Him. It’s not like I could help it, though. I was drawn to Him, well, more accuratey, He was drawn to me, but He had me hooked. Everything we did together was like my nicotine, and I just couldn’t get enough of it. Everytime I was around Him I needed more.
Unfortunately, my parents never spoke to me about my behavior. Maybe if they had, it wouldn’t have ended the way it did. But they didn’t talk to me. Instead, they called my friends, trying to figure out who I was with all night, but my friends didn’t even know. In fact, I never even knew His name until the last night we were together.
That night, He came for me at a quarter before nine, earlier than He usually did, but there was nothing I could do about it. I just crawled out of my window and followed Him silently to the alley. Our Alley, where we had stashed bottles of tequila, smokes, and razors.
I sat down and took a swig of tequila as He sat down in front of me and started talking. I took another long drink, hoping it would make Him stop, but it never did. Not for long, anyway.
“You know,” He started as I put the bottle down, “your family family doesn’t really care about you, right? I mean, if they did they’d surely ask why you’re with me so often right? They’d at least try to keep you away from me”
My hands started shaking as I lit a cigarette, “They don’t know about you.”
“Of course they do. It’s so obvious. The long sleeves, the smell of smoke on your clothes and alcohol on your breath, the locking yourself in your room for days at a time and crying all night.”
“Shut up,” I told Him as I took a long drag.
“Aww, come on, that smoking doesn’t really work,” He told me, so I put it out, “Don’t you realize that nobody loves you? Nobody wants you, nobody’s ever wanted you. You’re just a waste of space!” He shouted at me in a bitter voice, “Aww, are you going to cry now? Go on, cry. Cry about your sad, pathetic life. Nobody cares!”
“Shut up!” I yelled back, hot tears burning my eyes and threatening to fall.
“Well, you know there’s only one way to make you do that, don’t you?” He motioned to the razor laying in the space between us. I didn’t even realize it was there.
“Fine!” I shouted at Him, letting the hot tears stream down my face, “Is this what you want?” I continued shouting and crying, grabbing the razor and slicing my arm open, “Is this it?” He nodded at me, waiting for me to continue. I sliced my arm again, over and over, never wanting to stop, just wanting it all to end.
Before I had realized what I’d done, it was too late. He got up, kissed my head, causing me to fall over onto the cold, hard pavement, not that I could feel much anyway, and whispered, “Goodnight, love.”
That was the night I had watched Depression walk out of my life forever and into my family’s lives, until death was inevitable for them, too.
My 1st 15 minute Writing Practice….
A young woman/man stumbles across a dead body in the woods. What does she/he do?
After jogging through the park outside of the city for about an hour, Gayle found it necessary to slow down and take a sip of water. Across the field, so notice a log large enough to plant her foot and do a stretch or two, so she jogged in that direction. As she got closer she notice an uncomfortable odor as if one of the furry inhabitants of the woods died. She slowly looked around and there was no one else in the vicinity and she continued slowly walking toward the huge log. The closer she got to the log, the stronger the stench of the seeming road kill. Finally, she was a foot from the log and the stench was unbearable. Gayle doubled over the log and could not contain herself and had to throw up! That’s when she realized the source of the awful smell was that of a partially decomposed body of a young woman. She didn’t know what was worse, the smell of the dead young female or seeing this up and personal. Again, she looked around as if to expect someone to suddenly appear behind the trees and shout SURPRISE. What crazy thoughts entered Gayle’s head at this time? Her mind should have been on feeling sorry about the demise of the young woman.
He thought it was just an abandoned shoe at first; his foot caught it as he was running. He didn’t know what it was that made him stop and take a closer look. As he bent down to kick it he saw the calf that led down to it, it was scratched and bloody. He let out an involuntary yelp and jumped back, he stood up and look around him, as if he half expected someone to be lurking, waiting for him to discover it.
He went back closer, and moved away the leaves that were covering the leg and moved up to the torso and arms. He wasn’t sure what he thought might happen; maybe that they would wake up if he disturbed them enough, maybe they had just been knocked out and are unconscious. He was feeling sick and clammy; he really wanted this to be over now.
He heard a noise and started, it was a way off though, probably a dog. The paths round this end of the wood were pretty un-kept and a bit overgrown for walkers. That’s why he liked running them, to keep out of their way, or so they could keep out of his was more to the point, his tolerance when he was running for pedestrians, boarder on psychotic. An issue that was under was control, by the avoidance of the slow paced, zig-zagging idiots.
He took a deep breath and moved down towards the head and cleared the leaves. In a way he was relieved that it wasn’t there, he felt that he never needed to see a dead persons face, but the raw bloodied hacked neck was probably worse. He promptly stood, turned around and threw up.
Share it they said. It would be fine they said. I don’t feel comfortable sharing my journal entries. Not because they’d have some highly secretive content but because I’m not in the mood to write in a way that I’d like to be assessed on. This is my time of the day. I journal every day and now I’ve accepted the challenge to journal 750 words every day. And this is something like 15-30 minutes of writing every day. This time is my time. This time is when I open up, analyze, reflect and improve. I don’t need people telling me they like this or that or this sentence was too short or so on, I KNOW. I know all these things about my own writing as soon as it touches the keyboard. I overthink everything and I know what it means to be a good writer, I just don’t know what being a good writer means. Does that make sense?
I think that a good writer is someone who brings quality content that can be discovered, analyzed, and hidden in a gorgeous plot line. They bring a captivating story, whether by making the text easy to read but then bring a packing plot-twist punch or hard to read and then the critics see why.
I am someone who’s started out. I have a problem of running away from things I’m bad at. So if someone starts telling me what’s bad about my writing (which I know already but choose to ignore because I’m trying to be expressive here!), I’ll not hesitate to close my laptop and delete my journaling bookmark, and yes, in exactly that order.
I hate to admit it, but what I’m doing right now is what I call writing for publishing. I’m writing to be published in the comments and I can’t stop. I don’t want people to read something like this and think ‘well ye, it’s a journal entry and she’s just writing whatever’s on her mind, she isn’t even trying’. Well of course not you dimwit. Sorry, that was uncalled for.
I’ll be honest in saying that I would absolutely love for people to be entertained by my journalling because it would be like killing two birds with one stone. But I am aware it doesn’t need to be the case. It would just be nice if I was.
And if we (we, haha, as if you have any say in this… no, jk) really try to look into this and pretend it’s captivating then we’re just lying to ourselves.
I watched a movie not too long ago, a movie I, for the first time in a long time, wanted to see. You’ve maybe heard of it, it’s the Rebel in the Rye. What Salinger’s father says at one point is ‘what makes you think you have anything to say to people,’ and, my goodness, my thoughts exactly!!! I can be fun and creative, absolutely charming and witty in my writing but what makes me think I have anything to say?
This sad reason is also why I didn’t use to read fiction at all. ‘It’s not real,’ I used to say. Well, yes, it’s not. But the lessons it teaches us are real. The morals, cultural context, character traits are real.
Anyway, journaling is supposed to be all about me, so what… I can’t get over the fact that I’m still publish-writing.
You know what… exactly because you’re publish-writing, this piece will not go into that comment section. You know you’re thinking about it but it won’t. Why? Because it’s shit and you know it better than anyone else. You see through your own mountains of bullshit. And no amount of epithets like ‘mountains of bullshit’ or any other kind of stylistic devices will get you out of this. You’re sprinkling fairy dust on a dump.
Dear reader, I know what it takes to be a good writer: hard work, passion, and the least bit of talent. I’m not saying I don’t have any of that. But I am for suresies not channeling anything like that into this pubshit-writing.
Once I post this, I will probably avoid the comments like the plague. And this is why I’m not cut out to be a writer. Some actors have never seen their own movies but have any authors never read their own books? How can a writer be so insecure about self-expression? So vulnerable to criticism? So deeply-rooted in self-hate and perfectionism? I ask you.
(you’ll find this piece is exactly 750 words)
~Torn away~
“And it begins. When he was just a small cold it was like the world evolved around his mind. He was a beautiful child. Recognized what life felt like with not a ounce of responsibility but not because he chose, but because he was ignorant to the kind of messed up world his eyes have yet to perceived. It wasn’t his first time being able to quickly learn a new skill. He was quite the smartest kid in the neighborhood. Able to read and write faster than the others. Being able to simply watch a basketball move on television and automatically be able to repeat it without having to practice at all. It was fun being a child.
It was January 12th, 2000 when again he was reminded of the feeling of being isolated from family and thrown into one he never knew. Waking up for school after the winter break and putting on his fairly new clothes and getting ready to walk in the school building for the day to be started. “Chris, you’re needed in the front office” his social studies teach says. Packing his things he wonders what is going on and hopes it’s nothing bad. “Yoire not in trouble” an offial that was walking him says. He says nothing in return. Just walks. They arrive to the big wooden door and Chris twists the knob and opens it. Thinking “that was heavy” he walks in with the first person he sees is his mother. He looks around asking himself why his mother, brother and sister were at the table. “Hey baby” his mother says breaking the silence. “I have something to tell you.” He looks at her and notices the slight teary look in her eyes and then it hits him. “I’m being taken away aren’t I?” She nods up and down with even more tears developing in her eyes. Bam bam Bam! He punches and smacks the table and yells in anger. He hates this very moment. This is the last time he’s be able to see anyone in his family for a while. Everything just taken away from him in just hours after leaving the very home he won’t be staying in anymore. “Hey, hey a good it’s alright, it’s alright” says one of the staff members and grabs him. Chris then gets up and walks over towards his sister and mother. There is a empty chair between them. He takes a seat. “I’m so sorry baby I’m so sorry” his mother cries, rubbing his shoulder trying to give him comfort but how can he feel such a luxury when his life has just been torn apart? He was just a 6th grader that barely fit in the school he was going to. Didn’t have much friends and now he doesn’t even have his family there. “I love you Chris, it’s going to be alright. We are still family. We will be right here. We not goin nowhere pooh.” He hugs them and wipes the tears from his eyes.” [(15 minutes up)]
Today is the first day of my school holiday. It’s my second year in college and as usual since I was young I would take over my mother’s role : selling fresh fruits along the road going to Baguio. This is the summer capital of the Philippines and tourists flock here especially during school holidays.
It’s 6 am and there’s not much traffic yet. My mother’s fruit stall is alone in this stretch of road, far from the other vendors as this is near our house which is far down below a ravine .
Suddenly a car sped by and the man at the back threw a sack near my stall. And in a few seconds another car came speeding and seems to want to overtake the first car.
A few seconds later I heard a loud crash and smoke coming out from the ravine. It happened so fast that I forgot about the sack that was thrown to me by the first car.
I ran near the ravine where the smoke is coming from and I saw the 2 cars in a wreck and burning.
I ran back to see what is Inside the sack. I couldn’t find it. Then I saw it hidden in the bushes. I tried to poke a hole in the sack and was shocked to see some stacks of bills neatly tied with a paper , the same as when you withdraw from the bank. I’ve seen this packs of money from movies but I haven’t seen one in real life. I felt contents of the sack and seems like it’s full of stacks of money. I can’t think properly now but I know that I have to act fast.
I enjoyed how you led up to the moment of what happened. It felt suspenseful as if I was there in your position. Wish you had a little bit more time to write as I would have loved to hear what you did with the sack of money.
I just love to walk in the woods on my own. I enjoy the feeling of soft pine needles underfoot, the gentle brush of bushes I move past and there are the sounds and smells to be enjoyed. I listen to the birds and try to identify them from there calls – woodpigeons, capercaillies, kites and other raptors. There are also times when I just listen to the silence in the deeper parts of the forest. The last time I was thus meandering and enjoying the silence I came upon a flattened area of thick bush. Adrenaline suddenly romped through my veins as I saw a body lying there. My instinct was to run towards it and investigate. Was the person dead or alive? I couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman as the bushes were partly closed around them.
Then I hesitated. A recent meeting I attended had been led by a forensic scientist who explained in great detail how crimes are investigated and how easy it is to contaminate a crime scene. So logic kicked in and I used my mobile to alert the police, but I remained at the spot. Was it a crime scene, or was it an accident? They were best placed to investigate and decide. I waited for what seemed an eternity, but was probably only about an hour.
When the police arrived, they too did not rush towards the body. They took a statement from me and then I was asked to leave. I was also asked to call in at the local police station. I began to panic. Was I being considered a suspect in this situation? As soon as I was out of sight of the scene, I began to run, stumbling over roots and side growth. When i reached the area where my car was parked, I got in and sat quite still untill my nerves returned to normal.
Would I still enjoy my future woodsy walks, or would the memory of the body deter me? Only time will tell.
Hey guys! I’m pretty new to the writing game. I came across this site a few weeks ago. I love it! I would love to get some feed back from you all. Let me know what you think…
Danny sighed, as he stepped to the back of the line leading to the cash register at the employee cafeteria.
He was already late and the line was about ten people deep. He fumed as he watched the cashier stop every customer that approached the register.
Apparently, the clerk had found something hysterically amusing that he felt the need to show everyone in line. His laugh fluctuated from a slight chuckle to a shriek that mimicked a dying goat. And each customer was fortunate enough to be blessed with his service.
Danny’s turn finally arrived, and he reached for his wallet to pay for his heat lamp baked breakfast sandwich. The clerk, paying no attention to the items, pointed at his phone and screeched, “Look, look. He’s doing it again!”
Danny stared at the small, cracked screen of an obviously overused cell phone, and regarded what appeared to be a montage of cat videos. He watched as a kitten pawed at the keyboard of a desktop computer.
The clerk squealed with glee, and looked up at Danny.
“You gotta love cats!”, he cried.
“Right.”, said Danny, flatly.
“What do I owe you?”
“That’ll be $1.61.”
Danny handed the clerk his debit card. The clerk pointed to a sign hanging next to the register.
“There’s a minimum $3.00 purchase for all credit transactions.” He was still staring at his phone as he spoke.
“You gotta be kidding me.”, Danny mumbled. He checked his wallet in vain for cash. He scanned the counter for anything that might bring the total up. He grabbed a pack of gum and tossed it on the counter next to his sandwich.
“$2.68. Keep trying. Ooh! Look at this one! This one’s SOOOO CUTE!”
Danny felt the daggered stares behind him as he was forced to look at another cat, mindlessly staring back at him through the video screen.
“Fuck you!”, he thought. “Just ring me up, Twinkles” He grabbed a Snickers bar and almost threw it at the clerk. He hated cats, and he was beginning to feel the same about their fans.
Twinkles ran Danny’s debit card and waited for what seemed to be dial up internet speed for the transaction to clear. Finally, the cash register sprang open and he handed Danny back his card. “Next time try to have everything ready so you don’t hold everyone up.”
Danny grabbed his things and raced out the door. He didn’t have time to tell Twinkles what he thought about that statement, or about his fucking cats. He was late for work, again. The day had not started off well, and it was only going to get worse.
Samantha slowed her run to a walk, she could see a shape ahead of her, what was it a pile of wood? Rubbish? What? . In fact, it looked like a body, but who would lay down on damp ground, here in Brex Wood? As she drew closer, it occurred to her that the person was unlikely to be just lying there, enjoying the brisk morning air, who was it? A tramp, a drunk or a local?
As she grew closer she pulled her mobile phone from the pocket of her track bottoms, stopped long enough to dial 999, but did not press send to connect the call. “Hello? Hello are you ok?” She said loudly enough for the body to hear “Have you fallen? Can I get you some help?” There was no response, so taking a deep breath Samantha approached the still form. She tried again “Hey are you ok?” and she gave the body a gentle push with her foot. Still no response.
Bending down, Samantha touched the tweed coat worn by the still form and turned the body towards her, at the same time she pressed the dial button on the mobile phone. “Emergency Services what service do you require?” said a voice on the phone as the body rolled towards her, she drew in her breath sharply in surprise and shock. “Hello? Hello?” came the tinny voice from her phone “What service please…. “Police please and I think an ambulance, I am in Brex Wood and I…I have just found a body, the body of my neighbour Mrs. Edwards. She… She’s dead.
With that Samantha lifted her hand to close the panic-stricken eyes of the woman she had grown up calling Auntie Edwards and felt a silent tear drop from her eye.
yes this story is really emotional and you write great!
sandra is eleven year girl who lives with the father who HIV positive but he is unable since the father is not able to support him.due to his fathers condition,he is on and off with school.but he is this little girl who enjoys school.
He would sit all day under the tree, reminiscing. Where they first met, talked, laughed, fell in love, cried, fought. Where time would stop for them and only them. Where they would gaze up at the canopy of stars stretching above them, lying in the grass, fingers interlocked, as the world fell in a deep slumber. Where they could look down on the bustling city like they were from a distant planet, aloof, they found their world in each other.
this was a quick one. 🙂
I felt like I was able to visualize what you were saying as I wrote it. I would have loved a little bit more detail just on the surrounding area just to help me see it even more. It was a nice quick read.
Thank you. I’m glad you liked it.
I will work on adding more details next time.
Thanks for the advice. 🙂
Well, I’m a Spanish speaker, so I don’t know if I’m supposed to post everything as I actually wrote it (I always write in my mother language) or if I should translate it into English, but that’s double work. You tell me, OK?
“Posiblemente no haya cosa que me guste más que pasear en invierno bien abrigado, uno de esos días en que el cielo está despejado, pero el frío promete despellejarte si no te pones unas cuantas capas de ropa encima.
Quizás es porque sea del norte. No sé, puede que sea eso. Conozco gente que comparte este gusto por el frío, pero tampoco demasiada. El Pana es uno de ellos. Quizás por eso me cae bien. No sé, puede que sea por eso.
Joder, mira el vaho que sale de mi boca al exhalar. Me encanta.
Es mi tarea de primera hora de la mañana el coger la pala y despejar de nieve la puerta delantera, lo cual me suele llevar más de 45 minutos, más o menos. Es difícil de saber, porque mi reloj de pulsera va un poco de aquella manera: no es nada raro que se detenga sin previo aviso, y tenga que esperar a que alguien por reloj se cruce en mi camino pueda preguntar por la hora y así volver a ajustarlo. Se suponía que este cacharro funcionaba con mi propio movimiento, acumulando carga cada vez que caminaba o movía los brazos haciendo lo que fuera, pero no sé qué le pasa. Igual es por el frío. No sé, puede que sea por eso. O no. Estos cacharros no se fabrican ya, y es difícil encontrar a un mecánico que esté dispuesto a reparar gratis un reloj cinético a un niño huérfano, y aquí en el Orfanato New Horizons no disponemos de uno.
Tengo que poner buen cuidado al manejar la pala, porque el mango tiene alguna que otra grieta, y podría astillarse, y no quisiera llevarme una regañina, o quizás algo peor. New Horizons tiene un presupuesto muy ajustado. En estos tiempos nadie se preocupa mucho por los huérfanos, ni por los niños en general. Es cuestión de supervivencia.
El caso es que si termino pronto, quizás podría escaparme a ver si Gerardo ya se levantó y nos tomamos café. No sé de dónde cojones saca el tío el café, pero sabe a pura vida cuando nos tomamos uno desde el porche de su casa y miramos los copos caer.
En esos momentos no hace falta decir nada. Supongo que los dos andamos dándole a la cabeza como hago yo ahora mismo. La pena es que el jodido Gerardo no madruga ni a palos, sino que se acuesta tardísimo, algo que nosotros no podemos hacer aquí en el orfanato, pero la gente de la Iglesia Latina no tiene problema, son buena gente.
En fin, a lo tonto y a lo bobo, esto casi ya está. Otro día la puerta despejada de nieve, y la pala intacta. En fin, vamos a ver si Gerardo ya se levantó…”
People look at my life and they think I have it made. They think I have some amazing job that pays me boatloads of money and allows me to take off time whenever I need to. But guess what, I don’t. Currently I actually don’t even have a job besides some stuff I do on the side to try and help get me to where I want to be in life.
I go to a lot of Dodger games, so this is why people assume what they assume. However, what most people don’t understand is I’m not lucky and what I’m doing isn’t all that great. Sure, I get to go to Dodger games whenever I may choose, but I don’t have a job. It’s like most people think that life is great. In a sense it is. No one likes boundaries or being told what they should and shouldn’t do by somebody else. But, I had a really good job. I made decent money and they were flexible with my schedule. Any day of the week, I’d much rather have that back, then do what I’m doing now and to struggle with money the way I am.
I’m chasing this dream of mine to work in baseball. I’m a female, so I definitely don’t mean playing baseball, but working within the sport. And to be more specific, I want to work with something in regards to the Dodgers. I don’t need to work for the Dodgers, but even a company that works with them or helps them out. Currently, those are the little side jobs I’m doing.
I work for a company that travels the country to watch the Dodgers play at away stadiums. Dodger baseball is my absolute passion. I rarely miss a game on tv and when I’m at the game, I rarely miss a pitch. It has captured my heart; which most people don’t understand. I could spend all day talking about baseball or being at Dodger related events. I’ve met some really great people in the organization as well as some of the players. There’s so many of them, yet they’re all a family. This is what I want to be a part of. I want to travel the country with people who have the same passion as I do and enjoy it with them. So as of now, I’m doing whatever I can in order to get to that point. Which in my case, was deciding not to look for another full-time job when I lost mine and to solely focus on baseball.
I want to know everything about baseball as soon as it happens. Any breaking news or trades or even rumors. Anything and everything that’s happening in the baseball world, I want to know about. This is my passion and this is what I love. This is what brings me happiness in my life and I want to have that every single day. Most people aren’t able to say that they love their job and one day I’m hoping I can be one of those people.
I’ve never wanted something so bad in my life before. I’ve never been more driven or motivated to go after something that I want. Now that it’s here and in front of me, I’m doing everything I can to keep it in my grasp and not let my dreams get away.
Long ago, I wanted to write a novel. Long ago, I wanted to become an engineer. Long ago, I wanted to become a teacher. However, what did I achieved in my bucket list. I became a teacher in one of universities. I taught for some time, here and now, I kept asking myself. Is this what I really wanted for myself? I kept holding back to what I desire most. I kept thinking what’s most important. The necessary ones than the unnecessary ones. I tried very hard to study to for the engineering exam but I can’t just get through it. Disappointment, resentment and denial has been purging my mind. Sometimes, I feel like I’m trapped in a dark alley and I don’t know where to go. Then I pray, and continue walking on to the dark alley, even though I’m not sure was on the other side. Time seems to go on, I walked and walked and out in the shed of light, I finally saw some answers to my questions. Maybe I should go on do what I like and take risks to find the answers to my questions. It might sound utterly boring and nonsense right now, but hell, I’ll take a leap and prepare myself.
Right now, I started writing. I used to write poems but I wasn’t able to write the stories that have been roaming my head and my dreams. I like them to be told, I like others to read it. But I don’t know where to start. Sometimes I imagine, I’m somewhere in France doing a magnificent job and then the story will go on and on. I can even do things at the same time, do the story in my head and do the chores at hand. I love to imagine things, see the place in my head, feel the place on that specific moment, and sometimes cried with my character and be angry at the same time. Depending on the scene, that’s been playing in my head. I’ve been doing this since I was a little girl. But I was afraid to tell a story, I’m afraid I can’t be able to finish it. Now, let’s see what I can do and criticize what I have. Maybe I won’t be lousy story teller after all. Then once in my life I can say I have done this, and won’t regret that I didn’t do it.
I will start writing, that’s what I have to do. Because if not, how can I start my dream come true. Maybe it will take me eons to publish this, but once I can say to myself, you’ve done it. I really don’t know what I’m saying and writing right now. I might say get to the point and deal with it. So I guess, this is it. Happy writing to me, don’t falter and don’t lose hope. Keep going and don’t look back. Learn every day and see the wonders around you. That’s all I have to say for myself.
Apple crisp. I keep thinking about apple crisp. It must be because of the time of year. It’s early November, and whenever I walk out the front door, I’m greeted by a burst of crisp air, and the earthy, spicy scent of autumn leaves. It’s hard for me to leave the outdoors right now, and I find myself pausing—taking in the fresh fall air, feeling the welcome cooler breezes brush against my face. I find myself walking through carefully mounded piles of leaves. I kick them and enjoy watching the beautiful golds and reds of the maple and oak leaves flutter back to the ground, relishing the crunching sounds as I find myself stomping through them just as I did when I was just a child.
We managed to get the apple orchard in October, but it was still unseasonably warm. The air was humid and smelled of apples ripe for the picking, buzzing with bees who were enjoying over-ripe apples that had fallen on the ground. But because it still felt like summer, I didn’t have the urge to bake anything special with the apples after we picked them.
Now, though, fall is finally upon us and all I can think about is how I want to be in my house, peeling apples, mixing the spices and brown sugar together to create the ultimate in fall desserts. Not only do I like the cooler temperatures, now, but I don’t even mind the recent time change. There is something comforting and cozy about the darkness that descends before it’s even dinner time.
There is no time for baking right now, however, because duty calls in the form of a commute and a job. Tonight, for sure, though, I am going to take the time to create the sweet, cinnamon-filled apple dessert I have been craving. There is nothing like the crispy, brown sugar and oat topping, and gooey, sweet apples to remind me of happy times with my grandmother. Amazing how the happiest of memories can come flooding back, prompted by the sweet smells and tastes reminiscent of childhood. It’s as if I’m back in the kitchen of my grandmother. She was the most nurturing person I’ve ever known. So quick to laugh, and offer a hug, and always ready with sweet or savory treats, freshly made.
To me, fall means love. Fond memories of the love of my grandmother, the coziness of hugs and cuddles in the darkness of the early evening, and comfort in the form of warm, gooey desserts filled with autumn apples and the aroma of delicious cinnamon.
(Um… if you’re one for trigger warnings I guess Gore. All improvised so no real overarching plot)
He had stood there for some time he realised, transfixed by the curiosity before him. His intrigue strained, like the chocolate leather over his gloved fist, as it swam through the autumn night- pregnant with that charcoal scent which seemed to descend at the conclusion of each September. The carcass was sculpted in a manner which he had never encountered, chest and face down, yet trussed like some kind of game, all four limbs rent backward, with hand and foot and foot and hand again bound together in a satanic gymnastics pose. This had once been a young man, a handsome one at that, indeed difficult to overpower given his lithe frame. This inference was only emboldened by the rather obvious manner of his dispatching- throat sheared, near torn out in fact, so much so he believed he could see the ragged entrails the gentleman’s vocal cords wetly twisted in the mulch below.
A tilt of the head. A rustle of the cravat. Leafy footsteps road-ward bound. As the Senator turned over his velvet hood in his hand, he confronted the tumultuous notion there was a rival predator in his hunting ground.
Destiny in
the stars!
As I lay
here yet another day maybe week feeling the gut wrenching fear of my
circumstances of my own self undoing. The nausea is overpowering and my soul
cries out in sorrow and grief. I weep without thought and control. I will
myself to stop yet the tears keep flowing. I am ashamed to be in such a state. I
understand Psalm in a most intimate way as though this is my personal cry out
to God for help. If there would be a song it wouldn’t be that of praise and
thankfulness. When one is no longer capable of helping themselves who is to
save us? If God can’t save a child from abuse and murder then He most certainly
can’t save us. This is the secret I think. Perhaps our destinies are written in
the starts and it’s what we do with our destinies’ that will substantiate our
presence here. Maybe when we die we have to live with ourselves and answer to
ourselves. How frightening can this be? I’m exhausted with little hope left. I
have no clarity or vision, yet a veil has been lifted from my eyes. I see for
the first time. I see people and under their many facade. It’s like a new born
babe taking a look into this world for the first time both fascinating and
frightening. What of my enemies now! I can see them, they no longer can hide and
cloak themselves. How treacherous will one dare to be when exposed and no
longer hidden?
My sweet
love I lay here weeping and broken wanting to escape this world through sleep.
I want to hold you and let you know everything is going to be ok but I can’t,
it seems I have no strength or hope left. When we first met I remember you
saying that your love will be enough for both of us. How could I have known
that there would be a day that your love is carrying us both through this dark
time? You spoke of truth and certainty as though you foresaw our circumstances.
You are my angel, keep my in your arms as we go through this and never let go.
You are my warmth, love and life. I love you.
Flung Away
Alice took in a deep breath of pure mountain air. In a forest
this high in the mountains the air is pure and clean. Surely it would help her
clear her mind of her troubles.
Her troubles. Yes, that is what she could call it. To start
with she determined that there would be no more love affairs. No more men at
all. They really did only want one thing and they wanted it with a new, young
girl that was someone different from their old regular girl. She knew that was
it. He only wanted something new. Or, was it that there was something wrong
with her, something missing. Something not exciting but boring. That was what
he said, or practically said. He didn’t love her anymore and it was her fault.
He didn’t say that of course, he took it all on himself. That was de’rigueur,
but he really meant that it was her.
Oh, stop it! She had to stop thinking obsessively about it.
It was over, and it was time for her to get over it. Jeez, how long ago was it
now? Two weeks! Enough time to forget it. They had only been a couple for a few
weeks and she knew that was his pattern. Get a girlfriend, get infatuated with
her, and when that phase passed he dumped her and moved on. She had imagined
that this time, with her, it would be different. She would be the one. It would
be true love and he’d stay with her—and be happy. But he…
Oh, stop it! Just stop it. Switch your thoughts! Move on.
Start walking faster, that will do it. Start thinking about something else. But
what else? Maybe she shouldn’t have come up here. She needed something to
distract her. And being alone in the mountains didn’t force her attention on
something else.
Alice looked around at the trees, the bushes, the leaves on
the ground. She heard birds far off and something chirping closer. But it
wasn’t so wild and natural here after all. There was a piece of red cloth just
off the trail up ahead where someone had left their trash, or dropped something
on the ground.
But as she got closer Alice saw that there was more to it
than just trash. There was a coat, and a red scarf and… oh my god! It was a
person. It was unconscious or sleeping. When she came up to the scarf she saw
that the person was not moving. She almost shouted at it, “Are you OK? Are you
awake? Are you…dead?”
There was no answer. Just the forest stillness. She grabbed
the person’s shoulder and pulled. The head of a young woman turned around with
the body. The eyes were open and so was the mouth. She was dead, or at least
sure looked dead. No, she was dead. Cold dead. And as Alice took a step
backwards she realized with horror that this was Susan. His Susan. His new
fling after he flung her away.
She couldn’t believe it. She grabbed the shoulder again and
shook it again. The head moved with the body again like it was one solid statue
as though death had settled in and made the body stiff.
But how could it be? She couldn’t believe it. What had
happened to her? What did this to her?
Then she realized that if she had been killed, or even if
she hadn’t been killed but just died, they would suspect her. Alice had a
motive to do something to her. Oh my god! What, oh what was she going to do?
What should she do? What was the smart thing to do? Should she just go away and
pretend she never saw this horrible cold lump in the forest? But what if they
found some evidence somehow that she was here, that she had been in this
forest. No, she had better leave.
She turned around and walked away.
….
That was twenty years ago, and she had never heard another
thing about it. Oh, there was the obituary in the paper of course. She had died
of a heart condition of long standing. She had been walking in the forest after
she had broken up with her boyfriend. (Sweet irony!) But that was it. No one
else had said a word about it.
Attending college has hit me like a bag of bricks and kept me laying on the ground. Many people do not mention the reality of college. Not all may have experience it, but I know a few people have experience this in their time in college.
College can be fun, but it can also be your worst nightmare. The pressure to do well is constantly there and everyone is a competitor to achieve the highest grade. It is a constant battle with other students to overachieve each other. Slowly, some students tend to fall behind in this competition. Some quit, others begin to slack off, few push through, and then the lucky ones that are beyond the average human intelligence. There are others that go through personal situation that causes them to fall behind in college. Once you start to deal with things yourself without the aid of your parents, reality starts to hit. Hopefully, you are beginning to mature. Parties, sex, drinks, drugs, stress, depression, and class. Many college students are just trying to find out who they are and experience things they couldn’t before. At the beginning of our lives we struggle through school just to go to college. Not everyone achieves that goal, but the ones that do continue the struggle to graduate college. The messed up thing about society is that everyone comes into their first year in college at a different educational level. Depending on your background, race, culture and school it can affect your college years. In college, you will meet so many different people from different places. There are others that are really intelligent and others that are behind. Either way everyone is in college to learn or just to get a job. That is how we are suppose to survive in this society in order not to end up low income. Which is strange because even people who studied at a prestigious college can end up graduating and end up as low income. The ones that are succeeding right now are the engineers or anyone in tech. Unless it is a start up which can either work out or just make people end up in debt. As you can see college is a struggle and I hope people tell our future college students what to look out for. Not everything is a party and good grades. There are times where we fall and feel like the whole world is falling down.
Flung Away
Alice took in a deep breath of pure mountain air. In a forest this high in the mountains the air is pure and clean. Surely it would help her clear her mind of her troubles.
Her troubles. Yes, that is what she could call it. To start with she determined that there would be no more love affairs. No more men at all. They really did only want one thing and they wanted it with a new, young girl that was someone different from their old regular girl. She knew that was it. He only wanted something new. Or, was it that there was something wrong with her, something missing. Something not exciting but boring. That was what he said, or practically said. He didn’t love her anymore and it was her fault. He didn’t say that of course, he took it all on himself. That was de’rigueur, but he really meant that it was her.
Oh, stop it! She had to stop thinking obsessively about it. It was over, and it was time for her to get over it. Jeez, how long ago was it now? Two weeks! Enough time to forget it. They had only been a couple for a few weeks and she knew that was his pattern. Get a girlfriend, get infatuated with her, and when that phase passed he dumped her and moved on. She had imagined that this time, with her, it would be different. She would be the one. It would be true love and he’d stay with her—and be happy. But he…
Oh, stop it! Just stop it. Switch your thoughts! Move on. Start walking faster, that will do it. Start thinking about something else. But what else? Maybe she shouldn’t have come up here. She needed something to distract her. And being alone in the mountains didn’t force her attention on something else.
Alice looked around at the trees, the bushes, the leaves on the ground. She heard birds far off and something chirping closer. But it wasn’t so wild and natural here after all. There was a piece of red cloth just off the trail up ahead where someone had left their trash, or dropped something on the ground.
But as she got closer Alice saw that there was more to it than just trash. There was a coat, and a red scarf and… oh my god! It was a person. It was unconscious or sleeping. When she came up to the scarf she saw that the person was not moving. She almost shouted at it, “Are you OK? Are you awake? Are you…dead?”
There was no answer. Just the forest stillness. She grabbed the person’s shoulder and pulled. The head of a young woman turned around with the body. The eyes were open and so was the mouth. She was dead, or at least sure looked dead. No, she was dead. Cold dead. And as Alice took a step backwards she realized with horror that this was Susan. His Susan. His new fling after he flung her away.
She couldn’t believe it. She grabbed the shoulder again and shook it again. The head moved with the body again like it was one solid statue as though death had settled in and made the body stiff.
But how could it be? She couldn’t believe it. What had happened to her? What did this to her?
Then she realized that if she had been killed, or even if she hadn’t been killed but just died, they would suspect her. Alice had a motive to do something to her. Oh my god! What, oh what was she going to do? What should she do? What was the smart thing to do? Should she just go away and pretend she never saw this horrible cold lump in the forest? But what if they found some evidence somehow that she was here, that she had been in this forest. No, she had better leave.
She turned around and walked away.
….
That was twenty years ago, and she had never heard another thing about it. Oh, there was the obituary in the paper of course. She had died of a heart condition of long standing. She had been walking in the forest after she had broken up with her boyfriend. (Sweet irony!) But that was it. No one else had said a word about it.
Survival
Late afternoon in early October. The dense forest is in shade; the late afternoon sunlight barely penetrates the gloom. The wind is cooling. Night will be chilly for sure. Birds are chirping and flying aimlessly about, squirrels and other small animals are going about their business, bees and flies hum and buzz, but no large animals are to be seen in the small clearing. Off hunting for dinner, probably. Suddenly there is a rustling in the bushes at the edge of the area. The squirrels run for cover.
A young woman with tangled hair and weathered skin peers into the open area. Nothing moves, it looks like the coast is clear. Suddenly she spots some color near a fallen tree. Hmm, looks like some rags over there, she thinks. She waits another minute to make sure that no one else is present before she makes her move, then steps out into the open. The bushes behind her rustle. She turns to look and says, “Now, you just stay there. Don’t come out here until I tell you it’s safe.” The bushes stop rustling.
She walks cautiously to the fallen tree. If the rags are clothing, might be something there we can use, she thinks. She sees that what she thought was a pile of rags is a low mound in the shape of a person lying down. She moves closer, picks up a stick, looks around to make sure no one is coming into the clearing, scrapes and pokes at the leaves and rags. It’s a body! Sure enough, it’s a freckled and chubby young boy maybe ten years old. He’s not moving. Oh! he’s dead! What could have happened to him? It looks like the tree fell, it knocked him down and trapped him. She can’t see any blood, but there could be some under his clothes, she guesses. She sniffs at him, but there is no stink, so the accident must have happened very recently, maybe earlier this very day. He looks very peaceful. She considers her options. We’ll be okay as long as no one comes along and finds us.
“Okay, you can come out now.” Three little boys, ages four, six, and eight, come through the bushes. They look at her, wondering what she’s looking at. 15 min.
“What is it, Mama? Did somebody throw their clothes away?”
“I want you boys to go over there,” she points away from her find, “and scrape all the leaves and trash away. Then make a circle that’s just bare dirt this big around,” and spreads her arms out. “When it’s this big, make a pile of little branches, and then some bigger ones this big indicating a diameter of about four inches. “Put everything outside of the circle.”
“What for, Mama? Are we going to stay here tonight?”
“We’re going to stay here for awhile. When you get that all done, we’ll make a fire.”
The boys go to work on the chores she has assigned them, while she goes about her own tasks. Finally the work is finished, and she builds the fire. The dry kindling and bigger branches snap and crackle, throwing out welcome heat; the sun has gone down while they were all busy working, and the night, as promised, is chilly.
“Mama, you never said what that is over there. If it’s not somebody’s old clothes, what is it?”
“Boys, that’s our dinner.”
Thank you so much!
A young woman/man stumbles across a dead body in the woods. What does she/he do?
Alex and Chris were both walking in the woods going on a peaceful stroll looking at the beautiful birds and photographing the plants for their job as photographers. They both must get enough photos of nature to last a year and did I mention they needed to make it good quality. Taking pictures of moving things is a very hard thing to do and not to mention making it good quality too! They walked for 15 minutes straight and didn’t get anything good enough to check the list. Alex suggested “Maybe we should have a break and make a plan of what we want our photos to look like?” “Yeah I guess but I don’t know what to do.” “That’s okay but let’s eat first, I’m hungry.” They both chowed down their peanut butter and honey sandwiches and got up to start walking again. “Maybe we should capture the inner beauty of nature, for example, ants building their home but closer up.” “Your right that sounds good!” Said Chris.
25 minutes later
“Ahhhhhh” Screamed Alex. Chris bolted over to where Alex was, and what they saw was the most disturbing thing anyone could ever witness on such a beautiful day. There was a dead body rotten to the bone, bugs flying over it and there was no head. There was dried blood all over the ground. Alex was as white as a ghost, stuttering she said “Th-th-this i-i-i-is terr-ible!” “It is.” “What should we do?” “Not sure.” “How about we clean the body and dig a grave here?” Questioned Alex. Alex had always been the type to do the utter weirdest thing even if it was in a respectful way. Chris just looked at her, not even questioning knowing he didn’t have any better idea than run away. They both started digging at the ground with their hands but then found a stick each that looked like a shovel. Wait… a sec it was a shovel. Not questioning why, it was there in the first place they started to dig until it was large enough to fit in the body. Not saying a word both off them grabbed their empty water bottles and buckets to fill up with water from a river nearby. They got a cloth from their bag and cleaned the person till there was no blood. A man laughing said “Oh it looks like your missing something! “Alex and Chris jumped up and saw the head of their son with blood dripping from the neck. Alex and Chris Screamed a piercing scream” Ahhh!” Alex and Chris were never to be seen again.
Yeah a bit dark but that’s what I got in 15 minutes, so I hope yous lie it!
“Oh my goodness” screamed the lady when she saw the dead body covered in piles of leaves. She wondered what on earth she should do in such a situation! This was craziness! She had thought she was on her usual stroll through the quiet woods, when suddenly out of the blue she stepped on something and she heard a huge crack. She stumbled and fell at that very moment of course. Then she screamed for help but there was no one around for miles to hear her. So what on earth could she do anyways?! The smell was horrific too. So, covering her nose, she carefully examined the body looking for what on earth had happened to the poor little man. And, in fact this man was actually quite short. He even looked to be a legal dwarf. In fact she was she sure that he was much smaller than even that. Which is quite small indeed. That was when she saw a hovercraft approaching from somewhere far away. She quickly went to go find a hiding spot, but seeing none, she came back to stand by the body. Who knew who was in that hovercraft, but she had to hope that they were coming to help out at least somewhat. I mean, what else could she possibly think. So staring up at the stars, she prayed to heavens, just hoping that this was someone here to help and not to hinder things. She could now feel the lights and cameras on her, glaring at her. Wondering just her next move might be. She could feel the heat as well. The beast was so close to her what. She just couldn’t believe it. Someone had to be driving that vehicle, and she hoped they had enough sense to show some care to this poor young man who had violently died so long ago. She had by now checked for ID yet could not find any. What was she to do anyhow? This was a man who knew no harm. She could just see it in his eyes. Someone
I probably rambled a bit but I hope it’s okay…
“Oh my goodness” screamed the lady when she saw the dead body covered in piles of leaves. She wondered what on earth she should do in such a situation! This was craziness! She had thought she was on her usual stroll through the quiet woods, when suddenly out of the blue she stepped on something and she heard a huge crack. She stumbled and fell at that very moment of course. Then she screamed for help but there was noone around for miles to hear her. So what on earth could she do anyways?! The smell was horrific too. So, covering her nose, she carefully examined the body looking for what on earth had happened to the poor little man. And, in fact this man was actually quite short. He even looked to be a legal dwarf. In fact she was she sure that he was much smaller than even that. Which is quite small indeed. That was when she saw a hovercraft approaching from somewhere far away. She quickly went to go find a hiding spot, but seeing none, she came back to stand by the body. Who knew who was in that hovercraft, but she had to hope that they were coming to help out at least somewhat. I mean, what else could she possibly think. So staring up at the stars, she prayed to heavens, just hoping that this was someone here to help and not to hinder things. She could now feel the lights and cameras on her, glaring at her. Wondering just her next move might be. She could feel the heat as well. The beast was so close to her what. She just couldn’t believe it. Someone had to be driving that vehicle, and she hoped they had enough sense to show some care to this poor young man who had violently died so long ago. She had by now checked for ID yet could not find any. What was she to do anyhow? This was a man who knew no harm. She could just see it in his eyes. Someone
Hi guys, I’m practising screenwriting. So try to really visualize the story while reading it. English is not my native language so forgive me for writing mistakes! The task was to write for 15 minutes about someone finding a dead body in the woods. Here goes nothin’:
Two men, Vince and Marc, are walking in the woods. Vince is his 40s. Marc is around 30. They’re not very attractive and look scruffy and tired. Vince is complaining to Marc about women and what a nasty “breed” they are, when all of a sudden he stomps on something.
VINCE
You know how they say women are all maternal and shit. That they would do anything for the ones they love. You know like that story where this woman lifts a 900kg car up to save her kid that’s lying under it. That’s fucking bullshit man. They ..
Vince trips over something.
VINCE
God damn it! Jezus fucking Christ! These fucking trees are growing out of fucking everything!
He looks back at the spot he fell over. He kicks it. He hears a stump. He bends over to see what it is.
VINCE
Holy shit. (whispers to himself)
Marc!! (laughs) It’s the dead girl! I fucking tripped over her sorry ass! Marc!
Marc turns around. He looks up to the sky and closes his eyes. He puts his hands together in a praying gesture. He pushes his forehead against his praying hands.
MARC
Thaaaank you fucking Christ.
He sighs and walks over to Vince and the body. He bends over to look more closely.
MARC
Well fuck my ass! We’ve been wandering these fucking woods for 3 days and this bitch is just lying here under some goddamn leafs?
He grabs Vince by the shoulders and shakes him. He starts laughing like a crazy person.
Vince pushes him away. Then Marc goes to sit down beside the body. He’s resting his back against a tree and lights up a cigarette. He looks up to the sky. He catches his breath.
MARC
I gotta tell ya Vince. This is a relief to me. A BIG relief.
VINCE
Yeah yeah yeah go cry to your mommas titties. (annoyed)
Listen, they can’t know she’s dead ok. If they find out, we’re fucked. Really fucked. Like gangbanged by a dozen ugly motherfuckers fucked. So here’s what we’re gonna do.
I’m new, first time trying to write in 15 minutes
I move from bed, discomfort moves with me
Spirit, mind, heart and lungs in unison protest
Take a breath, gasp, try take a breath gasp
Congestive heart failure, P.H. says rest
Something, turns thoughts inward, it screams; “Go to bed”
On c-pac machine, I’m hoping to dream
a dream, “Ignore all the “round-to-its”
They’ll not get done, well, not today it seems
Folks, got an idea …not sure what to do with it. Please help me (be specific) with my punctuation, syllables, and flow of the poem. First time sharing and doing the 15 minute exercise I’m wanting to learn, be very honest
Thanks
Something`s coming
“Okay,time’s up!”
All the students hand their answer sheet to the old guy who shouted before.
“Hey, where will we go after today’s school?”
“Jake, don’t forget your job!”
“Elysa! Wait!”
And many others….
All these conversations are rubbish,useless, and only drains your energy. You’d better just sit,shut yourself up, and don’t do anything except it’s urgent.”Do nothing, or do it fast if it’s inevitable.”
Well, that’s what Fei thought. He doesn’t need to do anything unless he is told to.Small talks with friends, playing around, hanging out are exhausting.
“Hey,err,you’re..Lei Faessie..right? Sorry,but Mrs.Franklin wants to meet you at her room.She says that it’s urgent”, says a guy who comes to his seat.
Fei doesn’t even look at the guy and starts walking along the class corridor.
“Guan Yu the God of War said, “the best strategy in war is swift attack!”, Fei speaks to himself while his feet keeps on moving…
I’d like to use this first exercise to write about me. I’m Elisabetta, I’m 27 and I’m from Italy.
I really want to improve my English not only for my job but also for myself. I love to learn new languages and new culture. I have a degree in Marketing and Communication and actually I work in a company of train transport. I’m in the Digital Marketing Department and my rule is to create new original content for the website and the mobile site. It’s great, I’m a creative and I like to create new pictures and digital contents. but another rule is also to write new articles and new email, in italian and in English. That’s one of the reason why I really want my skills about writing in English.
Some months ago I attended a school of English in Galway, Ireland. It was an amazing experience, one of the best experience in my life, I think. I met a lot of new people from different countries, like Brazil, Spain, France and Germany. I founded new friends and wonderful people. Galway is a small nice city, with a long beach, beautiful parks, and wonderful swans. The people is really nice and friendly. There are a lot of pubs where you can try a good beer. Every weekend the pubs are full of people, and there is also parties and funny people.
Anyway, at the beginning my English level was very low, now it’s better but I need to improve a lot. I’d like to improve my speaking, my listening and my writing. So, I’m sorry for mistakes of this pieces. And really thanks to all the people want to help me.
Have a nice week to everyone.
Elisabetta
I was running. Running from desperation. Running from rage. Running from my life.
I could only feel my heart racing, the sweat pouring down my face and the rush of adrenaline as I tried to push myself further and further.
Memories I tried to block trickled through my barriers. Blood – the yellow sundress – more blood – the swing. And suddenly my face was on the ground. I realised I tripped on something. I had a slight pain in my leg. I tried to get up but my shoe was stuck on something. I turned back and saw somebody was on the ground beside me. Horror filled me when I saw blood everywhere. My shoe was soaked in blood. I pulled my leg which was stuck on the dead girls bracelet. I saw the mangled hands and legs and my scream pierced through the peace of the woods.
This is more helpful for me because I am not content writer but I want to be a life long writer. I always try to follow your suggestion but I haven’t huge vocabulary to write from my mind. That’s why I feel quite nervous to write something. It’s my first comment so I can make huge grammatical mistakes as well as spelling mistakes. But it doesn’t matter. I read your every post for improving my writing habit and I appreciate you to chance me for being member of your writing group. I think you are the best guider on online word who helps others from the bottom of his heart. I used normal words as my first comment. If I get better feedback, it will be great opportunity to me. I need some books those I can finish within few days and they will be created enthusiastic to me. I also need some friends who can help me as a novice writer. sometimes I feel frustrated about my writing position because I can’t write few words fluently but now I got this group as a blessed to me.
thanks sir,
Samantha was taking a walk in the woods which were just a mile away from her home. She was an enthusiatic middle-aged lady who lived alone. It was her usual routine to walk in the woods during her weekends.
It was a nice sunny day alongwith a light breeze. She enjoyed the forest view and its silence too. There were litte birds chirping along, butterflies flying, one or two rabbits scampering around the bushes. Samantha seemed to be lost in the serenity of the forest.
Suddenly she stumbled upon and fell down. She thought it must be a log or a rock. But she was in for a surprise when she checked what she had stumbled upon. It was a dead body, probably of a woman as the clothes indicated it. Samantha went pale with fear and shock. She could not decide as to what should be her next move. She jolted out of shock and first moved away from the dead body. On observing it she saw that it must be 3-4 days old as it had bloated up completely and had begun to rot too. Samantha looked around to check if any people were around.
Samantha took out her cell phone, quickly dialed in 911 and gave her location. She found help in an hour, the police took the body and Samantha returned home. Her leisure visit to the woods was sure to stay in memory for quite a few days.
The Trail of Death:
The man was running on his normal trail through the lush forest near his house. One he’d run countless times before. So much so that he no longer thought on these runs, as if he was running on autopilot. It’s perhaps only for this very reason he managed to notice something that would turn his world upside down.
…
Shady Grove was a quant town with a population of a few thousand. Most people knew each other. It was the kind of idyllic town that still saw people leaving their doors unlocked at night. This was about to change.
…
Frank Hill noticed mound of fresh earth just off the trail he was running along. Given his knowledge of this particular section of the forest he thought it odd this was there. He approached curiously.
“What could have caused this?”, he muttered to no one in particular.
Just a few feet away his heart started beating faster. He spotted something he hoped wasn’t what he thought it was. As he squatted down directly over the mound of earth he brushed at what had caught his eye.
He leaped back when his fears were made reality. Poking out of the ground was part of a human foot.
His mind reeled at what he was seeing. How could this be possible?
He slowly stood up in a daze, not noticing the shadow that was moving through the trees beside him.
Just in time he turned to see something flying at his head and dropped below it’s lethal arc.
His mind was chaos. All he could do was think of escape. He made his way back to the trail at a blinding pace and began his escape.
The shadow could be felt by pure instinct directly behind him. It was unclear how close he was but Frank didn’t dare turn around. All his focus was ahead…
The sun didn’t set tonight.
It fell.
No one knows why. No one knows how. People have theories but theories are only theories after all. All that we know is that there is darkness.
So.
Much.
Darkness.
All of our lighting works fine. The electricity is fine. I can turn on the lightswitch and everything turns on as it usually does. Candles light. The fire in the fireplace still provides us with light.
But everyone is worried.
Everyone is stressed.
Everyone is panicking.
And that is causing everything to seem so dark. Soon, we will all die. And yes, that is a well known fact. Everyone is going to die one day. We are not going to be on this planet forever and ever. But now that there is no sun in the sky, death is so much closer. Without the sun, plants can’t grow. Without plants, we have no oxygen. Without oxygen we can’t breathe.
When we can’t breathe we die.
As soon as it happened, scientists were desperate to find a solution.
But no one can replicate the power of the sun. It’s impossible. I only wish that the scientists would all realise that they are wasting their time trying to find a solution.
There is no solution. We don’t have a sun. Full stop. Accept it.
It feels so strange trying to tell someone else to accept something when you yourself can not. But death is a hard thing to accept. We can not control death and maybe that is one of the main reasons that humans hate it so. We love to control things.
But we can’t control this situation. We have no sun.
We have no sun.
We have NO sun.
It seems impossible to get my head around four words. They are only four words after all.
Four words that seem to be a sentence to death.
Who am I kidding? They are a sentence to death. Humanity has been sentenced to death.
And there is nothing we can do about it.
Because we have no sun.
This is my first writing practice here in “thewritepractice.com
I would like to start blogging but I’m still hesitating whether I should improve my writing skills first or just make the first step and start writing,this question comes up quite frequently by the english non-native speakers.
As many people advise that by far the best way to really become a good writer or at least making a great blog posts is to practice writing,and this is the reason why I’m here right know.
So why I choose start blogging ?
Now I’m 40 years old, I have a (little) experience in my life in some topics, thus I’ve decided helping people who are struggling to figure out the right way, to share my experience with others and provide them all the knowledge I could acquired.
the second reason why I want to start blogging is making money. Nowadays, many bloggers are providing great content and part of their blogs, they provide courses as sort of video lessons,ebooks … that help people find out what they need.
This small article take me around 30min to write it : ), so at first it’s not easy, but it’s definitely worth your while.
I have written a short story for the very first time, I hope no one will get bore after reading that. Thanks to this page which gave me an idea…so that I could write…
An Emotional Wound
There are 2 types of wounds that happen to us .One comes us physically and the other is an emotional wound.
“Sometimes it’s a lot easier to deal with physical pain than it is to deal with emotional pain”
Many people got the emotional wounds, big as well as small. Some passed through the wounds like breakups, some lost their friends, their best friends for some reasons. Either they died or they finished their friendship with them. The reason could be of any type. Some lost their closest family members, their siblings, even their parents. I think it is the most painful wound, anyone can have, ever in his life.
My story is something like that. I, too, have an emotional wound. I didn’t lose my any family member or something else.
My emotional wound is related to the friendship. I had lost my very closest friend , my dearest friend, Marusha. She is not dead, but I can’t talk to her because I didn’t want her to remember that night and to hurt her again.
Now you would be curious to know about that night, but wait.
Marusha became my friend in 10th class. She joined my school in 9th, but in 10 she was good friend of mine.
After 10, when we all had done with our matrix exams, she with her whole family shifted to England. Her relatives were already well settled there. Then she asked me to make a Skype I’d, so that we could talk easily because phone call would be more expensive for abroad. I didn’t know at that time, how to make a Skype I’d as I was not used to the social websites, before.
Then my father asked me to use his I’d, at first and then later on, he would make my I’d. According to him he didn’t use that I’d, so I could use that temporarily. I got confused whether I should use that or not, but he convinced me in such a way , I couldn’t reject his offer and I agreed.
After some days, a conflict raised between my parents. My mother was not here, she went to my maternal grandfather, and meanwhile our college arranged a trip to Murree, with a night stay. My father gave me the permission. After trip, one day my friend, Hayya, told me that Marusha asked your father to allow you for the trip. Hayya was our mutual friend. She was also our friend from the 10th class and we were in the same class in college.
At that time, I came to know for the very first time that my father was in contact with my friend, but I ignored because fathers usually enquire about their children.
Later on, when my mother came back, she told me in anger that he talked with your friend and just because of you it happened. If you didn’t use his I’d , it would not happen and somewhere she was right. It was really my mistake but I did that unconsciously. I didn’t want that to be happen.
It didn’t mean that Marusha was wrong. She used to call my father as “Uncle!”. She used to reply him because of me, but yet, she should not reply him. She was unaware about what would be the result of that.
As expected, the result was not good. One day, my mother saw a message sent by my father to her and that message was, ”Can we become friends?”
After seeing that, she lost her senses, called to Marusha and insulted her a lot. Even she was innocent, there was not a single mistake of her, but my mother did that without understanding anything.
She called me again and said, “I didn’t expect this from you, you can’t even convince your mother that it was not my fault.” I replied her, “I tried to convince her, but she didn’t understand me, now what can I do! What’s my mistake?”. She again replied, “You know, what’s your mistake. Your biggest mistake is that you don’t speak. You don’t know how to convince someone, but it’s enough now. I don’t want to keep any contact with u, from now onwards.”
Next day, when I returned from college, my mother told me that Marusha called her and said her sorry. After that I messaged her and said her sorry. She did reply me, but that reply was her last reply, that message was her last message.
In that message, she said me, “Don’t try to contact me again, ever. I am changing my cell number and my Skype I’d too. I don’t want this all to be happen again, just because of being in contact with you. I forget everything and I am happy in my life with my parents, so don’t try to contact me, ever.” I messaged her again but there was no reply from her side, a complete silence was there. She never ever contacted me again. I, too, have not tried to contact her because I don’t want her to be hurt again by remembering that. In short, I am ashamed of what had happened in the past.
It was the biggest blunder that I had ever committed throughout my life. If I hadn’t committed that, I would not have lost my friend, my dearest friend, which everyone will like to have in his or her life.
She was very kindhearted person. The most beautiful habit of her was her purity, her sincerity. She was completely pure by her heart. She never ever hated anyone. She never made jokes of others. She was not the person like those who have double standards in their lives and still she will be the same, for I am sure because habits never change, whether they are good or bad.
Even I was well aware by my mother’s nature. Even I knew she was of sceptic mind but yet, I committed that blunder. Don’t know, why? May be, I had to lose my friend, may be it was written in my fortune, whatever was that. The only horrible result was; I lost my friend in all that mess.
“Healing doesn’t mean the damage never existed. It means the damage no longer controls our lives.”
I don’t know whether she missed me ever or not, but I missed her a lot and will miss her throughout my whole life till my last breath.
According to Thomas Aquinas;
“There is nothing on this Earth more to be prized than true friendship”
But look at my fortune, I have lost it forever.
May Allah Pak bless her and her family with a very long life with good health, all His blessings, all the happiness and success of the world and the world hereafter too.
Ameeeeeeen…..!!!!!!
———————————————-
A short story yet to be titled –
There were clouds overhead and it was beginning to snow. The evening tide was slowly creeping in to the shore forcing Kerry Kennedy to cut short his stroll. As he gingerly navigated the rocky, uphill path from the shore he felt light-headed and prayed his worn out van would make the five miles home before the roads got slick. He held a special affinity for the van though it was now 15 years old and unreliable. He had bought it in 1940, a year before the start of World War II, planning to take his beloved wife Addie on some road trips. Then the war came along suddenly, and he had volunteered thus putting the road trips on hold.
Kerry had spent that Friday afternoon at the Shamrock Pub just across Ocean View highway and decided to walk off some of the effects of several mugs of Beamish Stout before driving home. Over the past few months he had talked his way out of a couple of tickets for driving while impaired, but his luck was bound to change. Kerry had lost his wife to cancer four months before and overcome by grief had taken to drink.
Band Harbor was a small, tight-knit, mostly Irish community and the Chief of Police, Kieran Kelly, down through the ranks knew Kerry and Addie Kennedy and were very sympathetic to him making certain allowances for his drinking.
It was dark when Kerry finally reached his van. He pulled his coat close around his neck and began to search for his keys. At once he began to feel dizzy and leaned against the door to steady himself. Suddenly, he thought he heard a noise, and as he turned to look he felt a crushing blow to his temple. That was the last thing Kerry Kennedy would ever feel.
It was snowing heavily at 6 am on Saturday morning as Mollie Reilly was driving to her café to prepare for the day. Millie was the new owner/manager of Mollie’s Cottage Café and she always arrived two hours before opening to cook up the standard fare of biscuits, gravy, bacon, sausage and has browned potatoes. Other items such as eggs, hot cakes, and grilled vegetables she cooked to order.
Mollie parked her car in the alley behind her café, unlocked the rear door and entered the large kitchen. She removed her boots and dropped off her purse and coat in the cloakroom. Out of habit she scanned the kitchen for anything out of place. Noting to herself that things were in order, her gaze paused on the antiquated oven in the corner, and she dared to dream of the one she would someday have. It would have an oversized double oven to accommodate very large items such as turkeys and hams and two smaller ovens to use for baking casseroles and desserts. Her dream dissolved into reality as she pushed through the swinging doors to the dining area. Again, her eyes swept the large room to make sure everything was in place. She scanned the serving counter with its 12 stools and then the dining area with 20 wooden tables that seated four to a table and a feeling of pride came over her. She allowed her dream to again intrude on her thoughts and visualized new wallpaper with an Irish theme.
simply amazing!
His brain refused to process the image his eyes were looking at. Ray had seen fake bodies on TV series, even real photographs of actual corpses from the morgue. A police trainee sure had to look at dead bodies but it was the first time ever he had ran into one in person. The amount of blood was not the shocking part, nor was the pale and soulless skin. The issue was the cold eyes staring at him, without blinking or really seeing him.
The corpse of a fifteen-year-old girl was hanging right in front of Ray, lightly rocked by the wind. The young man unwrapped the belt from her neck and carried her away from the tree where she had decided to end everything. The teenager was not heavy at all, perhaps even a little underweight. He laid the body on the trunk of his car. Since he wasn’t familiar with the protocol for surprise dead people, he decided to call the station. Newbies were always given that kind of assignments, unconfirmed suicides, anonymous calls, anything officers think will be a waste of time.
(Ok it is really short but it is my first practice and English is not my first language)
i liked it, however how did she get blood on her body?
Gwenn was walking through a forest when she came across a sleeping man. She went closer to see if he was alright, but when she came close to the man she saw she wasn’t moving at al not even In the slightest. Quickly she jumped to the man to see if he was still alive but to her surprise, it wasn’t a man at all it was a scarecrow. Embarrassed she sat down hoping nobody had seen what happens, the fact that is was 1 p.m. gave her a little comfort but she still felt like an idiot. Then she heard something behind her at first she thought it was a laugh but then she heard it was a cough, she looked behind her and saw nobody, only the scarecrow and thought it was just her imagination. But then she heard it again and this time louder, she stood up an searched the bushes and trees behind her and then from the corner of her eye she saw something move. She looked at what was moving but she couldn’t believe her eyes. The scarecrow was standing all by itself looking at her with his head slightly tilted to the left. Gwenn was scared beyond running away but the fear began to be replaced by amazement, ever since Gwenn was a little girl she thought this world was boring and searched for magic and wonder, however she could never find it and so stopped searching. The fear wasn’t completely gone it was still present in the back of her head screaming at her that she should run but she couldn’t let this pass and so she raised her voice and said “Hello”. The head of the scarecrow turned straight to her in one quick fluent move, and for a second Gwenn thought that she made the wrong decision that she should have ran away. But then in a soft and kind voice, the scarecrow said: “well hello there, what is a girl like you’re self doing out at this hour?”.
Writing Prompt from this article:
The scent of mildew hung in the air from the leaves that were just scattered. Jake had fallen off the trail he had been walking on. He wasn’t even sure why he was out here in the first place. The office walls had started to close in on him. The grey stapler on his desk was staring, taunting him to complete more paperwork.
There was a pain in his leg. He must have sprained something as he rolled down. A log had stopped him as he fell. Jake sat on that soft log as he caught he slowed his rapid breathing. As he went to get up, Jake stirred some leaves off the log. It wasn’t a log. This dawned on him slowly. The log was attached to a shoe on one end and a torso on the other. It hadn’t been there too long he guessed. Rigor Mortis hadn’t set in yet. Jake turned slowly, breathing a little deeper and letting the steam float on the air as he exhaled.
Why had he not just picked that tormenting stapler up and continued his paperwork? It wasn’t like it was the best day for a walk behind the office anyways. The clouds hinted there may be rain, or even the first flakes of winter starting soon. He didn’t have time for this. Jake had too much on his plate.
With no sign of anyone he could see, other than the quiet friend he had just made, Jake raked a few of the disturbed leaves back over the body. He looked around to make sure he hadn’t dropped anything in his fall. He had. There was his pen his boss had given him at the company party just weeks before, name engraved on the shiny gold casing. That would have been bad. He didn’t have time for this.
Picking up his pen and dusting himself off, Jake worked his way back up the slick hill. He moved leaves back over his trail as best he could. Geez, he hoped it would rain instead of snow. Anything scent he left on the wet leaves would surely be washed away in no time.
Back in the office Jake went back to his files. He had too much going on, he didn’t have time for this. The rain started plinking on the window and he breathed a sigh of light relief then forced a staple in his stack of papers.
Chapter 1 – The Start of Something New
“Mom there’s a strange guy over jess!” said my little sister.
“It’s her brother.” My mom replied.
“No another guy, I saw them playing game yesterday.” “Okay, must be a friend.” My mom said, ending the conversation.
I was in my room reading one o f my favorite books when my mom called me and tell me that she needs me to go to the shop. I got up and bookmarked the page I was reading then head to my mom for the money. I went to the shop but on my way back I stopped at jess, I knocked on the door and I heard jess brother said come in. I went in and I noticed someone sitting in front of the television playing game, I walked pass the person and head straight to the kitchen where jess brother was.
“Where’s Jess?” I asked
“She’s not here” he replied.
“Okay then, tell her I stopped by.” I said heading toward the door.
I closed the door behind me and then a big smile came across my face. Looking at the guy I could tell he was older than me but how old? I thought to myself. He looks pretty handsome and mature. I didn’t like talking to guys my age since I thought they were immature. From there I know he would be my crush. I got back home and gave my mom the bag from the grocery shop and head straight to my room and start putting my feelings and thoughts on paper. I know there was some spiritual connection between this guy and me but how will this happen when he is older than me and I’m still in school.
Finally the weekend was over and I had to return to school the following Monday. At school I have three main friends, Plum, Whitney and Pinky. Throughout the week I never mentioned anything to them about this new guy. To me the week ended pretty fast. Normally on Friday evenings I would go over by Jess sometimes to play games, so I asked my mom if I could go and she said yes.
We were there playing games when jess oldest brother started playing music. We were there goofing around and having fun, then jess oldest brother said to me,
“Sabrina why not give my friend a dance?”
I was shocked at the question but I was excited at the same time, I started to laugh. I turn to him and asked
“Dance with someone I don’t know?”, then I saw he smiled.
I took his hands and started dancing with this guy I don’t know. It was fun, we were having fun. I realized it was getting late, so I tell everyone to have a great night. I left and went straight home; all I could think of is how awesome this guy was. The following Saturday would be a memorial for one of the community member so I knew I would get to see him once again. When I got home I went straight to my room and started to put my feelings on paper once again, I started to feel different; happy in a different way. I was thinking maybe I’m too young to feel so different for someone older than I am. I closed my diary and went to bed.
I was awaken by the glaze of sun through my window; I couldn’t believe it was morning already. I got up out of bed and went straight to the bathroom; I brushed my teeth and washed the sleep out of my eyes. I went back to my room and started to straighten my bed and placing things in order. I started on my weekend chores, by midday I started my homework and weekend assignments. Evening was near and I couldn’t wait to be at Jess.
“Mom I’m going over Jess.” I shouted from the front door.
“Okay, be good.” My mom said.
When I got there Asia was there along with Jess, Jason (Jess other brother) and the new guy. We stated playing board games until we got bored and started playing truth or dare from the new guy’s tablet device. About 20 minutes later Jess said she was going to the memorial.
“Okay” I said to her.
“So aren’t you coming?” she asked, and then Asia turned and looked at me.
“No I’m gonna hang a little and play some games until I’m ready to leave, which will be soon.” I answered. She nodded and went through the door with Asia.
Jess’s brothers were like my brothers so I didn’t feel any arm to be there playing games with him and his new friend.
We continued playing truth or dare until Jason decided to play video games leaving only me and the new guy playing truth or dare. I took the tablet and started readjusting the game options. I started the game, we were there having funny jokes through the game until there was a random dare, so I dared him to take off his shirt. I sat there and watched him as he took his shirt off, I started to feel different. He looked sexy without his shirt, I started thinking a lot of different thoughts, I wanted to touch his abs. I looked away and shake those thoughts from my mind; I started laughing the very instant.
“What’s so funny?” he asked
“Nothing” I replied smiling.
He offered me a drink of fruit punch drink, I was thankful for the distraction then we continued with the game.
“Enough with the truth or dares from the tablet, how about we ask each other random questions.” I said to him.
“Okay, you go first.” He said.
“No! You go first.” I demanded laughing.
“Okay, truth or dare?” he asked
“Truth”
“Do you like me?”
I started laughing uncontrollable that very instance because that question was so funny to me. He started smiling t me and said “answer”
I was still there laughing then I turned to him and say
“Are you crazy? No!” I knew to myself that answer was a lie but I couldn’t just tell a stranger I’m just getting to know that I like him. Since it was my turn I asked him
“Truth or dare”
“Truth”
“Do you like me? I asked him smiling. He nodded
“Truth or dare?” he asked
“Dare” I answered without thinking.
“I dare you to kiss me” he said. I was so surprised. I said no.
“Come on its just a game, it’s not like you like me or anything like that, right?” he asked.
“Yeah, I mean yeah it’s not like I like you.” In less than a minute the space between us was closed as he came closer to me and slowly pressed his lips on my lips, and then I used my hands to cup his face. For a moment it’s like my brain was inactive, so I snapped back to reality and ease him off, I held down my head shyly. I got up and said
“I gotta go.”
He followed me to the door, I then turned to Jason and tell him I was leaving and he said goodnight. I hugged him and said
“I didn’t get your name.”
He smiled at me and said “Tavoy”
“Nice name, good night.” I said to him and started to walk home. In less than two minutes I was home, I couldn’t stop thinking about tonight I smile to myself until I fall asleep.
An Emotional Wound
(Ayesha Afzal )
There are 2 types of wounds that happen to us .One comes us physically and the other is an emotional wound.
“Sometimes it’s a lot easier to deal with physical pain than it is to deal with emotional pain”
Many people got the emotional wounds, big as well as small. Some passed through the wounds like breakups, some lost their friends, their best friends for some reasons. Either they died or they finished their friendship with them. The reason could be of any type. Some lost their closest family members, their siblings, even their parents. I think it is the most painful wound, anyone can have, ever in his life.
My story is something like that. I, too, have an emotional wound. I didn’t lose my any family member or something else.
My emotional wound is related to the friendship. I had lost my very closest friend , my dearest friend, Marusha. She is not dead, but I can’t talk to her because I didn’t want her to remember that night and to hurt her again.
Now you would be curious to know about that night, but wait.
Marusha became my friend in 10th class. She joined my school in 9th, but in 10 she was good friend of mine.
After 10, when we all had done with our matrix exams, she with her whole family shifted to England. Her relatives were already well settled there. Then she asked me to make a Skype I’d, so that we could talk easily because phone call would be more expensive for abroad. I didn’t know at that time, how to make a Skype I’d as I was not used to the social websites, before.
Then my father asked me to use his I’d, at first and then later on, he would make my I’d. According to him he didn’t use that I’d, so I could use that temporarily. I got confused whether I should use that or not, but he convinced me in such a way , I couldn’t reject his offer and I agreed.
After some days, a conflict raised between my parents. My mother was not here, she went to my maternal grandfather, and meanwhile our college arranged a trip to Murree, with a night stay. My father gave me the permission. After trip, one day my friend, Hayya, told me that Marusha asked your father to allow you for the trip. Hayya was our mutual friend. She was also our friend from the 10th class and we were in the same class in college.
At that time, I came to know for the very first time that my father was in contact with my friend, but I ignored because fathers usually enquire about their children.
Later on, when my mother came back, she told me in anger that he talked with your friend and just because of you it happened. If you didn’t use his I’d , it would not happen and somewhere she was right. It was really my mistake but I did that unconsciously. I didn’t want that to be happen.
It didn’t mean that Marusha was wrong. She used to call my father as “Uncle!”. She used to reply him because of me, but yet, she should not reply him. She was unaware about what would be the result of that.
As expected, the result was not good. One day, my mother saw a message sent by my father to her and that message was, ”Can we become friends?”
After seeing that, she lost her senses, called to Marusha and insulted her a lot. Even she was innocent, there was not a single mistake of her, but my mother did that without understanding anything.
She called me again and said, “I didn’t expect this from you, you can’t even convince your mother that it was not my fault.” I replied her, “I tried to convince her, but she didn’t understand me, now what can I do! What’s my mistake?”. She again replied, “You know, what’s your mistake. Your biggest mistake is that you don’t speak. You don’t know how to convince someone, but it’s enough now. I don’t want to keep any contact with u, from now onwards.”
Next day, when I returned from college, my mother told me that Marusha called her and said her sorry. After that I messaged her and said her sorry. She did reply me, but that reply was her last reply, that message was her last message.
In that message, she said me, “Don’t try to contact me again, ever. I am changing my cell number and my Skype I’d too. I don’t want this all to be happen again, just because of being in contact with you. I forget everything and I am happy in my life with my parents, so don’t try to contact me, ever.” I messaged her again but there was no reply from her side, a complete silence was there. She never ever contacted me again. I, too, have not tried to contact her because I don’t want her to be hurt again by remembering that. In short, I am ashamed of what had happened in the past.
It was the biggest blunder that I had ever committed throughout my life. If I hadn’t committed that, I would not have lost my friend, my dearest friend, which everyone will like to have in his or her life.
She was very kindhearted person. The most beautiful habit of her was her purity, her sincerity. She was completely pure by her heart. She never ever hated anyone. She never made jokes of others. She was not the person like those who have double standards in their lives and still she will be the same, for I am sure because habits never change, whether they are good or bad.
Even I was well aware by my mother’s nature. Even I knew she was of sceptic mind but yet, I committed that blunder. Don’t know, why? May be, I had to lose my friend, may be it was written in my fortune, whatever was that. The only horrible result was; I lost my friend in all that mess.
“Healing doesn’t mean the damage never existed. It means the damage no longer controls our lives.”
I don’t know whether she missed me ever or not, but I missed her a lot and will miss her throughout my whole life till my last breath.
According to Thomas Aquinas;
“There is nothing on this Earth more to be prized than true friendship”
But look at my fortune, I have lost it forever.
May Allah Pak bless her and her family with a very long life with good health, all His blessings, all the happiness and success of the world and the world hereafter too.
Ameeeeeeen…..!!!!!!
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Assumed story….!!!
A young woman/man stumbles across a dead body in the woods. What does she/he do?
Myra trudged through the woods in the pitch dark night lost in the thoughts of her beloved husband stumbles upon what she thought at first a rock but as she looked closely she nearly fainted. It was lifeless body of a man.
Zillions of thoughts from sympathy to horror crossed her mind while she was still recumbent on the ground. She frantically searched her skirt pockets to fish out her nokia 5565 and with shivering hands called her husband John.After several calls the other side didn’t pick up and her fear was knew no bounds. Finally she pulled herself together and ran as fast as she could towards the distant lit houses for respite.She reached the beautiful row house with chandlier lit but the queer silence made her more nervous,nevertheless she banged the door and out came a middle aged man still in boots.Myra saw a woman peeping through the curtains in the hall.
Myra was overwhelmed by what happened few minutes ago and narrated the whole incident on the aisle itself.Mr Mike did what a man with wisdom would do and police came in few hours. The khaki clad officers took statement of Mr and Mrs Mike and Myra individually.
After recording statements police asked Myra to accompany them to police station for some “formalities” and she she was never seen again.
Memoirs of a Teenager:
Amy was walking around, not really with a destination, just wandering. She wondered where the days have gone, she used to be able to hold conversations with her friends for hours, but now they are in relationships and off doing other things. They mainly say that they are going out with their significant others, they never really have time anymore to just talk. Amy wanders alone for now, not even with anyone to talk to.
Many others say she will find someone to lean on, or talk to at least, but Amy herself doesn’t see it. She was always in the shadows. She never did anything, her anxiety and shyness always got in the way for her to think about doing anything. She has been like that as a child, never really made any friends that way and it never helped when her mother kept pushing her to make some. Sometimes Amy wanted to follow her orders, but just couldn’t do it. The friends she always made approached her first or the friends that she had would introduce her to others.
One of the things that bothers her is that many of her family members want her to make something of her life, wanting her to do the things they couldn’t. She puts her asperations behind her and lets them live their lives through her. What also bothered her is the way that everyone wants her to get her own significant other. The problem with that is that the boys that surround her want a girl with a perfect body, or so they can have her way with them, never for their personality or brains. Amy doesn’t feel like she goes with those standards, neither one of them. She doesn’t think she has the brains either. She just wishes that she could live up to everyone’s expectations to her, they want her to do amazing things, she doesn’t think that she has the courage to do it. Many others want her to do horribly because she beat them at one thing, making them feel insignificant.
So, these thoughts led her to this walk that she is taking. Wondering about the past and the expectations that is put upon her. Amy wears a brave face for her family, wanting to show her family she can do what they expect of her and more. Tomorrow she will slowly progress to what they want her to do, not what she wants. She will let herself forget about her own goals for herself and push herself farther and reach her family’s goals for her. Become more outgoing, smart, and get herself more friends, for the sake of her family.
The cold steel metal ladder did nothing to mask my movement as I went further into the bowels of the ship. The air was getting warmer, which amplified the pungent smell of everything thus making it hard not to go the opposite direction. There wasn’t time for me to give in to the thoughts of giving up and It seemed like my whole body wanted me to go the opposite direction. From the sweat, now dripping into my eyes and causing my usually calm hands to lose their grip. My lungs started to protest the journey by heaving from the lack of clean air. Now my need to use the restroom started chiming in with every movement causing me to focus and be more purposeful in my actions. My legs were the only thing that seemed to work correctly. A mental inventory of the body from head to toe allowed me to compartmentalize any reports of pain, a trick I learned during my military training at Fort Jackson.
CONFESSIONS OF A BROKEN HEART
“I should take a walk outside ” I told myself after wiping the tears off my cheeks . I wore my sneakers and plugged music in my ears and as I stepped outside the house , I had a storm of thoughts running through my head. It’s been a rough month with lots of lessons that life taught in the hard way. It was a lot to take in . I had to be positive to move on . I had to forget the past that hurt me and bury it in a place I could never visit . To begin with , I had to forgive myself. I had to let go of my greatest fear. The fear of not being able to stand up. I knew I had fallen and I had to get right back up .
But it was not easy , it never was ! . I had done things which could never be undone. I had betrayed my loved ones and let them down . Oh ! How i wish , I had a time machine to go back in time to change my decisions . The terrible decisions of the past which stole my peace . Those decisions that questioned my conscience . But deep down , I knew all these wishes had to go down the drain . I had to be realistic . I had to make up for every single thing of my past in my present and take it to my future . Some day, I would quench my thirst for integrity . Some day , I would make myself proud .
And today is the birth of a new woman. A good companion to her partner , a loving mother to her kids and a loyal friend to her peers. A person who has learnt to acknowledge her blessings to live life with hope and gratitude . To live each day as if it was her last . To be an epitome of love and friendship .
A young woman stumbles across a dead body in the woods. She frantically looks around and finds no one but only an axe with a slightly broken handle lying across from the body. She decided to try to identify the body and slowly approaches the upper part of the body. She squints her eyes to realize that she had indeed seen her somewhere. This causes her to feel exasperated. She runs away from the body into the woods but slows down when she finds a wooden house. She stands there thinking what to do but already finds herself stepping in. She calls out but no one answers her. She decides to look around for some evidence to join the puzzle that she has stumbled across. She opens a few cabinets and tries to look through. Her eyes finds a frame on the wall. Its the dead body and another man in it. She feels like she had seen the man too sometimes. But not to waste time in racking her brain. She opens the third cabinet. She finds some files and she opens it. She finds a photo of a girl with some hospital documents in it. She again feels like she knows her too. She walks across the room and suddenly catches her reflected in the mirror hanging on the side wall. The girl in the file is her!. She started feeling claustrophobic and sprints outside.
She finds a car outside. She slowly peaks in and finds no one inside. She opens the car door and finds a key chain. It has the name of girl in the file. It dawns upon her that it was her car. But she does not remember driving anything as such. She decides to drive away in that car but just as she adjusted her seat belt. She found a broken piece of something. She was terrified and took the broken piece and ran inside. She opened the file again. The files read, “Anastasia Morgan Age 26. Developed a rare brain disease that causes memory fluctuations of intermittent time.” The man in the frame was his ex-husband. The dead body was of the women her husband had married after divorcing her thinking that she did not love him anymore but there were mere symptoms of the brain disease she had been developing. She suddenly remembered what she had done! It all came back to her. She had no idea what to do. She heard police sirens in the distance. She burst out in a loud cry. She felt so helpless. She heard cars approaching the house. She closed her files hurriedly and shoved them in random cabinets. The police made loud thumps at the door. She was hyperventilating. The policemen broke the door down. “Help! Someone is trying to kill us!!” She screamed.
One of my first essays… sorry it it’s a bit all over the place 😉
“The night was cold and dark when Alissa stepped out of the building. The road was deserted, and the naked branches of the birch trees swayed silently to the tunes of an eerie breeze. The cold bite of the early winter air pricked her, and Alissa wrapped her arms around her in a vain attempt to keep out the cold, and perhaps, the fear that was slowly creeping in on her. Alissa walked faster, as her heart raced. Shadows seemed to dance in the very corners of the lane, taunting her with eldritch movements and high-pitched whistles. The haunting echoes of the each step she took ricocheted off the street, joining in with the eerie chorus of the wind. The echoes seemed to merge into another set of footsteps altogether, a pair of footsteps that had started increasing its own pace. Refusing to look behind, she broke off into a sprint, and she could feel a presence creeping in on her.”
Would love to hear some feedback on how I can improve!
A walk in the woods is usually isn’t traumatizing, but the day Mike went with Gwen, it was different.
“H-h-holy crap–who the hell is that,” Mike said, the hint of nervousness was noticeable in his voice.
“You haven’t seen a dead body before,” asked Gwen; her confidence was clear.
“N-no! I haven’t—I obviously never would want to see what. What s-should we do now,” Mike asked as he started shaking a bit.
“I guess we can just call 9-1-1.”
“I-I’m already on it.
After talking to the police about the little-known dead person in the woods, Mike and Gwen started walking back to their street; Michael was still shaken up.
“Um, s-so you said you have seen d-dead bodies before, correct,” Michael anxiously asked.
“Let’s just say I have seen more dead things than you ever will.”
“That’s fair enough,” Mike said as he walked into his house and Gwen walked inside of hers, both had different views on the specific “horror” that will never be forgotten.
Max woke up to a scary dream; it was about a shooting at his school. Still shaken by his dream Max got up from bed and pushed his dream to the back of his mind. It was unusual cold day, max glanced at his alarm clock which read 8:15, he only had five minutes to get dressed and eat his breakfast. Max in a hurry grabbed his uniform from his closet, stripped of his pajamas and got dressed. Max quickly put his homework which was still on his desk from last night into his bag and hurried downstairs. His mom was already up and was at the kitchen counter reading the morning magazine. There was pancake for breakfast along with an orange on the counter across from his mom. Max went to the kitchen counter, sat and quickly wolfed down his breakfast. After finishing his breakfast Max brushed his teeth and was about to go when his mom yelled out, “Max don’t forget your lunch”. Max quickly hurried to the kitchen counter and shoved his lunch box into his backpack and ran out saying,” By mom, have good day at work”. Max mom who was still dressed in her pajama yelled back,” Bye Max and make sure you eat your lunch”. Her name was Margret, she is a police officer. Her husband is Cornell and he is a firefighter. You can say that they enjoy doing their work and making their country safe.
this is what how much I wrote in 15 minute and please tell me how I did. thankyou
Hi folks.
I’m 59 and haven’t written a story in 40 years. This is my first 15 minute writing challenge. Unfortunately, due to the timer going off; it has an abrupt ending!
But, it would be interesting to hear your comments. Many thanks.
SS01 (Short Story 1)
From space our big blue plant glistens in sunlight; blues, greens and yellows surrounded by a whispy white blanket.
I live in Europe. In fact I live in the United Kingdom in a small town in the heart of the Midlands. An ex mining town where coal was dug from hundreds of deep shafts and tunnels. Like many towns it grew up around a cross road and in it’s hay day was surrounded by open cast quarry pits, brick and tile making factories and railway lines; ferrying away the black gold.
Today the open quarries are still in use. Much larger and busier than they’ve ever been. The factories making bricks and building materials are still in operation; now modernised and safe. Much of the railway lines are still there, but have long fallen silent since the closing of the last coal mine in the early 1980’s. Now the silence is only distudisturbed by the twenty four trucks on the ore train from the quarries; that rumble daily across the high street.
Only one mine remains, as a monument to busier productive times. In this mine is a three hundred foot shaft heading vertically down into the warm earth.
The lifting gear no longer works and if it did, would lower the cage into a dark pool of deep water; as the pumps were also all laid to rest.
Beside the lift shaft is a secondary shaft. An access shaft of some three hundred feet accessible only by a single vertical ladder. No lights only darkness and moist warm air.
I have an LED lamp strapped to my head and a powerful small torch tucked into my jacket pocket; and I start my decent.
I know from beautifully drawn diagrams on the wall of the mine museum that the water table in the shaft is around a hundred and thirty feet below me.
Looking down I see only darkness. Each side of the square shaft is approximately five feet. The ladder is cold rusty iron clamped to the shaft wall every five rungs.
I have no reason to be going down a dark, flooded, disused mine shaft. Other than to show you what I have found.
I have counted the rungs that I have descended, each one being around twelve inches from the other. So I have a good idea when I will meet the water level below me. There has been no rain for the past week and so the level should be no higher than the last time.
At the one hundred and twenty fourth rung I hear the small stones from the sole of my boots and falling rust from the ladder; hitting the water below.
The water echoes in the darkness louder with each rung descended.
My head torch can now see the top. The top of a side tunnel cut horizontally into the side of the shaft.
When I get level with the tunnel entrance I leave the ladder and step on damp sticky but firm soil and start walking.
There are upright timbers every six feet or so and as I go on the tunnel dimensions get smaller and the moisture in the air reduces.
And then there it is; ten foot in front of me. I have never been any closer.
A closed wooden door blocking the way ahead. Like that of an old castle, the door is made of thick timbers with nailed joints. Big head black iron nails and two large black plate hinges.
…And from a small gap in the bottom of the door, a light.
Not a blue white light from electricity or a soft yellow light from flame.
But the clean crisp light…
of daylight.
Hope you enjoyed it
– Duncan UK
My 15 minutes practice.
Evening was creeping into the courtyard of Mrs Mohapatra.
She was waiting her husband to return from the office and accompany her to the
nearby market complex to bring new dress for the Christmas. She had prepared
the list for the occasion. But, she also know the scarcity of fund of her
husband. Of course, they were happy with their financial position. Yet she wishes
to be rich enough to show her neighbour. That’s why she planned to do some job
somewhere, what Mr. Mohapatra don’t want. Still she had the desire and she know
she could make her husband understand how it is so important to work together
and meet the basic need of family. So, she again prayed God to give little
thought to her husband to allow her to do some job,
She now went to the kitchen to prepared tea. She put little
water in the bowl and put it on the burner to boil. After little time she added,
the tea leafs and waits to brew.
Calling bell rang and she knows may be her husband on the
door. She ran to attend. But, sadly her husband was not there. Who the switch on
the bell she thought. She opened the door and looked at her garden in front. But,
she nowhere found the trace of anyone except the chirps of the evening birds.
She thought it was her waiting mind, that heard the
bell. But, again the bell ranged and Mr.
Mohapatra was there.
She asked
Whether before little while you have switch on the bell.
Yes
But where you were .
I went back to bring some stuff. He gave her a packet.
What is this?
Yours Christmas gift.
What, you have bought
Yes
Now she was so happy. It was a nice saree. She loved the
colour. She said thanks in her soft voice
Why? I could not imagine you to give me a gift. After tea let
us go the market to bring something for the occasion.
Okay. I have enough money .Don’t worry for the fund.
How?
We got bonus this year.
Your company is great.
Yes.
She sat up in her bed.Outside the wind moaned and pushed against the side of the house. It made the made the walls shift and the windows shiver. But the girl hardly noticed. Instead, through a crooked cack in the curtain, she watched the clouds hugging the moon. They wrapped their smokey fingers around it before fluttering back into the sky. She smiled. Wrapping her blanket around her like oversized cloak she padded over to window.
“No” I said for what felt like the hundredth time. “No she cant be dead.” I stared at Emily’s face tears blurring my vision. I fell to my knees burying my face into my sisters curly blonde hair smelling the honey shampoo she used all the time. A new wave of tears hit me at the memory and I pulled away brushing hair away from her face. I rubbed my eyes and slowly inspected her. She appeared fine. ” How did this happen?” I murmured to myself. Then it slowly dawned on me. “No it couldn’t be.” I said to no one in particular my breath hitched as I rolled up Emily’s sleeve and there on her wrist was a crescent connected with a zig-zag that I could only identify as the sunshade. “Lucus did this.” I realized. Lucas used to be really close with my sister and I, but slowly he started to get envious of our so called perfect life and he soon developed feelings of hatred for us. So he decided to make a group called the sunshade a group that captures and traps souls with the help of riboskies little creatures with three eyes that can go between the underworld and the living world creating a perfect tear between the two to capture souls. ” I can still save you.” I said hopefully. “I’ll get your soul back and when I do, I’ll teach Lucas a thing or two.”
Story about a man stumbles across a dead body in the woods.What does he do?
It was early in he morning,John went for walk in the park nearby his house.He was walking around the park listening to music and was having fun.Suddenly he had stumbled across a deadbody in the woods.His legs got shivered with fear.His pulserate was increasing.He went toward the deadbody ,then he found blood spewed upon he road and knife stabs on the body’s neck.Immediately he started shouting after looking at it and the people in the park gathered over there .They called the police and the police reaced the sopt withon 10 minutes.The deadbody was taken to the hospital in an ambulance.After all,john was very curious about the murder and uesd to get updates from the policemen regardig the case.Finally the case was solved and it came to know that the man who was found dead in the park was a buisinessman coming to home from Pune.He was got robbed by some unknown persons and was murdered.
Wolf
The night was cold and dark when Natalie walked back to her house. The cool winter air gently breezed across her face, making her shiver and pull her shawl tightly around her. The street was empty, except for the dogs howling into the empty night sky to her right. Natalie stopped in her tracks to look at them; they were a strange breed, something she had never seen before. From what she could make of them- their features were obscured by the darkness- their ears were pointed sharply, almost conical, their eyes all a uniform, sharp golden brown-which seemed to glow in the darkness, and their snout extended way further than the average dog. And the howling. It was just melancholy- more of a wail, really. Natalie shuddered as she heard it once more and then shook herself, walking faster now. And then, when the wailing finally stopped, she could feel a pair of eyes on her. Disturbed, she looked around to see the pair of golden-brown eyes stare at her from the shadowed edge of the street. Transfixed, she held its gaze, unable to look away, to even move, as the creature slowly walked toward her. As it approached her, its features became clearer. Wolf. That’s what it was. It was beautiful, really, in a deadly, predatory way. Its gait was almost majestic and she could have sworn that its head had dipped softly before stopping right before her feet. She knelt down, somehow not frightened of this strange beast. She knew that it would not harm her.
This is my first practice and I used the idea of finding a dead body. it took me about 20 min. This is not a true story.
OK, I’m up dressed and on the trail. The first day of my new year resolution and I am determined to lose weight …….this time.
Its fresh this morning birds are singing the trail is dry and easy to jog on. 5 minutes and I’m breathing heavy already. I can do (BANG) a gunshot rings out) stumbling from the shock of the sound I fell to the ground spraining my wrist and scraping my nose on a root sticking up from the ground. As I was trying to stand a person running passed me knocked me down increasing the pain in my wrist. As I looked up I saw a dim figure running away from me and disappearing into the dark of the morning. Picking myself up for the second time my first thought was to call it a day but no I must do this. Wiping the dirt from my face and holding my sore wrist with my other hand for support I headed off on the trail once again. I just got started and was warming up when I saw a boot on the side of the trail that looked out of place. Curiosity got the better of me and I slowed down to take a look. The boot wasn’t alone and not only was there another boot but also a body attached to them both. I have no cpr training but I gave him a shake and called to him but he was lifeless. I then noticed a lot of blood around his head area and right then and there I new this was out of my league. That’s when I remembered the gunshot. I did not have my cell phone with me, so, a quick run home and call 911.
I waited for the police to show and took them to the body. I had to give my statement and went home. The next day the news told a story of a gang slaying in the woods and that it poses no threats to the locals living in the area. Back to jogging!
Woke up late one Sunday morning and it was eerily quiet. In the downtown core there are at least a few horn honkers or tire screechers, not today. Looking out the window there was no traffic. No cars whatsoever. No cars parked or double parked. Maybe there is a parade today? Hmmm, May 9th, is that a holiday, or is it National walk-your-poncho-wearing-dog day? I’m listening more intently but not even distant sirens from the interstate. Throw on my hoodie and head for the door. Pants! Must wear pants. Where’s my keys? Shoes, shoes would be a good idea, and in the shoes are my keys, brilliant!! Hopped down the 11 flights and through the lobby expecting to witness an entirely different scene from that of my apartment window. The swish of the revolving door was the loudest thing around. No barriers at the ends of the street, no noise, no exhaust, no cars! What in the name Progress is going on here? Naturally I walk into the now unoccupied street space looking both left and right coming to a stop on the center line. The street runs straight toward Lake Matilda which is easily 14 blocks away. The only movement is pedestrians and bike traffic, the only sound, the occasional bird chirping. Asking a passerby, “Excuse me, do you know if traffic has been blocked off?”
“Actually, all cars have been banned in favour of bike and foot traffic”
Cramped and confined, in this squalid study sat a boy- his hair unruly and tousled; his eyes droopy and stolid; and his face palid and drawn. He was wearing nothing fanciful but his brother’s cast- offs: a shabby overcoat, baggy trousers and floppy white socks. In a matter- of- course way, he looked dowdy and plain, like a spectre without a soul, sizing up the sooty blackboard expressionlessly.
Title: Missing
Stumbiling through te wood at 10:35 at night isnt a good idea .Anthing could be waiting around read to pounce, to kill me to, exploit me at any moment i am in these woods.
Trees whisliling on a cold winters day is scary enough to scare of a serial killer, right ?
I’m just being silly , no one is going to out here at this time .It’s Friday night everyone is going to be out partying in a night club getting drunk , celebrating any occasion that they can think of. Any reason to drink that’s what nanny sheila says.
I was lucky enough last time running away from that dog or should i say sprinting away. people should have their dogs on a leash especially dogs like that that was not a dog that was some monster.
Anyways i have arrived home making a cup of coffee before i go bed . normally i chaeak my social media but.. Oh wait i just got a message . what a female aged 21 has gone missing and her name is called Connie, wait i know a Connie let me cheak what her secomd name is… I scroll down the page searching for what i hoped for , the last name of that girl that want missing; mcdoodle. Thats my friends name no she cant have gone missing i only saw her the other day in Tesco Express down the food isle looking for some lasagne for her tea that night.
I returned to my home page and tapped on my contaced list .
Scrolling town i get presented to the name of Connie Mcdoole I pressed on the contact and it rang for a couple of seconds and went to voice mail.
This is soo not like connie she would pick up what is she really is missing? What do i do?
Bottled Messages:
It was a warm summer night. The moon was shining people where out on porches laughing and all was good. Except for the fact that There was a filled beer bottle on the third step of my porch, there was also a note. I though to myself, “Should I read it take the risk to find out something horrible take the risk and it’s just some drunk person messing with me. I take it look at the note and it says exactly this, “You have 24 hours” 24 house until what? Until some drunk person comes wobbling to my door step or until something bad happens. I think and I think on what this could mean but I get nothing like when a writer gets writers block well I have um…. thinkers block if that’s even a thing. Next day I am sitting outside with my sister and the bottle is half full. It looks like another note, “OH GOD!” I think to myself is this it am I going to find out what I had 24 hours to do and didn’t sussed? It turns out the not just said, “11 hours” “UNTIL WHAT!” I scream in frustration. It has been about two days and I’m so worried that I am pulling my hair out, Literally there is a bald spot on my head. I jump at the sound of my own door being knocked on. I don’t answer thinking it’s just someone from the community church trying to get donations and speak about god. But there was even more knocks this time louder and harder. Then I hear, “LA PD open up or we’re coming in”. I open up and they ask me, ” Are you miss.Lucy Goriana?” and I reply in hesitation, “Um y-yes t-t-that’s um m-me what cam I h-h-help y-y-you with?” Then all of the sudden I hear “You are being arrested for the murder of Jason Natolie” “WHAT MURDER?” I yell and the next thing I knew I was in a cop car. “Sorry officer this is all I am going to tell you until I get a lawyer”.
My first 15 min piece: 1. Roaming along a narrow track in the forest, I was feeling at home. Now and then I stopped watch a bird foraging in the undergrowth, or flying high up into a tree. could not help regretting that i do not have wings to see the view from the top of tall trees in the forest, or soar on the breeze; or to be part of a flock heading for a country far away – somewhere i have never been; to immerse myself in strange, alluring, even spooky forests.
As i turn the corner, i see someone lying on the path. Slowly I approach – is the person sick, have they been injured or even been bitten by a snake or spider. As i see him more clearly, i notice that he iswearing a backpack; he is a slim, pale man, and looks pretty tall. As i reach for his pulse, I am shocked to fell how cold he is, especially since it is a warmish day. When try to call the emergency number on my phone there is no reception. What shall I do? When I search his backpack there is no form of ID. Warily I check his pockets; again no ID. Strange. Feeling a stab of panic, i make my way back along the track, hoping that i shall make it back before dark. Once darkness envelops the forest, wild animals will be on the hunt for a meal. The dead stranger will make for an easy meal.
A young man stumbles across a dead body in the woods. What does he do?
Answer:- If a man stumbles across a dead body in the woods he must inform to police first about the dead body. And if he know anything pertaining to incident about that dead body he must transfer all details and data of a dead body to the police. At the time of stumble he do not need to run from that place. No need to be disappointed must be bold and brave that time and took a valuable and intelligent steps. Either a young man can call to people and tell them the incident or directly call to police. One important thing should a young man to do that is to know first whether the man is died or alive confirm it first at the time of stumble. Then a young man can take decision easily after knowing all the facts.
On the other hand, if a young man run from that place inspite of help he can be trapped by police at the time of investigation because if police found that a young man was present there they obviously investigate him. So he must think about the consequences what can happen with him if he take such type of kid steps. Everybody should have helping nature it is not concerning especially of a young man. We all must take a bold decisions at a difficult time to tackle them. That is all about the young man who stumble across a dead body in the woods.
Few years ago when I was in degree 1st year. It was my 1st internals; I checked notice board for my exam hall, it was in the third floor. There was 15 min for exam to start, I was wishing my friend -all the best before going back to my exam hall. When i turned back to go, I saw him standing near a classroom. A tall, fair , well built guy with a book in his hand and a bag in his shoulder talking to someone. It was the first time I saw him.
Avni was startled from the voice behind calling her and was back from her daydream.
(2)
It was a year later, one night Avni’s phone beeped. Looking at her lit phone screen she had a mild smile on her face, it displayed WhatsApp message from Avhi.
hi there ,
Back to B’lore. Let’s meet up.
To which Avni had replied instantly
Sure. Let me know the place and time. 🙂
My trips with Gigi
My best friend, Gigi, was diagnosed with breast cancer last May. Luckily, she discovered in a early stage. She went through a surgery to remove the lump and didn’t have to do chemo therapy. It was a still a traumatic experience and she was worried about if the cancer will come back in the future and how long she can live. I don’t know how to console her, so I asked her: “Do you have any dreams or goals that you want to complete? If you do, l’ll help you to fulfil them.” She then said: “I like to go to all the Disney world in this world.” And just like that, I planned her first trip to Japan this past December.
The Japan trip was six days long. We went to Shinjuku and Hakone first, then on her birthday, we went to Disney Sea. I’ve never seen her face lit up like that. I asked her why she liked Disney world that much. She said: “when we were young, mainland China were very poor. It’s very difficult for mainlanders to get a visa and travel expense were unaffordable, so going to Disney seems like a impossible dream. I guessed when you couldn’t acquire something at a young age, you craved for it even when you entered your adulthood. That’s why going to Disney world, especially the Japan disney world is my dream. Thank you, Michael, for bringing me here and complete my dream.”
It was a great trip for her and for me as well. We had so much fun together.
Sometimes all you need to complete a dream is to simply do it. Don’t wait.
“Remember Me”
I don’t usually sit alone. Okay, maybe I do. But it doesn’t matter that much. Okay maybe it does. I haven’t had the chance to make any friends. My parents thought it would be a good idea to send me away to a stupid boarding school that I don’t even want to go to. It’s literally the same as any other school, but worse. The food? Terrible. The teachers? Worse. The thing is I am not really a social person, one could say. I want to be, I try to be, but I guess it’s not in my wires. My name is Kaia, and I’m the unofficial president of the Losers Club, well that’s what they call me anyways.
I remember it like it was yesterday; the wind in my hair, the smell of that significant pine in the woods, and best of all, the smell of my mothers famous brownies, the ones I used to have all the time with my best friend, Rose, as her long blonde hair flowed in the wind. She and I used to hang out all the time, until I got a call from my brother; my mom had been in an accident.
Of course, being the klutz that I am, I was so shocked I dropped my phone in the water. That didn’t matter anyways, I had to get to the hospital. Rose drove me there in her Chevy, the one she’s so proud of, which I will never understand. We got to the hospital, tears in my eyes, when I see my brother. That’s when the waterfalls started. We rushed to my mom’s hospital room as fast as we could, when I see her. The same mother that had made me, raised me, and shaped me; except she wasn’t the same. It was like all the life had been drained out of her. No smile, no laugh, just bruises and tears. I ran as fast as I could towards her, when the big, rough arms of a doctor grab me. “Sorry little lady, no one’s allowed in”. I was so mad. How could I not go in and see my own mom! She seemed fine, other than a couple casts covering the sadness that is her broken bones. I was about to burst through the door when Rose grabbed me. “Kaia, she’s fine. Come with my and Jack, we can wait over here.” I didn’t want to go anywhere. I just wanted to be with my mom.
None the less, this was no trauma. I waited until I was finally allowed in, and I embraced my mom with passion I didn’t even know I had in me. “I’m so glad you’re ok” I said to her. “Thank you, I am too. I didn’t know I had a fan club! Doctor, please let me know if any more cute stranger fans walk in!” What did she mean by ‘cute stranger fans’? That was weird. “Mom? It’s me! Don’t you remember?” I don’t think I have ever seen a blanker stare than what I was given that summer afternoon. “Daughter? I can’t seem to recall having a daughter…I want my rest now, you can come back later” she said. I had never felt more empty inside. My blank face told it all as I slowly turned towards my brother, tears rolling down my eyes when suddenly, everything went dark.
That’s all I have for now hope you liked it!
The boots.
Kris ran as fast as he could, not looking back, the bandits attack on the carriage was his chance and he hadn’t let it go, freedom finally smiled at him. If the guards repelled them his situation wouldn’t change, same thing if the bandits empowered the guards only difference would be that they would sell him to a slave trader and then for another master.
And he didn’t want that, his last seven years had been a living hell, and his master the king of that hell. Mark of burn could be found all over his bony body; one for each time his master’s gladiator won a battle in the coliseum. Never in Kris’s wildest dream the thought that his own father would sell him to a slave trader for the mere price of twenty silver coins crossed him mind.
Running was a difficult thing to do if not impossible in the Rasfold forest knew to be the denser in the kingdom, the shoulder high thickets and the tall undergrowth didn’t permit it, nor did the few lighted patch that found their way through the tall canopy helped with the visibility either. But he had to keep up with this rapid pace, his life was at stack now that he fled, if the guards killed the bandits; he would be executed the moment they catch him.
Running past a massive tree Kris stumbled and fell on the plant littered ground, he looked back excepting an exposed tree root but in its place he found a corps of a young man or what it gave the impression to have been long ago, for it was decayed and hidden under the tall undergrowth.
Kris looked at the shoes the carcass wore and reached for them, no emotion was shown on his face his once lively blue eyes have long been accustomed to such an image; he had already seen his share of corpse and gore in this life, the disposing of dead gladiator corpse had been his work since the moment he was betrayed and made a slave. At least this one had his limb still attached was his only thought about it.
In the other hand the brown leather boots, have a mesmerizing effect on him. He took the first from the decayed corps and wore it on his right foot, closing his eyes a soft sight escaped from his burn lips; he had never thought that the feeling of the soft leather on his wounded feet would be this great. After putting the second and bathing for a moment in the pleasurable sensation, he searched the corps. The shoes were already a treasure but he would not say no for money or anything that could be sold in the next village. It was a pity the cloths were more ragged than his own or else he would have a colorful dress for once not that old gay bag he had on his skinny frame.
Hi every one this is the first time I ever write and post something. I’s like to have you critiques and opinions about it. I’m not a native English speaker if there is a mistake in my writing please do tell me, thank you ^^
THE WORLD NEEDS YOU!
Nowadays when you switch on the TV or scan the News Paper, the news that jumps out at you is mostly depressing! You have right-wing populists ruling the roost around the world. In America, they want to build a “beautiful” wall across the Mexican border to keep the Mexicans away. Never mind, these Mexicans take up the jobs that the Americans themselves won’t touch with an extra large bean pole! In India they want to dictate what you can wear, what to eat, what to read and so on! In France, it’s about enforced uniformity by which you are denied the choice to dress as per your religious or cultural traditions! In the Philippines, anything goes in the name of getting rid of drug dealers and drug addicts! You can go around the world and find examples of intolerance, xenophobia, racism, human rights abuse, religious intolerance etc on the rise.
Most of us feel depressed that the world has come to this pass. We also feel helpless! But we are not helpless. We can raise our voice against these injustices! We should! otherwise we would be guilty of leaving behind a very unlivable world to our children! Remember, we the decent, are the silent majority! Don’t let the indecent minority dominate us!
We can save this world if only we care enough to stand up and be counted! Make no mistake, the time to act is NOW! TOMORROW MAY BE TOO DAMN LATE! The WORLD NEEDS YOU! NOW!
Hello Everyone,
Before entering into the world of writing, let me introduce myself as my first writing practice.
I am R.Priyanka Pandey from India.
My friends and my colleagues considered me as an confident and hard working girl.
On career front After completing my graduation i have worked for almost four years as an Backoffice Executive in different sectors.
As it is my first day in writing world i am quite scared and nervous, but at the sametime thrilled excited and looking forward for this journey.
criticisms are welcome as i am not at all good even in introduction part.
Steve and Jenni rode up to the edge of the forest looking forward to the picnic they and their friends had planned at Logan’s pond. It was early autumn, the thick green leaves of the trees had begun their yearly color-changing routine. Now there were various hues of gold, orange, green and brown which spread across the vista of the forest as they looked about. “Here’s the path in,” Steve pointed out, ‘we follow this path and it will take us all the way to Logan’s pond.”
“How far is it?” asked Jenni. Jenni and her family had moved into Logansville just before the start of the school year, so she was unfamiliar with most of the area. “Should only take us about 20 minutes or so I think, its a pretty easy ride all the way. we just need to walk our bikes over one little culvert that cuts across the path about half-way in, other than that no problem!”
Jenni smiled and said, O.K., lets get going then, I’m already getting a bit hungry.” Steve answered, “Well with all the stuff we have packed here in our basket we shouldn’t have any problem getting full. Phil and Sarah wil be bringing a bunch of stuff to. i hope his mom made up a bunch of those peanut butter chocolate chip cookies she’s famous for! God their so awesome!”
“Let’s get going then, you just made me even more hungrey than before!”
They both laughed at that and continued peddling their bikes down the path into the forest. As they rode in farther, the trees became denser in number, and the wind made a kind of sighing rustling sound. Every once and a while, a little gust of wind would kick up and leaves would rain down from the tree canopy above. After about 15 minutes of riding Steve, who was in front, suddenly came to a stop. Jenni hit her brakes and said,”Hey,I almost crashed into you, why did you stop so suddenly?” Steve got off his bike and turned to her, “Look off the side here, thats Phil”s bike. I think maybe hes had an accident or something. The picnic basket is all spilled out and the front wheel spokes are bent. I better go check down in the culvert here, he may be hurt or something.”
“Are you sure its safe? Maybe we should just go get some help” said Jenni concern showing on her face. Steve answered “I dont want to cause a panic if its nothing to really worry over. Let’s go down here and check around a little, maybe we will find him and see if he’s alright or not.”
“O.K., guess we should check it out first, wait, didn’t you say Sarah was supposed to be here to?”
“Yeah, thats another reason to check things out. Either he ended up coming alone, or he dumped his bike because something happened to her. I need to find out.”
guess i write kinda slow, what I posted took me most of 15 minutes to do.
An occultist, explaining how magic works once said to me, words have power, much more power than I could imagine and he demonstrated this to me in a simple way. What he said to me resulted in me chasing him down the road in full flight until he outrun me and I gave up the futile chase. The result was that I became a believer in the power of the word and even more in the written word i.e. the book.
It was mid-day with the sun high, barley shining through the tops of the trees in the forest, with
the fresh smell of the foliage still damp from the rain that had fallen the
previous night, making the ground a little slick. Peter, a young man from the
city, coming out here as often as he could to escape the difficulties and
hardships of his everyday life, a little slice of heaven as he would call it.
Sticking mostly to the marked trails, not paying much attention to what
direction he was travelling in, as all the trails lead back to the gravel
parking lot to where he left his Jeep Wrangler parked, just losing himself in
the sites and sounds of the woods. Rounding a bend in the trail he had picked,
selecting a different one today in hopes to get a sight of something new,
something different than what he had seen here in the past. Off to his left, he
noticed something sticking out of the ground, oddly shaped, like a branch
covered in cloth or something, but too far off to see clearly. Making the
decision to veer from the beaten path he makes his way over to what had caught
his eye, pushing damp tree branches aside clearing his way, the sound of leaves
and foliage crunching under foot. To his horror, he comes within a few feet of
what appeared to be a forearm sticking out of the ground. The material covering
it was the remains of a tattered shirt, darks stains of mud mixed with blood,
buttons undone at the cuff. Shocked he begins to stagger rearward, scrambling,
backing away, tripping over something, landing on his back on the damp earth.
Looking down at his feet to catch a glimpse of what it was he tripped on, only
to see a femur sticking out of the ground.
Hi, this is my first practice, it has no title.but here goes:
“Oh my god! Somebody help me!! Maam can you hear me.”
He checked for a pulse but felt nothing but the coldness of his lifeless body. When he realised what he had found he dug deep into his pocket to find his mobile phone. With his hands shaking he called 911. Of course being stuck in the middle of the fields out of sight out of mind, there was no signal. He ran as fast and as far as his legs would carry him to try and find some help. The only place that was around for miles was a petrol station down the right hand pathway. Realistically he knew it was highly unlikely he wasnt going to find anyone out here at these times. He shouldn’t have even been out here himself. It was way past curfew and his mother would kill him if she found out what he’d been up to.
He continued down the pathway for about another half a mile and found a convenience store. Only the upstairs light dimmed slightly.
“someone has to be in” he’d whispered to himself. He mustered up the last little strength he had to bang on the door. He wass banging for about 5 minutes when someone finally came downstairs, switched on the shop lights and cursed under his breath.
“ what the hell do you think you’re doing banging on the door at this hour. Get away from my property you little pest!!dam kids!!”
As he tried to slam the door in his face, he stepped his foot in between the gap.
“I….i’m sorry sir…please. I need your help?”
“what is it?!”
“I…I…”
“spit it out laddie I don’t have all night”
“I think someone is dead.i need to phone an ambulance”
Any colour left in the shopkeepers face was no longer there. He’d gone as white as a sheet.”
“say that again??” he couldn’t even hear the sound of his own voice by this point.
I wonder if things have always been like this. I know they’re the only thing I remember, but I mean before I could remember. Was I born into this place? Stuck within the white walls of this.. place. I don’t even know what exactly to call it? A facility? A prison? A home? It’s all I know, and those words don’t hold much merit. I don’t know what a facility, prison, or home is. They’re only sounds and I can only be curious.
Everyday I have to sleep for a while. Apparently for experimentation, but I never know. I don’t know what kind of experiments they could be. Only an idea. One time, I woke up when I don’t think I was supposed to. There were longs, things coming from and to my body, black in color. There was so much in front of my eyes, but I couldn’t tell what they were. My vision was blurred. The only thing I can remember is the pain. Pain is the one of the few things I know. Pain everywhere on me. I didn’t know what to do and went back to sleep. It didn’t feel like going back to sleep was what I meant to do, but I’m glad I did.
All around me is just white. I’ve only seen colors very few times. White all the time, the black of shadows and the things the people around here use. That, and the pink of my hair. I know it holds some significance, since the people here always mention it before or after experimenting. It seems to be the only true thing of worth on my being. I don’t know why. It’s just hair going from head to toe. It irritates me, but it’s nicer to look at than the other two colors.
I wonder sometimes about other people. The only people I’ve ever met are the ones in this place. They all wear white coats, and few of them are girls, me being one of them. I don’t actually know what the differences are between men and girls. They look very different, but I don’t know if there are anything else, other than some things on their body. Actually, I take that back. They act pretty differently. Whenever the tests come in, the men are always kind of rough, as if they don’t care about me, which I’m sure they don’t. But the girls are always soft when handling me. I don’t care if they’re just trying not to mess anything up, it’s nice. The only bit of care I feel toward myself.
Dreams
Telling lies to tell the truth
I was on my bed, the top bunk, about age 8. My sister was being beaten, as usual. This time with a hanger that was on the floor, instead of in the closet, where it was supposed to be. I shouted at my stepmother to my little sister’s defense so her attention would be directed at me instead. My dad will be home soon; she doesn’t treat us near as badly when he is home. She grabs my foot; I kick back. I never fight back. Eventually, she gets her grip and yanks me hard. I fall out of the bed and crack my head on the dresser on the way down. I hear my sister yelling now, this time in my defense. I stare at the box fan that is backwards in the window to suck the summer heat out. I am passing out, but I am fighting it. Everything is blurry. I notice her hair getting pulled awkwardly by the backwards fan. My eyes become harder to keep open. My stepmother becomes hazy, fading into what seems like a cloud of smoke. I see her body warping and changing shape. The fan is pulling her away from us. I see her body twirl like the intriguing and toxic clouds of the cigarette smoke of which she wreaks. I hear the front door open downstairs. My dad is finally home. I open my eyes and see her own fear for what she has done. His footsteps are coming up the stairs. He opens the bedroom door as the last of her smoky reminisce is sucked through the fan and vanishes outside. She couldn’t have done this. The proof is gone with the wind.
Sure, I remember the day I met Roosevelt Fala. Well we did not actually meet that day, but I easily recall when we laid eyes upon each other. It was late August 1989 during the final round of the 18 and Under Long Island Championship. From the 15th tee I hit my drive into some fluffy straw like grass, right of the fairway. By no means a terrible lie, but I wanted space. I was seventeen, bulletproof, beginning to receive a lot of local press coverage, only certainty about attending an upper echelon university on a golf scholarship. “Everyone back, back the f*ck up, gimme space.” I sneered. Roosevelt was there with his family and he certainly didn’t appreciate my tone nor language. “Young man, no one is moving until you rephrase your request.” I knew I didn’t want any trouble whatsoever, ‘sorry nice gentleman’s family, sometimes I forget the world doesn’t revolve around me. Could everyone give me plenty of space, I’m going to smash my six iron to the green.” After the dozen or so onlookers took paces away from my ball, I did just that. Forty minutes later I was Long Island’s Under 18 Champion. I was a jerk.
The next time I met Roosevelt was almost a year to the day. I had just defended the LI title and I was a few weeks away from starting college. I was 18, bulletproof, good-looking, strong, and on my way to the Wake Forest, then it would be on to the PGA.
Shyra was on the verge of tears and she didn’t care about the mess she would make. She shut her ears down and her eyes clamped tight as the sounds of the knocks grew stronger and her door creaks, feeble. A loud crash resounded over her empty apartment and she could see a dark outline enter her room. She placed both of her palms over her mouth and nose to try her level best to reduce the noise of her breathing.
“Darling!! I am home. Where are you hiding, doll? Come to me”, the dark outline ordered while roaming around the bedroom.
Huge tears rolled down her cheeks unconsciously and she could feel the rise of a few whimpers at the back of her throat. She tightened the hold of her palm over her mouth to clamp down her slow sobs.
“Honey, I am not being a great fan of your little games. Come out now while I am still in a good mood”, the chilling voice announced again.
A chill ran down her spine and the tears were uncontrollable by now and she slouched back into her cupboard. She went deep into her cupboard farther away, away from him. She knew she would give anything to vanish off the face off earth right that second rather meet her demon. He would probably kill her or worse – leave her alive in pain again.
It was nothing new anymore. A club has struck her body many times, way too many times to count. But he never grew bored or tired from any of it. His happiness grew in her pain and blood. And escaping was always out of option.
“SHYRA!! I am going to count to 5. And I want you out by then. I won’t be merciful after that. I don’t want to hurt you baby. Just come out now”, his voice raised a few octaves and she knew that today was going to be just like the other days of despair, pain, anguish and tears. She hoped that she would become unconscious soon, so that she could be numb to his blows. She hoped she wouldn’t be alive to see what he does with her. She hoped that she can find it in herself to escape this dungeon or worse, murder him.
And that’s when the countdown touched 5 and the cupboard doors gave away with a crash.
The dark silhouette barged in on her.
Telling lies to tell the truth
I was on my bed, the top bunk, about age 8. My sister was being beaten, as usual. This time with a hanger that was on the floor, instead of in the closet, where it was supposed to be. I shouted at my stepmother to my little sister’s defense so her attention would be directed at me instead. My dad will be home soon; she doesn’t treat us near as badly when he is home. She grabs my foot; I kick back. I never fight back. Eventually, she gets her grip and yanks me hard. I fall out of the bed and crack my head on the dresser on the way down. I hear my sister yelling now, this time in my defense. I stare at the box fan that is backwards in the window to suck the summer heat out. I am passing out, but I am fighting it. Everything is blurry. I notice her hair getting pulled awkwardly by the backwards fan. My eyes become harder to keep open. My stepmother becomes hazy, fading into what seems like a cloud of smoke. I see her body warping and changing shape. The fan is pulling her away from us. I see her body twirl like the intriguing and toxic clouds of the cigarette smoke of which she wreaks. I hear the front door open downstairs. My dad is finally home. I open my eyes and see her own fear for what she has done. His footsteps are coming up the stairs. He opens the bedroom door as the last of her smoky reminisce is sucked through the fan and vanishes outside. She couldn’t have done this. The proof is gone with the wind.
Hi all! I am going to send this note to my girlfriend for review, but here it goes my first attempt in order to become a better writer. Feel free to revise my short note as needed:
Today I noticed that I need to work on my writing. I have always wanted to be better writer, but unfortunately I have never been disciplined enough to focus on my writing. I started learning English when I was 9 years old and for some reason, I always focused on my English speaking skills rather than my writing skills. I suppose, I just never saw the point. Lately though, I noticed why I need to be a better wittier. I am a lazy ass who enjoys working from home and also enjoys sitting in front of a computer and perform his job. So, in order to do so-I need to become a better writer. I compare writing to programming; I never saw a reason to learn programing since I hated writing code, but now I know in order to be a penetration tester, I need to be a better programmer and writer. Therefore, starting today, I am going to write a very short note about my day and hope that my beautiful girlfriend will review it with me the next day.
The End
The Murder in Winter Creek
One
It was a cold, dark and eerie night in Winter Creek, it looked like something you would see in a movie, the sky was dark, and it looked super natural. There wasn’t a soul outside and it was the perfect night to go out and party. Nichole Bridgewood was walking her dog Shasta before heading out to meet her friend Ian Blackwood at the Midnite Moon Nightclub for some fun. As she reached the riverbank, she pulled Shasta back and as she looked on she saw what looked to be a body bag in the woods. Nichole felt a bad wave of emotions hit her, she felt so bad for the victim, the woman had been badly beaten and her instincts told her to call 911. Within 5 minutes the emergency services came to the scene of the crime and it didn’t look good. The older detective who arrived on the scene. taped off the scene and looked for clues, the crime looked to be very strange, the way the woman was posed looked to be staged to look like someone had fallen asleep and drowned, there looked to be chemicals under the woman’s fingernails. Detective Jack Prescott turned to the witness and began questioning.
“What do you know about the victim?” Asked Detective Prescott
“Nothing Detective, I was the one who found the victim and called immediately. I was walking Shasta when she began barking loudly cutting into my thoughts. I ran and restrained her and thats when I found the body.” Nichole said
Hi all, this is my second 15 minute writing practice. I would really appreciate any feedback, especially where you think it could be improved.
The path leading down to the farm rocked
the truck so much it made him feel sick.
He hadn’t wanted to go, Jenny had forced him but he knew he was doing
the right thing. She had a habit of
getting him to do the right thing, Jenny.
He sat in the back seat of the pick-up,
trying to focus on the horizon through the red mud splattered across the
window. All he had to do was keep him
talking, sit with the old man while Jenny got what they needed. What they came all this way for.
The heat of the early afternoon sun wasn’t
helping, the breeze from Jenny’s open front window offering little
respite. She turned and reached to place
a hand on his knee. “Remember”, she said. “You just have to keep him out the
house. Don’t let him come inside.”
“I know, I know.” He replied, his face not
turning from the window. On top of
feeling sick he could feel the butterflies forming now. Gradually a spot of
anxiety etched into his being like the dot of an approaching car through the
blurred heat of a desert road. He knew
it was only going to get bigger.
The old man had always looked right through
him, into his soul or somewhere. He’d
always felt uneasy around him, like he’d had to think of something to say all
the time and the old man just carried on being who he was.
They bumped along further, past the
gatehouse on the right and a couple of stray dogs that began barking as the
truck went by. He knew they were close now.
Its been an interesting new year. We’re not even through
January yet and already a theme has come up numerous times. “Let it go”. I’ve
recently embarked on a journey to adapt a bit of minimalism into my life. When
I first heard about it, I assumed like everyone else does, that minimalism is
about spending as little money as possible, getting rid of the things you don’t
use and not buying anything new, even if you need it. As it turns out, that’s
just the surface. That’s just the what. There’s a HUGE aspect that people tend
to overlook, as did I, which is the why. WHY should I not spend the money on
this? WHY should I get rid of all of my stuff? Why is that going to be good for
me?
The why is actually the most important aspect of the entire
lifestyle. Having stuff in your house is normal. Everyone has stuff in their
house. You NEED stuff in your house. But the stuff you need is quite often a
small percentage of the stuff you actually have. Close your eyes for a moment,
spin around in a circle and point at something. Now open your eyes. What did
you point at? OR what is the closest thing you pointed towards? Now ask
yourself these questions. “Does that thing really add anything to my life? Does
it make me feel happy? If it were to suddenly disappear, would I be upset? If
my house were on fire, is that something that I might consider taking with me?”
I’m going to guess “No” was the answer to a majority (if not
all) of those questions. So, ask yourself one more question. “Why do I have it?”
You’ll probably say that it adds character to your home, or it adds style.
Character and style for whom? Your friends? Your family? If it’s them, and they’re
truly concerned about the character and style of your home, perhaps those aren’t
people you need in your life. Someone who truly cares about you won’t care what
you have hanging on your wall, or what size TV you have, or whether your coffee
table is made of oak or particle board, or if you even have a coffee table at
all. The people that you need to impress is yourself. You live there, you need
to deal with it every day.
So I have a challenge. Take that thing off the wall the next
time you have guests over. I’ll bet that first, they won’t even notice it gone
and second they won’t be any more or less impressed with your home. Your true
friends and family don’t care about what it looks like. They care about the
people who live there. Their biggest care about your home is you.
The next time you go to a store to buy décor for your home,
stop for a second. Think about where it’s going to go and who is going to see it.
Think about how much money you’re going to spend on that item and whether the money
you spend is worth the impression that you leave on the people who are in your
home. Is it worth it? I’m going to guess probably not.
Ramblings With A Purpose:
I want to write words that others will want to read. I want to gain readers and subscribers to my blog.
I have a heart for writing to inspire and encourage others. I have a hear to serve God by serving others. Two years God revealed a glimpse of his purpose for me. Recently, I have come to see my complete purpose. I have a God-size dream to honor God through my writing and to use my knowledge and talent to serve Him by starting a Virtual/Personal Assistant Business. Looking at the stage I am in now and profess my blogging and business dreams takes pure faith.
My blog and my business will compliment and promote one another. Both dreams will be used to glorify God and tell of his grace and mercy.
I have much to learn. It is a struggle to find a path to reach my purpose and bring my dreams to reality. The amount of information is overwhelming at times.
Financial need is a factor as to how long it will take my dreams to come true. I need so many basic items to get started. A desk, a place solely for writing, a laptop(all of my writings and planning has taken place through the use of my phone). I need to establish myself as a serious blogger/business owner by having a paid online presence through WordPress.org instead of WordPress.com. There are courses to take, blogs to read, FB groups to join and contribute to. There are books to read. So many goals to reach.
I desire many things on a personal level and a professional level. It is hard to manage both desires. Should I or invest 10% of my day job toward my blog and business? Can I afford to do this? I need to begin tithing. This is so important.
God has a purpose for; he has given me a dream! I have to focus my time, my finances and my efforts toward bringing my dream to reality. My life long goal Is to accomplish my dream and live out my purpose daily.
I do not want to look back in five years and know that I failed to live out the purpose God had set before me. I do not want to fail reaching the Godly purpose he created me for. I want to volunteer, join a small group and serve in prison ministry. I want to write, write, write and serve, serve serve with all my might
I want to be a person who respected and engaged in my community. I want others to view as a Christian, a writer and a business owner.
By following my heavenly Father’s instruction I will succeed at life.
Morning Run:
I time my steps to the beat of the music letting it carry me down the winding forest trail. This is the only place I run. I know the path like the back of my hand and I always know just what’s around the bend. I pick up speed as I round the side of the hill. My lungs start to burn and I push harder looking straight ahead where the path starts to curve again when my foot catche son something and all I’m seeing is the forest floor. I look around to find the source of the accident when I see a pale hand stretching out from the bushes. I scooch away from the hand and pick myself up. I rip out my earbuds and whip my head around looking for anyone else who could be on the path, which is both reassuring and not. When I’m sure that no one is around and all I can hear is the busy sound of the forest I walk closer to investigate. Holding my breath I gently nudge the arm with the tip of my gray Nike Flex running shoes. The arm doesn’t move. I stepback and pace the path keeping my eyes fixed on everything but the stiff, paled limb. I try to slow my breathing as I’m on the verge of hyperventilating. I crouch and put my head between my knees. I need to call the police. I take my phone out of my sports bra and dial 911.
“Hello. What’s your emergency?” the female dispatcher calmly asks.
Out of breath I reply, “I, um, I… I think I found a dead person? Um, I don’t know I’m not sure. Please help.” I breathe into the phone.
Hey, my first 15 minute practice goes like this. This is my first time so please cooperate. This is a simple short story -The Corpse –
It was the freezy night when Stephen was crossing the woods with his little kid Josh.They both were loaded with two overcoats to maximize the temperature of -15 degree. Slowly and gradually somehow they were about to reach their village but suddenly josh fall down. His leg was stuck in something. Stephen suddenly turned back to pick up his son, when he tried to pull Josh’s leg he found that his leg was stuck in the cloth like substance. Stephen found it to be
a man. Stephen checked his breath. He was dead. Stephen quickly took Josh’s leg out of that corpse overcoat pocket and ran towards the nearby police station. He reported that someone is lying dead in the woods near his residence.
In the investigation of police it was found that man was killed by the wolf. The wolf has killed 5 more. A team was set up by the animal catcher to catch the wolf and everyone was alerted to not to go in the woods. And this became the story for the kids to expand.
I would like to write about my experiences when I was a Girl and now I am 40. There are so many things that I would like to write about. I have been on so many Trips,
Bobby opened the door and stepped inside. The sweet smell of week old garbage wafted down the hallway of the apartment. Only he had taken out the trash before he went away for the week. Was this how the apartment smelled every day? John, Lidia, Tonya, Roger, they all came by nearly every day, but no one had ever told him about the smell. He took pains to make sure his apartment stayed relatively clean, but he was no Martha Stewart. Maybe it was little patches of mold huddled together on the ceiling above the shower. Or perhaps the grease stained cabinets above the stove in the kitchen. The large window that also occupied that single room at the end of the hall – which contained said sliver of a kitchen, and a living room – probably blew that smell right into the faces of all who entered.
He let the door slam behind him and removed his shoes, lining them up with those of his roommates. Five people lived in this little shithole of an apartment. Two bedrooms, and a mattress in the shoe box at the end of the hall. Good thing they all got along, or he would have jumped from the 16th story balcony long ago.
His bedroom was the first on the left, within arms reach of the front door. He went in and saw his girlfriend was napping on their twin sized. She sounded like a fucking chainsaw. Whenever he joked about it, she reminded him that he sounded a lot like the jackhammers they used when building the foundation for the new apartment building a stones throw away from their bedroom window. He toss his day pack under the little folding desk that housed his brick of a gaming computer. That computer was now four years old; it couldn’t play a new game if you held a gun to it’s processor and threatened to call it’s mother at AMD.
The carpet looked like a field with rows or dirt as seen from an airplane. Only the farmer had forgotten to water it, and now it was the color the desert…
I just looked at the speech girl. Kiran was promptly delivering her speech in the rooster among
the crowd of people. Such occasion may be usual for others, but this was a new
sort of environment for Kiran and her fellows. Madam Fatima was happy because Kiran
was competing well in the speech competition.
Ma’am Fatima: Zahra listen.
Ma’am Zahra: yes Fatima
Ma’am Fatima: we have a treasure of talent.
Ma’am Zahra: alas, you are thinking about Kiran and her fellows.
Fatima: but, unfortunately, such talent meet no end because
as you know students of a remote region, Astore, along with this has no any
shining background, as well as most of these students, are suffering from the economic and domestic crisis.
Ma’am Zahra: the tragedy of the circumstances.
The hall shrouds
with clapping of people. Kiran leaves
rooster with full confidence. Kiran has done her English speech. Now the
speaker calls for Urdu speech competent.
Ayesha comes on the stage with full
passion. She is a little nervous. She is continuously reciting Darood Sharif to overcome
her hesitation. Absolutely she succeeds
in her aim. Ayesha ends her speech with famous revolutionary
verses of Habib Jalib.
aisay dastoor ko , subah benoor
KO,
Main Nahi Janta,
main Nahi manta,
deepjinkay mahalat hee
main jalay,
Chand logo ki Khushi KO lekar
chalay.
Once again the
hall shrouds with loud of clapping. This competition
continues till 3: pm. the judges, the
time come, announce the result. Along speech
competents, other song participants also seized
their breath. Kiran wins the first position as whole and Ayesha secures the second position.
The scenario was
entirely new for the whole students of GMS Naseer Abad. The bliss of wining was
not less than a miracle for them.
Kiran and Ayesha proudly
inform their fellows and relatives about their overwhelming success. On the
spot their supervisor Mr. Habib informed the school headmistress and their
parents that Kiran and Ayesha have been nominated for further competition.
Kiran: I can’t believe
ayeshoo, it is really happened. Today I have firm faith on that nothing is
impossible under the sun.
Ayesha: yes, hurrah,
we can do what we want; nothing can create hurdles in our race.
Peon informed
daydream dolls that ma’am Maryam is waiting for them at her offices.
Ayesha just excitingly
knocked on the door.
Ma’am Maryam: come
in.
Kiran: Ma’am, have
you called for us.
Ma’am Maryam: Yes,
take seats, (ma’am passes a letter) take it and handover to your father.
Both leave office.
Ayesha: is it
necessary to handover father?
Kiran: carelessly replies,
yes as ma’am has said.
Ayesha goes home
with heavy heart because her father has died three years ago while fighting
cancer. She enters home.
Ayesha: this is
from school mom.
Mom: kick off such
dreams, as I have said.
Ayesha: but why?
Mom: because a
fatherless daughter can’t afford such lavish hobbies.
Next day both Ayesha
and Kiran go school with crushing of their hopes.
Ayesha: you are
lucky, Kiran, you can go to compete in further because you have a father.
Kiran does not reply, she just hugs her friend and sobs. When Ayesha discovers
the reason behind such reaction, Kiran tells her she is also unable because her
father can’t afford the expenses
this is my first piece of writing , it may contains many errors, but for me its okay because i wana learn . advice me for further .