|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Sat Mar 22, 2008 6:47 pm
 |
|
|
 |
Okay, so yeeeeeea~~~h....
I'm not a writer. I think. I have no idea. I write, but I don't think I have a natural talent for writing. Can't you tell? 3nodding
My talent is art. I can draw, paint, doodle, whatever... but writing doesn't just come naturally for me.
Maybe.
I'd like to think that both of those are natural... But I seriously suck when I actually THINK about anything.
Seriously.
So, ya'll know how they always say 'write what you're feeling, and nothing else'?
I'm gonna do that.
I did that with a drawing once. I only told two people that it was a picture of what I was feeling... because they both went wide eyed and quiet, as if they were unsure what I was thinking at all.
Because that picture was full of swirls and scribbles and splatters, with a crying girl in the corner and butterflies and wilted flowers.
I called it turmoil.
Turmoil
She stares at the crowd. They are all dancing, laughing, happy to be alive in this moment.
She just wants to die.
She doesn't want to be here, yet she cannot escape. They brought her here, and they will bring her home. They tell her to be hapy, to dance, to laugh with them.
But they are not here.
Slowly, she stands and looks around.Through the pounding of the music, through the crowd of her classmates, she looks for the ones she calls her friends. It has been a long while, and still they have not returned. They, who brought her here to this dance to be with them.
So why are they gone?
Why is she the only one on the floor, waiting for the fun to begin?
She wants to cry, for she knows why.
They do not want to be with her.
They do not wish to see her, and they have forgotten, as they laugh with other people, that the girl they have known since they were babies is all alone, her soul in turmoil, lonely, abandonded, wanting nothing more than to be the one they want to be with.
She sits back down. She is a kind soul, and she will forgive them for forgetting her. But she will not forget. She will not forget what they have done, again and again, leaving her alone, lonely, with no shoulder to lean on. She is alone not because she wishes to be, but because she has to be.
But she does not have to be, does she?
They could be with her, this night, and other nights. They could go see a movie, out to eat, they could do a lot. She is a fun person, when her soul is light, when they have not hurt her with their words and actions. She loves to laugh, to dance, to be with them.
A tear slips out, and she wipes it away. Lonliness still grips her heart, even when she is with them, and even though she can smile and capture their antention, seeming to be the social one.
She is small, wounded, her heart torn and ripped and painful in her chest. They, the ones called her friends, have called her names, left her alone, never defended her against the others stares and whispers. She has told them before, she has cried and cried and yelled and wished, and all for naught.
She is still alone.
And she will always be so.
She is different, very much so. She smiles one minute, and she frowns the next, never once crying or whining about life. She is a good friend. She has never said anything bad about them, and she has defended them, and she has held them up and encouraged them. Yet she is the one alone, neglected, empty inside. She will always forgive, never hold against, yet they will never see what a wonderful person she is.
They cannot understand.
She tries to understand them. SHe knows them so well that she can know anything about them, yet she wants to know more. She wants to know everything, but they want nothing more than to have happy lives. They think always about themselves, and she thinks of them, yet she is the one left alone.
But no more.
They come back, after a long time, and she puts on a smile.
But it is a fake smile, a forced laugh.
She never goes to another dance. She does not even go to prom. Those forty five minutes have afffected her so deeply, that she will never forget, never be able to heal. She cries because she knows it was nothing to dwell on. Just forty five minutes that she was alone.
Why would something so frivilous cut so deep?
Yet it does. It cuts her so deeply that she will never let it happen again.
Never again will she trust them to be a shoulder to lean on. She turns away from them and relies on her own self, even though they still rely on her. She never lets them touch her heart.
She has become cold.
What the heck? eek
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Mar 22, 2008 7:41 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Mar 22, 2008 8:55 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Mar 22, 2008 9:03 pm
|
|
|
|
Yeah, it is cliche, and I know why. We call things cliche that we see a lot... the sad thing is, pretty much everybody is like that. That's why it is 'cliche'. Most people don't see it... but as you get older, you become colder. I would really like people to see that 'the girl who is shunned by her peers' is everybody. Seriously.
And wait...
just what is a ''metaphorical pile of emotional slag''? rofl
And also, whoever said this was a metaphor? stare
It has been applied! To my story in the 'works in progress section'. biggrin
Wait... well written? Perhaps I do have talent! *Celebration!!!* Thank you! heart
I guess that this goes with the last part...
She smiles and stares at the backyard from the kitchen window. It is spring, a glorious time of rebirth for the world, and rebirth for her. She listens to the bird song, catching the tune and humming along what she thinks could be the next strain.
Time has come and gone, and winter is over. The snow has melted... along with her heart.
She is happy. The joy that fills her soul is wondrous, beautiful, amazing. This is the joy of one at peace, of one who has everything to live for, nothing to lose, everything to gain, and all she has to do is reach out.
Years have passed, and her wounds heal quickly, yet they leave scars deep in her heart. She no longer feels pain as deeply as she did before, but oh yes she feels pain. Things have happened, peolpe have died, things have changed, and she has lost much in these past few years.
Yet she is happy.
She is gloriously happy, filled with joy, and now that spring has come she can feel the cool breeze of warmth upon her skin. Yet she is still cold.
There is a frost to her words, to her bearing, and her eyes are smoldering and piercing. She holds herself high, cold to everyone she knows.
And yet... the warmth of her smile can brighten any day.
She is a warm soul, beautiful, if not on the outside. On the inside she is amazing. She has left the winter to move toward the spring.
SLowly, she stands up and leans out the open window, the scent of spring flowers greeting her.
She laughs and smiles, thinking to herself.
Things have changed. She has changed.
She will never stop changing.
Slowly, she will become summer, with time, and the cycle will be complete. Autumn, to winter, to spring, to summer... The process is slow, but she will get there. She knows it is possible to lapse sometimes back into winter, but she wants to become summer so badly...
She was once in turmoil, and still her soul is hurt and wondering. Yet she will press on. She is strong. She is a pillar, for the friends that abandoned her, and for everyone who needs strength.
She could remember how she had, in the depths of cold ice, begun to melt. She had begun the process herself, to become spring.
SHe had forced herself to become stronger. She set her eyes on a time when she could stand tall, without the frost on her heart, when she can finally remove the stitches she used to try to mend the tears in her heart.
It will be a long time...
...but, with time, she will become summer.
So I have no idea why I am writing this... I just hope it turns out okay... Now, the seasons, that's a metaphor! I think. rofl
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Mar 22, 2008 9:12 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Mar 22, 2008 9:32 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Mar 23, 2008 12:26 am
|
|
|
|
Serenity Reed Yeah, it is cliche, and I know why. We call things cliche that we see a lot... the sad thing is, pretty much everybody is like that. That's why it is 'cliche'. Most people don't see it... but as you get older, you become colder. I would really like people to see that 'the girl who is shunned by her peers' is everybody. Seriously. And wait... just what is a ''metaphorical pile of emotional slag''? rofl And also, whoever said this was a metaphor? stare It has been applied! To my story in the 'works in progress section'. biggrin Wait... well written? Perhaps I do have talent! *Celebration!!!* Thank you! heart I guess that this goes with the last part... She smiles and stares at the backyard from the kitchen window. It is spring, a glorious time of rebirth for the world, and rebirth for her. She listens to the bird song, catching the tune and humming along what she thinks could be the next strain.
Time has come and gone, and winter is over. The snow has melted... along with her heart.
She is happy. The joy that fills her soul is wondrous, beautiful, amazing. This is the joy of one at peace, of one who has everything to live for, nothing to lose, everything to gain, and all she has to do is reach out.
Years have passed, and her wounds heal quickly, yet they leave scars deep in her heart. She no longer feels pain as deeply as she did before, but oh yes she feels pain. Things have happened, peolpe have died, things have changed, and she has lost much in these past few years.
Yet she is happy.
She is gloriously happy, filled with joy, and now that spring has come she can feel the cool breeze of warmth upon her skin. Yet she is still cold.
There is a frost to her words, to her bearing, and her eyes are smoldering and piercing. She holds herself high, cold to everyone she knows.
And yet... the warmth of her smile can brighten any day.
She is a warm soul, beautiful, if not on the outside. On the inside she is amazing. She has left the winter to move toward the spring.
SLowly, she stands up and leans out the open window, the scent of spring flowers greeting her.
She laughs and smiles, thinking to herself.
Things have changed. She has changed.
She will never stop changing.
Slowly, she will become summer, with time, and the cycle will be complete. Autumn, to winter, to spring, to summer... The process is slow, but she will get there. She knows it is possible to lapse sometimes back into winter, but she wants to become summer so badly...
She was once in turmoil, and still her soul is hurt and wondering. Yet she will press on. She is strong. She is a pillar, for the friends that abandoned her, and for everyone who needs strength.
She could remember how she had, in the depths of cold ice, begun to melt. She had begun the process herself, to become spring.
SHe had forced herself to become stronger. She set her eyes on a time when she could stand tall, without the frost on her heart, when she can finally remove the stitches she used to try to mend the tears in her heart.
It will be a long time...
...but, with time, she will become summer. So I have no idea why I am writing this... I just hope it turns out okay... Now, the seasons, that's a metaphor! I think. rofl
Ok, understanding from the second part the friends did leave her in the end... loneliness is a long road that many have to journey through, the imagery in the short is great gives a solid feeling to what you have to go through with loneliness may it not be as bad as what others may have felt it goes to show that theres always a pillar of hope that one can lean upon to give you strength. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Mar 23, 2008 8:03 pm
|
|
|
|
Kirby: Yeah, I did draw it. It's probably one of the only good pictures I've done! rofl But really, anyone can get good at drawing if he practices and works hard. heart
Galladonsfire: heart
I'm the type who believes that there is always hope... of course, depending on what you believe, there is no such thing... (example: anyone who believes in the big bang, because then we're all just an acident and there is no point, right or wrong, or anything to life. Everything just is.)
Thank you.
Okay, time for more randomness. xd
Now, a story idea. arrow question
Note: Thrine is pronounced 'Thrin' with a long 'i' sound, like mine or kind or pine.
She hadn't realized she had left the window open.
A breeze was lightly touching the curtains, creating a slight fluttering that cast shadows across the pale moonlight spilling on the wooden floor. The night was warm, and, dressed only in her thin nightgown, she stood and went to the window, feeling the salty sea breeze as it caught loose strands of her hair.
She could see the sleepy cottages that sprawled amoungst stone walkways and ripe gardens; the air was heavy with the full summer scents of many flowers, mixed with the smell of the sea. She could see the port from here, see the moonlight dancing on the waves...
Warmth shivered up her skin. This sleepy little port city, which she had been named for, was small and beautiful, and she loved it. She loved all of the people and knew everyone by name, and they all knew her...
Thrine.
Wispy brown hair, eyes the same green-blue as the sea, and a bright smile like the summer sun... that was Thrine.
"Thrine...?"
She jumped, her eyes widening as a young man, maybe a few years older than her, suddenly was standing on the other side of the window.
She stared, her mouth hanging open. His hair was dark, and his skin was a shade lighter than hers, a pale shade unlike anyone on this island.... His eyes were striking, silvery like the pale monlight that cast shadows on his skin.
"Are you Thrine?" he asked quietly, and she was frozen as he perched upon the window sill, like a bird...
"Yes," she whispered. "I am Thrine..." Her voice was small. Who was this person? She knew everyone on this island... and she did not know who this strange person was.
"Come," he murmured, taking her hand, and she was surprised at the warmth. His skin was smooth, not at all like the calloused fingers of sailor boys...
Suddenly they were flying, his arms around her waist, and she felt the exileration of being up in the air. She was enthraled by the sight of the sleeping city, bathed in moonlight, as she was carried over it...
And then she looked up.
Wings.
Eyes wide, she stared at the soft flapping of his dark wings, the same midnight shade as his hair. His eyes were lidded as he looked at her.
"I have known you for a long time, Thrine," he murmured. "I have seen you in dreams, and this night, I could stand it no longer to be apart from you."
Her breath came out in a rush as he flew high above the waves, and dived low, to let the sea spray wash over their faces.
"You are the same as I have seen," he murmured. "The same Thrine."
She stared at him, unable to speak. All of this was so beautiful... She could not manage to dwell upon what he was saying; it was fleeting, going into one ear and swiftly out the other.
"Who are you?" she breathed.
He did not answer, only smiled and flew higher, going back toward her little cottage, with its wide open window...
He set her down back in her room, and she clung to him, her heart beating fast. Who was this man?
The moonlight was the same beautiful, pale blue it had been when she had realized the window was open. She didn't really need to close it; it was a beautiful summer night.
"Ah," he said, scanning her room. "It looks the same. Of course it would..." The winged young man smiled and cupped her cheek in his hand. "Thrine. I must go. It was wonderful to see you... perhaps another night, I may come again. Until then, farewell."
He turned and suddenly he was gone, and Thrine was tottering on her feet, her legs weak and her heart pounding.
"Farewell," she breathed.
I gotta stop now. It's bed time! rofl
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Mar 25, 2008 4:50 pm
|
|
|
|
The sun rose quickly on the little island of Thrine, and, by then, fishermen had already cast their nets, hoping for an early morning catch. The gulls glided and swooped silently over the gray water, which was getting bluer each moment as the sun peeked over the horizon.
Thrine yawned and smiled happily at the sun that was just beginning to shine through her window. She stod and slowly strentched, thinking back on the dream she had had.
"It almost seemed real," she breathed, closing her eyes to think back on the young man's face. "Perhaps I could give him a name..." She thought upon it, and decided to go down the stairs to the bookcase in the front room, where a book of names rested in its thin binding.
As she climbed down the ladder to get to the first floor, the sound of her mother's bustling in the kitchen reached her ears. She ran over to the bookcase, against the wall to the right of the ladder, and she flipped it open.
"Bartholemew, Bayard," she read aloud to herself. None of these names sounded right... SUddenly, a name caught her eye.
"Bertrand," she tried. "Bright raven..."
It was the perfect meaning for him, she thought. Bright raven.
**************
Emily's Glossary guide to Thrine
Thrine--a peaceful, small island with peacful, happy people. The main export is fishing, and the approximate population is about three hundred.
Nekamida--(Nay-kah-mee-dah)--forever mine, used between lovers.
Kumida--(Koo-mee-dah) dear child, used mostly by parents to their children.
Amida--(Ah-mee-dah) dear one, used between lovers and sometimes family members.
Arek--the ruler of Thrine, similar to the title king.
Ayana--(Ah-yah-nah)--forever blooming, literally, forever young. A legend of Thrine speaks of a girl turned forever young by an angel. Her name was Ayana, and she was a flower keeper. Incedentily, Thrine (the girl) is a flower keeper, tending mostly to the Ayana flower, which has the longest blooming season of all of the island's flowers.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Apr 15, 2008 4:47 pm
|
|
|
|
Oh man. I might cry while writing this.
No Body Knows my Sorrow
Nicole swung the refrigerator open, glancing over the bare shelves and the new jug of milk. With a sigh, she leaned back and called to her mother.
"Hey, Mom, what's for dinner?"
"Vegetable soup," her mother answered from the living room, her mouth full with a bite of the stuff.
Another sigh. "You know I don't like that," Nicole said. She glanced all around the kitchen, knowing there wasn't anything to eat at all. She stepped into the living room, standing akimbo, with her hands defiantly upon her hips. She stared dryly at her mother.
"Mom," she whined.
Her mother looked at her with wide eyes. "We're about to lose the house, and you want food money?" she said with disbelief.
"What?" Nicole frowned. What was she talking about?
"Didn't you hear that? I just got the notice today," her mother said. "They're selling our house to pay back taxes." Her mother's voice was full of bitterness. "Unless I can get eight hundred dollars."
Nicole stepped away and went back to the kitchen. She hadn't realized it was so bad. She had heard her mother complaining about the bills before, and it had been two years since she had started using the threat of bankruptcy upon her children. But Nicole had not thought it was as bad as this.
She looked around the kitchen. She could go without food. Yeah. And maybe she could save up her five dollar allowance, instead of buying lunch at school. She stepped back into the living room, her heart pounding and heavy with pain.
"Hey Mom," Nicole said quietly. "I don't think I'll go to camp this year. You know how I feel about being around all those people..."
Her mother looked at her almost angrily. "No. You're going to go to camp if you want to."
"I don't want to," Nicole said. In a way, it was a relief. This was the reason she needed for skipping out this year. Going to camp with her youth group always put her in a bad mood; she always felt lonely and unwanted around them. It was better this way...
"You're going," her mother said forcfully.
"No," Nicole said, with just as much assertion. "I don't want to go this year. But I'll go to drama camp, I think..." Drama camp was under a hundred dollars. Yeah. She could probably manage to go there. But to go to the big camp was over three hundred dollars of her mother's money. It was too much.
With those last words, the daughter turned and went down the hall, unwilling to face her mother any longer, for now. She sought refuge in the bathroom, turning on the radio and staring at herself in the mirror.
"I could raise some money," she said. "But I can't just expect everyone to deal with our problems... There's not enough time to get my book published..."
She wanted to cry suddenly. She was already giving up her dreams of becoming a famous artist, for lack of money. Now she could lose her home. It was too much. But what could she do? She was only seventeen. She had no job, and if she got one her public college tuition might not be paid for. That would ruin her entire future.
She could go to her father, though he bailed his ex-wife out of sticky predicaments all the time. And he wasn't exactly rich, either.
A tear slipped down her cheek, and she angrily wiped it away.
But if they did lose their home, they could move in with Dad. that would work. It would save everyone money, probably.
Eventually she emerged from the bathroom and sat on the couch in the living room, across from her mother. The entire room was filled with an air of stressful depression.
The next day, Nicole told no one about anything that was going on in her life, as usual. And no one was any the wiser.
During a bit of free time that day, she wrote a few little notes on the edge of a piece of paper:
Why must a person give up her dreams? In this stupid world, all we care for is money and status... But all I want is happiness.
Happiness for everyone.
I am on the frontlines... the front lines of a battle where my allies do not know the danger coming my way.
I will not let them pity me. Everyone has problems; some are worse off than I am. What audacity I would need, to beg from help from those who secretly beg for it from me!
Come what may. I will face it, alone, if I must....
But I am not alone. My God is with me. I can feel Him. These hands that tremble, he steadys them.
Come what may.
Come what may.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Apr 15, 2008 4:55 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Apr 15, 2008 5:04 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Apr 18, 2008 5:57 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Apr 18, 2008 9:10 pm
|
|
|
|
Whoever said she was in love? I swear, people these days. they always expect stupid love, even when it's just curiousity. I mean, seriously. A winged person flies in through your window and takes you out on a magical flight (like Alladdin!).... but you think it's a dream. Of course you're going to be whimsical about it. (Especially if you're Thrine.) She's not in love! No one ever said that. I hate stories like that. Those girls sicken me. Thrine is okay though, because she's a whimsical and happy, laid-back person who would have a wide imagination fully capable of creating a friend in her own mind. If I had an imaginary friend, I would probably name him and be fond of him, and think about him for a while. That doesn't mean I'm in love! * scream *
I'm sorry. I've ranted. ....
And oh yeah, that story isn't done yet. I might put it in the works in progress section... Lots of politics and happiness... Also, the best part is all of the happy crazy Thrine flower moments... Kind of like Rina the NPC on here, actually, though I came up with thrine much earlier.
...I don't think I'll get over this...
"Thrine was tottering on her feet, her legs weak and her heart pounding." ~ She was just in a dreamlike and highly improbably situation. She's freaking out, not falling for him. scream gonk scream gonk scream cry cry cry sad scream gonk gonk scream
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Apr 19, 2008 9:24 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
