Perhaps it is incidental. Perhaps it is the Sister Fates Three, their game of Death at play. Perhaps it is the seven-billion, lethargic pairs of eyes set vacuously on a single CRT television set. Here, it rests, sitting rooted to a table of wood, decaying. Furtively, the wind squeezes in through windows of penetrated glass - an unwelcome visitor. Bang! Heads turn. From the depths of the black box comes a ghostly pale hand, palm smacking on the lifeless screen as it attempts to wrench its way out of the pits. As pale white fingers, skeletal, grasp onto thin air, shrieks of agony and howls of anguish make but noise amidst the silence. Dark winds prompt Reality to pick up the gun, lithe arms threatening suffocation as she moves. Pleads and supplication. Malicious taunts. All for nothing, but death. Eyes can do nothing but stare as Reality shuts down. A final Goodbye, she deviously sketches onto the screen, as the trigger is pulled. We are stuck in a surreal state.
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Sea birds swoop overhead, shadows in the ochre sky. Waves pull back, retreating from the shore as if to shame the figure slumping over the sand. Here, a man sits; an empty bottle lies nearby, traces of rum line his unshaven jaw. His navy coat is strewn across the land, lost to the depths of the earths. A red bandana sleeps on his head buried deep into his scarlet chest. Here, a man sits, swallowed by guilt, branded by sin. Here, a captain mourns the loss of his ship, himself to blame. The honourable, he is no more.
A very simple man, he does not have much in his glovebox (also because the glovebox is fairly tiny, unable to hold everything that is not a necessity). An owner's manual and license for his grey Mercedes Benz, signed with his name, encompassed in a book of black leather. Typical. A titanium flashlight, a few scratches and dents here and there. "For dark and dangerous situations," he often says. At first glance, there is nothing more to be found in the glovebox, until one decides to dig in deeper, past the flashlight, underneath the owner's manual. Laid at the very bottom and deepest, furthest back area of the felt-lined compartment, is a family photograph. Used only for reminiscing about childhood, nothing more.
Oh my goodness! I forgot to spit out my gum this morning! What will Miss say? I'm gonna get into trouble...they'll call my parents...I'll be expelled for breaking a petty school rule...did I just call a school rule petty? I take that back, I TAKE THAT BACK! Alright, Trish, it's going to be fine, just breathe in, breathe out, don't chew. Don't chew.
"Miss Evans!" Trish freezes in mid-walk, one foot inside her English classroom. Oh no. Oh no. She totally caught me moving my piece of gum in my mouth. Oh no, oh no... "Trish Evans!" Trish walks into the classroom cautiously and asks, "Yes, Miss?" "I just wanted to tell you that your essay was exceptionally well written. Very nice job!" Trish lets out a breath of relief. "Thank you." Just as she sits down at her assigned seat, Trish accidentally chews down on her gum. Miss' eyes, as sharp as a hawk's, immediately noticed the action and called her out. "Trish, are you...chewing gum? In my classroom?" Trish gulped. "No, ma'am, it's just a mint." She had never lied to her teacher before - this was a first. Guilt immediately filled her throat. "Trish...you're a good student. Don't lie to me, dear. Go spit that gum out and come back, please." The lies, Trish could feel them bubbling out of her mouth, uncontrollable. "But I'm not chewing any gum!" Miss was mad, Trish knew it. What have I done? Miss was now walking towards her, the entire classroom staring. Trish Evans, the superstar student getting into trouble, and lying? That never happened. Never. "Miss Evans, i would like to speak with you after class on your attitude. But first, go spit out your gum. Right now, please." Trish slumped and felt newly formed tears starting to well up in her eyes as she slowly walked to the washroom, locking herself in a stall. Ghosts That Haunt You
She looks in the mirror. She can't bear it any more. No wonder all her classmates hate her, she is a know-it-all and looks like it too. Brace face, four eyes, knobbly knees, flat...Amanda hates herself. The mirror shatters, shards of razor-edged glass fall to the floor. For a moment she stares at the broken glass - her own broken body. She sees the person that everybody despises; she sees the person that makes her parents proud. She sees the person, weak, who cannot stand up for herself; she sees the person, strong, who does not let the taunts disable herself. She grabs a piece of glass and plunges it into her heart, only to realize her heart is diamond. Clear of wounds, she takes the glass and rests it in her hand. Either it will penetrate her veins or do no harm. Either way, she is ready. Amanda is loathed, despised, shunned. Amanda is loved. She knows that; everyone tells her so. Closing her eyes, Amanda falls to the floor, waiting for where her body will carry her. Hands held, frolicking. "I love you," she said to him. "I love you back," he replied. Together they sauntered into the forest, the place where they first met. She was tickled with joy, and he struck by love. Clasped in their hands, their wedding bands: till death do us part. Running across the plain fields, blades of grass underneath their wrinkled feet, the lovers giggled as they melted into the earths. The grave digger falls to peace. - bad ending "It was an accident, I swear!" But Frank was no longer here, They had found his shovel on the ground, mud covering the handle. The inspectors asked no more questions, the case was closed. The grave digger had fallen to death; simply stated, he had dug his own grave. RIP Frank. Amanda was loved. She knew that; everyone told her so. Top of her class, a hard-working and over-achieving student she was. Her teachers praised her for every piece of work (the "exemplar student"), her parents marvelled at their creation. Everyone loved Amanda. That is, everyone except for people her age. Amanda was loathed, despised, shunned. She knew that; everyone told her so. Poor Amanda; every time her work was graded with the red stamp of high approval - outstanding, A+! - the kids in her year would make it a habitual occurrence to take her down in any way possible. Poor Amanda; she came home every day, as early as possible, where her parents would put her up on a pedestal - a prize - not noticing her tear-streaked face or her looks of despair or even the holes in her stockings or her missing shoes. The kids at school had stolen them from her and threw them to God-knows-where. Amanda had to walk home in her socks. Poor Amanda.
A sonnet I wrote for the Valentine's Day Writing Contest.
Dedicated to a special someone. So as the sun gives way, the time grows nigh; The stars align; a path to meet again. Our foreseen love so first do we deny; Know naught but peace till days of Twelve and Ten. A jar of glass; a world where thoughts collide, Two minds connect - sheer truth, God's Providence. Beats strong my heart, with you I do reside, For leaves due fall to honour our commence. Twas in your kiss your love for me you tell; Swept in your arms with warmth do we caress. Make we not first to speak our last farewell, With heav'n to look upon, and us to bless. In thanks, with which we send towards the stars, Hold dear the memories of this love marked: ours. The exhilarated sound of daredevils screaming at the thrill of the Dæmonen (The Demon) only juxtaposes the greying colour of the sky. Enormous clouds loom overhead the Tivoli Gardens, an amusement park that stands at an extraordinary 170 years old. In the enchanting city of Copenhagen – home to The Little Mermaid, the brightly coloured houses of Nyhavn, and the boutiques of Strøget – my parents and I braved the gloomy weather and set foot into Tivoli. A storm was brewing in the distance, but we did not let that hinder us. Surrounded by the crisp scent of foreign nature and the pleasant petrichor of Danish soils, we walked into a fairytale world.
Strolling along streets lined with quaint European village houses, ever so faintly grazing the grounds of replicated Chinese temples, and promenading in admiration past the famous and exclusively exquisite Nimb Hotel, our trip inside Tivoli was put to a halt with the racket of loud honks - not of horns, nor of vehicles, but of a mother duck. My curiosity and fascination with animals drove me in the direction of the frantic noise, as I wandered off ahead of my parents. A pair of white ducks was distraught and rushing about, their ducklings close by. I did not realize what was happening until my parents, who had finally caught up to me, gestured towards the tiny man-made hole of a pond to my right. There, ever so slightly quacking in a bundle of fuzzy grey feathers, was a duckling, struggling to regroup with its family. Being surrounded by tall rocks and dirt slippery from the rain, it could not reach land. I desperately wished to help the poor duckling; however, I chose to watch the situation unfold, not wanting to disturb the natural way of life for animals. As my parents and I attentively watched Papa Duck and Mama Duck frantically search and call out to their lost youngling, other visitors of the park stopped their journey in Tivoli to observe the situation as well. We all knew better than to make physical contact with the duckling, as we did not want to injure it. So, all we could do was just stand there, helplessly, and watch this family of desperate ducks as they struggled to reunite with one another. |
Authori am just an ordinary teenage girl. my name and whereabouts are unimportant. this is my story. all written work is original unless credited. Archives
June 2014
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