Word Out’s Creative Writing Challenge!
Imaginative, hilarious, creative? Of course you are.
Show us what you've got! Word Out 2012's Creative Writing Challenge is this:
Post a short story or poem that is inspired by one of postcards below. To post, click on 'comments' and insert your work. At the top of your post, just be sure to indicate which postcard was the inspiration. And let's keep those short stories and poems, well, short. Please keep it under 300 words.
Contest ends Saturday, August 25th. Author of winning entry will get a package of hot new books and $25 gift card for Chapters.
P.S. If interested, you can also submit your work to Young Voices. TPL's annual magazine for teen art and writing. Ready? Go!
Prize Update! - Thanks to the amazing entries, we'll be "upping the ante" and giving out 1st, 2cd, and 3rd place prizes! Exact prize details to come soon…
#1 (more below)
#2
#3
176 thoughts on “Word Out’s Creative Writing Challenge!”
” Grandma who is this?” My granddaughter Karen asked me. She had picked an old portrait of my uncle.
” This is your greatgranduncle, he was rather a grumpy man. He never knew how to laugh or smile” I laugh gently to myself.
” Is that why he looks so weird?” Karen asks with a confused face thinking at how a man could look so odd. I carry her on my lap.
” Well when I was a little girl, my family was having a picture day. Everyone was done taking their picture except my uncle. Now the photographer asked him to smile but he refused. Me and my sister as well as my mother encouraged him to smile but after a while he gave in. Immediately he smiled the photographer took the picture. As you can imagine he was surprised because he wasn’t expecting it. So after a few days when the photographer brouught the picture and he saw it and his face was a bright tomatoe red. He threw it away and asked or you can say yelled at the maids to burn it, but I managed to take it before the maids burned it.”
Karen stared at the portrait again and looked and me. Then suddenly we both burst out laughing.
What You Mean To Me – Inspired by postcard #3
To me, you are an ordinary person.
To me, you are the world.
To me, you are a stranger.
To me, you are my heart.
To me, you are predictable and serious.
To me, you are adventurous and mysterious.
To me, you are the appetizer.
To me, you are the dessert.
To me, you are a destiny unwanted.
To me, you are everything and more.
To me, you are the consolation.
To me, you are the prize.
To me, you are the life support.
To me, you are the lifeline.
To me, you are the fizz.
To me, you are the spark.
But to me, you are fantasy
And to me you are reality.
Bicycle Road Trip – Inspired by Postcard # 2
The coffee shop is dimly lit. One burly, ginger-haired man with a crossword puzzle sits on one of the stools that lines the front of the shop. I guess no one really comes to get coffee at three a.m. on a Tuesday night. My cappuccino sits on the table, thin wisps of heat emanating off of it. Sounds of the cash register and the barista telling his wife he’ll be a little late coming home surround me. I breathe in the normalcy and the harmony of everyone and their workaday lives. I sip my drink slowly, watching the swirls of milk and espresso mingle and interlace together. Where did I go wrong? I did everything Ryan asked me to. I loved him. Why do we let silly little emotions like love shatter us and make us go to crappy, two-star coffee shops in the middle of the night? It’s time to take charge. We wake up everyday and we never do extraordinary things. Why not? Who wants to be ordinary? I let my epiphany sink in and get up from my seat and out the door. I let the fresh, night air enter my lungs and my heart. I walk slowly, tentatively, like a child learning to walk for the first time. Something metal catches the street lamp’s light and I turn to look. There, braced against an oily dumpster, is a bicycle. It’s big, with a broken pink basket and splotches of black paint on its wheels. The pink seat has a small hole, stuffing bursting through. The horn is deflated. I reach for it and move it around. The wheels are still good. With a mischievous smile on my face, I hopped on and rode into the night.
Awesome! Can’t wait for more!
Four in the Afternoon – inspired by postcard #2
There was a summer not far long ago, when the land was parched and sparrows ceased to sing. Everything was either dying or dead, but Sandy’s grandpa rode the huge tricycle to work every day. Sandy would listen to the clatter of cobblestones every afternoon at four.
Sandy’s head didn’t quite come up to grandpa’s shoulders yet, but every morning she’d peer at him from her window and holler, “Grandpa, where are you heading off to?”
Yesterday he shouted, “Grain mill.” A week back, it was, “Corn fields.” Sandy’s grandpa didn’t have a stable job, but he always left her in the old rickety house with her maths and grammar ’til four in the afternoon.
Today, he squinted through the scorching sun and shouted, “There are rumours that there’s a healer in the woods that can cure this darned land. Everyone’s getting sick of waiting, and I volunteered to go sort this matter out.”
This was different. “When you will be home?” asked Sandy.
“The usual.” Grandpa gave Sandy a wrinkly smile. “Four in the afternoon. Dig out your camera if you like. Take a picture of the rain- I know you’ve missed it. ”
At four in the afternoon, there was no patter of rain on the roof of Sandy’s house. Sandy was waiting by her window, but grew impatient and headed downstairs. She sat still for a moment, and sure enough, she heard the faint clatter of wheels on cobblestones.
Sandy opened the door. Stunned, she clicked her camera.
Moments later, the cobblestones darkened with rain.
Bitter Hope -Inspired by postcard #1
The bitter autumn winds had already set in. Tomorrow the soldiers would come and send everyone away. Far from their homes, from their livelihoods. Jane climbed on what used to be steps stones of her house. Now they were a part of the destruction caused by the army. The door had been smashed into two and the roof no longer remained. As she made her way into what used to be her home, tears rolled down her cheeks, one by one.
“Why, why us?” she asked no one in particular. “What did we do to deserve this?”
It all felt so unreal, but now reality and imagination were just words of deception. Imagination would never coincide with reality. This was the life Jane lived. She scanned the rubble to see if anything had survived. She stopped when she spotted a tiny black box under a few bricks. She made her way towards the box, carefully stepping over the ruins. When she got closer, she lifted the bricks and picked up the box. She blew the dust from the cover and scrutinized the box. She had never seen it before. Quickly, she lifted the lid and was surprised at what she saw.
A picture of an old man lay in the box. He looked so different, friendly even. It was her grandfather. From what she remembered, he was the typical grandfather who also made jokes just to see the smile on his grandchildren’s faces. He would take her to school when she was young and wave goodbye when she was out of sight. That was her grandfather. Another tear rolled from her eyes. Her own grandfather had destroyed her home and will send her to death tomorrow morning. Jane took one last look at the photo, before ripping it in half. Things had changed.
In the last paragraph, line three the first word should be always, not also.
In the first paragraph, the third sentence should be “Sandy would listen for the clatter of wheels on cobblestones every afternoon at four.”
Your story’s really good!
The Fairy, Inspired by postcard #2.
I sat down in my dimly lit apartment with all that was left of my family; a single dark brown wooden box filled with papers among papers. Some seemed to be stained with coffee, others worn after all the years of sitting untouched. I took a deep breath and stuck my hand inside and decided it was about time I had looked through the old box.
I slowly removed the papers one by one. I read through some old documents – fascinated by all of the information I was learning about my mysterious family. My great grandmother seemed to love the written word. She filed at least 50 poems inside the box written in her delicate and intricate handwriting. I put those on a separate pile – I would want to read them later.
As I reached the bottom of the box I discovered a photograph. I picked it up and stared at it for a while. I soon realized that it was my great grandfather – Grandpa Orin. I’d heard stories about him from my father. He looked just as he was described – broad shouldered, big necked, with intensely light eyes. Grandpa Orin was, well, mad. As a young man in his 20’s he was convinced there were little flying people who lived in the forest near his estate. He called them fairies. Every day at 7 in the evening he entered the forest to talk with them. On his 68th birthday he was found dead on the forest floor covered with leaves and flowers. No one could explain the mystery.
I sighed and put down the photo. Silly childhood stories… I got up from my desk and walked over to the window; it was raining outside. Suddenly I noticed a pair of wings fluttering in the rain. A little woman, no taller than the size of a pencil, was flying right outside my window. I shook my head and took another look – the little flying woman disappeared.
A fairy…
Thank you!
postcard # 3
Dear Sister,
Am I hallucinating? I’m not sure. I took this photo and saw something behind me. Do you see it?
You’re the only person I thought to ask. You were always odd, i thought. You said you saw things, I never believed you. Forgive me.
But do answer my letter. Tell me. Please.
Sincerely,
Will
No! I left thinking the monsters would not go near him if I wasn’t there. But since they can’t find me, they will probably torture him, thinking I will run to his rescue. Poor Will.
Now is not the time for my cowardice to set in. I must help Will. I ran away from my problems, but deep down I always knew that they would find me again as long as I didn’t get rid of them.
Even if I cannot bring myself to go destroy these monsters for my sake, I must do it for Will. He always protected his little sister. Now it is my turn to repay the favor and protect my big brother.
I can do this.
The title is
Love over Cowardice
^Nice! 🙂
Nice! 🙂
Postcard # 1
Lord Blaire was unaware of what happened in the last 5 years. He had been in a long dream-like stage, however his people were not happy with him. In the last 5 years a tyranny had controlled his state and people. When Lord Blaire looked into the mirror he saw that tyranny. Some people said he was possessed, others thought he had a mental disorder. Everyone knew that the tyranny, although in Lord Blaire’s body was not the kind Lord Blaire they knew. The tyranny had Lord Blaire’s light blonde hair, he’s green eyes, his wide face. The tyranny had Lord Blaire’s deep, authoritative voice however it lacked the warmth of the real Lord Blaire, the tyranny spoke in a cold manner, as he spread despair and pain throughout the land. The land had been in a depressive state, in the rule of the tyranny whom had burned all the books in the state. The land was still recovering from the damage that had been caused. Lord Blaire looked at the old picture of the tyranny, the picture was covered with dust – as no one dared to come near it, no one dared to remove it.
Postcard no.1
Sally groped through the heaps of old pictures and photo books from her gramma’s past. Whenever Sally went to her gramma’s house, she would run up to the musty old cellar, cross her legs and stare in awe at the vintage trinkets and photographs.
She was breathing in all of the history until she happened upon the worn picture of a man sitting, stiff yet content. Sighing, she was about to put it away when she saw the vague enigma of another man’s face hovering over his. It almost looked like a stain, or some sort of odd camera malfunction. Slightly alarmed but still transfixed, she smoothed her hand over the photograph, as if the face was just an unpleasant wrinkle that could be evened out.
Inspired by postcard #3
The Other World’s Radio
If you turn the dial
Maybe you can
Tune to the sounds
of another land
A place where deceased
Stop wondering why
As they watch us pawns
from the welcoming sky.
If we’ll get the frequency right
Maybe you’ll even hear
Secrets of flight
Don’t you dare misuse
This magical key
Or you shall be trialed
by time’s decree
Don’t leave the gate open
So they could return
Leave them in peace
Or their ashes will churn
Wrap up the memories
In a photograph’s wisdom
With the words they left us
You can build a kingdom
How to save yourself
From fear and denial
You will never learn
If you turn the dial
I really like this!
Postcard #1
This tale will explain the need for portraits during the time of Kings and Queens.
We are all taken back by the time when Kings ruled the plentiful lands and waters, Queens defined fine luxury and grace, while peasants were the unwanted breed of humankind supporting their rigid masters. However, do not be fooled, for this enchanting and happy time was filled with dark, promiscuous, and sinister secrets, which were locked up in far chambers to remove the threat at hand. One of the secrets hidden away concerned marriage between the royal bloods. What was stored far away was the idea that marriage was medicine for the corrupted leaders who opted to befriend their deepest enemies. This eternal bond was already decided decades before the birth of the fellow prince or princess. Unfortunately, love was a made belief fairytale and faithfulness was a silly matter. However, how may you marry someone you have never seen, you cannot hope for good looks. The solution was to produce an image of that person and send it to your future spouse for approval. These portraits were equivalent to the Photoshoped magazine covers today which were done masterfully and hid all the imperfections with bold strokes of the gently constructed paintbrushes and with a tidbit of vibrant colours. These images outlined the greatest features of that person to give them an overall seductive appearance. But believe or not, here is an example of a portrait gone wrong. After having a good look at Bloor Joseph, we see that the artist has clearly gone beyond his expertise and produced a very realistic portrait of a man in action. Surely, women will be appealed to this very harmonious and “fun having” figure. Who knew that looks could be so misleading?
A Light in the Dark- Inspired by postcard #3
There’s darkness arounds us
No light to see
We movie in unison
We move like three
The death, the sorrow
It’s bounded to this place
The hauntings, the reapings
It covers our space
When the light returns
Our souls will too
The darkness will end
And it will be like new
I picked postcard #2
by David B.
“The Dog”
Peter was a lonesome boy his only cohort was his dog Rowdy. Peter hadn’t communicated with a human in years it. Rowdy was an extraordinary pouch. Rowdy was past owner was a circus headmaster. That was 12 dog years in the past. But what Peter didn’t recognize was that Rowdy still had the remarkable aptitudes that earned him best in show. The circus master was Peter‘s father who had surreptitiously been training Rowdy to reach the point that would send the circus through the ozone layer. Peter’s dad was Mr. Corley who had invented the Poupon bike the bike consist of an axle with two wheels on it and a third wheel in the anterior .It also had pedals handles and a soft cushiony seat . Balancing on the bike would take more than an intrepid volunteer but a dog riding the bike was simply a flabbergasting achievement .The next morning Mr. Corley visited Peter for the first time this year. Mr. Corley was wearing a Yankees style pinstriped suit with the most exquisite burgundy tie. Peter who had just awaked from bed staggered to the door. He executed his plan to Peter almost flawlessly. Peter wanted to see this significant talent for him. They went to the backyard of the orphanage. Rowdy fell before going on the bike and he acted sick. Almost like the dog preferred not to retreat back to the circus. The desperate attempts to get the dog to implement the trick like he did in practise, Botched wretchedly. The truth was Rowdy loved being with lonesome boy. He loved protecting him. The feeling between boy and dog was indescribable. Peter saved Rowdy from the torture of show biz that would have killed Rowdy eventually. You can’t ever break a true friendship.
Postcard #3
[She Lives Through Love]
At night, I cried.
The world went on.
I felt pain.
I rose and wept, under the stars and watched below.
Tomorrow will come, but will you?
Not always but someday you will for me.
If it’s meant to be, you shall bring me another day.
I move slowly to the edge, crying for my life not to end.
So many souls, we live in eternity.
Being guided by the winds of our past.
Felt so lost, so hurt. Can someone save me?
Sorrow and uncertainty I find in myself,
As the frigid blown air breezes past my long forgotten face.
I need salvation, I need God, and I need you.
So I shall continue to live my life,
And pray for that restoration of all this pain.
Memory of the past flows,
Revealing the truth, the present.
It doesn’t come without pain.
Fear and excitement are at their peak.
Where I stand I do not know.
But that’s not how it is, there’s more to that.
It’s like time just stopped and it’s us against the world.
Building blocks of a new era in time.
Breathe me in, and I will keep you safe.
Now that you have come to this realization, don’t forget.
To be your own inspiration.
I will dream through open eyes, I will live my life today.
Fulfill all goals and aspirations.
For tomorrow’s unseen and all I have is now…
Um… i’m not really sure, but are we allowed to write poems too? I thought it was only stories.
I’m really confused now. Can someone please clarify?
Thanks! 🙂
I’m not sure, but I think you mean postcard 1?
if not, sorry!
🙂 nice!
Like your story!
Nice, realistic and short. i like it!
Thanks!
I am choosing image number 1.
“The Chance Awaits You”
Listen to your thoughts. You’re the one who will decide about your life.
Those were the last caring words anyone had said to her.
Julia had been by herself for quite a while now. She stared down at the photograph of late Mr.Dell, the man from the family that adopted her a long, long time ago. “Look how chilling I seem in there,” he would always say whenever he saw it, then give a hearty laugh, “luckily the camera master agreed for me to have a retake…” interrupted by his waves of laughter, he would then continue, “…he was such a generous person…”, more chuckles, pause, followed by a sigh, “Oh, Julia, I do expect you to be better than him.” Those words found their way into Julia’s mind somehow, and managed to stay, as that she remembered them like if this all happened yesterday. She always thought it confusing, what Mr.Dell said first, since everybody knew that the camera master was the meanest one could ever encounter, but she never really got the opportunity to ask about that, comes to think of it. Oh, how she would love to be back then, with the nice mister providing her with all that she needs! Now she was merely a castaway, like a ruined piece of iron. She had decided to leave the Dell household ever since Mr.Dell left, and the unpleasant Mrs.Dell told her to choose between leaving and working for her there as a servant. So she left, doing what Mr.Dell always said, that she had to trust herself to make the decisions. It’s hard making out on the streets, she thought, now under the pale light of the moon, but I’m not defeated yet, and there will always be another chance. I believe in myself. I will survive.
Post Card #1 – Cutting the cheese
I stroll into Grandma’s sandwich shop and get a whiff of the bread, cheese, and ham. “Back from school already?” Grandma asks as she comes from the back room,
“I made you your favourite sandwich, come sit.”
I sit and devourer the sandwich. My eyes wander to a photo of my great-grandfather which makes me burst out in laughter, “WHAT is he doing?” I ask.
Grandma chuckles as she reminisces about the event. “Well on that day, he went to take his photo, he had a huge lunch that day and was stuffed. He brought me along with him because I begged him to take me to town that day. Your great-grandfather wanted a photo to send to his mother back in Ireland. I will tell you a secret, but you can’t tell anyone else. He was prone to-“, Grandma shifts her eyes, “‘cutting the cheese’ that day and every other day that ends in a y ”
“So as he took his seat, the photographer was setting up the camera. I don’t think the photographer even noticed when he let one out or he just pretended he didn’t hear. I have to tell you, if there was an award for the worst smell produced by a human being, your great-grandfather would win! I think he learned his lesson that time because the photographer took the photo just as he took a whiff of the foul odour. When we were leaving, I could tell both him and the photographer avoided direct eye contact”
“Oh my god, I will never think of him in the same way again.” I declare.
Yes, poetry is welcome! Word Out loves the written word! The strange postcards are just a jumping-off point into the realms of imagination – so go for it!
Hilarious!
Ray do you know how many stories we can submit?
Sure thing. One entry per photo is the max. The contest goes all summer, so there’s plenty of time for crafting the perfect words!
so, um… if I enter one entry for #1, one entry for #2, and one entry for #3 I won’t be disqualified, right?
Oh, thanks!
yes, one entry for #1, one entry for #2, and one entry for #3 is A-OK.
last paragrpah, 2nd sentence, the last word was meant to be ‘always’ not also.
Postcard #3
[The Narcissist]
I roughly cut open the dusty old boxes my paren’ts and I had exhaustedly dragged down from the attic, with a sharp key. We’re moving this weekend, so it’s important for us to see what we shall take to our new home, and what we’ll consider as “garbage”. I work on the last box. I carelessly take off the cardboard lid, and take out the papers inside. It consisted of useless bonds, and a few photographs from which I assume were my earlier relatives. I was about to put them back in the box, but a photograph caught my eye. “Dad…who’s he?” “Oh. Just your great great GREAT uncle.”He points at the sitting man. “No. I mean the other guy with only his face visible. “Him?” Dad points at the pale face. “Well, I asked my grandfather the same thing, and I remember him telling me that the guy was an extreme narcissist. Everyone in town all secretly pitied him. Harrison Wilcox was his name. He would go to the town’s photo booth EVERYDAY to get his photo taken. He died sometime in the 19th century, and I guess haunted that photo booth ever since. His face would always appear in people’s photos. The town mayor had to reconstruct a new booth since too many people were complaining about this. Wilcox wasn’t a happy person, and didn’t understand the meaning of life. He was isolated, and had hurt many people’s feelings.” Dad suddenly stopped talking, and looked at me. I didn’t know what to think. “You are SO lying!!” I suddenly say a smile about to work on my face. “But!” Dad interrupts me. “I don’t know if it’s true either. I only heard it from my grandfather.” “Well…” I answer back. “I don’t know.” I quickly place everything back in the box. The meaning of life. Hmmm…
Unexpected best friend-inspired by postcard #3
Ever since John Baker was a baby he always saw a person that nobody else saw. It was always the first thing he saw in the morning and the last thing he saw at night. When he first learned to speak, instead of those common question children would ask at his age he would ask his paren’ts different questions, like, who is that person following me? Why does he do that? Everyday he would ask his paren’ts those questions. Finally, they decided to go to the doctor but he said exactly what they knew he would, he said “it is all apart of growing up”, but his paren’ts knew it was more then that. They watched him for a while but never saw anything weird anymore; he had stopped asking those questions. Although the questions had stopped the person never went away. He would see it everywhere he went. He really didn’t care. Years had pasted, he was now 10. He started to wonder who that person was. He talked to him, trying to learn more about him. He learned that his name was Harry Lord. He really liked harry, he started spending more time with him. He played with him at school (although his classmates called him a weird) and home (his paren’ts saw but they gave up on caring a long time ago). They started to become really good friends, although that friendship may have looked weird it was the best friendship he ever had. He grew up, alongside his friend. He never cared if people stared, or thought he was crazy. One day, he went down to the photo booth across the street and took a picture to remember all the great times he had with his best friend.
Mean
I stumbled over a bag
thrust into my path.
I fell on my knees
and I heard him laugh.
It was something
I never understood.
Why hurt me?
Just because he could?
A man
who was once my friend,
why, oh why
did our friendship end?
Another person
is who he became.
Of this change,
who’s to blame?
Now, be his friend?
I’d rather clean!
Who wants a friend
who’s always mean?
it was inspired by postcard #1
Ten Pound Wonder
Long black hair,Small brown eyebrows,and a white stomach,all on one special dog.
She’s lovable,Cuddlable,and cute as can be.
She places little wet kisses all over me.
We learn new tricks,and enjoy playing with sticks.
There are outfits we adore, Names unlimited for her;from Tiny to Killer,Oreo to Snowflake,Tinkerbell to Cruella,All for one dog.
One special dog,one ordinary dog,one crazy dog.
But then we found the perfect name:ZENA
The queen of all dogs,The funniest,The cutest,The smartest.Unless,It involves Peeing And A Rug.
inspired by postcard #2
Picture 1
I cannot speak thus I cannot live
that is what they assume, but
I have spoken, I have heard. enough.
I know.
Mute is not dumb.
In a time before this was a life before this.
I felt entrapped, strangled, ensnared. I could not breathe of my own doing, everything
Was dictated to me. Life was not worth living until I really lived.
I did not know what I was looking for, perhaps a hope or
A sign of some sort that would lead me, guide me
To my path.
I was never good at something, so how could I be the best
At anything.
The insecurities of youth are as numerous as the stars of the sky.
How could I achieve success, could I ever
Be Great
Soon I was broken, my innocent airs deceived me, I became just as cold and calculating as the men I despised.
Maybe this was the way. Respect. Power. Success. Money.
But they beauty of her soul broke through me.
Stripped away,
Layer by layer
The quietness of her spirit the steadiness of her hand.
She broke through
my demeanour
Thawed this ice cold heart and melted her way in.
I went off in search for life, but instead she found me.
Postcard #1
Truth behind Eyes
I am a girl that has been made fun by people around me. What did other people have that I didn’t have? Well for starters, I have every attribute that people consider as beautiful in a girl except for one thing. My eyes. I have always dreaded my eyes. My eyes are really large, wide, and kind of spooky looking.One look at them would send chills down your spine. Students and kids at school and at home always made fun of me asking what kind eyes I have. I was always puzzled myself.I would ask my paren’ts why my eyes were like that. They didn’t know and were just as puzzled as I was. Then, one day, for the first time I visited my grandparen’ts’ house. I was looking through all my grandparen’ts’ and great-grandparen’ts’ stuff. It was there that I discovered the truths behind my eyes. I saw the picture of a man that was my great-grandfather. He had eyes exactly like mine. I was surprised and shocked. I never knew anyone in my family had eyes like my mine. I continued to search for anything that might reveal why my eyes turned out like my great-grandfather’s. After an hour of searching, I found a diary that belonged to my great-grandfather. It explained that my eyes meant that I have been marked just like my great-grandfather was. The marking meant that at the age of 16 I will become a girl that will be able to see and foretell the future. That had been my most important and uppermost wish all my life and it finally came true. I couldn’t believe it. All along I had dreaded my eyes and wished they could be replaced but they turned out to be a mark that my wish was going to come true. From then on, I embraced my look. I did not tell anyone about what I found out even if my grandparen’ts knew I had found out the secret. Anytime I was bullied or made fun of I just smiled a smile at the bully that meant I knew something they didn’t. After sometime, the bullying stopped altogether because people started to see that there was something special and unique about me. I can’t wait till I am 16!
Postcard #2
[It’s a Dog’s World]
I guess it was really all over. Master Harrington had died in an unmistakable car accident on the north side of London. I wish I was by his side at the very end. I wish I had chosen go with him. Now, all I have left are the floating memories of his loving smile, the long, sweet walks we had in summer with the small little birds pecking at my hair, and most of all, our last time together. I believe it was yesterday morning, was it not?
Master Harrington’s voice echoed softly in the great mansion, “Now come along, Harry. I have a surprise for you.” I responded immediately and dashed up to him, wondering what the surprise was. He gently opened the back door and stepped onto a large, vintage bicycle. He pedaled along and I followed as quickly as my little feet would take me.
He stopped by the edge of the forest, and showed me the ancient oak tree I had always admired. “Look here. I have carved your name in the tree.” In distinct scratchy letters spelled out my name. I do not why, but it filled me with everything good in the world. But that was the last time we will go into the forest with him on the bicycle, and with me trotting beside him. Yet, I am not a dog that gives up easily. I will relive our memories from end to finish, first with the vintage bicycle.
Perhaps the eyes are the windows to a soul but a face tells so much more. A story can be told with just one look, thus became this photograph. A great man he was, of great pride and success.
It was a time when two people would have to agree to a marriage with a simple look at a photograph. I remember sitting out on a park bench when my father came and took the seat next to me.
“Love, I think it’s time you were married. I’ve brought along a few photographs, take a look?”
My father had a way, you see, he’d say things politely and as questions but it was quite obvious that this was a demand. So, of course, I obliged. They were five men in all, four incredibly good looking and wearing smiles worth a million dollars, then there was him. The look my father had when I took the photograph out of the envelope told me he hadn’t seen these photographs before.
I looked at the photo again and laughed, like a hyena some would say. I asked my father about this man and was told of all his success. No, I told my father, I would like to know about him. My father was confused yet agreed to arrange for us to meet.
You see, the way I had seen it was that either this man was being silly simply to see which women wanted to marry him based on his success or he was absolutely mad. I found him to be both. So you see this simple photograph tells a story, a story of a man not wanting a wife who wanted only his success. He turned out to be extraordinary and I fell in love with him.
Postcard #1
Postcard #2
A Dog Riding a Bike
A dog riding a bike
What an absurd sight
I mean how on earth do you expect me to believe
That this is a dog riding a bike
His paws not quite touching the pedals
And his face one caked with confusion
“How on earth did I get up here,” he thinks
How did he become a dog riding a bike?
This pebbled road would be rough, I think
A flat surface is far more comfortable
How on earth would he survive if he fell?
He is, after all, only a dog riding a bike.
Postcard #3
How I See Thee
A spirit filled with mischief
An imaginary dream
As real as a hippogriff
That is how you seem
A shadowy persona
And an incredible lack of fear
With no distinct aroma
That is how you appear
One with the curtains
A dear friend to me
I can never know for certain
But this is how I see thee
I do! Woops, thanks for noticing!
The street was very crowded that day. Everbody was scrambling to get J.K Rowling’s autograph.
But behind all the mayhem was an extraordinary sight, that was not being paid any heed. A dog was riding an old fashioned tricycle. He really was very talented, getting the tricycle to fly, riding through the trees and with no paws.
“Hmmmph,” he thought,”here I am, performing a once in a lifetime show, and all these people are in a crowd facing the other way. I always knew their brains didn’t work right.”
The dog was so immersed in his mental rant that he did not notice he was coming dangerously close to the crowd of people. He crashed into them and flew off his bike landed on the head of a little boy. The crowd was filled with shrieks and screams. When they singled out the dog to be the cause of disaster, they called the dog patrol to take him away.
Then everybody lined up for their autographs again. But what they had failed to notice was that in the confusion, J.K Rowling had apparated.
Meanwhile at Killiechassie house, Ms.Rowling talked to her daughter.
“Thank Dumbledore for that magical dog! Who knew how long I would have been there if it hadn’t caused a distraction.”
At the vet’s office, the dog was in a cage, thinking,”Nobody looks when I perform my amazing tricks, but everybody looks when I have a tiny slip-up. I am starting a petition for animals to rule the world instead of humans. We outnumber them big time! And what’s the whole thing with not allowing the animal kingdom access to the internet. I will demand my rights. But of course the humans will pretend not to understand me like always!”
#2
“I always knew that there was something special about our puppy, I was certain by the time me and my twin sister went on one of our vacations. Since we couldn’t take our puppy with us, we left him our grandma’s house.” Tears came down the old man’s face as he was talking “Grandma was never much of a talker, anyway, during the time that we were gone on one of our vacations, grandma passed away. Rumor spread that our puppy had killed her. Another piece of evidence was that a few of our villagers had reported they have seen our puppy biking around the village. The thing was that during this whole incident, our puppy had disappeared. New Years Eve was coming. We were celebrating the year of 2013. Suddenly, earthquakes rose, and we all got injured. But the truly inspiring thing is that our puppy had brought the police to save us. A few months later, reporters and the circus came down pouring contracts. And we chose the most unsuccessful circus so that our puppy would be able to help them. The picture that I showed you was the first day he went to circus.
Your Welcolme! 🙂
Milo was a three-year-old dog. He was a scrawny, dogmatic little creature, yet he was extremely ambitious and had acquired a zealous partisanship for animal equalitarianism. He had a large brown spot that stained his meager face and covered his right eye, making him look outwardly stupid.
Milo was envious of his owner. His owner had two legs and two hands, Milo had four legs; his owner had hands and fingers, Milo had paws. To establish equality between animals and humans, Milo would endeavor to ride his owner’s tricycle, a stunt that would ignite a spark to cause a revolution that will bring about equality and egalitarianism between all organisms – did I mention Milo was a tad ambitious?
One day, Milo noticed that his owner had left his tricycle on the cobbled road outside their house. Milo briskly climbed the adjacent stoned hedge and carefully leaped on to the tricycle’s leather saddle. The tricycle wobbled a little, however Milo quickly adjusted himself, oscillating his buttocks until they were finally in a relaxed position. He grasped the handlebars with his feeble paws and looked forward. “That’s one small step for dogs, one giant leap for non-mankind,” Milo exclaimed.
With this maxim said, he tightened his grip on the handlebars and reached for the pedals with his bony legs – but as hard as he stretched his limbs, there were no pedals to be found, for his legs were too trivial, too small. Milo was crestfallen. Much to his ire, this fiasco did not make an iota of difference towards animal equality in any way, shape or form. Without thinking, Milo leaped off the tricycle and urinated on the front wheel. “If this won’t change society, it’ll sure change my mood,” elated Milo. Milo was disowned by his owner later on that day.
Postcard #3
There it was. If all this were a book this would be the abrupt haunting end after a long luxurious anti climax. There lying in front of me was the postcard. It is not often that one has been thinking about me enough to write and send a letter all the way to my little tin mailbox. At first I had been overwhelmed with joy to find it sitting patiently in my mail, one bitter winter morning when the smoky clouds from the west had billowed over the skies, casting somewhat ominous shadows. I was just sitting in my chair, calmly sipping my tea, when a noise interrupted the silence. I watched as a quaint red and silver truck drove into the scene and pulled up alongside my front garden. Then as if driving to the middle of nowhere was routine, a man in uniform emerged from the rusted doors and slid a white envelope from his gloved hand into my box. Then tuned back to his truck and off he went. A few minutes later when I was washing my tea cup, I heard a knock at the door. At first this took me by surprise, but when I got to the door a suited man informed me he simply wanted his picture taken. He agreed to double average payment and only wanted a single copy. It was a strange request, but my photography profession had plateaued forcing me to accept any job. He sat in front of the black drapes, I took his photo, he payed but before leaving he handed me the postcard. It was then that I realized my photo was identical to the one on my postcard. The only difference being only a ghostly man’s face in my photo that had not been there before.
Post card 1
It was another day, I came running from school because today I was rich I had found a bag full of gold coins, of course it might have been the old man who was searching for a bag of gold coins, but I just kept the money. I looked in the bag to see how much coins I had got, and I saw a piece of paper with an address, behind it read all the riches may be yours. I followed address and all I saw was a old rusty shop, I was very disappointed. I decided to look inside the shop to see if I earned anything by following the address.
As I entered an old rusty shop I looked all around and stared it was filled priceless antiques, but nobody seemed inside, the shop seemed abandoned. As I turned around to leave I a saw a huge photograph of a old man ,I realized he looked exactly like the man who was looking for the bag gold coins I took. Under the picture it read “Anyone who enters the shop, please beware, leave immediately,and don’t dare take any of the priceless treasures…….OR ELSE. I thought to myself what nonsense surly it must be a lie, and why leave the antiques to waste so I picked up a lamp and turned to leave. Just as I touched the door everything went blank.
I woke up but I saw nothing it was pitch black, just as I got up I heard footstep I turned and saw the man in the photograph. I told you to leave, you did not listen thank-you I am free he said quietly. As I started to run toward the man, I was back before the painting. I thought the nightmare was all over,but I was getting sucked into the painting.I started to panic and I decided to fight it, but it was no use, I took the place of the old man. So now I sit in the portrait waiting to thank my next victim of freeing me and taking place in the portrait as the old man.
Hareni Jayaraman
very nice
nice!!!
Holy Smokes, everyone! This is going to be a difficult contest with all the amazing entries. Keep ’em coming!
#3
“Happy Birthday James!” my sister, Annie, sang out loud, “Bro and I have a surprise for you!”
A surprise? Oh no. Last year it was a cute hamster…that ripped more than half of my clothes into shreds. The year before was a half burnt cupcake, decorated with toothpaste-they had thought it was icing.
Not wanting to hurt their feelings, I tried to look enthusiastic, “What is it?”
Annie smiled, “We were thinking, and thinking. Then poof! IDEA! We planned everything in the living room, but we broke mother’s mirror, but that was an accident. And we also…”
Richard cut her off, “Anyways, we’re going to take a picture of you and the ghost of that poet you’re crazy about-“
“Edgar Allan Foe!” Annie took my arm and dragged me into the living room.
I rolled my eyes, “Its Poe, not Foe, and I don’t see any ghost here, just a stool, some curtains, oh, and an instant camera.”
They grinned mischievously, “Just sit on the stool, and say cheese!”
There was a sudden blinding beam of light, followed by the flash of the camera. For a moment, all I could hear was the sound of the picture being printed.
“Yes!!!” Annie gave Richard a big hug, “You were right, it worked!” she showed me the picture, “Look bro!”
I was dumfounded. In the picture, there was a white pale figure with the face of Poe beside me! “H-h-how? Wait a minute,” I frowned, “You used phosphorus paint, didn’t you?”
Richard laughed, “Sure did!”
“We painted the “ghost” of Poe onto the silk curtain in the morning, and before we took the picture, Richard flashed that blinding beam of light so that the paint would glow!” Annie exclaimed.
I laughed, “Trick or no, I’m going to keep this photo forever!”
#1
It was in the 1970’s that Mr.Sahin got on the ship going to China. He sat on the deck next to a young man. At some time, Mr.Sahin told the lad that he had a pouch of one hundred dinars.
Hearing about this mass of wealth, evil thoughts entered the man’s mind, and he plotted a way to procure the money.
Later, the captain found the young man crying. “Why the long face?” the captain asked.
“My money… gone! One hundred dinars! How will I pay the expenses?” the young man sobbed.
“Do not worry, lad. I shall search all the passengers. Where could it have gone?” the captain said.
One by one the passengers were searched, and the money was not found.
At last the captain came to Mr.Sahin. “I need not search you. Everybody knows that you are the most trustworthy man.”
“No. Search me also, lest there is some doubt left in the minds of these people,” Mr.Sahin responded.
“As you wish,” said the captain and searched Mr.Sahin. The dinars were not found, so they continued their journey after reassuring the young man that he would manage.
Later, the young man was overwhelmed by curiosity. He went over to Mr.Sahin and asked, “You said you had a pouch of dinars. Where is it?”
“Dear child,” Mr.Sahin said, “There are two things I value above all. Speaking the truth, and other’s trust. If I told everybody that the dinars were mine, they would believe me and embarrass you, which I did not wish. Also, even though they would have believed me at the time, there would always be a lingering shadow of doubt on my trust. So that money is now in the ocean. I was able to part with money, but never with honesty and trust.”
Postcard no.2
A Dog on a Bicycle
A dog on a bicycle
One wheel up, one wheel down
Whirling amidst air
Our eyes dark, still we gawk
Whirling up within a whirl pool
To witness a dog on a bicycle.
For, it is an absurd delusion
To disdain thee
As one
Solely, one dog
Can dwell as equivalent as to a human.
A dog
Hysterical about exhibiting knacks
Whereas, he can be a stunt dog
To invoke deference
Since,
He is a jovial dog on a bicycle
And, is not worth less…
Than OUR soul!
Please don’t count this entry! When I clicked “delete”, it dissappeared, but when I re-checked today, I realized that this was still there.
Thanks!
why are the prizes for the weekly contests better than this “big” creative writing challenge? sony e reader vs $25…
There should be a weekly contest for each age group e.g. 14 year olds, 17 year olds…just for fairness.
very interesting
Hey curious,
Absolutely – the writing has been extraordinary! Because there are so many great entries, we’ll be adding a 1st, 2cd, and 3rd place awards. Details on the 1st, 2cd, and 3rd place awards will be announced shortly – so stay tuned, but I (unofficiall) suspect there’s an eReader in there….
2# Dog name thonciffe was riding a bicylce.He loves singing black and yellow. He sings everyday before he gos to the park because he wants to look cool.
3# It looks like a women is hounting a man. And the man is not skrd from the grripe did gost arcrazy women. It most like be women like that man befor she kiled
SCARY DAY
Ones a pon a time thir was a man named Edgard. Edgard works at a show, one day he went under the stage to find the magic box. It was dark and scary but he founded the magic box, when he went to the stage everyone were scared and they were screaming Edgard didint know what happend when he turnd he sawed a gost that said: this is may home. Everyone rand out of the bilding but Edgard was stuked and after that night no one sawed hem again
One day a man named bill woke up and got ready for a photo shoot. he dressed himself in his best cloths.the photo was for this girl he liked.when the photo come out bill took a look at it and he saw a ghost appearing in the background.bill was so scared that he late killed himself.
one late night in new York there was and ugly old man who was really desperate to get a girlfriend , but every time he talk to someone they would just run off because of his nasty breath. He only had one friend and that was his dog, his dog was very talented , he knew how to ride a bike and do tricks on it. The old man made his dog do tricks on the street to get girls and money, but only beaties came no sweeties. Two weeks later the old man died on the streets for being to BEAT!!! PIC 1
BEAT MAN !!!!!!!!!!!!!
WIRED SHAPED HEAD HIS NAME WAS UGLY EDD. HE HAD SPIKY HAIR HIS PONY TAIL PUFFY LIKE A BEAR NO ONE EVER LIKED HIM HE SCARED PEOPLE WITH HIS UGLY FEAR. HIS FACE IS SO BEAT AND HIS BREATH SMELLED LIKE OLD PEOPLE FEET EWWW THATS NASTY HIS FACE REMINDS ME OF A CHIMPANZEE.
Postcard no.1
A song to my soul
TWO NINE NINE BLOOR
TWO NINE NINE BLOOR
TWO HUNDRED AND NINETY NINE BLOOR
Is a song to my soul
Enlivening against deep dream,
Is what beckons thee,
A terror,
A dread,
A lost,
Dark,
Heart,
Denotes my breath.
My ice-cold eyes
Peer into your soul
For I rest devoid, barring a brute,
Lurking about your dreams.
My definition maybe wrong
But the recesses of my heart…
That stands never rotten.
Woe is me
For my life
Being stored
Though not recognized.
I am a “countenance more in sorrow than in anger”
Is a song to my soul.
Hilarious!
I have a question,
I entered an entry for post card 2, and now for 1 but they have the same photo’s is that okay?
Hmmm, there are 3 different photos posted, I see you have entries for #1 and #2, let me know if you’re having any further trouble.
So is that okay ?
No worries, everything’s A-OK.
No worries, I removed the duplicate entry. Everything’s A-OK.
Okay, Thx
Postcard no.3
A Scold from a Grave
“BUBBLE GUPPIES” is a show on which I breathe on, it’s astonishing! This habit originated at the milestone of 5, and still endures. As my life cruised on, my father died when I was 10, since then I was disposed into a world of despair. Ever since I was 11 people teased me, bullied me for I was as thin as a stick. “Sticky” that’s what people called me. This happened on a day of Friday 13th, I was eating my lunch at home, and I was full so I gladly threw half of my lunch away. My lunch consisted of a hambulance on rye, trust me, it was delicious, but unfortunately I was full. Right after I was finished my lunch, a mystical shadow appeared in front of me, and started scolding me.
“DAD?” I said
“Yes!” He said
Then, it wasn’t even in a minute that is started scolding me; he said all kinds of things as he was very cheap indeed. His motto… every pea counts.
Yes, that shadow was my dad, and after he was done scolding he left. Oh yea! did I ever mention that I am a seance. That my friends, is when I learned a valuable lesson, always finish your lunch, and always take a shower. What a day that was.
Entry #2
Postcard #1: Mr. Bloor, The Angry Man
Joseph Bloor was an angry man. Why was he angry? No one actually ever knew nor could they reminisce about a time in which they witnessed him smile the slightest of smiles. Some philosophized he came across this indignation after the death of his fourth wife. The jocose ones admonished it was due to his hideousness. The provenance of Joseph Bloor’s anger remained a mystery to everyone in the hamlet and there was only one person who knew how he came by it, and that one person was Mr. Bloor himself.
Mr. Bloor was a retired, senile carpenter who lived off his meagre pension and what wealth was left behind by his deceased wives. Every day, at exactly 6 o’clock, he would promenade around the village, with his diary secured in his left arm, and berate anyone who came across his tyrannical path. His tirades were full of nonsense, yet harsh to ears both young and old. He was the closest thing to the Incredible Hulk back in those days.
The villagers were growing weary of Mr. Bloor’s atrocious demeanor, so they concocted a plan to steal his diary, deducing that it contained the remedy to his ire. So on one hot day, at exactly 6 o’clock, Mr. Bloor set out on one of his usual rampages. When he approached the milkman to berate him on account of the mediocrity of his milk, a cow tackled him from behind. Mr. Bloor fell face first on the ground, his diary flying into the arms of a villager who briskly concealed it underneath their wool coat. The other villagers helped Mr. Bloor get back up on his feet, and instead of thanking them, Mr. Bloor resumed his tirade. The widower went back home that day, without noticing he had lost his diary.
That same night, the villagers attended a discreet symposium at the town hall and flipped through the pages of Mr. Bloor’s diary. The diary’s rigid façade was a picture of the widower himself, with his signature underneath. The diary contained the somber history of Mr. Bloor, from the deaths of his four wives to how heartbroken he felt after his daughter had eloped with another villager, taking all his valuables and wealth. The melancholic chronology of his life was far from tedious or soporific. Conversely, it brought tears to the eyes of the villagers. They realized that Mr. Bloor was not angry because he was hideous nor because he was a poor man. He was angry because he was lonely. This revelation came to the villagers as an epiphany, so the good-hearted villagers concocted yet another cunning plan.
The next day, at exactly 6 o’clock, Mr. Bloor stepped out of his dilapidated domicile. He spotted the village mailman and decided that he would be his first target of the day. As he approached the mailman, the mailman smiled at Mr. Bloor and gave him a hug. The farmer, a few steps away, also came and embraced the widower in his arms. Soon after, the whole village encircled Mr. Bloor and gave him a warm, herculean group hug. When the villagers slowly dispersed, Mr. Bloor was handed back his diary. At first, his face was a perfect depiction of stoicism. However, his face started to loosen up, and a single drop of tear was shed from his eyes. Then the impossible happened: his face broke into a smile. Mr. Bloor was finally happy.
Thank you so much!
Ha ha! sooooooooo funny!
POSTCARD # 1
Entry one
Joseph Bloor was a vampire. And unfortunately I just happened to be his servant. My poor paren’ts sold me to him at a very low price when I was ten. They were surprised when he bought me. And honestly, I was too. I was a seemingly useless, frail, hateful, trouble making, not particularly hard working kid with shaky knees and a sharp tongue. Most probably my paren’ts were happy to get rid of me. Most of that is still true except that I’m no longer frail. It took a lot to be a vampire’s assistant. Today was my thirteenth birthday. Inside my head I groaned. Three years as a vampire’s assistant. What a waste of life. I knew I’d be wasting even more time. Vampires lived a long time and slaves, like me, generally don’t retire from a job until they die. “Alex? “ Joseph Bloor called. I turned around. He wasn’t that bad of an owner as far as owners go. My own mother had been harsher. Despite that, he was still frightened me. When he looked at you with his piercing eyes, it was as if he could see right through you. “Yes, master. “ I winced at the word. Three years, and I still hadn’t gotten used to it. “I think you’re ready.”
“For what? “ He grinned half sincerely, half evilly.
“For you’re birthday present. “
*
The next day I would be proudly baring two sharp and very real fangs. I was no longer a vampire’s servant but a VAMPIRE’S APPRENTICE!
oops typo ” Despite that , I he still frightened me
cool!
I know this doesn’t have anything to do with this creative writing challenge, but is there anything people can do for their overdue library fines, like last year?
Postcard #2
What started off as a simple dare turned into an unforgettable memory.
Jack and Anne lounged on the sidewalk, breath labouring after their strenuous race.
“How ‘bout we have another race?”
“Another?” Anne wrinkled her nose. “And lose again? I think not.”
“You’re too afraid to lose than to try?” Jack egged.
Anne snorted but refused to acquiesce.
“How about ‘truth or dare’ then?”
“Hm. Fine. I’ll start.”
“As the lady wishes,” Jack said sardonically.
“I dare you to ride my tricycle around the neighbourhood.”
“But you know our paren’ts forbade us to ride the tricycle without them!”
Anne arched an eyebrow at Jack. The tricycle was retrieved from the shed by a preternaturally silent Jack. Huffing, Jack grabbed the handlebars and pushed the tricycle along while Anne kept pace beside him. Jack was about to seat himself on the tricycle when a Russell terrier bounded out of the bushes, snapping playfully at their heels.
“Pop!” Anne picked up their dog and mussed up his hair.
Pop barked and scrambled out of Anne’s arms towards the tricycle.
“Reckon Pop wants a ride?” Jack teased.
Anne placed Pop gently on the seat and kept a steady hand nearby. Amazingly, Pop needed no other guidance and grasped the handlebars with his front paws. Jack and Anne stared open-mouthed at Pop. Jack released his hold slowly and gave the vehicle a small shove. Pop glided along the road, barking happily. Anne and Jack ran beside him, keeping stride with the tricycle.
“Well, look at that,” Jack chuckled, “it seems that your dog is braver than the both of us!”
thanks
Hey FY – not this year. The library has fine forgiveness programs pretty regularly though, so keep your eyes peeled when you stop by your local branch.
Also perhaps of interest- did you know if you volunteer with the Library for more than 6 months, you don’t have to pay overdue fines? Here’s a link with some more information: http://www.torontopubliclibrary.ca/support-us/volunteering/
Crazed and disturbed were words used to describe my grandfather constantly. The old village gossips would sit on their hideously pink floral porches clucking about how my grandfather was ruining the appeal of the neighborhood. Even the bank refused to lend my grandfather money on the grounds that “only a fool puts his trust in insanity.” Grandfather noted that, “it’s not your trust I want, sir, but your money.” The man removed him. Everyone in that small stagnant town thought my grandfather was a madman; I knew better.
When I was growing up I would wrap myself around my grandfather’s feet while he sat in his wicker rocking chair staring out into the distance. I once asked him what he was looking. He told me he was looking at the past. Intrigued, I also peered at the sun slinking away behind the forest line. But I never saw the past just the sky. When I asked grandfather about the past he saw in the forest and the sky my mother shushed me harshly. I cried, not understanding why she was mad. I later learned it was because grandfather was in WWI.
Now as I sit in grandfathers wicker rocking chair I realize why people thought he was disturbed. His eyes were always dark; the shadows of the lives lost and left behind on foreign soils haunted him. He had a twisted smile simply because he had forgotten how to show happiness. The horrors he saw in the tiny rat infested trenches had rendered him incapable of finding joy when the burden of his past weighed upon his chest so heavily. People thought my grandfather was insane because he saw. He saw what everyone else in that town passively chooses to ignore. He saw the truth of the world.
oops forgot to say that I wrote about postcard 1
#2
Sparrow trotted towards me.
As usual, she stood up, wobbling slightly on her hind legs, and lightly set her paws on my paint chipped crossbar. I tipped obediently onto one side, leaning against the wooden fence. Just like before, she gently tested my tires, and spun the pedals, making sure the drive chain worked.
But there was something about her eyes and the way she moved, that, even an old worn bike without brains like me, could tell something was wrong.
She took a mighty leap and landed neatly onto my torn leather seat. She gripped my handlebars tightly with her paws and started to pedal. My wheels turned on the familiar gravel path, going faster and faster, the wind roared. Ah, how I loved to be ridden!
Two wet drops fell onto my seat. Startled, I rang my bell twice, “Is it raining?”
Sparrow didn’t answer.
I rang my bell three times, then once, “What’s wrong, Sparrow?”
She let out a sad sigh.
I slowed, and then stopped. Where were we?
Sparrow leaped down, and nuzzled my handle bars, “The flat-faces and I are leaving.”
I rang in alarm, “Where?”
“To a South Carolina,” she stared at the floor, “but you aren’t going with us.”
“But why?” I was shocked, “I’ve been a part of this family as long as you!”
“I know,” she stroke my front tire with her tail, “they didn’t want to bring along a…a piece of junk like you. T-they were going to throw you in the dump. This was the best I could do.”
My heart split in two, “So this is goodbye?”
“The animals will visit you.”
“But it won’t be the same!”
“I’m sorry,” Sparrow padded away.
I watched sadly as she grew smaller and smaller, until I couldn’t see her anymore.
Title: The Last Ride
Oops, on paragraph 4, sentence number two, it says: She gripped my handlebars tightly with her paws and started to pedal.
It should actually say : She gripped my handlebars tightly with her paws. I turned my pedals.
Ray, when you say to give you our e-mail, how do we do that? Like, do we tell you, or would you be able to know our e-mail once we sign in?
When you leave your post, there should be a field to fill in your email address. The address won’t appear on the blog, but it allows us to contact you if you’ve won a contest.
What if I signed in using facebook or something? Will you still be able to know our e-mail address?
Why So Glum Chum (in response to Postcard #1)
Why so glum chum?
The look on your face makes it seem,
That you are the victim, not I.
Did you think that I would forget?
Those words that you said.
Those things that you did.
Each one stinging like a fresh wound
That even time is unable to fix.
You say that you are sorry,
But I know that you are not.
You say that it’s not your fault,
But I know that it is.
How could you turn a blind eye,
To someone just learning to walk?
Perhaps the same happened to you,
But you should have known better.
For trip, I did.
I fell and was hurt,
But worry not,
That was not the end.
I stood up with all my might,
And learned to run without your help.
So go ahead and regret.
Nothing will change.
Just keep on frowning,
You glum chum.
Because as for me,
I will always smile.
Unfortunately, Facebook doesn’t allow us to send you a message, so you have to include your actual email address in the required field.
Thx, Ray!
so is it okay if I just tell you by submitting a post with my e-mail?
Sure. Submit a post with the email field filled out.
Ok, thx
So here’s a post w/ my e-mail field filled out!
This is a post w/ my e-mail field filled out.
When are we going to find out what the prizes are?
what if an entry has more than 300 words like this? If I sent something in with like 500 words, would you still include it for this contest?
Word limits really take away the ‘it’ factor from a story!
I completely agree, its just that i’m wondering if they will still count it for the contest.
Your vocabulary is like a wordsmith!
I look at myself in the mirror,
Realizing society doesn’t understand me clearer,
Why is society setting standards for me?
I want to break free,
Look at what I have turned into,
What am I ought to do?
Seems like I am falling into a deep blue sea,
This déjà vu seems familiar,
But no one hears me out,
They appear to doubt,
Everyone kicks my words out of the way,
Will ever some listen to my cries, nay,
Will I have a way?
Am I a bothersome?
I think it’s time to overcome their cruel words,
It’s time to break free like a bird,
I don’t want to be oppressed by an oppressor,
I try changing their rules,
But I am treated like fool,
The rest of the populations accept their rubric instructions,
I don’t want be part of the ideal society,
Because I want to be just me!
post card #3
The title of the poem is The ideal Society setting Standards
When are we going to know what the prizes are?
THE MENTAL INCAPACITY ACT: (POSTCARD #1)
A wave of nausea hit me as I came face to face with his deteriorating state. He looked sick, though he managed to paste a smile onto his withering face as soon as I walked through the doors of the institution. My father was dying in hospital with his honour stripped, instead of at home with me. I sighed. “Hello father,” I said, unable to meet his eyes “How are you holding up?” He shrugged, appearing too chocked up to speak. At first glance, he appeared cruel and mean, but the frown, rigid fingers, and awkward lack of sociability had come from long years at war and experiences of tragedy, not from hatred toward life. No, my father loved life; it was just too bad that it didn’t gift him the same affection. “How’s Mildred doing?” Father asked, flinching as a few nurses walked by. In return, they reacted with a look of what seemed to be mild disgust. I held my tongue, fighting against my boiling blood, and let them pass in peace. It was my father after all, who had to face these monsters when the lights went out at night. No matter what I said now, I would be unable to protect him later on. “Mum’s doing fine Father.” I shifted on my feet. It was awkward to talk about her, the woman who decided he should die in this hell hole. Father licked his lips, and look frantically around, making sure that we couldn’t be overheard. “Son,” He said, whispering “You need to get me out of here. I can’t take it anymore Donald! I’m losing my mobility, my memory, and my vision. Please, I beg you, at least help me see the sunset one last time.” I sighed. “How the hell am I supposed to do that father?” I whispered, tensely. “You’re nearly twice my weight. And besides, some idiot is bound to spot us trying to leave.”
Father shook his head sadly, but didn’t protest. I pursed my lip, cursing the irony of life. Money, in fact, was not what made the world go round. Health was, and whoever claimed otherwise was a filthy liar. This was a place where my Father fought for his country with pride, where he was viewed as a valuable member of the British Navy. But it was also a world where disability was viewed as impairment, as something that made you a second class citizen instead of human. As a result of this, and as a result of the Mental Incapacity Act, he would die here, alone, in hospital. I had to grant him his last wish, even if it meant being arrested…or worse. As gently as my sixteen year old arms could manage, I placed an arm under his legs and lifted him towards me. As quickly as possible, I lugged him through the front doors of the institution. Someday, I hoped to have a son willing enough to do the same for me.
Woah sorryy, I didn’t mean for my entry to come out as a giant block…I hope you don’t mind.
No worries, it’s totally OK.
Postcard #2
No, no, no, no, no!
This cannot be, this cannot be happening, absolutely not!
Not after everything I have tried and done!
To create so much and to come so far from it, why it’s preposterous!
Why can’t this contraption go any faster, these blasted wheels, my blasted legs…
All my life I have not complained when those double, even triple my size have degraded me and left me in the dust, but today this cannot be.
I refuse to be defeated by one of my own, betrayed by my own body! How will I ever live with myself and why does it look so easy when he does it. I cannot imagine how he does it.
Oh my, I give up! I am getting off this God forsaken thing before my testicles fall off. Ah yes, this feels much better. Now I am going to have to run for it.
Oh Lord, my feet are getting filthy…wait think goal…prize…hard work, I must.
I will not lose to others and most importantly to myself.
Oh sweet merciful providence, I am getting the hang of this! Like the lord of the skies, and the beasts of the sea, I claim this land as my own, ride onward to victory and beyond!
postcard #2
Void
Days pass by,
My Sidewalks have rusts and cracks,
I continue walking unconsciously,
Things seems to be blurry,
I feel empty inside,
Seems like I am floating up in the air,
I feel like I don’t have a purpose, I’m broken,
Why do I feel my chest is disturbed?
Is it pain or emptiness?
Or am I just an extra part brought to this world,
Other sidewalks are well paved,
While mine is covered with obstacles and dust,
The further I go down,
The darker it gets,
Why am I faced with difficult challenges?
I feel powerless and lost,
Trails of thoughts seems to wander around,
I walk along this lonely street,
No one to dry my tears,
Or calm my present fears,
I see my life in through a tainted heart,
Everything seems pitch black,
In the darkest night,
There will be a light that will shine brightly,
I will be on the other side of the road,
Smiling because I have overcome :).
CHOCL8
“SO that’s what we look like!” The little ghost exclaimed to his father. His transparen’t eyes widened at the sight of his father in the background of the picture.
“Yes, son. It was always a wonder to us. We can’t see ourselves in the mirror.” The older and wiser ghost places his faint hand on his son’s shoulder.
“Tell me dad, how did you get into this picture?” The son inquired.
The father chuckled, “You see son, i was on the way to chocolate world to get some chocolate for us. It is the only thing we can eat. Then in the corner of my eye, i saw a tasty looking vampire. I thought, maybe we could try to eat the vampire.”
“Did you catch him dad?”
“No, but it is how I got into the picture. You see, as I was chasing the vampire down the street of Chocl8, I happened to pass right behind the man you see here.”
“So you just got curious and stayed there?”
“No, I saw a pile of chocolate covering the camera and i was just standing still and thinking about what would happen if I could fly.”
Inspired by post card #3
*This is the ending.*
“Cut!” boomed the director. “What was that!”
Everyone giggled.
“Everyone take 5!” Exclaimed the director.
@ Picture #1
Keeping Up With The Joneses
I found a book of bugs
And diagnosed myself
My flu fits under every second line.
I bought a lot of drugs
And put them on a shelf
And now I’m like the Joneses – feeling fine!
My wonderescent meds
Provide me with a choice
Of colours, flavours, sizes, tastes and shapes.
My eyeballs might seem read,
But everyone, REJOICE!
I planted a new beard on my face!
I robBed the beach of sand.
I vacuUm-cleaned mY cAt.
At breakfa$t I pu$hed meatballZ through a $traw.
De-friended my left-hAnd
And sLept with a doOrmat.
T*morrow I’ll be marrying a saw.
I found a book of bugs
With things that I misread.
I’m almost like the Joneses
That are dead.
Inspired by Postcard #3
Title: What Do I Remember of the Hospital?
What do I remember of the hospital?
I remember hearing my mommy crying in the middle of the night
My daddy trying to comfort her.
We were in our car, rushing, and speeding towards somewhere
“She pricked her finger on the spindle.”
What do I remember of the hospital?
I remember holding my mommy’s hand tightly
As she told me the story of Sleeping Beauty.
We were walking down the halls with dimmed lights.
“She fell into a deep, deep sleep.”
Mommy was wearing her white nurse’s uniform.
What do I remember of the hospital?
I remember people crying and wondered, why?
Daddy stood in the corner looking at me.
And curiously, I asked him to tell me the rest of the story.
“A prince came to rescue her.”
My aunts were there that night.
What do I remember of the hospital?
I remember using my little fingers to wipe away my grandma’s tears.
A grandpa lay in the bed.
The blankets were blue, but they looked grey to me.
“The prince leaned in close to kiss her, in hope to wake her.”
Kiss him, they said and pushed me forward.
What do I remember of the hospital?
I remember hesitating before I leaned towards him.
He was cold
And I was scared.
“In the end, she woke up and they lived happily ever after.”
But I knew.
I knew he wouldn’t.
postcard 1
my dear ol’ wifey
what a pain in the hinney
dare she forget i like my veggie
to be so very yummy,
yet how very yucky.
off i drove my blue buggy
on my way to fried Kentucky
where it be so bloody sunny,
i ran over a poor bunny
must this world be filled with life expectancy!
i learn the meaning of a great deep wedgie
others think i’v learned to dance to the melody
must look pretty funny
how long i can go breathlessly
however i crave for new a pantie
*FLASH*
i come to a halt quite unsteady
*FLASH* *FLASH* *FLASH*
i feel like a celebrity
although my face must seem angrily ugly
oh how terribly unlucky.
When in the company of four swift paws
That leap over the rainbow of a garden hose,
And one wet nose
that checks for more adventures on the floor
..Imaginary friends – who needs them anymore!
You don’t object to finishing my breakfast;
I say: “Time for a walk” and you agree;
You chase after the lazy city pigeons,
That I chase after.
(That chase after me..)
When mother said that you were gone, I knew it!
You went on a cross-country road-trip!
Please, send me letters and a lot of pictures
Eat healthy.
Don’t J-walk.
Stay hip.
that is picture number 2 🙂 and my bold went wild! 😮
Picture #3
Stay and linger,
Stay and linger;
Somewhere empty,
Somewhat strangely,
Touch the satin with your finger –
You can’t feel it – don’t be angry.
How you’d like to be remembered
By a picture that’s not yours,
How your taste buds now would tremble
For a browning apple core.
Flash and film have trapped your comfort
With the present that has past
Where your story lies unfinished
Like a pie without a crust.
Left you space for a piece of mind
In between my words and comas
Placing to face the window,
Yours sincerely,
William Tomas.
third last line should read
“placing you to face the window”
Picture #3
A place that I have never seen before has become my home
People that I have never met before consider me as one of them
While others look at me as though I am possessed since I don’t believe
But how can I?
Is wrong to be an outcast in a town that is full of abnormal people?
My past is filled with secrets while my future has more questions than one on a math test
Everything here seems to be the work of black magic
Nothing can be proven with science but it can be realized
This place must be non existence but it isn’t
And more than anything that room
Something about it just seems…
Nobody can explain it only experience it
At first it just seemed like some ordinary room
And it was to everyone else but me
As I walked around I felt like there was another presence but just a painting
I knew that there was something being hidden from me
There must be a reason behind me having come to this town, meeting the people I met and staying here
It’s been days even weeks but I still haven’t come across a reason for me experiencing these feelings
Am I taking this to far maybe I’m hallucinating or just paranoid but I don’t think that’s the case
The answer to me questions lies in the hands of my past but were do I derive it from
While everyone wants me out of this town this obscure painting is the only sense of support I get
When I look at I feel like it’s trying to tell me something
A picture can mean a thousand words, but I need to find the right ones to uncover the truth
About me and the town
..an edit * the further i go down the road,…..
post card #1
The only thing that comes to mind as I look at this leather bound book is my mother must be crazy if she thinks that I, Charlotte James, will ever fill this journal with my thoughts.
But that gets me thinking, what really is crazy?
The oxford dictionary defines crazy as “mad, especially as manifested in wild or aggressive behaviour” But how many ways can’that be interpreted?
Two individuals can both be using the word crazy but that doesn’t mean they are using it in the same way. Crazy can mean a number of different things to a number of different people.
For instance Mrs. Heather would call her employer, Mr. Henry, crazy, because he talks to his mirror every morning. What makes it even crazier, Mrs. Heather tells the town, is that he claims he is talking to his wife, who passed away five years ago. That is how Mrs. Heather would define crazy.
But others in town would say that if you look up the word crazy you would find Mr. Von’s photo. The whole town thinks he is mad. However nobody can remember the last time anybody had a conversation with him. Why then does the town think he is crazy? It is simply because of his looks. Some will say that by just looking at his poppy seed sized pupils, scrunched up nose and straight lined mouth you would know he’s crazy. That is how the towns would define crazy.
However the Johnson’s would say that it’s absurd that their Jack-Russell Terrier can ride Johnny Johnson’s tricycle. That is how the Johnson’s would define crazy.
I doubt this is what my mother expected to receive when she gave me this journal. But what can I say, I guess I am crazy.
Inspired by postcard #2.
Who is to say what is right or wrong?
Who is to say you can’t come along?
Who but you to say you are strong.
What is normal?
What is right?
Only you can decide what to do with life.
When can I say what I please?
When can’those words stop hurting me?
Only when they have no effect you see.
Where can I go to be free?
Where can I go to just be me?
There is no where, it’s here and there, and everywhere.
Why can’t I be liked?
Why can’t a dog ride a bike?
Why not?
In response to postcard # 3:
“Composed”
I sit,
Poised,
Accustomed,
Ready,
The photo-shoot to occur,
The image to be captured in time,
Immortalized forever.
There is to be me,
In my Sunday’s best
With my hair slicked back,
Abroad the velvet black of the brocade
To hang just there on the wall behind.
Just me.
Or not.
A feeling has aroused in me,
The feeling that I,
Am not alone,
Not just me.
Not now,
Not ever.
Ever do the ghosts of time gone by,
Ever do the ghosts of the fathers
Of mine,
Ever do they haunt,
Ever do they taunt.
Will you ever do right? They say,
Will you be the boy we raised? They say,
Will you be more that your sins? They say.
I say,
Damn them!
I say,
Let them scream.
I will be no one but me,
No – one but the man I was meant to be.
I will be confident,
Sure,
Alight,
Aright.
I will rise,
And do you know?
I, will shine.
Ever, just, me.
Snap!
Sorry!
One line went in wrong!!
5th paragraph, 3rd line:
Should read:
Will you be more that your flights? They say.
Thanks:)
I sit i wonder
A world of thunder
Mistaken identies
Unknown fantasies
A world of mystery
People of misery
Unfamilr faces
Steady paces
Wonder ,
Who am I
What am I
Will I achieve
or will I decieve
People surrond me
fill me with agony
For postcard #3
Postcard #2
THE ODD SPELL
Mr. Ugly Scorning Man,
Once boiled and drank milk in a saucepan.
When he went on a cycle ride,
He realized that he could no longer stride!
He could only hop, and hear a song!
His sense of smell became too strong!
He looked in the mirror and said, ‘Oh God!
I am no longer human, but a dog!’
His clothes had to be dragged!
He declared himself mad!
He soon realized he was too small
To paddle the tricycle at all!
Somehow, later, he got up on the bike
But by then it was already midnight.
He climbed up to the attic via a pipe.
His wife was eating a mango ripe.
‘Woof!’ he said. ‘Woof woof woof!
Help! Help! I’m such a goof!’
His wife looked up. ‘Oh there you are!
You naughty man, I was about to call 911!’
He went to bed.Next morning, again,
He was Mr Ugly Scorning Man.
#2:
Hands on
Am I ready?
Let’s go
Cause we are steady.
Hands are clenched
Feet go slow
But I am safe
With you I know.
I start with care
Then get the feel
We’re balancing now
Unwavering wheel.
We’re soaring on
We’re flying fast
But then I’m shocked
As I look past.
You’re way behind
I’m way ahead
I start to fall
I feel like lead.
Then right before
I hit the ground
You pull me up
Arms wrap around.
Betrayed and angry
‘You let go’ I say
But then I realize
What’s happened today.
I did it just now
All by myself
I rode my bike fine
Without any help.
A nervous squeal
Escapes my lips
You calm me down
With a kiss.
You always know
What’s best, what’s right
‘I love you dad’
And we hug tight.
: )
#1
A snowflake in the sky,
Or a tear drop in my eye.
A blade of grass in my pot,
Or a single tree in the lot.
They’re so beautiful and nice,
But sometimes they’re beauty does not suffice.
For a snowflake in a storm,
Does not stand out in any way shape or form.
A tear drop when I’m crying,
Gets brushed away and goes flying.
With its brothers a blade of grass,
Are lovely to see, but are seen as a mass.
A tree alone, is mighty and tall,
But a tree in the forest is a tree, and that’s all.
In the midst of a crowd, I’m one of you,
But alone at my mirror I’m unique, and that’s true
No Love
You said we would always be together,
Forever and ever and ever.
You said you’d love me forever,
And our love would always bond us together.
So how can what I found out that night,
Be something that our “love” can’t fix and make us unit?
There was no love for me you had, not ever,
No love that declared us truly together.
You hid your love for my money quite well, Miss Clever,
But this kind of relationship doesn’t last, never.
All this time you’ve been with another guy,
Now I want to light a match and leave you to die.
I’m not afraid to sin, by,
Saying I’ll hate you forever.
You cannot escape my wrath, but in vain you try,
No one toys then tear apart my heart escapes, no matter how clever.
My face, hungry for revenge, will endeavour to haunt you, moreover
You’ll feel my blazing steely eyes burn into you forever.
Inspired by postcard 1
Nice!
postcard #1
Precious moments
I ponder my thoughts, here as I sit,
Basking in the sun, here on the deck,
My thoughts drift in and out like the tides,
Playing out memories thought out my life,
Like a movie, I see them so clear,
Despite the dust added over the years,
I have felt sunshine, I have felt rain,
Conquered storms, yet scars remain,
I have lost loved ones along the way,
Though, I carry them in my heart every day,
Wounds were healed by a lovers touch,
Wonderful family in my life, how I love them so much,
Precious moments remembered spending time with them,
A new part of life has just begun,
What the future hold, I do not know,
I embrace this life where it goes.
postcard #2
Irreversible
In Africa, there was a chief has a favorite dog called Toby. Toby was a very big hunting dog. The chief decided to go out for hunting, leaving his little cute baby girl in charge of the loyal hunting dog. In the afternoon when the chief returned from hunting, the dog ran toward his master wagging his tail in a cheerful way. He patted his devoted dog who welcomed him with sweet welcoming barks. Unfortunately, a shocking incident happened! He saw the dog’s mouth stained with blood. He ran towards his little girl cradle hoping a tragedy didn’t occur. Sadly the child disappeared. She wasn’t there, what was he supposed to do in this current moment?! He was in utter confusion of what has just happened. He came to the conclusion that his dog had murdered his little innocent child. He was filled with rage and despair which drove him to pull out his sword and pierce it through the heart of the dog. In the moment he heard his daughter cry. He rushed as fast as he can’to the room hoping that his child is alive. He saw the baby lying in a corner, close to a large dead terrifying wolf the dog had slain. Alas! He killed his faithful dog who saved his child’s life from the grave danger.
Aww thank you very much F.Y.
Magnificent storytelling! A real winner!
nice stuff!!
Both of your entries are quite stupendous. You should consider submitting them to Young Voices!
Spider (Postcard #1)
Shish, Shish, Shish
A spider.
Skeen, Skeen, Skeen
Spawns a web of great creation.
Psst, Psst, Psst
Pirouetting and dipping into the everlasting silky moonlight.
Woosh, Woosh, Woosh
Bringing into existence a watery world of deception.
Sssss, Ssss, Sss
It’s cold milky eyes playing an ongoing melody of euthanasia.
Bzzzzz, Bzz, Bzzzzz, Bzz, Bzzzzz
An unknowing innocent fly dances into it’s cunning trap.
Bzzzzz…..Bzz.. Bzzzzz
The eternal fiend is perceived at the last moment.
Bzzz…….Bzz
Wrapped into a mystical ocean of light.
Bz
Until all is dark.
Picture #3- Fear and Acceptance of the Ghost
I feel a breath behind me,
As I begin to smile.
My lips turn up slightly at the sides,
But only for a while.
I hear a voice beside me,
Which makes me shiver for a second,
My heart even stopped for a while,
Well, I believe and I reckon.
I see a person in front of me,
While I begin to shake it off.
I screech and turn,
As I hear somebody start to cough.
I run for the door, but it’ s too late,
I’m in the room, stuck.
I’m already here to take the picture,
So here it goes, it’s going to be tough.
I grab all my courage and return to me seat,
As I begin to smile,
My picture is taken, The ghost is has a white sheet,
At least he has some style!
*MY seat
Picture #3
The Waiting Game
Promises and smiles all left to deliver.
Statements and words that are left to hither.
The hollow stuffed pages, he fills without care.
We’ve all said and done it, its universal truth rings clear: love
Words without action are useless.
A promise without trust diffuses,
Any redemption or hope of reconciliation
Why speak into existence what you cannot deliver.
Broken hearts breed through empty words that dwell in our thoughts forever.
The spark, attraction, love, a lusting interaction.
Games of the mind played in the heart. Tricks of speech, the creation of scenes, played out over and over.
Disappointment, dissatisfaction creates reaction, interaction, then speech blurs and hearts yearn,
Asks for what I cannot give,
Demands for what I do not have,
My heart is not my own.
That is it, I have decided.
My heart is not my own,
It is yours to give.
A ghost seer,
That is what I am
What others fear.
Is all I know.
When I’m lonely,
They keep me company.
When I have a history test,
There is no need to study 😉
But best beware.
Don’t call them names that can offend.
Or before you know it
It is your end!
postcard 3
Postcard #1; Wounded Creature
No gas, no keys, no shelter except for the Jeep. I’m scared and confused but safe, all at the same time. Like a fever, I don’t know whether to move closer to the warmth of the ground or to back away, glistening with fear.
Something is making the ground shake, harder and faster. I realize then I’m not on the ground, I’m on his chest in the backseat in the cold, harsh rain.
I can see he isn’t awake but his heart is racing. Hearing his heart and only his heart gives me a chill. I’m trying to get up when his arm grips around my waist. Frightened, I try to pry myself away from him, but I’m barely conscious. After a few aching shoves and pushes I give in. I’m way too exhausted to move. As I’m lying on his chest, I notice the bruises on his left shoulder and arms. I then catch a glimpse of his face in the moonlight, and I see the dried tear on his lip. He’s still asleep I guess, but I could see his closed eyes vigorously shifting around in his eyelids. I pull myself closer to him and soak in every ounce of warm energy as much as I can. A moment passes, his heart starts beating madly again and I’m trying to wake him. At first, his heart and eyes seem to calm down but as soon as I put my hands on the back of his bruised neck. He stirs up, sweating and panting, looking around like a crazed and wounded creature. But when he notices I’m clinging on to him, he tries to reassure himself.
“Please, just… don’t…” he exhales quietly.
“Don’t wha…”
I could see him leaning in, even in the dark; my sense of touch was numb. It was when I tasted blood I knew he’d leaned for a kiss. This was absolutely intolerable and wrong, but I didn’t put up a fight. I didn’t even pull away. In fact, I melted right then and there. Grasping at his injured back and slowly letting go of myself. This felt real. It was real. I could feel his lip quiver when he tensed, I knew his cut pained him but he didn’t stop. Suddenly, the icy rain, the blood, and warmth of the kiss were all I could trace back to my consciousness. Gently, as he starts to pull away, I begin regaining my memory…
Postcard #3
if they speak
their voices are
those first damp dirt
flakes of winter
if they see,
their looks blend
hot dust
in the autumn wind
each crook of this mirror we
have together explored
the third eye, this fifth arm
i can yes
i can free you from stagnation
I am here for you
in spite and regardless
so come
only you
only me
Postcard: #2 – Love’s Declaration to a Fair Maiden
Scene II: A lane by the Orchard wall
Enter SQUIRE
MAIDEN appears
SQUIRE
Suspended by cupid’s wings on this frail postman’s delivery bed
Thy beloved motor coach could not keep this lustful squire at bay
For the human world hath not the power to hold down my aching heart
The arrow that cupid’st hath struck through my breast
Could not keep this love-struck squire from his declaration of love to thy fair maiden
Hence thy humans have no boundaries for me
Oh that love gave me handles to steer and doth gave me directions on love’s palm
To lead to thy orchard and to fly to thy fair maiden
No matter the width of the ocean, no matter how far the journey
This squire lusts for thy maiden’s adventure
Thy lips I wish to converse with bear slinky similarity to the blooming maroon grove roses
Oh how I wish to hold your face and glaze at thy eyes
Which sparkle as brightly as two stars stolen from the night’s sky and sewn as thy judgement
This loving squire doth feel thou art so beautiful; thou might shatter if thou art seized too tightly
Oh fair maiden, how should I go about to please thee for thy love and thy heart?
If thy fair maiden doth not love me
My life would better to be ended by human hate
Scorn to death’s punishment, than my fancy of thy affection
#2
Alex,
I have taken Frodo to the countryside, where I am going to shoot him dead. This is because you deserve it. I am kind of laughing as I write this and also kind of crying because I loved Frodo more than you did but still he has to die for you just like the sunflowers in the backyard have died to make room for your astronomy tent and my future as David Beckham has died so that mum and dad can send you to an extra year of super private french school. I really hate you Alex and I hope you die and you rot and no one puts flowers on your grave. Since that is the only thing I can ask from the universe that has already given everything else to you.
Do you remember when we first got the old bike from Aunt Perry and you crashed it into the calf? I haven’t told anyone about that yet so they don’t know it was you but you killed it, Alex, you killed it and once something dies it doesn’t come back. Though mum and dad would probably not care if they knew as long as you still got Straight As on your Midterm Report. But I have repaired the bike and that is how I ran away, I went to somewhere really remote too, so don’t come looking for me.
I think the best thing you can do is to tell mum and dad that I was kidnapped. They would believe you. When I die I am going to bury myself with the bike next to Frodo, and you can’t have Frodo’s skeleton, or the bike, they belong to me now. Just in case you find the handlebar sticking out of the ground.
postcard no.3
Depressed
You were there to wipe my tears
you were there telling me to overcome my fears
but now your gone
and all i have left to look back on
is memories…
Some of the memories bring back love and joy
others bring back tears and pain
My tears fall down like rain
on a dark and stormy night…
I try to forget all the hurt and pain
but the painful memories keep pounding in my brain
I wanna forget but the more i try the more i hurt
so i say to myself “whats the point?”
You wiped away my tears
you told me to overcome my fears
but you told me to forget about everything and
forget about all the memories
#3
Empty
I was once sad and lonely,
Having nobody to comfort me,
So I wore a mask that always smiled;
To hide my feelings behind a lie.
Before long, I had many friends;
With my mask, I was one of them.
But deep inside, I still felt empty,
Like I was missing a part of me.
Nobody could hear my cries at night
For I designed my mask to hide the lies.
Nobody could see the pain I was feeling
For I designed my mask to be laughing.
Behind all the smiles were the tears
And behind all the comfort were the fears.
Everything you think you see,
Wasn’t everything there was to me.
Day by day,
I was slowly dying.
I couldn’t go on,
There was something missing..
Until now I’m still searching
For the thing that’ll stop my crying.
For someone who’ll erase my fears,
For the person who’ll wipe my tears.
But till then I’ll keep on smiling.
Hiding behind this mask I’m wearing.
Hoping one day I can smile,
Till then, I’ll be here.. waiting.
Picture #3
My lovely Chriselle,
I have the most remarkable discovery to share with you.
During my stay at Lord Wright’s Manor, I met the most peculiar fellow. It was only but the strike of noon one morning when I stumbled upon a room that I had not yet explored. Being the curious fellow that I am, I pondered opening such a door. Patience eluding me and I followed my curiosity to open the door only to discover a seemingly normal room. My gaze fell upon an oddly shaped man, seated by a window, looking down at the springs. I spoke out, but my voice seemed to frighten him, for he scurried away into the shadows.
Deciding not to bother the man any further, I excused myself from the room and made my way into the corridor. I had only gone a few feet when I felt a presence looming behind me. I quickly turned but was mystified when I saw not a soul in sight. I continued on my way but felt the eerie presence again and this time caught the fellow following me. It was the man from the room I had been in earlier. He was peering at me curiously from behind a post and quickly ducked out of sight at my gaze. I introduced myself and beckoned him to come forward. When he did, I had to pinch my leg roughly to make sure I was not dreaming. The man, you see, did not walk towards me, instead he floated. I could not believe my eyes! I stood there looking baffled, as the ghost man came up to me and smiled once again. Since that day, I have grown quite fond of his company after spending many long nights chatting and laughing through his stories. Although he is not the same as you and I, I will miss him dearly when I return home for he has become one of my dearest friends.
Sincerely Yours,
W. H.
no.2
A Companion
Somehow in this great big world
I found my way to you,
My friend across the vein lines
My heart, my soul. That’s who.
You try to make me smile
with the mail you send my way
You never fail to visit me
each and everyday
whenever I hurried home
with something.
i must share.
I find it just so comforting
that you are always there.
Encouragement you give me
and a friendship that is true.
I’m glad my soul was reaching out
to find someone like you.
inspired by postcard no.1
Angry Eyes
My days and nights were simple,
I had everything here I wanted it to be
But behind those angry eyes
these smiling eyes came to me one day
And something in me was set free.
Something I has put away
Never wanted it to come out again.
But those eyes were very special
And in them I found a friend.
A friend I feel very comfortable with
As if we’ve known each other for so long.
You must be a very special person
especially if you make me feel this way.
When I think of you, my friend
It just brightens up my day.
My heart feels so much stronger
And my stress feels so much lighter.
Thank you for being you.
In my life I hope you always play a part.
But no matter what life may bring me
You’ll always be in my heart.
#1
Be there
Please don’t tell me not to cry
Please don’t day there was a reason why
Or how much I hurt.
The wet spots are from tears on the collar of this shirt
You think I should put a smile on my face?
Forget about it and be strong?
But deep down I’m sad
I don’t expect you to understand why
For no apparen’t reason I break down and start to cry
My life has changed forever, you see…
And that is why I am not acting like the old me
So please don’t try to act like nothing happened
Because It has changed my life forever
I will never be the same again
Not today, not tomorrow, but never
The best thing you can do for me is just be there for me at hard times.
Just like always, my friend
My broken hear t is hurting bad
And it will never mend.
#1
(Bare stage, red curtains. GENERAL faces audience, UNDERLING is bowed respectfully behind him and to the side)
GENERAL : Report.
UNDERLING : Sir, he has been sleeping almost the entire journey…he does not even fidget when I delivered the rations…(nervously) I would venture to say, that perhaps we did a bit of psychological damage…
G : Hm.
(silence)
U : Sir, if I may venture to say that this child….
G : (suddenly and loudly) What?
U : Well…he’s …
G : (interrupts) Yes! I know! I know! This past week we’ve all seen the unequivocal evidence of his nature.
U : (hopeful) ..Sir?
G : YES! He has to be given capitol punishment for his crimes! We must thoroughly eradicate his disturbing manner of devilish rationality and calm… sleeping is just an act to throw us off! Watch him well, watch him continuously for his next move is on the horizon!
U : (pale) …Sir… Yes sir!
G : Children like that are dangerous tools of the political movement. We cannot spare them, even for their youth and frail exterior; for indeed even the evilest of men hides behind a smile…
(silence)
G : (abrupt) No more food, if he is to waste it. (looks over) And less water, too. I hate the ones with attitude the most. My own son, I’ve taught him well from a young age to have discipline. Not a pleasant lesson, but a necessary one, you see. For the world is full of people to bow to, and it’s a good lesson to take early in life.
U : ….
G : Well what are you waiting for?
U : …. (starts to retreat, bowing, then looks up)
G : (irritated) What?
U : …Nothing, nothing sir…
Wow! I had to look up at least one one word in every paragraph! AT LEAST!
Really? Most of the words I used in this story are words I learned this summer. I try to incorporate new words I learn into my daily vocabulary!
Hello, could someone delete this entry and the one below? I want to enter these poems in another contest, thanks.
Of course, I’ll unpublish them for you. Good luck in the contest!
Hello, thank you so much!