WordSmith discussion
Write Off
Mod
that's good, I think I've got about twenty songs already!!!
Do the songs have to be random or can I pick them according to a theme?
Mod
I don't exactly understand...do we have to make a story based on the songs?
Mod
If you want some more examples of what I mean, check out our writing art discussion and you'll see where some of the other members have posted some similar works using this prompt.
Mod
Mod
Mod
Thank you! Both of us are very glad to be included! We'll just observe this week and perhaps participate next week if there is a new write-off topic. :)
Glad to have you aboard Shelly and Jace
Welcome Shelly, Jace, and Nicola! Sorry not to have commented earlier, but it's been a busy week! ( I like your picture, Nicola, Tolkien rules! : )
Hi Nicola, Shelly and Jace!! Welcome to the group!
Glad to be here SLEEPER. Thanks!
I like this write off, can we post later than today?
Mod
Here is my story for the write-off! It took a little while to get started, and I had a couple false-starts before I found the right inspiration. Then the story seemed to write itself! Hope you all enjoy it. For my prompt, I chose songs by the group Deas Vail. They have an abstract, poetical style that is really quite beautiful. I used lines from several songs on their album Birds & Cages, including Atlantis, Puzzles and Pieces, Cages, Growing Pains, Excuses, The Great Physician, Birds, and The Things You Were. I'm having trouble coming up with a good title for this piece. Any suggestions would be welcome!
And now...
Stuck in a world of water and glass…mmmm.
There is no change, no, not ever. Water and glass. A glass island in a pool of water. Glass walls around a lake of water. I am waiting. I have always been waiting.
But no one is going to find us here. They don’t know to look. No rescue is coming.
There are no days here. No hours, no minutes, no time. Time is abstract, a sense lost, nothing. Sometimes there is light. Sometimes the light is shrunk to a pinpoint in space, surrounded by the dark.
The air is cool, always cool. The faintest of sighs to ripple the water, to hiss against the glass. It is the same air, over and over. We are all the same. Bees in our hive, captives in our cells. Through the glass, there they are. I can see them.
There are no names here. What’s a name in the darkness when we all look the same? I press my face and hand against the glass; its coldness ices the blood in my cheeks. What happened, I wonder?
There is a girl with green eyes. She touches the glass, presses her finger against the warm spot my own digit makes. She is surprised by the heat, and draws her hand away, puts the tip of her finger into her mouth, eyes startled. Slowly, she draws away from the wall, through the pool, back to her island.
She is the first to be surprised. The others never are. They mask their curiosity with indifference, a frozen calm that stifles their expressions. They don’t want to become attached. Everyone is careful. They’re plotting their best escapes, for fear of this whole place burning down.
It used to be called irony. I don’t know what is now, perhaps insanity. We are the insane, sitting in our rooms of water and glass, waiting for the fire to consume us. I don’t think about it as much as the others do, and neither does the girl with the green eyes. She doesn’t know what fire is.
I like her. She is special, different from the rest. I know that she is more important, somehow. I tap the glass, gesture at her to return.
She wades slowly through the pool, the water making the hem of her white shift cling to her legs. I put my hand on my side of the glass again, and she reaches for it. Her gaze meets mine, and she smiles a wide, childlike smile. Something flashes in my memory, a glimpse of another time, before the water and the glass. As I try to grasp it, it flits away like a skittish bird, gone.
What is it like to remember? I cannot know. My mind has been chilled and sanitized like the water, glass, and air, the wanting parts removed. There is nothing left but puzzles and pieces.
The girl with the green eyes leans her forehead against the glass that separates us, looking at me. Her breath makes a misty little cloud, hiding her mouth from sight. On an impulse, I mimic her. Our faces are inches apart, and I find myself unable to look away from her eyes. They are stunning, the only real color I have seen in an unknown time. Suddenly, I wonder what color my own eyes are. What does the girl see when she looks through the glass at me?
The light grows dimmer, shrinking until the darkness is large enough to take its place. I pull away from the glass, unable to clearly see the girl with the green eyes any longer, and make my way back through the water to my island, knowing the path by feel more than sight. I curl up on my slab, but I am too restless for sleep to take my hand. I am anxious for the darkness to be replaced by the light, for the girl with the green eyes to stand at my wall again, to find comfort in her gaze.
I stare into the darkness, wondering why it is different from the rest. The air seems thick and heavy, weighing my lungs so they feel leaden in my chest. Oh, this silence could go on forever, why does it hurt my ears so? A tear slips out of my eye, and I jerk away, startled by its unfamiliarity.
Finally, I close my eyes, and count my breaths until sleep has visited me. It has brought with it the girl with the green eyes. She holds out her hand for me to take, and I see that we are standing at the edge of a vast open space, the color of her eyes. The water has gone, as has the glass. All is green and blue, and yellow and white. The colors dance in front of me, flaunting their vibrancy. I grab her other hand and we dance in the field. Then the light begins to return, but I don’t want to leave. She presses her fingers to my lips, don’t worry, we can find each other, we can shape the world again.
I am standing at the wall. The light is bright, but no brighter than my dream of the girl with the green eyes. She comes to the glass, and leans against it, waiting for me to do the same. I try to tell her of my dream, show her how we walked, how we danced in the field, but she doesn’t understand. She goes back and sits on her island, feet dangling in the water. I hit the glass with the palm of my hand in frustration, and it makes a loud smacking noise in the silence. I watch her sitting there, longing to breach what separates us and ask, am I walking with you in your dreams?
I’ve closed my eyes to see what is hidden. We’re tangled in cages, they rattle and shake their bones. The sound grates on my ears until they bleed, but there is no escape. Where have the water and glass gone? The girl with the green eyes stands in my vision, but she makes no move to help me. This hurts more than my ears. Take all of my pain, or is it just a premonition?
I wake and I’m shivering. The air has gone cold, dressing the water with a skin of ice. What is wrong? Things have changed. The balance has been upset. Around me the others huddle in their cells, knees draw up to chests in an effort to keep warm. They are not questioning, not wondering. But I can’t ignore this. I can’t believe in this, this blue-lipped lifeless kiss. Things have always been wrong, we were deceived.
The girl with the green eyes is standing at the glass. I break through the ice to reach her. I look into her eyes, and it is as if she is speaking aloud to me. It is time to go, she says.
Go where? There is no way. I am confused.
She makes a fist and mimes hitting the glass. Don’t hesitate. This is your chance to believe in something more than walls and ceilings. Do it now.
Do what? But I already know. I make a fist, staring at my hand as it flexes. I take a deep breath, and hit the glass with every fiber of will I possess.
Nothing happens. A surge of emotion long forgotten fills me, and I hit the glass again, and again. Spidery cracks form and begin to migrate across the wall, filling the silence with their creaks and splinters. My hand bleeds, but I cannot feel it.
With a screeching cry, the glass splits and crashes in pieces into the water. The girl with the green eyes smiles at last. You have saved us, she says.
Suddenly, the water and glass are gone, replaced by the field with its lustrous colors and light. The girl with the green eyes is dancing in the green grass, her dress spinning and whirling. She runs to me, and takes my hand. I love you, her eyes say.
I forget this, what is love? Today could remind me, it’s something to live for…
Stuck in a world of water and glass…but it is different now. Now I am not alone.
How much time do we have before the end? Somebody will come and save us all. Somebody will come and let us out, let us out of our cages.
Mod
Here's my story. It's not my best work, but I feel pretty confident. "Secondchance" by Shinedown, "I've gottan Feeling" by the Black Eyed Peas, "Dynamite" by Taio Cruz, "If I Die Young" by the Band Perry, and "Seperate Ways" by Journey are the songs that I used, mostly because these are my favorite songs and they really speak to me.
Hope you like it
“I’ve gotta feeling,” I was saying when the car crashed, “that tonight’s gonna be a good night.”
My buddies and I were heading to an awesome party when my friend, whose car’s breaks were faulty, crashed into a redwood. I was Joseph Bane, one of many who has fallen victim to faulty car parts. People had been debating the extraction of these types of cars for years now, but my death was the last straw. Funny when you’re dead how people start listening.
Though I’m dead, my spirit still lives, existing only in the eyes of my baby brother, Simon. Though he can’t understand me, I sometimes say to him, “Tell my mother, tell my father, I’ve done the best I can.” I do it mostly for my sanity, but I think it helped Simon.
I watch my friends and family walk by as the wooden casket carrying my body is lowered into a hole. A priest was quietly setting my soul to rest, unknowing that my spirit watched him. “Mrs. Bane,” the man backed away, letting a woman step forward, “will you please say a few words?”
“Of course, Friar Gibbs.” My mother, wearing all black, including a matching veil, spoke, “Joseph was a great young man, bold, brave, and courageous. He went to great lengths to do the right thing.…”
I listened in for the rest of the time, hearing all the things people said. My girlfriend, Talitha, said that she loved me and “…someday, love will find you. My love.”
I thought to myself, as people got in their cars and left, I would be paying anything to roll the dice, just one more time. I want a second chance, sometimes, good-bye is a second chance. I followed my mother home, just to see how things had changed since my passing. “I just want it all.” she sobbed, “I just want it all back.”
A ghostly tear dropped from my eye as the light in the house went out. What can I do to assure her that I’m in a better place? Wait…her Guardian Angel. I can ask her Guardian Angel for reassurance for her.
Soon enough, I found my mother’s angel. Glad to help, the winged messenger of God sprinkled a sort of magic powder on my mother’s eyes, putting the idea that I was with God and that I’m ok. To make sure that the angel’s work was done correctly, I stayed with her, seeing her much happier than the way I left her at the funeral. To make sure that others were to move on, as I had, I asked favors from their Guardian Angels. After a few months, my work was complete, everyone knowing that I was with God and that they shouldn’t worry about me.
I was then taken to heaven by my passed relatives, shown the way that was laid before me by my elders. It was beautiful, white marble and stones covered all surfaces, giving it a very clean look. People walked around, covered in white linen from head to toe, talking quietly to one another as they strode through a lofty court yard. “So this is Heaven.” I said in awe, “It’s amazing.”
I lived happily in this “Realm of God” for a long while, eventually seeing my mother and father. This I think to myself often isn’t so bad.
Hope you like it
“I’ve gotta feeling,” I was saying when the car crashed, “that tonight’s gonna be a good night.”
My buddies and I were heading to an awesome party when my friend, whose car’s breaks were faulty, crashed into a redwood. I was Joseph Bane, one of many who has fallen victim to faulty car parts. People had been debating the extraction of these types of cars for years now, but my death was the last straw. Funny when you’re dead how people start listening.
Though I’m dead, my spirit still lives, existing only in the eyes of my baby brother, Simon. Though he can’t understand me, I sometimes say to him, “Tell my mother, tell my father, I’ve done the best I can.” I do it mostly for my sanity, but I think it helped Simon.
I watch my friends and family walk by as the wooden casket carrying my body is lowered into a hole. A priest was quietly setting my soul to rest, unknowing that my spirit watched him. “Mrs. Bane,” the man backed away, letting a woman step forward, “will you please say a few words?”
“Of course, Friar Gibbs.” My mother, wearing all black, including a matching veil, spoke, “Joseph was a great young man, bold, brave, and courageous. He went to great lengths to do the right thing.…”
I listened in for the rest of the time, hearing all the things people said. My girlfriend, Talitha, said that she loved me and “…someday, love will find you. My love.”
I thought to myself, as people got in their cars and left, I would be paying anything to roll the dice, just one more time. I want a second chance, sometimes, good-bye is a second chance. I followed my mother home, just to see how things had changed since my passing. “I just want it all.” she sobbed, “I just want it all back.”
A ghostly tear dropped from my eye as the light in the house went out. What can I do to assure her that I’m in a better place? Wait…her Guardian Angel. I can ask her Guardian Angel for reassurance for her.
Soon enough, I found my mother’s angel. Glad to help, the winged messenger of God sprinkled a sort of magic powder on my mother’s eyes, putting the idea that I was with God and that I’m ok. To make sure that the angel’s work was done correctly, I stayed with her, seeing her much happier than the way I left her at the funeral. To make sure that others were to move on, as I had, I asked favors from their Guardian Angels. After a few months, my work was complete, everyone knowing that I was with God and that they shouldn’t worry about me.
I was then taken to heaven by my passed relatives, shown the way that was laid before me by my elders. It was beautiful, white marble and stones covered all surfaces, giving it a very clean look. People walked around, covered in white linen from head to toe, talking quietly to one another as they strode through a lofty court yard. “So this is Heaven.” I said in awe, “It’s amazing.”
I lived happily in this “Realm of God” for a long while, eventually seeing my mother and father. This I think to myself often isn’t so bad.
Mod
sounds like I'll be posting later this week then :) Though I don't know if I can match either of these... They're wonderful!
Hi, I personally don't think this is very good but it's too late to write something different. So here it is. The songs I used are "Life on the Moon" by David Cook, "This is Home" by Switchfoot, "Angel by Your Side" & "Good to Know" by Francesca Battistelli, "Stay" by Rex Goudie, "Learn You Inside Out" by Lifehouse and "Speaking a Dead Language" by Joy Williams and "Runaway" by Aaron Shust. He kicked the mail away from the front door when he came home for the first time in months. Everything was the same as he remembered it. The light bulbs flickered as they were awakened. There weren’t any shoes sitting by the door or any coats on the rack except his. There weren’t any dishes on the counter or in the sink, further evidence of its not-much-lived-in status. The phone and answering machine sat on his desk in the corner, like glorified paperweights. Everything was so clean. It was if she were everywhere. Her hand was evident in the entire apartment. The bed hadn’t been touched since it had last been made four months ago, the covers laid perfectly flat against the mattress with no visible wrinkles or creases.
She was strange that way, always so exact and precise.
He dropped his black duffel on the floor and walked to the bathroom. He didn’t go in right away, just stood in the doorway and glared at the mirror on the opposite wall.
The water in the shower took a minute to warm up. Steam began to leave its fingerprints on the mirror. He felt himself beginning to sway. He slumped down with his back against the tile wall and his knees propped up in front of him, water coursing down his face and soaking his clothes.
He could remember her the best now, with the pulsing sound of water pounding out its rhythm in his head.
She seemed to be there. Just like she had always stood in the doorway, a towel hanging over her arm. “Are you finished yet?” she would say, almost like a child with a parent. It had been her ritual to take a shower whenever she came home after being out dancing. Ballet was her strongest attribute she thought. Then her sessions seemed to run longer and longer, extending far later into the evening that they usually did. She began tip-toeing in at two or three in the morning, as if she hoped he wouldn’t notice how guilty it made her look.
“Have some faith in me,” she had said when he had first mentioned it. She should have added, on my terms.
The truth had come out eventually, just like it always did. His name was Ryan and she met him at her dance sessions. She had admitted it guiltily, staring down at the floor instead of looking him straight in the face.
He should have known, he should have seen it coming. He’d been through it often enough. Ryan wasn’t the first guy and he probably wouldn’t have been the last. She always ended up leaving for a while before finding her way back home again. She would show up at the door with her bags in tow, nearly drowning in her own tears and begging him to take her back.
“I can’t go back,” she would cry, “back to how it was.” It was one constant in his life. He would nod and open the door like it was the most natural thing in the world.
They stayed up one night after she’d come back. They’d ended up on the couch, wrapped in a heavy quilt.
“I can’t say that everything’s okay,” she’d murmured, her voice muffled against his shoulder.
“It will be.”
“As long as you don’t let me get too far because it probably won’t be the last time I fall apart.”
He remembered kissing the top of her head and thinking about the first thing she’d promised him. I will never leave you.
“I know this sounds stupid, but I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too, Emily.”
All good things came to an end. At least for them. She was off again within a few months. He didn’t know why she always came back, he just left the door unlocked for when she did. The time she was gone would automatically be forgotten.
Life would be how it was before until the next time he would come home to find the apartment empty of all her things and a note propped up on the kitchen table. There would be one black word emblazoned across it. Goodbye.
Water splashed against the ceramic shower base like rain. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. The silence was still as the world.
“It doesn’t matter if you run away.”
She would always call a few hours later, as if to officially announce her leaving.
“I’m sorry,” was always the start, “but somewhere in all the talking, the meaning faded out. When did it all stop making sense? I know this hurts but it’s the end for us. Goodbye and I hope you can forgive me.”
He reached up and turned the faucet. The water dried up in the showerhead to a slow but steady drip. Standing, he took another look at the mirror, his eyes zeroing in on the newspaper clipping pinned under the frame.
“Drunk Driver Crash Results in Casualty.”
Good job Nicola! I like how you used "I gotta feeling" in the first line, and as dialogue too!
Mod
Mod
I hope you like it (even if it is a little weird)
It feels good to bleed.
He closes his eyes and sees the scene again, the white carpet stained red, the glass like tiny knives lying jagged on the floor, the lights hanging crookedly from their sockets torn from the wall.
He closes his eyes and sees the person he’s never going to be.
Yes, it feels good to bleed again.
He wants to say sorry, cause its always the same. He can only bend so much without breaking. He can only go so far on this road and yet still he hears the voice inside of him. He’s hoping now that he can drown it out, cause he’s going crazy with dead end signs and wasted land.
He’s sitting on the bathroom floor, the tiles eerily white. He holds a razor in one hand, and a towel in the other; he can start to feel the emptiness.
He remembers the blade being sharpened on the heel of a boot, remembers the stench of work and sweat and sickly cologne. He remembers the slap against his face, the words burning like boiling oil in his ears.
“Freak!”
The razor blade glistens in the white light of the bathroom ceiling. So sharp, he can cut and cut it all away.
He takes the blade and holds it against his mouth. His pulse is beating, unwilling to be calmed, his head is clear with adrenaline.
He closes his eyes. He cannot change who he was, he can change who he will become. He starts to cut.
The voice inside his head starts chanting, wanting him to stop. He cuts deeper and harder. Blood sprays from his mouth onto the mirror like crimson rain. His hands leave red fingerprints on the white, blood on snow. His chokes on blood but still keeps going, the voices are still talking.
“I still won’t fit…”
He can’t think anymore, his head is a hurricane drowning in blood. His hands start to shake, spasms raking his body and the bloodied razor falls to the ground. Clatter, clatter on the floor.
“It doesn’t matter…I just…I just don’t”
Groaning he covers his ears. Drown them out! Drown them out! Now!
He can’t stop the bleeding, it’s warm and sweet against his tongue, coating his teeth, sliding down his neck and dripping off his hands like water.
Then it is silent.
In the pain, he has drowned it out, so he can’t hear anymore, just the sound of his panting breathe, breaking the surface and gasping for air.
He remembers the pain before, then the numbness. He remembers the stench of neglect and a deafening grief that couldn’t be concealed. He remembers in blurry sequences of something, pretence perhaps of contentment. He looks at his face in the mirror now and lifts his bleeding hands to cover his mouth, normal, for a minute.
That sick facade of normalcy is gone and he’s glad. He can be whoever…whatever he wants to be. He can be a nightmare, he can make them bleed too, that’s all he wanted. To make them feel like he feels, to escape the voices inside his head, escape the screams. Always the same screams, always their screams, high pitched like dogs whimpering about to be clubbed to death.
In the end, they were silent, dead and still.
But trapped inside his head they are always screaming, cause he couldn’t do anything. He was helpless. He had bit down onto his lips and inside of his mouth and tasted blood, and it drew him away, a welcome distraction
Let them be helpless too.
He thinks about how they have lied to him. Always lies, always spoken with false sincerity. They told him what he wanted to hear; digging their way so deep that all that was left was a hole. In this hole, they wanted to bury him.
It’s all right. It’s okay. Poisoned words, she’d lied and kept lying; only to stand back and watch, smiling.
He hopes that bleeding on the floor, he’ll eventually drain of blood so he is as dry as pirate bones.
And how he hates them all! But in the pain he doesn’t remember his anger and he can’t acknowledge his lust for revenge. He doesn’t feel like he’s breathing. He doesn’t feel like he’s a part of their world. He looks at himself in the mirror and knows that some part of him is dead and in the ground.
His shattered pieces have been blown away, nothing but broken leaves to crumple and wilt. Goodbye. He’s glad these pieces are gone as well.
They left him, as he knew they would. Lies, always sweet lies. See how it has made him, driven him to this point, this moment, like a pot coming to a steady boil.
He remembers lying on his back and seeing something in the sky, perhaps it was stars, but it was so black. And he enjoyed the black, cause it hide him like a mask. He recalls how his fingers once were fitted so they slide just so into another’s hand. How his face once could smile without the blood, during a time where they could pity him.
How he hated their pity!
Now they dare not pity. Now they will see him and judge. His face is a mask, the scars and the pain. They’ll look at him, fear him, cringe but they dare not pity him. He can fade and disappear, and no one will know who he was, or what he has lost. They will look at him now and see flesh, they will see mutilation, and they will see a monster. And they will not classify him as human.
They’ve taken away everything.
He knows the lost,
He remembers finding her, seeing what she’d done. She had gone too far this time.
Monster, freak…words meant to hurt, and she’d been so afraid, in the end. He’d only loved her, only meant to protect her. He’d held on and she’d slit his wrists, and then her own. She had made a mockery of him, teasing him, with thoughts, making him think that he didn’t have to be alone.
In the end, they always left.
For guilt, the knife has cut, for regret; the flesh has bleed, broken and pitiful. For the anger, he has sawed with reckless abandon. For her, he has lain on the tiles, and spat blood onto the white that he hates.
Cause he knows what it feels like now.
He’s seen her ghost before tonight, lingering on, trying to pull him away. It can’t stay tonight, cause it doesn’t know who he is now. It doesn’t recognize him.
It thinks he’s dead now, lying on the tiles, blood and gore and terrible stillness. Something’s dead.
He’s not who he was anymore.
They can’t haunt him.
He fakes a smile, it’s all the same after a while. They laughed at him, now they are gone. Let the rest of the world burn. They will see him laughing, only always laughing, cause it’s all so terribly funny. Let them burn!
“I can still hear you say, you will never escape.”
His slashed lips barely make out the words as the now deformed face in the mirror,
“Ha, ha!”
His is the last laugh after all.
Okay, so I'm very sorry for going over the deadline. Feel free to disqualify me:) I hadn't written anything all week and I just whipped this story up an hour ago. I therefore apologize if it is poorly written or if it doesn't make much sense. I wrote it as a diary from the point of view of an eleven year old girl. The songs I used were Gloomy Sunday by Sarah McLachlan, Hurt by Johnny Cash, Beautiful Slave by Take No Glory, and Slipped Away by Avril Lavigne. I hate the silence. It mocks me mercilessly. Reminding me that I am alone in this cold and desolate world. No one here cares about me. They see me as nothing more than an unworthy slab of meat. I exist primarily for their pleasure. I am nothing, nobody. I am invisibly until I am forced to partake in unspeakable acts. There are many of us, too many. We are all victims of a cruel and disgusting trade. None of us speak of what takes place within the brothel. There is no need to talk about the things that happen. Things here are better left unsaid. We are broken and battered, left in a state of hopelessness and despair. There isn’t a single ray of hope existing within the walls of this building. They remind us every day that we are slaves and nothing more. I remember my teacher saying that slavery didn’t exist in America. She was wrong. Many victims are smuggled across American borders every day. I am one of those many victims. Nobody deserves this. Nobody at all.
I don’t know where I am. Everything I’ve ever known has been taken from me. I’ve been smuggled and sold as though I were a mere animal in a market. I have been stripped of all my rights and privileges. It is as though I am no longer human. Even animals don’t deserve to be placed in the situations I am forced to endure both day and night.
They have beaten me and tortured me until I have given into their commands. They have starved me until I obey without protest. I remember the time when I was childlike and innocent. The time when I didn’t have to worry about the events that would unfold within my day. The time when I wasn’t expected to perform vile and unimaginably horrific acts. I remember when I used to be safe. Now I fear for my life. I fear each and every passing minute. I may be a child, but I know that no human should ever have to endure the terrors that have become my life. If I ever live past this sickening and appalling experience, I know for sure that I will never be restored to my childlike innocence. My life will never be the same. I will never be the same. I have been marked and branded by these incidents. They will haunt me for the rest of my life.
They give me drugs. “It is to numb the pain” they say to me. But they do nothing to numb the pain that eats at my heart and soul. All I feel is pain. Each time I allow myself a moment to sleep, I anticipate the day when I will wake up and realize that this was all a dream. But every time I awake, I am heartbroken to find that this isn’t a dream. My life is a nightmare from which I will never awaken.
As I lay in on the cold floor each night, I am consumed with fear. Can anyone hear my cries? My screams of anguish and pain? Will anyone rescue me and break the chains that bind me? Is there anyone who will free me from this dark and desolate place? Sometimes I wonder if God himself has forsaken me. Momma used to tell me that God was always with me. If God really loves and cares for me, why hasn’t He saved me yet? Will He continue to let me suffer? Why? What have I done to deserve this? The worst crime I have committed in all these eleven years I’ve lived on this planet, is the time that I stole five dollars from my father and then lied about it. But I repented from my sinful ways. I promised God I would never do a thing like that again. So why is He punishing me in this way? Surely there are others who have committed worse crimes. Doesn’t God realize that no one deserves to be placed through the horrors that have befallen me?
I miss you, Ivy. I miss you so bad that sometimes I want nothing more than to put an end to my misery. This pain that I live in has become a curse. Memories of you haunt me every second of every day. I can’t stop thinking of you. I can’t forget you.
I remember that day so clearly. That day that you slipped away from me. I held on so tight, Ivy. I couldn’t let you go. Why? Why did you have to leave me in this pain? Why did it have to be you? You were the most innocent and selfless person I knew. Ivy, I miss you terribly. Life has never been the same since that one gloomy Sunday. The Sunday that your life was wretched from you. I will never forgive them for stealing your life. You didn’t deserve to die like this. Your beautiful brown eyes were the last things I saw before they took you away from me. They killed you, and for that I will fight against them with every ounce of strength I have left. Your death will have not been in vain, my beloved sister. Now you’re gone. There’s nothing I can do to bring you back. I would’ve given my life for you, Ivy. I would have died for you. I would have taken all your pain and suffering. I would have stepped in your place and witnessed the many horrors you were forced to endure. I’m sorry, my love. Sorry that you ever had to go through all this terror and pain. Be free now, Ivy. Be free of the pain and suffering. I know that I must be happy for you because you no longer have to suffer. Soar with the angels and rest assured, knowing that I will join you soon.
I hurt myself today to see if I can still feel. I did it to see if I am still worthy of being called human. I focused on the pain and the pain alone. The pain is the only thing that is real in my life. Everything else appears only as a dream. When I focus on the pain, I try to kill away everything else that exists. But I remember everything. The memories come flooding back into the back of my mind. My memories remind me that everyone I know, everyone I love, eventually goes away and never returns. If I keep to myself, if I never allow myself to love again, then I will never be hurt. Everyone I once loved is now gone. My parents, Ivy, even my friends. Nobody is left. I am alone in this sick and twisted world. I am left to face these trials alone.
Today is Sunday. I remember Sunday as the day my childhood life ended. Sunday is the day my beloved sister’s life was torn from her. Sunday is gloomy. Sunday is dark and depressing. This particular Sunday, I spend it with the dark shadows that haunt me. I have decided to end it all. I have decided to embrace my freedom. The only way to free myself from this pain is to end it all myself. Nobody has heard my screams. Nobody has come to save me. It has been six months since the death of my sister. Nobody is left to mourn my death. Those who once clung to the hope that I had survived, will have surely lost that hope. They will already think me departed. When the time comes that I breathe my last, nobody will be left to mourn my passing. Death is no longer my dream. It is about to become my reality.
Again I apologize for any spelling mistakes or other errors. Hopefully it makes sense to you all.
Anastasia wrote: "Good job Nicola! I like how you used "I gotta feeling" in the first line, and as dialogue too!"
Thanks Anastasia. I thought that was the best place to put it.
Thanks Anastasia. I thought that was the best place to put it.
I agree with Memory's conclusions. they were all amazing, but I can't choose my favorite.
Wow, do we seriously have to vote? I think I'm going to vote for everyone's stories! Sleeper, I love the subject of your story, I wanted to write something like it but couldn't quite find the inspiration. Congrats on pulling it off!
Hey_jude, your story is amazing! The subject seems really familiar though, reminds me of the Joker from Batman: the Dark Knight. LOL! Was he really your inspiration, or is it a coincidence?
Memory, your story is so sad, but it is so well written. Where did you get the inspiration?
Everyone, you did a great job, but seriously, do we have to vote? : )
I love everyone's. Asking me to pick one over the other is like asking me which of my hands I like better! I seriously can't choose. :) :) :)
Mod
Sleeper, I love the subject of your story, I wanted to write something like it but couldn't quite find the ins..."
Okay okay, you got me. Yes, I did use the Joker as one of the key elements in this story, mostly because his 'past' is so obscure. I always wonder when you read about him in comics and or watch all the movies with him, what happened to him to make him come out like this? I hope it wasn't too weird or cheesy. I just wrote about what inspired me...
Mod
I was hoping I wasn't going to be the only one to vote for someone's story. I honestly thought they were all amazing. I agree with you Hey_jude, everyone won in their own way. We're all winners. And Anastasia, my inspiration came from a video clip I had watched about Human Trafficking. I watched it last week, but I couldn't get the issue out of my mind. It's a horrible trade and I can't even imagine what it could possibly be like for all those who have become victims. The main song inspiration for my story was the song Beautiful Slave by Take No Glory. It's so sad:( Oh and my brother has said that he will vote for us if we still want to do the voting thing (although he didn't write a story for the write off). I personally think that everyone here deserves a virtual medal for writing such awesome stories. Congratulations to all of you! Give yourselves a pat on the back for your great work:) Ha ha.
Mod
Rules of the Poetry WRite Off:
There are basically no rules, you can use whatever style of poetry you like (we have them listed in one of Wordsmith's forums), just try and make it as meaningful as possible whatever the subjects. Draw from every source of inspiration and make sure that your poem tells the reader something surprising at the end. Feel free to post them throughout the week when you are ready...deadline is next Saturday! Enjoy.
Sounds good, I'll set to work.
Mod
Mod
Suicide
How did you die?
Let me tell you
You died by putting a gun to your head and squeezing the trigger.
You died despite all my efforts.
You died when I put my arms around you
Caught in the corner in a slow motion struggle
But you wouldn't let go of the gun.
You died cause I didn’t stop you
How did you look?
Let me tell you
You didn’t look like you were sleeping as they often say
You didn’t look like you were at peace
Or particularly happy
You just looked dead.
When you died you slumped against me
And bled
From a single wound to your forehead
That I would later be blamed for
Why did you die?
Let me tell you
You died because you wanted to punish me
You died because you thought it was amusing
You died cause you knew I would be guilty
Inside and out
But the truth is, you were dead before
What does that mean?
Let me tell you.
You smiled and laughed
You talked and backstabbed
But your eyes were dead.
Yes, it’s true
You had dead eyes
Where are you now?
Let me tell you.
You are looking down at me
From your heaven and your hell
You are seeing what you’ve done to me
And what I’ve done to myself.
You died because it was easy
How have you hurt me?
Let me tell you.
You’ve hurt me by leaving
You’ve hurt me by dying.
You’ve hurt me by bleeding on my
Carpet and my clothes
How can you heal?
Don’t even ask me.
I can’t tell you
I have dead eyes now too.
In my opinion, this poem is amazing! I love everything about it, from the opening sentence, to the emotion it draws, to the topic, to the way it was written, and finally, I thought the ending was awesome! I found it to be sad and depressing, as well as captivating. Great job, Hey_jude! I always love reading the things you write:)
Mod
Your welcome Hey_jude:) You're the best too!
Hey_jude wrote: "Okay, here is my poem. I did have some struggle with this and I'm not sure how good it is. Hope you enjoy.
Suicide
How did you die?
Let me tell you
You died by putting a gun to your head and sq..."
That was AMAZING Hey_Jude!!! Can you maybe post some more?
Suicide
How did you die?
Let me tell you
You died by putting a gun to your head and sq..."
That was AMAZING Hey_Jude!!! Can you maybe post some more?
Here's my poem. Its about the Trail of Tears in America. Hope you like it:
“Nunna daul Tsuny”
I walk along a line
The cold ground making my bare feet numb
I stare at the white men guarding me
The ones who think that I’m dumb
It’s been weeks since we left the stockade
And also a hot meal
The men of my tribe are talking
Hoping to strike a deal
My father died two weeks ago
My mother before him
My brother is getting ill
And his chances are looking grim
There are rumors that white people are living in our homes
Those evil naves
I hope that they feel guilty
And take the shame to their graves
I walk along the Nunna daul Tsuny
Also known as the Trail of Tears
These painful memories of grief and despair
Will stay with me for the rest of my years
“Nunna daul Tsuny”
I walk along a line
The cold ground making my bare feet numb
I stare at the white men guarding me
The ones who think that I’m dumb
It’s been weeks since we left the stockade
And also a hot meal
The men of my tribe are talking
Hoping to strike a deal
My father died two weeks ago
My mother before him
My brother is getting ill
And his chances are looking grim
There are rumors that white people are living in our homes
Those evil naves
I hope that they feel guilty
And take the shame to their graves
I walk along the Nunna daul Tsuny
Also known as the Trail of Tears
These painful memories of grief and despair
Will stay with me for the rest of my years
Very nice Nicola, I love the lines "I hope that they feel guilty, and take the shame to their graves." Here's my poem, I don't really know where it came from or what it means, I'm thinking it probably was inspired by World War II in France or something. Hope you like it. :)
Rebel
Bullets know no barriers
There is danger everywhere
There is a rebel who never sleeps
She is waiting, always waiting
She drives hard
She shoots to kill
She will never quit
Until she’s won
There’s a man
Who stares out
Over a country ravaged
By war and hate
He smiles at it
He is the cause of it
He hates our rebel
Our rebel of truth
Another war-torn city
More soldiers to fight
Our rebel moves forward
Our rebel in black and white
She lies waiting
In the wings of every conflict
She rises up against all evil
For now and for always
Our rebel will never stop fighting
She will be the last one standing
For she is the resistance
And she will never be silent
Mod
Thank you Nicola for your comment. I'm glad you enjoyed my poem. I wasn't sure if it was very good, but you've helped restore my confidence.
Love your poem by the way...it has great meaning.
Sleeper...I enjoyed your poem as well...it certainly brings a vivid picture to mind. You've described the subject matter (war...death...) very well.
Wow, great poems everyone! Here is mine finally, hope you all enjoy it. It originally began as just one cinquain, but then I combined two into one poem to make it a bit longer. Opposites
Fear
Starkly bold
Darkness creeping closer
Falling over the edge
Powerless.
Hope
Quietly subtle
Warmth of arms
Surrounded by the light
Powerful.
Tomorrow is the start of our first official write off! Below are the details along with the 'prompt' you get you started. You have until next Saturday to finish your story and post it below in this forum. Please don't start any new forums, just put them below and then we can all read them and vote on our favourites. Please don't post them until next Saturday.
Thanks...and get ready to write.
Pick five or more songs...random songs, and use as many lines for each one in a story a thousand words at the least. Make sure to list the songs you use at the bottom of your finished work along with the artist. Try to use imagery in your story and other aspects of the discussions we've had posted here on Wordsmith. Be creative above all.
If you have anymore questions about this write off topic please let me now so I can help. Enjoy!