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Week Six (Dec. 1 - Dec. 7) DONE
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message 51:
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Olivia, summer
(new)
Dec 04, 2008 08:55AM
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P.S. Nice picture, pop art setting like mine!
lol I always get u guys confused cuz they're like almost the same colors on your pics, and the details are small and harder to see! : D
hey you picked that picture chandani so dont blame me!!!!
Mod
yea!
A new day awaits by Paul Wood. Total word count – 1014. This is a semi-true story. The poem in the story I read out to three hundred people in a packed church at the funeral of my father-in- law. To me he was more of a Dad to me in the little time I knew him. I’m would be happy to have the story on short story galore if I am fortunate to win. A NEW DAY AWAITS.
I could feel the icy cold wind snapping at my feet as we patiently waited around the deep hole in the ground. The hard ground crunched like glass under my feet as I shuffled to keep warm. I could almost hear the dry cackle of death laughing at the pitifully mourners in his backyard. As tears cascaded down my frozen cheeks I hated the grim reaper’s cruel obsession of causing us heartache and sadness. I could hear him mocking us as the wind whistled through the trees, their branches all withered and lifeless. I could see his dark hand everywhere; in the colourless flowers that struggled to live amid the thriving weeds; in the moss covered grey headstones that leant like drunken old men. A roar echoed as storm clouds brewed across the ever-darkening sky. The first spots of rain started to fall as the priest spoke softly, telling us how my Dad had gone to a better place.
I could feel my wife putting her a comforting arm around me. Words were useless at times like this.
‘I just want my Dad back. He didn’t deserve this,’ I said, my body racked with the bitter tears of grief.
‘So do we all love. If I could bring him back I would,’ she said.
Kicking the frozen mound of earth in frustration all I could say was, ‘what’s the point to everything. We’re all going to die, so why keep on fighting.’
‘Where there’s life there’s hope,’ she said, her cold face brushing against mine as she tried in vain to share my anguish.
As the coffin slowly glided downwards into the dark earth I had to turn away. I just didn’t want to bear witness to my Dad disappearing into a cold oblivion of darkness and worms. With the gentle pattering of loose earth hitting upon the coffin ringing in my ears I told my wife I needed to be alone and collect my thoughts.
At the back of the church I found a bench, sitting lopsided in a bunch of stinging nettles, its wooden frame rotting happily away in the harsh winter weather.
Sitting under the canopy of a large oak tree it was a tranquil and pleasant spot to contemplate life. For the first time that day I could hear the chattering of birds and the gentle whisper of life beyond the graveyard.
It’s very hard to pull yourself out of depression, to put a smile back on your face. But I was making an effort as I reminisced about the past, remembering Dad and our life together.
In my minds eye I could picture him tinkering away in his shed fixing anything from old rusty bikes to an old television set, its innards hanging out like bright intestines. I remembered him, wearing his favourite blue checked lumberjack shirt; his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, arms thick with slimy grease.
He’d worked all his life, for what? He’d scrimped and saved to put food on the table, a roof over our heads. He’d never asked for anything, gone without just for us I thought as fresh warm tears flowed down my cheeks.
‘Oh do stop crying boy,’ a voice said beside me.
With shock I looked up and saw my Dad sitting calmly beside. His body was glowing a ghostly white, but it was unmistakably him.
‘Dad, I thought you was dead. We’re just buried you over there,’ I said, stunned.
‘Alas, you are quite correct. I’ve just come to say goodbye and issue a few words you might find comforting,’ he said.
‘Dad, please don’t go. I need you here,’ I said, my whole body heaving with an uncontrollable sobbing. I stretched out across the bench, but my arms just disappeared though thin air. He had gone. Was he really ever there? Was my sadness making me crazy?
Then I heard his voice, distant but unmistakable.
‘I’m going to read you a poem by Mary Faye, and I hope it gives you the comfort you need.
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I’m not there, I do not sleep,
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glint on the snow,
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain,
When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight,
I am the soft starlight of night,
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep,
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there, I did not die.’
Then like dust blowing on a warm summers breeze he was gone.
-----------------------------------------------------
It was barely six weeks later when my life was completely turned upside down.
My wife had been ill for a couple of weeks, mostly being sick during the early hours of the morning. Then one morning after returning from the bathroom again she roused me from my bed, my eyes still thick and blurry from sleep.
‘Your going to be a Dad!’ she said, blurting the words out in a frenzy of excitement.
‘You mean you’re pregnant?’ I asked stupidly.
‘Well, that’s usually the general idea you big oaf.’
I didn’t say anything at first, just merely threw my arms around her, squeezing the life out of her as real tears of happiness flowed down my face.
‘Aren’t you pleased?’ she said her voice full of worry and concern.
‘I’m so happy it hurts,’ I said, forcing back the tears. ‘I going outside, I need some air,’ I told her, my head spinning with possibilities of the future.
Outside the first twinge of a blue sky was budding in a cloudless sky. I could feel the heat of the rising sun as it bathed the street in its golden radiance.
‘Thanks Dad, this baby’s for you,’ I said addressing the glorious new day.
I was alive, with a life to live and for the moment I was feeling good.
Poem by Mary Faye (1905-2000)
Mod
Good stories are like good music, John Lennon I'm Stepping Out.
Hanging by a ThreadWord Count: 568
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He woke up from his chair with a start. He hadn’t realized that he had fallen asleep. He rubbed his face, trying to remind himself of where he was. He glanced around him blankly. He was in a white room: white walls, white lights, white sheets. There was a machine with a black screen that had green waves on it, constantly beeping in a steady rhythm. Then his heart stopped. His eyes had finally fallen on the figure on the bed.
Mary.
The memories flooded his head. He felt the pain grip his heart, spreading to every inch of his body. It was as if something was sucking him from inside, and he clenched his hands in an attempt to alleviate the pain. His eyes were glued to her, and he did not notice that he had risen and had walked to her bedside. She lay against the immaculate sheets, eyes closed with her dark lashes against her pallid cheeks. His hands unconsciously reached out to stroke her face. Will I ever see your bright eyes again? It had been so long, so long since the last time he told her that he loved her. So long since he had held her in his arms and treasured her like she was the most important person in the world to him. He had been so consumed in his work and his music that he had forgotten to pay attention to her – the woman that he so passionately loved.
Now here she was in this stiff hospital, unrecognizable in her frail state. Last night was all a blur – his arrival at home, seeing her gasping and clutching her chest on the floor, the rush to the hospital, the doctors declaring a heart complication. It was so painful to watch his beautiful wife lying here, the usual rosiness in her face gone. He brushed away some stray hairs from her forehead then let his fingers trace her cheekbones. He closed his eyes as his throat tightened. He had not even noticed how much thinner she has gotten these past few months. Had he been that preoccupied? She looked so fragile and breakable, like a porcelain doll – lifeless and pale.
She was so unlike the woman he married.
But then, he too was unlike the man she married.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her ear as tears escaped from his pained eyes. He planted a kiss on her forehead, and felt the urge to hold her – embrace her – as if to protect her from the world. She was his to love and protect, but instead he had done nothing to save her from this pain.
“I love you so much,” he said with a sob, “please don’t leave me.”
It was as if she was hanging by a thread, but he needed her to hang on. He realized now, more than ever, that she was his life. If that thread broke, he knew that his hold on life would slip forever.
“Don’t leave me!” He pleaded, and hid his face on the sheets, holding her hand tightly. His sobs filled the entire room. He bit his lip and glanced up at her face.
There was no response except for the steady beeping of the machine.
Those intermittent beeps soon turned into one, long beep. Then the waves on the screen were gone, replaced by one, solid green line.
Ohhh : * ( Sadddd!!! both of the last 2 stories! So sad and good!!! wonderful!
Mod
I have no idea. Its usually already up y now....
Thanks Clare, Arthur and Chandani :)
OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG!!!!!!!! Okay calm down....so last week after i won the cntests, i posted my story 'Chasers' on Teenink.com and i waited and waited....and I JUST GOT THIS EMAIL:
Dear Chandani,
Congratulations! Your recent submission to Teen Ink has been posted on Teen Ink RAW, our new website of unedited and unfiltered teen-generated poetry, fiction, articles, reviews, opinions, artwork, etc. Teen Ink RAW allows you and others to rate work, provide feedback, and share stories with friends and family.
On the new Teen Ink RAW site, the highest-rated stories in each section will be prominently displayed on the home page and elsewhere. Your work could be among them, so vote often and send the link to your friends and family and ask them to vote too. (Up to one vote per article per day.)
Here is a link to your article: http://www.teenink.com/raw/Fiction/ar...
Feel free to share this link with your friends and family and add it to your MySpace or Facebook page. The more votes you get on RAW, the higher your story will be ranked.
Having your work posted on Teen Ink RAW does not mean it has been chosen for the magazine, however, your submission is still being considered for Teen Ink magazine. We continue to read everything you send to us. If selected for the print magazine, all published authors are notified by mail and receive a copy of the magazine, a letter, and other gifts.
With the launch of these new website features, you may soon start receiving feedback on your work from Teen Ink readers via email and the comments will also be posted online with your work. If you DON'T want to receive feedback, please reply to this email and request to be removed from the feedback feature.
Thanks again for your submission and for helping to make Teen Ink and Teen Ink RAW the largest websites in the world for teen-generated writing, art, and photography.
Sincerely,
John Meyer, Publisher
P.S.
If for any reason you don't want your article to be published on Teen Ink RAW, or you want it to be anonymous, please reply to this email with the subject line "Don't Post."
OMG!!
IM LIKE FREAKING OUT RIGHT NOW! I DONT KNOW WHAT TO DO!! ITS 2:48 AM!! I CANT GO TELL MY MOM!! HOLY CRAPOODLE!! OHMIGOD!GAHHH!
Mod
Mod
No more story entries for Week 6 PLEASE. **Week Six is closed** unless you wish it, but of course fewer will see your story.
okok I am SOOOOO freakin sorry!!!! I was really busy yesterday, and I forgot, and then when I remembered, dad was loading stuff on my computer... I feellll soooooo bad... so did you put a poll up then???
Thanks for saving me Arthur!!! I know it was supposed to my turn, and I said it was, but ahhh I feel so stupid...
Chandani wins with her Dream within a Dream! I with we could have more than one winner though, they were all so good this week!!! : ) Congrats again Chandani!
