So there it is! Two assignments done! Poof! Magic! Thirteen writing pieces for your enjoyment!
That is what my brain is doing. I only have, like, two more assignments to do!
Cue twelve more happy dance pictures, then, adios amigos!
Well, I might use this blog in the future, but I don't know... In the meantime:
Peace out, awesome people!
Friday 1 February 2013
The Rose
From far away you cannot see
The park
Or
The snow
Or
The bench.
The world seems so blank,
Like a canvas yet untouched by paint,
Lying in wait for its splash of color.
The world is white.
But-
If you get closer,
You will see
That
In the middle of the bench
There is a rose.
The single
Red
Rose
Bathes the white world in all of its glory.
And the one girl
Who had a terrible night
And who woke up with a sadness in her heart that seemed too big to bear-
It is she who will find the rose.
She will pick it up
And smell it
And press it to her chest.
In this white world,
Someone left a rose for her to find.
She knows not who,
Or why,
Only that the rose has changed her day.
And so,
She will place it back down and
Walk
Off,
Leaving the kindness of a
Single
Red
Rose
To comfort others in this canvas of a world.
The Most Mature Thing I've Ever Written.... not.
I am not dotty
Nor am I haughty
I just wish to god
Nor am I haughty
I just wish to god
I wasn’t your potty.
Frozen
“You want to take some-“ She stopped for a second, took a deep breath
and continued, willing her voice to not rise an octave, “time… apart?”
Silence filled the room, lying on top of the already frigid atmosphere.
He forgot to turn on the heater again, She thought. Typical. Now we’re both
going to freeze to death.
“I think it would be a good thing.”
He took his arm from where it had been resting on her shoulders and
moved further away on their light blue couch. The lady at the store had called
the color ICE. It sure felt like ice today. Without His warmth She
started to fear that She’d freeze to the couch and no longer be able to run
from the room in tears, as She’d been planning to do as an end to the
conversation. Now not only would the running turn into a strangled attempt to
unstick herself, but the tears would freeze on her face.
“Why?” She asked, shivering.
He stood up, walked to the mantle and picked up a snow globe. That one
they’d gotten on their trip to Chile. He’d bought it in the store the night the
blizzard hit. Inside there were two people kissing. She’d always worried that
they wouldn’t like being stuck in a tiny room, constantly stared at by other
people. Maybe they didn’t even like each other anymore, but they were stuck in
a moment that everyone dreamed of, frozen to each other by the mouth during a
snow storm. He always made fun of her when She brought stuff like that up. She
had always been the sensitive, caring one. He was taciturn. He froze her out
when He couldn’t deal with his emotions. Sometimes She wondered if He felt like
He was in the snow globe, kissing forever a woman in a little glass ball,
unable to get unstuck and out.
She shivered again. They’d been together for seven years. What on earth
could make him want to get out of their perfect little snow globe? Except for
the freezing part. She could definitely understand if He wanted to get into a
warmer glass ball. She’d pay lots of money to be in Hawaii right that second.
But it couldn’t be that bad. He just wanted time. Nothing that bad would
happen-
“I’m not in love with you anymore. I don’t know if I ever was.”
She froze.
I Apologize Most Profusely
I’m sorry.
I apologize.
I am wrenched with remorse.
My emotions bubble and boil with the extent of my act of contrition.
My regret knows no bounds, along with my overwhelming urge to never stop
apologizing.
I can never forgive myself.
The thought is unthinkable.
I’m sorry I even mentioned it in the first place,
Because that means I thought it,
Which makes the unthinkable thing…
Thinkable.
Seriously, though.
I’m sorry.
I didn’t mean to eat your jam.
It looked nice
And I didn’t think you wanted it.
So I ate it.
With an English muffin.
Which is a tasty combination.
But I am still prostrate with repentance and sorrow.
As should all people be who darest consumeth thine holy pot of delicious
jam.
A sin for which I am eternally and perpetually submissive and considered
a worthless human being.
What?
No!
I’m not making fun of your idiotic raging at all.
I’d never do that.
Ever.
Never ever.
Well, maybe sometimes.
But you have to admit, I did a pretty good job of it.
A real apology?
I’m not really all that sorry.
The jam was delicious
And ran down my throat like golden honey.
It tasted of strawberries and sunshine,
A beautiful face on a summer’s day,
That time when I spent ten minutes apologizing for something
unbelievably stupid
And enjoyed every minute of the increasingly eloquent and expressive
expression of regret.
Yup.
It tasted of overwhelming awesome.
So I’m
Not
Really
Sorry.
...
Sorry.
Land of Dust
Children run,
Chased by invisible foes
Through the streets
Covered with the dust of so many
Lives
Lying there,
Broken
Turning to dust
Paving the road.
And that one little girl,
With the tattered dress
That used to be pink
Before all the dust,
Standing at the end of the lane,
Clutching a one eyed
One armed
Mangled
Doll
In her weak, thin arms.
And on her feet
Her new shoes
Glisten.
The first new thing
She’s ever had.
That little girl will
Always
Remember those
New
Shoes.
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