Stone of Jade

United States

~ 17 she/her ~
Aspiring writer and artist. Completely awestruck by night skies. Apart of many, many fandoms ;) Reader, journaler, collector.
~ pilot pens and beat-up notebooks ~
one half of the locket
Vice Pres. Cult of the Crunch

Message from Writer

Hi! You found my page! Just that fact means a lot <3
I mainly write fiction and short stories, but I am trying my hand at poetry, which I am LOVING! I take inspiration from the world around me <3

Read some of my work if you are so inclined! I always want to hear ways to improve! Thanks! :)

ongoing dystopian novel: Traitors and Rebels
Find the links to chapters 1-30 here:
https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/free_writing/218916/versions/457602

On The High Seas (continuing)
heartbreak series (finished)
Unlikely Hero (finished)

My friend (irl) chasing sunsets has an AMAZING series titled: A World Of Our Own.

Published Work

Legend of Six (snippet)

Asarial looked up from the worn pages of the leather book. The light from the fire lit up the dust from the heavy pages, which floated around her head like a halo. 
    Fitting, Draynyr thought. Like the daughter of an angel
    "You knew her?" Asarial's eyes were wide in amazement. 
    Draynry's reflected sorrow. 
    "Yes, I knew her. I knew all of them," he murmured. "At least, I thought I did."
    "What were they like?"
    One question brought back memories Draynyr both cherished and wished he could forget. Four words that broke his heart. Draynyr's voice cracked as he tried to explain...explain what happened, and what didn't. 
    "They were going to change the world," he said softly. 
    Asarial ran her finger over the inked sketch in the old book. "And did they?" she asked, full of wonder. 
    "In a way, yes."...

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 31

Chapter 31: Owen

    Sasha drove them to an office at the other side of the camp. The soldiers at the desk raised their eyebrows at the entourage, but let them through on Sasha’s clearance. She then led them into a small office. The room was neat and organized. Filing cabinets lined one wall. A few other soldiers and nurses sat at various tables, filling out papers and organizing files. None paid any attention to them.
    “Scarfex...Scarfex. Why does that sound so familiar?” Sasha thumbed through files, her voice barely audible as she mumbled to herself. “Oh!” she said, her head suddenly shooting up. “I know!” 
    Sasha led Owen and Emery back into the hall and into another office. This one was bigger than the first, but covered in much more dust. Unlike the first office, they were the only ones there. 
    “People rarely come in here,” Sasha explained, grabbing a box off a shelf and digging through it. “It’s...

Mid-February Grab Bag

Beantown

This is for the prompt by Saloni Soni: write about a descriptive piece about your favorite city/place without revealing the location! (try to guess the place or look it up--I'll be leaving clues)

Close your eyes. I want to tell you a story. A story of a place I used to know, a place where I used to live. Picture a bench, just a normal bench, sitting in front of a strip of grass--it sounds boring, but wait--I promise, it gets better. After the grass is a concrete sidewalk, which separates into soft, grainy sand. The sand covers a beach until it reaches the boundaries of rocks. And in front of the sand, is the ocean. The Atlantic Ocean, in all its blue majesty, spreads as far as the eye can see, disappearing over the horizon. Look, along the horizon are the silhouettes of sail boats. Bright red and yellow sails contrast the deep sea and light sky. In the...

Viva la Youth


adomania

it comes so fast....the future becomes present.
I would look forward to the day I would grow up, excited for the possibilities and adventures. 
I didn't realize how scared I would be of the responsibilities. 
how scared I would be of failing, letting those I love down. 

the change was subtle,
abandonment of dreams, submission into reality. 
when did I start avoiding puddles?

everyday I see strangers go about their lives. I wonder at each face, knowing a different story follows in the shadow. 

I have seventeen years of stories.
how many of them have I forgotten over the years? how many of them have lost their relevance? 

what do i have to stake my claim?
a few journals and scribbles. a notes app filled with one-liners. three sketchbooks of passion.
a computer full of work in progress. notebooks of incoherent lines without the message. a sketchbook of half finished drawings.
​could I call myself a poet? A writer?...

winter walks in the dark night


7:15 pm.
Bundled in a coat. Frosty breath expanding in front of me. The sporadic street lights, dim flashlight from my phone. The moon shines dimly in its waxing crescent. The snow is melting into puddles I try to avoid. No noise except the distant hum of traffic and the bark of a dog. The birds are asleep. Foggy skies block the stars except for a few that shine through. I recognize Orion, my friend in the winter. I slip in my airpods, volume raised. I want to hear the music in my body, in my heartbeat. The lyrics take over and I feel no cold, feel no fear. Winter walks in the dark night. 

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 30 | updated chapter links in footnotes

Chapter 30: Emery

    Emery stood behind Owen. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the soldiers around her. She knew most of them, having grown up most of her life on the base, yet now, she felt like an outsider. They all knew what she had done, what her standing there alive meant. Three of their rank, three of their friends, had been killed--and she was a reminder of their loss.  
    As Owen talked, Emery realized she was feeling only a small portion of what Owen must feel. Here he was, an AIM soldier, standing in the council’s presence after the terrible loss they had just faced. As Owen passed by, she reached for his hand, and gave him an encouraging squeeze. She knew the next few moments were crucial to the sending of a raid. Emery couldn’t see the council making any other decision. An ambush on AIM would keep them one step ahead, and one step closer to...

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 29

Chapter 29: Owen

    “The council will see you now,” Josh said, opening the door to the conference room. It was the next day and Owen had been called to testify in front of the Liberation Council. 
    Owen swallowed nervously as he entered through the doorway. He felt a little better knowing Emery was with him, but Owen also knew she was just as nervous to appear before the council as well. 
    The room, which was almost empty the first time Owen had been there, now seemed to be full of people. Soldiers in combat armor stood attentively against one wall. Sergeants and Lieutenants were pointing at sections on a map pinned against one wall.
    Josh led Owen and Emery towards the circular table in the center of the room. 
    “Owen Scarfex,” the lady in the center said in a loud voice. Owen remembered Josh telling him her name was Amira Ru. “We have listened to...

Cursed Flower


You took my hand in yours,
as we walked along the grass. 
A warmth like summer sunshine,
rippled through my heart.

I was happy.
I was loved.

But I wondered,
would it last?
Was it true?

My heart had been broken;
Oh, so many times. 

You paused a moment, in the field,
and reached down to pluck a flower.
It was so delicate,
decorated in purple and blue.

Your face lit up with a loving smile,
as you handed me the token.

But I stared at it with a sorrowful look,
because I recognized the bloom;
now I would always be haunted of memories of you.

I wonder,
did you too,
recognize the petals?

Were you aware of the power,
of the sweet, yet cursed flower?
The symbol of remembrance.

Please,
I beg you.
Stay with me.
Forget-me-not

curling steam create pictures of memories

The smell of dark winter morning. The flavor of oatmeal, apples, and cinnamon. Getting ready for school, waiting for the bus outside the post office. Wrapped in mittens, shouldering backpacks, wrapped in coats and scarves. Frosty wind nips at uncovered ears and noses. The sky is dark, the ground is covered in slush. Cold bus rides, fogged up windows. Tracing fingers in the condensation. Swirls and loops, over and over, pictures of memory. The streets blur by, glimpsed through the traced outlines. Clamoring down the steps of the bus as the door is opened in a release of pressure. The noise combines with the laughter of children as they wait for the day to start. The long day of second grade. Waxy crayons and Lysol wipes. Cold hallways, echoing whispers. The smell of used books in the library, the cool, unfamiliar smell of the computer lab. The smell of wet paint and mixed clay in art. Fresh air and winter...

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 28

Chapter 28: Owen

Owen’s fingers were numb by the time they left the cemetery. Emery was the first to break away from her hold on his arm. Having cried herself dry, she turned from the grave and headed slowly along the dirt path that wound its way to her house. Owen followed in silence. When they reached the house, Owen could see that there were a few people inside. Emery turned towards the door, but Owen stopped at the sidewalk. 
    “I don’t think I should come in,” Owen said. 
    Emery turned back towards him. “I know this is awkward for you. It’s even hard for me, so I can’t even imagine what it must feel like for you. Please come in, Owen. If only just for a minute. If it proves too much then you can disappear into your room, or out the back door.” Emery gave a comforting smile.
    Owen nodded and followed her inside. 
  ...

Memory Object

The Trinket

I was made from a lump of iron. The heat of fire and the hammering of tools slowly forged me into the shape I am today. My shape is in the eye of the beholder. Some think I am a bird; to others, I am a dragon. No one knows for sure what my purpose is. But to the Collector, I am a prized possession. One of a kind.

There is a small cottage hidden deep in a forest, away from the troubles and worries of the world. In the cottage, I hold a spot on a wooden shelf, rough and course. The Collector carved it himself. From my shelf I can see everything. I take in each golden ray of sun, reflected through the glass window, as it rises each morning. Other trinkets litter the floor, each precariously arranged on various tables and shelves. Then there is the Collector himself. He is a wise old man who takes company only...

The 21st day, of the 21st year, of the 21st century.

Time is an illusion, Einstein says.

Seconds pass quicker than it takes to blink. Those seconds turn to minutes, to hours, to days, to years, to centuries. 
Moments become memories. Those memories are soon forgotten.
Experiences new to you now will soon become yesterday's news. 

carpe diem of the seventeenth century.
be happy of the nineteenth century.
y.o.l.o of the twenty first century.

Generations of poets discern the same meaning. They implore us with all hope we will make a change.
Don't waste your time on this Earth.
Don't throw away your life.
Time is fleeting, your life should be meaningful. 

old time is still a-flying, Herrick notes.
where can we live but in days, Larkin inquirers. 
all of time is unredeemable, Elliot states.

Walk through your day looking for the good in life. 
Recognize the sweet songs of the birds, the cool kisses of the winds. 
Give rise to the change the old generations sought. 
Prompt the promise the...

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 27

Chapter 27: Emery
Emery stared at the headstone in front of her. 


        Michael J. Rosadra
J
anuary 3014 - September 3032
        Son, Brother, Friend
        Acta, non Verba

    Emery stared at the Latin phrase carved in the stone. Actions, not words. It was a phrase Michael had often used. It was one of the only phrases Emery knew in Latin. She didn’t hear many other sayings from that twice-dead language, but Michael stood by this one.
    “Council meetings can only fix so much, Em,” he would say. “You have to take action in order to make a change. Add a little hope to the mix, and you are sure to succeed.”
    That had been Michael’s downfall. True, it was unlucky circumstances that had resulted in fatal consequences. But their innocent hope had betrayed them. 
    Emery heard Owen come up behind her. His presence comforted her in a small way. She felt herself relax. She didn’t need to put...

heartbreak | a series | FULL STORY

When you turn sixteen you get your mark. Your mark is special to you and one other--your soulmate. Usually, it is your favorite color. My best friend Alice's pinky-finger is tipped in pale yellow. My neighbor Sam has a mark of red on his shoulder. Even though the marks are each unique, a few are more common than others. Some look like birthmarks, others look like you have been dipped with the Easter eggs. I have never seen another with a mark like mine. I was shocked when, on my sixteenth birthday, I woke to find my mark, staining my lips pale blue. Alice thought my permanent lipstick was beautiful. 
    "You'll never be mistaken when you find your soulmate," she told me that morning. 
    As if anyone could make a mistake when comparing marks, I had thought. 
I'm eighteen now, and I still haven't met anyone with the same mark as mine. Alice found her soulmate,...

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 26

Chapter 26: Owen

Owen woke the next morning after a restless night. He hadn’t been able to get much sleep--mainly tossing and turning through the hours. The funeral was today. He still didn’t know if he should go or not. Josh had said he was invited, but Owen didn’t want to make it awkward. He figured it might be hard for the families to be comforted as they mourned while he was there. He was a standing reminder of their fellow soldier and loved one’s death. Owen could hear Josh, who was in the next room, getting ready. In case Owen decided to go, Josh lent him a suit. It hung over the chair next to the desk. Owen looked at the clock--it was almost nine. The funeral started at ten. Making up his mind, Owen got up and began to get dressed. 

    The house was empty by the time Owen left. Even though he had decided to go to...

| the proof |

Are your eyes blinded by deceit?
Is your heart hardened by pride?
Do you still block yourself from hearing the call?

The saving hope is here, yet you do not see it.
You ask us to prove it.
But do we need to?

Look around you, open your eyes.
Let go of selfish desires, and follow the one who created you in love.
Listen to His voice, the voice of your caring Father.

The proof is all around you. The beauty of creation is there so one cannot deny the existence of a Creator. 

You blame miracles on chance. You declare phenomenons a result of evolution.
Do you not see the forgiveness of your God? The love of your God?

I see it all around me.
Everywhere I turn, I am reminded of His goodness. His glory. His right to be praised.

The cool beauty of morning dew, wet underfoot as I watch the sun rise from behind the mountains....

Names for Nature

unnamed moments which haven't come to pass


Name a place before it's gone. Name a memory that hasn't occurred. 
Name a dream that is held in secret. Name a hope that is felt from the heart. 
I see you, and I see possibilities. 
I dream of a life, and hope for the future. 
A fear is growing for what may or may not come.
I am afraid to name my dream, my hope.
For once I do,
it may disappear.
But I will hold it close, I will hold it dear.
Until the day, I can whisper its name.

 

On the High Seas | FULL STORY

A cool breeze carried the smell of saltwater and seaweed towards Ladell. Colors from all ends of the earth decorated the market. Carts and stands displayed all types of exotic fruits, spices, woven baskets and delicate silks. By mid-afternoon, the square was crowded, making it difficult to stay alert. As Ladell finished her errands in the market, she felt a strange tingling at the back of her neck. On instinct, Ladell knew someone was following her. Yet she didn't feel threatened--the feeling was oddly familiar. Ladell scanned the cobbled street. Whoever was following her knew what they were doing. Ladell quickened her pace. 

Parconna was a small island but news traveled fast overseas, especially when it had to do with pirates. Ladell kept a wary lookout as she made her way to the docks. She took shortcuts through alleys, backtracking multiple times, in case her instinct proved true. Ladell was just nearing the docks when a hand pulled her into...

On the High Seas | 8 | FINALE

The Fortune barreled through the waves towards the Manta, which lay hopelessly aground a shallow sandbar. The sails of the large ship bulged under the force of the wind behind it. Waves leaped ahead of the bow, breaking through the sea like white-crested rolls. The creak of the wood and the whipping of the ropes made the sight a terrible one to behold. Then, high above, attached to the mast, a flash of color gave the final blow of despair. A new flag was being raised, one as red as blood. It thrashed in the wind, screaming its message: This was it. The final stand. There would be no mercy shown. 
    “Avril! Corrin! Load all cannons with anything that’ll blow a hole in that ship!” Ladell ordered. “Tallis! Come down below! You need a weapon if it’s results in hand-to-hand combat!”
    Ladell led Tallis below decks. She plucked a sword from a wall of weapons and handed...

5:06 p.m.


overwhelmed. anxious. lost.
tears stream. head pounds.
I long to lose myself in music.
to watch as life disappears,
as I slip into the world of melodies.
lyrics flow. rhythm soothes.
rescued. calm. lost.
 

On the High Seas | 7

The Manta and her crew sailed steady all night. At dawn, Ladell woke to find the distance between them and The Fortune slowly shrinking. Millview won’t help us now, she thought as she changed the ships’ direction, now taking full advantage of the northeast wind. They sailed for another two hours, the distance between ships growing and shrinking in no particular pattern. The captain of the Fortune was a dangerous man, and he knew the seas well.  
    “Captain!” Marley yelled from the ratlines. “Shoal! Dead-ahead in 200 yards!”
    “Blast!” Ladell said, cursing herself. In her fear, she had neglected to watch for sandbars. This could have major consequences. “Avril!” she shouted. “Drop the anchor, starboard side!”
    They didn’t have much time. Tallis ran across the ship to help the first-mate. As Avril and Tallis hauled the anchor overboard, it crashed through the waves, spraying saltwater in their faces. The chains went tight as the anchor caught hold in the...

Rhymes with New Year | inspired by FantasyOtter12 (#OtterFamForLife)

I think we can all agree 2020 has been a crazy year,

with killer bees and a shortage of corona beer.

Locust swarms in Africa and fires in Australia were a cause of destruction and fear,

World War 3 was rumored but then fortunately quickly disappeared. 

But even all that seemed to just be the premier:

As the months stretched on, longer than any calendar year,

2020 got worse, bringing brand new fears.

A world wide pandemic raged across the global sphere,

shutting people in their houses away from all their peers.

Sickness and losses brought to us many tears,

curses and questions were all our ears could hear.

But people connected, supported, adhered,

we gathered virtually to spread a love quite sincere.

We all learned new lessons that would otherwise be unclear,

we grew excited because a fresh start was near.

So now that 2021 is finally here,

I know we are all relieved to say -- Happy New...

i have no idea what to title this because it is ranting poetry of feelings that confuse me to the point of exhaustion

i used to love the color red
it was bold, exciting.
red made a statement. 
i still love the color,
but when i think of it now,
i will always remember your card.

it scared me.
i read it once,
and didn't dare look at it again.

i am so glad i didn't read it in front of you.
oh gosh
what would I have done?

i read it quickly,
skimming over the handwritten words.
but then stopped short.
i felt my heart race faster and faster.
why did you do it?
why did you say it?
things were fine the way they were.

and now i am scared.
scared that our friendship will be ruined,
because of feelings I don't have.

it took me awhile before i picked up your card again.
i felt ashamed to look at it.
i felt the tears coming when i thought of it.

things were perfect the way they were.
you were my...

snippets from my shift at the grocery store

I work as a courtesy clerk at a grocery store. It is a super fun and sometimes tiring job. Basically I am a glorified janitor, cleaning bathrooms, sanitizing carts (thanks covid), run around helping the cashiers, and putting stuff away. And then the all time fav: helping customers. Some of my interactions make me laugh, other's i just kinda want to rant about. I have finally collected enough (okay--a few) that I wanted to share with you guys. 

(me)
*my thoughts*
"the lovely customer"

-----
INTERACTION #1 - the Im-looking-for-this-but-i-haven't-actually-checked-the-shelves-yet lady

"Do you work here?"

*me, wearing a bright red Haggen t-shirt* 
(yes, I do.)

"Can you tell me where the rice is?"

*only hearing half of what they said bc this is an old lady muffled by a mask* 
(I'm sorry, what?)

"Rice--R-I-C-E"

*yeah, I know how to spell rice*
(Have you tried aisle 3?)

"Well, I wanted to ask first."

*okay--yeah I guess I understand that...

On the High Seas | 6

The next morning, Tallis woke at dawn. He headed above deck just as the sun began to rise. The morning was beautiful. A warm, pink light scattered across the sky, throwing shining waves against the sides of the Manta. He could see the rippling silhouettes of mysterious creatures as they swam in the depths below. The creak of the wood and the salty sea air gave Tallis a sense of adventure. 
    “Where are we off to today?” Tallis asked, joining Ladell at the helm of the ship. 
    “We have a steady wind blowing east. Millview Port is about a day away in this direction. We’ll stop there, and make sure to shake anyone who might try to follow us.” Ladell tossed a teasing glare at Tallis.
    “I’m assuming by anyone you mean Colborne?”
    “He knows how I sail. The best chance to avoid him is stopping along coasts, completely random. Hopefully we had enough of a head...

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 25

Chapter 25: Emery

As daylight began to stream through the blinds of her window, Emery pushed off her covers. She hadn’t been able to sleep all night. But there was no question as to why. Today was the funeral. Today, she would have to face Chris’ family and Jack’s mother and sister. Today she would have to face reality. Emery felt so ashamed. She felt the guilt of survival her brother had talked about. His words comforted her--she wasn’t alone.
    Emery began to get dressed even though the funeral was before lunch. The funeral was to honor the service Michael, Chris and Jack had provided the council. For a brief minute, Emery allowed herself to wonder how they would do it--there were only two bodies. She quickly pushed that thought from her mind. She didn’t want to deal with details of the funeral any more than necessary. Emery pulled a coat over her shoulders and headed downstairs,...

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 24

Chapter 24: Owen

Owen woke late the next morning. At first he was surprised at the time, but considering the previous day’s events, he wondered how he didn’t sleep longer. Dressed in the clothes Josh had given him, Owen headed downstairs. He paused at the bottom when he heard voices arguing. 
    “If I could talk to the council--” Owen recognized Emery’s voice. 
    “If I were you, I would stay clear away from the council!” That voice was deeper, belonging to her father, Commanding Officer Rosadra. 
    “Please, Dad,” Emery begged. “This might be the only way to take down AIM. We can send teams and take over the center. I know where it is! Owen knows where it is! He could help us!”
    “You are in no position to be presenting plans to the council after what happened!” C.O. Rosadra shouted. But then his voice dropped dramatically. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have--never mind. Look, I will talk...

another repeating second in the life of one who stands on the threshold between innocence and maturity


Tears threaten to form under heavy eyelids. The whole world seems to be against me. It presses down harder than the darkness of night. Fear grips me. I picture myself: a child, not ready to face the world alone, yet bravely stepping into a pair of shoes two sizes to big. I long to wander the night, I long to feel alive again. To feel myself again.
Innocence has left me, and reality is seeping in, like rain through a coat. Uncertainty follows my steps. The sands of youth slip through the hourglass. One by one, they fall. Over and over. Change comes in heavy winds, shaking the settled sand. Each day is tiring. I long for the moments of youth I used to know. The bittersweet age of growing up. I want run away for a moment. I want enjoy this short time. If I wish it, would the doubts leave my mind? If I rub a lamp will they...

On the High Seas | 5

Ladell found Tallis looking at a map in her cabin. “Did you sleep?” she asked.
    Tallis turned and smiled when he saw who was in the doorway. “You sound like a mother hen,” he teased.
    “After being up all last night you needed to rest. It’s almost dinner. Corrin, my cabin-boy and the ship's cook, is bringing some food here so we can talk.” Ladell walked over to the table and rolled up the map.
    “So, Golden Eye,” Tallis said. “Where are you headed?” 
    “Wherever the wind blows,” Ladell said. “With occasional stops for supplies.”
    “So it was luck that brought you to Parconna Islands to help a dashing hero escape from the enemy.”
    “Hero?” Ladell laughed. “Oh, please--not even close. But yes, it was a real surprise meeting you there. What have you been doing these past six years?”
    “Eh, this and that,” Tallis bluffed. “How’d you get to be captain of the Manta? When I...

it was said in gibberish

I won't forget last night. 
no matter what comes in the future,
I promised myself,
I won't forget.

I never said those words before. 
my brain has always been too muddled to make sense of my feelings. 
but I said it,
kind of

I didn't go all out,
it wan't the three letters you are probably thinking. 
it was close, 
but it wasn't that. 


It only seems right.
I know my heart,
I know it is yours. 
but I never said it out loud. 

I'm dwelling on a little comment. 
a sweet remark,
said in gibberish.
yes,
you heard me right. 
the first time I said it,
I said it in gibberish. 

I laugh now,
rethinking that moment.
you were teaching me gibberish,
a language your family made up.
you spoke it fluently,
and asked if I wanted to learn.
yes yes yes.

you told me to say a sentence.
to try it out. 
the first words that came...

Persecuted, Yet Strong


Persecution of religion has been an issue throughout history. Sadly, it is not limited to the past. Even in today’s sophisticated society, persecution weighs heavy on those practicing religion, with Christianity receiving the most blows with the most frequency. Persecution takes many forms: discrimination, rejection, hostility, and even martyrdom. One Christian is killed every two hours for following Jesus (Help the Persecuted). According to the 2020 World Watch List report, there have been “over 260 million Christians under persecution...2,983 Christians were killed for their faith...9,488 churches under attack...and 3,711 believers detained without trial” (Serving Persecuted Christians). Yet even under the hostility of persecution, the Christian church thrives. This illustrates the giant/underdog concept that Canadian journalist Malcom Gladwell elaborates in his book David and Goliath. The “giants” are the powerful opponents; the “underdogs” are those who seem the disadvantaged. But Gladwell explains that there are advantages to having the disadvantage, and vice versa. "We think of things as helpful that actually aren’t and think of other things as unhelpful that in reality leave us stronger and wiser” (Gladwell, 25). The Christian church in China is an example of this paradox. The disadvantage of persecution provides an...

lasting effect | continuation of heartbreak series | 2

Usually, your mark is something you are proud of. Something you wear with love, unashamed. I used to be ashamed of mine--embarrassed was a better word. Worried fit too. What would it be like when I meet my soulmate? Would we get along? Hundreds of questions flooded my mind, filling me with an exciting, yet worrying, anticipation. I hated that feeling. Now, I wish more than anything I would have those worries again. 
    It's impossible to hide a faded mark. 

    The luckiest of the heartbroken are able to camouflage their mark--make them less obvious. Some are constantly wearing white fingernail polish. Others might be able to cover it with pieces of clothing. It is impossible to cover my mark. It's stuck. A badge of shame. One that fills everyone who sees it with pity.
    I find myself biting my lips when I am anxious. As if hiding them might hide the truth. But there is no escaping what happened....

heartbreak | a series | 1

When you turn sixteen you get your mark. Your mark is special to you and one other--your soulmate. Usually, it is your favorite color. My best friend Alice's pinky-finger is tipped in pale yellow. My neighbor Sam has a mark of red on his shoulder. Even though the marks are each unique, a few are more common than others. Some look like birthmarks, others look like you have been dipped with the Easter eggs. I have never seen another with a mark like mine. I was shocked when, on my sixteenth birthday, I woke to find my mark, staining my lips pale blue. Alice thought my permanent lipstick was beautiful. 
    "You'll never be mistaken when you find your soulmate," she told me that morning. 
    As if anyone could make a mistake when comparing marks, I had thought. 
I'm eighteen now, and I still haven't met anyone with the same mark as mine. Alice found her...

learning to love | continuation of heartbreak series | 6 (finale)

I watched from a comfy chair in our living room as a light snow began to fall, coating the branches of the evergreens in the front lawn. I cupped a steaming mug of tea in my hands. The smell of cinnamon and citrus filled the house, reminding everyone that Christmas was coming. I looked at Teddy, who sat on the opposite couch. We had finished studying for end-of-quarter exams and decided to just chill until dinnertime. It was an almost perfect afternoon. He was doodling in his sketchpad. I was trying to read. Teddy looked up and caught me staring at him.
    “Something wrong?” he asked.
    “No,” I said, taking a sip of my tea.
    “You’ve been weird ever since last Saturday,” he said
    “What do you mean?” I knew exactly what he meant.
    “When we got shakes with Alice and Braden. Come on, Mal, you know what I’m talking about. You were really quiet after Alice asked me about...

On the High Seas | 4

Ladell looked out towards the town. The first light of day was just appearing on the horizon, casting a pinkish glow on the sleeping village. Ladell waited anxiously at the railing of her ship. She wanted Tallis to come with them, although she knew the risk of aiding him in his escape from Captain Colborne. All she could do was hope that he succeeded in his break-in. 
    “Captain! Are you ready to set sail?” Avril, Ladell’s first mate, called from the sterncastle.
    “In a minute!” Ladell yelled back. She scanned the docks, searching for her friend. Then she saw him. Her heart leaped within her chest when she saw the danger. He was jumping from rooftop to rooftop, clutching a satchel to his chest. Ladell gasped as she saw why he was running. Close behind him was one of Colborne’s men. She could see two more figures running along the street.
    “Avril! Trim the sails! Marley! Corrin!...

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 23 | updated chapter links in footnotes

Chapter 23: Emery

Emery awoke from her nightmare with a start, clutching at the blankets on her bed. No, Emery realized with a sinking feeling. It wasn’t a nightmare. It was real. Emery sat up, drenched in sweat. The red numbers of her clock glared at her: 1:23 a.m. The moon shone brightly through the window, illuminating her bedroom. She tried to steady her breathing, but even the fact she was safe at home wasn’t enough to calm her. Quietly, she slipped out from under her covers. Her bare feet were cold against the floorboards. Almost mechanically, Emery walked into the hall. She stopped before a door in front of her, her heart beating double time. Slowly, she turned the doorknob. It clicked open quietly but she hesitated before pushing the door open. Was she ready to face what lay behind the hinges?Most likely, she’d never be ready. Maybe that was why she had come here. As...

time changes tone | inspired by beth r. (footnotes)


the laughter of the children rang through the playground,
shrieks of joy filled the air.
the boy...
bright eyed,
shaggy brown hair,
blue puffy coat,
orange gloves.
the girl...
laughing smile,
golden hair,
red jacket,
brown boots.

the playmates were a colorful picture.
they chased each other over the wood chip covered ground,
up the ladder,
down the slide.
"to the treasure!" the boy cried.
"I'm coming! I'm coming!" the girl laughed.

years later, the colorful picture changed.
it is now a picture of happiness. 
the playmates are older now,
best friends.
the boy is nervous,
his cheeks blush red.
"are you going to the dance?" the boy asks.
"with you? I'm definitely coming," the girl teased.

the happy picture turns tranquil.
the blissful pair lay under a tree,
sharing dreams,
sharing hopes. 
they plan their future.
the boy turns to the girl,
"will you be at the graduation?" he suggests.
"of course I'm coming," the girl says contentedly.

the...

i'll come with you, even if you go to the end of the world, i'll be there


I'm coming.
if you are hurt, 
I'll be there.
don't be afraid. 
when you're scared,
remember...
I'm coming. 

I'm coming. 
if you are in trouble, 
I'll be there. 
let go of your doubts,
trust me.
remember...
I'm coming. 

I'm coming. 
if you need me,
I'll be there. 
please,
don't forget,
I love you. 
so of course,
I'm coming. 
 

confusion | continuation of heartbreak series | 5

The warmth of Aspen’s Diner was a lovely welcome from the winter air outside. I stamped the snow from my boots and looked around the diner. I spotted Alice and Teddy sitting in a booth by the window. Braden Cook, Alice’s boyfriend, was with them. The faded turquoise of the seat shone under the winter sunlight pouring through the window. I peeled off my scarf as I made my way over to them, picking up a bit of their conversation.
    “Have you already met her?”
    “Come on, Alice,” Teddy groaned.
    “You totally have!”
    “I didn’t say that--”
    “At least tell us where it is. Under your shirt?” Alice said.
    “Alice--”
    “Hey guys!” I said, sliding into the booth next to Teddy. “Sorry I’m late. I swear, I got stopped at every red light!”
    “Hey, Mallory,” Alice said, suddenly quiet.
    “Is something wrong? You were so chatty when before I came,” I asked, confused at the change in Alice. 
    “Alice was...

Creative Nonfiction Competition 2020

Unexpected Change Can Lead to Growth

It is scary to know how easily plans change. It's frightening to know how unexpected life can be. The world witnessed this first-hand. I witnessed this first-hand. In one month, my fully packed calendar was wiped clean. In one month, the life I knew and loved changed drastically. 

I remember when I first heard of COVID-19. I was volunteering at a conference in California. When I first heard of this deadly virus, I didn't think too much on it. It was in another part of the world. How could it affect me? But this conference hosted thousands of men from all over the world. COVID affected me a little sooner than I realized, yet not severe enough to worry me. We got news on the second day of the conference that an attendee had to travel back home because his wife was severely sick with COVID. Sadly, he did not make it in time to say goodbye. 

I heard many other...

On the High Seas | 3

From rooftop to rooftop, Tallis carefully made his way to the mansion. A lattice of honeysuckles gave him unintentional access to the highest roof of Colborne Chateau. Tallis’ employer, Thornley, gave him detailed instructions where Captain Colborne kept his treasure--in a safe in one of the highest rooms in the mansion. Unfortunately for Colborne, Tallis was a skilled lockpick. He took out his knife, and began prying at the tiles of the roof. 
    Shortly after midnight, Tallis broke through and had a wide enough hole to slip inside the mansion. From his belt, Tallis took a length of rope, and wrapped it securely around a chimney a few yards away. 
One last job, Tallis thought as he propelled himself through the hole. With a soft thud, he landed inside the room. In front of him stood the large, beautifully carved, wooden safe. Tallis walked around it slowly, contemplating the make and model of the chest. He knelt before...

Thanksgivings of the Past

Thanksgiving. A time of food, and family.

I remember the long drive to Connecticut. Stopping for munchkins--the little donut holes that my sister and I adored--along the way. I remember driving over the frog bridge in Willimantic and knowing we were almost there. Then that last stretch of road before the driveway of my grandparent's home.

I remember running up the front stairs, bursting through the door. The warmth from my grandmother's house was a loving welcome. GG would great us with a hug and then offer a bowl of soup after our long drive. Pop would tickle us mercilessly and tweak our noses. 

I remember seeing our cousins, our playmates we only saw for the holidays. Games were played, laughter filled the house. More and more family arrived. Heaping platters of homemade food was served. Turkey, chicken, pasta, shrimp, vegetables, mashed potatoes, gravy. And the rolls. But they were always left to burn because the other delicious foods would make...

On the High Seas | 2

Tallis sat at the edge of the dock watching the bustle of the small coastal town. Twilight was fading fast, and small specks of starlight were slowly becoming visible. It was a beautiful summer night, clear skies and no breeze. The great merchant ships towered over the docks, each mast lit with the flickering light of the lanterns. He saw the Manta docked at the far end of a pier. Tallis took a deep breath. One last job, he thought. He hated to do this--especially for Thornley. But he had a debt to pay. Tallis sighed and stalked back to the quiet town. 

    Lanterns lit the cobblestone streets, casting deep shadows in each alley, which Tallis watched closely for movement. He passed various marketplace sellers packing up their carts for the night. He passed another group of townspeople heading into the local tavern. He wandered the town aimlessly until the street was empty. Then, he slipped into the shadow of...

Given First Line

It was the Best of Times, It was the Worst of Times

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times..."
    "Sam, would you cut it out? You sound so serious!"
    "This is a serious moment, Zoe!"
    "No, it's not...we're only going to school!"
    "Like I said...'the worst of times.'"
    "You are impossible," Zoe said, rolling her eyes. 
    "Would you let me narrate? Or are you going to keep interrupting?
    "Whatever, go ahead."
    "Ahem! The age of carefree joy had ended...the age of boring facts of 'wisdom' had begun. The season of summer light had ended...the season of dark winters had begun."
    "This is ridiculous! Are you changing Tale of Two Cities to fit going back to school?" 
    "It works!"
    "It really doesn't..."
    "Don't doubt a writer's methods."
    "Look, we're here. Can you not embarrass me?" Zoe asked as she made her way up the stone steps to the front door. 
    "No promises," Sam said, smiling.
 ...

the future remains unknown, so please, let us enjoy right now

I finger the bracelets on my wrists
I feel the faded blue threads, the knots and beads woven in.
The red and pink bracelet with the dangling lady bug charm which says be kind on the back
I still have the rubber wristband. It glows in the dark brighter than one would except after a year of use. 

I think of the bracelets on your wrist.
I made you one last year...
I had your brother give it to you because I was too scared. 
I knew I would chicken out face-to-face.

Then it began to wear away. The colors faded slowly. 
My sister brought it up.
I wonder, would you have asked for a new one?
or would you wear the old until you could no more?
That thought doesn't matter.
I made you a new one.

I tried three patterns,
but none seemed like you.
I finally settled on a scheme that reminded me of the galaxies. 
Maybe...

living life | continuation of heartbreak series | 4

Life moves on. I go to the store, I attend my classes, I try to ignore the looks and whispers. I focus on normal activities, like going to the library to pick up some research books. Teddy and I are working on studying communication for our end-of-quarter project. Winter break is coming up and we have a week before our presentation is due. 
    So there I was, sitting in an empty corner of the library, surrounded by a ton of loose papers. Teddy had class this period, so I told him I’d start on the outlining. He joined me after class. 
    “Mal?” 
    I look up to see Teddy, sporting a black beanie instead of his usual baseball cap. His ski coat dripped from the melting snow outside. 
    “Finally found you!” he said with a laugh. “Picked a pretty secluded table back here. Plus it’s hard to recognize you with your scarf all bundled around your neck.”
    “Did you walk here?”...

On the High Seas | 1

A cool breeze carried the smell of saltwater and seaweed towards Ladell. Colors from all ends of the earth decorated the market. Carts and stands displayed all types of exotic fruits, spices, woven baskets and delicate silks. By mid-afternoon, the square was crowded, making it difficult to stay alert. As Ladell finished her errands in the market, she felt a strange tingling at the back of her neck. On instinct, Ladell knew someone was following her. Yet she didn't feel threatened--the feeling was oddly familiar. Ladell scanned the cobbled street. Whoever was following her knew what they were doing. Ladell quickened her pace.
   
    Parconna was a small island but news traveled fast overseas, especially when it had to do with pirates. Ladell kept a wary lookout as she made her way to the docks. She took shortcuts through alleys, backtracking multiple times, in case her instinct proved true. Ladell was just nearing the docks when a hand pulled...

a bell separates two worlds; one holds rain and reality, the other words of wonder

the door of the shop jingles as you enter.
the red brick walls echo back warmth, chasing away the harshness of the winter rain streaming down the windows.
the grind of the espresso machine projects a comforting hum as the smell of strong coffee fills the store.
steaming mugs of tea are sipped by those too enthralled by their books to notice anything else.
bookshelves, each packed until they can hold no more, tower to the ceiling.
the faded carpet muffles your footsteps as you find a quiet corner, undisturbed by the worries of the world.
the rustle of pages fills your ears as you run your hand along the rows of books. 
your touch lingers on the cover of one. 
worn couches swallow you in comfort as you settle in, cradling the new read in your hands.

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 11 (edited)

Chapter 11: Emery

Emery’s sides ached. Her breathing burned and her ribs were definitely fractured, if not broken.
    “What...made you...so...evil?” Emery gasped. 
    “Determination. I do what’s necessary to keep my power.”
 
   “AUUGH!”
Emery jerked her head up. Now she was alert--that scream did not come from her. She looked to Sutton, who watched her with an amused smile.
    “You hear your neighbor?”
    “Who was that?!” she begged.
    “BRING HIM IN!” Sutton bellowed. A few minutes later, the door opened and a soldier entered, pulling a prisoner behind him. He dragged the prisoner over and locked his arms above him like Emery’s. Once his task was done, the soldier left. Emery stared at the limp boy next to her. Emery’s stomach dropped as she recognized him--it was her brother. 
    “Michael!” Emery cried. She was relieved to know he was alive--then immediately regretted it. 
    “You two have some catching up to...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

On the High Seas

A cool breeze carried the smell of saltwater and seaweed towards Ladell. Colors from all ends of the earth decorated the market. Carts and stands displayed all types of exotic fruits, spices, woven baskets and delicate silks. By mid-afternoon, the square became crowded, overwhelming Ladell's senses, making it difficult to stay alert. As Ladell finished her errands in the market, she felt a strange tingling at the back of her neck. Instinctively, Ladell knew someone was following her, yet she didn't feel threatened--the feeling was oddly familiar. Ladell scanned the cobbled street. Whoever was following her knew what they were doing. Ladell quickened her pace. 
    Parconna was a small island and news travelled fast overseas, especially when it had to do with pirates. Ladell kept a wary lookout as she made her way to the docks. She took shortcuts through alleys, backtracking multiple times, in case her instinct proved true. Ladell was just nearing the docks when a hand...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

On the High Seas

A cool breeze carried the smell of saltwater and seaweed towards Ladell. Colors from all ends of the earth decorated the market. Carts and stands displayed all types of exotic fruits, spices, woven baskets and delicate silks. By mid-afternoon, the square became crowded, overwhelming Ladell's senses, making it difficult to stay alert. As Ladell finished her errands in the market, she felt a strange tingling at the back of her neck. Instinctively, Ladell knew someone was following her, yet she didn't feel threatened--the feeling was oddly familiar. Ladell scanned the cobbled street. Whoever was following her knew what they were doing. Ladell quickened her pace. 
    Parconna was a small island, and news travelled fast overseas--especially when it had to do with pirates. Ladell kept a wary lookout as she made her way to the docks. She took shortcuts through alleys, backtracking multiple times, in case her instinct proved true. Ladell was just nearing the docks when a hand pulled...

Birdsong

my little hummingbird

there's a feeder on my window,
with a lid of shining red.
the crystal liquid inside,
keeps my little hummingbird fed

he comes when I do my school,
I watch him from my desk.
and when he flutters away,
i wonder when he'll come next.

every day he comes,
no matter rain or shine.
I named him pip,
and somehow feel that he is mine.

he flits and chirps,
his wings a colorful blur.
i watch him with a smile,
little pip the hummingbird.
 

writing is so much more than symbols on a paper | FOOTNOTES!

Writing
/ˈrīdiNG/

noun. 

1. the activity or skill of marking coherent words on paper and composing text.
2. the activity or occupation of composing text for publication.


Writing is so much more for me.
I can vividly remember one winter afternoon after school. One of my friends had teased me about the skirt I was wearing. She chastised my bag--it was a little satchel that I kept my books in when I went "adventuring" in the woods behind our house. It was a small thing. A little playground comment. But to me, it hurt so much. I had trouble with the girls my age--none of them ever seemed to want to stay my friend. And this girl's comment hit a little too hard. That was the first time I wrote poetry. It wasn't very good, but it was meaningful to me. I wrote it in a little brown notebook, sitting in my closet. I had used a metaphor of...

growing | continuation of heartbreak series | 3

“Do you want coconut milk in that latte? We have almond milk too,” the coffee barista asked. Her tone was sweet--matching the tone of compassion I had grown used to.
    “Almond milk would be perfect, thanks,” I replied. 
    “I’ll bring that over in a sec!” The barista flashed a warm smile as she turned back into the steaming cloud of coffee. 
    “Where do you want to sit, Mallory?” Teddy asked, adjusting his hat. “Corner table?” 
    “Sure,” I said, smiling. Teddy knew we always sat at the same table to study. As we pulled out our binders, I felt myself begin to relax. That is, until Teddy reminded me of the result of my Social Studies test.
    “Don’t even try to deny it,” he said with a laugh. “I saw it before you turned the paper over--a 76?”
    “Don’t remind me!” I tried to frown, but I couldn’t help laughing with Teddy. “Honestly, I don’t...

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 22

Chapter 22: Owen

Owen was led to a large conference room where five people sat around a half-circle table. 
    “Sergeant Rosadra, thank you,” the man on the far left of the table said. “You may wait outside until further notice.”
    Sergeant Rosadra saluted the man and left Owen alone with the council. Owen turned toward the table nervously.
    “State your name, age, and rank in AIM,” the woman in the middle said coldly. 
    “My name is Owen Scarfex and I am nineteen years old. Took the rank of Private First Class just last year. I was generally a scout and foot soldier for strikes.” 
    A silent agreement must have been going through the middle council woman and the man to her left, Owen thought, because at his response they nodded to each other. The woman in the middle spoke again: “What exactly do you know of the hard drive that AIM has in possession?”
  ...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

On the High Seas

A cool breeze carried the smell of saltwater and seaweed towards Ladell. Colors from all ends of the earth decorated the market. Carts and stands displayed all types of exotic fruits, spices, woven baskets and delicate silks. By mid-afternoon, the square became crowded, overwhelming Ladell's senses, making it difficult to stay alert. As Ladell finished her errands in the market, she felt a strange tingling at the back of her neck. On instinct, Ladell knew someone was following her, yet she didn't feel threatened--the feeling was oddly familiar. Ladell scanned the cobbled street. Whoever was following her knew what they were doing. Ladell quickened her pace. 
    Parconna was a small island, but news travelled fast overseas--especially when it had to do with pirates. Ladell kept a wary lookout as she made her way to the docks. She took shortcuts through alleys, backtracking multiple times, in case her instinct proved true. Ladell was just nearing the docks, when a hand...

my best friend is barely holding on

work/college/life is so different from last year/
last year/my friend could hang out/be social/this year/it's/so/ d i f f e r e n t

shes so tired/she has no time to see friends/or to draw/and read/to write
finger through her colored pencils/through the worn pages of books
she longs for the feel of her computer keys/the glow of the screen/as her characters slowly come to l i f e

her parents are pleased/she is growing up/i am so proud of you/you are doing such a good job/
but her eyes tell a different story/the quivering of her lips/form words/that are never heard/never spoken

my best friend is barely holding on/clutching at the seams/for dear life
s t r e s s drowns her every thought/a n x i e t y weighs down every waking moment

the future is/scaring her/having to do things alone/worries her

she says it's getting better/and it is/but...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

On the High Seas

A cool breeze carried the smell of saltwater and seaweed towards Ladell. Colors from all ends of the earth decorated the market. Carts and stands displayed all types of exotic fruits, spices, woven baskets and delicate silks. By mid-afternoon, the square became crowded, overwhelming Ladell's senses, making it difficult to stay alert. As Ladell finished her errands in the market, she felt a strange tingling at the back of her neck. On instinct, Ladell knew someone was following her. Yet she didn't feel threatened--the feeling was oddly familiar. Ladell scanned the cobbled street. Whoever was following her knew what they were doing. Ladell quickened her pace. 
    Parconna was a small island, but news travelled fast overseas--especially when it had to do with pirates. Ladell kept a wary lookout as she made her way to the docks. She took shortcuts through alleys, backtracking multiple times, in case her instinct proved true. Ladell was just nearing the docks, when a hand...

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 21

Chapter 21: Emery

Emery sat on an empty hospital bed as Sasha rubbed a gel-like ointment on her back. It felt cold against the raw, torn skin. 
    “Don’t...don’t tell anyone about this one, okay?”
    “Oh, honey--”
    “No...please don’t tell them. They already think I can’t do anything right and I made it worse by running off. The other injuries I can handle, but I don’t want them to see this. It’s different…”
Emery felt Sasha’s hand leave her back. Emery turned to see Sasha looking at her. Sasha’s almond-brown eyes showed kindness. No, not kindness, Emery thought, empathy
    “Emery, no one thinks you’re weak or vulnerable,” she said.
    “I still don’t want them to see my back. It’s a reminder, in a way. I don’t want pity because of it.”
    Sasha sighed and looked down. Her straight black hair seemed to frame her face.
    If you really don’t want me to tell...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

On the High Seas

A cool breeze carried the smell of saltwater and seaweed towards Ladell. Colors from all ends of the earth decorated the market. Carts and stands displayed all types of exotic fruits, spices, woven baskets and delicate silks. By mid-afternoon, the square was very crowded, making it difficult to stay alert in. As Ladell finished her errands in the market, she felt a strange tingling at the back of her neck. On instinct, Ladell knew someone was following her. Yet she didn't feel threatened--the feeling was oddly familiar. Ladell scanned the cobbled street. Whoever was following her knew what they were doing. Ladell quickened her pace. 
    Parconna was a small island, but news travelled fast overseas--especially when it had to do with pirates. Ladell kept a wary lookout as she made her way to the docks. She took shortcuts through alleys, backtracking multiple times, in case her instinct proved true. Ladell was just nearing the docks, when a hand pulled...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

On the High Seas

The crowd of people in the market was hard to maneuver in, let alone stay alert. A cool breeze carried the smell of saltwater and seaweed towards Ladell. Colors from all ends of the earth decorated the carts and stands, each displaying exotic fruits and spices, woven baskets and delicate silks. As Ladell made her way through the busy market, occasionally stopping to buy various supplies, she felt a strange tingling at the back of her neck. On instinct, Ladell knew someone was following her. Yet she didn't feel threatened. The feeling was oddly familiar. Ladell scanned the cobbled street, but saw nothing suspicious. Whoever was following her knew what they were doing. Ladell quickened her pace. 
    It was a small island, but news travelled fast overseas--especially when it had to do with pirates. Ladell kept a wary lookout as she made her way to the docks. She took shortcuts through alleys, backtracking more multiple times in order to...

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 20

Chapter 20: Owen

Owen was startled by Emery’s question. It took him a while before he found the right words to answer. He looked at Emery, who sat on his bed. Her eyes, he realized, must have been bright once, full of hope. Now they were dim with heartache, yet a wisdom was mixed in the hazel of her eyes. 
    “All my life, I was lied to...and I believed the lies as well. In my mind, I was maintaining peace, protecting the world from people who sought war. I never doubted AIM’s motive--I never had a reason to. But AIM...they don’t maintain anything but their own power. They make sure no one stands against them. AIM ensures they are the only influence on people. Their true goal isn’t peace, it’s domination.”
    Emery looked down. “So,” she contemplated. “In your guilt, you helped me.”
    “No, not like that. You causedthe guilt. Seeing you stay strong for your...

our story has not ended yet

There is a story not yet told,
not yet written

The prologue is penciled in,
the title loosely decided.

The characters are slowly developing,
finding who they are as the years go by.

Hopes and dreams are s c r i b b l e d in the margins,
and in the footnotes.

We don't know what the future chapters hold.
We don't know how many pages are left.

I know adventures are ahead of us,
m e m o r i e s will be made and cherished.

The ending is unclear,
but the j o u r n e y is one we get to take together. 

I trust our friendship,
I pray it is one that will l a s t.

Even if I don't understand it,
I trust what will happen is best.

But one can h o p e,
that this story has a happy ending.

 

School Paper-- i need a little feedback (message box)

 Communication is the foundation for every form of interaction. Without communication there is no information transfer, education, or relationship with others. Listening plays a vital role in the communication process. But what does it mean to really listen? In his book, ‘Effective Listening,’ Kevin Murphy describes listening as an “accurate perception of what is being communicated” (Effective Listening 11). However, listening is a process that goes deeper than just hearing and understanding. It is a process that involves more than just the ears.  

There are five steps to active listening (IN TEXT CITATION). The first is Receiving. This step is the easiest and most well-known when one thinks of “listening.” Receiving is the start of the conversation, the part where your ears pick up the sounds, and you are aware that words are being spoken. The second step is Attending. Attending is focusing your attention on the sounds. Life is busy and fast-paced, full of many sounds. In order to actively listen, one must separate and select certain noises, sustaining all attention on the selection, blocking out other distractions. Understanding is...

Novel Writing Competition 2020

On the High Seas

The crowd of people in the market was hard to maneuver in, let alone stay alert. Ladell made her way through the busy street, stopping occasionally to buy a few supplies at various stands. Ladell felt a tingling at the back of her neck. She knew someone was following her, but it did not give her a sense of danger. It was strangely familiar. She scanned the street but saw nothing suspicious. Whoever was following her was good. Ladell quickened her pace. 
    It was a small island but news travelled fast overseas, especially when it had to do with pirates. Ladell kept a wary lookout as she made her way to the docks. She took shortcuts through various alleys, backtracking more than once to throw anyone off in case there was a concerned citizen following her. She had just made the last of her errands and was heading back to her ship when a hand pulled her into a...

excerpt from an anxious and exhausted mind

It doesn't feel worth it--to love someone when you're young, with only a hope that you won't be heartbroken later on. There is no certainty. Yet, we continue to love. 

more than just a friend

He is someone who is my friend.
Someone I can be myself around,
where I am unafraid or embarrassed.
Someone who I don't need to impress,
or change my image for.

He is the one who joins in on the stupid games or contests made in the moment.
Where we find little things to keep us busy, 
like catching minnows,
or making paper airplanes,
teaming up in Among Us.

He is the one where we focus on building the friendship first,
not worrying about the relationship that may or may not follow.

He is the one who I have liked for years. 
Even when I thought I liked someone else,
my feelings for him were still there.
He is the one who has liked me for years.
Liked me through my ups and downs,
just as I have liked him through his.

He is the one who I am growing up with. 
Learning to drive at the same time, 
working...

convo in my brain -- calling all wtw writers | message box

my brain
me


that's the third baby name site you've tried
nothing fits yet!
try the fantasy generator--that one is your favorite and has always worked
yea, I guess. But I need more realistic names this time. Not fantasy genre. 
what is this even for?
a project I'm working on writing.
another one! You have got to be joking--you haven't even finished the other one--what's it called?
Traitors and Rebels? That one is still a work in progress and very far from being finished.
huh--Traitors and Rebels. That's what we are calling it?
I don't know! It's a filler title. You know I can't come up with good titles or character names.
that's like the easiest part!
sometimes--right now I am drawing a blank.
oh yea...so what are we even looking for?
a girl name. For the character in my heartbreak story.
are you continuing it!?
If I can come up with a stinkin name that fits!! None of these...

School Paper-- i need a little feedback (message box)

Communication is the foundation for every form of interaction. Listening plays a vital role in laying that foundation. But what really is listening? Kevin Murphy defines listening in his book Effective Listening as an “accurate perception of what is being communicated” (Effective Listening 11). However, listening is a process that goes deeper than just listening and understanding.  

There are five steps to active listening. The first is Receiving. This step is the easiest and most well-known when one thinks of “listening.” Receiving is the start of the conversation, the part where your ears pick up the sounds. The second step is Attending. Attending is focusing your attention of the sounds. Life is busy and fast-paced, full of many sounds. In order to actively listen, one must separate and select certain noises, sustaining all attention on the selection, blocking out other distractions. Understanding is the third step. Listening is not only hearing noises, it is understanding and decoding those noises. There are many barriers...

/hidden secrets of young minds/

sip chocolate milk out of porcelain teacups/pick flowers from fields and weave them into the crown of pretend/believe in the magic of imagination

whisper happily to the plastic stars on your ceiling/dance with us/they beckon/dream under the novas that guard the night/wake with the sun in her bright color/run away with the birds/let your mind soar free among the clouds

the innocence of youth is captivating/sorrows have not yet silenced their voices/they have not yet drowned in reality

Grocery Aisle Romance (beware--it's super cheesy lol) | Part 2

Where is it? I know there's a chocolate box... Eva studied the shelf in front of her. The idea of chocolate cupcakes would not leave her alone. All day she had craved them. A real, moist, chocolatey cupcake--not her burnt excuse for a muffin. A small cough made her suddenly aware of someone behind her. She scootched to the side as a timid voice mumbled,
    "Sorry. Could I just...thanks." 
    Eva's heart leapt to her throat as she recognized the boy next to her. She quickly looked to the ground, afraid she might have just turned as red as the waxy sprinkles on the shelf. She tried to catch her breath. But it was him! The boy from study group! 
All semester she had tried to find the right moment to introduce herself to him. But it never worked. He was quiet, his kind brown eyes hiding behind those floppy curls that bounced when he laughed. He...

Grocery Aisle Romance (beware--it's super cheesy lol) | Part 1

Liam turned down the aisle and froze. There she was. Her red hair fell around her shoulders in messy curls. She was staring at the shelf very intently but her basket was empty. Liam's felt his hands grow cold. He'd seen her at school and was in the same study group. He wanted to talk to her so bad, but had always gotten too nervous.
    "Sorry--could I just...thanks," Liam mumbled as he reached for a bag of chocolate chips.
    The girl stepped aside, her eyes darted to the floor. 
    As Liam reached for the chocolate, he caught a whiff of her shampoo. It smelt like peppermint, with a slight scent of--burned bread? Liam then notices the rim of an apron sticking out from under her coat...and the powder in her hair--was that flour?
    "I'm not very good at baking," the girl said, laughing nervously as her cheeks grew red. 
    Now was his chance!...

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 19

Chapter 19: Emery

“He was in surgery a long time, is he going to be okay?” Emery paced in beside her hospital bed. She was exhausted but the worry of Owen’s well being made her unable to fall asleep. 
    “Sasha said he’ll be fine,” Josh said from the chair by the door of her room. “There were two bullets deep in his shoulder. The bleeding slowed the removal but they're out now.”
    “What about his leg? His ribs?” Emery asked anxiously, pulling a robe over her hospital dress.
    “That one is out too. As for his ribs, the bullets only grazed him.” Josh handed Emery a cup of warm tea. It was late, almost three in the morning. “Please, you need rest. You can see him in the morning,” Josh urged. 
    “I don’t want to sleep, I want to know if he’s okay! I have faith in your girlfriend, Josh, I really do. But it’s been...

dreams scatter across notebook pages

that feeling...the house is dead quiet...but the music from my earbuds drown out that sleepy silence. Night...when the dreams of writers come alive.

the words are gone

I want to write.
Words. Words. Words.
I need them, but they aren't coming. I feel the tingling in my fingertips. A desire to get to my keyboard. I want to write.
I don't have the words.
They are hidden inside me. They haven't woken yet. They are a dream.
I can't remember the dream.
I feel like I should remember it. The feeling of these words are familiar.
I can't describe it.
Because the words are gone.
Words. Words. Words.
Why won't they come?

I long to go out and write. To feel my mind take over and my fingers fly across the keys. But I can't.
The well of words is dry...
The. Words. Are. Gone.

I can only hope they return soon. I hope I remember what I haven't forgotten. 



 

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 18

Chapter 18: Josh

    “Make another loop, Josh ordered the pilot of the halocraft*. “Did we circle that section over there?” Josh’s eyes were glued to the ground below him. He scanned each tree as they flew overhead, searching for any sign that someone was in the forest. Josh had his teams searching all over the Scorch Lands for any trace that one of the rogue squad had escaped after their ambush. He thought back to what the scout had said, thinking maybe he missed some detail. The team had left late Wednesday night, heading toward Bermiah Mines. Josh’s team searched the mines, finding Private Trevont and Tidger’s bodies, but there was no sign of his siblings. His team had stopped searching last Monday. Then, nearly a week later, new hope caused them to start searching again. Intelligence had intercepted frantic transmissions between AIM and prison search guards late Thursday afternoon. There was some reason AIM was searching Cliffside Gorge, and...

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Emery

Emery studied Owen. She didn’t know what to think of him yet, or how far his trust would go. If his actions were a ruse, she stood no chance in beating him in a fight, even if she was at top health. He had a broad and stocky build, which matched his strong jaw. He had brown hair and eyes, which showed a new kind of sympathy, if not a shameful one, to Emery.
    The silence after Emery’s story drove her crazy. Thoughts crowded in, weighing her down. It felt new, to talk to someone about what had happened, but Emery knew she couldn’t share everything. Her pain was her fault, and she needed to bear it alone. 
    “What about you?” Emery asked when she could stand the silence no longer. 
    Owen walked on, thinking a moment before answering. “There’s not much to tell,” he said. “I’m nineteen and don’t have any family to...

Why I Write

Forgetting is Inevitable, Writing Lasts Forever

Writing. Marking symbols on a surface. But it is so much more than just a paper full of markings.

Hieroglyphics, Hanzi, Cretan Scripts, Greek Scrolls. 
Parchments holding moments of history, of meaning, of life.
Saved in order to remember the times that shaped our world.

My writing will never fill a museum, it won't be a form of art.
My writing may not be celebrated, and I may never make my mark on the world.
But I wouldn't want to. I don't need the recognition of man.
I am content with my beat up notebooks and the pages of scribbles.

I write to show truth. I write to warp reality.
Memories, moments. Fantasies, wishes.
I write my dreams with the hope I'll look back and see the innocence of youth. 

I write to show life. To show emotion.
Love, hurt. The good, and the bad.​
Emotions shape us, moments of hurt define us. I write in order to watch growth.

I...

Untitled Dystopian Chapter 5


Chapter 5: Emery

Emery woke with her hand cuffed to the side of the cot. As she sat up, the guard outside deactivated the cuff. Emery slipped her hand from its bonds and rubbed the bruised spot. Her whole body was sore and she couldn’t help smile a little as she remembered why. She knew that she made a useless effort to fight, but she didn’t care. She hoped she broke that guard’s nose. 
    Emery stood. A sharp pain in her ankles caused her knees to buckle a little. Slowly, she sat on the floor of the cot and began to stretch. It helped pass the time as she went through her usual routine. She focused on the stretches in order to stop herself from thinking of the day previous. She repeated the stretches over and over, feeling the pain slowly subside as she worked her muscles. The click of the door opening interrupted her. A guard came in,...

Unlikely Hero | Part 8/8

With each step down the long aisle, Aalina’s stomach grew heavier and heavier. She couldn’t escape this, no matter what she did. Tomorrow she would become queen, then the rest of her life she would be stuck in this castle the rest of her life. The only thought that kept her going was that Odais would save Drake. Maybe she could use her power to pardon him. But even pardoned, she would not be able to spend her life with him. Aalina doubted Galvan would allow her to pardon him. He would be King after all…

As Aalina stepped in front of the altar she found it hauntingly similar to stepping up to a slaughtering block. The court went silent as the priest started his speech. 
        “Honored guests, Royal Lords and Ladies, we welcome you today to this joyous occasion. This celebration of love--”
    Love for Drake, Aalina thought. 
        “--you don’t need a ceremony to have...

Unlikely Hero | Part 7/8

Aalina heard a small knock on her door. “My Lady,” a voice said. “I have your dress for the fitting.” 
        “Come in,” Aalina permitted. She knew it was her wedding dress. There was no escaping the ceremony any longer. A young handmaiden entered, carrying a long white gown. The seamstress followed. They brought the dress to the other side of the room, hanging it over the folding screen. 
        “I hope you like it,” a man’s voice said. Aalina turned to see Sir Galvan at the doorway. “I picked it out myself,” he said, walking towards her. Just his presence scared Aalina, but Sir Galvan was too smart to look threatening in front of others. He masked his overpowering stature with words of love, which made him seem, to those who didn’t know him, a charming knight. He wrapped his calloused hand around Aalina’s small wrists, giving a threatening squeeze. “I can’t wait to see you in the dress,”...

Stone of Jade - the story

me
my brain

usernames...hmm. I hate this part the most.
you can never pick one. then you always change it later.
pfft i know...i'm indecisive. plus i overthink so i wanna make this a good one. 
what about incorporating part o your actual name?
nah...nothing fits. 
what about your middle name? you like that name!
eh idk. Jade doesn't seem like it would fit with anything.
What about something made of Jade. 
Like what...jaded rose...necklace of jade. They seem weird. I like where this is going tho. 
Okay..why not your hobbies? You like art. Try to fit that in.
Still so basic. I know...I'll use a username generator. 
curlygiant, hey you have curly hair that could work.
Yea but i'm not a giant. Kinda the opposite. 
5'4" is not short. 
Short enough--what else. 
there's nothing good. OOH! What about Stone of Jade?
Still seems kinda boring. 
So why not explain the middle name idea.
It's my middle name...but it's also...

Unlikely Hero | Part 6/8

Aalina woke in her palace bed. Her head ached as she tried to remember what had happened. Then it hit her--Drake. She sat up. At once, her handmaidens surrounded her bed asking her “if she needed anything, was she alright?” and other nonsense, but the only thing Aalina cared about was what befell Drake.
One of the handmaidens brought her a glass of water, which Aalina gladly drank. “What happened?” she asked, playing the victim.
        “My lady,” a young handmaiden started, “One of the guards on duty saw you carried off by a vicious creature! A party set off almost at once, towards the Blue Mountains. You were lucky he saw you!”
        “Princess Aalina, I was terrified!” another said. “Sir Galvan led the men himself.”
        “How terribly brave of him,” the first interrupted.
         “Oh yes. Well, they were gone almost all day! Sir Galvan said that when they found the entrance to the cave he snuck in to...

Fall has come to Washington

Finches flit to and from trees. Robins' bobbing heads peak out, beaks holding a wriggling worm, recently plucked from the damp dirt. Squirrels poke their heads from the dirty orange leaves and run across the grass, their furry bodies growing fat from the nuts and berries. A leaf is blown from its branch, reminding of the season to come. The cloudy gray sky foretells the rains of winter are coming. A breeze brings a smell of apples and rotting leaves. Mixed with the wind is a feeling of nostalgia. The feeling of warm, crackling fires, the soft threads of worn sweaters, the feeling of beat up boots and backpacks. Dirty oranges and reds mix with the browns of the trees reminding all creatures that Fall has come. 

Unlikely Hero | Part 5/8 (links to all parts in footnotes)

“I can explain—” Aalina frantically pulled away from Drake’s embrace. She was just as surprised but her confusion turned to panic and fear. Odais lept from where he laid and shielded Aalina. He screeched at Sir Galvan, who raised his sword. Aalina leaped in front of Odais in hope of calming his anger. 
        "Odais… shhh,” Aalina whispered, trying to soothe her pet, but Odais didn’t stop growling.
        “You don’t need to explain princess—I think it’s clear.” Sir Galvan said, his face was red with anger. He turned towards Drake. His eyes shone in malice.
Aalina trembled in her terror. “Galvan, please…”
        “You’re bewitched, Princess.” He said arrogantly. “The sorcerer has you under a spell.”
        “I’m not a sorcerer!” Drake yelled. 
         Galvan, stop!” Aalina cried, stepping between the two men. "You know that isn't true."
         “That’s what the Kingdom will hear and believe--the truth would confuse them,”...

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 16 (links to all chapters in footnotes)

Chapter 16: Owen

The orders came the next day. The girl was to be transported to the nearest prison, which was about seventy miles past Cliffside Gorge. It was as if fate was playing a game with Owen. Out of all the soldiers in his squadron, he and Andrew were the two chosen to accompany Thompson in the transport. 
    Owen felt so ashamed the next morning as the prison guard locked the girl’s feet into the floor of the truck, as well as cuffing her arms. They had given her a new jumpsuit and the blood had been washed from her skin, but that was the only thing fresh about her. Her eyes were red and she gazed into space as if dead. All the fight had left her. Andrew stayed in the back while Owen rode in the front with Thompson. As they drove, one thought kept pressing into Owen’s mind. He had to help the girl. Owen...

Unlikely Hero | Part 4/8

Aalina clutched the glass griffin and made her way to the top of one of the towers. She stumbled over the spiraling stairs, suppressing the sob in her throat. With a strong push she opened the large wooden door and stepped onto the roof of the tower. She had come here once or twice before when she needed an escape. Here she could sit, away from the bustle of the royal court. She could see over the castle wall from the top of the tower, and all the green fields and small villages that surrounded the castle. 

Aalina turned the sculpture over in her hand. She had never woken Odais so close to the castle before. She had always done it where she was sure no one would see--but she didn’t have time. She needed to talk to Drake. She squeezed her eyes shut as she crashed the sculpture against the stones of the tower. In a swirl of purple...

Unlikely Hero | Part 3/8

The next morning Aalina was eager for the end of her lessons. She wanted to go riding again, and not just on her horse. But before she could, the king called her to the throne room. 
        “Uncle? You wished to speak with me?” Aalina found King Arnott in council with Sir Galvan, the knight who she had run into the night previously. Sir Galvan smiled, bowing his head to her as she drew closer. 
        “Ah, dearest niece,” the king said. “I have excellent news! You are to be betrothed!” King Arnott smiled proudly.
        “Betrothed?” Aalina exclaimed. “But uncle, I’m not yet sixteen. How can I be betrothed?”
        “Don’t worry, dear, the wedding won’t happen for a while. No need to get upset…”
        “And if I wish to decline?” Aalina pressed.
        “I am sure you won’t when you hear who has most graciously asked for your hand. The esteemed captain of the border guard--the king...

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Emery

It was unlikely the Liberation Council would accept Sutton’s deal. Emery knew that. She knew death was inevitable, but she had hoped. She hoped deep down that maybe, just maybe, the council would accept and they’d be on their way home. She had hoped the council would rescue them and this nightmare would finally end. Emery didn’t realize how much she had hoped until it was unattainable. 
    Emery buried her face in her arms. She was now responsible for the death of her friends and her brother. All she did was hurt the people she loved. Slowly, she pushed herself off the wall and kneeled over Michael’s body. She was shivering, yet she didn’t feel cold.
    This must be a dream, she thought. Michael wasn’t dead--he couldn’t be dead. He was full of laughter, always ready with a new joke whenever you saw him. He got serious during missions but...

Prom Under the Stars

My dress would be blue, my favorite color. It would be that perfect length, not too long, not too short. And, of course, it'd have pockets. My curly hair would, for once, perfect--it's a dream prom, it could happen. I'd wear white vans, cause heels are too uncomfortable to walk in.

It'd take place on a pier, over the ocean. The music would be sweet but upbeat. Food would range from Street Taco trucks to Italian Gelato. Strings of light would brighten the boardwalk. There wouldn't be a ceiling...the stars would be our roof. Everyone would know how to dance. For once, teenage awkwardness would disappear.

I'd see him. He'd leave his circle of friends and come up to me, taking my hand in his. We'd dance, just like in Cinderella. And he would actually talk to me...like, really talk...about everything. I wouldn't be nervous or scared. I wouldn't overthink everything I say. We'd dance all night, never growing tired of...

All Talk

Strange Circumstances

Uh oh
what do you mean "uh oh"
um...
Please tell me you're joking. We just fixed the last problem.
I didn't mean to!
Didn't mean to what? 
Just...I can fix it--don't turn around.
This better not be like last weeks "uh oh"--you have NO idea how difficult that was to explain to the authorities!
No--Stop! I said don't turn...around. 
WHAT THE HECK IS THAT!
I'll fix it, relax.
 

Unlikely Hero | Part 2/8

Princess Aalina found out what Drake meant about a week later. She returned to her room after a frustratingly long lesson. She felt cooped up. As if she was suffocating from the bustle and duty of the court. In a burst of exasperation, she flung a dress across her room. As if in slow motion, Aalina watched helpless as a fold of the dress swiped across her writing table, taking the glass creature with it.  

Aalina watched in horror as her gift crashed against the floor of her room. The glass shattered. Then something happened that Aalina would never forget for the rest of her life. Purple smoke seemed to come from the shards, swirling the glass pieces around and around. In one last cloud of smoke a huge furry being with large, golden wings appeared in her room. Aalina screamed, frightened at the sight of the large creature. The creature too was taken aback. It stumbled and thumped against...

Unlikely Hero | Part 1/8

Once Upon a Time, in a distant land, was a kingdom known now to only a few. The history of this Kingdom is a sad tale, and some scholars say it is completely made up, for it breaks almost every rule of fantasy. It is up to you to believe it or dismiss it. 

A great King ruled this faraway land. His name was King Arnoldus. Arnoldus was a mighty warrior and a powerful leader. He ruled the country with a steady hand. In his court was the Sorceress Jesmaine. Jesmaine helped the king win many wars and defeat many enemies. She was the key that locked  Arnoldus’  rule. Without me, she thought, the kingdom would fall.This thought consumed Jesmaine, tricking her into the belief she was entitled to rule, entitled to become queen. But to her horror, King Arnoldus married a common village girl. And when the queen gave birth to a little girl, the Sorceress Jesmaine was...

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 1 (my first story!)

I'll start with background first. I started this two summers ago and have only shared it with a few people. But I am slowly collecting more chapters to this novel (can I call it that?) than I thought I would at first. I'm sharing it here because one, I need fresh eyes to help give feedback and two, because I am really proud of this and want to share it!

Since it's been the one continuous piece I've been working on since I started writing (wow--looking back this is what got me into writing!), the plot builds up. It is still a work in progress so please give feedback! It is very appreciated! I also don't have a title so any suggestions are welcome. Also, I am not set on the names yet. Suggestions are open for that as well!!

 I already published a few of my chapters, HOWEVER, I just went back and rewrote all I have in a...

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Owen

Owen couldn’t decide which was worse, the Hargrove Sutton killed just the boy or that they left his body lying there for the rest of the day. Instead of training, Owen was assigned a security shift as punishment for skipping out on drills. He watched the many screens but found himself drawn to the few on the bottom left. Three screens were dedicated to her, and Owen couldn’t bring himself to look away. For a long time, she lay on the ground next to the body. She had her head on her stomach and shook as she cried. A few hours later, it seemed her tears ran dry. Now, she just leaned against the wall opposite, hugging her knees close to her chest, staring at the body in front of her. 
    Owen’s punishment could have been worse, but Thompson vouched for him. In truth, Owen thought he would prefer a harsher punishment. He had to...

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Emery

The next day, or what might have been the next day--Emery was beginning to merge them together, unable to tell how long it had been since their capture--she woke from a restless unconsciousness to the door opening again. The lock rattled as Sutton and another soldier entered. Instead of making Emery watch Michael be beaten, or vice versa, Sutton casually walked to Michael and unlocked the chains that held him. He then unlocked Emery’s chains. She dropped to her knees at the sudden release, landing on the cold, damp concrete. She felt the rough floor, her mind racing as to why they were released. Could the council have agreed to the deal? Emery massaging her shoulders and wrists, stealing a glance at her brother. Michael barely stood, but was able to help Emery to her feet and into his embrace. Emery could tell by his eyes he wa equally confused as she was. 
    Sutton walked toward the...

YOU in threes

Me in Threes

Three quirks or idiosyncrasies.
I had to look up what an idiosyncrasy was XD
  • I almost never wear matching socks
  • I am a very organized person but my room is always super messy
  • I love getting wet from the rain
Three communities to which you belong (these can be unusual).
  • WTW! *in snape voice* ObViousLy
  • do fandoms count as communities?
  • #OtterFam (I'm running out of ideas haha)
Three adjectives your peers would use to describe you.
Because of a communications class I'm taking for school I had these responses already :)
  • gentle
  • excited about life
  • bright personality (thanks chasing sunsets xD)

Three adjectives your family would use.
  • talks to fast
  • random ideas
  • I was going to ask my sister but she's still sleeping *wake up Wishing on Dandelions :)*
Three adjectives you would use.
Well...I hope I come across as
  • welcoming
  • encouraging
  • fun to be around
Three things about you that very few people know.
  • I love to read...

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Owen

The file held every answer Owen had been asking himself since the protest. His eight-year-old mind had muddled almost all the details. He had tricked himself into believing what he needed to believe. Now, as he read the truth, it started to make sense. All these years he had thought AIM was protecting the peace--they were stopping the protesters from stating a war. But it was AIM who had started the war. All these years, Owen had been working for the same people who had murdered his family. 
    But, AIM had changed, hadn’t it? It’s been almost eleven years. They can’t be that bad….AIM works to uphold peace. Their means of maintaining what they created might not be the best way, but it works doesn’t it? Owen sat for a long time in the small record-closet until the sound of the dinner bell rang, but even through dinner his thoughts raced. 
    “Scarfex?”
    “Huh?” Owen...

The Trinket (edited)

I was made from a lump of iron. The heat of the fire and the hammering of the tools slowly forged me into the shape I am today. My shape is in the eye of the beholder; some think I am a bird, to others I am a dragon. To the Collector, I am a prized possession--one of a kind.

I live in a small cottage, hidden deep in a forest. From my spot of the shelf I can see everything: the sun shining through the window as it rises each morning, the other trinkets that litter the floor on various tables and shelves, and the Collector himself. A wise old man who takes company only with his trinkets, keeping them clean and shining.

The Collector keeps all sorts of objects. Teapots he boasts are from the Queen of England, jars from the ancient Aztec Empires, and medals from the great generals of past wars.

I see the Collector, from...

Dusty Floorboards

Dusty Floorboards
Creaking steps
Wooden floors

Thumb latched doors 
Groaning open
Revealing empty rooms

Those rooms weren’t always empty
They once held happiness
They once held laughter
Shelves were once filled with children's toys and games
The walls covered in bright color and light

But children grow up
They move away
The shelves stand empty
The toys and games tossed aside long ago
Colors fade and shadows overcome

A visitor opens the door
A stranger sees the dusty floorboards
The grown up remembers what it used to hold
For they were once the child

They once played in that room
The colors and light lives only in their memories
The happiness and laughter echo in their mind
Of a childhood
Long gone
But never forgotten

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Owen

Throughout the day, Owen couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt. All day he couldn’t stop thinking about what Emery was going through as he walked freely in the crisp outdoors. It wasn’t like an annoying song--those you can flush out with a different annoying song. His thoughts haunted him, bringing back doubts he thought he had cleared years ago. He was uneasy all day. It was the worst during training. Owen had target practice that afternoon. At each bullet, pieces of old rubber dummies would fly off. At each blow, Owen was overwhelmed with a feeling of murder and not protection, like it had before. Owen aimed his shotgun at the chest of his dummy and pulled the trigger. As the shot fired, memories flooded back--memories Owen had tried to push from his mind for years. 
    
“For the peace of the people!”
    “PROTECTION IS NOT THE SAME AS PEACE!”
    The voices...

Writers of WTW (inspired by Coolgirl2020)

"Well folks, here I am again, Roger Delansson, for another feature!"
        "Roger! I thought I was going to say that line! You started last time!"
"Oops! My bad, Jen!"
       "Now you introduced me!"
"But they don't know who you are! Just re-introduce yourself!"
        "Roger, you are wasting time. Just...*sigh* Sorry about that! This is Jen Harrison! Today we are looking at Stone of Jade!! Well Roger, who is this writer?"
"Stone of Jade...Hmmm...Let me check the records. Aha! She joined at the end of May, in the middle of quarantine. Wow. Only four months and this girl is obsessed. Writing streaks, poems, contests. She has written almost 145 pieces!"
        "Don't forget why we are doing this feature. Stone of Jade also just passed a HUNDRED AND FIFTY followers!! If that's not a cause for celebration, I don't know what is!"
"Jen, what about birthdays?"
        "What?"
"Don't you celebrate birthdays?"
        "Yes I celebrate--Roger! It's just an expression. Moving on! It...

Warmth of Fairies' Magic

“Shh, come on. I don’t want to wake Destec.”
Ellie got up slowly and gave a small yawn. 
    “Is something wrong?”
    “No, no,” Henry said with a mischievous smile. “You’ll see, come on!”
    Henry led her through the trees into an open glade. Tall grass spread across the hill, swaying in the gentle breeze. 
    "Oh!” Ellie gasped. “Look at the stars!” she said gazing up at the night sky. She took a step forward, still looking up. “You can’t see this many from the castle!”
Henry laughed, “that’s not what I wanted to show you.”
    Henry took Ellie’s hand and ran towards the center of the field. They pushed through the tall grass, leaving a small trail behind. Then, from that trail rose hundreds of shining lights. The small lights shimmered and glowed.
    “Fairies!” Ellie gasped. She clutched Henry’s arm in excitement. He laughed as she watched in awe of the thousands of fairies rising...

How to Break a T.A's Heart

"Do you like coming to school here? Is it hard to adjust from public?"
    "I like it here cause I don't get bullied," the little boy says as he shifts a backpack that seems to be doubled his size onto his shoulders.
How to break a T.A's heart: by saying something like that. 

Why do people bully? Why don't people stand up against it more often? And who on earth would dare to bully this little middle schooler? 
School's hard enough without the torment from other classmates. I wonder if anybody stood up for him...or did they all just watch? Suddenly wish I went to his school so I could stand up for him. 

I realize how lucky I am to have been able to avoid bullying in high school. Sure, I had my share of harsh words from classmates, but that was in third grade. Words start hitting a lot deeper when you get to middle school,...

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Emery

It was a new interrogator this time, a younger man with dirty blond hair and a scruffy beard. He seemed to enjoy this session. He seemed to take the anger AIM had against her. Emery smiled to herself, they brought in the muscle when negotiations didn’t work. 
    “JUST GIVE UP THE CODES!” the interrogator yelled.
    “NO!” Emery wasn’t silent this time. Her jaw exploded in pain as his fist made contact. 
    “No one’s going to help you if that’s what you’re waiting for. It will be easier for you if you talk.”
    “I’m not telling you anything,” Emery hissed. The interrogator struck again, the coppery taste of blood tickled Emery’s tongue. 
    “We’ll get it out of you NO MATTER WHAT! You might save some blood if you tell us,” the interrogator leaned close to Emery’s face. 
    Emery spat, her bloody saliva stuck to the guards cheek, splattering his eye. The interrogator...

little box of treasures

As I pack my chest of treasures
my mind wanders far
wondering if one day
I'll remember what it was for

will I ever unpack this small box
and go through the memories it holds
will I read these cards and letters
when I am wrinkly and old

will I remember all the memories
I, right now, hold dear
will I ever read these poems
I wrote with flowing tears

will I see this box of treasures
and think it all as junk
or will I see the things I cherished
and pack them safer in a trunk

these pictures I am saving
of the true friends that I adore
or will their faces be forgotten
will the old jokes be no more

there is a photo-box high upon a shelf
packed with things I hold dear
letters of heartache
and letters of deepest fears

there are crumpled manuscripts of unfinished stories
secret poems of heartfelt words
trinkets won at...

Historical Fiction Competition 2020

End of the Nineteenth Century

Calme-toi Lydie! Take a breath before you tell me your news!” Lydie’s mother said from where she sat peeling potatoes for their dinner.
        Lydie tried to calm herself, but she felt as if she would burst from excitement.
        “Maman! Theo and Rafael asked to take Adelaide and me to the fair tonight!”
        “To l'Exposition Univeselle! How did they get tickets?” Lydie’s mother asked.
        “Maman, you know the boys have been working on the Eiffel Tower for the last year or so. They got the tickets through one of the constructors. Please, may I go?”
        “You'll have to ask your father, but I doubt he will let you go. You know he has been against the tower from the beginning--”
        “What’s this?” Lydie’s father asked, entering the kitchen. 
        “Adelaide and I have tickets to the World’s Fair tonight! The Eiffel Tower is finally finished, they say it is the archway to the fair. Wouldn’t it...

Historical Fiction Competition 2020

End of the Nineteenth Century

Calme-toi Lydie! Take a breath before you tell me your news!” Lydie’s mother said from where she sat peeling potatoes for their dinner.
        Lydie tried to calm herself, but she felt as if she would burst from excitement.
        “Maman! Theo and Rafael asked to take Adelaide and me to the fair tonight!”
        “To l'Exposition Univeselle! How did they get tickets?” Lydie’s mother asked.
        “Maman, you know the boys have been working on the Eiffel Tower for the last year or so. They got the tickets through one of the constructors. Please, may I go?”
        “You'll have to ask your father, but I doubt he will let you go. You know he has been against the tower from the beginning--”
        “What’s this?” Lydie’s father asked, entering the kitchen. 
        “Adelaide and I have tickets to the World’s Fair tonight! The Eiffel Tower is finally finished, they say it is the archway to the fair. Wouldn’t it...

A Reminder of the Threat

Emery woke with a start, clutching for the strap around her neck. Even as she reached for it, she knew it would not be there. The hard drive was gone. Taken by AIM. She didn't know what was worse. It being gone, or what hung in its place.

A large pit in her stomach formed as her fingers closed against a cold sheet of metal. An army dog tag hung loosely on a thin chain. She unclasped the haunting slip of metal and held it in her hand carefully. The light of the moon shone through her window, illuminating the tag just enough for her to read the name. But she didn't need the moon's light to know what was on it. Rosadra, Michael, 586203, it read. It was her brother's dog tag. And it was her fault she had it. 

Although it had been several months since her brother's death, it still haunted her. You don't easily...

Traitors and Rebels: Chapters 7 & 8

Chapter 7: Emery
Emery sat in her cell, utterly broken. AIM had used the only thing she had held onto against her. The thought of trying to delay AIM for the others kept her going, but AIM was right, Emery realized, she had failed. 
    Emery laid on the cot, her mind wandering to brother. Richardson, or whatever the interrogator said his name was, had eluded to the fact that her whole squad was dead. But she had seen Michael taken into one of AIM’s trucks just as she had. She wondered if he was dead already. Nothing was stopping AIM from killing either her or her brother. Emery assumed she was still alive because AIM still thought she knew how to open the hard drive. She wondered if it was still worth it. She didn’t care if AIM killed her.
    
That night, Emery awoke very late from her recurring nightmares: running as hard as she could, but...

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Owen

When Owen checked in the next day he couldn’t figure out why everyone was tense. It was only when he met with Matt and Andrew in training when he found out why.
    “Right into his nose, poor guy. He couldn’t get it to stop bleeding. She definitely broke it.”
    “Who are you talking about?” Owen asked.
    “The girl--Emery I think her name is. She broke one of the sergeants noses! You were lucky she chose to flee not fight at the mines,” Matt said.
    “Ha, lucky, sure,” Owen muttered. “What are they doing with her?”
    “She’s in another round of interrogation at the moment. Ol’ Richardson couldn’t get a lot of information out of her this morning. They’re doing everything to try and break her. You should’ve seen the monitors after lunch. She had a split lip and her nose was bleeding. I’m surprised she’s lasted this long, she’s only seventeen.”
    “Seventeen?” Andrew said, surprised....

Unbiased Anthropology

Yellav Tigaks

Snakes of water run through this land. The trees dip down into open fields full of red and yellow bulbs, which burst open as the sun warms them. This dip in the ground is low compared to the rocks that rise up all around it. Shining flats of undrinkable water surround this area, broken only by scattered rocks and trees that jut out. Strange, furry heads peek out from the weeds that litter this water. Arched, finned fish jump from the rippling waves. Rounded rocks, contrasting the jagged cliffs, scatter over the strips of land that touch both grass and sea. The sky seemed so clear and fresh. It was often clouded by rain heavy carriers, but now, it seemed new. That was the first time we saw this new land. The second time, you wouldn't recognize it. 

Looking closer, the water that twisted through the trees is full of rocks and logs. Bulbs of color don't bloom all the...

the hardest part of writing

    "Lydia?"
    I glance up absentmindedly. My fingers continue to type, even though I'm not looking at my computer screen. "Ya?"
    "I have an idea..."
    Missy has my full attention now. I pause my music. "What's up?"
    "So I wanna write a story."
    I couldn't help but smile. My sister was very talented, especially when it came to writing songs. I had included her in a group chat with some other girls for short stories and she had surprised us all with her talent for flash fiction too. I was excited for her. 
      "It's about this girl..."
    As Missy tells me her idea I become more excited. She has a solid idea! I give her a few suggestions and go back to my computer. 
    "This is a stupid idea, isn't it," Missy huffs.
    Oh no, I think. Don't think that so...

Historical Fiction Competition 2020

End of the Nineteenth Century

Calme-toi Lydie! Take a breath before you tell me your news!” Lydie’s mother said from where she sat peeling potatoes for dinner.
        Lydie tried to calm herself, but she felt as if she would burst from excitement.
        “Maman! Theo and Rafael asked to take Adelaide and me to the fair tonight!”
        “To l'Exposition Univeselle! How did they get tickets?” Lydie’s mother asked.
        “Maman, you know the boys have been working on the Eiffel Tower for the last year or so. They got the tickets through one of the constructors. Please, may I go?”
        “You'll have to ask your father, but I doubt he will let you go. He has been against the tower from the beginning--”
        “What’s this?” Lydie’s father asked as he entered the kitchen. 
        “Adelaide and I have tickets to the World’s Fair tonight! The Eiffel Tower is finally finished, they say it is the archway to the fair. Wouldn’t it be ...

Lament of a T.A.

How strange. How different. To look out over the classroom and see the kids spread out, masks covering their faces, showing only the tired eyes of sleep deprived students. The day starts too early, especially for math.

As I write, I hear the teacher explaining order of operations, finding x, division. It's a reminder of how easy elementary math was, although it seemed so hard at the time. Our brains learn quickly, yet still drag during homework. 

Minds wander out the window, back to the taste of summer freedom. It was over too soon. 

Stuck here. Surrounded by papers needed to be graded, red pens, calculators. This is harder than it looks. It is still way too early for math.

 

lines from a poem before my ink went dry

the frost melts/giving way to the light/earth grows greener each day/full plants of spring/the colors of summer/ode to the sun sweet blackberries that fall off the stalk at the smallest touch/ode to the juice that stains your fingers/to the burst of warmth as your teeth break the fragile skin/the flavor tickles your tongue/ode to the berries left on the stalk/ode to the birds of the air/this is the offering left for you/ode to the flowers that grow strong/and the petals that give color to the earth/ode to the vegetables that grow in the dirt/ and the glorious rays of sun which helps them grow/ode to the days that stay long/and to the laughter of children/ode to the stars that shine their light/and to the moon who guards us/ode to the old and the new/ode to summer 

Historical Fiction Competition 2020

End of the Nineteenth Century

Calme-toi Lydie! Take a breath before you tell me your news!” Lydie’s mother said from where she sat peeling potatoes for dinner.
        Lydie tried to calm herself, but she felt as if she would burst from excitement.
        “Maman! Theo and Rafael asked to take Adelaide and me to the fair tonight!”
        “To l'Exposition Univeselle! How did they get tickets?” Lydie’s mother asked.
        “Maman, you know the boys have been working on the Eiffel Tower for the last year or so. They got the tickets through one of the constructors. Please, may I go?”
        “You'll have to ask your father, but I doubt he will let you go. He has been against the tower from the beginning--”
        “What’s this?” Lydie’s father asked as he entered the kitchen. 
        “Adelaide and I have tickets to the World’s Fair tonight! The Eiffel Tower is finally finished, they say it is the archway to the fair. Wouldn’t it be ...

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 3 & 4 (my first story!)

Chapter 3: Emery

Emery knew it was only a matter of time before she was dead. Dead. Just like Jack and Chris. She couldn’t grasp the idea. How were they dead? Why were they dead? They had a plan. It had all gone to plan. Why didn’t it work? They failed. Dead. Dead. Soon to be dead. Soon to be dead. Their little team was cut in half. 
    The pain was unbearable. Emery knew that the soldier in front of her had seen them too. Was that why he kept glancing at her? Did he realize how much it hurt? 
    Emery felt like she was being suffocated. She tried sorting through the facts. The one thing she kept coming back to was how stupid they had been. They should’ve just followed their orders. Jack and Chris had trusted her. They were only brought into this plan because they were Michael’s closest friends. And Michael was her brother. Michael...

Unbiased Anthropology

Yellav Tigaks

Snakes of water run through this land. The trees dip down into open fields full of red and yellow bulbs, which burst open as the sun warms them. This dip in the ground is low compared to the rocks that rise up all around it. Shining flats of undrinkable water surround this area, broken only by scattered rocks and trees that jut out of it. Strange furry heads peek out from the weeds that litter this water. Arched finned fish jump from the rippling waves. Rounded rocks, contrasting the jagged cliffs, scatter over the strips of land that touch both grass and sea. The sky seemed so clear and fresh. It was often clouded by rain heavy carriers. But now, it seemed new. That was the first time we saw this new land. The second time, you wouldn't recognize it. 

Looking closer, the water that twisted through the trees is full of rocks and logs. Bulbs of color don't bloom...

Traitors and Rebels: Chapter 2 (my first story!)

Chapter 2: Owen

Owen shifted in his seat in the back of a large truck. He was with five other soldiers on a strike mission in the old Bermiah Mines. The heat was getting to him, the gear felt hot and heavy as they sat in the dark. A day earlier they had intercepted radio frequency from an unlisted vehicle in the Scorch Lands. A small team of rebels were contacting alliances. From the transmissions, intel assumed that they were retrieving the hard drive that was rumored essential to the outcome of the war. AIM sent uncoded transmissions to the team, feigning alliance and intel that an extraction team would be ready to meet them at the mines. All day, Owen’s team had laid in wait. Owen was just getting to the point of tearing off his helmet when the truck began to move. The fresh air, if you could even call it fresh, of the mine shafts energized...

Historical Fiction Competition 2020

End of the Nineteenth Century

Calme-toi Lydie! Take a breath before you tell me your news!” Lydie’s mother said from where she sat peeling potatoes for dinner.
        Lydie tried to calm herself, but she felt as if she would burst from excitement.
        “Mère! Theo and Rafael asked to take Adelaide and me to the fair tonight!”
        “To l'Exposition Univeselle! How did they get tickets?” Lydie’s mother asked.
        “Maman, you know they’ve been working on the Eiffel Tower for the last year or so. They got the tickets through one of the constructors. Please, may I go?”
        “You'll have to ask your father, but I doubt he will let you go. He has been against the tower from the beginning--”
        “What’s this?” Lydie’s father asked as he entered the kitchen. 
        “Adelaide and I have tickets to the World’s Fair tonight! The Eiffel Tower is finally finished, they say it is the archway to the fair! Wouldn’t it be magnifiqueto...

to the late night writers...

To the late night writers,
whose ideas come fast when the sky grows dark.
When the world is silent, asleep in the last hours of the day,
when all is quiet, except for the clicking of the keyboard,
except for the scribbling of your pen. 

Does the flashlight illuminate your characters? Does your plot glow from the light of your computer screen? 

To the late night writers,
I like to think of you,
I know there are others out there. 
I wish you fast fingers, full ideas, perfect plots.
Don't get distracted by the busyness of daylight,
the notifications pulling you out of the world your building.

Don't stop writing, I beg you. Write down every idea, every character that is inside you. Some you will not use, but do not throw them away. Tuck them in a folder to save for the nights when the inspiration finally hits.

To the late night writers,
Use the night.
Bring your stories...

smile, darling (edited)

     
          "smile, darling, don't let them see your tears," Deceit said.
          "smile, love, stop your lips from trembling," Deceit urged.
          "smile, dearest, don't give yourself away," Deceit warned.  

          "stay selfless, darling, let go and forget," Deceit persuaded. 
          "stay selfless, love, be happy for them," Deceit coerced.
          "stay selfless, love, leave your feelings at the door," Deceit advised.


          "no, darling, don't believe those lies," Truth implored.
          "no, love, don't hide your heart," Truth pleaded.
          "no, dearest, it doesn't make you weak," Truth uttered.
         
          "it's alright, darling, just let it all out," Truth encouraged.
          "it's alright, love, cry for however long you need," Truth sympathized.
          "it's alright, dearest, this is what makes us human," Truth assured.

darling, emotions make you who you are.
love, it would be dull without the tears of...

Historical Fiction Competition 2020

End of the Nineteenth Century

Calme-toi Lydie! Eat some breakfast before you tell me your news!” 
Lydie took a breath and sipped her coffee. She felt as if she would burst from excitement.
    “Mère! Theo and Rafael asked to take Adelaide and me to the fair tonight!”
    “To l'Exposition Univeselle? How did they get tickets?” Lydie’s mother asked, turning from the stove. 
    “Maman, you know they’ve been working on the Eiffel Tower for the last year or so. They got the tickets through one of the constructors. Please, may I go?”
    “You'll have to ask your father, but I doubt he will let you go. He has been against the tower from the beginning.”
    “What’s this?” Lydie’s father asked as he entered the kitchen. 
    “Adelaide and I have tickets to the World’s Fair tonight! The Eiffel Tower is finally finished, they say it is the archway to the fair! Wouldn’t it be magnifique to see?!”
    “You wish to see...

Historical Fiction Competition 2020

End of the Nineteenth Century

Calme-toi Lydie! Eat some breakfast before you get too excited!” 
    Lydie took a breath and sipped her coffee. She felt as if she would burst from excitement.
    “Mère! Theo and Rafael asked to take Adelaide and me to the fair tonight!”
    “To l'Exposition Univeselle? How did they get tickets?” Lydie’s mother asked, turning from the stove. 
    “Maman, you know they’ve been working on the Eiffel Tower for the last year or so. They got the tickets through one of the constructors. Please, may I go?”
    “Lydie, you know it is not up to me. You can ask your father, but I doubt he will let you go. He has been against the tower from the beginning.”
    “Beginning of what?” Lydie’s father asked as he entered the kitchen. 
    “Adelaide and I have tickets to the World’s Fair tonight! I was hoping you would let me go! The Eiffel Tower is finally finished, they say it...

Historical Fiction Competition 2020

End of the Nineteenth Century


Calme-toi Lydie! Eat some breakfast before you get too excited!” 
        Lydie took a breath and sipped her white coffee, eating a few pieces of fruit before she tried telling her mother the news. Lydie felt as if she would burst from excitement.
        “Mère! Theo and Rafael have tickets to the fair tonight! They want to take Adelaide and me!”
        “To l'Exposition Univeselle? How did they get tickets?” Lydie’s mother asked, turning from the stove. 
        “Maman, you know they’ve been working on the Eiffel Tower for the last year or so. They got the tickets through one of the constructors who couldn’t go. Please, may I go?”
        “Lydie, you know it is not up to me. You can ask your father, but I doubt he will let you go. That would be a very late night and you know he thinks you are too young for Theodore to start courting you.”
        Lydie felt her cheeks...

Frosty Breath Stands Still, Waiting for Fresh Starts

Crisp air blows its way through the leaf-strewn trees,
golden leaves are sent spiraling to the barren ground.
The sun grows cold and distant,
dimly warming the last of the summer flowers.
Clouds of frost are seen in the breath of red-cheeked children. 
Yellow school buses and black tar contrast the deep red trees and clear skies.
Pumpkins begin to ripen,
apples are plucked from their branches.
The fresh smell of cold mornings foretell winter's arrival.
The oranges and scarlets of the earth will soon be covered in fresh coats of white paint.
Sweaters and scarves are pulled out of the attic,
boots and mittens are dusted off.
The seasons are turning,
new beginnings are coming.
Hold your breath in anticipation dearest,
watch the beauty unfold.

Frosty Breath Stands Still, Waiting for Fresh Starts

Crisp air blows its way through the leaf-strewn trees, scattering golden crisps to the ground. The sun grows cold, dimly warming the last of the summer flowers. Clouds of frost are seen in the breath of red cheeked children on their way to school. The yellow buses and black tar contrast the deep red trees and clear skies. Pumpkins begin to ripen, apples are plucked from their branches. The fresh smell of cold mornings foretell winter's arrival. The oranges and reds will soon be covered in fresh coats of white paint. Sweaters and scarves are pulled out of the attic, boots and mittens are dusted off. The seasons are turning, new beginnings are coming. Hold your breath in anticipation, watch the beauty unfold.

snippet of a pirate story I'm writing (edited)

“It’s caught in the net!” the first-mate of the pirate ship yelled. “Pull harder!”
    The crew yanked hard at the ropes, which seemed five times heavier than the normal load of fish.
    “PULL!” First-mate yelled at the crew.
The men were exhausted, but their efforts soon paid off. With one last heave, the net broke through the surface. It flopped over the side of the ship and onto the deck as the crew stared wide-eyed at the ensnared creature. The creature flailed and fought at the ropes that bound it; its gray skin, seaweed-like hair, and emerald scales shimmered in the sunlight. The crew backed away from the net they had pulled aboard when they realized what they had caught. This crew of blood-thirsty pirates, of strong and ruthless killers fell silent--all scared of this one creature.
    “That’s no fish,” one pirate muttered. 
    “We’ve brought the anger of Poseidon against us now if we hadn’t before...”...

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Creature of Fear

“It's caught in the net!” First-mate yelled. “Harder!”
    The crew yanked at the ropes, which seemed five times heavier than a normal load of fish. The men were exhausted, but their efforts soon paid off. The net flopped onto the deck as the crew stared wide-eyed at the ensnared creature: its gray skin, seaweed-like hair, and emerald scales shimmered in the sun.
    “That’s no fish..." 
    “We’ve brought the anger of Poseidon against us...”
    “WHAT. IS. THAT?!” Captain bellowed. Silence fell.
First-mate anxiously mopped his forehead as he stepped aside, revealing what lay behind him. His voice shook, "A mermaid.”
 

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Creature of Fear

“It's caught in the net!” First-mate yelled. “Harder!”
    The crew yanked at the net, which seemed five times heavier than the normal weight of fish. The men were exhausted, but their efforts soon paid off. The net flopped onto the deck and the crew stared at the ensnared creature: its gray skin, seaweed-like hair, and dark green scales which shimmered in the sun like emeralds.
    “That’s no fish..." 
    “We’ve brought the anger of Poseidon against us...”
    “WHAT IS THAT?!” the captain bellowed, silencing the fearful murmurs.
First-mate stepped aside, revealing what lay behind him. His voice shook, "A mermaid...”
 

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Creature of Fear

“It's caught in the net!” the first-mate yelled. “Harder!”
    The crew yanked at the net, which seemed five times heavier than the normal weight of fish. The men were exhausted--something was fighting back, (1. but in vain.......2. but to no avail) The net broke the surface; a great fish, long and green, flailed against the ropes. The crew stared in (1. horror...2. dread) at the creature.
    “That’s no fish..." 
    “We’ve brought the anger of Poseidon against us...”
  The heavy footsteps of the captain silenced the fearful murmurs.
    “WHAT IS THAT?!” he bellowed.
The first-mate stepped aside, (1. revealing what lay behind him.....2. revealing the ensnared creature). His voice shook, "A mermaid…”

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Creature of Fear

“It's caught in the net!” the first-mate yelled. “Harder!”
    The crew yanked at the net, now five times heavier than the normal weight of fish. The men were exhausted--something was fighting back, but to no avail. The net broke the surface; a great fish, long and green, flailed against the ropes. The crew stared in dread at the creature.
    “That’s no fish..." 
    “We’ve brought the anger of Poseidon against us...”
  The heavy footsteps of the captain silenced the fearful murmurs.
    “WHAT IS THAT?!” he bellowed.
The first-mate stepped aside, revealing what lay behind him. His voice shook, "A mermaid…”
 

Synapses

Captured in a Jar

Captured in a Jar
--capture the beauty of life--

Genre: poetry/prose

 What is something you wish you could capture in a jar? 
Maybe you wish you could capture the laughter of your loved ones, or the sound of the waves at the beach. Whatever it is, write a poem or story that captures the senses of something you wish you could put on your shelf and keep with you forever. In this prompt, practice your descriptions, take your inspiration from around you. Try to verbalize the beauty of life, the things that are unable to be grasped yet surround us daily. 

Captured in a Jar

Walking in the early morning, breathing in the silence and peace of fresh beginnings. My muddied shoes scrape against the wet concrete of the sidewalk, birds chirp from their posts on flowering branches, the sounds of serenity surround me. A flash of sunlight lights up the gray sky. A rainbow bows before the parting clouds, a symbol of mercy and love. Blue sky nudges its way in; it too wants to play a part to the beauty of the morning. I stare at the colors in the sky. I wish I could capture this in a jar. 

Rocking in the creaky swinging chair on our deck. The humid summer evening gives a nostalgic peace. The comforting, familiar harmony of the crickets fill the night air. Fireflies float aimlessly above the long grass; the birds tuck their younglings under their wings. Stars begin to peek out, parting the curtain of space. The bustle of the day is over. The quiet calmness...

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Creature of Fear

“Something’s caught in the net!” the first-mate yelled. “Harder!”
    The crew yanked at the net, which was five times heavier than the normal weight of fish. The men's efforts were useless--something was fighting back, but not for long. The net broke the surface; a great fish, long and green, flailed against the ropes. They stared in dread at the creature.
    “That’s no fish..." 
    “We’ve brought the anger of Poseidon against us...”
  The heavy footsteps of the captain silenced the worried murmurs.
    “WHAT IS THAT?!” he bellowed.
The first-mate stepped aside, revealing what lay behind him. "A mermaid…” he whispered.
 

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Creature of Fear

    “Something’s caught in the net!” the first-mate yelled. “Harder!”
    The crew yanked at the net, which was five times heavier than the normal weight of fish. The men's efforts were useless--something was fighting back, but not for long. The net broke the surface; a great fish, long and green, flailed against the ropes. They stared in dread at the creature.
    “That’s no fish..." 
    “We’ve brought the anger of Poseidon against us...”
  The heavy footsteps of the captain silenced the worried murmurs.
    “WHAT IS THAT?!” he bellowed.
The first-mate stepped aside, revealing what lay behind him. "A mermaid…” he whispered.
 

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Creature of Fear

 “Something’s caught in the net!” the first-mate yelled. “Harder!”
    The crew yanked at the net, which was five times heavier than the normal weight of fish. The men's efforts were useless--something was fighting back, but not for long. The net broke the surface; a great fish, long and green, flailed against the ropes. They stared in dread at the creature.
    “That’s no fish..." 
    “We’ve brought the anger of Poseidon against us...”
  The heavy footsteps of the captain silenced the worried murmurs.
    “WHAT IS THAT?!” he bellowed.
The first-mate stepped aside, revealing what lay behind him. "A mermaid…” he whispered.
 

new idea for flash fic comp (i need to choose between two ideas so any help is appreciated)

  “Something’s caught in the net!” the first-mate yelled. “Harder!”
    The crew yanked at the net, which was five times heavier than the normal weight of fish. The men's efforts were useless--something was fighting back, but not for long. The net broke the surface; a great fish, long and green, flailed against the ropes. They stared in dread at the creature.
    “That’s no fish..." 
    “We’ve brought the anger of Poseidon against us...”
  The heavy footsteps of the captain silenced the worried murmurs.
    “WHAT IS IT?!” he bellowed.
The first-mate stepped aside, revealing what lay behind him. "A mermaid…” he whispered.



----- previous entry idea -----

I need help! Come home ASAP
   Jack's heart leapt with fear as he read the text. Throwing the groceries in the car, he drove as fast as he dared home.
    "Anne?! What's wrong!" Jack ran down the hallway and into a small room that smelled of fresh paint. ...

new idea for flash fic comp (i need to choose between two ideas so any help is appreciated)

  “Something’s caught in the net!” the first-mate yelled. “Harder!”
    The crew yanked at the net, which was five times heavier than the normal weight of fish. The men's efforts were useless--something was fighting back, but not for long. The net broke the surface; a great fish, long and green, flailed against the ropes. They stared in dread at the creature.
    “That’s no fish..." 
    “We’ve brought the anger of Poseidon against us...”
  The heavy footsteps of the captain silenced the worried murmurs.
    “WHAT IS IT?!” he bellowed.
The first-mate stepped aside, revealing what lay behind him. "A mermaid…” he whispered.




----- previous entry idea -----

I need help! Come home ASAP
   Jack's heart leapt with fear as he read the text. Throwing the groceries in the car, he drove as fast as he dared home.
    "Anne?! What's wrong!" Jack ran down the hallway and into a small room that smelled of fresh paint. ...

Flash Fiction Competition 2020

Creature of Fear

    I need help! Come home ASAP
   Jack's heart leapt with fear as he read the text. Throwing the groceries in the car, he drove as fast as he dared home.
    "Anne?! What's wrong!" Jack ran down the hallway and into a small room that smelled of fresh paint.
    Jack found his wife standing next to a delicate crib, holding paint swabs against the wall.
    "Perfect! Which do you think...you alright?"
    Jack took a minute to catch his breath. "I thought it had to do with..."
    "Oh," Anne laughed, rubbing her swollen belly. "Don't worry, the baby's fine," she smiled.
   

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 3

Week 3: Challenge Completed


~
DAY ONE


I have
so much to do

the tasks of the day
are before me

the list grows longer and longer
but I just sit here

my keyboard is calling to me
my characters are crying out
I can't leave them
I must write

clothes and books are
streamed across my bedroom floor
thrown there by the hurricane of my busy self

I am forgetful
my mind is on other things

my keyboard is calling me
my beat-up notebooks are haunting my thoughts
I must write

only for a little bit
I promise
I'll get my list done
but right now
when the house is quiet and
no one is reminding me of 
the other things to do

I am going to write

~
DAY TWO


romping over hills of rock
climbing over mountains of obstacles
fighting the bad guys
exploring unknown jungles

princesses in court
mermaids in the ocean
superheroes saving cities
wizards mixing potions

swing your...

Writing Streak: Week 3 Day 5

The challenge was write a poem with no.
worry.
of correct punctuation;
but was that the challenge?
or was the streak really about writing our feelings without the hindrance of periods, commas, semicolons.
To write,
the words that came to mind as they came.
Not stopping for sentence structure or for rhyming mechanics.
Write.
without, worry.
The streak helped new formats: word pictures and poems that flowed like music.
the streak helped new ideas take form.
the streak helped,
new writers
find their voice in poetry.
 

Writing Streak: Week 3 Day 4

so I have seen a lot of you guys write your poems in picture form...I decided to give that a try! It is way harder than it looks so kudos to you guys for being able to make awesome picture/word art! My version of this needs work Lol but at least I tried ;)

Anyway here is mine! I had to mix up my original plan so this is supposed to be read from the bottom--up. 

    nciltheend
    ilitiesinape
    manypossib
    sthepageso
    mentacros
    dragthepig
    ntodrawto
    rstandbegi
    tpickitupfi
    cebutimus
    masterpie
     ocreatea
     poentialt
     sholdsthe
     redpencil
     boxofcolo
     kfrommy
     tiontopic
     hinspirai
     sesomuc
      stochoo
      nycolor
      cilsoma
      napenc                                                                                
       litiesi        
     ...

Writing Streak: Week 3 Day 3

I wish
things would not change

I wish the good things lasted a little longer
or at least
I wish I realized how good things were before 
they changed

but change comes like the tide
it comes
it recedes
it comes again

the new sense of "normal" doesn't 
last
normal is replaced by new normal 
the old is deemed "old fashioned"
it is forgotten

but change is good too
it helps people grow
it helps the world advance

but it hurts too

so often we hear the words "it's for the best, you'll see"
not, "cry it out. I'm here for you."

the former is comforting, it its own way
but the latter lets you feel

how much more loving the world would be if those words frequented our lips.


 

Captured in a Jar

Walking in the early morning, breathing in the silence and peace of fresh beginnings. My muddied shoes scrape against the wet concrete of the sidewalk, birds chirp from their posts on flowering branches, the sounds of serenity surround me. A flash of sunlight lights up the gray sky. A rainbow bows before the parting clouds, a symbol of mercy and love. Blue sky nudges its way in; it too wants to play a part to the beauty of the morning. I stare at the colors in the sky. I wish I could capture this in a jar. 

Rocking in the creaky swinging chair on our deck. The humid summer evening gives a nostalgic peace. The comforting, familiar harmony of the crickets fill the night air. Fireflies float aimlessly above the long grass; the birds tuck their younglings under their wings. Stars begin to peek out, parting the curtain of space. The bustle of the day is over. The quiet calmness...

Writing Streak: Week 3 Day 2

romping over hills of rock
climbing over mountains of obstacles
fighting the bad guys
exploring unknown jungles

princesses in court
mermaids in the ocean
superheroes saving cities
wizards mixing potions

swing your light-saber
brandish your sword
ride the rocket
sail that fjord

how easy for
the younglings to
whisk themselves away
how easy for
kids to imagine 
all their
problems away

it gets harder when
your older
there's no set
reason why
perhaps reality finally sets in
that people can't really fly




 

Writing Streak: Week 3 Day 1

I have
so much to do

the tasks of the day
are before me

the list grows longer and longer
but I just sit here

my keyboard is calling to me
my characters are crying out
I can't leave them
I must write

clothes and books are
streamed across my bedroom floor
thrown there by the hurricane of my busy self

I am forgetful
my mind is on other things

my keyboard is calling me
my beat-up notebooks are haunting my thoughts
I must write

only for a little bit
I promise
I'll get my list done
but right now
when the house is quiet and
no one is reminding me of 
the other things to do

I am going to write

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 2

Palette of Hidden Paints | Week 2 Challenge Completed

Day 1
Honey Warmth
Sugary, refreshing drinks. The clatter of ice cubes against glass. When the rays of late, summer afternoon sun hits the drink, it solidifies into an amber stone of golden light. 

Day 2
Gley
Gley is the peace after a rainstorm; the sparkle of dewy diamonds which flowers proudly display. It is the rich smell of rain and wet soil. Gley is the mud that oozes between your bare feet as you run through damp grass. The mounds of dirt that blanket freshly planted seeds, the worms that work their magic. The rotting logs and mushrooms. Gley is the color of nature's carpet.

Day 3
Blithe
Light summer breezes, cool against sun-warmed cheeks. Dripping popsicles and fizzy lemonade. The lazy summer afternoons, filled with fresh strawberries and picnics. Sunhats and sandals. Chalk art and watermelon. Carefree summer days. 

Day 4
Zephyr
Gentle winds that rustle the leaves of the trees. The soft laughter of cold streams running through hidden forests....

Mad Libs

Character Study (bad at titles lol)

Emily Rosadra is a 17-year-old trainee, who lives in the Rebel Headquarters in the Adamantine Valley. Known for being the headstrong daughter of the general, she wants nothing more than to do her part to stop the war, bringing freedom and peace. But recent events causes the battle to become more personal. She wants revenge on Sutton for what he did to her  and her family. She pretends to be healing, when in fact, inside, she really feels hate towards AIM and those who work for it. Emily’s biggest fear is losing yet another person she loves. She wants peace, but is willing to do anything to obtain it, which scares her.


Owen Scarfex is a 19-year-old former AIM soldier, who lives in The Adamantine Valley. All his life he worked for AIM, decieved by their true motives. Known for being tactically strong and advanced as a soldier, he wants nothing more than to earn the trust of the rebels...

Writing Streak: Week 2 Day 5

Eventide

The last rays of golden sun shoot forward as the uncertainty of night grows near. Those last rays paint the sky in a masterpiece of orange. They spill their ink in the ocean, causing liquid fire to burn along the horizon as the sun sinks low. The gulls cry out in their raspy, misunderstood language as the tide rises higher and higher. The waves grow stronger, for the sun is no longer there to protect the shells on the beach. The last rays of light fly over the small shops and houses of coastal towns. They search for a resting place. They highlight every object in deep oranges and shining golds, before the last bit of sun quietly slips from view.

Writing Streak Challenge - Week 2

Palette of Hidden Paints | Week 2 Challenge Completed

Day 1
Honey Warmth
Sugary, refreshing drinks. The clatter of ice cubes against glass. When the rays of late, summer afternoon sun hits the drink, it solidifies into an amber stone of golden light. 

Day 2
Gley
Gley is the peace after a rainstorm; the sparkle of dewy diamonds which flowers proudly display. It is the rich smell of rain and wet soil. Gley is the mud that oozes between your bare feet as you run through damp grass. The mounds of dirt that blanket freshly planted seeds, the worms that work their magic. The rotting logs and mushrooms. Gley is the color of nature's carpet.

Day 3
Blithe
Light summer breezes, cool against sun-warmed cheeks. Dripping popsicles and fizzy lemonade. The lazy summer afternoons, filled with fresh strawberries and picnics. Sunhats and sandals. Chalk art and watermelon. Carefree summer days. 

Day 4
Zephyr
Gentle winds that rustle the leaves of the trees. The soft laughter of cold streams running through hidden forests....

Zephyr | Writing Streak: Week 2 Day 4

Zephyr

Gentle breezes that rustle the leaves of the trees. The soft laughter of cold streams running through hidden forests. Gray mornings, soft dewy grass, quiet moments. Then the other side of this ever changing color. The mountains that rise from the ground in proud peaks. The sound of thunder rumbling across deep gray clouds. With each stroke of Zephyr, peace is portrayed, authority is announced. 

Honey Warmth | Writing Streak: Week 2 Day 1

Honey Warmth

Sugary, refreshing drinks. The clatter of ice cubes against glass. When the rays of late, summer afternoon sun hits the drink, it solidifies into an amber stone of golden light. 

Anonymous

I publish my scribbles here. I don't know why I put most of them here first. I have a blog, which is followed by my family and friends. So why do I write on this site? 

I think it is because here, I am anonymous.

I don't have to worry about if my writing causes my friends to hate me, or think me weird, or messed up. I write my feelings. I don't have to worry that my poem about being hurt by a friend will be read by that person. I don't have to worry that my deep feelings will be ridiculed by others. They don't see what is inside me. They don't see how anxious I get, how depression seeps its way back into me on the especially hard days. But if they read what I write, would they see it? Would it change their minds about me?

Here, I am anonymous.

No one knows me....

heartbreak | a series | 1

When you turn sixteen you get your mark. Your mark is unique to you and one other--your soulmate. Usually, it is your favorite color. My best friend Alice's pinky-finger is tipped in pale yellow. My neighbor Sam has a mark of red on their shoulder. Even thought the marks are each unique, there are some more common than others. Some look like birthmarks, others are like you were dipped with the Easter eggs. I have never seen one with a mark like mine. I was shocked when, on my sixteenth birthday, I woke to find the mark, staining my lips pale blue. Alice thought my permanent lip stick was beautiful. 
    "You'll never be mistaken when you find your soulmate," she told me that morning. 
    As if anyone could make a mistake when comparing marks, I had thought. 
I'm eighteen now, and I still haven't met anyone with the same mark as mine. Alice found her...

Blithe | Writing Streak: Week 2 Day 3

Blithe

Light summer breezes, cool against sun-warmed cheeks. Dripping popsicles and fizzy lemonade. The lazy summer afternoons, filled with fresh strawberries and picnics. Sunhats and sandals. Chalk art and watermelon. Carefree summer days. 

Gley | Writing Streak: Week 2 Day 2

Gley

Gley is the peace after a rainstorm; the sparkle of dewy diamonds which flowers proudly display. Gley is the rich smell of rain and wet soil. Gley is the mud that oozes between your bare feet as you run through damp grass. The mounds of dirt that blanket freshly planted seeds, the worms that work their magic. The rotting logs and mushrooms. Gley is the color of nature's carpet.

smile, darling (edited)

     
          "smile, darling, don't let them see your tears," Deceit said.
          "smile, love, stop your lips from trembling," Deceit urged.
          "smile, dearest, don't give yourself away," Deceit warned.  

          "stay selfless, darling, let go and forget," Deceit persuaded. 
          "stay selfless, love, be happy for them," Deceit coerced.
          "stay selfless, love, leave your feelings at the door," Deceit advised.


          "no, darling, don't believe those lies," Truth implored.
          "no, love, don't hide your heart," Truth pleaded.
          "no, dearest, it doesn't make you weak," Truth uttered.
         
          "it's alright, darling, just let it all out," Truth encouraged.
          "it's alright, love, cry for however long you need," Truth sympathized.
          "it's alright, dearest, this is what makes us human," Truth assured.

darling, emotions make you who you are.
love, it would be dull without the tears of...

Honey Warmth | Writing Streak: Week 2 Day 1

Honey Sugar

Sugary, refreshing drinks. The clatter of ice cubes against glass. When the rays of late, summer afternoon sun hits the drink, it solidifies into an amber stone of golden light. 

smile, darling (edited)

smile, darling, don't let them see your tears.
smile, love, stop your lips from trembling. 
smile, dearest, don't give yourself away. 

stay selfless, darling, let go and forget.
stay selfless, love, be happy for them.
stay selfless, love, leave your feelings at the door.

no, darling, don't believe those lies.
no, love, don't hide your heart.
no, dearest, it doesn't make you weak.

it's alright, darling, just let it all out. 
it's alright, love, cry for however long you need.
it's alright, dearest, this is what makes us human.

darling, emotions make you who you are.
love, it would be dull without the tears of life.
dearest, it may be hard but it'll get better.

smile, darling. smile, knowing this is what is to love. 

 

Letter Writing Competition 2020

Written Through Tears

To my future child,
   There is no certainty that this letter will ever be read. Most likely, these penciled scribbles will fade and the envelope will collect dust in a box. But I am still writing this to you, because this is a truth everyone my age needs to hear. 
 
           "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me."
At first, this saying is a blatant lie. Of course words hurt. Words, whether spoken or written, are powerful and can either build you up or tear you down. Perhaps this letter can offer you guidance that can help ease the pain that comes in these moments. I have found that my greatest comfort comes through prayer and knowing the truth. Here is the truth I have learned:

Words will hurt you. People will fail or disappoint you. At first, you may be tempted to shut yourself off from people in general, just to...

Letter Writing Competition 2020

Written Through Tears

To my future child,
There is no certainty that this letter will ever be read, but I will write it to you, because this is a truth everyone my age needs to hear.
   
 "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me."
At first, this saying is a blatant lie. Of course words hurt. Words, whether spoken or written, are powerful and can either build you up or tear you down. Perhaps this letter can offer you guidance that can help ease the pain that comes in these moments. I have found that my greatest comfort comes through prayer and knowing the truth. Here is the truth I have learned:

Words will hurt you. People will fail or disappoint you. At first, you may be tempted to shut yourself off from people in general, just to protect yourself from the pain they inflict. That only leads to more hurt and loneliness. No! Isolation is not...

People as Nature

Fox of the Forest

I am the dashing animal across the forest floor. I am the flash of red flitting through the underbrush. My paws stained with the sweet juice of mountain blackberries, like dark paint on white brushes. My laughter is the chirp of the creatures that live in the hidden valleys of the forest.

I am free to wander the mountainside. I am free to run with the wind across the meadows.

My home is not one set place. My home is the forest. I am the first to discover the secret streams of glacier water, cold against my teeth but refreshing to my soul. I am the first to see the blooms of spring. The symbols of hope peeking through the snow. I am the first to see the moon in her glory, outshining her sisters, the stars. She gives me light against the harsh depth of night. She is my oldest friend, the sole witness to my wanderings. 

I do...

Letter Writing Competition 2020

Written Through Tears

To my future child,
   There is no certainty that this letter will ever be read, but I will write it to you, because this is a truth everyone my age needs to hear.

    "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me."
At first, this saying is a blatant lie. Of course words hurt. Words, whether spoken or written, are powerful and can either build you up or tear you down. You may find yourself, one day, in a situation where words leave you brokenhearted. Maybe, if this letter is being read, you are in one now. Perhaps this letter can offer you guidance that can help ease the pain I so vividly feel at this moment. I have found that my greatest comfort comes through prayer and knowing the truth. Here is the truth I have learned:
Words will hurt you. People will fail or disappoint you. At first, you may be tempted to...

goodbye

i am not afraid of the dark of night.
no,
i am afraid of what comes in the morning.

maybe i'm not asleep because i don't want tomorrow to come.
maybe i'm not trying to sleep so the goodbye doesn't come so fast

i don't want to hang on,
to drag it out.
more than anything, 
i want to let go.

but i am afraid. 

what will i grab hold of to steady myself from the fall?
who can i lean on when your shoulder is over a thousand miles away?

i know i will eventually succumb to sleep.
i will eventually succumb to tomorrows fate.

if i close my eyes,
i won't want to open them.
i don't want to face the light of morning. 
because once the sun rises,
i have to say goodbye.

it's over,
our friendship.
you might disagree,
but i see the signs.

you have moved on.
i have to let go.
i must release...

Letter Writing Competition 2020

Written Through Tears

To my future child,
   There is no certainty that this letter will ever be read, but I will write it to you, because this is a truth everyone my age needs to hear. 
    
    "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me."
At first, this saying is a blatant lie. Of course words hurt. Words are powerful. They can tear someone down just as easily as build someone up. This in mind, we must be careful in what we say or text to people. No matter who you are, you will find yourself in situations that will leave you brokenhearted. Maybe, if this letter is being read, you are in one now. What I do, or what I am trying to make a habit of, is to pray when I am in these moments. I might not remember when I am older, but 16-year-old me could tell you tons of stories. Here is a...

Letter Writing Competition 2020

Written Through Tears

To my future child,
   There is no certainty that this letter will ever be read, but I will write it to you, because this is a truth everyone my age needs to hear. 
    
    "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me."
At first, this saying is a blatant lie. Of course words hurt. Words are powerful. They can tear someone down just as easily as build someone up. This in mind, we must be careful in what we say or text to people. No matter who you are, you will find yourself in situations that will leave you brokenhearted. Maybe, if this letter is being read, you are in one now. What I do, or what I am trying to make a habit of, is to pray when I am in these moments. I might not remember when I am older, but 16-year-old me could tell you tons of stories. Here is a...

Letter Writing Competition 2020

Written Through Tears

To my future child,
   There is no certainty that this letter will ever be read, but I will write it to you, because this is a truth everyone my age needs to hear. 

    "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me."
At first, this saying is a blatant lie. Of course words hurt. Words are powerful. They can tear someone down just as easily as build someone up. This in mind, we must be careful in what we say or text to people. No matter who you are, you will find yourself in situations that will leave you brokenhearted. Maybe, if this letter is being read, you are in one now. What I do, or what I am trying to make a habit of, is to pray when I am in these moments. I might not remember when I am older but 16-year-old me could tell you tons of stories. Here is...

Letter Writing Competition 2020

Written Through Tears

To my future child,
    I know I have no certainty that this letter will ever be read. But I will write it to you, because no matter who you are, this is a truth everyone my age needs to hear. 

    "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me."
At first, this saying is a blatant lie. Of course words hurt. Words are powerful. They can tear someone down just as easily as build someone up. This in mind, we must be careful in what we say or text to people. One day, you will find yourself in situations that will have you brokenhearted. Maybe, if this letter is being read, you are in one now. What I do, or what I am trying to make a habit of, is to pray when I am in these moments. I might not remember when I am older but 16-year-old me could tell you...

I Want to Be Me #coolfun

I hate the stereotypes. I hate the cliches.
I want to be different.
I want to be me. 

The skateboarder and hockey player.
My bright red vans clashing against the dark dust of pavement.
The thrill as I swing my hockey stick, flinging the puck into the net.
I don't play sports all that often. I wish I did.
I play basketball with friends, who are nice enough to not care how bad I am. 
Flag-football with the youth group, which is so much fun and always ends way to soon. 

The smart girl.
Tests finished early, 100/100 papers.
But what the others don't see is I don't always understand the assignments. 
I had to get a tutor for math. I get overwhelmed because of projects. 
The "smart" girl is not me, yet you all assume I am. 

The artist and writer.
The scribbling of my undecipherable handwriting in various notebooks, snippets of story ideas or poems.
Inside my head...

Valentine Rubber Duck #myrose4

    "Check your pocket," Raina whispered as I turned from the door. 
    "What? Why?" I cautiously slipped my hand into my jacket pocket. My fingers wrapped around something small and rubbery. I pulled out a little red rubber duck, covered with small white hearts. I note was attached, tied around the neck with a red string. 

                    Happy Valentine's Day, Lucas,
                                    ~your "secret" admirer


I felt my cheeks grow warm. 
    "Well? Go and talk to her before she leaves!" Raina shoved my towards the door of the gym. I saw Lydia in lobby. Missy, her sister, nudged her and she turned towards me. 
    "Hi," I said, holding out the duck in my palm.
    "Oh yea..." she said, her cheeks grew red, although I assumed it was from the rush of the night. We had spent the last few hours waiting tables for the Valentine's Day Banquet. A few strands...

Dust Jacket

Dust Jacket: Prompt 2 (super bad at titles--any ideas are welcome)

Alexandra Jade. The name is christened on the birth certificate in crisp, black ink. That's the name, this little newborn baby, will be known as. "The Defender of Men" is her legacy. But what does that even mean? Is someone's legacy mapped out because of a few letters imprinted on them? Is her story already written?

Alexandra Jade. A small baby, but already connected to her family through her name. Alexandra, named after her aunt's middle name. Jade, named after her mother's middle name. Connected to her mother's family through her first initials, followed by the inherited name from her father.

Alexandra Jade. The child grows, now a little girl. The name Alexandra, in all its beauty, seems so strong for such a little girl. She goes by Lexi. Only her grandmother uses both the first and middle name as a title. 

Alexandra Jade. She is older now, and the girl's family is moving to a...

Dear Diary #6monthsof2020

January 5, 2020
Dear Diary,
The new year has started!!! I'm so excited. A little nervous too. I have so much planned. It was just confirmed that in March, I am going with my dad down to California! I'm going to work at Shepherds' Conference and then on the last day, go see Masters' University!! I'm so hyped! Also, just had our second mission trip meeting. That's going to happen at the end of April. I'll tell more details as I find out. 

Jan 8, 2020
Dear Diary,
MORE EXCITING NEWS! I'm going to be in Cali a lot in the next few months. Well...for spring break we are going to go visit Mimi and Poppy! Maddi, Bella and I are all going to fly down for a week! More news on the mission trip. I just raised the last of the funds I need. We are going to go to North Africa to help with a "Big Picnic." It's...

!!!Q&A ANSWERS!!!

Wow!!! I guess the Q&A didn't flop hahaha! Thank you all for the fun questions--I had a blast answering them (as best I could)
Here are my answers!

Just_A_Memory 
1. Favorite candy bar?
This is a hard question cause I have a BIG sweet tooth...hmmm *thinks really hard* I really like chocolates (like Twix or Kit Kat) but really I don't think I have a favorite. I do really like brownies tho ;) and chocolate chip cookies (my crush makes the absolute BEST cookies--which is good cause I can't bake)

2. Other than writing, what is one of your favorite pass times?
I really like to read but my other fav pass times is prob gonna be drawing and painting. At the start of quarantine I suddenly got into my head I had to paint the wall behind my bookshelf. So the first week of being stuck at home was spent painting a LOTR map behind my books. I...

!!!Appreciation Post and Q&A!!!!

Okay...so I joined this site in the middle of quarantine. I figured it would be a good place to keep me accountable in writing on a more daily basis, but WTW is so much more than that. I love the community and the support shown between peer writers is so encouraging. I don't really care about the followers or the likes (because that is not what writing should be about) but I have gotten a lot of followers in the short time I've been on this site, so I wanted to show a little appreciation.

I just wanted to give a shout-out to these amazing authors on WTW: (in no particular order)
sunny.v
Oh man. Everything you write leaves me breathless! You have such a way with words that captivates any reader! The imagery you evoke is absolutely beautiful. But not just on a writing aspect...your feedback on pieces and comments are so helpful and supportive. You are a very encouraging writer...

Writing Streak: Week 14 Day 1

California, California, you know I love ya, California.
California. The place where I was born.
My home for the beginning of my life.

In the sun and in the weather, no one else could love you better.
California. The place I feel connected too, even though I don't live there. 
The state where I feel strangely home, whenever I step off the plane.

In the valley, In the valley, no one knows you like I do. Summer streams knee deep in the snow.
California.The place where my story began. 
On that cold winter's day, you raised me.

I think everyone needs someplace beautiful.
California. You are my home away from home.
You connect me to the West Coast. Everyone needs a place to call home.

It Shouldn't End Like This (edited)

Arthur entered the cavern, his sword drawn. To his horror, he saw her, chained to the wall, looking pale and weak. Her choppy brown hair hung in strands around her face, which was streaked with dirt and tears. He ran over to her, falling to his knees before the feeble girl. 
    “Nadia, what happened to you!” he cried. Arthur placed his sword on the ground and began to pick the locks that shackled her wrists. Nadia glanced up, her eyes flashing with confusion as she recognized her friend. 
    “You have to get out of here! Before they come back!” Nadia cried. Her eyes were red from crying and her voice cracked under the strain of her pain.
    “I can’t just leave you like this!” Arthur got one of the shackles unlocked--it clattered to the ground. 
    “You have too--”
    “No! I’m not going to leave you behind!” he said, cupping the small girl's chin in his...

It Shouldn't End Like This (edited)

Arthur entered the cavern, his sword drawn. To his horror, he saw her, chained to the wall, looking pale and weak. He ran over to her, falling to his knees before the feeble girl. 
    “Nadia, what happened to you!” he cried. Arthur placed his sword on the ground and began to pick the locks that shackled her wrists. Nadia glanced up, her eyes flashing with confusion as she recognized her friend. 
    “You have to get out of here! Before they come back!” Nadia cried. Her eyes were red from crying and her cheeks were streaked in dirt.
    “I can’t just leave you like this!” He got one of the shackles unlocked--it clattered to the ground. 
    “You have too--”
    “No! I’m not going to leave you behind!” The second shackle clattered to the ground. She staggered and almost collapsed when he helped her get to her feet.
    “You don’t understand. You have to get out...

The Writer's Side of my Brain

The writer's side of my brain is a dangerous place.
It takes over at the strangest times. 
I cut my finger, I don't know how, but tonight it surprised me as it suddenly started to turn my hand red.
It surprised me...it didn't shock or scare me/it is a bit unnerving, though, to suddenly see blood drip on your skin/ It surprised me.
Because the writer's side of my brain took over in an instant.
Adjectives, feelings...I stared at the way the blood dripped down my hand like juice from a cherry, compiling a list of words so I would remember what it would be like for my characters.

When I can't sleep because my brain is too active, I read and reread manuscripts I've printed of copies from my stories.
I edit. I imagine new scenarios. 
I put myself into my characters' position, and act out/as best I can/ what it would feel like. 
It may look silly...

Writing Streak Challenge Week 13

Writing Streak: Week 13 - Challenge Completed

-------
Day One


5:55 am
Early morning. The house is so quiet, but outside isn't. I woke up to a bright sunlight pouring through my window. It lit up the trees in my yard. Birds sing their soft songs as they begin to wake. I'm sitting at my computer, writing this. The sound of my keyboard makes an eerie click that seems so loud compared to the still house. I type quietly, afraid to wake my family, afraid to disturb the peace of the morning.
-------
Day Two


12:03 p.m. 
I sit at the edge of my bed.
I can hear the trains' whistle as it barrels down the tracks.
The sun streams through my windows, reminding me summer is here!
The sky is a brilliant blue and the heat of the day is getting to me.
I wait anxiously for the relief of jumping in the pool at our friends' house. 
-------
Day Three


11:47 p.m.
The night...

Writing Streak: Week 13 Day 5 [1:32 a.m.]


1:32 a.m.

My eyes are growing heavy from the light of my flashlight reflecting off my books.
I'm covered in blankets, my pillows are soft.
I finish my chapter and reluctantly put the book away. 
Sleep's calls are too bewitching to resist. 
Turning over, I see the moon shining through my window.
I fall asleep bathed in its light. 

Writing Streak: Week 13 Day 4 [3:53 p.m.]


3:53 p.m

hot and sweaty, sitting on our porch
tired from our day at the lake. 
didn't swim, but made a sandcastle with my sister. 

cherry stained lips, curly unbrushed hair
music drowns away the noise from the birds, my fingers clicking on my keyboard.
feeling peaceful as the day passes by.

my long-awaited summer is here
 

Writing Streak: Week 13 Day 3 [11:47 p.m.]


11:47 p.m.

The night is late. My sweatshirt smells like smoke from our campfire. Time slipped by as we told tales around stones which encircled the glowing embers. We watched from our camp chairs as the night turned dark. As the moon grew brighter and brighter. As the stars appeared, at first very faint, but then turned into bright diamonds. It truly is summer.

i wait for you to find me

the lights flicker
cool night air slips through my window
i can hear you in the kitchen
shutting cabinets
dousing lights
i said goodnight
but i don't want you to leave me alone
i wait for you to find me
sitting on my bed
my pillow wet with tears

"find me" i whisper to you
​i'm not ready to initiate on my own
i need to talk
to spill my heart
but i need you to ask me what is wrong

"find me" i plead in the dark
i need you to sit on the edge of my bed
and give words of advice to calm me down
i need your wisdom to understand

"find me" the words fade into the dark
but your footsteps grow softer
as you travel down the hall
the shut of a door shuts away my hopes

"find me" i whisper to myself

Writing Streak: Week 13 Day 2 [12:03 p.m.]


12:03 p.m. 

I sit at the edge of my bed. I can hear the trains' whistle as it barrels down the tracks. The sun streams through my windows, reminding me summer is here! The sky is a brilliant blue and the heat of the day is getting to me. I wait anxiously for the relief of jumping in the pool at our friends' house. 
 

It Shouldn't End Like This #boredwriter

Arthur entered the cavern, his sword drawn. To his horror, he saw her, chained to the wall, looking pale and weak. He ran over to her, falling to his knees before the feeble girl. 
    “Nadia, what happened to you!” he cried. Arthur placed his sword on the ground and began to pick the locks that shackled her wrists. Nadia glanced up, her eyes flashing with confusion as she recognized her friend. 
    “You have to get out of here! Before they come back!” Nadia cried. Her eyes were red from crying and her cheeks were streaked in dirt.
    “I can’t just leave you like this!” He got one of the shackles unlocked--it clattered to the ground. 
    “You have too--”
    “No! I’m not going to leave you behind!” The second shackle clattered to the ground. She staggered and almost collapsed when he helped her get to her feet.
    “You don’t understand. You have to get out...

10:49 a.m.


10:49 a.m.

Wasting time. Sitting on my bed, tapping on my keyboard. Movie soundtracks are playing in the background. One almost made me cry. It was from Pixar's The Good Dinosaur. Unsure of what to write or what to do. Eating a weird Biscotti cookie I found in the back of out cabinet while searching for a suitable breakfast. Don't know if it works as a sustainable meal but they are good. I've had three of them so far. 

I Want to Be Me #coolfun

I hate the stereotypes. I hate the cliches.
I want to be different.
I want to be me. 

The skateboarder and hockey player.
My bright red vans clashing against the dark dust of pavement.
The thrill as I swing my hockey stick, flinging the puck into the net.
I don't play sports all that often. I wish I did.
I play basketball with friends, who are nice enough to not care how bad I am. 
Flag-football with the youthgroup, which is so much fun and always ends way to soon. 

The artist and writer.
The scribbling of my undecipherable handwriting in various notebooks, snippets of story ideas or poems.
Inside my head I have hundreds of story scenes, but I don't have enough plots or characters to write them all. 
My sketchbook and pencil case are always in my backpack, so when the inspiration hits I'm ready.
The walls of my room are covered in chalkboard paint, so I can...

Writing Streak: Week 13 Day 1 [5:55 a.m.]


5:55 am

Early morning. The house is so quiet, but outside isn't. I woke up to a bright sunlight pouring through my window. It lit up the trees in my yard. Birds sing their soft songs as they begin to wake. I'm sitting at my computer, writing this. The sound of my keyboard makes an eerie click that seems so loud compared to the still house. I type quietly, afraid to wake my family, afraid to disturb the peace of the morning.

the little moments

little moments
that's what makes me like you

the odd games we play
throwing rocks into a bucket
tossing paper airplanes into garbage cans

i like being around you
you make me laugh
even if we don't talk much

you're one of my closest friends
i feel more myself around you

i cherish everything we do
i never want the days to end

little things scare me
we are still just kids
emotions change so much
anything can happen

so i've made up my mind to hold on to these little moments
to enjoy the summer days at the lake
and the rainy camping trips
and to not worry about the future
not to be scared of the change that may or may not come

the little moments
that's what makes me like you

Cup of Tea

steaming mugs of tea
endless choices for flavors
endless ways to drink it
black tea
green
herbal
oolong
chamomile

with cream
with sugar
plain. 

the warmth of a cup of tea
it fights against the rain that pounds the windows
the calming peace
as you start your morning

Food Writing Competition 2020

Soup's On

The front door slammed behind us as we hurried into the warmth of my grandparents’ house, all bundled against the winter air. Snow boots and coats were peeled off, red noses and ears were exposed. It was Christmas day, and most of my extended family had already arrived. I slipped through the crowded living room and into the kitchen.   
    "Alexandra Jade!" my grandmother exclaimed; she’s the only one who calls me by my full name. "How was the drive? Are you hungry? Soup's on!" 
    My grandfather scooped me into a hug, tickling my sides as my grandmother maneuvered between the steamy stove and the crowded counters. Fluffy breads, antipasto salad, savory roasts, pasta dishes, squashes, ziti and shrimp, Italian cookies, my grandmother’s signature Creme de Menthe cake, and pies of all flavors buried the counters. I took it all in, breathing deeply the smell of warm food. The whole house was filled with the sharp smell of garlic, the...

Food Writing Competition 2020

Soup's On

    The front door slammed behind us as we hurried into the warmth of my grandparents’ house, all bundled against the winter air. Snow boots and coats were peeled off, red noses and ears were exposed. It was Christmas day, and most of my extended family had already arrived. I slipped through the crowded living room and into the kitchen.   
    "Alexandra Jade!" my grandmother exclaimed; she’s the only one who calls me by my full name. "How was the drive? Are you hungry? Soup's on!" 
    My grandfather scooped me into a hug, tickling my sides as my grandmother maneuvered between the steamy stove and the crowded counters. Fluffy breads, antipasto salad, savory roasts, pasta dishes, squashes, ziti and shrimp, Italian cookies, my grandmother’s signature Creme de Menthe cake, and pies of all flavors buried the counters. I took it all in, breathing deeply the smell of warm food. The whole house was filled with the sharp smell of garlic, the...

Food Writing Competition 2020

Soup's On

The front door slammed behind us as we hurried into the warmth of my grandparents’ house, all bundled against the winter air. Snow boots and coats were peeled off, red noses and ears were exposed. It was Christmas day, and most of my extended family had already arrived. I slipped through the crowded living room and into the kitchen.
    "Alexandra Jade!" my grandmother exclaimed; she’s the only one who calls me by my full name. "How was your drive? Are you hungry? Soup's on!"
    My grandfather scooped me into a hug, tickling my sides as my grandmother maneuvered between the steamy stove and the crowded counters. Fluffy breads, antipasto salad, savory roasts, pasta dishes, squashes, ziti and shrimp, Italian cookies, my grandmother’s signature Creme de Menthe cake, and pies of all flavors buried the counters. I took it all in, breathing deeply the smell of warm food. The whole house was filled with the sharp smell of garlic, the strong...

What I Miss Most #mysecondcontest6

Maybe what I miss most, wasn't made of steel and stone. Maybe what I miss most, wasn't born of skin and bone...
i don't miss someone
i miss that feeling, that hope, that freedom you get when you travel to someplace new
the adventures of road trips to unknown towns
the adventures of camping outdoors

Life beyond the window, I'm jealous of the way that black bird flies. Free among the people...
i'm tired staying indoors
i'm itching to be free
to fly away into the sky
see the world from a new angle
not through the glass that holds me in

Up on the sun, under the waves, under three crowns when I'm far away
that constant constellation in the sky.
orion's belt
the three shining crowns in the night
it ties me to my home when I'm gone
it ties me to the wild when I'm confined to normal life.

I remember, every summer. But now the years...

Terror of the Seas

“Something’s caught in the net!” the first-mate of the pirate ship yelled. “Pull harder!”
The crew yanked hard at the net, which was five times heavier than its normal daily load of fish.
        “PULL!” First-mate yelled to the men. They pulled with all their might but to no avail--something was fighting back.     Finally, with one last heave, it broke through the surface. A great fish, long and green, was seen, flailing and fighting the ropes that bound it. The crew pulled it aboard, then stood in silence when they realized what they had caught. This crew of blood-thirsty pirates, strong and ruthless killers was silent--scared of this one creature.
        “That’s no fish,” one pirate muttered.
        “We’ve brought the anger of Poseidon against us now if we hadn’t before...” another whispered.
The anxious murmuring of the pirate crew grew silent as the heavy footsteps of their captain thumped against the wood stairs. Slowly, threateningly, he walked towards them.
        “WHAT IS IT?!”...

Worn Buttons, Empty Pens

The button on the lamp by my bed is worn with the constant flipping on and off throughout the night. The glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on my wall never glow longer than a few minutes before the lamp's light overcomes the dim shine. The pen that sits on my nightstand is dry--used up by the constant scribbling of my sleepy mind. 

When the night comes, that is when the words come. When the darkness settles, that is when my mind is awake. Letters to words, words to sentences, sentences to stories. The words take over my fingers and cause my hand to cramp as I struggle to write down all that comes in the few hours of quiet.

But I don't mind. I don't mind the bags under my eyes from late night brainstorms. I don't mind the sloppy handwriting of one half asleep. And why would I? In the morning, I have pages and pages of plots, of characters, of...

Tears for a Room No Longer Mine

“And here is where I’ll put my lamp!” I said proudly, showing my art teacher the picture I had drawn of my room. 
    “Very good!” my teacher said, before moving on to the next student.
    I spread out the page I had diligently colored, mapping out the new layout of my new room in our attic. My bed tucked in the corner, the new easel I hoped to buy was drawn by the window. The colorful lamp sat guard over a nightstand and shelf, where I would keep my chapter books. I had been excited for this project in art class. What perfect timing for a project to draw our rooms, I was just getting my own room in our attic.
    After school, I ran upstairs. I brushed my way through the clothing of the closet that connected my sister's room to the second stairwell that led to the attic. There was no door at the top...

Food Writing Competition 2020

Soup's On

The front door slammed behind us as we hurried into the warmth of my grandparents’ house, all bundled against the winter air. Snow boots and coats were peeled off, red noses and ears were exposed. It was Christmas day, and most of my extended family had already arrived. I slipped through the crowded living room and into the kitchen.
    "Alexandra Jade!" my grandmother exclaimed; she’s one of the only ones to call me by my full name. "How was your drive? Do you want soup?"
    My grandfather scooped me into a hug, tickling my sides as my grandmother maneuvered between the steamy stove and the crowded counters. Fluffy breads, antipasto salads, savory roasts, pasta dishes, squashes, ziti and shrimp, Italian cookies, my grandmother’s signature creme de menthecake, and pies of all flavors buried the counters. I took it all in, breathing deeply the smell of warm food. The whole house was filled with the sharp smell of garlic, the...

i've started writing poetry again

i've started writing poetry again
the last time i did i was eight
now i'm older
the sad words pour out
my pen stains the pages

my mom mentioned once
that i wrote poetry when i was younger 
but it was when i was sad

i remember now
her words bringing back the memories
i would sit in my closet
hidden from the world
wrapped in the colors of dresses and coats
i scribbled it all down
in a little brown notebook

i can see it now
it had a world on the front
it said save the planet
i filled it with planets of my own
words of my own
when i was sad i wrote poetry

it was simple stuff
rhyming words
not very well written
after all i was eight
but i remember the subject
my friends had hurt me
they had teased me
left me for other friends
i was lonely

i'm writing poetry again
now...

you sang it for me #songsoflife

i grab my phone
not expecting a notification
but one is there
and it's from you
you sent a video
you're playing your ukulele
i didn't even know you had one
you sing the song

you are my sunshine

your voice is so beautiful
so gorgeous
i can't think why i haven't heard you sing before

my only sunshine

i want to believe you are singing the song just to me
i don't know who else you texted it to
but i'm going to believe it is special
for your friend

you make me happy when skies are gray

i haven't seen you in awhile
but the way your lips form that word
makes me think somethings wrong
i desperately want to text you
to ask if your okay
but i don't
too afraid of being wrong
or rather of being right
and you shutting me out

you'll never know dear, how much i love you

there it is again ...

What I Miss Most #mysecondcontest6

Maybe what I miss most, wasn't made of steel and stone. Maybe what I miss most, wasn't born of skin and bone...
i don't miss someone
i miss that feeling, that hope, that freedom you get when you travel to someplace new
the adventures of road trips to unknown towns
the adventures of camping outdoors

Life beyond the window, I'm jealous of the way that black bird flies. Free among the people...
i'm tired staying indoors
i'm itching to be free
to fly away into the sky
see the world from a new angle
not through the glass that holds me in

Up on the sun, under the waves, under three crowns when I'm far away
that constant constellation in the sky.
orion's belt
the three shining crowns in the night
it ties me to my home when I'm gone
it ties me to the wild when I'm confined to normal life.

I remember, every summer. But now the years...

This I Believe

I Believe in Friendships

I believe in friendships
The bond between those you love,
The group of those you trust.
The ones who you are yourself around

I believe in true friends
The ones who know you for you,
All your feats and all your flaws:
The sunny smiles, the colorful chalk art,
The messy hair, tear brimmed eyes.

I believe in the memories.
Late summer nights, staring at the stars.
Dunking each other in the lake, laughter splashing as well as water.
Playing Frisbee in the park,
Walking along the river, skipping rocks.
Sharing cotton candy and bags of kettle corn at fairs.
Dancing and singing to old records

I believe in the feelings:
Laughter, true laughter,
Sharing stories, making memories.
Stupid stunts, crazy ideas, impromptu plans.

I believe in lasting friendships.
They are hard to find
But when you do,
You will never be left behind;
You will be surrounded with those who love you.

wide brimmed hats

mornings wet with dew
watering the flowers and harvesting sun ripened strawberries
fresh smoothies, sunglasses, wide brimmed hats

sunny days at the beach
hot sand burning your feet and water freezing your toes
sunburned shoulders, white shell bracelets, wide brimmed hats

the picnics at parks
baskets packed with sandwiches and mason jars filled with homemade lemonade
faded blankets, ripped up shorts, wide brimmed hats

lazy summer afternoons
relaxing with a book or jumping in the pool
chalk dusted hands, dripping popsicles, wide brimmed hats



 

Hope through Hope ~IT PLACED 2nd IN SCHOOL CONTEST!!~

Before I begin, I want to give some background on this piece. I wrote this for my school's annual Writer's Conference (a day where we learn a new style of writing and then write entries). This years technique was Memoirs. Tonight I find out the winners of the Writer's Conference. So in anticipation, I am publishing my entry. Let me know what you think!!

EDIT: I JUST FOUND OUT IT PLACED 2nd AMONG ALL THE 10th/11th GRADE AT MY SCHOOL!!!

Hope Through Hope

The wind flew through the open window, cooling my flushed cheeks. Laughter escaped into the night, drowning out the other sounds of traffic. I sat in the backseat of Hope’s car, along with several others, heading to Dairy Queen. The radio blasted Taylor Swift. Our voices grew hoarse from singing at the top of our lungs. As I stopped to catch my breath, I looked around. These are my friends, I thought. These are the people...

Hope through Hope ~IT PLACED 2nd IN SCHOOL CONTEST!!~

Before I begin, I want to give some background on this piece. I wrote this for my school's annual Writer's Conference (a day where we learn a new style of writing and then write entries). This years technique was Memoirs. Tonight I find out the winners of the Writer's Conference. So in anticipation, I am publishing my entry. Let me know what you think!!


Hope Through Hope

The wind flew through the open window, cooling my flushed cheeks. Laughter escaped into the night, drowning out the other sounds of traffic. I sat in the backseat of Hope’s car, along with several others, heading to Dairy Queen. The radio blasted Taylor Swift. Our voices grew hoarse from singing at the top of our lungs. As I stopped to catch my breath, I looked around. These are my friends, I thought. These are the people I can be myself around. I thought back to the time in my life when...

The Problem with Writing

Writing stories, creating characters. Building worlds, solving problems. You can do almost anything when you write. I love writing! But it gets so tiring sometimes. Writers block. Figuring out what happens next. You grow so attached to the characters, putting pieces of yourself into them. Sometimes my energy runs out. I don't want to write my story, I want read my story. It gets so frustrating, wanting to know what happens next. But unlike cliffhangers in books, where all you need to do is read the next chapter, with your own stories--you have to make up what happens next. It's up to you to resolve the problems. 

Someone once asked me: "If you could read anything right now, what would you read?

My answer was surprising.  "I want to read my story."

I have no idea what is going to happen next. It's not planned out yet. The ending hasn't formed. I'm just as curios of the ending as those...

Food Writing Competition 2020

Soup's On

The front slammed behind us as we hurried into the warmth of my grandparents' house, all bundled against the winter air. Snow boots and coats were peeled off, red noses and ears exposed. It was Christmas day, and most of my extended family had already arrived. I slipped through the crowded living room and into the kitchen.
    "Alexandra Jade!" my grandmother exclaimed, she’s one of the only ones to call me by my full name. "How was your drive? Do you want soup?" My grandfather scooped me into a hug, tickling my sides, as my grandmother turned back and forth between her crowded and steamy stove to the counters, which were also crowded with food. Breads, meat, pies, casseroles, and all other sorts of yummy dishes covered the wooden counters. I took it all in, breathing deeply the smell of warm food. I sat at a little table and my grandmother placed a hot bowl of freshly made soup in...

Food Writing Competition 2020

Soup's On

The front slammed behind us as we hurried into the warmth of my grandparents house, all bundled against the winter air. Snow boots and coats were peeled off, red noses and ears exposed. It was Christmas day, and most of my extended family had already arrived. I slipped through the crowded living room and into the kitchen.
    "Alexandra Jade!" my grandmother exclaimed, she one of the only ones to call me by my full name. "How was your drive? Do you want soup?"
    My grandfather scooped me into a hug, tickling my sides, as my grandmother turned back and forth between her crowded and steamy stove to the counters, which were also crowded with food. Breads, meat, pies, casseroles and all other sorts of yummy dishes covered the wooden counters. I took it all in, breathing deeply the smell of warm food. I sat at a little table and my grandmother placed a hot bowl of freshly made...

Writing Streak Challenge Week 9

Week 9: Challenge Completed

day 1:
I only had a few minutes, a few short minutes, to try to explain myself--this could go really badly.

day 2:
She crumpled on the floor in the corner of her room, tears flowed down her cheeks as she sobbed--as she wished--for what could not be. 

day 3:
Alice took the heavy book off the shelf and blew the thick layer of dust off the cover; this book would finally reveal the truth. 

day 4:
"What's there to be scared of? It'll be fine," Max said, unaware of how wrong he was. 

day 5:
It wasn't sadness and it wasn't pain, it wasn't joy and it wasn't happiness; it was jut raw emotion, with no words able to describe it. 

Writing Streak: week 9 day 5

It wasn't sadness and it wasn't pain, it wasn't joy and it wasn't happiness; it was jut raw emotion, with no words able to describe it. 

Playing with the Echo

Our boat was in the middle of the lake
floating aimlessly among the still water
the mountains enclosed us

the sky was bright
the sun dipped in and out from behind the clouds

You cried out a call of happiness
and the mountains screamed it back
we played with the echo
random words
lyrics of songs
and the mountains repeated it flawlessly

phrases encased us
our little moment on the lake
unlike the echo from the mountain
this memory will last
 

Shooting Stars, Blushing Smiles #ollie1stcomp

It was a cool summer night. The suns warmth still seeped from the earth, even though it had set hours ago, so we weren't cold. The stars were out, shining like diamonds strewn across the sky. I couldn't help but smile to myself as I stared at the dark blue of space. I was laying on the grass in front of the lodge with a couple other friends. It was the last night of camp. In the morning, we would all pack up and head home. But it wasn't morning yet, and we wanted to make the best of our last night. So there we all were, far away enough from the light of the lodge so we could see the stars. We could hear the shouts of others as they played Frisbee in the dark, and the river's current was a soft murmur in the background. 
I pointed to a rush of light in the sky.
    "Right...

Writing Streak: week 9 day 4

"What's there to be scared of? It'll be fine," Max said, unaware of how wrong he was. 

cursed with looking back #SomethingUnique6


you were there when i needed you
so now that you're leaving i suppose that is no longer true

others tell me to let go and move on
that it is best 
it may be best for you
but it hurts for me

i'm trying hard to feel happy for you
you get to start a whole new adventure
but it makes me sad
to think i won't be apart of it

i thought you would be the friend that would stay 
the friend that is there for every big moment
but plans change

people change

it hurts more that you are distant now
it could have just been a distance separating us
but something more is blocking you from me

i'm desperate
trying hard to move on

but i see you on instagram
the pictures you post
the smiles you're sharing

it brings back the sadness
that you are no longer my close friend
there are others now

am...

Marrakesh Souk #SomethingUnique1


I couldn't help but feel giddy with excitement as my family and I started our day in the souk in Marrakesh. We had arrived in Morocco late the previous night. It had been rough, trying to find our way through the Medina, battling severe jet lag from our 26-hour journey. But in the morning, everything looked different. The sun shone down, lighting up the various booths and stand with tables littered with carved objects, woven baskets, fresh honey and spices. The whole souk was a maze of color. People calling out in different languages, sales pitches and haggling over prices. 
        We spent the day wandering through this new experience. I had never seen anything like it! It was my first time, other than Canada, traveling internationally. Even though my feet hurt from walking all day, I was excited. Beyond every turn was something new. We passed a man with a cart full of watermelons. Women, wrapped in beautiful Hijabs, sat...

Broken Bindings (Please give feedback!)

I know of people who do everything to keep their books safe, to keep them tidy and neat. They dust the shelves daily, are careful not to break the binding, never fold the corners of the pages to keep their place. That is a love of books, of reading. 

My bookshelves are dusty. They are packed so tight with copies of my favorite books it is hard to remove one. The bindings of my books were broken the moment I bought them. The corners are worn from reading them again and again. The edges are faded, and some covers are so old they have ripped. But I keep them. I still read them. Over and over. 

I think that is even greater evidence that you love your books. When they are worn down with folded edges and broken bindings. Because who cares what they look like on the outside. The story on the inside matters more than making sure the...

The Trinket (edited)

I was made from a lump of iron. The heat of the fire and the hammering of the tools slowly forged me into the shape I am today. My shape is in the eye of the beholder; some think I am a bird, to others I am a dragon. To the Collector, I am a prized possession--one of a kind.

I live in a small cottage, hidden deep in a forest. From my spot of the shelf I can see everything: the sun shining through the window as it rises each morning, the other trinkets that litter the floor on various tables and shelves, and the Collector himself. A lonely old man who takes company only with his trinkets, keeping them clean and shining, as if they were a good pair of shoes.

The Collector keeps all sorts of objects. Teapots he boasts are from the Queen of England, jars from the ancient Aztec Empires, and medals from the great...

Normal is Always Changing


Change comes tomorrow.
It's on its way.
And I am scared. 
I don't know what to expect--only that it will be different. 

I'm not ready. 

I wish I could go back. 
To before all this began.
But I would have to sacrifice all that makes me who I am.

So change is a good thing,
although at the time it may be hard. 

Tomorrow is coming. 
The hours are slipping by.
Soon it will be different. 
Soon normal will be left behind.

But is today normal?
How can one tell?
What defines normal?

Nothing is ever normal. 
Life is always ranging,
throughout constant ups and downs. 
Normal is always changing.

I can think back,
to when these problems were not the case.
But even though I might wish these challenges gone,
others would soon be in its place.

No one lives without trials,
No one lives without change.
But we can pursue them with joy,
and with a bold...

Broken Bindings (Please give feedback!)

I know of people who do everything to keep their books safe. To keep them tidy and neat. They dust the shelves daily, are careful not to break the binding, never fold the corners of the pages to keep their place. 

But is that a sign of truly loving your books? Or a sign that they are more of a trophy. Only there to boast of and look at. 

My bookshelves are dusty. They are packed so tight with copies of my favorite books it is hard to remove one. The bindings of my books were broken the moment I bought them. The corners worn from reading them over and over. Edges are faded, some covers are so old they have ripped. But I kept them. I still read them. Over and over. 

I think that is a true sign that you love your books. When they are worn down with folded edges and broken bindings. Because who cares what...

Writing Streak: week 9 day 3

Alice took the heavy book off the shelf and blew the thick layer of dust off the cover; this book would finally reveal the truth. 

The Forgotten Pond #Howdy

Deep in the forest, hidden by the trees, is a small, forgotten pond. A pond that holds history as well as water. Its shallow embankment is the resting place of memories, of love, of happiness. Of the few who have seen it, some hold it in their mind as a reminder of what could have happened, what might have been. But for others, it is a place of wonder and beauty. A place of bliss. No one comes to visit the pond anymore. It is a mere glimpse of forgotten youth. It sits, alone and abandoned, visited only by the trees and flowers. 

Shadows flicker across the water throughout the day, casting reflections on the still water. A few fish lazily float in its depths, turtles sun themselves on the rocks. It is a tranquil pond, with nothing but frogs and birds to disturb the silence. 

The sun lights up the ground, bathing the wildflowers in warmth. A large oak...

I Am Filled with Awe #IAmContest

I am filled with awe, I am filled with joy
I wonder at the night skies, at the secrets hidden within its depths
I hear a lonely bird call, singing sweetly to the flowers
I see shining sunset, pastel colors painted across the sky
I want hundred eyes, to soak in all this beauty
I am filled with awe, I am filled with joy

I pretend I am a bird, with the ability to fly
I feel a leap inside me, a longing to roam and wander
I touch the petals of a flower, my fingers now damp with heavy dew
I worry that you'll miss the beauty that surrounds you
I cry and beg you, take a look around
I am filled with awe, I am filled with joy

I understand that beauty fades
I say praise the one who made it instead
I dream of creating beauty, an artwork that caused a change
I try my best to grow and...

Writing Streak: week 9 day 2

She crumpled on the floor in the corner of her room, tears flowed down her cheeks as she sobbed--as she wished--for what could not be. 

I Wish They Had an App for That

To Comfort with a Silence

When someone is hurt, and you don't know the words to say. When someone has lost a loved one and you don't know how to comfort them. When you can see the pain in your friend's eyes but you don't know how to fix it. I wish they had an app for that. To give the words to ease pain, loss, sadness.

But then, it wouldn't be real, would it? Reciting from an app, comforting with words that aren't yours. I think that's what makes it special, because even if the words aren't there, you are there. You can comfort with presence, a silence.

So maybe, I don't wish they had an app for that.

Writing Streak: week 9 day 1

I only had a few minutes, a few short minutes, to try to explain myself--this could go really badly.

cursed with looking back #SomethingUnique6



you were there when i needed you
so now that you're leaving i suppose that is no longer true

others tell me to let go and move on
that it is best 
it may be best for you
but it hurts for me

i'm trying hard to feel happy for you
you get to start a whole new adventure
but it makes me sad
to think i won't be apart of it

i thought you would be the friend that would stay 
the friend that is there for every big moment
but plans change

people change

it hurts more that you are distant now
it could have just been a distance separating us
but something more is blocking you from me

i'm desperate
trying hard to move on

but i see you on instagram
the pictures you post
the smiles you're sharing

it brings back the sadness
that you are no longer my close friend
there are others now

am...

A Reminder of the Threat

Emily woke with a start, clutching for the strap around her neck. Even as she reached for it, she knew it would not be there. The hard drive was gone. Taken by AIM. She didn't know what was worse. It being gone, or what hung in its place.

A large pit in her stomach formed as her fingers closed against a cold sheet of metal. An army dog tag hung loosely on a thin chain. She unclasped the haunting slip of metal and held it in her hand carefully. The light of the moon shone through her window, illuminating the tag just enough for her to read the name. But she didn't need the moon's light to know what was on it. Rosadra, Michael, 586203, it read. It was her brother's dog tag. And it was her fault she had it. 

Although it had been several months since her brother's death, it still haunted her. You don't easily...

Caught in the Rain

Have you ever been caught in the rain without your umbrella?
Have you sat by the window, watching the streams of water roll down the pain?
Have you ever heard the rain?

The ever changing forms of water that we call rain.
The heavy downpour from the clouds,
the light droplets trickling down your coat,
the mist that clouds the window,
the rolling thunder that rips the sky in two.

That is true beauty--true power.
A simple bead of water--something so small yet so powerful when with the others.
The tears of the sky rain down upon the earth.
Sheets of rain crashing through the trees,
splashing the ground,
forming puddles,
flooding rivers.
Then it's over.

The powerful stream of water settles to a steady drip.
The slow tapping on the roof come to a gentle stop.
The storm is over, the clouds give way.
The sun lights up every scattered drop of water like diamonds.

Writing Streak Challenge Week 8

Writing Streak Week 8 Challenge Completed

Day 1:
Emotions, whether they bring smiles or evoke tears, make memories; those memories change you into who you are.

Day 2:
Focus on growing realationships with those who love you, stop trying to impress those who judge. 

Day 3:
How much easier is it to forgive one you love than one who has wronged you, yet both are equally important. 

Day 4:
Do not lose hope in your toil, soon you will reap the harvest.

Day 5:
Nothing in this world will satisfy blinded hearts. 

Writing Streak Week 8 Day 5

Nothing in this world will satisfy blinded hearts. 

Farsick

Missing the Memories Not Yet Made

I miss the sun of my face, the wind whipping through my hair. I miss seeing the pavement race by, nothing more than a
blur.

Oh, to have the adventure of escaping to a new place. Sleeping under the stars of an unknown wilderness. Walking the trails of an unknown hike. 

Oh, to witness the sights and sounds of creation. The heat of a desert, the smell of the ocean, the sounds of birds in a forest. 

A life of adventure! Oh, how I miss it, how I long for it. To get into the car and drive. No set destinations, only pit stops. 

I often dream what it would be like. For I have never done those things. Yet I miss it, I long for it. 
 

Skagit Valley, Washington

The valley where I live
sits in the northwest corner of America
its lined by a river
bordered by mountains

the valley where I live
is full of beauty
springtime tulips
sunshine filled summers
apple-filled falls
winters drizzled with rain

the valley where I live
holds many unique features
drive-thru coffee huts line every street
the sound of train horns as they barrel down the tracks
wild blackberries that grow like weeds
ferries for transport between the islands of the sound

the valley where I live
is home of many memories
learning new constellations on warm summer nights
searching for crabs under barnacle-strewn rocks
setting off firecrackers for Fourth of July
sipping hot cider on crisp fall afternoons
making snowmen when it is cold enough for snow

the valley where I live
is a place I am proud to call home. 
 

Writing Streak Week 8 Day 4

Don't lose hope in your toil, soon you will reap the harvest.

A Reflection in the Waves

For most of my childhood, I grew up near the beach. In fact, I lived across the street from the ocean. My father was the pastor of a small church in a small tourist town right on the coast of the Atlantic Ocean. I have very fond memories of the years I lived in Massachusetts: the beautiful sunrises and sunsets we would see, going to the beach on hot summer days, kayaking in the wharf, playing with the crabs or finding sea glass among the millions of tiny rocks on the shoreline. If I close my eyes and focus, I can hear the crashing of waves, etched permanently in my mind. 

Our church was known as Pigeon Cove Chapel. The small white church stood right on the cove on the small, but tranquil, Granite Street. Stained glass windows lined the sanctuary, two columns of pews ran the length of the small room. I remember the smell of dust and pine...

Writing Streak Week 8 Day 1

Emotions, whether they bring smiles or evoke tears, make memories; those memories change you into who you are.

Writing Streak Week 8 Day 3

How much easier is it to forgive one you love than one who has wronged you, yet both are equally important. 

Writing Streak Challenge Week 8

Writing Streak Week 8 Challenge Completed

Emotions, whether they bring smiles or evoke tears, make memories; those memories change you into who you are.