Alright, yes its bad, its back, with its own new styles....alright, that was horrible. Anyways, here are some more writings that I've had over the past that have their onw different moods. Enjoy, and let me know what you think. Trust me, don't try to figure out my personality. I follow the prompt, and thats it.
Grief and/or Loss
Alright, no, this isn't a real story. I thought it would have more effect in first person, so I wrote it this way. The prompt was a grief and/or loss piece, to get those who wrote happy stories all the time out of their "slumps".
I dropped down to my knees in the chilling sorrow that covered me, raining down in ice-cold strokes. Between my hands, I grasped at a simple picture, framed in black around the colorful memory-holder. Tears fell down my face, coming at the sight of that picture. I was practically glued to the possession; I couldn’t let it go. Moans turned to silent sobs as I recalled that horrible day. I have been over at the store with him, just going on with our normal lives. Then, some guy broke in, pointing a gun first at the cashier, then at me, threatening to shoot if I didn’t hand over my purse. I was going to give it up, but then he had jumped in, fighting for it. I backed up and out of the way as the two went at it, wrestling for the keepsake of the gun. I gave a gasp and went over to where the cashier was, seeing as she had already gone and taken the liberty of calling for the police. I slowly turned to look at the fight, and a pit in my stomach formed with I heard that one, lonesome gunshot. It rang out pure like a bell, but it stung inside me, as if I had been shot myself. Later, I would see just how much I wish that bullet had been for me. Now that I look back upon it, I remember just how startled I was when I saw him laying on the floor, blood all over his hands, holding his stomach, near his heart. I rushed over to him, denial pushing me to believe that he was fine and that this was all just a joke to scare me. But, it couldn’t have been. Even the robber had run out that door, too scared to show his face near that place again. No. No. He couldn’t be dead. Why did he have to be the hero? Why did he die and not me? Life wasn’t fair and it gave no exception on my part, especially that day. I wish so hard to see him rise again, and maybe that bullet had missed its mark. No, it didn’t miss, not a chance. He was gone with 5 minutes and I didn’t get to say good-bye. So now, I see that picture again and I could remember everything from before that incident to when we put him to rest in the cemetery two blocks from my home. His smile stuck out at me and I couldn’t help but smile slowly in return. Would I recover from this someday? I could never forget him, nor did I plan on letting that ever happen. Rumor even has it that the robber had been caught; I couldn’t face him to let him know just how much pain he had placed into my life. Memories seem to flood within me every time I think of him now. Days at school, days at the movies, days on the few vacations we had together. Even the times alone somewhere quiet like on a bench at the elementary school park. Once again, I ask myself, I ask God: Why him? Was there some time written for all of us that God has to keep to his word and somehow make events happen to break us back? I cried and hugged the picture one more time, staying on that floor in my own personal space. I could hear the calls of my family below, saying it was time to come down and eat dinner; I could only ignore them. Who had the stomach to eat after seeing or hearing something like that gunshot, wishing the path had been changed to face their direction? I hope he’s happy wherever he is now, I guess. To be with him someday is my final wish to him, and maybe I would be with him soon. How soon I wonder? To be the hero...for a little possession such as a purse, wasn’t worth his life. I’d give my life for his any day. Take away the money, take away my life, just let him live.
I’ll never forget…
I’ll never forget that regret I felt, all those times I screwed by doing something stupid. Not only because I messed it up for myself, but also I messed it up for others. It’s funny how you can forget the good things in life, but then, the bad times are drilled there, stuck in your head, never to be forgotten. Sometimes, I wish I could go back to those moments and prevent them from happening; life would be more enjoyable. I’ll never forget that joy I felt through my happiness. When we got that superior in marching band, both as a freshmen and my first time, and also as a sophomore this past year. The feeling over achievement and the succession we had after such hard work and lots of hours practicing out at the marching field and in the heat of the pavement out in the parking lot. In that uniform, you feel pride and in unison with others to be one band and to form one picture for everyone to see. Between the rhythms of the Drumline, the core sound of the band, and also the colorful picture-effect of the colorguard. There is just so much work we put into our music. I’ll never forget my friends. They’ve done so much for me and gotten me through the hard times many times over. They’ve shown me that trust can go very far and sometimes, it may be broken, but true friends never let it go. If help was needed, most of the time they came to my aid. I’ve spend endless hours just hanging out and talking to them. Sometimes, I’ve felt problems and I’m upset over something, they find some way to make life a lot more fun and understanding. I’ll never forget Cam and how we’ve spent a lot of time talking and the first time we kissed. I’m perfectly comfortable around him and know he’ll never let anything bad happen to me. He also showed me that I AM a pretty person, even physically. I’ll never forget Michelle and how she always seem to change my outlook on life and what it was about, and also to let me see just how much talent some people have. I’ll never forget Emily James who showed that quiet people can make such a large difference to the world. I’ll never forget Marisa who showed me just how powerful the word of Christ can be and how we are suppose to be to each other. I’ll never forget Lexi who proved that anybody can be totally different from first impressions and that I shouldn’t care what people think. BJ showed me just how much personality one person can have, and how it really doesn’t matter what others think, it won’t make any difference. I could go on and on about my friends, but overall, they all give me one thing: friendship and trust.
That Old House (Part 1)
Ooh, spooky. Yea, it was an attempt at writing a scary story, with the prompt "Tales from the Crypt". Eh, so so in my opinoin, but atleast I tried and maybe I can write an ending sequel off of it.
The moon rose, in its ghostly views, chills crawling across the earth as darkness shadow sight into blindness. Clouds haunted the sky, giving that old house a foggy appearance. Howls cried out in sorrow from the creepy woods behind the abandoned home. Bats raced from the chimney, shrills echoing into the night. Cell phone dead, car with a shot front tire, what was the poor girl suppose to do, stay there? Shivers danced alone her spine as she eyed that old, spooky mansion. With a shake of her head, she pushed aside her fear and allowed herself to walk forward, into the yard. She pulled the rusted gate inward to make an accessible entrance. It creaked, but obediently opened for her path to clear. She walked up to the large, wooden door, holding the decrepit brass knocker in her hand. She attempted a knock in vain, gaining no answer. She calmly opened the door, “Hello?” she called out. Once again, no answer. She entered in, carrying herself into the hallway. With a slam, the door shut behind her, causing her to jump what seemed 5 feet into the air. As her heart slowed, she continued inside. She glanced up at the framework over head. Carefully captivated portraits, they seemed so lifelike in showing what people use to own this own; it scared her alive they seemed. She moved along into the main living room. She saw there was a source of dim light, coming from a lit fireplace. How was that possible? A black cat sat on the hearth, soaking up the warmth and calling out a meow to her in greeting. That’s when something grasped her shoulder.
Popularity What can I say? Doesn't it speak the truth in a way? Well, the view of the class was that popularity was like this, so I took their advice and wrote of it. I'm not the best poet so bare with me on this. Thanks again for reading!
What is popularity? Why does everyone feel that they have to be popular? To be popular, you have to have the right clothes, the right style, the right friends. You try to talk a certain way, or even walk a certain way. What is popularity?
Please, define “being popular” for me. Does it mean giving up your true friends for new ones? To act like someone you’re really not? Maybe you think that you’re “cool”. Guess what, You don’t fool me. Go on, Be who you want to be.
It’s not my life, it’s yours. I’m telling you now, popularity isn’t the answer. Whether you take my advice or not, I’ve told you what I think. The rest of it, is up to you… What is popularity?
kerospirit91 · Sun Apr 22, 2007 @ 01:15am · 0 Comments |