I like those fields with tall green grass. :)

So I was trying to get in the writing mood for my story that's due tomorrow for English. The one based on a life changing experience. I'm struggling with this assignment, despite my initial hopes that it would be a breeze. The fact that the teacher requires lots of description is a real bother to me. I know it's a very important aspect to a narrative but HELL I don't naturally have the talent for description, which is why I use to keep such things to a minimum in my little story attempts. 

This I wrote in attempts to loosen myself up. This was easy to write, because I didn't feel restrained by the need to frikkin' describe. And some people may call that poor writing. So be it! I prefer it and I wish I could write my paper like this. ;o;

Anyway... I'll have to pray my English teacher won't ask for it tomorrow. D: (Also if you're wondering why it ends for no reason, it's 'cause I didn't have time to finish. So 'tis a drabble or whatever you call it.)

I could smell the scent of the moist earth filling my nostrils, as I walked with my bare feet through the lime-green, high grass that sunny afternoon. The sun was still high in the sky, its rays tingling my skin after a long time in my room. 

Mama had locked me in my room after asking about Stuart, her recent boyfriend. She seemed frightened and shocked by this, her face growin’ white like a sheet of paper while she grabbed nervously at her short, dark chocolate brown curls as if looking for a lost screw.

I couldn’t understand why she would react like that. Stuart seemed like a nice fellow, for all I could tell, but Mama sure didn’t seem to like me mentioning his name. Before I could say anymore she grabbed my right arm firmly with her skinny fingers and brought me to my room, told me to sit down on my bed and to think about what I had said. Mama then quickly closed the door and a couple seconds later I heard the sound of the lock being turned. She really locked me in. Mama clearly lost some of her marbles.

I sat there in my dark room, the only window was facing the wooden fence that blocked most of the sunlight during the morning. I glanced at that very window, feeling a soft breeze. That is when I noticed that the window wasn’t ever locked and I could still fit in through it if I opened it a wee bit more.

That was it. I wasn’t going to sit here and figure out what was wrong with Mama or wait for her to come back. She obviously didn’t want anything with me at the moment. So I got down from my bed (...)

Moonlight

I don't like it when there is no night,

With the moonlight

and the starts a bright,

Where that light

brightens up the void inside.

First attempted poem in ages! The first couple lines came from real frustration as I walked across the balcony to see there were no bright stars or intense moonlight this evening, only clouds which made it seem darker. I really like those moon lit nights better.

P.S. OK, so it doesn't seem much like poetry. But I had to try with something!

New layout!

I've always wanted something like a layout that could really represent this blog. And I made it! I used a sketch of a lion found on google search as a reference to make the one you're seeing now. It was fun! The "ROAR" was just me trying to be amusing. Hope you like it!


Oh, and yes... I took it in a literal sense. But that's what makes it fun! :D

John Part 3 (Draft)

Remember that "John" story I had a while ago? Quite a while ago, actually. But I was re-reading what I had posted here and I felt like writing a continuation... I couldn't get into the "I'm depressed," mood he had going, though. So it doesn't even sound like him. It might as well be somebody totally different. *pouts*

Anyway, since I am now going to post everything I write here, no matter how much I shun it, here it is.

2:30 PM
You know that sound of the bell that rings as a new costumer comes into a store? Some people find it annoying, others get startled by it, but today I found it comforting, as I walked through the door of Wise is Wiser bookstore.
As I expected, many people decided to warm up inside the store as they searched for their next book to read. Or not, since I’ve had experienced people coming here just to test their latest pick-up lines.

I approached my way to the register, past the counter, and into the employees only room, where I changed into my daily uniform. White shirt, jeans, black shoes and a blue apron with the logo of the store on it. Don’t ask me why it’s blue, or why the mascot is an owl with glasses. I don’t get it either.
The collar of the apron felt heavy on my neck, but I tried to ignore it, while taking a deep breath and heading out into the jungle full of books.

I didn’t dislike the job entirely. It was easy, actually. All you had to do was pretend you were busy with something, and once a costumer got the courage to talk to you, you’d help them with whatever book troubles they had. It only got annoying when the teenagers come with their fussy parents, with a huge list of books they need for school.

“It’s only so I can pass,” said a kid once to me. But he didn’t seem like he even cared if they got the books or not. I think I didn’t care either. But today was different. Today I needed to distract myself, and my J.O.B. was the perfect way to do that.

Aha! So there is something!

I found this as a draft on the posting log. I don't remember now what it was supposed to be about, but I guess I didn't like it enough to post it. I guess it's up to you to say-- although even I can't think of much to say about it. It only gets curious at the end. It's said I wrote it in June. (No wonder I don't remember.)

The man was only a couple meters away, but with every glance of mine, it seemed like he was ever so more distant than in reality. The hallway was full of busy life, many people walking through the hallway in a hurry, others waiting in line like myself for their ticket number.

I was in a bank, waiting for my number to be called, expecting a afternoon full of bills to pay. The line was especially long for being Wednesday.

I peeked at the time, and it was 2 o'clock. Twenty minutes had passed since the wonderful man had entered the building. I wasn't the only one looking at him, for many other women seemed to sigh with every movement that he made. Even mothers with there children could not help but stare.

What's so special about this man? He had this elegance about him. Well dressed and not too young, he was in his golden years of the thirties.

He was nor in the line nor sitting on one of the chairs. He had been reading a small book intently, his glasses complementing his brown eyes. I was dying to know what the book was, but it seemed like a costom made cover made out of leather.

For one second I thought he had taken a glance at me, as I might have stared too long, but when my heart skipped a beat, as he raised his head up to look around, I always seemed mistaken.

It was only until I had 4 people in front of me left, that I realized he was coming towards me. Or at least I thought so. In reality he was greeting a friend, or a coullege, a very tall man in a suit, with the darkest pair of eyes I had ever seen. How did I not notice this man behind me?

"So you're ready, are you?" The dark eyed man asked.
"More than ready, Zac."

So long

It's been so long since I've last written something, that I'm reluctant to try to now. It's silly, but I'm afraid I have lost the possible style I had, if I had any. Besides, I'm at lost at what to write about.

Well, poetry is off limits at the moment. It's what scares me the most to write. OK, "scares" is a strong word, but I'm the most reluctant to write poetry, because I don't feel the natural flow to do so anymore.

I've had two characters in my mind for years, which started out as fantasy-like mascots and then evolved into a modern, more mature version, non-fantasy-like. I'd like to write about them someday, but I feel the story has become very sad and I almost don't want a happy ending. Isn't that strange. Me, the romantic, doesn't want a happy ending? I mean, yes I like bittersweet, but I hate those stories where you go through an emotional roller-coaster, only to find yourself finishing it with a bad taste in your mouth, thinking "why did I go over the trouble of even reading all of it?".

Besides that, I need to create a good backstory, which I haven't stopped to do at all. And overall I need to create a decent story to back up the characters, other than the already existent fleeting & angst-y emotions.

Basically I haven't made an effort to flesh out a real story. And it's pitiful. v-v

Eventually I want to get back to writing. It was very satisfying to post and see it here. Sadly I have no other record of the older drafts which I never posted on this blog, because I lost them with the last computer I had that died on me. Next time I'm going to either post it all or keep it in a CD. It was fun to look back on the little bits I had written.

"John" continuation.

If you're wondering where the beginning of this is, just click on the tag of this post. I wanted to write more than just this as a continuation, but... oh well-- I shall do so next time. Btw, the 15 min timeline really worked. I couldn't stop for just 15 min. XD Now all I have to do is try to do that more than just once a week.

“I guess she was no good anyway. It’s not like we had a future or anything, right?”

I brushed the small amount of dust off the glossy picture in my hand. One of the last pictures I had of Denise and I.

At this last question, I turned my head to a complete stranger, as if waiting for an answer. The elderly man beside me merely continued to read his newspaper and drink his coffee; apparently not aware someone was sitting next to him at the counter.

I was at a small café that was only a couple minutes away from home. I seemed to always stop here when the weather wasn’t that great. It was cloudy that day, still wet outside from the recent rain. Most people still had their coats on, despite the heater inside.

I sighed. What happened to clingy women nowadays? They seemed to have vanished. Or at least I seemed to only fall for the complicated ones.

Looking back at the photo, I remembered the day before come back to me. She had left quickly after packing her bags; I had brought myself back to the veranda, not willing to say goodbye anymore. I barely waited for a minute, and she was out the door. Soon enough I could see her slender figure striding across the sidewalk with her bags, looking for a taxi. I was hoping she would turn back once she realized how stupid it was to wait for one to show up at this end of the neighborhood, but she waited stubbornly. Just as I waited stubbornly for her to disappear finally into a car’s door, and off, out of my sight. I regretted not coming down with her later.

I spent the rest of the day in my apartment, just dragging myself from the kitchen to the living room. I hadn’t watched TV for that long in a while. I stayed up till 3 o’clock in the morning, until I realized I had work that day, and grudgingly I went to bed.

Coming out of my thoughts, I put the photo down next to my empty coffee cup, and glanced at my watch. Exactly 2 PM. My work shift would start in a half an hour. If I were planning to get there on time, I would have to get going now.