Moving On (Genre: Mystery)
He jolted into consciousness. An invisible force was propelling him to march stiffly onwards, an urge his traitorous legs obeyed. Unable to stop, unable to even relax, he wished for salvation – and got it when a ravine yawned before him.
The little boy looked up in surprise when his toy soldier fell off the table.
Tricked into the Job (Genre: Humour)
It was an utterly, completely, totally horrendous occupation. He abhorred every single nanosecond of it. At first he thought the description sounded interesting, now he understood the true extent of manipulation. Really, he should have known much better than to believe flowery language. Next time he’ll read the fine print, the Loch Ness monster vowed.
Forever (Genre: Romance)
They were too young, too focused on academics for a relationship to work. The brush of a shoulder against another. The ghost of a smile. The whisper of a touch. The shadow of a wink. The lingering of eyes on each other. But for that one chance later on in life, she would wait forever.
Ying Fangting, 314
Thursday, August 7, 2008
But in them nature's copy not eterne.
Hello everyone.
Actually, I doubt you will like these, because they are extremely strange, but heck, you are reading them, no?
gifted?
It hasn't always been easy growing up, for me. Mum can be invisible, Dad has x-ray vision, and my younger brother can read people's thoughts. It is hard not to feel a little outclassed by their spectacular (if typical) powers. And me?
My superpower is-everyone smiles at me.
I don't know who to trust.
This Is Not An Emo Poem
Perhaps it was the black dress she had been wearing.
He didn't know what drew him to her, only to perish in her light, but he was in love. Or out of it, mourning for love lost. Sliding delicate blades over skin, he drew bloody patterns on pale flesh.
He was later arrested for murder.
you're not alone
Good night, sleep tight, the Moon shines on you, on a little boy who sleeps unaware under haystacks, but without needles. I'll see you in the morning.
But I will be at your cold, stranger, marble bedside the whole night, watching.
This is true love, love you never thought of when you accepted my ring.
Please read and critique (even if you think it is terrible, at least tell me you think it is terrible!). Thank you, and try to have a nice day. Try.
- Stacey-Ann 314
Actually, I doubt you will like these, because they are extremely strange, but heck, you are reading them, no?
gifted?
It hasn't always been easy growing up, for me. Mum can be invisible, Dad has x-ray vision, and my younger brother can read people's thoughts. It is hard not to feel a little outclassed by their spectacular (if typical) powers. And me?
My superpower is-everyone smiles at me.
I don't know who to trust.
This Is Not An Emo Poem
Perhaps it was the black dress she had been wearing.
He didn't know what drew him to her, only to perish in her light, but he was in love. Or out of it, mourning for love lost. Sliding delicate blades over skin, he drew bloody patterns on pale flesh.
He was later arrested for murder.
you're not alone
Good night, sleep tight, the Moon shines on you, on a little boy who sleeps unaware under haystacks, but without needles. I'll see you in the morning.
But I will be at your cold, stranger, marble bedside the whole night, watching.
This is true love, love you never thought of when you accepted my ring.
Please read and critique (even if you think it is terrible, at least tell me you think it is terrible!). Thank you, and try to have a nice day. Try.
- Stacey-Ann 314
FIFTY FIVE FICTION / WHY WRITE
Fiftyfive fiction
1. There they sat, as they always would, a rooftop apart, watching each other. He sighed, she watched as the smoke curled its way silently into the cold blue sky. Beneath them, the empty streets glowed in the lonely moonlight. Both chimneys regarded this, and each other, with melancholy longing. So close, yet so far away.
2. She sat quietyly on the porch, watching her daughter in the garden, admired the slender strong tilt of her head in the sunlight, the smile in her eyes as the wind tustled her honey-brown hair. My daughter, she thought to herself, my beautiful daughter. And she got up to take the wheelchair-bound girl back indoors.
3. Cleared her throat and she began, wisps of song escaping across the sleeping town, notes floating high into the night sky, the moon her spotlight. Momentary pause, then final note, lingering in the air as though caught in the December frost.
Evidently pleased with herself, the cat took a bow and leapt off the wall.
_________
Why write?
My daughter comes into the living room where I am writing on my laptop. Behind us, the sunlight is melting into the morning and the wind is making the verandah curtains billow. A good morning, I think to myself, for writing. My daughter throws down her writing pad emphatically, petulantly, as though that in itself were enough to convey her agenda in coming here to interrupt my work. And then she begins.
“Why,” she starts, “why write?” It is a demand more than a question, and it hangs bashfully in the space between us, uncertain of where to go. “What’s the point in any of this?” She gestures to her half-written essay, sprawling unceremoniously on the glass tabletop, a sad jumble of single-lined exercise paper. “None of this is going to make any difference, so I might as well give up.” I look at her face, a mess of defiant scowling features, and wonder what to say to her.
I want to tell her that she writes, we write, not because we want to but simply because we must. That writing is how we keep our thoughts seeping into the canvas of life, how we keep ourselves in orbit with the world around us.
I want to tell her that whether she likes it or not, her words are the looking glass through which people will view her. I want to tell her that every word she writes is a part of her that she shares with the world, and that her words have power. Not because of what they are in themselves, but because of the thoughts that propel them out of her mind and onto the pages in front of her.
I want to tell her that no one else can string the same words in the exact way that she can. That even if they do try to, the stories that the words tell will be completely and utterly different. And that is why she must write, because her stories are one-of-a-kind, the most valuable things she has to offer the waiting world.
Instead, I look her in the eyes and smile. “Keep on writing,” I say, “just keep on writing.”
Written by Shzehui from 314(:
1. There they sat, as they always would, a rooftop apart, watching each other. He sighed, she watched as the smoke curled its way silently into the cold blue sky. Beneath them, the empty streets glowed in the lonely moonlight. Both chimneys regarded this, and each other, with melancholy longing. So close, yet so far away.
2. She sat quietyly on the porch, watching her daughter in the garden, admired the slender strong tilt of her head in the sunlight, the smile in her eyes as the wind tustled her honey-brown hair. My daughter, she thought to herself, my beautiful daughter. And she got up to take the wheelchair-bound girl back indoors.
3. Cleared her throat and she began, wisps of song escaping across the sleeping town, notes floating high into the night sky, the moon her spotlight. Momentary pause, then final note, lingering in the air as though caught in the December frost.
Evidently pleased with herself, the cat took a bow and leapt off the wall.
_________
Why write?
My daughter comes into the living room where I am writing on my laptop. Behind us, the sunlight is melting into the morning and the wind is making the verandah curtains billow. A good morning, I think to myself, for writing. My daughter throws down her writing pad emphatically, petulantly, as though that in itself were enough to convey her agenda in coming here to interrupt my work. And then she begins.
“Why,” she starts, “why write?” It is a demand more than a question, and it hangs bashfully in the space between us, uncertain of where to go. “What’s the point in any of this?” She gestures to her half-written essay, sprawling unceremoniously on the glass tabletop, a sad jumble of single-lined exercise paper. “None of this is going to make any difference, so I might as well give up.” I look at her face, a mess of defiant scowling features, and wonder what to say to her.
I want to tell her that she writes, we write, not because we want to but simply because we must. That writing is how we keep our thoughts seeping into the canvas of life, how we keep ourselves in orbit with the world around us.
I want to tell her that whether she likes it or not, her words are the looking glass through which people will view her. I want to tell her that every word she writes is a part of her that she shares with the world, and that her words have power. Not because of what they are in themselves, but because of the thoughts that propel them out of her mind and onto the pages in front of her.
I want to tell her that no one else can string the same words in the exact way that she can. That even if they do try to, the stories that the words tell will be completely and utterly different. And that is why she must write, because her stories are one-of-a-kind, the most valuable things she has to offer the waiting world.
Instead, I look her in the eyes and smile. “Keep on writing,” I say, “just keep on writing.”
Written by Shzehui from 314(:
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
My 55 fiction \(^_^)/ !!!
I've never found writing this fun I must admit, since I am someone who is not really inclined in this area =/. But this 55 fiction was really interesting and enjoyable and it really challenged me! Something like a game haha. I'm not very good at this but here goes!
Waiting for rain
He stood in the scorching sun, teddy bear dangling from his hand. It had not rained since she left. The sweltering heat was simply unbearable, but there he stood, his feet firmly planted in the ground. Every day, he stared out. Every day he waited. Every day, he wondered when this drought would finally end. (55)
Lifeless present
She lay there, slumped in a corner. She used to be really lovely, with her long golden french braid and her beautiful sun dress. She used to be loved. Oh, how she longed to move again! But there she lay stiff, suffocated by a layer of dust. Fallen and forgotten, stuck in that little corner. (55)
Fight
Stepping up onto that hard yet soft platform, he heart pulsated uncontrollably. I focussed on that blurry white figure before me. There was no time to lose; reach out, grab, pull! At the speed of light, I spun into position. He flew. Cheers and war cries echoed all around. Ah, the sweet taste of victory. (55)
(This was written because as many know I'm oh so passionate about judo hahaha it's not very interesting especially since few can relate to it and because it's very obvious. I wrote it in the situation of a judo competition and that is something I would like to experience in the near future! VICTORYYYY haha it sounds a little far-fetched though but imagining it in my head makes me happy)
Celebration
It was time. Time to spread my wings and fly. Soon, I would be leaving my comfort zone and venturing into the real world. I felt the strong shake that was the cue for me to count down. I was fired up and tension rose. "POP!" I flew! Cheers of "yam seng!" acknowledged my success. (55)
Whee that's all for now. Busy times! I shall write more next time (: Bye for nowww
<3, Yi-Min
Waiting for rain
He stood in the scorching sun, teddy bear dangling from his hand. It had not rained since she left. The sweltering heat was simply unbearable, but there he stood, his feet firmly planted in the ground. Every day, he stared out. Every day he waited. Every day, he wondered when this drought would finally end. (55)
Lifeless present
She lay there, slumped in a corner. She used to be really lovely, with her long golden french braid and her beautiful sun dress. She used to be loved. Oh, how she longed to move again! But there she lay stiff, suffocated by a layer of dust. Fallen and forgotten, stuck in that little corner. (55)
Fight
Stepping up onto that hard yet soft platform, he heart pulsated uncontrollably. I focussed on that blurry white figure before me. There was no time to lose; reach out, grab, pull! At the speed of light, I spun into position. He flew. Cheers and war cries echoed all around. Ah, the sweet taste of victory. (55)
(This was written because as many know I'm oh so passionate about judo hahaha it's not very interesting especially since few can relate to it and because it's very obvious. I wrote it in the situation of a judo competition and that is something I would like to experience in the near future! VICTORYYYY haha it sounds a little far-fetched though but imagining it in my head makes me happy)
Celebration
It was time. Time to spread my wings and fly. Soon, I would be leaving my comfort zone and venturing into the real world. I felt the strong shake that was the cue for me to count down. I was fired up and tension rose. "POP!" I flew! Cheers of "yam seng!" acknowledged my success. (55)
Whee that's all for now. Busy times! I shall write more next time (: Bye for nowww
<3, Yi-Min
55 fiction
1/ Sandwiches
Hovering between the azure sky and the aqua-blue sea, he felt trapped. Blue surrounded him, threatening to engulf him in one gulp. He was overwhelmed by it all – there was no other colour, no other escape he could find. The world seemed so big, and he was just that one bird, sandwiched between the sky and sea.
2/ Brown Coffee
In the coffeehouse, warmth greeted her and reached into her heart. The waiter nodded. He’d bring her coffee soon.
She picked it up. The smooth, brown finishing made her smile.
Then, she pulled the trigger. The waiter fell with the coffee. The highest heat could not melt her heart, what was a cup of coffee?
3/ “Make a wish and place it in your heart. Anything you want, everything you want”
That floaty feeling it felt, it knew it wouldn’t last. It had come from the heart of a girl, who was growing up too fast. That girl had once believed that people would never leave. But now that girl grew old, she thought it was time to let go.
So she did. It disappeared, forever.
adelle(:
Hovering between the azure sky and the aqua-blue sea, he felt trapped. Blue surrounded him, threatening to engulf him in one gulp. He was overwhelmed by it all – there was no other colour, no other escape he could find. The world seemed so big, and he was just that one bird, sandwiched between the sky and sea.
2/ Brown Coffee
In the coffeehouse, warmth greeted her and reached into her heart. The waiter nodded. He’d bring her coffee soon.
She picked it up. The smooth, brown finishing made her smile.
Then, she pulled the trigger. The waiter fell with the coffee. The highest heat could not melt her heart, what was a cup of coffee?
3/ “Make a wish and place it in your heart. Anything you want, everything you want”
That floaty feeling it felt, it knew it wouldn’t last. It had come from the heart of a girl, who was growing up too fast. That girl had once believed that people would never leave. But now that girl grew old, she thought it was time to let go.
So she did. It disappeared, forever.
adelle(:
55 Fiction!
Since I think 55 Fiction is the coolest, I'd really like to write more pieces. But as you know PTs don't allow me to. So here are 3 pieces (:
The choice lay between both of them. The two girls, one with fair hair and the other with black, but with beautiful faces of striking resemblance, fixed their eyes on the apple strudel. A very rare morsel, with creamy goodness. They could not decide; they did love each other, but both wanted to study law.
Fate Seal-ed
Cruel, almost sharp snowflakes whipped its face, and the gale drowned out its calls. The twinkling glow, albeit tiny, was a welcome sight. It made its way painstakingly towards the halo of light, straining against the pillar of wind. Soon, it could make out a human, with a…stick? Darkness. Such is the nature of man.
He loved the sheer simplicity of connecting with people. He revelled in how he could attack others with just a finger-twitch. Nobody knew how large his nose was, or that his stomach area was not as flat as he would like it to be. It was really all so simple in his book of Face.
Dorothy and from my next post onwards I'll sign off as Dot.
Monday, August 4, 2008
you didn't get to heaven but you made it close
Good evening.
I usually have problems/insecurities with sharing my writing, but I guess that’s what this blog is for, isn’t it? Here goes. The first one is a spur-of-the-moment thing I wrote five minutes ago; the second was done last week.
(they are not funny, I cannot write humorous things.)
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Coin
After a while you realise you’ve been flipping the coin unfairly; that's why it's always landing heads up. When you try again your hand shakes and tails ends up being a nasty bitch. So maybe it’s better to pay with dollar bills which only have one face…but then again, you heard love is blind.
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We Sing. We Dance. We Steal Things.
A chirpy bit of guitar and I wind a lock of your hair around my finger. It's an earnest voice that catches, a little, on the word "hesitate" in the chorus, a half-heartbeat filled with delighted piano and deep-throated purring bass. "I'm Yours," and I smile and pull you close, your breath tickling my ear.
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(I love Jason Mraz! He was awesome at Singfest - a really spontaneous and creative performer who had everyone dancing and singing along. "Every little thing is gonna be all right.")
Radiohead – Creep
I don’t care if it hurts,
I want to have control.
I want a perfect body,
I want a perfect soul.
much love, Grace of 315
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