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Thursday Night Write

April 22, 2010

Is it just me but is time flying by way too fast?! I almost couldn’t believe it was time for another Thursday Night Write, but here we are.

I’ve been super busy working on two books – one that I’m about halfway through writing and one that’s been finished for a long time. Sometimes I’m not sure WHICH world I’m living in, but it’s always interesting!

Anyway, prompt is at the left, same rules as always; give yourself 30 minutes to come up with something, anything, inspired by the picture. It can be fan fiction, a poem, part of a story, a character-devloping exercise for character’s you’re already working with… Whatever you want!

Don’t forget to comment least one other entry if you post something of your own!

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65 Comments leave one →
  1. Ayla permalink
    April 24, 2010 8:31 am

    This isn’t really a flash fiction post… but OMG LOOK AT THIS DRESS!

    I looked at that, and IMMEDIATLY had flashbacks of the Creepy Little Girl bringing lia the meddalion. And this blog page makes me think of Creepy Little Girl!

    http://sweetgrace.typepad.com/the_inadvertent_farmer/2010/02/little-house-on-the-prairie-dress-home-sew.html

  2. Odyssey Hamling permalink
    April 24, 2010 1:46 am

    I stood in the forest leaning against a tree, I didn’t dare walk out into the meadow where Melody lie lazy on the hood of a long forgotten truck. From this tree I could just make out the rise and fall of her chest as she fiddle with daisies leaving the little sunflower untouched and tucked behind her ear. I breathe in, imagining that the breeze carries her soft scent. This is impossible though because she always smells like sweet sunshine and blooming flowers.
    “Spring.” I whisper. She speaks like an angel. Her parents were right to name her Melody. Even the way she walked, like air, was somehow oddly tantalizing to my eyes. Her every step a note only perceived by optics. I sigh. I long for her to whisper my name.
    “Dimitri.” the word is carried on the wind and I realize that it is not a sound inside my head. I jump and look to my left. She stands there with her short, floral print, summer dress. Her long strawberry blonde hair flows to her waist and her bright blue-green eyes pierce through me.
    “M-melody.” I stutter.
    “Do you like the meadow too?” She asks. She does not wonder why I stand here alone propped against a tree, or why I’m at the meadow at all. “jocks don’t go to the meadow” Dean’s voice comments in my head.
    “I like the forest more.” I swallow.
    “Out of all the boys in this sleepy town I never thought I’d see you here.” She says in her country drawl.
    “No one can know.” I say quickly.
    “Understood hot shot.” She smiles brightly and I almost want to melt. She takes my hand in hers and leads me threw the woods as if she’s traveled them countless times. She talks and I don’t interrupt, completely enthralled in what ever she has to say.
    “I love you Melody Walkins.” I want to say but I’m too enchanted by her to say something so stupid. So I smile. Little does she know that I’ll think about our future together more than she ever thinks she will, or has, or does. Little does she know, that this sleepy town, all-American boy wants to change Miss Melody Walkins into Misses Melody Daniels.

    • Mak...XD permalink
      April 24, 2010 5:10 pm

      beautiful!!!! melody seems like a very gorgeous person…inside and out. gentle by nature and kind hearted….i love this piece…

      • April 24, 2010 11:47 pm

        Awww, I really like this piece! It’s really good, so sweet.

  3. Shannon Hamling permalink
    April 24, 2010 1:08 am

    I stood in the middle of the field atop the rusted blue pick-up truck. The wooden bed was slick with rain beneath my feet. Haven stared up at me with the slightest of grins playing across his face. I looked ridiculously childish in my white soaked-through summer dress stained with mud at the hem.
    “You need to come down from there.” He placed his hand out for me. I shook my head, beads of water flying of the ends of my hair.
    “But I don’t want to Haven.”
    “Leah you’ll get sick. It’s too cold out here and you’re nearly bare.” he said crossly.
    “I might get sick.” I corrected smartly. “Right now, I’m free.” I spread my arms and looked skyward. The blue-grey clouds shrouded our little town in darkness. The rain fell steadily, beating against my face. Lightning stuck and I jumped a little. Haven chuckled.
    “Afraid of a little lightning?” he asked jumping up onto the truck.
    “No.” I said quickly. “I was just startled.” I grabbed his hand. “Come with me.”
    We leapt off the truck and I led him to the forest, my bare feet padding softly against the ground. I slipped on a particularly wet area of under growth and tumbled over. I laughed at myself for being so clumsy but Haven didn’t join in. He released my hand and touched the outside-middle of my right thigh gingerly. I pulled my summer dress down and stood up quickly. I pulled at Haven’s collar but he didn’t budge. He sat on his feet with his chin low to his chest.
    “Haven let’s go.” I pleaded. He looked up at me with teary eyes.
    “I’m going to kill him.” he whispered.
    “Who Haven? What are you talking about?” I swallowed “What’s wrong?”
    “Your father. I’m going to kill him.” He sniffed. “We’ll see if he ever puts a hand on you again after he’s stared down the barrel of my gun.” I knelt beside him, kissing him gently on the lips, and then flinging my arms around his neck. He held me tightly making sure I couldn’t slip away.
    “I’ll kill him.” He sobbed. I lifted his head up.
    “And what do you think will happen if my dad is dead and you’re locked up? What good will that do?” I smiled. He kissed me with a force he’d never kissed me with, gentle, sweet, but hungry and full of promise.
    Haven looked in my eyes.
    “You’re right”
    “I know.”
    “On your birthday we’ll run off and get married. We’ll never have to see him again.” I smile.
    “My very own fairy tale. My very own prince charming-”
    “My very own woodland nymph.” he teased. I nodded. Here in the forest we were alone. In each other’s arms we held the world.
    ——————————————–
    comment and criticism more than welcome!
    thanks so much!

    • Odyssey Hamling permalink
      April 24, 2010 1:48 am

      This is amazing and beautifully written. Such amazing talent I want to cry. I LOVE THIS STORY LINE!

      • Odyssey Hamling permalink
        April 24, 2010 1:56 pm

        you don’t count sis! you think everything I write is amazing…thanks though.

      • Shannon Hamling permalink
        April 24, 2010 2:04 pm

        sorry that last comment was mine! my sister was the last one on and I hadn’t realized.

    • Mak...XD permalink
      April 24, 2010 5:17 pm

      well…this ain’t from ur sister…lol
      but she’s right…this is soo beautiful…..i love the concept of romeo and juliet goin on here….

      • April 24, 2010 11:44 pm

        OH. MY. GOSH. That was just absolutely BEAUTIFUL!! It made me want to cry a little, the emotion is so strong, and it’s just beautiful!! Amazing job 🙂

    • michellezinkbooks permalink*
      April 26, 2010 7:55 am

      Love this, Shannon. I especially love how the tone changes. At first, it seems like it’s going to be a carefree romp between two loves in the forest. All the details are beautifully written. I really felt like I could see it all.

      Then, you totally surprise us with;

      “I’m going to kill him.” he whispered.

      Love. It.

      The only thing I can think of to tighten it up a bit, is to eliminate some of the detail in passages like;

      He released my hand and touched the outside-middle of my right thigh gingerly.

      You’re already doing a fantastic job of setting the scene for us. Respect your reader and know that we WILL see this. If you over-explain, our minds stop reading to think, “Okay, outside-middle of the thigh. That’s about HERE.” Lol! Everything will appear in our minds the way it’s supposed to if you simply write;

      He released my hand and touched my thigh gingerly.

      It sounds small, but if you apply this to all your work, you’d be surprised what a difference it can make!

      Hope this helps, hon. GREAT job!

      MZ

  4. Mandy Zilz permalink
    April 23, 2010 6:37 am

    She sat at the window as the raindrops fell,
    Dreaming, that each drop was a shard of glass.
    Glass that would end this dismal existence.

    Depression, already her closest friend,
    Her non-existence to her love brought her closer to the end.
    Should she end it all with sharpened metal,
    Hurting all those who actually cared.

    Her intense magnetism beyond explaination,
    Without missing a single detail she gave a description.
    Detailing and expressing her every desire and wish to have him.
    She mived to lean against the white washed railing.

    She wished that each raindrop was a memory,
    One that she could place in his head,
    Of their first meeting, their romance and their death.
    She wanted him to remember every detail.

    At this point, those who cared didn’t matter,
    She only wanted the love of her every lifetime
    But she was a stranger to him in this life,
    Useless her existence was now.

    She climbed over the rail,The deep blue waters ready to stab at her.
    Slowly, but surely she loosened her grip and let go.
    Her eyes closed, she landed into the deep.

    In the midst of the tempestuous waves was her love,
    Aboard a vessel, saw a stranger drowning and dove.
    Arms moving briskly, stroking.
    He grasps a corpse from beneath the sea.

    The face, that stared back at him,
    It unearthed memories from within.
    Distraught, by the aspect of a dead love,
    He wishes his memories came before,
    His Juliet of every life span was gone.

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
    Comments and critiquing please…thank you!!! 😀

    • Indigo permalink
      April 23, 2010 3:45 pm

      Mandy, this is beautiful. I love every bit of it – the language, the description, the mood. It’s stunning, really.

      • April 23, 2010 4:47 pm

        Aww, this was just beautiful. I find this especially bueatuiful, “She wished that each raindrop was a memory, One that she could place in his head, Of their first meeting, their romance and their death. She wanted him to remember every detail.” It’s sad, full of yearning, and such great descriptions, and it’s AMAZING. Spectacular job! 🙂

    • michellezinkbooks permalink*
      April 26, 2010 7:49 am

      Wow… this is really intense, Mandy. Love how vivid and raw the emotion is.

      I always feel badly when someone asks for critique for a poem, because I’m just no knowledgeable enough about the medium to offer many suggestions. I do agree with Meagan, though! My favorite stanza was this one;

      She wished that each raindrop was a memory,
      One that she could place in his head,
      Of their first meeting, their romance and their death.
      She wanted him to remember every detail.

      Great job, hon! Come back again!

      MZ

  5. April 23, 2010 4:52 am

    Not sure why or how but as I stared at this picture I came up with the following. I’m struggling so much with Grim. I think it’s because I’m worried it won’t be the story I want or people won’t like it or that I should leave this one character in that I’ve decided to cut, etc. that I stare at the computer screen and draw a blank. Perhaps all that and a picture of an old truck in a field lead me here.

    ~Voices Within~

    When the voices within speak, I try not to listen.
    When the voices within scream, I cover my ears.
    When the voices within preach, I start believing.
    When the voices within sing, I do not cry.

    When the voices within tell me I’m no good, I try not to listen.
    When the voices within tell me to quit, I cover my ears.
    When the voices within tell me I can’t do it, I start believing.
    When the voices within tell me it’s over, I do not cry.

    When the voices within encourage me, I try not to listen.
    When the voices within believe in me, I cover my ears.
    When the voices within praise me, I start believing.
    When the voices within inspire me, I do not cry.

    When the voices within are hushed, I try not to listen.
    When the voices within are mumbled, I cover my ears.
    When the voices within are whispered, I start believing.
    When the voices within are quieted, I do not cry.

    • Indigo permalink
      April 23, 2010 3:48 pm

      I love this, Danielle. The back and forth is really neat. Great job!

      • April 23, 2010 4:50 pm

        I love this!! I love the repetion of “when the voices within…” This was just… awesome, and I really really love it!!

    • Shannon Hamling permalink
      April 24, 2010 1:16 am

      I don’t want to be a kill-joy but I have trouble coming to terms with ALL of the repitition. I really like how the endings are the same, that captures me, how regardless of what is presented before them the result is constant. What I don’t like is the beginning of EVERY line. It’s becomes dull and tiresome to read even though it is a short piece. I usually LOVE your work so please keep working!!……

      • April 24, 2010 2:26 am

        Thanks Indigo and Meagan!

        Shannon, thank you for being honest with your comments.

    • michellezinkbooks permalink*
      April 26, 2010 7:11 am

      This is a good exercise for times when you’re having trouble with a story. I know how hard it is to tune out the commentary – that of others and yourself – but you just HAVE to. So many readers have expressed to me what they hope would happen with Prophecy, how the story would turn out, etc., and I felt exactly the way you’re feeling now as I started Prophecy 3. All those voices in my head and my own second-guessing, too. Misery!

      But you have to quiet your mind, hon, and let the story speak to you. It will. Then, Just WRITE it. Don’t overthink it. You can go back and fix it later if need be.

      I hope this helped a bit. I really enjoyed it, especially as I kept looking for the parallel to Grim!

      MZ

  6. April 23, 2010 3:15 am

    EXT. FIELD. LATE MORNING. 1886.

    VENETIA (seventeen with long, brown hair, golden brown eyes, and a brown school girl’s clothes with torn stockings) and ANDRICK (eighteen with dark, curly hair, green eyes, and wearing a slightly unbuttoned oxford, and relaxed brown pants) run after REVIVA (a woman with flowing blonde hair, misty gray eyes, and white robes). Running far behind them is a throng of half human/half monster henchmen.

    ANDRICK:
    Who is this woman?

    VENETIA:
    Someone who obviously knows what she’s
    doing, unlike ourselves!

    ANDRICK:
    How do we know she’s taking us somewhere safe?

    VENETIA:
    Do have any better ideas?

    Reviva stops abruptly in front of a rusty blue truck.

    ANDRICK:
    What is that? A horseless carriage?

    VENETIA:
    It has a motor! What technology!

    REVIVA:
    Oddly enough, this vehicle is far
    from being advanced from its time.
    Okay, we don’t have a lot of time.
    My name is Reviva, and I am a time
    traveler. I know about the amulet,
    and my top priority is to keep it
    and yourselves safe. We’re going
    to hide a hundred years in the future.
    Questions are best saved for later.
    Get in and hold on!

    They obey without question. They are full of curiousity about the situation. Soon, they hear the henchmen are getting close. Reviva gets into the drivers seat while they sit in the bed.

    VENETIA:
    I suppose this will get us some
    distance between us and our foes.

    ANDRICK:
    I think it’s taking us beyond
    “some distance!”

    The henchmen are only a few feet away from them when Reviva steps on the gas. It goes faster than Andrick and Venetia dreamed of. After about a hundred feet, the truck disappears into a ball of light.

    • April 23, 2010 4:55 am

      I like how you put the truck into this scene. It actually made me chuckle. Is time travel part of your plan for this or was that just something that came to you with this prompt?

      • April 24, 2010 2:53 am

        It just came to me through this prompt. I wasn’t planning on making them travel through time, but people want me to continue the story, it’s 1886, and there’s a truck, so I improvised! It’s good in a way though so if there’s a picture that’s more modern like that one or earlier than 1886, I can still continue the story. Most of my stuff is completely planned, but I’ve been totally making this story up this whole time. It’ll be interesting where Michelle’s prompts take this story!

    • Shannon Hamling permalink
      April 24, 2010 2:09 pm

      I really liked this! A time traveling truck?!?! I’ll take one! it’s kind of like Rowling’s portkeys in Harr Potter! it’s exciting!!

    • michellezinkbooks permalink*
      April 26, 2010 7:03 am

      I love your screenplay excerpts because they’re so different! It was fun to be witness to Venetia and Andrick’s confusion about the vehicle, what is was, how fast it went, etc.

      Enjoyed this a lot, hon!

      MZ

      • April 26, 2010 2:59 pm

        I’m so glad you enjoy it! I’m gonna keep up with Venetia and Andrick’s story each week. It’s all random scenes, not linear, since the prompts are different every week. But I’m confident that it’ll all piece together eventually! Thanks for reading ❤

  7. Rhia permalink
    April 22, 2010 9:27 pm

    Okay, so the truck isn’t very prevalent, but the moment I saw it, the scene started to form, so I knew it was right. Hope you enjoy!

    Daniel led me away from the house, down a dirt path toward the farmland. He stopped in front of an old, rusty blue truck, and I stopped beside him, confused.

    “Is that your car?” I asked Daniel. “Does it even run?”

    He laughed. “No, it’s not. And yes, it does. My uncle uses it to cart produce around.”

    “So, then, where is your car? Isn’t that what you wanted to show me?” I stuffed my hands in my jacket pockets.

    “Well, yes and no,” Daniel answered. “It’s not really a car. And the vehicle itself is not really the point of my bringing you here.”

    Daniel nodded to the building behind the truck. It was some kind of large storage shed. It looked older than the truck, pretty beat up, but still sturdy. I waited for him to lead the way, but when he didn’t. I took the initiative and started forward by myself. Daniel followed.

    When we reached the building, he jumped in front of me to unlock the shiny new padlock on the double doors, then threw them open with a flourish.

    It looked more like a mechanic’s garage than a storage shed. Wrenches, screwdrivers, and all sorts of useful handyman objects covered the walls, secured by a storage system. But what really caught my eye was the motorcycle.

    It was very nice, silver and black, and looked expensive. It was obvious Daniel took great care of it.

    “Nice wheels,” I said, approaching the motorcycle. I was cautious. Some guys are pretty crazy over their rides, I didn’t want him to go nuts and push me away.

    Of course, he didn’t. He knew I wouldn’t do anything.

    “Thanks,” he said with a smile. “I saved up for several years. I’d probably wanted it since I was five.”

    I smiled, and then looked at him. “But you said the whole point wasn’t ‘the vehicle itself’, right?”

    Daniel nodded. “Most nights, whenever, I can, I ride. Nowhere special, just kind of like my own kind of meditation. But the point is, this shed it’ll be empty. Secure. Far enough away form the house, no one could hear anything.”

    I didn’t quite get it. I stared at him, waiting for an answer.

    Daniel took a deep breath. “I thought you could stay here during the full moon. I can park my bike in the main garage for a few nights, here and there. Then you wouldn’t have to hide out in the woods anymore.”

    My face exploded with what was probably the biggest smile I had ever had, and I threw my arms around him in the biggest hug I had ever given.

    • April 22, 2010 9:45 pm

      Aw, I really like this! I like how, I don’t know, how real the emotion feels i guess. The detail you write with is really great, but it’s also not too much, which is awesome 🙂

    • April 23, 2010 4:58 am

      Aw, Daniel’s sweet. =-)

    • April 23, 2010 3:10 pm

      Awwww….that’s so sweet!! I like this…

    • michellezinkbooks permalink*
      April 26, 2010 7:00 am

      Ohhh! Love the twist in there. You keep the reader guessing. We know something’s up (at first I thought maybe he was a serial killer, which shows you how twisted my imagination is – thank you Stephen King!), but you drop it in there so elegantly, the reader almost has to go back and re-read to be sure.

      Very nicely done, hon!

      MZ

  8. Indigo permalink
    April 22, 2010 9:19 pm

    Hey, all! Okay, I’m getting back on track. Here’s something a bit different from what I normally do. Comments/critiques are always welcome!

    The old pickup
    smelled of mildew and dust
    rain and broken glass
    fireflies and broken hearts
    you opened the door
    pushed me in

    You held me
    looked at me
    in this piece of time
    of history
    covered in fairy dust
    and rainwater
    the wind blew threw the windows
    an open calling to the nature
    of your purpose

    The sun reached out it’s golden hands
    calling
    waiting for an answer
    trembling
    disappearing.
    It didn’t hear me.
    I didn’t hear it.

    You lay next to me
    touching
    scarring
    a beautiful mystery
    your breathe was even, deep
    an ocean of calm
    and fear

    We left that old pickup
    rusting
    rotting
    alone in the woods
    falling within itself
    we left it to its history
    now mingled with ours

    • April 22, 2010 9:39 pm

      Wow, this was absolutely beautiful!! I especially love, “The old pickup smelled of mildew and dust rain and broken glass fireflies and broken hearts…” So beautifull, just amazing 🙂

    • April 23, 2010 4:59 am

      Indigo- That was beautiful! I loved it. Wonderful lines and images. Nicely done!

    • michellezinkbooks permalink*
      April 26, 2010 6:57 am

      This is soooo beautiful! I especially love the last stanza;

      We left that old pickup
      rusting
      rotting
      alone in the woods
      falling within itself
      we left it to its history
      now mingled with ours

      Lovely.

      MZ

  9. April 22, 2010 6:09 pm

    in english class we started a poetry unit, so i’ve started writing more of it now. decided to adapt one of my poems that i actually submitted to the teacher, modelled after the poem “1958” by gwendolyn macewen, added a few more stanzas. enjoy :]

    ——————-

    grade 10

    was a fabulous year
    when i heard that
    i was picked for a french exchange in
    quebec
    and i would get to speak the
    language of love,
    words falling effortlessly
    off of the tip of my tongue to
    crash
    into the ears of passersby
    and yet when i arrived in the capital city,
    i felt like such a stranger
    for who was i to barge into their lives
    like i was
    royalty –

    i made appointments with
    the guidance counsellors, those teachers that thrived
    in an office from the black lagoon,
    those creatures with their sharp, bleached-white
    teeth
    that shone under the fluorescent lights
    and the way they looked at you
    with those dark, dark, dark eyes
    as if you were prey
    and i swung my legs nervously, so nervously
    as i sat in a chair, feet keeping clear of the
    water moccasins
    as i tried to pick my classes for after i returned,
    from the city and faraway province, that
    would affect me for the rest of
    my life –

    saying goodbye
    was the easiest part when i left home
    because i’m used to saying it,
    to my past and to people i have once loved and for every time
    i moved away to a new town,
    so leaving my family behind wasn’t terribly frightening
    and i was excited to live in the city
    for as far as i’ve remembered, i’ve always been
    a city girl,
    content with the fast pace of life
    and the rush that you get from hearing the sounds of
    taxis
    and buses and cars honking and paper boys
    shouting out the daily news to
    anyone who cares to
    listen –

    the west met the east in the place that
    i called home during the harsh winter
    where foreign words collided to make up
    the french and english and chinese household
    and oh the food, the food that
    her chef father cooked for us must have been
    sent from the heavens
    for it was simply divine
    and the noise, the noise of the city
    sung out to me
    sung out
    sung –

    making friends is my forte,
    the one thing that i’m actually good at because
    i find that i’m an all around likeable
    girl,
    a girl with long brown hair and the ripped pair of converse
    who is approachable and can slide into any social clique
    and besides, everyone knows that the new kid
    is mysterious and exciting and above all else
    new
    so the french teens were drawn to me like
    moths on texaco lights and they flitted around me,
    pulling me into their world without
    a second thought –

    sleeping for weekends dog-piled on couches after
    long nights spent on the town
    at parties and clubs and late night diners
    where poutine was at the top of every menu,
    my head hurt from the bright lights
    that flashed in the dark night sky
    but it seemed like that was the norm for those city kids
    and when the sun rose above those golden clouds
    i knew that my time there was up and
    i would miss living the popular life
    in the city
    but my fifteen minutes of fame
    for being the new and exotic english girl
    had just ended and i found myself
    wanting to be back
    with my rusty pick-up truck, to be back
    home.

    • April 22, 2010 6:48 pm

      Wow. I always really love your writing! It’s so amazing, so vivd, I flet like I was there 🙂

      • April 22, 2010 6:49 pm

        Ah!! Thats supposed to be vivid, and felt. Sorry

      • April 22, 2010 6:58 pm

        hehe, thanks meagan :]
        i’ve found that my english teachers always encouraged me so i find it easier to express myself now. i hope my writing is good, i would like to eventually publish something someday. :]

    • Brooke permalink
      April 22, 2010 7:06 pm

      the imagery is really well done in this. very vivid, had a lot of voice in it too. overall, i quite liked it.

      • April 22, 2010 7:08 pm

        thanks brooke :]
        yeah, our teacher made sure that we had a lot of imagery when we practiced this writing style in class (enjambment).

    • April 22, 2010 7:19 pm

      VERY nice, hun! I don’t read poetry often, but I really really liked this. Great job! I liked the imagry you used and how it flowed. Look forward to reading more of your work next week! 🙂

      • April 22, 2010 7:21 pm

        thankyouu nazarea :]
        i’m already working on next week’s piece, i have two texts that i’m currently working on and i can’t pick which one though >.<

    • April 23, 2010 5:04 am

      Alix-

      This was wonderful! The style and emotion in it was great. I felt I was there experiencing it myself. So so lovely!

      Have you considered entering a writing/poetry contest? Does your school have a literary mag?

      • April 23, 2010 4:40 pm

        thankyouu danielle :]
        we don’t have any magazines around her, nor any writing contests. i’m submitting a collection of my artwork which includes some prose, digital art and photography for our art night which is in may, i do believe.

    • michellezinkbooks permalink*
      April 23, 2010 7:41 am

      Oh, Alix… Of all the amazing things you’ve written (and there are a lot), this is my very favorite. It’s a glimpse into your soul, I think. I feel everything moment, and also feel like I know, in a way that I never have before, the magical, adventurous, hopeful creature that is you.

      I tried to pick a passage that was my favorite, but I just couldn’t. I adore every word.

      Great, great job, hon.

      MZ

      • April 23, 2010 4:42 pm

        thanks michelle :]
        we were supposed to pick a year and write about it, that was our class assignment, and i thought that my grade ten year was the best to write about. i changed so much after i left this small town for the big city and i loved it so much, but when it drew near my return date, i just couldn’t wait to be back home.
        i’m glad you love it so much. :]
        i did try and pour my soul into this piece, i’m glad you noticed that.

    • Indigo permalink
      April 23, 2010 3:52 pm

      I always enjoy reading your stuff, Alix. This, however, is probably one of my favorites. It’s so… beautiful. I feel touched when I read this. Fantastic, Alix!

      • April 23, 2010 4:44 pm

        thanks indigo :]
        i’m glad so many people love my work, i’ve finally found something that i’m good at and i feel wonderful :]

  10. Brooke permalink
    April 22, 2010 5:45 pm

    Hi guys, it took me a little longer than 30 minutes to write this, I got a little caught up. I’m very new at writing, so be nice! =]

    Michelle walked down the lonely dirt road; it was just starting to get cold at night and the first breeze of the nights chill swept over her. The familiar bright blue was visible in the distance, right at the edge of the forest. She heard a rustle in the bush next to her and an eastern cottontail sprinted out in front of her, nearly giving her a heart attack. She realized it was probably more scared right now than she was, it thought she was out to end its life; what she was doing was probably less scary, but that didn’t make her feel much better.
    The paper in her hand felt like it weighed a million pounds, she pondered just leaving it where she stood to make the journey easier. She stopped and looked over to the sun, just starting to get big as it was preparing to drop below the tree line. She felt her will renewed and continued on, trying not to look at the old truck in front of her.
    She walked slower and slower the closer she got to it, keeping her head down the whole way. The memories rushed back like a wave hitting her square in the chest; she didn’t think it was possible to get any closer without completely breaking down. She pushed on, a tear fell down her cheek and hit the dirt below; she realized she was standing right in front of the old truck now. A few more fell, and she gave up on not crying.
    The paper in her hand held her every thought and feeling she had felt since he left. She had to get rid of them or risk going crazy. She made sure it was folded up nice and tight and stuck it under the half blue, half rusted hood, so it wouldn’t get wet. Her tears started to fall onto the hood; she felt bad that what was left of the beautiful blue paint was going to go away even faster because of her corroding tears. “Why the fuck am I thinking about chemistry right now?” she said allowed, and instantly felt dumb because there was obviously no one to talk to, hardly anyone knew about or ever came here.
    She went around to the driver’s side and pried open the door, crawled into the ancient interior and slammed the door tightly behind her. The loud sound cut through the quiet afternoon and made her more aware of everything around her. That distinct smell the old truck had, and way the sunlight filtered through the filthy window, the way the speedometer was stuck at 10 miles per hour. His smell overtook her for a minute, and then left as quickly as it came. It was almost too much for her to take and tears started to flow again.
    She moved across the old bucket seat, dust billowing behind her, flashing in the sunlight like tiny stars, before blinking away again. She looked into the passenger window and out across the small field and into the quickly darkening forest. She took a deep breath and blew it onto the center of the window; two hand prints appeared next to each other, one bigger than the other. He put his there the night before he left for college, and she put hers right next to his, expecting they would keep putting hand prints all over the window together next summer. She slowly opened her hand and put it over his print before it disappeared with the brief fog. That last night came back in a rush; his soft hands all over her, that smile, his smell, the sound of his heartbeat coming from his chest as she laid on him. She cried harder than she ever had before with those memories.
    He had promised her so much; they would be together forever, grow old, buy that plot of land where the truck was and build a house together, just like their little fort in the trees. All of his promises were broken when he called her two weeks after he started college in New York. He told her he found another girl there, that the summer was fun, but he wanted to go back to being friends like before. She never said anything back; but she figured the empty phone line was enough to let him know exactly what she thought. She was finished with him, period.
    That doesn’t mean she didn’t still think about him, cry about him, her own stupidity, and the mistake she had made that final night. She had wanted to wait for someone she truly loved, someone who had proved to her he loved her back; he did that, and before he left she finally had sex with him, right in that very cab, and it was the most romantic and wonderful moment of her life.
    Tell he called and ruined it all.
    She took her hand off the window and wiped it off with her sleeve, erasing him from this truck. She felt so dumb for believing him, for falling for him, hook, line and sinker; he just wanted to get into her pants, and she let him right in. She decided right then and there it was time to move on, and the quickest was around that was to get the hell out of this truck. She pushed open the passenger side and jumped down; slamming the door behind her and stepping right into a small thorn bush that she forgot was there. She ignored it and walked back home, taking the long way though the forest; there was no way she could face anyone right now. She stormed away, and before she went into the forest she turned and screamed as loud as she could. She wasn’t sure what exactly she screamed, but it made her feel better; and she walked into the forest to get ready for senior year in the morning.

    • Brooke permalink
      April 22, 2010 5:51 pm

      the name is Michelle not because of you Michelle, but this story was inspired by a friend with she same name, so that is why I used it =P

      • April 22, 2010 6:55 pm

        I really enjoyed this. The emotion is so strong, and you write really well by the way 😉

    • michellezinkbooks permalink*
      April 23, 2010 7:06 am

      Meagan’s right. There’s SO much emotion in this, Brooke. I know you’re just getting started, but you did a wonderful job articulating sounds and smells and feelings. And flash fiction is the perfect way to get over those early writing inhibition, because it forces you to not think, just write!

      I really loved a number of passages here, but my favorite was probably this;

      The loud sound cut through the quiet afternoon and made her more aware of everything around her. That distinct smell the old truck had, and way the sunlight filtered through the filthy window, the way the speedometer was stuck at 10 miles per hour.

      Very vivid snapshots of that scene.

      Nicely done, hon!

      MZ

  11. April 22, 2010 5:28 pm

    Just something short….Enjoy, dears!

    Summer Remembrance

    I could see her—she darts around the corner of the path ahead of me and I suppress the urge to chase. She knew she could get away, and I know she won’t.

    We both have missed this—the warmth of summer, the caress of the sun, the long grass that parts like a sigh before us.
    She’s sitting on the back of the old truck, her bare legs crossed under her. There’s a serious light in her eyes that disturbs me—she’s so seldom serious like this. I wonder briefly what inspired it. Then she’s digging in the tote bag I had carried, pulling out cheese and cold chicken and fruit. We eat quietly, listening to the birds.

    There’s something on her mind, but she won’t say it. I push a little, “Jackie?”

    Her bright green eyes dart to me, and I give her a questioning smile. “Daddy wants me to move with him this summer.” She says abruptly.

    The words hit to hard, harder than they should. I bite my lip to keep from screaming a denial. It would be better for her, to be away from her mother for the summer.

    “You don’t want to?” I said quietly.

    “I don’t want to leave you.”

    I glanced at her, smiled. “I’ll be fine, J. it’s just one summer. And I have to work this summer with Mama, you know that.”

    Hurt crossed her features for a split second before she wiped it away, but this was me—I knew her too well not to notice. “Don’t,” I said, sharply, and her gaze shot to me. “Don’t act like I won’t care. But you need to get away from Lucy for a while.”

    She nodded—we both knew it was true, and hated it. We lapsed into silence as she pulled her tank off and lay out in her bikini top. The best part of this old truck was that we could tan on it. I did the same, crossed my arms under my chin and watched her.

    She finally looked at me and I summoned a smile. My stomach fluttered, almost painfully. “I’ll miss you,” I whispered.

    Something filled her eyes and they dropped down to my lips for a second and then I moved, crossed the small space that separated us.

    Her lips were as soft as I always thought they’d be, and tasted like salty strawberries. I heard her murmur my name, felt the breeze stir, twisting my long hari with hers, felt her hands on my arm before I pulled away and slipped off the truck, rust staining my shorts and scratching the back of my legs. I laughed at her, the shock in her eyes, and hooked my hair over my ears, licking my lips. “Something to make sure you don’t forget me,” I called to her before I darted away.

    • April 22, 2010 6:16 pm

      i love this! it makes me long for summer even more than i already am, and i’m finding it hard to deal with this canadian cold >.>
      i especially love this part:

      “Something to make sure you don’t forget me,” I called to her before I darted away.”

      i like how your narrator made a move for the girl and i like his parting words. :] keep up the awesome writing!

    • Rhia permalink
      April 22, 2010 9:30 pm

      I really like this! Very nice scenery. 🙂

    • michellezinkbooks permalink*
      April 23, 2010 7:01 am

      As always, your writing is so vivid and lyrical, Nazarea. You have me completely THERE, in that field and the back of that truck. Even more important, I’m feeling what they’re feeling.

      I love this (Gorgeous!);

      the warmth of summer, the caress of the sun, the long grass that parts like a sigh before us.

      And this (something someone would REALLY say, just they way they’d say it);

      “Don’t,” I said, sharply, and her gaze shot to me. “Don’t act like I won’t care. But you need to get away from Lucy for a while.”

      Great job, you!

      MZ

  12. April 22, 2010 5:19 pm

    Hope everyone’s week is going good 🙂 just something short…

    A Fading Scene.

    I look at
    the scene
    before me.

    And
    I frown slightly
    for what it
    makes me relize
    is quite depressing.

    I look
    at the rusty
    ol’ truck,
    tires and paint
    job long since gone,
    and think,

    This truck will
    probably still lay
    here,
    broken as a
    pile of bones,
    useless as ash,
    long after the
    trees and brush
    around it have
    been visciously
    cut and striped
    away.

    I thik this,
    and decide to
    take a picture.

    It will
    last longer
    than my memory,
    allowing me to
    remember what
    green looks like.

    Any feedback welcome!

    • Brooke permalink
      April 22, 2010 7:02 pm

      I like it, its got an earth day kinda feel. I feel like you could make this longer, keeping the theme of green and focusing around the truck.

    • Rhia permalink
      April 22, 2010 9:31 pm

      A really like the message this sends, Meagan! Very nice flow, too, I love it!

    • michellezinkbooks permalink*
      April 23, 2010 6:56 am

      This is so pretty, Meagan. I’m the first to admit I know nothing about poetry – which always makes me feel like I have nothing useful to add to the poetry posts.

      But I know I like this!
      😀

      And I agree with Brooke that it has an Earth Day feel, too…

      Nice job!

      MZ

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