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 Posted: Thu Feb 28, 2013 4:42 am
The soft dirt under my bare-feet crumbled and the sun shined on my face. Wind brushed the willow trees like caresses on the face. But why was I here? Why?
I was here to hide. To hide from everything. To hide from my mother, who used to reach out and touch my hand when I was worried but now was suffering from depression. To hide from the horrible pain that followed me from my father's gravestone. To hide from everything.
My father's recent death was followed by my boyfriend Dave's death. Why did everyone I love die?
I should just die, I thought raggedly, tears spilling on my cheeks as I crouched down and hugged my knees. I should just die and leave this hateful world.
Who was I? I was Anne, a girl who was followed by pain everywhere. A girl surrounded by death. A girl who was left in the dark.
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Posted: Thu Feb 28, 2013 7:14 am
*snap*snap*snap* (me snapping my fingers like in slam poetry sweatdrop )
I really feel your words and what you have to say. Having those feelings inside can really bear down on you heart and soul, so I am happy you put them out here, even if it is a virtual forum.
I can relate to your pain and want you to know I appreciate your poem. I was never brave enough to express myself in this way, which is what I should have done. It would have allowed me to better understand the whirlwind inside of me and maybe helped calm it down.
Don't stop writing, even if it seems like only the dark stuff comes out. It's better than letting it build up inside. And share your thoughts! I'm on almost everyday, if it helps 3nodding
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Posted: Thu Feb 28, 2013 2:37 pm
ValkaEmirin *snap*snap*snap* (me snapping my fingers like in slam poetry sweatdrop ) I really feel your words and what you have to say. Having those feelings inside can really bear down on you heart and soul, so I am happy you put them out here, even if it is a virtual forum. I can relate to your pain and want you to know I appreciate your poem. I was never brave enough to express myself in this way, which is what I should have done. It would have allowed me to better understand the whirlwind inside of me and maybe helped calm it down. Don't stop writing, even if it seems like only the dark stuff comes out. It's better than letting it build up inside. And share your thoughts! I'm on almost everyday, if it helps 3nodding Hey, thanks for the critic! I appreciate it a lot. I really want to pour out my soul, but before I learned that I LOVE writing, I didn't know how could pour out my feelings. Some people do art, but when I tried, it really didn't come to me, you know? But when I "accidentally" started a story, I totally felt me doing my passion and pouring out my soul. I didn't come to writing, writing came to me.
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Posted: Thu Feb 28, 2013 4:06 pm
As I left my desolate area of willows, I clenched my fists to try to stop the waves of pain and grief. The green grass below me was replaced with the concrete sidewalk. Everywhere around me, people were murmuring and pointing at me. As I passed a couple, I heard the woman say, "Come on, Steve. The girl's dad died and now her boyfriend. Bad luck with death around the corner."
So I was bad luck. I guessed everyone heard about the death of Dave; this town was so small.
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Posted: Thu Feb 28, 2013 7:53 pm
Innocent Hope As I left my desolate area of willows, I clenched my fists to try to stop the waves of pain and grief. The green grass below me was replaced with the concrete sidewalk. Everywhere around me, people were murmuring and pointing at me. As I passed a couple, I heard the woman say, "Come on, Steve. The girl's dad died and now her boyfriend. Bad luck with death around the corner." So I was bad luck. I guessed everyone heard about the death of Dave; this town was small. Oh, so it's a story! My bad... sweatdrop I am intrigued, though, so I'll definitely stay tuned. Fo sho! PS: I actually draw to get all that yucky stuff out. I can't believe I forgot about that! It's just that I've always wanted to write, as well. Eh, go figure! rofl
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Posted: Fri Mar 01, 2013 4:43 am
When I reached my small house, I opened the door. My mother wasn't in the kitchen, as usual mothers. She was probably still mourning my father's death, as I was mourning my father and boyfriend's death.
My fingers trembled as I strode over to the small master bedroom and let myself in. My mother was lying on the queen bed, asleep, fingers extended next to her, as if her husband was still there, lying next to her.
My entrance awoke her, and she moaned and opened her eyes slightly. Then she saw me and sat up. She held out her hand and I stumbled over to the bed and took her hand. No words were needed. She was a widow, I was lonely. We were both mourning, trying to give each other the desperately needed strength.
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Posted: Fri Mar 01, 2013 12:39 pm
Ooooh this is going along really well if you ask me. I love the way it sounds and feels. You seem to have a perfect word choice. And I love how despite the fact that I don't know much about the character I fell their pain and have sympathy for them. Excellent job, please continue.
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Posted: Fri Mar 01, 2013 12:59 pm
Aislin Schreiber Ooooh this is going along really well if you ask me. I love the way it sounds and feels. You seem to have a perfect word choice. And I love how despite the fact that I don't know much about the character yet I fell their pain and have sympathy for them. Excellent job, please continue. Thank you soo much!
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Posted: Fri Mar 01, 2013 1:04 pm
I let my mother's hand slip from my grasp as she emitted a little sound. I turned my back on her, and left the room. As I set foot in my room, I winced as all the bright colors rushed towards me. The bright yellow of the room. The shocking pink of my comforter. But the thing that hurt most was the big photo of Dave and me at the state fair, laughing and holding hands, gazing into each others eyes. Dave and I were one person. Without me, he's broken. But in this case, he gone and I'm broken.
My hand reached out to touch the photo. My extended fingers brushed Dave's eyes, nose, mouth. The eyes that stared at me with the most intent gaze. The nose that looked so inquisitive. The mouth that was so gentle against mine.
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Posted: Sat Mar 02, 2013 10:03 am
I thought a walk to town might help me. I didn't want to follow my mother's footsteps, but I was undoubtedly walking the trail of depression.
He saw me before I saw him. I was gazing down at my feet as I slowly moved along the current of people. I could see their neck muscles straining, for they wanted to take a glimpse at me but knew it was rude. Dave made me popular among this small town, but when had I cared about popularity? And besides, this kind of popularity was not what anyone would wish for.
As one or two sympathetic glances leered at me, I felt the hairs at the back of my neck rise in caution. Someone was watching me. But now this was a familiar feeling. But I really felt someone's eyes on me. Not eyes that quickly turned away from me. Eyes that were trained straight at me.
Swiftly, I whirled around, trying desperately not to hit anyone. My eyes automatically reached the bookstore window and I found him. A boy with dark brown hair with matching eyes had a hand on a bookshelf but his eyes were peering at me through the glass window. His pale cheeks flushed with color when he was caught looking at me and he quickly turned back to the bookshelf.
I stayed put, ignoring the fact that it was rude to stare. After all, he did stare at me in the first place. Then I saw it. At the corner of his eye I could see his pupil gaze at me before darting back to the open book in the boy's hands.
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Posted: Tue Mar 05, 2013 3:17 pm
When I had sleep, my dreams were haunted. I was surrounded by darkness, with purple flames dancing in a circle around me, but never touching me. There were howls in the night, maybe from the wind, from ghosts, from the people that I loved but could not save. My vision shifted, where I was at the edge of a cliff, rain pelting me. I started to race away from the cliff but I couldn't move, not even one inch. Then some invisible energy forced my head upwards, my eyes staring at the night. In the dark sky were my loved faces that were dead: my father and Dave. Their faces stood out in the sky, but then dissolved into the nothingness.
Tears started running down my face, and I was sobbing terribly before I even knew it. I hated the bitterness of my life, the cruelness of the world. Again I asked myself why everyone I loved had to die. If only the sudden heart attack hadn't killed my father, if only the lung cancer hadn't forced Dave to leave his life behind.
Suddenly there were gentle fingers stroking my hair, something that Dave never did to me. "But everyone has to die sometime," said a tender voice. "And death is whole other world waiting for them."
I woke up abruptly, jolting awake. I sat up. Who owned that mysterious, kind voice? Who? In my ragged form, I vowed to find the person who was so charming, yet so sad.
I staggered to my closet, swaying slightly, and changed swiftly into a purple t-shirt and skinny jeans. I had to find this person as soon as possible. After I brushed my teeth, I stuffed a five dollar bill in my jeans pocket and hurried out the door.
The sunny temperature hit me on the face immediately. This was the opposite of the day that Dave died. It was spring, but there was a snow storm that day. I struggled not to think about Dave's death or my father's as I walked to the nearby cafe.
When I paid for the coffee and egg sandwich, I felt a warm breath at my neck.
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Posted: Wed Mar 06, 2013 6:36 pm
I turned around and saw the brown eyes first, and then the darker brown hair. I wondered why he was here.
He smiled shyly as we walked to a table. I sat down on a chair and before I could stop myself, I blurted out, "Who are you?"
The boy coughed and cleared his throat. He tried to speak but then cleared his throat again. It took a while before he finally stammered, "I- I'm Shane."
It took all my will to stop myself from screaming at him, "Are you a stalker?" But I noticed how familiar his voice was. He was the voice from my dream! But why was he in my dream. Why was he to meet me? Why was fate and destiny arranging this visit?
"I'm Anne," I said cautiously. I didn't even know who he was! Why should I let him know my name.
Shane nodded as if he already knew my name. Perhaps he did.
"I heard about your boyfriend," he told me softly, "I'm sorry."
I averted his gaze, feeling sick of the sympathetic glance. My lip trembled from the effort to stop myself from crying, and I gasped for desired air as all my breath was taken away from me.
Shane eyed me, eyes close to my face, so close. He leered at me for a moment, and then breathed in my face. His breath smelled like lilac, I noticed.
He reached out and touched my hand that was lying on the table. I was aware that when I tensed, Shane looked like he was about to take his hand away but then left it lying there.
I drew back my hand and, conscious that what I was about to say was very rude, said, "I don't know you. I think I should be going."
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