Share your creative writing and short stories

[m1469]

In the room filled with glass shards,
where hanging, wooden frames once claimed these broken mirrors,
the reflection that was wrong, is now right.

Somewhere, deep within the cool roots of these alfalfa-filled-fields,
I stand alone, in silence.
I am staring at the one, formless eye,
the eye which stares back through me.

I am looking past the whispers, and the whisperers,
through the colours which fill my trees with life.
I am looking at you; me.

I am asking for forgiveness,
I am seeking acceptance.

The hair that covered my brow is swept from my dewy face,
and the moment is not at all,
like it was just before.

That room of mirrors,
with its broken thoughts and tattered dreams,
it's no longer a place of mine.

The boat which has been slowly sinking in the guts of my entire life,
now lay down at the bottom of that distant ocean.
The ocean whose watery curtains hide its valueless, sunken treasures.

The tinkling crystal where my lips once pressed and thirstily drank,
has turned to stone
in the face of this diamonded-sapphire necklace,
circling my stilled and calmed neck.

[prometheus]

I am writing a fantasy novel that covers 125 years or so. I guess it will be much more than a thousand pages long if I would ever finish it.

Its probably utter crap but for some reason the story just exists in my mind and I have to put it on paper.

[pianistimo]

ingogroznya is inspiring my next novel - which is about a piano student.  i think i'll entitle it "the piano student."  this student is a novel type of student.  not the norm.  he is highly sensitive.  to everything.  light, dust, touch, hearing, word play.  in fact, one might call him hypersensitive.  the teacher has never encountered anything quite this

(i'm joking of course).  this book will simply be humorous.  break the ice so to speak. 

did you know - most students are the MOST nervous on the first lesson.  i might maximize this!  suddenly cause the lid to snap down.  alert people to new ways of teaching. 

[lau]

                                                   My Own Theory  ( fiction)


            Hello, I have been studing physical science for all of my life now, and I would like to state some of my own concept:

         As time goes on, I have been coordinating an epidemic of theories, that I just can't sort out. So it resulted in combining them all into one large theory. This theory explains the definition of your own physical concepts of reality, life, spiritual being, and elasticity of human thoughts. Now on to my theory!

       All matter has mass, all mass has matter. All matter has volume, all volume has mass. All mass has matter and volume. All matter has volume and mass. The point here is that these three terms work together to support everything, to the laws of time, to crust forming on the side of your nose. Let's say you cut something in half, then again, then again, again, again. Eventually you will get to a single atom. Then cut the atom in half, now what? What is an atom made up of? What are electrons made up of? Strings of energy? What are they made up of. Keep getting smaller and smaller, something has to be made up of something, it blows youre mind. Now everything seems impossible! Where does space end? It can't just go on forever. What is past it? What is past that? If the big bang theory is correct, (which it isn't), where did the beginning matter come from? It's not like it could of been on a forever long channel of energy. So, pretty much, my theory is this: I am alive, and you know it.

[nanabush]

This is a poem I wrote in grade 9... well it's not really a poem, just a bunch of sentences that rhyme... I'm not a poet, I only write poetry if required to, and I suck at it, but meh i'll post anyways.  This is pretty much the most retarded thing I've written in my life, but I had fun doing so lol.  My teacher thought I was comparing a ride to school with a murder... I wasn't tryin to go that far, but w/e

I leave the house just past eight
The time doesn’t matter, my ride’s always late
The morning mist fills the air
My ride’s still not here, but I don’t care

Ten minutes pass and then ten more
I hope I don’t have to wait all day
I’ve had to wait this long before
If I’m late for school, someone will pay

Here I am, at the end of my street
Just standing here is hurting my feet
I hear a noise, a subtle crack
My greatest fear is at my back

I turn around, but it’s too late
I see the car, the one I hate

Bounding around the curve, at a devilish speed
This car will hit me, I need a way out
A way to escape is what I need
It can’t see me, or hear me shout

As this mindless titan runs over some rocks
I dive right out of the way
The car bowls over a recycling box
I smash my face on a bale of hay

As I come to, my ride inches forward
The car door creaks open, my spine tingles
I look inside, take a step forward
On the floor, I see an empty box of Pringles

The day is young, the van is old
The sun is hot, the seats have mold
The colorful flowers dance in the breeze
The van’s frightening floor has fleas

I buckle up, hold on for dear life
The headrest cuts my neck like a knife
The freaky driver bursts into laughter
I wonder if I will live after

Pedal to the metal, hand on the horn
From this psycho, a monster is born
In seconds, we’re screaming down the street
I can’t take it, this van smells like feet

Oh dear god, ahead I see a speed bump
An obstruction that most could see
But no, not today, we plow over the lump
Narrowly missing an innocent tree

I hit my head, I bit my tongue
I lose my breath, an empty lung
I gaze down, and I see a ruby red drop
 Metallic tastes fill my mouth – they won’t stop

I sit still, trying to calm down
I can’t help myself to not frown

I look ahead not believing what I see
I rub my eyes, look once more
The passengers can take no more
What I see makes me smile with glee

My school, a safe domain
No more fear, no more pain
As I step off, I make my way
It begins the rain, the sky is grey

Is there no way out, I though it was over
I’m soaking wet, I need some cover
I left that death trap, that hell hole
But its essence stayed with me in full

I can live another day, with my mind and my soul
But what about the next day? Will I stay whole?
The future is unknown, destiny is cruel
But I hope to god, tomorrow, I will get to school

[le_poete_mourant]

Midnight Straits

On the straits of midnight
fog hovers between realities.
From the belfry of sorrow
comes a single knoll.

In the deep shadows
footsteps can be heard:
Even, rhythmic, beating a dirge.
Whose funeral? whose grave?
Fresh dirt and flowers.

A deserted street, silent, deathly,
filled by the noxious gas
of lost memories

A mother’s tears.
She hides inside herself,
believing it was not in vain.
But she knows there is no right in war,
only the lesser evil.

And the moon,
slips from behind a skirt of clouds
and steps back to hide her head.
The stars blink wearily.

The footsteps reach the street
and no longer echo, but crescendo.
The walls vibrate,
shutters rattle,
cobbles flinch and jump from their mortar
and the door falls in.

A startled mother has no time
to shed another tear
as the feet of Time walk through her house,
carrying the legs and torso of Death.
on its neck is her son’s face:
Mine.

Death is an indifferent fellow;
I know—he is a personal acquaintance of mine.
And Time never rests, never slows,
not even when there is no one to count.
No beginning, no end.

On the straits of midnight
Fog hovers between realities.
From the belfry of sorrow
comes a single knoll.

Out of the deep shadows
those endless footsteps can be heard:
Even, rhythmic, beating my dirge.
My funeral; my grave.
Fresh dirt and flowers.

hopefully scholastic will not think this violates our copyright agreement.  I know they have the rights for two years to publish it, but I think I can do the same.  Oh well, they'd never know it was me anyway. 

[pianistimo]

all these poems personally touch me.  there's a lot of pain in this world.  i don't want to add to it with my son.  i will slow down in the morning (in the van) and not be so pushed f or time.  time is only rushing towards death.  my son feels a lot of inner struggle with the ideas of war as well.  he's only 17.  he may seem naive to some, but he's probably wiser than me.  he knows what's happening in the world and it doesn't look good.  i pray to God he has a future and will survive the unending bullets of society with or without war.

[m1469]

If there were but a golden ribbon,
lacing this dress made of coal,
I would be a happy woman.

If there were but a sprout,
emerging from these muddy waters,
I would be a hopeful person.

If there were but a drip of fresh water,
falling from this rusted nail,
I would be a quenched soul.

If there were but a reason,
resting amidst these drowning voices,
I would be a purposed writer.

If there were but a song,
hidden within these inks and papers,
I would be a poet.

If there were a pillow,
sunken beneath my head,
I would be at peace.

[pianowolfi]

Mirror?

There is a golden ribbon to lace this dress made of coal
But there is also a dress of silk

There is a sprout emerging from these muddy waters
But nearby there is a huge and healthy tree

There is a tiny drip of fresh water falling fom this rusty nail
But there's a fountain right around the corner

The reason amidst these drowning voices is more clear to me
Since I read so many of your words

There are many songs hidden within these inks and papers
I know it because I heard you play some of them
and sing some with your red- golden voice

The pillow? Well I can't name it yet. But I know it's there
And you will be in piece.

That's what I wish you

more than just a ribbon

more than just a sprout

more than just a drip

Since I know

You'll never forget the dress of coal
Nor the little sprout
Nor the rusty nail



Just my two cents

[mycrabface]

                                                   My Own Theory  ( fiction)


            Hello, I have been studing physical science for all of my life now, and I would like to state some of my own concept:

         As time goes on, I have been coordinating an epidemic of theories, that I just can't sort out. So it resulted in combining them all into one large theory. This theory explains the definition of your own physical concepts of reality, life, spiritual being, and elasticity of human thoughts. Now on to my theory!

       All matter has mass, all mass has matter. All matter has volume, all volume has mass. All mass has matter and volume. All matter has volume and mass. The point here is that these three terms work together to support everything, to the laws of time, to crust forming on the side of your nose. Let's say you cut something in half, then again, then again, again, again. Eventually you will get to a single atom. Then cut the atom in half, now what? What is an atom made up of? What are electrons made up of? Strings of energy? What are they made up of. Keep getting smaller and smaller, something has to be made up of something, it blows youre mind. Now everything seems impossible! Where does space end? It can't just go on forever. What is past it? What is past that? If the big bang theory is correct, (which it isn't), where did the beginning matter come from? It's not like it could of been on a forever long channel of energy. So, pretty much, my theory is this: I am alive, and you know it.

Why did God give people minds of their own?

Because He hath mercy.

[pianistimo]

.  on second thought.

[Essyne]

The Gift of Life

   The sun’s scorching rays beat down on me, attacking my fair skin with waves of heat, shading my cheeks a dark red. Throwing my shovel in the dirt, I hiked the short mile in the trees to the river, hidden from view in the shadows of the towering pines. The soft forest floor dulled my footsteps as I let a waterfall of jet-black curls cascade down my back. I peeled off my sticky work shirt and placed a crusted pair of socks in my dusty boots strewn under a nearby tree. The moss felt soft and velvety between my toes. Familiar faces flooded my memory-dark phantoms of my long-forgotten childhood…
   “Race you to the top!” screamed Carlynn, her face glowing with exercise. My feet flew across the damp carpet of moss as I climbed the rock staircase opening to the cliffs. Mist kissed my face, tickling my nose filled with the piney smell of the forest. An anxious pair of legs scrambled up the black stones to join me.
   “You may be…six years younger… but I’d hate… to race you on the track,” my sister breathed. We collapsed side by side, lying on our backs and staring at the blue ocean extending above us. Clouds billowed miles away, taking the forms of dogs, cats, and the occasional rabbit. Carlynn propped herself up on her elbows, turning to face me.
   “Did I ever tell you about the creatures of these woods?” she probed with a playful expression. My mind drifted back to the unicorns, gnomes, and trolls of our storybooks. “Well, the waterfall marks a boundary between our world and theirs,” her voice took a much more serious tone. “On the south side of the river, we live as we have for centuries. North of the river, they dwell as they have for millennia....”
   A sharp sob forced me to come back to reality. My knees buckled at the memory of my beloved Carlynn. Sweat and tears mixed, streaming down my cheeks. The salt stung my eyes as my vision blurred. Before I knew it, I was running along the bank to the staircase my feet remembered so well. The jagged stones cut the bottoms of my feet, the gashes pouring out my blood and releasing my pain. I sprinted through the small corridor leading to the pools and the falls.
   The last ten years had preserved the giggling of two best friends –two sisters- as they explored the mineral pools of the caverns carved in the mountainside, and their shrieks as they leaped off the ledge of the waterfall into the foamy abyss below. A magic more powerful than that of my sister’s fairy tales called me to this site. Carlynn’s Falls had cast a spell over my heart and soul the day she sputtered her last wheezing breath. The day she left me here alone…
   I walked down a narrow corridor to a room flooded with bright light. Reclining in bed lay my sister, her bright blue eyes contrasting with the rosy blush on her snowy skin. A blood-stained handkerchief lay on her nightstand next to a dusty glass of water that would never be drunk. A small bead of scarlet trickled out of the corner of my sister’s ashen mouth.  Her fiery red hair framed her exquisite features, curling just above her waist. Tall, willowy, and beautiful, my sister looked through me, absorbed in a world of her own. For hours that seemed like mere seconds, I stood by her side, never eating, never sleeping, and telling her tales of heroic maidens who suffered in the name of love.
   “You see, although her prince charming was gone, he never really left her,” I formed each word deliberately as tears rolled down my face. At the last moment, Carlynn clutched my arm, her bony knuckles white and her brittle nails digging into my flesh. Her small frame quaked as the coughing spell took her, and I watched numbly as my sister drowned, with nothing I could do but stare…
   Heaving open the heavy wooden doors of the barn, I was greeted by an ecstatic whinny.
   “Zerlina.” My gaze was met by a pair of chestnut eyes. The mare’s glossy black coat revealed a shade of purple as the light peeking through the rafters glinted off of her fur. The earthen smell of manure wafted in my nostrils as I filled her water trough, opening the sliding door of the tack room to retrieve her saddle and bridle.
   The pounding of hooves drummed a perfect rhythm in my body. One, two, three; one, two, three…. The soft sound of music escaped my dry, cracked lips as a song formed on the tip of my tongue, floating on a delicate stream of breath and warm air. But my song was not the same as it once was. Once carefree and whimsical, it was now sung in a melancholy, minor key.
   I asked Zerlina for a full gallop, the wind whistling past my cheeks, ruffling my hair, and making my shirt billow like a large white sail. We weaved in and out of the trees in absolute harmony, dodging thickets and burrows as a single entity. Zerlina came to a slow trot as she neared the icy water of the river, eventually slowing to a walk. Her shiny black hooves sunk into the rich soil of the soft riverbed. Leading her to a small clearing, I dismounted the mare and headed back to the water.
   Kneeling down to drink from the stream, I caught my reflection in the glassy surface below. Many things had changed since that fateful day. Dark purple circles formed under my once-sparkling eyes. A grayish tinge clouded my already pale features, and my eyebrows were continuously furrowed. Long locks of black hair hugged my body, shrouding me in a veil of darkness.
   The water twisted through my fingers in tight ropes, glittering in the twilight. Sometimes I felt like I belonged here, in the forest, rather than in the rat race of human existence. In the forest, I wasn’t pressured to be anything, simply observing the show of beauty was enough. As darkness enveloped my surroundings, the creatures of the night began to emerge from their thickets, setting their stage on the other side of the river. A cricket began the overture as a fiery red fox danced on cue, her fur silky in the spotlight of the waxing moon. A small nightingale joined the chorus, emitting shrill, raspy notes, and fireflies darted in and out of the scene excitedly, colliding with one another as they misjudged the timing of their entrances and exits.
      As I sat quietly, I came to realize that a show is not always about the performance, but the purpose behind it. An entrance may be mistimed, or a note cracked, but in the end, all you can do is surrender to the music, leaving your inhibitions behind you.
     My sister will always occupy a space in my heart, leaving her imprint on my soul, but I will not let her death rule my life. As I sat quietly, I came to realize that I would live my life for the sake of living, and experience the gift of life wholeheartedly.
    As I sat quietly, I smiled, welcoming myself to the show.

[Essyne]

A bit "darker" than the other one .  .  .  .

     A surge of fear swept through every fiber of my being. As the red-hot poker inched closer toward my inner thigh, the man with the greasy hair and icy-blue eyes chuckled.
   “So, mistress,” he grinned sarcastically. “I will ask you again for a name-any name-before you die.” I spit in his face, and he lunged at me, swearing under his breath. I gritted my teeth, but nothing could prepare me for the pain that I would endure. White light shot out of my body as the wound seared with pain. The revolting smell of burning flesh wafted through the air, but I refused to cry.
   “No tears, m’lady? I knew you were a treacherous little witch after all.” Again and again her branded every orifice of my body, smiling sadistically as the jury eyed me with contempt. “A NAME?!” he screamed. My unrelenting stare only elevated his rage. He threw the poker back in the furnace and retrieved an ominous-looking instrument from the table. Sleek and shiny, it reflected my face, but couldn’t begin to capture the fear that pervaded my soul. Six long years ago, my mother and three sisters were falsely accused of sorcery. My mother, a humble healer, knew every poultice for any malady. Herbs and rejuvenation were her specialties, not death and decrepitation. With her execution, she had left me to follow in her footsteps, tending to the needs of the village.
   He fastened the tool to my left hand, jutting my fingers into clamps and fastening them tightly. My long black hair was draped over my shoulders, covering me in a shroud of darkness that enveloped my soul. Slowly my captor cranked a handle, and a pressure in my middle fingertip emerged. That pressure developed into a dull ache, which bloomed into an excruciating pain. Blood gushed down my arm in torrential rivers of crimson red.  .  .  .
   “Morgaine, your sisters and I are going away for
   a while. I need you to be a good girl and take
   care of your Father for me, alright?” Tears welled
   in my mother’s beautiful eyes, now laced with
   fear. “Can’t I come along, Mommy?” I desperately
   begged, without understanding. A sob escaped her
   trembling lips as she said goodbye to her youngest
   daughter. My father appeared by her side and led
   her to the door . . .
My hand throbbed, perfectly in sync with my heartbeat. I saw that the nail desperately clung to a small piece of flesh, covered in blood. Suddenly, with a pop, it was freed. The man bared his yellow teeth in amusement as he began the process on my index, thumb, and ring finger. By the time he advanced to my pinkie, I lost all consciousness and the world dimmed to black.
   “Mom,” my voice managed to squeak out in a breathless whisper. I awoke on a dirt floor, bleeding profusely from the stubs at the ends of my fingers. Sitting up, I became blind from the loss of blood and fainted again. For the next three days, I slipped in and out of consciousness, barely clinging onto life, my mind in a distant haze.
   “Bring her in,” a voice echoed in the darkness of my mind.
   I opened my eyes to a dimly-lit chamber, a fire casting shadows in the cold stone walls. Twelve men sat at an elevated table, glaring down at me through their looking glasses. I sealed my chest with the sign of the cross, praying to God that he would rescue me from my terrible fate. This seemed to infuriate the men.
   “Name?” the leader snapped. “M-m-morgaine Alverad,” I whispered.
   “Morgaine Alverad, I hereby sentence you . . .” his monotone subfusc voice droned on, filling the interrogation room.
   “Lyon, does she possess the mark?” Lyon, my torturer, approached me, stripping me naked to reveal the angry blisters and scabs from the previous days.
   “Here, m’lord,” he replied, motioning to my lower abdomen. I was astonished when I realized what he was referring to. Since my birth, a huge strawberry mark had extended beneath my belly button. The panel was silent, but I could practically read their minds. The Diabolical Mark. According to legend, the diabolical mark is where Satan has ‘marked’ those whom he makes deals or pacts with. A man identifying himself as Judge Nicholas Rémy, spoke almost immediately.
   “It is not unreasonable that this scum of humanity, witches, should be drawn chiefly from the feminine sex. The Devil uses you, Morgaine, because he knows that women love pleasures and he means to bend you to his allegiance by such agreeable provocations.” He was suggesting the unthinkable. I looked up at them as they continued to glare at me in my deplorable condition.
    “I am a good, honest, hard-working Christian. The Lord knows all that’s good and true, and-“ My feet slipped out from under me as Lyon slapped my across the face. My cheeks burned with shame and anger.
   “You are a dirty, blaspheming SORCERESS!” he screamed. “Get that WITCH out of my sight!”
       With that final, sneering word, a tall, lumbering man shackled me in heavy iron manacles, locking my wrists in place. He led me deep underground to a small, dark room. A salty, rusty smell tickled my nostrils, churning my stomach. The ground was sticky and the walls sweaty with human blood. He threw me down on the stones, yanking my head back, unsheathing a dagger. The cold steel grazed the top of my forehead, slicing off the long, beautiful cascade of jet-black curls that were once my pride and joy. I sat there quietly as they dissolved my dignity. I sat there quietly as that man robbed me of my innocence. I didn’t cry out as he missed a lock of hair, shaving pieces of my scalp instead. I sat quietly and did not utter a single sound.
        “Get up,” he grunted, clearly disgusted. He led me to a caged wagon, shoving me inside. We traveled around the town as citizens came to disgrace my name.
          They tied me to the stake that day, unjustly and unrelenting. I’ll never forget the faces of the little children who looked at me with contempt as they hurled stones at me, making a spectacle of themselves, or how the wrinkled old women turned up their noses as the stench of my cooking flesh increased with every passing moment. I’ll never forget the popping and crackling of my skin as it flaked off of the charred muscle. I’ll never forget being swallowed in the mouth of Hell. But most of all, my soul will never cease to remember gazing into the clear blue sky and watching a snow white dove flutter past me just as my spirit ceased to glow.

[m19834]

Some treasure it is to be there,
           but always just out of reach.

Some love it is to know the name,
                                  but not the face,
                                     or the face but not the name.

Some life it is to be,
          a dangerous one to live.
Some mind it is to be full,
                           of good ideas,
                                  but their potency thwarted
                                     by unintelligible wording.

Some soul it is to know grace,
         yet, to be haunted by quiet desparation.

[G.W.K]

How unusual. I started a thread (very similar to this) and I only got one reply. A more...popular?...member posts a thread of the same topic and there are so many replies!

*SIGHS* Just my luck...lol

G.W.K

[m19834]

g.w.k --

Firstly -- I started this thread a long time ago , so actually, you are a copy-cat  (as is Bob, Bob)
Secondly -- Hello.
Thirdly -- Goodbye.
Fourthly -- Why aren't you practicing ?
Fifthly -- How are you doing ?
Sixthly -- I don't know about the "more popular" part, eh ?
Seventhly -- No, I am not from Canadia just becasue I used the word "eh" -- eh ?
Eighthly -- I could really go on forever with this and it's pretty fun.
Ninethly -- Nine just happens to be my very favorite number.  Just think about it.  The number three is pretty great as it is, but Nine is three sets of threes.  Seriously.  What could be more amazing than that ?  hmmm ?

[G.W.K]

There is no need to take that tone of writing with me. I was unaware of the date of this thread as it has recently started up again...so when I created my thread, I was unaware of yours because it had not been used for a while.

My apologies, I was mearly stating a fact.

G.W.K

[m19834]

*yikes* 

*shrinks*

Monsieur, my deepest apologies.  I see we are now in quite an awkward situation !  Please accept this gift.

*hands gwk a very fine sock*

When we are not so awkward anymore, perhaps I will find the other sock and you will have a matching set .

*goes back to carving a lump of stone*

[G.W.K]

LOL...was the creative writing or a moment of...oddity?

Is carving stone something symbolic or something?

A very discombobulated,

G.W.K

P.S. I have no intention of being awkward with you Karli.

[m19834]

LOL...was the creative writing or a moment of...oddity?

Perhaps a little of both 

Is carving stone something symbolic or something?

A very discombobulated,

G.W.K

*whistles*

P.S. I have no intention of being awkward with you Karli.

I guess that is the good news then 

[m19834]

Within the stretch between silence and sound, there lives a universe profound.

[redragon]

If you wish to open the creative door,
you should look to ancient lore.
Like that one poem where the bird only said:
forevermore.

You may not like the fact that my poems all rhyme,
but how else do you expect to pass the time?