Writers

The western sky was getting reddish when you arrived. Hundreds birds flew away, surprised by your coming. You stood-still for a moment, and then sat down at your favorite place; the place where you could watch the sun going down beautifully, and its golden light produced dancing reflection on the nearby lake surface.

You used to detest the soaring hill across the lake. You dubbed it as a mere blockade to your sight, preventing you from following the complete movement of the sun. But, now, you seemed to start to understand that without the hill, this place would have not been the place you knew.

Your eyes gazed straight ahead. The crimson sky before you had been the natural phenomenon you had always loved the most. But now, every time you saw it, your heart cried. You missed those times so much, those very precious times to you, the ones you knew you would never find back.

Your smiled, remembering the first time you met Eric. You were here; all alone as always. Those that you called friends just left you; you were about to weep over it when suddenly he showed up. He teased you, doing this and that, trying to make you talk. But he made you so angry instead. You thought, ‘who is this boy? I didn’t even know him, how dare he play around with me!’ You yelled at him, telling him to go away, but all he did was continually laughing, and teasing you.

Now your eyes shifted toward the sunlight glittering on the lake. You laughed, remembering after that, you became close friend to him instead. He was a very cheerful boy; enthusiastic about almost everything. You never saw him sad. He liked to tell you so many stories, and he always encouraged you to do great things. He told you about his childhood memories, about distant places he had visited or heard of, about books he read, about his dreams, and all other things. And when you spoke, he listened to you carefully, never bothered to interrupt nor showed no interest. He is the best thing that has ever happened to you.

Your gaze fell slowly upon the yellow dry grass around your feet. You saw a group of pebbles scattering around nearby, and decided to take some of them. You rose, and one by one you reluctantly threw the pebbles into the lake, a thing you used to do with Eric. You remembered; you never made throws farther than his. Somehow he always made excellent distant throws, with some of the pebbles almost reaching the other side of the lake. Yours, on the other hand, never even reached half of distance he made.

You stared long at the last stone on your palm. Then you closed your eyes, took a deep breath in, and threw the pebble as strong as you could toward the other side of the lake. Your eyes turned wider at once, you laughed, as you watched the pebble bounced several times before plunging beautifully into the lake; right near the other side of it. In your heart you said joyfully, ‘Look, Eric! Look! Who says I can’t throw better than you?!’

The evening wind blew softly upon your face, moving your untied hair tenderly. Your heart trembled. The talk between Eric and his mother, while they were in their house’s kitchen, was presently buzzing in your ears. You were outside, behind the door. You heard it unintentionally just when you were going to step in.

“NO WAY, MOM! YOU CAN’T PUT ME IN THE HOSPITAL!! I DON’T WANNA STAY THERE…!!!” It was Eric, shouting to his mother, a beautiful and rather young lady who somehow always looked sad.

You wondered, what made Eric have to stay at hospital. He looked just fine; it couldn't be there was something wrong with hime.

“Honey, you shouldn’t speak like that…”, now Eric’s mother talked, with tremble in her voice. It sounded like she was trying hard not to cry.

Eric seemed to regret his high tone, and softened his voice as soon as he talked again.

“Please, Mom … you know it’s useless. You know we’ve come and visited the hospital maybe thousands of times, but still there’s nothing the doctors can do with me. You know that however I’m gonna die, Mom…”

You were paralyzed when hearing that. You hoped this was just a joke, but his mother's bursting into tears made you think it couldn’t have been any kind of joke. Didn’t know what to do, you ran without knowing where to go. Eric saw you, and then ran after you. He told you to stop, trying to say that you misunderstood. But you knew he was lying.

The sky was growing darker. You remembered the last time Eric took you here. The night was about to fall like now, and hundreds birds flew away when you and him arrived.

He walked close to the shore and gathered some pebbles scattering around, then threw them one by one into the lake. He talked again about one of his dreams; of how he always wanted to be a great architect, to build tall state-of-the-art skyscrapers no one could ever think of. He also told you about the place he wanted to spend the rest of his life in, and how he wanted you to stay there with him someday. Eric laughed, he looked so happy. His eyes were shiny, and his pale face looked so bright. It was like he wanted to show all he felt for you, and how happy he was for doing that.

Your stare turned empty again. You remembered when you visited Eric at hospital. It was the last time you saw him. His face was so pale, he looked so weak, and infusion pipes were adhered on his arms. But still, he lifted his hand up and brushed the tears on your face away. “Hey…, I’ll be okay”, he said.

You couldn’t hold those tears any longer. The sun was completely set now. There was no more reddish twilight that had painted the sky beautifully, nor was its glittering reflection on the clear lake surface.

Eric has gone. He died of cancer seven years ago. But, still you cannot forget him. You kept reminiscing him this way. You cry and cry, and let yourself lost in your never ending sorrow.

Duane, don’t you know how pathetic you are? The sun does set. But can’t you see what replace it? It’s the stars. There are hundreds; no, thousands, even millions of them. Look at how beautiful, how enchanting they are. I’m sure, Duane, if one of those stars were Eric; he must really want to say to you, ‘Shine, Duane, as what I’m doing. And one day, show people that you can make all your dreams come true’.

Duane, I want to be your best friend. Stay right by your side through the joy and the pain, and cheer you up like Eric used to do. But, what can I do? I am only an inanimate object. I am just a blue ring that you wear on your right ring finger.

---The End---

In films people ask for there mothers during death scenes. But it is not dying that draws out the plea. It is pure fear. I know before I have experienced that fear twice in my life.

The first time it happened I sharing a dorm with a bunch of Isreali lads who were about to return to serve in the armed forces. This was back in 1999 in Australia. I was woken but I could not move. I had the overwhelming sense of an awesome power being around me. I wanted to cry out but my gaping mouth made no sound. I was completely paralysed. I felt utterly frozen to the spot. I felt like the air was being sucked from my lungs and as if a dark spirit stood over me. I thought I was going to die. And then I uttered the word, ‘Mama,’ and a tear rolled down my paralysed cheek. Then the silence faded, I could breath and I sobbed quietly, afraid of waking my dorm mates and totally in shock. It felt to me as if I had been visited by a malevolent force, by the angel of death…

In 2004 I think, I was woken from my sleep in my old bedroom at my parents’ house by the tremendous sound of air rushing out of the open bedroom window, the sound becoming more concentrated and narrower, as if a gap were closing. Again I was paralysed. I could feel the air being sucked from my lungs and I was stunned into inaction. I had woken at the tail end of something awesomely powerful, because the room was filled with bright white light and the curtains were whipping in the air outside my bedroom window and then it was dark and the curtain hung limp and still. I shed a tear and uttered, ‘Mama’, though I only ever referred to her as mum. After a while, I forced myself out of bed and closed the window. I turned on the light and left it on. I was 29 years old and petrified by this experience.

Were these isolated dreams? Was it the action of my synapses firing wildly? It seemed too real, real enough to make me more scared than I have ever been at other time in my life, scared enough to make me regress for just a single stunned moment…

Update:

Thanks to those who submitted so far on Freedom - lovely work.
Submissions now invited on the subject of Dust.

Freedom still open as well.

Submissions invited on the subject of Freedom.

at http://poems-2-share.blog.co.uk

Already had two lovely poems submitted.

They are currently on the comments section under the post.

Hope you will join in.

Only original lyrics and poems please, no 'classics'.

Thanks,

banana

Dust

Sun rises in the east
in that simple fact we trust
light that gives us all we see
and makes a dancer of the dust.

We will rise up in the sun
we will join it as we must
light that holds us in its glow
even after we are dust.

Snow shines in the winter glare
ice melts in its rays
trees grow, unfold their leaves
birds glide in haze.

Sun shines on all who are
warms the sinner and the just
light that colours in the days
and makes a dancer of the dust.

(9 o'clock 1st May 1990)

An excerpt from chapter one of my novel One Piece at a Time

I would love it if people would come and read it and let me know what they think. It is an oddball quirky novel, covering the issues surrounding loss, love, parallel universes and a lovesick alien.

If you save one life - you save the universe - one piece at a time.

I hurt myself today.
§

Tuesday Morning.

"Fling it here, fling it there... if you aren't very careful you'll all get your share."

A song of filth scattered liberally and indiscriminately over a peaceful village.
Kids singing gleefully, with all the gusto they could muster up at the thought of vicars, spinsters and other respectables coated in manure.

The last note rang out and song time was over.

"Okay no more now - it's time for juice and biscuits."

There were some half hearted groans.

"But Michaela we haven't had 'One Piece at a Time' yet."

"I'll play that one next time."

She turned to one of the lads, pale and thin, twelve but looking much younger with mousy blonde hair in a buzz cut.

"Ryan, will you help me take the guitar and music stuff to the music room please?"

Together they left the play area as the familiar metal juice jug made its appearance on a tray together with its companion plastic beakers and plates, borne by Moira - a friendly capable looking lady dressed in primary colours.

Ryan padded alongside Michaela as he carried the plastic folder with the music for her.

"Its time again isn't it?" Ryan said, and it sounded more like a statement than a question.
"Yup, pal - It certainly is."

Once in the small music room, Michaela put her guitar away in its case, placed the music folder back onto its shelf and then led Ryan through the cloakroom area into a side room.

Ryan hopped onto the bed with deceptive energy as a smiling, curly haired, middle aged woman arrived pushing a metallic trolley.

"Ready for your meds Ryan, sweetheart?"
"Yes Lizzie."
"Good stuff, roll up your sleeve then poppet, you know the drill."

And so it began, again as it would continue, as it had been for quite a while. As always Michaela smiled and supported and hid her breaking heart, as did all the adults each day and every day. Trying and never quite succeeding to forget the reason they were all here. Sometimes briefly fooling themselves into believing in miracles, only to be faced with stark inevitability. But always they smiled and kept the mood light and carefree.

Children deserve a childhood, however short it may be. Adults owe that much to them at least. Michaela believed that above all else. It was just one of the reasons she volunteered at Ty Galon Lan children's hospice.

Afterwards, Ryan had a drink of water and with his remote, switched on the Disney CD to watch on the large flat screen installed on the wall at the foot of his bed.
"Can you bring my biscuit and juice to have next to my bed when I want them please Michaela?"
"Course I can pet. Your wish is my command you know that oh, master."

She ruffled his hair and he pulled a face in line with his duty as a little boy to feign disgruntlement at shows of affection.

By the time she got back he was asleep. Michaela placed the snack where he could reach it easily, turned off the tv and closed his door quietly.

§ § §

Michaela met her counsellor Cynthia Paget-Thomas once a fortnight on a Tuesday afternoon. They would have both preferred to meet once a week but Michaela could only afford once a fortnight. Well, to be more truthful she couldn't afford that, but even total losers have credit cards which allow them to get into debt like everyone else. To her credit, the counsellor didn't charge the full £25 an hour and allowed the hour to stretch into an hour and a half.

Even so, Michaela's finances stretched to provide her with a battered old mini as transport. A rusted hole in the floor between the pedals sent frequent and refreshingly cold reminders to her frozen feet that she really should get on with the repair she had been planning for the last six months. The fibreglassing kit sat in a pile under her bed where she had stuffed it the day she bought it at Halfords but she just hadn't got round to it. Every day she sploshed through puddles in her mobile paddling machine and didn't even have the sense to wear waterproof shoes. She lived in Cardiff for God's sake where it arguably rained as often as the rainiest place on the planet so she should have fixed the bloody hole in the floor as soon as she experienced that first disconcerting whoosh of dirty cold water up her trouser leg. She had no idea why she hadn't and continually arrived at appointments and other destinations with dripping and soiled feet. Maybe she hoped to catch her death of cold? Could a subconscious death wish combined with a cowardly nature have brought her to the point of attempting the first passive suicide by soggy shoes?

Yet again as she turned into the street of three storey Edwardian town houses where her counsellor lived she ploughed straight through the petrol rainbowed puddle that always, but always lay in wait in front of the Shell garage at the corner. Yet again she swore at herself for forgetting to avoid the puddle as yet again it lovingly lapped up her calf muscles and deposited a tide mark of grime wherever it could. This weekend, this weekend she told herself, she would get the bloody fibreglassing kit out from under her bed and fix the bloody hole in her bloody mini. She would definitely do it this weekend, come hell or high water. Especially high water. Probably.

One concentrated honey drop is not sweet enough,
One hundred stars cannot shine bright enough,
One thousand oceans are not deep enough,
One hundred thousand years is not long enough,
One million roses are not fragrant enough,
But there is just one word that is more than enough,
It comes from deep within the heart and goes beyond the metaphysics itself,
It describes just how much you mean to me my dearest mother;
So i hereby present you with this special yet simple universal word;
LOVE

HAPPY MOTHERS DAY

There was a man, a very rich and powerful man. Made his money all by himself and just lived it.

He’d done a lot of shagging, nothing casual – each time it had been intense and very horny. And he’d always been up to it. Scary really, when he looked back but something to smile about, something to put power into his swagger.

Thing is, lately it just hadn’t been the same. He didn’t want to face it but the reality is – his cock just wasn’t getting hard anymore.

So he moved to a holiday place, nobody new him and no reputation at stake. The word went out – any woman who could make his cock stiff would end up rich, very rich.

They all tried, the dirty, the horny and the gorgeous and the desperate.

Then came the sassy one with an arse as big as her attitude. They all laughed but HE knew he was in a toilet with no tissue and this just might be the attendant………..

She told him she could make him stiff all right but he’d have to go away with her for a few days.

He did, and on the first night she began to kiss him and just as he was thinking “nothing knew yet….” she plunged a finely pointed knife straight into his heart.

Death came slowly and bloodily, but it came and he went.

It must have been have been about 2 days, maybe 3. Anyway, it was a lot of soaps and wine but she got there and so did he.

He was stiff alright, all of him but definitely his cock.

Some say there’s a Latin name for it but whatever language you’re talking it comes out the same

Be careful what you wish for – you just might get it!

First of all I’ve found my story on two other websites, not crediting me as the author. If your going to copy this please comment me about it I’ll gladly let you use it.

In the filler episodes I’m going to tell you every thing that I can’t put in foot notes , like the book version of this.

Chapter 1

1. Mark III power armor and a Mp67 assault rifle are standard gear for infantry men, even though there are newer models they are not used as extensively because of the strain in resources they’ll create.

2. The model J’s are mechanoids (robots). They were originally made for combat in small urban areas, and are now outdated by 50 years. They were replaced by the model M, which are more articulate and a lot better in combat but are still outdated by 15 years. The models J is mainly used as grunt labor now and are employed as sentries, scouts, and grave diggers. They are forced to travel in packs of 3 or 4 because a lone model j is extremely stupid and they share a short range collective memory. Some commanders are equipped with a long range memory transmitter that allows them to control large amounts of them at one time.

3. The U.W.G. or United Western Governments is a U.N. type of government that consists of North America, Mexico, Greenland, and all of South America. Except for the southernmost tip of Argentina and Chile, all of Europe except for Norway and Finland, also the U.W.G. has most of South Africa. Some countries were taken by invasion in the early stages of the war like, Australia, and northern Europe.

Chapter 2

1. Mechanoids are robots.

2. The model M’s, commonly referred to as M’s are the latest version of mechanoids that the U.W.G. could afford to make. Still not as advanced as the model X of the U.S.S. they’re much more resistible to moisture. They are also more reliable than the model J and can be by its self if needed and has a larger memory capacity and can remember previous combat experiences.

3. It’s Mount Olympus, Washington not Greece.

4. Yes, the president is the president of the United States not the U.W.G. The U.W.G. is like the U.N. of 2009 but all the government leaders are living and working in 5 buildings that look like to pentagons stacked on top of each other.

5. Sorry about the *** damn it for any religious people that may have been offended by that. My deepest apologies.

Chapter 3

1. Steven was a long time friend of Jacob. You will learn more about it later in the story.

2. The U.S.S. model X (which I have a picture of in the media file on my profile) is the peak of technology of 2*** (You’ll learn the date later on in the story). It is very susceptible to moisture though and will break down if it is in prolonged exposure to it. It also carries a sword that can cut through reinforced cement and mark III armor, using sound frequencies.

3. Desertion is a capital offence and is punishable by death. No jury or court marshal.

4. YOU VOTE! - Think of one mutation or superpower you would want a character to have! Minuscule power please. And be Serious!!! Leave your thought and comments in the COMMENTS BOX not in your head.

This poem was inspired by the music 'With You' on the album 'The Land Where the Sun Slumbers' by Ivan Smirnov, a Russian Musician that I got to know in Moscow.

With You

I had drifted many miles,
Sifted air with wings of light,
But only knew my destination,
When you joined me in my flight.

Wing to wing to a distant shore,
Dancing in an endless sky,
Faced the world as friends, as one,
A brothers’ love, our eternal tie.

Our lives made laughing pirouettes,
As the waves kissed the setting sun,
But like the tide our music flows,
And of my song the ebb has come.

I've reached the sunset of my life,
I cannot reach the distant shore,
No new horizons with the dawn,
We’ll fly together never more. Copy Write of Joe Munford

Once upon a time there was a great wolf, which lived in the city. He was very successful, very strong, very clever and very rich. All of these things are important because living in the big, wild and untamed city can be extremely dangerous at times. He was regarded by most other wolves as the most successful in the city and they regarded him with eyes of green! He was looked upon by most of the girls with eyes that were hungry.
But this did not bother the wolf; he only had eyes for one girl. The wolf didn’t know her name, so he just called her Little Red Hood (on account of the red sports coat she always wore, with the hood up). The great wolf knew that Little Red Hood had to walk through a very wild and untamed area of the city at night to visit her Grandma; this was the key to his plan. He thought that because he was so big and strong that the girl would want him to walk her to Grandma’s so that she felt safe. With this in mind he strolled up to the girl on the threshold of the ghetto and said: “I’ve watched you before and I know you have to walk through a very dangerous place, would you like me to accompany you?”
The girl looked astounded “Bugger off! You pervert! Why have you been watching me?” She replied, for she was a modern girl and well aware of dangers and how to combat them. And after saying this she began walking off.
Now it was the wolf’s turn to be astounded, he stood gaping as she walked off. After a few steps the girl turned around and looked at him, he thought that maybe all hope was not lost. This however was proven to be false as the girl shouted a warning: “And be careful on your way back Mr Wolf, down that path there is drug addicts who have dirty needles and down the other path there is a gang with knives. Choose carefully.”
The wolf, heart broken and in no mood for dangerous adventures had called a taxi to take him home. Already his broken heart had cost him, and it was going to cost him a lot more too. Every night for a week he went back to the same spot on the threshold and never once did he get to cross the threshold with her. After 7 days of trying he was driven to despair! He started missing work because he didn’t want to get out of bed, he stopped eating because he was always love sick, he stopped exercising because he had no motivation and he stopped thinking because it hurt so much to think. A woman in love with him had once remarked to him: “What nice nails you have!”
“All the better to grasp opportunities with.” He replied. His nails were now dirty and weak.
“What big shoulders you have!”
“Indeed, they can carry the weight of the world with ease.” They were now struggling to carry the weight of his downcast head.
“What calculating eyes you have!”
“They help me see opportunities.” They now saw nothing due to been constantly clouded over and filled with tears.
“What big nostrils you have!”
“The better to smell the success with.” Now all they smelt was his own body odour due to not showering. And all that those big ears were hearing now was power ballads. The wolf was indeed broken. On the 30th day of been heart broken he was fired from work, on the 31st he was evicted from his penthouse and on the 32nd day of heart ache he finally got to cross the threshold. Though not with Little Red Riding Hood, he crossed it on his own as he had to live on the streets in the ghetto for the rest of his days.
He eventually got over his broken heart, but never regained his place and status in society; the city is a very unforgiving place after all.

Happy Birthday to me...

It was my birthday on Feb 27 and Blog UK remembered it too. Thanks a million guys.

So in point of fact it has given me something to write about, writers!

So lets be having you all you writers,write a happy birthday to somebody, even if it yourself.

Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to somebody else?

Tonight she painted her nails deep red.
Long and beautiful.
She called him,
He told her she would rule and fuel
More desire

Dirty desire.
Delicious desire.

Sighing, she thought back to
Darcy desire,
Dangerous desire,
Fuelling adulterous desire

He left his house
And her.
Because of his desire.

Red heels snuggled in her wardrobe
Beneath her red and black lingerie,
Beneath her

Like so many are.

Looking into the mirror and beneath the glass
The frost,
The icy wonder
Of her

Pouting,
Painting her lips
Deep red

Needing the blood of the moment
The desire inside her head.
She yearns for sweet vermillion.
She yearns for what he said.

©prettyintelligentprincess

Dreams of 'on-tap' sex.
Delicious and fulfilling.

But...I want more...

Dripping slowly, the tap may soon stop;
the flow may become dry.

Stepping into the warmth of sensual bubbles,
Angling between the shiney arcs;
Slipping under the ovals and circles of warm scent;
Yelling and screaming rebels.
Screams of water;
A soapy topping;
A popping cocoon.

Enveloping and drinking me;
Drinking me in.

Completely until parched
And drowning.