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 Posted: Tue Jun 05, 2012 8:25 am
╔══════════════════ ══════════════════╗❀ 『 Hello 』 ╮
╰ ❝ I've decided to make an extra thread for the entries of previous rounds.
Just in case someone decides they do want to read what they were up against,
or just feels like reading the entries of a certain prompt.
Please refrain from stealing these, or using these without the permission of the author.
I'd appreciate that. ❞ || ☆═━┈┈━═☆ || ❝
Now, I would also appriciate it if you did not post here.
This is merely a... museum. Yes, that's what it is.
Entries will only be posted after the given Prompt is over.
Now, enjoy reading. ❞ ╮
╰ ❀ ╚══════════════════ ══════════════════╝
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Posted: Tue Jun 05, 2012 8:33 am
╔══════════════════ ══════════════════╗❀ 『 May 』 ╳ ↘↘ Clash of Personalities.
The prompt required a clash of personalities. It did not matter what it was about, whether it was about loving someone that is the complete opposite of another or about a woman/man/child/thing in a crazy house, with multiple personalities that constantly battle for dominance. ↙↙ ╳ || ☆═━┈┈━═☆ || Entries will be posted in the next posts. ❀ ╚══════════════════ ══════════════════╝
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Posted: Tue Jun 05, 2012 8:43 am
✎ May First Place Kira Kahli
When Narcissus fell to himself
Told in the perspective of Echo the nymph
I. Sing to me of the man muse,
Sing of Proud Narcissus
Who so loosely held the hearts of
Women in his left hand,
While clutching a mirror in his right.
Sing to me muse,
And sing to him too.
II. Cursed,
Ever cursed.
To follow the words
Of others, but
Never able to speak
Of the selfless love
Of which my voice
Is bound to.
III. Sweet Narcissus touched his lips
To the distilled water,
Bathed in sunlit beauty
And transparent tears.
Slipping past
The boundary of earth,
Decaying through heaven and hell.
Head and heart sunk,
Down towards the abyss,
Forever falling,
Forever falling.
Never obtaining the secret peace
Which gods hold
From their mortal reach.
The coward goes to hell,
But the selfish doesn’t deserve
Any such comfort.
IV. Emerging from the ground,
Beauty only visible to others.
Following, ever following
The bright sun.
Narcissus remains,
Bound to the earth
By feeble roots, cursed
Himself to remain in this
Hell of a mortal world.
V. Echo.
Cursed,
Ever cursed.
Following,
Ever following.
Searching and wandering,
The nomad of voices.
A stranger,
To each who passes.
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Posted: Tue Jun 05, 2012 8:44 am
✎ May Second Place Ziporae Paradox Within Myself
Andrea was always my best friend. We met each other early in elementary school and have been inseparable since. While growing older I noticed some major differences between us, but simply justified it as us complimenting each other. I was shy, she was outgoing. I was overemotional, and she was stoic- what I had previously mistaken for strength had been in actuality, an absolute lack of empathy. While I was overly reserved in fear of harsh judgment, she was open and trusting of numerous friends and one-night lovers as well as confident. While I was at the library studying or reading a fantasy novel, she was at a fraternity party amongst the drunken chaos. Even our demeanor was literally opposite from one another, but we remained best friends.
Was I considered boring? In comparison, I thought I was, but Andrea assured me this was not true. And Andrea’s acceptance was all I needed as I had held such undeserved reverence for her. I would always be the quiet, caring, and ultimately transparent Karin.
The city sky was lost in a heavy downpour that night and water streamed down the apartment lobby windows only to be illuminated by the occasional strike of lightning. I was dreading the entrance into my room, knowing I would find that some rain had seeped into the drab carpet as usual on such a rainy night. If only I knew I would come across an atrocity much worse.
The young woman at the counter said “Why hello, Miss Mortinay” and I simply waved back- a typical routine. It was a tedious shift at work and a monotonous lecture at my university. Not feeling well made it nearly unbearable. Because of the nausea nestled within me, I had come home on the RTA an hour early from class and I anticipated the comfort of my living room sofa, the buzz of mindless programming on the television, and most importantly: my loving boyfriend.
As I opened the door to my apartment, my gaze fell on my boyfriend and my best friend in utter disbelief. The shock allowed me no shouts or screams, not that I would have known what to say anyhow. The only true comprehension I made was an evident absence of cloths and the two most important people in my life betraying me simultaneously. In hysteria, I grabbed the nearest object, which happened to be merely a magazine and I threw it at their twisting, mingled bodies. Their expressions mirrored my surprise, but no expression could mimic the terror that consumed me so rapidly.
I slammed the door behind me, wishing that everything would just dissipate into nothingness as I turned my back. Andrea clamored after me down the spiraling staircase, adorned only in my familiar striped sheet. “We were only bored, and he just wanted to have some fun… and then-” she yelled. The words that ushered from her lips were not only riveting, but enraged me further. No words could amend what had just unraveled before my eyes. I continued running with no account of my legs slapping the elusive puddles on the asphalt. I passed building after sidewalk, and before I knew it, I had no recollection of where I was.
I stopped only to let the tears fall, away from the view of any onlookers. And just as sadness morphs into hatred, I sat down on a doorstep and the meek person I was ceased to an overpowering sensation. I eventually gained my bearings, but as my former self gave away, a more capable and assertive side of myself took command. This was perhaps the part of myself that my logic withheld and my deliberating shyness barred for all twenty years of my otherwise uneventful life.
I had no desire of returning home. In fact, my small apartment had turned into the equivalent of hell. And while their actions had hurt me, I detached myself with almost no transition, which I had perceived to be impossible for the likes of me. My soaking clothes weighed down on me, but I could not feel lighter. I was free from the cage that I had built around myself. With the drive of my silenced aspirations and without the self-induced pressure that stifled me, I took flight. In this cement jungle I wandered aimlessly without my usual intimidation that accompanied me wherever I went.
I grew up in a rather rural, small town, only moving to the city because Andrea convinced me the urban setting would bring the best opportunities for me with the notorious, well-established colleges and corporations. Although I had consciously known she just wanted the city nightlife, luxury, and did not have the financial stability to pay rent on her own, I followed her. I never liked being alone. But here I was in this moment, prowling the streets with nothing but strange faces and glowing neon blurs above the conspicuous late-night bars and clubs- and I was better than okay- I was finally alive. It did not feel foreign, but like I had finally unlocked my natural essence that evoked the dormant, but so passionate spirit within me.
“You don’t need anybody like that in your life,” the young man remarked who was sitting on the stool next to mine. “Seems all the beautiful women in this city get their poor hearts broken. That or they all end up here somehow.” I thought about that for a moment, wondering if what had happened to me was predetermined from the start- not that I had truly viewed myself as beautiful. My self-esteem, already minimal, was taking some hefty damage despite this charitable man’s efforts.
How long had they been involved with each other while I was unaware? Had my boyfriend ever loved me? Was I just an in-between, or maybe I served as a source of indirect income? With the hustle-bustle of life I was barely home or with him, after all. The thoughts were repulsive, to say the least. I began feeling even less significant than before. Used.
“Kind of an unusual tattoo,” the same man casually mentioned, conveniently interrupting my trance, “I really like it.”
“Thanks. It was sort of an… impulse.” I instinctively pulled up my sleeve, revealing the entirety of the inked design engraved on my raw skin. The man turned to the bartender.
“Hey, Bob, please get this lady- er, what’s your name?”
“Karin.”
“Get Karin a drink. It’s on me.”
Instead of mentioning that I was yet to be 21 and an inexperienced drinker, I took the potent alcohol with immense gratitude. And with that began the wild chain of events, only a portion of which I can remember. And while it briefly crossed my mind that I may regret this, I took the tequila and washed away my sorrows before I could manage to convince myself otherwise.
The heavy bass caused my heart to vibrate in time with the pumping music. Flashing lasers, strobe lights, and a jumping crowd surrounded me. I was in a club. I was dancing with people I did not know, surprisingly at ease. I let myself go and I felt euphoria lift me up so high I never wanted to come back down. I had never felt such a sense of unity and genuine happiness. I danced to the electronic beat for a deceivingly long while. This was trance music I was familiar with, but had not thought so many others shared similar music tastes.
I felt a man around my age nearby take my hand to get my attention, and I hazily gazed up.
“Karin…”
The voice sounded eerily reminiscent, but I did not recognize him despite him apparently knowing my first name. He grinned and motioned me closer to the stage. Curiously, I followed him. We danced together, but not in the seductive fashion I had previously envisioned those in clubs to ‘dance,’ but as if we had known each other for years. As the crowd dwindled we sat at a small table in the corner. I eventually learned his name was Ross. And then we began spilling words that I honestly cannot recollect.
Laughing exuberantly, I asked him how he knew my name- my mind finally resurfacing the subject that initiated all of this.
“I am from your sociology class. I had always wanted to talk to you, but…-“
“Sorry, you two, but we have to close down,” the club owner called out, “It’s already 5AM.”
Ross took my hand and I did not hesitate. We somehow wandered to my apartment. As he gradually brought himself closer, my heart quickened and I found myself longing for him more than I have ever wanted anything before. All rational thinking was void at this point and I gave in.
Waking up the next morning was utterly surreal. As I intuitively expected my boyfriend lying next to me, my eyes fell on a near stranger… Ross. My head was pounding- the hangover I yearned to avoid. Looking into the mirror I saw a bewildered girl, not so alien to myself. I eventually mustered enough contorted memories to make sense of last night’s happenings, but I still infinitely perplexed. Uncertainty was always unsettling. Relieved that I was somewhat dressed, I left the bedroom and entered the cramped room. The living space was cluttered with cardboard boxes. Where was Andrea or my now ex-boyfriend…?
My question was abruptly answered as both of them stumbled through the doorway from the apartment hall. My ex-boyfriend’s stare hastily diverted, but Andrea’s eyes fixated on me.
“What the hell happened to you?” she gasped- a mixture of disgust and concern I detected.
“Well, where do you want me to start?
Her expression turned grim as she bit her lip, but it was not long before she reverted back to the former.
“Holy- is that a freaking tattoo on your arm? You were always so against tattoos… Karin, you are not being yourself at all!”
“Maybe I have always wanted one deep down” I shrugged.
My ex-boyfriend remained silent - probably for his best interests. After my traumatic realization I came to notice that this was the only reason he did anything. Collectively, he was only involved with me for his own benefit. Finally, he spoke up.
“Um, I just have to pick up these boxes and I am out. I started moving last night after… you know. That’s why I was not here last night”.
I snorted. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me”.
“…In fact, just keep these boxes. I think most of it you bought for me anyhow. I just have one important box in the bedroom.”
He immediately headed for the door, obviously in a rush to detach from the thorny circumstances.
The mental red flag came only a second too late… Ross. What he saw caught Andrea and him equally off-guard. What had initially began as dread, turned into a sick sort of inner-gratification.
“I can’t… believe you!” my ex-boyfriend spat and he ran out of my apartment, forgetting the box entirely. Good riddance.
“…Karin,” Andrea said, at an evident loss of words, “you moved on already? I hate to say this, but that is sort of whore-ish, don’t you think? I mean you don’t even know him do you? Stop trying so hard to be somebody you are definitely not… and-“
“What gives you the right to question her?”
All heads turned to meet an unexpected contribution to this conversation. Ross stood up and walked over to the entryway, as though he was shaken awake violently.
“You are a pathetic excuse for a best friend… She does not need you to take advantage of her! And you think you are really one to talk? You cannot even keep your hands off of her boyfriend- and don’t even try to tell me you can’t sleep with somebody else. But no, you had to ruin the one thing that kept her together… and behind her back. Save yourself the trouble and find somebody on your level. By that I mean rock bottom.”
I swallowed, but the lump in my throat was insatiable. I had just unintentionally unleashed a ferocious, relentless beast on prey far too vulnerable. But what he was saying was what I had felt for so long, but had never dreamed of bringing it forth. I suppose she did deserve it, but my empathy has always triumphed over all else. But an idea yet more frightening: how much had I told him during my drunken stupor?
“I… I really did like him, Karin!” Andrea sputtered.
“Please,” Ross continued, “save it for the-“
“Andrea,” I interrupted, “you lied to me, and this has been far worse than your others- something I would not let anybody get away with, let along a so-called best friend. I had always helped you and been there for you, with no reciprocation. And that was just me being… me, but how long till enough is enough? I just want to move on with my life… I just-“
“Fine! Leave me. I have been your best friend since the end of time. But I see how easily you have replaced me,” Andrea’s eyes darted to Ross briefly, “Even I wouldn’t stoop to that. Hell, if it were not for me you wouldn’t have any friends. You were so weird, so awkward, and such a geek… And I befriended you and I stayed your friend for all these years! You should be thanking me!”
With that Andrea left hurriedly in my ex-boyfriend’s footsteps. It no longer mattered that she had misunderstood my last cut-off phrase. She had said enough to reveal how she really felt about me and about our one-sided friendship. She had defied me once again. The tears fell after the door slammed shut, out of my control.
“Don’t let it get to you,” Ross wrapped his arms around me, “she has a very warped view of things… doesn’t know what she is talking about. She just lashed back because she does not have a viable excuse your what she has done… or what kind of person she is.”
“You don’t get it… you really don’t know me. I am not the girl from last night… I’m…”
“Boring?” Ross finished my sentence meditatively.
“Yes, actually. I am very boring. I don’t party… ever. I don’t even have any real friends other than Andrea and the ex-boyfriend. And now I’m pretty sure I don’t have any,” I sobbed, “I am about as uninteresting and dull as it gets. Who I was last night… that was a freak accident, seriously.”
“I beg to differ. Has it ever occurred to you that I like videogames, too? Or that I am a huge art fanatic? I’m not quite the party-type myself. And, me, popular? Not a chance… I can barely talk to other people. These are not things that amount to a person. A person is more complex… more complicated”.
I shook my head and Ross looked at me directly, pensive.
“I find you to be a beautiful person- inside and out. You look at the world in a way that is almost indefinable. And you are so admirable all around… No friends? Just don’t close yourself off. Anybody would be lucky to be your friend… to get to know you like I have.”
“Would you be my friend?” I laughed at the elementariness of my question. Even though flattered, it’s funny what gets past my overactive filter at times…
“I would,” Ross responded with a warm smile, “with both Karins,” he asserted playfully.
I had found a new beginning and a new conclusion.
And this paradox within myself is just the hot and the cold, the good and the bad, and the wild and the tame. The seen is more accessible, but the unseen reveals a truth much more deep. It strikes a balance, even a chord. Contradictions are often thought of as opposites that do not belong together, but I see it differently now. For the many dimensions of myself make up whom I am and are inseparable. People are simply not simple. Indescribable. This paradox within myself is not a paradox at all, but an anomaly.
I will not let fear or rigidness limit me.
Or anybody, including myself, define me.
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Posted: Tue Jun 05, 2012 8:47 am
✎ May Third Place Jormungander A Delicious Person
She wore long brown hair that matched her golden brown skin, which had a perfect tan. Her sweet voice sang to me, for she was finally toasty warm. The smell of ripe apples wisped into my face filling my nostrils, Which made me turn my head.
With that I could no longer resist the urge but wanting to eat her. Adding a bit of whip cream on top, while taking a silver object which I've caressed her delicious body. Then taking the silver object that's in hand, and I shall lick it down to a shine. After Leaving nothing untouched and uneaten, her crusty exterior made her soft interior that much better.
MmmHmmm! What an good apple pie, would you like some?
Once completed I set her down upon the counter, I grab wrapping to keep her from moulding.
Ding, ding, ding, Oh wait there’s the door bell, He dashes to the door opens it with joy quickly the house becomes crowded, the television was immediately turned on, music bounced from every corner of the house.
Alas she has fallen into tears she has been forgotten, tossed away left out in the cold she then waits for him to cover her and keep her warm. The cold air touches her soft brown skin, chilling her sweeten heart.
He continues to ignore her, then he finally lays upon on the couch and falls asleep with out a doubt, his mind forgets the tender, sweet juicy piece on counter.
Soon as dawn brakes and rises has not long while waiting she could no longer take it from him to come and give her one last taste. She then becomes angry, she gruff, and snarls, but wait she has a surprise in store for him.
He yawns to the morning sun which shines though the window as it awakens him. Stretches to the sky that gleams in a bright blue tone. Then taking several steps to the kitchen coffee maker for a cup of refreshing wake up calls. Then he looks on the counter and notices her. She lays in wait, still on the counter looking more beautiful then ever. A gleam in his eye, which perks a familiar urge. He hastily picks up a spoon, eager and ready to finish, what was not complete. Gripping the silver object in his hand, he slowly scoops up a spoon full of that delicious body. Taking his time moving her into his mouth, then he clamps his mouth shut taking a big bite.
Yuck! is she very sour, he spits her out in a flash, gagging, groaning, complaining and what a commotion.
As she lays their chuckling, and smirking. “See what you have done!” she shouts at him. “Its your fault now that I am so sour.”
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Posted: Tue Jun 05, 2012 8:49 am
✎ May Fourth Place Nui Kyrisa Mending Taints
Ever felt like a dream could somehow be more true,
More solid than staring at rough wind rushing through?
Hurt faces crowd and brim my mind in an airy sleep
Of surely a thousand dreamless nights trying to seep
And get pass the barriers separating this scary life,
Fragile most from a young, petite girl holding a knife.
Waking slowly, my head throbs of terrifying glimpses:
Children uttering the line ‘inescapable consequences’,
A battered, weak lady pleading me to hurt her no more,
My hands bruised with marks my real self never bore.
I did not care that she might decide to leave my side,
Let alone find myself very guilty whenever she cried…
I was selfish for not returning the love I owed her;
I was vicious for I took away her life with one trigger.
***
Ever felt like you would not ever be easily forgiven,
At times, though you try hard to get things forgotten?
When I shivered, my mind tensed; it wasn’t the wind…
My turn was mostly flawless as my consciousness thinned.
He gathered me in his sturdy arms, gentler than usual…
“Nightmares, again?” I stared at his eyes, ever so loyal.
He nodded once and added, “If only you could know.”
My hand found his trembling; it wasn’t the falling snow;
He caressed it with his thumb, looking straight at me,
Regret stunned me; he was quietly saying “I’m sorry.”
He wasn’t the same person as the one in his dreams;
He feels guilty for the mistakes he did, as it seems;
He was my angel, now, than the monster he claims;
He won’t let himself go back to that state he blames…
***
Ever felt like a dream could somehow be more true,
More solid than staring at rough wind rushing through?
Ever felt like you would not ever be easily forgiven,
At times, though you try hard to get things forgotten?
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Posted: Tue Jun 05, 2012 8:51 am
✎ May Fifth Place Amanda the Panda Queen
RosyPosy
~Ring around the Rosie,
A pocket full of Posies.
Ashes, Ashes,
We all fall down.~
Posy kept insisting,
Daisy kept resisting.
Harder, Harder,
We all must walk.
Keep your back straight,
Don’t ever be late.
Smile, Smile,
Enjoy nothing awhile.
Daisy don’t kneel,
Don’t you feel
Shame, Shame?
It’s not a game.
The flowers were picked,
Daisy was whipped.
Posy, Posy,
Is your daughter cozy?
~The cows are in the meadow,
Eating buttercups.
Thunder, Thunder,
They all stand up!~
Rosie shouldn’t be stooping,
Rosie shouldn’t be scooping.
Scorn, Scorn,
Her dress is torn.
Daisy looked grim,
Rosie couldn’t win.
Mother, Mother,
Please not again!
Rosie don’t kneel,
Don’t you feel
Shame, Shame?
It’s not a game.
~Ring around the Rosie,
A pocket full of Posies.
Ashes, Ashes,
We all fall down.~
A lady shouldn’t kneel,
But Daisy could feel
Sadness, Sadness,
The air was cold.
Posy’s ashes,
Rosie’s grave,
Care and love that Daisy never gave.
Posy’s scorn,
Rosie’s torn.
Why was Daisy ever born?
~The cows are in the meadow,
Eating buttercups.
Thunder, Thunder,
They all stand up!~
Now on a day,
She went out to play.
Buttercups, Buttercups,
They cover the ground.
Overlooking the cemetery,
Up on a hill,
Remember, Remember,
When we used to stay here?
Daisy please kneel,
Don’t you feel
Happy, Happy?
We made a bouquet!
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Posted: Tue Jun 05, 2012 8:53 am
╔══════════════════ ══════════════════╗❀ 『 June & July 』 ╳ ↘↘ Affection to an Object
Working with the prompt Affection to an Object. I am sure there is a lot one can write about that; like how your coffee mug is like a lover you wake up to every morning. Or how your ipod lulls you into a deep trance, filling you with all sorts of emotions. I don't know, just throwing a few ideas out there so you won't be all baffled. ↙↙ ╳ || ☆═━┈┈━═☆ || Entries will be posted in the next posts. ❀ ╚══════════════════ ══════════════════╝
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Posted: Thu Aug 02, 2012 4:58 pm
✎ June & July First Place regisky911 Dear Blanket
Wrap me in your arms, lover. Fold into me, senseless, as I hold you close, gathered in my arms while we sleep the day away. You kiss me – there, on my cheek, and a sly stolen peck on the lips – while I slumber in your safety.
Your warmth is a reflection of mine, soft and sweet and smooth like velvet. Or, to be more precise, like a 95% cotton, 5% polyester duvet spread. It is a surprise sunny day in the middle of winter, at that point when the novelty of hot chocolate has long since worn off and most of the rock salt has been used. It is comfort, and I love you all the more for it.
I’ll bring you to my nose and take you in deep into my lungs. Perhaps that’s strange. But you smell so nice it’s simply criminal to waste it.
You smell of summer. Not just any summer, but that one summer when I dragged you out with me on that camping trip four years ago. We were new to each other then; you, so new and fresh and smelling of a certain kind of bleach, and I, younger, brighter, less worn. You weren’t comfort then, but novelty, and I spent those lazy, rose-tinted days cuddled around you in our tent. We were different to each other then, but you still smell the same.
You smell of peppermint, too. I spilled some on you yesterday, remember? We were so used to it by then, of my clumsiness, that we didn’t even bother with cleaning it. I laughed, actually. You didn’t seem to mind. Is that what people call familiarity? That we can do this, and not care. Because we know each other.
Novelty or comfort – I can’t choose with you. But somehow you make it seem like I don’t need to. Maybe it’s because I can just detect sun underneath the spicy chill of peppermint.
Can I just say –
Oh no, I’m tearing up again. And to think I just cried to you last night. It’s – how do I explain it?
I really thought he was the one.
I suppose not. No one could ever beat you anyway.
I love you.
I always seem to come back to you in the end. You’re always the one I cuddle and cry to whenever things happen – see, there are some mascara stains here, and here – and you might not whisper sweet nothings to me but that’s how I want it. You here, just listening to me.
And you do that perfectly, don’t you? My peppermint-spicy sun.
I know because it’s all catalogued in here, written in the various splotches and stains that I could never get out, no matter how much I washed you. There’s a pretty big black smudge near my left pinky from the night Kyle dumped me – four years ago, can you believe it? –way out on Zoyn hill. It was raining. When I woke up the next morning, I found this spot from where I slept on you with my mascara all runny and disgusting.
And here, near my right calf, is a hard little patch from where Ethan and I spilled champagne on our second anniversary. We laughed so much then. Which is weird, now that I think about it, because the place he hit me a couple days ago is still visible, right next to the champagne spot. Is that irony?
It could have been dramatic irony for you, because you probably saw it coming. Saw it in his eyes when I did something wrong, that strange glint that was as hard as steel and burned as bright as the sun. I chose to ignore it, but you might not have.
Thanks for comforting this stupid me anyways. For lying with me in this splotch of sunshine while the rest of the world moves on, and wrapping me with warmth.
I love you, dear. Sweet dreams.
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Posted: Thu Aug 02, 2012 5:00 pm
✎ June & July Second Place Coconutto My Violin
A long time ago, I was known worldwide as Jane Gruwen, professional violinist. My violin was a genuine Strad, something that cost me millions of dollars, and my bow was of similar tier. Playing the violin was my passion, and I practiced for almost entire days when not performing in concerts at world class halls. Fortunately I had the wealth I needed to fund for my music. I could easily have lived a lavish lifestyle, but my husband and I preferred modesty.
Everything went downhill shortly before my daughter and only child, Helena, went to university.
She didn't have the slightest interest in music, although she was rather talented. She took after her father, an artist, and his adoration of painting, but she didn't have the skills. In the end, she decided on law. She was smart, and although I was a bit disappointed, her father and I were proud of her. Helena moved out just as I went to the hospital for the severe, and gradually worsening, pain in my right wrist and was diagnosed with arthritis.
Wrist arthritis is detrimental for a violinist. It's easier to manage, at least, if it's on the left side. If it's on the right side, well, there's really little you can do. Bowing in itself requires constant wrist movement. Detache, one of the most commonly used bow strokes, requires even more movement. Staccato, martele, legato... You need control over your muscles for bowing, and my control was very lacking. I tried, though, I really did.
The arthritis only got worse, and I could only play in short bursts before completely losing myself to the pain. Medication dulled my senses, but helped little. Treatments delayed the progression, but did not stop the ache. At first I was relieved that at least I could play, just not for long periods of time. It took me until just before the concert at Carnegie Hall to realize my life as a violinist was over. Concerts are three hours or more at a time with a quick intermission in between. There was no way I could play in concerts.
It wasn't to be my first time playing there, of course, but it still hurt to have to turn down the offer. Furthermore, it was rude of me to have backed out last minute - after so many people had already bought tickets. Until then, I'd convinced myself that I'd still be able to play at the concert, lying to myself and claiming that I just needed one more day, another few hours, till I'd be in picture perfect condition. How wrong I'd been.
There was no way I could sell my Strad, as each attempt brought waves of nostalgia that often brought tears to my eyes. Besides, the Strad is mine. It belongs to me, and me only. I've always been possessive of it. Although it still makes me grieve for what I could have kept if not for the arthritis, it also lets me indulge in the past, to reminisce. Remembering that I climbed up to a height that few reach fills me with pride in both myself and my companion.
There are a few knocks to my door, disturbing my train of thought. Could it be my husband? He went out to meet his client an hour ago, and although I'd been expecting him to take longer, I suppose it's possible. The door opens from the other side just as I stand up, revealing a middle-aged Helena, her husband, and their talkative twelve-year-old daughter. Right, I'd forgotten they were visiting.
"Learn to lock the door, Mom," she mutters, then smiles awkwardly. "I'm not sure whether this will please you or totally tick you off, but Annie-"
"Won first in Nationals!" the girl exclaims, her face erupting into a gigantic grin. I'm proud of her, and very impressed, except I've never even heard she knows how to play. Of course, it makes sense. I made a statement that I was going to have nothing to do with the violin ever again, and the others have been reluctant to talk to me about music ever since. But still. Couldn't they have at least told me before this? The girl then proceeds to add sourly, "Only for my age group, of course, but still."
"Still, congratulations. You must have done wonderfully," I compliment, smiling back. The pride beats the doubt, and I'm immensely happy for the child.
"Just thought you wanted to know," Helena states. From the way she lingers, I can tell she wants something more. After a pretty long pause, she says, "I was wondering if you could teach her. The teachers are talented, but you're obviously better. I'd teach her myself, but she's already better than I ever was." I raise an eyebrow, and Helena bites her lip, already predicting my answer. Undoubtedly, my answer will be no. I just can't.
"Wouldn't that be awesome, Nana?" the girl asks, emanating happiness all over. "I want to be a violinist, just like you once were." Obviously, she thinks differently from both her mother and I. While we think of it as a period to regret, she thinks of it as something to look up to. I change my mind. It can't hurt to teach a little girl, much less my own grandchild.
"Of course it will be," I answer. "When do we start?" Helena literally gasps, and the mute husband next to her looks just as impressed as her. The girl seems the same as ever, though, like there's no way I could possibly have refused. Quite frankly, I like her a lot. I could use more of her laughter in the house.
And maybe, just maybe, I'll give the Strad to her as a gift in a few years.
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Posted: Thu Aug 02, 2012 5:05 pm
✎ June & July Third Place Rubygirl283 Box
Like pretty much everyone else at the time, my dad was off fighting the commies in World War II, and time to time, he'd send home letters and small gifts to me. They were never more than, "Hey, Tommy, I'm doing fine, help your mom in the kitchen," and little model airplanes. I appreciated them, anyway. It was all I had to know my dad by, since I'd only been five or six. I never knew my father that well, you could say, but at least he cared enough to send home something.
It was a day like any other. I came home from school, and ran inside, happy as any kid my age could have been. I had been about to dump my school things down on the kitchen table and run outside to be with my friends, but the sight of my mother stopped me. She was sitting in the kitchen, staring absently out of the window. The phone (at the time, they had the long, curly cords like tails that were strung up to the wall, and had the little dials that would make funny noises) was laying speaker-down on the table, and she was staring absently at it. She didn't wear makeup, but you could tell she had run her hands through her hair because it wasn't perfectly coifed, as usual.
I remember making my way over to her, and she grabbed me up and began to bawl. I tried to talk to her, but she never said anything to me. She just reached for the phone, stretching the pink pig-tail cord, and sobbed into it something along the lines of, "Would you care to tell my son?" She then rammed the phone into my hand and took me off of her lap so she could go cry in privacy.
"Hello?"
I can't remember whether the voice on the other end was a man or a woman, but they spoke sternly and without emotion, with a practiced tone. "Young man, where is your mother?"
"She's in her room."
"Did she tell you about your father?"
"What about Dad? Is he coming home?" I began to smile, thinking that at last, I'd get to see the voice behind my letters.
"No, son. Your father isn't coming home. He's never coming home. I'm sorry to tell you this, but your father was killed. Now hang up the phone and go with your mom. She obviously needs some comforting. We'll call back at a later time to work out some things."
"Yessir." Dismayed, but not as upset as my mother, I reached up on my toes and hung the phone on the hook.
It was later that night that I noticed that one of my father's boxes had been put in my room. It was plain, a brown, old box, with duct tape and stamps, like any other. But I didn't touch it. I just looked at it.
The casket was closed at the funeral. I never knew what he looked like, I never got to touch his face. Being a six year old kid, I didn't concern myself with it. I just worked through the grief and tried to keep Mom on her feet.
Through the years, I never opened the box he had sent. I put it in a drawer with nothing else. Mom would occasionally see it and tell me that I should open it, but I never did. I just looked at it, never touched it. It was like the relationship I had with my dad: I knew something was there, but I didn't look at it. I felt like doing so would be a disgrace to his memory, if that makes any sense.
Well, I progressed through life, got married, had children of my own, got a good job, and through it all, I still looked at the box, but never touched it.
Eventually our parents came up at work over the water cooler, and, telling something I'd never told anyone before, I mentioned the box. Of course, they were all enthralled, just as I imagine you, the reader, may be wondering. I told them I never opened it, and I don't plan on opening it.
Then they kept bothering me.
Over and over again.
And I'd keep checking the box.
Over and over again.
Eventually, I moved the box from the garage (where it had been residing for several years) into our bedroom, into an empty drawer, and every night, before I went to bed, I'd check on it. Make sure it was unopened, because, if it was... I really don't know what I would have done if it had been opened.
My wife eventually asked about it and I actually hissed at her. I told her to keep her hands off, that I wasn't opening it. She got frightened and took the kids, and I took a few weeks off from work, which were spent staring nonstop at the box.
My mind conjured my own father's voice, telling me, "Tommy, hey buddy! Gonna open the box? I sent it a long time ago... and you never opened it? Didn't you open all the others? What makes this one so special? Or was it that after I died you stopped caring about me?"
I'd have a few screaming fits and pass out. When I woke up, the box would still be there, unopened, but teasing me, telling me to open it, the voice of my father haunting me, telling me to open it. Then I'd have another screaming fit and pass out again. The cycle continued for a while, until my friends moved in to see how I was doing and making sure that I was alright.
Eventually, Bridgett, a heftier brunette, picked up the box. "That's it. I've had enough with this nonsense. Open it."
Everyone else screamed at her, but she kept the box, then held it out to me. I stared at it as if it were an unborn fetus she was handing me -- the thing terrified me. My father's voice joined in as the world around me twisted, saying, "Open it! Open it!"
I shoved it back in her face. She shrugged and said, "Fine, I'll open it myself!"
"Bridgett, that's gonna send him over the edge and you know it!"
She snapped back, "It'll help him by resolving this whole daddy issue and you know it."
No one said anything as I stared at it, paralyzed as she ripped open the old tape, set it down, and said, "Now, to end this." Dust puffed up in her face and she had to turn away to cough as she first opened the box. Looking back in, she paused, then frowned.
"What is it, Bridgett?"
"I don't get it."
"Don't get what?"
"Thomas, you need to see this."
Scared, I screamed, "No!"
She shoved it back in my face, and the moment of truth came. What was inside of the box? What had I been guarding preciously? What was my father's last gift for me?
Absolutely nothing. The box was empty.
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Posted: Thu Aug 02, 2012 5:07 pm
✎ June & July Fourth Place ganchroi
In Love with Life through MyPod (My Ipod)
In my hand is held my salvation
Armed with sounds and voices
I surrender myself to the beating within
It tempers my feelings and choices
This is a part of me
That I never even knew I had
Everlasting and permeating
Until it falls dead in my hand
I see trees flash by
Cables and tracks
The real things in life
What beauty they lack
But with my weapon
I see more than mundane
The sounds flowing through me
Perceptions alter and change
Life is wonderful
Prolific and Exuberant
The people, the machines
Even every tree and plant
Eyes sparkling at the wonders
That MyPod has made clear to me
Inexplicably rapt in awe
At something so simple and free
Emotions surge through me
Waves buffeting the shore
Every ugly and sad little thing
To me has become so much more
The small gesture of the couple opposite
He picks some dirt from her hair
She leans on him, a subtle smile
Yet not in itself very rare
Just look and see
With your eyes open wide
The world’s full of beauty
It never hides
But MyPod brings to life
The emotions of songs
The world becomes rose-tinted
There can’t be any wrongs
The music that comes
From the earphones I have
Is not always wonderful
It is sometimes sad
Though people sit around
Ignorant of others’ plight
I see how wrong it is
And can never make it right
MyPod is beautiful
It makes me who I never am
But takes away the part of me
That cares about every man
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Posted: Thu Aug 02, 2012 5:10 pm
✎ June & July Fifth Place Jormungander Love for Three
The day she was told she would fall in love with it was the day it changed everything. In her eyes her world was perfect, well as perfect as it could be for she did not know that this last thing would complete her world. This object brought many things to her world, it has brought tears of happiness, anger with sorrow, fear with safety. Many things in her life has given her happiness, sorrow, anger, fear and safety, but this small package has done more then that, It changed her life forever. Some people may say this is just an object, others may laugh, most would not say a word.
The years that she has cherished with it, loved it and maintained it, she will never forget the day she was first blessed with this package. That day was her 10th birthday, her father had given her the object before he went off to the war. Since that day No one really knows and understands how or why this thing was so important to her, she really never spoken about it. It was the roughest par of her life, but she gladly told many stories about their adventures in other new worlds, and her imagination would surpass yours and my imagination combined.
Even now that she lays on her death bed she tells untold stories to keep us from weeping of happiness and sorrow. finally her days has come to an end, and her tails should be told before she lays a eternal rest.
"I'm her grandson and here is a small piece of information about grandma. I shall start with her name and Vivian is her name, he just calls her grandma.
She is sweet kind and sweet cherishing every moment of it, her words are words none like others. She plays with him when he visit, spoils him when he awake. She’s the greatest in his mind, she has always told him to keep one particular thing in mind. Her words was to never stop imagining, for many things can happen and it would feel like magic.
One day she was telling him a wonderful story, how she and her favourite buddy would sail the blacken seas, fight large storms, and even find some sunken treasure. These stories were his favourite he could not stop listening to her adventures and those stories he will never forget.
Vivian was the greatest at telling stories, she would always have a new adventure thought up just or him. I’d would think sometimes that I was on those adventures right beside her enjoying the seas, and skies.”
As the years past he grew older, soon her stories became less magical, and less interesting. But now and then he thought of the stories, to keep her happy.
That was until she lays in her bed holding her favourite buddy close and dear to her heart. He now wishes he'd more time to enjoy her mysterious adventures.
As her pulse rapidly begins to weaken every minute, he lays beside her, and ask her “are you going to be alright?” with some hope that she will live forever. Tears trickle down his face while he receives flashing memories of his past with her.
Vivian grasps his hands, which was folded by her left hand, motions to him to kneel in closers he kneels in closer she begins to speak. Her words were silent but clear “ My dearest grandson," she pauses a moment "do not shed tears in my presents for I’m not gone yet.” she coughs a bit. “Now I want to give you something that I always loved, and cared for, and I want you to…” she coughs again trying to continue her conversation “ love and cherish this object for I have love and cherished it myself." She slowly takes a deep breath " I want you to go and have a life and an adventure of your own.” while talking she slowly pulls out her Favourite teddy bear from a bag beside the bed.
The object was an old brown, torn, bear a couple patches were threaded on for missing fabric, one eye was missing, and a nose sowed on. As he reaches for the bear. She whispers in his ear “ love the bear and it will love you back” she finishes while a single tear trickles down her face, then she passes on.
Tears filled my eyes, waterfalls start to soak the sheets. Clutching the bear she had given me tightly close to his chest. “I will love the bear forever grandma!” he whispers into her ear before departing the room.
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Posted: Thu Aug 02, 2012 5:17 pm
╔══════════════════ ══════════════════╗❀ 『 August & September 』 ╳ ↘↘ Dare loves Gore.
I want a risky dare in your entry, something intriguing and compelling. Not just some random a** teenage dare. I want something that feels real, that is scary, that could cost someone their life. Dare them to cut off their most precious limb for a million. Something dangerous. I want grit and gore in this one. Also, it has to involve blood, that is a must; whether its the characters own blood or blood from an animal, another person, blood bank. Something, I just want to see some blood - splattered across the scenery, being poured into some vessel for later or just old blood smeared along a wall, or a simple drop of blood from ones fingertips is fine as well - you just have to go and explain how it got there/why it is there if you do decide to just go for blood being smeared along the wall or something similar (dont just go "Oh and there is some blood", because that will not impress me and probably just get you far too many points taken away for not including it). ↙↙ ╳ || ☆═━┈┈━═☆ || Entries will be posted in the next posts. ❀ ╚══════════════════ ══════════════════╝
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Posted: Mon Oct 08, 2012 8:30 pm
✎ August & September First Place 010Sweet-Sacrifice010 Cursed Courage
What seemed to be an ordinary house on an ordinary street, was in fact much much more. All of the lights in this average sized brick home were off, all but a glimmer of light that shone from the basement, that is. A group of five teens sat in the basement of one of their friend's home. All smirking and giving each other devious glances as they were mid-turn in was started out as a simple game of 'Truth or Dare'.
"C'mon Maddie! You're taking forever! Truth or Dare!" A snobby sounding red head whined, rolling her brown eyes at a shy looking blonde named Maddie. Maddie's face flushed at being rushed, she didn't want to seem like a wuss in front of everybody, especially the guys....but she was scared of what they would dare her to do.
"If you don't speak now I'm going to pick for you!" Another blonde girl snapped at the blushing female, who's green eyes widened at the threat.
"Oh-no! Uhm..F-Fine...I'll pick dare..." She almost squeaked out while the girl who had spoken first grinned ear-to-ear, you could almost see her mind at work, just thinking of the torture she could put the new girl through. While the red head, who's name was Allison, thought of what to put Maddie through, the poor girl watched her nervously, wondering if she had made a poor choice.
"Hmm...what should I dare you to do, Maddie.." Allison taunted and tapped her nails against the concrete floor.
"Oooh!~ Dare her to prank call someone!" One girl chimed in rhythmically.
"No! That's stupid! Dare her to go steal something from the store down the street!" One of the guys said and you could hear grunts and vague sounds of approval from his buddies.
"No..I know something even better." The red head said and slowly crossed her arms over her chest. "Maddie, I dare you to spend twenty-four hours in the haunted house two blocks down." She spoke matter-of-factly and held her head up high, almost as if she expected the girl to decline.
"What!? But the cops have had that house blocked off!" One girl squeaked.
"That's crazy!" One of the guys said in a shocked tone.
"But that's suicide!" The other blonde even added, looking to her red head friend in disbelief.
""No! That's her dare and if she doesn't do it she's disqualified!" The red head snapped and glared at the rest of the group who shrunk back after her sneer.
"I..I'll do it." Maddie finally spoke and looked directly at the red head who swung her head around with a shocked look.
"Really!?..I mean....Good! Let's go then!" Allison attempted to hide her annoyance and shock that the blonde actually accepted the dare.
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The group soon reached the old, three story house and a few of the fearful teens hung back while the braver few marched onward.
The large house seemed to loom over them and right about now Maddie was wondering if she made the right choice..but maybe if she turned back now no one would notice her missing...
"Wow, Maddie, I can't believe you're actually doing this! But I've got faith in you." One of the guys said, making the blonde determind to go through with her dare. She took in a deep breath and side-glanced at Allison, who actually had a slight look of fear on her face, but it quickly vanished as she spoke.
"Alright. We'll watch you walk in & then hang out for awhile just to make sure you don't bail and we'll come for you in the morning." She said with a smirk and gave the girl a small shove toward the house. Maddie stumbled slightly from the push, but caught her footing and hesitantly approached the house, stepping over the old police tape that was once put up to keep civilians out, but had recently been tore down. As she slowly made her way up the steps her heart's pace quickened with every squeak of the steps until she finally reached the door and turned the knob to enter.
Upon opening the door she scrunched up her nose at the smell, it was very odd indeed but she couldn't tell exactly what it was..somewhat musty...somewhat moldy....it even had a sooty smell to it..After one last look over her shoulder she entered the house and closed the door behind her. It clicked oddly after it closed, but she brushed it off as nothing for now. Luckily the roof of the house was barely intact which let in a good bit of moonlight, making it possible to somewhat see, Maddie squinted her eyes for a moment. It looked as if this house also had an attic that was still somehow reachable even though the roof was a wreck. She was just thankful she wasn't in complete darkness. Maddie took a few steps forward and looked around in awe. This house must had been beautiful when it was first built. The girl carefully made her way over to the stairs and thought she saw something move out of the corner of her eye, quickly turning her head to look, but nothing was there. A small, uneasy chuckle escaped her lips and she began to climb the stairs.
Her eyes scanned the second floor, cautiously taking a few steps forward before flinching from a sharp hiss. She had accidentally stepped on a cat's tail and it quickly showed its displeasure before running deeper into the home.
"A cat..? What is a cat doing here?!" She muttered to herself and walked in the direction the feline went, wondering if there were more of it's kind here.
"Here kitty, kitty..I didn't mean to step on your tail.." She clicked her tongue a few times, hoping to lure the cat out, but so far no luck. She soon gave up and sighed, soon going ridgid when she realized how far she had ventured into the house. The floor creaked all around the girl who began to feel panicked.
"It's just the house settling..don't worry..who knows how old this thing is!" She told herself but couldn't stop herself from hyperventilating. Soon the creaking stopped & the house became eerily silent. Maddie slowly looked behind her, squinting her eyes, preparing to flinch if neccisary..but nothing is there. She lets out a sigh of relief and turns to face forward once again only to be confronted with a hand lashing out from the wall, attempting to grab her. The blonde shrieked and stumbled backwards, but was barely able to catch herself and make a mad dash to the attic.
Upon reaching the highest level of the house she slowly stopped and quickly looked all around her, panting furiously from her run.
"W-what was..that.......a g-ghost!?" Maddie whispered as something caught her eye in the back of the attic...garbage bags? The teenager approached the bags and upon further examination she went pale...and old flashlight lay outside the bag and bones were scattered around the bags....Almost as if they had once contanied bodies...
"Oh no...no no no...why did I even have to come here..." She shakily backed away, tears burning her eyes but not yet falling.
"I-I've got to get out of here!" She said a bit louder than intended and quickly spun around, quickly, ubt carefully making her way back to the front door. Screw the dare, it wasn't worth her life. Now she began to notice little details everywhere that gave her a sick feeling in her gut..The walls seemed scorched, as if it had been in a fire...dried blood blended in with the mold and dirt...there were even scratch marks on parts of the floor & walls.
Maddie finally made it to the front door & anxiously grabbed the handle, quickly twisting & pulling back on it...but it was locked.
"W-What!?..H-How...No!!!" She took a step back and thick, black hair began to wrap around the door. Completely engulfing it. The blonde soon heard a noise that made her skin crawl..a crackling noise..almost as if bones were being crunched. What was even worse than the noise, however, was the icy breath that she suddenly felt against her neck. Her bottom lip trembled as she slowly turned around. She was now face to face with a woman who was pale and had long back hair, mouth agape & eyes wide. Maddie screamed bloody-murder, but was quickly grabbed by the spirit and drug up the stairs, her face slamming against each step on her way up, her nails leaving their own trails as she desperatly attempted to grab ahold of something, anything. Soon the world faded around her as one final blow from a step knocked her unconcious and her body was continuously drug until the duo reached the attic.
The spirit then possessed Maddie lifeless body & walked toward a hole in the attic the lead to the roof outside. It continued to walk as if the hole wasn't there and eventually stepped out of the attic & sent the blonde girl's body tumbling to her death below.
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"Are you sure this was a good idea to send her in there by herself?" One of the other girls who stood outside with Allison asked and glanced toward the building, eyes suddenly widening and mouth agape.
"Of course! I---" The rest of Allison's statement was cut off by her friends scream.
"Oh my god! Allison, look!" Allison looked to where the other girl was pointing and gasped when she saw a body tumble down from the top of the house..
"It couldn't be...." Allison muttered to herself as her friend along with the other students who were with the group ran up to where the corpse fell, pulling the dumbfounded girl with them. Her fears her confirmed before she even reached the body as a few students that were ahead of them screamed and gasped, one even threw up from the sight. But Allison had to know for sure...she walked up to the girl's body and went pale, forcing herself not to wretch at the sight along with the other student.
Maddie's face was black and blue, having multiple scratches and gashes on her face, her hands were bleeding and it looked as if some of her fingernails had been torn off. These were just the minor wounds. The blonde's entire body looked mishapen and deformed, most likely from the fall and hitting pieces of the roof that jutted out on her way down. Her clothes were torn in various places and her hair was disheveled..
Suddenly Allison realized it had grown silent around her and she pulled her eyes away from the body and looked around at her fellow classmates who were all giving her a scornful look.
"This is your fault!" One girl snapped.
"Maddie would still be alive if you hadn't of made her go in there!" Another girl sobbed.
"That was kind of a b***h move, Allison." One of the guys said with a disgusted look.
The girl got teary eyed and slowly went to back away, "B-But..you all agreed! I-I never meant for her to get killed! It was just a joke! A dare!" She pleaded as the kids began to close in on her, eyes not wavering.
"I don't see anyone laughing, Allison." One brunnette sneered as two guys grabbed each of the red haired girl's arms.
"H-Hey! Let me go! W-What are you guys doing!!!???" Allison squealed and struggled as the guys began to pull her toward the entrance of the house, not aware of the curse but just wanting to scare the snob.
"It's your turn." Was the last thing she heard before the duo tossed her into the house & shut the door behind her.
Allison was now trembling as she landed on her hands & knees wearily looking up & at her surroundings and hearing the door latch behind her, assuming it was the other kids doing this to her and quickly jumping up and banging on the door.
"No! Let me out! Please! I don't want to die in here! Guys! I'm sorry Ple---" Her voice was cut off as a familiar crackling sound was heard, but the other students wouldn't know that. They had already left the property and were all headed home. They thought they had taught Allison a lesson, one she deffinitely wouldn't forget...
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