The Final

She sat at the desk, the cat was on the printer and the music playing in the background. It was here she continued doing what she loved best - writing. No matter how short or long the sentences, no matter the time of day. It was amazing really, how many hundreds of stories could be pumped out from the single individual. How many different phrases could be typed in a keyboard's lifetime, how many stories it could share. Already, she could see the letters being worn off, but they had and would last her for many stories to come. She wasn't finished yet. She was only just starting., and with a bang of illegal fireworks outside, why not?

[118 words]

Prisoner's Podium

He stood at the front of the room, speaking freely in front of the other inmates. A guard stood off to the right behind him, another by the door, but he could tell nothing was going to happen here. There was that air of calamity. Everyone in the room was hanging on every word of the prisoner. He looked a smart man, a positive one, didn't look like he really belonged here at all, but Thomas had said there were wrongs in his past, just as there was with everyone here. Even himself, although they were not the same reasons that got himself locked up. He shook the thought from his mind and focused on the inmate, Nick the others called him. For a flicker of a moment, their eyes met and he could swear there was a hesitation in his spoken words, but he looked away quickly and Damien dismissed it as part of his imagination.

"You are only as good as what you let let yourself be."

Absently, Damien found himself nodding slightly, agreeing. He could listen to those uplifting talks all day, if there weren't people out there wanting to kill him.

[195 words]

Part of Life

It wasn't what you expected from a space like that. A place to feel young and be silly, yet still have incredible goals to achieve and the ability to share that with others. To an outsider it wouldn't sound that bad. Probably sound a piece of cake. To those who knew though, they knew it was epic, and troublesome and hard and challenging, somehow worthwhile. You had to give it credit. It wasn't just for children, because it wasn't the easiest game out there. Sure it was fun, competitive. But if you truly engaged with it, it could be incredibly challenging and that, it would appear, to make it beautiful. For while the goals could be so important to you and yet so hard to achieve, they seemed so much closer, much more within reach, than the ones you set yourself in the outside world. You could see exactly where your goals were headed in that space. But not in life. Life was strange and unpredictable. And this was just another part she associated with it.

[176 words]

Two Sentences

Life doesn't always turn out how you want it to.

Deal with it.

[13 words]

Sick Dog

"I'm sick!" he screamed at the two men trying to drag him away. "Go away!"

"We don't care if you're sick. You've got work to do."

"Do you want to get thrown up on?"

Just then, a third man entered the room and Terrier looked away, finger still twirling around the sheet he had in his hands.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"He says he's sick," one of the men advised, grabbing a fistful of Terrier's hair and dragging him into the light, "Does he look sick to you?"

Terrier chanced a glance into the eyes of the man who had turned his world into horror and chaos.

Cameron studied him for a moment, before lifting a hand to touch his forehead. Terrier stepped backwards, stumbling over the mattress but managing to hold himself up.

"If he says he's sick, he's sick," Cameron ensured, and Terrier held in a sigh of relief. "He knows we'll beat the crap out of him if he is caught lying, and he has no reason to lie. Isn't that right Terrier?"

Terrier gave a nod of his head, but stopped at the nausea it caused him.

"Leave him rest," Cameron ordered the other two away, "He'll only have twice as much to do when he's feeling better."

Terrier shut his eyes as they left the room, before collapsing to the mattress and pulling the sheets tight around him. Cameron had a soft side? No. Things were only going to be twice as worse when he was next checked up upon.

[257 words]

Writing Woes

Writing comes and goes. Certainly, unless you're in the mood to write, a lot of it can turn out poor, or even horrid. Quality should be valued over quantity, but sometimes, you have to give yourself permission to write badly. That way you can learn, edit and improve. It's the will power more than anything that keeps you going, and it is a hope to avoid such long, writing droughts that stories, or random thoughts and musings, can be written down - whether in ten or a thousand words. It's is not so much the stories or the whatever you classify them as that are important, but the value of what you are doing. What you are trying to achieve and prove to yourself you can do. It is an exercise to keep the blood in the typewriter keys and the ink in your veins. It is one hell of a task.

[152 words]

If You Believe

Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer played softly in the background as the overexcited child bounced around the room.

"And I hope he gets me that doll I wanted, and-"

"He won't be getting you anything at this rate," her mother warned, "not until you're fast asleep."

The girl practically jumped into bed at the words, pulling up the quilt and grabbing her Christmas Bear from the side."Did you put out the milk and cookies?"

"Yes," her mother assured, tucking in the folds of the sheet.

"And the letter?"

"Yes."

"And the carrots for the reindeer?"

"Yes." She moved around to the other side of the bed now, "Everything's ready. Now go to sleep. It'll be morning before you know it."

She kissed her daughter on the forehead, before switching off the lamp.

"Mum," came the voice through the dark, "Santa is real, right?"

She paused at the door, her words processing for just a moment before they flowed out. "He's as real as you want him to be. If you believe, he will come."

[174 words]

Change in Christmas

The best Christmases are when you are young. When you go to bed so early, for fear Santa will not come, when you wake up before the sun has risen and sneak a look at the presents under the tree. Peek through the window, the carrots for the reindeer are gone, and the milk on the table is drunk, crumbs still left on the plate. The Christmas movies seem so real, and the carols you sing as loud as you can. Something changes in that over the years. I'm still trying to work out what that is.

[97 words]

Merry Christmas all!

Sleep or Lack Of

No matter how much he tried to rub his eyes, the sleep remained in them, that tired feeling, drowsiness and wanting to sleep all day. His nightmares were getting worse and did little to help his sleep pattern. Not until he could stop looking over his shoulder every two seconds, wondering when the worst was gonna come or if it had already. He needed to get out before this place ruined him. It already had ruined him. He just wanted to go home, have one night of peaceful sleep and keep it that way.

[94 words]

Light and Dark

Life was what you made it, or so the saying goes. If you were feeling blue, or grey, if there were clouds that carried rain, it was up to you to pick up the umbrella and dance. To make patterns out of the raindrops or prance into the puddles with glee. To hear the music in the sound of the pitter patter on the roof or get the popcorn when the lightning shows. And when the sun comes out again, you have to enjoy it as long as you can. For should a light go out one day, there's always a chance the dark will stay.

[106 words]

Air of Nothingness

He stared at the shadows making lines on the cement, a cage he was trapped inside of and one he wasn't sure of the escape route. This whole thing had turned into a mess. A complete and utter mess. Now he couldn't tell which way was right and wrong, who to believe and what to follow. The metal bars were cool against his skin as he rested his forehead against them and waited for a time he wasn't sure would come. A time when the problem would sort itself out, without all the worries and hassles it was supposed to bring. Just for it to evaporate into an air of nothingness, and he wouldn't be happier.

[116 words]

Handle It

He couldn't do it. He couldn't play the part of a criminal. He didn't know what he was supposed to say, and it wasn't like he could start rehearsing. They wanted answers now, ones he didn't have. Had Cameron really expected him to pull off something like this, or was he actually wanting Damien to tell on him? How he'd love the courage to do that. To tell his story, to tell every last fact. But how could he? He'd never truly trusted anyone after that, too afraid of getting hurt. It had impacted on the rest of his life, and would continue to do so for as long as he lived. The question was how long he'd be able to handle it.

[123 words]

Twelve Hours

She wondered what the day would be like when she would finally just sit there one day, and write. All day. Without a distraction. Without a writer's block. Just sit, for twelve hours a day, and write. She wondered if it would ever happen, that day of progress she longed for so much. Naturally, it was up to her. The task lied within her hands and she was the only one stopping herself from that, but it would be a difficult thing to pull off, no doubt. There was always something lagging, something tugging at that wishful desire. And when the day came, perhaps it would make it easier on every time after that. Perhaps the meaning of leaving blood on the typewriter keys and ink in those veins would begin to sink in.

[134 words]

Regret or Relief

Did he regret his actions? That was a hard question and one he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to answer. He couldn't have predicted how either outcome would turn out, but if it was as simple as 'I'm going to do this or this' then no, he didn't regret his decision. He was able to live. His brother was able to live. The situations weren't ideal, nor pleasing. But seeing the outcome now, he knew. Everything happened for a reason, that's what he'd told the inmates. And things were start to look up. Look worthwhile. They'd seen more than a lot of people ever would in their lives. That would enable them to help, to give. To love. That, at least some what, outweighed good from bad.

[128 words]

All Failures

17 December 2010

The cool air greeted his face, refreshing and to an extent, calming. He steadied himself and his breathing as they pulled up at the front of their destination. It was dark, evening. Isolated. That was the scary part. Who knew what could hide out here without being seen? Well, he knew, again to an extent. They wouldn't. They'd never see it coming. And worry and guilt began to set in again. Why him? He didn't even know what was in store, or for who. He only knew his part in it all, and whether that would result in success or failure, he didn't know. He saw all outcomes as failures. Nothing good could come from this. Could it?

[118 words]

Certain Prediction

It required a well thought ou plan - or at least, the character's plan did, so the writer's needed just as much. Otherwise, how was the character supposed to play out a perfect plan, if the author hadn't planned it out first? It needed to be done, it was just doing it. It was just getting into the mind of that character and seeing exactly what he saw in the whole situation. Why on earth he would want to perform it in such a way, so unpredictable as it was... How was he to ensure it as predictable as possible? What made him so certain that this was the best way? Only he and the author knew - or at least, would know, when she could think it up in the first place!

[133 words]

Run and Snarl

He ran, hoping his sister wasn't too far behind, leaping over low bushes and ducking under low hanging branches as whatever it was that was behind them continued to tear up everything in its path. It wasn't an ideal situation to find themselves in. He ran zig zags through the shrub, darkness closing in everywhere he ran and it occurred to him he could no longer hear his sister's panting and he stopped in his tracks and looked around through the trees. He called out to her. She couldn't be lost. They couldn't afford to lose each other now. And then came a snarl from one of the creatures that took him running again. Now what was he to do?

[120 words]

Wonder

Sometimes it makes you wonder,
Through all your mistakes and all your blunders,
What life is truly meant to be,
Away from all those DVDs.

A fantasy world, a life in dreams,
Reality though, it never seems,
To meet those expectations,
Filled with too many minor frustrations.

A single day, a single thought,
Another battle to be fought,
Nothing is as it is told,
Many things you too, withhold.

A story, a tale,
A glory, a fail,
A life may be taken,
While another awakens.

A smile, a cry,
A worthwhile lie,
Until death do us part,
Hold together a broken heart.

Sometimes it makes you wonder,
What life is truly meant to be.

[114 words]

Worth It

It was the night everything had come together, piece by piece. The beginning of what would be a long and hard journey through the trails of words and letters. A single scene, a single idea, followed by another, which would soon lead into the thousands of words of a manuscript draft. Now, would she have to change that? Not all of it, but an important part. A core. Could she do it? Was she up to it? How would it change the novel and would it be for the better or the worse? How many more months or years would it take, how many nights spent lying awake, eagerly thinking of all these crazy ideas... and the ones not quite formed that frustrated her. It'd be worth it in the end, whatever it took. She was determined of that.

[139 words]

Immersion

The pain that had accompanied her all morning was returning. The difference now was that she had something to do, a purpose to hold back on the moans, and continue to very much ignore it. Writing did that to you. Immersion. If done well, you could immerse yourself in books or writing, and truly forget about time and sound, switch off to anything that wasn't a current sentence or paragraph or page. It made it seem so productive, and so beautiful. Amazing.

[82 words]

What Is...?

Where does inspiration come from? A book, a movie? Your own writing? Rereading over something old? Reading something new? Traveling to someplace new? Revisiting someplace old? Creating a new character? Falling in love with one you forgot? Music. With or without lyrics? Or silence? Looking at photographs or staring at a blank wall? Dreams - nightmares? Does it come from the weather - a ray of sunlight casting a shadow on your book? Does it come from the rain, making puddles in your path? Talking, or listening, eavesdropping? Does it come from someone or something? A habit? An event? An everyday thing? What is inspiration? And where does it come from?

[111 words]

Paramount

The excitement and thrill was paramount as the ideas run wild and a new song entered the playlist, the rising and falling of its tunes creating yet more excitement to hurry, to continue, to create the tension and suspense that was asked of it. A leg bounced up and down in impatience, an eagerness to switch windows, to forget the daily altogether, to continue before all the ideas wound up for the night, to continue while they were still all loud and clear, screaming down her throat and into her veins, out onto the keyboard. WRITE, they shout. That positive feeling of high spirits, of you-can-do-it attitude, where failing is erased. As it should be.

[115 words]

What Goes On Before The Write

The playlist was going on all day, blaring out sound from the speakers Occasionally, she'd sing it out loud. Stare at the document, close it again. Get up. Walk around the house. Gulp down three glasses of water. Then she'd return and draw, make her character come to life, create a visual impression of him. More music. Some TV to inspire. A talk with someone, discuss the details, sketch it out some more. Ask questions to herself, to others, seek answers and ideas which could be implemented. And occasionally that stroke of longing, of desire, to write it down, and that moment when you said this was it. You bring the document back up again. You ignore what's already in it. And write.

[123 words]

Drawing the Character

The only sound in her ears was the soft music that had been on loop for three days, beneath the sound of the scratching pencil, ebbing slowly away at the paper. The eraser whiting out all the tiny mistakes, the flicking away of the rubbings, and a sip of warm water. Her hand was sore, her body cramped, but she had to finish. Just that one small section so she could continue easily with the rest later. It had to be perfect, refined. Each line had to share the same darkness and depth. And still the paper was getting worn in places. Sometimes she tried too much. As long as this would be the last time, no one would notice. A shading of a thumb, a finger, a wrist. Slowly the whole thing was coming alive, a person, a character. One she alone had created.

[145 words]

Words of Wonder

The sound of a fresh new sentence, when you’ve got it sounding just right, so crisp, you can hear every syllable, that is what you wish for every sentence in your manuscript. Something that’ll define what you’re trying to say, even if it’s in four words. Sometimes, they will make no sound for others, but even the silence can be tantalising. When it’s perfect, you will know. There’ll be a ping drop at the end where the astonishment will sit and fester a while, leaving you in a wonderlandish state of bliss, and I have to remind myself all the time that this unexplainable feeling is why I wish to, and am, pursuing writing.

[114 words]

Waiting Gloom

The music was soothing, kinda beautiful. Kinda happy, kinda not. She didn't quite know how to describe it, but she loved it all the same. She couldn't believe she'd never thought to listen to it before. But would it prove yet another distraction, or would it truly, prove helpful? The weather wasn't helping lately. Not that she was complaining, she was enjoying the weather and its gloomy state. It almost connected with her. Some things were too good to be true. Others just required waiting a little longer...

[88 words]

Sometimes Stuff...

Sometimes you had to do stuff you didn't want to do. Sometimes you had to take risks. But in order to do that you had to take the first step, which was, sometimes, very difficult to take. There always seems to be something holding you back. Usually, it's something little, but you can't help it. It magnifies in your mind. But that's something you need to get over. Just a hurdle. Nothing more, right? It never appeared that way though. There was always mess in the way. Always. Distractions. Stuff that needs to get done. This is usually prioritized incorrectly. You put it off. You try to ignore it. The problem just gets bigger.

[114 words]

Change in a Character

She contemplated whether such an event for her character could be dismissed, forgotten about, chucked. How hard it was to throw away your first ideas on a make believer person, harder than you'd expect, anyway. It was just a small addition, right? It could be erased, couldn't it? Surely. One little detail wouldn't matter, it could be worked around. Would it change anything in the story? Probably not. Not a big deal. Of course, it was everything but when you thought of it like that. It meat everything to you and a change was hard to get used to, but doable in the end. Was it necessary or was she just avoiding the obvious? What was there, truly, to avoid?

[120 words]

Please Be Free

He lent over the paper, digging the pen deeper and deeper into its surface, scratching out his messages and pleas for help. Someone had to hear him, even if it was himself. He was so absorbed into his doing he didn't see the shadow creep over his shoulder, nor hear the breathing of someone standing behind him. His hand shivered as he wrote out another letter, and another. The pen was snatched from his hand. He ignored it, instead shredding the paper and leaping from his seat, anger, frustration and confused thoughts filling up inside him. He wanted to relax, he wanted to be free. When would that be granted?

[110 words]

A Cat's Life

She lay there lounged out on the printer, her little furry head leaning back against the tiny screen that stuck up on the end. She stretched and covered her face with one paw, eyes closed and dreaming of all the luxuries cats wish for - fish, birds, cotton wool. One leg lie lazily over the edge, up against the second printer and a stack of newspapers, and still she remained fast asleep, just waiting for the girl to go to bed herself, to say goodnight, to slobber her arm in cat dribble and come back to steal her chair. A cat's life.

[102 words]

Where To Start

He cupped his hands around the glass of water to try give him something to hang onto, to calm himself down. He shut his eyes and bowed his head, deep in thought, trying to through it all away. Impossible. Conflicting voices in his head argued all day and night, giving him no rest or silence. It was frustrating. He couldn't piece together a single coherent thought and there were some things he couldn't remember at all. Why he was here, for instance. If he could just take back that day, or just redo a few years... maybe he'd missed something vital to his life along the line. Now he had to try and fix his errors with no way of knowing where to start.

[124 words]

Silent Waves

She rubbed one foot over the other to kick off a few ants, chased a little brown beetle away from her papers with pencil and stared out over the landscape. Lots of empty benches, trees that were years old. There was a family a little further up, with a kid riding his bike up and down the pathway. Mostly, it was completely quiet except for the soft swishing movement of the waves and the sound of the breeze rustling the leaves of the trees. The odd bird squawked, a pelican flew overhead. The blue sky was ever so slowly being swallowed up by rain clouds, and still it was as peaceful as it had ever been. Silence and serenity. It was so beautiful, such an awe-inspiring place, in the eyes of the writer, to pick up a pencil and let the words flow, coincidentally about the ugliness and brokenness of her favourite character.

[153 words]

Scratching Words

Sometimes things had to be cut, and shortened and scratched, in order to improve. The hard was was deciding what to cut and how to replace it. How to expand it out into something more worthy, to make your deleted words seem like they were deleted for reason. Of course, there'd be some things you could never cut, and something things that would take several drafts before you could part with them, but generally it was for the better. Generally, it could work. A few changes here and there in order to make it even more structured and loved.

[99 words]

Living the Words

Her eyes followed the words on the page as she slowly scrolled to see the words beneath the view of the window. There, she continued to read for five minutes, ten, fifteen. It was truly quite fascinating when you sat down and did the research, put in the study to make your book actually go somewhere. Of course, there was along way to go, but it was nice to hope and live off that first fresh incite, breathe it in and mix it around to suit the character's needs. Amazing in which such things could be applied to an alternate world, a made up city. Of course, they were as real to her as anything, they came alive. But it would be some time before it truly lived.

[128 words]

Ready To Talk

She ran into the house, checking each room but knowing all would be empty. The person she seeked was out. She ran for the phone and dialed, waiting. She'd come. She had to come. The time was right. She'd tell her everything if she could. Pick up the phone... There was no answer. She listened to the message bank and left a message she hoped sounded urgent. What if she was already out on a call? What if she couldn't get herself away? She hadn't thought about that and didn't want to. She was ready to talk.

[97 words]

Get There

The mind was bursting with information, tales, ideas and conflicting theories and research. It was almost too much to handle. Everything was disjointed, a muddle of things waiting to be pieced together with care. And yet still she didn't know how. The research was just beginning. A total mess. So much to do for someone so impatient to have it finished and complete. Yet it had to be done. It had to be done in order to improve the storyline, the believability not just for the readers but for herself. She'd get there eventually. She'd make sure of it.

[99 words]

If Pencils...

The papers sat neatly stacked in a pile off to the left, on top of three partially filled books. The pencil, motionless, was perched on top of this, calling out to be picked up and muddled over, calling for a stream of lead to be released. Counter enemies sat on the right - biros of red, blue and black. Disorganised sheets of notepaper, the glass of water ready to attack. If pencils coulder shiver, it would, in anticipation for that next change of word, that next honourable parargaph. But they can't. And it sat as motionless as ever.

[98 words]

What is it a writer does?

What is it a writer does? Hide in a dark corner, never to come out? Work by candle and ink, never keyboard and mouse. Do they take over the coffee shops, scribble out plans on a dozen napkins, mull thoughts over ten coffees or other hot drinks? Are they the ones who take a stroll in the park, sit down on a log somewhere and just read from other novels, hunting for inspiration? Maybe they don't read at all. Just sit and stare, apparently doing nothing while their mind is at work tirelessly on plot, formulating characters as you walk by, maybe a characteristic based off you. Do they have boxes and boxes of scrap paper, all used? A million excercise books half filled? A hundred chewed pencils, highlighters of every colour. Or is it just one pen and pad, they hold?

[142 words]

Prologue!!!

So I finally began truly editing Innocence today, starting with the prologue :) Very happy with it.



I didn’t know the toll one mistake would have on me.

It was in the winter, although that season doesn’t truly exist in Australia.

There were four of us in the room. Two bodies lay on the floor. One was hardly daring to breathe. The other wasn’t breathing at all. The weight of the body on top of the first man was almost unbearable. Not so much physically, but emotionally. The pain was agonising and the voices around him were just that – voices.

I know. I was there.

How easy it would’ve been to switch off, if that voice hadn’t been getting louder in my ears.

Did I kill my wife?

I’d considered my response for several moments. I didn’t particularly want to respond at all. Just lay there like nothing had ever happened. Be a dog. Play dead. But unconsciousness didn’t come. I was as awake as I’d ever been. That voice wouldn’t shut up. I could feel their spit on my face. The same question over and over.

DID I KILL MY WIFE?

I knew the true answer was not the one sought. I also knew that a child’s fate rested with me.

“No.”

If I had of known that sixteen years later it would still be affecting the families, maybe I wouldn’t have done what I did.

Nothing.

[220 words]

Not Daunting

Considering it involved nothing more than a stroll in the park, the prospect was quite daunting. Not the actual thing itself, but the outcome. What would happen if the outcome wasn't what you'd hoped for? Would all hope be lost, yet again? Would it prove just another distraction you thought so sure would work - or would it work after all? You wouldn't be able to tell until you tried, but trying could result in the waste-of-time, didn't-work attitude. But if it did, but if it didn't... time would tell.

[90 words]

Somewhat Relieved

His breath was caught in his throat as he was dragged across the earth. He dragged his feet, trying to loop a foot under a root to halt them in their tracks but the effort was pointless. He'd stopped considering calling for help, knowing that no one out here would hear him. Of course it'd be best to save his energy, but he didn't think there was truly much left to save anyway after all that running. It was almost a joy to be carried away like this, except for the fact he was sure he was headed straight into danger and he'd never be able to find his way out. Still, you had to have hope and as long as it was him and not her, he was somewhat relieved.

[131 words]

Changing Pace

“Tori, what is going on?”

She turned to face him, at loss for words as she studied the look of concern over his face. “I don’t know,” her voice was barely a whisper as she leapt the fence and tore off her school shirt to reveal a pale green blouse. She stuffed the uniform in her bag and he noticed her trying to hide the tears that were now welling in her eyes. Accepting her need for a moment’s peace, he too pulled off his school shirt and switched it for the black one he’d placed in his bag that morning. When he looked up again, she had her arms folded closely against her chest, looking carefully away from him.

“Let’s walk,” he suggested, swinging his bag onto his shoulder and taking her hand in his.

[136 words]

Blessings of a Writer

Her head felt like it was about to explode. The ideas were a running stream flowing out of each corner, wrapping themselves around each thought and using it as growth. Her mind was focused, her fingers ready and it was one of the best feelings in the world. That feeling of superiority to that darn writer's block. That knowing of knowledge, that immense gratitude towards solving the unanswered questions. Being on the verge of one of your great new ideas ready to put them into practice, that was one of the blessings a writer got to discover, one which would take them on a journey to last as long as they pursued.

[112 words]

Creating Creatures

With a thumping heart he turned to face the monstrous creatures that stood towering before him...

The problem was, the author didn't have a clue what these creatures were, what they looked like. Careful planning was sought, but hard to come by. When and how it would finally appear she wasn't quite sure, but she knew she'd have to come up with something, anything. What creature dwelled inside the forest, what stood waiting to greet him in a near-fatal way, what was it that reflected in those scared, scared eyes that left him running for his life?

[97 words]

Rediscovering a Book

Rereading a book, and rediscovering that love you have for it, the love for those words, that story, was a great feeling. Indescribable. Few books leave you so silent, and stunned, so speechless at the how the words have formed on the page. You wonder, of course, how deeply the writer worked to make the words sound perfect, because you yourself know how hard that can be, and that's without the whole world following your tail, waiting for the outcome. Some people hated such writers, full of fame and fortune, but if you yourself did not, if you yourself read the stories and discovered them for yourself, delighted in them and cried over them and the characters within, than that alone mattered. That book alone meant something to you, those characters and that life gave you some happiness and what others think or say do not matter. Not if you know the impact it's had on your life.

[158 words]

Trust, Talk, Wag.

As she burst out of the building and into the yard, she gave a swooping look over it's occupants. Mostly younger grades, not really people she knew. She wondered how many of them would know her name in days to come. Then she cast eyes upon the one she was looking for. She strode over to him, desperate to talk and yet worried of what he might say if she did. She hesitated a few steps from him. Would he trust her? He looked at her pointedly as she sighed and made the rest of the journey. Now she thought about it, she didn't know exactly what she was supposed to say to him. What was there to say? It had been on the news, that was all there was to it.

"Ready to wag?"

She'd never wanted to do so more.

[142 words]

A Flaw In The Letter

The letters stared blankly up at him. He'd retrace every line and curve, recognising his familiar old handwriting yet still hoping to find a flaw, some 'a' shaped the wrong way, some inconsistent stroke. How could he honestly be sure he'd written it? It was so long ago and he had no recollection of it. What if the letter had nothing to do with anything? Was he just using it as an excuse for what he'd done? No. He felt a pull to that letter, something he couldn't describe and longed to discover, almost as much as the explanation of his parent's abrupt leave.

[104 words]

Letter in Thoughts

Once in the car, he calmed himself. He turned on the heater, the music, and and wrenched the blanket from the back seat, shivering all over and attempting to get his breath back to normal. Just relax, he reminded himself. But his thoughts kept straying back to that letter. The words were starting to scare him. He needed the truth. Had he really written those things so many years ago? And if so, how? He could hardly write that sophisticated now let alone when he was twelve. He thought about the possibility. Was there something - aside from the obvious - wrong with him? What had this got to do with his parents? And more importantly, what had this got to do with his sister?

[125 words]

They Tell The Tale

It was amazing how a story could come together. It would start with one simple idea. More would stem from that, questions would be asked and before you knew it, you had a few thousand words. You create characters that you get attached to. It is a crazy feeling. You live a double life. Your own, and the one you've created in your imagination for those imaginary people. Except to you, they aren't imaginary. They're as real as your front door. You invite them willingly into your home and wait for them to tell the tale.

[96 words]

Impatience

She wrote out her list telling her exactly what she would need to buy and where she would need to buy it from and how much each thing would cost. Well maybe not that accurately, but it gave her something to go off. A start. There were still some things she couldn't decide on. Much like the movie ticket. Did she really want to go and see it, and in any case on her own, or could she hold off that while - just like she held off that while on the other movies, and then missed them. How much work could she get done in the next few days? What day would be she able to go? That was her only worry because she didn't know how long she could wait. Impatience.

[133 words]

Wordless Tune

11 November 2010

In the complete rush from excitement to procrastination to stress to worry to actual, final work, to distraction and shower and chores, a few words were almost forgotten. But upon clanging away the forks and knives, a beautiful tune filled her ears. Some old show that was being played on the TV in the next room, but boy was that music beautiful. Wordless, but there was a beauty about it. It told its own story. Much like pictures could. Some anecdote, some smile. There was a story behind everything if only you searched to find it. If only you bothered. Then why were these dailies so boring and lifeless, pointless? A retelling of life. Such a waste. Yet they'd gone on so far, she was unable to stop. To exercise the mind of words. A crazy thing. But beautiful no matter how weird the words turned out.

[147 words]

Prolonging Procrastination

She couldn't help it. Procrastination was high. It wasn't her fault, honest. It was just another obstacle in the way. Of studying. Not exactly good, but not exactly bad either. I mean, procrastination got her out of the bad stuff, right? But it only put it off, prolonged it. It would make it worse when the time came. Still, she was enjoying herself... that's what mattered, right? Nah, it was the success that did. The activities done during procrastination? All that could wait! But procrastination was impatient, work was slow... procrastination, naturally, won. She'd have to force it back into hiding, keep it there for another twenty-four hours. Just a bit longer...

[112 words]

Keeping the Excitement

Excitement drilled at her brain. The fact she was nearly finished everything. Well, not everything. But uni for the uni, presents for the birthday girl... Still, finishing wasn't that great of a reward - it meant going out and doing things for the "real world". Further pushing you forwards, 'cause according to anyone, you're no good just standing there. You have to be doing something, apparently. Still, it was a reward for yourself, a mark, a happy spot to grin pathetically in your own little world where no one can bother you. Even then though, there'd be the nasty critter that attacks. Good feelings will be gone. But it was your job to encourage them to stay.

[117 words]

Unfolding the Letter

He unfolded the letter for the hundredth time, read and reread what it said, trying to make sense of it all. Or in fact, of just some of it. He was sure there was something more behind the words, but he couldn't be sure about it or what it supposedly was. He could only be sure of himself, and he knew something wasn't right. He was beginning to forget things. Little things. It was strange. There was no way he could get dementia this early in his life. Was there? He moaned aloud, frustrated and unable to determine the next step to this ingenious plan he had gotten himself into. Why him? Why them? Hadn't they already been through enough ten years ago?

[123 words]

Piece Of Metal

What with Tristan and the new story, I almost forgot about Terrier :O

I stared at him. I didn't have a clue what he wanted with me or what he was trying to tell me, I just wish he'd shut up so I could get my job done. But he kept talking. He wanted me to listen. A distraction. I fought against it. I tried to block him out, but his voice was penetrating in my ears. Words jumped out at me, incomprehensible. Shut up, shut up. My hands wavered on the piece of metal, and I couldn't hold it straight. I shut my eyes and screamed a reply. I don't know whether or not he heard me.

[105 words]

Happy Glory

It was a joyous occasion. What turned out to be half a dozen slowly expanded to two hundred. Everyone was in high spirits and good moods. The smiles were everywhere, on every face of every man and every woman. The whole crowd was singing and dancing and generally acting young, despite age or disability. It made you feel special. It made you feel a part of something. Like you could make a change to the world by sharing with everyone your happiness and glory. But it was all a dream.

[90 words]

Official

It was official. He closed his eyes calmly, then let a tear slide down his face. Then he allowed himself to lose control. He bawled. What was going on with him? What was going on with the world? Why had he done what he did? What had he run from it? Why was he sleeping in his car and why wasn't his sister with him? Damn, he felt alone. And tired and hungry. And it was only day one.

[79 words]

Creativity Smiles

It was wonderful to be creative. Creativity was a blessing. And also a nuisance at times. It required getting everything perfect, until you were satisfied with it, possibly spending twice as long on it than anyone else would, but it usually worked out good. You felt like you had done something very deliberate and very great/ It made you feel good. It made you feel successful. And for those you were creating the creativity for? They'd be happy for you. Probably thank you. A bit of fun, a bit of silliness, put a smile on their face. That's something there needs to be more of in the world.

[108 words]

Making Progression Happen

It was amazing the work you could do when you put your mind to it. How beautiful the words sounded and how much progress you could feel yourself making. It was also quite amazing to see how much time could be wasted in comparison. A broken deadline, a bit of procrastination, topped with a few distractions. Don't get me wrong, you need a break at times, but sometimes you got them when you didn't want them. Sometimes you'd prefer nothing more and love nothing else than to just do what it is you had planned out to do. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't. The trick is making it do.

[110 words]

Tristan's Thoughts

He pulled the crumpled address out from his pocket and studied the directions given. It sounded simple enough. The worst part would probably be communication, seeing how names weren’t given out. The guy had been a recommendation. People spoke of him, but knew little. When you started dealing with secretive tough guys, you knew you were in the wrong.

He drew a breath and took to the road, letting his thoughts run a marathon.

Tristan knew what he was doing probably wasn’t the most sensible way to go about it. At the same time, he couldn’t stop. He’d unwillingly accepted the challenge to himself and it was going to be rough. He couldn’t put a time frame on it. It could be a day, it could be a year, but he had no plans, and no guarantee of the meaning behind it all.

[143 words]

Impatient, Loud and Panicked

He knocked impatiently on the door with his fist. He hadn’t decided on a plan if Seth wasn’t home, but lucky for him, after little waiting, the door swung open and twenty-two year old Seth answered the door.

“Geez, Tristan. Loud enough?”

“Let me in,” Tristan didn’t wait. He squeezed past his mate and into the hallway, where his German Shepherd came bounding, barking like mad.

“Calm down,” Tristan wasn’t sure if he was talking to him or the dog, “What up?”

“I need a favour.”

[86 words]

A Car, Some Keys and Junk

Well trained fingers screwed on the last cap before slamming down the bonnet with a clang. He tested the keys in the ignition again and this time, a pleasant roar sounded from within. Perfect.

He took the keys into the next room and placed them on the rack with the other hundreds in various stages of tarnish. He then returned for an old rag, and began wiping the grime off his fingers, looking around as he did so. Three cars in this shed, all old bombs. Scraps of metal lay around on the floor, easily stepped on or tripped over, with the exception of a few placed leaning against the wall. The whole place was a junk yard, really. He might have a go at cleaning up later, although it never lasted. The other guys weren’t interested in keeping it tidy.

[141 words]

Choosing a Name

She slouched in the chair with exhaustion. Too long a day, up too long. Names waffled through her head, unorganised and restless. She was sure they were there on purpose to annoy her, to prevent her choosing a name tonight for a new character, a new name to give life too. Or technically, two. But not one name would settle on the right character. They swamped her thoughts saying 'pick me, pick me'. She moaned, rubber her eyes, took another sip of water before continuing through the next ten pages. One would surely stand out from the rest.

[98 words]

Editing vs Videos

Editing a book was like making a video. There were always bits you wanted to include, but couldn't. It would end up too squished and do more harm than good. The video would lag. You found it hard to chop up the long scenes. Sometimes they got so boring to the point where you had to cut to split them up with something else. Editing a story was exactly the same. It was hard, but it always worked out in the end and you were rewarded, eventually.

[87 words]

In Work, At Work

The prospect of being over felt great. Well, almost over, anyway. But it also left her busily trying to multitask - finishing off the final touches, trying to talk to everyone trying to get their word in, meanwhile having to write something as part of a story for your daily in three minutes. Of course, she doubted whether half the dailies could be called stories. They were just random thoughts and mumblings, usually narrated by herself. But it kept her writing mind at ease. In work. At work. It helped. Supposedly.

[91 words]

Thought that Counts

27 October 2010

Excitement stirred. Still, she was nowhere near finished, but it looked great, so far. No doubt, there would be unforeseen problems. Nuisances. But they could be worked around. Finish the assignment, then she could continue endlessly. Of course, it would be late. These things always were, but it was the thought that counted, right? It'd be worth it in the end. Maybe it would be her best yet. That would please both parties then.

[74 words]

New Outlook

26 October 2010

She thanked them as they closed the door, then sat down timidly on the bed. Why did he have to go and do what he’d done? What would she do now? She buried her face in her hands. Sometimes, just sometimes, she wished life was different. That things never had to change. Perhaps then living it wouldn’t be so hard. She should’ve been thankful. She was with nice people, it hadn’t taken long. But perhaps that was half the problem. It seemed too easy. What happened to how long these things were supposed to take? She combed her fingers through her hair and got up. Her feet led her to the window and she looked out over the street that wasn’t hers. The new outlook on her life.

[128 words]

Word Limits

What's worse than an assignment going over the word limit is not knowing whether or not an assignment has gone over the word limit. It would all be well and good, if they kept telling you the same word limit over and over. But no, every time it was written down, it was changed. Someone just couldn't make up their minds. Now I had to wait and see. To find out whether or not I would need to cut back. I didn't want to. That would just be horrible. Still, I had that feeling... that inkling... maybe I should cut back. Annoying little... assignment.

[104 words]

Random Yeah

You know when you get inspired by something else you see and you get really excited about the ideas it provokes in your mind? And you think 'yeah, I can do that! I am so gonna do that. That is awesome.' And you keep telling yourself that. You put it onto your to-do list and you say you'll do it in a week when you have spare time. Yeah? Then eventually it piles up and up and you know that deep down you really wanna do it and you have ideas for it, but then you keep deliberately putting it off and off, knowing it'll be just another cause of procrastination, and whatever. But it's still distracting you and you wanna try it? Well that there, that's me now. :)

[129 words]

Plots

One year since I finished Innocence and thinking about other plots...

When coming up with a story idea you need a plot and character. The character needs to have a problem to overcome, and this needs to be solved in the end. I had characters, but no plot? Because it wasn't my style? Because it wasn't my genre? That wasn't going to hold me back. Slow me down, maybe. Why then, would it bother? Wouldn't it be easier for it to just step away? Why did it have to stand in the road, blocking my path? I wanted it out. I wanted the lines to entangle in a web that would eventually structure the tale of these characters. Why wouldn't it hurry up?

[112 words]

Warrant

Hm, new story ideas forming, anyone?


She turned the music down, unsure whether or not she'd heard a knock at the front door. The music was hardly loud to begin with, just being at the back end of the house was enough to limit the hearing. The knock came again, much louder, thumping at the door. She jumped of her seat, cautiously peering through the kitchen to see if she could see a car parked in the driveway. She couldn't.

"This is the police. Open up!"

Her eyes widened in shock and curiosity as she headed briskly for the door, grabbing the keys off the bench as she did and swinging the door open.

"Sarah Banx?"

"Yes?"

"We have a warrant to search your house."

The bewilderment heightened as she unlocked the fly screen. "What for?"

"Murder."

[131 words]

Approaching Stress

Stress always comes at the last minute. You know you've done all you can, you've done your best, and yet it still comes, always. It creeps up from behind. It says "are you sure about that?" It eats away at your worry. It questions your prior beliefs. Maybe I could've done better, maybe I should've changed that. But it's too late now. This is what you'll hand it. This is what gets graded. This is what will get you that pass, or that fail. The stress is continuing to form, take shape. You should have nothing to worry about, and yet you do. You always do. It continues, slowly. You have to beat it. Beat it with your fists, against all your strength. You've done what you could do. It was out of your hands.

[135 words]

Bleakness

The drowsiness was overwhelming, and yet, she stayed up. It was the bleak kind of feeling. The I'm just awake for the sake of it? I'm not really doing anything, but I need to stay awake. I try and be awake and I just can't, it's just that dull, zoned out mode... and yet you stay up. 'Cause you don't want that pile of work tomorrow. Or you don't want that fight for sleep. Or it's simply too early. You can't go to bed. You haven't done everything you wanted to do. It'll get done of course, while your minds in overdrive. Just give it time and it'll be done. Tiredness. Bleakness. Unthinking. You'll get there, to that bed, eventually.

[120 words]

Knife Carrier

She stared at the knife in her face as the line picked up rather quickly. Too quickly. Her Mum wouldn't find her phone that quick, and even if she did, she still needed time to properly think and gather her thoughts. A female voice spoke into her ear.

"Emergency services. Do you require police, fire or ambulance?"

She paused, eyes looking up at the man in front of her, pretending to wait for the ring to end.

"Hello?" they inquired. Probably thought it was going to be another time-wasting prank call. It was far from it.

"Hi Mum, it's Sara."

She could feel their confusion on the other end of the line. A mature voice, asking for their Mum, on what was clearly not the right line?

"You know how you love me and all..."

"Uh," the woman gathered up her senses, "Yes. Yes, what's the problem?"

"Do you think you could pick me up?"

"Are you in trouble?"

"Yeah. I'm at the train station. The buses already left." - She knew she wasn't making herself clear, and with the knife, it was hard to - "There's just some jerks hanging around here, I really want to go home. The buses take ages."

The guy gave a wave of the knife towards the girl's face. One wrong move...

"Which station?"

"Mimpala."

"Okay, that's good. Do you think you could tell us your situation at all?"

"No, don't be silly." She fought to focus, to come up with codswallop that the woman would somehow be able to understand. Her heart was racing. Would they understand? Could they hear the fear in her voice? "I can hear you chopping up food in the background. What's for tea?"

"There's a knife involved?"

"Yeah. Ugh, can't we have something else?"

He was pointing at his watch. He wanted to hurry up the process.

The girl stammered over her words, "How long do you think you'll be?"

"There are cars three minutes off. Do you think you'll be okay?"

"Yeah."

"Is there anyone else around?"

"No."

"Could I stay on the phone?"

"No. I don't want you having a crash," Sara let out a nervous laugh.

"There's someone on the way, okay? Just try and stay where you are."

"Thank you. Love you too, bye Mum."

"Keep safe, Sara. You're doing great."

He snatched the phone from my hands. "What took so long?"

"You don't know my Mum," the girl shrugged, eying the phone nervously, but he didn't check the call register. "She loves to talk."

"Right, let's g-"

He was interrupted at the sound of sirens. Didn't they know to approach silently in a situation like this?

"You called the fucking police!"

"No," she shook her head.

"Yes you did!"

"No," the girl replied, firmer, "I didn't."

Then the cars were pulling up and he grabbed her arm. The voices were yelling, loud and dominant - knife and gun holders.

She found his moment of distraction and punched him in the side before wriggling out of his grasp and pelting towards the overpass stairs, two at a time. She landed straight into the arms of an awaiting officer she hadn't seen before. She was saved. This time.

[533 words]

Ryan's Thoughts

Hmm, if Innocence was 1st person...

The story I want to tell you has no definable start and not everything is solved at the end. The happiness is short lived, minimal. Don't get me wrong, I'm a happy bloke. You need to have that contrast in our careers. I loved my career. It made you feel as if you were doing something for humanity. You got to meet people. You got to make a difference. At least, that's what you keep telling yourself. I should begin with one of the two most important people I met on the job. It was also one of my most terrifying days as a father.

I got that call nobody ever wants.

The one that says your child is missing.

[120 words]

Glass Prison

He sat staring unhappily out the window. To see the outside world and not be able to touch it... he touched the glass with his fingers. Then he began hitting it and punching it. Surely it would break... but then one of them came and pulled him away and he stumbled to the floor. They were never going to let him out of this prison and still they wouldn't given him an explanation of why.

[75 words]

Previous Cries

He traced a finger over the stained walls, again trying to wonder what it was like for the previous prisoners. It was cruelty. He wondered what was racing through their minds at the time, wondered exactly how many had been here. Was it just the two sons, or more? There he was, sharing their horrors, yet they didn't know it. No one knew it. It was just him and those men, and considering how he hadn't been found yet, he was finding it difficult to believe outsiders would ever find a lead. He hoped, certainly. But how was he ever going to get out of this mess?

[107 words]

Soaked

He stood in the pouring rain, unseeing. His hair was sodden in his face, his jeans drenched, the shoes had giant puddles in them and yet he didn't care. He was done with trying. He didn't care anymore. The rain set shivers up his spine and he stumbled blindly forwards through the wind, looking for a direction in which to go. He wanted home. He took a few more steps, swaying with lack of sleep, food and energy. If this was the way life was, he wanted it to drain him away. Let the water wash him clean, let the wind rub him raw. Then he collapsed and lay there on the flooding pavement, soaking up the emotions.

[118 words]

The Miserable Grimace

One time, she had made me laugh so much I was still clutching my stomach for an hour afterward. It was over a paperclip. Now normally you wouldn't find such ordinary stationery objects funny at all, and in all seriousness, they're not. At times though, the most bizarre stories can come out of these everyday objects, and you and your friends will turn silly over them. This was one of those times. Thinking back, all I could do was let out a miserable kind of grimace. Whoever said remembering the good times was beneficial, was wrong.

[96 words]

You're Sure

Of all the times you swiped on and off the bus, on and off the train, there has only been a handful - six or seven? - times officers have checked for tickets all year. Now, the one time you're unsure whether you swiped on or not, distracted by taking photographs at the station for your university assignment, here they are. You think you swiped on. You're 90% sure you did. You always do. Now you're paranoid, petrified as you take your seat at the opposite end of where the ticket officers are. They don't look like they're moving your way, but you know they will. You keep telling yourself you swiped on. You're 80% sure you did. You can't sit there for fifty minutes wondering. You need to know now. You can't remember. You're 75% sure you did.

They never came and checked.

[144 words]

Assignment Fun

Assignments, fun? Never. Still, it was starting to feel like Persuasive Writing all over again. A subject I hated in theory, but truthfully did well in - and had fun with the assessment, a humorous rant over the nextdoor neighbours. So, when I now studied Literary Studies - such boring theory... historical jargon.. and the assessment comes and you're stressed about it when truly, if you had've thought about this before, you could turn it into something fun. A story, yes. A story ranting about the assignment? Excellent. Maybe. Hopefully. Look like an idiot, take a few snapshots, include them nice and artistically.. maybe you'll get somewhere. Maybe you'll pass with flying colours. Maybe it won't seem like such a bad assessment after all.

[124 words]

It Would Wait

She grinned to herself. Another day wasted, but for good cause. For once, it was not Neopets that caused the distraction. If all went well, it would turn out great. As always. She'd be happy. She already was. The person was going to love it. Adore it. Cherish it. She knew. She couldn't wait to send it to her, to give it away, to share. Though it'd be another month - or more - away... and she really would be wiser spending the time before then working on other things. Assessment for example. Writing. This could come later. It would. It would wait for her.

[105 words]

Achievement

The ideas of your dream projects coming to life aren't always as you imagined them. In fact, it's probably safe to say they never are - not exactly. There's always a slight change, something that you had planned to look better. Still just the accomplishment at setting out to do try it was enough to please you. Overall, it is a job well done, so you think. To begin with. You have to get through the rest of it yet, and that could still take some time. Some perfection. It could ruin what you've started or make it even better. Improve it. Work at it. The reward will come. That achievement.

[111 words]

Window Ledge

She clasped her fingers around the pen. He had been thinking of her. He had wanted to help her. Now they had taken them away from each other and he said if that were to happen, he wanted her to get away. In particular if she was scared, which she was, a bit. She stood up, and made her way to the door, checking again to see if it had unlocked itself yet. It hadn't. She instead turned for the window and pulled open the glass. They were up high. The ground was a fair way down. No way could she jump. She peered across the exterior wall. Maybe if she could get hold of the ledge... but what if she were to fall? Then what? Still.. to remain inside that tiny locked room... she placed her hands on the window frame and made her decision.

[146 words]

Genuine

His eyes scanned over the board. The blurred photos. The school photo. The notes. Could he really trust his judgment? They did have a point, he could see that. He had also been there and known what it was like. He had been the boy. This messages were his - the ones he had never been able to get out. Whether they liked it or not, this boy needed help and he was fairly sure the cries for help were genuine. What if they weren't?

[85 words]

Resisting the Urge

It was dark. The air was cool. The mind wandered. The urge fired up. Yet, she had to punch it back down again. Fight to pay attention to the voices in the room instead of the ones in her head. The ones in her head would have to wait. Just another two weeks. That was all. Two or three weeks. Although she had an inkling that by the time that came, the urge would long be gone. An unfortunate event. A disappointment. How could she keep it there, in its place, put it on hold for that duration? How could she keep that balance? She probably couldn't, despite the dreams. The desires. She could only try, and that was all. Give it her best.

[124 words]

Comfortable Silence?

She sat comfortable in the backseat, hiding behind the man and trying to catch glimpses of the guy in front of the man. She wanted to know why. Sure, practically strangers, she didn't know his name but she was sure he knew hers. Just the random acts of kindness that put a smile on her face. She convinced herself they wouldn't have talked anyway, just sat there awkwardly in silence. She appreciated the gesture. And she thanked him, although internally.

[80 words]

The Shadow

It was not her seat. It was nothing of the sorts. Yet no matter how many times she raced her, the cat got there first. and then she'd look at you with those beautiful eyes you can't say no to as she makes herself comfy as your back rest for the next hour, just waiting to stretch out when you get up. That or she'll move to the desk and start snuggling up to you saying 'Mummy, please.' and you have to give her that rub between the ears, that stroke of the nose. Then she'd watch you were typing and try and catch the words as they appeared on screen. Or not catch as such, merely follow them with that head of hers backwards and forwards, distracting you and blocking your view. But that was Shadow for you - she followed you around everywhere.

[145 words]

Not Almost Over

It was back to the start and yet, it was almost over. The whole thing was nearly over. The work was halfway. Time was being used. It was almost over. But what would that mean? Just the beginning of something new. More work. More time. More hours stressed over. Where was the fun in it all? Sure you could break away from reality every once in a while, a website, some DVDs. But reality never went away. It was always a looming shadow, just waiting to dampen your day. Or brighten it, if you're lucky. Sure things might soon be easing up for two weeks... but after those two weeks it would spike again... and after those two weeks... well, who knew?

[122 words]

Sea of Eyes

I took the steps outside. A swarm of familiar faces greeted me. Some were smiling, some looking at me with concern. Or was it pity? Names ran their course through my head as I began counting and identifying who was there and who was not. It was al too much. I wasn't ready. I turned around, ready to walk back in again and away, but the girl stood in my way, preventing me from getting past. I turned around again. Too many faces. Too many emotions. It was all an unsteady sea. I was thankful, yes, but I couldn't handle it. It was crazy how little it took to may you lose your mind. But my grandparents assured me I hadn't. They assured me my heart had always been in the right place. I felt her hand in mine, and I clasped it tightly for support. Someone yelled out encouragingly, and others followed their lead. I didn't know what I was supposed to say. Then Pa stood up for me, grinning like mad. There was a glitter in his eye, resurfaced after many months without it. I hope my face showed that I returned it.

[195 words]

Future Firefighter

I'd thought about what they'd said in the news report. Pa's cracked and crumbling voice, Grandma standing right beside him. He wants to be a firefighter. My heart shattered preciously against my chest, the sheer thought of recruitment beginning to slip quickly away. I'd dreamed of that career since I was little, shortly after the fire. I'd never considered anything different, despite my grandparent's attempts at trying to get me to expand my preferences. My constant refusals stopped them trying, knowing that I could love nothing more. Learning to save lives like that of my family. Of other families. How though, could I save anyone now? I could barely save myself and that was beginning to scare me.

[118 words]

The Book Itself

I've been reading The Book Thief by Markus Zusak... Love it!

The book sat teasingly in front of her, its cover stood in the air due to much reading. It just sat there, motionless, waiting to be picked up again and read. Finished. The pages themselves were light, somehow different. Easy to flick, easy to read. There was white space, wider line spacing. Each sentence crafted with perfection. A teeny tiny curl in the bottom right hand corner, but other than that, as good as new. A perfect spine. Not a crease in sight. Even the tears shed while reading had managed to stay away from wetting the pages. It felt cool, smooth, heavy, but within those covers was a work of art. A story. A tale. A life. When the words were read, they came alive beautifully. Beautifully in such a catastrophic way.

[133 words]

Sleep Deprivation

He didn't get to sleep that night. Not that he hadn't had many sleepless nights, but that was one of those I can't stop thinking no matter how hard I try nights. Sleep was impossible with so much on his mind. So many mistakes. So many tears. How could he fix such wrongs? He deserved this sleep deprivation. In any case it gave him more time to think. Sure, most of them were bad thoughts, but there had to be some good in them, yes? He hunted for that spark. That light. Something good must come of this. Some ingenious plan. Some hope.

[103 words]

Too Easy

I held the door knob preciously in its place, listening for anyone that might have heard the click of it opening, the creak as I opened it slowly inwards. I then crept slowly, silently, up the hallway I had walked previously, my heart thumping like crazy. Then I took a different, unknown route at the end of it. It led to a bare kitchen. An empty kitchen. Where was everyone? This was too easy. Much too easy. My brain was telling me to turn back now, but my heart was urging me forwards. As I crept towards the sliding door, I found another obstacle-free zone. It wasn't locked. Freedom was just beyond that fence... I slid the door open and before I could stop myself, ran.

[126 words]

All Love

Some watched over her from birth, each birthday, went on every holiday. Others were simply there. In the background. In the foreground. The majority of them remained, although some were now misplaced in a box or on a shelf, they were still with her. Each bore the friendly, well known smile. Some had been stitched and worn to pieces. Faded. Full of sweat, blood and tears. Some were as good as new. But all were loved.

[76 words]

Worth It?

After a while, I tuned out to their swearing and just sat there, with my arm around her trying to comprehend our situation. I had just put both of our lives in jeopardy and we were no further to freedom then we were before I'd pulled such an act. It was a stupid thing to do. But I had seen them. They were cops, I had known it. But what would've happened if they had caught us? They'd blame me just as they'd blame the others. Wouldn't they? Not that I minded. If it meant getting her out of the danger that she was in, it'd be worth it. Maybe.

[110 words]

Writer's Ramblings

The cursor linked a steady rhythm on the blank page, the quietness of the house penetrating, ideas empty. But people claimed there was no such thing as writer's block. As long as you kept up your writing, as long as you wrote something, anything, it would still count. Writer whatever nuisance is on your mind, write from your stream of consciousness, and something will eventually come up, some usable story idea, some spark. Thing is I could be here for hours if I were to do that, denying each idea as something worthless. I could write a novel on my thoughts alone, except of course no one would read something like that - every single thought on my mind? I guess you wouldn't really get writer's block then surely, because then you'd just ramble on and on, without much care because, again, no one as going to read it. But where was the joy in that? The accomplishment? Aside from being a completely boring novel, you'd just have wasted precious years when you could have been working on your other manuscripts. And you might have one, three good ideas in that to come out of a story? Or would there be more? Of course you'd never be able to truly tell unless you did it... which I had no incentive to. Or did I?

[224 words]

Caught Up

25 September 2010

I wanted to retort, to retreat further into my cage, but before I could stop myself I was clambering out, desperate to stretch my legs. I wanted to make my run escape, but again there were more of them then there was of me, and so I settled with just crawling out. Cameron wasn’t with them. I didn’t know if that was good or bad, but I kept my mouth shut. Someone had the lead to the collar in their hands and that scared me. They reached down to attach it. I scrambled away, crawling unconsciously towards the door, though at a much slower pace then them and they caught up with me much too easily. I heard the click of the two chains meeting, the instant pull of it and I stopped struggling, eyes for the ground. I would not look at them. I couldn’t look at them.

[149 words]

Back Stories

She walked past the commotion, trying not to stare. Not that there was anything to stare at, it just wasn't something you saw every day. Something different to your every day schedule. The woman had finally sat up, the smell reached her nostrils as she passed, and four police officers now joined the previous two security guards, with gloves. Drugs? Possibly. She wasn't really one to judge or make up the back stories of strangers. As writers they were encouraged to do such things, but sometimes... you just couldn't. No matter how interesting or unusual a story they would make.

[100 words]

Schedules

So a schedule is something that plans out what you will do for the hour, the day, the week - or month or year - whatever you like, really. For some people, they were incredibly hard to stick to, for others, incredibly easy. And for some, it depends on how they are feeling at a certain time. Your aim is to somehow, with any luck, get all of your work done. This is spread over the course of a week, so as not to cram it all into the last minute. This also gives you free time, and relaxation, away from your work as required. The outcome is not always reflective of this aim. But perhaps, just this once, it would work.

[122 words]

Distracted Dreams

Relief is a great feeling. It's amazing. You can be so stressed, so worn out, so unhappy, until the relief comes and it changes everything. It makes you feel good. Like this huge weight has been lifted off of your shoulders and it feels as though you can do anything. You can win. You can sleep. Sleep is fantastic. Amazing. Beautiful. The world of darkness that sweeps over you isn't dark at all. Your dreams may be filled with colour and inspiration, despite what you may or may not remember of them when you wake up. Dreams and sleep are perfect.

[101 words]

Idiocy

The idiocy of some people stuns even me. Do they not realise the fool they are making of themselves? I do not care about you, so I am going to ignore you and hope you get the picture. I truly hope you weren't really stealing, and in any case I think I recognise the car. A shame the cops around the corner didn't see you. Although I'm sure you weren't really doing anything wrong, and I'm just imagining things, right? You're just there to make me mad at you. You happy? You succeeded for a whole five minutes. You remind me of the youth I want nothing to do with. Thanks.

[111 words]

Assignments Never Go Away

She wanted to return to the music, the singing, the crazy, be-it-herself relaxer, tension-reliever, whatever. Writing orals were not her thing and certainly not saying them aloud. But that was life and you had to do things that you didn't always want to do, like writing an assignment, like speaking in front of a class. She had no doubt it would all go just fine, it was just the lead up to it that was the worse. Finishing things up and polishing it off. But when it was over, it would be god. When it was over, it'd be great. When it was over, she had her mini-holiday. A week to wind down and catch u, ready to prepare herself for the final three weeks. Then maybe, she could think of something else.

[133 words]

Rain and Applause

Saw the last show of the Mamma Mia Musical today :)

One person stood up. Then two, then three, then I was standing up with them and the crowd was going wild. The clapping was almost louder than the music, and the cheers were drowned out by everything else. The magic and intensity of it was brilliant, and everyone was singing whether they could sing it well or not. Then came the confetti and and it was like colourful rain on what was such a miserable-cloudy-rain-put-off day, and to be up on that stage would be a blessing, and it didn't quite feel real but it was and it was lovely but it was also coming to an end as all the good things do, and then the curtain was drawn and the applause struck it's climax, as people made their way for the doors.

[134 words]

Make The Choice

He was kicking himself on the inside. He'd known it had been a bad idea all along. Now there were two separate groups after him and he didn't know which to run to first. Heck, he had the girl, wasn't that the only thing that had been pulling him back? Couldn't he run to the cops, right now, end this all? But his mind was arguing with his desire. His mind wanted him to return, for some pathetic reason, perhaps because he knew what they were capable of and he knew they'd sought him out again, or his family or other people he cared about. But if he could just get away... this was his chance. He could get away. Why, why was he running the wrong way? He contemplated crashing to the ground, just so he wouldn't have to make the decision, but he could feel them behind him, in front of him, on every angle, closing in and he had to make the choice now.

[167 words]

Oscar

I snuggled deeper into the depths of the blankets, eyes focused on the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, a finger massaging over the body of Oscar and entwining in his hair. She loved him. In fact, she loved all of them. Just because he was a horse didn't make him any different to all the other stuffed animals. No one was favoured over the other, because that wouldn't be fair and so she tried to alternate who she slept with. The duck, the polar bear. They were all just as loved, just as special. All with names. And they came alive.

[101 words]

Change Beginning

It was weird, strange. A different feeling all together, yet still the same. Kind of odd, really. She didn't know what to think. It was just a bit of a change to get used to, that was all. And she would get used to it and she didn't mind. It was good, better, in a way. There were still no regrets. No grudges, and that was good to know. A good feeling. In another way it felt like she was back to the beginning, but she knew she wasn't. So much had happened, had progressed. And things hadn't really changed in general. Changes were to be expected, she just had to get used to them, even if at times she hated change.

[122 words]

Lol

Sometimes something is funny and when something is funny you laugh and everybody loves a good laugh because laughter is the best medicine and it makes you feel better even if it's just for a short time but sometimes it's for a really good time and you can be laughing for hours and you can get really sore and you can be crying even though you're happy because you're laughing but it's just that you laugh so much that you can't handle it anymore and you really want to stop but you just can't and then sometimes you only laugh on the inside like when people say lol and it means laugh out loud but most of the time they aren't actually laughing out loud unless they put it in capitals like LOL and then you know they really mean it because it has twice the impact and that means you've made them smile and this is a good thing and everyone should smile more often because the little things make life great and people find different things funny like videos filmed on Youtube or people falling over but sometimes things just aren't funny and people don't get it and that's okay too but it's best when everyone gets it and then they're all laughing at other peoples stupidity for doing something unintentionally funny or they do something intentionally funny and then people laugh and that feels good and makes life good and funny.

[244 words]

Love is Life

Love is one of those words that is tossed around a lot. A love for mother and daughter, brother and sisterly love. A love of an object, a toy, a television show or yes, a person. A love for a friend, a famous person, a crush, a boyfriend or girlfriend. And love isn't always kind. It is cruel and harsh and withstanding and has to deal with a lot. It can go without problems forever, or problems can occur all the time - a heartbreak, a mended heart. It can be the cause of the worst feelings in the world. It can also be the best, which is why it is so often sought after. Love is life.

[118 words]

Try and Hide

He lay crumpled on the floor, arms folded tight against his chest and his eyes squeezed tight shut. He held in his cries of pain and bit down hard on his tongue, trying not to think of the blood that was weeping from his arm. He had never been really good with blood, becoming light and faint headed, but it was a relief from what he was used to here. In any case, it was from him, not them, and that was of some consultation. Now he just had to hide it from them and maybe he would be right. Of course, he could never hide, but he could try.

[110 words]

Daily Do's

I didn't really know what to write, I just knew I had to write something, and I didn't much feel like writing. Sometimes it seemed like more effort than it was worth and sometimes it felt it was well worth the wait. But she couldn't quit, she'd continued this too long, it was an obligation she had to fulfill every day before the day was out. The writing, no matter how horrible, how pointless, counted towards that goal, a goal she would reach. She had to just focus her efforts on other things in the mean time as well, and not leave her assessment as last minute as she left her dailies - stressful and hurried and almost meaningless, but never quite. Right?

[123 words]

Doing the Work

She'd finally made a start, but would it last? Probably not. Could she write it out to the correct word length? With difficulty. Would she succeed? Maybe, maybe not. Hopefully. But what about the other subjects? She had to do work on all of them, with or without those distractions. She could do it if she put her mind to it, so would she? Sometimes it seemed like such an effort, but usually, not always, but usually, the result was worth it. Now why couldn't she find an equal balance between everything in her life right now? EQUAL. Not jumped all over the place in huge and minor chunks. She had to get the work done. Soon.

[117 words]

Empty Page

The page was blank, the ideas a swamp of nothingness. The lines remained neat and unfulfilled, and the pen almost untouched. The scribble that could be seen on pages were on pages before, already there, old. The page she wanted to write on was blank. Empty. The words that usually cluttered her mind weren't there and if she tried to look harder she doubt she'd find much more. It was one of those times that the stories just didn't exist in her world, which of course was a lie, because they always existed, well hidden beneath the surface. So why couldn't she pull just one forward? Wretch it from it's grave? There had to be something worth writing about. There always was. She just had to find it, and that's what took time, and the dreaded patience.

[137 words]

Forgotten Change

His lank frame cringed, scrawny, into the wall. The wall that stood bearing the groaning graffiti of previous victims. He, a victim also, hid beneath a mop of brown hair that shielded his eyes from the sunlight and retained the darkness. His hair was dark, his eyes darker, and his thoughts the darkest. He wasn't always like that, but they had made it so. They had changed his way of thinking. They had changed his name. They had changed him. This body wasn't his. This voice wasn't his. This life wasn't his. It was theirs. And he had forgotten how to change it back.

[104 words]

Fairy Tale Part 2

"Actually, you know, now's not really a good time," I commented, slipping sideways for my door. I grabbed the handle and wrenched it shut.

"Oh don't be silly Emma," my mother practically laughed at me, "you're only writing another one of your stories."

It was all good for her. Her room didn't look like it belonged to an eight year old.

"Can I hear it?" he asked, his tone interested as he looked up at me. I looked at my feet.

"I'll leave you two alone," my mothered smiled, then added as she walked away, "don't be rude, offer him a drink."

I looked questioningly at him and his smile broadened as he shook his head. When I was sure Mum was out of hearing, i said again, "Now's not really a good time."

"Well when will it be a good time, Emma? I can come back if you want me to but you can't avoid me forever. What's so bad about your house? I don't see cobwebs and I can't smell socks."

I cracked a forced smile at him. He was right, of course. For the past two months I'd been rearranging plans, coming up with excuses... it wasn't that I didn't trust him, but... okay, maybe it was. I pried Jesse out of his hands. Then he turned his back on me and made for the sliding door.

"Wait," I pleaded, but he'd already called out loudly, his voice carrying through the house.

"This is some garden you have, Mrs Phillips." I looked incredulously at him with my arms folded as Mum came into the room again, "It's really something magic. Have you done it all yourself?"

Damn him and his charming abilities! He was being written into her good books at this very moment. She cast a hand upon his shoulder and began conversation with him about the weather and the plants to which I didn't even know the names of. Then they were outside, strolling around the garden, picking leaves and laughing. I pouted, leaning back against the door of my room, determined not to let him in. Oh how he would laugh then - at me. Boys.

I let my thoughts rage by themselves, waiting for the pair to come back in. I would have to dump him. He wouldn't want me after today. Oh how rude I was being, but I didn't want him in my room. He would judge. Everyone always did. The rumors that would spread through the school. Why? Why was he here in my home, in my garden? Sure he was my boyfriend, but did that give him permission -

I yelped as the door I was leaning on gave way and I was crashing to the ground before he caught me under the arms and pulled me to my feet. I spun around, my all too memorized room coming to view, and him misplaced inside it.

"You left the window open," he smiled, taking his arm around me and leading me in. Him, leading me, into my room. There were tears of humiliation in my eyes as they flashed over the familiar premises.

It was liking walking into an enchanted forest. A model tree stood in the center of the room, its leaves making a canopy over the roof. The walls were painted dark, but everything was lit with fairy lanterns and scented candles. There was a built in wardrobe that hid beneath the painted walls, almost invisible, and the bed was in the corner. The bed was littered in toys and the desk was at the end of it, so whenever she wrote she could look up at her characters and take them from sitting on the bed and prop them into a story from another world. I tossed Jesse amongst the others and turned to face my fear, tear sliding down my cheek. As much as I tried, no words came out. This was my sanctuary, and no man had ever set food inside - well, except my younger brother, and he didn't count.

I looked away from the love of my life only to feel his finger upon my cheek, wiping that tear away. Then he strode over to the bed and plopped himself on it.

"Please, don't." I whispered. I couldn't take the tease. He was going to make fun of me.

"There's no shame in having toys at your age," his voice sounded ... like he didn't believe me. Like he didn't believe that I could feel such a thing. Just like I couldn't believe what he was trying to tell me. "I mean, look at this room. Open your eyes, it is awesome! How many people have a willow tree in their bedroom? Does it attract the fairies?"

"No," I admitted, taking a few steps forward to stroke the texture of the trunk, "I'm kind of starting to drop that belief."

"Don't you ever stop believing," he warned me, then shifted some toys over on the bed and made room for me. I smiled, but didn't move. I still didn't trust him. But he didn't need my permission. He grabbed one of my big teddies, and Jesse, and began his improv. I sat on the floor, and listened.

[875 words]

Fairy Tale

"The fairies were dancing in the skies, their glittery dresses swaying with them, their eyes alight with happiness, when suddenly through the clouds came a DRAGON! And he swooped towards the nearest, a youngin' by the name of Annie, and he was spitting flames and thrashing his tail when the fairy queen cast a spell that stunned him, and the fairies scattered away as he hovered there motionless, then they weren't quite sure what to do, when-"

"Emma!"

I looked up from the story I was reading out, and over my shoulder. Mum was calling from the kitchen.

"You didn't wash up the glasses properly."

I rolled my eyes and called back, "Do you want me to do them again?"

"No, it's too late now, I'm doing them."

That was the thing about Mum. She told you to do something, but you were never quick enough for her wishes. "Whatever," I called back, returning to my audience, "Where was I?"

The stuffed animals and dolls looked unmoving back at me. They lined my bed from top to bottom, giving character to the room. They were the best. I sighed. "You know I've been waiting sixteen years. Can't one of you just move? You know I'll keep your secret, I will!" I covered my eyes with my hands, "I'll count to three, and when I open my eyes, Jesse will be on the other side of Woody. One... two... three!"

I moved my hands. Jesse remained where she was. I wasn't really disappointed. I knew they were shy after all, and perhaps sixteen years wasn't enough to gain their trust. I couldn't blame them, really. The abandon toys that littered the opp shops...

I heard a series of thumps, and my eyes lit up, remembering where I was in the story and I grabbed the pink unicorn, "But the spell was wearing off and the dragon woke up and he was so angry with the fairies! And the unicorns were trying to figure out a way to overcome him-"

I could hear Mum opening up the front door and I sighed, disrupted again. "This will have to wait for another time." I instructed them, then as an afterthought, I grabbed my best cowgirl on my way out of the room, whispering to her, "You know, I might need your help for my next story."

"Ah Emma, look who I found at the door."

Startled, I looked up and came face to face with the most beautiful eyes I knew. Fairy dust blue that sparkled. They mapped out a perfectly animated face that wore a permanent smile all day long that I loved. My boyfriend had never stepped foot in my house before. I quickly hid Jesse behind my back but I was a second too late, and he stopped me.

"Jesse's pretty cool," he smiled, gently lifting her out of my hands and caressing her woolen braids, "but Woody's better."

"What are you doing here?" I whispered, pleasantly surprised by his compliment, but still not impressed that he was here. I wasn't ready for him to judge me.

"I was in the neighbourhood. Thought I'd drop by. I hope you don't mind."

[531 words]

Distraction = On Hold

Distractions are sometimes too distracting. They jump from one to the other like lice. It's insane. First one thing, then a song, an idea, then it comes in a circle back to the first again. It's hopeless. Or at the very least, seems that way. And you feel like you've wasted your time for another hour that you'll never get back. And yet, we love a good distraction simply for the fact they distract - they take us away from the things we are supposed to be doing. They relieve us of the pressure, at least for a little while. They put everything on hold 'til you're ready. Another day won't hurt.

[112 words]

Imagination Driven

The rain drizzled unwelcoming down the window, as she snuggled closer into the blanket and rested her head upon Isha's shoulder. It was wrong to fall in love with him - she'd created him for pete's sake - but she'd never dreamed that he would become this real, this solid. And it wasn't just him. It was his brothers, his parents. It was a little overwhelming, but even before she'd begun writing this story her mum had said she'd been living more inside her head. Maybe she was supposed to live inside her head. Maybe she was unconscious in a hospital somewhere and this was all just some bizarre coma she was in that kept her entertained. She knew it wasn't though. Everything was so real, had lasted so long... the question was how much longer it would last. How long until she could finish the story, and what would happen when she did? Would they all just disappear? Because if that was the case, she wasn't sure she wanted to finish it. How could she drive away the figments of her imagination that did nothing to harm her? She couldn't. She wouldn't. Or would she?

[196 words]

Write from the Heart

People are always talking about heartbreak like its a disease. Of course, it's not fatal like heart attacks are, but with the amount of pain endured and described by the people that have suffered from heartbreak, you'd think it was. It was like a knife to the heart. I could feel it splitting in two. I mean, if it was, you'd be dead. No, my heart hasn't been broken. It's just had a few pin pricks, which I suppose is lucky and good in comparison to one that's been bleeding all out. A few band aids and they'll heal over with time unlike those that are scarred for life. It's a good thing writing is love, when it's from the heart (or aortic pump) at least, because it's something that will never hurt you like a person can. Which is why everyone should write. :)

[145 words]

Trust In Him

She sat beside him, unsure whether to truly trust him or not. Of course, she wanted to trust him, she did, but she wasn't sure if that was right or not. A few months ago, she hasn't even konwn him, but now he was everywhere, and he really cared about her. She could see it in his eyes. And besides, he needed her. She'd seen some of the things he'd done. Which was partly why she accompanied him, and slipped away from her mother to be with him. For some reason, his presence as an old brother figure was more comforting than her own mother's had been as of late. It was weird, but she tried not to question it and before long felt her throwing her full trust out to him. He'd protect her like a father, like a brother. She knew he would. And she would do what she could for him. Make him smile when he cried. Then he was whispering at her, telling her to get up, and they were heading towards the doors and he knelt to her and whispered a message which scared her, as she clung tight to his body as he picked her up in his arms and the doors opened. They ran.

[211 words]

Important Date

He traced a finger over his hideously scarred-for-life body, over the unprofessional tattoo on his ribs. One three zero six one two. He'd had it for years now, and still didn't know where it meant, except for the obviousness that it stood for a date, still years away. What would happen on that day he had no idea. It was obviously important, otherwise it would've have been permanently attached to his skin has a reminder, just like the rest of the unhealed scars. Why he couldn't be told of the importance of something on his own body was something you'd have to ask the person who did it. The person who was the reason he was locked away now. The person who destroyed his life.

[125 words]