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Riley 
since 2002-07-18
Posts 1038in the pouring rain 
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( This may not be very good, but I wrote it at school and wanted to share it. Tell me what you think...its the beginning to a story ) The night was cold and weary. Lifeless to this earth and unto the world was the lonely one. Blue and gray, wisps of hair floated in and out of the fantasy world. No one knew the story wove on the gold garment, hidden beneath a silvery cloak. Like fire through the night, feet trampled the forest floor. Her lies we taken from her, so not even the truth was beheld. The hope, guessing which path to take, much like the life she lead, this was the norm. A small form living amongst the trees, was her daughter, the one with which so much pain, was brought into the world, only to live in deceit, much like the mother that birthed her. So it was, in the night of the moons, that this came to be, and who wanted the world to knowledge the life that over came her. Only here it could be, and only now, could the blind man see. In the glow of the sun, with the night leading her way, she left the world behind, into the worlds she could only imagine. Perfect was so far away from the blank roads ahead. Clutching the bundle, which breathing in sync with her own breath, with her own life in hands, she ran through the briars the pushed into her bare feet. Thorns tore at her, like the deathly claws of the people she once knew. So only it could be….the sounds that gave her so many a sleepless night. Finally she rests, breathing heavily, the blue and white mixing together as one, if only for a minute this was a miracle. Alas, what she hears is beyond that of a reason. Illogical to her own state of mind…she listens. Screams that could only be true in an alternative reality ripped through the angered winds. Hiding seemed to give her strength, so there she was. Only strips of what once was clothing, now hung on her body. Tiny and precious, her smaller life was safe and alive, and for that nothing else could pay. She had undying gratitude to whatever kept her this far, and prayed that whatever it was, would look over her, and if not her, then her child. At least let the child live, she spoke to the trees that would listen, because even if I am not worthy the child is. Speaking with such vain unto the child, she lifted it up, as if giving it to the heavens. In that instant, the child was blessed, as if the heavens accepted it as to guard it. With this miracle she slept in the hollowed out tree that listens to problems. Morning came to night as the sun arose once again. Without hesitation she reached down to wake her baby, as if by instinct to see if the infant was still there. Much to her thanks, it was breathing, though the color in its face seemed to have drained, as if someone, or something, was killing it. Slowly she got up from the hollow ground which kept her through the night. Another day to wake through, another night to give way, and the moon and stars gave light unto her, mother and daughter, blessed be the child, going through the forests. Morning mist clings to my face, and my soul opens up to you...... [This message has been edited by Riley (02-05-2003 02:56 PM).] |
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| © Copyright 2003 Riley Grant - All Rights Reserved | |||
Local Parasite
since 2001-11-05
Posts 2527Transylconia, Winnipeg |
I think it's pretty neat, Ri... could use some paragraph structure, though. Try breaking it into two or three paragraphs just to make it more readable. You should also try to make your sentences flow a bit more together... in poetry it's good to have separate lines with separate thoughts, but in prose you have to keep the previous sentence in mind when writing a sentence, and if not, start a new paragraph. I like the story, I like your language and everything, but your structure needs refinement. Prose can be tricky, if you're just coming into it fresh from poetry, but I'm confident that with some practice you'll be able to master it.  G'luck with this. Off to read Part II. Brian "Faith" means the will to avoid knowing what is true. |
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Fariegirl Member
since 2003-02-05
Posts 147 |
hey, good story beggining. here is a small tear jerker that i wrote for ya'll to read. He was drinking again. She hated when her father came home smelling strongly of beer. Every morning her mother told her that he had not been drunk, that he was just tired, but she had the proof of him being drunk on her face. She wore sunglasses to school. She met up with her friend, who also had a drinking father, and they covered their bruses with make-up and went to class. “What happened to your eyes this time?” the teacher asked. “Sports.” The two girls mummbled. Every day of their life had been like this. Dedicated to all the abused people in the world. |
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