Hi, I am a UK college students who aspired to one day be a published author. Please follow me on my journy with writing my own pieces, short stories and snipits. I also have another blog (MarvelsBetch) where you can find some of my other fan fictions. This account will soley be dediated to my original work. Prepare for angst and lots of description.
Hi, my name is Kaci and this is my blog dedicated to creative writing and descriptions based on prompts I find, feel free to send in any youâd want to see. If you wish to see more of my work, mostly fanfictions, please see my other blog MarvelsBetch. Please feel free to follow me on my journey of improving my writing and maybe one day becoming a published author (ultimate long term goal). Send in any prompts/requests you have and I will do my best to honour them.
Thank you, stay safe and I hope you have an amazing day.
Pros - As a classics student I found this book incredibly informative and useful to understanding more of my studies and giving more context to the Iliad. Fryâs writing style of inserting jokes and presenting very serious actions/words in a less jarring and invasive way would be useful to anyone casually interested in Greek Mythology. Therefore, I would (and have) recommend this book to anyone who wants to know more or is casually interested in the mythology of the Trojan War. Or anyone who wanted to read the Iliad but finds it too intimidating.
Cons - Because of the subject matter there are mentions of potentially triggering topics that I feel couldâve had more warning. There are also points where the content just becomes info dumping rather than presenting the information in an investing way and they feel like they drag on for a while, those moment really slow the pacing of an otherwise quite fast paced book.
Red, White and Royal Blue
Pros - This book is perfect in a display of character development and making likeable, complex characters. You truly feel for them and sympathise for the actions done to them. This book made me laugh, cry and hope that one day it could be reality that two very prominent public figures can come out and be faced with more love than hate. PS, the turkey scene is the best scene every written in a book. Ever.
Cons - I feel the obvious downside is the romanticism of the royal and first families, the glorification of either is not something Iâm in support for but as long as this book is enjoyed with the understanding that it does not accurately depict their lives or roles I feel it can be ignored.
Legendborn
Pros - This book builds an incredible world of monsters, traditions and differing groups of magic users with in-depth back stories and conflicts to how the groups practice. The characters are emotional, complex and realistic, I feel they respond in a way that would be logical for their personalities and life experiences. Again, I laughed, I cried and I cared for each and every character. I have already preordered the sequal.
Cons - The lore can get confusing at times and some details that become more important later on I donât feel were touched on enough so when they became important I found myself flipping back through the book to see where it was first mentioned. Iâm also not the biggest fan of the speed of the main characters romance, I personally love a little more of a slow burn but the love triangle atones for it.
Shadow and bone
Pros - This book is an incredible introduction to a whole new universe with new species, regions and ranks. I love the tension and the map definitely comes in handy as the book picks up in fighting and journeys. The world is so captivating and plot very fast paced, I read the whole book in 5 hours as I simply could not put it down.
Cons - Any downfall of the book is solved but the main one for me was not enough world building or establishing of ranks/species/backstory at the begining of the book leaving me slightly confused at some points. It wasnât till I finished the book that I found and glossary at the end of the book that clearly explains ranks, colour coding and gives more backstory to some of the world.
Neo became more anxious as their eyes scanned the library shelves over and over again but with no success. Even after 15 minutes their eyes had not made contact with the one book they needed. This must be the universeâs punishment for leaving homework till the last minute, Neo knew better but it had simply slipped their mind. As time ticked on they began to question how important the history of the Tower of London really was to their studies. But then they remembered they chose to specialise in London history so it was fairly integral to their ultimate success. This realisation resulted in Neo questioning even more of their life choices that lead to this moment. Who even chooses to specialise in London history? Idiots, thatâs who. At least thatâs the conclusion Neo came to after a few seconds of deliberation.
Time ticked by more and more, the opportunity to create a standout piece of work had passed 10 minutes prior. Neo had accepted they would either need to wait for their desired book to be returned, settle for a second best book or search the information up online and hope itâs all correct. At least in the meantime they could enjoy the pleasures of the university library. Neo exclusively reads romance books or fantasy with heavy romance themes but today they decided to branch out. Nothing else had gone right in their day so why not try something new? Even if they donât enjoy it, itâll only be in keeping with the theme. In an effort to expand their literature experiences beyond enemies to lovers tropes and sword wielding lesbians Neoâs feet lead them to the non-fiction section in the hopes of finding a book about an interesting gay astronomer or crazy criminal politician. The more they thought about the second option the more they realised how many options there were.Â
Browsing the shelves only served to fuel Neoâs boredom and overall hopeless attitude of the day. That was until their eyes came in contact with a dark green, cloth bound book decorated by only a name. Their name. As the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat, though in this case it killed Neo. Their hand slowly reached for the lonesome book as questions swirled around their head. Had they unknowingly named themselves after a celebrity? The book felt heavy in their hand, an estimated 800 pages at least. Eh, reading it would kill some time till their desired book is, hopefully, returned and they could start their project.Â
âSeptember 3rd 1999, rain poured outside the hospital window as the screaming baby worked their way through the world. Well, their mother worked to bring them into the world.â
Strange. That was Neoâs birthday. What were the chances that this unknown celebrity had their name and birthday? The thought that this was a book based on their life was briefly considered but then immediately rejected as Neo had never done anything of importance to write about. Neo was no celebrity or crazy smart scientist. They were just themself, their boring, history obsessed, queer self. Nothing worth writing about so what was this book? A prank their friends pulled in the hopes they would find it? An insane coincidence that a celebrity had the same name and birthday as they did? A fever dream that they would soon wake up from and be dazed for a few seconds but ultimately move on from and accept as reality? After the day Neo had had all options were just as likely to be the truth. In the hopes of narrowing down the possibilities Neo decided to continue.Â
The book remained fairly boring through the next few pages as it just described the generic life of a baby. Nothing stood out as it being a book about Neo, though nothing that ruled out the possibility. There was a temptation to put the book down and forget about it but something stopped them. Something Neo couldnât quite describe. A draw, an intrigue, a compelling force that kept the book in Neoâs hands.Â
âAt six years old Neo Sharma loved to play with neighbourhood children in their garden, they were the only one of the children with both a trampoline and a slide. The other children had great fun and their parents were thankful for the hours of peace and quiet. Though, one day they decided to try something new and played a ball game on the usually empty road in front of Neoâs house. While playing, unknown to Neo, a car sped around the corner. Neo was hit and while it wasnât too bad it was enough for their parents to worry incessantly, while running out the house to check on them, while they were inside looking Neo over, while in the car on the way to the hospital and while Neo was having a cast put on their leg. This led to the worst 6 weeks of Neoâs life. No playing, no friends, no PE and, in the private mind of the six year old, no fun. Just inside with books and their parents worry.â
That was strange. Neo had been hit by a car at 6, and they had broken their leg. This passage only served as evidence that this book was not written about a celebrity. This was a book about Neo, the Neo that didnât have an interesting bone in their body, the Neo that seriously needed to put the book down and start on their homework, the Neo that was now extremely confused and concerned that they had just found a book in a public library that dictated their life. What did they do now? Put the book back and hopefully forget about it? Ignore the homework and read the book? Try and find clues as to who wrote it? Call their friends and tell them their prank wasnât very funny? No option was particularly fun.Â
After moments of deliberation Neo decided to forgo any responsibility to university work and settle down in a more comfy chair and continue to read the book. What more damage could it do? The chance of making a with while homework piece had long since passed so they may as well make good use of their time.Â
âBy eleven years old Neoâs seemingly perfect life had begun to fall apart. Just two weeks prior to their twelfth birthday their parents had made an announcement. To some more naive children it would've been amazing, what child wouldnât want two Christmases? But to Neo, they knew it wouldn't be just that. They knew of the arguments, the accusations, the pain it was causing everyone involved. They knew their life would be nowhere near as easy as it had been the past 12 years.â
An unsettling feeling crept up Neoâs spine, like the feeling you get in when youâre in a dark room. The feeling of looking into the dark abyss and feeling alone, yet not quite. The feeling that, while you couldnât see it, that there was something staring back at you. Something that you rationally knew wasnât there but couldnât shake the feeling of its presence. A feeling that this book was no prank pulled by friends with a bad sense of humour. Neo still wasnât sure what this book was but they knew it wasnât good.
Homework forgotten Neo stood and began to walk to the libraryâs main desk. Janette was working today, she was Neoâs favourite librarian. Her red rimmed, sharp glasses contrasted her pale white skin yet matched her red short cardigan that covered her simplistic floral blouse. Some would say was a stereotypical librarian but thatâs what Neo loved about her. She was completely unapologetically herself, Neo had taken a few pointers from her on that front.
âHey Jan, could I check this book out please?â Neo hoped Janette wouldnât ask about the shaking voice and hands as they placed the heavy book on the desk.Â
ââCourse lovely. Got any big plans for the day?â Her kind smile brought a little comfort to Neoâs anxiety, not much but at this point anything was better than nothing.
âNot much, just sitting and reading.â The attempt at a casual answer came out more awkward than intended, hopefully Janette wouldnât notice.
âWell then, have fun doing nothing then.â She gave me one final smile before scanning the book and handing it back to me.
âThanks, have a good one.â With one final wave Neo walked out of the library doors head swarming with even more questions.
How come the scan worked? Where did this book come from? Had the library ordered a book about Neo? Did someone take a barcode out of another book and place it in this one? Is this all one big joke?
Neo almost immediately dismissed that final one. They had no evidence but their gut instinct was enough, there was something off about this book and they vowed to find out why.
Overall Rating: 3.5/5. This was a good book that I would recommend to anyone wanting to be introduced to the horror genre but for those more familiar with the genre or show donât scare easily it may be slightly boring. If your looking for a plot-focused thriller this would be a good choice.
More detailed breakdown bellow.
Characters: 3/5. I wouldâve liked to have seen more of the original Jack Torrence, not the possessed or drunk Jack. Wendy felt very one dimensional but was ultimately a good mother and did everything she could to protect Danny once inside the walls of the Overlook. Danny was also quite one-dimensional but thatâs quite expected of a child. I enjoyed that even side characters still felt developed and individual in the sea of both ghosts and humans of the Overlook. I, despite the slightly underdeveloped feeling of some characters still found myself caring for them and oping they made it out (despite having already seen the Kubrik film).
World building: 4/5. Context of the Overlookâs history was delivered in an original and interest way, It didnât feel like a simple explanation or a message to the reader that pulls you out of the immersion. You learn with the Torrence family which allows for you to learn and immerse at the same time. The Overlook is described in good detail which gives a good image but still allows for nuance and creativity of imagination.
Plot/Pace: 4/5. The tension was slightly slow on the uptake but once it started the book became hard to put down. The short chapters allowed for a fast pace to be built and the plot created lots of tensions up until the climax. I feel the story ended too abruptly but was ultimately a satisfying ending to a tension and history filled book.
Horror: 3/5. I wasnât personally scared while reading this book and would personally class it as a thriller and it mostly focuses on the building of tension to the climax at the end. It may be scarier to those who fear easily but people who enjoy horror may find it more on the thriller/suspense side of the genre.
Prompt: Write a story about a house catching fire.
âHe guided my hand, the invisible force that drives everything, me, you and the whole universe. I didn't want to. He told me to, he made me do it I swear. I truly didnât want to.Â
Sure, my life would be easier if I did it. I'd get the money from the insurance. The land to rebuild the house in my image. I'll be able to get rid of the thorn in my side from birth. My life would certainly be easier but I'm sure I didn't want to.
He made me. He forced me. He didn't know whether my life would be easier or not, he didn't care. He only cared about what entertained him. I did everything I could to please him. He made me do it. It was for his enjoyment, not mine.
The flames he gave me were mesmerizing, almost blinding but not completely. It was definitely breathtaking, but I still didn't want to. They looked pleasing, enticing even. But it wasn't my idea. The flames seduced me into taking them, spreading them and pleasing him, but it still wasn't my idea. His voice spoke through them. He used the flames to communicate his desires. His desires for me and my mother. It was his doing, I was the mercy of his will.Â
The flames were at fault, they were his translator. They communicated his desires to me. They have looked beautiful, perfect even, but it was not of my own will did I take them. Their heat radiated to me causing a few beads of sweat to form on my face, but that only drew me in more. They emphasized his message. Projected his idea, not mine, not my mother's, not anyone else's. His. His alone. His sole idea and every action, despite being done by my hand, was his doing. His influence. His decision. His desire. Not. Mine.
Enticing me more the flames grew to please him. It was gorgeous, perfect, mesmerizing. Nothing could be better. Nothing could beat the feeling of appeasing him. Making him happy. Having him leave me alone. Leaving me out of his desire. Out of his wishes. Away from his design.
I did it, I lit the house on fire. I did it under his influence. I did it because he asked me to. Not because I wanted to. Not because my life would be easier. Not because I would get the money for insurance. Not because I would get rid of my mother. Not because I would get the land to build on and improve to my own desires. No, it was his desire and his influence. Nothing more, nothing less.
The air became stuffy, even as I stood watching from the garden. The sky became lighter despite the night time setting.Flames danced and smoke choked. It was the perfect image. His perfect image.Â
It lasted longer than expected, burnt and destroyed more than I expected but it was worth it, Heâs left me alone now. Iâm free for now. The fire, the destruction, my mothers pain, they sedated him. It was all worth it.
Even though I lost memories and valuable items it was all worth it. The silence of not having him in my head is worth it.Â
It may not have been my desire but I do not regret it.â
âSo, you set fire to your home causing hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of damage, the death of your mother and severe injuries to 3 firefighters and youâre blaming a mythical what? God? Monster? Ghost?â The officer asked with a short tone. He had just spent 3 hours trying to get them to talk and their only excuse was an in-provable powerful being. He was not happy, to say the least.
âIâm not blaming anyone. Iâm telling you what happened, I swear. Just because you donât get it, which by the looks of you I wouldnât expect you to, doesnât mean itâs not true. Sometimes you just have to open your mind and accept the less tangible concepts.âÂ
An even more frustrated sigh escaped his lips. He gave up and decided that someone else could deal with her ramblings while he calmed himself with a cigarette.
Prompt: She opened her handbag and tipped the contents onto the floor.
Her heart pounding, thoughts racing and sweat falling down seemingly every inch of her face, surely that would ruin her makeup. Oh god how could she be so stupid?! Her one job, the one thing she was told, don't fucking lose it. What did she do? Go and fucking lose it of course. Sifting through the contents of her bag was no help, it was nowhere to be seen.
How could she be this stupid?! One second, that's all it took. One second of letting her guard down. One second of distraction and now she was in big big big trouble. What if he came looking for it? It was his after all, what if he came now?
Her thoughts were halted by a harsh pounding on the door. Shit.
Hastily standing up she started to straighten herself out as she made her way to her front door. Her shaking hand turned the doorknob and revealed him. Fucking shitity shit shit. Why?! Why did he have to show up now? Of all fucking times he could've paid a visit it had to be now. At least this fits with the tone of the day.
"Where is it?" His gruff voice caught her off guard as he burst his way into her home and sat his dirty ass on her sofa.
"Where's what?" Her small attempt to be coy and feign naivety was not accepted as his whole response was to simply look at her with stern eyes.
He could kill her, she was well aware of that. He could just whip out a pistol right now and be done with her. Without it she was of no use to him anymore, the fact that she lost it may have solidified her useless status for all of eternity. Maybe it would be better if he killed her. Definitely better than the alternative if he found out sheâd lost it.
âDonât play dumb with me little girl,â He slowly rose from his seat, âWhere. Is. It.â Each word of his, not question, demand was punctuated by a step closer to her. It was only a small space, three steps later and there was barely an inch between their two bodies.Â
âIt hasnât been given to me yet.â She mentally crossed every finger of her body and prayed to any god that was listening, please let this sound somewhat convincing.
âReally? Because thatâs not what I heard.â His voice became lower, angrier, as his face was approaching hers.Â
Her heart raced even faster than before as she awaited her incoming death. He doesnât tolerate lying and he definitely doesnât tolerate the losing of his things by some small, naive girl who has no idea what sheâs going on. She was certain she would die so whatâs one more lie?
âI swear, no one has given it to me yet.â Her voice sounded more steady than she expected and hopefully it was enough to convince him.
âYou have 12 hours to find it and if you lie to me one more time youâll end up with your brother. Am I clear?â Fuck yes he was.
âCrystal.â Her voice was far more stable now, the facade of confidence had dropped and her true fear had been allowed to shine through.
âGood.â With that final word he stormed out of her apartment, after slamming the front door of course.Â
At least he had given her 12 hours to find it. That would be enough right?
Prompt: The old photos made her conscious of her age, of how much time has passed and what an interesting life sheâd had.
The sepia toned photos felt almost heavy in her hands, the weight of decades of memories and experiences playing over and over in her mind. A constantly running movie reel, not necessarily in chronological order but it made enough sense to her. The memories of love, loss, friends and enemies all embedded on the stained, blurry photos in her wrinkled, calloused hands.
The first photo was her favourite. There she stood, flowers in hand and a new husband by her side. God she missed him. That day was perfect - venue, decorations, family and everything that could've gone wrong simply didn't. Not that she knew of anyway. Her husband was one of the few good ones at the time, always making sure her needs were taken care of and never bat an eye to her desire of working and a family which, for the time, was almost unheard of unless in extreme poverty. She was always well off but her need for feeling wanted and useful in society never wavered. Especially not after spending over half a decade working in factories for the war and providing for her country, soldiers and family without any man to help her. A small, soft smile fell on her face while, with one last longing touch to her late husband's face, she placed the photo in the box.
The next photo was taken a few years prior to her wedding, the last photo she had of her father before he left for the war and never returned. She was beaming up at him - It was clear from this image alone that he was her hero. He taught her to never listen to others and do whatever she wanted with her life. She could work, vote, act and dress however she pleased. Even now his way of raising her would be considered radical and unacceptable by many but to her it was perfectly sensicle. Her children had definitely been raised in the same way and she can have peace of mind knowing they are better people than most.
Photo number three, her six great-grandchildren celebrating last yearâs christmas. Smiles, bright wrapping paper, loud toys, spilt drinks and discarded ribbon scattered the image. Holiday joy seeped from the paper in her hands infecting her and forcing her smile to grow even bigger than before. 92 Christmasâ had passed since her birth, some better than others she would admit, but her most recent had been her favourite. Herself, her 7 children, 15 grandchildren and six great-grandchildren had all gathered under one roof for the first ever time and celebrated a hectic, loud, heartwarming Christmas Day. It had been a very expensive and overwhelming experience but if she could repeat it every year she could. She decided this image deserved a more celebratory place than the box so after gently placing it on the table she turned her attention back to the stack of photos in her hand.
An involuntary laugh escaped her at the next image, her granddaughterâs bachelorette party. There she was, 88 years old, surrounded by phallic inflatables, drunk twenty year olds and skirts so short they could barely be considered clothing. If her husband couldâve seen her in that moment he may not have survived the laughter the sight wouldâve induced. Despite this it was still an amazing night and she had been invited to another party of her granddaughterâs but that wasnât until next month, she had more time to prepare at least. She remembers the looks given to her by other young patrons of bars and the security guards of night clubs. She's honestly surprised they let her in but definitely thankful they did because the few memories that remained of the night would make her smile and laugh till the day she died. This photo, as much as she loved it, should never be placed anywhere but her box.Â
The next photo wasnât the same type as others, it was a newspaper clipping from seemingly eons ago. The war was over, her husband had returned to her and the world was allegedly perfect once again. Women were expected to quietly return to their kitchens and men to jobs with no more talks of war. The world felt lighter and families felt whole for the first time in what felt like forever. The picture accompanying the clipping displayed countless couples embracing and kissing to celebrate the return of their loved ones. Even with the poor camera quality she could point out herself and her husband in the top left corner clinging on the other as if the other would disappear. Sheâd do almost anything to do this one more time, to just hold him and have the chance to say goodbye she never had when she lost him. A small tear travelled down her face as many memories of her husband rushed back through her mind, no one could ever replace him but her family did their best to help her through it.Â
âMum? Mum, where are you?â She could hear her eldest childâs voice and footsteps travelling through her house before opening the door and seeing her surrounded by photos of lifeâs past.
âLook at this one, look how small you were. Why canât you be that small again?â A small giggle escaped them both as she showed a picture of a small baby petting their new puppy in the front garden of their house. They looked so happy, a new world of companionship and family walks through the nearby woods awaited.Â
âNot as small as you look in this one.â An almost completely destroyed photo was placed in front of her face. It showed herself as a baby being held by her mother. She smiled with memories of her mother but quickly dismissed them with fear it would make her too emotional. Today was not the day for that.
âI remember we borrowed that camera from a neighbour - we could never afford one ourselves until much later. Anyway, today is no day for old memories, let's make some new ones.â She gently took her childs hand and slowly stood up, old age had not been kind to her, before walking out of the room.Â
As she made her way down the stairs she was greeted with yells of birthday wishes. She had instructed all of her children to not make a fuss but eventually they had not listened. Laughing loudly she joined her family and prepared for the chaos that would ensue.
Prompt: Write about someone making a seemingly inconsequential decision, which goes on to have important consequences
The car gently rocked as I sped down the highway, lights passing my eyes faster than my brain could register. The night was crisp and dark, my favourite type of night, but I couldnât enjoy my surroundings as my yearning for my bed became greater. To be home, warm, wrapped up in my 3 blankets and read a book before slipping into a peaceful sleep ready for my 3 day weekend ahead. I live a simple life but I wouldnât have it any other way, the repetitiveness gave me peace of mind, no sudden changes, no unexpected surprises. Simple and predictable. Just how I like it. As my yearning grew even more I decided to turn off onto a shortcut road, it was a bit riskier but worth the 20 minutes it would shave off my commute time, 20 minutes more of reading and relaxing.
The road was slightly slippier than the main highway forcing me to slow my car down, so much for 20 extra minutes, now Iâd be lucky to make it home at my regular time. At least the slower speed allowed me more time to look at the country-side scenery. The fields and farmhouses lit by the soft light of the moon. They looked so beautiful in this light, Iâd love to live in one of those homes. They just look so peaceful and quaint, so perfect. I could easily imagine waking up one day to the sound of animals making noises, children climbing on mine and my partnerâs bed, working through the day by moving hay barrels, working together to fix a broken tractor. All just perfect.
With one last glance at my idealistic dreams I turned my attention back onto the road. I probably shouldnât have taken my eyes off it in the first place as my eyes were instantly flooded with the headlights of another vehicle. Shit.
I heard myself start screaming as my car was sent spinning off the wet road and down the slope that lined the road I once drove along. The window glass smashed, seat belt tightened, air bag deployed, sides crumpled and hope left my body. My body was gripped with pain and I was prepared to die, I wanted to die to just end the pain that had seized every fibre of my being. Nothing could compare to this pain.
The car eventually stopped moving and I became more aware of the damage on my body. I could feel the blood flowing down my forehead, the bone that protruded from my calf, the throbbing pain behind my eyes, the bruise forming across my chest resulting from the seatbelt, the ache that spread throughout my whole body and concentrated in my chest. It was overwhelming and, as much as I fought it, my eyes slowly started to slip shut. The pain continued to build until my eyes were fully closed and all my aches, pains and worries slowly slipped away till nothing was left.
***
Beeping. Nothing but beeping. Incessant. Loud. Painful. Fucking beeping.
I tried to slowly move but the pain in my body intensified greatly at the slightest shift so I settled for opening my eyes, Iâm sure I didnât even move anyway, and that was far more doable.
âOh baby!â I slightly winced at the loud sudden noise before realising it was my partner. They get a pass.
âI fucking love you.â I tried to speak but my voice was so hoarse Iâm sure it sounded more like a jumbled mess of incoherent sounds opposed to sensicle words.
âSshh, donât speak, youâre just gonna hurt yourself more.â Their calmer voice brought a smile to my face. Even in this nightmare-ish situation their presence brought joy and peace to my life. Glad to know nothing changed in the 5 years since we had met.
My body still hurts immensely, to be expected after a severe car wreck I suppose. Hopefully I wonât be too impacted but only time will tell.
The story I chose to re-work was my first story based on the prompt âthere is a secret gardenâ. I hope you enjoy
My fingers brushed the waxy leaves as my bare feet led me through the garden, the feeling was not as unpleasant as I would normally find it. Must be the gardenâs influence. Always calm, always peaceful, always just what I need. The blue forget-me-nots catch my eye as they contrast the pale green leaves framing them. Strange, they werenât there last time. Never mind, Iâm sure the garden has its reason.
A soft smile slowly appeared on my face as I continued to venture into the garden, lots had changed in the past few months. The flowers bloomed more despite the crisp winter air, the pond became clearer allowing the Koi Carp to be easily seen, the wooden swing felt more steady when I sat down creating an even more peaceful atmosphere than usual, the cherub statues felt less judgemental than my first visit meaning I could spend longer here without feeling guilty. Guilty of dodging my responsibilities, guilty of ignoring my family at the drop of a hat to run away and sit in the garden, guilty of failing my duty and avoiding every task I had.
The garden allows me to forget, to move and to breathe freely. The garden gives me the content that no job, person or activity could. Nothing is better than sitting in the garden and forgetting youâre an adult, forgetting you have responsibilities, forgetting you have people relying on you. Simply forgetting youâre a person and becoming one with the soft, luscious grass as you lay your head on the floor. Nothing can beat that feeling.
I felt my feet becoming slightly damp, I approached the pond. The koi Carp would sometimes approach the surface as if to say hello but most swam underneath the plants that grew atop the pondâs surface. They too wanted to avoid their responsibilities of looking pretty for passers by, they too were affected by the gardenâs aura of avoidance and peace. The ripples in the pond made a soft noise that almost ruined the tranquility of the gardens, almost but not fully. The sounds kept me grounded, in some strange way they reminded me that I wasnât dreaming and I was actually privileged enough to visit this flower-ordained heaven. My life was truly this perfect.
As I slowly lowered myself into the wooden bench swing I took time to think about my life, more specifically the many events that have led to this moment. This moment of perfect and ignorant bliss. My first thought was to my father, the mean old tyrant. The first time he struck a hand against me I ran away, fled straight into our estates' vast land and found the garden tucked behind a hedge wall, guarding itself from the imperfections of outside life. I had stayed in the garden till nightfall when I tentatively re-approached the house. My father apologised, blamed the beer, and that was the end of that. The next day I tried for over 6 hours to find the garden again, retracing my steps, following the hedge walls, asking the grounds keeper, but it was all in vain. The garden could not be found and the groundskeeper knew nothing of what I was describing. The garden mustâve wanted to stay a secret.
There were only a handful of times I had been able to visit since then. Every time the garden allowed me to think about and process my life events with no interruptions, except to say hello to the fish of course. The garden provided the tranquility I was desperate for in my life.
Although, the garden also came with other things. The previously mentioned guilt was only a small part of the gardens not so desirable influences. Despite the guilt, every time I came and sat here I was more and more reluctant to leave. Each time I sat to look at the fish or count the individual petals of each flower I wished to stay here more and more. The desire to desert my family, my responsibilities and my friends. I had tried to reduce the time I spent here to avoid any irrational decisions but that only made it worse, without my hiding place I was exposed to every stress of the real world. I had no tranquillity, no time and no place to think. I was even worse off.
The garden was a breath of fresh air in an otherwise polluted world. The pond was always clear, the flowers always blooming, grass always lusciously green. Always exactly the way I wanted it.
I felt as if the garden gave me control, control of myself, my thoughts, my actions but also control of my surroundings. Of the wind speed, types of flowers blooming, grass length, activity of the Koi. The garden is my little world. I can bend and alter it to what I need at the time, even if I donât even know it at the time. The garden is as much mine as I am the gardenâs.
I love my garden, my little piece of peace in the chaotic world we all live in. I love my garden and I never want to leave.
Prompt: Write a piece based on a scene from a movie or TV show that makes you cry.
Sorry for the feels
Hope filled my chest as I saw the battle rage on through the screen, my favourite characters fighting for the most important prize of the past 12 years. Heroes fought and villains fell as the camera pans to follow each individual character while they fulfilled their role in the ultimate war of good and evil, the fight to get back what was taken 5 years ago. The winning piece was passed from hero to hero until finally landing in the hands of the second in command, believed to be the smartest man to ever live and the only reason the heroes had a chance to redeem their loss from years prior. Once that piece was in his hands he had a choice, though his decision was already made, a choice to sacrifice himself for the greater good or allow someone else to take his glory.
He thought for a split second, does he give his life, take his daughters father away from her, in order to give those around him a better life? Should winning come at such a great cost? He thought, he decided. With a shadow of hesitation he raised his hand, 5 stones facing his adversaries' shocked face.
âI am Iron Man.â He spoke with finality before snapping his fingers.
There was no turning back and burning pain shot through his left arm and right to his heart, with all the damage it had already sustained he knew he wouldnât last much longer. He would never get the chance to say goodbye to his daughter, to kiss her on the head one last time. His daughter would never know what it felt like to cry on her fathers shoulder and rant about teenage drama, love troubles or a bad report card. She would never know what it felt like to laugh until you cry at his terrible jokes, to work alongside him in the lab or get caught sneaking in the house at ungodly hours of the morning.
Soon his knees buckled and his wife caught him, gently laying him on the floor so he could die comfortably. Her sobs shook her whole body and for a second he regretted his decision, he had put her through so much and she allowed him to. She allowed him to completely move their lives and move away from New York, she allowed him to push her around way back when she was his assistant. He put her through so much and now heâs leaving her, leaving her alone with their daughter.
How was she going to explain this to her? Was she simply to go home and tell the 5 year old that her father wasnât coming home and leave it there? Would his daughter hate him? Think he didnât love her enough to stay with her? Oh god what had he done.
âMr Stark? Mr Stark?â The kid, the reason he even tried the stupid time heist in the first place.
Tears spilled from Peterâs eyes as he held his father figureâs hand, saying goodbye once again. He made this worth it, Peter made all of this worth it. Tony knew he never shouldâve dragged Peter into the avengers buisness, he knew he shouldâve kicked him off the space doughnut the moment he had a chance. Peter died once because of him and now this is him returning the favour. Heâs dying to give Peter and Morgan better lives, lives with people and opportunities. Lives full of hope for the future opposed to the impending dread that followed everyone the past five years. People like Peter were why the avengers formed and Peter is why Tony Stark had to die. He made a promise the first time he met the kid, to protect him at all costs. Everything he ever did since meeting him was to protect him, whether he realised it or not, even this. His death was to protect Peter and make sure he can live on in the world. That he can go to college, find love and become the second greatest leader for technological advances the world had ever seen (after himself of course), Peter made this all worth it.
âGood bye.â He tried to whisper but wasnât sure whether it was heard or not.
With those final words Tony Starkâs world became black and everyone one of his fellow heroes stood around him slowly fell to one knee. A sign of respect for a fallen soldier. Everyone on the battlefield that day put their differences aside to celebrate and acknowledge the sacrifices given by Tony Stark to ensure they could live
In that moment, as Tonyâs eyes slipped shit for the final time, he was the greatest hero ever to walk the galaxy and his fellow heroes made a vow that everyone they met would put respect on his name.
And with this vow, The world said goodbye to Tony Stark
Dreaming. A simple concept really, you fall asleep and you have visions of faraway lands, battles fought between good and evil or relaxing in an unidentifiable location in one of the seven corners of the world, then you wake up to the shrill screaming of your alarm and the world becomes duller. You get back to your life as if the previous nightâs visions never happened and the world moves on, no one cares about your dreams and theyâre never thought of again.
But what if dreams were more than that, what if they had a greater meaning than simply occupying your mind during the many hours of darkness. What if your dreams were memories, memories of your past lives, memories of past adventures, of people who had once meant the world to you, of enemies who had once made your life a living nightmare. What if your dreams were the one link between you and your one true love, a soulmate as many say, no matter the time, social class, or world location. The only information you have to find the love you had lost many times before was held in those late-night visions.
Some people spent millions to have their dreams documented, analyzed and compared to those of other rich elites spanning every continent of the globe. Those who had the resources did everything they could to find their soulmates but those stuck in low paying jobs and didnât have access to those kinds of funds tended to resign themselves to a life with another who was in the same situation. Those that did this signed themselves up for a life where your partner, while they may care for you, knew your relationship wasnât the best they could have and that at any moment they could leave you for the one they were meant to be with. It was an uncertain, somewhat loveless life, but for many, it worked and for some, it worked well.Â
Furthermore, those that resigned themselves to this fate had to endure the dreams for the rest of their lives. As they fell asleep next to the partner they chose, their dreams would be filled with happier times and memories of the one they were destined to love for eternity. Though, as time ticked on the dreams became darker. The longer one went without their soulmate the more depressed they became, their brain and body was being denied access to the only human on earth that could fully understand you, your emotions, your wants and your needs. The one person who could fix any troubles you may have, light up any room with just their presence or soothe you in times of great worry.
Stories were told to children around the world of the many adventures some had gone on to meet their soulmate; an old monarch of France, for example, had sent a hundred ships to sail the seven seas and meet the one meant for them. Many were interviewed of the dreams they had, hoping to find those that matched the detailed documents of the monarchsâ, until they were finally found and taken back to France to rule alongside their new partner. They were said to have been in complete bliss, hopelessly infatuated with each other right up until the day they died. It was ultimately a British invasion they had been trying to ward off for quite some time; both people were killed within seconds of the other by British troops. Thankfully they had been saved from the pain of losing a soulmate.Â
As time went on the dreams, more like nightmares, would become even darker. They usually started with sights of minor wounds or a harmless sickness, such as coughs or colds or the flu at worst. These would progress to visions of emergency hospital visits, comas or debilitating injuries from wars, natural disasters and crashes of every kind. This continues until every night you are plagued with sights of the one you loved dying. Sometimes theyâre in your arms, those who found their love died in no other way as their souls intertwined and bodies became inseparable, but other times the dreams are the way you find out about their cause of death. Soulmates always know when the other dies, whether they met or not, due to the intense pain they suffer. The feeling is often described as a burning fire of sadness that courses through your veins at light speed, one moment theyâre the epitome of health and the next theyâre kneeling over in pain knowing they lost any chance of meeting their soulmate in that lifetime. They never feel it for long though, the pain is so intense that they die within minutes of feeling it, only to be reborn to another body and that lifetime added to the bank of memories stored in the personâs brain. That life, that chapter, becomes the dreams to be used as navigation to their soulmate and hopefully, they would have the luck of finding them again.
I enjoyed this concept a lot and would love to explore this concept more with some characters.
This prompt was provided by the reedsy weekly writing prompt competition. To see more prompts or read otherâs stories visit https:// blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/
Prompt: Write a story about somebody reminiscing on an event that happened many summers ago.
Tears were slowly falling from my eyes as I rested the small bouquet on the cold stone, the yellows and pinks of the petals providing a stark contrast to the dark block they were against.Â
âTaken too soonâ
The black words capture my eyes and donât let them go. Taken too soon, taken at the height of life and freedom. Taken from his family, his friends and his partner. From those who loved and cared for him. Taken too soon. Viciously ripped from us as we were too busy getting drunk and planning the irresponsible decisions of the night.
I remember that night as if it were yesterday. The nauseating heat of the dance floor, blinding lights rotating past my eyes every few seconds, fruity alcohol flowing past everyoneâs lips as if it was no more than water. We felt free. Free from any responsibility or consequences that would come from our drunken actions. The freedom we had craved our entire lives finally granted to us that night. Our first time having fun with no curfew or fear of parental punishment. The first and last time we would allow a drunken friend to stray from the group.
We had made a promise, a fairly simple promise, to stay with each other that night. No one was allowed to wander off alone or leave with anyone, we were there for each other and no one else. That turned out to be a promise we couldnât keep. Less than 3 hours into the party one member of our group was nowhere to be seen. It was easy to brush off at first. They were just in the bathroom. There must have been a long queue. There are lots of people here, maybe they were stuck behind another group.Â
As time droned on, the excuses became more of a reach and everyoneâs anxiety started to rise. Soon we paired up and tried to find him, starting with the bathrooms but found nothing. Next was the bar but again, nothing. Smoking shelter, employee areas, car park, hotel rooms. Nothing, he was nowhere to be seen.Â
Days had gone by while we had no option but to sit and wait. Wait for the police and local volunteers to tell us something. Anything. By this point, we had become desperate for any news, regardless of how good or bad. Arguments had begun to break out within our group and between his family, everyone was blaming each other and no one knew how to help. Tensions continued to rise until one day we received the news we had been desperate for. His body had been found floating in the nearby lake, they said he fell in while trying to make his way back to the hotel. My world came crashing down that night, the one person who had stuck with me through everything was gone.Â
The world suddenly became emptier, no one could comfort me the way he did, no one could make me laugh as loud as he did, no one could calm me as much as he did. Everything became dull, the world no longer had any colour and everything around me became nothing.Â
The wailings of our friends were no louder than whispers, sounding distant in my pre-occupied brain. The bright yellow paint of the hotel room became muddy as my eyes were solely focused on the police detective in front of us. The smell of the heavily chlorinated pool was replaced by memories of his strong cologne, I almost smiled at the thought of how many times I told him to put less on. He always smelt like he had bathed in the overpriced liquid.Â
Continuing to stare at the cold, dark slab the tears fell faster and harder. Even 15 years later I couldnât bring myself to think of him without balling as if it had happened yesterday. Sometimes it felt like it was yesterday while other times it felt like 100 years ago, as if it was a distant tragedy only spoken about on page 6 of local newspapers on the anniversary.Â
I look back at our friends, their all-black clothing looking almost grey in the glow of the midday sun. Their tear-stained faces likely reflected mine as their flowers formed a cruel, mocking rainbow in their hands. He will forever be a part of our lives, a memory that will follow us until the day we join him on the other side. Even though some in our group only knew him for a few months he will forever remain our motivation to be safe and stay firmly by each otherâs sides no matter what we go through or how drunk we are. He became the glue that held our minds and group as a whole together.
After he died we all slowly started falling apart, I was never more than a meter away from a bottle of alcohol. It took almost meeting him again to finally realise what I was doing to myself. Our group helped pull me from rock bottom. Months passed before I could even consider moving on but I finally did it, I finally accepted that I would never see my best friend again.
Small, soft hands placed themselves on my upper arm, they brought a small amount of comfort. The hands were soon replaced by a small head of hair resting on my shoulder.Â
âDaddy are you okay?â My sonâs small voice brought a slight smile to my face, though he would never meet his fallen uncle he would carry his name to the next generation.Â
I slowly turned to stand up and took my sonâs hand in mine. Taking small steps back to the group, my family, I spared one last glance to my best friendâs grave as everyone else placed their flowers down and said their goodbyes. My world would never be the same without him. I had accepted that a long time ago, but as we walked away from the cemetery I had a sense of contentment with my life. I had a son, a devoted husband and, while my pseudo-brother couldnât see me this happy, a family by my side to see me through the dark times.Â
As I walk away from the cemetery I canât help the feeling that he is walking beside me, guiding me through the rest of my life the way he wouldâve wanted me to see me.Â
The smell of fresh flowers flooded my senses as I made my way through the garden, blocks of blues, yellows, pinks and purples graced my sight. My hands touched the different plants as I continued, roses, hydrangeas, peonies, forget-me-nots, gladiolas, magnolias, African Violets, plus many more I wasn't Knowledgeable to know. They were so beautiful, so soft, so perfect. The hues complemented impeccably and spacing allowed for all flowers to be showcased without one dominating the other. No person could've planned this any better.
As I continued to walk the cold stones began to feel damp on my slightly numb feet. There was a pond. A crystal clear blue pond ordained with creeping Jennys, pickerels and cardinal flowers. The red of the cardinals struck a stark contrast against the soft purples and greens of the creeping Jennys and pickerels. Despite this contrast, it all still looked perfect. Not one leaf out of place or ripple too strong. Even the Koi in the pond swam at a perfect speed, not making too much disturbance to the pond yet still making themselves noticed.
I stopped for a second, just a second, and looked around me. Taking in the colours smells and sights that almost overwhelmed me. Almost. I wish I could stay here forever, looking at the flowers, enjoying the grass between my feet and watching the Koi enjoy their lives. Their lives of no stress and no responsibilities, a perfectly blissful life.
Continuing my adventure through the garden I noticed something wooden sat in front of a bush of peonies. A small bench swing almost completely engulfed in pale green vines and smaller pink flowers. The chains were slightly rusted but I still tried to sit in it, surprisingly stable. Gently rocking myself, like a mother would rock a baby to sleep, I could get a perfect view of the garden. The flowers, the pond and two small stone statues of cherubs playing instruments, one with a harp and the other a type of guitar with a round base.
It seemed as though they were staring into my soul, judging me for simply being here. For running away from my responsibilities, for leaving my family and friends behind while I sat and watching.
My heart yearned to be here, to stay here forever in the tranquillity. Forever just free, free to rest, free to think, free to simply be. Alas, I can't stay here.
I slowly stood up and started to walk back towards the entrance of the garden. Feeling as if the statue's eyes followed me as I moved. The sound of the pond rippling was quickly being overpowered by beeping and yelling, faint and distant but defiantly there.
As I took one last look at the garden I vowed to return, maybe not soon but eventually I will return to this heavenly garden. Right not, my family need me.
