#writingchallenge2015

[indigo-types]

iiii

pink

tattered lace itches, scratches, tangles, swallows me

i drown

a smothered scream, crying, torture by silence,

what words would save me, even if i could speak?

the hollow pit in my chest echoes with a voice not mine

and yet, back then,

i never knew i was real, i had a choice, a voice

i never knew

[1800contract]

Day 9 - São Paulo

9. Poem describing your town / city / neighborhood / etc.

Dazzling city lights up all night and tall buildings grow at every corner. I glare around with my dizzy eyes, blinded by the lights, a perfect foreigner. A foreigner in my hometown! This place leaves me at ecstasy! Circling this big city’s orbit I feel as if I’m in the center of entropy. Hail to this mess! I can’t find a way out of this, as I step on the broken glass of a very old bottle of beer.

[1800contract]

Day 7 - Blueberrying

7. Poem responding to a poem someone else wrote. Poem chosen: Blackberrying by Sylvia Plath.

Nothing in the lane, and nothing, nothing but blueberries, Blueberries on either side, though on the left mainly, A blueberry land, extending to the horizon, and a river somewhere at the end of it, whispering. Blueberries small as the ball of my index finger, and blue as eyes crying leaves on the hedges, fat with purple-red juices of which never touched my fingers. I've always begged for this blood sisterhood, but they ignore me. They remain untouched in their land of wonder, round like a lime.

Overhead go the ravens in black, cacophonous flocks-- black like coal against the wheeling blue of the sky. Their voice echoes with mine, protesting, protesting. I'm afraid this river will go dry. The high, green lands are glowing, as if lit in blue fire. I come on to the bush of berries so ripe it is a bush of eyes, Hanging their purpleblue pupils and observing me from afar. The honey-feast of the berries has been canceled; heaven does not exist. Nor do the berries or bushes to an extent.

The only thing to come now is the river. From between two hills a sudden wind funnels at me, Gapping its phantom laundry in my face. Those hills, too green and too sweet, have never tasted salt. I follow the tasteless path between them. A last hook brings me To the hill's southern face, and the face is dark green That looks out on nothing, nothing but a great space of emerald-shaded darkness, and a din like silversmiths Beating and beating at an intractable metal.

[1800contract]

Day 6 - Déjà vu

6. A story about an adventure. (????)

The blankets always got as tangled as earphones on between the little witch's legs and she woke up under a mess of fabric in her bed. Her socks were probably lost somewhere inside the monster of blankets, her hair was an unreasonable mess of unconsiderable proportions and her alarm rang like crazy, but she had no idea where she left her phone. Her hand first reached her nightstand but it was not there. She searched under her tangled blankets, but it was not there either. She couldn't stand the noise anymore when she muttered the mumbled words: "Household spirits, help me out. Let what is lost to be found." She finished with a yawn. A warm sensation came from under the bed and she reached out her arm, touching the floor cautiously to try to find the missing item. Her fingers finally came in contact with the source of vibration, and she grabbed it, pulling it back up and setting it off. Sighing in relief, she got up from her bed and stretched her muscles. Today was going to be a good day! The little witch did her morning prayers, showered, brushed her teeth, ate her breakfast and she was ready to go to work. On her way to the bus stop, she passed by an alley and saw a black cat. It had soft, shiny fur and deep green eyes that pierced her soul for a second or two. After realizing she was staring and holding her breath, she let go and continued her walk, otherwise she would be late. After a few minutes of walking, she passed by another alley and saw a cat with the same features as the one before: mischiveous black fur and eyes so green they'd cause envy. "Oh. Déjà vu" she said, shrugging it off and continuing her way. By the next street she passed, there was a cat with the same features as the other ones. Its black fur seemed even blacker than before and its green eyes seemed such an slippery olive tone you could fall down from looking at it. "Oh. Déjà vu. Again." Now, that was strange. Seeing the cat once was normal. Twice was a coincidence. But three times was too much. There should be some sort of witchery involving this. She took careful steps on the direction of the cat, her own hazel eyes battling to keep eye contact with the lively green ones of the feline. Her approach was more than cautious, and she stood right in front of the cat, ready to pat it. Surprisingly enough, it did not move while her hand came closer to its tiny head for a caress and when she finally touched the softness of its fur... The blankets always got as tangled as headphones on between the little witch's legs and she woke up under a mess of fabric in her bed. Her socks were probably lost somewhere inside the monster of blankets, her hair was an unreasonable mess of unconsiderable proportions and her alarm rang like crazy, but she had no idea where she left her phone. Her hand first reached her nightstand but it was not there. Now she knew where it was.

[1800contract]

Day 5 - Burn - B.

5. Poem of at least ten lines in blank verse.

I’ve soaked my heart in gasoline and I’ve given you a match. You should be lighting it on fire, but you’re just standing there instead. Tease me, conquer me, burn me! I want to feel the angry flames. I want love to consume me like a lion would do to its prey. I want your fingers to hold my neck like you’re choosing wood for a fire. I want your mouth to kiss my lips like tomorrow doesn’t exists. But finally, I want you to provoke me: make me feel this wishful desire that makes your heart burn. Light this match and light my heart. Let me burn for you.

[1800contract]

Day 4 - Nepenthe.

4. Personal essay on a childhood memory.

Nepenthe.

As their voices would project themselves aggressively and toughly around me, I'd merely sit there and ignore. Their words would pass through me like a cool breeze, hardly even messing my hair, and their anger would build up a tense atmosphere, transforming the room around us into a toxic chamber in which we were locked, with no way out. I couldn't feel tears building up -- no, they were a distant memory of how once I could show emotion. Now I just sat there and let their words and anger hurt me while I could not feel a thing. I wondered if that happened in other families: all the yelling and the disagreements and the hatred, staying up crying at night and begging to god that nobody will hear. Long nights, those were -- I can remember each of them very vividly. I remember how books were my salvation those days: while being overworked with reality I drowned myself into fantasy so I didn't have to deal with it. That's when I first learned how that people needed something to escape from their lives as living is painful. That's when I first learned that reality is but a choice: you can always escape it.

[1800contract]

Day 2 - Star People

2. Write an essay on extraterrestrials.

I am made of candy and dark matter, of frozen expectations and of every moment I've felt alien in a place where everyone else seeemed to be well fitting. Feeling alien however, demands more attention and care: otherwise you can become an alien yourself and forget about silly things, like how many moons this planet has or how many days the Earth takes to travel around the sun. The longer I take feeling alien, the more likely I am to become one and to forget all that once made me human, followed by a completely new identity, far away from this planet.  Maybe I am a starseed afterall. Or maybe I'm bond to become a starseed to another inhabited planet.

[1800contract]

Day 1 - The Thirteenth

Day 1 - Write a scene that takes place on a friday night.

The routine was right about the usual: she pressed snooze on the alarm a few times before finally getting up and doing her morning prayers, brushing her teeth and showering. She thought of burning a quick sigil for good luck throughout the day, but she realized she was already late, so witchcraft would have to be left for later. Getting a quick breakfast from the kitchen, she hurried out of the tiny and dusty apartment. The first cat she saw was just after the little witch left the building. Nothing strange at that point, it should be the cat that was always in the neighborhood. She took quick steps, saying her good mornings to the acquaintances that passed by. Another pitch black cat. Strange, but let's keep going. She waited at the bus stop for a few minutes and once she got on the bus, the little witch looked outside the window and there it was: another raven black cat! Throughout the day she saw about 12 stray cats, all ebony black with eyes the color of their souls. This should be a little more than a coincidence and she started wondering if it was an omen of some kind. At work, she mentioned the strange occurances to one of the other witches and they giggled a little. The little witch frowned, looking genuinely confused. "What's so funny?" she replied. "I'm super serious, I'm scared." "Oh honey, it's Friday the 13th. Did you forget? Everything can happen on a day like this." With a surprised exclamation, the little witch slapped her own forehead. Of course! Friday the 13th! The energy of the universe should be going crazy that night, hence why the strange occurances of black cats everywhere she went. She should be careful, though, she didn't want to get into any trouble. It was a myth that black cats spread bad luck, but you can never be careful enough. When the little witch was walking home from the bus stop, there was an alley, very dark and very gloomy, that was shining with a flickering light. Curious, she turned at said alley and took a few steps toward the shining light. It was a bonfire, and around it, 12 cats as dark as the night sky stood, staring at it. Once she arrived, they turned to face her -- not only face her, they went ahead and attacked her, claws and paws scratching her tiny little arms and leaving marks until she couldn't stand up by herself and fell into the bonfire. After burning to all its content, the bonfire extinguished and all that was left was a coal black stain -- a coal black cat.