#yeah write prompt

[prognosticateme-blog]

dear old friend

You said you would leave and let me be

But I saw you in the newspaper columns

And today morning, despite the petrichor

I smelled perfume along broken book spines

I heard you exhale in the depths of night

When time decelerates and the silence deafens

You crept up from the old carpet fibres

Slithered under my blankets at 3 a.m.

In the dark, my eyes traced familiar curves

Like the valley sketches the meanders of a river

A river so jagged, so icy, so reckless

It erodes one down into insignificant pebbles

I take it you thought I was fast asleep?

Because what on Earth possessed you

When you told me I had drowned

Everyone I pretended to love?

By dawn those verses fused with my brain cells

When I closed my eyes, oh how they swam

Enduring as diamonds taped to the back of my skull

Stinging like paper-cuts to the bottom lip

When I thought I tasted you in my breakfast

(think damp winters, cigarettes dipped in coffee)

I eyed the small face on my spoon, nauseated

Knowing that you had fashioned a home again

A quaint house in my oxygen and the bones

That screeched when I went to look for you

Under the bed, in the closet, by the ledge

That face etched on the misty bathroom mirror

Once I christened you the strength

That detached me from the wirings of the world

Made me unwavering, made me resilient, indifferent

Or was this resilience your predecessor?

I grew weak carrying your macroscopic being

You said you’d leave, it was mutual

Then why did you come back uninvited?

You whispered these bitter things that drummed

Inside me, like the rain on the roof

I swear that rain goes straight to my lungs

And I'm drowning in the atmosphere

This time, you didn't even bother with games

Your hands drew in like cold fingers to a flame

Old friend: you knew I was awake

Do not lie for I’ve aged like wine and

I've lived and I've died and I’ve lived

Since I was twelve and you were one

Died with the grandiose of a wilting flower

And lived like the springs in a toy car

So I am too tired to pretend you're interesting

And too old to be a pawn again

[breadsmithing]

Gone

The howling wind stung like needles, even through Augustus's thick cloak and layers of winter clothes.  With the dense forest behind him, his clothes and his scant beard are the only things that stand between himself and an icy meeting with the reaper. However, Augustus can see the outline of a large house with a lit chimney through the blizzard; Death would not have his quarry today. With boots filled with snow, a back burdened by his musket and his latest kill, Augustus trudges on.

As he approaches the house, he notices that it appeas to be in rather poor condition; the bottom two windows are broken on the front face of the house. The roof has lost many shingles and even the brick fireplace seems ready to fall. Maybe Death has a chance after all.

Augustus bangs on the door, silently praying for a friendly face to appear in front of him. No answer comes. After more waiting and desperate rapping, Augustus attempts to open the door. It offers no resistance.

"Hello," he calls with a nervous twinge in his voice. No answer. A fearful part of his mind screams to leave this place, to risk death rather than this house. He ignores the impulse to run in fear. He is no craven. He instead seals the door behind him and moves further into the house with his lantern extended in far in front of him.

He notices he is in a rather large room containing a large couch behind three cloth chairs surrounding a table, and a couple small end-tables flanking the couch. He also notices a large oil lamp dangling from the ceiling and a single candle on each table. Augustus lights the large lamp. He rather quickly wishes he didn't. There are two cups of steaming tea on the center table alongside a still-smoking pipe and two piles of cards. He almost runs back out into the cold, but he stops the knee-jerk reaction before he can follow through with it. He decides to explore the adjacent room as soon as possible.

As he steps into the kitchen he drops the deer carcass on the table and lights the lamps flanking the entrance and a candle on the table. The kitchen seems relatively small; there is an oven leading up through the roof, most likely the chimney. The fire in the oven is still lit, and there is a bowl full of something with the most intoxicating smell. There is a wooden door, most likely leading down to a cellar Augustus also observes there is knife laying on the counter next to several onions and various herbs. A wine bottle sits open next to the vegetables. He takes a long swig. A rather good vintage, he determines. He opens the pot and a flood of smells waft toward him; veal, wine, onions, and pork all bombard his senses. A rumble sounds from his stomach. Augustus immediately sets to finding a bowl and a spoon.

After his meal, Augustus notices a doorway leading to a long hallway. Grabbing his musket, he carefully makes his way down the hall. On his left a staircase rises up to the second floor and further down he can see two doors, one on his right and one straight ahead. He looks through the small glass windows on the door in front of him and sees nothing but frost. Another door out to the cold. The room on his right at first glance contains a large, comfortable-looking chair next to a table, while a large bookcase occupies the wall opposite him. As he enters the room he sees a gun closet and a sword rack. The rack contains two highly-adorned sabers and a brutal falx. The falx is standard issue for naval officers of the New Roman Republic; the sabers are obviously very expensive foreign swords. Swords given by a surrendering captain or even admiral. The closet contains a musket and a minimum of six different pistols of varying quality. A golden eagle stands proud atop the closet.

Augustus served in the army, everyone has to in some capacity. However, he hadn't heard of any glorious naval victories happening while he was campaigning; this officer must be very old or dead.

Augustus opts to go up to the second floor. The stairs creak unnervingly as he rises. He is met with another hallway and several doorways at the top of the stairs. The two rooms on his left and right are simple, spartan bedrooms. A single bed, a writing desk, a small chest, and a chair. The room facing him, however, is somewhat more extravagant.  A king-sized bed with fine, silk sheets imported from the far east dominates the center of the wall in front of him.  Two dark tables flank the bed. Two large windows with high-quality drapes stand behind the bed. On the center of the floor is a high-price persian rug. Two wooden dressers stand to his right and a sturdy chest sits on his left. He opts to stay here for the night, cradling his musket just in case.

I really need to work on description, this was hard. I think this was better than my last thing, but I put more thought into this. I'll do these more often. If you see this, please give some feedback/constructive criticism.

[thejournalofanordinaryman-blog]

The Gorgeous Stranger

All around me were people with smiles on their faces. To my left was a cute little girl who, with her left hand held a cone of ice cream and with the other her mother's hand. A moving sight it was, that the mother took her daughter out to this year's fest, 'cause I remember seeing the same woman holding a baby only a few yesterdays back. Ah, time flies so quickly.

Now music starts filling the air. An acoustic song was being played by the band on stage. Their rather mellow choice of song seemed to draw only a handful of people. I found myself slowly walking towards the front of the stage. No, the band doesn't have hypnotic powers. I was simply drawn to the complex simplicity of the song's arrangement. It was music to my ears. As I drew near the audience, I was captivated by the sight of a girl. She had her back on me, but I just knew she was gorgeous. She wore a dark brown cap, with her blonde, curly hair flowing down her back. What seemed like a knitted, black sweater was wrapped around her body, hiding her fair and smooth skin. Her skirt which hung loosely halfway between the knees and feet swayed as the wind blew ever so gently.

I walked to her and saw her eyes closed. She was definitely enjoying the music as much as I am enjoying both the music and the sight that's now before me. Her face looked so sweet. Her lips looked moist, and it seemed she was almost singing along with the band. A gold locket hung down her neck, drawing my eyes to her chest, where she had her hands clasped together, as if she was praying.

"You are gorgeous," I whispered. It was only then that I realized I was already standing very very close to her. She opened her eyes and I felt compelled to praise her beauty yet again, only I wasn't able to. Her deep brown eyes looked straight into mine and I was simply captivated. She gave me a sweet smile and said, "thank you."

The music seemed to fade away now. The people around us vanished. The rather stinging cold air was now pleasant and almost warm. I looked from her eyes down to her pinkish, moist lips and felt a desire to know the feeling of her kiss. I swallowed, wet my lips, drew my face nearer. She took and held my hands with hers and closed her eyes. When our lips touched, time seemed to stop. I just knew this was the most amazing moment in my life, something to look back to. Now my arms were around her waist as I held her dearly. She flung her arms around my neck, clinging and silently telling me there was no letting go. I closed my eyes, cherished every second of the moment and thought I have never felt I belonged to someone until then.

It didn't stop there for me and Lianne. So much more moments were shared, with love growing ever stronger. I've seen her cry, and I'd wipe her tears every time. I'd hug her tight and comfort her until I could see the sweet smile again. We have had moments when we felt like laughing for hours, with tears almost rolling down our cheeks. She's seen me down too, and she brought me up. It was just perfect.

Now, we stood before a sea of people.  A microphone stand was before Lianne. I had a guitar hanging onto me. We were gonna sing the very same song that was playing on that unforgettable moment, that sweet harmony of guitar and voice that filled the air when we first decided to go on with our journey, together. When we did, memories of every moment shared together flooded our minds. I looked at her and she back at me, and I knew right then that there was no saying goodbye.

[ This was written as a response to a Yeah Write! prompt. ]

[thejournalofanordinaryman-blog]

A Frank Letter | I Never Told You

Dear you,

I never told you this, but frankly, how could I?

I liked you from the moment I first laid my eyes on you. You were wearing a tight black blouse, dark skinny jeans, and white sneakers. Half an hour later, we found ourselves in a room with eight other people. The eldest, being our teacher, introduced herself and instructed others to follow suit. Your turn came; you smiled and tucked your hair behind your ear and spoke. I never told you this, but really, I was captivated.

Months passed, and as they did, our sitting arrangements changed so that now we were next to each other as we spent the day working on our studies. I passed notes to the other guy next to you through your office just so I could somehow catch your attention. I pretended to be so engaged in writing on our workbooks that I didn't notice my forearm's on the bounds of our offices' dividers, just so I could feel your soft skin. I joined our classmates in teasing you with this other guy, so I could smile and talk to you.

Two years passed, and now we were no longer in the same class. We weren't even in the same school. One random day I get a text from our former teacher. It was invitation to a concert which she wanted our gang to see. Concert day came, and there you were again, beautiful as ever. I'm captivated once again.

Three years passed, and now we're in the same school again. I never told you I treasured every moment we were together. I remember going to the school canteen and finding you there. I smiled, and you smiled back. That was the beginning of a (short) series of us meeting and spending time together.

On my way home on afternoon, we bumped to each other in the street. You wore a black cap, a tight black shirt, faded and tattered jeans, and sneakers. Your face radiated beauty I could never resist. Your brown eyes imprison mine. Your lips entice me to kiss you. I thought you looked like Andy from Step Up 2: The Streets. I told you that, and you liked it.

I found myself in love with you. We spent time together often. We had hot noodles for lunch in an equally hot day. We drank brain-freezing shakes. We had long talks, mostly about random things.

Then the news came. You were gonna leave. You were gonna be in a far place to study. On our last chance to be together before you left, we went to the mall. I remember lining up to get fruit shakes while you lined up for popcorn. I got two medium sized pineapple shakes for you and me. You got popcorn..a big bucket of it. We went to the movies and found seats on the back, left side of the cinema. It was a good spot.

I didn't know what to feel. I wanted to smile because we were together. I wanted to cry because you were leaving. I lay my head on your shoulder, and you patted my arm. That, to me, was so sweet. I mustered enough courage to kiss you, and for a moment, I did. Your lips were so soft. It must have been the popcorn or the shake, but your lips were oh so sweet. I flung my left arm around you and drew you closer. I felt your head on my shoulder, and for a moment, I just wished the time would stop. A kiss to my cheeks soon followed, but that was the last of it.

I tried to make it work for us, even though we were not together. I sent you text messages many times throughout the day, even though I knew your phone was in the custody of some school authority. I sent you messages on your Facebook and told you how my day went. Sadly, after several months, our communication was severed.

I never told you I had your picture as my desktop's wallpaper, but how could I? I never told you how hurt I have been because of missing you so much, but how could I? I never got to tell you why I loved you, but how could I? You never texted me back. You never replied to my messages on Facebook. You were gone.

You know what the most painful thing you could ever have said to me is? It was something like, "...frankly, never I thought you were serious about it..."

[ This was written as response to a Yeah Write! prompt. ]

[celestialallegorist-blog]

Letter to my future self

Dear Grown Up,

How are you? How’s your life been so far?

What color is your hair at this point? Is it still constantly changing, like it is now? Are you back to being blonde? Dyeing it is a lot of maintenance, but I hope you didn’t just give up and go back to blonde. You look so good as a brunette, remember?

Are you married? I hope you’re at least in a relationship, if not married. Remember that just because you’re older now doesn’t mean you have to settle, though. Never settle. Remember that.

Are you still friends with people from high school? Do you still talk to Chelsea? Janelle? Darren? Kelly? Cameron? Stephanie? I hope so. They’re pretty much the reason you survived junior year. Remember junior year? I hope you’ve told someone about that at this point. I’m not ready yet—it’s too soon. But that’s not the sort of thing you can keep locked up forever. Tell someone now, if you haven’t already. And remember that those were the people you kept on keeping on for.

What about your friends from Kentucky? If you’re not still talking to them, go and call them right the fuck now. I really, really hope you and Elizabeth are still best friends. Remember how close you two are right now? I really hope you guys still have this kind of friendship, because right now in your life, it’s pretty much the best relationship you have. 

Are you still writing?  I hope you are. It’s your dream, remember? It’s always been your dream. Don’t give up on it. Keep writing. Even if you haven’t made it yet, you’ll make it someday. I promise.

Now, I guess I have to start with the more serious questions. Are you happy? It doesn’t count if you’re just content. I want you to be happy. Remember the difference. I really, really hope you’re happy.

I’m not going to lie, I’m scared. I’m scared of growing up. I’m scared because, in my (our?) mind right now, I’m equating growing up with settling. Grow ups have to settle. They have to make compromises and be content. I’m scared that you’re working in a cubicle and living in a house with beige walls and going to bed at a reasonable hour. I’m scared that you’re going to be mediocre. I’m going to do everything in my power to keep you from ever being mediocre, but something inside of me is telling me that I’m going to fail. Please, if I’ve failed and you are mediocre, do something about it.

Love,

Little Girl

[celestialallegorist-blog]

My best friend in 75 words

Her outside never seems to match her inside. Her red hair is occasionally betrayed by light brown roots that aren’t as noticeable as she thinks they are. She’s quick to smile and slow to be happy, her self-perception clouded by ongoing internal battles. She’s soft-spoken and unsure in social situations, yet ideas and stories and pictures and energy are racing through her head, bouncing off the walls of her mind and generally causing a ruckus.