writing far too badly

[writing-far-too-badly]

A call ignored

Thanks as always @flashfictionfridayofficial for the fantastic prompt!

There is a tether that binds me ever back. Try as I might to escape, to travel, to forget the place where I come, the echoes rebound and magnify.

When I walked in the bar, a few curious patrons turned towards me. Watching them drop their drinks let me know in an instant what they thought about me. A few moments later, the rest of the bar was staring at me, and the bartender began to reach under the bar for some sort of weapon. I know that I am not welcome here, but I had hoped to pretend for at least a few moments.

Back outside in the still winter air, I look at the same stars that my family still pray to. The wind picks up, and the beating of the snow against my back is the beat of a song for those who were found. I can't go back though.

I walk to the bright lights of the city, hoping that the fluorescent lights can hide the stars, hide the past. They say that you can be whoever you want in a big city, and I suppose it's time to learn if that's true. The drunks walking by shudder and cross the road, and I know that is not true.

I stopped believing in destiny the day that I left home. Still, my empty stomach found it hard to resist the flyer advertising work at some fast food chain when it blew into my face. After spending the night in some alleyway, far away from the rest of the unhoused, I made my way there, hoping that I might at least have the chance to warm myself for a moment. The manager rushed towards me as I opened the door, and I knew that, if destiny was real, then the flyer had been a cruel prank from the same stars that abandoned me.

Then, to my surprise, she reaches out her hand.

I stare, forgetting for a moment what the proper response is. I may not be a human, but it has been so long since I've been treated like a person. Willing my hand to stop shaking, I reach out to grab hers, noting how dust and smoke stained my own hand is, especially compared to the cleanliness in her own.

She asks if I'm here for the job, and I freeze before answering. I know what will happen if I say yes. The first few days may be fine, but in time others will learn who I am. This woman, who has enough space in her heart to look at me and not shudder, even for a moment, will die. I can see it as clearly as I see the springtime sky in the blue of her eyes.

Sighing, I turn to leave.

I cannot go home, but this city is not for me.

[writing-far-too-badly]

Wholeness Knowing

Thanks as always for the prompt! @flashfictionfridayofficial

Hi! It's been a while since I did one of these. I am always really inspired by "Uncleftish Beholding", which is a short story exploring what science might sound like without the many Latin and Greek loans we took. Without any other thoughts for what to do here, I decided to write a brief introduction to the universe with (to the best of my knowledge and ability), only Germanic rooted words. I've put a glossary at the end, and generally tried to capitalize the new terms (or terms I've taken from Poul Anderson).

The Wholeness we see today was once smaller than the smallest mote we can think of. When looking into the night sky, each mote of light comes from a far away star or Milk Thing. Until the nearest hundreds of years, World Knowing thought that we lived in the only Milk Thing. Each Milk Thing is made of almost countless stars, according to modern Beholdings.

Stars, and the night sky generally, have been the home to human thought and dream. Therefore, it should not amaze the reader to know that there have been many Beholdings and Forms about how stars work throughout human time. Many Forms before World Knowing was in its current form claimed that the sun, the star nearest to us, was burning something. Even before the sorting of World Knowing we use now, many thinkers were able to reckon that the sun could not be burning like fire on earth for it lasts much longer.

The stuff around us is made of smaller stuff. This is not an amazement, at least to anyone who has broken something. Early thinkers often thought that, just as there are selfsame shapes when stuff is broken, there should be selfsame shapes if we look bigger. We now know that the earth drives around the sun, much the same way that the moon drives around the earth. The sun itself is pulled by the weight of other stars and greater objects, and it drives around the Milk Thing we call the Milky Way. The Milky Way itself, though, drives around other Middles of Weight. The Near Crop of Milk Things, for instance, is made of fifty Milk Things! Many Crops of Milk Things are bound into clusters, which are often not directly held by weight. These clusters, when taken in whole, show threads that Beholdings say give us knowing of how the Wholeness looked in its first motes of time.

Uncleftish Beholding looks at the smallest ways the stuff around us is shaped. When read with this work, I hope that the reader may see that the Wholeness is shaped, from the least to the greatest of structures.

Wholeness: Universe Milk Thing: Galaxy (it does bother me that galaxy literally comes from the Greek for milky thing) World Knowing: Science Beholdings: Theories Forms: Ideas World Knower: Scientist Middle of Weight: center of gravity Near Crop: Local Group

[writing-far-too-badly]

Lying Beneath the Stars

Thanks for the prompt as always!

Lying down beneath the stars, I curl up next to you. You pull me close and with a finger point out all the stars. Orion, the great hunter, a dog faithful by his side. So many other heroes, immortal in the sky.

Lying down beneath the stars, I'm sorry that we came We both look for Orion, though I know it's all in vain The city lights are shining brightly, we'd never see that far At least you're still here by my side, and that means so much more Lying down beneath the stars, I'm glad we made the trip The sky is filled with so many stars I never could have dreamed I still can't find Orion, and you still smile at me Then with your arm around my shoulder, you point out where he stands Lying down beneath the stars, my back is far too cold I know that you will be back soon, but soon is far away Until you do I'll come here nightly So I can point Orion out to you Lying down beneath the stars, I think back on that first time When you told me that the gods would put heroes in the sky The moment just before they died, a constellation new But try as I might, I cannot find you up there in the stars

[writing-far-too-badly]

Pruning

Thanks for the prompt @flashfictionfridayofficial ! This one really took a lot out of me, but I'm glad that I got to explore villanelle form a little more.

Our love was beauty, blooming like a tree We danced among petals which fell just to rise But now all alone, bare branches reach for me

Scattering shadows, as the winds blow happy and free, are gently lain by setting sun which implies Our love was beauty, blooming like a tree

Luminous greens in the springtime, beloved by bees Have all fallen down, have shed their disguise And now all alone, bare branches reach for me

The fruits of summer made it hard to see Til rots of fall forced open my shut eyes Our love, once beauty, still blooming like a tree

For just like a cancer, your love bloomed in me Devouring all, til I looked in surprise And now all alone, bare branches reach for me

A season of winter, though I doubt you agree May be what I need to recover from your lies Our love was beauty, blooming like a tree And now all alone, bare branches reach for me

[writing-far-too-badly]

Choices

Torchlight flickered off the damp cave walls as the occasional drop of water landed. At first, she had swept the light back and forth, constantly searching to find the source of that intermittent sound. As the torch burned lower and she delved deeper, though, she started reacting less and less. Finally, just as the torch guttered out, she followed a bend in the cave and saw what she had been searching for.

The room was bathed in sunlight, glinting over a calm pool that filled the room. The sounds of echoing water faded from her memory as she looked. Falling to her knees, she took a moment to simply revel in the light and the fact that her search was over.

A single stone jutted out of the center of the pool, bathing in the sunlight. Atop the stone, a single gem diffracted the light into countless shards of color. Greens and blues bled into reds and yellows, and yet each color seemed completely unique.

Standing back up, she stepped into the water, already clenching at the feeling of her very bones chilling where they entered the pool. Each step brought her deeper and deeper into the water, until she was barely able to keep her own head above the lake. The lake did not ripple once as she walked through it.

Just as her strength was about to give up, the ground suddenly slanted upwards, and she was bathed in the warm sunlight. The icy chill that had pervaded her entire body seemed chased away as she was robed in the new light. Looking up at the gem, she reached a hand towards it.

As her hand drew near, the colors seemed to jump.

No longer were they simply showing the many parts of the sun. No, now they showed every one of her futures.

Her hand stilled.

This was what she had come for.

When she grasped the stone, her future would be set. The world would bend to the point of breaking if it needed to. Whatever she hoped and dreamed of right now, she could be.

She thought about her parents, and the love that they had shared. Reds began to take over the memories, showing countless lovers and loves play out in front of her. A part of her yearned to grip right away, but she forced herself to stop.

She saw how many of the futures had her living a meager existence, just like her own family had. The light shifted yellow, and she saw the fortunes she could make. A magnate, a pillar of industry, a robber, a thief, a crime lord, a queen. Any of those futures could be hers if she just grasped the gem.

She pulled back, watching the gem change colors again, this time to grey. It seemed to tell her that her fate was sealed for having found the cave. If she did not take the gem, she would live a life of mediocrity, never knowing the peaks or valleys of greatness.

As she drew near, it blazed in green, showing the communities she could build, the way that she could bring the world to a better place.

Once again, the rainbow began to overtake the gem as she stopped focusing on vague strokes for her life. She had come into the cave with a singular dream.

She would leave with the dream.

@flashfictionfridayofficial thanks for the prompt as always!

[writing-far-too-badly]

Fool Me

Thanks for the prompt!

He trudges through the grey slush and ice. His breath comes out in a fog, and it wraps around his mind. The laughter behind him bites like the frigid wind.

A hand taps his shoulder, and then pulls his hand to hers. "I knew that it was you!" she says, laughter in her eyes.


"I think that you must be confused," he says, not pulling his hand away. She leans in for a hug, and he hugs her back hesitantly. A warmth spreads through his body and reminds him where he is.

"Coffee?" he asks, nodding in the direction of the closest cafe.

She nods and runs ahead, tugging him along. He goes along, unwilling to make a scene. Inside, the cafe is bustling, and some song plays on the radio. He cannot hear it, too focused on her eyes. The scent of coffee seems to emphasize the browns that look at him.

"What have you been up to lately?" she asks. "I feel like it's been ages."

"There's nothing new in my life," he says, a wry chuckle on his lips.


"I know that can't be true," she says, and pouts a little bit. "With as many sunsets as you've seen. None of them stuck out to you?"

Something in her tone makes it clear that she is not kidding.

He takes a long sip from his own mug, buying a few scant moments of time. The warm liquid slides down smoothly, but he is already warm inside.

He sets the mug down, now certain beyond any doubt that he has never met her before.

"Who are you?" he asks.

Her smile is all the more radiant.

"Honestly, I was wondering when you would ask. You seemed down, and I couldn't think of a better way to cheer you up."

The two continue talking. The songs change around them, and the day quickly turns to night. As the cafe closes, they say goodbye beneath the glow of a warm streetlight.

He trudges through the fallen snow. His breath comes out in a cloud, and he is flying as he walks. The wind wraps its gentle arms around him, and he smiles.

@flashfictionfridayofficial

[writing-far-too-badly]

Sand of Time

I'm not sure whether to call this more poetry or prose, but it's where my mind went immediately when I read the prompt. I hope you enjoy!

If sand belongs to time, then what belongs to glass? Sand, a liquid of small crystals, can be fused into glass. Glass, a seemingly solid structure, is a slow moving liquid. Each grain of sand is the passing of time. Each piece of glass is meaning entombed forever.

Sand does not become glass unaided. Time passes on without our own intervention. Until it is observed, each parcel of time slides down from an eternal hourglass onto an infinite beach. Without wave, without wind, the pile builds ever on.

Humans, of all that we can be described, are agents of change. In our path, endless quantum superpositions collapse, creating reality as we know it. To be human is to construct shared meaning from the discrete. As bolts of lightning, individual events and moments in time are inextricably linked, tied together evermore.

Even when forgotten, like the first sigh of spring, the sand remembers. A piece of glass, shattered and ground, does not return to the sand that it was. Just as the shards of glass dust remember what they once were, the dust of time remembers the meaning it was assigned.

@flashfictionfridayofficial

[writing-far-too-badly]

FFF 226: Love by Any Other Name

AN: I immediately thought about the fact that some things are different when you refer to them differently, like how a relationship changes as it's defined.

Irene,

I know it's only been a few weeks since we started seeing each other, but I can't keep you out of my head. Every time that we see each other, I feel like I fall just a little bit harder for you. I know letters are kind of old fashioned, but I think that they're kind of cute!

Best,

Girlfriend,

Wow, it's wild to be able to open a letter like that! It feels like it was just yesterday when we started dating! I feel a little weird opening the letter with just girlfriend, but it's still so exciting that I couldn't make myself say anything else.

Yours,

Iri,

Happy one year! I love that I've gotten to spend the last three hundred and sixty five years with you. I'm looking forward to the next three hundred and sixty five, and every one after those.

Love,

Love,

I can't believe that this time next month we'll be married. When you asked me to marry you, I felt the floor drop out from beneath my feet. I had been about to ask you the same thing! It is nice how similar our taste in rings is, at least. If I ever get bored of mine, I guess I can just borrow yours.

All my love,

Dearest,

It feels strange to write you a letter when we're just a few feet away, but I couldn't help myself when I saw how cute you looked while sleeping this morning. It's the first day of our honeymoon, and I'm so glad that we decided to not schedule anything at all. I don't think I could pay attention to any plays or musicals knowing that my wife was sitting next to me.

XOXO,

Wife,

It's hard to believe that we've been married for three years now. At this point, I calculated, we've been married for more than half of the time that we've known each other. I can't wait for when that becomes half of our life.

All my love,

Irene,

It's been a while since I wrote you any letters, and that's on me. I hadn't realized how much you liked them, and I'm sorry that it took meeting with Dr. Franklyn for you to tell me. I want to make this work, but I don't know how to do it alone. I suppose Dr. Franklyn would tell me that I can't do it alone, and that's why we're a partnership.

Yours,

Iri,

I just realized that I haven't called you Iri in, well, honestly, I don't remember how long. When did we stop using pet names?

Love,

Irene,

I can't do this any longer. I feel like I wake up to a stranger every morning. I need some space. I will continue to write, but I need to be somewhere that I don't have to see you every day.

Still choosing you,

Irene,

I don't know. I just don't know anymore.

Yours,

Irene,

I guess this is goodbye.

Best,

@flashfictionfridayofficial

[writing-far-too-badly]

Set the Stage

Thank you for the prompt @flashfictionfridayofficial ! Brought back great memories of working behind the scenes on some shows

the ghost light is the only thing I see until my groping finds and flips the switch somehow the set-up goes without a hitch so closing up, I turn and lock the key the next day lighting shows us what will be the players come and quickly find their pitch the light ops finally find that evil glitch "you think we're ready now?' it's asked to me I look at what our hands have carefully wrought from where they sit, the painting looks like stone the booklet's turned, we're on the final page and just like that, the show we've finally brought and we leave then, the ghost light all alone and when we leave, the actors take our stage

[enchantress-of-words]

The Law of Conservation

[ Conservation refers to a logical thinking ability that allows a person to determine that a certain quantity will remain the same despite adjustment of the container, shape, or apparent size, according to the psychologist Jean Piaget. ]

@original-writing

° ° °

"The point, eyas - is that there is no magic," the Mistress whispers. Her words are quiet and translucent. They remind Student of the wind ruffling through the fallen leaves. "People think we're wizards, but we are not."

"Or are we?" the Echo says, staring into the fire. The Student blinks.

The Mistress lays a coin on the table. "Take it, eyas."

She opens her palm, and the Student stares in awe, seeing two more coins. She looks down at her penny.

"Are we fair, eyas?" the Mistress asks. The Student shakes her head. "And why aren't we?"

"You have two," the Student whispers. "I only have one."

The Mistress hums and snaps her fingers. The Student blinks. In her hand, small and identical, lay two coins. "And now?"

"We're fair," the Student answers, "because now I have two, too."

The Echo giggles. The Mistress shakes her head.

"Look deeper, eyas," she says. "How many coins do you have?"

The students stares at her hand.

"Two," she repeats. Her voice is a mix of wonder and confusion. Mistress lowers herself on the wooden chair.

"Eyes," she says, "tell me: I have a piece of bread, and I split it in two. Do I have more bread now?"

The Students looks back at her hand. Two coins stare at her helplessly. "The amount of bread is the same," she finally answers. "But you split it in two."

"There is a difference between “bread” and “a piece of bread”," the Mistress explains quietly. "You see, eyas, people often confuse the two; people often can't tell them apart. Answer the question now, eyas: are we fair?"

The Student frowns.

The coins are small and made of copper.

"I don't know," she admits. The Mistress nods.

"It's alright, eyas. Take your time."

"You see, eyas - people say magic exists. People say we walk the earth and create bread out of nothing. People say our spells weave matter; they think we hold blessings. But let me tell you, eyas: nothingness can't produce matter. A coin isn't born from other coin: it is melted, and hardened, and polished in the forges of Kings. The magic, eyas, isn't in spells - the magic is in genuine faith; the magic is in people's inability to look deeper, to look beneath the surface. We split the loaf of bread in two, and they think we create a separate one. We move a rope an inch forward and they think we lenghtened it. We pour water into a thinner cup and they think we summoned more."

The Student stares at the Mistress. The Mistress turns to the window, her movements dim and weightless.

"People are kids," the Echo smiles childishly. "They can't tell the difference."

"Our magic lays in faith," the Mistress continues, "in making people believe they get more then they had already."

The Echo moves to the Mistress. "They are so eager to have, so eager to have more - they don't look beneath the reality," it says, and the Mistress pats its hair. The Echo purrs. "And we?"

"We are too sympathetic not to let them have it," the Mistress says. "Reality hates us, because we stretch it, because we let people believe, and as long as they believe, they taste, and see, and feel."

"It's cruel, in a way," Echo admits. "But the humans are happy, and I live."

"You don't," the Mistress cuts it off. Echo grins.

"I don't," it says. Its hair is the same shade as Mistress', and its movements hold the same otherwordliness and the same dim around them The Student shivers.

The Echo smiles, curling in a cat-like ball.

The Mistress sighs.

"Look again, eyas. See a single coin where I placed two."

[writing-far-too-badly]

midnight train

The sky is shifting as the sun spins by From bruised blues to bright and brilliant red I'm sitting here unmoving, rememb'ring what you said Last stop you left, I have to wonder why

This train's the same, in morning, noon, or night And yet it feels so strange to see the stars With streetlights fading as they dim the cars I'm riding all alone beneath moonlight

"The train's the same, but I, I find, am not" That's what you said, at least that's what I caught And what I find on napkins, stained in tears, "The night's too long for day to hide my fears" My thoughts are colored by the scene outside I'd say they aren't but then you'd know I lied

Thanks for the prompt @flashfictionfridayofficial !

[writing-far-too-badly]

Across a Winter Storm

Thanks for the prompt! @flashfictionfridayofficial

The winter storm is stirring up the snow As empty fields of brown get coated soft and white The wind like vipers stings me with its bite And yet I cannot stay, I have to go

Outside, the biting winds in anger blow And shards of glassy ice reflect dim light I walk across this field in starless night The air is pain, far more than ten below

Then in the distance I see candle flame And as I enter, I hear music play I eat a latke, suddenly I'm warm The candles make a bold and joyous claim That "we are here, we live our lives today" And "I am safe despite the raging storm"

[on-noon]

Last Line Tag

i was tagged by: @junypr-camus (x2) @bookish-galaxy (x2) @theauthorinblue @saltysupercomputer

leaving an open tag!

from a little test-write of Countdown to Magic last night (since i wrote six lines of that in the notebook, and i got six tags, you get it all):

I pull Horatio into an empty classroom. "I'm going to expand the magic countdown. In 387 days, 21 hours, 4 minutes and–" I look at my watch "–38 seconds everyone in the square at the time will have magic." "How? That's an ancient and complex spell much too– Wait. Is this a plan to destroy the Mage Society?"

[writing-far-too-badly]

Ooh I really want to know if this is "destroys Mage Society because now an even playing field" or "destroys Mage Society because the magic has to come from somewhere"

[on-noon]

here’s a short story i wrote in response to a writing prompt on reddit about the goddess of love and sex choosing an aroace person as their chosen one:

Alandra walks through my town, then approaches me.

“You. I choose you,” she says.

“Me?” I say. “You’re the deity of love and sex and all that, I’m not a good choice for that.”

The other people look shocked, my dad is covering his face with his hands. My best friend Samlis is trying to contain his giggles.

“You’re the most beautiful in the Kalpo Kingdom. Of course I’d choose you. We’ll have to work on your self-confidence, though.”

“You’re not in charge of beauty though, that I’d understand. It’s that I’ve never had sex, and I don’t know if I’ve fallen in love. Ask someone else,” I say.

“I chose you, though. The only way you can get out of this now is if another deity chooses you, too. Then you could choose who to follow,” Alandra says. I’ve never heard this before, it hasn’t popped up in any of the stories.

“I’ll do that then.”

The next day me and Samlis set out to find Alkanar, Lord of Stories, a minor deity. Plus it gives us an excuse to check out the library in Wonya.

On the road, a group of boys pass by.

“Looking hot!” one says. I roll my eyes. Samlis laughs. Honestly, he seems to think it funny when people are attracted to me, cause he knows I won’t be returning the favor.

Eventually, we come across someone with a wagon, and hitch a ride for the last few miles. The driver is a really nice baker who was visiting her sister, and is now returning to Wonya.

“If you’re from Wonya, do you know much about Alkanar?” I ask, “Is he looking for a Chosen One?”

“He doesn’t have one currently, but he’s very peculiar about who he’ll choose. He says they have to be both interested in stories, have an interesting story, and becoming his Chosen One ‘fits well into their arc’. I once asked him, but he said I’d be more interesting without it.”

When we arrive, Samlis goes to find a hotel for the night, and I head straight to the library. It’s a huge, ugly building, but inside is filled with books

I look through the shelves for Alkanar, but a book about dragons and their history distracts me.

“Enjoying that book?”

“It’s great. Did you know dragons used to choose their leaders by a vote, but then switched to monarchies in imitation of us?” I look up “Alkanar? I came here to look for you. I ask that you would consider me for your Chosen One.”

“Why?” he asks.

“Because I love stories.”

“Your love of stories won’t be affected by being a Chosen One. Why do you want me to choose you?” he asks.

“She doesn’t want to have sex, or date people,” Samlis says, rounding the bookshelf.

“Alandra wants me to be her Chosen One, but as Samlis interrupted, that would be awkward, and she told me the only way I could get out, would be if another deity also chose me. And I like stories, so I thought of you,” I say.

“Not only is that interesting in your story, it might start a conflict between me and Alandra. I’ll choose you,” Alkanar says. “Wait, what’s your name?”

“Thranli. And I accept your request, Alkanar, Lord of Stories.”

[writing-far-too-badly]

I love how the gods here are petty but in a way that doesn't seem actively malicious.

I also *really* love the fact that being aroace is just completely accepted (by the named characters at least)

[e0071d-is-the-best-hex]

Visit Original Link

So I'm not saying that the new Musescore 4 is life changing, but I am 100% kind of saying that.

Is this piece any good from any objective compositional standpoint?

Probably not.

Does it sound way better than the playback of (better) music I've written solely due to the new playback features?

Absolutely.

tl;dr download Musescore4 and make fun music

[thepoetpromptsociety]

Write about a pen that won't write.

[writing-far-too-badly]

I don't know why I keep this pen I've had since I don't know when No ink has flowed from it in years No words of hope or dreams or fears

And yet I cannot throw away This pen that had so much to say I don't recall the ink it placed But write it did, until replaced

[thepoetpromptsociety]

Write an acrostic poem

[huntressandlioness1]

Wild and free the flakes fall

Into my hair and eyelashes.

Nipping at my face and hands

Twirling in the air

Each snowflake a masterpiece

Resting on the ground.

[feline17ff]

Had to look up acrostic 🙃

It's a cool genre pick

Thanks for sharing your talent

Had a nice time in this event

Exquisite taste in poems, dude

Really mean it, my gratitude

Enjoy your sweet, restful, cool retreat :)

[thepoetpromptsociety]

Both brilliant poems!

[writing-far-too-badly]

Really love double acrostics, so tried my best

something in the rhythmic way you nod told me that you have some grand idea and now you pull me to the floor again no words are needed as we move in sync deciding for a moment just to be