A little story fragment.

Clarey Kensington, a bright seventeen year old girl from Minnesota, stood on the front porch of the so-called Tennessee Timberwell Boarding  School.  She held her hand to her eyes as a shade from the sun, and looked up at the strange decor that stood vigil above the entrance.  A welded iron circle here, a trident there.

Her Lexus CT was parked crookedly on the dirt driveway.  She should have gotten gas fifteen miles ago, when she saw her tank was low.  Now she was trapped, unless she could find some way to get fuel.  Hers appeared to be the only car at the residence.

“Is this where I’m supposed to be?”  She frowned in confusion, but knocked on the door.  It was a small wooden house, and the only indication that this was the right place was a rusted sign that hung on a long stake by the road.  The place reminded her of ashes from a campfire. Her frown turned to a polite smile as an old woman opened the dark wooden door.  The old woman peered at her with dark brown eyes.

“Little lovely, what’s your name?”  She said, and spoke to someone in the house:  “Harold, a girl is here!”  Her voice was the color of warm brass and thick with accent.

“I’m, uh, Clarey,” the northern girl managed. “Is this Timberwell?”

“Sure is.  Oh honey, it’s swelterin’ out there.  Won’t you come in?” The woman asked.

Clarey accepted and followed to the kitchen, where she sat down on one of two metal chairs in the same fashion as the decor outside.  “What’s your name, miss?”  She inquired.

The old woman laughed and said, “It’s been a while since anyone’s called me that, but I like it.  You can call me Miss Maisie.”

Maisie…  The name was nice, like a wheat field in September.

 

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Character Development: Derek

What he throws away:

lyrics on crumpled paper, thoughts, flyers for events he’s gone to already, abstract concepts, his own internal crazy things that weren’t quite up to par, lists.

A paragraph(ish) hopefully in Derek’s voice:

“…After the movie, we went to this place called Joe’s pizza.  Just a couple other places after that.  It was great to see him.  You really should write something.  Besides, all my work stinks anyway.  Ha.

Another few sentences:  (really in Derek’s voice this time)

“Work stinks anyway.  Since you’re free, why don’t ya come over?  I’d tell you all ’bout that trip to Six Flags if you want.”

French Révolution: Poetry

Henry_Singleton_the_Storming_of_the_Bastille
(Henry Singleton) Storming of the Bastille

Carpe diem!  Today, we strike!

Cheers fill the streets so violently

as a smile fills my bloodstained face.

Revolution!

Waving the flag around

rush through the air as we

storm the tower

and reclaim what is ours.

Peace! Finality! Bread!

Storm the tower,

no wound too strong,

keep fighting!

Fight!

Fight for your freedom,

friends!

Dying around me,

bodies fill the streets and blood rushes through the

gutters.

Imagine!

Freed from poverty and famine!

Storm the Bastille,

and start to rid us of that bane that is

the royalty!

Abolish

those three estates!

And let the blood that flows in the gutter

be no longer of the sans-culottes,

but of those who have wronged and

controlled us for too long!

Liberté!

Égalité!

Fraternité!

Révolution!

 


 

~Winter

I run through the newly fallen snow.

My heart beats heavy in my chest.

I hear a loud thump.  Freeze.  Don’t even breathe.

The cold air is sharp in my lungs.

The forest is still.

I take a risk.  Move.  Turn my head.

It was only the snow from the branches of a tree.

Run.  Faster.  Exhaustion soon.

Lights in the distance.  Village.

I’m not going to be caught.  Turn.

Begin to run.  Wait.

I left it there.

I run back.  Move snow.  Eventually, move dirt.

Dig…  Quickly.  I hear them.

Silently making their ways through.

I am the Wolf.

;)~Mouse

Today is the first snow.  I was compelled to write.

 

25

NaBloPoMo: Day 25

Hello my people! :D

~

I am writing a book, as you may or may not know, and it’s hard for some to keep track of what their story really is…  A Novelette?  A Novella?  Simply a short story?  An actual Novel?  Well guess no more!  Here, all you need is Word Count.  :)  I found this one day on pinterest and I had to share this with you.

wordcount

 

 

 

=3  Hope this helps all of my fellow writers out there!

;)~Mouse

20

NaBloPoMo: Day 20

10 days left!

~

Hey!  :D  Looking around the internet yesterday, and I realized:  There are some pretty cool blogs out there!  So if you’re looking or some to read, or some to follow, feel free to check out my recommendations below.  :)

rumpydog.com —  This is an awesome blog!  It’s often funny and cute.  Told from the viewpoints of various animals, it takes a look at a lot of aspects of animal life today, all over the world.

storybookforest.wordpress.com —  Also cool.  Here you can find posts about life, poetry, and art…  Along with heaps of cool fashion and pretty designs.  It’s pretty diverse. :)

gizmosandgears.wordpress.com — This new blog is about a lot of things.  It’s told by a young inventor in his tweens.  It’s very out-of-the-box. :)

ilovegreeninspiration.com — One of most favorite.  This creative fashion blog has new posts very often.  I think it can be very inspiring.  :)

dailypost.wordpress.com  — But of course!  The daily post.  This blog is hard not to miss.  It’s absolutely 100%  full-to-the-brim with blogging inspiration!  If you’re finding yourself struggling for a topic to write about, I suggest you visit this site.  :)

That’s all for now.  :)

;)~Mouse

—P.S. — Oh yeah!  (sorry, guys!)  I Forgot one.  http://bucketlistpublications.org/  I find this blog has the most amazing photography.  :)  ([Also, it has some great things to add to your bucket list]) This is a great site to visit on your stroll of the internet. :)

2.6 or The Association

Yes.  I’m posting again.  I write everything on my blog myself, except for if it says not.  Here we go again!  Another story…  You won’t read it, but yeah.

 

I live in a world where there is no in between, no black and white. No grey area. Everyone must master perfection. Or else, be recycled. There are the model citizens, and the unwanted.  At the age of thirteen we are tested to see which category we fall into.  What happens to the unwanted? No one really knows. They are sent away by the leaders to be recycled. I am frightened. Up until this point everything has always premeditated. They have always known.  These are my people. Wait for me, I tell them. Wait for me.

Chapter 1 : Hazard

“Wake up!” I feel hands on my shoulders. I want desperately to slip back into the folds of sleep. Then some part of me remembers. Association day.  Could that already be today? Charlotte pulls back the covers. The air inside the house is freezing. The middle of January. I hate the cold weather. “If you don’t hurry up, you’ll be late!” Somehow, I feel, unexplainably, numb. “All right, all right. Be up in five minutes.” I say. “You better be.” She makes sure I’m out of bed, then leaves me to dress and prepare for the day. I wish it wasn’t today.  A shiver runs up my spine when I think of the D- I brought home two weeks ago. The teaching attendant said that when I took my association test, all of my grades for the past thirteen years would take a great part. As I dress in the expected, hair pinned back with bobby pins,  and slip the ruffled floor length dress over my head, I think of Charlotte’s association, only 2 years earlier. She had been scared, too. Like me.
“Rose?” I hear from the other room. “You haven’t forgotten about today, have you?” My father. He was a tailor, as placed on his 18th passage. ”No, Dad.” I call down the hall. As I open my door, I see him.  Suit and tie. He had even straightened his curly hair. This came as a little bit of a surprise, since he had not done that since, well, since before me. “You look good.” He says, and his eyes widen a little bit. “I don’t feel that way.” I say with a grimace. “I’ve never worn heels before.” He laughs. “ You’ll do great! I know you will.” I have to. My mother comes down the now crowded hallway, with my sister. “Darling, you look wonderful.” She says.
When we’re in the car, I lean toward Charlotte. “What will happen?“ I say. I hear they draw blood. “I’m scared.“ “Oh, it’s nothing to be worried about.” She says, with a small bit of annoyance flickering in her eyes, for this is not the first time I have asked. “They just call your name, prick your finger, ask you questions, and look at your present state of health.“ Charlotte looks unconcerned. “If you fit the bill, which I’m sure you do, they announce you a model citizen. Then they give you new clothes and undergarments,” She studies me for a moment, then looks away. ”and then you leave the stage.” She hesitates, and keeps her eyes fixed on the floorboards.  “I was sworn not to tell of the last part.” This appalls me. In that instant, my mind conjures up all of the horrible possibilities, then settles on a disturbingly distinct one.
My mother sighs. So she has been listening to our conversation. “Charlotte, Why must you over-complicate things?” What could she mean? ”I was only being truthful…” My sister trails off. ”What does she mean?” I say to my sister. She talks quick, and low, so that our mother and father cannot hear. “When they take you in the backroom, you read a list of rules, and you must abide by them. They are different for each person, and so are the punishments for breaking them. There are warnings, and other things. You cannot tell anyone what you see.” Her words hang in the air. Why, I wonder. Why?
When we get to the Eagle building, I feel the jitters coming back. Apparently so does my mother because she says “Don’t worry. We can go home soon.” A group of other girls my age are close by. Most are talking, laughing. But there are those few that have solemn faces, trembling just the slightest bit. My mother tells me to go to them, and I do. It is when I am there, however, when the noise dies down. We enter the auditorium where the passages and associations are done. As we stand with our group, whispered truths and lies make their way through the crowd. “They cut off limbs?” One girl asks another. “No, but they do implant a microchip.” What? That’s crazy. They just prick your finger.” “How do you know whats in that needle?! They aren’t allowed to tell us! ” “I heard it from a sympathetic Associator.” “I hear they take brain samples.” All of a sudden, a girl in a cricket green dress next to me starts to cough, and whimpers that she feels nauseated and cannot see clearly; Preassociational illnesses like this are never a good sign. Even though it’s against the rules to do this, I take my jacket from my bag, and wrap it around her. She stops shivering, and bends her knees to crouch in the space that we have. She looks up at me. “Thank you.” What she says next shocks me. “But I probably won’t be around here much longer.” “Don’t say that! Of course you will.” She stands up and hands me my jacket back. She still does not look well. “Goodbye, Roslia.” She moves away from me. How did she know my name? What was hers? This is just getting weirder by the second, I thought.
Interrupting my thoughts, I see a boy from the opposite side of the auditorium catch my eye. He does not look away. I am struck by his appearance, dark green eyes, short, spiked, black hair. He mouthes a word I can’t understand from this distance; It must be 40 feet across.  He must realize that I can’t understand him because he looks down and swears. What is he doing? We aren’t allowed to talk until after our association. Should I call him out on it? That was normal producure. He looks at me again, and puts a finger to his lips, a motion for me to be quiet.
Up on stage, they start the speech. “To this day, our fathers, and forefathers have gone through the processes of passage and association,  for a purity of society.  It is so important and crucial not to overpopulate, especially with those unfit.  We already have limited resources.  Our ancestors took so much from this planet…“ They go through the rest, although my mind is somewhere else. Who was that girl? That boy? How did she know my name? What did he say? A million more thoughts at once run through my head, but they stop when I realize the speech has ended.

;)~Mouse

Happy Halloween! Omg, Tomorrow’s Actually The First Day Of NaBloPoMo

As incredibly long titles go, this is a very true one.  November!  The leaves have already started to say goodbye to their trees, blowing away on the frosty October winds…  The birds fly south, away from the coming cold.  Forever in a circle of time.  This day, spirits walk the Earth.  Both dark and light.  Monsters and angels.  Fairies dance around old oak trees, singing a song of ages.  Pixies devilishly laugh and continue their trickery.  A human child walks from door to next door, threatening and receiving sweet morsels.  Chocolate, raspberry, lime, and cherry, among others.  Jack O’ Lantern smiling up and grimacing down.  But the question now is how do you know which are children and which are spirits?  Truly, you don’t.

 

~

 

Happy Hallowe’en.

 

 

;)~Mouse

Frost

Alas!  How the October winds blow…   Rustling leaves, bringing frost and cold.  Turning the green.  A wanderer walking though frostily winds bite deep.  The sun sinks lower on the horizon…  The jack-o-lanterns begin to light!  Hallowe’en is close at hand.  Spirits cross the bridge between our worlds!  The wanderer is a small boy.  He wraps his threadbare cloak tighter around himself, digging his walking staff into the freezing ground.  His nose is red like the leaves.  His other hand clutching one, small, tin soldier.  Cold…  Colder…   This is how he felt as he cut a path through this old oaken forest.

 

Exactly 100 words!  :D

 

~ Mousepaw

The Middle

I walked briskly through the night.  All my expectations had been dashed.  The stillness of the air around me highlighted the pounding of my heart.  I could feel the tears staining my cheeks.  My hair still pulled back, unabashedly showing my face.  If anything came too close to me, I would kill it. I was almost wishing some unfortunate being would cross my path, here in the moonlight of this darkened wood.  Cutting my thoughts short, I heard a sickening crunch beside me.  I whipped around, perhaps I’d get my wish.  A lean, grey, she-wolf stood there, watching me walk closer.  Judging by her size, I could take her down.    The wolf looked surprised in the few moments before I had her leg in my grip.  She turned angrily, knocking me on my back.  I screamed and she took a hit to the nose.  She bit me again.   Why did this miserable animal exist?  Minutes later, the wolf had her jaws around my face.  If I moved, she would kill me.  All my muscles tensed, I didn’t dare gasp for breath.  I felt her teeth biting down on me harder.  I was bleeding.  Instinct kicked in, and I used all of my strength to rip away from her.  Various spots on my face exploded with pain.  I got to my feet, all aspects of the earlier catastrophe forgotten.  The wolf, instead of lunging, turned and ran into the darkness.  I just looked down at the piling leaves upon the ground.  I fell to my knees with the memories that were flooding back.  The dinner.  All those people.  The complete sureness radiating from my parents and I.  The lights dimming.  The card-reading woman speaking.  We knew what it was supposed to be, of course.  We’d written it ourselves!  I remember laughing at the thought.  Thinking they were so stupid.  That we could re-write it and not even have them notice.  But when the card-reading woman opened the envelope determining who would continue the reign, my parents or a different successor, it wasn’t like they’d written.  We’d lost the throne.  Papa broke his glass when she read the name from the card.  All of a sudden, we were nothing.  The guards came in.  ”Escorts” they said, “Nothing to worry about,” they said.  I just ran.  I wonder what they’re saying now!  Now, when they can no longer blackmail the card-writers…  A dark thought came into my head.  One probably true.  The card-writers have undoubtedly let out how we’ve been in reign for so long.  Revenge is theirs.  I crumple into a ball.   I realize I’ve started to cry gentle tears.  I wipe them from my face and stand.  I can’t go back, I think.  Besides, I’m lost.  Lost in the woods.  Like in the old stories.  One in particular settles in my mind.  An heiress, lost far away in a thick forest.  She’s then trapped in a tower, where she falls to sleep and shall never awaken…  I don’t remember how the rest goes, but it doesn’t matter.  I am not an heiress anymore…..  I can’t go back, they’ll execute me.  I’m guilty by association…

The realization dawns.  I have to run.

And so I do.  I am very grateful for the fact I did not choose a dress to wear for the dinner as I tear through the trees away from the palace.  East.  Hours later, my muscles tired and sore, I can see the light beginning to come back.  Again, the snatches of overheard stories running through my head.  They say if you run East long enough, you’ll reach the Glowing Mountain of the Gods.  Do I believe the stories?  I can’t decide.  The Glowing Mountain is undeniably real.  You can see it in the sky as it passes over each day.  But to run long enough to catch it?

~

I know it’s a cliffhanger…

But hey, what do you think happens next?  Where does she go?  What happens?  …Could she ever reach the Glowing Mountain?

Tell me what you think?  Please?

~ Mousepaw:)