Simple short writings that is either a thought or a story to all
Stars blooming onto the sky were originally people, weren't they? Well I wouldn't have a clue, even if it hit me in this old village of mine, I wouldn't have a clue.
Red. Red on snow. There was red on snow everywhere and silence was ringing. There wasn't a trace of human or animal's presence here on the red snow, yet it somewhat could be felt in the air. This place is tainted with red on the crisp, clean snow, having only silence welcoming it.
The sea is raging loud and fiercely, almost as if it was a lover scorned terribly.
Bustling townspeople moving everywhere on this fine morning. They were preparing for the festival that was soon to be here, a peaceful yet joyful occasion that insiders and outsiders could participate in without judgement. It warms my heart to see this excitement, it would be such a shame though if it became a disaster for all.
Standing underneath the willow tree as it neared midnight, I patiently waited for my sister in the pitch darkness so that we both could escape the evil that was the old village. I pray to the Father to give me strength and protection over my sister, I fear for her safety as each fleeting time we see each other, she's covered in bruises and horrible cuts. I am beginning to feel anxious as time is nearing midnight, she will be here soon hopefully. I am just a child of twelve and just the thought of being discovered of what's going to happen scares me. Snap. There's a noise behind me, I turn towards its direction and see a dark shape of a human heading to me. I don't know if it was my sister, so I slowly back away to hide behind the willow's trunk. I never made it as a hand suddenly grabbed my hair and shoved me to the ground. Through the pain, I look up towards the figure whom shoved me. It was Death with the face of my own. Now there was no one at the willow tree when midnight struck the land.
There's a door at the edge of the world. Dare I open it? Or leave it closed and starve off my curiosity? As I ponder this, the door opens.
The ocean clashes against the land, with the it's spray of salted tears raining down on impact.
Around the merry-go-round we go, around the childhood innocence that once was, changes life from slow and detailed to fast and forgettable. Once more around the merry-go-round we go.
One step. One step again. Then take 3 steps to the right, twirl on the spot. Underneath the spotlight of the moon, take a bow along with 5 steps to the left so the stars could join in. Give the best performance for the audience, twirl and take a random number of steps in each direction till the doors slam shut from pity and disgust. One step. Another step again, now bow for the moon as it fades out from daylight. Bow once more.
Time streams are everywhere, you just have to look closely and be patient of when one appears. How do I know? Well, I might of gone through multiple time streams without so much as causing the butterfly effect or damaging any major events. No, I don't travel by a machine nor have fictional means, I just jump straight in and witness the past, present and future of any place in this ugly yet beautiful world. I witness everything from different perspectives, all because I wanted adventure in this life of mine and took the risk to do it.
This world is so loud yet so quiet with the voices of the people speaking at once, showing the ugliness of humanity along with its beauty in complete honesty.
Our planet, once so peaceful and a haven to all, is now war-zone for it's inhabitants and free-for-all for the outcasts. Why must this happen? The greed and lust of all species stab all those who don't want any part in this, and now the planet my family and I grew on from 12 generations is now unrecognizable to us. This is heart-breaking.
Glass was shattering around me in complete disarray and there was nothing to be done. All that could be done was to stare into the gaps of the glass rain and wish that time would stop for a brief second, just for one second so I could rebuild myself. Rebuild what, you may ask? Rebuild that glass heart that is raining around me.
One line. Just one line, come on just write one line. The pen is clutched in your hand and the paper is blankly staring at you, almost as if it was urging you to just write. So what are you going to do?
Just put the pen to the paper and start with one word. It doesn't matter what word, any word that first pops into mind to grace the empty page and then write the next word, then the next one and the next one.
It doesn't make sense? Look at the words and what is written, rearrange their positions and add more words to make it coherent. And there you have it, you have written one line which turned into a paragraph.
I love and hate dreaming. I love dreaming because all sweet things that are promised is here, and imagination blossoms into life. I hate dreaming because all the sweet things that are promised is ripped away swiftly, and imagination turns into poison of cynical reality.
Sleeping angel dreams of pleasant peace, yet the reality of human life differs. Just as the sleeping angel wakes up, all is different with nothing the same.