BYU Writing Contest

Everyone in Writer's Club is good enough to do this, even though I don't guarantee winning. Deadline is Jan. 31... enjoy! http://english.byu.edu/contests

Blackened Eyes

Eugh, all my poems end up seeming so depressing.

Don't leave me behind, December
Don't end beyond my reach
Don't miss the wish you wanted
Or forget any lessons you teach

Tapping out silent rythms
On the other side of the state
The only way I know to find you
Is after I find it's to late

The bruises and blackened eyes
Reddened with fights we've won
And the signs the good is fading
Are missing when our time is done

And the death of the innocent artist
And the birth of a psychotic rant
And the life of a long lost lover
And the skeptics who said we can't

Don't leave me behind, remember
Don't fade in the curtain call
Don't hide behind hours and days
Before the time will come for us all

And the end of a created wonder
And the start of a God of the rose
And the spark on a trail of powder
And the fire at the end of the shows

Indian Chant Song

So, this was for History class, but I'm sort of proud of it, so I thought, since we've all died slow, painless, literary deaths, that I'd post this like some sort of pulse--like a sleeping bear during hibernation, whose heart only beats eight times a minute; its alive, but only just. We are a hibernating bear, at least ciber-speaking. This is to prove we are not dead. Yet.

Fire Demons

Like fire, came White Man
Like fire, came White Man
Like embers under White ashes
Came the White Man years ago

He came small and weak,
Like wind blow could him out
As we tried to blow him out
He only grew bigger

Now he is big,
And consumes everything
Like fire in the grass
Fire that does not spare

With Demon Fire
He burns even great stone.
Like angry thunder
He burns through mountains

He flies in Fire Demons
It screams and roars
On a trail of bones
That scars our lands

The Fire Demons bring him
In their bellies of smoke
Like the smoke in his pipe
That burns the sky

With Fire demons,
Come stranger White Men
From many different lands
They, too, were burned

But they do not flee the fire,
But become the fire
They burn as they were burned
And they will not be quenched

White Man spreads across the plains
Like fire in the wind
His spotted cows
Burn the ground they eat

The spotted cow,
As fiery as the Man
That chases them,
Consume the Buffalo grass

White Man must always eat to burn
So He kills every Buffalo,
Thunderous, he fires
And leaves to smolder

The Buffalo have fled
As they would great fire
And we now flee
As if from great fire

Now all is black
Charred and black
The White Man has nothing
More to burn

White Man is fire
We are the ashes
That are blown by wind
Away to new lands

The Hidden Pool

This took me two hours to type up, so you'd all better like it. This is a story written by my cousin. Just so you know, I'd probably rate it PG-13. But it's a brilliant read, so enjoy!

The Hidden Pool
By Connor Davidson

Jared bounded across the yellow sand, racing the seagulls to his family's site on the beach. He didn't mind the dozens of other parties that shared the bright California shore. The soft and constant drone of the tide lulled the beachgoers to sleep, but Jared was wide awake, filled with childish engery. He screeched to a sudden halt next to Chris. The tanning thirteen-year-old did not appreciate the sudden disruption of his nap as Jared's feet kicked a cloud of sand into his face.
"Jared! If you weren't my cousin, I'd whip you with my towel!" He spat the dirt out of his mouthand wiped it from his eyes. He glared at the beaming shild wasn't even ten yet. The charming, innocent smile disarmed him quickly.
"Hey, Chris! Oh... I'm sorry if I'm bothering you."
"No, no, it's fine," Chris lied.
"Where are Derek and Jerry?" Jared asked.
Chris squinted from the bright sun's reflection on the blue water. "They're out there swimming."
"Aren't you supposed to be watching them?"
"No, my mom is."
"Oh, well... you want to see what I found?"
Chris sighed. "Look, Jared, I just want to relax. Could you leave me alone for the rest of the day?"
Jared cocked his head, "Are you mad?"
"Not really, but I don't really care what seashells or animals you found. I want to enjoy the sun for a while."
"Well, the sun's just as nice over there..."
"Thanks, but no thanks."
The smile on Jared's face diminished. He flanced around at the other family members and sighed. It was no use... If Chris wasn't interested, the adults sure wouldn't be.
He left his cousin, who plugged his music headphones in and continued sunbathing. Walking towards the vast expanse of blue, Jared searched for his younger kin.
Derek and Jerry were busy splashing each other inder the watch of Aunt Clair. The giggled and shouted, heedless of the irritated ladies nearby who did not appreciate their splashing; growling and guiding their children away from them. The boys stopped when they heard Jared call them and waded to the shore. Derek of Jared's younger brother by almost two years, but not quite. Jerry was their cousin, yet due to his closer age to Derek, he considered himself his best friend.
Jared made the rest of the distance to them, kicking up water as he ran.
"Hey guys, I found something really cool," he said.
"What is it?" Derek asked.
"I'll show you."
"What about Aunt Clair?" Jerry asked.
"She won't mind... it's not far," Jared assured.
The others began to follow him when Aunt Clair hurried over. "hey, you boys," she called, "where are you going?"
Jared turned around. "I found something cool I want to show them. We'll be back."
"I don't want to going off alone. Where is this cool thing?"
"Just past the marina," Jared pointed to the nearby motorboats down the beach.
"Have Chris go with you," Aunt Clair demanded.
"Alright, alright..." Jared sighed. He turned the younger boys, "Come on, I'll show you."
They made as thought they were going towards Chris, but when Aunt Clair turned back, the trio scampered off towards the marina, as the had no desire to bother Chris again.
They ran past the boats, admiring some of the more expensive and lavish ones. "I'd like to be on the water in a boat like that," Jared pointed to a smooth, sleek, blue sppedboat that sat entirely alone. Someone must have spent a life's fortune for such a beautiful watercraft.
When Jared led them past the marine, they paused. There were mountains of great gray rocks, as if a massive truck had dropped a load of over sized gravel next to the coast.
"Well," Derek started, "where is it?"
"Follow me, "Jared responded.
They climbed the rocks slowly, being careful not to slip. Jerry scatter the brood of gulls on one of the larger stones. Soon they reached the top of the highest mound and looked down.
There below was a small little bay, almost completely surrounded by the walls of stone. There was a small little mouth that allowed the water to enter in. The bay was about the size of an average swimming pool and about as deep. The water was calm and clear, undisturbed by the shifting tide of the outer ocean.
"Wow!" Derek exclaimed. "It's a perfect little private pool!"
"I know, it's incredible," Jared said. "Think of the awesome games we could play, away from peepers."
"What about this?" Jerry pointed to a sign that read WARNING. It was a caution sign declaring the pool was off limits.
"So what?" Jared asked. "It's not like there's anyone around to enforce it."
"I don't see anything wrong down there," Derek agreed.
"Well, neither do I... But what if there are sharks?"
"Do you see any sharks? Or warnings about sharks on the sign?"
"No, but..."
"Are you afraid?" asked Derek.
"No!"
Jared patted Jerry's shoulder. "There's nothing wrong down there, and there's nobody around. Let's go have some fun down there, without anyone bothering us."
"But what would our parents say?"
"They don't have to find out," Derek proposed.
"What if we get hurt?"
"Jerry, nobody's going to get hurt," Jared assured. "We'll be careful. Come on, let's play something."
"We'll play whatever you want to," Derek added.
"Okay then..." Jerry thought for a moment. "We'll play shark attack."
With a cheer of agreement, the boys rushed down into the pool. It was just like a swimming pool: it started with a shallow end and progressively got deeper towards the mouth of the ocean. The water was not stagnant; instead it was cool and crisp, as if it had been used many times before.
For nearly an hour, they hollered and laughed as they swan from one side of the pool to the other, then back. Jared played the part of the "shark" and the other two boys tried to swim as fast as they could across the bay without getting their feet grabbed. Derek and Jerry giggled and jeered, taunting Jared to swim faster to catch them, and he gleefully complied. None of the boys thought anybody was near, nor did they notice the shape entering the eddy below the surface.
As the boys continued their game, they came closer to the mouth of the pool and the mysterious creature below. It was not until Derek cried out that he felt something brush against his leg that they became observant of their surroundings.
"What was it? A fish?" Jared asked.
Derek shook his head. "It felt bigger."
Jerry was suddenly anxious. "Maybe we should leave now," he mumbled. "What is it's a shark?"
Jared thought for a moment. "Wait," he began, "if it was dangerous, wouldn't it have attacked already?"
"Then what do you think it is?"
The older boy didn't answer. He saw a flash of movement in the water out of the corner of his eye. When he turned to examine if, there was mothing. Jared's eyes scanned the water. He too was nervous, though he worked hard on concealing it. There was a tiny sound of a ripple behind him. He twisted around swiftly; yet again he found absolutely nothing. Derek and Jared were starting to whimper softly.
"Hey guys, I don't think there's anything here. Let's not worry about it. how about..."
A mighty splash exploded behind him and the two other boys cried out in alarm. Jared felt like someone dumped a bucket of water on him. He twirled about, hoping to ward of an ambush. What he saw gave him a greater start.
It was a girl, about all of their same age. She was fair skinned with long, shimmering, soft blond hair.
Jared thought his eyes were tricking him as he pulled his soaked black hair from his eyes. But when he shook his head and rubbed his eyes, the bright and cheery face of the strange girl was still before him.
"Ummm...Jared stuttered, "Hello?"
"Hi there," she grinned, sincere and friendly.
"What are you doing here?" Derek asked. "This place is supposed to be banned>"
"Well, you're here," the girl countered. "I don't stick well to the rules of adults."
"Apparently, neither do we," Jerry said.
The girl giggled. "Who are you guys?"
Jared relaxed, the stranger was obviously being friendly. "I'l Jared Andersen. This is my brother Derek, and my cousin Jerry."
"Well, hi, Jared, and Derek, and Jerry. My name's Selene." She laid herself back, reclining in the water. Then her tail bagen to break through the surface... Tail?
"Oh my!" Derek cried out.
"You're... a mermaid?" Jared asked.
"Well of course I am," Selene responded. "What did you expect? A human girl?"
"Uhh..." the boys all gaped and blubbered.
The mermaid raised her tail higher, letting the boys better see her sparkling green scales, like emeralds. From the waist up, she the same as any normal girl, wearing a bright blue bikini also made of fish scales. There where legs should be, t was a long, smooth tail with white fins. The trio remained motionless, enchanted by each glitter of skin. It was nothing they had ever seen before, except in those movies, of course.
"Well, if you're done looking at me," the mermaid said, "do you think you have room for another playmate?"
The boys nodded slowly, still regaining their senses. Eventually they found their voices and their playfulness, amending their game to fit their new member. The the rest of the day they played and laughed and splashed, far from the eyes of anyone.

What at last they saw the sun sinking into the sea, the boys realized they were long overdue to let their family know where they were.
"Oh dear," Jerry moaned, "We're going to be in big trouble."
"I doubt anyone will miss us," Derek said.
"Chris sure won't," Jared added.
"All the same," said Jerry, "I think we need to get back."
"Do you really have to go?"
Jared sighed. "Yeah, we have to go."
All of them moaned and disappointment filled their eyes. They looked mournfuly at each other for several moments.
"Will you be back soon?" Selene inquired.
"I don't know," Derek answered. "Chris lives here at the coast, but we all live inland, in Colorado."
"Oh," the girl sighed. "So I won't be seeing you again?"
"Yes you will," Jared responded. "We'll come back, I'm sure of it.We can't forget such a fun day, or our new friend."
"No way," Jerry concurred. "We'll be back, maybe next summer."
"I guess I'll wait 'till then," Selene smiled hopefully.
The boys said their goodbyes, exited the water and hiked their way up the rocks. Selene waved to them, and then disappeared beneath the water and out the mouth of the bay. The sun fell below the horizon and set, not only on the world, but on the innocence of the happy children.

Seven years later...
Jared slammed the front door after himself. The crash echoed throughout the house. The silverware and chine on display rattled precariously on their hooks. Silence followed or a moment until Jared stomped his way up the stairs to his room.
"Something wrong?" Aunt Clair asked. Jared's response was a slam of his bedroom door.
Derek looked up from the computer. Jared had often come home late from school in a foul mood, but the intensity of the slamming doors meant that today was profoundly worse. He paused his game and walked up the stairs, then knocked on the door tentatively.
"What do you want?" Jared barked through the door.
"It's me," Derek answered. "You want to talk?"
"If my door is locked, does it look like I want to talk?"
"Come on Jared, we could always talk."
"But usually it was always me comforting you with your problems."
"Well, maybe it could be my turn for a while." Derek waited for a few minutes, and then the click of a door being unlocked followed. Jared opened the door softly. His face was red with tears and dried blood.
"Jared!" Derek exclaimed. "What happened?"
"I failed my test."
"Why are you bleeding?"
"That's something I'd rather not discuss. Come on in..."
Derek stepped into the room. To his surprise, it was a huge mess. Jared had always been so tidy. TO see his clothes and papers all over in such a manner was most distressing.
"So, what happened?" Derek looked again at his older brother ragged face.
Jared sighed, "I stayed after school to take the test again."
"The one for college?"
"Yeah, that one. I know I could do it, I'm smart enough. I know all the concepts... But for some reason I just struggled. I'm pretty sure I failed."
"Oh, come one, Jared, I know you did fine."
"not good enough. Not as good as I know I can be. I want to be able to go to a good school, away from..."
"Away from all of us?" Derek looked concerned.
"Just away from Aunt Clair. It's not like I wanted to live with her since..."
"Stop it! You always told me to be grateful for her since they died. Now I'm telling you. If it weren't for her charity, where would we be?"
"I won't have my fifteen-year-old brother spit my own words back at me! Yes, Clair was certainly kind enough, but its not like we were made welcome. Especially with Chris..."
"Yeah, well, nobody knows where he is now, so don't worry about him any more. So that all explains the issue with the test... What about your... face?"
"I told you I don't want to talk about it."
"Come on Jared, I always told you my problems..."
"Hah! I highly doubt that. But, if it will make you stop lecturing, I'll tell. I got in a fight with Jeremy Robins."
"Jared! That buy's huge! Why would you do that?"
"You think I started it? I simply asked Anna a question; I didn't know she was his current girlfriend."
"His car is his girlfriend. His girl is his ride."
Jared almost smiled, but didn't. "Whatever. I know all about him."
"Well, did the school do anything?"
"It was off school grounds and long past time school ended. Nobody could have done anything if they were even around."
"So, what? You just come home after... that?"
"If you could call this home," Jared snorted.
"Jared..."
"No! Stop it! I'm sick of this, I'm sick of everything! Just get out and leave me alone!"
Derek obeyed. He walked out and closed the door quietly behind him. Clair was coming up the stairs. "What's wrong with Jared?" she asked.
"He's had a really bad day. I guess he'll talk more after he's cooled down."
Clair bought his lie. "Alright then, but make sure he knows when dinner is ready." As she walked away, Derek grumbled, "I wonder if he will even eat today."
Derek went downstairs shut down the computer and went into his room. Small tears began to wet his eyes. Jared was having it bad. He had taken the entire burden on himself when... It wasn't fair. None of it was fair. Only a day before they were having fun on the beach--he couldn't remember what they were doing--with no troubles at all. Afterwards, their entire world was shattered.

Jared sat silently, soaking in the loneliness of his room. His neatness had diminished, everything was a mess, but he didn't care. Other kids had rooms like this and they seemed to function just fine.
He stared silently at the blankness of the room, now seeming to be full of absolutely nothing worthwhile. His eyes turned outwards to the window. Out beyond Los Angeles and its lesser cities, the massive blue blanket stretched out into infinity, Having lived in Colorado for the first half of his life, the ocean remained a strange and foreign thing to him. It was absolutely huge, beyond anything he had ever seen before. He was amazed all the these people who lived next to it all the time took it for granted.
A car rolling into Clair's house caught his eye. It was shabby, an old taxi with a desperate need for new pain. it noisily came to a stop and the back door opened wide. out stumbled a tall man with greasy hair and dirty clothes. Jared scowled. Who was this?
He paid the driver a couple of bills and swaggered toward the house as the car drove off. When Jared saw is face, his scowl turned into a deathly glare. After more than a year of disappearing into nowhere, his cousin Chris was back.

Without knocking, Chris sloppily strode in shouting to the whole household, "Lucy, I'm home!"
Derek and Jared scoffed. What a terrible cliche. Apparently Chris had not gained a sense of originality while he was away.he also seemed to have forgotten the concept of showering or washing. Chris looked like one of those bums from downtown L.A., which he probably was. He sure smelled like one of them, and his attitude was certainly worse.
"Ah! I see my little cousins are still here... Haven't gotten around to applying for a job yet?"
"It doesn't look like you're doing too well yourself," Jared growled.
Chris smiled like the drunken fool he obviously was. "Yeah, well, at least I have been out in the real world."
"You know we're still in school, right?" Derek asked spitefully.
"Oh, right. Still in the high school phase, of course."
Aunt Clair came down the stairs, both irritate and ecstatic. "Chris, my boy, where in the world have you been?"
"Oh, Mom, I've been in town this whole time. Got myself some work and an apartment."
"So now you've decided to visit your dear old mother?"
"Well, sort of... I've kind of hit a rough patch in my life, and, well, I kind of need a place to stay."
"Oh," Clair paused, "I see... Well, you can have your old room again. There are a few things stored in there... But you can move them."
"Thanks, Mom," the twenty-year-old smiled.
The bum went into his room, having absolutely no luggage of his own. Derek and Jared walked slowly upstairs.
"Well, this day just keeps getting better," Jared whispered.
"He doesn't look very good."
"Hus looks aren't the worst thing about him," Jared corrected, He shivered in disgust. "I suddenly feel like going to bed."
"What about your homework?"
"Don't have any... Never really do."
"Well, isn't that something to be grateful for?"
"Shut up."
Derek was silent until they parted and entered their separate rooms. The sun was just setting, but for the both of them, the day was long past time to end.

Jared and Derek came home together from school, forsaking any social interaction. They walked through the door to find an unfamiliar, yet much expected sight. Chris lay strewn about on the den's couch, snoring away. Empty cans of beer and soda littered the floor, accompanied by dumped out bags of junk food.
"Huh," Jared flared. "Looks like Chris hasn't changed at all."
"Come one, Jared, ignore him."
"If he continues like this, nobody will have any food in this house, or any place relax."
"Jared," Derek began to change the subject. "Ca I ask your opinion about something?"
The elder brother's attention shifted to his sibling. "What? Let's go up to your room and talk."
When they had closed the door, Derek sat on his bed and Jared leaned against the closet.
"Well, what is it?"
Derek hesitated, wondering how he should word his thoughts. He decided to come straight out with it. "I want to go out for football."
Jared said nothing for a while, not sure he heard him clearly. "What was that?"
"I'm big enough, and I always like playing it with my friends in the park. I want to try high school football. What do you think?"
His brother shook his head in disbelief. "What do I think? Do you have any idea what you would be doing? Do you know what those jocks are like? they will tear you apart."
"Derek frowned. "I'm a big guy, I could take them."
"Do you have any idea what you'd be doing?" Jared repeated.
"Yeah, well, sort of... But that's just it,I want to learn. I think it would be a lot of fun."
"I doubt it. People like Jeremy have been playing in those leagues since they were three. You can't expect to suddenly just join the club without any background."
"I don't think it would be like that..."
"No? I'm a senior, Derek; I've been at the school a lot onger than you. I know how it all works there. I know how the other students are. You don't ahve a chance."
"But..."
"Do everyone a favor and save us all a bunch of grief. Don't do it, Derek. Don't leave yourself so open and vulnerable. Your life will be a lot easier for it."
"But I might regret how much fun it would be."
"Fun? Are you so naive?"
Derek's frown had grown a lot larger than Jared's. "I asked for your thoughts, Jared, and I guess I've got them now. You don't ahve to like it, but I'd really appreciate it if you could be supportive."
"Whatever," Jared shrugged carelessly.
"Mom and Dad would support my attempt."
"And guess what? They're gone."
"Jerry would, too."
"He's gone, too. You know that."
Derek rose. "I know you're upset, but don't you dare talk about them so thoughtlessly."
"Me? You're the one who brought them up. Don't you think I miss them, too? Don't you think I'm a wreck after it all?"
Derek's poise grew strong and erest in defiance and command. "We have nothing more to discuss. Now you leave!"
"Fine by me," Jared shrugged after he had turned and opened the door. When he was gone into his own room, Derek threw his head into his pillow and bawled.

The next week passed in misery and unhappiness, at least for the two brothers. Chris spent it all by eating, sleeping, and watching television each day, all day.
At the dinner table, Clair, Chris, and Jared sat silently. Derek should have arrived nearly half an hour ago. Chris sat in his usual haughty slouch. Clair sat oblivious to everything except the gradual loss of heat from the food she had prepared. Jared sat with a greatest silence of all, his face revealed nothing of how he felt. He was torn between annoyance at his brother's tardiness, yet concerned that something was very wrong.
At length, the door creaked open and Derek trudged in, looking as he did seven years: utterly beaten by sadness and pain.
"Well?" Aunt Clair asked. "How did the football thing go?"
"Wait, what?" Chris blurted stupidly. "Derek was trying out for football?What a laugh! But at least he was doing something."
Derek said nothing, but his eyes told enough.
"It went badly, didn't it?" Jared inferred. Derek looked at him with the most pitiful expression on his face.
"The coach was a jerk, and absolute douche." Derek never before had spoken so grim or rudely about somebody, and it shocked his brother. "Not only that, they using terms I had no knowledge of because I haven't really experienced such legitimate sports. The kids weren't better than the coaches either..." he trailed off.
Jared sat up straight. "It's exactly as I knew it would be. I told you before. You didn't listen."
"Shut up!" Derek shouted. "Don't act so glad for my problems. You didn't behave like this before, and I've never done so to you. I could have used a little support from any of you... But no, none of you even acknowledged that I was trying."
"What are you saying?" Aunt Clair asked. "I'm the person who would have been paying for it."
"So? You've been supporting this worthless bum for the past week," Jared interjected. "He's been costing you more than either of us."
"What's that you said, dirt bag?" Chris rose in indignation. "You're both just worthless children without any place in the world."
"Chris..." Aunt Clair started.
"No! They're going to listen. We didn't want you brats, but your worthless parents had to go and get themselves killed. So now we're stuck with you, and fine job of being grateful you've done. It's a good thing that other whelp died, too, or else we'd have another mouth to feed!"
Jared stood up, fork clenched tightly in his fist. His cousin's drunkenness wouldn't excuse him if he continued like this. He told him so.
"You bastard! It seems you forget who 'that other whelp' was!"
"What do you care?" Chris rose up himself. "He wasn't your brother!"
Jared snarled, "You shame that term! he was too good for you after all!"
All three adults yelled at each other until Aunt Clair broke into tears. At that point, everyone left to their rooms, disregarding the untouched dinner.Almost simultaneously, three doors slammed shut for the night.

Clair was still heavy with tears as she prepared herself for bed. Perhaps sleep was all everyone needed. A good night's rest would improve everyone's attitudes. Int he morning all would be right again. Jared and Derek would continue succeeding in school; Chris would continue his job search which he was hard at work at. Everything would be as it should be.
During the night however, she had trouble sleeping. She checked her clock. It was nearly three thirty in the morning. All of California should be asleep, figuratively speaking, of course.Still, something was wrong. She turned on her lamp. The old picture of her husband was illuminated. Clair smiled sadly for a moment, and then noticed the drawer beneath the lamp was disturbed. She opened it and covered her mouth with her hand. Her deceased husband's gun was missing.

The night was quiet for Jared, simply because he chose not to hear the other, irrelevant noises of the city. He stood alone, only watching the quiet tides slowly rise and fall.
Jared wasn't exactly sure where he was, but he felt for some reason he knew this place. It was like a small swimming pool, connected faintly with the rest of the global water, and completely hidden by the massive, dark rocks that piled carelessly atop one another.
The faintest light was rising over the horizon. Dawn was fast approaching. Jared had not interest in seeing another sunrise for one more day in this world. He had had it. For seven years he had endured each day, doing what he was "obligated" to do. Now he was done. He glanced thoughtfully down at the gun in his hands. It looked like such a simple instrument. And despite its various inner workings, its function and purpose was uncomplicated. It would make the pain stop. It would end his loathing and sorrow that awoke with him every morning and followed him to bed every night.
It's not like he deserved to keep breathing. Half his family was already dead, why maintain the rest? He wasn't even nice to his surviving family.
What a horrible person he had turned out to be! T top the failures and lack of sociality, he was the foulest to the one person who still cared for him, his brother. It was long past apologies. He had endured too long the ignorance of his oblivious aunt, the abuse of his wretched cousin, and his own guilt for his treatment of his brother. Now he had chance to do all of them a favor.
Jared raised the pistol to his head. He pushed the muzzle up to the temple and began to squeeze the trigger...
A tiny splash made him pause. It was probably nothing, but it did startle him. He brought down the gun and looked around for the source of the disturbance.in the dark, he saw nothing. The water was deep navy blue, there was not light that allowed him to see through it. If there was something there, he could not find it.
Jared assumed it was nothing to worry about and started again to bring the gun up. However, this time he was stopped abruptly when something pulled out his legs from under him. He fell wit a cry onto the slippery rock, and then roller into the night-chilled water. the cold came as a massive shock, but not as much as the feel of something long and smooth run by his legs.he cried out and sat up in the water that came up to his chest. He did not stand, for he had no desire to fall again. A girl popped out of the water in front of him. Something felt strange about seeing her.
"I knew you'd be back eventually!" she smiled.
"Huh?" Jared felt he must have really hit his head hard, for he noticed a long, green tail following her body. A mermaid? What the...?!
"She was about his age, and older teenager, and she looked a whole lot prettier than any of the girls at school.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" the girl splashed his face. "You haven't forgotten me, have you?"
"I think I would remember meeting a mermaid before."
"Oh dear, it seems I may have hit you too hard... Your fall must have disrupted your memory."
"Look, Miss, I don't know you..."
"Sure you do!" Child-like arrogance puffed her cheeks. "I'm Selene, Jared. We played together almost seven years ago. You said you would have been back the following year. I've waiting so long for you guys to come back."
"Guys?"
"Sure. You, Derek, and Jerry..." She stopped when she saw his sorry face. "What's wrong? Where are the others?"
Thoughts began to piece together like a magic puzzle. Soon things became very clear and a tidal wave of realization and remembrance struck him.
"Selene! Now I remember you..."
"There we go!"
The shroud pf repressed childhood memories was finally lifted. With it, sudden and burning tears scalded Jared's eyes.
"What's wrong?" The mermaid came closer.
"Now I remember it all... The best day I ever had, followed by my worst..."
"Oh," Selene gasped softly and came very near him. "You can tell me what happened."
"I don't want to..." Jared sobbed, "I don't want to remember it..." He stopped when his old play-friend hugged him sympathetically. Her show of kindness loosened his tongue.
"We went home the day after we met you. We were excited for the next year to see you again. We didn't realize we never would. A drive on the freeway was yelling at his kids to stop pestering each other, or something like that. He slammed into our rear and pushed us over off an overpass. When I became conscious, I was being pulled from the wreck by paramedics. Hours later, in the hospital, they came and told me my mother, father, and our younger cousin, Jerry, had all died in the crash.
Selene said nothing. She simply embraced him again for comfort. Her body warmed the very deepest part of his soul.
"Derek and I were taken in by our Aunt Clair because she was the first to claim us. Her son, my cousin Chris, wasn't happy about it at all. He grew progressively vile the longer we stayed. He moved out a year ago, but now he's back to mooch off his mother."
"Where's Derek now?"
Tears welled in Jared's eyes. "I'm so ashamed of myself. As my life grew progressively worse, I also became abusive of my little brother. I didn't support him and I didn't listen to him... He was right about everything but I was too embittered by my life to understand."
"If you forgot all about me, why are you here now?"
"I remembered something about this place, but I didn't know what it was...I intended to..." Jared remembered the gun. He searched for it, but in wain. It was lost to the cool water, never to be found again.
"You were going to kill yourself?!" The mermaid's face was horrified at the idea.
"Yes," Jared answered shamefully. "I thought I would be doing right for everyone. I would be better... My pitiful like has lingered far past its time."
"How can you believe that? I think you're important..."
"No offense Selene, but we played together for one day. We don't know anything about each others' lives. I don't know why I've even been telling you all this."
"You're telling me because you need someone to talk to and to have understand. Nobody else would be that person, or so you led yourself to believe."
"Are you trying to make me feel better? It's not working. I realize that I've done to my brother. All e ever did was try to comfort me and try something that sounded fun to him. How did I treat him for it? I was worse than Chris ever was...because I was his older brother. He looked to me for his whole life, more so after our parents died...and Jerry..."
"Shh..." she put a finger to his lips to emphasize. She leaned her face in close to his and kissed him gently. "Things were beyond your control. Let me help you find life again, instead of ending it."
"I should be getting back," Jared spoke untruthfully, as he started to peek over the eastern horizon, like a nosy neighbor over a fence. The cold water became warm and pleasant, yet Jared continued to shiver, as if snow was falling in California. The sounds began to rise in the city while the lights went down, but neither of them noticed. They just stared at each other, learning everything they needed to know about the other through their eyes.
As the sun finally passed over the horizon and brightened the whole city, Selene wrapped her long emerald tail around Jared's shivering legs. Despite what is often said and believed about fish scales, he found her aquatic body much warmer and more enchanting than any human legs could ever be.

Derek looked up from the staring at the table when an abrupt pounding resonated at the front door. He walked quietly and cautiously to the door. On the mat stood a large police officer an a man he vaguely remembered seeing in an old picture. He was kind face, not very big, and nicely dressed.
He smiled. "You're Derek Andersen, aren't you?"
"Yeah... who's asking?"
"My name is Jacob Andersen. You can call me Uncle Jake."
Now Derek recognized him. This was his dad's younger brother, the Mormon that lived in Utah, whom they had rarely seen.
"Oh, hi..." Derek said. "Can I help you?" He regarded the officer with a suspicious glance.
"We're here to help you, son," the officer said.
"Yo! Football failure! Who's at the door?" Chris called from in the house. He strutted over to the door to see for himself. When he saw the police officer, Derek could have sworn his cousin soiled himself.
"Are you Christopher Moore?" the officer asked, knowing the answer already.
"Who's asking?" Chris squeaked.
Without another word, the officer burst in and placed a pair of handcuffs on Chris' wrists.
"What about my rights?" Chris whined.
As the officer proceeded with the usual arrest speak, Clair walked in. "What's going on here?" she asked.
The officer turned to her. "Don't worry, Miss Moore. For sheltering this drug-dealing murderer, you can come, too."
"Uhh... What's this all about?" Derek asked, dumbfounded by the sudden turn of events. Uncle Jake looked kindly at him.
"I've finally won the legal battles I promised my brother I'd fight. After much disputing with lawyers, I've finally gained custody of you and your brother."
"What?!" Clair shrieked. "First you arrest my son, now you're taking them? How? I am their legal guardian."
"Not any more," Jake unfolded a court statement. "The boys are to come with me now. This is no home for my brother's kids."
Chris snickered, gathering enough defiance to speak. "Well, you'll just be taking the one, bud. I saw Jared scuttle out last night with a gun in his hand." The officer tightened his grip on him ,forcing him to gasp.
Derek gaped. Then rage filled in him and he leaped across the foyer and assailed his wretched cousin. Uncle Jake and the police officer tried to pull him off, while Chris begged and wailed for him to stop. Derek stopped, not because he had recomposed himself, but because he then rushed up the stairs to Jared's room.
The officer held on to the crumpled and beaten Chris and took both him and Aunt Clair out to his car. Uncle Jake followed his distraught nephew upstairs.
When he opened the door to find his brother's room empty, Derek fell to his knees and wept. It was true, his brother was gone. Who knows where he could have gone to kill himself? It was too late now. As he cried, Uncle Jake knelt next to him and placed his arm across his shoulders. Despite hardly knowing him, Derek buried his face in his uncle's shirt and clung on to him tightly.
How could it end like this? Derek and Jared and been there for each other all this time. Now the one person Derek look up to was gone. He had tried to comfort his older brother before... He didn't realize Jared was so terribly depressed. If only they could have been more open to each other, more supportive. But it was too late now. Now they would never see each other again. Now Derek had only one relative left, a Mormon whom he had never known. Uncle Jake cried with his nephew empathetically, sharing the pain of having lost a dear brother.

Jared Andersen lay on a large, warm rock, the last of the mounds. Beyond lay the ever expansive ocean and his new life. Next to him, soaking in the golden warmth of the morning was the gorgeous Selene. She smiled as she lay still, swishing her tail lightly.
Jared looked at his bare body, still feeling a lingering sense of embarrassment at his nakedness. His drenched clothes sat abandoned on another rock, seemingly an eternity away.
"How much longer are we just going to sit like this?" he asked.
"Bored already?" Selene responded without opening her eyes.
"No... I little nervous, I suppose..."
Selene opened her glimmering eyes and rolled herself on top of Jared's Chest. She looked amusingly into his eyes and kissed him long and passionately.
Jared had never felt so overjoyed in his entire life. Last night he had reached his precipice, the last moment he could endure his depression. He had stood ready to throw his whole life away in a last ditch effort to end his pain. Now he was lying with the absolutely most beautiful person in the entire world, on land or sea. Now he had a chance to start anew.
His thoughts turned to his poor brother that he feared he was abandoning to the unkind world. Somehow, Selene sensed his concern.
"Your brother's going to live a long and happy life, Jared. You should be happy. He won't forget you any more than you'll forget him. Despite everything, you two stood by each other through your troubles. Now you both get to start again. Look!"
The human named Fared Andersen kissed his new love once more. Then he turned and was astonished. His two pale legs began to disappear. In their place, long and beauteous, was a brilliant azure tail.

Robert Cromier's Advice

This is an excerpt from an interview with Robert Cromier, authour of I Am The Cheese and After The First Death. I really liked what he said.

What advice do you give to young people who want to be authors?

"We all start out with the same alphabet. We are all unique. Talent is not the most important thing --- discipline and dedication are. Craft can be learned but desire and longing are innate. Despite the demands of school and just being young, try to write SOMETHING every day --- a description, a captured emotion, a simile, a metaphor. Read, for crying out loud! A writer must read the way a ball player must go to the ballfield every day to practice. Everything is possible in this world of ours--- and so's publication."

This is on my blog also. If you can't get on my blog, please email me and I'll send you an invite (it's invitation only: Mom's orders.) I really want you all to be able to read it. Thanks!

Another blog...?

So, I've been thinking and plotting (not a good combination) and I was thinking, what if we had another blog (which would be insane, so don't be afraid to say no) for worldbuilding. In other words, we'd be able to get those random histories of worlds and wars and magicks, and be at peace. You could make magic systems, governments, etc. Because it's insane, I don't care if you guys say no. I'd understand....

Dreaming out the Window

Author's Note: I was watching the Celebrate Youth party from out of my window at work, and I thought about what would happen if it was a young child who couldn't participate. I didn't mean for it to get so depressing, but ideas will do what they will do. Please comment, and if it's too depressing tell me!

She watched the park from her third story window. She could barely see it between two buildings further down the alley, but she watched what she could. She saw a ballon-man giving all the children free balloons, saw them running away in glee, and wished she had a balloon. One of the children taking a balloon threw away a dripping popcicle so he could cling to the string with both hands. She licked her cracked lips and wished she had a popcicle. She saw an infant being carried in its mother's arms, and she wished she had a mother. She saw a girl with a pink bow in her hair on her father's shoulders, and the girl in the third story room wished she was that girl. She was watching so intently that she didn't hear the ominous footsteps coming up behind her, and she was still so dazed that when she heard screaming aimed at her she couldn't understand the words. Only when she was yanked around by her arm and hit with a belt did she hear the words, "Dreaming won't do you any good!" As she was pulled from the room she looked one last time out the window. She saw that a little boy's balloon had flown away, and the balloon-man was giving him another one, and she knew that wasn't true for everyone, so it didn't have to be true for her. But with another slap of the belt and a pull from the room, she was less convinced.

Another Blog? Are you CRAZY?

So I've been thinking. And you know me, (hopefully) and I had this thought that we could make a third blog on which we could just post our story's characters. I think it would be a good reference, a good place to talk about things like naming and descriptions and personalities. If I made a site like this, how many people would use it? (I'd probably just make it anyway, but it's be good to know.) So? Input?

Profundity

I haven't written anything in ages, and I'm beginning to doubt myself, so here's something I wrote in a very short span of time, but I hope you like it. Please comment, and don't be too nice (or too mean... :P). And yes, profundity is a word.

Who is to say a written work is profound? Who is this "official profundity-rater" that decides the worth of a text? To go down in history as "a writer of many profound truths", do we need to shmooze up to him like a common magazine writer? Or can we, as authors, decide for ourselves whether our work is profound or not? I believe this is the right choice, because if a writer decides his work is not profound, he will take it and change it until it is. That way, there will be many more profound writings in the world, much more than if one "profundity-rater" decided what would touch each of our hearts. I believe that choice is ours.

Piano Method for Beginners

The piano is easy. Your first step is to sit down. Obviously a well made bench is good, but a chair or a stool will do, for this once at least. You'll replace it later. Wipe the dust off the top and make another mental note to get a good rag and finish the job in an hour or two. Wear good socks for this. The sustain pedal is too cold for bare feet and too clean for shoes. Press it twice, once gently so that your foot is used to it, once a dash quicker so the piano is used to it. Hold it that second time and listen closely - hear it ring, the string's soft pulse magnified just enough so that the human ear can sense the forgotten memories that others have left there.

You now have permission to touch the keys, but only to make sure they're in tune. If some aren't, it's too late now, but remember to avoid the offending keys. Now look around. Melodies are everywhere. look under your seat, behind the couch across the room, in the painting next to you. You should keep a few with you everywhere, just in case, too. Put them in those socks you're wearing. When you find one, a good one, don't grab it. You need its permission. If it comes down for you, hold it gently between your fingertips. Slowly, gently, reverently, touch a note. Any of them. Now let that melody work for you.

It's always nervous starting out, touching just a note at a time, tapping out a subtle rhythm into a small chant. At first it might just be your right hand, softly floating over the ivory and defining its personality in a flurry of whispering movements, an infant realizing things for the first time. Now it will pull your other hand into the fray - either strongly, a power introduced that the music didn't know it had, a new force that further pushes the piece into a symphony, or, it will be more subtle, one more string of keys, at first being one with the right hand, then slowly pulling and stretching the tone into a double entity, not at peace or at war, not at tension or at comfort, but at something those terms don't understand: Harmony. Either way the music grows, and expands, and matures. It has now become fully conscious of itself, and this is where we have elements of danger. Don't let it get too big, This is not the end or even a climax. That's later, and if you peak early you stand a solid chance of losing everything.

If you manage to tone is down - which is the mark of a true pianist - then your right hand will begin to climb. Let it. It starts on the ladder of keys and deftly moves to a higher rhythm and your left hand begins to bow, perhaps in total submission, to a sense of superiority. Remind the left that it isn't worthless, but this is the right's shining solo, and jealousy is pointless. Now bring it back down again, not all at once, small , individual steps that cascade into a solid cadence once the finger join together. Add one more melody between the hands to make it bigger than it was before.

This is where the melody begins to fight you, and this is how music escalates into a war. It's a battle of fingertips and piano keys, a flurry of knuckles in black and white. The sound separates itself from your hands, doing things whether you wanted to or not, and just when things seem beyond your control, withdraw -

and the music will stop. The piano is in submission once more. Allow a few seconds for silence to reverberate through the room. Take a breath, because you're nearly there. Press that first note again, then again as though you were starting piece over again. But don't. Go the opposite direction, catching the Melody in a deep bass voice as the right sings its chorus to remember, to paint the picture of what it once was. Finally, let the essence of the song - that weary spirit that grew for you and let you tame it - let go of it. It no longer has room to grow, but will settle into your lap. Comfort it, caress it one last time, and end on a chord.

Written at Writer's at Harriman

The Grey Haired Man

The grey haired man stood, staring out the 12th story window, blinds opened to flood the room with the evening light. Massive panes of glass, across the room, made believe they were invincible, guardians against the city lights. The setting sun turned shadows from the buildings into darkened claws that would no doubt consume people, cars and streetlights, feeding them to a black monster past the horizon. The desk behind him, normally so tidy, the product of obsessive dusting, polishing, arranging, now so lonely, covered in crumpled papers stained by coffee rings and an untouched nametag. Jeremiah Kingston. He hadn’t slept in the last three days, showed in his in his bloodshot eyes and worn face. Dark stubble on his chin had begun to thicken. Three weeks- three weeks of writing and signing and calling and heaven knows everything he’d worked on. And it ended in nothing. The deal had been broken by the associate company. There had been full out war between corporations, with Jeremiah at the front lines. He told the directors that he had the upper hand, that he had an unbreakable case. But with such surety in his company comes the risk. If someone is that certain, stakes inevitably go upwards in the hectic, business defined world of Wall Street. And someone like him- at the height of his game, at the peak of his potential- he wasn’t allowed to fail. He knew there would be consequences worse than death in this gambit. The city outside was hushed, and the earth began to slowly recede from him. Up here, in the darkened New York skyline, he was alone, a failure society had thrown in the windy cloudless summits. A knock on the door behind him. A pause. The man didn’t turn to look and see who entered without invitation. It didn’t matter. The sound of a paper sliding onto his desk, then the click and knock of the door closing once more. The man had one more thought. He wondered how simple it would be to break the window’s reinforced glass.

Written at Writer's at Harriman

Tandem Story

Moriah sent this to me and I laughed. Enjoy, fellow writers!

Tandem Story

This assignment was actually turned in by two of my English students:
Rebecca ... and Gary ...
English 44A, SMU
Creative Writing
Professor Miller In-class Assignment for Wednesday:
One of you will then write the first paragraph of a short story. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back and forth. Remember to reread what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached.


At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question.
Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. "A.S. Harris to Geostation 17," he said into his transgalactic communicator. "Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far..." But before he could sign off a bluish partical beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship's cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.
He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4. "Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel." Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth - when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspapers to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her. "Why must one lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she pondered wistfully.
Little did she know, but she has less than 10 seconds to live. Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu'udrian mothership launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dim-witted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty through Congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anu'udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion which vaporized Laurie and 85 million other Americans. The President slammed his fist on the conference table. "We can't allow this! I'm going to veto that treaty! Let's blow 'em out of the sky!"

This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic, semi-literate adolescent.

Yeah? Well, you're a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium.

As You Probably Know

I've been messing with this site. Feed back, anyone? Suggestions?

This was for that "Stories in the Heart" Prompt a few weeks ago. Finally got around to typing it.




That box is still buried in my closet somewhere. I find it when I'm cleaning or rearranging things and I'll spend a few minutes pulling out all the little knick knacks and things I collected in a past life. And while it gathers dust today, the story at the bottom of that box is more valuable than almost any other earthly possession of mine. Because in that box there is a note in a handwriting only slightly neater than my own. This is the story of that note.

The exact moment we met is lost in time, but so is most of my early childhood. She had a soft round face and golden blond hair that changed styles every day. She was a fan of everything fantasy that matured into a love of anything Japanese. She had a look that could kill you and a smile that could break your heart. She lived on the left side of the street with the four annoying dogs and if you saw a black cat, it was hers.

In elementary school she always was in the back ground, and later, as we got placed in the same classes, we became really close friends. She picked up the clarinet when I found the trombone, and we were in an advanced placement class together. This was sixth grade, and we were twelve. I miss those days. Once, while we were walking down a hallway, poking and laughing and giggling, the school's gossip (though I was probably to thick to notice) asked us if we were going out. Love? I'd never thought about love before. I couldn't sleep that night. I couldn't sleep for months.

Weeks went by. I'd look at her. She'd giggle. She's look at me. I'd laugh. We kept at it. Looking back, it was probably pretty pathetic. I could only think of her. But summer was upon us, and sadly, both of us were moving. In opposite directions. Posters were being put up about the End of School dance. While it wasn't really a date dance, I wasn't in the mood to care. It's not like I was at all rational. I was only formulating ways in my already too big sixth grade brain to ask her out. For a few days before the dance I would see her and all too literally run. I wanted to write a note, but I couldn't get the words out. All of my friends thought I was radioactive, which, wasn't too far from the truth. In the most embarrassing moment of my entire life, I scratched illegible words on a notebook and threw it. And ran again.

She knew what I meant, and her reply- a short sentence and a big smiley face- is still in a box in my room.

Chapter Two, In Which I Am Watched

"Have I gone daffy in my old age?" Lunt mused. He thought a moment and then shrugged. "Whether I have or not, this isn't something to miss!" He stooped back down to peer through his four meter telescope, gazing intently at something far off in the distance. Thankfully, his telescope could show the scene close up and in incredible detail.
There was a flash of silver, a hint of canvas, not to mention a small figure being hurled hundreds of feet into the air. "Great gobs!" the man said, astonished. "There's a boy in the air...and without a parachute! Jacob!"
A two meter robot stepped from the shadows. "Yes master?"
"Fetch my glider. There's a--hum--situation."
"Yes master." The robot hurried off, sensing the urgency in Lunt's voice.
"Hum," Lunt said again. "This is odd indeed."
Jacob returned, holding a bronze-colored tube, "Your glider, master."
"Thank you Jacob," said Lunt. "I have another job for you. While I'm away, prepare some tea and whatever it is boys like to eat these days."
Jacob cocked his head, puzzled. "What do boys like these days, Master? I am afraid I am not programmed in this area of expertise."
"Hum! Yes, yes, very true. Make some cookies, or something. I'm off!" Lunt activated the glider and sped off into the distance.
Jacob stared after Lunt for a few moments, eyes glowing a dim blue. "Cookies it is then."

Several hours passed and Jacob was unsure of what to do. The cookies were prepared and the tea was being kept warm in the incubator. What now? Creativity was not Jacob's strong suit; it hadn't been installed yet. He was a young robot, only two years old. It would take up to three more years to install all the necessary components to be more than a servant bot.
It used to be that it took ten years for the mind to develop in a robot, but thanks to Lunt's genius, it now took half that time. In fact, Lunt was designing a new type of robot that took only one year...or so he hoped. Jacob, being a robot, couldn't help feeling a little skepticle.
Jacob activated the Locate Mechanism implanted in his brain and searched for his master and creator. Why was it taking him so long?
"Telescope," Jacob commanded in his grating robotic voice, "playback the events leading to Proffesor Alexander Lunt's departure."
"Data loaded," the telescope said in a tinny voice. "Would you like me to play it on the screen?"
"Yes."
A screen on the wall lit up. Jacob was bewildered by the scene and wondered why in void's name did it interest his Master? Shaking his head, he asked the computer to find out who the boy was. The computer scanned all files until it found the one desired.
"The boy is Gunnar Max Steeple, age nine. His father was Max Steeple, a condemned worshiper and Marquee. His mother was demoted to the position of Meager Nobility. She was saved from the position of a mere commoner by the doings of her husband before his betrayal...Gunnar Steeple is failing in school and--"
"Thank you," Jacob said. "That'll be enough."

Lunt and the boy, Gunnar Steeple arrived fifteen minutes later. The boy was unconscious.
"Sorry," Lunt said, "it took awhile to get through the legal webs...."
"Master," Jacob said, "why do you take interest in this boy? It is beyond my programming to understand."
"He'll be useful," was all Lunt said, setting the boy down carefully.
"More useful than me?" Jacob asked.
"In some ways yes, and in some ways, no."
"Yes master."
Jacob walked slowly toward his chamber and then turned. "The cookies and tea are ready, Master."
"Yes, yes,very good," Lunt said without paying a spark of attention.
Jacob lingered a moment and then headed off toward the dark chamber he called home. When he arrived he sat down, his thoughts on jealousy.
It was time to seek revenge.

First Book: Chapter One

I could only breathe in the water that enveloped me. Blinded as failed attempts for air took the shapes of lifting bubbles I felt lost and I reached for something firm to latch myself onto. There was nothing… nothing but water. I blinked and slowly the small rays of light rippling in flowing movements on the surface of the water became dim. A tunnel was forming and I knew what looking into the light was. The last sense that reached my mind was the feeling of warmth and a contraction around my right arm. A rescuer nonetheless my heart recognized and felt security, yet my mind was interpreting the situation to be my doom, and one last blink fastened me to an abyss.
I noticed a casted shadow over me opening and closing with no sound leaving his mouth like he was dumb. The water and pressure I had gathered while drowning began to slowly drain out of my ears. Sound was gradually, but quickly flowing back to me. Sight was blurred and my eyes were very irritable. The person casting the shadow on my face remained undistinguishable from any person I’ve met. He wore a white shirt and at that moment that was all I could decipher and comprehend from my vague vision.
Finally I heard him clearly enough to respond, “Hey! What’s the matter with you?” I didn’t know what he meant by this. I didn’t even know the situation at hand. I said “You t-tell me.”
“Why’d you risk something so stupid?” His voice was erupting with consideration, but was annoyed I hadn’t answered his first question. I paused in thought challenging my self to have some recollection of the moment. “Please, just talk to me!” His gaze pierced my eyes as his pupils were so small they could only focus on me. It was as if his eyes resembled focus, concern, and an impatient demand. “Well I was drowning.”
“Yes, I know I had to get you out of the water! Just tell me if you’re alright.” I could tell his voice was on its way to be placid. I hoped the peace would last.
“I think so,” I began to lift my body up. My stomach twisted as I did and thought was lost. “I just need a,” as I got to my knees I saw how pale my body had become. I started to think about whom I am and what happened recently. Nothing came to mind, but a vision of blurry water and light scattered so lucid. My focus returned to answering the question.
“Just a headache; I need some rest that’s all,” I just wanted this person to shut up. I couldn’t think straight. I wrapped around the thought of not knowing what’s going on. But why couldn’t I tell this person the truth? It’s the first clue to who I am. I didn’t want them to worry. Sadly that seemed to be their current occupation at the moment.
“Don’t lie to me,” I knew it was a man who saved me now. I was oblivious to his deep voice at first apparently to notice the obvious gender. He asked me again, “Are you alright?” This time he was gentle as if he was my father. I didn’t know if I would want him as my father though. I answered as my contemplation began to focus more on the moment, “I don’t know to be honest. I don’t remember anything except for nearly drowning. I don’t know you,” I continued outraged by my unknowing, “I-I don’t know me, my past or what is wrong with me! Please, just let me sleep.”
“We’ll get you a blanket, dry you up and let you sleep in the car. We need to take you to the hospital,” He was quick to say this. My eyes weren’t as irritated anymore. Clear vision was reborn to me. I wish my memories would do the same. Strange how I at first relied on something tangible to save me, but now something that would never be in any physical form is what I think will revive my minds wiped memoires, and rescue me from such frustration.
His face became more visible. His face was tan and wrinkled. His large nose hooked above his lips that shortly followed. He looked old enough to be a father, but young enough to rescue me from drowning. I noticed him crouched down in front of me. He stared at me in wonder.
“Do you need help up?” He asked.
“No, I can do it,” I tried my balance to get to my feet. I felt weak. Maybe due to shock, but I stood on my own.
The sun resided in the late-afternoon sky as I fought my legs to move forward. I didn’t find reason to complain so I staggered toward a green SUV near the dock of the dreadful lake that reminded and mocked me with near-death. Two girls and three boys stood close to the vehicle.

I know this isn't about writing, but the support would be nice.

Dear Fellow Sporadists,
I'm asking you if you would be willing to become followers of my photography blog. I'm attempting in excelling the popularity of my photography. Please help me out with this.
Thank you very much. Your fellow Sporadist,
Brooks McFadden

http://brooksmphotography.blogspot.com/

Life and Limb

To a casual reader, this might seem.. odd. Actually, to ANY reader, I can't imagine it wouldn't be odd. At our last meeting, we played a game to write a story, but we could only write one sentance passing a paper around a table. And you could only read the sentance before yours. Keep that in mind.

Michaela: They said the explosion would kill him.

Devin: But no. It didn't work, it was broken.

Peter: So instead, he decided to make the burritos in his regular oven instead of the special one Mexican one.

A.J.: As he placed the burritos in the oven, the phone rang.

Brandon: "Hi, this is Joe. I work for StationWide insurance, and I was just wondering if you could-" beep. beep. click.

Kayla: Joe stared at the receiver, and his shoulders slumped. This job was a lot harder than he would have thought.

M: First of all, it's women's work, and second of all, it's women's work!

D: Really? There's no way I'm going to try that! I'd never stop puking!

P: So instead, I went on the "Catapult" in lagoon 17 times, ,that way, I'll only puke moderately, and at a cheaper price, too!

AJ: "Maybe I should rethink this plan.."

B: ..Frank thought as the chest attatchement to his bungee chord tightened. "Ready? GO!!"

K: He lurched upward, his neck whipping backward. "Hold on!" he heard someone yell, but he wasn't sure who; although, he really didn't need to be told.

M: Ravenous wolves really CAN motivate the adrenaline in a guy.

D: "Really", he said," I'm not kidding. Last time it happened, he shot up a tree and landed on some hermit's roof. Anyway..."

P: "Wait! I need to hear this story!" He grabbed the jewels off the computer and offered them. "How much will it cost?"

AJ: "Fifteen diamonds and 100,000 yen." the shadowed figure said.

B: Ned made some quick calculations, and nodded yes. He'd go through with it.

K: And the rest is history.

. M: Or IS IT?

Short Story

"Go kill a cat, or whatever it is boys like to do these days," he said, waving his hand petulantly. I was tired of killing cats and continued to stare up at the bristly black mustache that stuck out ridiculously far from the end of his stubby nose.

He sighed. "Need I give you a good spanking?"

"No, Uncle Alvin," I muttered. I had no idea what I was going to do now that I was to "stay out of the way." Suddenly, I saw his airship.

"Excuse me," I said, edging toward the door.

Uncle stared at me suspiciously for a few moments, and then turned to talk to my mother, his sister. Now that I wasn't under close scrutiny, I made a break for it. I only tripped three times before I made it to the airship.

The airship loomed over me, at least ten feet tall. It had tapered canvas wings that spanned exactly 25 feet in both directions. The wings were attached to a chrome tube, about 10 feet long, with the Royal Crest painted proudly on both sides. My attention focused on the ladder that led to the cockpit. Nervously, I began to climb up, wanting only to see the inside.

The cockpit was long and wide enough to comfortably seat a man of Uncle Alvin's girth, meaning it was very wide. It had a miniature sofa that looked luxuriously soft. I couldn't help myself; I plopped down, sighing contentedly.

Uncle Alvin looked out the window. When he saw me, he leaped up, eyebrows raised to the top of his pudgy forehead, eyes wide. All three of his chins wobbled as he shuffled toward me. I didn't know what else to do, so I pulled one of the polished levers in front of me. The airship roared to life, flapping its wings in a flurry.
Uncle was blown backward by the force of the wings, and I ascended rapidly.

"AAAAAAAAAAAH!" Uncle said.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAH!" I answered.

I was shooting upward now, faster than any bird I knew of. Panicking, I reached for another lever and pulled. It was the accelerator. I ripped forward through the air, wind grazing my ears. After a few moments, I found that if I eased both levers, I would stay at the same level in the air, and would fly at an amiable pace.

The sound of police sirens filled my ears.

"Void," I swore. "Time for some speed..."

I pulled the accelerator and sped off like a lightning fast bird of prey. Except, I was the prey. They were surrounding me now, like vultures. The only way to escape would be to--

I pulled the last lever. Dropping like a stone, I screamed. Almost immediately afterward, I attempted to push the lever back into place. It jammed.

I searched around wildly, not sure what to do. My eyes caught hold of a red button. It was a huge risk, but I pressed it anyway.

Imagine being blind and deaf, in the water, not sure which way is up and which way is down. Now imagine that the water is boiling. That's how I felt as I was ejected hundreds of feet into the air. Sadly, I had forgotten to wear a parachute.

Time shattered in my world, and blackness filled my eyes.

"Void," I muttered. "I'm dead."

Limited Time Only

So, as Miles pointed out to me, I can't have this posted for too long, so this'll be up for a maximum of two weeks. I have a few goals for this passage, and it would be great if you guys could let me know if I've achieved them, and any other tips would be great.
1) Jason should come across as somber or mostly serious.
2) Robert should be shocked, annoyed, and/or weirded out, but not a complete jerk.
3) Jenny should seem youthful, not childish.
4) I want there to be mystery, not confusion; I want people to want to know the back story, etc...


The man showed up on Saturday, the eve of their second anniversary. Robert would have been worried by the invader, accept that, at least in Fairville, you aren’t supposed to be worried about strangers knocking on your door. The first reason is because in Fairville, strangers don’t knock on your door at all and also because people in Fairville believe in doorbells.

Robert swung the pristine white door open, fully expecting Mrs. Mayberry wanting another cup of sugar, and instead was met by a man with a questionable appearance—leather jackets on anyone older than nineteen was Bad News—and, according to the half hapless, half hunted look in his eye, a questionable past, too.
At first, he didn’t realize the door had been answered and continued to stare at where the doorknob had been; only the door knob must have been very far away. Robert waited for half a moment. He cleared his throat.
“Uh—sorry,” the man started, “I was just, um, sorry—”
“Can I help you?” Robert asked politely.
“I was told she moved here. So I was wondering if you know, er, who was here last...”
“Who is you’re looking for? The only people here are myself and my—”
“Robert, who is at the door?” a voice called from within the house. Beside Robert appeared a young woman no older than twenty. Her long pale red hair was slung over her shoulder. She wiped her greasy hands on the floral apron adorning her middle. Robert attempted to hide her behind the door and away form the Stranger.
“No one, dear, it’s just—”
“Jason!” She squealed as she ducked under his arm.
Robert watched helplessly as his wife flung herself upon, hugged, and kissed (even if it is on the cheek) a complete stranger, who is obviously strange only to him.
Stunned, he exclaimed, “Jennifer!”
“You’re absolutely right Robert. Jason, come inside.”
Robert stared, his jaw lagging a little, and followed his wife as she energetically babbled to “Jason.”

He followed the intense chatter into the living room, where “Jason,” was already comfortably seated and taking up more than his fair share of couch. Jennifer, with much gusto, was sprawling a feast of snacks and appetizers on the coffee table before him.
“Really Jenny,” Jason was saying, “you don’t have to—”
“Oh!” Jennifer raced back into the kitchen, “Of course! How could I forget?”
Half a moment later, she returned bearing with great reverence, like it was Alexander the Great’s bones, a peanut butter sandwich on white, sliced diagonally.
“Jenny,” “Jason” repeated, “You don’t have to do all of this. I just came to see you again. That’s all.”
Jennifer poked him in the shoulder. “You look thinner.”
“Or you grew.”
“Just eat the sandwich, Jason. I know you want it.”
Robert watched as Jason, with mock reluctance, stuffed one entire half into his mouth at once. Satiated, Jennifer pulled up a chair opposite the man.
“So, you’re married now,” he stated.
“Yep,” Jennifer beamed, “Hitched away!”
“Yes, she’d married!” Robert almost shouted. Both looked up at him like they hadn’t noticed him until now. Jason looked like he was starting to regret ever coming—as he should! Robert thought.
“Who is this guy?” he said to his wife, “And how does he know you?”
Jason fumbled anxiously in his pockets. Jennifer blushed.
“Jason,” she said sweetly, “This is Robert. Robert, Jason”
“I heard that,” he said, eyeing Jason, “Jason who?”
Jennifer glanced questioningly at Jason, who shrugged.
“Um,” Jennifer continued, “He’s… just Jason.”
“Oh, well then!” Robert said sarcastically as he gave Jason an icy glare, which, despite his blatant nervousness, Jason met. It was like an ice cube meeting Antarctica. He looked back at Jennifer.
“And how have you come know Mr. Just Jason?” he said innocently.
“Oh, really, Robert! Stop talking about him like he isn’t here!”
“No, no,” Jason waved her off.
“But, Jason, I’m so tired off people—”
“No, he’s right, Jenny. I’ll explain.”
Robert’s wife scowled and looked back between Jason and her husband. “Fine,” she conceded, “Don’t take too long.”
Jason left his seat on the couch, walked over to the door. He gestured Robert out.
“What on Earth—”
“We’re going for a drive.”

Robert hesitated, glancing back at Jennifer, before reluctantly grabbing his jacket and car keys, and making sure to give Jason a meaningful look as he went out the door. Jason was about to follow when a thin white hand caught his shoulder.
“Now Jason,” Jennifer said, “I’m letting you do this because I trust you, but Rob’s my husband, ok? This isn’t like the other times. I’m sorry, but I need you to hand it over.” She held out her hand and waited patiently. “Come on, I know you don’t go anywhere without it.”
Jason scowled, not understanding at first. When is dawned on him, he objected, “You really think I’d—”
“Jason.”
Making a great show of his annoyance, Jason thrust deep into his pocket and yanked out a pearly white switch blade, and slapped it into her hand.
Robert blared his Cadillac’s horn. With an amused grin poking at the corner of his mouth, Jason swaggered over and tapped Robert’s windshield. “I’ll drive,” he mouthed, thumbing to a faded blue pickup truck that was blocking Robert’s driveway.

Robert tapped his knee anxiously as the truck turned left towards town. He turned off the radio and 70’s Rock Ballads with it.
“Where are we going?”
“No where. Driving helps me think.”
“Oh, really,” Robert’s nervousness turned to annoyance. “So what’s the purpose of this little cruise around town, hm? Are you some phantom of the past come to tell me my wife’s obscure teenage years?”
“Nope,” Jason said, flicking the radio back on, “Don’t even know what that means.”
“So what is it you were going to explain?”
“You tell me.”
Robert thought for a moment and then asked, “How do you know Jennifer?”
“You mean Jenny?”
“I mean Jennifer.”
Jason was visibly relieved, and said, “Oh. That.” He checked the bash board, and warned “I don’t think I have enough gas to answer that.”

An Impromtu Writing By Brandon Because He Writes Best When He's Tired. And he is.

tap, tap, tap, ...

The rain heaved and sloshed its way through New York's deathly quiet streets. The winds moaned, and the shoreline shrank from the ocean. Or rather, the ocean grew onto the deserted city as though it had decided to follow the long ago evolutionary footsteps that put animals breathing air. It pushed up higher for a few seconds, than relaxed.

A man in a black suit and deep red tie walked to the bank. It had fought its way up to the nearest street and kept pressing onward- a revolutionary that believed in its cause. He approached it, looked around, and took off his shoes. Another step toward the surface and he moved to where he would have been an inch deep- but as a magnet repels, the water backed away and began to swirl around his feet. He kept walking. The storm began to swirl around him until he was completely surrounded in his bubble of air in the stormy waters.

Above where he was standing, the water churned and began to spin. It slowly, and then quickly rose in velocity to where it began to dent the water and push its way down. Underneath, the man raised his arms, and shouted- his voice lost in the noise of the sea. Eventually, the twister's spiral reached him and air from the surface, or rather the eye of the storm, opened the pocket he had kept himself in. He smiled. It once was said that the Earth would never be flooded again- but who was keeping the promise this time?

The hurricane reached it potential almost a mile from the bay and began to race to the city, bent on destruction, destruction only. The storm was hungry. It pushed it way to the nearest building when it evaporated in a haze. The waters receded. The clouds stopped raining and the wind stopped moaning. A different man, in a brilliant white robe, let down his hands. His work was not done. Other parts of the world were under attack. He left.

A few Ideas

My "program" I used to make these is limited, but these were just some ideas I came up with.

Company Policy

So... what's the tradition of inviting members? Can anyone join, are we allowed to just invite anybody, or is this to be a little more exclusive? I just don't want to march a parade over everyone's toes with a caravan of bookish friends.
Truth is, I had my own writing group a while back, but it died out. So now some of those old friends want to start it up again. I informed them that I'm in a different writing group, and they seem interested in joining. By the way, one is Merritt Mecham and I'm pretty floored by a lot of her work, so...
Yea or Nay?

.. Different Design?

I've been working on some peices I'd like to share. Now, I do have some skill in web designing and I want to make this blog really personal to this writing group. The current one I shamelessly stole from a designing website. So I could base it off of one of these designs, or even do something completely different, or maybe a few of you could send some art and we could work with that. I do think we need a little more color. Actually, please do send in more art. I want to see something not mine up on here. But here's some projects I did.

A Rhetoric on Literature

Why do humans tell stories? Sure, the historical ones are to understand why things are the way they are today politically and culturally and to help ensure that we don't make the same mistakes as our progenitors (though it doesn't always work out that way, does it?). But why novels? Why weave stories in galaxies far, far away and spin tales of adventure in far distant lands? Why make tell of something so detached from us that it can hardly relate to our own day-to-day occurrences?
Perhaps we want to escape. We think this life is boring. Daily routines and dull safety and surety make us naively long for some excitement. But what is life to be boring? Should we be entertained by our surroundings? Why not take a break from trying to find excitement elsewhere and create our own here? The world isn't entertaining enough for you? Try entertaining the world. Could that be why we create stories?
Or perhaps we like stories because they have problems that, more often than not, get resolved. The future to us worldly mortals is terrifyingly unsure. We are faced with conflicts and decisions and so many "other hands" to get on! We're afraid of looking back and realizing our choice was wrong. So then a story, all orderly written out, gives us assurance that things will turn out alright. Perhaps they give us hope that our own little climaxes will eventually resolve and we, too, can live live "happily ever after."
Then again, it might be the newness of a fleshly woven tale that captures us: new possibilities and never-before-thought thoughts. I believe we, as sapient beings, are alive in order to learn. It's possible we love stories because they offer the chance of a new experience, the opportunity to learn of an artificially experience in distant lands with unfamiliar cultures and ideas. Maybe if this life isn't teaching us enough, then we need some breath of fresh air to reawaken our yearnings to learn something new.
Maybe we write stories because we hope to teach others. We want to convey a truth with a fictional weaving, the "Moral or the story". Maybe we create characters who experience something or act in some way in extreme, vibrantly colored settings to make our point obvious in order to teach people: make them learn a lesson that is too monochromatic in this real life is for them to see it clearly.
Or maybe fictional stories are really shields we use to fend off the real world. We're so dissatisfied with--even afraid of--own problems or mistakes that we'd much rather listen or read of some one else's woes totally removed from our own. Or it could work the other way. Could stories be more like pillows than total shields, meant to soften the harsh realities of this all too real world? If we could just see a fictitious person handle a conflict successfully, we can then use the character as as our crash-test dummy and feel out the possibilities in how to confront a sort of problem and maybe save some face, too.
Which ever the reason certain people decide to compose a work of fiction and for whatever reason people decide to listen to them, I think stories are good and did not write this rhetoric to slam the classic tales (though maybe the writers and readers a little). This is merely my recorded train of thought. But whatever category you or I fall into, I want you, dear reader of aimless blogs, to know that I love stories. One of my own personal philosophies is that the entire world--nay, universe is made of stories, from the shortest of short stories, to the most eloquent of novels, to the utmost dull of tomes, to the most exciting of epics. I refuse to believe that we humans have imaginations for no eternal purpose.
For now, as far as I can tell, I read and write stories because they help me learn about myself and comprehend how I look at the world (I'm not yet totally sure) and how I think of other people. I think my characters are really only pieces of myself, cut and stretched into seemingly different people. I read and write stories because they are an escape, a little, and padding so I can safely experiment on Life's Great Unknown. They let my push the boundaries, both outward and inward. And yes, I write because it is fun. Nothing is funner--and yes, I said FUNNER--than taking a small, seemingly unimportant thought and spinning it into a full-fledged adventure on the spot. It's fun for me, and I hope it's fun for whoever my audience chances to be at the moment. Which is you. I hope you liked it.

Children After Our Own Heart

This little story is one my two nieces, Gwen and Cecily, told together to their their mom and my sister, taking turns adding to it. It's interesting to see how the plot, despites its holes, unwinds, and the interesting imagery. Gwen is five, and Cecily is three.

C: Once upon a time there was a little girl who had jewelry in a jewel box. It was full of beautiful things: diamonds, rings, and lots of jewels and things to play with and things like princesses have.
G: Then a bad witch took her jewelry away. She took the jewelry and the playful stuff and let her pet dragon eat it. And she took the little girl away.
C: Then her daddy said “Girl! Girl, where are you?”
And her mommy said “I think she was taken by a bad witch.”
And her daddy said “Yes!” They needed to have a net and a sharp thing with a pokey thing on it to poke the dragon and the witch.
G: The witch took the girl to her home that was a bad, bad cave. The cave had spiders and spider webs and rats that climbed all over and skeletons.
C: And the witch had a mean cat with sharp teeth and horrible claws. The girl saw the cat and started to scream. The witch started to drink one bottle of wine.
G: Since the witch drank the bottle of wine, she fell asleep and wouldn’t wake up until the next day. Before she drank the bottle of wine she told the dragon to be in charge and guard the cave door so the girl wouldn’t get out. The cat started to eat yucky, yucky fish. The cat and the fish were black. Then the cat started to fall asleep. The dragon started eating meat and then he fell asleep and the girl could creep away.
C: And then her falled down through the sky and she didn’t know what to do. She landed on a roof. It was the roof of her own house. She didn’t know how to get down, but she had the witch’s wand so she could make a ladder appear and then she went down and went inside the door.
G: Her daddy came in the door. And her daddy said “Where have you been?”
She said “It’s a long story.”
The End

My Mind Burns and My Fingers Itch

I have this in satiable desire to write right now. But no time. Alas! Were it that when my eyes twitch to see the alien in the familiar and like periscopes search above the seemingly ordinary day for the vastly unexplored that my hands, too, could have medium to record this inspiration!! I'm like a pimple that desperately needs popping; I'm white with the pressure of my ideas which are trying to implore, beg, demand of, bribe, and deceive me into putting them down and organize the ink into the plethora of thoughts and, so much more, stories that are fighting for release. "Soon," I say to the horde of buzzing words in my head, "Soon I shall release you to set havoc on the world." But they do not listen; they've heard enough of my empty promises. They thirst for the open air and are wont to attain it by any means. This post is my white flag. As my own imagination takes me as a P.O.W., I have but one condition: Let me not fail high school! And a social life would be nice.

Swirly Dagger of the Yellow Spider

This paradelle is just WEIRD! I hope you enjoy it:

Yellow Dagger of the Swirling Spider:

Dance drunken sky on shatters jazz,

Dance drunken sky on shatters jazz.

On my heart of sky to me and out,

On my heart of sky to me and out.

On my drunken heart my brain shatters

And a jazz dance to me falls out of the sky

Wine of dandelions tickle,

Wine of dandelions tickle

Full the like moment the glasses make,

Full the like moment the glasses make

Wine glasses tickle the moment

Full they make like dandelions.

Swirly yellow piercing spider

Swirly yellow piercing spider

Pumping purple dagger of the birds,

Pumping purple dagger of the birds. 

Yellow dagger of the swirly spider

Pumping, piercing, purple birds.

Yellow birds dance on my heart,

Pumping tickle to my brain.

Like wine glasses full of the purple jazz

They make me drunken with dandelions.

A piercing dagger shatters the moment

And out of the swirly sky, a spider falls.

I felt guilty, so....

Okay, all you out there. I'm actually going to put something here. Whoop dee doo.

I wrote this during church today. It was meant as a mindless activity, which I usually do during church to help me concentrate on the lesson, but it was a bit more involving than I thought. Anyway....

I wrote a paradelle. For those of you whom I have not explained this poem's format to, I shall do so now, in the words of Billy Collins: "It is a poem of four six-line stanzas in which the first and second lines, as well as the third and fourth lines of the first three stanzas, must be identical. The fifth and sixth lines, which traditionally resolve these stanzas, must use all the words from the preceding lines and only those words. Similarly, the final stanza must use every word from all the preceding stanzas and only those words."

Note: I actually found out that Billy Collins made up the form of the paradelle. It isn't an medieval French poetry form after all.

So here it is. Tell me what you think.

Paradelle- 1918

All’s the wind of the love throbbing.

All’s the wind of the love throbbing.

To the heart, the slug of more.

To the heart, the slug of more.

The heart to the slug of the wind.

All’s the love of more throbbing.

Away on the sky, western well.

Away on the sky, western well.

The necklace had, hearkens to front.

The necklace had, hearkens to front.

Well, necklace, away on the front,

Had hearkens to the western sky.

No spoken morning so shattered, drossy.

No spoken morning so shattered, drossy.

And awakened, the crow flies quiet.

And awakened, the crow flies quiet.

No drossy crow awakened flies so,

And shattered the morning, spoken quiet.

All’s quiet on the Western Front.

So well the crow had spoken.

The necklace shattered of the slug.

The heart-throbbing no more awakened.

Love hearkens to the drossy wind

And flies away to the sky of morning.