Writing

A Quarter of a Century Ago...

November 29, 2010 - 4:34am — quadraptor

A pianist in Toronto, Canada, plays his heart out, recording an album that he titles Seascapes. The album is produced on cassette, CD, and LP, the cover art that of crystal blue waters. The album is given five tracks, each one his own inspiration and creation. The album is published and soon available for all to hear.

This man does not look for fame, or fortune...but just to share his music to the world.

Twenty-six years later, a young man and his mother walked into a shabby thrift store. The place is filled with a variety of things, and as he walks around, he notices a shelf with old CDs on it in the corner of the store. He eagerly walks over and thumbs through the CDs, passing Christmas albums, old computer games, and 90's pop bands. As he looks, one CD catches his eye, titled Seascapes. He pulls it from the shelf, reading "Michael Jones, Piano Solos" on the old cover.

He brings the CD to the front desk and pays for it, his mother buying a few things of her own. The CD is placed in a bag with his mother's items, and the two leave the old store and drive home.

That day, the man puts the CD into a CD player, pressing "play". He doesn't know what to expect, or even if the CD will work.

And for the next seven minutes, the song entitled Mexican Memories plays into his ears. A pianist plays his heart out, and the man envisions himself in a front-row seat of a piano hall, listening to this man from 1984 create beautiful music.

And the next part is unexpected, the young man then sees grass grow around the piano and pianist, the theater becoming entangled in vines and trees. Whitetail deer frolic nearby, and for a moment, he catches a glimpse of a blackbuck antelope running by.

Writing

The Crimson Sky

November 29, 2010 - 1:24am — quadraptor

The day has ended
High above my head
Each of the clouds
Change from orange to grey
Remembering my father
In the transformation before me
Missing his warmth and love
Soon darkness will cover
On the land where I stand
Now upon the crimson sky
Stars have pierced through
Kindling the warmth I yearn for
Yielding his presence once again

Writing

Nostalgia [Kaoori, Umi]

November 28, 2010 - 11:18pm — Kaoori

Kaoori

I saw a herd of deer today. Seems strange, everyone here normally doesn't herd, only during the rut..
I don't believe I'd ever seen these deer before. They all looked the same, kept to each other, followed a leader..
like back at home. No. No.. that wasn't home. They weren't home.. my home is here.
They did not care about me. They brought me here, abandoned me. What a mistake they made.
This is the best home I could ever have.

But why do I still wonder how they are? My real parents...

--------
Umi

I saw a herd of deer today in the distance, as I lay in the birch. At first I was elated, I thought my family had come to rescue me. I raced down the hill, only to find that these deer were much larger than I..and looked nothing like my own herd.
Then I remembered that it was my own herd that had driven me away in the first place. Why I was here.. I had stumbled upon this place in my exile. In my short time here, I had never seen a herd. This was the first, and even the other deer in this forest seemed a bit puzzled by them. Do the deer not herd in this forest? I have seen small groups but none acting like a herd. I'm afraid I won't fit in here, if I don't learn how to act like everyone soon..

I miss my family..

just some little things that went through my head when I saw the endless herd today. You can learn a bit more about Umi on my directory, as she doesn't have a profile yet.

Writing

Poem: The Kind-Hearted Tree

November 28, 2010 - 2:44pm — Shulgalaj

.

A woman wanders through the night
her pale face drip with tears of fright
her dress in morning dew is soaked
and in her steady grip...
a rope

Blooming fully, the apple tree
standing as her butcher to be
from the limb to which its bound...

The rope goes to her neck around.

Despair has driven her this far
soon ended is her memoir
she climbs the apple tree to fall
but succeeds she?

Not at all.

Old is tree with trunk and limb
so her faith is much more grim
the branch breaks, her feet meet the earth
her face isn't covered in blood...
but dirt.

A woman wanders through the sun
knowing, her life isn't done
escaped her own verdict, so brute
hanging in the tree, no woman,
but fruit

She smiles and tastes the apple it bears
and waters the tree again with her tears
they fall no more in fear or grief
but in joy of living,

and of relief.

.

.

More of the same

Writing

Just Say'in

November 26, 2010 - 3:55am — maryruth

HAPPY THANKSGIVING RANDOM PEOPLE!

!!!

I love turkey!!!

Writing

Sorrow?

November 25, 2010 - 9:39pm — SentrySeb

Hrm...

Please comment and read?

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How the Tiger Got His Stripes

November 24, 2010 - 3:59am — Impact

[=11]A long time ago a male deer was born in the forest. He was just an ordinary deer, and was out to make as many friends as he could.

Though he had a kind nature, not many other deer liked him. He was large and clumsy and he would often trip over or bump into others. He was not strong, or brave. He didn't have large antlers and wasn't known for any reason other than being annoying.

Because he was so lonely, he became friends with other creatures who were not deer.

A goat -- who lived in the blue bowl.

A snake -- who wove through the tree branches.

And a squid -- who swam in the pond.

These four were great friends, and they would often sit by the pond laughing and joking together. The deer cared about them very much, but he was still sad. The goat, the snake and the squid all had friends of their own from their own species, and the deer didn't.

The goat's friends all said, "Why are you friends with that big, stupid deer? He came to our blue bowl to eat our berries, but he crushed more of them then he ate!"

The goat responded, "But he's nice."

The others told him, "If you will be friends with him, then we will not be friends with you!"

The snake's friends all said, "Why are you friends with that big, stupid deer? He keeps rescuing all the rats we try to prey on!"

The snake responded, "But he's nice."

The others told him, "If you will be friends with him, then we will not be friends with you!"

The squid's friends all said, "Why are you friends with that big, stupid deer? He came to drink from our pond, but he almost bit one of our tentacles off!"

The squid responded, "But he's nice."

The others told him, "If you will be friends with him, then we will not be friends with you!"

The goat, the snake and the squid all got together, and they confronted the deer. "Why are you so big and stupid?!

Writing

The Journey Ahead (shortstory)

November 24, 2010 - 3:41am — quadraptor

You have spent your life searching for something. You do not know what it physically is, but you do know that it is the key to unlocking something special. A hidden ability, a useful skill, maybe even some kind of superpower. You've heard the legend before, and upon your arrival to a land far from where you live, you ask the locals where to go to find the treasure you seek.

They point to the highest peak of a forested mountain, and as you squint, you can see a strange sliver of stone jut out from the ground. An obelisk awaits you, and according to legend, it grants a new skill to every traveler who climbs the peak to reach it.

You are prepared as instructed - you do not bring anything with you but the comfortable clothes you are wearing. The journey is short so there is no need for extensive gear or food. A simple water bottle is all you bring.

You begin the hike by walking underneath a man-made wooden arch. It is oriental in nature, but could have been built here by anyone. You walk on the path that slants upward, stone cobbles provide stairs to ascend the mountain. All around you are a variety of trees, all different shades of green. You see many colorful birds fly beneath the treetops, going about their daily routines, singing to one another, and so on. On the ground, you notice squirrels, chipmunks, and rabbits constantly cross the path. Some stand off the trail, nibbling away at nuts and acorns they have found. Their eyes watch you as you continue on. In the distance, you see a stag and doe grazing. They pay no mind to you, eating the grasses from the forest and bathing their brown fur in the rays of sunlight that penetrate through the trees.

You continue walking, taking sips of your water when you need it. You stop when the ground evens out, hearing the gentle sounds of water. As you walk on, you see a small river has cut through the path. Stepping stones have been placed for those on the trail to cross.

Writing

Watch me..

November 24, 2010 - 1:48am — SentrySeb

<~>

Writing

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Becoming Part of the Forest (shortstory)

November 22, 2010 - 8:42pm — quadraptor

Warning, contains a little graphic content

He held his breath, watching the stag appear from the treeline. The deer kept walking, having other things on his mind, not at all aware that he was being watched. He stopped and bent down to eat a nice patch of grass, enjoying the subtle chirps from the birds and the gentle breeze.

The hunter drew back his bow.

As he did, the spotter who was right by him made a sound, just slightly, from a deer call. The stag heard a doe speak, "Hey...", in an odd voice. He raised his head to look for them, and at that moment, the arrow was released.

The stag ran, his heart rate elevated wildly. He had to get away, ignoring the pain. He just had to get away.

The hunters waited. They'd find him later. They were patient.

The stag's strength was failing him. His body was dripping with blood, the arrow had pierced him straight through. He didn't want to look at it. He knew what was happening, but he didn't want it to be his last moment.

He loved this forest, and never wanted to leave.

The stag fell onto the ground, crying out to the Forest, "Don't let them take me! Don't let me leave! I want to be a part of you forever!"

The breath was his very last, his body curled and he felt himself drift away.

I have heard your wish..., Nature spoke to him, and will grant you life as part of my forest.

At that moment, a great tree grew rapidly, engulfing his body within. The tree grew very tall, the very same as the other trees. There were very little traces of the stag's body, which rested as part of the tree.

The hunters came, following the blood trail that ended at the tree.

Writing