As I feel the scalding grains of sand beneath my callous feet, I remember what it was once like with lush emerald green grass soft against my toes. A light breeze turned harsh winds. I cross the threshold and see the chipped ivory paint and fond memories wash over me. My hand runs along the line where the light blue takes over the wall, how long ago was it when there were children running through these halls instead of wisps of sand? The skylight door repeatedly knocks against the rim, tap, tap, tap. When I make my way through the abandoned kitchen, I close my eyes and can still smell the fresh loaf of melt butter atop warm bread. My eyes open and I see the crushed oven. Oh how our mother used that oven in the mellow evenings, as she peered out the window seeing her children making flower crowns and running in the shaded yard. She would smile thinking about how beautiful life is. She would look onward and see the waves receding and coming back for more on the shore. At night she will walk on that beach, feel the sand between her toes and let the waves take her away. Little did her young children know, it would be the last time the sourdough would be made at the hands of their mother. I walk these halls knowing she needed that rest. She had a peaceful life and deserved a peaceful rest. I feel the scalding grains of sand knowing it was warm for her.
The sun got weary of seeing men squander in her light. But when she is gone The men get dreary.
They wish her gone When it gets too much. It doesn’t matter She’ll come back Come dawn.
You don’t know You miss something Until it’s gone. Since they don’t Want my warmth They will have to squander In snow.
Everyone always says that when you fall in love, make sure you love their looks, personality, profession, and temporary things like that. However, my grandma always told me not to fall in love with a man’s looks, those will fade, and his skin will wrinkle. Don’t fall in love with his profession, not even his personality, for you should fall in love with his eyes. A persons eyes will always have a gleam. Will always and should always look at you with love and respect. They will never fade with time. Yes they might see things they wish they hadn’t, but truly, they will remain the same. My grandmother always told me to fall in the love with someone’s eyes.
I told you it was dangerous But you wouldn’t have it At first it went smooth But you’ll now have to commit.
Lost to the wind Never found again Freed by the bind Watching from the den
You venture on the path For a very long time And for what, A lousy old mine?
Lost in the fog Alone in the deep Bound by a promise That you couldn’t keep.
I wake up here and I am already wishing I was dead. Our world is a horride place but there is a all-known, but never spoken, rule about the darkest place. The deep shadows. Now shadows don’t seem so bad. The silently follow and mimic you every move or anything casting it. You can’t just hop into a shadow and simply be in it; however, no knows how you get ejected into the abyss. Honestly, you have to do something pretty lousy to be in here. It’s foreboding and dull. You can’t see anything ever. Also I am starting to realize the clammy sensation never goes away. There is a reason the wolves don’t come out at night because they are afraid of what lurks in the shadows: being banished here is worse than a death sentence. Guess I’ll have to break out of here to.
The ballad is posted. I pray, and I pray, every year that my name isn’t printed on that paper that will create my fate, one life altering event. Once, it was a show of worthy. Now, it’s just a blood bath. As I stride over to the gathering crowd I see him. He sees me. A breath, and he makes his way to me. “How unfortunate,” I sigh. “Good morning to you to, Bea,” he remarks. We walk over to the parting group, strangely, people share shifting glances. My stomach fills with acid. Please no. Please. I’m begging you. The 3rd name on the death list is Beatrice Thorn. Maddox’s eyes widen so far you can see the whites. I continue down the list and lo and behold Maddox Greenbrough is there too. All of the blood from my faced has vanished. Of course you can always opt out of the three week tournament but you would never be seen the same, a coward they would call you. But if you go maybe they’ll never see you again. The tournament consist of noble things like balls and grand full course meals. But, you still have to compete in multiple challenges. Few of which don’t even test physical strength. It’s all mental. Every bit of this death trap. However, if you make it through, you will have a chance to change our world around. Of course, the game is designed to make you fail but there is no hope in that. You have to thrive on the small bit of hope that falsely give and use it to fuel you. “Take you shot kid, you only get one” the old shopkeeper whispers. “Maybe I will,” I whisper to the wind.
The crisp morning breeze gave me new hope and inspiration towards this day. Walking down town with my best friend makes me feel amazing. Like I can breathe for the first time in months. I have loved him for so long and today is the day I have to tell him. Maybe for once the feeling will be reciprocated. He is my best friend and I really don’t want to lose him but I guess this is where he would say ‘high risk high reward’. All I want is some one to call my own. We are walking on the irroded sidewalk skipping the crack, since life is more fun with games. The leaves are finally changing into beautiful ambers and carmel browns and the wind is creating the perfect breeze to calm my nerves. “Hey,” I start. “Hello,” he replies. “So I migh kinda sorta have feelings for you that are stronger than just friendship,” I have a good feeling about this. I hold my breath for his answer. “Um, yeah that’s cute but I uh don’t like you that way.” I feel my heart being crushed by the anvil of rejection. “Oh yeah good. Phew, I was just making sure” I’m gonna cry later. “okay haha I was starting to think you actually had a little crush on me for a second there haha” he chuckles to him self. “I know right?! Your like a brother to me like eww I would never.” I am praying for the group to swallow me whole. I check my phone and see the time. “Oh well I have to go, but this was a nice morning!” I lie. “Okay see ya!” He waves goodbye. As I walk away I feel the tears start to fall. I mumble to myself, “I’m sorry I loved you.”
50 years ago people probably aussumed the worst about the future of our planet. I think there were even books written called dystopian novels, where authors wrote stories about how distructive our planet and community would become if we don’t take care of it. Well I’m currently living in what they call the future except we didn’t fall apart, we fell into place. We collectivity decided we didn’t want to knowingly poison the planet anymore… shocker I know right? But as what the people of the past did wrong we did right. Instead of talking about how we are distroying our one planet, we took action. Instead of taking down forests and life we build into it. Our buildings help the earth and plants living there while sustaining us humans too. It feels like a utopia, and a utopia is an illusion of perfection. I am starting to see cracks in the porcelain. Life on earth is still delicate but stubborn and I feel that. So much so that the plants seem to react to me differently… I guess I am living the sad reality of one of those silly little dystopian novels they wanted to get rid of.
(Rough draft😂🫣)
A woman dressed in a sleek blazer and a tight bun aproches me with a solemn expression. I know what’s coming but my knowing doesn’t help when it’s spoken. “I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you this but your mother passed a week ago and granted her home down to her eldest daughter. That’s you I assume?” “You know what they say about assuming,” I hide my feelings for my late mother behind the brick wall I built for myself. “Well, you could say that was an assumption in itself. I’m truly sorry for your loss, and if you need anything just contact me.” The woman hands me a white card with gold embellishments and a key. “You don’t have to worry about me,” I say as I turn to walk away. I look left and right at the wrap around porch, the pots that had hung from the ceiling of the porch had wilted flowers. Mom had always kept carnations in the plastic hanging pots. Always had came outside in the early morning, in her long flowy skirts, to water her flowers and catch the sunrise. Sometimes, if I woke up early enough I could see her taking care of her flowers and savoring the crisp morning air. She always had this grace to her, always smiling too. As I climbed the ancient wooden steps, the creak has never sounded more welcoming then at this moment. The key they gave me still fit the old,tarnished lock but the house no longer felt like home.
