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Old 04-27-2006, 01:28 PM
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kal (Offline)
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Ten Minute Writing Exercise.

It was an idea I picked up.. somewhere else.. but it's excellent. Just write and edit, but you only have ten minutes to do it in. Titania I know you used to do it, lets continue it in style shall we?

Here are some examples of mine, other wrote poetry and short stories, I just free flowed.

I miss you, but I don't love you. I wish I could, but you left me, you left me numb. We dance around our old life style, playfully flirting, it's harmless but I know it's not going to stay that way for ever. We're headed for a fall and we're not even in Eden. You abandoned me once, twice, I can see it a third time. I can see it before me; I can see myself crying in bed. I can see it all, but I can't stop it. Do you remember when I fell off the bed? I hurt my head on your amp; you couldn't stop laughing long enough to help me up, as I lay naked on your bedroom floor nursing my wound and crying tears soaked in laughter. I wish that was all the damage you'd done, a little bit of hurt pride. We'd lie in bed for hours and you'd curl yourself around me, play with my hair, youíd trace my scars with your fingers, with your lips. One for my parents, one for my cousin, one for all the others; who thought I could survive alone. One for you, but you'll never see it. I miss you; I miss your hands at my hips when we dance, when we stand still and listen to the bands. I miss your breath down my neck, the way I'd shiver and you'd laugh. You were everything, and then suddenly I found myself with nothing. Now you're coming back, and I can see the warning signs, everything is so familiar, except when we part. There are no ďI love youĒs, there are no kisses, there is nothing. Darling you went from everything to nothing. I miss you so dearly, you donít love me, I canít bear to love you.
Thank you for your sideways glances, the quick flashes over your notebook. I appreciate that you played my game, returned my smiles and advances. It was obvious I knew perfectly well how to use my computer, but cheers all the same for not letting on, for ďfixingĒ it for me, so I could pretend to be impressed. To let you know, my computer illiteracy was a lie, but I honestly donít have a clue about poetry and your email may come in handy, should I choose to take this to round two. Your manners were impeccable, a true gentleman who held the door open for what would be considered to be less than a lady. But my heart was being stolen as we spoke, my desire tugged away from your reaches, he has a greater hold on me that you ever could. Thank you for playing me game, it was cruel I know. You lost, but fought bravely, with courage of conviction and strength where I had none.
March 26th, motherís day; this will be the first in over two decades that she will feel like she failed at motherhood. Itís hard to tell if heís gone or not. The room in which he resided has been empty for months now, but the dust settles in places it never used to. The wall of cinematic literature becomes slowly depleted, as siblings enter and take that which they always wanted. The laughter stays much the same, just one less voice among many. One less place at the dinner table, though only once a year. It would be hard at first, to not mention the name, not ask where he was. Most days upon returning to my parentsí home it would feel like he was just at a friendís house, or out on the lash, not the furthest he could possibly be from us. Did we not love him enough? Jesus, was it our fault? Five of five feels wrong now, more like five of four. An impossible situation with impossible emotions. Not even two weeks left now, till that limbo begins, the transition between here and not here. He knew it was coming, with all the goodbyes said and tears left cascading down faces, if only we had listened, took the plea seriously; but we didnít, and now heís half here... half gone. We joked, oh yeah we joked; it was what we were good at. We never took anything in the correct manner in this family, not if the news was broken by number three. He always had that ďmiddle childĒ complex; never first, never last, in everyoneís eyes but his. Father may have thought differently, heíd never say though, dear God you canít say that out loud. Thatís how our family was, till the first was lost. Never say a word, not if it involved an emotion, not if there was a problem. We just werenít like that. We never will be, when finally Iím five of one, I still wonít say. When motherís day is mine to feel with the cruel sting of never being good enough; Iíll think of number three, and all he never did for us.
I once read about this family; The Endless. I guess between them all they were meant to represent to whole of us, humans, nature, I see myself in all of them, and I see all of them in my family.
Destiny, my father; always the firm hand, always right. You couldnít really argue with him. Not with that book of his in his hand. The ancient tome he carried with him day after day. I remember Destruction the least, number three of my generation. He left us long ago, we still see him from time to time I suppose but just like the comic books donít recite his name; neither do we. Desire, they always made me laugh, so metro-sexual, so perfect, so alluring, but unobtainable. Just like number four, everyone wanted a piece of him. I pray he never gave, for my sake more than his. Mother took the place of Despair, she was the bearer of bad news, she was the one that told us when life went wrong, and she was the one who brought pain into our home. She had better aspects of course, but for the sake of this, she was Despair, and Despair alone. Then of course there is Dream, dream the leader of the family, at least number one was the leader of us, everything our parents ever dreamed of, ever hoped for, embodied in one; Dream. Weíve all looked up to her, wished we could be her, I guess itís only right she plays this part. Delirium has forever been my favourite; speaking in rainbows and constantly making me laugh. Number two never quite caught hold of reality, it was what made her shine so much brighter than the rest of us; we stood in the shadows bathed in the low flicker of her colours. Then there would be me; Death, number five of five. That happy-go-lucky goth girl in the corner that isnít all that happy and just likes the fact that black goes with black.
So thereís my family and his, the endless, the eternity.

A Girl in Winter.
His lips parted, cracked and dry as he struggled to whisper: "My muse, you're here."
She simply smiled, "Yes, Drake, I am here."
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