Avocados, chips, tomato, onion, cilantro, jalapeno, lime, salt, tequila, simple syrup, mint, cheese, tomatillos, and of course a new video game.
Well, ok, I may not have bought these things, but if I were to go buy something right now, those would quite possibly be the things I would get. I'm not much a fan of shopping, but if there are two things I like to shop for it's food and games.
I'm a sucker for entertainment, and I have a love of food so deep that even feeling ill often cannot prevent me from enjoying it. Most of the time, anyway.
It's just too bad that there are some things I cannot buy. More time, love (I mean real love, because obviously, it's easy to pay someone to pretend they like you for a short time), restfulness, and peace.
On the other hand, there are some things money does buy. See, the idea that money cannot buy happiness is true. It doesn't really buy a lasting happiness. But on the other hand, money does buy a slew of things that help reduce unhappiness.
I like that I have a somewhat comfortable life. I am lucky. I work hard, but I was fortunate to be born in a place and time where that hard work is possible, and where that hard work means I can be comfortable.
I'm just also sad that there are others who weren't that lucky. Would that I could buy the end to all human suffering (without human extinction). I'd give anything for people to be able to live long, happy lives. But, there just isn't enough room on my shopping list. After all, my wallet doesn't even afford avocados, chips, tomato, onion, cilantro, jalapeno, lime, salt, tequila, simple syrup, mint, cheese, tomatillos, and of course a new video game.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Friday, March 23, 2018
Good vibes
I sat in my chair, pulling the good vibes toward me with my mind. I was sure that everything was going to be ok. All I had to do was focus on the positive! Legs crossed, eyes closed, humming to myself.
The good vibes I called to myself were sure to get me through the difficulties in my life. I just needed to believe in them hard enough. It was kind of like magic. If you believe enough, it becomes real. So I reminded myself.
I took a slow, deep breath, and focused on all the wonderful things of the world in my mind. I thought of people having a good time playing games, cute animals romping about fields, delicious food being prepared, and couples falling in love under the moonlight. Yes, surely these good vibes would get me through it all.
I opened my eyes, as the bottom of the cage I sat in was lowered into the boiling oil. Oh, right. That was still a thing. The oil rose over the lip of the cage, and a thin layer of scalding death wrapped around my legs. Good vibes, I tried to remind myself.
The scalding oil now reached my chest, as the cage dipped ever lower into the oil. I would have screamed, but no sound was coming out of my throat. I had no air in my chest, and couldn't catch my breath. But good vibes would get me through this!
As the oil covered my head, and I felt the last terrible burning sensations engulf me before I passed out and died, I reminded myself. I can trust in the good vibes to get me through this.
Good... vibes.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
The good vibes I called to myself were sure to get me through the difficulties in my life. I just needed to believe in them hard enough. It was kind of like magic. If you believe enough, it becomes real. So I reminded myself.
I took a slow, deep breath, and focused on all the wonderful things of the world in my mind. I thought of people having a good time playing games, cute animals romping about fields, delicious food being prepared, and couples falling in love under the moonlight. Yes, surely these good vibes would get me through it all.
I opened my eyes, as the bottom of the cage I sat in was lowered into the boiling oil. Oh, right. That was still a thing. The oil rose over the lip of the cage, and a thin layer of scalding death wrapped around my legs. Good vibes, I tried to remind myself.
The scalding oil now reached my chest, as the cage dipped ever lower into the oil. I would have screamed, but no sound was coming out of my throat. I had no air in my chest, and couldn't catch my breath. But good vibes would get me through this!
As the oil covered my head, and I felt the last terrible burning sensations engulf me before I passed out and died, I reminded myself. I can trust in the good vibes to get me through this.
Good... vibes.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Wednesday, March 21, 2018
Shadow
Something felt off. Everything looked exactly as I remembered it, but something was strange. It was as if suddenly the world were completely different. I couldn't really tell what that nagging feeling in the back of my mind was.
So, I got dressed, packed my lunch and I went to work. I sat at my desk, and took the incoming phone calls. Helping customers, although as usual they were all seemingly irate. Eventually I calmed them down, addressed their problems, and moved to the next.
At lunch, I sat at a table, eating in silence as usual. The food tasted different, too. It had no... flavor, no colour to my palate. I figured must be allergies making it hard to breathe, and therefore hard to taste. Actually, come to think of it, why WAS it so hard to breathe? I wasn't sneezing, eyes were clear, didn't feel itchy. I could feel the air flowing in and out of my lungs with no issue. Yet the air felt... oppressive.
I called my best friend, and asked her if we could meet after I got off work. I needed someone to bounce these things off of. Perhaps I was going crazy. If anyone could tell me, it was her. She was the smartest cookie I knew. Graduated young, has a nice job helping people with mental health issues.
At dinner that evening, I waited for her to arrive. I was so sure she could share some insight. She walked in, and I rushed to greet her. "Laura! Thanks for coming! I have something I need to talk to you about."
She looked past me, directing her gaze around the room. I took a step back in surprise. Laura was silly sometimes, but at least she wasn't dismissive. But in that moment, it was as if she couldn't see me. She walked over to a table, and sat down. She pulled out her phone, and started doing something. A text came on my own phone.
"Laura, I need your help, something has happened! I'm sitting right across from you."
"No you're not. I haven't seen you all day, and you're definitely not here."
"No you don't understand! I am right here!" I yelled, trying to move objects on the table in front of her, but they had become heavy weights. I couldn't push them, much less lift anything.
"Come on, this isn't funny." Laura responded. Before I could say anything, I saw her take the phone from her ear. "... aaaand he hung up."
I looked down at my phone. The screen was blank. Then I finally realized what seemed off. The light directly over the table revealed something that had not caught my attention until that moment. I had no shadow.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
So, I got dressed, packed my lunch and I went to work. I sat at my desk, and took the incoming phone calls. Helping customers, although as usual they were all seemingly irate. Eventually I calmed them down, addressed their problems, and moved to the next.
At lunch, I sat at a table, eating in silence as usual. The food tasted different, too. It had no... flavor, no colour to my palate. I figured must be allergies making it hard to breathe, and therefore hard to taste. Actually, come to think of it, why WAS it so hard to breathe? I wasn't sneezing, eyes were clear, didn't feel itchy. I could feel the air flowing in and out of my lungs with no issue. Yet the air felt... oppressive.
I called my best friend, and asked her if we could meet after I got off work. I needed someone to bounce these things off of. Perhaps I was going crazy. If anyone could tell me, it was her. She was the smartest cookie I knew. Graduated young, has a nice job helping people with mental health issues.
At dinner that evening, I waited for her to arrive. I was so sure she could share some insight. She walked in, and I rushed to greet her. "Laura! Thanks for coming! I have something I need to talk to you about."
She looked past me, directing her gaze around the room. I took a step back in surprise. Laura was silly sometimes, but at least she wasn't dismissive. But in that moment, it was as if she couldn't see me. She walked over to a table, and sat down. She pulled out her phone, and started doing something. A text came on my own phone.
Hey, I'm here. Early, maybe? At the table next to door.I came up to her at the table. "Come on, Laura, this isn't funny. I'm right here." She looked at me. No, she looked through me. Then back at her phone. I sat down across from her, and tried to get her attention. Yes, something was definitely off. I texted her back.
I'm already here, you didn't see me?I watched as she got the message. She took a glance around, and typed something back.
Sorry, maybe we were thinking of different locations? Is there another restaurant with the same name in town? I didn't think there was.I typed her number in my phone, this was too eerie, and I had to get to the bottom of it. I dialed, and waited for her to pick up.
"Laura, I need your help, something has happened! I'm sitting right across from you."
"No you're not. I haven't seen you all day, and you're definitely not here."
"No you don't understand! I am right here!" I yelled, trying to move objects on the table in front of her, but they had become heavy weights. I couldn't push them, much less lift anything.
"Come on, this isn't funny." Laura responded. Before I could say anything, I saw her take the phone from her ear. "... aaaand he hung up."
I looked down at my phone. The screen was blank. Then I finally realized what seemed off. The light directly over the table revealed something that had not caught my attention until that moment. I had no shadow.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Tuesday, March 20, 2018
Closed doors
Doors serve a couple purposes. They segment a space, with walls, while providing a place of egress. But unlike open thresholds, they aren't always passable. And unlike walls, they aren't always going to keep things out.
They can serve multiple purpose, but closed doors, alone, play more roles than one. A closed door can be a manner of protecting yourself from danger, it can be a way to maintain your privacy without sacrificing the freedom to leave if desired, or it can be a way to exclude someone or something.
The phrase 'whenever a door closes a window opens' is really unusual. I get it, the idea is that just because one option becomes non-viable, doesn't mean there are no other options. But then again, who the hell typically has windows that are as big as doors and go all the way to the floor? Climbing through a window is noticeably more difficult. Additionally, since when has anyone ever slammed a window in somebody's face? I don't recall it happening much, but doors are much more common in that regard.
But the thing about closed doors is that they can be metaphorical. So when someone shuts you out of their life, that can be a closed door. And when options are dwindling, or appear to be absent, those are closed doors.
I find myself in a strange space, since I like the ability to have time to myself, I willingly close doors sometimes... but then when I want to connect, I find the doors of others are not only closed, but locked. Not all the time, but enough.
So, I'm waiting for a person who will open their door, a person with whom I can swap skeleton keys. Because I am way too big to climb through the windows.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
They can serve multiple purpose, but closed doors, alone, play more roles than one. A closed door can be a manner of protecting yourself from danger, it can be a way to maintain your privacy without sacrificing the freedom to leave if desired, or it can be a way to exclude someone or something.
The phrase 'whenever a door closes a window opens' is really unusual. I get it, the idea is that just because one option becomes non-viable, doesn't mean there are no other options. But then again, who the hell typically has windows that are as big as doors and go all the way to the floor? Climbing through a window is noticeably more difficult. Additionally, since when has anyone ever slammed a window in somebody's face? I don't recall it happening much, but doors are much more common in that regard.
But the thing about closed doors is that they can be metaphorical. So when someone shuts you out of their life, that can be a closed door. And when options are dwindling, or appear to be absent, those are closed doors.
I find myself in a strange space, since I like the ability to have time to myself, I willingly close doors sometimes... but then when I want to connect, I find the doors of others are not only closed, but locked. Not all the time, but enough.
So, I'm waiting for a person who will open their door, a person with whom I can swap skeleton keys. Because I am way too big to climb through the windows.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Monday, March 19, 2018
FEAR
Again, they brought out their most decorated soldiers, wearing their most powerful exosuits, and wielding the most advanced weapons their country had. Third country in a row. Soon they would bow to his power.
"COME! Prove yourselves worthy of death by my hand!" Geroldt cried out, as he took a defensive stance, his exosuit's spikes digging deep into the earth to anchor his footing. He looked defenseless, no weapons clearly in hand, anchored in place. What more could he do but to stand there and be slaughtered.
Haughty with pride, the enemies charged at him. But, he merely opened his hands, and they all stopped in place. A stream of tokens launched from his back, landing in his suit's hands, and with a simple flick, they went flying directly into the heads of the enemies. There were no survivors.
This was the power of FEAR. The power of their Fulminating Electronic Anti-personnel Resonator. Built into his exosuit's palms, they fired a whirling blast of electric resonance designed to disrupt the enemy's nervous system, showing them their worst nightmares in an instant. Side effects included PTSD, loss of consciousness, and in some of the more severe cases, brain aneurysms. Of course, since it was a weapon of war, none of this mattered. The protocol was only use it on those who are going to die right away.
Geroldt was met by the steely gaze of a newcomer, who arrived at the top of the wall. His exosuit was strange. Unlike the previous soldiers, he wore a gleaming silver, and his face was protected by a black faceplate. He suddenly saw them. The eyes of a daemon, just behind the mask. In that last moment, Geroldt truly realized how terrible having the FEAR used back on him was.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
"COME! Prove yourselves worthy of death by my hand!" Geroldt cried out, as he took a defensive stance, his exosuit's spikes digging deep into the earth to anchor his footing. He looked defenseless, no weapons clearly in hand, anchored in place. What more could he do but to stand there and be slaughtered.
Haughty with pride, the enemies charged at him. But, he merely opened his hands, and they all stopped in place. A stream of tokens launched from his back, landing in his suit's hands, and with a simple flick, they went flying directly into the heads of the enemies. There were no survivors.
This was the power of FEAR. The power of their Fulminating Electronic Anti-personnel Resonator. Built into his exosuit's palms, they fired a whirling blast of electric resonance designed to disrupt the enemy's nervous system, showing them their worst nightmares in an instant. Side effects included PTSD, loss of consciousness, and in some of the more severe cases, brain aneurysms. Of course, since it was a weapon of war, none of this mattered. The protocol was only use it on those who are going to die right away.
Geroldt was met by the steely gaze of a newcomer, who arrived at the top of the wall. His exosuit was strange. Unlike the previous soldiers, he wore a gleaming silver, and his face was protected by a black faceplate. He suddenly saw them. The eyes of a daemon, just behind the mask. In that last moment, Geroldt truly realized how terrible having the FEAR used back on him was.
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Sunday, March 18, 2018
Dread
"Come on, it's not that bad, Joshua. You don't even feel it!" Zeke said. Across the table, Zeke had a sincere smile on his face. Joshua trusted him implicitly, but he still dreaded the idea of it.
"Zeke, man, you are so cool, but I just... can't. I mean it looks awesome, but I am worried. What happens if something goes wrong?" He replied. "I need my eyesight to do my job! I can't afford to lose it."
"Look, dude. If you're that worried, then just do one eye first." Zeke responded. Joshua was getting a little bit angry. Losing sight in even one eye would make his job significantly more difficult.
"No. I just can't. Listen, I'll happily get another piercing or a tattoo elsewhere, but those sclera tattoos seem too dangerous to me."
"Man, I thought you were chill. But alright. You don't have to get one if you don't want one." Zeke replied. After that, the two of them sat in silence for a while, waiting for the pizza to show up at the table.
After they finished eating, the two friends went their separate ways. Zeke called up later that week, and showed off his new sclera tattoo. Joshua was impressed, but knew he could never bring himself to do the same.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
"Zeke, man, you are so cool, but I just... can't. I mean it looks awesome, but I am worried. What happens if something goes wrong?" He replied. "I need my eyesight to do my job! I can't afford to lose it."
"Look, dude. If you're that worried, then just do one eye first." Zeke responded. Joshua was getting a little bit angry. Losing sight in even one eye would make his job significantly more difficult.
"No. I just can't. Listen, I'll happily get another piercing or a tattoo elsewhere, but those sclera tattoos seem too dangerous to me."
"Man, I thought you were chill. But alright. You don't have to get one if you don't want one." Zeke replied. After that, the two of them sat in silence for a while, waiting for the pizza to show up at the table.
After they finished eating, the two friends went their separate ways. Zeke called up later that week, and showed off his new sclera tattoo. Joshua was impressed, but knew he could never bring himself to do the same.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Saturday, March 17, 2018
Numbers
1, 2, 3, 4, 5... I counted. Each of the numbers representing a series of numbers that represented yet more. As I spoke and moved my hands, arrays of symbols appeared in the air before me. Even as my mouth spoke the basic numbers, my mind was crafting the matrices of calculations appearing midair, as a warm glowing energy.
"Wow, that is impressive." A woman nearby said, as she stopped in the road to observe as I continued, undaunted by the growing audience. The initial setup complete, I now moved onto the complex calculations.
2x/sin(3r+5y³) - 1.5(T+2i) ; Π-2tan(2.87T-r² ± 12)... The runes and numbers now started flowing from the matrices, forming the structure of the incantation. Just a moment longer and I would be complete. Now for the most arcane.
ɣɚȵȶɕʡȝȡǽ, ʊʂʆʨϰϨȃȢȵ... The last of the equations seemingly words, but in fact merely substitutions for the mathematical concepts built up in the matrices upon which the lattice now sat. Then, with a triumphant yell, I solved the incantation.
"Kyrota!" And just like that, I saw the pull of the fabric of spacetime warp, as matter from the distant edges of the universe now entangled in the energy of the spell, came forth, and took the place to which I summoned it. Before me now stood a great mansion, adorned in simple stone architecture accented with gold, and ruby carpets. A sprawling courtyard with newly born rose bushes on either side of the path.
"My goodness!" The woman exclaimed, amongst similar reactions from other onlookers. Of course, I found this reaction commonplace. It seemed everywhere I was commissioned to do my work, it held some mystery to those who witnessed it. Years of study and practice, however, made such things mundane.
I walked over to the carriage nearby, as a youth robed in gentle purple and silver fabrics stepped out. He was attended by his butler, wearing a dusty grey suit. The youth looked over my work.
"I am not terribly impressed." He said to me. Most likely an attempt to save himself a ransom of coin.
"Neither am I, but work done is worth payment, my lord." I replied, extending my hand toward him. The youth scowled, a look which did not look good on his otherwise gentle features. It was clear this lord had never worked an honest day in his life.
"Well, we shall see about that. Braev, the money." He instructed his butler. A small pouch was handed to me. I looked inside. As expected, these were gold pieces. My services cost the same weight in platinum.
"I believe there has been an error, sir. This payment..."
"IS ENOUGH for the place you have built here. Pitiful, you shall get no more." He scoffed.
"Then I shall take back that which you have not yet paid." I said, tugging on a few aetherial cords in the structure. With a flash of light, the equations I had built in spacetime came to life, and at once, the second and third floors of the mansion disappeared, and the courtyard as well.
"You FILTHY CHEAT! How DARE YOU?" He yelled at me. "Guards, kill this man!"
Several armed guards rushed forward with their spears and short swords. I sighed. One in every ten transactions, something like this happens. It is ridiculous. As they stepped within my warding area, I spoke a word of power, invoking the powers. The guards were instantly aflame, and frozen in place. They screamed in terror and in pain. Unable to move, they were at my mercy to put them out.
"I, the cheat? You deign to request my services, and then try to pay me less than half for the work I have done, and then intend to have me killed? You sir, are deserving of a title far worse." The villagers rushed out of sight at the commotion, fearing for their lives now that they saw guards burning alive in their suits of armor, leather and metal melting with their skin. The screams stopped, and the bodies fell to the ground in a pool of smoking gore and molten ore.
"Monster! You will pay for this!" The noble boy called, as he fled in his carriage. Another day, another enemy. Such was the difficulty of being a numerologist in this world. It would be far too easy to cheat the system, and build an empire of my own. But I have always believed in the value of hard work. Maybe one day, others will too.
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
"Wow, that is impressive." A woman nearby said, as she stopped in the road to observe as I continued, undaunted by the growing audience. The initial setup complete, I now moved onto the complex calculations.
2x/sin(3r+5y³) - 1.5(T+2i) ; Π-2tan(2.87T-r² ± 12)... The runes and numbers now started flowing from the matrices, forming the structure of the incantation. Just a moment longer and I would be complete. Now for the most arcane.
ɣɚȵȶɕʡȝȡǽ, ʊʂʆʨϰϨȃȢȵ... The last of the equations seemingly words, but in fact merely substitutions for the mathematical concepts built up in the matrices upon which the lattice now sat. Then, with a triumphant yell, I solved the incantation.
"Kyrota!" And just like that, I saw the pull of the fabric of spacetime warp, as matter from the distant edges of the universe now entangled in the energy of the spell, came forth, and took the place to which I summoned it. Before me now stood a great mansion, adorned in simple stone architecture accented with gold, and ruby carpets. A sprawling courtyard with newly born rose bushes on either side of the path.
"My goodness!" The woman exclaimed, amongst similar reactions from other onlookers. Of course, I found this reaction commonplace. It seemed everywhere I was commissioned to do my work, it held some mystery to those who witnessed it. Years of study and practice, however, made such things mundane.
I walked over to the carriage nearby, as a youth robed in gentle purple and silver fabrics stepped out. He was attended by his butler, wearing a dusty grey suit. The youth looked over my work.
"I am not terribly impressed." He said to me. Most likely an attempt to save himself a ransom of coin.
"Neither am I, but work done is worth payment, my lord." I replied, extending my hand toward him. The youth scowled, a look which did not look good on his otherwise gentle features. It was clear this lord had never worked an honest day in his life.
"Well, we shall see about that. Braev, the money." He instructed his butler. A small pouch was handed to me. I looked inside. As expected, these were gold pieces. My services cost the same weight in platinum.
"I believe there has been an error, sir. This payment..."
"IS ENOUGH for the place you have built here. Pitiful, you shall get no more." He scoffed.
"Then I shall take back that which you have not yet paid." I said, tugging on a few aetherial cords in the structure. With a flash of light, the equations I had built in spacetime came to life, and at once, the second and third floors of the mansion disappeared, and the courtyard as well.
"You FILTHY CHEAT! How DARE YOU?" He yelled at me. "Guards, kill this man!"
Several armed guards rushed forward with their spears and short swords. I sighed. One in every ten transactions, something like this happens. It is ridiculous. As they stepped within my warding area, I spoke a word of power, invoking the powers. The guards were instantly aflame, and frozen in place. They screamed in terror and in pain. Unable to move, they were at my mercy to put them out.
"I, the cheat? You deign to request my services, and then try to pay me less than half for the work I have done, and then intend to have me killed? You sir, are deserving of a title far worse." The villagers rushed out of sight at the commotion, fearing for their lives now that they saw guards burning alive in their suits of armor, leather and metal melting with their skin. The screams stopped, and the bodies fell to the ground in a pool of smoking gore and molten ore.
"Monster! You will pay for this!" The noble boy called, as he fled in his carriage. Another day, another enemy. Such was the difficulty of being a numerologist in this world. It would be far too easy to cheat the system, and build an empire of my own. But I have always believed in the value of hard work. Maybe one day, others will too.
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Sugar
Another young girl entered the dream. I thought to myself about how the last one turned out. Things went pretty well. I, Noble, would guide this one from the land of sugar to the prince, just like I had the last. Well, at least I would try. They can be so stubborn, and selfish.
"Where am I?" The girl cried. And dutifully, the good witch appeared, gave her the magical gifts and her task. And, as expected, the moment the good witch was gone, she attempted to selfishly run with those magical shoes straight to the prince. If only she could see how silly she looked, running in place.
Coming to a stop, she looked around, as she realized she had not moved an inch. "Aww man, these shoes are BROKEN! Dumb shoes."
My role was next, so I cast my fairy magic, transporting her to a land of sugar. I made my usual appearance.
"Hi, I'm Noble! I'm a sugar fairy, and I have been sent to help you get to the prince!" I said, introducing myself.
"I'm Amy. Do you know where I am?"
"Silly, you're in the land of sugar!" I responded. She knelt down, and tasted the sandy ground. Her face brightened as she scooped more toward her mouth. "Hey! Be careful! If you eat too much, you'll get a stomachache!"
"I'm fine... but I wish I could go home." Amy responded, in a huff. Then, in a surprising turn, she looked at me deviously.
"Wait, Amy. What are you thinking?" I asked, but before I had a chance to react, she jumped atop me, and started biting my arm. "Hey! Stop that, I'm not food!"
"Yes you are! You're sugar!" Amy said, as she bit my head off. My body fell limply to the ground. Well, this was going to be harder than when Maya came through. I melted into the sugary ground and reformed a few feet away, this time with wings so she couldn't reach me.
"Ok, listen, Amy. I'm here to help you, but we need to set some ground rules."
"I HATE RULES! I want to do what I WANT!" Amy whined. Rolling my eyes, I prepared for what was SURE to be a LONG trip.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
"Where am I?" The girl cried. And dutifully, the good witch appeared, gave her the magical gifts and her task. And, as expected, the moment the good witch was gone, she attempted to selfishly run with those magical shoes straight to the prince. If only she could see how silly she looked, running in place.
Coming to a stop, she looked around, as she realized she had not moved an inch. "Aww man, these shoes are BROKEN! Dumb shoes."
My role was next, so I cast my fairy magic, transporting her to a land of sugar. I made my usual appearance.
"Hi, I'm Noble! I'm a sugar fairy, and I have been sent to help you get to the prince!" I said, introducing myself.
"I'm Amy. Do you know where I am?"
"Silly, you're in the land of sugar!" I responded. She knelt down, and tasted the sandy ground. Her face brightened as she scooped more toward her mouth. "Hey! Be careful! If you eat too much, you'll get a stomachache!"
"I'm fine... but I wish I could go home." Amy responded, in a huff. Then, in a surprising turn, she looked at me deviously.
"Wait, Amy. What are you thinking?" I asked, but before I had a chance to react, she jumped atop me, and started biting my arm. "Hey! Stop that, I'm not food!"
"Yes you are! You're sugar!" Amy said, as she bit my head off. My body fell limply to the ground. Well, this was going to be harder than when Maya came through. I melted into the sugary ground and reformed a few feet away, this time with wings so she couldn't reach me.
"Ok, listen, Amy. I'm here to help you, but we need to set some ground rules."
"I HATE RULES! I want to do what I WANT!" Amy whined. Rolling my eyes, I prepared for what was SURE to be a LONG trip.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Thursday, March 15, 2018
Smoke, fog, and haze
I did the ironic thing. Despite the fact that I could not see in front of me because of the fog, I lit a cigarette, even knowing that it may make the haze take even longer to clear. I needed it. Cigarettes, I had learned, actually contain a lot of stimulants. But the habits of smoking them always helped me calm down. I felt more clear headed after having one, even though it was probably just the nicotine addiction. Just taking the edge off right before withdrawal kicked in.
"Alright, Bruce. Take it slow, you've got this." I tried to calm myself between puffs. I looked around, still could hardly see past my own hand. The illumination from the cigarette doing nothing to help. The small, handheld flashlight in my free hand, having taken the place of the lighter from a moment ago, did less. It was like shining a light at a wall. I bent down a little.
"Why'd it have to be heights?" I asked myself, noting how there was seemingly no floor on either side of me. Who knew how far down the pit went. "Well, now's a good a time as any to check."
I flicked the butt of the cigarette down the side of the platform, watching the glow as it fell, but a few feet down, and the fog overtook it. Could just be a few feet, could be a mile. I'd rather not find out. Looking back at the path, I knew there was only one direction to walk, and so I steadied myself, and slowly moved through the smoke, fog, and haze. "Wait for me, Margaret. I'll save you."
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
"Alright, Bruce. Take it slow, you've got this." I tried to calm myself between puffs. I looked around, still could hardly see past my own hand. The illumination from the cigarette doing nothing to help. The small, handheld flashlight in my free hand, having taken the place of the lighter from a moment ago, did less. It was like shining a light at a wall. I bent down a little.
"Why'd it have to be heights?" I asked myself, noting how there was seemingly no floor on either side of me. Who knew how far down the pit went. "Well, now's a good a time as any to check."
I flicked the butt of the cigarette down the side of the platform, watching the glow as it fell, but a few feet down, and the fog overtook it. Could just be a few feet, could be a mile. I'd rather not find out. Looking back at the path, I knew there was only one direction to walk, and so I steadied myself, and slowly moved through the smoke, fog, and haze. "Wait for me, Margaret. I'll save you."
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Wednesday, March 14, 2018
Foreclosure
"Wait, they're going to foreclose on our planet!?" Jenna yelped. "Who the hell was responsible for making the payments and fell behind?"
"Apparently, it was the president of the committee of space." Gordon replied, as he packed his essential items. You know, the usual things- his automatic hair floofer, his external neuralink transmitter, his 360 holo-outfit adjuster, his trans-dimensional storage cube, and his pet rock.
"Well who put the president of the committee of space in charge of that?" Jenna asked, as she stared at how calmly Gordon was handling the situation. "And why are you so calm! Our planet is about to be destroyed!"
"Now, now, just because the planet is being destroyed doesn't mean we won't have anywhere to live. I heard in just another century they will have repaved this orbit with a brand new planet, which will have exotic living conditions. Also, it wasn't like anyone put the president in charge on purpose, the treasurer of the committee of space got fired after an investigation revealed that he had been smuggling shoopufs from Spira."
"I don't want to have to wait a century for a place to live! Is there anything we can do to keep the planet from going into foreclosure?"
"Well, I suppose if we were able to get someone to volunteer to use the time capsule to go back to the beginning of the universe, and deposit a single penny in the Universal Bank, then by the time it was present day we would have an account with enough money to make this orbit's payment. Of course, you know nobody would volunteer for a one way trip to a time where running water and direct neural broadcasting of sport events weren't available."
"Well I won't stand for this. I'm going to do something." Jenna said. Gordon jumped into the teleportation grid to head to Alpha Centauri, advising her "OK, just be careful. Dinner's at 8!"
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
"Apparently, it was the president of the committee of space." Gordon replied, as he packed his essential items. You know, the usual things- his automatic hair floofer, his external neuralink transmitter, his 360 holo-outfit adjuster, his trans-dimensional storage cube, and his pet rock.
"Well who put the president of the committee of space in charge of that?" Jenna asked, as she stared at how calmly Gordon was handling the situation. "And why are you so calm! Our planet is about to be destroyed!"
"Now, now, just because the planet is being destroyed doesn't mean we won't have anywhere to live. I heard in just another century they will have repaved this orbit with a brand new planet, which will have exotic living conditions. Also, it wasn't like anyone put the president in charge on purpose, the treasurer of the committee of space got fired after an investigation revealed that he had been smuggling shoopufs from Spira."
"I don't want to have to wait a century for a place to live! Is there anything we can do to keep the planet from going into foreclosure?"
"Well, I suppose if we were able to get someone to volunteer to use the time capsule to go back to the beginning of the universe, and deposit a single penny in the Universal Bank, then by the time it was present day we would have an account with enough money to make this orbit's payment. Of course, you know nobody would volunteer for a one way trip to a time where running water and direct neural broadcasting of sport events weren't available."
"Well I won't stand for this. I'm going to do something." Jenna said. Gordon jumped into the teleportation grid to head to Alpha Centauri, advising her "OK, just be careful. Dinner's at 8!"
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Tuesday, March 13, 2018
Missed Connections
I've been single for what seems like a long time. To me, I should say, because naturally how we perceive time varies based on our age, our experiences, and other qualia.
Lately, the fact that I am single has been hitting me rather hard. It is not always a big deal (sure it would be nice to not have to deal with it again, but I can generally handle being single because less responsibility). Recently, however, I have been noticing all the missed connections I have with people. Or connections that I maybe haven't missed, but perhaps still haven't addressed yet.
I know how silly it can sound, making a love life so important. But I've seen some people I've been intrigued by lately, but despite my intentions to not miss those connections, I have been prevented from taking action. Mostly by circumstance, not by my unwillingness to talk to people. After all, if you pass a stranger on the street (fyi- just an example, I'm not literally approaching random people on the street, in case you were wondering), and you're into them but say nothing... you may never have a chance to say anything to them again. It's just how things go.
So, I've been a bit disappointed that I've missed some opportunities to get to know more about those intriguing people. Then there are the people who I like, but despite my efforts to get to know them better, it is unusually difficult. I suppose I should give myself a bit of credit, I am putting forth effort, but the connection with those people are also kinda vague. Nebulous, minor connections. I'm still working on them, but I think I may have to face the fact that it may never be a strong connection, regardless of how much time I put into it.
I long for connection with others. I feel I'm missing out on it somehow. And although I want the circumstances to change, I don't want to have to completely change who I am or how I operate just for a chance that something might happen. Maybe it is that very stubbornness to change that has led me to the point where I am. Approaching 30 years old, with less than 6 months of time in 'significant other' relationships under my belt for experience. Not sure what to do. And, for those who are reading, sorry if this isn't my normal fantasy short story type of post, but then again, the prompts do seem to imply occasionally writing real stuff, and this is Fantasy or Reality. So, today I'm being real. I hate missed connections.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Lately, the fact that I am single has been hitting me rather hard. It is not always a big deal (sure it would be nice to not have to deal with it again, but I can generally handle being single because less responsibility). Recently, however, I have been noticing all the missed connections I have with people. Or connections that I maybe haven't missed, but perhaps still haven't addressed yet.
I know how silly it can sound, making a love life so important. But I've seen some people I've been intrigued by lately, but despite my intentions to not miss those connections, I have been prevented from taking action. Mostly by circumstance, not by my unwillingness to talk to people. After all, if you pass a stranger on the street (fyi- just an example, I'm not literally approaching random people on the street, in case you were wondering), and you're into them but say nothing... you may never have a chance to say anything to them again. It's just how things go.
So, I've been a bit disappointed that I've missed some opportunities to get to know more about those intriguing people. Then there are the people who I like, but despite my efforts to get to know them better, it is unusually difficult. I suppose I should give myself a bit of credit, I am putting forth effort, but the connection with those people are also kinda vague. Nebulous, minor connections. I'm still working on them, but I think I may have to face the fact that it may never be a strong connection, regardless of how much time I put into it.
I long for connection with others. I feel I'm missing out on it somehow. And although I want the circumstances to change, I don't want to have to completely change who I am or how I operate just for a chance that something might happen. Maybe it is that very stubbornness to change that has led me to the point where I am. Approaching 30 years old, with less than 6 months of time in 'significant other' relationships under my belt for experience. Not sure what to do. And, for those who are reading, sorry if this isn't my normal fantasy short story type of post, but then again, the prompts do seem to imply occasionally writing real stuff, and this is Fantasy or Reality. So, today I'm being real. I hate missed connections.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Monday, March 12, 2018
Great Minds
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Albert Einstein. Nikola Tesla. Benjamin Franklin. Galleo Galilei. Blaise Pascal. Gottfried Wilhelm. Leonardo DiVinci.
These were just a few of the great minds that have shaped the course of human history. And now, he was ready to be the next. Filbert Hilbarington, entrepreneur, inventor, philosopher, artist, and scientist. Everyone would remember his name. It would be in history textbooks, biology texts, mathematical proofs would be named after him, as would various elements.
Just one... last... tweak... done! Finally, his time to take his rightful place in the annals of history had come. Filbert Hilbarington climbed into his bed, and turned on the device attached to the headboard. It popped out, and over his face, and he began the launch sequence.
In a matter of moments, his bed was swirling around him. Colors and sounds, flying past, as he made the leap to another universe, one farther back in time... one thing he had forgotten to add to his time machine bed: a way to properly coordinate its position to match the same relative position to the planet, instead of the same absolute position in space.
Nobody ever heard of Filbert Hilbarington again, but several millennia later, an oddity was discovered when what appeared to be a bed was found entering Earth's gravity from space.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
These were just a few of the great minds that have shaped the course of human history. And now, he was ready to be the next. Filbert Hilbarington, entrepreneur, inventor, philosopher, artist, and scientist. Everyone would remember his name. It would be in history textbooks, biology texts, mathematical proofs would be named after him, as would various elements.
Just one... last... tweak... done! Finally, his time to take his rightful place in the annals of history had come. Filbert Hilbarington climbed into his bed, and turned on the device attached to the headboard. It popped out, and over his face, and he began the launch sequence.
In a matter of moments, his bed was swirling around him. Colors and sounds, flying past, as he made the leap to another universe, one farther back in time... one thing he had forgotten to add to his time machine bed: a way to properly coordinate its position to match the same relative position to the planet, instead of the same absolute position in space.
Nobody ever heard of Filbert Hilbarington again, but several millennia later, an oddity was discovered when what appeared to be a bed was found entering Earth's gravity from space.
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Sunday, March 11, 2018
Cleaning
The princess, at seeing how terribly messy the place had been, decided she was going to clean it before they got back from the mines.
Calling out in her most cheerful voice, she began to sing a happy tune. Whistling while she cleaned. Before long, the various animals of the surrounding area overheard her beautiful singing, and came to her side to help clean.
When the dwarves finally returned home, they were horrified by what they saw. The sink was filled with birds, splashing about. The rafters had rats running to and fro. A deer in the corner had eaten their house plant. Squirrels had poached their cabinet of all the nuts they had saved up for pie. And the stench. OH, the stench. It seemed that in every nook and cranny of their hut, there were droppings from the animals.
"That is it! You must go!" They said to the princess, upon realizing she had invited the animals into their home. And they evicted her, without a second thought.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Calling out in her most cheerful voice, she began to sing a happy tune. Whistling while she cleaned. Before long, the various animals of the surrounding area overheard her beautiful singing, and came to her side to help clean.
When the dwarves finally returned home, they were horrified by what they saw. The sink was filled with birds, splashing about. The rafters had rats running to and fro. A deer in the corner had eaten their house plant. Squirrels had poached their cabinet of all the nuts they had saved up for pie. And the stench. OH, the stench. It seemed that in every nook and cranny of their hut, there were droppings from the animals.
"That is it! You must go!" They said to the princess, upon realizing she had invited the animals into their home. And they evicted her, without a second thought.
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Dictionary Definition
Behindhand - late, tardy; behind in progress, backwards; in debt or arrears
When you are behindhand in getting home by curfew, your behind gets the hand. Specifically, when you're late, you're going to feel it in arrears. When getting a spanking, 'behind in progress'.
That's how I grew up, anyway. I will refrain from commenting whether this is the best method of raising a child, but it is the method by which I was raised.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
When you are behindhand in getting home by curfew, your behind gets the hand. Specifically, when you're late, you're going to feel it in arrears. When getting a spanking, 'behind in progress'.
That's how I grew up, anyway. I will refrain from commenting whether this is the best method of raising a child, but it is the method by which I was raised.
-------------------------
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Friday, March 9, 2018
Addict
Please, I beg, just one more.
The other person, he does not look back.
Just one more time, I plead.
In his sincerity, he turns around.
"Look, mate, I think you've had enough."
His words are a hot knife through my chest.
If he will not give it to me freely,
I shall take it then by force.
I pull out a knife of my own, and allow him to feel my pain.
"What... have you... done?" He asks.
That aroma, I am all too familiar to it.
You gave me no choice! I screamed.
The words leaving my mouth are not even my own.
I sit behind my pallor complexion, a silent observer.
I never wanted this, but I have no control.
The addiction takes over, and I am forced to watch.
As the beautiful man slumps to the ground,
I bend down, and start to feed on my cure.
The rush of the color, and the warmth on my cold skin excite me.
Then, in a moment, I am once again myself.
I step out from behind the mask, and sigh.
"Another mess to clean up" I say quietly.
I lifted his ensanguinated body up, and carry it to its new home.
"Had I the power to resist my addiction" I tell myself.
Yet, I knew the price when I joined the damned.
I had needed the power, regardless of the price.
I stopped to look in the mirror. Reflecting on who I am.
There, the sight met me, as always.
A body, floating midair, suspended by a force unseen.
I close my eyes and walk on. I feel the words of the darkness.
Thank you for this meal, I say.
But in my heart there is no gratefulness.
There is only remorse, at the creature I have become.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Eavesdropper
"It's the latest, the greatest magical item ever! Truly a marvel of magical engineering! Come get one now, as if your life depends on it! If you are a builder, a camper, a survivalist, a hiker, a hunter, or an assassin, you need this item!" Called a slick silver-haired elf, in the square. His bright voice, and supple complexion containing a paradoxically shifty expression.
"You say this item is so special, but you have only been waving it around. You want to show us how it can be used by ALL THESE PROFESSIONS, or are you just afraid anyone who sees that they don't work will call the guard and have you arrested?" A burly man called out, lifting his carpentry hammer in protest to the dealer.
"Oh, come, good sir! I promise, I am not selling you anything but the finest wares. My lotions, potions, baubles, bubbles, trinkets and tickets all work exactly as advertised. But why take me at my word? Unless you steal them, like the biblioburglar of Linlitana Library? Come, witness the power of my products, the sensation of the season, the one and only EAVESDROPPER!" He called, lifting the small crystal pipette into the air above his head.
The crowd, enticed by his advertising, gathered around, and 'oooh'ed prematurely. The elf lithely jumped up to the top of the fountain he had been advertising next to. He tipped the eavesdropper, so the open end of the pipette was facing the fountain, with the rubber bulb held firmly between his thumb and his index. He squeezed, ever so gently, until a single drop fell from the tip. As it touched the spout of water coming from the top of the fountain, the elf jumped away to land safely to its side.
No sooner than he had landed, a beautiful awning spread out over the fountain, with walls sprouting shortly afterward. The fountain was now fully enclosed. The crowd went wild, cheering at the display of magic.
"Ok, so you made a case for using your 'eavesdropper' on our fountain, but why do you say it's useful for a hunter or an assassin?" The man yelled, angry that already he was being made to look foolish.
"I knew you would ask, so I present two more demonstrations!" The elf said. "Imagine now that you are an assassin, and your target has gone outside to take his evening pipe under this very roof." He jumped onto the awning, and let a single drop fall once again, this time on the edge of the awning. No sooner than it hit the side, the eaves of the awning fell to the ground, severed from the rest of the structure. The crowd gasped in terror. One lady ran from the crowd screaming "we are all doomed!"
The elf held up his hand, showing in his demeanor that he requested silence until he had finished. He took out a few seeds from his pocket, and flung them into the square. Then, with a fluid motion, words coming forth from his mouth faster than his lips were moving, several phrases at the same time, he cast a blinding green spell. When the light faded, the seeds had formed a small grove of densely packed trees, with their branches crossing overhead.
"Now let us take a moment to consider if a deer was crossing underneath, as you have waited for it to do, a hunter preparing to capture his meal." The elf leapt into the branches, and dropped yet again, one drop of liquid from his pipette. With a violent thrash, the eaves of the trees collapsed perfectly into a cage, deeply embedded into the ground, with several sharp spikes facing inward. Had an animal been there, it would surely have perished, or been trapped and wounded.
With all their doubts flying from their minds, the elf directed the townspeople to make their purchases at his cart, where his lovely assistant happily took their money. With each transaction, she warned them.
"Remember, there are no refunds, and to avoid any accidents, we request you do not use the word of activation found on the inside of the bottom of the box in town."
The townspeople agreed, and eagerly headed to their homes. After a few minutes, they were sold out, and the elf and his beautiful assistant, in her scarlet robes, took their money and left town.
"Once again, your illusion magic is as powerful as ever, dear Eva." The silver-haired elf lauded.
"If not for your delivery, I am sure none would have believed it, Ilthinar." She responded. And as they reached the hill, on the very edge of the forest valley, they overheard a collective roar of anger from the town.
"Well, they got what they paid for." He chuckled, as they continued on their path to the next town. Of course, the next town was warned by the man who had overheard them from the nearby trees. After all, there was more than one kind of 'eavesdropper' in this world.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
"You say this item is so special, but you have only been waving it around. You want to show us how it can be used by ALL THESE PROFESSIONS, or are you just afraid anyone who sees that they don't work will call the guard and have you arrested?" A burly man called out, lifting his carpentry hammer in protest to the dealer.
"Oh, come, good sir! I promise, I am not selling you anything but the finest wares. My lotions, potions, baubles, bubbles, trinkets and tickets all work exactly as advertised. But why take me at my word? Unless you steal them, like the biblioburglar of Linlitana Library? Come, witness the power of my products, the sensation of the season, the one and only EAVESDROPPER!" He called, lifting the small crystal pipette into the air above his head.
The crowd, enticed by his advertising, gathered around, and 'oooh'ed prematurely. The elf lithely jumped up to the top of the fountain he had been advertising next to. He tipped the eavesdropper, so the open end of the pipette was facing the fountain, with the rubber bulb held firmly between his thumb and his index. He squeezed, ever so gently, until a single drop fell from the tip. As it touched the spout of water coming from the top of the fountain, the elf jumped away to land safely to its side.
No sooner than he had landed, a beautiful awning spread out over the fountain, with walls sprouting shortly afterward. The fountain was now fully enclosed. The crowd went wild, cheering at the display of magic.
"Ok, so you made a case for using your 'eavesdropper' on our fountain, but why do you say it's useful for a hunter or an assassin?" The man yelled, angry that already he was being made to look foolish.
"I knew you would ask, so I present two more demonstrations!" The elf said. "Imagine now that you are an assassin, and your target has gone outside to take his evening pipe under this very roof." He jumped onto the awning, and let a single drop fall once again, this time on the edge of the awning. No sooner than it hit the side, the eaves of the awning fell to the ground, severed from the rest of the structure. The crowd gasped in terror. One lady ran from the crowd screaming "we are all doomed!"
The elf held up his hand, showing in his demeanor that he requested silence until he had finished. He took out a few seeds from his pocket, and flung them into the square. Then, with a fluid motion, words coming forth from his mouth faster than his lips were moving, several phrases at the same time, he cast a blinding green spell. When the light faded, the seeds had formed a small grove of densely packed trees, with their branches crossing overhead.
"Now let us take a moment to consider if a deer was crossing underneath, as you have waited for it to do, a hunter preparing to capture his meal." The elf leapt into the branches, and dropped yet again, one drop of liquid from his pipette. With a violent thrash, the eaves of the trees collapsed perfectly into a cage, deeply embedded into the ground, with several sharp spikes facing inward. Had an animal been there, it would surely have perished, or been trapped and wounded.
With all their doubts flying from their minds, the elf directed the townspeople to make their purchases at his cart, where his lovely assistant happily took their money. With each transaction, she warned them.
"Remember, there are no refunds, and to avoid any accidents, we request you do not use the word of activation found on the inside of the bottom of the box in town."
The townspeople agreed, and eagerly headed to their homes. After a few minutes, they were sold out, and the elf and his beautiful assistant, in her scarlet robes, took their money and left town.
"Once again, your illusion magic is as powerful as ever, dear Eva." The silver-haired elf lauded.
"If not for your delivery, I am sure none would have believed it, Ilthinar." She responded. And as they reached the hill, on the very edge of the forest valley, they overheard a collective roar of anger from the town.
"Well, they got what they paid for." He chuckled, as they continued on their path to the next town. Of course, the next town was warned by the man who had overheard them from the nearby trees. After all, there was more than one kind of 'eavesdropper' in this world.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Thursday, March 8, 2018
The Found Poem
The clouds laugh at me,
But I could not see,
The sky so bright, metaphorically.
Beautiful affliction, a joke in the play,
Synchronized seconds of comedy.
A grand plan ready, a moment before eight,
When surprised the car met us and drove to the gate.
Watching a romantic movie, and literally
Several hours a flight to within the city.
Too bright for her eyes, a gesture like mine,
The moment emerged and our life stayed in line.
I could not hear whatever it was,
So for a while, it was just us:
Mom, myself, and Augustus
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
But I could not see,
The sky so bright, metaphorically.
Beautiful affliction, a joke in the play,
Synchronized seconds of comedy.
A grand plan ready, a moment before eight,
When surprised the car met us and drove to the gate.
Watching a romantic movie, and literally
Several hours a flight to within the city.
Too bright for her eyes, a gesture like mine,
The moment emerged and our life stayed in line.
I could not hear whatever it was,
So for a while, it was just us:
Mom, myself, and Augustus
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Tuesday, March 6, 2018
The Letter Poem
*A poem, written using only words from a letter sent by a schoolboy to rocket scientists in Australia*
Urgent, you put me in my rocket ship.
A radio designed by rolls royce, here.
Me, guided by a radar navigator to Victoria.
Designed by a top scientist, Ariel.
Jet engines fired, to pilot in South Australia.
Missiles, individually in chute.
Other details: markings, air, antenna, etc.
Please, write to me (can be a letter) at Morialloc: 26 st.
Urgent, you put me in my rocket ship.
A radio designed by rolls royce, here.
Me, guided by a radar navigator to Victoria.
Designed by a top scientist, Ariel.
Jet engines fired, to pilot in South Australia.
Missiles, individually in chute.
Other details: markings, air, antenna, etc.
Please, write to me (can be a letter) at Morialloc: 26 st.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Greeting
Today's entry is Greeting. Instead of the usual entry, which would just be written, I have composed a song, for which the music can be listened to here.
Hello, I greet you.
Good day, nice to meet you.
How fares your life in this crazy time?
If only a meeting,
Hello, I greet you.
Good day, nice to meet you.
How fares your life in this crazy time?
So nice as a greeting,
Could guarantee your love for this heart of mine.
In summer, I met thee.
Yet you hardly know me.
I sought thy company for days on end.
Yet seasons keep flowing,
And ever it's showing,
A greeting alone, a heart will not mend.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Sunday, March 4, 2018
Free Post - Practice Exam
Since the author of the Practice Makes Pretense book on wattage had to take a day off due to an exceptionally long post, it's a free writing day.
I've been taking the practice exam for an upcoming test. I find it relatively easy to address exams, I have no problem with the pressure they bring, but wording is always so important on them.
The difference between 'all of these are true except' and 'none of these are true except', and knowing 'which option is the best' out of four good options, but one which is correctly the 'right choice' can be a tough thing to address.
Once I know the outcome of my exam, I'll mention it here. Since it is a bit related to my job, though, the grade is not all that important, just more of whether I pass, and if so in how many tries.
Good luck to me. After days of study and hours of practice exams, I'm pumped, and I am also ready to put this course behind me. (It has been a long week, and it is only Sunday! Haha)
Edit: Passed the exam first try, with acc hour of time left.
Saturday, March 3, 2018
Dragon
Soft leathery wings flapping in the air, brilliant mosaic scales, and sharp flashing fangs. The majestic figure was truly awe inspiring.
A courier walked up to it, opened it's maw, and shoved some packages within. The he left, the dragon mailbox, now hoarding its treasure.
Shortly after noon, the owner of the mailbox arrived to pick the packages up. Using its claws, it pressed the switch on the tail, causing the packages to fly out of the back, and land safely within the basket it carried for convenience.
The dragon lifted off with a beat of its wings, and took its mail back to the cave at the top of the mountain. "Ah, online shopping is the best." It said, as it left its mailbox behind.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
A courier walked up to it, opened it's maw, and shoved some packages within. The he left, the dragon mailbox, now hoarding its treasure.
Shortly after noon, the owner of the mailbox arrived to pick the packages up. Using its claws, it pressed the switch on the tail, causing the packages to fly out of the back, and land safely within the basket it carried for convenience.
The dragon lifted off with a beat of its wings, and took its mail back to the cave at the top of the mountain. "Ah, online shopping is the best." It said, as it left its mailbox behind.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Friday, March 2, 2018
Friendship
Inside the dorm, there was a sobbing, just barely audible from the hallway. In the other rooms, studying, playing, sleeping, and eating were all underway, but not in room 320.
"Take this. It's my lucky stone. It comes from the Japanese tradition of Kintsukuroi. The story goes that in Japan, when a valuable item breaks, they repair it with gold, because in embracing the imperfections, and even highlighting them, the object becomes even more beautiful. The cracks, filled in with the gold, show that even broken things have value. I know things are difficult now. Even if your heart is breaking, you still have value, and you can get through this. I can't guarantee things will get better, but I promise I will be by your side."
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
"I don't understand any of it." Virginia said, weeping openly. "I mean, we had been together for 3 years, and he never said anything about having second thoughts about our relationship. Everything seemed to be going so well, why did he leave me?"
"V, I am so sorry this happened. But you can get through this. I will be here for you, I am here to listen. Talk to me, get it out." Scott said.
"I..." she sobbed, "feel so selfish bothering you with all my problems. You are totally my best friend, and I know it must suck to spend time with a sad sack like me."
"None of that." He replied. "I know that I have been in much the same situation in the past, and you were there for me too. That's what friendship is about. I want to be here for you. I will do everything I can to support you. But I know that more often than not, what is needed is an ear to hear you. A shoulder to cry on. So that's what I am going to do, hear you out. It's ok."
Scott pulled Virginia in for a hug. The warmth of his embrace felt so good, she burst into even more tears. She felt so many things. It felt good that her best friend was supporting her, she was still torn up inside about how Ben had dumped her, and she was angry with herself most of all for believing his lies the last month.
"I thought we were good. I spent time with him, we did what he liked, we had so many things in common. When he told me he had been cheating on me with Jason, I was willing to let it go. I wanted to make it work, but for him to say that he was breaking up with me for him... was I just not enough for Ben?"
"Oh, V. You know these kinds of things aren't about the other person. There is nothing wrong with you. People grow apart, it happens. I mean, you two had been going out since high school. Not many high school relationships last a year into college. But if anyone should feel bad, it's him. It might not have been easier, but he should have told you sooner."
"I just don't know what to do." Virginia said, her tears slowing a little, as Scott continued to comfort her in a hug.
"You don't need to do anything. Just take some time. Allow yourself time to process. That's the best thing anyone can do with something like this." Scott let her go, and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small stone. It was beautiful, smooth, colorful, but with a huge crack in the middle. The crack had been filled in with a golden filling before being polished again.
"Take this. It's my lucky stone. It comes from the Japanese tradition of Kintsukuroi. The story goes that in Japan, when a valuable item breaks, they repair it with gold, because in embracing the imperfections, and even highlighting them, the object becomes even more beautiful. The cracks, filled in with the gold, show that even broken things have value. I know things are difficult now. Even if your heart is breaking, you still have value, and you can get through this. I can't guarantee things will get better, but I promise I will be by your side."
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Thursday, March 1, 2018
Animals
They sat down around the table, which was carefully set with the utensils. A silver platter was placed on the center, between the candles and many side dishes. It was all very well-to-do, being that they were high society.
"Billy, did you have a good day at school?" Martha asked.
"Nah." He responded, "The kids at school suck. I am far more interested in the trampoline, than school." His father looked over at him.
"Now, Billy, you know you need to study hard, if you want to make it like we did. It was your great-great grandfather, bless his beard, that brought us from rags to riches, and you must study or you won't be able to support yourself." He said. Bob did not study very hard, but then again, he had inherited the ranch, which was why the family was so wealthy.
"Anyway, let's dig in, shall we?" Martha said. The servant lifted the lid off the succulent, delicious human prepared on the dish. Truly, a feast fit for only the greatest goats there were.
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Wednesday, February 28, 2018
Dream Catcher
He stalks the darkness, searching for them. They are terrible, frightening, and worth a lot. If he can catch even one tonight, he will be provided enough food to feed someone for a week.
There it was, a lascivious black, with sparkling silver hair, yet with a menacing aura. Beautiful, if not for how aggressive it was. All around it on the ground, sparks of purple and gold, flying like electricity, but not illuminating the area. Otherworldly, the night mare. He readied his net.
The man leapt from his cover, flinging the net wide. In a flash, the nightmare was caught. It struggled and squirmed, but alas, it was caught and could not escape. He pulled out a flute, and started playing a gentle lullaby.
As he played, the mare grew calm. The dark, menacing aura weakening, and the sparks softening until they became a pale mist, dancing in the moonlight. When he had finished, he removed the dream-catcher. He no longer needed it, for this was no longer a nightmare.
He mounted the dream, and rode her to the village. When he arrived, he went to the market, selling the mare, and being offered the food they had set aside for him. He then traveled to the home of the wise man, who had preserved the practice of making the dream-catchers.
"A calm night to you, Dibikad." The hunter said to the wise man.
"The many children who placed the sacred hoops above their beds tonight had a dream of floating on the river." He responded. The elder nodded slowly.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
There it was, a lascivious black, with sparkling silver hair, yet with a menacing aura. Beautiful, if not for how aggressive it was. All around it on the ground, sparks of purple and gold, flying like electricity, but not illuminating the area. Otherworldly, the night mare. He readied his net.
The man leapt from his cover, flinging the net wide. In a flash, the nightmare was caught. It struggled and squirmed, but alas, it was caught and could not escape. He pulled out a flute, and started playing a gentle lullaby.
As he played, the mare grew calm. The dark, menacing aura weakening, and the sparks softening until they became a pale mist, dancing in the moonlight. When he had finished, he removed the dream-catcher. He no longer needed it, for this was no longer a nightmare.
He mounted the dream, and rode her to the village. When he arrived, he went to the market, selling the mare, and being offered the food they had set aside for him. He then traveled to the home of the wise man, who had preserved the practice of making the dream-catchers.
"A calm night to you, Dibikad." The hunter said to the wise man.
"I see you have returned from another hunt. Tell me, what did you see?" Dibikad answered.
"The many children who placed the sacred hoops above their beds tonight had a dream of floating on the river." He responded. The elder nodded slowly.
"They may never know the story why, but the tradition brings peace. Do you now leave to go with the spirits once more?" Dibikad asked.
"I have left the horse, and taken the offering given freely. I will move as the wind." He replied, as he turned to leave. "Look to your next vision for when I return."
So the tribe once again had honored the spirits, and their nights were pleasant and calm.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Tuesday, February 27, 2018
Rocket-ship
Jordan flipped the switches, checked the consoles, and double-checked his seat belt. He had been waiting for this, training for this. G-force testing, underwater 'space walk' simulation, and reading up on the procedures for preparing the ship to blast off.
At last, Jordan would finally be in the seat as the rocket ship took off toward the stars. He listened in to the last instructions for takeoff. Sure that all systems were green, he gave them a signal. He was ready. He heard the countdown, and chanted along with it. There was a low rumble, and he felt the shaking as the rocket prepared to lift off.
5... 4... 3... 2... 1...
"Jordan! It's time for dinner!" A voice called.
"Abort, abort!" Jordan cried, as he clamored out of the cardboard box. He would see the stars another day, his mac and cheese came first.
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Monday, February 26, 2018
Eye contact
Eons. It had been that long since last someone looked upon her and lived to tell about it. She once was marveled at. Once, she was the envy of everyone, loved for her beauty. But now, she was cursed by that same beauty that she had been known for.
Nobody would make eye contact with her anymore. And sure, at first, there was something fun about the power that came with knowing that. And yes, there were times that she was able to use it to her advantage, it wasn't like she really wanted for anything...
And yet, sitting there, she took a furtive glance at a mirror. A feat of courage she rarely had the will to do. Yes, this was the face of a monster. Surely nobody would ever love her again. In that moment, looking in the mirror, assuming that she would be the only one to ever make eye contact with her again, and hating the image she saw, Medusa cried.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Sunday, February 25, 2018
Food
A hard day's work, but at last the harvest was complete. It had been a tough year, with the weather being chaotic, and pests springing up at the worst times, but somehow they had managed to do it.
Loading the last of the food into the truck, his son took it out toward the market where it would be sold off to help them last the rest of the year. The money was why they did it, but he wondered if they would be recognized for putting the food on the table.
Elsewhere, another family was sitting down for a meal, eating the same food that had been harvested from a difficult growing season, miles away. The mother sat down, the last to arrive at the table.
"Thank you, God, for providing this food. May you bless it to the nourishment of our bodies. Amen." And just like that, they ate. It was a miracle.
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Saturday, February 24, 2018
Dancing
I danced above the surface, one fluid motion after another. Perhaps I would be noticed, perhaps not. Regardless, I would move on, sliding in one direction, then sailing back in the other.
I twirled, wearing my most beautiful colours, for all to see. I flipped, and jumped. I may have been one of many, but now I was alone, beautiful and graceful, having found my place out in the world after having left where I once grew up.
In a dramatic and beautiful frenzy, I soared high into the air.
I am a leaf on the wind, flying in autumn.
This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
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Friday, February 23, 2018
The Vessel
At last, the seal would be undone, and he would have the glory and the riches within. Something about the jar he held in his hand, impervious to all manner of attempts to open it, held an appeal. After years of searching, he had finally found the answers to both what was inside, and how to open the vessel, and obtain its power.
Inside, the blood of a god, long since thought to be dead. Some cultures referred to it as a daemon, but he knew better. It had done great things. TERRIBLE... but great. And now, he was mere moments from opening the jar, and doing as the inscriptions said. He read them once more to ensure he did everything right.
Then, under the dark sky, with new moon overhead, it shall be placed upon an altar, and the lid shall twist and be torn asunder from its seal. When opened, thou shalt take the vessel, and consume that which is within. Then the power of the great one shall be used once more.Now, at the apex of the night, with a dark moon hanging in the air above, he placed the canopic jar on the altar, and removed the lid. The seal broke loose, and he watched as something terrible flew from the jar. It entered his body at every orifice, and burned inside him. As his mind burned, twisting in anguish, he realized the error of his ways. The jar was not the vessel. HE was the vessel, heralding the return of the great one. TERRIBLE! But great. This power was never to be his, and it was only in his last moment he realized how foolish it was to play dice with a daemon.
The ritual complete, the god rose from the ground, and began walking out of the church, as the altar behind spontaneously caught aflame. "Ah, free at last. How nice it is to find a more fitting vessel."
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Thursday, February 22, 2018
The unrequited love poem
I saw you sit there,
I wanted to say hello
But I just could not.
So I bide my time,
Learning what I can until...
At last, there it is.
What I expected,
You are already taken.
She's lucky, I thought.
I sit down and weep.
These dreams I have are painful.
But even in pain...
I can't stop dreaming.
I want something to believe,
But it does not come.
I will still hold on.
Hold on to the hope that I,
However broken
Will one day find it
Those elusive four letters.
Then love will be mine.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
Wednesday, February 21, 2018
Pretense for practice
"Outside the window"
When Mary opened her eyes, she was surprised by the sight before her. The trip through the airport, and onto the plane had been a tense series of nerve rattling waits. Hours on end, anxious about it the entire time. When the plane shook as its wheels finally left the tarmac, she could not bear to open her eyes. She had spent the entire time thinking of all the ways things could go wrong.
Now, with her eyes open, she looked out the window, and saw a beautiful glistening blue ocean, and light fluffy clouds dotting the landscape below. It was a sight she had never seen before, at least, not from this angle.
"The clouds look so different from up here." Mary exclaimed, lost in the moment, having forgotten all her worries after the plane reached cruising altitude. The person sitting next to her smiled, and spoke to her, although he was a stranger.
"Yeah, I remember thinking something like that my first time too. It's amazing to think that we've managed to build things that allow us to see things like the birds do, from high in the air, looking down at the world below. I remember thinking just how... small... we all really are."
Mary managed to pull her gaze from the window. "Well, being small isn't the same as being insignificant. But seeing the world like this does put things in a bit more perspective." She looked back outside. "Now that I see this, I feel almost silly for being worried when the plane took off."
"Oh, yeah, the liftoff and the landing are really the worst parts. Well, that and when there's a line for the bathroom."
Mary chuckled, and realized that she had finally stopped holding her breath. She was now well on her way to the new life she had made for herself. Just a few hours and she would finally be where she was always meant to be.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
When Mary opened her eyes, she was surprised by the sight before her. The trip through the airport, and onto the plane had been a tense series of nerve rattling waits. Hours on end, anxious about it the entire time. When the plane shook as its wheels finally left the tarmac, she could not bear to open her eyes. She had spent the entire time thinking of all the ways things could go wrong.
Now, with her eyes open, she looked out the window, and saw a beautiful glistening blue ocean, and light fluffy clouds dotting the landscape below. It was a sight she had never seen before, at least, not from this angle.
"The clouds look so different from up here." Mary exclaimed, lost in the moment, having forgotten all her worries after the plane reached cruising altitude. The person sitting next to her smiled, and spoke to her, although he was a stranger.
"Yeah, I remember thinking something like that my first time too. It's amazing to think that we've managed to build things that allow us to see things like the birds do, from high in the air, looking down at the world below. I remember thinking just how... small... we all really are."
Mary managed to pull her gaze from the window. "Well, being small isn't the same as being insignificant. But seeing the world like this does put things in a bit more perspective." She looked back outside. "Now that I see this, I feel almost silly for being worried when the plane took off."
"Oh, yeah, the liftoff and the landing are really the worst parts. Well, that and when there's a line for the bathroom."
Mary chuckled, and realized that she had finally stopped holding her breath. She was now well on her way to the new life she had made for herself. Just a few hours and she would finally be where she was always meant to be.
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This blog post is part of a series of stories associated with Practice makes pretense, in which a collection of writing done in response to prompts is compiled. Then, the reader should answer the following two questions: 1) What was your favorite thing about the writing? 2) What did you feel as you read it?
If you would like to view the original, please visit the Practice makes pretense book on Wattpad, and respond to the writer.
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