Drabble #2: Simple

Drabble #2: Simple on somethingkaty

When You Wish You Were Awake

You run, but it’s pointless, a reflex.  Arms cut the air, legs attempt to push off the ground.  Heart exploding.  But you’re stuck.  In slow-motion.  You can feel it gaining on you.  Feel its shadow clawing after you, feel the heat of its breath on the back of your neck.  Don’t look back.  Don’t.  Eyes forward, wide, searching, wet with tears.

Then it happens.  Struck on the lower back, like a hundred hot needles going into your spine.  Feet leave the ground, kick the sky.  You hit the pavement, just a crumpled broken baby doll.  Wake up.  Just wake up.

Tremors

There’s a little shaking of the earth tonight

Just a little twitch

But it’s stronger than yesterday’s

and it grows like rabid drums

And my feet, they’ve known the ground

But now they are uncertain

Pebbles dance like mad men

Where pebbles should be still

And now my heart, it tremors

I do not know this beat.

The sea himself rolls back

Away from mountain cliffs

And the creatures that are his

Streak beneath the blue

I want to hide there too

The oracle is chanting

Eyes glazed over, white

Something is coming, he screams

Growing, coming, crawling from deeps

carousel

He contemplated the concept of revenge.
It is not just payback or getting even. No, revenge is much more.
It is the red of their pain, blue of their anguish, purple of their remorse. It's a rainbow of feelings, a kaleidoscope of thoughts, a carousel of a journey.
The carousel goes around and you cannot get off.
It doesn't stop.
It goes
and
goes

and


goes

Revenge consumes your soul like a beast.

All this he thought, yet he wanted the rainbow. He wanted the rainbow so he was willing to take the carousel.




But the beast...oh the beast.

Drabble #1: Vaster

Drabble #1: Vaster on somethingkaty

A Woman - The City That Never Sleeps

Her eyes listlessly drift across the sea of people, the various shapes and sizes melding together to look like one, big blob of life.
Her once vibrant hair now lays wispy and white. The cane used to hold up her feeble body leans as she does, propped up against the solitary bench. Oh, but her face! It's a masterpiece, a canvas that exhibits the beautiful inscriptions of the battles of her life. The strokes of the paintbrush have been many and ceaselessly scrawl countless lines into her flesh.
She's walked all over kingdom come, but for now, she sits.
Greyed, weathered, worn.

I wonder what those eyes have seen.

Super Saturday Title

I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing that day one is a Thursday. But anyway it is so here is the title for Super Saturday.

"Jagged Edges". 

Looking forward to seeing what everyone writes!

Writing about Writing

It’s the easy way out. To just write about writing. Seems circular. A roundabout way of discussing nothing.

But if we didn’t write about writing, we would be missing something crucial. There is an ever-growing line of text that circles up and down and all around and straight from your eyes into your brain and then to your heart. That is the weapon and the grace of the words. Characters joined together to hurt or heal or inspire or degrade or all of those together and they just go on and on.

There. I’ve written about writing.

The story continues.

One a Day...

"There is one outside right now."

"A what?"

"You know, that thing that shows up."

"Oh, that thing? I thought it left."

"It did, but it came back."

"Why?"

"It comes back ever day."

"But it left yesterday."

"It will leave again today."

"But isn't it still out there?"

"Yes, exactly"

"But if it's there now, then when will it go?"

"How should I know?"

"I thought you knew?”

"No I really don't."

"I thought you timed it.”

"Nope."

"Can it come back again today?"

"I'm pretty sure it that only one comes each day."

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure..."

Holy moly April is over

Dear Drabblers,

You've heard the old saying "April showers bring May flowers"? Well, today I'm introducing you to a new saying. "April showers bring DrabDayMoMay". It's sure to catch on in the general vernacular.

Because here we are. April less than two hours away from her demise. May just around the corner, ready and waiting for us to arrive.

You know the rules. A drabble is a piece of writing exactly 100 words in length. My challenge to you is to write one every single day in May. They can all be a cohesive story. They can be wildly different from each other. Or some sort of in-between state. It's all good.

On Thursdays, I'll post the title for Super Saturday. Saturdays, you post the drabble that goes with that title. You don't have to do it but it's always intriguing to see the different stories that come from the same title.

If you are drabbling on your own blog, that's fine. If you'd like to post your drabbles on this blog, let me know and I can give you access. When posting here, remember to tag your name so that it's easy to read the drabbles by author. And feel free to add other tags as well.

The point is to write. 100 words. 31 days.

Let's do this.

Best of luck,
The Curator

This is a terrible excuse for a last drabble. i am so out of things to write about.

i write.  

all curled up in my favorite thinking spot and i lift that ballpoint pen and bite the top.

and i lower it down to the page and scrawl out the things my muse had whispered to me while i lay awake.

so, i write. until there are no more words, simply a piece of artwork on a once blank sheet of white paper.

i don't write in cursive. i write in scrawny lowercase letters which grew bigger as my hand grew lazier and more tired.

but, sometimes, i get to lazy and i just type everything out in arial because everything looks better in arial. or times new roman. But not comic sans.

rachel.

7 years and counting. 

We can share strange(and very unattractive) faces in the midst of stressful places & it makes everything seem better.
And, you know, now that I think about it, we probably have too much chocolate when we're together because we're always too loud. guffawing and jumping around like psychos.
but, along with laughter and smiles, in her i find trustworthiness & understanding.
Thank you Lord for giving me someone who cries at the end of performances, thinks about others before herself, listens to girl problems, and ultimately keeps you in the center of her life.
Bestfriend, I love you so much.

end of the road

he was cold, battered, broken and damaged from the journey.
the shoes on his feet were but dust along the road from which he had come from. his eyes had lost their shine-the punishment of days of walking in the dust with his eyes spread wide open in order to escape the taloned clutches of death waiting for him to give in.
he saw the city.
he saw her running towards him, arms stretched out to receive his broken body.
he felt her around him, so alive within his arms.
and he knew the journey had been worth it.

colours

grey.
the road i walked.
black.
the clothes i wore.
white.
the sound of his voice beckoning me.
"come my child. your wrong has been made right by my blood."
i looked and behold.
red of the darkest blood, shed for my grey.
yellow of the light cutting through the darkness.
blue of the royal clothes he gave me. a sign of the beautiful inheritance i receive through the red, the yellow, the white.
and the colours. the beautiful hues woven throughout the scenery.
i saw them all. I saw their individual importance.
I saw the colours of his forgiveness and mercy.

WaterFire

The fire burned over the water. Bowls of flame, sending sparks like stars upward. The water, shining forth its shimmering reflections. The music, weaving a tapestry of sound around the basin. It was a faerie place, otherworldly, an oasis in the middle of the urban desert. Outside the hallowed perimeter, the screeching and the noise and the struggle for humanity raged.

But I, in my hallowed sanctuary, sat transfixed. Unaware of anything except the opening of another world in front of my eyes. A world made of ancient beauty.

Fire and water and music. The elements of a human soul.