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Trop tard a le reprendre

Title: Les Fleurs Violettes
Assignment: Had to relate somehow to the book we were reading Wasurenagusa (read it!).
Award: Most French
Length: 1169
Summary: A short story in French about a man returning to the orphanage where he spent his childhood.
Notes: The first two lines taken from 'Un Singe En Hiver' by Indochine. Please forgive my French, I wrote this a year ago.

I came back to Vietnam this morning...Collapse )

Poetry Triumvirate

Belgium (Richness & Destitution)
"Chocolate - Cote d'Or"
Slivers shave off around my teeth -
it's dark and heavy, an
      effort
to snap, bitter and cool in hands, bitter and warm
in mouth. So much within.
This tastes like luxury.
     Belgian mornings, dark Belgian histories,
     dark Belgian secrets.
Congo drums beat on my tongues
     as I remember
                                        
that spring.

"Wars"
In Belgium, it rains.
     Swollen hills and fields turn blue
from lack of war. Rain calls to mind
     the trenches.
             Once, so small, so significant:
like a wife you've known forever who takes your
beatings and then curtseys in return (what else? how else?).
     They used to fight battles of Golden Spurs and
Waterloo lions and Great Wars of mud and
gas and trampled flimsy fences here.
                Now, it just
          rains.

"Exchange"
We played badminton once, over charcoal briquets and laundry lines.
      Back and forth.
We talked about things.
      It was nice.
In Belgium, it's harder to talk than you might
expect.
It will be harder to speak tomorrow,
     back and forth.
You can pretend they're watching you, girl
     but they're probably not.
                                  That's the silence you only think you hear.
You can cling to that badminton bat all you like, girl,
     but it won't ever be so nice
     when the masks on the wall watch you play piano.

Epiphany

The walls were crumbling under the sunlight and she lay there, lines of persperation on her lip and collarbone, ready to be flecked with sand and hold dust in the hollows of her skin. Her hair was curling in the heat. The distant explosion, one more explosion of violence, one more death, didn't wake her; his intake of breath did. She didn't stir, just opened her catlike lashes to see him, the smile of sleep still warmly frozen there, now with the gently purpose of thought behind it. His boot crunched a rock, a noise that seemed more deafening than the gunshots outside, echoing within the room like a Christmas cracker. "Andy? What's the matter?" she said, though she didn't sit up. She just lay there, brow crinkling, no dust in the lines yet, although it was only a matter of time.
      He found a way to say it without choking by staring through the window that was really a hole left by a bomb or a car or some other tragedy of existence, staring at the sky that was on fire. "How can you be so - peaceful?" He said. All the happy people who had never been happy or people had already left, if they had ever been here. "Here."
      He only felt like he was sleeping when he was wide awake, the nightmare spread out like hell before him, a real hell, a worser hell than could be imagined because there wasn't any escape from it. That was the only time he could close his eyes, the only time he wanted to.
      He tore his gaze away from the sky burning with precious metals to watch her throat as she gathered saliva, thinking about it. "Because I'm alive," she said, and he thought of how utterly hopeless that was, the living. It was supposed to be a consolation, one saving grace, and he could never quite muster the strength to be grateful enough. "I'm living." She tasted it.
      "I have oxygen." Her eyes moved to the window.
      "I have my own two hands," she whispered.
      "And I do have hope." A beat.
      "I can read." Two beats.
      She moved her eyes to him, and he hadn't blinked, and she couldn't stop. "I have you here. That's why - I wouldn't call it... content. I wouldn't say that." She spoke brokenly, and he walked towards the bed, feet cracking like firecrackers to cover another burst of gunfire. "But I suppose peace makes sense."
      She still hadn't moved, her body frozen in its warm position of comfortable softness. He sat on the bed beside her, springs creaking the scream of terror he couldn't put words to, sheets dry and rustling. "But is that enough?" He spoke, not meaning to and not entirely knowing he had.
      She rolled her head back to look at the ceiling. "I have a purpose," she whispered.
      "I have someone I trust. And isn't that something," she marvelled at the last four words. "And isn't that enough."
     In the pause there was more silence than there had ever been in the whole world. It lasted an eternity as he drank her in and she lay back, eyes open and trying to put the world back together. "So this is what an epiphany feels like," she said, speaking not to Andy but to the man in the moon-shaped stain on the ceiling. "I always wondered."
      Her head slid back to look at Anderson, who had his fingers now wrapped gently around the wrist of her curled and oustretched hand. She looked at it. "Anderson," she whispered. "I can feel my heartbeat."
      "So can I," he whispered back, the dying, suffering light falling through the room, through the walls and sun and bones because the air was too full of dirt and guns and grief to hold it all. It split the room, more full of life and silent, violent commotion than he'd ever thought something could be. A single tear fell to land in the middle of her small palm, one lonely tear to join the whispers and sand in her veins.
      She spoke softly when she said, "I think that's the most precious gift anyone's ever given me."
      And then she closed her eyes again, her blood thrumming against his hand, eyelashes still soft and black, and he didn't feel peace, but light.
Curtain of hair falls
     - crooked and frizzy over one ear -
But smooth nonetheless math test
     below
Itch on the lip, clock tick
     once
A perfect
     square.

----------------------

Curtain of hair falls
     - red and dusty velvet velour -
Skims the boards actors pace the
     wings
Muttered lines, stage shines and
     dims
Break a
     leg.

---------------------

Curtain of hair falls
     (from the grubby pony-tail)
Loose tendril as she climbs
      waterfalls.
Rough grey rock, red tank top
     sweats
Out of           Amost
     reach           there.

WC 12 - Stories

Title: The Stories
Assignment: -- (extra)
Award: Least Coherent (it was written really late at night)
Length: 1197
Summary: Why I write, how I wrote, and why this class helped so many people in our year.

WC 15 - Counting Sheep

Title: Counting Sheep
Assignment: Counting Sheep
Awards: Most High Fantasy
Length: 1295
Summary: Philon is the shepherd of the sheep we count when we try to go to sleep. He watches over the herd, night after night... waiting for the wolves.
A/N: I'm really paranoid whenever I try to write fantasy, because I'm aware of how horribly wrong it can go, so I really tried hard not to stray into that territory with this one.
OCH Rating: 8? I don't know.

WC 12 - At the Ballet

Title: At the Ballet
Assignment: Ticket Stubs
Awards: It got me out of a really bad writer's block, and for that it deserves the blue ribbon (or, you know, I'm in Canada, so the red ribbon).
Length: 1093
Summary: A dual storyline, describing the best Christmas present I've ever received, how vomit can manage to not ruin one's afternoon, and my lifelong obsession and fascination with ballet.
A/N: I think my daddy should work less, and do this more.
OCH Rating: 8

WC 11 - Training Wheels

Title: Training Wheels
Assignment: The Step Not Taken
Awards: A Eulogy, a little too late
Length: 1012
Summary: Why I barely talk to my neighbours anymore, and what really happened to my babysitter.
A/N: Another quasi-personal one.
OCH Rating: 8

Only One Cookie...Collapse )

WC 10 - Soundtrack

Title: I'll Take You There
Assignment: Soundtrack of My Life
Awards: I gave this to the person it's about. She loved it. That's enough for me.
Length: 1229
Summary: I describe the kind of music I listen to at work and someone dear who used to work with me. A tribute to a person, a summer, and a CD.
A/N: --
OCH Rating: 9/10. I really like this one, too.

WC 9 - Next Great Adventure

Title: The Next Great Adventure (bonus points if you can guess where I stole it from)
Assignment: The Edge of the Next Great Advantage
Awards: Least Likely to the Shown to my Parents, Most Personal (yet I showed it to my teacher and now it's on the internet), Most Capital Letters
Length: 1109
Summary: I think a lot about the way I am, where I'm going, how I'm going to get there, and why I shouldn't worry so much.
A/N: Please be careful with concrit, as this one was very personal, though it probably comes off as flippant. The angel and devil are very much real. You should also read my SAT piece from yesterday to have all the facts straight.
OCH Rating: 10. I'm proud of my baby.

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