Assignment: Had to relate somehow to the book we were reading Wasurenagusa (read it!).
Award: Most French
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 )
- Current Music:Your Eyes Open - Keane
"Chocolate - Cote d'Or"
Slivers shave off around my teeth -
it's dark and heavy, an
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
In Belgium, it rains.
Swollen hills and fields turn blue
from lack of war. Rain calls to mind
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
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
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.
- Current Music:New Morning - Amandine
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.
- crooked and frizzy over one ear -
But smooth nonetheless math test
Itch on the lip, clock tick
Curtain of hair falls
- red and dusty velvet velour -
Skims the boards actors pace the
Muttered lines, stage shines and
Curtain of hair falls
(from the grubby pony-tail)
Loose tendril as she climbs
Rough grey rock, red tank top
- Current Music:Kisses and Cake - John Powell
Title: Counting Sheep
Assignment: Counting Sheep
Awards: Most High Fantasy
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.
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).
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
- Current Music:Northwest Passage - Woody Herman Orchestra
Title: Training Wheels
Assignment: The Step Not Taken
Awards: A Eulogy, a little too late
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
- Current Music:Let it Rain - the Happening Thang
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.
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.
OCH Rating: 9/10. I really like this one, too.
- Current Music:Reflections - Diana Ross & the Supremes
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
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.