I love you x
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Untitled
I wrote this over a year ago & had no real use for it. I only just found it again on my computer so I thought I'd post it here. It's really messy writing, I know. It was sort of an idea that emerged from a sleepless night. I never got round to finishing it, obviously.
I didn’t know how long I’d been walking. Time seemed to evade me with every step I took. It may have been days. Weeks. Months. I did not know, or care to find out; not that I could. All I knew was that I was walking. I didn’t have much either, just the clothes on my back. And my father’s sword. He’d given it to me just days before the “strangers” ambushed our home, and I had never parted with it. The strangers murdered my family, although murdered seems like such a tame word compared with how they left them.
My mother, who was hiding in the kitchen, had told me to run to my father’s workshop, and hide in the underground cellar that was there. My mother knew she wouldn’t make it; she had already sprained her ankle from running down stairs to fetch me as soon as she had seen the strange men in cloaks advance over the hills. As for my father though, it had already been too late for him; strung up by his hands and burnt to death, swinging from the tree in our front yard. I still have nightmares, even today.
Being only young at the time, I had left my mother there and ran for my life. Ran away to my father’s workshop where he had made his sword. Ran like my life depended on it. Because my life did depend on it. I had lifted the trapdoor that led down to the cellar and I hid there for what seemed like forever. I had fallen asleep numerous times, and waited. Waited for so long. I remembered what my father had taught me. He had taught me how to fight, how to use a sword, how to kill an enemy. My mother had thought it inappropriate for him to be teaching his young daughter how to fight, but he knew I was strong, and we often practiced out of my mother’s sight. He was a blacksmith, my father. The best in our small town of Shadowspare; the only blacksmith in our small town of Shadowspare. He knew well how to use what he made, and so he taught me.
When I had finally emerged from that cellar, I witnessed my home had been destroyed, along with my parents. I didn’t know how my mother had been killed, but thought it better to have not known. I could smell the smoke; I could see the ash drift through the air in the pale light of morning. I didn’t search the debris for anything valuable. I had nothing left. I could do nothing but walk. And so I left my town of Shadowspare in search of answers. Who had these cloaked men been? Why had they destroyed all that was dear to me? My Mother? My Father? My home and childhood memories? I had nothing at all left, except for the clothes on my back, and my father’s sword.
I didn’t know how long I’d been walking. Time seemed to evade me with every step I took. It may have been days. Weeks. Months. I did not know, or care to find out; not that I could. All I knew was that I was walking. I didn’t have much either, just the clothes on my back. And my father’s sword. He’d given it to me just days before the “strangers” ambushed our home, and I had never parted with it. The strangers murdered my family, although murdered seems like such a tame word compared with how they left them.
My mother, who was hiding in the kitchen, had told me to run to my father’s workshop, and hide in the underground cellar that was there. My mother knew she wouldn’t make it; she had already sprained her ankle from running down stairs to fetch me as soon as she had seen the strange men in cloaks advance over the hills. As for my father though, it had already been too late for him; strung up by his hands and burnt to death, swinging from the tree in our front yard. I still have nightmares, even today.
Being only young at the time, I had left my mother there and ran for my life. Ran away to my father’s workshop where he had made his sword. Ran like my life depended on it. Because my life did depend on it. I had lifted the trapdoor that led down to the cellar and I hid there for what seemed like forever. I had fallen asleep numerous times, and waited. Waited for so long. I remembered what my father had taught me. He had taught me how to fight, how to use a sword, how to kill an enemy. My mother had thought it inappropriate for him to be teaching his young daughter how to fight, but he knew I was strong, and we often practiced out of my mother’s sight. He was a blacksmith, my father. The best in our small town of Shadowspare; the only blacksmith in our small town of Shadowspare. He knew well how to use what he made, and so he taught me.
When I had finally emerged from that cellar, I witnessed my home had been destroyed, along with my parents. I didn’t know how my mother had been killed, but thought it better to have not known. I could smell the smoke; I could see the ash drift through the air in the pale light of morning. I didn’t search the debris for anything valuable. I had nothing left. I could do nothing but walk. And so I left my town of Shadowspare in search of answers. Who had these cloaked men been? Why had they destroyed all that was dear to me? My Mother? My Father? My home and childhood memories? I had nothing at all left, except for the clothes on my back, and my father’s sword.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
The Path to Tears
“Rider number 124 is now on course!” The crowd is going crazy, all I can hear in the distance is, “Welcome everybody to Warwick’s World Cup 2010 horse trials, the first rider on course is Theresa Boxsell riding Arish Jester!” announced the commentator over the crackly loud speaker
Wow that’s me, the first jump is about ten meters ahead and I need to get my line. I’m adjusting my reins and legs to get a good line towards the jump. I need to give Jester a tap with the whip; we are over the first jump, now there is nothing to worry about. My minute markers ahead, yes my watch is beeping that means I’m on time. Only 14 jumps to victory, if I go clear that means I would be the youngest person to win a gold medal at the world cup.
Wait, what’s happening? I see the sky not the jump! “Where’s Jester, where is he. I can’t move! Oh no! What’s happening? “Mum, MUMMY, where are you! MUM” I can’t move I think I’m paralyzed “I can’t move!”. I tried desperately to turn my head there beside me is Jester I can see all the pain through his eye’s, what did I do, I shouldn’t of pushed him to hard, it’s all my fault. I can hear sirens of the ambulance but I can’t see a vet, come on Jester we can do this, come on please.
“Are you alright” the medic asked, “I’m alright” I replied as a tear ran down the side of my face, don’t worry about me worry about Jester, please just help him please, call the vet please, “sweetie, it’s ok the vets on its way, don’t worry” my mum said as a tear also ran down the side of her face with disbelief and worries that The vet wouldn’t come on time.
I tried my hardest to reach jester, my hand skimmed the tip of his fur, he felt sweaty and dehydrated I could hear him struggling to breathe loudly in my ear. I tried my hardest to stand up but the medic pushed me back down, I tried again and again until it started to hurt. I gave up, I just wanted to close my eyes wake up and pretend nothing ever happened and it was just a bad dream.
But no it was real, the vet was n’ here yet and it has least been an hour and I’m starting to worry, I can’t even be there with my horse while it’s in pain I’m getting looked after but Jester isn’t it’s not fair. people started to bring over water for Jester to wash of the sweat which was now salt , “would you like something to eat” said the medic “no, why would I want something to eat when my horse next to me is in pain and the vet isn’t even hear yet” I just want to be there for my horse.
“hello my name is sally the vet you requested “wait the vet, vet, the vet. A sigh of relief when I heard that the vet was here and the thought of Jester being alright made me feel so much better. I looked over at Jester with a big smile of hope which then turned to a frown of misunderstanding as I saw Jesters leg, it was covered in blood. Everything around me went into slow mode all of adult’s were shooing away their children and looking at me like they saw the most horrifying thing ever.
It was like they were waiting for me to see what actually happened and that I would have remembered everything, but nothing came to me but sadness and doubt. I looked over at my mum she was with the vet, my mum looked at me with two tears running down the side of her face, I realized something, something that I wish would never ever occur to me or any one, I knew that he done something horrible to his leg but I didn’t know how or why, I tried my hardest to be positive but it wasn’t and I knew that it was only negative.
Sally the vet came and sat next to me she talked and talked but I didn’t get anything, I didn’t want to get anything. Everybody was staring and staring as if the world came to the end, but honestly they didn’t know what it was like being in my shoes. Sally helped me up and sat me down away from jester, I wanted to be with him, but I knew I couldn’t.
I asked myself, why I was this happening to me, what did I do to deserve this. As I was staring at Jester I saw him trying to get up but he couldn’t because he didn’t have enough strength to lift himself, he fell back to the ground , I screamed, mum came over to me and she told me that everything was going to be alright but I and everybody else knew it wasn’t.
It was time, Time put him down Sally couldn’t do anything, he was in pain and suffering, I couldn’t stop crying, Sally started putting the drugs into the syringe and then was finding the vein along Jesters neck.
“Tessa, Tessa wake up you have to feed your horse, cross country starts in 2 hours”, said my mum furiously. As I rolled over and looked outside the window into the beautiful blue sky I brought my hand to my cheek and felt the path of a tear.
A story which I really wanted to post.
Boaza
A Short Love Story - The Ring of Love
A girl was sitting on a chair at the gas station she worked at. She looked up and saw her boyfriend walk in. As he was looking at snacks, a man walked in and pointed a gun at her. He had been admiring her ring her boyfriend had given to her as a token of his love. When he asked her to give it to him, she said no. Her boyfriend looked up just in time to see her shot. He ran over to the killer and beat him over the head with a hammer that was for sale. Then he ran and called 911. When the ambulance came, he was sobbing uncontrollably near his girlfriend.
The doctor came over and felt for her pulse. Then he stood up and said she was still alive. Later at the hospital, as he was sitting beside her, he asked"Why didn't you just give him the ring?" and then she softly spoke"Because when you gave it to me, you said it was part of your love for me and I knew if I gave him the ring, I would lose that love." The next day, she was pronounced dead
Boaza
Monday, August 30, 2010
Fanfic (Excerpt)
Part of my 30 Seconds to Mars 'Fan Fiction.'
I wanted to post something, so here's "something."
Her skin was pale, her hair still dripping wet and her cold, lifeless eyes stared back at us, as if she had no remorse for taking my brother.
“What the f*** have you done with my brother!?” I took a step forward and Tomo’s hand was on my arm, restraining me from going further. The girl –the ghost– just continued staring; didn’t move. I looked at Tomo, who let go of my arm as we both walked towards her. I could feel the tension rolling off Tomo. I knew what he was thinking, so I needn’t have asked. “We don’t have anything to protect ourselves” was all that was running through my mind. That, and Shannon’s laugh, Shannon’s smile…We were a few metres away from the ghost of the girl. Oh, how I wanted to scream at her. It. Whatever it was. I wanted to run at her, charge at her, throttle her and demand answers. I don’t think I was hiding these feelings very well; my fists were balled up, my knuckles white in the slight darkness. Once again, like last time, the ghosts pale eyes flickered lifelessly to me. It felt like she was staring straight through me, into something deeper. My soul, perhaps? My eyes narrowed and I could feel Tomo right beside me. “What have you done with him?” I asked as calmly as possible. Tomo shifted beside me.
“We just want him back…” He muttered. She paid no attention to him; her eyes were still on me. Cold. Watching. I got a chill as she spoke.
“It’s too late. You are too late.” Her eyes never left mine.
“BULLS***!” I yelled, taking a defiant step forward. In that instant, she vanished with a loud screech, like a microphone too close to the speakers. I lifted my arm in defence, as if she was coming right towards me, but as I removed my arm from my eyes, I was once again staring at nothing. I started to sob. My eyes were wet with tears that refused to fall. I could sense Tomo behind me still, afraid to interrupt me. I turned and he was standing, stunned. My eyes were still wet, and I wanted to cry badly, but I didn’t. I regained composure, or enough, at least, and made my way closer to Tomo.
“We’d better get going, man.” He said in a hushed voice, as if that ‘thing’ would hear.
“Yeah…” I took one last glance at our refuge, the small little room that would always be known as the room that Shannon disappeared in. I actually had considered never coming to New Zealand again, after all of this was over. But, everything had to be over first to determine that. I sighed and I walked with Tomo across the road, coming to rest outside the tall red iron gates that separated us from the dock, full of possibly hundreds of freight containers, tall cranes and the crashing ocean that I couldn’t see far beyond the concrete plains.
I wanted to post something, so here's "something."
Her skin was pale, her hair still dripping wet and her cold, lifeless eyes stared back at us, as if she had no remorse for taking my brother.
“What the f*** have you done with my brother!?” I took a step forward and Tomo’s hand was on my arm, restraining me from going further. The girl –the ghost– just continued staring; didn’t move. I looked at Tomo, who let go of my arm as we both walked towards her. I could feel the tension rolling off Tomo. I knew what he was thinking, so I needn’t have asked. “We don’t have anything to protect ourselves” was all that was running through my mind. That, and Shannon’s laugh, Shannon’s smile…We were a few metres away from the ghost of the girl. Oh, how I wanted to scream at her. It. Whatever it was. I wanted to run at her, charge at her, throttle her and demand answers. I don’t think I was hiding these feelings very well; my fists were balled up, my knuckles white in the slight darkness. Once again, like last time, the ghosts pale eyes flickered lifelessly to me. It felt like she was staring straight through me, into something deeper. My soul, perhaps? My eyes narrowed and I could feel Tomo right beside me. “What have you done with him?” I asked as calmly as possible. Tomo shifted beside me.
“We just want him back…” He muttered. She paid no attention to him; her eyes were still on me. Cold. Watching. I got a chill as she spoke.
“It’s too late. You are too late.” Her eyes never left mine.
“BULLS***!” I yelled, taking a defiant step forward. In that instant, she vanished with a loud screech, like a microphone too close to the speakers. I lifted my arm in defence, as if she was coming right towards me, but as I removed my arm from my eyes, I was once again staring at nothing. I started to sob. My eyes were wet with tears that refused to fall. I could sense Tomo behind me still, afraid to interrupt me. I turned and he was standing, stunned. My eyes were still wet, and I wanted to cry badly, but I didn’t. I regained composure, or enough, at least, and made my way closer to Tomo.
“We’d better get going, man.” He said in a hushed voice, as if that ‘thing’ would hear.
“Yeah…” I took one last glance at our refuge, the small little room that would always be known as the room that Shannon disappeared in. I actually had considered never coming to New Zealand again, after all of this was over. But, everything had to be over first to determine that. I sighed and I walked with Tomo across the road, coming to rest outside the tall red iron gates that separated us from the dock, full of possibly hundreds of freight containers, tall cranes and the crashing ocean that I couldn’t see far beyond the concrete plains.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
The Writing Challenge.
Might be interesting to try?
Day 1 — A letter to your Best Friend.
Day 2 — A letter to your celebrity crush.
Day 3 — A letter to your parents.
Day 4 — A letter to your sibling (or closest relative).
Day 5 — A letter to your dreams.
Day 6 — A letter to a stranger.
Day 7 — A letter to your most recent ex-boyfriend/girlfriend.
Day 8 — A letter to your favorite internet friend.
Day 9 — A letter to someone you wish you could meet.
Day 10 — A letter to someone you don’t talk to as much as you’d like to.
Day 11 — A letter to a deceased person you wish you could talk to.
Day 12 — A letter to the person you hate most.
Day 13 — A letter to someone who has caused you a lot of pain.
Day 14 — A letter to someone you’ve drifted away from.
Day 15 — A letter to the person you miss the most.
Day 16 — A letter to someone that’s not in your state/country that you know.
Day 17 — A letter to someone from your childhood.
Day 18 — A letter to the person that you wish you could be.
Day 19 — A letter to someone that pesters your mind—good or bad.
Day 20 — A letter to the one that broke your heart the hardest.
Day 21 — A letter to someone you judged by their first impression.
Day 22 — A letter to someone you want to give a second chance to.
Day 23 — A letter to the last person you kissed.
Day 24 — A letter to the person that gave you one of your favorite memories.
Day 25 — A letter to the person you know that is going through the worst of times.
Day 26 — A letter to the last person you made a pinky promise to.
Day 27 — A letter to the friendliest person you knew for only one day.
Day 28 — A letter to someone that changed your life.
Day 29 — A letter to the person that you want tell everything to, but too afraid to.
Day 30 — A letter to your reflection in the mirror.
Day 1 — A letter to your Best Friend.
Day 2 — A letter to your celebrity crush.
Day 3 — A letter to your parents.
Day 4 — A letter to your sibling (or closest relative).
Day 5 — A letter to your dreams.
Day 6 — A letter to a stranger.
Day 7 — A letter to your most recent ex-boyfriend/girlfriend.
Day 8 — A letter to your favorite internet friend.
Day 9 — A letter to someone you wish you could meet.
Day 10 — A letter to someone you don’t talk to as much as you’d like to.
Day 11 — A letter to a deceased person you wish you could talk to.
Day 12 — A letter to the person you hate most.
Day 13 — A letter to someone who has caused you a lot of pain.
Day 14 — A letter to someone you’ve drifted away from.
Day 15 — A letter to the person you miss the most.
Day 16 — A letter to someone that’s not in your state/country that you know.
Day 17 — A letter to someone from your childhood.
Day 18 — A letter to the person that you wish you could be.
Day 19 — A letter to someone that pesters your mind—good or bad.
Day 20 — A letter to the one that broke your heart the hardest.
Day 21 — A letter to someone you judged by their first impression.
Day 22 — A letter to someone you want to give a second chance to.
Day 23 — A letter to the last person you kissed.
Day 24 — A letter to the person that gave you one of your favorite memories.
Day 25 — A letter to the person you know that is going through the worst of times.
Day 26 — A letter to the last person you made a pinky promise to.
Day 27 — A letter to the friendliest person you knew for only one day.
Day 28 — A letter to someone that changed your life.
Day 29 — A letter to the person that you want tell everything to, but too afraid to.
Day 30 — A letter to your reflection in the mirror.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
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