Write my Creative writing Challenge:

I get scared and weak sometimes.
Late, late at night.

No One is awake, I hear the fans trying to keep us cool, I hear the peaceful breathing of youth.
I…I sit alone and quiet, terrified in my silence.

It’s then that the tears brim to spilling. I close my eyes tight to quell the flow, Sigh, all that does is force the flood to escape.
Rivers cascade down the sides of my face, burning ice cold drops of sorrow.

In my mind I see me there, teetering on the edge. A ball of emotions that I have no way of expressing. Fear… I fear.

Clinching my fist, I feel my nails biting into flesh.
Somehow this comforts me. Sometimes I am weak and scared.

I battle to keep control, to push away the gnawing at my brain.
I want to scream. Scream out my fear, frustration. Tell the world how unfair this all is… I am NOT ready… i am not ready.

Just another soul walking a path to pain. Isn’t that what age does to us. Seeing those who’ve walked before us weaken, seeing them through new eyes.

I FUCKIN’ HATE CANCER. FUCKIN’ HATE IT. HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE IT.

and I am angry.

I’ve not written much in a while now. I don’t know why I stopped I just did. But I feel a need to write again, yet I was experiencing this almost avoidance to write it.

I don’t know how to explain. I feel the story there, but I won’t make… take…. the time to just write it down. something… anything.

So Jamie and I are talking on IM now as we speak. Him and I were talking about writing and I needed another challenge and Sir. James obliged me.

Here is his challenge:

Pick one of your photographs and write three short stories about the place it depicts. Make one of them about now, one of them about the place at least 100 years ago, if not more, and one of them about the place at least 50 years from now. You can connect the stories together into one longer one, if you prefer, though you don’t have to, but they all need to be about the same place.

Sadly, most of my photos are of objects, things, not so much places. Clouds are another favorite of mine to photograph. I don’t think I have to many “places” pictures. So this is going to be really interesting.

This challenge is going to be a three part-er. One story at a time.

This one concerns me. James honey I think you have a slanted view of me, if you think I could just do these easy peasy…

_{{Skips off to think of ways to torture Jamie.}}

Thomas and I played off one another in this challenge, he wrote the fist half and I the second. Just a quick letter as if. done October 31, 2007

A Letter from the 1800’s
In these dark moments…

I turn to you and the warmth you memory gives me. These past few days have been fraught with hardship. So many good men – fathers, sons, husbands, – simply gone. Called by duty, bound by the love of country, and laid low by the grim reality of war. It’s late but I can’t sleep. There are so many things that are weighing on me. Tomorrow we will mount up and move west. Tonight sleep won’t come.
My dear, I miss you. It has been so long since I smiled, felt your warm touch, kissed your soft skin. I fear that I have had to bury that man so deep that he may never return.
Forgive me, as I have nothing of importance to say, no words of wisdom to impart, no plan of action. I am simply alone and missing the one person in this world with whom I have ever felt completely at ease. you.
till my eyes gaze upon you again,
Thomas

My Dearest Thomas,

Never apologize for the content of your letters. It warms my heart just seeing your script. I must be honest with you love. When I read them to the children, I take my leave to embellish.

I tell them of the courage their father has, of the country and the tiny forest animals. They are far to young to understand this war. I fear I myself shall never fully understand.

Our little Sara has just learned to sign her name, her face beamed of pride as she wrote for me. “Mama, do you think Daddy will be proud of me? Now I can write him myself” You have noticed her letter, did you not?.

Stephen is growing so, my dear Thomas. He has his fathers temperament. Sweet and loving. How he needs you. I know love that you will return to them, the man you were has gone for now. Still I know that you will return.

Forgive me for not asking of your next assignment. Mrs. Millers boy came home today. It seems he is missing his left leg, but so many of our children and husbands do not return, not even for a fitting burial. She is beside herself with joy.

I have to admit to the hardness of my own heart. While I was happy for the Millers I cried all that night, for want of you, our old life, our future.

I had to chide myself early this A.M. least the children see me weepy. Is not this what you are fighting for. Our future.

Caleb sends you his best, I can’t repeat the message he sent along with his best, I am blushing just at the remembrance of it…
You can imagine dear old Caleb and what he might say.

Thomas, I dream of you at night. Some nights it’s as if you were there in my arms, I feel your kisses, so sweet on my body.

Other times I see the war that rages and the fallen. I watch you walk among them, silent tears falling from you as you identify and make note in your journal as to whom they are.

Your letters to the families are a spot of love in a heart of pain. You need to know how much that means to them.

Stay brave My Love. There is so much talk of the war, everyone seems to be a General. I only wish to tell you of the things of our life. To remind you of the peace and beauty you will return to.

Do you remember the rose we planted years ago. The blooms this year far surpassed all previous years, their bright crimson glorious against the drooping leaves of the willow. I sit out there late in the evenings, listening to the birds sing. Remembering you.

Sara eyes are so bright with learning, she has your eyes you know. I wish you could have meet your daughter before you had to be off. I fear she will be a young lady long before you know her face.

Your son is becoming quite the young man, I don’t remind him he is only 8. He takes great pride in being the man about the house, and taking care of things for you.

My Love I shall close this long boring letter. I fear I can not stave the tears for much longer and it it time for Sara to be up from her nap.
Stay strong Dear Heart. You will be home soon.

All our Love,
Seren

The pain ripped through her body like the way his touch used to burn fire through her. Only now, there was no desire, no tender words, no touch…

Only wave after wave of a sorrow she had never felt before. The pain washed over her blocking out ever vestige of light.

Some one took her arm and she felt the prick and the screams subsided, she was so glad the screaming stopped, she was so tired and it made her head hurt.

She liked when it got black like this, because she was with him again, in his arms where she belonged.

And that screaming stopped. OH she had such a hard time figuring out why it was so tormented.
Why was there such pain in the crying she heard.

she wanted to take the girl she heard, in her arms but each time she tried to move they would take her arm again and she would be dancing with him.

OH how she loved him, he was her world, her life. Such precious moments they shared. She loved how he looked into her eyes each time he told her how he cherished her.

She has not reconciled within her that it was her pain, her screams her tears she heard during the night. She would wake and look out the window cursing the same moon that brought such peace to her only a week earlier.

Before…

For a time I stood there, stoic in demeanor only.
the inside of me raged with thousands of emotions.

Placid Serenity pasted to my face
as passionate embers threatened to ignite wildfires in my soul.

Lifetimes of walking a seemingly endless journey, lifetimes I’ve learned…

Still unable to let go.

Forgotten by everyone, yet the scar, still so tender to the touch.

Bowing my head, I hold out my hands, sagacious blessings bestowed.

A spirit bound to her heart, does Karma exist for one such as you.
Instant rectification… Responsibility to truth.
Responsibility to love, unconditionally.

Too deep the well of feeling, too sensitive the thoughts that run.
Uncluttered mind, living in a tangled heart.

Does freedom exist for one such as you…
Freedom of spirit, freedom of self, choice, decision…
unencumbered by life, long lived.

One tear escaped the tight hold she had on her emotions.
She was not about to let anyone see just how tender her heart was.

Fear of being used and scorned for such deep emotions stopped her from letting the flood gate open.

she was fairly intelligent, she seen the wrong in her thinking. The silliness of such strong emotion over mere nothingness. Still that one tear struggled to be free.

As it slid down her cheek, it burnt a trail of a thousand “seconds” a thousand “times”.

One tear burning it’s trail over her cheek, to drip from her chin onto her breast, carried so many voices of unshed pain.

Silly as it was, just one is all it took to give her the release of pressure and allow peace to enter her heart.

I am a survivor, that is what I do. Survive and Protect my heart it shouted in it’s silence.

Walking alone on a deserted beach, the silken sand felt warm on his feet. His weary eyes scanned the horizon, looking for a mate to share his world.

All his eyes beheld was the majestic beauty of the green covered mountains reaching for the sun filled sky.

She wasn’t on the mountain, nor was she in the sky.

Walking aimless, yet with purpose he wadded into the water. He scanned the ocean, looking for a ship which might be bringing her.

His eyes was meet with blue sky and and even bluer ocean. Not a ship with great billowing sails carrying a soul mate for him.

He turned with a deep sigh of regret and started once again on the well worn path which lead to his hut.
Tomorrow would come soon and his daily ritual would start again.

The man and his weary feet will go back down the path, for one day soon, she will be waiting for him.

She struggled deep in the far reaches of her mind, searching for how she would tell the end of the story.
It’s what they all were waiting for…

She felt guilt over their long wait. However, she could not escape the rising in her spirit, she couldn’t ignore that if all her strength were restored.

Some things are just best left in the mind, not told or explained. Only the deepest of lovers dare to whisper such things.

They want to know “why” and she was still wrestling with “how”.

A sigh escapes her and she realizes just how tired she is. It has wound it’s way to her bones like bitter cold.

She noticed dusk had slipped into heavy night, the moon was shining tear drops through the glass. Holding out her hand as if to catch them as they fell… she goes back to that day.

The Day she knew deep within her heart that all rooms were open to him.

I heard the wind chimes singing, calling me away from my place of worry, I slowly opened the door.

Beauty assaulted my eyes, a wondrous blast of sun . The cool wind caressed my bare skin, I sighed from pleasure.

The chimes continued to dance, I closed my eyes and listened to what they might say. Singing and twirling like my personal Gypsy’s, they lulled me deep in my soul.

I let go of the torment that was hovering in my mind like dusty cobwebs and the melody of the wind picked up.
He caressed the dancers with thousands of tender fingers and they delighted in his touch.

Singing louder and louder, filling my soul with their hypnotizing twinkle.
So many lows and highs intermingled into one voice… I longed to understand the words, for it made my heart dip low in comfort.

The wind reached out and cupped my face, gently blowing my hair behind me. He held my face and whispered in my ears, “hear your hearts cry, dear one.”

The dancers song became the beat of my heart and I was set free, for I felt their words grab hold of my spirit and she dances.

No fear of what is, for love is the key, holding fast to hope eternal.

Surrendering to the song of peace, I allowed the wind to caress my face and carry fears away.

Picture by Kimberly Odekirk

She lay alone in the middle of her huge bed. Knees drawn as close to her chest as she could get them.
Even laying flat out her head and feet didn’t touch the edge. She just wanted to be as small as she could. She felt safest that way.

Resting her head on her arm, she stares out the window.
Watching the patterns the rain makes against the glass.

She feared sleeping…
It’s not the dreams that come each night that plague her.
Would it be a shock to know that it was not night terrors that left her feeling lost, but dreams, of love found.

The joy of completion she feels in his touch quickly turns to fear as she wakes.
Rays of the moonlight making the rain look like tears. Fear rises slowly, burning her spirit in it’s path. Rising like bile to her throat, crushing all sound, choking the comfort of her dream.

Reality crashes into her, her mind cries out,

“Heart of glass”, as she races to catch the falling fragments. See them glisten with thousands of teardrops.

To know the “Oneness” of her dream unfulfilled… betrayals turned her to stone.

A stone of protection, offering empathy and unconditional love to others. She could not believe for herself…

That is why she sleeps alone. Surrounded by pillows and the softest blankets to ever touch her skin.
No one she could tell. She didn’t play in the court yard with the others. She held the dream of him in such high esteem.

She wondered why she failed, a woman of little worth and far less beauty. Laying on her bed alone, watching the patterns the rain made on the window.

Afraid to sleep, fear in her dreams…
He never left her, nor did he turn left or right. His eyes locked hers as he proclaimed his love and undying devotion. But, she knew…

She had nothing to give but a shattered glass heart. Nothing to give but broken promises and a trail of abandonment that lead strait from her beginning.

Her eyes grow heavy, she closes them for a moment, “I’ll just rest them”. I won’t sleep, just rest them”. She was so tired.

She exhales slowly, and finds herself sitting naked facing him. He reaches out and touches the right side of her face, with hands of the such warmth. She closes her eyes and leans her face into his touch.

“What do you want from me? I am of such little importance. So many far better, not so damaged as I!”...

He smiles a smile that reached into her stone and touched the small flicker of light within her heart.
“This is what I want”...

Pleading with her eyes for understanding, comfort, reassurance that the dream, won’t shatter with the morning sun.

“I fear… I fear you… I fear me”.

“There will be nothing left if you see the all of me. What of the dream, when the night is over and all shadows have bowed to light. When all secret places have been discovered, and there found, is shattered pieces of glass”...

I said it was odd.

© Ser TLMB 2-9-8