You are born with the ability to see people’s thoughts, swirling in a cloud above their head. You’re accustomed to seeing images, faces, and nearly indistinguishable words above everyone’s head as you go about life. Generally their thoughts are pretty “colorless” and don’t pique your interest anyway. That was until one fateful day when you met them.
Tag: writer
Writing Prompt: The Emotion Seller
A merchant bottles and sells emotions. Emotions like bravery, love, happiness, and so forth. But they have one bottle that they sell that no one has ever bought…
Red Ink, Blue Ink: Rambles Between Two Parts of my mind
***
I must admit, I’m so very tired of it all.
Why is that?
There are so many things that need to be fixed in this world.
If you were made to fix broken hearts, you would have been born with a needle and thread.
***
When you look in the mirror, what do you see?
Everything I’m not.
That is a lie that may you feel, but never believe. Remember, A butterfly cannot see its wings.
***
What is the hardest truth for you to accept?
You can try so hard and do everything right and you can still meet a sad ending.
Why do you try then?
What else do we know but to try.
Is it worth it in the end?
I hope so.
***
I am breaking.
For a star to be born, something must collapse.
Does it hurt?
Everywhere.
***
How was your day?
I came home last night. I sat down and was greeted with silence. Is silence loneliness or freedom?
Only perspective can tell.
***
People come and go. Why do you bother? They are rivers, ever changing.
They come and they go, but I will never forget them. Not even one.
But do you not miss them?
If someone leaves, another is met. When a door shuts, another opens.
But do you not miss them?
Yes. Very much.
***
Tell me about the sun.
It is alone yet still shines.
Is that all?
What else is there?
It is alone, yes, but it is proof that endings can be beautiful.
Only if you can see the colors.
You have to look through the clouds.
But is it not sad?
The most remarkable things are both sad and beautiful.
***
What troubles you?
I’m scared.
Of what?
It’s not that I fear that I won’t be loved, but I wonder, will I ever be understood?
Both would be the greatest gift.
***
It is heavy, this weight we carry.
Hearts of gold often are.
Just because one carries it well, does not mean it doesn’t weigh them down.
It hurts to care. Is it worth it all in the end?
Always.
Why do I Write?
Why do I write?
I thought I knew the answer to this question. I write as a coping mechanism, turning any negative emotion I had into words, and letting the ink bleed in my stead. But I never actually knew exactly why. I thought it was simply escapism. Finding solace in a world that I could create and then control. But I don’t think that is exactly right.
When life hits me, really hits me, it is often hard for me to dig myself out of my emotional “hole” so to speak. I know logically that things are going to be alright and that there are brighter days ahead but my feelings seem not to listen. They act independently of my thoughts, trying to assure me that this really IS the end of the world. And so I write. Not to escape but tell myself the truths that I know to be true, over and over again through characters and their story’s. Truths like goodness always pays, beauty is only skin deep, and pessimism really is the thief of happiness. All these truths and more I tell myself repeatedly, assuring myself that these things are true and always will be. I wrote what I needed to hear, at that moment in time when I thought I was lost.
I think that’s why I want to be a writer. Because maybe somewhere, someone else needs to hear these truths too.
Sugar and Stones
They warn you of sticks and stones,
That break your bones,
But fail to mention
Betrayal and lies,
Cut deeper than a knives,
I think Words will always hurt me.
But those who speak
Sugar and spice
And of everything nice,
Those words will always heal me.
Forget
Someone did you wrong
What shall you do?
Forgive them they say,
For what they’ve done to you.
You swallow the feelings
Nevermind you might choke.
Who are you to be the one to provoke.
But you are constantly reminded
Through others you met,
You want to love them,
But they register a threat.
You can’t help but hold on,
To you it was real,
You’re just making yourself forget
Instead of heal.
Writing Prompt: a Devilish Crime
Satan has been demoted from head of the underworld and overthrown by another fallen being. From there he was thrown to earth, trapped in a human shell. Driven mad, he goes on a rampage, murdering tens of people. But he is always careful not to leave evidence linking him to the kills. You are a detective and your job is to prove and convict the literal Devil.
The Artist Who Fell
Once there was an artist who went out everyday,
To the cliffs she would go to paint the sea spray,
The waves in curls and folds of blue
Water rushing in a darkened hue,
Then one day the artist fell
From the heights of the cliff
Into the sea swell
But the waves gently cradled
The artist so close
“How can we kill the one that loved us the most?”
But then to ocean’s great surprise,
Tears began to fill the painter’s eyes.
“I’m sorry to tell you, I did not fall.”
Then said with words that did break,
“I’m sorry, I jumped, it wasn’t a mistake.”
Which may it be?
It will set you free
And hold you close
Reveal what you care for the most.
It can be a sweet release
Of endless peace.
But can devour as a reckless beast.
Some seek it out,
Others fear.
But it will happen to all far and near.
Is it’s embrace warm or cold?
It distinguishes not between youth and old.
Makes some cry
Others release a breath.
Am I addressing love or death?
Writing Prompt: Death Detective
You move into a new apartment only to find weird cryptic writing scrawled on the walls and the smell of smoke perpetually lilting through the place. Turns out the flat is haunted by the ghost of a detective who died before he could solve his case. So, in order to get rid of him, you agree to help him out and fulfill his last wishes.
By the Brooke 