Regret it a skeleton.
His bones are made of lead.
He wont stop talking.
He sits on my bed.
Out from his sockets
Blood does drip
As he pours me poison
that I continually sip.
His skull is cracked
And from it you can see
A heart sits
where his brain should be.
A child finds a magic pen with various powers, depending on the ink one uses. Tell me about these powers and how the child uses them?
Once upon a time, long ago in a land very far away, there lived an elderly shopkeeper. But, since tales rarely revolve around the ordinary, this was no ordinary shopkeeper. What was unique about her wasn’t her per se, but her wares. This woman bottled and sold emotions. Her most popular items were motivation, love, joy, bravery, and confidence.
But she has one very special bottle that no one had ever dared to touch; sadness.
“Why would I buy that which I could get for free?!” People often jeered.
Now this Emotion seller was very famous and rightfully so, news of this merchant being told far and wide. As a result of this, she gained many new customers, many of which who were very rich. But none dared touch the bottle of sadness even with her hundreds of new clients.
As news spread, An arrogant lord heard of this seller and ordered his servants to fetch her so that she could sell him some of her wares. Within a few days, she arrived at his castle and gained an audience with him where she showed him every bottled emotion she sold, including the bottled sorrow. The Lord is taken aback by this, shocked she would dare carry such a thing.
“What use is sadness to anyone?” He said in a mocking tone.
“If that is so,” the seller replied. “Drink it, and prove to me it is useless.”
Now the lord had no such desire to drink the potion, but being prideful and not wishing to back down, he accepted.
“The effects should only last a day. If you find the potion to be of no use, I will give you every bottle of joy that I have,” the seller promised.
That was enough to push the Lord to take the potion from the seller’s hands and down it in one gulp.
The seller didn’t even wait to see the effects set in upon the noble. She smiled at him politely and turned to exit, saying nothing.
The King could feel his confidence waning as she strutted out. He couldn’t imagine what reason she had to be so self-assured. He couldn’t see how she could possibly win this “wager”.
She is just trying to make you question yourself, he told himself as he went to sleep that night. The next day will be a miserable one but that should not matter as you will have guaranteed happiness for the rest of your life.
The next morning, as soon as The King’s eyes opened, he could tell he was not feeling well. Sure, physically he was in top condition but he couldn’t help but notice this awful weight in his chest. It was all he could to do to get out of bed. Momentarily, he thought about staying in the rest of the day and taking his leave as sick for the remainder of the potion’s time but the thought was fleeting. By now everyone in the court would have heard of his wager with The Emotion Seller. If he were to hide the entire day he would be nothing short of a laughing stock.
It was this thought that drove The King to drag himself out of bed and prepare himself for the coming day.
His day already was off to a dreadful start, as when he began to eat his chicken pie for breakfast, he found a bone.
“What on earth?” he grumbled to himself, spitting the bone out onto his plate. “Bring in the chef!” he commanded his servant. They scurried off and quickly returned with the kitchen’s head cook.
“There was a bone in my breakfast!” The King exclaimed, glowering at the cook. The cook shrunk away, wringing his hands nervously.
“I-I am so very sorry, my liege,” he stammered.
“Not as sorry as you’re going to be,” The King said with a frown. “I could have choked and died! You are hereby banished! You are lucky won’t try you for an attempt to kill the king!”
“Oh!” The cook cried in horror. “Banishment! Please, have mercy sire, I cannot leave my family here alone,” the cook began to cry. “They depend on me for the very food they eat. If I am banished they shall surely starve.”
Now, The King was not the most merciful of Kings as one could guess but this morning was a special one. To his surprise, he found that weight in his chest grew upon seeing the cook shed tears even though he was angry with him only moments before. The King drew in a long sigh.
“Well, perhaps I won’t banish you then,” The King relented, barely believing the words coming out of his own mouth. “But if this ever happens again, you shall face even harsher consequences! Everything that comes out of that kitchen is your responsibility,” He added grumpily though he found it hard for him to muster any sort of disdain for the man.
The cook blinked in shock, as did the other servants in the dining room.
“Oh-! Thank you! Thank you, sir!” The cook bowed low before he returned briskly to the Kitchen.
An act of mercy becomes a king every now and then, The King said to himself, slightly put-off by the occurrence. But it soon vanished from his mind as he became aware, yet again, of the sorrow that rested upon him. If only I can make it through today…
~*~
The King made his way briskly down the castle hall, a well-dressed Advisor at his elbow, penning something down as he spoke.
“The Ambassador of The Green Isles arrived just yesterday,” he talked quickly and cordially as if the fast pace of their walk was affecting his speech.
“And how are the people of The Green Isles?” said The King.
“Er, not so good,” The Advisor admitted. “I’m afraid they’ve come to ask you for aid.”
“Relations with The Green Isles are strained as is,” The King said more to himself than anyone else. “They’ve never really taken a liking to me as King, that much has been made obvious in the past years. Things must be pretty bad for them to come crawling into my court.”
“My thoughts exactly, sire,” The Advisor bobbed his head in an almost animated manner, fidgeting with his quill now. “I can’t help but advise you against helping them. They’ve been rather vocal about their disapproval of how you handle diplomatic relations. Perhaps it would teach a lesson to them as well as the surrounding Kingdoms. They too have voiced opposition against your “abrasive” way of dealing with the neighboring lands.”
The King slowed his pace as he thought.
“So you’re saying this is a chance to elevate ourselves?” he spoke slowly, a pensive look in his gaze.
“Precisely.”
The two finished the walk to the Diplomatic chambers in silence, The King thinking to himself all the way until they stopped before a large set of double oak doors.
“Well, I suppose there’s no use in putting off the unpleasant,” The Advisor reshuffled his papers and gathered himself.
“One more question before we go in.”
“Yes?”
The King inclined his head towards The Advisor, eyes curios. “What has brought The Green Isles so low?”
The Advisor sighed as he began combing through his papers for the third time that afternoon.
“Er, Plague or famine I think it was,” The shuffling of parchment filled the hall as The Advisor searched for where he supposedly jotted the information down. “Something of that sorts. Though I can’t see it being of much importance in this specific case. I think the course of action is clear where it concerns The Green Isles.”
The King found himself irked at The Advisor’s coldness, a trait he had never thought to dislike until this moment.
“If I deem it important it is so. And as far as a course of action is concerned,” The King glared pointedly at the man. “I am The King and I will decide what course of action is best. Are we clear?”
The Advisor set his jaw, realizing he had agitated The King; never a wise thing to do.
“Yes, sire,” he responded, still as cold as ever.
The King pushed open the doors, revealing a long, high ceilinged room with an equally long, stretching table with numerous chairs arranged around it. But all but one were empty. At the far end of the room and look very small was a woman clad in a modest, earthy-green cloak and dress. She wasn’t adorned with much else. No jewelry or intricate hairpieces. She looked common.
As The King neared her, it was clear to him that the woman he could already sense her nervousness as she rose from her seat and bowed.
“Be seated,” he told her before taking a seat himself. Not at the head of the table as he usually did, but at a seat at The Ambassador’s side. This confused The Advisor, his expression said as much. But still, he said nothing and hung back behind The King, ready to pen whatever was needed.
“Hello, Ambassador…what’s your name?”
“Elle,” The woman said quietly. “Ambassador Elle. I come on the behalf of King Daeryen of The Green Isles, as I’m sure you know.”
The King nodded. “You have come to seek our aid.”
The Ambassador drew in a breath before continuing to speak.
“The is correct, your grace,” She did not meet his gaze. “The King Daeryen says he knows he would be the last person you would wish to help. But he promises you his unwavering support if you were to show him kindness in our time of need, if not for him but for our people who have nothing to eat day in and day out,” she looked up and The King was just now noticing how pale and frail the woman- no, the girl, looked. She continued, her voice becoming faint and shaky. “People are dying and we cannot stop it on our own.”
A moment of silence ensued as The Ambassador lowered her head in what looked like defeat, even though she hadn’t yet heard the King’s response. It was apparent to everyone there she was without hope.
A deep sorrow overcame The King as The Ambassador’s words began to sink in. Families with no food. Children left with no parents. People dying in the street unable to take the heat and malnutrition. The streets filled with vagabonds unable to feed or properly clothe themselves. The desolation and destruction it not only brings to the Kingdom as an entity but upon every person who misses a meal to feed those they care about with what little food they have left.
“Send them whatever supplies they need,” The King found himself saying. “So that every empty stomach might be filled.”
The Ambassador and The Advisor’s mouths both dropped at nearly the exact moment.
“I’m sorry?” The Advisor said, clearly taken aback.
“Send them everything they need,” The King said again, more firmly.
“But-” The Advisor hesitated. “Do…do you think it wise, sire?”
The Ambassador sucked in a breath, waiting for The King’s response to this.
“Is empathy ever unwise? Now I repeat,” he turned to fully face The Advisor at his left. “Send them their supplies.”
The Advisor looked as if he might something else before opting to clamp his mouth shut, resigned.
“It shall be done.”
~*~
The King felt somewhat better after he met with the Ambassador even if he continued to carry the weight in his chest with him the rest of the day. But somehow, it now felt more bearable. And soon, before he knew it, night fell and it was time for him to retire to his chambers. But as he was escorted there by his Servant, he found himself pausing before a window, catching a glimpse of the bright orange sky outside. He stopped and took it in for a moment, noticing how the pink wispy clouds met the golden rays of the sun as they peeked over the edge of the Earth before shrinking completely out of sight. The King found himself entranced.
“It is very strange,” The King said to his servant. “I have never noticed how beautiful the sunset is until now. Has it always been so?”
The Servant paused, uncertain how to answer The King. It was just as well because The King didn’t really expect an answer.
“How is it I have lived my life without noticing this. And then the day after I take that Merchant’s potion, I find myself marveling at it?”
“Perhaps one must be a little sad to love a sunset,” the servant said in a low voice. “Will that be all, my lord?”
“Yes,” The King said with a nod. “You may go.”
The next day, The King awoke to a light feeling all over him, as if the weight he had felt the day before had been completely lifted. His morning was a blur as he dressed and ate breakfast, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the merchant. The King received news that she had arrived in the mid-morning and The King wasted no time in allowing her an audience. Just moments later, an elderly woman hobbled to the center of the throne room, potions clinking at her side as she walked. She stopped when she reached the foot of the throne and looked up at The King with old but curious eyes.
“I see you are doing well, Potion Seller,” The King remarked.
“Very much so, my liege. Business has been good since news of our little “contest” spread.”
“That is good to hear,” said The King.
The Potion Seller cocked her head at this remark. “Do you find yourself satisfied with my bottle of sorrow?”
A beat of silence ensued before The King responded with a simple nod of his head.
“And tell me, did it make a difference?” The Potion Seller flashed her signature smile, mischievous and crinkling at the edges of her eyes. The King felt she somehow already knew the answer.
“I spared a man and am revered among the common folk as merciful. I came to a Kingdom’s aid when I was overcome with sorrow for them and gained their loyalty. And I watched the sunset with new eyes,” The King spoke slowly and thoughtfully, something he had not been accustomed to doing until the recent days. “Tell me, how is it sadness is so powerful?”
“I think you know,” The Potion Seller said, surprisingly gentle. “It would seem I have another satisfied customer!” The older woman’s eyes sparkled with jubilee before clicking her walking stick loudly upon the throne room’s marble floor and turning to leave, calling over her shoulder as she went, “My work here is done!”
Death for a Day
Someone breaks into your house. But, you were prepared. After bashing the intruder in the head with a baseball bat and killing them, you come to find that you accidentally killed The Grim Reaper. And until the afterlife can send a replacement, his duties are YOUR responsibility.
Good morning! Long time, no blog post? With that in mind, I think it’s either befitting or ironic that I am sharing a little list of comprised of some of the most common “Writing Sins” that totally mess with my writing productivity. Little things that mess with my best of intentions to write buuuut I could just refresh my pinterest feed one more time, right?
Having your phone nearby and not silenced.
Is it no surprise that I’m a super distracted writer? Generally I don’t see myself as an easily distracted person but there is something about sitting down that makes my wonder from whatever I am supposed to be doing and search for something else. And, often, that something else, is my phone. Phones basically give you instant engagement and gratification. I’m sure we’ve all heard the studies done on this. The tiny dopamine rush we get from the stimulation of entertainment (this rush being small but effective in wiring our brains to seek it out more or “refresh” the page). But, because of this, having my phone nearby, can often be a distraction waiting to happen. Especially if I don’t silence it. These days, for many reasons, I have my notification completely off nearly 100% of the time, and I will say, it really, really helps.
Having too many tabs up.
I’ll often find myself wanting to clarify this one “thing” in my writing so I open up a new tab, to research said “thing” and one rabbit hole of research later, here I am with 1000 tabs up and no writing actually done. So, for my benefit, I limit the amount of “tabs” I’m allowed to have open. In fact, it has to be really important for me to minus my word document and look up because I know my own tendencies. This is why I recommend that if you ever need to further research something for clarification in your writing, insert a filler word and move on. The filler word should be weird like “pink elephant” for its easily searchable in a word document and found. Come back to it later.
Getting a little to caught up in music
I feel there’s a common theme of distraction here. I cannot write with music really. I end up humming along and just getting way to into it and Oh! Look! Now I’m distracted. Again. If I do happen to be in a focused mood, instrumentals often work best. Chill instrumentals. And even then, it’s probably best I don’t recognize it so I’m not tempted to hum or sing along.
Being too perfectionistic and getting too bogged down in getting everything just right.
Hmmm… distractible AND perfectionistic? What a great combo! This is more of a mind thing. If I’m ever to get any writing done, I have to tell myself over and over again “you can’t edit a blank page, just keep writing”.
Not having a snack nearby.
I’m just repeating myself at this point. This is yet another gateway to distraction. Take my word, have food nearby, unless you have a specifically planned break for food.
Not knowing your productivity pitfalls or strengths.
Hence this list. But it can be different for everyone. It’s simply a matter of knowing yourself and your own unproductive tendencies and having specific ways to counter them. Not only that, but try and play to your strengths as well. If music really helps you picture the ambiance of a story, by all means, utilize that. If it is nothing more than a source of distraction (like it is for me), then maybe resort to some other background noise like ambiance sounds.
Getting too caught up in word counting.
If I am struggling to pump out some writing, I find I have a huge problem with typing, and then checking the word count like I’m writing an essay for school. This is because I have a word goal I hope to meet every day, and while this does me good, on bad days, I find myself way too caught up in meeting the quota. I haven’t really found a way to combat this if I’m honest. I feel that if I don’t force myself to write at least a little everyday, it is easy to get out of the habit and oh! Now I haven’t written for a month. Yay. But I definitely feel like my writing suffers when I am just checking a “list”. My only tip on this specific tendency is just know, that we all have bad writing days. But I think I ascribe to the idea that something, even if its a bit forced on this particular day, is better than nothing. Really I think that’s the ideology that’s at the heart of productive writing.
“Something is always better than nothing”.
“Thanks for underestimating me; I needed the motivation.”
“Tell me, if our hearts were replaced with clocks, would love more?”
“Someone here has to be hollow; might as well be you.”
“I dont remember your face but I remember I love you.”
“Follow close- there’s no telling what’ll be waiting for us.”
“If you were made to mend broken hearts, you would have been born with a needle and thread.”
“Knowledge and understanding are two totally seperate things I’m afraid.”
“I deserve to be loved, not merely considered.”
“You fell so many by the sword yet you cannot save yourself.”
“Please don’t look away.”
“The problem with people who take down giants, Is they end up thinking they’re giants themselves.”
So we are coming to a time on the internet where aesthetics are becoming a really big thing. Things like Dark Academia and Cottagecore are becoming more mainstream. These aesthetics often paint this picture of a beautiful romantic life filled with books and good food and cute outfits. It feels a little unattainable sometimes, especially when your life feels anything but cute (and that’s okay, it won’t always). So here are a few personal tips of mine that make your life feel that much more magical.
Spray perfume in books
So this is really cool because the scent stays with the book and you begin to associate that scent with that story and it’s just so surreal and brings even more life and personality to the story you’re reading.
Actually take baths with monstrous amounts of bubbles.
So showers are great when you wanna save time, but I’ve found that if I really wanna feel like a pampered princess, I can tie my hair up in a silk ribbon and draw some hot water and take a nice bubbly bath. I also recommend bathrobes, especially silk ones because they just feel fancy and good on your skin.
Write letters- like for real letters.
Nothing is nicer than filling an envelope with your personality and sending it off for someone you love to enjoy. It feels so sophisticated plus I guarantee the person receiving it will love it.
Maybe try and keep a diary?
No judging if you don’t keep up with it. Or even if entries are months apart. Just give it a shot.
Actually bake stuff.
When you’re feeling up to it, try baking. It fills the house with nice smells and feels magical.
Try a different genre of music than normal.
Sometimes if your life feels particularly monotonous, it can be because you’re not doing anything different every day. Some patterns are good and healthy but you will probably feel very stagnate in general if you stick with the same old things simply because they’re safe and what you’re used to. This can go for music as well as food and style choices. Experimentation is good sometimes.
Be committed to enjoying the little things.
Romanticizing your own life isn’t even necessarily about doing more “romantic” and “adventurous” things though those are nice. It’s more about finding the beauty in what’s already there. So try and see things in a new light. For me, it means I pay attention to all the quiet moments in life and notice everything around me. Because beauty really is there. It’s almost like a sensory reset. Feeling the warmth of sunlight as if you’ve never felt it before. Noticing the subtle instruments in a song. Noticing the colors that are around us all the time and how beautiful it is that you can perceive them. Life really is romantic if we take time to notice it.
Every year a magical, twisted carnival arrives in your town. It shows up with no warning. No one sees the set up and no one sees it taken down. It just vanishes after a week’s time. Every game here promises magical and immense prizes but the prices to play are often more than you want to pay…
“Once upon a time, not so long ago, in a land uncomfortably close by…”
“So, I know it looks bad,”
“What could go wrong?”
“Some nay-sayers will say what I did was “illegal” or “detestable” but I’m here to tell you what really happened…”
“Once upon a time, nothing went as planned.”
“I shoulder have believed them.”
“The clock had stopped.”
“Everything was going so well…”
“I can explain.”
“I few regrets per the moment.”
“I’m not exactly sure where to start, but I guess the beginning is typically the best place, so here we go.”
“The sky above was entirely lit.”
“Once upon a time, the end was met.”
“I don’t know what’s with poet’s obsession with rain. It never did me any good.”
“Once upon a time, I grew up.”
“The sun was setting, but that’s when my day began.”
“Things are very different.”
“I looked into the distance, unable to believe my eyes.”
“So this tale starts boring, not gonna lie.”
“Some say I’m cynical, I warn you.”
“It started with an explosion. Do I have your attention?”
“I may have killed someone.”
“I stopped to catch my breath…”
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.
By the Brooke 