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Archive for the category “Creative Writing Challenge 2”

Day 7:The picture

Day 7: Write a story with the words: tree, box, grandfather and toothpaste.

grandfather-granddaughter-walking-down-lane-sml

“And therefore I will love. Blind, boundless and never-ending. ”

 

He left me something. I don’t really understand why, I never knew him all too well. I don’t know why I consider it important. Why should I care about feelings never had, never transmitted, never known. It can’t matter now, so why should I care? I haven’t cared for 27 years of life. Then why do I care now? But I do.

I didn’t cry. I’m not a person who cries a lot. I don’t see the point. Why cry over something that is lost? Why cry over something that will never return? We walked inside wearing all black. Me and my mother. My little sister had never known him, she was too young. My father had never wanted to. There’s a lot of history between them. I don’t know why I came. Maybe to keep my mother company. She cried. I don’t know if she was sad. She never knew him well, none of us did, but as the music started she teared up. There were a few people I had never met, a few people whom I had heard stories about and a few people that I had met me when I was younger. I wonder if he knew them well. They told me that he had been distant and inapproachable. During the service I sat in the back, I held my mother’s hand. Through a sea of black suits, black veils and white tissue paper I could see the right shoulder of the priest. Just beyond the preacher’s stand I saw a glimpse of grey hair and the bright blue velvet upholstery inside the casket. He hated blue, I learnt that later.

I found it when we cleaned out the house. There was a musty scent throughout the house. Somehow everything there was mismatched. The sofa didn’t fit the table. The rocking chair was wine red, but the cushions were bright blue. The pattern on the table lamp suited horribly to the table. The paintings in the living room varied from expressionistic art to portraits of naked women dating to the baroque age. At first it looked like a horrible mess. I cleaned all of it. The dust wasn’t the worst part, but I found a rotten sandwich under one of the chairs. The style was awful; no one could have come up with it intentionally. The wheel of a bike was hung against a wall. I am still not quite sure if he intended it as a piece of art, or that he had forgotten to fix his bike and left it hanging to remind himself. Somehow every room was ugly, yet it felt like a home. It felt warm. I can’t figure out how my mind has formed a homey image of random collections of every sized garbage, yet I couldn’t shake the pattern on the table lamp and how beautifully red it was. I kept it. Everything felt warm, but I knew it to be lonely. There were no pictures. There was no need. He was never in pictures. The house felt warm, but the dust was a clear signal. He had died alone.

It took a full day to clean out the house. I had nearly skipped the last door, as it was hardly distinguishable from the wall. I found the key in the kitchen drawer and at first I wished I hadn’t. The attic was covered in spider’s webs. I found the remaining pieces of the bike as an answer to my question. I found a mountain of boxes with mostly nothing in them. I found a lot of things with little or no meaning to me, but I also found what I had never thought about. I found out who he was, as a person, as a husband, as a grandfather. Everything of his I found in a small box under the staircase. The box itself was the only wooden box in the attic. Small, yet precious. It had a carving on it of a bird with spread wings. The wood of the box had a reddish glow with a dark striped pattern. The key was already in its lock and I felt that I had found a treasure. I was right. Mostly I found out that he was a writer. I found stacks of letters, notes and scratch papers with vaguely formulated sentences. I found everything. Feelings, thoughts, adventures. My grandfather wasn’t a very organised man. He didn’t have one diary, but he just had his whole being stacked in this messy pile of papers. I found his deepest thoughts on a shopping list.

Shopping

  • Milk
  • Bread
  • Painting
  • Instant noodles
  • Happiness
  • My family back
  • Toothpaste

He wrote about the daily things, he wrote stories, poems and songs.

“James asked me today if I still cared. I told him to mind his own damn business. No way the town baker gets to know my thoughts. Of course I care. But I’m tired. I know that people think I’m distant. The truth is that I don’t know how to feel. I know that one time that I felt, and I felt everything. I felt the wind through my hair, I felt the rain on my skin. I felt every step I took, I felt air enter my lungs and leave again. I got tired of feeling, so I stopped. I felt everything when she left. The love of my life. Alongside my kids and their kids. Of course I care. I should really get to fixing my bike today. I might be old and alone, but I’m sure as hell not gonna be old, alone and fat. (2005)”

He had gotten fat later on.

“There is this dream I’ve been having. It’s nothing special, but it’s special in that way. There is a small house in the mountains that has my name on it. It’s a small wooden house near a lake. There are some trees, some plants and there’s a small waterhole nearby. I spend my days farming, making some music, staring at the sunset as I drink a cup of tea. Of course I’ll have a dog who keeps me company. I’d go on long walks in the surrounding nature and I’d pluck some flowers along the way. I’d collect them and keep them healthy until the next time my granddaughter comes to visit. She’d like them, I’m sure. That’s the life.”

I never went to visit. Should I have? When I found these notes I had started liking him more. Funny, since I had never known him well. I started reading and I kept reading. Before I realised it was morning. That’s when I found it. There was a picture of me. I hardly recognised myself as there were few baby pictures of me. In the picture a younger version of him was holding me. Grandma was right next to him. He tried to look in the camera, but he was clearly focused on me. His hands were wrapped around me as he tried to hold me steady. The wrinkles around his eyes were less deep, but he looked tired. The thing that struck me was his smile. I had never seen him smile. We never hugged. We were never close. Still, in this picture he held me so tight and his eyes. It looked like love. I have seen love in other eyes and this is what it looked like. It really made me wonder. If he had smiled like this at one time, if he had loved like this, where had it gone? Why was it gone? Why do I remember a distant man with little love, while here I saw someone who cared?

There was a note on the back of a picture. It was actually a letter. To me.

“Dear Emma,

One day, I promise. One day when you can walk and talk, we’ll walk and we’ll talk together. I’ll give you a bunch of flowers, and you’ll love to see their colours. I’ll give you a flower for every year. We’ll walk together in the forest. We can build a tree house together. We’ll talk about everything, you can tell me everything! One day, I promise, we’ll be best friends. You’re going to get a little sister, I just know it. We’ll run and play and have fun, just the three of us. I’ll get a dog and you can name him. Dear Emma please grow up quickly, because I am getting old. Please grow up before my legs won’t run and my hands won’t draw. As you grow up, know that I love you. Seize the day, live, laugh, love! If I’m not there, still know I love you. I will always love you. A flower for every year that I still love you.” 

I cried. Not because he broke his promise. Not because I never knew him. Not because he seemed to never care. I cried because he cared. He cared at one point in time, and that was enough. I don’t know why that matters, since the lost time cannot be gained. My tears were not of regret, knowing what I had lost. My tears were those of joy, realising what always been there. That moment of caring, that moment of love was worth more than all the years not knowing.

I continued cleaning. I found 27 flowers, dried up in a book. I stopped crying and I started smiling.

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Day 6: My Biggest Fears

Day 6: Make a list of 5 things you’re afraid of happening to you. Then write a story in which one of them happens to your character.

There’s this moment of insanity, when you know you’re crossing a line.

 

“Lily, sweetie, I’m just a little tired ok? Go play over there for a bit.” She said waving her hand at the corner of the room filled with coloured boxes, toy cars, white sheets of paper and crayons. “You can draw something if you want.” Lily looked back at her with curiosity. She seemed a little paler than usual. “Is everything ok, mom? Why do you look so white?” Her mom smiled at her. “Don’t worry about it honey, I’ll be fine. Why don’t you draw me a nice picture?” Lily grabbed her mom’s hands and leaned forward to look at her more closely. “Will you feel better if I do?” Her mother gave her a weak grin. “If it’s from you, I’m sure I’ll feel a lot better.” Lily stared intensely into her mom’s eyes as if she was trying to memorize something. It took a few seconds before she suddenly jumped up and ran across the room to get her crayons.

“Mom!” She yelled as if the other side of the room was the other side of the city. The woman rubbed the side of her head with a pained look on her face. “Yeah..?” It was all she felt she was able to get out of her mouth. “I’m going to make you the best picture ever!” The woman smiled weakly again. “That’s nice, sweetie.” A few seconds of silence went by, but the more time, the more her head felt like exploding. She felt herself falling away into a blur, but she desperately tried to stop herself. Something told her that she should fight this feeling, but she didn’t know what was keeping her from what felt like a good nap coming up.

“Mom!”  Lily yelled again after a few minutes. “How do you spell your name again?”

“Q-U-I-N-N.”

Lily returned to her paper with unwavering concentration. Quinn could see her lips move to form the sounds of each letter. Somehow it made her feel happy to see her daughter like this. It made her relax a bit and for a moment she wanted to let it all out. Slowly she dipped into the blurry feeling she had before. Slowly she felt a blackish shadow reaching her, but it felt… easy. Comfortable.

Lily moved her head back a bit to observe her piece of art. Her mom, her dad and herself holding hands. The little red lines that formed their lips cut across their faces in a casual way. The sun was shining. They looked happy together. At the top of the paper she had written in big letters ‘FROM LILY TO QUINN’. She smiled at her achievement and looked up at her mom.

She looked up at her mom suddenly standing next to her. She looked up at her mom that wore the same smile as in her drawing… a red stripe cut unnaturally across her face. Her eyes as large as she had drawn them. She felt cold air surrounding her for just a moment. Her smile faded. “Are you okay mommy? I made this for you.” She said pointing at her drawing. Tears formed in her eyes as she felt cold hands reach for her. She took a step back to get away from the cold, but she felt trapped. For a moment her breath stopped, her heart stopped and everything stopped. Everything was now in front of her. Her mom’s soft, gentle hands like claws around her wrists. Her mom’s warm smiles like souls calling for help. Frozen in her steps she looked at her mom’s hand reaching for her throat…

 

I can feel myself moving. I can see myself moving. I’m doing it myself… So why can’t I stop. Stop it! Not her, no please. I love her. Why isn’t this working? Why is this so hard? I just want to let go. I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want control, I don’t want it. Why can’t I stop? I’m tired.

 

 

He observed the woman in front of him carefully. His eyes, worn down by experience, laughter and many looks of sympathy were strictly focused on her. He looked at the dark lines under her grey blue eyes. He looked at her lips that were pursed in a tight line. He looked at the crooked way she was sitting on her chair and at the black unwashed hairs hanging warily over her face. Of all the things he saw, behind all the things that could make her stunning if well taken care of, he saw only things that evoked repulsion. In her eyes he saw the one thing he had never seen before. Her eyes weren’t filled with tears, exhaustion or fear. They were filled with death. Never had he seen such emptiness and misery reflect in the mirrors to the soul. A shiver ran down his spine and he wondered. He has never been religious or spiritual in any way. He did not believe in anything but that which he could see, but for the first time in his life he could see the absence of that what was beyond understanding. Her soul.

As they sat in silence the only sound was his pencil scratching nervously across the notebook in his hands. The silence lingered between them, but she did not make any attempt to break it. She had not spoken, moved or shown any sign of recognizing his or even her own existence.

“What is your name?”

No response. For days on end he had shared that room with her, but she had yet to speak a word. Still he kept trying. Was it his own sense of pride, his curiosity or a simple need to help, he had not considered giving up on her. It was his job, and he was good at it. He trusted in himself.

He leaned back and looked at her in a more casual manner and politely smiled at her.

“I look forward to the day when we can have a conversation over some tea.” He chuckled. She didn’t budge. He thought back to nearly a week ago, to the report that had lain on his desk when he entered his office. He had read it in a single breath of perplexity. A woman and her daughter, her husband was away from work. In the picture she had looked charming and happy. None of them had a medical history, a record or anything unusual whatsoever. They’d lived a happy peaceful life. He looked at the woman again and tried to find a resemblance between her and the picture that was taken of her only a month back. He had looked at the picture of her daughter, before and after the incident. She had been a beautiful child of around 8 years old with long black hair and a light brown complexion. Pictures of a bruised child, barely alive and broken in spirit flashed in front of his eyes as he rubbed along the temple of his head. He thought of his own daughter who had long passed that age and he felt painfully grateful. He looked over at the woman again and saw her soulless form.

“How much do you remember?” He asked no one in particular, not expecting any response. Within a moment he felt the icy fingers of death reach over to his neck and clamping around his throat. Her empty grey blue eyes were staring straight into his and even though she had not moved anything but her face he felt her aura near him as if it was attempting to draw him into hell.

“Everything.” She said with an icy, creaking voice.

 

So, here’s a fun fact. I figured that when I have inspiration to write something, it’s crucial for me not to stop. When I stop, it’s gone and it’ll never come back. I hate my brain sometimes. So I’m basically stuck in the stories’ world, until I’m finished with it. Tell you what; it’s not that much fun being stuck in a story filled with your greatest fears… I genuinely got small panick attacks when I imagined being Quinn. So here’s my list 🙂

  1. Losing complete control over myself and do stuff that goes against me (like insanity)
  2. Hurting/losing the people I love more than anything
  3. Getting hurt by the people I love more than anything
  4. Trypophobia… fear of holes (don’t google it.)
  5. Ginormous freaking hand or bigger sized freaking spiders that like partying in your mosquito net when you want to sleep. 

Day 5: Reasons To Love Rain

Day 5: Think of a random word and Google images for it. Write a story about the 7th image. 

He looked straight up at the night sky. Even in the darkest of nights the thick grey clouds stood out, covering up the skies. He shivered as cold raindrops poured on his shoulders. He was carrying and umbrella, but it was barely covering him in an attempt to keep the girl clinging to his arm safe from the cold. He glanced sideways only to see her grinning with a sparkle in her eyes. He chuckled. “You’re silly…” The girl looked up at him in surprise. “Why?!” She asked with astonishment in her voice. He chuckled again, looked away from her and meaningfully glanced up at the rain falling from the sky. “Just because…” He looked at her again. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“What…, the rain?” She asked.

“Yes.” He paused for a moment.

“The skies are sad, the world is crying. Everyone gets gloomy when it’s raining, yet you’re just standing here smiling.”

“That’s not true!” She said with an indignant tone in her voice.

“What, you mean to say that this never ending grin of yours actually means you’re not happy?” He laughed.

“No, I mean to say that the skies aren’t sad!” She looked up with a familiar sparkle in her eyes. “The skies are trying to make us happy… Think about it, when do people snuggle up together? To get warm when it’s cold! When do people gather around to talk? When they stay inside together, hiding from the rain! When do we hold each other more tightly? When you want to protect me from the rain…” She came closer to him while her thoughts seemed to wander away. After a short pause she continued. “Don’t look at the dark clouds, ok? Look at the streets. Just keep looking!”

As they walked through the city he looked for what she saw. Her eyes told him she’d seen something precious, but his mind was filled with the grey clouds above his head. Suddenly he noticed her staring at him in the corner of his eye. He looked straight forward when he saw the clouds lifting, only for a moment. He saw the light of the moon reflecting from the wet street stones. He saw the warm colours from all around him, from stop lights, from signs, from headlights… All of them reflected on the streets. Everywhere around him there was an explosion of colour. The longer they walked, the more he looked. The more he looked, the more he saw. For a moment, he faded away. He forgot the rain, he forgot the cold and he forgot the clouds that were slowly lifting. For a short moment all he could see was a painting in front of him, behind him and everywhere he looked; A piece of art more alive than he had realised before. With the soft noise of the ticking rain above his head he felt relaxed. He looked to his side and saw her familiar smile again. As if she had read his mind and knew what he had seen. He turned towards her with a soft smile on his lips. He leaned in closer and closer until they were sharing one breath. As he came near she closed her eyes. Slowly he tipped the umbrella away from him and… In a split second he took a step back and shook out the remaining rain droplets on the umbrella out over her head. “Hey!” She yelled. “You’re right!” He responded quickly, before she could continue yelling. He stared off at the beautiful play of colours in front of him, took a deep breath and held her tightly. “You’re right…” He repeated softly.

 

The random word I Googled was the word ‘Art’ and the 7th picture brought me to one of my all time favourite paintings! Really, this painting has it all! It has my combines my favourite season (autumn), with my favourite weather (rain … (I might have mentioned that more than a few times before in more than a few different places and occasions…)), and one of my favourite activities (walking in the rain), using my favourite colours (red, black and white)!! I think I’m gonna get myself this one or at least one of Victor Figol’s paintings because I completely fell in love with them 🙂 

Day 4: Seven Days Of Insanity

Day 1:
It’s surprising how little time passes between the moment you decide to tell the truth, and the moment the world legally declares you insane. Within seconds people start to doubt you, minutes and they blame you and only days and they will pity you until they see no other option. So now I find myself in a room. Completely white, no windows and a door made to blend in with the walls. A camera somewhere, I suspect, and in the middle of the room there’s one chair. ‘Solitary confinement’, they say, but it’s not. I’m not alone.
Day 2
It’s quiet. No people around, no social obligations, no small talk… God, I hate small talk. Small talk is the language of people shrouded in their own ignorance. Ignorance is bliss, they say. No. Ignorance is what got us here in the first place. Here being this little white room that was, is and will be again my temporary, little, oblivion free world. My world where unseen cameras and unseen eyes pierce through my skull, attempting to see what’s inside my mind, but never really seeing the beautiful destruction that’s working its way outside… Yes it’s quiet, for now.
day 3
This always happens. The more I think of it the more I see myself as the idiot I am. It’s not that I’m lying, really. It’s just that the truth is too much. The first time I told the truth right away. I was young and naïve, they said. Then I tried telling it when I was older and when that didn’t work I tried somewhere. Somehow I always end up telling. Like I said, stupid. Things don’t change.
day 4
i found a single black spot on the white wall. i’ve been imagining it to change shape, grow, shrink bend or anything actually, but after staring for what seems like forever, nothing changed. It’s been grabbing my attention for the last… I already lost track of time. It doesn’t matter. It can’t take too long anyway. Last time it was 5 days, before that it was 20, now… 7? I’m going for 7. i hear someone agree. 7 is a good number.
day five:
Someone sat on my chair I know it Nobody else in the room, they say but someone sat in my chair. Normally they don’t give me a chair but now they do and someone steals it. I can’t believe I’m getting frustrated over a chair. You should be, they say, you have the right to be, they say. Let it out, they say, why won’t you let us it out, they say.
Day 5, day 6:
they say it’s time and 7 makes perfect so it’s now or never. Back to the end and backto the start maybe. The new me will know more, be wiser and don’t say the truth. Someone is sitting on my chair, he stands up. He fights. He destroys. The truth is out.

Day 7:
It’s done. As I see the ruin all around, my conscience is clear and my heart is satisfied. They thought I was crazy, that the voices were fake and that there was no chair. Only when the white walls crumbled they saw the real truth beyond what they thought was ‘normal’. Inside I know that they will never believe me and I know they’ll always put me behind the white walls where it can’t reach me for ‘my own good’. With a clean slate I can step outside and I can witness the beautiful chaos while telling them, ‘I told you so.’

Day 4: Imagine you’re unable to leave a room for the next 7 days. Chronicle each of the days using max. 100 words for each day.

Yeah… I know, the whole point of a challenge is the whole 30 consecutive days thing… Well I didn’t quite feel the 3rd challenge so I finally decided to just skip to the fourth one xD 7 Days of insanity, I hope this ‘diary’ confused you as much as it did me.

Day 2: How To Forget

There are two trees in particular, right at the beginning of the road, before you enter the small forest. The two trees seem just like all the others behind them, with equally green leaves in the summer and an equal coating of bright white snow in the winter. One would never walk by and stop to consider that something so seemingly insignificant would in fact be a very important part of a forgotten past. Three weeks ago about a handful of people probably walked by with their faces buried in whatever touch screen device they had in their hands at that moment. Those who did look up probably didn’t even notice that something was weird. That the leaves on the trees were rustling more than usual or that the shadows behind the trees were 3 shades darker. That the thin mist around the forest was more than just your casual low hanging cloud, and that it was masking more than just a stray dog or a wild rabbit hopping around. Three weeks ago two shadows materialized out of thin air. They walked out of the forest surrounded by a wall of silence and clothed with exhaustion. Three weeks ago we set our minds to the same simple goal. To forget.

“So, now it’s all over, will we just go back to not knowing each other?”

She had answered with a simple, “Yeah.” I don’t blame her really. Out of the two of us I think she had the hardest time. It didn’t matter who was stronger or faster, once it was dangerous, she would be the one to take the lead. “I can handle this. If I can spare you, I will.” Is what she said. I’m the weak link, I guess. I can’t keep anything in. I don’t keep secrets. That’s just not me. Or at least, it wasn’t.  Sometimes I see her walk by with some of her friends. Catching up, for old time’s sake. Laughing at the little jokes, worrying about the small things. I remember when I used to watch her. Always surrounded by people, always a part of the group. Always laughing and joking around. I remember admiring her smile from afar. It didn’t light up the skies or make flowers grow around her and it wasn’t magical or surreal, but it was quite the opposite. Her smile wasn’t devastatingly attractive, but it was painfully honest. When she laughed she looked like a clumsy 5 year old, but when you heard her laugh, you’d instantly laugh with her. I was perfectly fine with not knowing her at all if only I could just see her smile a couple of times. Now I know her I’m still amazed by her every day. How does she continue, like life has always made sense? How does she forget, as if there was nothing to remember in the first place? How does she keep smiling after years and years of forgotten history and when did her smile stop reaching her eyes? 5 Years have been erased out of the past to make a better future. Things I knew so well, friends I loved so much and a smile I learnt to care so deeply for, all gone for a world that wasn’t much to me. After everything that had happened her smile was the strength behind my every step, because that alone was undying and after one single moment even that faded away.

Three weeks later I felt myself drawn to where it all began, wishing I could go back to the dark cruel world that had become my home. So now I’m here again, staring at two trees, looking like a complete idiot. I see people walking by questioning my mental health and wondering how long a person can stare at a tree before getting tired. I used to come here feeling magic and life drawing me in. Now I’m feeling judgmental eyes puncturing the back of my head. I don’t care, I keep staring. Hoping that some sign comes to me proving it wasn’t all a dream. Not much later the sign comes in the form of a hand touching my shoulder. I look around. “Mia…”

“Hey Leo, it’s been a while…” She smiles at me. We share a long minute of painful silence, both looking back and forth from the tree to each other until Mia breaks the silence. “Let’s sit down and talk for a bit ok?” Without answering I sit down leaning against the tree and wait for her to start talking.  “They just look like trees huh?” She says. “What else would they look like?” I respond with a little more hostility in my voice than I intended. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Push me away.” I look at her. Honesty all across her face, but that’s all. No pain, no suffering. Just life going on.

“Last time I checked you wanted us to go back how it was.” She looks down.

“I’m sorry.” I quickly continue. “I get it, really. It’s just kinda hard sometimes and stuff just seems so easy on your side.”

“It’s not, you know. It’s not gonna get easier anytime soon, I can promise you that. But I guess it’s just better to look at it from the bright side.”

“I can’t. I just can’t. Where’s the bright side in all this? Where do you see the light, tell me because I don’t see it at all!” A small hazy edge appears just in my line of sight. The world starts fading away a little as the haze grows. I find myself looking at her without really seeing anything, as a tear slides down my cheek towards my chin. “I can’t stay strong. I can’t keep laughing. I left my family there, and here… You have people that care for you in this world, but the past I gave up to save them was all I had.”

“Leo!” She puts her hand on my knee. “We went there without knowing what we got ourselves into, but we always knew that at one point we had to go back. I know that it’s hard. I’m struggling too, but you have to try. Smile. A little longer, a little harder. Smile a little wider and a little happier. Smile more, as if you’re happy. Maybe if you keep on trying they start believing it’s real. Maybe after a while you start believing it’s real too.”

I look at her in amazement. She’s smiling at me. Again.

“When did you stop smiling like you did?” She looks surprised. “Mia, what you’re doing isn’t brave. It’s not staying strong. It’s torturing yourself. It’s not dealing with your problems, but it’s stuffing them away. It’s acting for the world but you’re building yourself a time bomb.”

“What should I do, not smile. Let the world know what happened and that I’m not ok? What good does that do, I’m not helping anyone with that!”

“You’d be helping yourself. Something you’re really bad at. I’m an emotional wreck and I can’t keep myself from crying, but you… Let me help you, Mia.”

“No thanks, I’m fine, really.” She stands up. “Don’t worry so much ok, Leo? Look at the bright side and you’ll be fine. I’ll see you soon ok?” She starts walking away, but I quickly grab her hand.

”It’s not me I’m worried about.” For a split second I think I see her crying, but she quickly pulls away.

“I’m here if you need me, Mia. Please take care of yourself.”

As she disappears into the crowd I lean back against the tree again. Her smile wasn’t real. It hadn’t been for the past three weeks. With a shadow over my head I start walking home. When a shiver runs down my spine I look back. Not everyone would see it, but for me it came natural. A cold feeling spreading under my skin gave away a hint and the shadows behind the trees formed the conclusion. Through the thin mist I could see the shadows had become 3 shades darker.

 

 

Day 2: Use the sentence “Her smile wasn’t real.”  

I don’t know why, but getting myself to write something down feels like a tough challenge lately. My mind is just completely blank, so I’m kinda glad that I at least got this far. And hey, there’s even a lesson in here somewhere, next to the whole vague, I don’t know what on earth I’m reading part 🙂  

 

Creative Writing Challenge Take 2

So I’ve been having a really hard time writing lately (surprise surprise) And I thought back of the good old days that I wrote loads every day. So I thought, why not just go back to my writing challenge days and force myself to write creatively! One thing led to another, I looked for some new writing challenges and I found… Not this one. I found a bunch of challenges, but I always found some things that I didn’t like or just weren’t my style or whatever excuse I could make up. So this list is made by moi and a bunch of random internet people whom I stole parts of their challenges from…

Spoiler alert, I’m not gonna complete this challenge in 30 days… I know myself too well for that. It’s probably gonna be more of a 39, 48.7 or a 1 year challenge for me, but hey at least I’m trying. Let the writing begin!!

Writing challenge

Just click the picture if you can’t read it ^_^

Fun fact: my favourite west african symbol is called ‘Sankofa’. It;s the symbol of a bird that is walking forward but looking back. The literal meaning of it is look back and take. If you keep walking on, there’s no shame in going back to the past for a little bit to take what you need there. Learn from the past and walk to the future, which is kinda what I’m doing right now with this challenge right? 😛

 

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