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Week 4 posts / Stuck in Limbo
« on: September 02, 2020, 05:37:34 PM »
The house of my escape is the house of my undoing. Dark mountains stare over the valley and await the ultimate decision in who possesses my soul. A fight I did not choose to enter, yet it encompasses the very nerves at my core. Sunset to sunrise remains the hardest hours wherein the push-pull drags on without permission. The sky encourages the earth to refuse her efforts to take me back. My mind meanders forward in wait for my bones to become part of this mountain, and my soul to sit gracefully without peace among the high grass.
The three parts of my being--elements who comprise my unfortunate whole--never get along. The shatters of a soul yearning for a breath of rest the mind refuses to grant while the body oscillates between her desire to flee while she remains frozen from fear. Even now. With the breeze brushing through the grasses cascading past my form into the fields below, there is a constant unease spoken amongst the Jasmine leaves.
Breathe. Breathe again.
Breathe --- slow.
The memories were a warning I didn't heed, undue punishments for a negging I rejected years ago. Still even now, my mind is left here isolated and bound in this eternal place to wander through history on repeat. An eternal cycle of hell especially designed for a body, a mind, a soul, who dares not rest while others draw near.
The dissipation of eagerness to fight, to survive in constant disagreement with the parts of my whole, involves unrelenting energy the mountains cannot disguise. What's left for this soul? The ability to wander in sheer ignorance ended long ago.
The once exuberant drive and thirst for life that permeate my being is not gone, but redirected. My external form grows dim while the core of my being longs for rest. The exhaustion of internal unrest makes peace almost impossible as the dissent of my factions pulls the same vibrancy I long ago projected out--in.
Exhale. Again.
The vines deep within the unkempt grasses wander over my outstretched body, tracing across the same scars they'd left just yesterday, and hold fast to keep my form from her wandering. With the last wrap of their twisting grace, my eyes shut.
Protection. One less part to focus my attention.
My eyes open in refusal to allow the images to play against their dark screen.
The aged dwelling waits just up the hill in rest for a quiet entrance. Her empty shell, abandoned by a form who struggled to understand how to communicate thoughts buried deep within, sends an invitation for unrestful contemplation. The building boasts the stains, bruises, and obvious imperfections of her structure on the outside while her eye glows burgundy.
To hide from a personal trinity of exhaustive torment is an unattainable solution. There is no way to hide from a past while it plays on repeat. Without a path of escape, the parts of my whole remain stuck within the corporal body that allows the anguish to occur as it pleases. A body that encases the ever-growing argument on how to act, live, and survive in a world not made for the energies thrust upon it without consent.
The sweet scent of Jasmine seeks to calm the rushing energy pulsing through my veins.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
The ground shivers with the wind, nudging focus back to this golden plain.
A long exhale follows another breath in and pushes the unwanted energy from my body through the field. Whispering our secrets to the base of the ravine just past these woods to forever be cradled in the arms of mother earth. Each superseding breath cannot remove the visions upon exit. A moment without memory fails to reach the space deep in my mind, shriveling the soul and reinforcing disconnect between my three pieces.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Breaths fail to heal.
The window calls, and yet the grasses weave their tendrils around my legs refusing to release. Leaves work to shroud my body from the haze of the exposed sky that darkens with haste.
Curses on nature for refusing to allow her power to heal the ache of our collective past. Nightmares play on repeat in isolation. Loneliness rots away desire, drive, and any distractions which once could pull my attention to the moments ahead. Time is of ill importance here, waning between indiscernible points. The sun sets and rises just the same. The hours, minutes, days are inconsequential.
Stuck. I'm stuck. My mind, body, and soul vacillate in different planes.
This was just a cruel joke of the wind, the mind, and each fake smiling face I encountered. The first step involved removing the smiling faces who held me back with pity. Thriving only lasts for so long--in this case, maybe a few hours. To cry atop a field meant to inspire every emotion only gives you time to plan. To envy individuals free from the contemplations ever existent in the nightmares they'd bestowed.
Thoughtfulness, complexity, and a daft unknown of the infliction a moment of cruel intention can place on another individual is lost on others. The ones doing the inflicting that is. Rather, I'm stuck in this space--in this limbo--to question from where their intention stemmed. The wrong decision or missteps that leads to an invisible hand upon my lungs and throat.
I'd grown so used to the invisible hand, of the forever ride to journey from fear within, I'd not been able to decipher this time was different.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
Gasp. Nine. Ten.
The hand softens to a gentle cradle, causing stress on my lungs and squeezing my full body. Reassurance through your warm touch and golden glow engulfs my senses and awakens the memories shoved deep in a space once blocked by blackness. Tingles overcome the three parts of my being that sit side-by-side as I follow my meditation into this meadow to overlook this domicile. The suffocation of my soul was less memory and more a vision, a warning, one which held me back the first time.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
The memories rush with force, painting the blackness with each suppressed account. Pain stabs through my head and my eyes slam shut. My palms move to my head and press against my temples. How dare you return to reinforce my struggle.
Breathe. Stretch. Fight.
As the sun peeks to rise, the protective tendrils are apprehensive to release my legs in their search for nourishment. To summon energy from the depths of exhaustion is not a choice of my mind, yet the earth pushes my body forward. The soul continues her attempts to pull the shatters back together but flecks of her remain forever in the past. The body refuses for this isolation to become her tomb and digs deep to unburden the tendrils from their charge. Freedom-- but not. The burgundy light guides my soul's path and fuses my trio whole once again in the same manner as yesterday and the day before in preparation for another round tomorrow.
The three parts of my being--elements who comprise my unfortunate whole--never get along. The shatters of a soul yearning for a breath of rest the mind refuses to grant while the body oscillates between her desire to flee while she remains frozen from fear. Even now. With the breeze brushing through the grasses cascading past my form into the fields below, there is a constant unease spoken amongst the Jasmine leaves.
Breathe. Breathe again.
Breathe --- slow.
The memories were a warning I didn't heed, undue punishments for a negging I rejected years ago. Still even now, my mind is left here isolated and bound in this eternal place to wander through history on repeat. An eternal cycle of hell especially designed for a body, a mind, a soul, who dares not rest while others draw near.
The dissipation of eagerness to fight, to survive in constant disagreement with the parts of my whole, involves unrelenting energy the mountains cannot disguise. What's left for this soul? The ability to wander in sheer ignorance ended long ago.
The once exuberant drive and thirst for life that permeate my being is not gone, but redirected. My external form grows dim while the core of my being longs for rest. The exhaustion of internal unrest makes peace almost impossible as the dissent of my factions pulls the same vibrancy I long ago projected out--in.
Exhale. Again.
The vines deep within the unkempt grasses wander over my outstretched body, tracing across the same scars they'd left just yesterday, and hold fast to keep my form from her wandering. With the last wrap of their twisting grace, my eyes shut.
Protection. One less part to focus my attention.
My eyes open in refusal to allow the images to play against their dark screen.
The aged dwelling waits just up the hill in rest for a quiet entrance. Her empty shell, abandoned by a form who struggled to understand how to communicate thoughts buried deep within, sends an invitation for unrestful contemplation. The building boasts the stains, bruises, and obvious imperfections of her structure on the outside while her eye glows burgundy.
To hide from a personal trinity of exhaustive torment is an unattainable solution. There is no way to hide from a past while it plays on repeat. Without a path of escape, the parts of my whole remain stuck within the corporal body that allows the anguish to occur as it pleases. A body that encases the ever-growing argument on how to act, live, and survive in a world not made for the energies thrust upon it without consent.
The sweet scent of Jasmine seeks to calm the rushing energy pulsing through my veins.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
The ground shivers with the wind, nudging focus back to this golden plain.
A long exhale follows another breath in and pushes the unwanted energy from my body through the field. Whispering our secrets to the base of the ravine just past these woods to forever be cradled in the arms of mother earth. Each superseding breath cannot remove the visions upon exit. A moment without memory fails to reach the space deep in my mind, shriveling the soul and reinforcing disconnect between my three pieces.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Breaths fail to heal.
The window calls, and yet the grasses weave their tendrils around my legs refusing to release. Leaves work to shroud my body from the haze of the exposed sky that darkens with haste.
Curses on nature for refusing to allow her power to heal the ache of our collective past. Nightmares play on repeat in isolation. Loneliness rots away desire, drive, and any distractions which once could pull my attention to the moments ahead. Time is of ill importance here, waning between indiscernible points. The sun sets and rises just the same. The hours, minutes, days are inconsequential.
Stuck. I'm stuck. My mind, body, and soul vacillate in different planes.
This was just a cruel joke of the wind, the mind, and each fake smiling face I encountered. The first step involved removing the smiling faces who held me back with pity. Thriving only lasts for so long--in this case, maybe a few hours. To cry atop a field meant to inspire every emotion only gives you time to plan. To envy individuals free from the contemplations ever existent in the nightmares they'd bestowed.
Thoughtfulness, complexity, and a daft unknown of the infliction a moment of cruel intention can place on another individual is lost on others. The ones doing the inflicting that is. Rather, I'm stuck in this space--in this limbo--to question from where their intention stemmed. The wrong decision or missteps that leads to an invisible hand upon my lungs and throat.
I'd grown so used to the invisible hand, of the forever ride to journey from fear within, I'd not been able to decipher this time was different.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
Gasp. Nine. Ten.
The hand softens to a gentle cradle, causing stress on my lungs and squeezing my full body. Reassurance through your warm touch and golden glow engulfs my senses and awakens the memories shoved deep in a space once blocked by blackness. Tingles overcome the three parts of my being that sit side-by-side as I follow my meditation into this meadow to overlook this domicile. The suffocation of my soul was less memory and more a vision, a warning, one which held me back the first time.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
The memories rush with force, painting the blackness with each suppressed account. Pain stabs through my head and my eyes slam shut. My palms move to my head and press against my temples. How dare you return to reinforce my struggle.
Breathe. Stretch. Fight.
As the sun peeks to rise, the protective tendrils are apprehensive to release my legs in their search for nourishment. To summon energy from the depths of exhaustion is not a choice of my mind, yet the earth pushes my body forward. The soul continues her attempts to pull the shatters back together but flecks of her remain forever in the past. The body refuses for this isolation to become her tomb and digs deep to unburden the tendrils from their charge. Freedom-- but not. The burgundy light guides my soul's path and fuses my trio whole once again in the same manner as yesterday and the day before in preparation for another round tomorrow.
2
Week 3 posts / Draft 3: Stuck in Limbo
« on: August 24, 2020, 01:11:23 AM »
AHH!!! So I'm way behind, and before I post my revision I just want to say my CPs Lisa and Christina were dead on. I need more thinking time on cutting/shuffling. Luckily we have another week. But to try to stick as close to the due date as I already missed... I'm posting what I have.
I also now need to cut about 200 words. (
)
The three parts of my being--elements who comprise my unfortunate whole--never get along. The shatters of a soul yearning for a breath of rest the mind refuses to grant while the body oscillates between her desire to flee while she remains frozen from fear. Even now. With the breeze brushing through the grasses cascading past my form into the fields below, there is a constant unease spoken amongst the Jasmine leaves.
Breathe. Breathe again.
Breathe --- slow.
The memories were a warning I didn't heed, undue punishments for a negging I rejected years ago. Still even now, my mind is left here isolated and bound in this eternal place to wander through history on repeat. An eternal cycle of hell especially designed for a body, a mind, a soul, who dares not rest while others draw near.
The dissipation of eagerness to fight, to survive in constant disagreement with the parts of my whole involve unrelenting energy the mountains cannot disguise. What's left for this soul? The ability to wander in sheer ignorance ended long ago.
The once exuberant agency that permeated my being is not gone, but redirected. The exhaustion of internal unrest makes peace almost impossible as the dissent of my factions pull at the same exuberance I long ago projected.
Exhale. Again.
The vines deep within the unkempt grasses wander over my outstretched body tracing across the same scars they'd left just yesterday and hold fast to keep my form from her wandering. With the last wrap of their twisting grace, my eyes shut.
Protection. One less part to focus my attention.
My eyes open in refusal to allow the images to play against their dark screen.
The aged dwelling waits in rest for a quiet entrance. Her empty shell abandoned by a form who struggled to understand how to communicate thoughts buried deep within, sends an invitation for unrestful contemplation. The building boasts the stains, bruises, and obvious imperfections of her structure on the outside while her eye glows burgundy.
To hide from a personal trinity of exhaustive torment is an unattainable solution. There is no way to hide from a past while it plays on repeat. Without a path of escape the parts of my whole remain stuck within the corporal body that allows the anguish to occur as it pleases. A body that encases the ever-growing argument on how to act, live, and survive in a world not made for the energies thrust upon it without consent.
The sweet scent of Jasmine seeks to calm the rushing energy pulsing through my veins.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
The ground shivers with the wind nudging focus back to this golden plain.
A long exhale follows another breath in and pushes the unwanted energy from my body through the field. Whispering our secrets to the base of the ravine just past these woods to forever be cradled in the arms of mother earth. Each superseding breath fails to remove the visions upon exit. A moment without memory fails to reach the space deep in my mind shriveling the soul and reinforcing disconnect between my three pieces.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Breaths fail to heal.
The window calls, and yet the grasses weave their tendrils around my legs refusing to release. Leaves work to shroud my body from the haze of the exposed sky that darkens with haste.
Curses on nature for refusing to allow her power to heal the ache of our past. Nightmares play on repeat in isolation. Loneliness rots away desire, drive, and any distractions which once could pull my attention to the moments ahead. Time is of ill importance here, waning between indiscernible points. The sun sets and rises just the same. The hours, minutes, days are inconsequential.
Stuck. I'm stuck. My mind, body, and soul vacillate in different planes.
This was just a cruel joke of the wind, the mind, and each fake smiling face I encountered. The first step involved removing the smiling faces who held me back with pity. Thriving only lasts for so long--in this case, maybe a few hours. To cry atop a field meant to inspire every emotion only gives you time to plan. To envy individuals free from the contemplations ever existent in the nightmares they'd bestowed.
Thoughtfulness, complexity, and a daft unknown of the infliction a moment of cruel intention can place on another individual is lost on others. The ones doing the inflicting that is. Rather, I'm stuck in this space--in this limbo--to question where their intention stemmed. The wrong decision or missteps that lead to the presence of an invisible hand upon my lungs and throat.
I'd grown so used to the invisible hand, of the forever ride to journey from fear within, I'd not been able to decipher this time was different.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
Gasp. Nine. Ten.
The hand softens to a gentle cradle, causing stress on my lungs and squeezing my full body. Reassurance through your warm touch and golden glow engulfs my senses and awakens the memories shoved deep in a space once blocked by blackness. Tingles overcome the three parts of my being that sit side-by-side as I follow my meditation into this meadow to overlook this domicile. The suffocation of my soul was less memory and more a vision, a warning, one which held me back the first time.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
The memories rush with force painting the blackness with each suppressed account. Pain stabs through my head and my eyes slam shut. My palms move to my head and press against my temples. How dare you return to reinforce my struggle.
Breathe. Stretch. Fight.
As the sun peeks to rise the protective tendrils are apprehensive to release my legs in their search for nourishment. To summon energy from the depths of exhaustion is not a choice of my mind, yet the earth pushes my body forward. The soul continues her attempts to pull the shatters back together but flecks of her remain forever in the past. The body refuses for this isolation to become her tomb and digs deep to unburden the tendrils from their charge. Freedom--but not. The burgundy light guides my soul's path and fuses my trio whole once again in the same manner as yesterday and the day before in preparation for another round tomorrow.
I also now need to cut about 200 words. (
)--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The house of my escape is the house of my undoing. Dark mountains stare over the valley and await the ultimate decision in who possesses my soul. A fight I did not choose to enter yet it encompasses the very nerves at my core. Sunset to sunrise remains the hardest hours wherein the push-pull drags on without permission. The sky encourages the earth to refuse her efforts to take me back. My mind meanders forward in wait for my bones to become part of this mountain, and my soul to sit gracefully without peace among the high grass.The three parts of my being--elements who comprise my unfortunate whole--never get along. The shatters of a soul yearning for a breath of rest the mind refuses to grant while the body oscillates between her desire to flee while she remains frozen from fear. Even now. With the breeze brushing through the grasses cascading past my form into the fields below, there is a constant unease spoken amongst the Jasmine leaves.
Breathe. Breathe again.
Breathe --- slow.
The memories were a warning I didn't heed, undue punishments for a negging I rejected years ago. Still even now, my mind is left here isolated and bound in this eternal place to wander through history on repeat. An eternal cycle of hell especially designed for a body, a mind, a soul, who dares not rest while others draw near.
The dissipation of eagerness to fight, to survive in constant disagreement with the parts of my whole involve unrelenting energy the mountains cannot disguise. What's left for this soul? The ability to wander in sheer ignorance ended long ago.
The once exuberant agency that permeated my being is not gone, but redirected. The exhaustion of internal unrest makes peace almost impossible as the dissent of my factions pull at the same exuberance I long ago projected.
Exhale. Again.
The vines deep within the unkempt grasses wander over my outstretched body tracing across the same scars they'd left just yesterday and hold fast to keep my form from her wandering. With the last wrap of their twisting grace, my eyes shut.
Protection. One less part to focus my attention.
My eyes open in refusal to allow the images to play against their dark screen.
The aged dwelling waits in rest for a quiet entrance. Her empty shell abandoned by a form who struggled to understand how to communicate thoughts buried deep within, sends an invitation for unrestful contemplation. The building boasts the stains, bruises, and obvious imperfections of her structure on the outside while her eye glows burgundy.
To hide from a personal trinity of exhaustive torment is an unattainable solution. There is no way to hide from a past while it plays on repeat. Without a path of escape the parts of my whole remain stuck within the corporal body that allows the anguish to occur as it pleases. A body that encases the ever-growing argument on how to act, live, and survive in a world not made for the energies thrust upon it without consent.
The sweet scent of Jasmine seeks to calm the rushing energy pulsing through my veins.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
The ground shivers with the wind nudging focus back to this golden plain.
A long exhale follows another breath in and pushes the unwanted energy from my body through the field. Whispering our secrets to the base of the ravine just past these woods to forever be cradled in the arms of mother earth. Each superseding breath fails to remove the visions upon exit. A moment without memory fails to reach the space deep in my mind shriveling the soul and reinforcing disconnect between my three pieces.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Breaths fail to heal.
The window calls, and yet the grasses weave their tendrils around my legs refusing to release. Leaves work to shroud my body from the haze of the exposed sky that darkens with haste.
Curses on nature for refusing to allow her power to heal the ache of our past. Nightmares play on repeat in isolation. Loneliness rots away desire, drive, and any distractions which once could pull my attention to the moments ahead. Time is of ill importance here, waning between indiscernible points. The sun sets and rises just the same. The hours, minutes, days are inconsequential.
Stuck. I'm stuck. My mind, body, and soul vacillate in different planes.
This was just a cruel joke of the wind, the mind, and each fake smiling face I encountered. The first step involved removing the smiling faces who held me back with pity. Thriving only lasts for so long--in this case, maybe a few hours. To cry atop a field meant to inspire every emotion only gives you time to plan. To envy individuals free from the contemplations ever existent in the nightmares they'd bestowed.
Thoughtfulness, complexity, and a daft unknown of the infliction a moment of cruel intention can place on another individual is lost on others. The ones doing the inflicting that is. Rather, I'm stuck in this space--in this limbo--to question where their intention stemmed. The wrong decision or missteps that lead to the presence of an invisible hand upon my lungs and throat.
I'd grown so used to the invisible hand, of the forever ride to journey from fear within, I'd not been able to decipher this time was different.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
Gasp. Nine. Ten.
The hand softens to a gentle cradle, causing stress on my lungs and squeezing my full body. Reassurance through your warm touch and golden glow engulfs my senses and awakens the memories shoved deep in a space once blocked by blackness. Tingles overcome the three parts of my being that sit side-by-side as I follow my meditation into this meadow to overlook this domicile. The suffocation of my soul was less memory and more a vision, a warning, one which held me back the first time.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
The memories rush with force painting the blackness with each suppressed account. Pain stabs through my head and my eyes slam shut. My palms move to my head and press against my temples. How dare you return to reinforce my struggle.
Breathe. Stretch. Fight.
As the sun peeks to rise the protective tendrils are apprehensive to release my legs in their search for nourishment. To summon energy from the depths of exhaustion is not a choice of my mind, yet the earth pushes my body forward. The soul continues her attempts to pull the shatters back together but flecks of her remain forever in the past. The body refuses for this isolation to become her tomb and digs deep to unburden the tendrils from their charge. Freedom--but not. The burgundy light guides my soul's path and fuses my trio whole once again in the same manner as yesterday and the day before in preparation for another round tomorrow.
3
Week 2 posts / Re: Second draft - Still no title >.<
« on: August 15, 2020, 01:14:02 AM »
Ah! Keanu. 
Your writing is super tight and reads light and fast. (This is a good thing for me at least.)
I will say I was a little sad when it ended due to how fast I read though. I'm looking forward to seeing where this goes.
Your writing is super tight and reads light and fast. (This is a good thing for me at least.)
I will say I was a little sad when it ended due to how fast I read though. I'm looking forward to seeing where this goes.
4
Week 2 posts / Re: The Lighthouse - Self Edit
« on: August 15, 2020, 01:07:58 AM »
Wow, this self edit added some great new layers. I agree with Vicky, you make some of the emotional elements feel effortless through your word choices.
Much like you, my process is generally sit and write.
Much like you, my process is generally sit and write.
5
Week 2 posts / Re: THE SECRET TO HEAVEN 2nd Draft Self Edits
« on: August 15, 2020, 01:05:10 AM »
Oooh. The vibe in this is great. (I'm not sure if that is the right word given the meaning of the story.) Sad, nostalgic, and a great sense of connection to the narrator. I can't wait to see the next round.
6
Week 2 posts / Second Draft: Stuck in Limbo
« on: August 15, 2020, 12:53:16 AM »
August 14, 2020
Draft 2
The house of my escape is the house of my undoing. Dark mountains stare over the valley and await the ultimate decision in who possesses my soul. A fight I did not choose to enter yet it encompasses the very nerves at my core. Sunset to sunrise remain the hardest hours wherein the push pull drags on without permission. The sky encourages the earth to refuse her efforts to take me back. My mind meanders forward in wait for my bones to become part of this mountain, and my soul to sit gracefully without peace among the high grass.
The three parts of my being--elements who comprise my unfortunate whole--never get along. Even now, with the breeze brushing through the grasses cascading past my form into the fields below, there is a constant unease spoken amongst the Jasmine leaves.
The memories were a warning I didn't heed--undue punishments for a negging I rejected years ago bind me here. Now, per less than chance, my mind is left here isolated to wander through history on repeat. An eternal cycle of hell especially designed for a body, a mind, a soul, who dares not rest while others draw near.
The dissipation of eagerness to fight, to survive in constant disagreement with the parts of my whole involve unrelenting energy the mountains cannot disguise. What's left for my soul? The ability to wander in sheer ignorance ended long ago.
The aged dwelling waits in rest for a quiet entrance. Her empty shell abandoned by a form who struggled to understand how to communicate thoughts buried deep within, sends an invitation for unrestful contemplation. The building boasts the stains, bruises, and obvious imperfections of her structure on the outside while her eye glows burgundy.
To hide is an unattainable solution. There is no way to hide from a past while it plays on repeat. Without a path of escape the parts of my whole remain stuck within the corporal body that allows the anguish to occur as it pleases. A body that encases the ever-growing argument on how to act, live, and survive in a world not made for the energies thrust upon it without consent.
The sweet scent of Jasmine seeks to calm the rushing energy pulsing through my veins.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
The ground shivers with the wind nudging focus back to this golden plain.
A long exhale follows another breath in and pushes the unwanted energy from my body through the field. Whispering our secrets to the base of the ravine just past these woods to forever be cradled in the arms of mother earth. Each superseding breath fails to remove the visions upon exit. A moment without memory fails to reach the space deep in my mind shriveling the soul and reinforcing disconnect between my three pieces.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Breaths fail to heal.
The window calls, and yet the grasses weave their tendrils around my legs refusing to release. Leaves work to shroud my body from the haze of the exposed sky that darkens with haste.
Curses on nature for refusing to allow her power to heal the ache of our past. Nightmares play on repeat in isolation. Loneliness rots away desire, drive, and any distractions which once could pull my attention to the moments ahead. Time is of ill importance here waning between indiscernible points. The sun sets and rises just the same. The hours, minutes, days are inconsequential.
Stuck. I'm stuck. My mind, body, and soul vacillate in different plains.
This was just a cruel joke of the wind, the mind, and each fake smiling face I encountered. The first step involved removing the smiling faces who held me back with pity. Thriving only lasts for so long--in this case, maybe a few hours. To cry atop a field meant to inspire every emotion only gives you time to plan. To envy individuals free from the contemplations ever existent in the nightmares they'd bestowed.
Thoughtfulness, complexity, and a daft unknown of the infliction a moment of cruel intention can place on another individual is lost on others. The ones doing the inflicting that is. Rather, I'm stuck in this space--in this limbo--to question where their intention stemmed. The wrong decision or missteps that lead to the presence of an invisible hand upon my lungs and throat.
I'd grown so used to the invisible hand, of the forever ride to journey from fear within, I'd not been able to decipher this time was different.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
Gasp. Nine. Ten.
The hand softens to a gentle cradle, causing stress on my lungs and squeezing my full body. Reassurance through your warm touch and golden glow engulfs my senses and awakens the memories shoved deep in a space once blocked by blackness. Tingles overcome the three parts of my being that sit side-by-side as I follow my meditation into this meadow to overlook this domicile. The suffocation of my soul was less memory and more a vision, a warning, one which held me back the first time.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
The memories rush with force painting the blackness with each suppressed account. Pain stabs through my head and my eyes slam shut. My palms move to my head and press against my temples. How dare you return to reinforce my struggle.
Breathe. Stretch. Fight.
Tendrils release my legs once the sun sets and the earth pushes my body forward. The burgundy light guides my soul's path and fuses my trio whole once again in the same manner as yesterday and the day before in preparation for another round tomorrow.
Draft 2
The house of my escape is the house of my undoing. Dark mountains stare over the valley and await the ultimate decision in who possesses my soul. A fight I did not choose to enter yet it encompasses the very nerves at my core. Sunset to sunrise remain the hardest hours wherein the push pull drags on without permission. The sky encourages the earth to refuse her efforts to take me back. My mind meanders forward in wait for my bones to become part of this mountain, and my soul to sit gracefully without peace among the high grass.
The three parts of my being--elements who comprise my unfortunate whole--never get along. Even now, with the breeze brushing through the grasses cascading past my form into the fields below, there is a constant unease spoken amongst the Jasmine leaves.
The memories were a warning I didn't heed--undue punishments for a negging I rejected years ago bind me here. Now, per less than chance, my mind is left here isolated to wander through history on repeat. An eternal cycle of hell especially designed for a body, a mind, a soul, who dares not rest while others draw near.
The dissipation of eagerness to fight, to survive in constant disagreement with the parts of my whole involve unrelenting energy the mountains cannot disguise. What's left for my soul? The ability to wander in sheer ignorance ended long ago.
The aged dwelling waits in rest for a quiet entrance. Her empty shell abandoned by a form who struggled to understand how to communicate thoughts buried deep within, sends an invitation for unrestful contemplation. The building boasts the stains, bruises, and obvious imperfections of her structure on the outside while her eye glows burgundy.
To hide is an unattainable solution. There is no way to hide from a past while it plays on repeat. Without a path of escape the parts of my whole remain stuck within the corporal body that allows the anguish to occur as it pleases. A body that encases the ever-growing argument on how to act, live, and survive in a world not made for the energies thrust upon it without consent.
The sweet scent of Jasmine seeks to calm the rushing energy pulsing through my veins.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
The ground shivers with the wind nudging focus back to this golden plain.
A long exhale follows another breath in and pushes the unwanted energy from my body through the field. Whispering our secrets to the base of the ravine just past these woods to forever be cradled in the arms of mother earth. Each superseding breath fails to remove the visions upon exit. A moment without memory fails to reach the space deep in my mind shriveling the soul and reinforcing disconnect between my three pieces.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Breaths fail to heal.
The window calls, and yet the grasses weave their tendrils around my legs refusing to release. Leaves work to shroud my body from the haze of the exposed sky that darkens with haste.
Curses on nature for refusing to allow her power to heal the ache of our past. Nightmares play on repeat in isolation. Loneliness rots away desire, drive, and any distractions which once could pull my attention to the moments ahead. Time is of ill importance here waning between indiscernible points. The sun sets and rises just the same. The hours, minutes, days are inconsequential.
Stuck. I'm stuck. My mind, body, and soul vacillate in different plains.
This was just a cruel joke of the wind, the mind, and each fake smiling face I encountered. The first step involved removing the smiling faces who held me back with pity. Thriving only lasts for so long--in this case, maybe a few hours. To cry atop a field meant to inspire every emotion only gives you time to plan. To envy individuals free from the contemplations ever existent in the nightmares they'd bestowed.
Thoughtfulness, complexity, and a daft unknown of the infliction a moment of cruel intention can place on another individual is lost on others. The ones doing the inflicting that is. Rather, I'm stuck in this space--in this limbo--to question where their intention stemmed. The wrong decision or missteps that lead to the presence of an invisible hand upon my lungs and throat.
I'd grown so used to the invisible hand, of the forever ride to journey from fear within, I'd not been able to decipher this time was different.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
Gasp. Nine. Ten.
The hand softens to a gentle cradle, causing stress on my lungs and squeezing my full body. Reassurance through your warm touch and golden glow engulfs my senses and awakens the memories shoved deep in a space once blocked by blackness. Tingles overcome the three parts of my being that sit side-by-side as I follow my meditation into this meadow to overlook this domicile. The suffocation of my soul was less memory and more a vision, a warning, one which held me back the first time.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
The memories rush with force painting the blackness with each suppressed account. Pain stabs through my head and my eyes slam shut. My palms move to my head and press against my temples. How dare you return to reinforce my struggle.
Breathe. Stretch. Fight.
Tendrils release my legs once the sun sets and the earth pushes my body forward. The burgundy light guides my soul's path and fuses my trio whole once again in the same manner as yesterday and the day before in preparation for another round tomorrow.
7
Week 1 posts / Re: Woman in the Shack (1st Draft)
« on: August 03, 2020, 04:36:03 PM »
Oh wow. I like how voicey the opening is... and was not expecting that ending.
8
Week 1 posts / Re: Untitled: First Draft
« on: August 03, 2020, 04:32:07 PM »
Hello! Of course I'm the first reply on yours. I can see how you made the connection to the house and the beach house. I can also see where you've pulled in elements of the unknown and anticipation from the image.
Looking forward to the next draft.
Keep writing.
Looking forward to the next draft.
Keep writing.
9
Week 0 posts / Re: First Impressions: Limbo
« on: August 03, 2020, 04:26:17 PM »
Thank you K.J. and LogThatData!
I can say the story morphed three times before it began to settle. I'm sure it will morph a few more times before week five is up.
I can say the story morphed three times before it began to settle. I'm sure it will morph a few more times before week five is up.
10
Week 0 posts / First Impressions: Limbo
« on: August 02, 2020, 04:51:31 PM »
Yikes.
First impressions.
The image seems to fit with what is somehow a consistent thread in my writing. Dark, hazy, and a bit creepy. Initially I was going to sit and cheer from the sidelines until I saw the image, and it reminded me of Andrew Wyeth?s Christina?s World. A painting I see with each visit to my uncle?s house and his daughter?s house. The image itself has a haunting tone with a golden glow and haunting tone.
From there, my writing ended up in free form. I?ve been beta reading a number of SFF and Fantasy lately and wanted to take a stab at prose outside my comfort zone. My normal writing is a bit tighter and punchier. But this is what all this is for right? Experimenting and practicing to see what fits and what works.
I wish I could say I had any formal process other than to just start writing.
Thank you for letting me experiment and join.
Beck
First impressions.
The image seems to fit with what is somehow a consistent thread in my writing. Dark, hazy, and a bit creepy. Initially I was going to sit and cheer from the sidelines until I saw the image, and it reminded me of Andrew Wyeth?s Christina?s World. A painting I see with each visit to my uncle?s house and his daughter?s house. The image itself has a haunting tone with a golden glow and haunting tone.
From there, my writing ended up in free form. I?ve been beta reading a number of SFF and Fantasy lately and wanted to take a stab at prose outside my comfort zone. My normal writing is a bit tighter and punchier. But this is what all this is for right? Experimenting and practicing to see what fits and what works.
I wish I could say I had any formal process other than to just start writing.
Thank you for letting me experiment and join.
Beck
11
Week 1 posts / First Draft: Stuck in Limbo
« on: August 02, 2020, 04:38:24 PM »
The house of my escape is the house of my undoing. Dark mountains stare over the valley and await my ultimate decision. The sky encourages the earth to refuse her efforts to take me back. My mind meanders forward in wait for my bones to become part of this mountain, and my soul to sit gracefully without peace among the high grass.
The memories were a warning I didn't head. Now, per less than chance, my mind is left here isolated to wander through history on repeat. An eternal cycle of hell especially designed for a body, a mind, a soul, who dared not rest while others were near.
The three parts of my being never get along. Elements that make up an unfortunate whole. Even now, with the breeze brushing through the grasses cascading past my form into the fields below, there is a constant unease spoken amongst the Jasmine leaves.
The dissipation of eagerness to fight, to survive in constant disagreement with the parts of my whole involve unrelenting energy the mountains cannot disguise. What's left for my soul? The ability to wander in sheer ignorance ended long ago.
The aged dwelling waits in rest for a quiet entrance. Her empty shell abandoned by a form who struggled to understand how to communicate the thoughts buried deep within, sends an invitation for unrestful contemplation. The building boasts the stains, bruises, and obvious imperfections of her structure on the outside while her eye glows burgundy.
To hide is perhaps the wrong solution. Leaving the parts of my whole stuck within the corporal body that allows the anguish to occur as it pleases. A body that encased the ever-growing argument on how to act, live, and survive in a world not made for the energies thrust upon it without consent.
The sweet scent of Jasmine seeks to calm the rushing energy pulsing throughout my veins.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
The ground shivers with the wind nudging focus back to this golden plain.
A long exhale follows another breath in and pushes the unwanted energy from my body through the field. Whispering our secrets to the base of the ravine just past these woods to forever be cradled in the arms of mother earth. Each superseding breath fails to remove the visions upon exit. A moment without memory fails to reach the space deep in my mind shriveling the soul and reinforcing disconnect between my three pieces.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Breaths fail to heal.
The window calls, and yet the grasses weave their tendrils around my legs refusing to release. Leaves work to shroud my body from the haze of the exposed sky that darkens with haste.
Curses on nature for refusing to allow your power to heal the ache of our past. Nightmares play on repeat in isolation. Loneliness rots away desire, drive, and any distractions which once could pull my attention to the moments ahead.
This was just a cruel joke of the wind, the mind, and each fake smiling face I encountered. The first step involved removing the smiling faces who held me back with pity. Thriving only lasts for so long -- in this case, maybe a few hours. To cry atop a field meant to inspire every emotion only gives you time to plan. To envy individuals free from the contemplations ever existent in the nightmares they'd bestowed.
Thoughtfulness, complexity, and a daft unknown of the infliction a moment of cruel intention can place on another individual is lost on others. The ones doing the inflicting that is. Rather, I'm stuck in this space - in this limbo - to question where their intention stemmed. The wrong decision or missteps that lead to the presence of an invisible hand upon my lungs and throat.
I'd grown so used to the invisible hand, of the forever ride to journey from fear within, I'd not been able to decipher this time was different.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
Gasp. Nine. Ten.
The hand softens to a gentle cradle, causing stress on my lungs and squeezing my full body. Reassurance through your warm touch and golden glow engulfs my senses and awakens the memories shoved deep in a space once blocked by blackness. Tingling overcomes the three parts of my being that sit side-by-side as I follow my meditation into this meadow to overlook this domicile. The suffocation of my soul was less memory and more a vision, a warning, one which held me back the first time.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Memories rush with force painting the blackness with each suppressed account. Pain stabs through my head and my eyes slam shut. My palms move to my head and press against my temples. How dare you return to reinforce my struggle.
Breathe. Stretch. Fight.
Tendrils release my legs once the sun sets and the earth pushes my body forward. The burgundy light guides my soul's path and fuses my trio whole once again in the same manner as yesterday and the day before in preparation for another round tomorrow.
The memories were a warning I didn't head. Now, per less than chance, my mind is left here isolated to wander through history on repeat. An eternal cycle of hell especially designed for a body, a mind, a soul, who dared not rest while others were near.
The three parts of my being never get along. Elements that make up an unfortunate whole. Even now, with the breeze brushing through the grasses cascading past my form into the fields below, there is a constant unease spoken amongst the Jasmine leaves.
The dissipation of eagerness to fight, to survive in constant disagreement with the parts of my whole involve unrelenting energy the mountains cannot disguise. What's left for my soul? The ability to wander in sheer ignorance ended long ago.
The aged dwelling waits in rest for a quiet entrance. Her empty shell abandoned by a form who struggled to understand how to communicate the thoughts buried deep within, sends an invitation for unrestful contemplation. The building boasts the stains, bruises, and obvious imperfections of her structure on the outside while her eye glows burgundy.
To hide is perhaps the wrong solution. Leaving the parts of my whole stuck within the corporal body that allows the anguish to occur as it pleases. A body that encased the ever-growing argument on how to act, live, and survive in a world not made for the energies thrust upon it without consent.
The sweet scent of Jasmine seeks to calm the rushing energy pulsing throughout my veins.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
The ground shivers with the wind nudging focus back to this golden plain.
A long exhale follows another breath in and pushes the unwanted energy from my body through the field. Whispering our secrets to the base of the ravine just past these woods to forever be cradled in the arms of mother earth. Each superseding breath fails to remove the visions upon exit. A moment without memory fails to reach the space deep in my mind shriveling the soul and reinforcing disconnect between my three pieces.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Breaths fail to heal.
The window calls, and yet the grasses weave their tendrils around my legs refusing to release. Leaves work to shroud my body from the haze of the exposed sky that darkens with haste.
Curses on nature for refusing to allow your power to heal the ache of our past. Nightmares play on repeat in isolation. Loneliness rots away desire, drive, and any distractions which once could pull my attention to the moments ahead.
This was just a cruel joke of the wind, the mind, and each fake smiling face I encountered. The first step involved removing the smiling faces who held me back with pity. Thriving only lasts for so long -- in this case, maybe a few hours. To cry atop a field meant to inspire every emotion only gives you time to plan. To envy individuals free from the contemplations ever existent in the nightmares they'd bestowed.
Thoughtfulness, complexity, and a daft unknown of the infliction a moment of cruel intention can place on another individual is lost on others. The ones doing the inflicting that is. Rather, I'm stuck in this space - in this limbo - to question where their intention stemmed. The wrong decision or missteps that lead to the presence of an invisible hand upon my lungs and throat.
I'd grown so used to the invisible hand, of the forever ride to journey from fear within, I'd not been able to decipher this time was different.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
Gasp. Nine. Ten.
The hand softens to a gentle cradle, causing stress on my lungs and squeezing my full body. Reassurance through your warm touch and golden glow engulfs my senses and awakens the memories shoved deep in a space once blocked by blackness. Tingling overcomes the three parts of my being that sit side-by-side as I follow my meditation into this meadow to overlook this domicile. The suffocation of my soul was less memory and more a vision, a warning, one which held me back the first time.
Breathe in. One. Two. Three.
Heaven.
Slowly exhale. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Memories rush with force painting the blackness with each suppressed account. Pain stabs through my head and my eyes slam shut. My palms move to my head and press against my temples. How dare you return to reinforce my struggle.
Breathe. Stretch. Fight.
Tendrils release my legs once the sun sets and the earth pushes my body forward. The burgundy light guides my soul's path and fuses my trio whole once again in the same manner as yesterday and the day before in preparation for another round tomorrow.
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