Welcome to The Young Writers Society (YWS)! Specifically created for young writers ages 13 to 25, we are an online community where we share a common passion for creative writing.
Since registration is free and takes less than a minute, why don't you register?
Days moved by as a leaf before the wind – we would wake, and gulp, as we saw our future unfold. But there were few of us, almost me alone; we could see the shadow that oughtn’t to be.
I thought I would go on no matter what, that only would I pass, when the final of my days died into the mist. Nothing in the core of my heart could have predicted this, nothing could have steadied us for the plunge.
“Be ready, be you and wait for the wind to change,” said I, the nameless voice, unknown for a hither and yon.
#
Never before had I seen the city so elegantly. Stretched out before me, thousands of lights glowed in unison, some flickering under the moon and people, chattering in the breeze. The city had flourished from nothing, and it was from the long memory I had of the place that I recalled its desolate stance, but now as I gazed upon it, I was saddened. A cool wind travelled by, and I felt it fly upon my face, for I knew that at that moment, I was at the roo...
"No." I tell that to Mom right away. I don't want HER to come here and mess up my summer that was supposed to be the best one ever. I don't, I don't, I don't.
"But Satin dear. She doesn't have anywhere else to go. I doubt that she desperately wants to come here and spend two months with complete strangers. Even though we are of the same blood."
"But not mentally. And besides, I bet she's some meat-eating hillbilly who wears a straw hat and denim overalls and doesn't even know what couscous is..." My voice is starting to break. I don't want her to be here. I, Misty and JK had planned to do everything fun. And now she'd come and ruin that everything.
SHE is my second cousin from backward Northern Australia and Mom doesn't even remember her name.
"Satin, the fact that you've never met her, doesn't mean she's a hillbilly. She can be whatever she is, but you can always teach her what couscous is." Mom gives me a stupid grin and presses her...
Okay, so this is my first ever written story, since most of my stories are just stored up in my head.
“So, x is equal to?” our Math teacher, Ms. Abott droned on.
I, as usual wasn’t paying any attention. And neither was everyone.
Ms. Abott was still scribbling only God knows what when I heard our principal’s croaky voice.
“Ms. Abott?” Ms. Payton called out.
“Class, behave.” she automatically told us as she proceeded out of the classroom. Must be something major then, since Ms. Payton herself went up here. Normally, she just sends the relief teacher, or should I say her secretary to do the work for her.
When the cat is out, the mice come out to play.
If you must know, I am seated at the back next to my buds – namely George to my right and John in front of him – George started to open up the conversation with last night’s game. I’ve already discussed this with my father this morning. Trust me, it didn’t go well. So, I’m not really in the...
Walking.
Through the warm august woods,
trees blocking the light.
Down the cobbled path,
Evening sun feeling my face.
To the left of the mirror like pond,
Rays beating down.
Under the bridge,
In the shade for now.
Giant boulders to the right,
Golden skies now.
Out of the woods
And I can stare the sun in the eye.
Well, here's chapter one of a new novel I'm working on. I decided I would try different waters and wade into the fantasy end of the YWS pool. Hello there. Never seen me? I come bearing tidings from the Action/Adventure forum.
Regardless, this is only a portion of chapter one, seeing as the chapter is roughly 3500 words. With the sudden inflation of the YWS economy, I'm finding my self somewhat short of points, so I'll post part two as soon as I scrounge up a few critiques.
Enjoy.
Sarajevo, Bosnia
1992
“They're getting closer, kid,” Dmitry whispered, trying twice to light the cigarette shivering between his lips; the spent matches – one after the other – stumbling to the ground with withered heads, charred and bowed in penitence. Looking out of the shattered department store window, he lit a third match and – his hands trembling violently – and touched the nodding flame to the tip of his last cigarette. The rest of his Marlboro pack was strewn across the concr...
When I first saw her, time stopped. Nothing else mattered when I was with her. Her smile was the life in my soul. When she looked at me with those bright blue eyes I feel hope and joy still exist in the world. Her only intention is to spread happiness. Every moment I live I wondered how a girl like this could be with me. She is the life in me and I love her with all my heart.
On that star filled November night, all was quiet except for the sounds of a bird that stayed up past its bedtime; I finally built up the courage to do the most frightening thing of my life.
She turned her head away for the stars for a moment and faced me. She gave me a small loving smile and whispered in my ear “I love you with all my heart.” Those were the words that made my heart leap, and I knew that this was the perfect chance to ask her. I got down on one knee and pulled out of my coat pocket a small blac...
George kicked the sink lever. Thanks a lot, George.
and now cylindrical rushes of wastewater stream out to people below, but they just go ahead. Somehow they ignore these water pipes that pipe roots
and waste and back taxes, this second half-of-a-halved root system. Jenny and Johnny build up the tree: Jenny a handrail from Johnny to George and Johnny a greenhouse glass to fit over all of them with only the tree for air and the sink for water.
Good thing students are already wearing their greenhouse glasses with lab coats, bright and crisp for the deflating dampness of the air that day, and that they’re unaware that each orienting step brings them a little closer to the root of it all. Since no one’s ever reached the drip pan, up—the new down—is the only way to go.
Someday someone will want to know how to get out.
-----
a/n: As a prose poem, did I pull this off in any form whatsoever?
It was a peaceful, silent, autumn day. The leaves were abandoning their homes and gently gliding to the ground. The birds were chirping as they left their nests to fly south for the winter. Other than that the only noise that could be heard was the soft trickle of the river flowing by in an never ending cycle. It was around this time the river started to slow down and take away life itself. But none of this mattered to a young boy; because in a young boys eyes everything is forever.
The young boy approached the river. Humming a song with a fishing pole in one hand and a tackle box in another, He turned a corner dodged a tree and found what he was looking for. He was standing before a large rock that he and his father discovered many months ago and have gone fishing off of many times. The rock was tall like a small car, with a width and length of a large dinning table. He climbed up the rock, skillfully using the curves ...
I'm sure it's because I'm something she can't fix. Ever since Mom and Dad died, Autumn started cleaning, organizing, and making things perfect. Our house has been spotless for three years.
Gran and I worry about her. Most of the time I worry more than an actual person should. And even though I know she hates me, I can't stop worrying. Maybe it's because, once upon a time, Autumn and I were best friends. You can say she was my only friend.
I knew instantly that all this was because of Mom and Dad. Gran knew it too. She and I were almost as close as Autumn and I used to be. And after Gran came to live with us, and my sister and I started to drift apart, Gran became my new Autumn. I could tell her anything.
So I told her about Nate Bishop.
"He's a little trouble-maker?" she asks me at breakfast.
I nod. "Yes," I say. "He drives a motorcycle. I've seen it, you know. And some girls in my homeroom told me...
Pretty short.. just a little idea I had. Be honest, is it a dud?
"And den duh modthter popped outta duh clothet," I slammed my face against the fake wood surface of my tiny desk, my forehead hitting the name tag labeled "Alec-Sandra Durben".
I lifted my head up and sighed, smoothing out the small ladybug sticker who's edge was lifting up revealing a sticky gray spot on the laminated cover of my name tag. Killing the useless braincells of my seven-year-old self wasn't going to help me in this situation.
"Ok Al, deep breaths. Listen to Terrence read his story, "The Friendly Boogeyman". It's all good. Maybe, like Maggie's story, you'll wake up and it wall all be a dream. Mom will call you downstairs any minute for breakfast. Strawberry Pop Tarts, mm-"
"Miss Durben, may I ask what is so important that you felt the need to share with the class and interrupt Mr. Hastings' story?" Oh gosh. I said that aloud didn't I?
*Rated for language and violence. And some scary parts. I hope.*
-
Genesis 4:12 –16, “When thou tillest the ground, is shall not henceforth yield unto thee her strength; a fugitive and a vagabond shalt though be in the earth.
And Cain said unto the Lord, My punishment is greater than I can bear.
Behold, thou hast driven me out this day from the face of the earth; and from they face shall I be hid; and I shall be a fugitive and a vagabond in the earth; and it shall come to pass that every one that findeth me shall slay me.
And the Lord said unto him, Therefore, whosoever slayeth Cain vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold. And the Lord set a mark upon Cain, lest any finding him shall kill him.
And Cain went out from the presence of the Lord, and dwelt in the land of Nod, on the east of Eden.
Mike held his hand in front of Joshua, his son, motioning for him to remain silent. The darkening woods were tinted in shadows, hiding deer, game and pheasants. M...
David cries little tears
of glass, raining onto celestial tapestries:
stars that corrupt the sky
like pinpoint screams, punctured
by iron spiders.
Molotov cocktails breathe to
the tempo of dystopia
and lust and human venom,
whose twisted instruments are breaking glass
and gasping footsteps.
Torahs are like cattle brands and
six-point stars are jaundiced badges
that whisper prophesies of ashes burning holes
in Polish snow and gas stumbling from perforated mouths
like pale refugees from a train.
Shattered glass pieces dance in the twilight,
animated by the nodding heads of flames –
metronomes feeding on menorahs.
They dance ponderous and graceful steps,
and laugh incandescent smiles at David
who lies among the stars
whispering crumpled prayers that sound like
a trillion bricks through a flame smudged window.
THIS IS A WORK IN PROGRESS. I WILL UPDATE IT EVERY DAY!
----------------------------------------------------------------------
iDATE FREDDIE
BY spaced_out
CAST
Spencer Shay: legal guardian of Carly, 23, Male
Carly Shay: Spencer’s little sis, 15, female, has crush on Freddie
“When I was young I used to believe that the world was open. Open to ideas and to concepts never before thought up. I used to have the misconception that the world was a decent place where one could live according to his wants, wishes, and expectations. I expected a lot of this world. I expected it to allow me to reach my highest highs, soar through the years in a strong willful gust. I lived by the principal of only the best will do. Only the best house, the best job, the best wife, the best car, the best children.
“Through this mind set I led myself into the deepest holes and the darkest corners. I fought for everything, my business, my wife, my children. I wanted to be the most powerful man in the world. Wishful thinking, I know.
“I had this aspiration as a child to leap over any and all obstacles that were bold enough to stand en el camino, as the Spanish say. I wanted it all. And now look, I sold my billion dollar company, I sold my restaurants, I sold my cars, my hou...
“When I was young I used to believe that the world was open. Open to ideas and to concepts never before thought up. I used to have the misconception that the world was a decent place where one could live according to his wants, wishes, and expectations. I expected a lot of this world. I expected it to allow me to reach my highest highs, soar through the years in a strong willful gust. I lived by the principal of only the best will do. Only the best house, the best job, the best wife, the best car, the best children.
“Through this mind set I led myself into the deepest holes and the darkest corners. I fought for everything, my business, my wife, my children. I wanted to be the most powerful man in the world. Wishful thinking, I know.
“I had this aspiration as a child to leap over any and all obstacles that were bold enough to stand en el camino, as the Spanish say. I wanted it all. And now look, I sold my billion dollar company, I...
Ok, this is an old story I worked on well over a year ago, and about 3 months ago i rewrited the chapter, I've gone through a bunch of stories i wanted to write and decided to choose to rewrite this one.
I know I'm not that good of a writer, so feel free to use your criticism and correction. Enjoy.
[pre:0fa7116c85]Chapter 1
Every fairy tail begins with these famous words, once upon a time. These words begin great legends and happy endings. Well let me tell you this, there isn’t going to be a princess to be saved, there wont be a happy ending, there isn’t a happy fairy tail. Enjoy.
Charles stood in front of the black water of burcach lake well know as ’death follow’s. The mist slowly dissipated as the guards spotted him. There wasn’t a living thing near the lake, everything had shivered up and died. And at the moment, he fell in. And when his kind falls in he endures the same fait of the dark elfs that are damned to infernal hell the second they step on...
“Samantha Sampson, wake up this instant!” A loud crack filled the room as ruler met desk. The sleeping blonde girl woke up immediately as the teacher glared at her.
“Samantha, how many times have I told you there is no sleeping in my class!” the red haired teacher yelled with her hands on her hips.
“Sorry, Mrs. Green. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” She yawned as if to prove her point and snuck a glace at Mrs. Green’s face.
The anger was still there.
“Always have an excuse, eh, Samantha? And one that you use frequently. I think a 4:00 detention will teach you to stay awake.” She crossed her arms.
“Yes, Mrs. Green,” Samantha said dully, looking at a spot on her desk.
Mrs. Green returned to the front of the room and continued the lesson. Samantha put her neck in her hand and yawned again.
A paper airplane flew onto her desk.
She looked to the black haired boy three desks back, and four desks to the right.
Evening seas will roll
with our coming toxicity,
the red of blood swirling up onto our coasts.
New kings will arise
with profound powers -
And we will marvel.
Orbits won’t hold our attention
until the pull has done its work,
so beneath are we, flailing under our choking spiderwebs.
We will cry for the past
and curse our denials,
And we will survive.
Horsemen will seep
from the remaining dust and hunt
down those with no faith in the sky, their tails like a scorpions.
Suicide is a grasp of mercy
the survivors shall not feel -
And we will cry.
But the river soaks our blood
and there is no peace!
Two men outside the holy place, their words hurt our ears,
our prophet will kill them
and leave their rotting bodies -
And we will not bury them.
Our eyes shall rejoice
and gifts shall come from our hands
for our conscience is stinking in our streets.
We - unforeseeing, for in three days
their bodies rise from the dirt -
Velma Wilkinson dragged in the prisoner, shoving him in the chair. And it was one hell of a prisoner. Grizzled gray mane, the beginnings of a rough beard. His clothes looked like they hadn’t been washed in a month.
Josef Rodriguez gave nothing off, his slight tilt of the head the only reply to the prisoner. To Velma, it was both a thank you and a dismissal.
Velma left, letting the hard, emotionless exterior melt down to disbelieving relief. After one damn month searching nameless desert in Mexico, they had got him. And taken him to headquarters.
Her cowboy boots sank in the sand as she walked outside; fedora jammed on her loose, flowing hair.
She was gonna have one hell of a tan when this was over.
Velma sighed, snatching up a bottle of water from the water bin in the shade and unscrewing the cap. She pulled off her hat, turned over the bottle, let the water run over her face and hair. It was warm, but still it was water. And thus a source of w...
*1st chapter is in a monologue style *
