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Event 5: No E's



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Wed Feb 12, 2014 8:21 pm
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dragonfphoenix says...



I want to try this.
Spoiler! :
Snow Day


What is that? I look to my right, anticipation flooding through my body. Oh, snow. A soft, ivory construct of atoms adorns my coat, now my hat. I grin, looking skyward as snow dusts my brow. A guy runs past, brushing by in a hurry, shouting, "No school! No school!" A whirl of snow, a blast of wind, and that guy is out of sight. I grin, loving this day.
No day can try to match this day. Snow has thrown away mandatory work, saving my soul from an agony I could not withstand. I was to finish my work by today, and I had not. But snow has no sympathy for my instructors.
Snow is my icy dragon, slaying my obligations with aplomb. My dragon pants, chilly wind shrouding my spirit with its ardor. My dragon flaps, and clouds roll across our campus, postponing all work for tomorrow.
That work can wait. I am going to join my dragon, in body and spirit. I will not focus on any schoolwork until Thursday (okay, Friday). It can wait. I won't. I can't. My dragon calls, and I must join him.
D.F.P., Knight Dragon





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Wed Feb 12, 2014 8:36 pm
GreenTulip says...



This was hard. And no, this isn't about me. I pulled it from one of my stories.

Spoiler! :
I avoid’d contact with my Mama since I was a youngish-girl. My Mama was normal up till the point the word about my Papa’s passing arriv’d. She turned to alcohol and drugs to stay in a fantasy land. The aftermath of my brother’s and my Papa’s passings work’d slowly, but it drove Mama mad. I was a small girl, about six, that my mom pull’d a knif’, thinking that I was a suit for Satan’s offspring. Mama took the knif’ and dug the tip into my arm, a thick cut was across my right arm, and a bad scar was the aftermath. I couldn’t allow my Mother go out into public, I ran out of the building, having wrapped my arm up. I ran and ran till I go to a local hospital- shaky from the loss of blood.
I got to the hospital and inside as I black’d out, out with my “band-aid” falling from my arm. I think that it was the grounds that I was rush’d back. A little girl unconscious out in the lobby with a open cut on an arm- that’s a problem. I stirr’d and sat up up about an hour or so later, with my arm stitch’d, with nurses by my door.
Life works in funny ways sometimes. Some get hurt, others go through without a single bruise. I could tell so many stories of how I got each scar that is scattered across my flesh.





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Wed Feb 12, 2014 8:43 pm
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ongoeslife says...



I DID IT!! This is sort of how my friend and I are around each other, though obviously I had to change a couple of things because my lovely 'e' was withheld. We actually do talk to each other in "Shakespearean" randomly, even if it's incorrect. It's just fun. =)

Word count 330

Spoiler! :
A Story of Two Companions

Ruth and Sarah, two good pals, did many things hand in hand. You couldn’t find Sarah without finding Ruth, and you couldn’t find Ruth without finding Sarah. Both would, on occasion, go out for a day to put on a picnic. This is a story about a typical day for Ruth and Sarah.

“Hi, Ruth! Do you want to go for a walk?”

“Sounds good! Want to hit any shops?”

“…No, I was thinking of going to a park. You and I always go shopping.”

“You two can walk down trails in Sandsprit Park, if you want.” Ruth’s mom put in.

Sarah shot a look at Ruth. “That sounds fantastic. Thanks!”

Ruth said nothing, but found a lunch bag and put food in it. Sarah had Mason jars of Kool-Aid, so both took off. Ruth burst out into song upon hitting asphalt, which was not unusual. Sarah said nothing about it, which was.

“What’s on your mind, Sarah?”

“My brain. Wait, that’s around it. My mind is within my brain…”

Ruth burst out laughing. “How art thou such a dork, Sarah?”

“I don’t know. Imaginably so through our companionship.”

“Good. Good for you!”

Both girls had hit Sandsprit Park at this point.

“Hast thou our lunch?” Sarah sat down with a loud sigh.

“I hast.” Ruth also sat down, obviously withholding it.

“And might I dig in?”

“Nah. I’m awfully hungry. I think I’ll dispatch all of it.”

Sarah put on a look of anguish, causing Ruth to laugh again. “Oh, all right. I shall just wilt away from lack of food, and you can think on that always!”

“With all of this food, I don’t think I’ll worry about that.” Sarah shot back, pulling out a ham and Swiss sandwich.

Both cast in favor to walk back to Ruth’s flat at that point.

“That was fun.”

“It was. Want to watch a film now?”

“Which film?”

“Sound of Music work for you?

“All right.”





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Wed Feb 12, 2014 8:46 pm
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Inkpot says...



Phil has a problem. He can't pronounce his "e"s. This is a short tale depicting one of many struggles in life Phil has experienced.

*

Phil springs into his chair, clutching his bag of popcorn tightly to his stomach.
A black abyss in front of him springs into action, with colourful ads drawing him in. Sipping his fanta, Phil savours his luxury, squishy chair. With lights off and curtains shut, Phil can watch films in comforting dark shrouds. Only his night is not going to plan. A sound in the hallway is playing on his mind. What is it? What is making that awful, loud sound?
Phil must find out.

Abandoning his popcorn, Phil plods across to a door. He yanks it hard, and stands, agog, at what confronts him.

The thing is GIGANTIC. With glinting tusks on display and flapping folds of skin, Phil stands in shock. Raising its trunk up for an almighty hoot, all Phil can think to do is to cry out.

"h...sd...g...phant!"

Words stick in his throat. Phil can't coax out what must be said. Panicking, Phil darts back to his living room, glancing longingly at his TV.

It follows him, this thudding hulk, and traps poor Phil against his sofa.
Phil curls into a ball, but the animal has its back to him.
What's going on?
Struggling up, Phil's jaw slowly drops.
The thing wasn't after him at all.
It stands, watching Doctor Who on Phil's TV, biting down happily on Phil's popcorn.
Inkpot :)





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Wed Feb 12, 2014 9:40 pm
Astronaut says...



My story is sort of like a news report. It's not very well written, but I decided to try it. I also threw some names in there, because why not. Some people may not get the ending. It would be easier to explain with Es... Basically, Doctor who.

------

John: It's not usual for 1/26th of our abc's to go away. But It has. I'm not joking. Abruptly, that symbol amid d and f drops out of sight, right as all of us watch. This symbol is switching in all things, such as books right now. As in: War and No Fighting, Ann of Grass-Color Roofs, Dignity and Bias, and so forth. Don, do you want to say anything about this?

Don: I do, actually. Nobody knows what is going on, or why. All that is known is that that symbol simply is not around. You all know it, you ply it all day. Apart from today. Nothing can aid us in trying to gain back our symbol that was so commonly put into words. All of us must wish that it will show up again. Back to you John.

John: Many think this is a conspiracy, as always. But on this occasion, it could. Nobody wants to think that this is visitors from out of this world, but who knows? Stay watching, for humans say a box of sad-color is around. Its tag is TARDIS...
I don't have a signature.

Spoiler! :
Bet you didn't see that coming...





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Wed Feb 12, 2014 10:11 pm
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Rydia says...



An Octopus in Mark's Pool

I had always found swimming a difficult sport. I would put my trunks on and jump in, but I hadn't any arms for it. That is, I had arms, but my walrus limbs did not float. I think I was told you should squirm and I did this, but I would always sink.

It was January and I was six. Swimming wasn't popular in January, but unhappily, in this month Mark was born. Mark was fond of swimming. I did not want to go, but I was told it was his party and I didn't want to miss that. Mark was my good pal. Not my top pal, but a big fish and I had to act as cool as him. It was truthful that all cool boys could swim. Not David, for him and Lucy had stain hair and you didn't go swimming with stain hair, but most cool boys could swim.

I stood in my trunks and put my foot in, but it was cold. I wasn't not swimming for I was afraid, but I told my pals that I was not swimming for it was too cold.

My pals said I was a wimp.

I know what a wimp is now and I am a total wuss, but I was six and I did not want to claim anything which wasn't cool.

I sat down and put my foot back in. I put my arms in. I put in anything which wasn't my body until I was hanging with my mouth against my limbs. I couldn't gasp. I couldn't suck in air, or puff, or pant. I was a fish but I had too many limbs dangling in front of a still blob of a body.

I was an octopus in Mark's pool.

My pals didn't think I was cool. But back at my caravan, I found out how an octopus can swim by pushing through liquid with all its arms. I think that's kind of cool. I think I won't mind if my pals don't find it cool, for I know truthfully how hard it is to not sink if you hadn't got any arms for it, or too many arms, or if your arms just didn't work right at all.
Writing Gooder

~Previously KittyKatSparklesExplosion15~

The light shines brightest in the darkest places.





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Wed Feb 12, 2014 10:43 pm
Blackwood says...



Sigh... my aim was for a work of satisfaction... But this is such a horrid work, so do not look if you want to guard your brain! I couldn't think of anything, from hours of blank, so thus this bad writing....

Spoiler! :
“Island of Spring”



___My ongoing fantasy, my most wild wish.... to visit ‘Island of Spring’.

___I hail from a family of worth, blood and birthright that finds its origin on Island of Spring.

___“Fantastical Island of Spring”... That story was what my darling Grandpapa had always told. Of striking manors, lavish constructs of glass and glowing bright rock. Tropical woods and sand that lay its body across sparkling brims of surf. And upon that aquatic floor sits a navy, grand and full. Sailors, tycoons, shipping, would all show, just for this opportunity to join that fantastic buzz.
___Island of Spring, land of purity, sublimity and dominion. No location in this far world had such proximity to halls of gods. No racial blood could match that population.

___Island of Spring, I would just long to visit, long to stand upon its soil. And now, I am.

___Jumping down a solid kind of plank, I unboard a ship that had bought us to Spring from my land that I hail.
___I am not firm of what awaits. I hail from a land of vast dissimilarity and harmony of all kinds.
___Gifts of information and warning from individuals I had known, told discrimination was harsh in Island of Spring. Mouths spat scorn toward Spring’s populous, claiming that minds contain bias and bigotry. “Patriotism and nationalism spoil schools and work. Diplomatic aims bury rights of any who do not fit into that mould.”

___But how is it as bad as what is said? Now I am at Island of Spring. My sight drinks in all it can find. Myths grant accuracy. That story is truth. It is all alluring. It pulls air from my lungs in its brilliant aura.
___Island of Spring, fantasy of words, fantasy of my unconscious.

___My Grandpapa had gift a family coat of arms in from of an adorning pin. It sticks to my cloth, caught up within our most worthy silk, craft particularly for this trip.

___To join into official population of Island of Spring, a strict task is compulsory. I am shown to a kind of hall of authorizing, which is flowing with to its limit with body upon body. All straight along to an adjoining individual; all bound by guiding ribbon to maintain on track.
___I start my way toward a straggling stub to a third track along, but I am bought back by a grab on my collar.
___“Sir,” Says an official looking man to I. “You don’t join that riff-raff. Obviously you fit to a grand accord. Part of us.” I am grant a satisfactory grin from a woman who joins him. “His skin, his pupils, his hair...” That woman starts to list, “Tall and fit, a match from gods! An optimal civilian!”
___I am full with confusion as I am prod to an authorizing assistant, sitting across from us. I look back at that long branch of folk from contrasting blood. With dark hair, dark lips, small forms, all giving a look of distrust and ill favour.

___Though I was born to this blood, I did not think for such VIP conduct. Island of Spring truly is just as that story portrays.
___But not for many. Only for whom fits in.
___
___
Hahah....haha.....ahahaha.





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Wed Feb 12, 2014 11:01 pm
AfterTheStorm says...



Stop
Pressure is sickening to the soul...


Spoiler! :
“Luuvsília le-û! Stop! I did not do anything, Lias!” His fist pounds upon his right palm, highlighting his frantic roars that ring around the front hallway.

“Shut up and sit back down, Viris,” Lias commands coolly to his raging twin sibling. “I am not constructing accusations against you as of right now, so I ask you to calmly think back to last night. Try to still your thoughts and think. What did occur prior to your arrival on my land? Did you want a sibling’s support for your implicit privations, and why?” Lias’s inquiry holds a faculty of tranquility most first-born siblings carry with words. His brow furrows as a symbol of placid worry.

“I- … I trust you, my adoring Lias, but…” Viris sighs in frustration, clasping his fists.

Lias puts a comforting hand over Viris’s, as if coaxing an answer from his callow kin. Viris looks to his twin, his companion through all of his past trials, and cannot blatantly publish truth about his actions last night for fear of stirring loathing within Lias’s approving look. So instead, Viris simply stands again, spinning from his sibling. “Just stop,” is the unwilling command. "I must go now."

Although Viris turns from his kin in an act of anguish, Lias prolongs his discussion by mumbling, “Lesríal sel-û...” His words now climax to shouts of frustration. “Viris, I solicit of you to admit your faults!” Lias grabs his twin’s arm with a rough yank, trying to gain Viris’s focus. “Why did you run from town to my aid so frantically last night? Guilt will afflict you until you kill all this- this- this illusion!

“Stop!” Viris spins around on instinct and yanks away from his sibling’s strict grip, also swinging a punch towards Lias. Impact from that swift hit thrusts Lias downwards to the floor. A startling crack rings throughout the hall as his skull drops upon a mighty oak chair. His anxious look dims in vicious finality.

Viris stands atop his companion’s body, still murmuring his solitary cry: “Stop…”
"And after the storm..." ~Mumford and Sons

You can't have a rainbow without a little rain.

Got Squills?
Proverbs 31:25

Spoiler! :
Made you look.





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Wed Feb 12, 2014 11:18 pm
brassnbridle says...



A Bow and Two Arrows

“You can’t do it, you can’t do it, you can’t do it…” Bryan’s taunt rings out, dancing and swirling all about. It’s difficult to block him out, but I must. I must focus, and discount all sound; talking, surroundings- all of it, if I’m to accomplish my goal. My world consists of nothing but my bow and I; my longbow, my two arrows, and that small disk of wood. Focus. This was my only opportunity. This final trial could win my spot as a Bowman of Linwood. If I could pull off this last shot.
Both arrows laying straight, I sigh out anxious anticipation, raising my bow to my firing position. Smoothly I draw my string until my hand lays against my jaw, my back and arms straining against such a pulling might as I sight my shot. All too soon I’m loosing my two arrows with a twang that ruins any still hush. Shortly twin arrows smack into wood with a satisfying thud. I gawp; I cannot trust my sight.
Wild hurrahs from my watching family assult my mind as I study my arrows. Two arrows. Both amazingly within that disk of wood.
“For passing our final trial, Rhys Rownbranch will now join us as a Bomwn of Linwood!” Captain Bowman Johnon shouts.
It’s so amazing how a wish can turn into truth.
If there's a book you really want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it.~Toni Morrison

It is written in m life-blood, such as that is, thick or thin; I can do no other~ Tolkien





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Wed Feb 12, 2014 11:22 pm
WritingWolf says...



This was certainly a challenge. But it actually worked out well because it forced me into using rather simple speech, which I think enhanced the feel of the story.



Journey

Spoiler! :
Ground. Soil. Plants. Roots. Cold. Blind. Squirm.
I go slowly. Slow, slow, slow, slow. Back, forth, back, forth, squirming. My goal is food. Food, food, food, food. I want food. Must squirm for food. Slowly.
Dark. That is what I know. Dark, moist, hungry, looking. Always looking. How do I go on? This I do not know. Food. still looking for food.
A big root. In my way. Want food, try root, not good. No big root. Must go around. Long way around, big big root.
My location is in ground. I stay in ground. Going out is hot. That kills. Cold is good. My kin and I do not do good in hot locations. Squirm in agony until it stops. That is why Mom always says "Hot bad, cold good."
Dark, ground, cold, blind, moist, hungry, squirm.
I do not find my kin or kith much. Not many of us, and lots of room. Always far away. Usually just plants, dirt, and I. Squirm, squirm, food, food, look, look, cold, cold, food, food.
Backwards is now forwards. It not matter much. This not unusual. Looking for food. Always looking for food.
Sharp pain. Run! Big thing, Sharp Tooth. Try to nom nom on this worm. Not good! Run away from big tooth. It run too. Squirm fast. Fast, fast fast. Sharp pain again. Too slow. Fast, squirm fast. Sharp Tooth has lots of sound. I know it's following. Squirm fast. Go, go, go, go, fast.
Sound stops. Sharp Tooth not following. I stop. No pain. Mom says "Sharp Tooth bad, nom nom on you. If you find Sharp Tooth, run fast. Sharp Tooth not catch you. Go fast."
I was good. I did what Mom said. I squirm fast. Sharp Tooth not catch this worm! Fast worm I am. Happy that I am fast. Mom proud of fast child. Fast worms ain't food for Sharp Tooths. Dad is big, one day I want to too. Fast worms can grow big.
I was looking for food. I want food. Sharp Tooth not a worry now. I want food. Fast worms need food. Squirm slowish now so I don't have to squirm slow later. Find food so I can squirm fast again. Food, squirm, food, squirm, food, squirm, food.
I go on and on. Squirm squirm. Small roots! Nom nom. I try small root. Small root good. Yum yum, food. I found food! Good food. Small roots yummy. I nom on all roots. Good good. Fast worm, lots of food. Nom, nom, nom.
I can stop now. No squirming. Start squirming again tomorrow. Food is good.
~You can only grasp what you reach for~





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Wed Feb 12, 2014 11:45 pm
Wherethewindgoes says...



Here's my attempt, called Ghosts That I Run From:

Spoiler! :
It’s warm out today so I walk back to our old farm. I follow a solitary road through vacant country, a band of dirt and rocks spanning out toward unknown limits. A monotonous horizon of dying hills rolls by, and among such uniformity I almost miss it—but at first sight I know without a doubt. Wood planks, sprawling across muddy ground as if thrown by uncaring gods. I stoop among brown, dying grass and pick up a board, turning it around in my hands. Scorch marks run along its back, and an inscription--initials cut into wood by a child.

A catch in my throat; I stand up again.

Visions of days from long ago push into my mind and burn across my sight, of spirits who now occupy only ruins of a barn. I look up, towards clouds racing past a falling sun that throws out its last rays.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and my words ring across a hollow world.

And I turn and run, away from ghosts that I know will follow.
But if the silence takes you, then I hope it takes me too.

A review?





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Wed Feb 12, 2014 11:51 pm
rhiasofia says...



Beauty Achieved

Spoiler! :
“Oh, quaint!”, Amy was bawling out in that slight drawl. With a snatch, a comb which, until now, had sat upon the chair’s soft cushion.
In Amy’s hand, that comb was scintillating, a thousand small crystals mooring in its hilt. Unsurprisingly, that worldly girl had to own that comb. Nothing that caught Amy’s fancy was okay, and that comb was no omission. Amy’s thin hands grab hold of it, that sparkling comb dissipating quickly into plunging folds, quickly obscuring it from sight, making it a cinch to abolish it from that old, dim thrift shop.
But, Amy obviously didn’t study mythology as a child, for it is not unknown to us who do. Without doubt, Amy will soon catch on to what turns up, for that kind, vain girls with compulsions for magic and good looks.
Amy got to the dark, chaotic shack just prior to dusk. Amy’s mom would soon abandon that shack, with its constant din coming from amy’s many young siblings, all antsy and unruly from lacking much of what is common family guiding. Amy’s sigh shook that slight, thin body. Amy absconds into that shack without rush, in no hurry to go back to that sad truth standing for that world in which she was part.
It wasn’t always this bad for Amy. It all slid down, crumbling around all of it, that awful day, just as dad was shot. With any will that was still in that dying body, his command was for flight of his surviving family, to a kind of sanctuary, far away. In hiding for long days and nights, unwilling to go out during light, aghast at thinking of moving in dark, caught in this trap, but living. That was more than dad had going for him.
Now, slightly past this horror fought in days past, that family had some optimism. School was now fit for Amy’s siblings, and work, at points practical for mom. But, only hardly sustaining existing. It was hard to function in such poor standards, and a blow to Amy’s dignity. Amy could not curb wantings for rich, luxuriant things. School and work continuously managing only to instill a grudging lack of satisfaction. On top of all of Amy’s family pain, Amy couldn’t stop that longing for glamour.
Waiting until that instant that mom had split, Amy ran, stumbling, to that small, dingy bathroom. That mirror lacks all of glitz and glam, but it would do for this. Slipping that slim comb out, Amy holds it up to that dim light, that comb sparking and shimming without mind to that poor quality, almost as if franticly holding on to a far-off magic.
Slowly, the comb slid among Amy’s thin, dull hair. It seemed that, almost as Amy still was combing, all of that hair was polishing, a bright burnish for that paltry light. Amy’s combing was shifting into a lustful stroking, thinking that that hair was slowly adding quantity, magnitude; glamour. As that hair shifts into luxury, it almost was hinting at an ability to stir on its own, tossing in an illusory wind, arising without any origin. That hair was snaking about in the air as Amy shut out the world, soaking in that soothing motion. Oblivious, Amy did not know that that hair was snaking to wrap around that slip of throat, growing and wrapping about, binding about both wrists, and both thighs, shutting off air trying to suffer its way from mouth, inhibiting inhalation of oxygen. As that hair, that alluring hair, was wrapping up Amy, body hitting that grimy floor, writhing and struggling against that oncoming annihilation, Amy gasped. As it shut, Amy was starting to know that, for all it lacks, day was much surpassing this abiding night.
Your head is a living forest full of song birds
~E. E. Cummings





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Wed Feb 12, 2014 11:51 pm
Cheetah says...



Here:

I didn't want to sink, not at first.

I was swimming, swimming away from my past. I thought it was a good thing to do in that instant. Stupid options.

What was I thinking? Oh, I'll go on a swim at night with no flashlight or anything! What could possibly go wrong?

A lot. A lot could go wrong. Such as drowning. Yup, that might occur. And it did.

So now I'm looking at light dancing around, and I'm sinking, too worn out to stir. Fair warning: swimming is tiring. Oh, and it inflicts this thing our lips call 'dying'. That's what I'm doing now.

Possibly it's for my own good. Living just wasn't my kind of thing.

My vision is going black, my lungs gasping for air. I'm too far away to win.

So long, World.

I wish I could miss you.
And passersby who heard his echoing laughter wondered what kind of grief man had to go through before he could laugh so free.





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Wed Feb 12, 2014 11:58 pm
PinkPanther says...



Moonlight spills on a fair form. Inky locks of silk. Two inlays of topaz. A crimson kiss. Diana is plucking tulips this tranquil night. William, in a window, looks on Diana, drinks in glamour and glory, unfolds his imagination. His quill starts to waltz as William spins a young girl's days into storms of conflict, joy, and passion. Diana is Julia
The strong mind can confront lies and illusions without being lost. The strong heart can withstand the poison of hatred without being harmed.





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Wed Feb 12, 2014 11:59 pm
UshertheThird says...



Sun

Spoiler! :
How can you know if a sun is shining?
Any hour I look up, I find light all round and top my body. But no night is coming or has, and without night, nothing marks twixt days. So how can I know if it’s truly day?--how can I know if a sun is in that sky?
Most days (if it’s actually days), that light is a cold, soupy light, and it fills my body, making it limp and dripping damp. On occasions, though, it is a hot light, and it pounds and pulls my body dry. It sucks all damp out, shaping it as a wobbling outfit around my body.
On bad days, things drag, rolling upon my body until I can’t suck in any air. But good days bring rain, and oh!--how it is to stand with your top to rain’s bottom. And if you wait long, you might catch a storm.
All that is full good, but I only truly want to find a sun.
And, although I can’t find it at all, I think it must sit about in that sky. For, I look around, and all things still do as though a sun is shining down.
I walk out my door and stroll through my tulip patch. I find all my tulips full blooming, holding out arms to up high, basking in I-know-not-what.
So I pour a drink onto dry ground, making it soak. An hour past, I go back to it, and I find it dry again—all drunk up!—but what by?
And birds! I hark daily to birds, who sing as only birds can at sunup.
So what allows this world to go, if a sun isn’t shining? It truly looks as though it’s going, but still I can’t find any sun, so I can’t stop from asking, In fact is it dying?
This day is finishing now, so I go back in my door. If all stays going as it is now, I think I will find a sun in passing, though I can’t say how. I won’t stop looking, I know that.
Possibly tomorrow I will fly a starship into that sky. Up high, I might catch a good look, and I’ll find that sun of ours.
And if I find a sun, and if it starts shining and making all things warm and glowing during day, and if it starts sinking away and making room for cool night, I’ll finally look upon stars.








The words you speak become the house you live in.
— Hafiz