Thursday, 26 March 2009

Writing Challenge Responce 3

Yes I know it's late but atleast it's here.

I thought the screech of breaks and scream were part of my dream but now I am awake and all to aware of my reality. If I crane my neck I can see the road, the broken barrier, the marks in the dirt. The sound of the rain on the hood beats it's warning out to me. I must get out. I can see the water rising over the windscreen and feel it edge around my feet, I can see the reflection of Mary's face, contored and smashed. I do not want to look directly at her. A twig, some leaves and candy wrapper float by reminding me that as I sit here my changes of survival drop like a car in a river. I grab the torch from the glove box and swing, suddenly there is no more view from the passanger window, just a rush of water moving in.

Tuesday, 24 March 2009

Arms of an angel

In the arms of an angel
Is where I hope you stay
Surrounded by his strength,
Protected every day

With the arms of an angel
I see no better way
To keep my friend protected
When I am far away

In the arms of an angel
I pray you are today
Safe, secure and happy
Forever, come what may

Tuesday, 17 March 2009

Monthly Writing Challenge Responce 2

I know this is late but I'm going to post it anyway. Thanks for the inspiration goes to my mum's dog Max.

You say I'm to small to see out the window but just because I can't see the garden shed or the flowerbeds doesn't mean I don't see the view. From my position sitting on the floor I can look out at the wisps of clouds as the float across the sparkling blue sky, I can watch the birds twist and soar as the play their joyful games. I can see the smoke from the farm's chimney and the tops of trees littered with birds singing of their happy days. You claim I can't see but to me it is you who is loosing out on the magical skyward world I can view with ease. From the corner, from a distant land an aeroplane drags it's signature across my view, like a giant finger signing this work of art. I see further than you do, my view does not end at the garden wall but stretches on further than you can imagine. I know that as I grow my view will change, from the same window I will see, as you do, the garden shed and flowerbeds. Until then I shall live in my skyworld, seeing the heights that only get noticed by those to small to see anything else, to small to see anything but the bigger picture.

Monday, 9 March 2009

Monthly Writing Challenge Responce 1

I can barely make out the old oak through the rain. An hour ago the air was heavy with hail and in a few minutes the sun may be shining, it's been that way all day since I started looking out at the old oak. It grows beside the tall boundary fence that stops the dogs getting into the vegetable garden, I remember the summer we built that fence, with the sun against out backs and freshly made lemonade in tall glasses when we took our breaks beneath that oak tree. It was a happier time. The room behind me is dark, so much time has passed since I first sat to look out the window. Now it's time I moved again, the rain is letting up and it will not seem so strange that I would go out in the brief sun break. I doubt they will even notice the rope in my hand.

Friday, 6 March 2009

Monthly Writing Challenge - March

Okay, this months writing challenge shall be....

Write a short (Race, take note) paragraph describing the view from a window.

That is all.

Monday, 2 March 2009

Writting Challenge Responce 4

Written for Race. She suggested the object, Aristo suggested the ending. This is the last one of these, new challenge up on Friday.

I spent most of my life being carried around in your bag, hidden under everything else you keep in here. Keys, money, pens, hair clips and I hold our own little parties as you travel around (Did you know your travel hairbrush has a really big crush on that sleek black diary you sometimes carry?). Once in a while you decided needed me and you come rummaging in with your chipped nail polish and chunky rings, I tried to make myself easy to find but you would insist on moving things on top of me (might also have helped to remove the old receipts). You brought me into the light, would take my top off, twisting me to suit yourself then just as quick I was thrown back into the bag again. In the bag we had gotten used to random objects being thrown in with us, and as you often left the bag open we were used to strange rubbish ending up in here too. Never would we have suspected that one of those random objects would be the end of us. When did you noticed the smoke? Did you get injured as we burned at your side? Now we lie discarded on the rubbish heap, you rescued your purse but we have been abandoned. Oh well, we hope you life is carrying on okay (and the hairbrush would like to know how that sleek black diary is).