Artsy Literature (again)

i lost myself in
september.
felt myself shatter 
tiny little pieces, i think

your necklace hung
a promise, burning my
skin with the lie. I felt
the silver chain,
was tempted to break it
like it had broken 
me.

Isn't it funny, the way
words are so small.
infinitesimal, really 
a slice of life in a world
too big for humans. 

 you lost yourself
twice: february, then
again, september.
 
isn't it funny the
way you hear them
and you stand, silent
knowing they have
changed you?

we betrayed each
other without even
knowing it. words. an
almost apology in 
the air. a quiet
acceptance, from both of us.

the next time you feel
yourself falling, reach out to me: let 
me feel the warmth of your skin
the weight of your world. let
me take some of your burden--

the next time you are lost
can we be lost together?
-
This is for my English portfolio. It's for/about one of my good friends, who has a few family problems, but is such a sweet, kind, smart guy. :) Thought I would post it. Also, goodbye, finals!! Hellooo, Winter break!!!!!

Artsy... Literature?

720 cranes :D
Also, it's 12/12/12!

But aside from that... Tis the season to be *swamped-by-homework-and-feel-like-you-are-going-to-slowly-painfully-die-in-the-ever-growing-pile-of-test-notices-in-the-corner* merry, tralalalala, lalalala.

Also, I am a year older now! My birthday was on the 10th of December, sadly accompanied by a quiz, math test, math meet, and SS presentation. And... English!

In preparation for our Creative Writing unit, we have to do some writing challenges, and I thought it might be fun to share some. After all, literature is artsy, too :) You are welcome to write with me and share your snippets in the comments section!

Challenge 1: Write a fable! It cannot have a happy ending. (15min.)
Timer: 5:48-6:03
By: Anya and Emilie

Once upon a time, there were two best friends. One was Hildegarde; Hilda, who had long, fair hair and a smile that could charm even the darkest soul. And of course you could never see Hildegarde without Margaretta-- Mags, the village people called her. Her hair was sable silk and eyes like the ocean. They had been friends since they had met in the village school. They lived in an old village, far away from London, in a place just slightly in the middle of nowhere, near the Big Woods in England: The village of Raven's Swoop.

Mags and Hilda knew exactly what they were going to do: they had vowed to become schoolteachers together. Hilda for English; Mags for maths. They would teach at the school where they had grown up. They would be forever close. They would have no secrets, because we all know that secrets become a private anarchy between friends as close as Hilda and Mags.


And yet there is always something more. That summer, Mags's father was killed in a fire at the factory where he was a tailor. Mags, who had run in to try and save her father, now bore a face so scarred that her school friends could hardly bear to look at it. And Hilda?

Hilda and Mags, forever, Hilda told herself. She forbade herself to dream of anything better. Secretly, Mags was just another burden... Was this really her childhood friend? Margaretta, the fair? Hildegarde, the princess? Where was their friendship going? But such questions are the foundation of loss. And slowly, Hilda began to let go of Mags. Little things, at first. No, sorry, I'm busy today. They grew bigger, these arguments. No, Mags! If you weren't just so gloomy-- And the grand finale: Mags, why can't we just go back to the old times? You've changed. I wish we'd not ever been friends in the first place! And later, Hilda to her new friends: Mags is so ugly. I can't believe I was friends with her.

Mags and her mother moved. Another village, this time in the South of France--her mother's mother's home, a quaint little cottage. Mags did not tell Hilda where she was moving. Hilda found that she didn't quite care. Mags changed her name back to Margaretta, Hilda back to Hildegarde. It was as if nothing had ever happened.

They met, once, for the last time, in a train station somewhere in London. They did not recognize each other. Two ships passing in the night; Hilda, being pushed in a wheelchair, leg mangled. She had just been in an accident involving a drunk trolley driver. Margaretta, walking swiftly, scars healed. Hildegarde saw her--perhaps once--and called out: "Mags!" Pushing herself through the crowd, to the train. "Mags!"

Margaretta turned around, once, just after the conductor punched her ticket, in the doorway of the compartment. Hilda called once more, "Mags!" They found each other, eyes connecting, in the crowd. Margaretta turned back. The doors slid shut.
 
(Ze End...)