The Sea of Criticism

via Daily Prompt: Rhyme

 

They followed her everywhere

The opinions

Other’s opinions, not hers

They criticised her every move

What she did and didn’t do

Condescending and judgemental

Sharing unwanted advice

Constantly watching from the sidelines

Scrutinising every action

Always disapproving

They couldn’t be pleased.

 

She used to care what they said

Their opinions, not hers

She used to strive to appease them

But their satisfaction was never earned

She grew tired of it all

All the comments, the remarks

They made her feel insignificant

She refused to feel insignificant.

 

She stands taller now

She can hear their voices

Like sirens, calling out to her

Whispering, singing in her ear

Threatening to pull her down

But this is her sea

She chose to break away from them

To make her own rhyme, her own rhythm

To march to the beat of her own drum

To strive to achieve more

To hold nothing back

She listened to the opinions

Her opinions, not theirs.

 

 

 

 

 

Featured post

In the Depths of the Jungle

This is a poem I wrote in the aftermath of the George Floyd incident. In the upheaval that followed, my eyes were opened to the different responses and reactions people have to any significant event that takes place, and how starkly different they can be.

That week, in a poetry course I’ve been taking on Coursera, I received a prompt to write a conceit where all the metaphors are somewhat related or inter-linked. A conceit is a poem with an extended metaphor or comparison between dissimilar things. Here I compare people to different creatures of the jungle, based on my observation of their reactions.


 

In the exposing light of controversy,

we see,

someone’s true colors –

And their beliefs.

 

Whether they, like an insect,

Carrying a weight on their back,

Are quiet, efficient,

Never veering off track.

 

Or, like a nightingale,

They wait for silence to fall,

Before they can sing

And be heard by all.

 

Perhaps like the wolves,

They add their voice to the pack,

For there’s strength in the masses,

Even in silence, choosing not to attack.

 

Or maybe, like a peacock,

Their feathers are spread,

When they know people are watching,

So, they can turn a few heads.

 

They could be like a snake,

With its mouth open and ready,

Waiting to swallow whole,

Someone whose words were unsteady.

 

Or lastly, they could be,

Like most of the world,

Alert, silent, and at the hint of danger

Taking flight like the bird.

 

Freedom in Two Perspectives

carte blanche

/kɑːt ˈblɑːnʃ/

noun

complete freedom to act as one wishes.

 

A boy, nineteen, is alone at home,

Which he finds is often the case,

No one to talk to, feeling alone,

He searches for a high to chase.

 

A man comes back from a long day of work,

To find his door ajar,

He steps inside and calls out a name,

Then lets out a cry of alarm.

 

A young girl lies in bed and stares into space,

Trying to will herself not to cry,

She finds that the orphanage is a terrible place,

If you want to feel happy, or even alive.

 

A woman aims a plate at her husband’s head,

And asks if he trusts her not to throw,

He says that he does and she snarls at his words,

Her voice comes out dangerously low.

 

The boy takes a swig straight from the bottle,

And his face contorts in distaste,

But he finds that as the liquid moves down his throat,

It leaves a warm, fuzzy feeling in its place.

 

The man picks up his phone to call the police,

Or an ambulance – he can’t seem to think straight,

His wife’s head is on the table, eyes closed shut,

And blood is dripping down her face.

 

The girl startles when her name is yelled,

By a caretaker she knows all too well,

She’s screamed at and scolded by the heartless woman,

Who tells her to get out of bed.

 

The woman puts the plate down calmly,

And looks her husband dead in the eyes,

And says she’s happy one of them still has trust,

She’s far too done with his lies.

 

The boy keeps on drinking, his parents wouldn’t care,

They let him do whatever he likes,

Bitterly he thinks, that that’s what happens,

When you’re too busy for your children’s lives.

 

The man stutters out his predicament,

To the attentive ears of the police,

His wife’s pulse has slowed to nothing,

And he is overwhelmed with grief.

 

The girls gets up, devoid of emotion,

And decides she has had enough of this life,

She only ever cared about what her parents thought,

Her parents who are no longer alive.

 

The woman ignores what her husband has to say,

And packs her bags late into the night,

She refuses to give him one last look,

As she gets in the car and begins to drive.

 

The boy is hit by the realisation,

That nothing has made him happy in a while,

His foggy senses do nothing to warn him of danger,

As he reaches for the next drink in line.

 

The man is numb, he no longer feels,

The light of his life is now dead and gone,

He has nothing to live for, nothing to lose,

He gets the gun out of his drawer.

 

The girl looks at herself in the bathroom mirror,

Her eyes red and puffy from her crying,

She lets out one last sob for her parents, up in heaven,

Shoves pills down her throat, and says goodbye.

 

The woman drives faster and faster,

Not caring about her own life,

The only thing she had ever known,

Was how to be a loving wife.

 

The boy can’t stop, he has another,

He can barely formulate a thought,

He somehow manages to pick up a bottle,

And pour himself another shot.

 

The man can’t erase the image in his mind,

Of his beautiful wife, who he found dead,

But he thinks of his niece, his mother, his father,

And pulls the gun away from his head.

 

The girl sits down on the bathroom floor,

Shaking more pills into her hand,

The orphanage’s fervour at clamping down on freedom,

Always made her want to take a rebellious stand.

 

The woman now unchained from her role as a spouse,

Finds that she is suddenly free,

She is finally able to live life on her own terms,

And the thought gives her a rush of glee.

 

The following day, the woman and man,

Tried to look for new meaning to their life,

They wiped away tears and pushed away the thoughts,

Of ending their precious lives.

 

The very same day, in the daily newspaper,

The obituary read:

A boy, nineteen; A girl, sixteen,

Were both, sadly, found dead.

 

All four of them living their different lives,

Had one single common thread,

They had the freedom to do what they like,

Though two lived and two wound up dead.

 

The boy was given far too much freedom,

By his parents; who gave him nary a thought,

He did what he pleased, throwing caution to the winds,

And look what that freedom brought.

 

The man, felt hopeless, without his wife,

And felt no need to live,

But he erased the thought and continued on,

And found freedom where there was none to give.

 

All the girl wanted was to live a limitless life,

A carte blanche life one might say,

She chose what she thought was her only way to freedom,

To everyone else’s dismay.

 

The woman was now her very own person,

Something she had never known before,

Once and for all she felt free and awake,

To do everything she wanted and more.

 


 

This is a piece I sent for a writing competition in my school. The topic was ‘carte blanche’. Hope you like it:)

UPDATE: I got first place!

The Intricacy of Death

Does life define who you are, or is it death?

Every memory of you, remembered once you’ve taken your final breath?

All the times you were taken for granted, manifesting as remorse.

The guilt of all the could-have-beens provoking fond memories after the loss.

Heartfelt eulogies and crocodile tears as your family mourns your passing

Don’t mistake the masked regret for the genuine mourner’s longing.

Every minuscule achievement, highlighted after your death,

Any and all past misdeeds have proven easy to forget.

The truth about your dying is that you are often remembered by,

How people wished they treated you when you were still alive.

The Lady In Black

She’s a cunning thing. Tall and lithe and has skin the colour of dark chocolate. Her attire is all black – to blend into the shadows – but it isn’t nearly as dark as the thoughts she plants in your mind. Her light eyes ensnare you and she beckons you with her long, painted nail, though it looks more like a talon, and a seductive smile. Even if you manage to snap out of the unwilling trance, you guiltily play along because it’s just so tempting.

She’s the ruin of you. With her sweet promises that leave you on a high, and also a trail of destruction. The warning flags are so subtle you don’t notice them, and she’s quick to make you look the other way. Just when you realize what a monster she really is, you’re wrapped tight around her finger and there’s nothing left to do but try and piece together everything she broke, but it’s chaos. She wills you to give in to temptation and though you try not to, you listen to her. When you’re deep under her spell, some part of your brain registers that it’s not her you fear, it’s you. Your lack of control. Your willpower to look at her and not give her a second’s thought.

She takes everything from you. But not outright. You’re the one who is labelled a villain and you play her puppet as she steers you away from the people who love you and towards the selfish desires you worked so hard to bury. She takes everything from you, with the promise of giving you the few things you want so bad, the things you want all to yourself. You’re her prey. And in the end, when she’s run her course, she’s all you have left.

She is Greed.

A Discovery

The dull clang of the rusty prison bell reverberated through the prison chambers and jarred me out of my slumber. I rose slowly, as I did every day. I put on my prison uniform and smoothed out the wrinkles. I stood at attention at the prison door, like every other prisoner, and the solid metal block with it’s one small window in the middle groaned as it slid open. I joined the line of prisoners as they made their way to the cafeteria, single file.

The small rectangular prison cell allowed for little to no exertion, barely managing to fit a single bed and toilet commode, which didn’t build up much of an appetite. The miserable grey walls did wonders to quell your hunger too.

I sat alone at one of the plain tables (it was also grey, no surprise there) and ate my oatmeal slowly. Doing everything slowly had gradually become reassuring to me, a contrast to my violent side, a lack of speed meant you were thinking before acting. It made me feel in control of myself, and there was nothing I wanted more than that.

I had long since stopped trying to make friends with the other prisoners. They were not erudite enough and lacked the skill that was necessary to have the stimulating conversation I craved. They were the textbook definition of a ‘thug’. With their well-built frames, deep voices and the constant need to assert their dominance – mostly through violent encounters, so I kept to myself.

I rose to get a glass of water, or rather a cup of water since they did not trust us with glass and used Styrofoam cups instead. I finished filling my cup just as the bell to signify the end of lunch rang. I was ushered along, cup in hand, back to the less than satisfactory confines of my prison cell.

I placed the cup on a tiny ledge opposite my bed as I removed my prison shirt and folded it neatly and placed it at the edge of my bed. I could hear the faint noises of the person in the cell adjacent to mine yelling at a guard. The door of his cell slammed closed, ending the commotion and causing a faint tremor along the wall that connected our two prison cells. My cup, precariously placed, toppled over and the contents were emptied onto the floor as I stared in dismay. I sat down on my bed and watched the trickle of the water, as it spread over the grey cobblestone and…disappeared into a crevice. As the rest of the water spread out, it revealed a perfect rectangular shape that the water disappeared into at the edges. I glanced at the small window and then back at the tile. Eventually my curiosity got the better of me and I felt along the edges of the tile with my fingertips, managing to get a grip and pried it away from the floor. Beneath, was a pit. Barely wide enough for a man to fit and seemingly endless. I retrieved one of the small electronic plastic lamps that we were allowed and held it inside the pit. It was roughly dug out, as if a convict many years ago had gotten to work with a large spoon and dug away at it. It widened as it went, eventually leading in a different direction. I tied my bedsheet to one of the legs of my bed and lowered myself into the hole with my makeshift rope. Just as I reached the bottom, I turned to face where the tunnel proceeded onwards and went a little farther. After venturing for a few minutes, I was beginning to get impatient and I expected the tunnel to be a dead end. And then I saw it. Light. Bright, glorious, unfiltered rays of the sun, filling the end of the tunnel in warmth and sunshine.

My heart clenched and my lips parted in an unwilling smile. After a few seconds I mustered the courage to leave behind my only escape and go back to the drab prison cell I had become used to. I used my bedsheet to climb back up. I thanked my lucky stars that the bed was bolted to the floor as I got out of the tunnel. I placed the tile back in its position, untied my bedsheet and lay down on my bed. The dull light of the lamp seemed so artificial and mellow now.

Unlike other inmates, I had welcomed prison. It was one place where I would not be constantly afraid. The thing about an extreme case of schizophrenia like mine, is that I lived in constant fear of myself. I’m sure anyone who went ballistic and killed people without realising it because of a crazy mental illness of theirs would live in constant fear of themselves. At least prison assured no one got hurt.

And so, I lay thinking of my discovery. Of how much I wanted to get out of this hellhole and I’d had the fortune to actually find a way out of it. Then I thought of their faces. The ones I had killed. I only ever found out afterwards. When the news report played on TV and I watched myself walk into a grocery store and shoot someone. It was a living nightmare; I had no recollection of the event. They came for me soon after and I was marched off to prison. Not a mental institution, nobody cared enough to even bother themselves with the information of my mental condition. They just put me in a cell where I stayed every day, knowing I deserved what came to me.

I looked at the tile longingly, then turned over in bed to face the wall and closed my eyes. I hoped that the next time I went all crazy, I didn’t escape the prison cell.

Some discoveries are better left undiscovered.

 

 

 

False Security

False security has us so convinced,

We trade our time for a lull in the bitterness,

For a crisp new note that offers a promise,

For cold, hard steel that offers some solace.

 

For the words of another in bleak times,

A white lie encouraging us to ignore the signs,

We trick our minds with something called ‘hope’,

Knowing all too well it isn’t a safety rope.

 

Hope is unwavering, much like fear,

But we pick our battles based on our calibre,

And though hope may be strong, fear does not sway,

So, we choose to fight our fears another day.

 

We fool our brains into thinking frivolous things matter,

But neither money not a gun, former or latter,

Will hide you from demons that come out at night,

But do hold on to that security blanket tight.

 

 

 

 

When It’s Dehydration and Death, I Wouldn’t Take the Latter.

 

I had no idea how any creature could survive the sweltering heat I had decided to trek in. Yet I found myself swatting away mosquitos, every other second, as they landed on my sweaty skin. In hindsight, it had been quite an awful idea to set foot out of the hotel in the blistering heat. Much less set out for a trek, but it’s not like I had much else to do.

My parents, despite being the ones who had adamantly insisted I accompany them to a tropical island in the middle of summer, claiming that the walks through all the natural beauty would be worth whatever drawbacks there were, had quite shamelessly refused to budge from the comforts of their air-conditioned room and the temperature-controlled pool back at the hotel. Natural beauty my ass.

I silently cursed myself for agreeing to come on this trip in the first place as I scratched at an itchy red bump on my arm that could be a mosquito bite or an insect bite, considering the fact that I was in the middle of a forest. The bite did nothing to improve my mood, but I realised that if I were to contract dengue or malaria, I couldn’t be guilted into staying on this trip any longer. The thought gave me some energy and I moved further along into the forest.

For a second, I wondered what would happen if I were to die in the forest, which honestly would not be quite far-fetched a scenario, seeing that I had no idea where I was going. The guides at the hotel had told me to follow the track, saying that it led back to the hotel after a few kilometres. They offered to come along, but I decided that I was content with smelling just one person’s sweat at a time: my own, thank you very much.

I continued along the track, if you could really call it that. It maybe 3 feet wide if you were to be generous. My calves kept getting scraped by bushes that jutted out onto the track. The experience overall was quite underwhelming.

I fished out my water bottle in the hopes of maintaining a reasonable level of hydration, but discovered that there was barely a sip left, which I drank. It didn’t help that I was sweating profusely and that I would clearly need more water very soon. I let out a sigh and figured I’d stop if I saw any more resorts or hotels along the way, although I hadn’t seen any yet.

When I saw the mansion, I was quite sure that dehydration had left me mildly delusional and that I was hallucinating. The mansion, apart from literally being situated in the middle of nowhere, was huge and extremely out of place in the humid forest.

I contemplated continuing on the track, since I couldn’t be very far from the hotel, but my fascination and thirst got the better of me, and my feet propelled me in the direction of the mansion.

I slowed as I walked past the expensive cars that were parked in the expansive driveway. From what I seemed to recall from the movies, the only people who owned mansions like these in such exotic places were drug dealers. I figured I’d take my chances.

I climbed the front steps and rang the bell next to a door that was so large it looked like it needed three people to open it. To my utter disappointment, it was only opened by one very polished looking butler, who regarded me with a look of disdain. Not that I could blame him, I’m pretty sure my sweat had dripped onto the mansion’s flawless marble porch, and I’m sure my appearance had taken a toll for the worse in this heat.

The butler looked like he wanted to slam the door in my face, but against his better judgement he ushered me inside.

The inside featured an area twice the size of my house and contained a huge chandelier in the middle of the ceiling, and two huge staircases descending on either side of the room. The chandelier alone looked like it cost more than my life savings, and I hadn’t even been into any of the rooms.

The butler seemed to be even more disapproving, if it was possible, of my open awe. He blinked at me, bored. “What is your name ma’am?” He asked in a completely disinterested tone.

I opened my mouth to reply, and possibly bombard him with a stream of questions, but before I could do any of that, a man appeared suddenly from one of the numerous rooms and greeted me.

Unlike his butler, the man had much more enthusiasm. “Hello! Welcome! You look exhausted. Vacationing here I assume? The locals know better than to trek in this heat.” He smiled charmingly at me.

“I – uh, yes. I just stopped by hoping I could get some water, mine ran out.” I waved my empty water bottle in front of the man.

He smiled encouragingly once more, “Yes, yes of course, leave the bottle here, Alfred shall fill that up for you, why don’t you come sit near the pool for a bit? There’s some shade.”

I thought I’d decline his offer, seeing as in the movies, drug dealers always have guns and are quite happy to use them at the slightest misunderstanding, but the man (who looked to be my age) was looking at me quite expectantly. “Okay.” I turned to the butler. “Is your name really Alfred? Like in Batman?”

Alfred looked unimpressed. He took my water bottle from me and paused. “What are you implying Miss?”

I opened my mouth and then shut it. “No – I just – awfully coincidental, that’s all.”

The man laughed. “I thought so too, when I hired him! Come now, I’ll show you to the pool.”

He led me through a corridor with two long panes of glass that ran the length of either side of it, offering a breath-taking view of the lawns on either side. It opened out to huge patio with a large pool and an impressive assortment of deck chairs.

To my immense relief, there was a cool breeze blowing, and several palm trees offered adequate shade. I sat down on one of the deck chairs as the man took the other.

I took in my surrounding as the man chatted on animatedly and I responded in a voice that I hoped sounded less half-hearted to him than it did to me.

“This is a beautiful mansion you have here, in the middle of an island that too.”

The man flashed his brilliant white teeth in another charming smile. “I know, my father built it. He runs a jewellery store of sorts.”

“A jewellery store…in the middle of an island…?” I frowned

The man laughed, “well there isn’t much business here, so mostly exports. But sometimes some of the foreigners take back a gem they like as a souvenir.”

I nodded. That seemed to make sense.

The butler came out then and stood near us till the man noticed him. “Ah! Alfred! Is the lady’s bottle filled?”

“Yes sir, and I had the cook prepare a few sandwiches as well.”

I thanked the butler. Hopefully jewellers weren’t into poisoning people for the heck of it.

The man led me through another corridor, this one without an outside view, butler trailing behind us.

This corridor was lined with cases of gems of all kinds on either side. I drifted past them slowly, my gaze snagging on a particular gem.

“Wow this ugly”, I muttered before I could stop myself. I looked at the man quickly. “No offense.” My face had gone a deep embarrassing red.

He appeared nonchalant. “None taken. I’m not the one in the business anyway. It’s more of my father and Alfred, who also happens to be a trustee adviser of his.”

I nodded absently. “Where do you get these gems from?”

A humorous look crossed the man’s face. “Well the one that you remarked was quite an eyesore happens to be a dead aunt of mine.”

My eyes widened. “A dead what?!”

“Aunt. They compressed the ashes to form a gem. I heard they do that nowadays. I wouldn’t know.” He waved a hand dismissively.

For some reason, an unsettling feeling had settled in my stomach. “I should go, where do I collect my bottle from?”

The man’s smile was a bit more forced this time. “What’s the rush?” His smile deflated then. “I hate to do this, you really seemed like a nice person. But it costs so much to maintain the house and everything else.”

The feeling of dread in my stomach grew.

“We have to keep business blooming you understand?” He nodded at me like a teacher would nod at their student, trying to make me see his point.

I backed away slowly.

He looked at me sadly. “It’s always so sad when they resist.”

Yeah because people don’t generally resist death, I’m sure.

“Alfred.” He snapped.

Alfred drew out a sleek black knife.

The man smiled. You’d make a beautiful gem, I can tell.”

 

 

I Don’t Know What This Blog Post Is About. (Ft. book and song suggestions and a mini high school survival guide and WOW THIS TITLE IS LONG)

Hello there!

It has been a hot minute since i posted on here, and I must admit, my blog stats are taking a turn for the worse. My 12 year old self is quite disappointed in my 14 year old self’s inadequacy to post more regularly on this blog. Anyway, I figured it was about time I actually posted something on here.

When I first created this blog, I had high hopes of becoming a famous blogger. And like every other teenager ever, I thought ‘How hard can it be? You just have to post relatable/interesting content right?’ WRONG. Sure, the content is one very important aspect, but there are also various other hurdles one must overcome.

The biggest thing I’ve realised is that MOST TEENAGERS DO NOT READ BLOGS. Most watch YouTube, or Netflix. I do not know a single teenager who actually logs on to a site to read other people’s blogs unless they’re a blogger themselves. Of course, when I first created the blog, I made politely asked my friends to follow my blog, which a few of them did. Except none of them actually check their email and are hence, NEVER aware of any of my blog activity. Not that there is much, BUT I’M JUST SAYING.

I briefly contemplated starting a YouTube channel as well, considering the alarming amount of time this generation seems to spend on there, however I concluded that considering the fact that I couldn’t even churn out a blog post once a month regularly, how stupid would I have to be to try and start a YouTube channel?

I would like to say that High School has kept my immensely busy and that’s the reason for my lack of posting on here, but I’d be lying. I mean sure, it does take up quite a bit of my time, but my great skill at procrastinating has reached its very peak this year. Every time I remembered that I have a blog, the lazy part of brain convinced me to carry out some redundant and useless task that had no benefits whatsoever, and we were back to square one.

However, in my absence, I have been fairly productive, considering my ability to put things off. I have read lots of books. Like LOTS of books. A while ago I finished a 453 page book in one sitting. I didn’t move for 5 hours. That was probably terrible for my physical health, but sacrifices must be made.

SPEAKING OF BOOKS, I have a few suggestions since I recently discovered some books, and they will BLOW YOUR MIND.

Warcross – Marie Lu

This is the book I read in one sitting. It’s absolutely gripping, and personally, I’ve never come across anything like it. It’s a duology, the sequel is called Wildcard, and after I finished both books I was thoroughly mind blown.

Six of Crows – Leigh Bardugo

Another duology (Sequel – Crooked Kingdom) and I cannot even BEGIN to explain how well this book is written. Both books are absolute masterpieces, and I couldn’t fathom how someone could spin such an intricate plot that tied together so well in the end. I’ve been OBSESSED with this book ever since I read it, and I convinced my mom to read it too and she’s halfway through the second book and loves it nearly as much as me.

Inferno – Dan Brown

Okay okay, I know, it’s a super famous book and everyone probably knows about it. But I told myself i’d read it like 3 years back and then put it off until two weeks ago. (Master procrastinator makes a comeback!). It’s another one of those books that makes you think ‘I could never even think of something so elaborate, HOW DOES THE AUTHOR DO THIS?!’. So if you haven’t read the book yet, then I suggest you start ASAP because it is a work of art.

That’s all the books I can think of at the moment, but I’ll be back with more book suggestions as soon as I have few.

A lot of my friends, for some odd reason, don’t read books. I find it extremely odd. There are entire worlds waiting for them if they just bothered to sit down and pick up a book, and yet they decide not to do so. Remarkable.

My holidays started today, and I must say, I’ve been looking forward to all the extra sleep and reading time. I was all set to continue the book i’d been reading, and watch some YouTube yesterday when I came back from the last day of school. Naturally, school decided that my joy must be short-lived, for they uploaded the syllabus for my final exams on the very same day school broke for winter, so obviously I felt quite useless watching YouTube considering the fact that it would probably be better if I had started studying.

In at attempt to get my life in order, I’ve been writing out all the work I have to do on sticky notes for this past year. It actually helps quite a bit, and is remarkably satisfying to scratch things off a list. And also to scrunch it into a ball and throw it across the room once I’ve done everything on the list. Me? Stressed? Never.

In the 30 seconds it took me to crack my knuckles and get back to typing, I have decided to give you readers some tips to survive high school. You may not even be in high school, but that’s okay, because you will undoubtedly learn something from my worldly wisdom.

  1. Have no emotions.

This is the best way to survive the school year. Be completely detached from everyone and everything. That way you can focus on what’s important, and you won’t become an emotional trainwreck. Crushes? Forget it. Sympathy? Ew. Enthusiasm? HA! Keep dreaming.

2.  Do your homework.

Ok, before you come at me with your fists raised, I’d like to say that doing homework actually makes a lot of sense, because if your internals are great then even if you mess up in an exam your average won’t drop by all that much and you’ll have room for error. So moral of the story: Your parents are right, you should probably do your homework.

3. Have a legendary playlist.

Since you now have no emotions, the soundtrack to your life will have to portray what you’re feeling. Enter your playlist filled with all the amazing songs you need to survive your day. Music will get you through. Here are some good songs you should 100% listen to:

Play me like a violin – Stephen

Trust fund baby – Why don’t we

Copycat – Billie Eilish

My boy – Billie Eilish

Outrunning Karma – Alec Benjamin

In the End – Linking Park

There’s a few. You’re welcome.

I recently discovered this whole new trend of Christmas carols being sung or played in minor keys, and I am low key (Get it?) living for them. Basically, for those of you who don’t know, most of your sad songs will be in minor keys because minor notes just sound sad and mildly depressing. I heard the sad version of jingle bells on YouTube and if you turn on subtitles, you can see some really spooky lyrics with the melancholy jingle bells tune.

Okay so despite the fact that it doesn’t snow where I live, it’s still pretty cold and my fingers are all frozen, so I shall cease the typing for now. I’ll see you in the next blog post, which will hopefully be less of a hot mess than this one.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Happy Christmas and Merry New Year!

 

Master procrastinator,

Myra.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tomorrow

Hello! I haven’t posted on here in ages, but I’m back! And hopefully going to post more than once in a few months. (Fingers crossed).

Every year, my school has an event called ‘Lit Fest’ where you dress up as your favourite literary character. They also have various competitions like writing, photography, art, lit quiz etc. This year the topic for the writing competition was ‘Tomorrow’. I thought i’d share what I wrote.

 


 

He froze.

This was not supposed to be a part of the job. They hadn’t said a child was involved.

He watched his target take a few slow steps along the abandoned street, a little girl’s hand in his. He didn’t bother following, his gun could cover twice the distance just as efficiently.

He thought about calling his boss, but dismissed the thought immediately. There was no time, he could lose his target.

“Eliminate the threat. I don’t care how, get it done.”

Those were his direct instructions. He took a deep breath. In all his years of mercilessly knocking off people like dominoes, he’d never hesitated once. Till now.

“Daddy, when is Mommy getting back?”

The little girl’s voice cut through the eerie silence of the night, but not unpleasantly.

He was reminded of his daughter.

Why is this happening to me?

He steadied his hand, finger inches away from the trigger.

He needed to do this. He needed to get the job done.

“She’ll be back in a few days sweetie, we can call her tomorrow, it’s a bit late now.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the trigger.

He could almost hear the girl’s smile. “Tomorrow.”

But tomorrow never came.

 

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