Music: Switchfoot, The Beautiful Letdown
Update on this whole fashion thing: Yeah, I spoiled myself today by allowing myself to wear one of my more creative outfits. No makeup again and I am tryin not to think about that...And it actually isn't bothering me as much. Progress perhaps...
Yesterday I got all my poetry up and made it look proper. This morning I also added a few pieces. I am not entirely sure you could call what I write poetry, but whatever it is, yes, I am responsible for the monstrosities. The first few are fairly bearable...nothing terribly special. Not so different from what any other girl my age would write. Although, I have a great fondess for Disconnected.... I also like The Divine Mystery. But after the aforementioned poem, it all goes downhill. The rest is just stuff I wrote and never gave much improvement to. I don't think it even deserves to be posted or read because it is that...errr...bad...but I don't care. Yall can see it anyway. The names are pretty though. "Dark Lies", "Bitter Mercenaries", and "Rhetorical Metaphysics". Well at least they have interesting names...I would like it if people would go read my bad poetry...its up there for reading...go check it out...Please...
So today, I thought I would tone things done some and treat everyone with a story I wrote when I was eleven or twelve. I rather like it, and I am considering developing a better plot for it and building off the first chapter into a novel. We shall see how that goes. I would like to know everyone's opinion on it, and whether it sounds like a story you would continue to read. Do you want to know what happens next? Again, there are some plot problems, I was eleven...what can one expect...so pretend there was more of a point to it then the mystical experience of "finding oneself by one's 13 birthday..." *rolls eyes* That was about as deep as I thought then...I also want to make it sound less like a Secret Garden rip off...it has just a taste of it and I hope to fix that...but this is more about just showing people how my writing has developed...actually, I don't know why I posted this...I just...well...felt as though I needed to... so without further ado,
Must there be such pain before a Golden Age? I have seen it, yet I wonder. I am Cressida Zara Roskowski. Many years ago, shortly after my thirteenth birthday, the war came. Oh, what a troubled time! I lost myself to my grief. I was later really lost but that's a long story. Sit down and I'll tell it.
Long ago on a stormy night, I sat watching the rain. My grief was too much to even cry. My pale green eyes were sad. My orange hair drooped. My vibrant, fiery nature was almost extinguished. I didn't know who I was or where I was. I was just walking in a nightmare. My father, Augustus Roskowski, was dead. He died from a battle wound in the war. Without my father, the army fell apart. Soon after our small village was attacked. Houses were burned, crops destroyed, and people killed. I, my aunt, my uncle, my mother, and my brother escaped. My friends, neighbors, cousins, and other siblings were killed. We rushed away to this huge, beautiful, old house. I am thank ful we are safe, but I am filled with despair.
It was my birthday. I got lots of presents. We were still rich. But what comfort is there in money and material things? My thirteenth birthday was an important day. If I didn't find myself then, I would be lost forever. I had no idea yet, how cleverly fate can weave her plot.
I was restless at midnight. I looked out the window to see if the storm had let up. The rain had ceased, and all was calm.
I dressed quickly and snuck out to the gardens. All was perfect. The night has a beautiful freshness and stillness to it as only can come after a spring rain. Flowers that were still open glistened beautifully. Crickets hummed softly. All was lovely but I didn't notice. All I could think about was my grief. I wandered aimlessly down path after path, my thoughts spinning.
I walked through the gate of the forbidden garden. It wasn't locked and there was nothing bad about it, but we couldn't go there. I didn't know and didn't care. Suddenly, I became aware of the strange surroundings. A fairy glow lit the lovely, enchanting flowers, trees, and shrubs. Miraculously intact statues of fairys, centaurs, fauns, dryads, and strangely lovely creatures decorated the garden. All of it was ironically beautiful and well kept. It was a but overgrown, but that gave it charm. I saw a beautiful gate with wooden panels. The doors seemed to stretch up forever, yet from a distances, they couldn't be seen. On the door were hauntingly lovely pictures of mythical creatures. I had studied and seen many languages; but on this door there were strange, lovely characters that I hadn't seen before. It seemed to be a fluid sort of language. I would love to be able to speak this. I reached out to touch the letters. My hand plunged through the gate! I drew it out and looked a it. I stepped through, in hopes of finding another beautiful garden.
The end. Yep. That is all I wrote. I had planned to write Chapter two. It was written on the paper with an erased word, Recommenced. Beyond that, nothing. I do that way too often. Need to finish a story for once...
I think that was enough for today. My poetry and a story. Tomorrow, I will write about a dream I had once...a very vivid and extremely unusual dream...and maybe some other stuff...I have been considering pulling out one of my lovely time topics...those elaborate. almost metaphysical speculation type writings...be anxious for tomorrow...
For today's quote, I decided to pick one of my favorite Bible verses. I do not have anything to comment on it. I always think about it. I would like my readers to think about it also...
"1 The words of the Preacher, the son of David, king in Jerusalem.
2"Vanity of vanities," says the Preacher;
"Vanity of vanities, all is vanity."
3What profit has a man from all his labor
In which he toils under the sun?
4One generation passes away, and another generation comes;
But the earth abides forever.
5The sun also rises, and the sun goes down,
And hastens to the place where it arose.
6The wind goes toward the south,
And turns around to the north;
The wind whirls about continually,
And comes again on its circuit.
7All the rivers run into the sea,
Yet the sea is not full;
To the place from which the rivers come,
There they return again.
8All things are full of labor;
Man cannot express it.
The eye is not satisfied with seeing,
Nor the ear filled with hearing.
9That which has been is what will be,
That which is done is what will be done,
And there is nothing new under the sun.
10Is there anything of which it may be said,
"See, this is new"?
It has already been in ancient times before us.
11There is no remembrance of former things,
Nor will there be any remembrance of things that are to come
By those who will come after.
12 I, the Preacher, was king over Israel in Jerusalem. 13And I set my heart to seek and search out by wisdom concerning all that is done under heaven; this burdensome task God has given to the sons of man, by which they may be exercised. 14I have seen all the works that are done under the sun; and indeed, all is vanity and grasping for the wind.
15What is crooked cannot be made straight,
And what is lacking cannot be numbered.
16I communed with my heart, saying, "Look, I have attained greatness, and have gained more wisdom than all who were before me in Jerusalem. My heart has understood great wisdom and knowledge." 17And I set my heart to know wisdom and to know madness and folly. I perceived that this also is grasping for the wind.
18For in much wisdom is much grief,
And he who increases knowledge increases sorrow." Ecclesiastes 1:1-18 NKJV
Out Like A Light
*Brr...ZAP*
Miss Megan