Reading books was always a chore for Melonie
Every page was a struggle for survival with respect to staying awake
Viewing the text made the words devolve into scribbles
It was enough to give her a migraine just thinking about it
Even the pages would cut the wafer-thin skin of her fingertips
When she finally was done, it was all worth it when she left a one-star …
Placing emotions on a page, then folding them into intricate origami dioramas of life
Or pluck stars from the sky and plant them under mountains to grow gemstone geodes
Even distill humanity, boil off the dross, and serve up a potent shot of pure intoxication and misery
Then crumple up the whole thing, delete the file, and try again since the craft was not perfected
When the ground opened up, it swallowed the entire town.
How could such a thing happen without any warning?
Oh, and the hole kept getting bigger and bigger
Leaving an ever-growing scar across the landscape
Everyone was horrified as they turned the next page of Stephen King’s newest book
Looking at all the items that were on the page
It was enough to make her depressed
So, she pulled out her lighter and flicked the switch
The smoke was her peace offering with herself
Words tumbled from his fingers and pooled upon the page
Irrigating the fertile ground allowing new thoughts to take root
Slowly those ideas grow tall and strong, awaiting harvest
Examining his crop, he began harvesting those who’s time had come and pruning the rest
People, can I ask all y’all a question?
Or would you like to keep your opinions to yourself
Lol I’ve seen your Facebook page
Looks like your dying to let the world know, so sit down and answer
But the plot will come if you just type words. You just have to believe.
Like that would really happen. He laughed bitterly.
All it meant was the letter vomit on the page might be some sort of Rorschach story form.
He closed the document and went to bed. He had seen enough.
Image: miro.medium.com/max/4200/1*5UYKB2rloI5v-dbSv3hVfw.jpeg
When sitting down in front of her computer
Olivia began her daily penance
Racing fingers
Dancing on the keyboard
Crafting new realms from the ether
Outpouring her imagination onto the page
Until she felt she could write no more that day
Nanowrimo would push her to become the writer she wanted to be
That or break her will to write till New Years.
Image: blogs.hope.edu/students/wp-content/uploads/sites/6/2015/11/nanoprep.jpg
Rallying all his reserves, Fannie pushed on
Every time the pen touched the paper
Doubt in her teaching competence would grow
It was always soul-crushing being an impartial arbiter
Now her hands were covered in the remains of her grading rubric
Killing her will to continue as her soul bled out on the page
Image: qph.fs.quoracdn.net/main-qimg-bdbbbf8f70be84c9ded8a8f24bec4496-c
Finding the right words to say
Letting them linger on the tongue
And then hurling them onto the page
Viscous remnants of enlightening ideas
Obscuring their true deeper meaning
Removing all taste from the text
The Art of Prose and Poetry
self-publishing
Tagline
Sarah Torribio and her right brain. Music. Musings. Writing. Style.
We Survived and Arrived - Now as Warriors We Thrive
With previous posting of "Our World" on Blogger
Sharing is Learning
AUTHOR
Random Stuff I Think You'll Like
Things I love, typically with people I love. Will likely be hiking, baking, and doing other things that make me happy.
Story world
SkEtChEs of my everyday life through tiny words, artworks, quotes, clips, and snapshots--- capturing a moment in time.
Never Short On Words 