Wednesday Writing: Where Fires Ignite

Writer's block is the bane of my existence, and no matter how many times I've attempted to write a blog post over the past few days. I've been unable to finish them. To co-exist with my inability to pick up a pen and draft a post, I'm also midway through  a reading-slump, although with revision kick-starting for the next exam season, it's no surprise that I can't even find the time to pick up a book! I did remember that there was a typed-up poem waiting in a Word document, having been there for months; I couldn't help but think it was aptly named for the release of Mockingjay: Part 1 tomorrow! It did take me a while to find, though, having been saved as 'Document 1', rather than it's name.

It's been a while since I've used this banner!

/

Wreathed in rags,
a corpse - almost,
with hungry, hollow
 eyes. Who prays.
Calling for Him,
waiting for answers.

For there's a dagger
that glints. Winks.
It's knife sharp.
Leaving ugly marks,
and battle scars.
Always, it wins.

//

Don't you bleed,
let crimson tears,
fall into cracks.
Shattered. Fragmented. Collapse.
Onto your knees,
try to plead.

For Mother's chair
lies there, discarded
amidst the rubble.
And broken dolls,
that you clutched,
between calloused fingers.

///

In dappled light,
fires ignite,
illuminating barren lands.
Don't look, dear,
whilst buildings fall,
only structures remain.

For unmarked graves
are found there,
beneath the canopy.
As smoke plummets,
in the distance,
away from here.

We breathe.

---

Would you like to see more Wednesday Writing posts?
Tell me in the comments!

Sophie
x

This work belongs to Sophie Louise. Please don't use or reproduce without permission first.

Wednesday Writing: 'Long Lost Lovers'

 

I can't quite believe that this is my first 'Wednesday Writing' post of the year! I was thinking about posting a short-story, but then I decided to share with you a poem I wrote at 12am over school holidays. I've been told the layout looks like the Oak tree I wrote about; can you see this?

 

Thank you once again to Ruby for the gorgeous banner!

 

Interspersed in the forest,

Bright coloured flowers bloom,

Violet and crimson,

A deep-sea blue.

Thorns woven together,

Etched in-between the trees,

Making their own pathway,

Yet, nobody knows where it leads.

An aging Oak-tree,

Gnarled hands reaching out,

Towering over the others,

A boss singled-out.

One tire swing hangs,

Breaking-branch; rope tethered thin,

Always moving slightly,

Even though there's no wind.

The story of long-lost lovers,

Whispered throughout the woods,

A pair of initials,

Carved into wood by hand.

An elderly man meets,

One young girl that runs.

Clutching onto his walking-stick,

Keeps grip of the flowers in his arms.

Bird song flows through the forest,

Long lost lovers kept apart by time.

Even though their worlds may be separate,

They still sometimes collide.

 

***

I hope you liked it! 

Feel free to tell me what you thought in the comments!

 

This piece of writing belongs to Sophie Louise.

 Please don't copy my hard-work.

Wednesday Writing: Poetry from my 7 Year-old Self

I don't know how this post will go because, I just ripped one of the pieces of paper which I've had for seven years just getting one of the poems out. Even so, these are some of my favourite possessions, and when I was going through the box that I keep all of this type of thing in, I knew I had to share them. I hope I've improved slightly since I wrote these, as I have a very detailed memory of when I sat down and put pen-to-paper. I haven't changed any of the words but,  I may have had to correct the spelling and awful grammar!

'Were in Danger'

Chimpanzees,
Elephant, giant panda too,
We're all in danger from you,
You chop down our forest,
Where it rains so much,
Were going so quickly,
Please help us stay today.

Dolphin, shark, otter and whale,
Were all in danger from you,
You pollute all our water
and catch us in nets,
Please help us get some rest.
Were going so quickly please help us stay today.

All our lives we need to stay,
Were all special in our own special way,
So keep earth safe today and forever,
Thank you in our own special animal way.

The missing apostrophes are somehow cute!

'Spring'

Spring is lovely,
Spring is kind,
Spring is just so divine,
Spring is when the flowers grow,
And when nice weather is here to stay,
In spring you can start going out to play,
And when you can have a really lovely day.

I didn't realise how artistic this would seem - especially as the lines get bigger as I go along!

'Keep safe with the Weather'

When the sun's shining bright,
On a hot sunny day,
Before you go out to play.

Make sure everyone is safe,
With sun cream and hats,
And shades to cover you,
For a scrummy picnic.

When the sun's shining,
Bright on a hot sunny day,
Make sure that everyone is safe,
Don't want big rashes on your eye lashes(Really Sophie?)
Whip sun cream on and you'll be safe,
On a lovely hot sunny day...yea.

I don't really think the 'yea' on the end is necessary, but, I guess seven-year-old me did!

'Midnight in the Wood'

It is midnight in the wood.
I hear the fox sneaking through,
The black shadowy grass.
I hear the hedgehog slipping through,
the crunchy leaves  looking for it's dinner,
I hear the rabbit hopping through,
the dark flowers that smell lovely to her burrow and burrowing in.
I hear the dear slowly prancing,
Through the big swaying trees.
And I head a mole sniffing through,
The underground world looking for his lunch.
It is midnight in the wood,
And I have heard a fox and a hedgehog and a rabbit and a dear and a mole.

I hope you enjoyed reading them!

 

Wednesday Writing: Blood of the Rose

I hear calling from far-away but keep on moving, through the over-grown grass, dress billowing out behind me. Whatever is in the distance, I need to get there; something, I’m not sure what, drives me forehead. I can see smoke rising in the distance, visible through a break in the trees, and I start to run. My soles are sore beneath my bare feet, my heart thumping against my chest, a burning sensation makes my lungs feel like they are going to be ripped apart. I’ve made it this far before, I recall, as I meet the edge of the field and move onto a gravel pathway. The sun that I could feel on the back of my neck, making sweat slide down underneath the satin of my dress, suddenly disappears; in its place is an emptiness I want to escape from. Ice.

 

The trees have a dusting of snow on their branches but, it’s not beautiful. It’s deadly. Sharp icicles that could pierce my chest hang from them too – and creatures I don’t recognise poise, keeping a watchful eye on me, preparing themselves to attack if that’s needed. High-above in one of them, I see a squirrel-like animal, it's coat matted and teeth baring sharp fangs. It holds a spear, light reflecting of it, that resembles the point of a knife.  I become immersed in this forest and, interspersed within the darkness, bright red poppies bloom. That’s new, I think, as I take a quick glance behind me, my entire body rigid, before reaching down to pick one up. One step further, I can feel how right this is. Reach down; I command my body, move. As my hands reach the stem and I take it between my fingers, delicately tracing my hand across the creases and lines, I’m startled by the sound of that voice again. My mum, trying to pull me away from here, trying to wake me for school. I almost scream in frustration, and furiously throw myself forward to grab the red-flower between my hands, determined to wake up before I find out what this means. As the image begins the blur, and my room comes into vision, the last thing I see a girl in her twenties appear. She is holding the rose.

 

 

***

My mum shakes me, trying to get me up. I blink a few times, adjusting my eyes to the light streaming through the lounge curtains. My neck cramps as I rise from the couch, my back aching from the night spent hunched up on the arm-chair. My hair is plastered to my forehead and I realise I must have fallen asleep. Again. There’s a cup that is tipped over on the floor, coffee spilling out of it onto the cream carpet and mum lets out a sigh, “Charlie, you’re going to have to stop this” I go to protest, but I never know what to think. The dreams – each night the reel goes on – and I can’t decide whether I want to reach the end. I decide it’s best not to but, when they begin, I know I don’t want to let go. 

“If this goes on, I’m going to have to get you a Doctor’s appointment” She points to my school uniform draped over a chair, freshly ironed, “You’re running late” 
 

I scramble up, my back covered in sweat. I head straight to the bathroom to splash my face in cold water, and as I look up, I see the women behind me. But, as I look closer, I realise she’s not behind me but more next to me. Her hands reach out and I take a sudden step back, worried about what she’s going to do to me, but instead she opens her palm in an attempt to take my hand in hers. At least, that's what I think she is trying to do. I soon noticed the scars that are sliced into her hands, and the shackles that are tied tightly around her wrist. Her hair is long, falling way-past her waist, and looks like it hasn't be brushed for a while. Her eyes are welled-up and she is shaking. She is trapped.  

I move away from the mirror, looking for anything to defend myself against her. I must have gotten water on the floor as the next thing I know there's a crash and I'm lying on the floor, bottles of shampoo and discarded mouth-wash flying out of the cupboard onto me. I notice the women watching, trying to reach me, and that's when I notice.

 

As the door flies open and I hear cries of dismay as I'm pulled to my feet, all I can think of is the blood that pours from a prick on her finger, down to the floor beside me. The blood is from the rose in her hand. My rose. Not hers.

This piece of work belongs to Sophie Louise, and therefore, should not be copied or re-produced without permission first.

 

Wednesday Writing: The Drunken Man(Part 2)

You may remember about a month ago I posted the first part of a short story called 'The Drunken Man' - here you can check out the first part. I've been meaning to post the second and final part to the story for a while now and would love to know what you think of it as a complete and literal thing.

 

***

Bright blue eyes, deep blue like the ocean. If you look too far into them you would drown. The golden ringlets hanging down her back, against the background of flowers coating the countryside in a misshapen rainbow.  

"Isabelle" was called, and the Golden Girl turned around and smiled: 

"Dad" she ran up into his arms, and he swept her off her feet. "How was your day?" 

 

"It was...the usual" he commented, his matching blue eyes shining at the sight of his daughter. The way she had grown since he had gotten back, almost into her teenage years now. Despite this, her face was still chiselled, her cheek bones prominent and she still welcomed her father home with a hug. For anyone watching it was clear this girl was his life. The oxygen in his lungs. The chorus to his song. The melody to his beat.  

 

"I'm glad you're home" she said, picking a Daisy from the grass and handing it to him, "For you" 

An adoring smile, "Thank you, I'm glad I'm home too" a sigh, "Have you seen your mum since you've gotten home?" 

 

"She's inside, she must have seen me when I put my bag inside" The girl sighs, "She's so distant" 

"I know she is Belles, but she's been through a tough time" He bent down to sit in the over-growing grass, squashing down the collect of flowers. "You've had a tough time" 

 

"I know, but you're back now" and she takes a seat beside him, "And you're not going anywhere, right?" 

A flash of pain is shown on the man's face, as if the child doesn't trust him. He promises. But, it would always haunt him that she needed to check. 

 

"When I look in the mirror..." the girl begins, "I feel like I see an imaginary me. I see the person I want to see, the person I want to think I am. Only you see me, only mum see's me for who I really am.  

The father stares at his daughter, spellbound from the words that just came out of her mouth. He tries to speak, but Belles carries on: 

 

"That's why it's important for you to be around. I need you to notice that I'm not okay, that I need a hug. I need you to see I'm happy, and wonder why. To see how much I love you - how much you need to stay here. Don't leave me again, Dad." 

***** 

The week went by like a breeze had blown it from my grasp and the next thing I know, I'm walking down to the Community Centre for another session with Tim. I was unsure about coming along, the bruises finally healing up across my arms although a few nail marks remain. I've been covering them with an assortment of accessories all week, luckily my mum hadn't notice. As I'm clambering the steps, my Leader, Rachel catches up with me.  

 

"I saw what happened with Tim last week" She comments, "How he grabbed your wrist and the gentleman trying to help you" 

 

"Honestly, Tim seemed to have his reasons" I sigh when I see her worried gaze, "He didn't hurt me"

 

"Are you sure?" she says, "You do look on edge" 

 

"I'm not looking forward to being locked away inside for an hour. The smell of alcohol only multiples in there" 

 

"How about, you and Tim, along with some others head out to the park. You've been trained, you know what you're doing. He can tell his story there" 

 

"His story?" I wonder aloud. 

 

"Everyone has a story, Gen, it's just up to them on whether or not they tell the tale" 

*** 

So, twenty minutes later I'm walking beside Tim and a few of the other Teenage Volunteers and their partners to the park. It's a beautiful place, the evening sun lighting illuminating the veranda where you can find children signing in choir groups on the weekend. I lead Tim over to a bench beside the pond and for a few minutes we just sit in silence watching the ducks swim around on the water. I decide, after a week of thinking about what he had meant, to speak up first: 

 

"You said your daughter was beautiful" He looks up, pain in his eyes. I can tell he's been drinking, but it's not  as strong as it was the previous week and his shirt has a severe lack of holes. "Was?" 

 

"She was killed" I stare, startled at what just came out of his mouth. "Car accident" 

 

I don't know what to say to this. Right now, I know I'm so sorry won't do it justice. Nor will the usual, She's in a better place or I can't imagine how you feel. Because I don't. And never want to.  Instead, I do the only thing I can and wait for him to speak next. When he doesn't, I venture out with, 

"Is this what lead to you abusing alcohol?" I say, remembering back to the training I had to get here and how to phrase questions.  

 

"What lead to me abusing alcohol was the fact she died because of me!"He cries, "I should have been there, not inside arguing and allowing her to runaway" 

 

"Tim, please calm down!" I can't help feeling a little out of my depth and know people are starting to stare at us across the park. "Whatever you did, or didn't do, you can't live like this!" 

 

There are tears pouring down my face now and I don't know why. I feel all emotions, raging like a fire at how this man should be living for his daughter and numb as if I'm a block of ice at the thought of the guilt he has been living with.  

 

"I basically killed her myself - why wasn't I there?" He calls out, looking away to a far off point in  the distance, "Why wasn't I there!" 

 

He doesn't ask it the second time around, instead he demands to know. I spend the rest of the evening discussing his daughter, Isabelle and slowly paint a picture of her in my mind. From his descriptions, she truly was beautiful but not just in the way I thought. Intelligent, kind-hearted and generous - all things I fail to be constantly.  

 

Epilogue: Five Years On, Still Going Strong 

 

I finish recounting Tim's tale, our tale and the audience erupts. Finally, I can breathe again. Energy curses through my veins right through to my sweaty-palms. My limbs are numb, just from being up on this stage: looking out across the audience set in darkness - the only light coming from the slideshow that is going on behind me. "Thank you" I say, breathless, and in my hurry to finally get off the stage knowing my cheeks are burning-red, "I'd like to call Tim to the stage" 

 

As I scramble down the steps, almost missing my footing but being steadied by Tim's wife, Lily, who waits for me. "That was brilliant" in tearful sobs she tells me, the speech I gave tonight promised to bring back memories for her. She lost her Daughter, and sometimes I feel she may have got a part of her back through me. Although, I'll never replace her. "Five years on, you're still going" She looks at me, "I'm surprised you've been able to work with him: He's a stubborn man" 

 

"I've realised" I laugh, watching as Tim takes the stage in a smart-suit and tie, with fitted-trousers and polished shoes. He is clean-shaven, with no more yellow ingrained in his finger-nails. He's given  up everything - and you can see it. I've never seen him put so much effort in, although a charity launch is the perfect occasion. 

 

"As Charlie just told you all - I was once a drunken man - a disgusting man, although she would never put it quite in those worlds" He pauses to wink at me, "I'm stronger than I was before, living for today and never tomorrow: Living for the daughter that didn't get this far. But, more than that, I see the passion in Charlie's eyes to support more people like me. As without that girl down there, who I'd like to mention almost fell flat-on-her-face as she left the stage, I can't even comprehend what type of future I would've had"

 

For once, I start to forgive my Dad for telling me that Volunteer Work would look good on a CV.

 

The End

 

I hope you all enjoyed it! Tell me what you thought of the ending below. Also, a huge THANK YOU for helping me reach 30,000 pageviews! This is such an overwhelming amount of people to have read my webpage and I'm so excited to reach it! I'm going to be away at Bath Children's Literature and Cheltenham Literacy Festivals this weekend vlogging and will be doing a more in-depth thanks in that(During the car-journey)

 

All content here belongs to Sophie Louise.

Wednesday Writing: Life Itself

If you are a regular to the way things run on this blog, you may know I'm completely un-organised when it comes to when exactly I post a piece of my writing. Wednesday Writing is that time, every few weeks, where I do post something. As writing is what I love to do. Although it never makes much sense when re-reading it!

 

Moments are like waves crashing by the shore,

Once they reach the sand, there is only a certain amount of time until they leave.

They shine in the sunlight,

They crash on rocks,

They leave and never come back.

 

Memories are a book,

An un-putdownable thriller in which you can never turn back.

They make your heart-stop.

They make tears tumble down your face.

They capture you, and stay for ever.

 

Love is a lullaby,

A sweet sound that puts a spring in your step,

That at first, is beautiful.

That moves into deeper, more intricate verses.

That has a chorus you'll remember but, that must end.

 

It can't fail.

Laughter,

A fairground, one that is calling for me.

That makes you giddy.

That can hide your fear.

That shows you care, or don't in the case of a falling friend.

 

Life is this,

A scrapbook made up of all in one.

That, with one piece missing, fails to be.

That, without moments, there are never memories.

That, without love, there is never laughter.

That has no explanation but I can say I tried my best.

Wednesday Writing: Chapter 1(No More Choices)

This is part two of a story I posted a few week's ago. You can read the Prologue here .

 

My feet hit the marbled flooring, one step after another. My dress holds at my hips, and my hair is pinned up away from my face. My dad's advice. He wants me to be noticed. My dress is a burning fire, licking at my feet and embellishing me in flames. My dark hair is the perfect contrast as I greet the Guards at the main entrance to the Grand Hall - our designated arrival place - and make my way inside. It stretches out for what seems like miles in front of me, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and portraits with intricately drawn features. Drinks are scattered across the room, discarded when faced with a better option and three large dining tables are waiting. For each person there is a placemat, silver cutlery and clear-through glass. But, where my eyes land are the thrones at the end of the room, placed upon a risen platform. The symbol of our country is carved into the head, with a golden rime and velvet cushions. My father wraps his protective arm around my waist and steers me to where our names are on placecards. He, as the Kings Upper-Head Guard, is at the table in the centre and, as the lucky daughter of him, I'm seated beside him. The table is full of dignitaries, or wealthy men from the South, which I find myself pulled into conversation with. Father takes a different tone of voice, I notice, but all I can do is control the anger burning inside me. Why am I here? I mean, this is not the place for a rebel. Yes, I said rebel because that is what I am. Of course, father is yet to know. How could I tell him? Each night, he leaves for his duty at the Palace and I take the quick exit out of my bedroom window, onto my neighbours balcony and clamber down using the different connecting points to the ground.  From there, I run through the city streets, silent under the sheet of stars. Luckily, there is a passage I've found that leads me under the streets within minutes, what I think may have once been used by the Military. The cold, damp and taunting conditions are not one's I favour but how else can I make it to the Railways without being spotted.

 

The Railways - once called the Underground. The meeting place that has never been found. Even with the Queen making trips every few weeks they fail to find us. I sigh, trapped in the Palace indefinitely. I make a mental note to speak to Isabella when I can. There must be a route out of here, maybe a passage leading to an underground chamber?

 

Someone kicks me from under the table and I look up startled. Father glances in my direction, "What?" I blurt out before realising everyone at our table have their eyes trained on me, " I mean, pardon?"

"We were all wondering how exactly a sixteen year-old girl ended up here?" a Gentlemen that I briefly remember seeing before repeats his question.

"That part remains a mystery" I say, as I take a sip from my glass.

"Of course it would" he mutters, just loud enough so I can hear him. "So, tell me, how do you think you were chosen"
I glance around the rest of the room and just s expected, I am the youngest one here. I also notice there are only a handful of females so I choose my words carefully, "My latest testing results probably"

Testing results, one test that determines what you are capable of in just under two hours. Although, they may play a part in them, I'm sure my Father being so closely involved in this is the reason. I mean, leave his daughter just discover what he is doing. Safer to bring her along too. Make it a family trip - if only my mother wasn't dead.

 

Just as I lift my spoon to begin the soup that has been placed in front of me, the room enters a silence and everyone rises. I groan, throw my spoon into the soup bowl causing it to splatter on the tablecloth and also rise. Prince Skye, the King's Son enters first. He is my age, with deep blue eyes and a chiselled face. One thing I notice about him is how he always bits his bottom lip, and the way his blonde hair catches the light. He nods at us, and as he sits down, he glances my way. I give an awkward smile, and he gives an almost impeccable shrug of the shoulders. Something between "I'm sorry" and "It's not my fault". As the Queen enters, in a deep emerald gown, he gestures to me with his hands. At first, I give him a quizzed look back and then realised a lock of hair has come undone - which I quickly fix. Helping me. The Prince is helping me. I repeat it in my head a few times before it registers. And the only thing I can think of is what the Rebels are planning. What I am planning to stop his family. I almost run out of the room but, my father's stern hand on my shoulder keeps me in my place.

 

The next part will be posted in a week!