Let's have a thread for written original content. post any poetry, prose, stories, or articles you have written yourself. Please be friendly.
Here's a story I wrote. It's not very good.
It's a hot summer night. The windows are open. Lights flash, cars drive by outside. The bed's too hot to sleep in. All the blankets are piled in the corner. As the AC blows into the room, the possibility of sleep becomes increasingly remote.
Now it's two in the morning. Open the window. Look out. Try to find unconsciousness somewhere in the blurry city lights and the constant line of cars rushing like veins towards hearts unknown and unseen.
On the street below, there's a shuffling movement. Streetlights turn a man orange. He's wearing a suit and tie, holds a briefcase, seems asleep or sleepwalking. Behind him is a woman, mid thirties, a housewife maybe, or a schoolteacher. Behind her, another. The line of people marches past like army ants on their way to an anthill from some distant piece of food or drop of water.
Where are they going? What are they doing? The sight of them brings unease, maybe, or longing.
There's a feeling of uncertain loneliness in these questions. Could you follow them? Perhaps you could. Perhaps you could go with them, towards their unseen destination. Perhaps.
But not tonight. Close the window. Crawl into the now-cold bed, draw the blankets near. The line of people marches past the darkness of the room, now, and paints scenes of ancient battle and intrigue on the walls. Eyes close. The line marches through closed lids, and into the land of myth, fable, dreamtime.
The vision through the window chases you far into the morning, riding on the sunlight slanting through the window, long after the night has ended and the shadows have departed and all mysteries appear solved and forgotten.
Quack Quack! I wake up to the familiar cry of my alarm duck. It is early and i feel like a cheeky swear, but i mustn't, as swears reveal the baseness of one's creative writing ability to anyone unlucky enough to read them; I wouldn't want my very own alarm duck thinking ill of me. I hurriedly shave the thin red hairs from my legs and put on my cute frilly skirt, dress thing. It's frilly enough to be cute but not too frilly as to make others question my authority, i am a professional after all.
The bus was late but i got to sit next to an boy with funny hair and a yellow raincoat that made me think of my faithful companion back home. Alarm duck. The day's not even half done and i already miss you. 20 minutes later and i arrive; soon to be on my way up to the 28th floor of that dark corporate building that would look much taller if a quarter of it wasn't underwater. I finish saying hello to the fish outside the glass elevator and am welcomed by my lovely workers whom are standing to attention and holding their personal home brought-to-work mugs proudly. This begins my day as quality assurance ensurer at ---------------