Tag Archives: writing challenge

Week 22 – The Phoenix

I can’t look away; my eyes are glued to the scene. I hate what’s happening but I can’t help but admire its beauty. How can you look away when the phoenix is about to burst into flames only to rise again from the ashes! Even as you hear its painful screams, you are hypnotized by that glorious scene that it becomes a siren’s song. You want to get close but you don’t want to risk disturbing the master piece in front of you.

So no, I can’t take my eyes off him and I am not even sure I want to. I have seen him strong and powerful. I have seen him kind and passionate. But this! This is something (of fantasy).

The foundation has been rocked, cracked, and now it is about to fall… I can see the lights dimming in his eyes. He is about to break, go back to the starting point to which he thought there was no return. He is losing himself. His mind is frozen from the shock.

I can’t take me away off him. I don’t want to miss it.

I have been in love with him for so long. I know him from the inside out and every time I knew a bit more, I fell for him a lot more?

To see him like this, broken, crying, is worse than ripping my own heart out.  How can something so painful, be so beautiful?!  why can’t I look away?!

I want to approach him, help him, be all that he needs me to be. But I know he doesn’t want me to. If he has to break, then he has rise again on his own. He doesn’t want any help, and he doesn’t need any. All he wants, is to feel my presence, my belief in him. For the only one who can rebuild him, is himself. Only he has the power. He is the phoenix, powerful no matter what. He will burst into flames and be born again, stronger than ever.

Week 18 – Tick Tock

Tick tock goes the clock

Tick tock go to sleep

Tick tock goes the clock

Tick tock wake up

Tick tock goes the clock

Tick tock do your work

Tick tock don’t stop

Tick tock do speak sweet

Tick tock or not

Tick tock flies the clock

Tick tock it won’t stop

Tick tock laughs the clock

Tick tock hear it mock

 

Week 16 – Carla loves Frank

‘Carla loves Frank’ was scrawled on the decrepit wall. The neon pink paint still stood out through the generations of dust piled on top. Sierra gripped her SMG wondering how life must have been back then, before the Infestation. She tried to step carefully through the echoing ruins. Although she had trekked through the halls of the train station several times, today felt different. ‘Stay alert’ she kept reminding herself. She had a feeling she might have to actually use her combat training.

‘Carla loves Frank’ – Wait! Did I get turned around? She thought. Drip, drip. The writing looked darker. Drip, drip. Sierra made her way towards the graffiti. Drip, Drip. As she got closer, the colour became clearer thanks to the dregs of light shining through. She reached out and touched the scribbles. ‘Fresh…blood?’

CLICK CLICK CLACK CLICK. CLICK CLICK CLACK CLICK. TUT TUT CLICK TUT. Click…click…tut…

Sierra’s heart fell into a pit and her insides shuddered – screaming at her to turn around, to run.

CLICK CLICK CLACK CLICK. CLICK CLICK CLACK CLICK. TUT TUT CLICK TUT. Click…click…tut…

The sounds repeated. ‘They’re here…’ More joined in, voices rising. CLICK CLICK CLACK TUT TUT CLICK. With tiny steps, still gripping tight her SMG, she turned slowly, hoping to postpone what was to come. The dripping was now drowned out by the chatter. Sierra faced them, a horde of creatures resembling crickets and cockroaches. Antennae that seemed to move of their own accord with exoskeletons slimy and crunchy.

Sierra gulped down the last of her saliva, unable to produce more. The army stood before her. The Festants had arrived. CLICK, CLICK, CLACK, CLICK. They continued. Her heart pounding against her ribcage, attempting to escape. She knew this was probably the end. She thought about those who waited back at the camp unaware. She knew her mission. ‘I might as well go out with a bang,’ she thought. ‘At least now they’ll have a head-start.’

Gun in hand, she wailed her tribe’s war-cry. Her machine gun screamed, raining metal fury on the monsters. She continued fighting even as her magazine finished, and even as the horde overpowered her. She fought as they tore her limb from limb, but as they were just about to take her heart she thought, ‘Fuck you Carla and Frank’.

I’ll Still Love You

I pity you, because you limit yourself with only your ideals. I pity you, because you’re hardly understood. I pity you, because you choose to blame everything else except yourself. I pity you because you only blame yourself. I pity you for loving me so much that you’ve stopped living your life fully. I pity you, because nothing is ever enough.

I don’t hate you, even though you make me hate myself. I don’t hate you, even though you’ve managed to always make me feel guilty. I don’t hate you, even though I spent my time scared of being like you. I don’t hate you, even though I want to for not being strong enough. I don’t hate you, even though I’m never enough.

I’ve come to love you out of duty rather than out of passion. I’ve come to hate myself for feeling that way. My guilt eats me, as my brain tries to justify it. I only want you to be happy, but you seem to want things that I can’t give you. Every time I pursue my own happiness, you guilt me with every step. You won’t let me fly and fall, you want to clip my wings. You can’t do that though, so instead you guilt me with every step I take. I know you want me to be happy, but on your terms not mine. I wish if you would clip my wings instead, because I know I can fight it, but I can’t fight guilt and disappointed looks.

I’ll still love you no matter what, you’ve done so much for me. I wish if I could make you happy, I wish I had never told you the truth. I wish I can go back to pretending to be someone that I’m not. I know it might have made you happy, but truth is it wouldn’t have made a difference.

I’ll still love you no matter what, because it’s my duty. I know you love me and no one will ever love me like you do, but your love hurts me so much, I sometimes can’t breathe and yet your love is what helped me survive so far. Your love is what made me who I am. Your love and support is what always made me feel safe.

So I’m sorry for not being enough. I’m sorry for not making you happy. I’m sorry for not expressing my love to you. I’m sorry for not being there the way you want me to be. I’m sorry for wanting to live my life by my own ideals. I’m sorry I could not make you proud. I’m sorry you think I’m lost. I’m sorry for being me, and most importantly I’m sorry for not being able to care anymore.

I want to understand you, to help you. I blame myself for not being able to reach out properly. Believe me, I’ve tried but with every attempt, I face a wall so thick and confusing. You provoke me so easily and guilt me just as quick. I have tried different ways to communicate and with each try I’ve come to fail. Days turned to months and months turned to years and the result was the same. So I’m sorry but I no longer care, I’m tired of trying and always failing. I’m tired of talking to a wall. I’m tired of never being enough.

With your love you’ve managed to suffocate me and push me away. With your love you have turned my passion to duty. With your love you have managed to make me care less about you.

Week 14 – The Deal: Part One

He emerged from the darkness, the dim street light barely illuminating his face. Hair styled and short, the wind couldn’t get it to dance like it did the surrounding shrubbery. His walk was sturdy and open, secure of every step he took. Although his boots were heavy, his step was light. Light struggled to reflect off his brown leather jacket, which weighed down his loose shirt. He smirked my way. It was my first time meeting him, but that smirk, although normally insulting, was comforting. A cat scurried across the road that still shimmered from the rain earlier that day.

“The house on the left” He said.

“Is the house on the right” I replied.

He smiled, completely unphased by what had just occurred. He took out an envelope from his pocket and gave it to me. I took a cursory glance at the bundle of money inside, judging that it looked about right. I nodded my head towards a nearby trash can, that hasn’t been cleaned since it was placed on that road. He walked over with a spring in his step, causing me to move back, unsure of how to read this stranger. He searched around the bin and looked my way, expressing with his hand “where?”. I gesture “underneath” and he gives me an “okay”.  The man lifts the metal bin and throws at an abandoned car, shattering the already battered windscreen. I heard the cries of a few feral creatures hiding in the dark, escaping the sudden intrusion into their urban habitat.

Momentarily distracted, I looked back at the customer, trying to keep a professional poker face. I didn’t want him to see the hoards of cells inside me screaming like people about to be massacred.

“Is it what you wanted?” I asked. Desperate to keep my voice from wavering.

He looked down at the fabric package and removed a crudely wrapped gun.

“Is it a 35 like I asked?”

“It is.” I replied.

His smile got bigger, causing the creases around his eye sockets to further hide his dark eyes. A cat screeched and dropped something heavy, startling me enough to look in its direction. My heart pounded against my ribcage trying to escape my chest, just as frightened as I was by the entire situation. I let out a staggered breath and looked back at the stranger. His smile now from ear to ear, hands out in front, legs spread out shoulder width.  I no longer faced the unhinged customer, but the barrel of the gun I had just delivered. He stood there, pointing it at me.

‘Shit’ I thought, ‘Is it loaded? Or did he load it?’. I could feel my guts telling me to run and my brain screamed MOVE! ‘FUCK! I’m going to die! I’m going to die! Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!’

BANG! The sound echoed through the deserted neighbourhood.

 

To be continued…

Week 12 – Sands of White

I dream of a land with sand of white,
with waters blue.

I dream of revitalising breezes,
with air pure and true.

I dream of cool rain amidst the summer heat,
as the playful drops stream down my hair.

I dream of lean sun tanned bodies,
and a whirlwind love affair.

I live in humid heat,
with no desire to move.

I live in suffocating streets,
the sound of cars do not soothe.

I live surrounded by bears and wolves,
all wanting to take a bite.

I live in world where I’m jealous of birds,
especially when they take flight.

Wouldn’t it be nice to find a happy medium,
and find that special place?

Because If I ever do…I will constantly
sport a bright and smiley face!

Week 11 – I Dream of Zombies

I dream of zombies almost every night
It can at times, be quite the fright.
I run away, but they have me in their sight
I turn to face them and get ready to fight.

I rarely hide or cower,
I often tap into some unknown power.
In their blood I would shower;
Unless I can pick them off one by one, from an extremely high tower.

Sniping from afar is not enough
Hacking them to pieces is not enough
Be tough they say, be tough.

Burning them alive is not enough
Blowing them up is not enough.
Be tough now, be tough.

No matter what I do, it’s never enough.
Be tough I say, be tough.

I try to rest far away and on the floor I lie
Work out a plan and think up new things to try.
Only once was there a battle I would not survive
But at least I woke up while I was still alive.

You can’t blame me – I was going up against Godzilla.
I have to say, my dreams are often exciting thrillers.

Today I asked why zombies? Why?
I read a few websites and I won’t lie,
I felt they were appropriate and quite true
They were barely hints, but I now have a clue.

My brain’s been warning me for years
The reasons why I have no more tears.

Beware! Beware! Disconnection imminent!
Beware! Beware! It might become permanent!

Till now thank God, I have not yet turned
So there’s still hope, before all is burned.

I’m still in the transition
Of becoming dead inside
So it’ll become my mission
To save myself before I slide
Into the darkness from which I won’t escape
It’s within my hands to change my fate.

I dream of zombies every night…
I won’t let them become my blight.

Week 9 – I Am Life

I am a woman

Why do I have to make sacrifices?
Why is it my job to take care of every one
And then made to feel guilty or weak when wanting the same?
Why am I selfish when I ask for alone time?
Why am I not allowed the luxury of a breakdown
When all this burden becomes too much?

Why is my identity so irrelevant and disposable?
Why do I have to choose between having a family
And keeping my identity?
Why do I have to abandon my career
To raise my future kids?
Why do I have to erase who I am and become only a mum?
Why can’t men do the same?
They won’t be my kids alone,
We will make them together!

Why are only men allowed to be egotistical and act like gods ?
And yet I am vain if I ever acknowledge my beauty or intelligence!

Species go extinct when the number of females goes down
But only one man is enough to ensure its existence

Men might rule the earth,
But we are the reason it still exists.
We are the reason it will continue to exist.
You are the one who is replaceable,  not me.

Week 6 – Red

Clenching, nails digging in, piercing my flesh.
Blood gushes out, each beat ejecting more.
The sensation is bitter but relieving.
Taste lingers in the back of my mouth.

Although my eyes are shut,
I can see the crimson stream
travel through the constricting tunnels.
It pulsates like a beacon,
numbing the rest of me.

The blood courses throughout,
never reaching its destination,
it spills through the gateway – the gash.
The numbing spreads,
almost pleasant now.

Muscles relax and tension dissipates.
The pulsating sensation begins to fade.
The numbing takes over.
Fading…I’m fading.

All I see is red, even as I float away,
It’s not darkness that consumes me,

It’s blood.

Week Three – Giving In To The Whispers 2

She always tries to busy herself; not a moment of silence or peace. She is always doing, listening, and watching something. Multitasking saves her sanity. Her fear became being alone with her thoughts. They tend to drift, and one thing leads to another and the next thing she is thinking about is what would happen if she fell and broke her leg? What effect would that have on her days to come? … What would happen if her car crashed while she was driving?. Maybe that is why she has always been infatuated with Fire! It is a safe constant reminder of all the possible ways that harm could be done and accidents could happen. It is a potential weapon of mild or severe self harm that is within a safe short distance for when she finally snaps.

Just the mere thoughts tend to unnerve her. She started to question herself. As far as she knows, she has turned into an introvert. But could it be that she is actually depressed? This question became her every waking moment dilemma. But still, she is unable to answer it. Or maybe she is just avoiding the problem “Maybe it is just the result of all the action movies I have watched. Maybe my life is simply that boring and my mind is trying to spice things up” but all her justifications couldn’t make her ignore the truth.

As she put her head on the pillow she started to think about her life; her mediocre life, dreams, and self. Nothing makes her stand out in the crowd except maybe how exceptionally normal she is. She has been able at times to fake being gifted, talented, and even smart. But that was just an act. Her mediocrity is her curse. She can’t see anything beyond it. She doesn’t even have the will or faith to wish for more.
She is tired of her night ritual. She wishes she could end it. She wishes she could end all of this. But all she can do is roll over and fight for sleep only to have one of her usual dreams. She wonders which one is going to be today’s. Is she gonna be hiding from someone?will she fall from the top of a building? Or is it gonna be something new?

When she finally did sleep, she started dreaming. It was the best dream she has ever had. She saw beautiful waterfalls, majestic mountains, relaxing rivers. She saw cottony fluffy clouds and tranquilizing waves. She saw a truly stunning hypnotizing nature.
But suddenly, it all changed. The mountains began to collapse. The waterfalls turned into boiling lava. The clouds began to rain blood. The river started to float . The tranquility and charm of nature transformed into a horrific nightmare.
She knew she was dreaming but she couldn’t wake up. She was paralyzed inside her own head; she couldn’t even control her own body. It was walking slowly confidently towards the horror that was transforming in front of her.

She tried to scream, but her screams were a soft slow song that could send chills down anyone’s spine. It was a song of surrender, acceptance, giving yourself over to be controlled.
When her body got closer to the river, the water froze and crashed into spikes, embedded into the earth. When the rain touched her face, the blood became burning acid. The collapsing mountains then soon exploded everywhere.
She felt she was the source of it all; that she was the one doing this. But she couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t stop it no matter how hard she tried. Even her silent screams couldn’t force her body to wake up.

She kept on screaming- singing. Then, she started floating, heading towards the bloody clouds. As soon as she touched the once fluffy clouds, pain shot through her. It was more than she could handle. She felt it tearing her apart limb from limb. She screamed until she couldn’t breathe anymore. She screamed until her mind and body couldn’t take it any more . She screamed until her body couldn’t do anything to make the pain stop but to finally wake up.
Her lungs were barely able to take a breath as she laid there, drenched in her own sweat, her throat too hoarse to make a sound. But as she was sitting there trying to catch her breath, she was still able to feel that lingering pain as she just couldn’t shake that dream off.

Even is her sleep, she cannot escape her own mind… Where else can she hide?