“It’s your fault.” The voice cut through the crisp autumn air as a surgeon’s scalpel.
Grace wondered if she could just pretend that she hadn’t heard anything and leave. But people were swarming around the little church, now that the deceased had been driven away, and the last thing that Grace wanted was a scene.
“Nicole,” she said before turning around and facing her accuser.
“If it hadn’t been for you he’d still be alive.”
Continue reading “Fault”
A/N: This story was a practice to create a story, where we were to freeze down a moment in time. Enjoy!
Ever since the first time she met him, it had always seemed like she was running.
It had been love at first sight, how corny that may sound. He’d looked at her with clear, blue eyes and a crooked grin, and Rose had been sold. Just like that he became the centre of her universe, and she became the nerdy little sister of his on-and-off girlfriend.
She pretty quickly realized she wasn’t good enough for him. He was handsome, smart, successful. And what was she? A bore, that was what she was.
Continue reading “Good Enough”
A/N:This post is about my thoughts about the stanza structure of a chosen poem. The poem I’ve chosen is A Wonder by S.M. Bednarz. See the poem underneath. I have in no way contributed to the making of this poem, and you can find more free writing of the author on the following website:
Continue reading “A Wonder by S.M. Bednarz”
A/N: This is a review of one of the scenes in the prose poem The Devious Trash Can by S.M. Bednarz. The first part of this text is his work, and I am in no way creditable for it. If you’re interested in anything else of his writing you can find it for free at:
The Poem The Devious Trash Can:
I wonder what it’s like to be a trash can. A can of trash. It’s standing to my right. As I write this I can only make its crimson colour out of my peripheral vision but that’s enough to keep tabs on it. And I can’t help but wonder. Of course the obvious reaction is to feel disguised, to feel used by mostly everyone, who past. Am I talking about what it’s like to be used for trash?
Continue reading “The Devious Trash Can by S.M. Bednarz”
A miss Elizabeth Bennett and Fitzwilliam Darcy were to be married; yet no one knew the bride.
But the groom had learned not to care as he stared into the lively eyes of his bride.
Caused by her equally lively temperament and slight impertinence, he was sure.
Darcy wondered if he’d ever stop adoring those eyes.
Elizabeth, called Lizzie, was equally indifferent to the whispers of society.
Forbidden from marrying him by his aunt, she’d refused to bend as asked.
Glad couldn’t begin to describe the euphoria she felt over this moment of the past.
Her happiness had indeed been heavily invested in during that impertinent conversation.
Continue reading “Pride and Prejudice”
The train station of Frederikshavn is my train station.
It’s a silly thought, of course; that is could be mine, but yet it is.
Perhaps I don’t own it, and perhaps it’s not my property, but still a part of it is mine.
My staff. My little shop with over-priced books and clichéd romance novel. My trains. My station.
Continue reading “The Train Station”
A/N: This week’s update is about tension! Desire plus danger. Please enjoy!
Dave’s stomach grumbled uncomfortably. He’d gotten away from his parents despite their many warnings, and now he was on the verge of tears. They’d told him it was a dangerous country, nothing like home, but he’d felt safe and had wandered off. And now he was more hungry than he’d ever been before.
It didn’t help there was food everywhere around him; tempting him. He’d found his way back to the market place and everywhere he looked there were piles of fruit, chunks of meet and lines of fish hung up. Perhaps if he took some, he could convince his parents to come back later and pay for it. He was sure they’d understand. He hadn’t had anything since that morning, and now the sun was quickly closing in on the horizon. Surely thievery could be excused in a situation like this.
Continue reading “By the Right Hand”
A/N: The challenge behind this text was to write a poem with of exactly 100 words. Not 99. Not 101. 100 words exactly. Delicious Words.
Delicious. It’s a delicious word, isn’t it?
The drum of your tongue transforming to a snake’s hiss. Delicious.
But the dance of the sounds are nothing compared to the pictures.
Cake. Chocolate. Ice cream melting in your mouth. Delicious.
The mere scent of your mother’s cooking, and you are once again a child.
Sitting impatiently in the kitchen waiting for buns and hot chocolate. Delicious.
There’s so many pictures conjured by three little sounds.
Soft lips. Wet skin. A whispered name. Delicious.
A rose perfume sprayed at her neck.
Burying your face, and whispering a word; delicious.
A/N: Okay, this is prose poetry, where I have as far as possible tried to write the entire poem in inverted syntax – which is basically the grammar of Yoda.
I’ve never seen all the Star Wars movies, so please let me know if there’s anything I could improve on Yoda’s speech pattern!
Yoda he wished to be.
Little he was, when Yoda he saw; as television was watched.
From that moment on, like Yoda he spoke, all attempts to change him he refused.
It was because of his parents’ divorce his shrink him told, but that wasn’t true he knew.
Yoda he’d seen, Yoda he wanted to be, immediately realized this he did.
Continue reading “Yoda”
A/N: Okay, this text is an argument between two authors, who are also friends. One who’s writing romance and one who’s writing fantasy. Please comment if you agree with one of them! Enjoy!
“Why don’t you just try to write something a bit more real?” Emily asked her one day.
“What do you mean?” Anna looked at her uncomprehendingly.
“Well, none of the stuffs that’s happening in your stories could ever actually, you know – happen. So, what’s the point, then? I mean; magic? Dragons? How do you expect your readers to really invest themselves in the story if it could never happen to them?”
“Well, that’s kind of the point.”
Continue reading “Real Life or Pure Imagination?”