A CHALLENGE FOR YOU!

Well hey y’all! It is I, cupcakegirl10, coming at ya once again. I’m just here attempting to keep this blog from dying. Again I have literally written nothing of interest except for boring research papers. So in an attempt to post something, literally anything, I’ve decided to post a challenge for y’all. It’s going to revolve around a descriptive “paper” I wrote about the musical ballet, The Firebird by Stravinsky.  This assignment helped with a ton with my creative writing skills! This is a great way to help get your brain-wheels turning! It helps you imagine things you can’t see and helps you create things in your mind, with little basis to go off of! You can do this challenge with any piece of music, and if you ever have writer’s block, this is a great exercise for you! Hopefully it’ll help you too! Anyways, onto the challenge!  Ready???

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Go ahead and listen to part of The Firebird <——–link is here.  Now use the music to help give you an image of what the Firebird looks like or what he’s doing. What does the music show you or help you envision? This will help you with your writing in the future. Tell me your thoughts and what kind of picture you have in your mind of the Firebird. What does he look like? Is he shy? Does he fly? Is he full of fire or just really red? Be as descriptive as possible. Use to the music and only the music to help you get a picture. Envision your own Firebird.  Now, before you complete this next step, make sure you comment down below what the Firebird in your mind looks like!

Still have an idea of what the Firebird looks like? Good. Now, after you’ve commented, go ahead and watch Disney’s 2000 take on The Firebird <—- link is here. And tell me how different your vision was from Disney’s! What was the same about your Firebirds? Were the personalities the same? Did he look like the one you envisioned? Do you think Disney did a good job in portraying the Firebird? Did the story match the music? Make sure you comment again and let me know!!

Now don’t start coming at me about how “music isn’t a part of writing blah blah blah blah”. ACTUALLY, music is a huge part of writing! Poetry can in fact be turned into music. Music is poetry. Poetry is music. ANDDDDDDD, listening to music helps A TON with writers block. So if you’re stuck and you have no clue what to write either A, go outside or look at pics online of the world, B, look up some interesting people or interesting events in history, C, read a book or two, or D, listen to music. It’ll help! Anyways, here is what I myself thought the Firebird would look like:

“As I was listening to The Firebird, I started to envision a bird who’s shy at first and afraid to flap his wings. He’s kind of just walking around becoming more and more dull. His color is gray and his eyes are lifeless. He has lost the will to live and breathe. But soon, another bird comes up and helps him find the courage to soar. He soon realizes his full potential, thanks to the endless help of the other bird. He then takes off into the air and transforms into this beautiful bird made of straight fire. His eyes were the color of sapphires and he had this gorgeous firey mane, much like that of a horse. He has the most beautiful and flowy wings, and his wingspan was taller than most trees. He glows orange, red, and yellow hues and his wings are wavy and full of fire. His songs were rare and so sweet to the ear. I was thinking of a bird much like that of a phoenix. This is what I imagined and what the music portrayed to me. The composition started off mellow and quiet at first, but soon there came a large crescendo and the music grew! The piece ended with a lovely melodious tune, and made me think of “and they all lived happily ever after!” This my friends, is what I envisioned the Firebird to look like. This was my take on Stravinsky’s The Firebird.”

But the way Disney decided to portray the Firebird was so different from the way I imagined him to be!

“I was very startled after seeing how Disney portrayed the Firebird. He was in fact not kind or gentle. He didn’t even have a tad bit of stubbornness or hardheadedness. No! He was so very angry and destructive. As soon as a little creature full of light touched him, he became so so angry! He wrought havoc on the once beautiful land. He blasted the fields with lava and destroyed everything in his path. Lava poured from his humble abode, the volcano. He was more like a ‘lavabird’ instead of a ‘firebird’. He engulfed everything in flames and destroyed everything. His eyes were pitch black and his appearance was scary and demon-like. His wings were like gigantic red capes taking up half the sky with just a stretch! He was ten times bigger than I had imagined! Sweet songs didn’t come from his beak, but streeches and horrid cries of anger. This is not the sweet little firey bird I pictured! But what’s so amazing about this discovery, is that we can conclude that no one interprets music the same. Music means something different to each of us. Just because I thought Stravinsky was portraying the Firebird as a sweet soul doesn’t mean that’s actually what he wanted to portray him as. We all have different imaginations. And we all imagine, create, and see things differently. This is what makes each of our music and writings so unique.”

 

So that’s pretty much it! This is a great way to help get your brain-wheels turning! It helps you imagine things you can’t see and helps you create things in your mind, with little basis to go off of! You can do this challenge with any piece of music, and if you ever have writer’s block, this is a great exercise for you! I hope you enjoyed this challenge! And I can’t wait to read your comments and thoughts down below! God bless and stay tuned for more posts from other authors soon!

-Cupcakegirl10

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We have returned!

Hey y’all! Wowzers! No one has posted on here in like FOREVER. All of us here at Author’s Press are truly sorry for neglecting this blog so. Hopefully we’ll be able to post more regularly on here in the months to come. Honestly, I haven’t really written any more chapters to my books. Really, the only things I’ve written in the past year are essays and literary analyses for school. So, due to lack of interesting stories, I’ve decided to post my essay entitled The American Camelot, that I wrote a year ago. Hope you enjoy!

  Have you ever heard of the mythical city, Camelot? If that doesn’t ring a bell, then have you ever heard of King Arthur, Lancelot, or perhaps Guinevere? The Arthurian legend has been a popular history topic for years, amidst the fact that Camelot might not have existed at all. Really, the legend is just so captivating with it’s tales of knights, romances, quests, and kingship, that we just choose to believe such a staggering story. While the Camelot spoke about during the Renaissance might not have existed, there is an American “Camelot” spoken about by one of America’s beloved first ladies, ‘Jackie’ Kennedy. And this “Camelot” was lived out not to long ago by America’s own Kennedy family.

In order for us to get a full understanding about Camelot and the Kennedys we must first select the opportune roles for each of the Kennedys. Camelot wouldn’t be anything without it’s royal majesty, King Arthur. When comparing the Kennedy family to that of Camelot’s, without a doubt the 35th president of the United States of America, John F. Kennedy, takes the role of Arthur. “For with Truth and Faith girded upon you, you shall be as well able to fight all your battles as did that noble hero of old, whom men called King Arthur.” (Pyle, 80) Just as Arthur led his country with dignity and optimism, so did Mr. Kennedy lead his country.

The role of Lancelot, one of Arthur’s most trusted knights, belongs to John’s brother, Robert. Bobby lands this role for not only being a great brother and uncle to the Kennedys in their time of despair, but also for having a rumored affair with Jackie. The great and guilty love he bare the Queen, In battle with the love he bare his lord, Had marr’d his face, and mark’d it ere his time.” (Tennyson, 245) Just as Lancelot fell in love with Guinevere, Bobby was rumored to have fallen in love with Jackie either before or after the death of her husband.

The son of Lancelot by Elaine, Galahad, served his country well. He sought out the Holy Grail and succeeded with his quest. The role of young Galahad fits with John’s youngest brother, Ted. Ted sought out universal health care for all. Even though he may not have succeeded as Galahad did, he was able to put the magnificent idea out there and call for a change. So the role of Galahad goes to Ted.

And lastly, we have the nation’s beloved Jacqueline Kennedy. Tennyson says in Le Morte d’Arthur that, “Guinevere was the most beautiful of all women and Arthur loved her dearly.” Jackie takes the role of Guinevere not only for being the wife of the president (Arthur), but also for having a recognizable style, for being very beautiful in many ways, and for having had a rumored affair with Robert (Lancelot).

When one hears the name Guinevere, we immediately think of a tragic love affair. We don’t think of a woman who led America through sorrowful times, who was strong for her family and for her husband, and someone who was an influential first lady to us all. Therefore, we must remember Jackie not as a Guinevere, but as a strong, influential woman, just as she wanted us to remember her husband. Jackie was the very person to come up with the nickname “Camelot” for her family’s dynasty. A few days after the assassination of John F. Kennedy on November 22, 1963, Jackie was interviewed by the people of Life Magazine. She stated that she wanted the nation to remember her husband as a man who led America into a period of hope and prosperity.

Even though John’s time as president was cut very short, he led the U.S during the height of the Cold War, focused on our relations with the Soviet Union, and he encouraged NASA to go to the moon. “We choose to go to the moon”, he stated. “We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard.” And this is what kind of person Jackie wanted America to remember him as.

She famously stated in that interview, “and the song he loved most came at the very end of this record, the last side of Camelot, sad Camelot… Don’t let it be forgotten, that once there was a spot, for one brief shining moment that was known as Camelot.” A quote that has been remembered for decades was said in so little amount of time. The story behind Camelot, she said, was every night John would play a record from the musical, Camelot. The songs would start off bright, cheery, and optimistic. Then the last song she stated, “the last side of Camelot, sad Camelot”, was sorrowful and very sad. And this is how Jackie described her husband’s time in office.

Nothing could be more fitting for a man who led America with optimism and gave it hope. Today we remember the Kennedy’s family legacy as an American Camelot; a story that starts off in prosperity but ends in despair. Nevertheless, neither the Renaissance version of Camelot or the American Camelot will never be forgotten. We shall always remember the Kennedys as a period of Camelot, just as Jackie wanted.

written by: Cupcakegirl10 

Hope you enjoyed! And thank you for sticking with us throughout this past year! God bless!

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My story for Rachel’s contest #2

Hey y’all! So the contest continues. If you happened to read my story last week then you will find this is the continuation of that same story. If you happened to have missed my last post, CLICK HERE so you can understand this next part. Hope you Enjoy!

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I flew across the dew covered lawn. It was now 8:00. My 45 extra minutes were gone. Apparently I wasn’t going to school. But who could blame me? If you found out your alcoholic, gambling dad wasn’t even your real dad, and that your mom had kept secrets from you for the past 15 years. If everything you ever knew and loved was suddenly changed. If the person you thought you were, wasn’t there. You would miss school too.

I held my backpack strap to keep it from falling out my shoulder while my other hand clutched that little tiny flower I had picked up when my life first started to fall apart. I ran onto the sidewalk in the late hours of that soft and peaceful morning, with chilly wind and frozen dew scattered on the grass. For the past 15 years of my life I had always had a plan for everything. How I would start my day, get to school, accomplish my work, what to wear, when to eat, and so on. But nothing could have prepared me for today. I walked over to a nearby tree close to a stop sign at the end of our road. I slumped onto the ground, throwing my backpack off to the side. My toes were numb, my face red from the cold, and I could barely see because of my oncoming tears. I lifted the frozen flower to my face. What was I going to do. I wasn’t going to go back. I couldn’t. I needed help. And I needed it now. I never really had considered myself a religious person, but when I was little, Lizzie took me to her church. They talked about how Jesus heard our prayers and would help us. So, I did something I never had done before. I prayed. I shut my blurred teary eyes, I clasped my red, chapped hands, and I talked to Jesus.

Once I had finished I looked up. A red car had stopped on the side of the road and a figure was walking up to me. I squinted to try to see who it was. Was it someone who wanted to kidnap me? Kill me? Sell me? The figure continued to approach and I still couldn’t determine who it was or what it was. I could really care less if it was a killer of some sort. There was really nothing for me now. Then amidst my life-ending thoughts, I heard a familiar sound “Hunter?” “Are you okay? Why aren’t you heading to school?” Whoever it was I really didn’t want to deal with. So I thought about retorting “Yes. I’m totally fine. Every time life is good I sit under a random tree crying my eyes out.” But it was no time for sarcasm, sadly. I decided to look up. It was Ryder Collins. He had been one of my best-friends in elementary school. I developed a little crush on him in middle school. Not much to explain there. And in highschool I just gave up that hope. No one would ever see me as a girlfriend. Not many people even knew I existed.

He squatted down and looked at me. The smartest kid in 10th grade, one of the most popular, and one of the cutest in the highschool was next to me. I looked directly into his green eyes and I turned away from shame. His life was perfect, he could never understand mine. “I’m fine.” I simply said. I stood up, hardly daring to believe it. I was afraid it was a dream, it would fade away. Then, in a just one second, it became a nightmare. I picked up my backpack, the little flower, and I rose and walked off. I would figure this out on my own. I couldn’t let the guy I had a major crush on help me. I always screw everything up. My nightmare had become an even worse nightmare. But Ryder stood up and followed me. I tried to walk faster but the talented sprinter caught up to me. He grabbed my hand and spun me around. He looked into my eyes with a fierceness I’d never seen before. And he said “Hunter, I know somethings up. Please let me help you.” And that did it. I collapsed into my old friend’s arms and sobbed. We walked back to the tree and I told him everything that had happened. He kept going in and out of focus because my eyes couldn’t stay dry. He listened intently and once I had finished I moved the hair out of my face and wiped my eyes on my sweatshirt. Then he said “Hey. It’s going to be okay. Let me take you to get a coffee or something and warm you up. Then we can decide what you want to do from there.” And I shook my head yes. To be honest I was freezing. The old grey sweatshirt I had on didn’t have much wear in it anymore. My butt was wet from the melting dew on the grass and my sneakers were covered in wet grass.

I picked up my stuff and we walked across the street to his beautiful red truck. I climbed into the passenger seat. And he jumped into the driver’s seat and we drove off. I didn’t know what was going to happen or what I was going to do. I just knew someday and somehow I was going to find out who I was. No matter what.

 

Hope you enjoyed it!

 

 

 

My story for Rachel’s contest

Hey y’all! So the creator of the Author’s Press blog, Rachel Vincent *gives round of applause* is holding a writing/photography contest. I entered and so here is my story for her contest, Enjoy!

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I held the frostbitten flower to my chest. “Get out of my house right now!” I had heard loud screams of that nature for about an hour now. My mom and dad were fighting, AGAIN. It could be a soft and peaceful morning, like today, with chilly wind and frozen dew on the grass, everything would seem perfect. I would perform my daily routine to get ready for school and hope and pray that my parents wouldn’t fight today. But, despite my prayers and hopes they would always fight. Sometimes they would fight for so long I’d have to call my best friend, Lizzie to pick me up and take me to school. Most people hate highschool, and trust me I’m not to fond of it myself, but it beats having to stay home and listen to arguing for hours upon hours.

As I held the frozen flower to my chest tears streamed down my face, and you could see my heavily panting breath in the air. I was tired of it. Today was the day. I was finally going to speak up and tell my parents how I felt. I would finally tell them to quit arguing. I made my way up the brick porch steps and I inched closer to the door, while the screams kept growing in volume. I reached my shaking hand out for the door knob and I was just about to twist it when I heard, “Why don’t we have money in the bank Jen? Is it because that stupid teenage daughter of mine keeps spending so much on clothes?” I looked down at my attire, leggings, an old/grey sweatshirt, boots that were too tight, and socks that were barely white anymore. Yep, that was definitely why we didn’t have money in our account. “Rob, I wish you would stop blaming her! It’s your own fault we have no money in our account. Everyday you come home, grab my keys, and you take the car off to the casino to gamble and drink all our money away!” Mom spoke truth.

I leaned my ear closer to the door. School didn’t start for 45 more mins, I had time. “My daughter is the reason all of our money is gone! She’s always going out with friends!” Well let me see, the last time I went anywhere with Lizzie was about 9 months ago. She would always invite me along to other events, but with barely enough money to live on, I would always decline. I didn’t want Lizzie to keep paying for me, she had already done enough. Mom apparently stood there stunned at what she had heard because she didn’t retort at first. Then I heard her whisper something. Dad heard it too and he yelled “For God sake speak up woman!” And she did. She exclaimed “You want me to speak up? You want me to speak up Rob? Then fine. I want you to stop saying things that are untrue!” “And what might those things be Jen?” “Stop calling Hunter your daughter! She isn’t your daughter!” I stood there stunned. I had heard enough. I bust in the door with tears streaming down my face. “Mom?”, I cried. She couldn’t find the words to say, “Sweetie… I, I, I can explain.” But I didn’t want her to explain. The horrible man who I thought was my father, wasn’t. And who knows maybe my mother wasn’t really my mother! I ran out the door, fumbled down the steps, grabbed my backpack lying on the grass, and I picked up the little frozen flower. Nobody knew who I was. Nobody knew what I was. And worst of all, I didn’t even know who or what I was. But somehow and someday I was determined to find out. No matter what.

Hoped you enjoyed it!

Another favorite poem of mine

Hey y’all! About a few weeks ago I posted one of my favorite poems. And I think I’m going to continue on that topic and post another! So here is another of my favorite poems, this one is written by Emily Dickinson:

 

Hope

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune–without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

 

Hope you enjoyed! Comment below one of your favorite poems!

 

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A favorite poem of mine

Hey y’all! No one has been posting, so I’d thought I would post again.

Below is one of my favorite poems. It was written by Paul Lawrence Dunbar. I have loved it since I was little. Hope you do to!

 

A little bird, with plumage brown,

Beside my window flutters down,
A moment chirps its little strain,
Ten taps upon my window–pane,
And chirps again, and hops along,
To call my notice to its song;
But I work on, nor heed its lay,
Till, in neglect, it flies away.

So birds of peace and hope and love
Come fluttering earthward from above,
To settle on life’s window–sills,
And ease our load of earthly ills;
But we, in traffic’s rush and din
Too deep engaged to let them in,
With deadened heart and sense plod on,
Nor know our loss till they are gone.

~Paul Lawrence Dunbar

 

 

 

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A poem

Hey y’all! Happy first day of May! No one has been posting much these past few weeks so I’d thought I would post again.

This is a poem I wrote a while back for Thanksgiving, but I think it applies to everyday too:

 

Count your blessings one by one

See what Jehovah

Has done

A house, a car, a bed to sleep

Drink, and food to eat

But why?

Must we complain for God

has given us things

But some

have not, no house, no bed

not even a pillow

to rest their head

So why complain?

When we have clothes, toys, and shoes

Just be thankful

For what God has given you!

For that is the secret of being content

By counting your blessings

Instead of your cents

Instead of wants, wishes, and things

Just count your blessings

That the Lord brings

Have a great week!

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The Writers Ink Challenge

Hey y’all! So I was nominated by Rachel Vincent to accomplish this tag! Thanks Rachel!

The rules are simple

1.Thank your nominator

2. Answer at least any 8 questions about your writing

3. Nominate 5 other people

  • When did you first show a big interest in writing?

I remember it was about 2nd grade. My teacher would give us very random topics to write about. We would write about blueberry muffins to the tallest person in the world! I remember not struggling at all with coming up about an idea to write about. And I would write 2 to 3 pages at a time.

  • Is writing something that comes easy to you?

It does. I feel that I can explain myself through writing more-so than talking sometimes. Even when doing a short book summary I end up writing two pages. It isn’t a struggle, it comes naturally. So when my teacher says “write 500 words or more” I take that seriously and write about 1,000 instead.

  • Are you published yet?

Not yet. But in a year or so I hope to complete the first book in my christian mystery series: Triple J Mysteries. The title of the book being: The Campout Crisis. After that I hope to have my christian, romance, war novel: Hope published as well.

  • What style and genre do you like to write in?
  • Christian
  • Mystery
  • Romance
  • Historical (during wars or significant events)
  • In the years past. (Like the middle ages, old west , rennaissance, etc)
  • And once in a GREAT while, fiction

 

  • What gives you ideas to write about?

I love reading. So everytime I’ll read a book and idea pops into my head. “That will make a good book title” or “That is what my book could be about!” And I just go from there.

Note: If you ever get writers block; read a good book and the ideas will start coming fast! It also helps you improve your vocabulary and grammar.

  • Have you ever written a story with a friend?

I have. I am working on a book right now with Izzypopcorn entitled: Growing Flames, Glowing Hearts. 

  • Have you ever finished reading an entire book series?

Yes. The first series I completed was a christian mystery series called; Camp Club Girls. I have almost finished: The Boxcar Children, Nancy Drew, and Dear America.

  • What helps you with using good penmanship?

Writing a lot. When you are given a writing assignment don’t type it, write it! And even when you don’t have a writing assignment, write in a journal or diary to keep up your penmanship. Nobody likes a story they can’t read!

  • Would you recommend a pen name when writing? And do you use one?

I don’t have a pen name at the moment, but I have different choices to choose from.

If you don’t want to give out your real name: then yes

If you have a different or long name that is hard to spell/pronounce: then yes.(I have a weird last name)

Because how will people find your writings online if they can’t remember your name! Or if they ask for your book at a library, the librarian needs to know the name!

 

So that’s all the questions! 

Hope y’all enjoyed!

 

I nominate:

Izzypopcorn

Asqa

Lucky

And I can’t think of any more!

 

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TPPWC

Hey y’all! Most of y’all probably already know, but if not…

The creator of Author’s Press, Rachel, has another blog: http://www.nancydrewblogforyou.wordpress.com

Well she is having a contest. It’s called; The Prettiest pen writing contest. And I along with IzzyPopcorn and MaryLouise are on Team Panda!

We have to use certain sentences in our short story we come up with. Two for extra points.

So here is my story:

I was always alone in life. Not so much when I was little. I saw light and shapes. I saw the birds and the trees. I saw the freshest flowers and the most delicious pies. I saw the puffy white clouds and the fluttering butterflies. I saw my family, which I only had for a little while. Who, I could only see for a little while.

The birds and the animals were always my friends. I would come home from school, drop my glasses on the table and run outside and smell the fresh air. See the green trees and blue sky. And I would play with my friends. I was always called “Four eyes” because of my glasses. So the only true friends I had were the animals. Then mother would yell for me to come inside. I would go, reluctantly, and scrub the shop’s floors, and tables. I would count the money in the register, and the stock. Then I would be so tired I just collapse on my bed. “Working hard makes a good shopkeeper”, “A healthy girl makes a good shopkeeper”, mother would say.

Doctors visits were a regular thing with mother. “We must make sure you are healthy”, “The healthy girl makes a good shopkeeper”. She didn’t want a daughter, just an assistant.

But strangely, the world grew darker each day and mother talked less and less to me each day. My animal friend’s once vibrant color’s faded. The black board at school became harder to see. Even the blue sky started to appear gray. She couldn’t bear to tell me what the doctors had told her. She didn’t have the nerve to look at me. She couldn’t even tell her own daughter that:

She was going blind.

One day I couldn’t see anything. I screamed, I cried, I yelled. No objects were visible, the people were gone, my bedroom was a dark cell. All light was gone, all hope had faded, all the faces of the world were just cold dark voices. The buildings and trees I couldn’t see. All I saw was black. Cold, dark black. It was like a never ending night. Mother’s face was just a voice coming from the corner. I couldn’t look into the mirror. I couldn’t see what was for breakfast. The colors and adventure the world had once been so full of, were gone. The green of the grass, the blue of the sky, the purple of the lilacs, the white of the linens, were all black. All dark. The animals which I had once played and looked at for hours, were gone. I even shined a flashlight into my eyes, and I couldn’t even see that. I couldn’t see them. I couldn’t see anything. I couldn’t breathe in my everlasting cell of darkness.

Mother always wanted a strong girl so she could raise her up to take over the family business. A healthy one. But, I was healthy! I just couldn’t see anything. Nothing. Not even my own hand in front of my face. I was blind and mother had to accept that. I could still work. Still make a good shopkeeper.

Mother just took me, just thought of me as a sack. A dumb old sack with holes. It could hold nothing, it was good for nothing but to be thrown away. And that’s what she did.

She dumped me on a street on a cold and I think rainy day. I could feel the hard cement of the sidewalk and the hardness of my mother’s heart. I called to her to come back. I cried for her not to leave me. I told her I could be a good daughter and shop keeper. I cried, I begged, I begged her to look into the face of her daughter and show love. But I couldn’t see if she cried or laughed at me. I couldn’t see her resentment or her obligation to leave me. Hot tears continued to stream down my face. I was soaked to the bone with rain, I shivered from the cold of the rain and the darkness of my sight.  The world was dark. She was dark. The sky once blue, was black. The flowers once pink, were black. My favorite yellow dress that I always wore, was black. Even my red hair, was black. I couldn’t see the people walking by, or the cars on the street. I couldn’t see the rain clouds or the birds taking shelter.

I couldn’t see, and that’s what she hated me for. I wasn’t healthy enough to be a shopkeeper. And apparently not good enough to be her daughter.

And with that she walked into the rain and didn’t look back. And that was the last time anyone ever saw her. The last time I ever saw her.

 

Hope you enjoyed!

~cupcakegirl10

War was at our door. The scream of the bombs filled the air, as the Nazis were upon us. The sky was pitch black, and hints of red started to fill the sky, and smoke clouding the horizon. Grandmother and Grandfather stared out the window, and mother sat there ice cold, thinking about her “foolish family” who was in the middle of it. Father was out there somewhere, and my brother missing. And all I could do was sit in a ball, on the ice cold stone floor, thinking about how they took my brother away, my father to war, my mother never to be the same again, and my little baby sister’s life. I fought the memories out of my head, but hot tears streamed down my face. I wanted father’s gentle touch, my brother’s caring hands, and my sister’s gentle laugh. But what I really wanted was hope. Hope to once again find all that was lost, hope to survive, hope that things would turn out alright. But all I kept wondering was, would my life ever be the same after this? And worse, would I even survive at all?

So this is just a small excerpt from my “in progress” book entitled Hope. Hope you enjoyed!

~Cupcakegirl10