Violet color is the field of lavender, I see a little girl wearing a happy round-rimmed hat, running down the field of lavender. This is the color of lavender, the color that brings me great comfort and healing… It also has a tint of sorrowful feelings.
It is the old story that lingered many years in my Childhood memory ever since the first time I heard. I forgot when I heard it the first, but I felt that I probably knew it for a long long time. The story about the daughter of the ocean, the little mermaid, who once fell deeply in love with a prince. But in order to have a chance to see and get closer to the prince, she needed to make some sacrifice. She sacrificed her voice, in order to exchange for a knife. The knife to cut and trim her tail fin, so that her tail could be turned into human-like feet. She made it, she finally make it to the human realm. Even though with her longing eyes, she did win the prince’s attention, but without a human-voice, she could never be able to let him heard her inner longing voice of love for him. And at the night of the prince’s wedding, broken-heartedly, she jumped back into the ocean, turned into foams of the ocean waters. Some time I can imagine the pain that she must have been enduring through, the eagerness of letting people hearing the voice of her soul… and the pain of unable to express herself and communicate, unable to be social and interacting with the human world.
But in order to be able to make it to another atmosphere, I, too, had made some very similar sacrifice. Flew to a new land, left my motherland behind… Chasing after some unrealistic dreams from the past. Often time, have the similar feeling of unable to let people hear the inner tender voice of mine... feeling the throat being choked, and suddenly become frozen, wordless, just standing there, observing the world in an ultimate sorrowful way... only wishing that one day, I could let the voice be heard again.
But I sometimes, also felt that there should be a different ending for the story too. The little mermaid is back to her homeland again. Being healed and rejuvenated by all the loving cares from her families and friends. And with all the loving tender care, she, too, can bring her whole family back to the other world, the one that she once loved so immensely, traveled such a long way… and with the modern technology, that even telepathic-communication become possible, her mermaid kinds of language can be translated into human words as well. Finally, her voice can be heard, her wish can become true at last. She is able to show human-beings how to care and listen to all the tender little sounds and languages from all other nature-creatures as well. Because even though some voices are small, they are still there, as long as we, human-beings are attentive, them, too, can be heard.
I learned that in the old days Violet purple is exacted from deep sea creatures… It must be the true essence of the ocean, where all the deep tender feelings and love are all stored in, and with this love, any wound can be healed, even the little mermaid's broken-heart can be healed too.. cause she is finally home again.
It was my fault
Chloe: Hey, are you ready to come over tomorrow?
Adri: I absolutely can't wait! Are you sure it's ok with your mom?
Chloe: Of course. You're from church so she doesn't care.
Adri: Great! I'll see you tomorrow.
Chloe: See ya!
Adri: That was so much fun! We should totally do that again.
Adri: What is it?
Chloe: I thought my mom liked you...but she said she didn't like the way you talked.
Chloe: I can't have you over again.
Chloe: We can still be friends though! Maybe I can go over to your house?
Adri: No way.
Chloe: Well why not?
Adri: If I can't go over to your house I sure as heck will not be inviting you over.
Chloe: But... don't you still want to be friends?
Adri: Not if you're going to treat me like this.
Chloe: But it's not me, it's my mom...
Adri: Bye Chloe.
Chloe: Bye Adri...
Chloe: Hey I heard about you and Mike. Do you need someone to talk to?
Adri: I have Krissa.
Chloe: Oh, ok. I'm here if you need me.
Adri: Chloe, I need your help.
Chloe: What is it?
Adri: Everything is crumbling apart! Can I come over? Please?
Chloe: I want you to but my mom...
Adri: Please? My parents are going crazy and my brother left the house and I don't know what to do!
Chloe: I can't...
Adri: You say you're always here for me and you're not! You just dropped me after that first visit! You never talk to me anymore and now look. You won't let me come over just because your mom said so. I really needed you. Thanks for nothing.
Chloe: Adri, I just talked to my mom. You can come over and stay as long as you want.
Chloe: Adri, we're coming to get you. Don't worry, I'm here for you. I will always be here for you.
Chloe: I know you'll never get this, Adri. But I cared about you. I wish my mom had never told me what she thought. I wish we had stayed closer. If we hadn't distanced ourselves, you'd still be here with me. You were right. I wasn't always there for you. Now you are gone, forever. And it's my fault. I'm so sorry, Adri. For everything. I wish you were still here so you could hear me.
Watching smooth magnetic sands
Gliding through soft pinky fingers.
Playing with lodestone blocks.
Strands of silvery sands all stood up,
like an army of well-formed soldiers barricaded themselves among
silvery black forests.
Some squats being blown away by the seashore wind here, or there...
Let’s pour more backup teams onto the formation..
more troops, more black dark shapeshifting forests....
Gazillion of mini entities,
Alive, talking, stout.
Just standing there,
proud to be examined, admired
by a little child.
proud to stand strong
under his command.
The nails got covered, caked with inkling marks,
both hands and face got all blackened, smudged with black silvery sands…
Absolute surrender to the moment of Eternal Bliss. Serenity.
Such a proud child,
Digging, and digging,
sitting on his own pile of
that he has masterfully crafted behind,
lives after lives’ time.
Proudly and perfectly soiled,
with a smirk on his face.
A sweaty and gratified day.
No regret left behind.
Watcher Chapter 1
The wind is blowing my hair, and the salty smell of the sea is in my nostrels. The wet sand is between my toes, and the warm salt water is washing over my feet.
I’m walking along the beach looking for floatsam that has been blown in from the sea.
Gabe is following behind me, further up the shoar, and Cara is level with Gabe, but she is further ahead.
We are headed home from a rather bad catch on the beach, just some old bottles and bits of wood.
Over the rise is the village.
It is a small village. The market is in the center, surounded by the second wall and many homes mostly inhabited by farmers and fishermen. I live in one of the smaller ones with three rooms, closer to the docs. Most of the houses are made of pieses of driftwood thrown together, with stone chimines poacking thrugh the roofs. The richer villas reasting mostly within the second wall nearer to the market are made of fine woods from the only lumberjack in town, which is at the edje squated in front of its oak orcherd, the only wood in sight for a few miles, and smoth stones from some distant quary.
The town is only mostly on land, as the market gose some ways over sea. Their homes were replaced with great hulking merchant ships and the smaller fishing boats, where the more practical shops sit. The marketplace is currantly the most crowded place in town.
Outside the old first gate is a row of cottages faceing the dirt road into town.
We are running down to the town, racing. Caras small form is speeding ahead, passing the cottages on the hill.
Cara has reached the flimsy, creaking first gate of Hann. It dosent look like it will stand well in an actual siege, what with its rotting suports and sagging boardwalk, but it’s been standing for a couple hundred years or so with little to no mantanants so it probubly won't colaps right now.
I’m at the gate with Cara.
“Gabe, hurry up!” she is yelling, dark green eyes shining like stars, dark hair billowing in the wind.
“You had a head start!” He replied in his deap voice his barral chest is heaving and his shirt is coverd in soil and slightly torn.
“Did you trip man?” I ask.
“Ya triped! Did you try to use the shortcut again?”
“Whose guarden did you ruin this time? Mr Finchs? Mr and Miss Shaptons?”
He is giving me a slightly pained look.
“What?!?” Cara is exclaiming.
“Dude I swair that she is actualy a witch,” I’m telling him.
“I know, I know, but I don’t think she saw me.”
“That would be a miracle, what with her seeing stone.”
“You know you don’t need to emphisize that.”
“Let's get out of here while we can,” Cara is saying, giggling.
“Yeah, let's,” I’m saying, smilling at her.
We’re walking thrugh the market down the main road towards the house when a group of kids rushed in, lagphing, and squealing as a small boy tryed to tag them. The boy ran up to Cara, and tryed to tag her but she sliped assid and is now looking at me pleaingly.
“Oh-ok, go ahead.”
She smilled widly as a Chesirecat, and ran off, away from a large girl who had been taged just moments ago.
Gabe and I walked over to the edge of the road and leaned on the back wall of a house in between two stalls, one with an old fisherman, and the other with a plump woman selling shell jewlery.
The crowded streets rushing past and we are just goofin off, waiting of Cara to come back, slightly winded, and ready to go home.
The sun is low in the sky. Father must be at the doc by now.
The crowd is parting in the middle. There are squires walking in telling people to make way. They have white bears on their chest. A coat of arms.
Sir Senitanl, the town knight.
He is a big man, with greying hair, and he always whers his armor, and his sword is always at his side.
He must be riding in his carrage to the doc. This is the cleanest route after all.
Just as the horse came into view, a beautiful, whight mottled creacher, Cara tripped, chasing after a whilowy boy, rolling to avoid being trampled by a mule, and right in front of the carriage pulling horse.
The sixteen wheeler roured along the old country road.
The road wasnt dirt, but it was old, few vehicles actually used it, but those that did had no idea that the big truck was not actually carrying turnips as the large ilistation on its side proudly proclaimed. Infact, It was carrying slaves. These slaves had just been sold at a secret auction in the small town of Jackson Hole Wyoming. Now, the pore people wher headed to their new ouners.
But the aces in the hole was not in the seller's favor.
The sound of motorcycles speeding towards the truck woke the slaves, and at first, theystarted to cry, as they remembered their new predicament, though they stopped when the slavers sayed. Theyr were three in the back with them, and one in the front with the driver.
But they all stopped when there was gun fire.
Outside, there wher four motorists rouring down the highway. The thing was that they wher all drest in the same peur black as their motorcycles, helmets and all, and that one had a sword on his back, another had a spear in his hand, another had nunchucs, and the last had a chain with a knife blade at one end, and a meatal counter weight on the other.
The one with the sword spead forward, doing a back wheel wheelie protecting him from the onslaught of bullets from the passenger seat of the sixteen wheeler, as he turned his vehicle to the driver's side. With the breather that this gave him, he drove up to the side of the truck, and climbed up the wall of the trailer, leting the motorcycle fall away.
Once on the trailer, he ran to the front, pulled a gun from his hip, and shot twice at the driver.
Then the truck stopped, turning to the left, completely blocking the two lane road.
As the other cyclists arrived at the truck, two black vans came from the other side, one by one, each carrying six men with assault rifles of all kinds, each man wearing a suite.
The three other cyclests climbed over the truck, and charged the new guys, while The one with the sword pulled a device from his pocket. It was a disk with a single red buton on the center. He pressed it and two arms flew out, and it cut a hole into the roof of the trailer.The big metal piece fell into the trailer, and fell right on top of one of the guards.
The man in black hoped in afterward and the other two guards took aim.
Slaves were lined up on eather side of the trailer.
Two guards where standing on either side of him, at oposit ends of the trailer.
Each one had a bullet proof vest and an assault rifle.
The first one to shoot was the nearest to the door. He shot, but the motorist dojed the bullets which hit the guy opposite. That guy fell.
Then the motorist threw a throwing knife that came from out of nowhere and got inbeaded into the man's gun.
Then the other guy pulled out a pistol from his hip and fired a single shot.
The motorist turned, with the grace of a cat, sliced the bullet in half, and as the pieces fell to the floor, they cut down the guards, and as the second man fell, the pieces of the bullet landed on the trailer floor.
Then, without a moment of hesitation, he kicked the trailer door open, met up with the other three who had taken down the guys outside, and they hopped on their remaining bikes, and disappeared into the night.
2 Poems I Want Feedback On
Think Before I Die
Here’s a crazy idea
What if I stop drowning
In shallow water,
and lift my head up to find air?
I could brace myself
For the fall,
Instead of diving face first
Into it all.
I could put a jacket on
Before I freeze to death.
Clear the frost off my nose,
And control my breath.
I should take hold of the wheel
And keep my eyes on the road
Before that’s not an option anymore.
I can put pressure on the wound.
I can take the right amount of pills.
I can hydrate before I run.
I can, on my worst days, have the will
To try again.
Here’s a crazy idea
What if I think before I die
And learn to adapt to life?
Nah, that’s too crazy...
Call Me Princess
Look through your window
And call me princess
See the primadonna
And assume that’s me.
Little do you know
You’ve taken opportune glances
At all the wrong times.
I am not the me you have inside your head.
You must think I’m a whiny bitch.
I might complain.
I might cry.
I might act like I’m larger than life.
Don’t assume that my loudest cries
Are my only thoughts.
For once look at what goes on
Behind my eyes.
You can call me princess
And that I am.
Open your window.
And find so much more.
A Possible Concept By: DocBoom
It is cold.
It is dark.
I mustn’t be afrade.
I shouldent be.
But I am.
And I’m angry.
My rage is uncontroled.
Pounding on its weakening cage.
A heavy cage.
A cage so heavy it breaks my back every day.
Fear already excaped, and is filling my mind with sounds, and shadows, infecting my body, and makeing me tremble.
The cold seapes into my skin, not that there was enything stopping it in the first place.
The trees are towering over me.
Little do they know that they are just fuleing the beast.
It wants to eskape… to run… to kill… to eat.
How many days has it been? How many weeks? Months?
I don’t know.
The cage is not enougph.
Fear was sopsed to stay.
The cage is not worth it.
Father makes me cage myself because he fears me.
He left me to die.
He is a liar. A cowerd.
The beasts in the cage are not so bad.
They are just bottled up unfairly.
I must set them free.
I just let them wash over me.
The fear, the rage, the regret, spreeding, letting that blasted cage just… fall.
As I am covered with the tangle of emotion, I don’t feel the groth.
But I see as the trees grow smaller.
The beasts aren’t tresspassers as father told me to beleve they were… they are a part of me, and I them.
I can feel as my body warms itself.
I can feel my power sore.
I.. am.. the shadows.
It is time to hunt.