Posts Tagged ‘literature’
DAY FOUR – “An Unlikely Candy”
Text if you can’t read it:
There once was a small jellybean named J.B.
J.B. went to Sugar High with the rest of his Candy friends.
His best friend was Henry the chocolate bar.
J.B. and Henry did everything together.
One day a new student came to Sugar High.
She was an apple named Motts.
The rest of the candy made fun of Motts.
They called her fruit and told her she wasn’t candy.
But J.B. And Henry came to her defense.
They reminded everyone that apples had plenty of natural sugars.
So Motts was as candy as the rest.
Now J.B. And Henry have a new best friend!
The end.
30 Day Challenge …Challenge Accepted!
I don’t write nearly as often as I would like to. It ranges from lack of ideas to sheer laziness. I also feel, for the most part, that I am writing for a non-existent audience. I’m lucky if five of my friends take the time to click a link I share and luckier still if three of them actually read what I’ve written. I don’t blame them. I haven’t brought much to the table worth reading. So, what I have decided, is that I need a gimmick. Something to kickstart my stalling need to produce.
I have a lot of artist friends and many of them have done, in various incarnations, a “30 Day Challenge.” In these challenges they are given a list of thirty items that they draw/paint/interpretive dance over a period of thirty days. Now, I am sure there are actual writing challenges out there as well, but I have decided to take one from the art world. Knowing that it is designed for the visual art world to me makes it slightly more challenging to convey with the written word.
It will be anything from short stories to poems to random musings to research papers. Okay – no research papers, but you get the idea.
I may thrive. I may drive an eighteen-wheeler over a cliff. Some of them are going to be quite tricky. We shall see. Either way, I will get this baby started tomorrow for the month of May (I know, I know, May has 31 Days. Someone will have to add a 31st challenge).
Hopefully I get some eyeballs and also some feedback. Here is the list:
Who knows, maybe I’ll even add a stick figure illustration for each day as well.
Dear Cadence
Cadence sat alone on the floor. Situated in the corner of her room, legs pulled up into her chest, she rested her head on her knees and sobbed. She had no idea how she had gotten there or why she was crying. The only thing she knew in that moment was an overwhelming sense of sadness and that she had been here before. Nothing of any particular significance had happened that day. She woke up, went to school, ate lunch with her friends, answered three questions correctly in class, and stopped to chat with crossing guard on her way home. When she arrived home, she kissed her mother and father, patted her husky on his head and went upstairs to her room. It was only when she closed the door behind her that the weight of the world came crashing down on top of her. It was an unbearable weight that forced her to the ground. That was when she sought solace in the corner.
As she continued to sob, Cadence thought of every happy image that she could muster. She thought of her mother and father. She loved them more than anything in the world. She thought of the day her parents let her pick out Orwell, her husky. She thought of kissing Jessie Hopkins behind the Social Studies portable. She thought of her best friend Kyla. They’d done everything together and had never been in a fight. She thought of rainbows and kittens and warm woollen mittens, but nothing could stop her steady stream of tears. She was convinced that she was broken. She wanted to scream out for help but had no idea how to explain to anyone what was wrong. If she told her parents she was sad, they’d ask her why, and she would have no answer for them. She just was. She couldn’t handle someone telling her to “buck up” or that her life was wonderful. She knew her life was wonderful. That fact made her feel even worse for being sad. She scolded herself between each sob.
There was a knock at her door. Cadence ignored it at first hoping that the person on the other side would take the hint. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this. She had cancelled plans in the past to avoid the inevitable questions people would have if and when she began to cry uncontrollably. Most days she wouldn’t, but the days when she could feel it coming, she just wanted to be alone. There was a second knock and then a third. Cadence couldn’t move and she wasn’t sure she wanted to any way. There wasn’t a fourth knock. Cadence felt a small amount of relief but a larger feeling of regret crept in.
Ten minutes passed when a piece of paper slid beneath Cadence’s door. She looked over at it with an intense curiosity. It seemed as though her body was going to allow her to move just enough to pick it up. She slid herself out of the corner far enough to reach the note. She picked it up and read it.
“Our dearest Cadence,
You are not broken. We are here for you when you are ready to talk. We will ALWAYS be here for you.
Your loving, devoted, ADORING, parents.”
Cadence held the note tight to chest and closed her eyes and breathed. She wasn’t ready yet, but she had hope that she soon would be. The weight of the world was too much to bear for one person. She knew that now.
Chapter II: The Heart is Something You Can’t Control
This is Chapter II. Chapter I, “Heart in Hand, Feet on Ground” is here.
CHAPTER II
Ingrid arrived home several hours later. She burst through the front door like the morning sun through a bay window. Her glow touched every last item in the house. From the Grandfather clock in the living room to the half eaten bowl of cereal still sitting in the kitchen sink, nothing was left uncovered.
Ingrid’s mother, who had been worried sick about her daughter, still sat on the couch. She leapt to her feet but Ingrid ran past her without acknowledgement and directly up the stairs to her bedroom. Ingrid would later claim to have not seen her mother in the living room, and if she did see her, she certainly did not mean to be rude. She would never dream of ignoring her mother.
No, she simply needed to get to her room and more specifically, her journal. Ingrid had something important she needed to write, and she feared the longer it stayed inside her head, the longer she waited to write it down, the less likely the pages of her journal would be willing to accept her words. She needed her words to be accepted.
She opened her top drawer, removed her journal, and opened it to the next available page. She took the lid off of her favourite pen and began to write. She was content to have touched pen to paper, but it would not be until fifteen years later that the contents of that journal entry would be revealed.
As Ingrid put the cap back on her pen and placed her journal back in its proper place, her mother appeared at her bedroom door.
“Ingrid?” She tentatively spoke.
“Mother!” Ingrid joyfully replied.
“What on Earth is going on, Ingrid?”
“Life, mother! Life!” Ingrid stood up from her desk and walked over to her mother. She hugged her tight and kissed her cheek. Her mother had never felt such beautiful warmth. “Let’s grab some dinner, I’m starved!”
When it Rings Will You Answer? 