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BD1: Diary Day IThis time round the challenge has posed a few difficulties for me. Firstly I sprained my wrist whilst doing the garden work, and then further damaged it at work. This has made typing and using the mouse sheer agony, and at times, darn right impossible. Nonetheless I promised Hypermagical I would participate so I was determined not to back out just because of a that…I still have one fully operational hand right. Then once I found myself starting I soon noticed I actually had an attentive audience awaiting for my daily submissions and so my promise to Hypermagical quickly found itself extended to my fellow participants who I have drawn on for that extra boost of ambition to see it through to the very end.
The second difficulty came in the final week (flashbacks) as having wrote submissions before of each of the week’s topics I was in rather a pickle as to where to go with the topics without being repetitive…I’m sure others shared this dilemma. Having this problem
BD2: Diary Day IIThis time round I have really felt a sense of community between us fellow Souljournalists throughout this challenge. The conversations with Bloodawni, VickyandRaq , Quina-Chan and Eremetik have allowed me to delve into the lives of others whilst simultaneously revealing my deeper layers without fear of judgement, helping us forge out new friendships. Particularly with Eremetik who I think for my most part we are on a similar wavelength.
Having said that it seems that our community has become a small, tight-knit one as there was a very limited number of participants this time round. However as the old mantra goes ‘Quality over quantity’ and I’m sure we can all agree that the quality of the content has been an absolute marvel. Truly top rate entries time and time again by everyone who has taken part. Add to that the commitment and drive that has gone into this challenge by the participants to make it work is testament to how hard Hypermagical has worked to put it all to
W4: D7: Pens/SwordsThe final day (well proper day) of the challenge, and for me the most challenging as having already written about pens before I am now stumped about what to write this time round *screams madly at screen*.
As a poet a pen is to me what a wand is to a wizard or a witch. It the tool through I channel my energies, cast my spells, and bewitch my victims. My emotions, thoughts and imaginations are compressed by the pen into a thick, jet coloured ooze which flows silkily across the snowy pages as they sit on my desk in suspended animation, hearts frozen, life not yet established.
It is the pen which activates the spark of life and sets it ablaze across the sheets awakening their souls, bringing them into a quasi-existence where they breathe my very spirit, and sing my words.
Unlike their partner in quote the sword. Swords do not take life but destroy it, a simple, but swift movement can tear apart an ink sodden page, extinguishing the fragile slice of life it was given by that murky, black b
W4: D6: HomeIn the twenty-four years of my life I have had seven homes. The first was a one-room apartment where I spend the first couple of years of my life along with my mother and father. Then Sarah, my eldest sister, came along so we moved into a three bedroom house in the middle of a cul-de-sac just off a main road which had a park on the other side, at the time this open green space seemed to be a completely different world with its trees, small stone bridges and babbling brook.
Then Lisa was born two years later so we up-sticks again to another three bedroom house on a different council estate. I refer to this period as ‘the dark ages’ which lasted for the next eleven years seeing out my childhood. During these years a third sister, Tracy was born and my parents divorced leaving me to head up the household and take care of my father whose long-term physical disability was by now beginning to take over. On top of the constant bullying that occurred, which only ever got worse as t
W4: D5: SelfHaving this topic pop up once more has forced me to go back to read back over what I said last time, and I have to say a few changes have occurred.
Alas I am still a meagre five foot so my vengeance on the cookie jar is yet to take place, but as I am now on a low-fat diet to reduce my cholesterol not being able to reach said prison of biscuits it no longer bothers me that they remain out of reach. Furthermore I no longer don the black rimmed spectacles. Instead I now wear a rimless pair of designer Ben Sherman frames.
According to one online quiz which determines what Final Fantasy job is best suited to you based on personality and outlook on life I am a black mage, this delights me as many a morning I have spent riding the bus to work thinking to myself how wonderful it would be to just sit and watch the world burn…I’m much more cheerful once I get to work and have my first cup of tea of the day…honestly I am.
I have since then found myself to be an uncle to Harrison
W4: D4: Free DaySeeing as this week’s theme is flashbacks I think my free day should be used to talk about just that…flashbacks.
I actually suffer from flashbacks, mostly in the form of night terrors. Not so often now but growing up it was a regular occasion (many years of therapy and counselling has helped me manage this issue).
I would shout and scream in my sleep, kicking out and violently raging. On one occasion I managed to hurl something across my bedroom something I have no memory of doing. I still do talk, shout and scream every now and again but fortunately the raging has stopped.
Connected to my problem with flashbacks is an aversion to loud noises which act as a trigger for the flashbacks which in turn elevates my anxiety levels and pulls me into a panic attack. Which on one occasion meant I had to be carried home by one of my best mates from the university campus ruining what was, until then, a perfectly good evening.
I’m guessing by now some of you may be wondering what
a small tidbit of a personal pieceprompt: talk about a place you love, conveying your peace with it without outright saying that you love it.
I have three lamps in my room, and two of them are hardly very bright. Both sort of cast everything (except for the cluttered corners) into a soft glow. The other only works when it's dark outside and the other lights are off. It throws everything into a blue-ish glow and somehow makes it feel like a place faeries would escape to.
The bookshelf is small, but it's enough to fit my favourite books and memories. The walls and ceiling are painted blue and green and are covered in posters and art and doodles so I can't see enough of the colours to regret the crappy decorating job I did as a kid. My blankets are soft enough for my cat to sit on and he smells like sugar cookies and looks like home so I'm happy if he is. The desk is covered in marker that bled through my paper and paint that I couldn't get to stay on the page.
Sometimes it's sil
The SunflowerMy grandpa had a garden
It was the most magical thing I had ever known
And is probably the reason I love nature so much now
When I was little, he would take me outside to his fields, where rows of beautiful flowers, plump tomatoes, and so much more were planted in straight rows. Behind that was a green patch where an Indian tribe had made their home for what seemed like a very, very long time. We found arrow heads scattered almost everywhere, and even the occasional bone or two. Nearly all of my childhood memories resided in his yard. Well, either there or his kitchen. But thats a different story
I remember going to the store with him, hand in hand. We picked out seeds for the years crops. He would get the seeds packs he needed, and I got the seeds packs that had pictures I didn't know, because "I wanted to see every plant that ever existed." My words exactly. My grandpa would laugh and tell me there was way to many plants for that kind of dream, but I still wanted to try. I had always
Love for ColdPlayWhen I first heard Coldplay, I was with my sister. She had been listening to her new favorite radio station for hours while she played with her dolls. We were both 11 at the time. Having different moms, our birthdays were in the same year, I didn't care. We were 100% related as far as anyone cared. The DJ at the time announced the song. Clocks, by Coldplay. The song started and I put down my notepad in interest. It was an amazing song, calming, gentle. After it ended, I got out of bed, where I had been writing. I went to moms room, asking to use the computer. After a few minutes I carried the laptop back to Me and my sister's room. I looked up the song, downloading it to the computer for future listening. Then, I proceeded to look at what kind of band Coldplay was, and what songs they made. Since that day, Coldplay has been one of my favorite bands. 'Clocks' continue to be one of my favorite songs by them. Although I do listen to other bands, Coldplay is the one I listen to the most. I
Bawling BrawlYou're a bully. A pathetic nuisance like any other.
From an early age, you slammed me down,
and I didn't even realize that it was you doing it.
You were subtle and I wasn't being strong because I didn't have a reason to be.
I got sick of you fast. I refused you.
You don't deserve to be a part of my life.
And you think I'll forgive you?
No matter how many times you ask,
plead, beg, cry, whine, scream, and yell,
you will never be a part of me because
I am stronger than you,
I am wiser than you, and
I can play your game.
You want to kill me.
You hate me. Now?
I hate you.
I want you dead.
I choose to live.
I choose to fight.
I want you dead.
PancakesMy grandpa was a cook in the navy
Every morning when I was over, he would make me MnM pancakes from scratch. Yeah, they always got a little burnt, but that was fine. While he cooked, he told me stories of his days in the navy. I would sit on a little chair next to the griddle he used to make the pancakes, listening intently and eating the leftover MnMs. Every story made my laugh, and he would laugh with me. He could make every situation seem funny, and thats one thing I admired about him; he loved to make people laugh and did it easily. Then he would get the pancakes off the griddle and put them on my plate, pouring syrup on each one to look like a smiley face. He would watch me eat, asking how they tasted after each bite to make me giggle. After I was done, he lifted me up so I could reach the sink, washing the syrup off my face and off my plate. We then walked out to the garden, bringing the same little chair so I could watch him work. This went on for years.
But then my grandpa star
How did i get here? A Short Bio by MeHello, reader. So how was your search through DeviantART fueled by boredom and inspiration coming along. Well if you have a minute, i want to share something to you. If you don't have the time or just want to do something else, i understand completely. I’m always use to that for many years. So How Did I Get Here? Here’s part of my life story that i hope you might learn something from it.
So it all began with me as a baby knocking my head on a corner of table, leaving a strange mark on my head just like Harry Potter. It it was not magic like you read or seen on TV or in books. It’s like magic but it was Creativity that was sparked. Since then, i never stopped drawing or having fun with junk and clutter. From kindergarten to elementary school, i love drawing and creating things that came from my heart and soul. Some things that i encounter became so precious to me that i just kept it to me forever.
But there are some things in life that i’m not proud of. Creativit
I am meI am me. I am a girl with an adventurers heart, but I like being indoors. I am a girl that loves attention and always wants to be on stage. I am a strong person, but people beat me down. I am kind hearted, and always ready to help. I am a girl with pain, but I always smile. I am a girl that cries, and tries to be strong. I am a person who loves to listen to stories, but hates to read. I am random, but I make sense.
I am me for real. I may be random and weird but people love me for that. I may be weak, but my heart holds me as strong. I do feel pain but I get over it. I love adventure stories. I love helping people in need.
I am me and I am proud.
Best before"...continuerai a farti scegliere
o finalmente sceglierai."
Si chiudono gli occhi. Il sonno li accompagna. Gli amanti vogliono esserlo in eterno. Sanno che del loro sesso, che di quel sudato piacere, di tutte le carezze, dei tanti baci che non si contano perché senz'abitudine, di ogni sguardo complice e perverso nell'odiarsi prima di ritornare a cavalcare abbracciati, sanno che tutto questo, che tutto il loro esserci stati sparirà. Non sarà storia che si insegna la loro; a nessuno servirà; se ne dimenticheranno anche coloro che invidiarono il loro riuscire a non separarsi nonostante tutta la vita degli altri li schiacciasse, e loro proprio per questo ancora più stretti l'uno all'altra. La vecchiaia, se non prima, pareva l'unica. Ma il pericolo del divenire anziani è tremendo: non riconoscersi, non riconoscersi più. Si è sempre in tempo; levarsi di mezzo, lasciare spazio ad altri affinché litighino senza passione e soprattutto s
FourI am four hours old.
"Ma´am, there´s a shadow over your child´s crib, closer than usual. We told him to leave, but he didn´t."
I am four days old.
"Ma´am, the shadow did something. We don´t know what it was, but you´d better leave. It´s not a pretty sight."
I am four weeks old.
The shadow backed off. But I always know that he is still - somewhere. I even like him, in a way. He is special.
I am four years old.
The shadow came to the house when I wasn´t there. And now everyone is crying. He took my Papa. That´s not fair. Why him? Wasn´t it me he was waiting for?
I am fourteen years old.
I had forgotten about the shadow, but suddenly I remember him. I call for him. We need to talk. I wish I had something sensible to say.
I am twenty-four years old.
The shadow came to me to talk; he even brought his friend. Or mine, I don´t know. But talking to the shadow knocks me out regardless.
Now I´m about to leave behind thirty-f
W3: D2: CampingI have only ever been camping once and that was on a long weekend to Hemsby (near Great Yarmouth). Me and a mate went as a treat to celebrate my GCSE results (mostly A grades except for geography and IT which were B grades). Even though it was mid-July it was cold and rained most of the time…typical British weather, as the old joke goes “How do you know when it is summer in Britain? The rain gets warmer.”
I remember one funny incident happening during the first evening as we were pitching up the tent. We had managed to secure the first couple of pegs into the ground and were working on the third when suddenly the first peg launched itself from the ground, shot up in the air then plummeted back to Earth smacking itself on the car bonnet and bouncing off. We both stood there in a state of surprised paralysis momentarily before erupting into a fit of uncontrollable laughter as the bizarre event took place.
All in all in was a good few days and as soon as I got back home
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