amonkie

Welcome to the Weekly Writing Challenge!


Just a reminder... all challenges are left open, so if you are just joining us, or your muse took a leave of absence during a previous challenge, feel free to go though the other 32 challenges so far and work through those, if you so choose


ALSO : if you ever have any writing Challenge IDEAS!! please let me know and I will incorporate them ...








Have a great week - Enjoy your writing

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Calling from deep in the heart, from where the eyes can't see and the ears can't hear, from where the mountain trails end and only love can go... ~~~ Three Rivers Hare Krishna

Bob Biter

Heaven and earth shift in synch. It makes sense to him now. Silly games when he was young, losing his dog, the first kiss, the first heartbreak, winning a big game, falling from a tree and breaking his arm, getting a job, crashing his car, graduation, parties, hangovers, falling in love, big news, nervousness, waiting.

Memories piled up as a castle made of cards, leading up towards a light. His arms open wide, closing gently around it. The brightness warms his hands with its purity, its promise, its newness. His name is Adam and he must name it, he must make it real.

"Vivian." The word of life leaves him as a whisper, the light breathes it in. It softens, takes shape, becomes a beautiful girl.

Paradise comes to this room of white and blue. Silly games, nasty spills, ups and downs, all lead to this moment. The joy... the sheer joy! He doesn't blink. He never wants to blink again. He looks to his love, the source of this light, smiling.

"Vivian," she says, her face aglow with serenity. "I like it."

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A plan is just a list of things that don't happen.

ngdawg

Of all the powers I possess
And hold between my hands
The light of love I long to have
As I struggle to grasp its strands
Over my heart my fingers lie
Never touching but closing in
The heat grows ever stronger now
The heart beats soft within
The light of you shines and all else fades
As I touch your face in rapture
All my love, my giving force
In one moment's heated capture
Of all the powers I possess
So elusive the heart of one
I will close my eyes and hold your light
Until my life is done

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Don't blame me. I didn't vote for either of'em.

Bob Biter

ngdawg, that was really good! Thank you.

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A plan is just a list of things that don't happen.

tecoyah

As I grasp at this light, you call your love
and blinded see what eyes always miss
I can know you
fitting my hand with warmth like a glove
this heart between fingers a bliss
I can feel you
A star in my palms this gift from above
reminder of whats in your kiss
I can taste you

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Holding onto anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned. - Buddha

Daknjak

Ever changing, shifting slowly
Something wakes me from this dream
Nothingness overtakes me
Things aren't always as they seem.

Something calls me, shakes me, scares me
Shinging brightly far away
I walk in darkness barely breathing
Keeping all my fears at bay

Softly something takes my hand
It leads me through the darkness deep
Walking, flying through the haze
Behind my eyes begin to weep

The light it fills me, holds me up
Makes all my dreams if life come true
I wake up holding what I came for
I wake up holding you

(This is my first time contributing. It is a little weak.)

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On a Mens room ceiling: "Why are you looking up here? The joke is in your hand."

"He who laughs last thinks slowest."

stevie667

I forsee not in my life,
Peace nor sacraficial hate,
But the eternal darkness,
The demons within,
Those who would take us from ourselves,
Deliver us unto evils claw.

Never would i be afraid,
For I forsee that should when what we are crumble and fall,
The walls of our minds fail,
Erethral lumos should save us,
Gods among the smallest words,
Not great machines of war.

In the light of heaven,
Vault of stars,
Seek your soul,
Seek your heart,
Those will you find,
Those will save you,
Those will set you free.


That one sucks so much, but that picture makes my mind dissapear into visual, not literary devices *goes to find some sparkly things and a digicam*.

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Office hours have changed. Please call during office hours for more information.

vox_rox

Firstly, I have to say that Bob Biter is frigging amazing.
Same for NGdawg.

Now, here's my entry...


The weight of his head nestled in his hands, a now familiar pose. The weight.

Working so hard, so many years, teaching was all he ever wanted to do. Even this class, these "challenged learners," he knew he could work with them.

Still he felt the weight. The weight of a dozen empty minds, barely filled, but heavy on his mind.

One last glance at the quotation on his wall, and he will try again. Not for the last time, just for another time.

"Properly, we should read for power. Man reading should be man intensely alive. The book should be a ball of light in one's hand."

Ezra Pound knew the strength of knowledge when he wrote those words.

It's this strength lifts him up off the desk to face the classroom.

Weightless.


Peace,

Pierre

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There is no such thing as strong coffee - only weak people.
---

zakool21

The world in his hands, riding his own curtails, things couldn't have been any better. To ignore the laws that our fellow men write and write his own rules for life - that was his utopia.

Living in this incredible world day after day, he finds himself blissfully free from these governing rules, rules of the land that some people even give their lives to follow.

Come the waking hour, he instantly realizes the sadness of his story - his life is not completely free after all. The simple illusion of freedom in a world of rules has taken him once again, this time, in a place that rarely lies - his dreams. Things that he takes as indications of personal freedom - the self-written routine that he clings to so much, the seemingly perfect defiance of convention, are just the telltale signs of his ultimate identity in this world - simply another human in the river of space and time.

The waves - the ups and downs of a successful life, sin, but not sinful at all. Some are jealous, and some glance scornfully, but he is no different than you or I. Beaming all day, just like the world he holds with delicate balance, he is not special in the least - he simply has a different zero.

tecoyah

"he is not special in the least - he simply has a different zero."


Fucking awesome

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Holding onto anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned. - Buddha

vonstalhein

Agreed. That picture seems to have sparked some nice ideas.

'Ever changing, shifting slowly
Something wakes me from this dream
Nothingness overtakes me
Things aren't always as they seem.'

That too is satisfyingly put together.

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No Win No Fee

amonkie

cupping in wonder despite the pain
scars left in tender flesh naive
distress
decieving delicacy leaves buried
enduring strength undiscovered
despair
only a single moment captured
while yet ages fill the spheres
enlightenment
in the moment of discovery
It was there all along

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Calling from deep in the heart, from where the eyes can't see and the ears can't hear, from where the mountain trails end and only love can go... ~~~ Three Rivers Hare Krishna

silvertiger

... the power surged through him in pulses as he strained to control the flow of his will power. It was not as he expected, and was quite a strain. he could feel the floodding essence push through his every fiber of his being.

Mischal had been preparing for this specific weave for over 5 years. The training was intense and often overwhelming. It required that he be in top physical condition and have a mental acuity few achieved. Guided by his intuition and thirst for knowledge he had excelled in every aspect of his study beyond his wildest expectations. As a proud young mage in the first year of his study he was intent with the mere ability to control the mystical powers enough to light a candle.

The encantation he was vested in at the moment was a complex weave of threads from all 7 of the fabric of the ether. With the power of his will and the focus of a trained mage he was intertwining the torrential yet fluid water weave with the contrasting crystaline weave of the element of death. of all the elements death was the most unpredicatble and often the most fatal to work with. Of the known mages of this melinnia only 3 other weavefinders had tried to fabricate any weave of this magnitude and all had died horrendously.

As he tried to center himself within the sworling vortex that was his inner chaos he felt the sudden pang of fear as the forming essence lost the balance it needed. In order to recover he would have to infuse a slight portion of the element of Air. As time stopped he drifted from the forming flow and isolated one of the loose ends of ether that would allow him to pull in the essence of Air he needed. Mentally he fastened the weave to his being and began back to his feeble body as the flow trailed along behind him.

A bead of sweat rolled across his brow and deposited it on his closed eyelid. he could feel the heat generated by the coalescing product of his efforts that was beginning to form in his hands. The night air breezed past him creating a refreshing vapor that drew the sweat from him and cooled him as he concentrated. He could not afford these little distractions of sensation as they only drew him away from the task at hand.

Over time he was beginning to lose his strength and his ability to control the flows necessary. .. Just a few moments longer .. that was all he needed. He strained to focus as he tied the last few edges into the weave. His thoughts became random and chaotic as he began to lose control of his body. His arms twitched with the effort of remaining in place for the hours that were required but he again redoubled his efforts to command his body to remain still. Just as he felt as though he could maintain this facade no longer he was lost in a blur of confusion and terror.

Mischal collapsed to the ground in weakened despair barely conscoius as the fully formed crystal silently rolled gently from his hand. The only sound to be heard in the forest was the low ringing that eminated from the crystal. as he lay on thh ground unable to get any response from his body, his lucid mind raced with what could have gone wrong. Was the combination of weaves he had discovered incorrect? had he brought forth corruption upon this land?

His sullied mind was too busy contmplating the errors or miscalculations that he may have introduced to notice that the crystal was growing brighter in concert with the ringing, which was begoming a high pitched tune akin to that of a small summoning bell but hundreds of times more penetrating. As the sphere's attributes grew in intensity Mischal found that he was regaining his strength. After a short time he was able to drag himself from tie ground enough to see the crystal clearly for the first time.

The gem shone with the beauty of a thousand pristine diamons in the early morning sunlight and was becoming almost too bright to look upon. he picked it up and cradled it in his emaciated hands and stared in awe. Had he finally done it? created what no mage in a melimmeum had? If this was true, it was the beginning of a new era and the return of an extinct way of life long lost.

He turned to the heavens and called with all his might "I bring to life the first incarnation of the world of old to roam these planes unchallenged, I call upon the elements to infuse this shard with all of the known fabrics or the universe and my by my will restore what has been lost!"

History may not know his name in five hundred years, but the entire world would come to revere and fear the name of the origin of magic, the name "Elchinas". He whipsered the name to the gem and it pulsed with bright white light as it was imprinted with it's identity and swelled with its new found purpose. He tossed the crystal with unearthly force into the air. The shard flew up with frightening speed as Mischal focused his magic on the orb. When the shard was nearly too high to see he released what would be his last act of weaving upon the crystal and it shattered with the brilliance of a dying star's last moments as it exploded giving all of its essence to the universe. The blue hue of the energy release lit the entire landscape and everything as far as the horizon and likely beyond.

Mischal recoiled form the heat and light and fell to the ground once again. as his vision recovered He peered into the vast sky above and caught a shadow of what he knew was the essence he had sommoned and grinned. The long lost hosts of magic and bearers of knowledge untold had been restored to the planes. A smile crossed his face as he watched the first Blue Dragon in over eight hundred generations of mankind flew over the horizon to seek its destiny.

spongy

If asked, Jake could not explain why he had walked into the palm reader's shop. He didn't really believe in that sort of thing, but something just compelled him to enter. The mid 30-ish woman greeted him with a fake generic gypsy accent and asked him "Vhat do you vant to know, your future, your lucky number, vhat can I do for you, young Mr. Chambers?"
At first Jake was shaken by this, but quickly remembered that his mother had put his name on his backpack, and she could clearly see his name. "Um, I guess I want to see what's in that crystal ball" he stammered.
"Five dollars... up front young man." Jake nervously pulled out his wallet, unconsciously licking the sweat off his upper lip as handed over the money.

Deftly securing the cash in her ample cleavage, Madame Svetlana ushered Jake into the chair opposite her.The first few minutes of the reading were what Jake's father would have called "the usual bullshit" and Jake hid a smile as he considered what his Father would say if he knew Jake was here, getting a reading. After Madame Svetlana had told Jake he would be a fabulously successful Player for the New York Yankees, would marry a model, and be the happiets man ever, when Jake heard a buzzing whine in his head. And it itched... inside his head, it itched, although Jake could not fathom how that could be.Then it started getting weird.
Jake saw flashes of color in the crystal ball. Red then black, moving quickly through the rainbow from there. As the color intensified, Jake started to reach for the ball.
Madame Svetlana tried to stop jake, but must have seen something in his face, for she quickly started to look at the crystal ball, to really look at it. And what she saw, scared her.
"what the fuck did you do?" she shrieked, dropping all pretense at the accent. If Jake had been listening to her, he would have recognized it as the same one as people from this very neighborhood.
But Jake was listening to something else, and didn't notice that she left to go in the back room.

As Jake cradled the ball in his hands, the buzzing stopped.AT least that's what he first thought. But the buzzing had actually become a song, or a tuneless symphony of voices, singing notes of pure joy. And Jake saw clearly a rose, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and altough he would never now this, he had begun to cry. The rose faded and Jake was unaware of the whimper he uttered as it faded from view. What he saw next was a face. A face he had never seen, yet he knew.

The face belonged to Roland, and as he caressed the crystal, he said as in a dream, "there are other worlds than this." The face looked straight at Jake and said something to him, or rather tried to, as Jake could not hear him, try as he might. He was attempting to read his lips (how do I know his name is Roland, and why do I call him "Father" in my heart), and thought he was saying "nineteen." Jake had no idea what it meant, but knew it was time to go. The spell was fading from him, and he became aware of sounds from the back room, and the New Yorker in him knew he was almost certainly in for trouble. Jake quickly put down the crystal, grabbed his backpack with one hand and wiped the tears from his face with the other, and quickly fled the shop.

That night the dreams began.

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The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.

Stephen King

Bob Biter

silvertiger and spongy, very cool original stories! The latter half of both stories are especially good. Keep it up!

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A plan is just a list of things that don't happen.

spongy

While an original story, it would have to fall under fanfic.. and my first attempt at it to.

Jake and Roland are major characters from Stephen King's Dark Tower series.

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The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.

Stephen King

Strange Famous

I saw a great light, and I saw a terrible darkness
Under the mistletoe
Of this old castle school
I never lived
A life placed here or there
But I can still see
Something, anyway

Two heated palms
reaching out from the heart
Towards the sky
And the face of God
Burning to kill and give life
To all the little things
Spin, spin, spin
You can still do it
Even when you dont understand

Beauty if everybody's weakness
So I cant blame you
For what I've done
So I wont blame you
For whats been done in your name.
Light like sprites
Dancing in swamps
Burn your hands
Right down to metal shapes
If you're not careful
Any day.

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"Do not tell lies, and do not do what you hate,
for all things are plain in the sight of Heaven. For nothing
hidden will not become manifest, and nothing covered will remain
without being uncovered."

The Gospel of Thomas

air45

my stiff member
can light the night!
it arousal is all i must need
to see!
with a baby oil for help
i rub
and make the wish
for good happy times
for all people
every where
i see the light!
in my hands
in my pants

bendsley

"Father", he said. "Would you like to see what I'm making? It's taken me a few days thus far, but I'm not finished yet."

"What is it for?", his Father asked.

"It's home for all things to come Father. I think I'm going to call it, Earth."

.......And, on the 7th day, the project was complete.


corny i know, but just the first thought that came into my mind. sorry for this being so short.

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"You hear the one about the fella who died, went to the pearly gates? St. Peter let him in. Sees a guy in a suit making a closing argument. Says, "Who's that?" St. Peter says, "Oh, that's God. Thinks he's Denny Crane."

msh58

its strange when god visits a person
or is it just a brain gone wrong
feel the warmth
settle in the chest
a gift
from the creator

its not that the world
is that cold
its not

but if a person
gets low enough
to where
drinking bleach
seems the right answer
a temperature drop
has happened

feel that warmth
spread
through the body
after so many days
in the abyss

easy to confuse it with heaven
and think you've arrived
after so many days
and nights
in the cold

but the warmth brightens life
to the point
where a person can go on again

so god brings it back to himself
to help others
who need it

feel it come back out through the shoulders
down the arms
and appear in the hands
before it travels on
to where it came from

leaves the person
with that feeling of loss
thats its gone

but knowing that they are not alone
ever