to die will be an awfully big adventure.
yesterday, I, amanda brocklehurst, had the spiritual experience of a lifetime when out of thousands of hopefuls, I was chosen to play the challenging role of corpse in our annual murder mystery. it was undeniably intense. you may want to skip reading this if you have a heart condition.
the moment i was told i would be the corpse, my clawed and bleeding heart started up anew. oh, the irony; it may well warrant a poem of its own.
i did not waste time but rather engaged myself in extensive character research. what does it feel like to be dead? i have often asked myself this question but never have i asked the alternative: what does it feel like to be dead due to a Firebolt beating from Lavender Brown. i can't say it was easy to get into character because i think i could take Lavender Brown easily, but a good artiste works with what she is given. i decided that i must have had a disabling stomach bug the night of my fatal encounter.
after i had reviewed all my personal notes on death in history, music, literature, pop-culture, biology and certain rat populations in eastern asia, i was ready to establish the mood. seeing as Hogwarts is so cruel as to prohibit electronics, i had to hum myself some christian death.
it was time to sew. since i like to keep a stash of velvets and lace under my bed, this was no problem.i simply stitched together a few of my ongoing projects to get that extra ragged look. i was now ready to dress the part. my house-mates seemed disturbed by my idea to try and find some chicken blood or such to apply to my dress, so i ended up using some red poster-paint. the bruises and cuts were difficult to create with makeup but it turned out horribly in the end. how perfect.
i walked out onto the pitch and lay on the muddy ground, becoming one with the earth as a corpse must. the feelings overtook me and i wanted to weep, but managed to quiet my soul in the end. the sky was black above me. i was free. until someone came over and poked me with a stick. unappreciated.
my only regret is that the ground quickly became too cold and the situation a little too dreary and dull. i was back in my room before the hour was up, actually, but i feel this does not discredit my self-actualisation. if anything it only strengthens my findings. being dead is a deeply spiritual but overall cold and lonely life stage. how deliciously poetic.
a poem by a.brocklehurst
my body is cold, stiff and cold
the ground that would envelop me is unwelcoming
foreign
cold
oh! my soul that would fly away
is stuck under a rock, i feel
a rock of my own discontent
it is pointy under my thigh
and sort of wet
fin
i do not fancy Harry Potter, by the by.
the moment i was told i would be the corpse, my clawed and bleeding heart started up anew. oh, the irony; it may well warrant a poem of its own.
i did not waste time but rather engaged myself in extensive character research. what does it feel like to be dead? i have often asked myself this question but never have i asked the alternative: what does it feel like to be dead due to a Firebolt beating from Lavender Brown. i can't say it was easy to get into character because i think i could take Lavender Brown easily, but a good artiste works with what she is given. i decided that i must have had a disabling stomach bug the night of my fatal encounter.
after i had reviewed all my personal notes on death in history, music, literature, pop-culture, biology and certain rat populations in eastern asia, i was ready to establish the mood. seeing as Hogwarts is so cruel as to prohibit electronics, i had to hum myself some christian death.
it was time to sew. since i like to keep a stash of velvets and lace under my bed, this was no problem.i simply stitched together a few of my ongoing projects to get that extra ragged look. i was now ready to dress the part. my house-mates seemed disturbed by my idea to try and find some chicken blood or such to apply to my dress, so i ended up using some red poster-paint. the bruises and cuts were difficult to create with makeup but it turned out horribly in the end. how perfect.
i walked out onto the pitch and lay on the muddy ground, becoming one with the earth as a corpse must. the feelings overtook me and i wanted to weep, but managed to quiet my soul in the end. the sky was black above me. i was free. until someone came over and poked me with a stick. unappreciated.
my only regret is that the ground quickly became too cold and the situation a little too dreary and dull. i was back in my room before the hour was up, actually, but i feel this does not discredit my self-actualisation. if anything it only strengthens my findings. being dead is a deeply spiritual but overall cold and lonely life stage. how deliciously poetic.
a poem by a.brocklehurst
my body is cold, stiff and cold
the ground that would envelop me is unwelcoming
foreign
cold
oh! my soul that would fly away
is stuck under a rock, i feel
a rock of my own discontent
it is pointy under my thigh
and sort of wet
fin
i do not fancy Harry Potter, by the by.