TBE - To Be Edited
This is gonna be a collection of works, things I'm writing this weekend to hand in for English.
The idea was that we had these questions/prompts, and as practice for our exams should time ourselves for 40 minutes, and aim for 500 words.
Question: "Your local community is publishing a collection of young people's imaginative writing about journeys. Choose an image and write about it"
Image chosen: two hands.
490 words, 25 mins. 13/15
It wasn't until a hand was reaching out for mine that I realised how far I had fallen in my illness. I had been so preoccupied with my feelings, isolating myself from everyone that I loved and that cared about me. I was so caught up, I just didn't realise what was happening. I had spent the last, I don't even know how many months, just trying to figure myself out. But at the same time, I was burying myself in my work, studying like mad for finals that still aren't for months yet, and that now I will perhaps never sit, working extra hours at my part time job, all in an effort to escape my mind's taunting words. I rarely saw my friends or family anymore, phone and internet long since abandoned in lieu of study. The money I was getting from work was just sitting in my bank account, multiplying idly by the fortnight - I never spared a minute for leisure, and I was never hungry anymore, so groceries weren't an option. I mostly felt like something was eating me from the inside out and it put me off my appetite for days at a time.
Sometimes I just wanted to rip my hair out, hoping it would take the parts of my mind that were screaming at me about perfection and not being good enough, never being good enough with it. I didn't pull my hair out though, no. I picked up a razor blade, scissors, knife, anything sharp I could get my hands on and gave in to the voices, my subconcious, trying to carve perfection into my skin, my thighs, my hips, my wrists. I would watch my blood, a perfect shade of vibrant red, wash away, taking strands of perfection with it, pieces of my mind. The more blood I saw, the less perfect I would feel. Dizzier through the loss of blood and it would make me throw up all that I had eaten. Looking in the mirror and seeing the sharp points of bones beneath my porcelain skin brought the voices back to the forefront of my mind and I would scream, hurrying out of the bathroom as my voice echoed behind me and layering on clothes in an effort to still my quaking. But it didn't stop. Would never stop.
CALLIE falls, center stage.
STRANGER enters, stage left.
I don't know how long I was out, but I'd fallen, collapsed from exhaustion, during a closing shift and I'd been the only one in the building. When I came to there was an old face peering at my own, worriedly. It sighed in relief as my eyes blinked open and I tried to sit up. I was helped up, handed a bottle of water and told to drink, and ambulance was coming, it would all be okay.
That old man saved my life that day, and I hadn't known till then that I'd needed saving.
Question: A selection of students' imaginative writing will be included in the CD-ROM 'The Journey'.
Prompt: Journey of the Heart.
476 words, 22 minutes. 12/15
You've gone too far now. Past halfway. No way back. The point of no return gone long ago. You keep wishing, praying, for someone to come and save you, rescue you. A Prince Charming. But no one's coming. You're on your own now. It was your choice to leave. To reap some benefits for yourself, but what do you have to show for yourself? Nothing. You're stuck. Lost. You don't know where you are anymore. You've lost yourself and everyone that cared about you.There's no one to blame but yourself. You cut the ties. You wanted independence. You wanted to show them all how great you could be. But you took it too far and now there's no turning back. You cut the ties and now no one wants you to go back. You betrayed them. Maybe if you weren't so hotheaded. Maybe if you cared about someone else for a change, instead of yourself and what you can gain from an aquaintance, of which you now have none, from a conversation, no one talks to you now, they can't stand the vicious and bigotted words that escape your mouth at every turn into even the most innocent of talks. You threw it all away and now you've got nothing.
There was a moment. Always a moment. You had a choice. You could go it alone and show them what you're made of, or you could have some company along the way. You made the wrong choice and no one could stop the harsh words that flowed forth in the exact timbre of your voice. You had your moment and you threw it away. And for what? What do you have now? A nice car? Money in the bank? Three bedroom house and no one else to live in it with you. You wanted it all and you got it. But what's the point if you have no one to share it with? It makes you feel empty inside. Empty and full of regret. You wish, pray, that you could go back. Back to that moment so you didn't have to go it alone.
Success is a lonely place and you're right at the top. All it would take to get them all back, your old friends, family, just a single, simple word. Just say Sorry. But you can't. You built up walls so no one could touch you but you locked yourself in at the same time. You're just a shell of who you used to be and no one can save you now. Years pass and you lock yourself away further. Lose yourself, lose the world you once knew. There is no escape from this ugly place. If you could take it all back you would. No backwards glances. But you didn't read the fine print when you signed up for this.
There is no going back.
The idea was that we had these questions/prompts, and as practice for our exams should time ourselves for 40 minutes, and aim for 500 words.
Question: "Your local community is publishing a collection of young people's imaginative writing about journeys. Choose an image and write about it"
Image chosen: two hands.
490 words, 25 mins. 13/15
It wasn't until a hand was reaching out for mine that I realised how far I had fallen in my illness. I had been so preoccupied with my feelings, isolating myself from everyone that I loved and that cared about me. I was so caught up, I just didn't realise what was happening. I had spent the last, I don't even know how many months, just trying to figure myself out. But at the same time, I was burying myself in my work, studying like mad for finals that still aren't for months yet, and that now I will perhaps never sit, working extra hours at my part time job, all in an effort to escape my mind's taunting words. I rarely saw my friends or family anymore, phone and internet long since abandoned in lieu of study. The money I was getting from work was just sitting in my bank account, multiplying idly by the fortnight - I never spared a minute for leisure, and I was never hungry anymore, so groceries weren't an option. I mostly felt like something was eating me from the inside out and it put me off my appetite for days at a time.
Sometimes I just wanted to rip my hair out, hoping it would take the parts of my mind that were screaming at me about perfection and not being good enough, never being good enough with it. I didn't pull my hair out though, no. I picked up a razor blade, scissors, knife, anything sharp I could get my hands on and gave in to the voices, my subconcious, trying to carve perfection into my skin, my thighs, my hips, my wrists. I would watch my blood, a perfect shade of vibrant red, wash away, taking strands of perfection with it, pieces of my mind. The more blood I saw, the less perfect I would feel. Dizzier through the loss of blood and it would make me throw up all that I had eaten. Looking in the mirror and seeing the sharp points of bones beneath my porcelain skin brought the voices back to the forefront of my mind and I would scream, hurrying out of the bathroom as my voice echoed behind me and layering on clothes in an effort to still my quaking. But it didn't stop. Would never stop.
CALLIE falls, center stage.
STRANGER enters, stage left.
I don't know how long I was out, but I'd fallen, collapsed from exhaustion, during a closing shift and I'd been the only one in the building. When I came to there was an old face peering at my own, worriedly. It sighed in relief as my eyes blinked open and I tried to sit up. I was helped up, handed a bottle of water and told to drink, and ambulance was coming, it would all be okay.
That old man saved my life that day, and I hadn't known till then that I'd needed saving.
Question: A selection of students' imaginative writing will be included in the CD-ROM 'The Journey'.
Prompt: Journey of the Heart.
476 words, 22 minutes. 12/15
You've gone too far now. Past halfway. No way back. The point of no return gone long ago. You keep wishing, praying, for someone to come and save you, rescue you. A Prince Charming. But no one's coming. You're on your own now. It was your choice to leave. To reap some benefits for yourself, but what do you have to show for yourself? Nothing. You're stuck. Lost. You don't know where you are anymore. You've lost yourself and everyone that cared about you.There's no one to blame but yourself. You cut the ties. You wanted independence. You wanted to show them all how great you could be. But you took it too far and now there's no turning back. You cut the ties and now no one wants you to go back. You betrayed them. Maybe if you weren't so hotheaded. Maybe if you cared about someone else for a change, instead of yourself and what you can gain from an aquaintance, of which you now have none, from a conversation, no one talks to you now, they can't stand the vicious and bigotted words that escape your mouth at every turn into even the most innocent of talks. You threw it all away and now you've got nothing.
There was a moment. Always a moment. You had a choice. You could go it alone and show them what you're made of, or you could have some company along the way. You made the wrong choice and no one could stop the harsh words that flowed forth in the exact timbre of your voice. You had your moment and you threw it away. And for what? What do you have now? A nice car? Money in the bank? Three bedroom house and no one else to live in it with you. You wanted it all and you got it. But what's the point if you have no one to share it with? It makes you feel empty inside. Empty and full of regret. You wish, pray, that you could go back. Back to that moment so you didn't have to go it alone.
Success is a lonely place and you're right at the top. All it would take to get them all back, your old friends, family, just a single, simple word. Just say Sorry. But you can't. You built up walls so no one could touch you but you locked yourself in at the same time. You're just a shell of who you used to be and no one can save you now. Years pass and you lock yourself away further. Lose yourself, lose the world you once knew. There is no escape from this ugly place. If you could take it all back you would. No backwards glances. But you didn't read the fine print when you signed up for this.
There is no going back.