Arcadia

Since everyone wants new members and new posts, fine. I'll write something.
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A small little boy with feathery brown hair

A bright golden heart but deep hurt in his stare

Caught in the hands of evil with someone who should love

His mother's faulty 'wisdom' did not come from above

There was only one thing that could keep this quiet boy sane

Despite, how in his mother's words, he was 'wasting his brain'

Only one thing to keep the storm in his eyes tame

This innocent young boy had always loved to game

The push of the smooth buttons with his nimble fingers

It was here, when he was hurt, he would always linger

The arcade was always there, holding together his life like tape

And it was here that he would find a great escape

One day while pushing buttons during a heated sword fight

The boy rose off the floor and was sucked into the light

His feet returned to the ground, but the floor was not the same

It was earthy and green and pixelated- just like in the game

In his hand he held a sword, its blade posessing a brilliant gleam

He was strong-unlike anytime else in his life, it would seem

But now the boy who cowered in the corner stood like a tall tower

And in place of the raging storm, his big brown eyes now held power

And so the boy ventured on his journey at the mercy of a game

But his pixelated predators could not defeat the boy with the much chanted name

It was an amazing escape for a boy trapped in despair

Who now held triumph in his eyes to fill his empty state

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I came up with this idea from a song my brother played in his car. The song featured the sort of music you would hear in video games, and I visualized a story to go along with the music. I envisioned a small boy- a victim of his mother's abuse- playing video games in his safe place, the arcade. Suddenly, the Bo is sucked into the game and becomes a heroic video game character, journeying through the game and defeating the forces that oppose him, giving him the strength and power he had never had in his normal life.

New members?

  Unfortunately, some of our members have been leaving and most of us don't have time to post, due to school, I think it's time we bring in new members. These will not replace already existing members,unless you plan on leaving, but will add to our numbers. I already have a friend in my mind whose writing had been growing very well. Do you guys think we should have new members?

   ~BSH

 

Poem About My Mother.

We had a homework assignment which was to write a poem about either one of our parents and I chose my Mom, she was a little angry at me that day so I am glad this made her a little bit happy. 

Feel free to critique it and tell me what I did wrong.

I'm particularly proud of this poem, and it's the first poem I've written that I'm proud of.

This is also my first post here. You're going to be seeing more of me here, I've been reading a lot which has inspired me to write a lot.

Mother

My life without her

would be tedious, mundane and bland.

She’s a small sweet cocoon

that shelters me

from the wild, the evil and the foul.

Her smile glows like the radiant sun

that lights up the earth.

I wish I can and relive

all the precious moments I spent with her

and I hope they live eternally.

She’s a voluminous tree

that keeps me shaded

from the wet and stormy nights.

Her hugs are like shields

that keep away enemies.

Her eyes are flowing rivers

of burnt umber paint.

She’s a never ending basket of joy

that lifts my spirits.

Her love is immortal and vast

and stronger than the force of gravity.

-Rawan

Prologue to '13 may be a lucky number'

   Title of my story is definitely not 100% yet. This is just the only title I could think of. This may not be the world's best prologue, (I'm definitely not the world's best author for that matter either) but I'm gonna try.  Here it goes:

   Prologue

    He was running. He had to get the child away from all the enemies that were hot on his trail.  It would break what was left of his heart, if they would get their hands on her.

    He was almost there. They would shelter her from everything. He knew he should be happy with the arrangement, but why was he feeling so upset? He shook himself. The couple had recently lost their unborn baby, and after hearing about it, he quickly offered up his child. The couple would offer shelter and never show her his world.

   The black bundle in his arms made some whining noises. He stopped for just a second to study his child. Her onyx black eyes bore into his equally black eyes. He put his hand carefully on her soft head that was so vulnerable. He replaced his hand with his lips. He drew back and noticed she was developing the soft black hair that reminded him so much of her mother. He kept walking, though at a noticeably slower pace.

   He reached the meeting point. The couple was already there. Luckily, they knew the price if they ventured any farther. It would cost them their souls.

   He stopped right in front of them. He thrust out the little black bundle. The skull keychain banged against the side. He cringed. He wanted to remove the keychain, but the truth was he wanted to keep her connected to her roots.

   The couple grabbed the black bundle before he even got to say hello. They were that excited, eh?

   He murmured," Goodbye, Phoebe."

   And that was that.

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I'm proud of this prologue. Comments are appreciated. Thank you for reading!!! 

Time to Say Goodbye

  Hey everypony, it's Carolyn!  I decided that I need to cut down on all the blogs I own.  It's quite crazy the amount that I have right now, and it's simply not going to work all that well.  Therefore, I'm going to remove myself from Siete de Awesome.  I've never really posted my work on here, so I feel like it's just taking up space on my dashboard, I suppose.  I love ALL of y'all here!  I'm not leaving the blogging world, just this blog.  Love you all! <3

~Carolyn

Execution

Bind me up up so I cannot flee
Before I'm flung into the sea
So my hatred may be ever-soaked
And I'll no longer be provoked

The ocean waves find my faults
Each gnashing their teeth of salt
A hunger is born to tear my pale flesh
And eat my soul while the anger's still fresh

I wish to fly and close my eyes
But I am weighted by the mass despise
This bird with ripped wings is now held down
And her heart of gold has turned to brown

My captors are daring and fierce like the sea
But only through the hatred they feel for me
My time has come for damp eyes to turn wetter
And I can't help but feel that I could have done better

I'm pushed to the edge so I may taunt the sea
One nice meal and not so much as a fee
Before I know it, a hand shoves me behind
And as I fall through the air, I say goodbye to my angry mind.

Violent Haunt

  Objects had been strewn across the room by the cold hands of my fury. Cold, yet fiery. I could feel it, my eyes illuminated so bright and powerful- but powerless. How could someone feel so powerfully enraged, yet so helpless and alone? Hated? Repulsive? If I go on to list more of my many names, you may begin to believe I really am this person. But do you want to know a secret? Oh, I’ll tell you one.
  I’m not really like this. I swear, I can be so nice it shocks me. I wonder how the Hyde to Jekyll transformation occurred. How was this held back? Why? This is the sort of thing that makes you want to throw an ugly book off the table. It confuses you. How could you be a disgusting machine of hate one moment, then find total sweetness inside of you? Feel the urge to show extreme kindness and empathy?. Empathy. That’s it.
  Some people say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I will take this moment to tell you to shut up. It does NOT make you stronger. It breaks you down. You have too much on your plate, you eventually drop it. It breaks. It all spills out. I would know. Not only did I drop a glass bowl of ice cream when I was three, but I’ve kept all my emotions inside until they all burst out of me like fireworks gone awry. THAT’S what makes me this way. I’m reticent. I hate the people at my school, I don’t want to talk to them, and I don’t want to listen to them. I am soft-spoken, so they never hear me anyway. You think I can confide in them? Tell them my deepest hurt? No. I keep it all inside, and it makes a meal out of me. It eats me alive.
  Anyways, what compels me to be so nice sometimes? Empathy. I see some idiot picking on someone online. Everybody hates her. They say things, and I don’t like it. I comfort the girl, tell her she’s perfect. I tell her I’ve been through it all. She’s amazed at how nice I’m being. Why don’t I hate her? Why am I the only one who’s not mad? It’s because of empathy. I know what it’s like, and I build people up when they go through it. What doesn’t kill me doesn’t make me emotionally stronger. It enables me to comfort and understand when no one else will, and it gives me stronger opinions on the treatment of people.
  As I drag my feet to pick up ugly books and scattered pages, I think of these opinions, my reasoning. I wonder how people justify cussing someone out when they do wrong. Sorry to butt in, but being rude and nasty to someone who did something rude and nasty is hypocritical.  Let’s say someone cusses out your friend. You cuss them out. Great, now you’re both in wrong. You inflicted pain on another person. You have now done wrong, too. Your tongue is slippery as soap, which is what your mouth is going to get pretty soon.

Good. I think. She won’t be coming for me today. All I had to do was think positive thoughts. Review my opinions on human treatment in my head, getting into something without digging at myself. But it was then that I realized that I had just thrown a storm of books across the room. Rats. Maybe she was coming for me.

  I heard it. The unmistakable sound of a heartbeat. It was loud and artificial. Loud enough to bounce around the stone walls. Every time I heard it, she came. She was coming. My face scrunched as if I were about to cry, but I released it. Tears were in my eyes. I was scared.
  I saw her. First I saw her silhouette walking angrily down the hallway, but then she broke out into a run. I let out a little squeal. With my back against the wall, I shrank down, crying as I went.   
  
  She came. It was worse than any storm you may have ever cowered from. This was a whole new storm. Tears formed the rain, which was harder than any rain you would know. She came, yelling, her echoing voice more thunderous than anything you’ve ever experienced. She threw herself against me, her fists acting as two big hailstones. She shoved me against the wall harder than any stormy wind could have, and yanked me around. She pulled me up into a lopsided standing position and threw me to my left.

I collapsed onto the floor not out of weakness, but in order to crawl away from her grasp. As she had just revealed, I was an easier target if I was standing up. It’s a bit of a pain to lean down and beat on someone. I crawled frantically, but not fast enough. My heart skipped and I let out a short scream as she quickly bounded toward me. She dove onto the ground- onto me- and pinned me down. Her breathing was rough, her eyes fierce. The darkness of the room made their usual shade of dark blue turn even darker. Her hair was blonde, but a different sort of blond from mine. Her face was not mine either. Nevertheless, this violent fear of mine was me.