I See Dead People! + Tilting Windmills - Week 9
Since this is my first post to the community, it is granted that this is partly my introduction post. I'm Jess - 
fede - and this is my writing journal that I use in all of the communities just to help myself keep track of it all. I'm currently a teenager but, never fear, my maturity level has long since progressed from the stereotype. However, the majority of my writings do tend to be angst - or have similar themes - and how small things add up into very large things. As most people, I do enjoy feedback and I'll be making an effort to give some back once I've read a few pieces.
Beams of sunlight penetrate the kitchen window at the early hours of dawn. Long shadows form outside - the old pecan tree's shadow devouring the weed infested flower bed - and push through to the inside.
An old man is sitting in front of the window, reclined in a wooden chair, staring outside.
Sounds of giggling comes from the far side of the house and the sounds of small feet trying to be quiet, but failing as they move too quickly, grows louder. The young girl slows her running down when she nears the old man, knowing that he will be in the room and sneaks in the room, playing a game of sorts. She tiptoes behind him before tugging his arm and pointing outside, asking, "Why is it that we don't go outside anymore?"
The old man turns to her and simply answers, "It is simply too hard now; it has been too long to leave."
The young girl seems to understand as she grows quiet and her face betrays a thoughts that are beyond her years.
"What are we to do when the end comes?"
"We'll leave."
The girl looks at the old man, confusion in her eyes. "But how are we to leave when we can not?"
The old man looks at her long and hard, thinking of what he is to say in response. "We'll know when the time comes, but until then, don't worry about it. Now, go off and play," he finishes with a small and nudges her.
The young girl scampers out, seemingly content with the answers and goes about her business of playing house. The old man, however, sits there and ponders - he is forever pondering as in that moment, the house collapses, leaving the old man and the young girl forever trapped in their ghostly realm.
Regret is the spiral of notebook paper that I have hidden underneath my bed, in hopes of my forgetting it but always knowing that it is there. So many things that have remained unsaid as the pages are clean. So many apologies never accepted as they were never given a voice as the pages are innocent. So many secrets kept as the pages are fresh. So many people never met as the pages are still there. So many chances missed as I'm too scared to rip one out - in fear of ruining it or another. So many memories never formed as the papers are useless.
fede - and this is my writing journal that I use in all of the communities just to help myself keep track of it all. I'm currently a teenager but, never fear, my maturity level has long since progressed from the stereotype. However, the majority of my writings do tend to be angst - or have similar themes - and how small things add up into very large things. As most people, I do enjoy feedback and I'll be making an effort to give some back once I've read a few pieces.Beams of sunlight penetrate the kitchen window at the early hours of dawn. Long shadows form outside - the old pecan tree's shadow devouring the weed infested flower bed - and push through to the inside.
An old man is sitting in front of the window, reclined in a wooden chair, staring outside.
Sounds of giggling comes from the far side of the house and the sounds of small feet trying to be quiet, but failing as they move too quickly, grows louder. The young girl slows her running down when she nears the old man, knowing that he will be in the room and sneaks in the room, playing a game of sorts. She tiptoes behind him before tugging his arm and pointing outside, asking, "Why is it that we don't go outside anymore?"
The old man turns to her and simply answers, "It is simply too hard now; it has been too long to leave."
The young girl seems to understand as she grows quiet and her face betrays a thoughts that are beyond her years.
"What are we to do when the end comes?"
"We'll leave."
The girl looks at the old man, confusion in her eyes. "But how are we to leave when we can not?"
The old man looks at her long and hard, thinking of what he is to say in response. "We'll know when the time comes, but until then, don't worry about it. Now, go off and play," he finishes with a small and nudges her.
The young girl scampers out, seemingly content with the answers and goes about her business of playing house. The old man, however, sits there and ponders - he is forever pondering as in that moment, the house collapses, leaving the old man and the young girl forever trapped in their ghostly realm.
Regret is the spiral of notebook paper that I have hidden underneath my bed, in hopes of my forgetting it but always knowing that it is there. So many things that have remained unsaid as the pages are clean. So many apologies never accepted as they were never given a voice as the pages are innocent. So many secrets kept as the pages are fresh. So many people never met as the pages are still there. So many chances missed as I'm too scared to rip one out - in fear of ruining it or another. So many memories never formed as the papers are useless.
