Rattle. Clink.

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

Rattle Clink. It amazes me how softly storms crawl over my little valley. Clinging to the free air and pulling themselves up and over the distant mountains.

The sun has blinked – and your bones have clattered.

Your lungs are fresh. Your stones are clattered.

It amazes me how softly storms crawl over my little valley. Clawing at our scape like an old finale.

Waiting. Blustering. Sending me clattering.

Written by Alecia Writes.

Half the Price, Half the Rights

Tags

, , , , , ,

“That will be 100 cubes, sir.” The man said. Sliding up the very scratched, glass window.

“I thought it was half price. That’s what you were advertising, Toll Man.” He replied, agitated. Starting to dig around in his cloth pockets. Looking for a piece of metal that had the ad printed on.

“It was… before I got to look at you. Which is an insult in case you are confused. A lot more effort and time – equals more cubes. Which then means if you don’t have the currency – you need to leave and let the next living body through. We do not accept the undead through the holiday season.”

He looked around. People behind him were grinning with long jaws. Shaking uncontrollably, sending their limbs clutching to the air – unsound and sobbing. Between the deep inhale of breaths, snorting noses and a bad speaker system, he just wanted to get out of there. “Right.” He responded, pulling out a small rectangular box and started to count them. Only to realize that was all that he had, so he just handed the box to the Toll Man. Who took it carelessly. Running is long fingers across his new payment. 

Written by Alecia Writes

The Red Moon.

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , ,

The air was chilled and threaten snow. But that didn’t stop them. Barefoot and shivering, they carefully balanced on the fallen tree. Stepping over the protruding branches that poked out like little lollipops. The texture a mixture of a sandy beach that often visited their dreams, and the hard stones that made up their nightmares. It was late and dark enough to know that they should be heading home. The red moon, breathing out a path. Exhaling once more, sending the golden leafs twinkling above.

Written by Alecia Writes

Done and done.

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

“If you could cover anything in chocolate what would it be?” She asked, nibbling a chocolate covered pretzel. It was the second to last one in her little baggy.

“That’s such a girl question.” He laughed, taking the last one. Leaving the bag empty.

“So you don’t mind.” She teased, slightly annoyed.

He shook his head, “Stupid thing to say…”

She just nodded. Her bangs falling back into her face, making her contemplate cutting them off right there and then. To bad she didn’t have a pair of scissors. It’s been almost eight months since her last haircut.

“Grape fruit.” He paused. “The best of both worlds. Fruit – chocolate. Done and done.”

Written by Alecia Writes

Pace

Tags

, , , , ,

He paced back and forth. Back and forth. Almost as circular as the spinning leafs from the wind. They spun and spun. Lifting only slightly off the cracked pavement. It was warm outside but somehow the breeze managed to cling to his ribcage. Sending shivers across his body. He’d make quick glances to the hospital across the street. The sides light and looming. Written by Alecia Writes. 

Assemble

Tags

, , , , , ,

Cecile waited at the railroad crossing. Her small duffel bag slung over her right shoulder and a half-full canteen hanging off her left. She didn’t know what she was doing there. It wasn’t as if she was waiting for a train to take her somewhere new. She was hesitant – and promised herself every hour before dusk that this would be her chance.

Written by Alecia Writes. 

Dollhouse

Tags

, , , , , ,

Her sister broke her like she was an old rag doll. Cut off all her hair and snapped her legs. Leaving her in tiny, small shards that could never be glued back together. So she laid still on the floor. Waiting to be swept up by their mother; with the houses cheap plastic dust pan.

At least it wasn’t the vacuum, she thought.

Written by Alecia Writes 

Sleep Walking

Tags

, , , , , , , , , ,

“If I could give you one thing, it wouldn’t be anything material.”

“A gift? What then?” He asked, stirring awkwardly on the stone step. Its bitter chill soaked up his slippers and into his thin pyjamas.

“A way to feel truth.” It said, before blurring away.

  Version 2

Writing and Photo by Alecia Writes

Oeuvre

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

A considerably short blurb about the ‘lesser-understood’ parts of writing! 

 There is twenty-four hours in a day – so there is always time to write. That’s what I like to say, as a ‘budding’ author. However most of the time it’s a battle not between fighting for your sacred writing time, but a tousle between your mental and emotional thoughts of the story your manifesting. Where as being a reader, you often don’t think about the ‘behind the scenes’ on how that novel or poem was created. From the initial starting idea, to the first draft to the many scribbles and frustrating run in’s you have when you try to cram all your ideas into one piece. As you are not battling out anyone for that perfect word or plot line, it is all up to you.

For when you write, you are the creator of what you’re trying to get from inside your mind to the page. It’s an isolating craft in the terms that you are not constantly in chatter with the people surrounding you. Most of the time indeed, your thoughts are swirling and nipping at your fingers to write it down right. This is one of the reasons why I love to write. I find that it tests you mentally. It tests your morals, beliefs and in so many ways that you are not aware of until the task at hand is completed. Being that the whole writing process is often overlooked and disconnected from the creations process to the ending result. Where as many people just picture, someone writing – then a book forms! But there is many more ‘steps’ to it like plotting, editing and finding a publisher. Not only does writing take a lot more brainpower then most people observe. It also does take its physical toll. As in you need to remind yourself to get up and move. It’s not a very active craft. You sit – stand a lot. Or occasionally pace around the kitchen table like I do. Your eyes get tired, your muscles in your arms and wrist began to ache and if you’re not careful your back will start to spite you.

There are many things that people don’t think of when they hear that you like to write. Some of them are obvious and some of them are far ‘fetched’ as my grandmother would say. Mainly because you can never fully grasp something – unless you, yourself do it. Through all the challenges, the way to writing fiction makes me see the world in a more rounded prospect. I love to write.

Written by A. Writes

 

 

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 686 other followers