Screenshot 2018 12 11 at 17.50.10



Hyphen and repetition abuser.
I love vague pieces. I have an imagination that leaves me stranded on the sandy shore. So I swim.
I am slightly crazy, which is a good thing. More people need that strand of insanity in them.
Writing is awesome! :)

Message to Readers

Hey guys, a last minute final draft. Please give feedback. PLEASE! It will not make its way to the piece, but I always want to improve my writing.


December 11, 2018

December. For me, December is a bittersweet month, a month of happiness and of fear. Of course, the fresh, biting air, the wrapped presents, the singing, brings happiness with it. Of course it does. Truthfully, I think that the feeling of elation and unity is part of December, part of the magic. 
But every winter, pale, silver snow descends, white leaves of cold, smothering everything and turning the landscape into a barren plain. A blank canvas. Ready to be written on with new ideas, ready to be shaped with new perspectives, ready to be painted with new joys and sorrows. Ready for a new story to be written. And that is the aspect that so scares me.
Let me tell you a story.

In the vast shadow of the mountains, its reflection visible in a deep sapphire lake, is my house. A three story house, painted with a pale yellow colour, a shade that you couldn't quite determine in the  fiery morning sun. The air was foggy, a light mist hanging over the lake and rolling down the mountains like a stream of cloudy water. Occasionally, a lone boat would make its way across the mirror-like lake, sending waves rippling through the water and through the fog. Dawn had just broke, and the shafts of light were only just piercing the fog. The shafts would dance and weave through the churning fog, bouncing off the lake and illuminating windows. One of those windows was mine. 
It was New Year's. Tonight would be a night dominated by celestial explosions and loud bangs - I even managed to dig up a few old fireworks myself, much to the dismay of my mother. That probably explains their mysterious disappearing. As the day wore on, I played. This would be the last time I played this year. I swam. This would be the last time I swam. I was
scared. I guess I had always had an aversion to change, even though I tried hard to like it. When the sky turned crimson and then black, for the last time, when the stars faded in with their pure white shine, for the last time, I found myself increasingly desperate. Time doesn't stop. It always ticks on, an ever present force. In retrospect, I don't know why I was so sad. We all learn things - that is what makes us human. We learn.
The fireworks started, resplendent in vibrant shades of blue, red, yellow and green. A man-made aurora. I was lying on a wooden jetty, away from the crowd, the colours of the fireworks gently lighting my face. And I was thinking. I was thinking how I would never be the same person, not again. About the blank canvas, the empty slate. About the new story. My thoughts were in a turmoil, like the brutally cracked sky. I was lost in my thoughts, I didn't know what to do. It felt like I was in a maze, where I couldn't touch the walls but couldn't escape. The inferno in the sky rose to a climax. My spinning mind reached a climax. The moon came out, clearly visible as the smoking chaos died down. I just lay there. But then, the newly formed darkness dwindled and died. I still have that moment ingrained in my head. Believe it or not, the sky was alight with shooting stars. Real ones. With sputtering and sparking tails. It was over in a moment, but it seemed to happen so slowly. So time did slow down after all.
The stars were enough. It was as if a lens had been held in front of my eyes, turning my narrow view into a broad, wide one. I realised that my scars would stay. Writing a new story was maybe not a bad thing. Was it? Now, instead of loss, I saw opportunity. A new chapter in life. My life. And I was the writer. Some things cannot change, but we can choose how we change. A snowy plateau is not a loss of grass, it is a new place to sled on. New year's is not the end of a year, it is the start of one. You just need the courage to see it.

Now, with my heart as a chisel and my life as a slate, I am an author.
I am an author, writing my story.
Please feel free to give me feedback! Is the last part written too hastily? Thanks really much for reading! Oh wow, I've outdone myself.  625 words. 625 extra words! WOW! :)


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  • December 11, 2018 - 11:07am (Now Viewing)

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  • spearmint

    Oh, so this is where the likes and comments are!

    10 months ago
  • SeaOfWords

    Thanks really much Quille!!

    10 months ago
  • SeaOfWords

    Thanks really much Quille!!

    10 months ago
  • Quille

    Ouch! I'm sorry, but I was in the middle of reviewing this when you changed it... the review is lost :(
    I think that the figurative language and metaphors you used are awesome and that your narrative flows very nicely :D BTW, You did a fantastic job with your revision :))
    Good luck in the competition, I hope you win!! :DD

    10 months ago