annieblev

United States

Wannabe poet who should probably stick to realistic fiction. Sum 41 trash.

Published Work

Novel Writing Competition 2016

Legacy

we need more sugar. should i close the store to go buy some? please say yes and let me get out of here. sincerely, your indentured servant (and daughter).

I press send just as the bell rings. Great, another customer. He walks in slowly, staring at everything like it’s the first time he’s ever seen a coffee shop. He looks about my age, but judging from the way he walks, he is not mature. He struts goofily over to the counter and leans on it. I flinch. I do not like people in my personal space.
“Hi ma’am. The name’s Rob. Rob Coffeedude.”
As soon as he opens his mouth, I realize who he is and decide to play along. I lean in (much to my discomfort) and motion for him to lean in closer.
“Well, Rob Coffeedude, I gotta tell you something. It’s top secret.”
He raises his eyebrows and smiles, trying to act nonchalant and cool.
“Uh..” He...

Flash Fiction Competition 2016

Lost Boy

Pitch black hair, bruises all over. It was no wonder people feared him. His parents abused him; they called him the worst thing to ever happen to them. His name was Lost Boy, and he hummed the same song everywhere he went. He was a musical prodigy, but no one knew. The voice of angel. If only he had someone to write his songs about. If only he had someone to tell him they loved him. But instead, he wandered around the city at midnight. A guitar and bag slung behind his back, he was ready to say goodbye.

Letter Writing Competition 2016

Like Letters, Not Love Letters (A Fictional Letter)

  Like Letters, Not Love Letters: A fictional letter from a wise-beyond-her-years 7th grader to her crush. 


Dear Salem,
I really hope you find this letter someday. Not today, not tomorrow. Someday, preferably 30 years from now when I have moved on and you’re married to some supermodel who’s beauty actually matches yours. I really hope you find this letter and laugh at me because there is nothing funnier than a 12 year old girl professing her love for boy who is way out of her league. Most love letters (or in my case, like letters. We are way too young to be in love.) start with the cliche sentence describing what happened when the two lovebirds met. For most, there was some spark. Maybe they had undeniable chemistry from the start. Maybe they hit it off right away, but that wasn’t us. I don’t think we have ever actually talked in person. There was that time we were both...

Letter Writing Competition 2016

Like Letters, Not Love Letters (A Fictional Letter)

  Letter To Him:  A fictional letter from a wise-beyond-her-years 7th grader to her crush. 


Dear Salem,
You are never going to get this letter. I don't even know your address. But for the sake of my friends, whom I keep talking about you to, I think it's good to let you know how I feel and get some emotions out. I don't have high hopes for our us. We are going into two different middle schools. We are in two different social classes. We will never see each other again. That's why I'm writing you this letter, because I have nothing to loose. Except maybe my dignity.
For the record Salem, I don't want to date you. You don't deserve a girl like me. Also, there is that whole thing about us being 12 and that would be weird. We're 12. Ew. But it's something about you that I can't get over. Maybe it's the fact that I didn't...

13

13 years old
13 years on this Earth
13 years, but one year of wisdom
Talking to my peers is difficult
I come off as trying too hard
13 years old
This year I have learned tremendous things
Women are not treated equally, queer people are all around me, I am a feminist.
13 years, but one year of wisdom
Social media shaped who I am
I learned things about the world that school could never teach me
13 years old
I’ve been told I have an old soul, and I have been told I am a crazy liberal
Which is the truth?
13 years, but one year of wisdom
White girl from California
Unsure of so much
13 years old
13 years, but one year of wisdom

All The Things We Do Not Say

As you walk across the creaky floorboards at 3 am
Hoping nobody hears
And when they do
You tell them you’re hungry
And leave it at that
But in your mind
You think
Hungry for less fear
Hungry for sleep, which you haven’t gotten in days
Hungry for support from your foes and friends
All the words you will not say
For those who love you
Will also judge you
Go see a shrink!
Drink some hot milk!
Take deep breaths!
Been there, tried that.
But you nod, you say ok
All the words you will not say
For those who love you
Will also judge you
Tip-toeing back to your cold room
Posters hang from walls
Like torn remembrance what used to be
Taking them down would be like ripping memories
Remember what I used to be?
Remember when I could stay up all night willingly?
I used to be that girl dancing ‘till dawn
But now I am...

Dinner Table Wars

Sitting at the dinner table
Word to word
I say something
Catch my breath, hope no one heard
But they did, and they make remarks
For what it’s worth, they aren’t very smart
They disagree with my choices
Surprise, surprise
It’s been this way forever
But do we need to uprise?
Alliances form, enemies fight
Over four words I said that night
Guns at the ready and fists clenched
Water flies high
Someone will be drenched
Sitting at the dinner table
Quiet now
And I wonder what got me here
Who, why, how?

Playwriting Competition 2016

Heaven, Hell, Or Just The Grave?





Heaven, Hell, Or Just The Grave?

A play in one act


By Annie Bleveans














© 2016 by Annie Bleveans
aobwriting@gmail.com
CHARACTERS

BreeRocker girl with a soft side.
Secretary 50 year old dead lady trying to be hip. She also needs a new hip. 
Raina
VickyJust doing her best in this world
Totally not pretending to be religious for the sake of power and privilage











        
                SETTING

                      Hell


                  TIME

                Modern Day                 ACT I

                SCENE 1

(The entrance to Hell)

Secretary
Welcome to Hell. Name? 
(Bree looks around.)
Bree
Wait, this is Hell? I thought Hell is supposed to be all flame, fire, death, bleh!
Secretary
(annoyed)
Yeah, Satan kinda gave us a bad rep. He’s chill now though, homie. Name? 
Bree
Bree Langford.
(Secretary...

Monologue

Purple Flowers

It all started with the purple flowers. He would always put the flowers in my hair. Once a day, everyday. Of course we knew they were going to run out eventually. But for so many years, they kept growing. Until they didn't. And that, dear readers, is when everything changed. Caleb Evans was a strange boy. He was two months older than me but his soul seemed so much older than just two months. "Eden," He would say softly. "With these flowers, no one can ever hurt you. I will always be here for you, okay?" I would nod and he would stroke my hair, flower and all. He still took care of me like when we were little and I was in the hospital for months. The doctors said it was some sort of heart problem, but they couldn't figure out exactly what it was. "Why can't I put flowers in your hair?" I asked once. "Oh, Eden. A boy...

The Thread

On the edge of the cliff
Join me, fellow broken
Join me
Let us search for that middle ground
Where we can keep hanging
And not get hanged
Getting up takes too much effort
And as we all know
Our effort is what kills us
With smoke, with dust
Our ashes turn to rust
Falling down leads to pity
But god forbid you are made into the hero
You have always wished to be
 
Hanging by a thread
I do not know why
But sometimes I think life would be easier if my sanity was dead
The thread
Tied so nicely against my head
From the cracked jar that lies
To everyone that comes near it
Not a secret keeper
Not unknown
And most importantly
Not alone
And at this point in my timeline
At this point we all given the choice
To slow up or speed down
Let the thread break
Let the mind fall
Let the sanity...

180

God: A Work In Progress

Growing up in a family that basically has no religion is hard. Am I Catholic like my grandparents? Am I atheist like my parents? I didn't know. In most stories, the next line would be "until now...." But, if I'm being completely honest with you, I have no idea if I believe in god or not. Am I even supposed to capitalize the g word? Is it god or God? Or do I just call him Him? I've never touched a bible in my life, so why do I find myself praying at night? Why do I find myself asking God or god or Him to make the man behind us at the graduation stop talking? Why am I suddenly believing in something I was, quite frankly, never taught? It's funny, because two weeks ago, I called myself an atheist. I thought God or god or Him was phony and Catholic people were just brainwashed by the book we call...

Monologue

Purple Flowers

It all started with a simple shove. A simple shove that pushed me to the ground of CeCe Freemon's yard. A simple shove that is the reason I will never be happy. You see, when CeCe shoved me, a tick crawled on to my skin and decided my bicep would be the perfect place for his new home. Later, my mom spotted the tick and promptly pulled it off with tweezers. But it was too little too late. The tick had already given me Lyme Disease. Ironically, the next day I had a softball game in the town of Lyme, Connecticut. Where I got another tick. Anyway, Lyme Disease is basically when you are an anxiety filled mess. I became a nine year old who thought her grandparents were going to kill her. Then, a ten year old who couldn't go to school. Next, I became me. Eleven year old Annabeth McHill, who is most likely on that tick's resume....

Quartet

Playing Dress Up With Fate: Intro

She swallowed her pride, put on a dress, twirled, and gave in to the system they call life. Marigold was a city girl. Shopping at thrift stores, eating hotdogs from stands.... It never got old to her. But her parents. Oh, her parents are another story. They enjoyed the finer things in life. Galas, shopping at designer stores, fancy-schamcy (as Marigold would call it) restaurants with menus as big as the table. Marigold would always pretend she had plans with her friends when they would go to such things, but in reality, she had few friends at all. Slavik, the young Russian man who owned her favorite hotdog cart, was one of them. "I come to America to be successful, but what I'm doing? I'm selling hotdogs from a cart of grease and water." He would always say when he gives her the extra mustard she always asks for. Jiminy, the police man who is always stationed outside of the...

Monologue

Purple Flowers

It all started with my parents deciding to have me at the hospital 6 miles away. There was a hospital 2 blocks away, and guess what Mom? Guess what, Dad? I'm dead! And your stupid feud with one of the nurses there is the reason! So what am I supposed to do now Mommy Dearest Whom I Value So Much? Should I just grow up dead? Because that is what I have been doing for the past thirteen years now. That's right, Father. My amazing, caring, loving Father who didn't shed a single tear when that gunman shot all the babies in the nursery, it's been thirteen years since you and Mom got me killed. I could be an athlete, a genius. But nope! Here I am, growing up in Hell because Heaven decided I was to young when I died! Ironic right? Satan is the nice one. Actually, Satan has been like a father to me! More of a...

Quartet

Playing Dress Up With Fate: Intro

She swallowed her pride, put on a dress, twirled, and gave in to the system they call life. Marigold was a city girl. Shopping at thrift stores, eating hotdogs from stands.... It never got old to her. But her parents. Oh, her parents are another story. They enjoyed the finer things in life. Galas, shopping at designer stores, fancy-schamcy (as Marigold would call it) restaurants with menus as big as the table. Marigold would always pretend she had plans with her friends when they would go to such things, but in reality, she had few friends at all. Slavik, the young Russian man who owned her favorite hotdog cart, was one of them. "I come to America to be successful, but what I'm doing? I'm selling hotdogs from a cart of grease and water." He would always say when he gives her the extra mustard she always asks for. Jiminy, the police man who is always stationed outside of the...

Unwilling Star

Stars set as a rotation. Up when dark, down when bright. Possibly some latecomers will stay up a little longer, possibly the scared will hide from the everyday light. Have you ever thought, have you ever pondered, have you ever contemplated the existence of an unwilling star, wanting to shine all day long? But the sun will come up and shine on it until it is no more to the human eye. That unwilling star. Unwilling star, shine bright. Don’t give into the system they call life. Unwilling star.

Unwilling Star

On the edge of the cliff
Join me, fellow broken
Join me
Let us search for that middle ground
Where we can keep hanging
And not get hanged
Getting up takes too much effort
And as we all know
Our effort is what kills us
With smoke, with dust
Our ashes turn to rust
Falling down leads to pity
But god forbid you are made into the hero
You have always wished to be
Hanging by a thread
I do not know why
But sometimes I think life would be easier if my sanity was dead
The thread
Tied so nicely against my head
From the cracked jar that lies
To everyone that comes near it
Not a secret keeper
Not unknown
And most importantly
Not alone
And at this point in my timeline
At this point we all given the choice
To slow up or speed down
Let the thread break
Let the mind fall
Let the sanity die ...