Writing Attempt # (I lost count, so here’s another one):
There once was a horse. This horse was like no other. It was a colorful horse. It had a mismatch of all imaginable colors on it's fur and a rainbow for a tail. Where-ever it went, grace or craziness was anyone's guess. It could be a trail set ablaze by the horse's speed, a picture of the shaping clouds on a breezy afternoon, or a waterfall falling. No discernable method was in the horse's madness.
Because of the pieces of work that many would pay for, several people tried to capture and control it. The horse proved unwieldy to the greedy thieves, bucking, shaking, and even steam-rolling a few. Unable to obtain the horse, they bickered among themselves. One young boy approached the horse. The people expected him to break him like the others. However, the horse let him on, even riding around the area. From the young boy's control, captivating and wonderous things were created. The others came to him when he returned. They offered him promising places if he would have the horse create the pieces for them. The young boy agreed.
As time went on, the buyers began to be selective about what pieces they wanted. They were disgusted at pieces like the aforementioned ablazed trail and the falling waterfall. They preferred the shaping clouds and wanted more like it. Eager to please them, the sellers ordered the young boy (now a man) to make the horse create more clouds. The man did so. Later, some of the shapes of the clouds people didn't like. Just like before, they ordered the man to stop making those offending pieces. The man began to argue, but the sellers threatened to take all of his things from him.
The man went back to his field, where he had his horse tethered to a post nearby the door. The horse gazed at the man. It whinnied. The man's downward head and somberness made the horse skiddish. He untethered the horse and rode it around.
The horse pranced about in a quarter of field as it normally did. However, the man pulled the reins more, driving it away from some of the field. It didn't bother the horse at first. Then it was tugged some more. The horse began to resist. The man pulled a little harder. The horse fought back. The reins were pulled back all the way now, forcing the horse back. The man hitched the horse back on the post and went to his shed. The horse beheld the man bringing tools and wood. He destroyed part of the fence that marked the property. The man began his work.
The horse watched as the man hammered away at the ground and wood for hours. The beating annoyed the horse. It huffed, protesting the noise with whinnies and stamping of hooves. As the man near completed the new fence, the horse became restless and upset. It began straining the tether. The man heard the groan of the post. That post threw splinters at the horse's direction, further further stirring its anger. Tha man dashed to the post, but arrived to a quarter of it.
The horse rampaged across the field. It targeted the fence and charged it like a missile. It crashed into the wood, bursting forth splinters that clashed and scattered. The man, frozen in place, watched with horror as the horse's tracks were set ablaze, burning the destructed fence. The fire danced on the trenched splinters, leaping like an ice skater onto other splinters. The horse cried out and furiously ran some more, sparking more. The dancing fire, tired from the show, went off to eat the fence still standing. A great fire arose and consumed the fence.
The man cried out. The horse rushed to him. His tears melded with the horse's as they watched the fence become ash.
The man hitched the horse on the other post. He went inside and tried to sleep. The ghost of the past while kept haunting him: The roar of the fire; the cry of the horse; the smoke that blacked out the sky.
The next morning, he stayed home, which concerned the sellers. They rushed to his field and demanded an answer for his absence. The man, terrified by them, mustered up some courage to murmur an answer. "What?," they sternly said. This is the point of no return. The man broadened his shoulders and spoke with a firm voice, "I can no longer keep up with further restrictions. I'm leaving."
The crowd of sellers barraged him with their verbal assaults, disowning him in front of everyone. The man just went away, riding the horse beyond the sunset.
Writing Attempt #4
I wake upon a sandy beach. The sky is clear. Perhaps too clear. I see no waves or trees or anything else. I wander around until I hit a wall. The transparent barrier halts my outward pursuit. After a few attempts to break, I see red rain dripping on it. I can see the now crimson-stained wall; its height never-ending. More dropplets cling on it. I look up to see my hand is the cloud that unleashed the drops. My screams reverberate around this sandy beach, penetrating my ears and forcing the cycle to continue.
I open my eyes to see another rain, but not of any color at first. The screams hushed. I picked myself up to investigate the rain. Upon reaching a foot away from the forming cone, I collapse. That is when I finally looked up to see a cloud of grain green rain funnel its contents downward. The cone's base touches my legs, soon burying them. I scream as it covers my hands and arms. My torso soon consumed by the solid rain. It chokes me now. A few tears desperately try to stay above the oncoming rain. Hello darkness, my new companion.
Writing Attempt #3: Poem
Why a winter wonderland
In the Spring of all times?
The assault of the cold
Clashes with the meager forces of heat
Energy sucking away
I remember the blue and purple
The same on me
My blanket a small shield
against the onslaught.
The blue and purple now invade the base.
The blue inside
The cry of thermal underwear and hot cocoa
cannot be heard over the battle shouts of the cold.
Numb outside I am
Can I type further?
My hands freeze, begging for the embrace of the heat
The cold denies.
My feet try to bury themselves in the slippers
The cold intervenes.
The blanket reaches out to assist
The cold has already got a foothold.
The blanket begins to unfold
Under the mighty hand of the cold.
When it comes to loving yourself, ask "What does it mean to love?" Many agree that it is to care for someone or something. If you love yourself, you would care about your health. Some think "loving yourself" means to "make you feel happy." Too much of a good thing is bad for you. Just because you want to be happy doesn't mean you get yourself in serious health trouble. Eat well, exercise, drink plenty of water, keep busy with work, and make sure to spend time with friends, family, and yourself.
Think about this for a bit; The answer is not black and white.
You have two friends. One is more stubborn and cocky, while the other tends to be more emotional and easily frustrated. One day, when you get in contact with both of them, you learn that they are blocked from each other. You decide to investigate.
The stubborn and cocky one states that after a game, they got into an argument about how the game was won. The more emotionall one had instigated the fight and the cocky one stated that he was right and the other was wrong.
A few hours later, you come into contact with your more emotional friend. He states that the stubborn friend was cheating. He called him out, but the stubborn friend denied it. An argument ensued between them, boiling to the point of the emotional friend blocking the stubborn friend.
You know about some of the methods your stubborn friend uses that are borderline cheating, but actually isn't. You know your emotional friend can be a bit over the top, but it doesn't excuse your stubborn friend's behavior.
Who would you support? How would you handle this situation?
A favorite quote of mine.
"Never judge ... a book by the way it's covered; for inside those tattered pages, there's a lot to be discovered."
Too many times, superficial aspects of a person tend to be the judge of the person's worth. Look no further than the media and some groups. Why should it matter what the cover of a book looks like? This lead to Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Jr's "I Have A Dream" speech.
Guess the lesson
One night, I saw a tunnel. I saw a multitude of colors scramble over each other. A thick veil of fog hid the end. Screams, shouts, roars, and much more rang throughout. Slimey grime covored the walls and floor. Rot and ammoniun assaulted my nostrils. As I traveled, my solitude revealed a lurking claustrophobic feeling. Liquid concoctions rested on my tongue.
At the end of the tunnel, a hole waited below a chimney. I turned to notice that the tunnel's veil disappeared. I saw agony reeling over, fear cowering along the wall, rage bellowing, joy cheering for no one, disgust making that awfully sick look, despair wailing. I slowly turned back to see an elevator in the wall, the hole filled. I walked over the filled hole to the elevator. Now where to go........
The theater at night
Provides many evil sights:
The Breaking of Bones
The Flood of Blood
Liberty for Limbs
It also exhibits
Terror and fright:
Attack of Arachnids
Dancing with Demons
This is why people fear midnight.
Advice for 14 year olds
Be prepared for more responsibilities. In two years, you are expected to have a job and to have a license. Keep good friends; ones that support proper behaviors, not partiers or smokers or people like that. Start getting into the habit of waking up at certain times (If you haven't already) and handling chores. On time, every time, no excuses. Keep it and yourself clean online and in hygiene.
Just published my Book
Just a heads-up: I published my book here, so look out for The Smuggled Cub. I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think of it, any criticisms of it, and ideas for the next one.