martina97
aspiring dental technologist. lover of words and anything to do with teeth.
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Written by martina97 in portal Trident Media Group

Title.

What fuels me to write? Is it the exasperation at my own non fiction reality so much so that i have to create an alternate universe? Is it me requiring enhancement of the shortcomings of this same non fictitious world? Is it me escaping this satan's spawn of a foresaken unwanted gift we call life? Which by the way we have to appreciate as if it was bestowed on us by a godly being when it was most definitely not asked for? I am not entirely sure, but I am glad that at least for a few seconds, a few words can make everything alright, even if they are inherent, even if they are not spoken or directed to anyone. Just black strings of letters dancing on a white background- and everything will be okay again.

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Written by martina97 in portal Trident Media Group
Title.
What fuels me to write? Is it the exasperation at my own non fiction reality so much so that i have to create an alternate universe? Is it me requiring enhancement of the shortcomings of this same non fictitious world? Is it me escaping this satan's spawn of a foresaken unwanted gift we call life? Which by the way we have to appreciate as if it was bestowed on us by a godly being when it was most definitely not asked for? I am not entirely sure, but I am glad that at least for a few seconds, a few words can make everything alright, even if they are inherent, even if they are not spoken or directed to anyone. Just black strings of letters dancing on a white background- and everything will be okay again.
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Written by martina97

The Red Chair

 We are at a conference and I was challenged by a friend to write something about a very boring topic. She gave me "the red chair".

Cushioning my tush comfortably, the soft foam embraced my behind like a lover on drugs. Holding my back like it was worth dear life, and maintaining a perfect right angle to my elbows was what made the red chair different than the other chairs. It's what puts it ahead, even though it can never literally shift place. It's what makes it a best friend of mine in this moment in need, cause a friend in need is a friend indeed. It is what highlights the day, in which we are forced to endure an incomprehensible conference. Thank God for the chair, the beloved red chair.

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Written by martina97
The Red Chair
 We are at a conference and I was challenged by a friend to write something about a very boring topic. She gave me "the red chair".

Cushioning my tush comfortably, the soft foam embraced my behind like a lover on drugs. Holding my back like it was worth dear life, and maintaining a perfect right angle to my elbows was what made the red chair different than the other chairs. It's what puts it ahead, even though it can never literally shift place. It's what makes it a best friend of mine in this moment in need, cause a friend in need is a friend indeed. It is what highlights the day, in which we are forced to endure an incomprehensible conference. Thank God for the chair, the beloved red chair.
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Written by martina97

Emergency door

We are at a conference and I was challenged by a friend to write something about a very boring topic. He gave me "the emergency exit".

The door to freedom. The door away from death. The door which will grant you an extra amount of feeble minutes in this Earth which will still be eventually stolen away from us. The hinges which swing open and shut, determining who is allowed to go through and who is comdemned to die in the infernal fire. The wood starts burning, the air starts staling and the breathing gets heavier. Will I pass? Will i make it through? Am I worth the rest of the minutes which will be stolen from the next individual to be kindly appointed to my timeline on Earth? The emergency door decides.

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Written by martina97
Emergency door
We are at a conference and I was challenged by a friend to write something about a very boring topic. He gave me "the emergency exit".

The door to freedom. The door away from death. The door which will grant you an extra amount of feeble minutes in this Earth which will still be eventually stolen away from us. The hinges which swing open and shut, determining who is allowed to go through and who is comdemned to die in the infernal fire. The wood starts burning, the air starts staling and the breathing gets heavier. Will I pass? Will i make it through? Am I worth the rest of the minutes which will be stolen from the next individual to be kindly appointed to my timeline on Earth? The emergency door decides.
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Challenge of the Week #62: Tell us the story of Lucifer, where Lucifer is female. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by martina97

I elucidate

She loathed the title. Abhorred it. It was not as gracious as "The Demon" or "The Evil One". Being called "The Devil" was something she could not stand. Davil was an acronym invented by her father, standing for 'Dark Varmint Incapable of Love'. The British then changed the 'a' in Davil to an 'e'.

But why did she and her father have a hellish relationship? 

It all started when one day a glorious baby boy fell out of the sky in the middle of God's lair. The pelican carrying this boy however was unlike all others; its beak was golden. This usually evinced royalty. And royalty he was! He was the most beautiful angel in all of heaven- you've all heard the story. But due to the restrictions which would be imposed on certain books in the coming future, we had to erase that bit from the Bible. So whilst you know that dearest Lucifer disobeyed his father and as a result God banished him to Hell, the truth is a tad different.

You see, when Lucifer was around a metre and a half tall- (we do not age in heaven) he decided he wanted to be a she. But God did not want as such. He hated the weaker sex. He had gone to lengthy measures to make sure the male gender is always superior; imposing wage gaps in many many years' time, had made sure that inequalities would always be around. He gave the pain of childbirth and child bearing to the women, and if that was not enough, he made sure all husbands around the world did not surpass a threshold of maturity- otherwise he would make sure such men remained unmarried. Oh no, we could not have a female child from God. Turpitude!

So in essence, when Lucifer presented the request to God, the latter flatly denied. God changed his name from 'The Bulb' (as this is the correct literal translation of the name; but of course if we wanted to be taken seriously we had to amend the truth a bit when writing the Bible), to 'Davil', and sent her to hell. 

That's it basically. God still hates females; which is why he distances himself so far away from Hell; which is why all angels (myself included) are all males and which is why wives everywhere have been burdened with the husband-upbringing-process (might I add, a process which, in my opinion, has always been done impeccably).

And that, gentleman and ladies, is the story of the true identity of Lucifer (colloquially known up here as the hormonal bulb). It does feel good to finally get the truth out there!

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Challenge of the Week #62: Tell us the story of Lucifer, where Lucifer is female. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by martina97
I elucidate
She loathed the title. Abhorred it. It was not as gracious as "The Demon" or "The Evil One". Being called "The Devil" was something she could not stand. Davil was an acronym invented by her father, standing for 'Dark Varmint Incapable of Love'. The British then changed the 'a' in Davil to an 'e'.

But why did she and her father have a hellish relationship? 
It all started when one day a glorious baby boy fell out of the sky in the middle of God's lair. The pelican carrying this boy however was unlike all others; its beak was golden. This usually evinced royalty. And royalty he was! He was the most beautiful angel in all of heaven- you've all heard the story. But due to the restrictions which would be imposed on certain books in the coming future, we had to erase that bit from the Bible. So whilst you know that dearest Lucifer disobeyed his father and as a result God banished him to Hell, the truth is a tad different.
You see, when Lucifer was around a metre and a half tall- (we do not age in heaven) he decided he wanted to be a she. But God did not want as such. He hated the weaker sex. He had gone to lengthy measures to make sure the male gender is always superior; imposing wage gaps in many many years' time, had made sure that inequalities would always be around. He gave the pain of childbirth and child bearing to the women, and if that was not enough, he made sure all husbands around the world did not surpass a threshold of maturity- otherwise he would make sure such men remained unmarried. Oh no, we could not have a female child from God. Turpitude!
So in essence, when Lucifer presented the request to God, the latter flatly denied. God changed his name from 'The Bulb' (as this is the correct literal translation of the name; but of course if we wanted to be taken seriously we had to amend the truth a bit when writing the Bible), to 'Davil', and sent her to hell. 
That's it basically. God still hates females; which is why he distances himself so far away from Hell; which is why all angels (myself included) are all males and which is why wives everywhere have been burdened with the husband-upbringing-process (might I add, a process which, in my opinion, has always been done impeccably).
And that, gentleman and ladies, is the story of the true identity of Lucifer (colloquially known up here as the hormonal bulb). It does feel good to finally get the truth out there!
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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by martina97

His eyes

His eyes- quicksand of glorious doing of Benzaiten- the goddess of everything that flows. Each time sucking me further in, each second obliterating any flickering hope of survival away from the clutches of his portals to his soul. The specks of brown within the hazel were like islands of rest in the middle of the raging ocean.. an ocean of chocolate. I tried to fight it, tried to come out triumphant, but I am not sure I managed. He was too strong, too caressing, too manipulating to be able to resist. The circular windows allowed me a peek of what is inside, of what would certainly be my fate, of what treachery he was able to concoct inherently. But I could not stand any longer. The withdrawal symptoms were overwhelming. The same weakness which drew me to his intellectual shelter of so called love and so called care, was the same weakness which caused me to become dependant. Dependant on the one thing I could not afford to allow to affect me. I had nothing left, and suddenly the stormy ocean seemed appealing. The quicksand seemed warmer than the cold repercussions of having to live without him. 

So I made my decision. 

Some call it self sacrifice.. but at this moment in time, I called it love to surpass all others. Oh how I wish I knew.

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We are a literary agency seeking fresh talent. In 200 words or more, demonstrate your writing talent. We will be in touch with any and all promising participants throughout the rest of this quarter.
Written by martina97
His eyes
His eyes- quicksand of glorious doing of Benzaiten- the goddess of everything that flows. Each time sucking me further in, each second obliterating any flickering hope of survival away from the clutches of his portals to his soul. The specks of brown within the hazel were like islands of rest in the middle of the raging ocean.. an ocean of chocolate. I tried to fight it, tried to come out triumphant, but I am not sure I managed. He was too strong, too caressing, too manipulating to be able to resist. The circular windows allowed me a peek of what is inside, of what would certainly be my fate, of what treachery he was able to concoct inherently. But I could not stand any longer. The withdrawal symptoms were overwhelming. The same weakness which drew me to his intellectual shelter of so called love and so called care, was the same weakness which caused me to become dependant. Dependant on the one thing I could not afford to allow to affect me. I had nothing left, and suddenly the stormy ocean seemed appealing. The quicksand seemed warmer than the cold repercussions of having to live without him. 

So I made my decision. 

Some call it self sacrifice.. but at this moment in time, I called it love to surpass all others. Oh how I wish I knew.
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Challenge of the Week #60: You have just discovered a new lifeform. Write a story of 200 words or more. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by martina97

Exposé

I frantically skimmed through the pages of the "The Book of all Species". Well, it did kind of look like the Homo erectus, but the size.. it was off. The bone I found perfectly preserved whilst on mission (I am an undercover agent- cannot disclose my agency or my coordinates at the time for fear of serious repercussions- sorry) looked like a phalanx (finger bone), but it was gargantuan. Now, my agency finds fake remains all the time- some people just like to take the mickey. But my penchant for truth and unlocking the mysterious wonders of the world was what enticed me. And my insides (which by the way cannot stay silent for one straight minute) squeezed themselves in delight. This felt like something belonging to the Earth, like a discovery never made before (which is obviously why it is called a discovery)- 'Eureka!' one might say. But I stayed silent. No Eurekas, no media, no other scientists. I have yet to have my fifteen minutes of fame, and I wasn't going to lose my portal to some other self claimed scientist. No, I was going to do something different. I will get my fame; but I will also get paid for it. My plan was not ethical in any way, but it would work- of that I was sure. So I set about doing it.

When I was ready, I put up the post online, and sent a link to the BBC, CNN, Fox News, and the other media giants. Then I waited. Ah, the sweet taste of feeling superior!

Within no time, people from all over the world were calling. Everybody wanted it. Everybody wanted to inquire about the pieces of the never seen before bone. And everybody wanted to join me for a meal of preserved bone marrow soup with the original bone of the newly found ancestor of Man.

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Challenge of the Week #60: You have just discovered a new lifeform. Write a story of 200 words or more. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by martina97
Exposé
I frantically skimmed through the pages of the "The Book of all Species". Well, it did kind of look like the Homo erectus, but the size.. it was off. The bone I found perfectly preserved whilst on mission (I am an undercover agent- cannot disclose my agency or my coordinates at the time for fear of serious repercussions- sorry) looked like a phalanx (finger bone), but it was gargantuan. Now, my agency finds fake remains all the time- some people just like to take the mickey. But my penchant for truth and unlocking the mysterious wonders of the world was what enticed me. And my insides (which by the way cannot stay silent for one straight minute) squeezed themselves in delight. This felt like something belonging to the Earth, like a discovery never made before (which is obviously why it is called a discovery)- 'Eureka!' one might say. But I stayed silent. No Eurekas, no media, no other scientists. I have yet to have my fifteen minutes of fame, and I wasn't going to lose my portal to some other self claimed scientist. No, I was going to do something different. I will get my fame; but I will also get paid for it. My plan was not ethical in any way, but it would work- of that I was sure. So I set about doing it.
When I was ready, I put up the post online, and sent a link to the BBC, CNN, Fox News, and the other media giants. Then I waited. Ah, the sweet taste of feeling superior!
Within no time, people from all over the world were calling. Everybody wanted it. Everybody wanted to inquire about the pieces of the never seen before bone. And everybody wanted to join me for a meal of preserved bone marrow soup with the original bone of the newly found ancestor of Man.
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Written by martina97 in portal Stream of Consciousness

Emotional Kaleidoscope

As I placed my tush on a comfortable bench in the Hastings’ garden in Malta; I was awestruck with a plethora of things which reminded me of you. 

The sun, glowing brightly; conveying and oozing liquid gold which would drown my irises were I to look for more than a few seconds into its daring gaze, were the personalisation of your soul in an otherworldly grace and glory.

The birds piercing the sky with their flailing wings; melodiously singing a flawless symphony- just like your voice does when it whispers my name with a passion so fiery that it cannot be denied.

The roses behind me- with a silky array of white petals, glissading along the waves of the wind; a texture so soft and desirable that it would be demeaning for them to compare it to something as feeble as this human world; other than you. The touch your fingers offer when caressing me through my days of sorrow and days of positivity; is a miracle in itself. The lines you draw on my less than optimal canvas present me as a work of art like no other; just like the scene before me.

The thorns though; that’s what shocked me back into reality. All those times you allowed your fingers to dig too dip into my skin- leaving behind irreparable marks which I was foolish enough to be boastful of.  All those times you and I actualised a remarkable idea into reality; and you had to puncture it inherently with your thorns. 

All those melodies which turned into never ending insults. Anger. Shouting. Fighting; wounds. All those times I had to suffer because your songs were out of tune- had a deteriorating effect instead of helping to build me up. The damage I incurred was far more than any melodies sung by any other could possible heal.

When being the epitome of the ball of fire in the sky was not for you; you became the moon. You darkened my world whenever you were present. You allowed me to see only you; and with such a feeble light that you deprived me of the most basic human requirement- human contact. You closed me in your world- caged my vulnerable soul within the confinement of your obsession you started to entitle love and protection.

And I still loved you more than fathomable through the use of words.

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Written by martina97 in portal Stream of Consciousness
Emotional Kaleidoscope
As I placed my tush on a comfortable bench in the Hastings’ garden in Malta; I was awestruck with a plethora of things which reminded me of you. 

The sun, glowing brightly; conveying and oozing liquid gold which would drown my irises were I to look for more than a few seconds into its daring gaze, were the personalisation of your soul in an otherworldly grace and glory.

The birds piercing the sky with their flailing wings; melodiously singing a flawless symphony- just like your voice does when it whispers my name with a passion so fiery that it cannot be denied.

The roses behind me- with a silky array of white petals, glissading along the waves of the wind; a texture so soft and desirable that it would be demeaning for them to compare it to something as feeble as this human world; other than you. The touch your fingers offer when caressing me through my days of sorrow and days of positivity; is a miracle in itself. The lines you draw on my less than optimal canvas present me as a work of art like no other; just like the scene before me.

The thorns though; that’s what shocked me back into reality. All those times you allowed your fingers to dig too dip into my skin- leaving behind irreparable marks which I was foolish enough to be boastful of.  All those times you and I actualised a remarkable idea into reality; and you had to puncture it inherently with your thorns. 

All those melodies which turned into never ending insults. Anger. Shouting. Fighting; wounds. All those times I had to suffer because your songs were out of tune- had a deteriorating effect instead of helping to build me up. The damage I incurred was far more than any melodies sung by any other could possible heal.

When being the epitome of the ball of fire in the sky was not for you; you became the moon. You darkened my world whenever you were present. You allowed me to see only you; and with such a feeble light that you deprived me of the most basic human requirement- human contact. You closed me in your world- caged my vulnerable soul within the confinement of your obsession you started to entitle love and protection.

And I still loved you more than fathomable through the use of words.


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Written by martina97

Confused

Not sure how I feel. Numb? No. Well, a bit. Empty is a better suited word. Judged. Yes. Appreciated. No. Not satisfied with anything I do. Yes. Never sufficient. Yes. Can converse adequately. No. Can make people love me. No. Can love. Not sure. Can write. Don't think so. Will this pass? I hope so.

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Written by martina97
Confused
Not sure how I feel. Numb? No. Well, a bit. Empty is a better suited word. Judged. Yes. Appreciated. No. Not satisfied with anything I do. Yes. Never sufficient. Yes. Can converse adequately. No. Can make people love me. No. Can love. Not sure. Can write. Don't think so. Will this pass? I hope so.
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Written by martina97

she said yes

She said yes. It was a fairytale of perfect harmony and symphonious collaborations between a male and a female; who were ready to commit themselves to each other for the rest of their feeble life on Earth.

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Written by martina97
she said yes
She said yes. It was a fairytale of perfect harmony and symphonious collaborations between a male and a female; who were ready to commit themselves to each other for the rest of their feeble life on Earth.
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Challenge of the Week #57: you’re god; rewrite the creation story. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by martina97

Slaves

I spat you out. My humanoid form, all my work in one body with four limbs, a head and a torso. I made you hardworking, your muscles able and your brain giving. Then I set you to work. I told you to dig deep with your bare hands to find the seeds which had the potential to become life sustaining trees. I told you to float on the waves of the waters to rescue beings which would eventually inhabit the same land you occupy. You toiled to help gather eggs and keep them warm, for when they hatched, you had orders to release them in the sky; where they would dominate. You sweated every once of body fluid which I gave you, in order to give something back to me. You owe me everything, I gave you life. I gave you breath; and as long as you shall live, my servants you shall be.

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Challenge of the Week #57: you’re god; rewrite the creation story. The most masterfully written piece, as voted and determined by the Prose team, will be crowned winner and receive $100. Quality beats quantity, always, but numbers make things easier for our judges, so share, share, share with friends, family, and connections. #ProseChallenge #getlit #itslit
Written by martina97
Slaves
I spat you out. My humanoid form, all my work in one body with four limbs, a head and a torso. I made you hardworking, your muscles able and your brain giving. Then I set you to work. I told you to dig deep with your bare hands to find the seeds which had the potential to become life sustaining trees. I told you to float on the waves of the waters to rescue beings which would eventually inhabit the same land you occupy. You toiled to help gather eggs and keep them warm, for when they hatched, you had orders to release them in the sky; where they would dominate. You sweated every once of body fluid which I gave you, in order to give something back to me. You owe me everything, I gave you life. I gave you breath; and as long as you shall live, my servants you shall be.
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