I didn't see the play that you're talking about so I just wrote a sonnet about erm... stuff =D
I have become so comfortably numb,
The words you speak, I cannot hear them now.
The night calls my name, tells me to come,
My heart breaks for you, that I cannot allow.
I cut myself from the inside out,
I get scared but I wont crawl on me knees.
My head is always filled with so much doubt,
I get scared but I wont be begging please.
It's hard to keep an open heart and soul,
Open your heart and all you do is bleed.
I'm falling, I feel myself lose control,
On my own pain, guilt and misery I feed.
I know that look I see in your blue eyes
I wont stand around and wait for goodbyes.
Saturday, 8 December 2007
Task 16- A friend of mine
The story didn't go the way it should have, it wasn't like in the movies. There should have been a warning. The sky should have turned dark and the wind should of picked up, Depressing music should have been playing in the background and I should have walked slower through the woods, I should have paused before walking into the ruins of the factory- to build up the suspense and create tension.
It wasn't like in the movies at all. The sky was a brilliant blue, There was a gentle breeze and the only music in the background was the sound of the childish laughter and screams of joy coming from the nursery down by the river.
She was a selfish, heartless cow and I started to really hate her. I know it wasn't her fault, really. It was that boyfriend of hers, he wasn't as perfect as she tried to pretend he was and he didn't stand by her when it happened.
Of course we where friends before the drama, but you don't remember the good times once hate fills your head. Once everyone is on your side, you can't stop and say "Okay, Im sorry. Let's make up and be friends again and I'll be there for you, like you were there for me." I should have... But I didn't And I wasn't there for her when she needed a friend.
I heard them by the old tire swing near the opening of the woods. We used to have so much fun there.. The swing went so high, you couldn't help but laugh once you got off. The woods were one of my favorite places to be, Even when I moved 2000 miles away, when I came to my Grandma's for the summer, I loved the woods. The memories, the echos of the laughter..
I heard them arguing, I heard him shove her and roar at her like the animal that he was. Through the muffled sounds of her cries I could make out the threat of suicide and his reply of "I dont give a fuck, do it."
My 'friends' laughed. They laughed when I told them what I saw. They said she deserved everything she got after she abandoned us like that.
"Friends don't just leave you for some stupid guy" they said.
"What did she think was going to happen, she gets knocked up and he stays with her and the baby for ever?"
Of course he wouldn't. She was stupid to think he would, blinded by that sickening disease people call love...
Guess what I did? Not wanting to feel bad about not going after her, and not wanting to look like I care; I laughed too. An empty laugh.
Going home that day, I took a shortcut through the woods and something caught my eye inside the 3 walls and ruins that we still referred to as 'the factory'. My curiosity got the best of me and I went to have a look.
It wasn't like in the movies at all. You see, in the movies, the actors, they never get it quite right. They neck isn't actually snapped and they aren't actually stone-cold dead. In the movies there isn't as much blood all over the walls and floor or, there is too much. In the movies the rope they use isn't the one you held on to and laughed while sitting on that tyre swing you loved so much as a child...
I broke down, and just sat there staring at her. It wasn't the dead fetus hanging off her that got to me the most though, it wasn't even the sound of blood dripping off her corpse. It was the sadness in her eyes. Those eyes that haunt my dreams and make me re-live that moment every night. Those eyes that make me feel more guilt then you can imagine.
I am forever condemned. I don't hear the echos of laughter in those woods anymore. The woods forever mourn the loss of an angel. My friend..
It wasn't like in the movies at all. The sky was a brilliant blue, There was a gentle breeze and the only music in the background was the sound of the childish laughter and screams of joy coming from the nursery down by the river.
She was a selfish, heartless cow and I started to really hate her. I know it wasn't her fault, really. It was that boyfriend of hers, he wasn't as perfect as she tried to pretend he was and he didn't stand by her when it happened.
Of course we where friends before the drama, but you don't remember the good times once hate fills your head. Once everyone is on your side, you can't stop and say "Okay, Im sorry. Let's make up and be friends again and I'll be there for you, like you were there for me." I should have... But I didn't And I wasn't there for her when she needed a friend.
I heard them by the old tire swing near the opening of the woods. We used to have so much fun there.. The swing went so high, you couldn't help but laugh once you got off. The woods were one of my favorite places to be, Even when I moved 2000 miles away, when I came to my Grandma's for the summer, I loved the woods. The memories, the echos of the laughter..
I heard them arguing, I heard him shove her and roar at her like the animal that he was. Through the muffled sounds of her cries I could make out the threat of suicide and his reply of "I dont give a fuck, do it."
My 'friends' laughed. They laughed when I told them what I saw. They said she deserved everything she got after she abandoned us like that.
"Friends don't just leave you for some stupid guy" they said.
"What did she think was going to happen, she gets knocked up and he stays with her and the baby for ever?"
Of course he wouldn't. She was stupid to think he would, blinded by that sickening disease people call love...
Guess what I did? Not wanting to feel bad about not going after her, and not wanting to look like I care; I laughed too. An empty laugh.
Going home that day, I took a shortcut through the woods and something caught my eye inside the 3 walls and ruins that we still referred to as 'the factory'. My curiosity got the best of me and I went to have a look.
It wasn't like in the movies at all. You see, in the movies, the actors, they never get it quite right. They neck isn't actually snapped and they aren't actually stone-cold dead. In the movies there isn't as much blood all over the walls and floor or, there is too much. In the movies the rope they use isn't the one you held on to and laughed while sitting on that tyre swing you loved so much as a child...
I broke down, and just sat there staring at her. It wasn't the dead fetus hanging off her that got to me the most though, it wasn't even the sound of blood dripping off her corpse. It was the sadness in her eyes. Those eyes that haunt my dreams and make me re-live that moment every night. Those eyes that make me feel more guilt then you can imagine.
I am forever condemned. I don't hear the echos of laughter in those woods anymore. The woods forever mourn the loss of an angel. My friend..
Friday, 7 December 2007
Demolished
A blue ford.
An old, rusty, blue classic ford.
I never thought I’d be sitting in one. It could have been any other car, just not this one.
Dented doors with scratched paintwork, and nothing but a feather duster in the back seat to clean the windows. My knowledge hasn’t expanded more than eleven years, so why me? She got to stay with my aunt, who hasn’t realised that she’s nothing more than hard work.
The sky shouldn’t be blue. Dark blue maybe, but I prefer black.
Birds shouldn’t be birds; they should be magpies searching for their last piece of silver to crave the satisfaction. Satisfaction that they never get.
They couldn’t just shut up once could they? Evening after evening, I sat there, at the top of our mahogany staircase, staring at what was supposed to be the anniversary gift from June. A glass vase. Nicely shaped with a high opening, and every Saturday, filled with a fresh bunch of sunflowers. Until one Saturday, they weren’t there.
I could never forget that Saturday. An autumn day with what seemed to be a magnificent dinner. Gosh, I should’ve put my plate in the sink that night. Maybe mum wouldn’t have ended up with two scars for life, running like the wind down her face. And maybe dad wouldn't have-oh, never mind.
Those hot tears, scorching every inch of my skin as I covered my ears from those cries. She never knew what was happening, I could have held her, told her it was okay, but what kind of big sister am I? One who ends up like this, staring out of the window in a stranger’s car.
Flashbacks. Fragments of hate bouncing off the walls, I never knew it would have come to that.
“I should’ve known you would never stick it out! The girls? This house? What the hell have I lived for all these years? You come home, stinking of beer! I-“
“DON’T YOU EVEN DARE PIN THIS ON ME! WHO THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?”
“Your wife! I couldn’t cope when she came along, I should have just run away then. You and your sluttish girlfriend.”
“SHE’S NOT MY GIRLFRIEND! DON’T YOU DARE CALL HER SLUTTISH.”
“Take a look around Dean! Who the hell doesn’t know? You’re just fooling yourself now, take a look at yourself-“
The shattering of china came next. Followed by the repetition of the same thing, like a broken record. Every portion of my breath flew into my head, gasping for the realisation of what had happened. I remember flinging down the stairs. So fast that I didn’t even feel my ankle twisting, that came later when the police took me to hospital.
Looking into my father’s face, nothing but pain and sadness and torment.
All I could conjure up at that point was the fury, the anguish I felt. But my mother told a different story. Lying on the floor beneath a pile of demolished china plates, she seemed so helpless. The mother I had always known, so willing and dedicated, she just went out of the window with what was left of her. The blood was enough to know what had happened.
So now; I’m here.
Rewinding the past six months as the world carries on with another fantastic day.
Without me.
An old, rusty, blue classic ford.
I never thought I’d be sitting in one. It could have been any other car, just not this one.
Dented doors with scratched paintwork, and nothing but a feather duster in the back seat to clean the windows. My knowledge hasn’t expanded more than eleven years, so why me? She got to stay with my aunt, who hasn’t realised that she’s nothing more than hard work.
The sky shouldn’t be blue. Dark blue maybe, but I prefer black.
Birds shouldn’t be birds; they should be magpies searching for their last piece of silver to crave the satisfaction. Satisfaction that they never get.
They couldn’t just shut up once could they? Evening after evening, I sat there, at the top of our mahogany staircase, staring at what was supposed to be the anniversary gift from June. A glass vase. Nicely shaped with a high opening, and every Saturday, filled with a fresh bunch of sunflowers. Until one Saturday, they weren’t there.
I could never forget that Saturday. An autumn day with what seemed to be a magnificent dinner. Gosh, I should’ve put my plate in the sink that night. Maybe mum wouldn’t have ended up with two scars for life, running like the wind down her face. And maybe dad wouldn't have-oh, never mind.
Those hot tears, scorching every inch of my skin as I covered my ears from those cries. She never knew what was happening, I could have held her, told her it was okay, but what kind of big sister am I? One who ends up like this, staring out of the window in a stranger’s car.
Flashbacks. Fragments of hate bouncing off the walls, I never knew it would have come to that.
“I should’ve known you would never stick it out! The girls? This house? What the hell have I lived for all these years? You come home, stinking of beer! I-“
“DON’T YOU EVEN DARE PIN THIS ON ME! WHO THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?”
“Your wife! I couldn’t cope when she came along, I should have just run away then. You and your sluttish girlfriend.”
“SHE’S NOT MY GIRLFRIEND! DON’T YOU DARE CALL HER SLUTTISH.”
“Take a look around Dean! Who the hell doesn’t know? You’re just fooling yourself now, take a look at yourself-“
The shattering of china came next. Followed by the repetition of the same thing, like a broken record. Every portion of my breath flew into my head, gasping for the realisation of what had happened. I remember flinging down the stairs. So fast that I didn’t even feel my ankle twisting, that came later when the police took me to hospital.
Looking into my father’s face, nothing but pain and sadness and torment.
All I could conjure up at that point was the fury, the anguish I felt. But my mother told a different story. Lying on the floor beneath a pile of demolished china plates, she seemed so helpless. The mother I had always known, so willing and dedicated, she just went out of the window with what was left of her. The blood was enough to know what had happened.
So now; I’m here.
Rewinding the past six months as the world carries on with another fantastic day.
Without me.
Wednesday, 5 December 2007
Task 16
Last night on the 15Th of October 2007 was the night Joanne Bingley and Derek Fortatude divorced leaving there children with Katherine Bingley for the night as the court case was taking place in Hertford Court on Liverpool Street.
Joanne told us: "We were all happy families until I met her, I won't name names because I am not like that (glares viciously at Derek). He saw her more and more until every night he came home late I knew where he was as it was quite bait."
Derek Fortatude said nothing in defences.
The Jury was becoming more and more frustrated because the normally should sign divorce papers but there was a jam in the waiting list and was forced into court.
There was a break half way through were we got an interview with the Judge:
"Do you believe any of the participants?"
"I believe Joanne more because she has more to say and complain about than Derek Fortaude, as he said nothing when she made her statement, so I think the Jury will believe her more than Derek."
So there we are the court judgement will be made next Wednesday, there is completely no romance or love in this couple its just a "Dry Stone" as Joanne told us, during the interview.
From Helena Redbridge
Hertford Court.
Joanne told us: "We were all happy families until I met her, I won't name names because I am not like that (glares viciously at Derek). He saw her more and more until every night he came home late I knew where he was as it was quite bait."
Derek Fortatude said nothing in defences.
The Jury was becoming more and more frustrated because the normally should sign divorce papers but there was a jam in the waiting list and was forced into court.
There was a break half way through were we got an interview with the Judge:
"Do you believe any of the participants?"
"I believe Joanne more because she has more to say and complain about than Derek Fortaude, as he said nothing when she made her statement, so I think the Jury will believe her more than Derek."
So there we are the court judgement will be made next Wednesday, there is completely no romance or love in this couple its just a "Dry Stone" as Joanne told us, during the interview.
From Helena Redbridge
Hertford Court.
Screams
Screams. Screams. Screams. DON'T SCREAM. DON'T SHOUT. DON'T ARGUE. JUST STOP. I don't like it when you scream. WE don't like it when you scream. Evelyn don't cry. It's OK. Big brother Joseph is here. Why are mummy and daddy shouting? I don't like it when they shout. Mummy's so red right now her eyes look like they're about to pop out. Daddy says not to worry and that they're just having a 'heated discussion'. Mummy disagrees and says they're simply arguing and not to complicate or confuse our little minds with such 'complex' words such as 'heated' and 'discussion'. They argue some more. Evelyn cries so more. I cry some more. It's so late at night right now. We should be eating dinner round the fireplace right about now. As a family. A FAMILY.
"MAYBE YOUR WHOLE ATTITUDE TOWARDS ME WAS A FARCE! THE ROMANCE... THE LOVE... THE EMOTION!" shouts mother.
"MAYBE OUR WHOLE MARRIAGE WAS A FARCE!" Father shouts back. I hear a noise. A loud noise. It wasn't a noise of muffled screaming either. It was the sound of the front door going SLAM.
"MAYBE YOUR WHOLE ATTITUDE TOWARDS ME WAS A FARCE! THE ROMANCE... THE LOVE... THE EMOTION!" shouts mother.
"MAYBE OUR WHOLE MARRIAGE WAS A FARCE!" Father shouts back. I hear a noise. A loud noise. It wasn't a noise of muffled screaming either. It was the sound of the front door going SLAM.
Task 16
"...You never look after the children!" 15-love.
"I never look after the children? Well maybe that has something to do with the fact that I work my arse off day in and day out unlike some!" 15-all.
"see here we go again, you always put work before the family!" 30-15.
"And what? You think I'd like to hop on a train every bloody morning and to be put under the watchful eye of my boss and have him breathing down my neck?" 30-all.
"As a matter of fact I do. Because while he's supposedly breathing down your neck during work hours, he's bloody on top of you in your lunch break!" 40-30.
"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean. Late nights out, working late. You can't hide it from me, from us anymore"
"Well, that has to be your guilty conscience, or have you forgotten last year?" Deuse.
"I thought we wern't going to discuss the past anymore 'coz I could bring up a whole load of stuff about you, besides it was a misunderstanding with your mother" - advantage. "Just remember how I've helped you" Game. Only it isn't a game, it's real life. Dad walked off and mum sat back down at the table, sobbing, her eyes blinded by tears.
Everyone knew what mum was up to, they just couldn't bring it up - well not until now. We wouldn't know where to start. "Hey mum, you know Eric, the one your secretly having it off with behind dad's back? well, when can we meet him? Can he come in for a cuppa???" That wouldn't pan out to well. And anyway, turning a blind eye just made it easier for us all. We could enjoy pretending to be one happy normal family. Although I wanted to take my dad's side and question her 'til the cows came home, I couldn't. So i simply put my arm round her shoulder and hugged her. It wasn't her fault dad went out a lot, and didn't shower her with attention, it just wasn't him. He wasn't Romeo-like, he never did a romantic thing in his life. Even flowers still had the tesco value sticker on, revealing the slashed price. Fish and chips was his speciality, and a romantic gesture from him would be a chinese from Woo lot down the road. Soppy cards reading "roses are red, violets are blue, you are like honey and I love you" just wern't cutting it anymore. So it was understandable that Eric, who left her secret coded messages and bought her champagne, had swept her off her feet almost immediately.
Trouble was, where did all this mess leave me?
"I never look after the children? Well maybe that has something to do with the fact that I work my arse off day in and day out unlike some!" 15-all.
"see here we go again, you always put work before the family!" 30-15.
"And what? You think I'd like to hop on a train every bloody morning and to be put under the watchful eye of my boss and have him breathing down my neck?" 30-all.
"As a matter of fact I do. Because while he's supposedly breathing down your neck during work hours, he's bloody on top of you in your lunch break!" 40-30.
"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean. Late nights out, working late. You can't hide it from me, from us anymore"
"Well, that has to be your guilty conscience, or have you forgotten last year?" Deuse.
"I thought we wern't going to discuss the past anymore 'coz I could bring up a whole load of stuff about you, besides it was a misunderstanding with your mother" - advantage. "Just remember how I've helped you" Game. Only it isn't a game, it's real life. Dad walked off and mum sat back down at the table, sobbing, her eyes blinded by tears.
Everyone knew what mum was up to, they just couldn't bring it up - well not until now. We wouldn't know where to start. "Hey mum, you know Eric, the one your secretly having it off with behind dad's back? well, when can we meet him? Can he come in for a cuppa???" That wouldn't pan out to well. And anyway, turning a blind eye just made it easier for us all. We could enjoy pretending to be one happy normal family. Although I wanted to take my dad's side and question her 'til the cows came home, I couldn't. So i simply put my arm round her shoulder and hugged her. It wasn't her fault dad went out a lot, and didn't shower her with attention, it just wasn't him. He wasn't Romeo-like, he never did a romantic thing in his life. Even flowers still had the tesco value sticker on, revealing the slashed price. Fish and chips was his speciality, and a romantic gesture from him would be a chinese from Woo lot down the road. Soppy cards reading "roses are red, violets are blue, you are like honey and I love you" just wern't cutting it anymore. So it was understandable that Eric, who left her secret coded messages and bought her champagne, had swept her off her feet almost immediately.
Trouble was, where did all this mess leave me?
Sunday, 2 December 2007
Task 16: Same Difference
The secret of successful writing is invariably not WHAT you write about (i.e. the CONTENT) but HOW you write about it (i.e. STYLE).
This week's task is a challenge in style - and, unlike other weeks, you will HAVE to read other people's attempts before you do your own. You are all going to write about the same content; but you must write about it in a different style to everybody else. In that sense, the sooner you post, the easier it will be. Those of you leaving it until the last minute will have the hardest job of all - because most of the good ideas will already be taken...
The piece of GCSE English coursework you will all complete in due course is described, in the syllabus, as ORIGINAL WRITING. And this is no accident. The way to impress the examiner the most is by making sure your writing is ORIGINAL; or, in other words, unique to you. And this week's task will help you.
Those of you familiar with the wiki may have seen a presentation of mine on the Explore, Imagine, Entertain page entitled 'Getting Started'. Here you will see five different attempts at beginning the same story - in that case, a story about a girl getting bullied. I suggest you visit the page, download the presentation, and study carefully how each opening is very different. This will help you tremendously with this week's task.
So how can you make your writing different? It is all to do with risk taking; experimentation: try playing around with some of the following:
A word of warning: different does not necessarily mean better. Indeed, you could use any or all of the devices above and your writing could fall flat on its face. But unless you experiment in the first place, you will never know what works and what doesn't; and, even worse than that, your writing could end up just ORDINARY. And WHO in their right mind would want to be ORDINARY???
So the only RULES this week are that there are NO RULES.
I am going to give you a simple plot synopsis. And then each of you need to tell the same story, but in a different style. Your own, original style. Your own ORIGINAL writing.
No need to write too much, by the way. It is definitely QUALITY over quantity I am looking for this week. It is fine only to begin the story, and to leave it unresolved - as long as your writing stands intact in its own right.
This week's task is a challenge in style - and, unlike other weeks, you will HAVE to read other people's attempts before you do your own. You are all going to write about the same content; but you must write about it in a different style to everybody else. In that sense, the sooner you post, the easier it will be. Those of you leaving it until the last minute will have the hardest job of all - because most of the good ideas will already be taken...
The piece of GCSE English coursework you will all complete in due course is described, in the syllabus, as ORIGINAL WRITING. And this is no accident. The way to impress the examiner the most is by making sure your writing is ORIGINAL; or, in other words, unique to you. And this week's task will help you.
Those of you familiar with the wiki may have seen a presentation of mine on the Explore, Imagine, Entertain page entitled 'Getting Started'. Here you will see five different attempts at beginning the same story - in that case, a story about a girl getting bullied. I suggest you visit the page, download the presentation, and study carefully how each opening is very different. This will help you tremendously with this week's task.
So how can you make your writing different? It is all to do with risk taking; experimentation: try playing around with some of the following:
- Tense: why not try the present tense? Or even the future? Either can be used to very good effect.
- Mood: most writing is Declarative (i.e. it is just a series of statements). Why not use the Conditional mood (e.g. he would); the Imperative (i.e. commands); or the Interrogative (i.e. questions)?
- Genre: Try exploring atypical/non-standard non-fiction genres for your narrative fiction. Anyone who has read Laura Esquivel's Like Water For Chocolate will know how the cookery recipe format can make for fascinating fiction. Or how about the school text book? Or a set of map directions? Or a news report? Subverting (i.e. twisting) non-fiction genres for fiction can be very effective.
- Narrator: 3rd person narratives are commonplace. How about using a 1st person narrative (i.e. I/me); or even a 1st person plural (we/us)? And what about the underused 2nd person narrative (you)? And who will be the narrator? Will it be the main protagonist? Or an onlooker? Or maybe there will be several?
- Fragments: Sometimes, full sentences are essential and de rigeur (i.e. necessary). However, it can be fun playing around with what Microsoft Word would call 'fragments'. Individual words and phrases which exist apart from any sentence. This can be very effective at times.
- Time: a linear narrative is easy to follow; but a narrative which starts at the end and works backwards can be much more fun. And what about parallel narratives (i.e. two thread which flit back and forth between each other)?
- Subverted stereotypes: try tricking us into assuming characters will behave a certain way and then showing them behave anything but...
- Setting: Try focusing on seemingly random objects or aspects of setting. Use them to explore emotions within the characters themselves. An ashtray, perhaps. A doorknob. The way the curtains never quite meet in the middle etc...
A word of warning: different does not necessarily mean better. Indeed, you could use any or all of the devices above and your writing could fall flat on its face. But unless you experiment in the first place, you will never know what works and what doesn't; and, even worse than that, your writing could end up just ORDINARY. And WHO in their right mind would want to be ORDINARY???
So the only RULES this week are that there are NO RULES.
I am going to give you a simple plot synopsis. And then each of you need to tell the same story, but in a different style. Your own, original style. Your own ORIGINAL writing.
No need to write too much, by the way. It is definitely QUALITY over quantity I am looking for this week. It is fine only to begin the story, and to leave it unresolved - as long as your writing stands intact in its own right.
Deadline: Midnight on Saturday 22nd December (N.B. This is the deadline for ALL overdue tasks too.)PLOT SYNOPSIS: Family conflict. Evening. Young children listen as parents argue. At end of argument, one parent leaves.
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