Home is where the heart is

Silvery ribbons of moonlight weave through the lake. It is peaceful here, with the reeds bobbing gently in the breeze. I wonder whether it was as beautiful that night, I hope it was. Somewhere out there she is sleeping, well, most of her.

The divers found her leg the other night, drifted up against this old boat. The shock of reality hit me like a wave; I knew for sure then that she wasn’t coming back. Until then I had been hopeful, optimistic, I always am, otherwise what’s the point? But now, now I’m just waiting. Waiting for the rest of her to come home. Home is where the heart is, they say, hers isn’t.

Just a short one, maybe I'll come back to it. Any criticism would be great! 

Image from: http://creativewriting.ie/writing-exercises/

Love hurts - doesn't it?

Sparks bursting, my heart pounding – leaping and flickering like the flames. I am on fire and it feels great. Burning up from the inside out and the outside in, shining like a human beacon. Running faster than my heart is beating, just because you are mine.

Late at night and the flames are growing but I’ll ignore them and just keep going. I hope I can keep on glowing, you’re forever on my mind. It started out like a fluttering candle, now I can’t live without you – it’s getting bigger than I can handle but you’re all I want tonight.

Every crackle sounds like your whisper, I want to turn around to kiss you and you know I always miss you - I wish you were by my side. One day can feel eternal but still not long enough, because I know when it’s time to leave you, my love will flare back up.

I hope this blaze is everlasting, tingling in my fingertips, burning right down to my toes. You fill me up so full, so happy, I think I’m ready to explode. So please promise you won’t leave me; that the fire will never die down, I’ve never seen such beauty illuminating the cobwebs of my life before now.

If one day smouldering embers turn to ash beneath my feet, I won’t regret single moment that my swollen heart skipped a beat. So dusty and broken, like a phoenix I’ll emerge, made stronger by every lesson that you taught me to observe.

Prompt from: http://creativewriting.ie/writing-exercises/

Kaleidoscope Lands

 

I feel invisible,

standing silently with my head tucked

under one of the great waves of lace cascading from the walls. 

The light from the wall lamps tingling through the material, the room cut
into tiny diamonds. I lean forward a little, the lace fluttering
under my breath like a moth in the breeze,
tickling my nose and cheeks.

Thousands

of rooms peep through the holes, 

all perfect diamond-shaped miniatures of the one I am in.

 I like to imagine they are all different rooms, in different houses, in different Worlds all apparently identical but with tiny subtle differences. If I concentrate hard enough

on just one of them,when I lift the lace I will be

 in one of those Kaleidoscope

Lands.

Just a short one today - love the picture though so I may have to come back to it and extend it!
Image from: http://creativewritingink.co.uk/writing-exercises/

If it is not

Mist playing in the air, I sit silently, the sound of whispering wind broken only by the scuffling and shuffling of my horse’s hooves as he shifts uneasily.  A long dirt track leads all the way from here to London, stretching for miles through the tunnel of trees, I can see neither its beginning nor its end. But here, it is punctuated by a great stone wall with a wrought iron gate, which stands open always. A majestic house stands proudly nearby, just a mile or two off the road out of sight, but I know it is there. This wall marks the beginning of his land, the owner of that house. I have been waiting for this.

I lean sleepily against the wall, it may be his wall but it is my ally, it shields me perfectly. My brother’s breeches are loose and heavy, his hat slipping down over my eyes. A distant rumble and I jolt awake. I steady myself, heart pounding, one hand reaching into my coat to feel for my revolver. My mouth is dry, my breathing shallow, my mind in a million places at once but at the same time, strangely focussed. The trundling wheels of the carriage are getting closer, inside, the man I loathe more than any other. The man who wanted me as his own, to add to his vast collection of possessions, to show off at parties as if I were a collection of fine silverware or an oriental vase. The man whom I refused and then fled from. The man who killed my love, out of jealousy, because I was the one thing he wanted that he could not have. Now there is nothing left for me, I do not care if I risk my life, yet I have no intention of taking his. He has something of mine that is precious only to me, and I want that, nothing else.

Steeling myself, I take a deep breath and snap the reins. Suddenly thundering hooves – a great black shape rears up in front of me. My horse stumbles, I tumble, falling to the ground as he gallops into the dense wood. It is dark. I feel myself being picked from the ground and I know it is over.

The carriage rumbles on.

I awaken, silky blackness all around me, I am lying on the ground. My breeches and coat have been removed, my brother’s undershirt scratches against my bruised skin. Disorientated I turn my head, a sharp pain makes me wince. An owl hoots and I realise I am still outside. I wonder if it was him who left me here, maybe I should feel lucky to be alive, but I do not. A hand reaches through the darkness and grasps my shoulder – I scream but another clasps my mouth shut. A familiar voice whispers in my ear, “Hush, my love”. My heart stops, I can’t breathe, my eyes are wide as I struggle to turn.

His brown eyes melt into mine and I feel his embrace once more. If this is a dream I don’t care if it is my last. And if it is not....

Writing prompt image from: http://creativewritingink.co.uk/writing-exercises/

Do you follow your heart or your head?

A warm April evening, my twin brothers jump and laugh through the waves. It’s the end of the first hot day of year, the air hanging heavy, so hot you can taste it. I’m jealous, my sandaled feet planted in the pebbles, I’m not allowed to swim with them. Instead I’m a lighthouse, holding a lantern up for the ships bobbing and playing in the surf. I dream of throwing down the lantern and running in after them, of the water lapping against my skin and rocking me. I turn, my father stands behind me with his new camera which he’s so proud of and snaps a picture. Then I hear the lantern smash to the ground, I feel my feet carrying me into the water and then it’s all around me. Freedom. Not for long. My brothers pull me back to the shore, I’m in disgrace.

I put down the sepia photograph and smile, smile at the memory of the most rebellious thing I ever did, until I ran away with my husband. I wonder if I hadn’t thrown myself into the sea that day, whether I would have thrown myself into the unknown to be with the man I loved. In those few seconds I felt completely free, completely happy and though no-one else could understand why, it had been worth it. In those few seconds my impulsiveness had taken over, my heart had ruled over my head and I wouldn’t give them away for anything. I was not an impulsive child, nor am I an impulsive adult, but since that day I have followed my heart and I think it’s served me pretty well. There are others of course, for whom that advice fails miserably but you can never know if you are among them until you’ve tried. I am not brave, I am not lucky, I cannot predict the future. I can only trust.

When writing this I was reminded of this quote which I think of often:

In the end we only regret:
the chances we didn't take,
the relationships we were afraid to have,
& the decisions we took too long to make

Image from: http://creativewritingink.co.uk/writing-exercises/

Under a Violet Sky

Under a violet sky I walk unsteadily, to the place I remember so vividly from my past. When I woke my room was bathed in purple, drawing me back to that night long ago, when I was young and beautiful and in love. They had told us it was a once in a lifetime experience, rarer than a solar eclipse, more beautiful than the aurora borealis, a geomagnetic storm that would flood the country with intense colour. But here I am again, surrounded by dancing indigo and heliotrope, with sand between my toes as I gaze upwards.

We had walked here hand in hand and then sat under the twisting tree, our toes dipping into the purple lake. His arm was warm and heavy around my shoulders, as I rested my head against his chest, listening to his calm heartbeat, trying to capture the moment forever in my memory. He pointed at the deepest purple swirls and declared they were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen on earth, apart from me. I smiled even though I knew he was lying, nothing could be more beautiful than this moment. He held me close and whispered that he loved me, I whispered the same back and I meant it. I’m looking for those deep purple swirls now, searching for him, because if there’s anywhere he’d choose to go it would be there and when I die I’ll join him.

He kissed my forehead and then stood, leading me by the hand to a small wooden boat that lay on its side, anchored by a huge bell. We clambered in and then lay side by side on our backs watching the heavens. The boat’s still there, older; the wood peeling, the bell rusted. I smile as I remember how we lost ourselves completely in the brilliant lights and then, as they dimmed, in each other. I climb awkwardly into the boat, and lie down; I can almost feel him next to me again. Sweeping the sky I find the deepest purple hue, I see it one last time reflected in his gorgeous eyes and then I sleep. I sleep better than I have in years, and before morning I too will be in those beautiful swirls in the violet sky.

Thank you for reading this, I loved writing it, so I hope you enjoyed it.

Image from: http://creativewritingink.co.uk/writing-exercises/

Mirror tears

‘Drip... Drip... Drip...’ the mud from her boots, dropping to join the mud below.

‘Drip... Drip... Drip...’ the tears down her face, dropping to join the rain down below.

She knew he would never come, but still she waited. Shivering from the cold, the fog crept into her coat. Black figures emerged from the mist as it ebbed, each one making her heart stop, but they never moved, except for their slowly appearing branches as they tossed in the wind.

But he did come, his head bowed as he sat on the opposite side of the crimson bench, a mirror image of where he used to sit. She wished she could climb back through the mirror, back in time, back to his side. It was too late, he was too late. She stood up, walked away, never looking back.

‘Drip... Drip... Drip...’ the mud from her boot-prints on the bench, dropping to join the mud below.

‘Drip... Drip... Drip...’ the tears down his face.

Image from Creative Writing Ink http://creativewritingink.co.uk/writing-exercises/

Lost

His face was a mask, emotionless, as he laid the single crimson rose on the ground. If only he had acted sooner, but expressing his feelings was not something that came easily. Now she was gone, he would never know how it felt to hold her in his arms, the smell of her hair, her whispering breath. Only once his chance was lost had he realised how much he loved her, how much he needed her in his life, how empty he felt.

A single tear rolled down his cheek.

Writing prompt from http://creativewritingink.co.uk/writing-exercises/

Crimson balloon

“I should be happy. I should be enjoying this.” Harriet looked unhappily at Rick and then back at her friends. The first few weeks everything had been perfect, she had been so happy - her first boyfriend, her first taste of love. Every time she saw him she felt a massive balloon rising in her chest, threatening to pop at any moment. Now the crimson balloon was slowly deflating, sinking, shrinking - replaced with a strange, unsettling feeling. Everything had been a blur, now she noticed her best friends were tetchy with her, ignoring her and leaving her out of their conversations. Maybe she had neglected them, she had only just met Rick after all, and she had known Chrissy and Tanya for years. She used to tell them everything. When was the last time she had called one of them? Two, three weeks? This wasn’t her. This wasn’t the person she wanted to be.

But she looked back at Rick, he made her so happy, so content. He was completely unaware of the secret battle raging inside her. She watched as he wandered off the path, a new direction across the wide open field. He turned, glossy black falling round his shoulders, “You coming?”

Thank you for reading, comments and criticisms would be much appreciated!
Creative writing prompt from: http://creativewritingink.co.uk/writing-exercises/

Wings

This was going to be a short story, as I rarely ever write poems and I loved the image and had so may ideas! But I began writing and a poem came out, so I went with it. It only took ten minutes and I don't know if it's any good (or simply terrible!) so any comments would be appreciated.

How BEAUTIFUL the sky is today,

I wonder how the birds can sweep away,

So swiftly barely noticing,

The wonders all around them.

I marvel at their speed,

And wish I had their wings,

So I could fly and perch up high,

And survey the World.

But maybe there up high,

Whilst they fleetingly fly,

They are looking down at me,

And thinking I am just as FREE.

I am just a little boy,

I have arms but not wings,

But maybe if I wish and wish,

And WAIT.

I will have everything.

Creative writing prompt from: http://creativewritingink.co.uk/writing-exercises/

The Golden Bird

She did not remember this place, yet she knew where she was going. Her path already sewn across the barren earth, she wandered purposefully yet she barely knew why. The ground was hot and rugged, and the scarlet rucksack on her bag weighed heavy on her young shoulders. The air though, tasted of storms. Great clouds rumbled towards her as she reached the tree, its bare branches reaching for her as if to embrace her. Far up in its highest reaches nestled several small bundles of twigs, laboriously gathered and woven together by a careful soul. As she gazed up in wonder at the highest nest, her rain coloured eyes glowed, the golden light from within reflecting off them. As she watched the nest began to shiver, but the girl was not surprised, this was supposed to happen. This was why she was here. The small twigs began to unravel as the nest shuddered and the beautiful, gleaming egg began to roll slowly down. The girl worked quickly, she knew she had a little time before it would reach the ground but there was much to prepare. She took from her bag a small woven cloth, a wooden button and a safety pin. What could she do with this? There had to be something else. Her small face became peaceful, her eyes closed to the glinting light of the falling egg, trying to remember what she had never been taught. Before her stood a wizened old woman, she was smiling and in her palm was a tiny drop of liquid gold. The winking gold was shifting, flowing into a shape, a small bird, no bigger than a pearl. The woman turned, her back to the girl who calmly waited, when she turned back again the bird was gone, but in its place was a beautiful net of golden thread. The girl opened her eyes, she unlaced her left shoe and bought out the carefully folded net. She opened it and spread it over her open palm, just as the old lady had done, then she crossed her legs on the scorching ground under the tree and closed her eyes. Her face became peaceful once again and the edges of the net began to twitch, then float until they were hovering above the small upturned hand. Then she waited.

Creative writing prompt from: http://creativewritingink.co.uk/writing-exercises/
Thank you - if you've read this far! Comments would be very much appreciated