50 POSTS!!!

50TH POST AUTHOR INTERVIEW-CELEBRATION-COOL-THINGY

(translation: I (M.) couldn't come up with a good title for the 50th post. You'd think we have this down by now, but noooo.....)

ACTION KEY:
(A word in this color means this author is speaking, acting, or being described)

M: purple

L: green

E: blue

M: Simplex is now a real word! I'm pleased to announce that "Simplex" has been officially added to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary... Not really! We're not that famous. (and we probably never will be!)

L: BUT WE'RE AWESOME!!!

E: And so is the LEGO Movie!! (Breaks into song and dance) "Everything is awesoooome..... Everything is cool when you're part of a team!!"

M: (stares at E. with slight concern)

L: (begins to laugh hysterically)

M: And so begins our interview... and impending demise.

QUESTION 1: TELL US SOMETHING INTERESTING ABOUT ONE OF YOUR FELLOW AUTHORS.

E. M enjoys using parentheses in weird and crazy ways... (M ponders the opportunity(but doesn't do anything about it(or does she???)))

L: and E. never gets enough sleep! (E. yawns)

M: and L is secretly a pop star! (L breaks out in loud song)

QUESTION 2: DESCRIBE THE OTHER GIRLS IN ONE WORD.

M: L is pondering and E is Engaging.
E: M is a rainbow and L is twirly!

L: E. is Random and M. is thoughtful.

M: We make a make a good mix!

QUESTION 3: WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CHARACTERISTIC OF GOD?

L: The fact that He knows us perfectly and still loves us perfectly!

M: The way He has a perfect plan for everything; how His story is woven through all aspects of our lives!

E. HIS SENSE OF HUMOR!!

QUESTION 4: WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE THING TO POST ON THE BLOG?

M: I like writing about Simplexities or something creative, fun, and engaging.

L: Well, I haven't posted much yet but I enjoy writing stories!

E: I enjoy posting my drawings and funny wallpapers.

M: For example, the picture to the right was drawn by E. during the early stages of the interview, in 5 minutes, on a simple dry-erase board. THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is called talent!!

QUESTION 5: WHO DO YOU LOOK UP TO?

L: Simon Peter. He messed up pretty bad, but Jesus forgave him and he did some pretty bold stuff for the gospel.

E: Donald Duck. No further questions.

M: Well, most of my friends are taller than me. My neck gets sore sometimes.

QUESTION 6: WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE BLOG POST UP TILL NOW?

E: Creative Writing Prompt #6 or #15.

L: "A Lot can change in Two Weeks."

M: Creative Writing Prompt #13. (but now, probably this 50th post!!)

(Pause of awkward silence, but only for a moment...)

E: Moo, I'm a cow, and you can't do anything about it!!

M: Wow, ok....

E: MOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

L: I like M.'s responses to E.

M: It's getting late, can you tell?

L: In other words, I love you both.

M: AWWWWW!!

E: .......moo?.......

CAN WE GET TO THE LAST QUESTION BEFORE YOU THREE GO INSANE?

M: Too late! 

E: (rises and begins to walk around the room like a penguin)

M: (sighs dramatically) We are all insane already.

E: Moo.

L: (Laughs at everyone in the most loving way possible)

THE LAST QUESTION: (FOR THIS INTERVIEW, ANYWAYS)

DO YOU HAVE ANY ADVICE, SAGE WORDS, WISE WORDS, HUMOROUS WORDS, WORDS OF QUESTIONABLE INTENT, OR OTHER WORDS YOU WISH TO IMPART TO THE READING AUDIENCE?

L: Jesus loves you!!! M. and E. are awesome! And eat more Pizza.

E: Don't get brain freezes reading the blog. And doughnuts are good.

M: Paperclips. 'Nuff said.

Creative Writing Prompt #14

 

   Hello people of the earth! I welcome you in peace!(oh never mind)

   Hi everybody, sorry about that:) I think I've been watching too much, 'Doctor Who', anyways, to the point! Or, technically, 'prompt':) oh don't I have such a great sense of humor?! Anyways...

   This Creative Prompt, was really fun for me to write. It's basically one of my homework story's, from a class that I am in. I was told to describe a picture-that I was designated-like I would to a blind person, someone who couldn't see the picture. I thought it would be hard, but in the end, it was really easy! And surprisingly fun:) I hope you enjoy it!

          

          *        *        *        *        *

   It is quiet. The sun is setting, peeping its last rays over distant mountains. There is still enough light to cast long shadows upon the soft, grassy earth. 

   There is a small part of a large forest-somewhere in the world-where the trees grow tall, in long straight lines. Their towering branches reach out to each other, forming a perfect arch. No one knows how they grew like that, perhaps an old farmer planted them, knowing that he would never live to see them bloom in spring. But he planted them anyway, knowing that his children, and grand children would. 

   Mysteriously, all the trees are perfectly groomed, and beneath the tall formed arch, are three small pine trees. They stood, lonely and forgotten. But they stood proudly, as if they were waiting to see a young child's face, light up with joy at the sight of them being hung with string popcorn, pretty lights, and glass ornaments, for Christmas Day. 

   Just above the small trees, are little designs trimmed out of the tree leaves, it is said that they grow in that way, to remember the farmer who planted them.

              *       *       *       *       *

Ta-da! Please comment on how you liked it! And here is the picture that I had to describe:

Bi! (Typo?nope! It's a combination of 'hi' and 'bye'-bi! Crazy weird right?) 

Anyway,:) bi! Until next time. 

~E

Guest Post - Broken Heart

Hi everyone! M. here to share another wonderful friend of mine! Well, not share her, rather, she wrote a wonderful post to share on our blog! Her name is Lucille Maria and she's a writer at heart. (Like me!)

Here you go! Hope you enjoy it!

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         I am sitting, shivering on a lonely curb, gazing emptily at the broken heart in my hands. Tears slip down my cheeks as I study its cracked surface. A raindrop falls forlornly on my head, yet I hardly notice its cold sensation as my mind reels, its wheels spinning faster than I can keep up with.

   Maybe...maybe if I just call him back...

   You fool! my mind scolds. He's the one who broke it; he won't fix it!

    No... raindrops roll down my neck and in rivulets between my sneakers. It was my fault. And maybe...if I heal his....he'll heal mine.

    I sniff back the tears pooling in my eyes, caressing his cold, barely pulsing heart as my own chest aches terribly. And I still just sit there, the rain weighing on my shoulders, making me just as miserable as I felt.

    I tilt my head to the side, my eyes catching  just the right angle as the rain runs down its lonely surface: His broken heart looks like it's crying.

    My body feels like it belongs to someone else as I robotically stand to my feet. My hands slip the heart in my pocket. My voice croaks, calling his name. I call again, louder and clearer. I turn around, my eyes searching the gray, deserted landscape. The tears meld with the rain trailing down my face as the acid of sorrow and regret eat away at me from the inside.

   My feet move in the direction he had disappeared, where he had turned away from me and never looked back.

   I am running, my own cries drowned out by the wails of the despondent storm. I don't know where I am going, but my feet act as my guide as they sprint, my arms pumping along with them.

   Maybe it's not too late, maybe I can still find him, my distant heart hopes.

   I swirl around the corner where he had last been visible, but still I run on.

   I am at an intersection now. The lights blur through the rain and my tears but they refuse to give in to the lifelessness cloaking the streets.

   I finally stop, my chest heaving with sobs and for air. I scream with all the breath I can muster, calling for him.

   My eyes catch the faint outline of a dark smudge far down the street. A person. My hope soars and I feel a slight beating in my pocket. It's him. Not all is lost.

   I call his name, but the shape only dwindles smaller and smaller. He can't hear me. I start running again, running, and running. Time stretches painfully as I strain desperately to close the gap between us.

   A sharp pain flares in my knee as my sodden sneaker slips from under me. I fall hard on the cold, slick asphalt, my head clashing roughly against the ground. I lay still, my breath sending white vapors in the air, my eyes following the bright stars dancing in the stormy sky. I am so tired.

    My eyelids flutter and slide close as water pours around me. Thunder rumbles menacingly in the distance, drowning out the light squeal of brakes and the squeaking of tires on the wet road.

    Then all fades to nothing. 

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I will make an effort to post a CWP of my own this week! Finals are coming up, so you have been warned... I haven't been keeping my promises very well lately. :/ 

See you guys next time!

M. 

(P.S. How do ya like the new background? I get bored with designs WAY too fast and probably will change it more often than I post!!) :D

Writing Prompt #13 - The Day the Sky Changed

Hi Everyone! M. here to do another CWP. (I found it on Pinterest, of course!) I really want to post more than once a week, but we'll have to wait at least till graduation for that! Probably won't even happen then. But before we continue, here are three short letters to some dear friends of mine.

1. (Dear School, Stop being so time-consuming and stuff like that. I have things I want to do. Sincerely, M.)
2. (Dear E., please come back! we miss seeing your writing! Sincerely, M.) (back me up on this one, guys!)
3. (Dear me, you need to blog more often. You can do it! Sincerely, me.)

This is going to be a combination of two different prompts, because I like them both a lot.

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Text of the second prompt: "What if clouds and lakes switched spots, and every time you looked up, you'd see waves being pulled by the moon, and we'd wade through the clouds on a hot day."

Writing Prompt #13: Write about the day the sky changed color. The clouds and the water have also switched spots. 

I opened my eyes with alarm. Something was outside my window. I yawned and sat up in bed, pushing a few stray bangs out of my face. I lazily slid out of bed and smoothed the covers down, trying to focus my sight on the greenish haze outside my window. As I slid the curtains and shades back simultaneously, my world was turned upside down.

No, literally. Something was really wrong. The sky, it was no longer blue. Well, some of it was blue. The rest was varying shades of green, violet, orange, and pitch black. It looked like Jackson Pollock decided to paint the sky. And the clouds! They were certainly not clouds. They, in fact, were waves. The ocean, the water, it was in the sky. I had to be dreaming. I rushed to the family room to look out the back window and get a clearer view.

Here I saw the same kaleidoscopic atmosphere, though there seemed to be less waves. I shook my head and began to turn from the window, but before I did, I caught a glance of our backyard lake. It seemed to be an explosion of cotton candy sitting in the hollow where the water used to be. "Incredible," I muttered, "They must have switched spots."

If you knew me, you'd probably know that I have an obsession for the sky. Clouds, rain, stars, it always felt like a love letter from God to me. Different patterns every day, always a new painting of the world's ceiling. The stars were rare when we used to live in the West, but now that we lived out in the country, I could glimpse a little of the deep heavens every night. Now I knew I had a chance, even for a minute, to go do the one thing I'd always dreamed. The possible danger didn't matter. I could touch the clouds.

I quietly opened the back door and slipped outside. It seemed that the rest of the house was sleeping, or dead, but outside, the world was very alive.The wind, very strong, blew my tousled hair back and threatened to pick me up off the ground. I noticed that the water in the multicolored sky was pulsing down towards the earth and crashing over the crests before heading back up to the flat surface. What happened to the law of gravity? I wondered. I approached the hollow that used to be our lake and stopped. I took a deep breath, then I walked into the clouds.

The top layer was like a mist, surprisingly warm as it dotted against my legs. The rest could best be described as a powerful, gentle moisture.   It was thick and moved as I waded through, swirling in little circles, yet it also was soft, so unbelievably soft, that you almost felt nothing. You couldn't float like in water, but if it covered your head you would start sneezing from breathing it in. I remembered a friend once describing God's voice "like a powerful, gentle wind." This must have been like a hug from God, rather than his voice. I moved slowly back to the side of the lake, finally resting on the side.

I doodled in the clouds with my finger as I stared at the sky, all of its brilliant hues shining through the waves. The inky black parts were mysterious, and I wondered if they could be doorways to another world. The green shades were vibrant, and I could imagine grass just growing from the sky. The purple near the horizon was majestic, reminding me of satin and the best kinds of friendships. The fiery orange and the blues were the closest shades to a familiar sky, yet even they were different. I breathed in deeply and closed my eyes. "It's so beautiful, God."

I bolted up and opened my eyes. the temperature had changed, my clothes no longer soaked. I was laying in my bed and, judging from the state of the nightstand, it wasn't the same day. I tried to ask my mom what time it was as she came over to the bed. She put her hand on my forehead, and sighed in relief. "Finally, your fever's broken. You've been awfully sick for the past few days." I shook my head in disbelief. "We found you by the lake a few mornings ago and you were mumbling about swimming in the clouds and the sky being green! Crazy, right?"

"Right," I furrowed my brow and wondered what on earth was going on.

"Thank the Lord you didn't fall into the lake. You hungry?" Mom asked.

"Starving." I grinned. As we walked to the kitchen, I began to realize what had happened. I thought again about the powerful, gentle moisture of the clouds. That had been real. I just knew it had. I shrugged. It must have been one of God's ingenuous ways to tell me that he loves me. What better way to find me, than through the clouds? I've gotta blog about this sometime,  I thought, and smiled. It really fits that idea of the simplex.

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Hope you liked it! See you next time!

-M.

PS I know, I almost always write my posts from first person, and they're always a girl's point of view. I haven't learned how to write well any other way. Someday I will be bold and write differently. Well, maybe. No promises.

Writing Prompts #9-12: Quickies

Hi everyone! M. here. So much for blogging more often, right?

I am back after a long production week of our play! I don't have anything specific to write about from that experience, because most of it is kind of a blur in my mind.... but I digress. I may write about it at some point. Today I'm taking a few short creative writing prompts from my pinterest and putting them in one post!

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Writing Prompt #9:

Something along the lines of Taylor Warren or Jess Mavery. If I published a book under a pen name I would make it ambiguous anyways so you couldn't tell if it was a guy or girl. 

Writing Prompt #10:

Pain is dirty, sometimes dull, other times sharp and glaring. The color of an injury, in my mind, is a flash of white followed by that dark uneven maroon. When a loved one is lost, pain is the color of the world blurred by tears. Everything that manages to come into focus is sharper, more cutting than before. The worst pain is blacker than a funeral, yet even then light usually manages to come through.

Happiness is Thanksgiving day and sitting at the table with family. It tastes like the meals shared, along with the often times odd conversations and babies cooing - or crying. It's warm rolls and pies passed around for all. Happiness is also like a free chocolate, given as an unexpected gift, or freshly baked cookies just out of the oven.

Writing Prompt #11: 

"49!" The warden yelled. "Get back in line!"

49 shivered and shuffled back into place. He glanced furtively across the muddy field. Sandy, ragged hair hung over his eyes, blocking his view. He accidentally jostled 48 as he reached his spot.

"Watch it." She muttered. 

"Whatever." 49 didn't care anymore. His broad shoulders had lost their once solid stature and the elements, specifically the cold, had taken their toll on the prisoner. They were about to be shuttled back to earth where they had to pretend all that went on here was fine. If they didn't keep quiet, well, the corrector would pay the captives a visit. Poor 15, thought 49. It was his job now. His job to start the revolution. That, and to stay alive.

(Possible future longer prompt???)

Writing Prompt #12:

1.Where I put my glasses.

2. Where I put my phone.

3. Where I put my shoes.

4. Just where I put my things in general.

5. ..... Uhhh, I forgot.

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And here, free of charge, are a few pictures from my pinterest I thought were especially funny.

(I SHALL CALL HIM STABBY AND HE SHALL BE MY STABBY)

If you ever want me to write about a certain topic or have a prompt you want me to do, let me know! I may decline, of course, but it never hurts to ask. See you guys next time!

-M.

(That's all.)

Creative Writing Prompt #8: Shakespeare Style Remixing

Hi again! M. here.

I think that I must be turning into a broken record. Sorry for the lack of posts. Too much of life around here! Well, not completely true. more like too much procrastination. But I digress. Back to Baker Street.

Today I have a (sort of) Creative Writing post that's going to take a bit to explain.

This prompt was inspired by a comedy act done by John Branyan. He does a Shakespearean take on the Three Little Pigs. (Find it here) In class this week, our teacher had us get in groups and remix a fairy tale, Shakespeare style, using a Thesaurus, and memorize it to deliver in class.

As it was a group project, I only did the last third of the story, unfortunately. But I thought I'd share it with you all anyways.

I hear you behind that computer screen. "Stop explaining and give us the story, already!" I know, I can't help myself sometimes. Alright, I'll give it to you. You expect me to actually write what I said I was going to write?

Writing Prompt #8: Remix the Cinderella Story, Shakespeare style.

We enter into the scene with a sobbing, destitute servant girl who desired above all to attend the celebration at the monarch's domicile. She had dashed to the garden where she could wallow in her sorrows in peace. That's when the Enchantress came.

(Above lines are equal parts improvisation and lines acquired from the essay of my classmate. The rights do not belong to me.)

The enchantress smirked. She, with a flourish, shook the sceptre which was beheld in her hand, and conjuring a gown the hue of roses for Cinderella, ne’er so finely perceived before. On her feet here appeared slippers of glass, translucent and sparkling. “As for transportation, no fair maiden simply strolls to a dance.” Spoke the kindly witch; "Make haste and fetch a gourd!” The said orange squash was instantly transformed to a hansom by the fairy. Then the wand was here utilized on creatures, not unlike rats, seven in number. Up from the grass rose beasts out of the small pests, into six sleek steeds, standing silently, subsuming solid shafts, stirrups, and supple straps surrounding said stallions. Of the seventh mouse, an operator of carriages hence appeared.

“Take heed and record in thy mind that to the stroke of midnight, you are charged to make haste from the promenade.” The charitable fairy warned. “Then my work shall no longer lend itself to work.”

Within the space of the consecutive three hours was delivered a sensational evening for the destitute servant girl. Cinderella caught the lingering glance of none other than the monarch’s son and they waltzed late through the dusk and neared the twilight. Then, the pendulum on the grandfather clock swung down a final time that night to call a new day. Cinderella noted with alarm the first peal, wrenched herself from the grasp of the Prince. One of the translucent heels she wore tumbled from her foot and rested itself on the stair as she hastened from the manor.

The gentleman, known to the majority of creation as “charming”, and infatuated with the vanishing maiden, discovered the damsel’s silver shoe situated still on the step. He commanded his ministers to scour the entire territory owned by his progenitor and not to cease ‘til his precious princess was promptly procured. The attendants attempted to partner the magical footwear with every set of feet in the land, til the final foot left belonged here to Cinderella. Though her stepmother refused adamantly to let the ministers try the said shoe on, The glass conformed to the foot of the servant without qualm or resistance.

Henceforth, Cinderella was to wed her love, the Prince, and maintained her time left on earth sincerely, consistently, subsequently.

-Concluded.

Hope you liked it! I will post another of my writing assignments soon. (I wrote it out rather than typed it, but I have to wait to get it back to post it on here.) Anyway, see you next time!

-M.

On Why I Don't Post Enough and Creative Writing Prompt #7

Oh, Hello there. What did you ask? Oh yes, I'm doing fine. Yes, I'm still alive.

Well, I haven't written because I'm a very busy person. Homework is, after all, a bigger priority, right? (very true, writing is more fun...) I've also been dealing with some writer's block lately. I do have a creative writing assignment in class this week that I'm going to publish here when I finish!

Anyway, none of the above is very true. I've been gone because I'm lazy.

A definition: lazy means hopelessly obsessed with Sherlock Season 3 and forgetting about my poor blog. I would do a "review" of Sherlock, but I'm not going to. At least not yet anyways.

Hmmm.... well, the writer's block part was somewhat true. And I do have a story about my hobby that I'll share soon!

I guess I'll finish with a creative writing prompt and a verse that encouraged me this week.

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(This prompt is from my Pinterest, but I can't get the picture to show up in the window. Go figure.)

Writing Prompt #7 - Write about the most beautiful smile you've ever seen.

The most beautiful smile, some say, belongs to the one that has seen pain, and yet, still smiles. Charlotte certainly didn't think so right now. It had been a week. The house was so empty without him, knowing he'd never come back. He couldn't, after all. Charlotte's best friend, her husband of 48 years, was dead. Heart attack. Her heart broke when his did. The tears that rolled down her face today were ones of desperation, fear, and utter loneliness.

Her tightly clasped fist opened to look at his miniature photograph in her locket again. Kenny at eight years old, dressed up in a nice suit for Sunday church. Charlotte's vision blurred again as the necklace clinked on the floor. I hate this, her mind whispered. I hate him. Why would he do that to me? Charlotte shook herself and stood up. No, She argued. I love him; it wasn't his fault he died.

Ever so slowly she gathered the courage to walk to their room. She stopped at his closet, hands shaking. Kenny's last words to her resurfaced. "When I.... die, look on... the top shelf... of my closet... It is my... last... gift to... you. I... love you." He had said, his quavering hand on Charlotte's check. A week later, she was still afraid to look. Pushing back her doubts along with the closet door, her eyes rested on a box on the highest shelf.

Charlotte gently took the box down and set it on the floor, sitting down next to it. She lifted the lid to find all sorts of memorabilia contained inside. Several photos of Kenny, apparently not at his greatest moments.  Charlotte had teased him about those childhood photographs before, so he had hidden them from her. Several letters were also in the box from her when Kenny had served overseas in the military. She pored over every word that had been written by her years ago. Now the tears were ones of nostalgia, and love.

The very last thing she pulled out puzzled her. A red ball with an indent on one side. What is this? Why did he keep it in here? A note was taped to it. "Don't stop laughing. From the first day I met you, I loved your laugh. Keep laughing for me!" Charlotte's eyes widened as she flipped back through the pictures. One of young Kenny as a clown for Halloween. The ball in her hand was on Kenny's nose in the picture. A grin spread over Charlotte's face, and she dropped the picture as she giggled like a schoolgirl. The most beautiful smile, some say, belongs to the one that has seen pain, and yet, still smiles.

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A verse for you today... Proverbs 4:23, NLT - Guard your heart above all else, for it determines the course of your life.

It's a short verse, but I read it this morning and it really impacted me. It is really a self explanatory verse and I should be putting it up somewhere that I can always see it. I'd rather learn the easy way.

Thanks for reading this blog, guys! I love to hear that people enjoy it. See you next time! (Hopefully sooner than last time...)

-M.



Creative Writing Prompt #6 (Randomness Included Free of Charge!)

Hi all!

So....This entire week I would notice at the little blogger bookmark on my screen and cringe. Humble apologies for the lack of posts. I really need to post more. But I digress.

Here's my writing prompt for today. I thought I'd try my hand at some poetry, but I don't think I got the rhythm quite right. Well, I hope you like it anyways.

Writing Prompt #6: The Little Girl in the Window

Her ragged hair hung down in her face,
No smile; she wore no hair bow
Through the pouring rain I could see
The quiet little girl in the window.

A freckled face and haunting eyes
That cut me through the soul,
as much as I'd try, I'd not forget
that little girl there in the window.

The face withdrew and the door opened wide
She was short, and walked quite slow,
The thunder and rain could swallow her up,
That little girl from the cracked window.

I then caught one last glimpse of her
as her frail body shivered from cold
I hoped to help her someway, somehow,
The poor little girl from the window.

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I guess it's the little things, right? I love clouds. I couldn't look at the sky enough this week.

Uhhh... Yep. That's all I got. Shout out to E! It's her birthday on Saturday!!! (does happy dance around the room) Hope you all have a blessed evening!

M.

Creative Writing Prompt #5

Hello! I have successfully finished my second CWP! (Man I gotta write more of these) I hope you enjoy it!

Creative writing prompt #5: You wake up trapped in a basement. Tell the story of how you end up in there. (not how you get out.)

...I walked quickly down the street, my long dress flowing like silk over my legs. I want so much to turn my head and look behind me, at the man I knew was following. I forced myself to slow my pace, but after a few moments I gave up and continued to step to the pace of my heart. It was beating so loud and hard I though it might burst. 

   There, up ahead the taxicab that was to take me...where? I knew not...he only told me that I would get in and...and what?...he didn't give me any directions. He told me I would be followed, but that I must not trust them, or believe whatever they told me. He only asked that I trust him. Did I? I wasn't sure. He promised me my freedom, what more could I want? 

   I heard the footsteps behind me increase their pace, my heart raced to an impossible speed. I made a run for the cab, threw open the door, launched myself in, and slammed it behind me, locking it for good measure. The driver was obviously expecting me, because he slammed on the gas, and began to swerve madly to avoid hitting anything. the car squealed in protest, as did I. I hoped I was now safe, but I wasn't sure. The driver glanced up at his rearview mirror looking very worried. I finally gave in, and looked behind, following the gaze of the driver. 

   

   I knew then even before he said anything, that, of course, I was being followed..again. As I looked back, only confirming what I knew, my fear grew as I noticed that the car in pursuit of me (for It was me they were after) was not even attempting to be hidden. The man who was driving the car was violently jerking the steering wheel back and forth, weaving his way through the many cars honking in protest. Coming quickly closer and closer. I urged the driver to go faster, unfortunately he was unable to, there where two cars in front of us that had 'conveniently' decided to stop in the middle of the road. My heart sunk as I realized why. 

  

   Three men emerged from the cars and ran straight for my taxicab. In my fear and stupidity I unlocked my door and made a run for it. I dodged the still honking cars and ran into a dark alley hoping it wasn't a dead end. Thankfully it wasn't, but the men giving pursuit quickly surrounded me.  They stood there watching me as I stood there panting in fear. I quickly realized escape was impossible, and yet they didn't do anything, it was like they were waiting...

   

    And then...there he was...he walked toward the men and they stood aside for him. he smiled, "Hi Kat!" I frowned in disgust of his pet name for me, but he refused to call me anything else. He continued, "well, you did trust me, unfortunately that's not enough, so I can't let you go. But have a nice ride!"  My mouth dropped, I shut it just as fast. He looked amused of all things! Then one of the men slapped a wet cloth over my face, and I knew, he had betrayed me...I didn't understand...He had promised, promised, my freedom, and remembered why I never trusted him. Because, of course, you can never trust a liar.

                 *          *            *

  I cracked my eyes open slowly, aware of a growing headache. I couldn't  see a thing, it was dark, and I noticed the cold of the floor I was laying on. My eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness and I vaguely saw that I was in a small room with a short flight of stairs leading to a door (it was locked as I had expected) ,a sliver of light was squeezing through the bottom, barely illuminating the room. 

   I now saw that I was in a basement.....

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Goodbye... until next time!

~E

Creative Writing Prompt #4 (stranded)

   Hey people! E here! This is my first CWP, I hope you like it;)

Creative Writing Prompt #4: Jack Sparrow, Dr. Grant, Paul, Noccoló Machiavelli (author of 'The Prince') are all stranded on an island, what did they do? And how do they get off?

   "We'll friends", Jack decided, "we should elect a captain, I vote me!" 

   "What!? No the obvious thing to do is to erect a prince!" Argued Machiavelli, "I vote me!"

   Paul was looking at them, and then muttered "I think both of those are not very good ideas". "Oh stop it, all of you", Sighed Dr. Grant, "what good is it to elect a captain, or a prince right now? All we are trying to do, is figure a way to get off this place!"

   They where walking along the beach of a small deserted island, in quite a muddle, as they had no way off. 

   "You know", Jack remembered, "the last time I was stranded on an island, I was given a pistol, with one shot, while I watched a man sail away with my ship".

   "We'll seeing as how your still alive", Paul pointed out, "how did you escape?"

   Jack grinned and bragged, "Sea Turtles, mate!"

   "Not true!" A voice suddenly shouted, it was Machiavelli, "you told me, that island was a popular route for the rum runners, and you bartered your way your way onto their ship!"

   Jacks grin faded and he sighed, caught red handed, he confessed "I know. But it sure does Make for a great story!" He leaned down to pick up a stray rum bottle that had conveniently washed up on the shore, but then threw it over his shoulder when he found that it was empty. "Why is the rum always gone? And where's my pistol?" He asked, "did you take it Grant?"

   "Doctor Grant," Machiavelli corrected, "he prefers, Dr. Grant".

   "That's alright, Machiavelli". Dr. Grant replied, "no Jack, I didn't take your pistol"

   "Captain Jack to you!" Jack smirked.

   Dr. Grant continued talking as if jack wasn't there, "you know, when Napoleon Bonaparte was exiled to the island Elba, he just had an army come and rescue him. Do we have an army?" 

   "No, but we do have a lamp!" Jack offered.

   "Ooh! Won't a genie pop out if we rub it?" Machiavelli asked excitedly.

   "Well," Dr. Grant cautioned, "yes, probably, but have you ever heard the saying, 'ideas have consequences'?" 

   "No, but thats a good point!" Machiavelli thought for a minute, "well I guess we won't rub it. Paul what are you doing?"

   Paul had been staring at some of the palm trees on the island for some time now, he suddenly explained what he was thinking, "My friends, if I'm not mistaken, those trees right there are excellent trees for making rafts with. If Captain Jack would be so kind as to lend us his sword, and if anyone happens to have some rope, I believe that we could build a raft!" 

   They all stared at him in bewilderment, as it was the most sensible thing that anyone had said since they had been here. 

   Finally Dr. Grant asked, "Now why didn't we think of that two hours ago?"

   "Because," Machiavelli answered, "two hours ago we were debating what the wind velocity of an African sparrow would be if it was carrying a coconut halfway around the world! Oh, and I've got some rope here!" 

   "Oh...uh...yes rope!" Paul remembered, "well, lets get to work!"

*     *     *     *     

   Roughly five hours later, the raft was finished. They pushed it to the water. If you had been there you would have seen quite a comical sight. Once it was floating, three of the men got on board while one pushed it out to sea, it moved so fast, that he did not have time to quickly jump on, and so swimming for all he was worth, he went after the raft. While on it you would have seen one man waving his arms madly about, obviously giving orders that no one was listening to. The other two men were trying to paddle the boat in two different directions. Finally the first man reached the raft, and some order was put into place. Then they sailed of to, who knows where...

               

*     *     *     *

   I hope you enjoyed it! I look forward to writing more prompts, but for now, goodbye!

   ~E

Creative Writing Prompt #3 (And Some Housekeeping)

Hi everyone! M. here with a new story!

(By the way, I love this site. It's where I get most of my writing prompts, including the one for today. You should check it out. Seriously. Right now. Like, stop reading this and click on the link already!) ;)

For those of you who didn't obey that last sentence (you know who you are!!) here's the prompt for today's story. (Sorry in advance for the length. I find it difficult to be concise sometimes.)

Writing Prompt #3 - Tell this story: There it was, finally. Our island. Our very own island. It looked beautiful above the waves of fog, but there was still one question to be answered: why had [he] sold it to us for only five dollars?

I'm still not really sure why we bought it, either. Tim and I had been married for two years now and looking for a place to settle down. He was a physician who had just finished his PhD, and I had received my degree in psychology. When the young agent met with us in Los Angeles, we had almost settled for a flat that would have put us severely in debt and left us dissatisfied.  He promised that he had a deal for us that we couldn't resist.

Tim was suspicious, but the man seemed honest enough. He showed us pictures of a house, beachfront property. It looked like heaven to me. As he pulled some other pictures out of his bag we realized that the house was, in fact, on a private island. I shook my head, knowing immediately that there was no way we could pay for a house that extravagant, but the agent quietly offered the property for five dollars.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

"We're going to land soon, Claire." Tim walked up to the rail beside me as his voice cut through through my distracting thoughts. His eyes were longing to explore the island, to set foot on our own little paradise. To actually have our own island; the words sounded so foreign in my mind. We had been at sea for the past 6 or 7 hours, and the sun had set a while ago. The stars were beginning to peek out at us from the world's ceiling.

I noticed a small house on the far left, near the sandy, beachy-looking side. The main amount of the land was rocky or covered with forest greenery. Tim sighed impatiently and walked back to the wheel of the boat. "We'll finally be there; we're only few minutes away!" He informed me. I slowly faded back into the memories of the past two months.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

My jaw had dropped as my ears had tried to reprogram what I had just heard. Five dollars for an island? Ridiculous. Impossible. "Why on earth would you sell us an island for five bucks what someone else would pay millions for?" Tim demanded.

The agent put both palms outward. "No questions. Five dollars and the island is yours." He pulled a contract out; everything looked legal. "Hope you both enjoy it!" The agent shook our hands and was gone, leaving his half-finished coffee, a copy of the contract, and a slip of paper containing the address of, now, our island.

It was all a blur after that. We packed the few belongings we owned, bought a used boat that could take us to the island, and tied up our loose ends within five weeks. Tim was ecstatic, as was I, but a question had begun to bother me. Why did that agent want to sell us this island?

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The sand glistened in the moonlight as we walked hand in hand. I shivered, noting that the temperature had dropped considerably in the past two hours. The house stood just across the beach from us, almost seeming to be out of place where it was set. The vegetation on this side of the island was simply charming, with several types that were foreign to me. "Where exactly are we?" I wondered aloud, breaking the sweet silence that wasn't dared to be otherwise interrupted except by the softly whistling breeze. 

"I believe we're about  400 miles east of San Francisco." Tim replied. We had reached the house by now, and were standing in front of it.  "Ready?" He asked me. I nodded.

Tim stepped onto the porch with me, pushing the door open. It creaked loudly with protest. But why did he sell all of this for five dollars? The question now refused to leave my mind. I flipped the light switch on, trying to push back the waves of fear that began to creep over me. Everything so far that had happened to us had the trademark feeling of a horror story. A deal that was too good to be true. An abandoned house in a remote area. The two of us together in an unfamiliar place.

It was then I saw the picture on the wall. A young and elegant woman, with intense hazel eyes and chestnut hair stared back at me. The rest of the room was entirely empty. No furniture, no rug on the floor. Just that picture. I flinched, keeping close to Tim. His brow was creased as we walked through the rest of the house. Other than a solitary bed in one of the rooms, the entire building was empty.

Tim and I quickly moved back to the front room, where I began to pace. Why did that man sell us this island for five dollars? What does this picture mean? Who is this lady? The waves of fear crashed over, and I became irrevocably certain that someone wanted to at the very least, terrify us, but likely worse. So many questions.

Tim slowly pulled the picture off of the wall and a piece of paper fluttered to the floor. I snatched it with slightly trembling hands and began to read aloud. If you've found this note, good for you. I am the agent who likely sold you this island. This portrait is of my sister, Anastasia. She disappeared from this island, which she owned. The authorities believe she is dead, and I was the heir to this home given in her will. I can't bear to keep it. Feel free to do what you like with it. If you ever happen to find my sister, I would be indebted to you. I wish I could assure you that this island is safe, but I am not certain. Thank you and the best of luck to you. (any information on Ana, call 415-395-5486) 

The paper fell to the floor. The first question was now solved, and my fears were unfounded, but with this answer came new questions and new fears. I looked at Tim and he nodded. "We need to find her." He stated.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

That was the day we unknowingly decided to become detectives, and the beginning of our first of many cases. His medical background and my degree in psychology made us a fairly decent team and gained us a reputation, along with a few enemies. I could tell you the rest of Anastasia's story, but I believe I'll save it for another time. It is a quite a tale, and one worth listening to.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Hope you liked it! I may or may not continue the story, a good plot line seems to be eluding me at the moment, and this prompt is long enough as it is. E. told me she is planning to join me with these writing prompts, so look forward to those in the future! :)

I've noticed that I haven't necessarily kept this blog to the original idea of the "simplex" but I am planning to, for lack of a better word, try to organize or plan better what I'll be posting. Then again, I may leave it the way it is. Random is pretty easy for me!

In other news, I got my senior pictures done recently! I am also starting school again next week, so I will probably end up posting a lot less than I intend to. I'm super excited to see what this upcoming year will bring. See you next time!

-M.

Creative Writing Prompt #2

Hi Everyone! Happy New Year! It's M. here to do another creatively written story. Or try, anyways. :)

Writing Prompt #2: You receive a dozen minions for a week. (Yes, the minions from Despicable Me!) What would you do with them and why?

I completely understand Gru's many resourceful uses of his minions. (e.g. being their boss, micromanaging their lives, etc.) I, however, have other plans. 

The first thing I would do with my new friends is take them to the carnival or state fair. The looks on their faces, and the giggles of delight would be worth more than anything. 

I would also get to know each of them personally and give them gifts throughout the week. I would give them ice cream after lunch every day, and compliment them on their sense of fashion. 

Of course, all of this friendliness would be for the sole purpose of getting information about their kind. Because that way, I would be able to more or less kidnap them all... and who doesn't want a million minions?

Well, that's about as much you'll get from me today! Hope you all have a wonderful day!

-M.

Creative Writing Prompts - Dec. 27th (First story!)

Hi again! 

I've decided to force myself to blog more often by doing creative writing prompts. I give myself a word, phrase, or idea, and have to craft a story from it. It's always fun to do this, but I love sharing these too! Any comments and feedback are welcomed! I will try to post these at least three or four times a week... If I ever find that priority list... ;)

December 27th, 2013

Writing prompt #1: Someone experiences snow for the first time. 

I shriek as I look out the window. Something is very wrong. It's 5:51 am and no one else is awake yet. 

Someone has done something horrible to the yard. It's completely white, covered with... Something. I have a bad feeling...

Wait, now Holli is awake, I guess my scream startled her. I am joined at the window. I hear a sharp breath drawn at the sight. "Addison... Our yard! What happened?" She questions fearfully. 

Why is she asking me about such matters? She's a full 572 days older than me, after all. She should know.  Of all the the things we've seen in Archlon, this is a first.

"Perhaps the biopracter is down and something fell through." My sister muses. "See, it's in the other yards too. I'll check the news." She turns away towards the desk and begins to look on the internet.  

My nose accidentally hits the glass and I gasp. It's very cold. Colder than it's ever been in this part of Archlon. "I think I'm going outside for a minute, Holli." I announce. 

She looks back in disgust. "Outside? Why bother?"

I don't know what I think about this new thing outside, but I want to decide if I like it or not. Which means I need to touch it. But of course, I don't tell Holli. She doesn't care about physical things. She'd rather read all day or design a new world in her head. I look at the screen over her shoulder. "Find anything?"

"The biopracter is broken, and that stuff is called snow, Addison." She informs me. "Apparently, before the Schism it fell from the sky all the time; but it's been blocked by the biopracter ever since 2036."

"Is it safe?" I question impatiently. I am no closer to an opinion than I was seven minutes ago and I don't want to waste another one. Another minute, that is.

"Yes, but the NATC advises wearing lots of layers, because the temperature is so low." She stands up and powers the desk off. "I suppose i'll come with you."

It's been a while since I've been outside. The blanket is very white, it stretches everywhere. But it's not big... It falls in microscopic pieces. It seems to burn my face, a little on my forehead, a speck by my nose. I rashly place a hand on the ground and pull back quickly; it's very cold. I set it down again, tentatively, and pick some of the snow up.

Holli is using her watch to analyze some of it. She's always liked conspiracy theories, historical science fiction, stuff like that. I understand now why she came outside with me. She wants facts. Always looking for them. "They're made out of individual flakes, Addison. No two will ever look alike. That's like, a billion unique types just in our yard!"

I don't really care about Holli's facts. Right now, I enjoy being outside. I've never felt like that before. To us, Outside is a necessity, covered with as many buildings as possible and avoided at all costs. The biopracter blocks harsh sunlight and keeps away polluted air.  Yards are simply decoration. We don't even have to put the flowers in ourselves; the wardens take care of that. But I think I like the outside - at least, like this, right now. I wonder if other things fell from the sky before the biopracter was installed.

It is now that I decide I want snow to be normal, like it used to be. I wish I had been around before the Schism. Sometimes I think I was born in the wrong generation. 

It is now that I realize I can't go back to before the Schism. But I can go forward... To having snow again. 

It is now that I decide that the biopracter must never be reinstalled again. 

And it is now that I realize that I am destined to be the one who will stop anyone who attempts to do so.  

(Stories will not probably always be this long! Depends on my mood. I will try to get E. to try this too!)

Thanks for reading!

-M.