Month Away – March (08.06.’16)

“Instead of writing down everything that happens in your day, give your day a twist by fictionalising it”
“Practise using the 6 elements of story: Action, Description, Dialogue, Introspection, Emotion, and Exposition”

 

I slumped into bed and nudged the limp body. “Koala”. He twitched, and turned over

Advertisements

Month Away -April (11.04.’16)

IMG_1426“Instead of writing down everything that happens in your day, give your day a twist by fictionalising it”
“Practise using the 6 elements of story: Action, Description, Dialogue, Introspection, Emotion, and Exposition”

 

 

 

 

The wind threw my voice to another direction. “Hover”. I forced my face straight “hold on to your brother”.  Koala’s face was flattening as well, and his hair threatened to take him away. The horizon was crimson white,  and the crew members peaked back at us, from their little window.

Then they slipped.

The old women cried, and pointed fingers at everyone passing by, even ourselves. They shook their heads, and bent out of their caravan.
“It’s the potato peels”.
“n0, it’s the water puddles”
The men blamed their driver.

“wooow, woow” We tried to calm down our frightened friend.
“Hover” I said.  “Quick!”
His eyes brightened.
“The binoculars”

I tugged them off his neck, and we swapped seats.
The boys cheering at the end of the alley sneered.

“Water?” I grabbed the binoculars off him “Let me see”.
Koala’s hair fell all over his head, a furry blitz.
The cow looked back at us, her horns bobbing.

The crew turned off road, and we zoomed passed them, the pram attached took off as well. We arrived to the end and the boys cheeks, were puffy, and glowing

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Month Away -April (10.04.’16)

IMG_1426“Instead of writing down everything that happens in your day, give your day a twist by fictionalising it”
“Practise using the 6 elements of story: Action, Description, Dialogue, Introspection, Emotion, and Exposition”

 

 

 

 

 

“Two clicks” said the hunched youngster, licking the last breadcrumbs off his plate, “and then my screen went dark”.
“Is that it sir?”
Eng sprang off his seat. “is that it?!”. The micky mouse mug tumbled to the ground and shattered.
“It’s been months of work”. He said, kicking the glass pieces under his desk. “Months!”.
“Are you sure it’s not a switch from your side, sir?”
“Yeah, maybe a bird bit it”
“No one else’s electricity’s cut out, sir”
Eng cupped his hard drive. “please”. He said, his eyes pressing into his skull. 
“Sir?”
He jabbed at Decline with his fork and threw his phone to the ground. “These people make things worse for you” Eng said, to the yellow walls.
He then crawled to the corner and there he slumped , sniffing his pillow. The trimmed curtains brushed his hair, right and left, right and left. They gave away a scent of tomato, and the wind pushed in a few raindrops.
Three hours passed by, and Eng’s limp body…

 

Month Away – April (09.04.’16)

IMG_1426“Instead of writing down everything that happens in your day, give your day a twist by fictionalising it”
“Practise using the 6 elements of story: Action, Description, Dialogue, Introspection, Emotion, and Exposition”

I turned, and there he was again.
“Birds do that!” he said.
I turned again, and ran around the corner. His footsteps disappeared around the corner, but then got closer. “Hey, give me that!”

My mother was in the rabbit cage, carrying broccoli pods, to seed them.  “
“Mother” I said, “Mother”.
I waved, but that didn’t get her attention either. This road, which was a river of garbage, led to a freeway.
He pulled me by my collar. His peppermint breath stung my eyes, as his face got bigger, and bigger.
“Give it back” he said, with a deep breath .
I clutched my bouquet of thorns “they’re not yours”.
“I’m sorry,” said the chaser, lowering his gaze
“It’s just,” He paused to look behind me,”they mean something to me”
“Like what?” 
“m..my son”
I eased my hand off the prickles.
“He likes this kind too?” I said, and he nodded. 
“But, they’re mine!”

He chugged away with sweat gathered in his socks, and I chewed my peppermint.The smoke could be seen coming from AiKai’s house. 

 

Tamed brain

Type: The worst sentence ever
Time: 30 minutes + edit

“They’ll probably take my citizenship”  “I can’t even bare to hear those voices.”  Sun meets sky, they collapse on each other, I don’t know what I’m saying but needn’t stop. The famous five series – jars of pickled onions, sponge cake. Memories, memories. – building cubby houses, and drinking coffee, but my tea is about to go cold now. I love sitting out in the garden eating chips with Nemo. I think writing is easy people complicate it I have thirty minutes. These headphones were bought in that year. Shopping in an old bookstore we stood in the aisle to buy her children educative toys, it was annoying and I felt bad – I didn’t want the others to feel jealous. Tea is going cold this is the worst sentence ever and I’m proud of it. Tame and oil our brains I can stick to this. Why should I say such things. He’s going to England and my hamstings are sore I need to set up nike I need to.. Baby might come today; the light grey over his forehead when peaking – a koala insect size. Night was dizzy, we sped. Arriving I found meat on the table, and daze. Smiles, and the cueing of butterflies; cramping my kidney.

Lets try this again, no not coffee; writing, we should stop. 8 30 you have to be there prim and proper like the way K’s two boys dress, don’t be scared don’t be scared no one’s going to read. Just keep triggering the gun…oh a dove, no not the doves, don’t shoot them; we know them too well. He would give me the big heavy gun, my finger cramping and then. I would move with the gun. It was a shot gun, like the ones men in trousers and black jackets up in the gunpowder factory, .. bombs underground I hear all day, A cow stampede on the road outside – it is the gunpowder men, trying out ammunition, gunpowder. A walk up there someday, maybe, to explore – see what we live next to…we went for a walk someday and we got funny stares from ladies and girls’; had we awoken from  our slumber. It’s funny but this is the worst sentence ever and I cant even find it but never mind. What is that in your hand, my tongue is itchy, more tea. 11 minutes, the time it takes to get from bus to the plane on low seasons.  Turkeys, cued up for slaughter, guards high and sturdy , checking each one off. Same kind of people. Kids half bred with their mothers – single maybe. The young men coming for God-knows-what reasons. Old business men stay still, briefcases lean on their tummies. The women in black who worked as hostesses followed us once to cut the line but we got to the ends, and found the security guy wasn’t going to do our passports, that hurt. Why didn’t we just join the other cue. Arriving 3 in the morning and spending 40 minutes in a cubic. After the guy joins us, he fiddles on the computer. We wait and wait. Outside they got disrespectful, something I never felt before. .maybe the tiredness helped my anger flare. They had my passport, running around with it. That felt worse. We felt like turkeys again. Sad ones. My brother was holding in his anger but I didn’t. A half-eaten sandwich left to rot. That’s abuse in disguise. We laughed so much afterward because they were half asleep and we’ll never forget that guy.
At the exit: “no sewing machines”,
“but…”
“no sewing machines on board”
“Not a regulation”
“it either goes under or it stays here”. My poor thing, we only wanted to fly away together. But who cares, they’re gone – a memory. They made my brother pay 400 on it to add as extra baggage. See the corruption… here, and elsewhere. People. People. I often miss the food. There’s good people, and there’s bad people, and there’s people who just need a smile, and chocolate. I found a baby in its crib – a chocolate mine – wearing green.  It looked like my brother and his daughter. I miss her funny hugs and cute inspiring questions, but when they’re around you sometimes think: SOLITUDE.  Who am I to judge.. Just keep writing…1 minute left. This could be the worst sentence ever maybe; free accommodation. I miss the doves of the afternoon. No I have an extra 10 minutes, I didn’t study maths. Syrup, mango flavoured, on top of a vanilla cake. Stop, close your eyes and imagine; taste and smell those tastes.  Nope? .. let’s try something else. Palettes; Lime green with grey – shh, let them meet. Orange and purple never together, or green and blue. Swimming underground –the feel of warm feet crashing cold tiles above – cheerfulness and hot vibes. Fly rummaging on the back of my shoulder, no problem we can fix it later. I need to help her. She wants a crown like Princess has. Yes lets go to London. But eat your crumbs off the plate first. We can take a boat – swim aside octopuses and jellyfish. We can stock up on patterns as squirrels do with nuts. Meanwhile we can disturb people with our presence…don’t go to the ends of the earth “definitely an expat.” She looked empty as she said that.  Coffee, I’m sorry.. I should’ve stopped writing.  A sigh. Then the office chair squeals. He forgot. Getting old is hard. That image suffocates my eyes, builds mountains against my throat, and makes my eyes stream. Scotland. No.

A Street At Five

sad-n-dark-16A Street At Five
observing a city at that time

Sometime before the sun rises the click of the tap in the bathroom can be heard. His deep voice can be heard, and then the light in the hallway turns on. Or is it the other way around. No sounds of last nights cars: tshhh,I hear. Outside; everything is alight. That eerie but calm feeling as if it was populated and then suddenly fled like an abandoned festival left twitching its fingers. Everything motionless as people slept. A white shadow and then he appears from under the wall, walking with his quick pace. I couldn’t make out his head but it could only be him. He had a destination in mind. The trucks start using the road in 2 minutes, delivering goods to the stores, taking workers, women, kids to their places. He wakes up before the world, and makes his way to the tall building to wake them all up to be thankful and praise. He calls out to them, as the silence eats at leftovers of last night breezes. Loud, after the others call out, those far away. He was lTe today however. And before I began he started. His voice I’d recognize from anywhere. His tone rang up and down the lighted empty streets as I waited for him to finish. And then the trucks and pickyups, vans, buses, early business men began to come out of their retreats and make their way to one or another destination. After sunset I climbed into bed and didn’t awake until 10… That’s late. The sky was as if empty, but something stood out. A dot of light, the moon; nowhere to be seen, it was on the other side I couldn’t reach. All these things people miss out on, underrated happy moments that can be found at this time. The calm, peacfulness, occasion calling of the rooster and the other. His deep rumbling voice; an occasion sob here and there. The talking and calling, asking and begging the ground held. Stories from along a long way pour in through the slip from the room next door demanding me to get up and wash, stand, sit, stand sit.
Still, the road is empty. And then the bathroom fan is turned on, ac gets its time, hallway lights flick, stirs come from beds, heads separating from their pillows, muscles working again, bit by bit the sun appears.
A sniffle, cough, another sniff. Datkness again. 21 feb

Slinking into the couch and observing the sound of the kettle patterns which didn’t seem to exist, it’s all in the head. I await for him to return, to sit and eat before going off to be the man I know. It’s my sleep time and I’m tired, if it goes any further than this I won’t be able to sleep. I have things to do.
I wait for 6 minutes passed 7 and then I hear the voices. Drawing in closer, I can only hear vibration. I have to change rooms, so move to another couch in search of something more than sleep.
My head rings with what’s going on, my throat screams for relief. The voice is all clear. I sit to listen to the truth, the only source of truth one might get for the day. Things that matter, not things like is my porridge cold or warm. answers to every what why and how. Not inquiries like is coconut oil or jojoba oil better for weight loss, or why did lemon wreck my skin. I can’t skip this 2 minutes of news, from a source of truth.

Prompt 6 – (He had a scar)

He had a scar, that went deep. Deeper than you could imagine. But that wasnt the point. What was shown on the outside wasnt as deep as what hid in his heart like a glass chest of drawers with a slick of treaty to it. He sat there looking down at his eggs. His eyes widening at the soft mush and twinkling each time someone passed by. The thing is he was yellow and had seven feet, but that wasnt the problem. He didnt understand people werent taking notice of him though the few every once in a while hesitated glances he stole from the big fat man in his truck the police  strolled the area with their guns and fancy boots high up in the air.  He had a scar which im sure went deeper than a 50 year old jojoba tree’s roots dug into the ground. I. Could. see. It was pink with tints of purple but the scars underneath were like stars that perhaps guide him when all was dark. He took and learn lessons from them and thats how he got around life. Solidly and sternly he chomped on his fingers without any realisation of the reality surrounding him, unaware of the people who had two legs and three boxes and the men in overalls and the kids in nappies that hung under trees. The thing is he had a scar but it wasnt any more or less significant than the twinkle in his. Eyes. I was surprised how he got up afterwards and left his eggs, i would never leave my eggs and get up no matter the consequences. Was he sad, was he full or was he just hopeless. Taking four looks between each side of the rode he crossed it dragging his six legs behind and hopping on one. The thing is his scar wasnt that bad, it was just a scar i wanted to tell him. It. Seemed to affect everything he did. I was mad at how the others on the opposite street in their shiny black coats and trousers, black shades and handbags, looked at him in disgust, it seemed even their handbags and shades spat at him. But that isnt the thing. I wanted to run up to him pull him aside and tell him everything was going to be okay if he followed these few guidelines my old pa gave me once. The first is, dont leave food on your plate, second is, d’not care what the people say, and the women in such wear will give you such looks unless you have a pawkupine and a carrot, now dont ask me what that means he old pa mustve been not with it or mustve meant something else. Maybe a what is it called but you know what i meann. This isnt even beginning to make sense let alone end with some sense, but maybe thats the point of this exercise it should just nonsensical us and how about some coffee and cheese for brunch i might say but i dont know if there even is that available in the fridge the point is to keep typing and thats how we freestyle and thats how we eat today. Some just eat others taste.