I just had a literature midterm today.
I’ve been so M.I.A. So sorry.
My followers can edit stories too, though! Please do!
Central Park
I am the trees that line your morning walks;
I am the bench on which you read the daily newspaper;
I am the path you chase the pigeons upon;
But mostly importantly I am the edge of the fountain that gave you a place to sit when you first noticed her. Without me, you would have fell head first into the water. It’s no secret that it took every last ounce of courage for you to drift between the falling brown leaves and approach her. With one bold move, you casually sat down next to her and tried so hard to nonchalantly get a better look. I chuckled with the wind as you realized that the giant floral-printed bow she donned would make this maneuver difficult to accomplish. Finally, I controlled myself and you managed to twist your head around enough to catch a glimpse of a cute, little nose before her brown hair quickly concealed it again. Another blow and my soft breeze helped you make conversation by crowning you the savior of her scrambled notes. And even by the time my light reached its peak, she was still the brightest detail of your scene.
A week later my limbs were barer, my railings were colder, and my flooring was buried under even more leaves. Yet, you still showed up with a tray of two coffees stacked on top of a copy of The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays. I roared as you silently rehearsed your lines and prayed she’d show up again. Soon clouds covered my skies and the roles switched as she appeared next to you on the bench. She smiled as you offered her the drink and asked you what you were doing here. You executed the suave performance, mentioning that you finally remembered the title of the book that she was asking about last week. After a while of amicable chatting, I poured out a little drizzle. You took her hand and ran under the closest tree. Here is where you tightly pulled her into you and kissed her gently for the first time.
As the winter developed a nasty chill, I didn’t get to see much of you except for the occasional stroll on Sunday mornings. But now spring graced us with her presence; my once-stripped branches have been redressed with much foliage, the frozen bolts of my seating are defrosted and have grown colored, and my beaten-down terrace has warmed back up. Once the flowers started to bloom, you lead her back to my bench and this time she was blindfolded. Sensing the mood, I gave you a sparkling sun and a tender breeze. In front of her, you got down on one knee and asked her kindly to take off the covering. Soon her tears flowed as you promised her forever and she promised you always.
Today, as usual, I am looking on. Currently, I’m shielding your guests from the harsh August sun as you exchange your vows in front of the gleaming water. I have seen your story from the start and I’ve stored all the beautiful moments deep within my roots. This account would serve as a glorious wedding present, but unfortunately, I cannot offer these words. For as much as I may be a part of your tale, I speak in a language that you will never know.
this wasn’t submitted correctly, but i’ll let it slide.
I will promote 5 writing blogs.
- Reblog this post
- Tomorrow evening, I will look at everyone who reblogged and choose the top 5
- I may add more if more than 5 fabulous writers reblog this
:)
Shit, I just realized my bolds and italics aren’t really working.
This may make my editing marks and comments a little confusing. But you’re all smart; you can figure it out for now. I will fix this issue in the next few days (hopefully). Unless Tumblr is just being dumb right now for some reason. Sorry!
I just noticed that I have never given anyone below a C-.
I don’t have the heart to tell someone they have D or F work. But if any ofyoufollowers revise these pieces and believe they deserve a lower letter grade, feel free to say so. Just please specify why, and be constructive yet respectful.
That is all for tonight.
Every Step of the Way (C-)
Years from now, people will ask each other, “Where were you during the apocalypse?” It was a storm that changed everything. It lasted a month, and I remember every minute.
It was late at night,and I was curled up on the couch in my house. Well, technically it was Jake’s house—Jake is my boyfriend—but I lived there with him and his family.
As the storm worsened and thunder roared, I raised the volume, determined to not miss a word of the shocking season finale.
Suddenly, Jake walked in talking on his cell phone. “Yeah mom, I’ll be right there. Love you too, bye.” He slammed the phone shut and turned to me “I gotta go get my mom. Her car broke down on the highway.”
”Okay, hurry back, babe,” I said, hugging him from behind and blowing a kiss as he left. Hours passed, and he didn’t hadn’t shown up. Nobody showed up. Not even his dad, who should’ve been home by then. Finally, at one in the morning, the phone rang.
”Hello?”
”Hey.” When I heard Jake’s voice, all the worry melted away. “Sorry to make you worry, babe. The storm’s really coming down, so we’re staying at a hotel until the weather stops flipping its shit.”
”Okay. Stay safe, alright?”
”Will do. Be back soon. I love you, bye.”
”Love you too, bye.” I hung up the phone, relieved. And for the next few days, I was alright. I spent four days completely alone in the house as the storm raged on. On the fourth day, I was just sitting in my bedroom, reading a magazine, when a branch burst through the window, sending a shower of glass my way. Panicked, I took everything I thought I would need and moved to the basement coming up only to get food and hot chocolate.
After that, I pretty much stayed there swaddled in blankets and watching videos on an old TV with an even older VCR. It, like the television and magazines upstairs, was a failed attempt at getting my mind off of what was going on. At least until the power shut down like I hoped it wouldn’t. No electricity meant no heat, no light, and worst of all, no more distractions. I hadn’t spoken to Jake since the very first night, and whenever I tried to call his cell phone, there was no answer. There was an ever present knot of fear in my stomach that grew every day. Jake was not dead. He couldn’t be. The storm would end, and everything would be back to normal. I knew they were lies, but I hoped that if I kept repeating them, they would be true.
But, of course, days turned into weeks, and there was still no sign of any of them. But on that final day stuck in the house, I stopped caring. The constant cold and rain made me numb from the inside out. I trudged up the stairs, ignoring the tiny waterfall that formed at my feet whenever I opened the basement door. By then now, I just accepted everything. The storm would go on forever. Jake was dead. The food would run out. Eventually I’d die too.
I made my way to the kitchen. The only sound was the sound [what did it sound like?] of my sneakers splashing through the ice cold slush…I stopped in my tracks when I realized that was the only sound there was. I rushed to the window, shielding my eyes as a nearly blinding light hit them. The storm was finally over, reduced to a few puffy clouds drifting lazily in the breeze. When my eyes finally focused in the light, I couldn’t believe what I saw. Snow. At least two feet of it…I lived in Texas. I don’t remember it ever snowing in Texas.
”Am..am I the only person left?” I wondered aloud. Wow, how cliche. Of course I wasn’t the last one left! There must have been someone out there…maybe Jake was still okay!
The idea sent me into a frenzy, and in seconds, I packed a duffel bag and was ready to go. The doors and windows were iced shut, so I broke open the sliding glass door leading to the backyard.
I probably looked ridiculous;just to get out the door, I had to wear three layers of everything topped with a trenchcoat and, convinced that I needed protection, armed myself with a pot. But in the dog-eat-dog world that I thought the my world had turned into, fashion didn’t matter…unless I was completely wrong and I would find a totally normal town. Then it would matter.
My name is Maya Williams and I was sixteen years old and pregnant during the apocalypse… those girls on MTV never had to deal with ???? Where’s the end?
This is a verrryyy rough draft. It kind of seems like you were in a rush to write because some of the mistakes were periods missing at the ends of sentences or a missing letter at the end of a word. Take your time. Slow down. Also, remember punctuation rules. Commas and periods in particular. Know when to use what. I’m not sure what happened to the end there, but it seems a bit unfinished.
Remember to stick with one verb tense throughout. Um…perhaps add in more detail to make it a bit more captivating? I want to really believe this is the end of the world. Make me feel sorry for this pregnant girl.
Feel free to have me take another look once you’ve gone over it again.
Water (A)
We heard about the water swelling in the khlongs, and so we went to buy water. We were not worried about drowning but about what the water contained –- feces and trash, rumors of alligators escaped from their farms up north, destined to become handbags. There were pictures on Facebook of dead fishes floating to the surface and tweets about cholera and typhoid, and how you should wash your snake bite thoroughly with soap and water before going to the hospital. The panic rose, and with it, the supermarket shelves emptied. Some made a profit selling gray market water for 60 baht a pop and maroon rain boots that came up to your thighs.
We left for a few days, saying it was for the floods, but really, it was to escape the anxiety. We fled to beach towns like Hua Hin and Pattaya to be near the water. Every day we checked the water levels of the floods –- how it was 50 cm on Soi 63, ankle-deep in Chatuchak. We read in the Western news that the city was “indundated” and imagined what Bangkok would look like if it was underwater, the skyscrapers like stiff seaweed. We tried to decipher if the pictures of the floods online were just puddles, zoomed in too closely. When we came back, our apartments were still dry, but the sandbags were everywhere, haphazardly stacked on top of each other. The sand spilled out through punctured holes onto the street, falling into the drains where the water was supposed to be.
The water flooded the beer factories up north, creating another dry spell Bangkok didn’t need. We filled up trashcans with clean water from the tap, saving it for brushing our teeth and making Maggi noodles in case the water turned orange or green. Sometimes we called it “the floods” or “flooding.” No one could decide if the water was a singular force, gaining momentum as it headed to the gulf, or something fragmented and lost, simply trying to find its way home.
Some blamed the water on the heavy rainfall. Others on the dams. But most on the authorities for their wet politics and poor city planning. We begged for the water not to come. And through our dry throats, we whispered a prayer for more water to come.
I think this is wonderfully written. And I like the power in the last two sentences…but it kind of sounds repetitive. I get your point. And I’m wondering if maybe the final sentence should end after the word “more.” Try that instead. I don’t want to take away the power in the sentence, though..which is why I’m hesitant to strike through it. Hmm…okay, I’m going to strike through it.
Anyway, very little grammar mistakes. Just a few punctuation problems here and there. Very descriptive. Congrats!
