Christmas cheer
Red and green Saint nick is here Today was foreseen To be filled with immense glee Silver and gold Hanging from the tree A holiday tradition of old Star’s o three. Stockings hung, One for me, One for the rabbit’s dung, One for thee too. Ornaments of glass, Silver, red, green and gold, Show great class, And tell stories of old.
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The mile run. 4 laps around the 400m track. Colored blue for the Petoskey Northmen, but I run for The red and blue Boyne City Ramblers. I jump up and down waiting to start, planning on doing my personal best. I’m feeling good and ready to run, prepared to run right through the finish line in at least 14th. I’ve only ever placed 18th. It was a cold and rainy day to be running the mile. “You can do it, Alicia! Just keep running!!” I hear my friend Alex shout at me as he runs from one side of the track to the other to repeat his maxim for me. First lap. I turn the first curve. My legs feeling like fire beneath me. The sound of my spikes slamming against the soft track. My team cheers for me from the stands. This is the most supportive team I’ve ever been apart of. Their cheers of triumph and support mixing together in one positive, motivational mess. “You got this, Alicia!! I believe in you!!” Alex yells again, tired from running so much. Cheering for me versus his own team. I scan the stands for my parents, but don’t find them. In their place I find my youth pastor and his wife, cheering for me and the other kids from youth group running. I lose faith in my running ability without my parents there. They promised they’d attend. They failed to make it to any other event of mine. I’m starting to feel like they just don’t care. 2nd lap. I glance at the clock. So far I’m running my personal worst time. I’ve never ran this slow. But I can’t seem to run any faster. My breath is getting shallow. “Come on, pick it up! Don’t let her pass you!” ALex shouts again. I look behind me and see a girl ganging up on me. I let her pass and lose the 18th spot and fall to 19th. I’m losing faith. I look up and see my father on the stairs in the stands. He waves and yells, “Pick it, Rosie!” That was the first time he’s ever called me by my nickname. My track coach looks at me sternly, worried and scared for me. I finish the third lap last, far behind everyone else. I try to push ahead. Pushing and pushing till I can’t push any more. It seems the more I push the slower I run. The people in first pass me and Alex has stopped shouting. I see him out of the corner of my eye getting chewed up by the coach for cheering for the enemy team. Alex clutches his head in his hands and apologizes. “Alex…” I mouth out as I’m running. The final lap without his support. I pass my the spot my father was standing at just a second ago, and notice his absence. My breath getting heavier. My feet burning with the need to stop. I have one more curve and then I’m done. I run around the final curve and just stop...walk towards the finish line and collect the last popsicle stick labeled ‘20th’ on both sides on both ends. My coach asks what happened, tells me never to walk through the finish line. I have to run through it. He says I should’ve done better. I should’ve done better. His words fall from me. My eyes grow heavy. My legs fall from beneath me, and I collapse on the fake grass made up of ground up shoes. ~ “Alicia.” My parents say to me. I awake in my room at home. “Alicia. You can’t run anymore. Or at least not for a while.” My world freezes. I love running. I may suck at it but I adore it. I loved the acceleration the most. The 0 to 100. I adore it. I can’t run anymore. And I’ve never wanted to run more in my life. In your arms, my world slows, my vision blurs in beautiful colors of euphoria. Time practically stops, and welcomes us together perfectly. I lost my job, and I went home to you and I collapsed in a fit of loud sobs in your arms. And as soon as your arms wrapped around my waist, time stopped, my sobs quieted, and it felt like everything was going to be okay. Saying goodbye to you at the end of each date and evening with you are so incredibly hard. I have to let go of you, the one I love, the one who makes my sadness and hurt transform to euphoria. I hate saying goodbye to the kisses, the hugs, the cuddles and the warmth, especially the warmth, no matter how soon I’ll see you again. You are everything I have. You are the sun and I, the planets. I’m constantly orbiting around you. You are the universe I call home. You are my happy place.
Response to “what is creative nonfiction?”
Article one answers. (Gutkind)
Article two answers (Borich)
Niels Bohr:
This quote says to me, that life is deeper than it seems, and the deeper the truth, the truer it is. It holds more truth the deeper it is. Saul Bellow: This quote is just talking about what's good about truth and what we hate about it. We love the truth because it's what we crave, but we hate the honesty it brings...that honesty scares us. I believe that fear is what drives us to lie so often. Ernest Hemingway: As long as you write one thing thats true, I believe this means you have done something in life, though small, you have accomplished something. Awaken do I
To the smell of Pumpkin pie’s The scent of Christmas, Winter, Fall. Awaken I do, To find present’s to you Present’s to me My mother, Father And brother Red bows on toy cars, Red and green christmas cards, Holiday cheer, Smiles and Songs. Tumble and jump Down the stairs, Stare at the present’s Under the tree under the stairs. Smile’s of glee, Upon looking at that green tree, Fill the house with Limitless, harmony. Present’s for thee, Either coal, If thy failed to be nice, Or a grand gift, If thy failed to be naughty. Happy holidays And christmas cheers, Fill my ears. “This is the grandest christmas my dears!” My mother says sadly. It wouldn't be so sad, If this wasn’t my last.. Christmas. My last holiday cheer. It was may, 2008. The year I could finally go to the annual Maypole festival. I was ecstatic to run around the pole, with a ribbon trailing closely behind me, whirling around the pole with me. Sage was to be burned around my body. Up and over and under my arms, legs and hands. Incense was burning bright, filling the room with wonderful smells. Little fairy gardens, hidden right beneath a grand tree, where I would place small offerings of food and the next day, it would be gone. And a small bracelet, ring or necklace would be left behind as a gift of thanks from the fairies. This is the magic of today. Sickness cured, sleeping coming quicker with a little bit of lavender oil, right above your nose, between the eyebrows. Us Wiccan's hold the real magic, right under our tongue. We whisper, scream and shout, prayers to the Gods and Goddesses that make up our world. We welcome the goddess of spring, summer, winter, fall. We welcome them all. It was a light spring day. A day I will remember for the rest of my time in this world. Food was served, ranch with carrots, burgers with ketchup and mustard. Butterflies fluttered through the air. Their wings sweeping wind through my hair and over my bare feet. I was 8 years old. I’d done this before, but I lack memory of them. I was excited to participate in this European folk festival. I was so tempted to climb the pole, under which the dance of ribbons would take place. Ribbons of every color, shape and size. Food in my hair, dirt covered my toes. This was my family. Now, 8 year's later, I haven't attended another maypole. Why? Well. That day, my first love broke my heart. He said it would never happen, as his short red hair swept into his face. I don't go because my mother isn't a Wiccan anymore, and although I was, I have drifted towards new religions. I have lost the place that gave me my name, the place that was the little bit of childhood I got to have. The only piece that wasn't tainted. I will never forget the place, the small fairy garden I came from. age 7 or 8. Maypole at a family friends house.
From left to right. Alice (My mother), Michael David (my father), Me(little Rosie), mother's friend, Robin and Abigail. Tamara
1. Objects and characters in the story may take on lives of their own- I've never really explored that aspect of my writing Everything just is. 2. A metamorphosis takes place, not as a miracle but as an everyday event- my stories tend not to have enough room for miracles. 3. Magic occurs without devices- My magic in writing is also super exposed. Writing world book 1.if your view of the world includes supernatural things, the same time the world is enchanted.- my writing tends to take this on a lot. 2. As for causality, the objective view tells us that one person's emotion cannot kill someone else.- i tend to do the opposite and let my character's emotions control who they are and what they do. 3. The miraculous ,on the other hand, is described with a precision that fits it into the ordinariness of daily life.- Like I said before, i tend to ignore the simple magic and making thing's ordinary. I like spectacular and big explosive magic fueled by loads of emotion. The darkness behind my door
Tends to take many forms. Shapes and sizes, Colors galore. There is no limit On the horrors behind my door. The darkness it lurks, It wakes me in bed. It makes a smirk, I’d awake losing my head. The darkness comes out Horrible forms aflame enrage. The darkness would trout It’s way to my bed, the stage. I have no escape to stairs. No dream to return to. All I have are nightmares, As I’m sure we all do. But I can’t wake up when I’m already awake. The pinch trick doesn’t work here. The person here to me they shake. This was my very worst fear. The darkness it takes, Eats away at me, To my guts it will rake. It’s getting hard for me to see. The darkness has stolen my eyesight. My body, my soul. I saw this coming in hindsight. It eats me, making him swole. The darkness has taken everything. I am destroyed, broken, frayed. The remains of me? Nothing. To god that doesn’t exist I prayed. Please let this be the last time. To me he has stained. But the darkness’ crime. Will go unpunished, again. When the night do us pass,
The lantern of thy light shall fade. Nothing of thy shall remain, When the witch takes her claim. The moon hath set Thus it’s begun Thy burning of thy accused, By the witch’s muse. Nothing can save Thy mortal from flames. Thy witch shall take her love, With her life she shall kill. Thy witch felt betrayed when her love, Took when she gave, Gave his heart away, To a poor girl with a heart of gold. His own heart he bid hers break. She said that day she’d hath take Everything he ever loved. For the love he hath faked. His love, she burned, “A witch” they shouted. “Burn the witch” But the girl burning was Everything but. Thy girl was gone and thy witch got her wish. She tooketh her love back into her arms, Only to be pushed away. He shouldn’t have done that. That night when rest he took, He awoke to the scrape of a hook He looked around, Grabbed his knife, Went out unto the night. With his beloved gone, Witch or not, He didn’t want to live. So when her monster came, With a hook for a hand, He let it take him. And all that I am, I couldn’t save The love I expected to fight. That is my horror, My terror, my fright. |
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December 2017
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