Writing Jounral

[Vicky]

Sorry, it's not an OB fanfic -- but feel free to comment anyway :P.

I thought I might as well post a little bit of my work here and there. Mainly stuff from my journal because I've lost three of those now. I just dot down anything I feel like writing, anywhere, but now I'm trying to type it up to keep a record. Some comments would be appreciated!

I thought I'd start off with two pieces, one a poem (which needs considerable work but I do have a warm spot for it) and a short piece of pros for creative writing, which hasn't been edited, either. Here goes!





[B]CHANCE - Poetry Piece[/b]

Chance was a little frightening.
Chance was a little too friendly.
He didn't know too much English;
He knew a bit of Crass and
A bit of Latin of cura te ipsum*.
A bit of a caelo usque ad centrum*.

He'd spit on his shoes and spit on their sores
And scorn all your senses and scratch all your scars
He'd scuffle along baroque and bright
And change his head to whatever he liked
He's symbolise sadistic taunts of ignorance
He'd rage against the overture he'd rage against
He'd rage against.

He'd lose his footing on loose paves
He'd lose a little dignity he'd already lost
And lose again Lamba's Lambrini and lose his way
On lanky lame pavements and shaky footsteps
With pulsing figures on his temples he'd lay
Wide awake and breaking at midday
Clawing dirty nails at grass he'd say
Carpe diem carpe diem seize the day.

Chance was a little frightening.
On twos of menthols he'd draw daunt smoke
He knew a bit of Tchaikovsky and
A bit of Homer's Illiad
A bit of Latin here
and there, of cura te ipsum
Of a caelo usque ad centrum.





[B]SWEET ROSE - Prose[/b]



"That dear, sweet Rose; what did you see in her?"

She cut like glass; all sharp around the edges... and see-through.

I would stare at her sometimes, watch her dance around me in that concrete caged college
ground. She'd twirl and wink at me through glassy blue eyes, grabbing my hand in the Autumn
park and she'd ask me that phrase the college cruelly echoed about her:

"What do you see in me?"

That dear, sweet Rose. I would swallow, smile, shake my head away. She would and twirl and kiss
my hand.

I see nothing, Rose.

I came along to her in a hurry. In a hurry to have and to hold and to break and be done. I couldn't
really bare the college talks about her in the end. I couldn't bare to be seen with
the glass girl they saw right through, to bare down their laughs and sneers on the rusty park
swings. Their sharp penetrating grins yellow against the brown wetness of Autumn eventually
made me see right through dear Rose, too. Through her luxurious blonde hair and perfectly pale
patched skin I saw what everyone else saw: nothing.

"Dear sweet Rose, I'll be your world."

I made the Autumn so bright for her with those words. She'd twirl and twirl against the
playground voices that laughed at her. She'd twirl and twirl but all angles told the same story.

"Dear, sweet Rose, what do I see in you?"

I stopped staring at her one day when I made the first crack. It was a thin slit of white that ran
down her round left cheek; unnoticeable, but glaringly obvious. Her twirling had ceased and her
figure was dark, saturated like the eroding grey concrete playground floor. She was shattering; a
million pieces had already taken form, ready to take their place on the ground.

I let go of her hand. It dropped like the stark gentle dead leaves of August to her side. My eyes
fell right through her fog blue stare - I saw nothing.

"I'm sorry, Rose."

The first piece of sharpness fell out of her lashes, its colour iridescent and its shape a dangerous
tragedy.