If writing is my hobby, then drinking coffee is my vocation. That's the dream anyway.
Words and the worlds they create
“Charm is deceitful and beauty is in vain.” -Proverbs The words rung in my soft, delicate, 7-year-old ears. It was like a chorus, worshiping modesty until the words sounded strange, as if they belonged to a different dialect. Other times they sounded like a chant, waking me up and lulling me to sleep again. Still other times, the words screamed in mind any time my eyes grazed past a mirror, as if an alarm. Even when I was young, my relationship to beauty was complicated. Was vanity a sin? And if so, was beauty the same? What is beauty anyway, what can be defined as beautiful and should it be pursued? Such were the torments of my mind as I entered my teens. And charm!? Oh, dear dear charm, you fickle thing. The opposite of charm, well I’d say it’s something between disagreeableness and rudeness. So, do we throw out charm and become the worst sort of people? That is the definition of throwing the baby out with the bathwater, so no. I do not think this is the answer.
The balance of things
“THERE IS NO WAY!” The entire room, dark walls, emerald carpet and all, seemed to vibrate under the pressure of the Chief's mighty fist beating down on the ebony table, failing to command the chaos of too many voices that viciously spun in the air like a sand storm.
Home. Finally, I’d come back. It had been too long to remember the last time I was here or the reason why I left in the first place. I walked through yard, the grass inviting my naked toes. The sun warming my bare arms. A bird flew nearby, singing the familiar tune of my childhood. Its shadow flashed across the lawn and I looked around for my own shadow, but I could not find it. Then the memories returned like a gust of wind and I blew away with the ease of a summer’s breeze.
- Runner-Up in Sky's the Limit Challenge
Coming down cleanRunner-Up in Sky's the Limit Challenge
It wasn’t unusual for Mia to be on a plane on the 14th of June. Still, she was finding it difficult to accept what was happening. She got lucky with a window seat and watched the billowing clouds roll underneath the extended wing. She imagined her own arm extending and being washed in their cool, damp vapor. Her skin would become clammy and cold, but it would be new and clean. Maybe, even her tattoos would be washed away.