Life Changes Contest Results Are IN!

Krysyy · Nov 4, 2018

We have some amazing writers in our midst. Congrats to all of our participants for your work. The judges certainly had their work cut out for them this time around. With 18 Poetry entries and 6 Prose entries, there was some pretty tight competition to sort out, but we managed.

The winners are posted first, with all submissions to follow. I encourage you all to read these, and read them out loud. It really makes a difference.Those who wished to not have their name associated with their entry will have (Anonymous) listed as the creator.

Congrats to our winners: AltPunisher and (Anonymous).

1st Place Poetry: AltPunisher
Free Verse

And what would you say to your younger self?
I think I'll say a couple of words, if he doesn't mind,
In fact I reckon he'll think I've gone mad, but I just offer common sense, is that so bad?
You look just like me but I stand at a hundred and eighty three,
My hair's cut short and I can actually see,
I don't know your name and I don't think aging takes the blame,
You hate me for all that, and I bet you're even going to try to knock me out,
You hope I keep a lighter, all painted white and the kind of your favourite writers,
I left it in the school canteen with all those friends, I think, I'm not quite sure,
I find it in the winter still, on the ledges of icy window sills,
Summers are actually hot and the winter brings snow,
Climate change and the more you know,
And she wakes me up, all dressed in black,
'Love, what a load of cack!’
Tough luck, she adores you and I give her that back,
Sometimes I even wish she'd vex me, just to fear the end,
But she mends my mind, great swathes at a time,
You're learning German, du bist der sehr schön,
You're still a show off, but with less outsider's scoff,
I stopped chasing your dreams a while ago, I'm a trainee English teacher now, I think you can guess where,
No, it's not because of that girl,
It's hot in here, wind that window down,
Don't worry about friends,
They're right in front of you and I hope you see that soon,
Oh, and yes, I tried it,
Had my veins all black and green,
Envy and greed at seventeen,
No, I didn't like it,
I hope you see that,
If there's a reason to say I did that,
I’d say it's because the world's gone mad, and it makes your mind's rot bad,
But you can help change it,
I swear that I truly believe that,
And I think you'll find you're worth more than you can ever know,
I wish I could've figured out how to make you stop feeling so low,
I loved it when I was you,
I want our lives to be long,
And to quote my favourite song,
“I'd love it if we made it,”
I'll come back in three years and see if I was a hypocrite.,

1st Place Prose: Anonymous
Fiction

What is living?

Wake up. Shower. Get dressed. Leave. Every single day I followed this routine in the morning. I didn’t enjoy it, I didn’t hate it. Every day was a blur. Life went by, barely noticing me and me barely noticing it. I found this routine easy to fall into. Bearable. There’s no making life better unless something within it alters, grows, develops. Sometimes it gets worse, but from what I’ve found most changes have a good and a bad. There’s no other way to describe it. You can’t get more happy without ultimately feeling less happy once it’s over. A permanent happiness is what we all seek, yet obtaining it sometimes seems almost impossible.

My life was average. I did well in school, I had a few friends, but none too close. I put up a wall between me and emotions. It simply felt easier that way, I only worried about myself, whilst leaving nothing to worry about as I did nothing.

One day, I asked a girl for help. I chose her simply because I couldn’t think of anyone else to ask. Little did I know she would destroy the wall between emotion and me, and find a whole side to me that was never seen before. She helped me, but mostly she talked about herself. Oddly enough that was what made me comfortable enough to start relaxing and sharing my life with her. She opened me, changing me, and I never knew it would happen. I fell in love with her, with the emotions she gave me. Sometimes the small details fade away. I don’t need to say why I first asked for her help, because she gave it to me and more. The small details are the secrets we share between us, the memories that brought us together, and the memories she makes with me every time we are together. She has changed and still changes me.

I don’t know when it will come to an end. I know that I will forever be a different person than the one she met. A life is something we are given, but sometimes it takes a friend to start living. Find your person. Change is hard. Change is good. Change is bad. It’s life. Start living.

Krysyy · Nov 4, 2018

Poetry Submissions, in no particular order.

Gamemaker888: Haiku

Driving down a red brick road.
My childhood home.

The old stomping grounds I roam.

(Anonymous): A-B rhyme

I once chased a hare.
He was swift and I only ever caught a glance of him.
Here, now there…
All I ever wanted was to touch his forelimb
And tell him how I appreciated him.
But I was a fox,
Scary and unkind in appearance.
The hare always balks,
And escapes with mad incoherence.
Away from me he would always run.
Then one day the hare did not show,
So I could no longer give chase.
Even once arrived the snow,
There remained not a trace
Of he who I wanted to know more.
Other hares would come,
But never did he return.
I tried to befriend them some,
But, they too, ran and left me with a burn.
Again the snows came.
The snows will not leave me,
Although the flowers are again in bloom.
Hiding beneath my tree,
I lay and wait for the passing of the gloom.
Yet, I fear it will never leave.
I am forever the beast that causes the hares to flee,
And they will never know all I want
Is to have them meet and know me.
They continue to pass my tree every day and flaunt
My inability to catch them.

Smooshed_Potato: Limerick

The Clock

Tick Tick Tick
The rhythm of the clock
beats like a drum
Doesn’t stop.
Counting the time hour by hour
Seconds passing like an autumn shower
People grow, advance, and learn over time
Life can be sweet as vanilla or sour as a lime
Change comes very swift
Like still air turns to huge wind and lift
Or a choo-choo train moving smoothly on course
That gets derailed by a supernatural force
Mashed sweet potato cans on the floor
Diapers rushing through the door
A dribble of drool runs down the cheek
Attention needed is at its peak
Being a baby is not a bore
Parents don’t get the slightest snore.
Learning new things, manners too
The smell of crayons and Elmers glue
Meeting people, getting friends
Friendship seems to have no ends
Being a 1st grader is something new.
Constant late nights striving for high grades
The bags under eyes are very dark shades
Parties, sports, and clubs are shown
Many long hours spent on the phone
Puberty’s growth soon pervades.
College is fun, but lots of work
Taxes and bills begin to lurk
Moving out is a delight
To find a school that is just right
Facing adversities with a smirk
Family life is a joyful time
Little children who constantly chime
A little dog raised with care
A loving partner who is always there
Make up a family so true
The Muzak of life begins to play
A waiting game begins with no delay
Eating prunes and doctor pills
Wishing not to feel the chills
Trapped inside a home of old
Nothing else to be foretold
Through this all
The rise and fall
The pride and shame
Life is a game
To be played right
To be played slick
And hear the familiar
Tick Tick Tick

MoreMoople: Free Verse

Life from the Fallen

Night weighs heavily
Upon the jungle.
Frogs dance
In the moonlight,
But their songs
Are merely an echo
Of a life once known.
A mist surrounds the
Fallen tree,
Its downfall
The greatest of the century
Decay creeps over,
Slowly removing the identity
Of every branch
And every root.
But what is this?
Could it be?
Small sprouts poking their heads up
Gasping for air
Yearning for sun
They will fight
Until the jungle is won
And peace returns,
Once more

fabledbaker: couplet

For worms, a change may come unbidden.
Where behind a wall their skin is hidden.
In this stage of the chrysalis,
Their life becomes a total mess.
But before their form can resolve
Their being must first dissolve.
This unconscious soup must suffer risks,
But still, preserve imaginal disks.
The key parts should be maintained
If their life they would sustain.
Long before wings are grew
All are lost, but memories few.
When within does congeal
We gain a glimpse of what was concealed.
To see if effort is for win or loss
A beautiful butterfly or limping moth.
These great changes bring to the fore
If they are as they were before.
Are they new and different mind
Than themselves left behind?

Stnywitness: Couplet

My friend told me about the game,
The thought that I didn’t own it yet
brought me shame.

The game was called Minecraft
And I thought, “That’s an interesting name!”
I bought the program and loaded the app
Couldn’t contain myself, “Oh, snap!”

When I created my first land,
I thought it was simply grand!
I couldn’t wait to get home and play
And soon it was a part of my every day.

My friend came over, and we played.
He showed me the works and gave me aid.
He told me about a server he liked
And I was very psyched.

The server was called Empire and it was fun
I played all day till the setting sun.
I made my little house on a plot
This server was very well thought.

I teleported to the wasteland
And gathered resources in the woodland.
I came back to my house and built new things;
My place looked like it was fit for kings!

The next day I went to a shop
Where I purchased a lot!
I thought, “I should open my own store!”
So I built a shop and called it, Buy More.

My daily income soon increased
And I became a rich man, on here at least.
I came across a man named AlexC
“He’s a staff!” I said with glee.

Alex invited me to a public event
I won the PvP, and off I went!
One day I went online and asked to be staff
“Come and join the club!” they said with a laugh.

I was so happy when they turned me green.
I had become staff while still a teen!
So off I went to helping others
Showing them all of Empire’s wonders.

A few years later, I promoted.
I truly was devoted.
Senior Staff was my new name
Time had passed, but I was the same.

Empire will always be one of my favorite places
No matter what in-game or life changes.

MagicalGrllRiRi: Free Verse

We are but blocks on this cubed world,
Alone, we accomplish some.
But teamed with each other, we blocks can expand and grow.
Gravel, dirt, grass, or ore...
It matters not what we are made of...
But what we can do with it.
As life changes,
So do we.
We create, we evolve, we see, and we learn.
Some creations are completed, one step after another.
Other creations have breaks in between steps.
All methods of creation are valid,
As long as we finish what we started.
"Seconds, minutes, days or years.
Brush that dust off, get back in there!"
Stress, strife, tears and anguish...
Reach out to community members, helping hands are always open!
What makes a community, during the changing of updates and seasons?
Loyalty, honesty, clear and concise communication!
Life changes, as do we.
And we can change, for the better.

ZanDarkin: Free Verse

World Poem

Once you walk outside you feel snow and the bitterness of the world,
Darkness stocks and follows you, like a bird in a cage trying to break free.
Death the void of nothingness an pit of hell burning non stoply,
Blackness is a cell holding the world from insanity
Water, so deep you can't swim up to surfaces light.

Pain, sorrow of scars been hidden,
Time so frozen that can stop and not feel the world around yourself
The scars you wear makes you stronger but holds you down.
Chaines so strong they drag you down
Light fades, breathing gets harder, gets dragged deeper.
Hell a blazing fire pit always falling, no end
Flame, a chamber to hold the mask of evil
Blood so red, stains everything in its path
Redness a cave of emptiness so hollow.
Emptiness full of hate and anger
Nothingness, world so blank there's nothing left alive
Life is like a puzzle that doesn't fit

Realm, breaking everything it touches
Sky so bright it blinds, but darkness kills
Hate, darker than flames fueling the burning soul
Pieces shading the blood to ground. buries great sorrow
Gray. colour of hollowness, blocking out senses
Frost so cold ice consumes, freezing cities in its path
Crime, a wall blocking a path. so bright, but so dark striping all rules
Rocks, so hard that earth shakes
(Drowns deeper)
(Hits surface)
Fish, swims as you die peaceful.

Krysyy · Nov 4, 2018

More Poetry Submissions

Foxy_Kitty: Free Verse

I walked home and plopped on the bed
I fell asleep
but I almost instantly woke up
I hear my mother calling my name
"what are you doing, sleeping, child? Go, study so you may be smarter"
I didn't want to study
But I walked into my room to sit on my desk to study anyways
but as soon as I touched my book, I was in a different place;
I was in a room around many other cubicles
I could tell I didn't like this place
the people inside them looked almost just like me
I was sorting files.
One said something on it
it was blurry
all of a sudden it got hot
and I woke up again
I hear my mother calling my name
"what are you doing, sleeping, child? Go, study so you may be smarter"
I said "yes mother"
but I went outside to play
I ran into the garden
but then I slipped and fell in a hole
the hole was dark and endless
there were pictures
they were of me but I was older in them
I was in a tower. It was called the lLeaning Tower of Piza
another was a selfie with penguins in Antarctica
the next one was at this large, open area made of rocks. I was looking at a river in the Grand Canyons
I looked happy in the pictures
I was happy
I hear my mother calling my name
"what are you doing, sleeping, child? Go, study so you may be smarter"
What should I do next?

Sinnersaved: Free Verse

Time Backward Flows

Moments come and go,
As time itself backwards flows.
Like a river of dreams and realities,
Drowning of my own mentality.
Travel to the end of the beginning,
End never where you began.
Where the Jostle Giant never fails,
From this mouth it always exhales.
Cut off from land; we only go,
Trapped in the sight of those known.
Blinded by backwards flows,
See not what is wanted known.
For what seems backwards flows,
Seconds...minutes...hours slow.
Rivers never backwards flows,
Only once does this river know.
Moments come and go,
As time itself will ever flow.
Like a river changes so do I,
I will never drown but only float on by.

Alaenia: Free Verse

Rock, River, and Tree

I saw Rock clearly.
He was hard, masculine in every way.
And I heard his slow, distant rumble.
He turned and said, "I have seen everything that has been."
And I felt loneliness.
I saw River clearly.
She was smooth in her course.
And heard her coursing, willing words.
She turned and said, "I see all that is."
And I felt expectancy and fear.
I saw Tree clearly.
He was coarse and undefined.
And I was mesmerized by his creaking sway
As he turned and said "I see that of what is to come."
And I felt completion.

M4ster_M1ner : Etc (didn't define)

Millions of rupees selling on the 'Net
Millions were sold
And bumped many players' head
EULA came and it said
No more rupees selling on the 'Net

(Anonymous): Blank Verse (Iambic Pentameter Without Rhyming)

Flight

The sea of rolling salt, it calls us lass;
we cannot dwell within these walls of weight.
With nothing came the queen of famine here.
Our pockets dry with dirt and bagging cloth
will not be full for decades now to come.
You too must see the barren landscape now.

My heart and yours shall sail away, o’re sea
of blue and turquoise green. Away, goodbye,
high hill and glen. Goodbye brown grass, dry leaf
and empty coffers. Sorrow does not dwell
in us. Awake, and I will fin’ly leave.
The passage free, one bag of memories.

My cailin, dream of food so rich, of sheep
so warm, abundant wool. Of stores that burst
with lard and milk. Of beds by which a coal
has warmed. Of land, such land, I n’er have had
so lush with grass and cattle fat. Of fast
and sturdy walls of wood. A paradise.

Oh lass of love, come sail with me o’re sea
of blue and turquoise green. Away, goodbye,
high hills and glen. So long the thin and weak.
Our sorrow dwells down deep in earth and stone.
But nothing do we leave behind but grave
rocks pale and small. Now we shall have it all.

Go leave a dog rose for your mum. She can’t
be wanting more. The book your sister took
to school will give her peace and rest. The pound
your father waived should get us to a start.
With tears we’ll water down the dirt and leave
the arid plot. We shan’t return to loss.

Beloved one, we leave at last o’re sea
of blue and turquoise green. Away, goodbye,
high hills and glen. A kiss to memories.
To plentiful we travel now to start
the life withheld at home due once our love
has crossed o’re sea of blue and turquoise green.

Hashhog: Haiku

Looking Back

I mimicked Lot's wife
But though my eyes glow of salt

My heart beats onward

Slimewarrior0202: Haiku

Life will change a bit

But don’t worry cause your epic

EMC will thrive through time

(Anonymous): Free Verse

This is who I am,
who I have become.

I am Karen, who once cared, and once loved.
I am Sadie, who is afraid, and no longer trusts.

Both am I,
yet am neither.

A small town, turned suburb, quickly morphing into the city it was never meant to be
a graduating class, with some growing tighter knit
yet others yet waging war.

A quiet home, love yet radiating, as the warmth baking the brownies, handmade,
but hearts torn and scarred by lies,
as the head fades into isolation.

Ten pound braided line, "The best for fishing,"
creative words sung when a catfish bites his scarred hands.

A child upon the riverbanks,
a senior, at fifty, at home.

Her cooking, to be passed unto me,
daughter of her generation, as am I.

Three children she raised,
but only her eldest brought home a grandbaby she loves.

The laughter, the mocking.
The friendships- were they ever real,
or a lie, to keep her strong?

Lies, turned rumors, that one day went too far,
an arrow, a dagger,
a family intact- but are they really?

Love, leading her to hope,
a dance, healing her weary bones, the accidental first kiss...
a betrayal, never to be forgotten.

An old heart
a thousand scars
an old lady who caged a child within.

A mask, worn stiff, that few ever take off,
two sides to a person they think they know-
they see, but do they really?

CloverOcean: Free Verse

The Unbroken Butterfly
Remove from a butterfly it's beautiful wings and what is left to see?
A broken body and a broken spirit with no remaining beauty?
But what of the butterfly,
who's will is not yet broken?
With this one life to live,
should it's dreams not go unspoken?
Should it not surrender to it's fate, accepting the sympathy it's been given?
Has not the nature decided, this is it's skin to live in?
Is it not a selfish thing, to try it's very best?
To chase it's dreams and follow it's heart when it could stunt the rest?
What of those selfless few, that help it onto their backs?
Shouldn't they not be burdened, by what has slipped through the cracks?
For love doth cloud the minds and reasoning of the few.
That see something more, than the rest of them do.
Or perhaps it strengthens, to fly against the wind.
To work extra hard, to go through thick and thin.
For no heart hath less worth, or soul lesser value,
to the ones who can see past what is worldly and shallow.

Krysyy · Nov 4, 2018

Prose Submissions

Jelle68: Fiction (dystopian)
(Left with formatting notes in place, as found in submission.)

The absence of ground was gaping at him, in a way only absences can.
“I suggest you jump.” said a voice behind him.
“Not jet.” he said, with an absence of understanding.
“True.” The voice came closer. Its owner wouldn’t: he, Bobik, was certain Fred was dead.
“Nonsense” The voice responded his thoughts.
“No, you’re dead. George killed you. Go away, Fred, there’s a reason you’re not alive.”
“Not more than you are. I’m leaving, but I’ll be back soon.”
“You’re dead!” Bobik shouted, “Dead!” But he was shouting into nothingness, the voice was gone: Fred was gone, like he had never been there.

George was seated in his beloved piece of seating furniture when the doorbell rang. He was expecting a surprise, so he was quite surprised to see it was Bobik. “Amate rem publicam.”, George said, his voice dripping of irony. He had just cleaned up the mess, that he had accidently begotten when he, to say it formally, killed Fred. His walls were filled with abstract and expressionistic artwork. Kandinsky, Munch and Matisse all were represented: stolen from a government installation where they burned the monuments for electricity. The non-walls weren’t abnormally furnished, although the candle enveloped with barbed seemed unfitting for the otherwise modern interior.
“You were supposed to be ‘le Choisi’, weren’t you, mon ami?”, George discoursed, ”Do you think you can just knock on my door, and I’ll create an absence where once were your problems, like ‘le chacal’ always did?” His voice was louder with every word. “It was told you were the one who would decide well. Everyone trusted that, fi donc.”
Bobik saw Fred’s body floor. He had never liked Fred.
“Oui, that man.” George said, “He used to breath. Rappelles toi?”
“Wait” The other interrupted “I heard his voice.”
“I did amply, you know, when I hadn’t taken him jet because of you.”
“It was moment ago.”
“So you’re still ‘le Choisi’? We’ve lost all there was to loose: hardly the two of us two are alive, most of the ours are taken from us, and you still know what to do? You know Bobik, there is nothing we can do. ‘Ain’t no options left.’ If you would have actually been the one, all you would presage is: “Death”, “Death”, “Death”.” There was both a laugh and a cry in his voice. He stood up ominously, his hand on his holster. Somewhere between George stood up and Bobik walked away, they weren’t friends anymore.

Standing no more than a decameter away from where he was a moment ago, Bobik observed George’s home. From the outside, nothing stood out. It looked like a normal rich man’s house: A marble neoclassical frontage, decorated with the finest sculpture: all made with the best materials. Bobik wondered if he’d ever see the place again. He wondered around town for no more than an hour, to finally decide to go to his own home.

Sitting in his window frame, he tried to understand what had happened to the world. It all started innocently: Merely the amount of words people could express at once were limited, but as that started limiting the amount of words the public could take in and ultimately think in, protest groups emerged, slowly merging to the one he now probably was the last member of. The government fought those back with even more censoring. Being inhumane, in a way only humans can be.
At the time he first joined, he was thought to be a hopeless case, he wasn’t able to learn the old words and didn’t even seem to be able to think complex thoughts, but once that old lady came in, and said he would be the chosen one, or ‘le Choisi’ for George, everyone embraced him to be their advisor and slowly leader. A lot of people got captured, but, as they were desperate for a solution, everyone continued following him. Turtles all the way down.

“I’m sitting in my throne of langue” he thought, “looking down on what they said would be my citizens, but all I see now is a reason to jump down to be with them, to be with them for less than a moment.”
He laughed cynically, and painfully fell back into his apartment.

He paced back and forth for a moment. He wondered what he always thought he’d do when he had twenty-four hours to live. Ultimately, he lay down on his trusted bed and tried to fall asleep. He naturally failed.
The sun started setting. “I don’t care anymore”, he thought, “I don’t care about langue, I don’t care about logic or nuance. I just want to go back, I want to go back in time, look at George’s skimpy face and say he could put all those words there where the sun never shines.”
Being a hard-boiled about everything in the daytime awfully easy, jet being it at night is something completely else. “Just let them all go to hell” he thought, “all those leaders, all those politicians, let them go to hell. Christianity has a pretty good way of dealing with this kind of stuff, you’d know they all go to that freaking damned hell.” Sadly, he wasn’t a Christian - the class dealing with let-downs unfortunately seems to be off again.

He went outside. It was a quiescent night. No one was supposed to be outside after 8, but the concrete buildings around him made him feel like he had done something wrong apart from that.
“Like you didn’t” – Fred again
“Shut up”
“I shut up? You killed two people, and set George out to kill another two, one of which was me. All ‘for the greater good.’”
“It had to happen. The lady said we had to sacrifice four people this way”
“The keys of a piano are black and white, jet they still sound like they’re millions of colours”
“Shut up”
“You’re ashamed of what you did”
“I’m not”
“You are”
“Go to hell”
“Take that back”
“Sure, I’m ashamed of it, in fact, I feel very bad about what I have done. Fine now?”
“The other thing”
“Sure, don’t go to hell, stick around for a little longer, if you want to go together with me, that is.”
Fred’s voice went away just as quickly as it came. Bobik was alone again, standing in between the same buildings in the same night. Even though nothing changed, time did pass. The passing of time seems to give a scintillation to all the objects around you. It always seems like that scintillation is the essence of the river time is, or that’s at least what Bobik wondered about as he slowly followed the night out of town. He read graffiti from the walls of the concrete giants: “Magistrum laudate”, “Amate rem publicam” and more of that nonsense. He wondered why the republic continued to refer to itself as “the republic” or “res publica” – The people’s business. If George and he would be gone, no one would know the difference between a republic and a country anyway, so why bother? He wondered what would have happened if he wouldn’t have been born. Would that have saved them?
“That old lady would have had to find a Replacement-for-Missing-Bobik and sent that into space. The effect would have been the same.” Fred was back. “You not having been there wouldn’t have been a solution. The only way it could’ve been better is if you would’ve handled a little more wisely.”
Bobik tried to answer, but Fred seemed uncatchable. It made Bobik feel like he should’ve fallen forward.
Attempting to not think about that, he tried to remember his last dream. He had dreamed walking through a peaceful forest. The chestnut trees, elusive for time, were attempting to scratch the underside of heaven’s, like they were transcending into the ideas. The light that fell through the leaves felt like the it was wisdom itself: uncatchable, and too bright to look into directly. He remembered to have felt happiness, jet, when he woke up, he felt like he was down in the cave again: chained to his own body. How tragic mustn’t it have been for his soul to fall through the skies. The driver trying to pull up his two horses with broken wings, in vain, to finally get locked up in what is his body. Bobik thought he should let it free. He should…
“Shut up” he shouted to himself.
Lights turned on. “Hey there” a policeman shouted.
Bobik perplexedly looked around, jet managed to apprehend what was happening.
“Oh, look at me living here”, he thought, “surprised to see someone standing on both feet?”
He cried and laughed at the same time, like George did.
They continued walking in his direction.
“I wouldn’t do that. The government will probably kill you if you’re the one telling I’m still alive”
As they couldn’t read his mind, like Fred, they continued walking in his direction.
Bobik ran away, afraid they were going to kill him. He promised himself to not be this realistic again, and, with a detour, went home again. He finally managed to fall asleep.

As soon as the day glissaded under his door, a bomb letter in the early morning, the waves of his thoughts grown to the clouds, and those clouds became the highest waves. He rested, and woke early in the afternoon.
He had thought about what he was going to do this day, and was relieved to have made up his mind. He walked out his door into the concrete giants he was scared by the night before, they looked so peaceful in the daylight. He hopped past all the houses in the last district of town. He ran through the chestnut forest, with its elusive trees. It all looked like in his dreams, he anyway felt like he was dreaming. He was standing at the clough again. This was the place where George told him wat the government was doing. “I’m sorry” George had said, “But if you don’t join, you’ll end up down there, you simply know too much” At the time, he was scared.

The absence of ground was gaping at him. He felt happiness one last time, and he took his final jump.

Krysyy · Nov 4, 2018

More Prose Submissions

Alaenia: Memoir/Essay

Yes

"No, I can’t picture him like that."

It’s been six months since he past away. But he doesn’t seem to be gone, only on vacation. I’m talking about my friend Chris Bray. But before I elaborate on the above, I need to tell you about this skinny guy who had done so much, even in death.

Bray was the skinny kid who always was on the wrong end of gags, jokes, and gossip. He didn’t care. He had a girl friend, a Grand Am with bucket seats, a cool stereo system, and he had five really close friends. Now that I think about it, he might have had thirty, which is a fair party when you want to have fun in the pond behind his house. Chris was religious, not a religious freak who never swore. In fifth grade, he was hit in the face with a baseball resulting in two days out of school, a wired jaw, and a couple of teeth cemented back in place. In ninth grade, he crashed his snowmobile into a hay trailer near the barn trying to jump a snow bank, and walked away uninjured. That same year, the band went to Washington D.C. Sonya Watkins, Sean Clark, and myself each tried putting an M&M in Chris’ partially opened mouth while he was sleeping on the way to the hotel. One of us, I can’t remember which, decided to send Lynnette Buckley up to Chris’ mom to get her camera. None of us had the brilliance to use our own. The winning M&M in the picture is Sean’s.

Chris could make anyone laugh. He didn’t need M&M’s or a comment all he needed was his goofy, ear-to-ear smile of his and the whole room would be a bust. And when laughs were short in a room, he’d make them, even if it meant being the butt of a joke. He learned not to take things seriously unless they were meant to be. In ninth grade, we lost Alex Wardin to a car crash. Chris was there, making us laugh when inside we were in grief. In tenth, we lost a member of the band, Jessica Castillo, to another accident. Again, Chris was there cheering us up as we were down. Then March rolled around. Everything changed.

On March 19th, we had Michigan Symphony, Band, and Orchestra, Association Festival, an annual event that judges the performance of three orchestra arrangements played by a band. Everything was set. We were ready, getting on the bus, and driving to Bullock Creek High. We were laughing, screaming, pumped full of fear and happiness. No one knew what was to come.

We came, we played, and we got a two. A ranking like this was like a ‘B’ in the world of academics. To us, it was failure.

"We had work so hard! Chris and Sarah Michael played their solos perfectly! Everything had gone okay! How could that have happened?" we said. It didn’t matter; all the tears, angry faces, gestures, and other unpleasant, poor sportsman-like things seemed to creep into our minds. Pushing them back, we got on the bus and went home. Here again, Bray acting like a puppy, messing with people’s minds, and cracking jokes. We were bummed, but in good company. We never thought it would be the last time we would see Chris alive.

I want to change it! I want it to be me! It should have been me!
I spent Saturday morning at the High School rehearsing the play, Wizard of Oz, with a disgruntled "Mrs. Clayton and Company". After that some of us went to Fashion Square Mall. I got home about four o’clock, maybe five. I had been getting restless in the middle of the time period spent at the mall, and when I got home it grew worse. It felt as though my stomach wasn’t there, only an immense pit that couldn’t be filled. I didn’t want to eat, and I couldn’t sit still or work on something for very long. I would get hungry but when I got to the cupboard or fridge, I wouldn’t be hungry. It was almost the I’m-bored-so-I’ll-eat kind of hungry. I wouldn’t find out until 8:07 P.M. why I felt like that.

Sarah called me over the phone.

"Chris was hit by a car while trying to get the mail," she said.

"Chris Bray?" I was shocked. There were three Chrises in the Class of 2006 but of course, you think of the one you’re the closest to. Her answer made me want to drop the phone, but I held it in place. She said that one word, that one word that has, always, a positive feeling and never could be negative.

"Yes."

I started crying. She said he had been hit at two o’clock, and I asked if she knew more. She didn’t. I ended our conversation and called Cheryl, his cousin, and Jennifer, his girl friend. Jennifer sounded calm, like her crying had been done and was dealing with it for now, but Cheryl was a train wreck. Cheryl told me little and that she would take me up to the hospital, but there wasn’t any room. I understood. Chris’s mother and father, I had been told, were just one among eight on Terry’s side and five on Sue’s of the family. Imagine having twenty-odd aunts and uncles in one room, not to mention their kids if they’re old enough! Cheryl and I talked about Chris’s injuries, when we might be able to go up, and told each other it was going to be okay.

I did go up against Cheryl’s wishes. I saw Terry and Chris’s brother Jon standing with another family member in the hall. I hugged both of them. Terry told my mom what Chris’s injuries were. I listened, intent to know more. Sue came out to us from Chris’s room. Sue provided information of before and assumptions were formed of after. Most of the details of the accident are still unknown to many others and myself.

Apparently, Chris had gone with Sue to get a type of wire for the subwoofer of his car stereo. She had asked him to go and check the mail when they got home. Her car faced toward the house putting the scene of the accident behind her, out of her line of vision. Unable to see, the only thing she could do was hear the screeching of car tires as the vehicle tried to stop before hitting Chris. In a way I wish Sue had and hadn’t been there. If she hadn’t, Chris might not have survived for anyone to say good-bye, but she wouldn’t have had to experience "a-mother’s-worst-nightmare."
Chris had been flown by helicopter to St. Mary’s. He had gone through surgery to remove a piece of his skull to help provide room for any brain swelling and a C5 vertebrae fracture was being tended to. The doctors had also ordered his body temperature lowered and a limit of stimuli to his body. These injuries left three options of recovery: perfectly normal, paralyzed in some way, or mentally challenged.

I was not allowed to see Chris--partly due to the fact that my mother wanted to leave and the nurses/doctors were tending his injuries. I didn’t want to leave. I begged my mom to stay but she wouldn’t let me, she was being too over protective of me. My father had persuaded my mom into taking me anyways; he said it like it was like ‘...an adult seeing an adult.’ My mother said there was nothing for me to do there. I thought of many things, praying for one. I couldn’t argue. I hadn’t the strength and in a way I wanted and didn’t want to see Chris. Maybe it was because I wasn’t sure if I’d really see him under the tubes and bandages, but another Chris, one that Sue had mistaken for her son. I wouldn’t think that way for long though.

When I left, my head swam with questions, each one the answer I didn’t want to hear. I was charged with the duty of telling the other kids at school what had happened. I called that Monday. Chris would go through more tests, Terry told me. I cried. I cried a lot that week, more then I ever expect to in my life. I went to school, got hugs from everyone. Mrs. Benjamin, the band director at the time, wasn’t there so we just talked and signed a poster for Chris showing we were thinking about him. Fifth hour came. I will never forget that damn TV.

The way I sat in Mr. Robishaw’s Algebra II class was in the fourth row, last seat from the door to the Cafeteria. Chris usually sat in the first row, first seat. The whole hour was of that damn TV screen reflecting Chris’s empty chair. The other kids understood, they moved the TV, but Robishaw came in and moved it back. I started crying; right in class and in front of people I swore I never would. I felt weak, just like Chris had to be. I left at the end of the hour, practically running through the hall.

I went to Mr. Krueger’s for Chemistry I. He saw me crying and said I could sit in the back, which I did. I went to Drama practice afterward. I think it was a bad idea because I should have been with my friend, someone I had been close to for a good part of my life. According to medical science, Chris passed away about four-fifteen when I had been on stage practicing.

After Drama I went home. No messages were on the machine. I didn’t think to call the hospital to see how Chris was doing; you know "No news is good news". I got the call from one of the girls in Mr. Palmer’s first hour composition class that I didn’t normally associate with. She said that Chris had passed away, that she thought I should know before going to school. I started crying and ran from the house to a tree I had carved CRB heart CLC across the creek behind my house a few years before. I loved the place and I had always wanted to show Chris where it was. He knew where it was then because I could feel the wind pushing or brushing against me. I knew it had to of been him.

"I’m fine. Go to Jen, she needs you, not me...," I started to say things of that sort. The wind kind of mellowed out a bit. I heard one of the four-wheelers come up the hill, follow the trail to one of the clearings, turn around and head back towards the house. I stayed there until almost dark. I went back to the house. I went into my room and thought.

"Wait a minute, I can’t even trust her. How do I know it’s true? If it’s a joke, it’s a sick one..." I called Cheryl’s house again, this time I asked for her brother Steve. He said he didn’t ‘...even know if they pronounced him yet’. My heart sank. It was true. My best friend was gone.

I cried in my room. My dad came in and asked me if there was anything he could do. Crying and kneeling on the floor in front of my dresser, I asked him blatant and to the point, wanting a straight and complete answer from him.

"Does this mean my best-friends a veg?" He hesitated.

"Yes."

Isn’t it strange how a word that could be so positive, could become the worst, most negative word in the world?

I can’t picture Chris hooked up to tubes and covered in bandages. I can’t remember what he looked like in his coffin. I can’t believe that of the pictures I have, the most of him and I are in my head. I only have three of Chris and I together on paper. I’m making sure that doesn’t happen with any more of my friends. I get pictures of them whenever I can, even if they don’t want to. I also collect the memories and the stories behind the pictures, like the one of Chris sleeping with an M&M in his mouth and an Easter pink M&M, at that. I can’t bring him back. I know that. I know I’ll never be able to bring him back. If I had a time machine, I could. Then I wouldn’t have written this, maybe Chris would. But then, how many lives would I take or make worse because I wanted one person back when they had given so much?

There is one thing Chris had done two months before the accident. This is another reason why I’m talking about him. Next time you take out your license flip it over. See that little area on the back that you can write on? That’s for organ donation. Thousand across the U.S. and world die because no one is donating. You don’t and won’t be needing your organs when your gone. Save a life, or two, or three...make someone else’s better. Chris did. When he flipped over that piece of laminated plastic, he asked about it. He asked the nurse-mother that he had, never knowing that she would be there when he was at his worst in health. He didn’t know that two months after signing it himself the surgeons at St. Mary’s would harvest his organs for recipients there and abroad. He loved life; he loved Jen, his friends, mom, dad, brother, God. He loved them all, and he gave his love to someone else by giving the gift of life. Consider it. Talk it over. Do it. He did.

Sue, don’t blame yourself. It’s taken me this long to say it. Chris doesn’t blame you. I don’t. No one does. And he knows, as well as we all do, that if you could change it, you would. So would I.

Krysyy · Nov 4, 2018

More Prose Submissions

Impulsive_Egg: Science Fiction

The Robotics of the Afterlife
In the beginning, there was nothing. Not a sound, not an object, not a concept, no awareness. Though the memory span of non-existence was only a fraction of a nanosecond, looking back at it, he thought this was the most peaceful time of his life. Despite this, the idea of returning back to the time of nothing became dreadfully chilling.

In the beginning, there was a click, followed by the sound of a woman mumbling to herself incoherently from somewhere in the darkness. He couldn’t quite see yet. He felt the sensation of blood running through his cold, cold veins. A subtle humming took the place of an absent heartbeat.

“This goes here,” the woman was saying. Click. “And this thing plugs into this thing…” Click. He found the mindless muttering of the woman somewhat comforting in this world of darkness. “Here we go…” Click, click, snap. “There!”

At once, his eyes were granted the sight of a single woman staring at him in anticipation, as if she were expecting something of him. She seemed to be bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement.

He scanned his surroundings. The two of them were alone in a poorly lit room; diagonal wooden pillars held up the surrounding walls, and the ceiling seemed to be made up of metal pipes. The room itself had a concerning number of advanced machines, one of which, he realized, he was hooked up to.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” the woman said in regards to the wires that ran from his chest into a monitor. “As soon as my friend brings the right tools you’ll be able to move around as freely as you want.”

He returned his attention to her. She was smiling, not just with her lips but with the wrinkles that accompanied her deep brown eyes. Her black hair was befrizzed and it stuck up in many places; her ebony skin was blotched with mechanical oil, as well as her clothes.

She stood up straight and gestured to herself. “I’m Dr. Vali Fritz - I’m an engineer. Your name is ELI, which stands for Electronic Life Impersonator. You are the subject of my most important and ambitious project.”

Eli heard a door opening, and then a pair of boots stomping rhythmically down a flight of hollow stairs. Another woman appeared. As Dr. Fritz waved the woman over, she carried a heavy metal box. Something inside of it jangled with weight as she moved.

“Reed!” Dr. Fritz exclaimed. “Come introduce yourself to our new friend!”

The woman named Reed put the box down and peered over at Eli timidly. She wore thick glasses and a bow in her hair. Eli stared back rather blankly.

“Wow…” Reed breathed. “He looks so real… He looks exactly like-”

“-Eli, why don’t you introduce yourself to my friend, Reed?”

He didn’t respond. He was interested in the tense way that this woman held herself, like she was expecting him to lash out at her. She was the least bit relaxed compared to Dr. Fritz.

“Wait, you named him Eli?” Reed asked, turning to Dr. Fritz.

“Well, yeah, what’s wrong with that?”

“I thought this was just going to be an experiment that honored your brother, not bring him back to life!”

Dr. Fritz was quick to hush the woman. “Don’t be so loud, Reed. He has wooden feelings,” she said simply.

Reed’s expression turned into a look of utter confusion. “Wooden…? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means we can’t get overexcited,” Dr. Fritz answered flatly. “Now give me that battery component so we can get him moving around.”

Eli did not like the way Reed fell silent after Dr. Fritz spoke. She did as she was told, but reluctantly, he noticed. Where Reed maintained her distance, Dr. Vali Fritz maintained her enthusiasm.

The engineer opened the door in Eli’s chest, where the wires that connected him to the monitor were stationed. From the metal box, she pulled out a car battery and placed it inside the hole in his chest. She was putting on a welding mask when Reed had decided to speak again.

“So, what was the purpose of this project again?”

Dr. Fritz tested the blowtorch. She did not look back at her friend. “Just to see if I could do it,” she said with a shrug.

“Do what, exactly?” Reed crossed her arms.

Now Dr. Fritz was the one who fell silent. Eli watched as the engineer began to weld the prongs of the battery into place, then she connected more wires to a computer chip.

“Vali,” Reed scolded, “does this have anything to do with your brother’s project?”

Dr. Fritz hesitated. “Yes and no,” she finally answered. “But it’s for good reason-”

“-You promised me you wouldn’t try to continue this! I can’t believe you!”

“I know, I know, but I’m finally getting somewhere!” Vali stood up, lifted the mask off her head, and directed the blowtorch to Eli. “Look at him! He’s processing everything!”

A harsh scowl formed on Reed’s face. Eli noticed her hands clenched into fists. “That doesn’t matter! You know that this is illegal! I’m getting out of here before you get caught!”

And with that, the woman turned and stormed out of the basement, slamming the door on the way out. Dr. Fritz gave a startled jolt, but Eli did not.

The woman sighed. “She just doesn’t understand,” she mumbled, resuming her work on the wires. Thus she began her incoherent muttering again. “But she won’t turn me in… I’m not worried about that… She’s not like that… She wouldn’t…”

She began to connect the wires from the monitor to the battery that was now powered in his chest.

After she connected the last wire, she stopped and stared at Eli, and he stared back. There were streaks of water on her cheeks. “I don’t expect you to understand, either. You don’t know what you’re doing here, do you, buddy? For a second you didn’t exist and now you do, and I bet you’re really confused. Sudden consciousness must be a terrifying change. Humans don’t get that. We just leak into consciousness like gas. We don’t remember our lives before birth, or directly after. It takes us time to make memories.”

Dr. Fritz heaved a great sigh, dropping her head. “I’m not sure which consciousness I’d rather have.” After a few vigilant moments, she stood up and began to clean up her station aimlessly. She no longer had anything to mumble about.

The silence took over the basement again. Eli watched the engineer for a long time, doing what humans would call thinking.

“Who is Eli Fritz?” he asked suddenly. The very first words to come out of his mouth; he did not stammer, and his electronic voice did not give feedback.

Startled, Dr. Fritz spun around at his question. She covered her mouth and stifled nervous laughter. “Where did you hear…?”

“The files.”

Puzzled silence.

“The files you programmed into my system. I am designed to repair issues, which gives me access to all of my files. They are named after an Eli Fritz.”

Dr. Fritz began to hastily clean up her station. “It was an old project,” she answered firmly. “It’s none of your business.”

“I am designed to repair issues, but I cannot fix that attitude of yours.”

Dr. Fritz covered her face, wiped her eyes and looked off into a dark corner of the room. She managed a pitiful chuckle. “You sound just like him.”

“Who is Eli Fritz?”

With hesitation, she told him, quietly, privately, the ambitions of Eli Fritz. The man who wanted to save the memories of the dying, who wanted to document personalities and make digital copies of physical brains. The man who had spent long hours alone in this room making draft after draft, doing endless research, writing and rewriting notes. The man who, at the peak of finishing his project, was electrocuted in an accident during experimentation.

Fritz never took it very well, so it seemed. Eli could still see her internal destruction, her resentment at the mention of her brother.

Some part went unspoken. They both had a mutual understanding that a piece - a copy - of Eli Fritz lived on in the robot. As was the reason Vali Fritz was so very attached to a piece of fine machinery, perhaps the very last thing she had of her brother.

Eli had gotten up from the chair he sat on, now disconnected from the monitor, and was wandering around the room, as instructed by the engineer. She had been testing his balance and calibration when the basement door was kicked open, and several heavily booted footsteps stomped down the stairs.

A small group of officers appeared and cornered Dr. Fritz. “You’re under arrest for the continuation of a compromised experiment! You have the right to remain silent, as anything you say can and will be held against you.”

As they handcuffed the engineer, Eli met her dark gaze, grave and vulnerable. He saw no remorse.

A large officer started towards Eli with a pair of handcuffs as well. The robot began to back away, looking back and forth between Dr. Fritz and the officer. At last, he saw the woman mouth the word “Run.”

Eli the robot took off. He wove between the mess of officers scattered about the room, scrambled up the stairs, and outside into his first experience of natural light. Running past the collection of police vehicles, he noticed a face in the window of one. One with thick glasses and a bow in her hair.

Eli did not stop.

As quickly as his life began, his life changed. He never saw the basement, nor heard from Dr. Vali Fritz ever again.

xSkitzie: Non-Fiction

Sometimes, just sometimes, life can change. What you choose to do with that change can effect your entire life. Many choose to give into pressure, and fall into depression and despair. Others, reluctantly at times, choose to do the best they can. They see change for what it is. Not necessarily wanted, but with time, can be shown to be amazing. I remember a time within my life I went through a life change that impacted me for 15 years. When I was 16 I was on a FFA trip to Houston, TX. I received a phone call. I remember the room spinning, my head stopped, and time stood still. I had never felt so sick to my stomach as I did. All I could do, was literally scream. My Father had passed away of a massive heart attack. I remember that drive home on that school bus. No one really spoke to me. I wasn't popular. I was the awkward weird chick. I remember thinking I felt as if I was screaming at the top of my lungs in a room full of people and not one person looked up. I got home, and it was set into stone. Cop cars escorted me home. My Dad was good friends with many of the police officers of our small town. I remember seeing my Mom. The devastation on her face told me everything. This was real. I ran into the woods, covered in water, it was pouring rain. I threw my hands upward and screamed God why? For 15 years I held myself back. I refused to grieve him. I refused to let him go. He was my best friend, my soulmate, my Dad. I want to say not all soulmates are in an intimate way. They can be parents, friends, aunts, etc..... A part of me died that day. I will never be the same. But finally, after many, many years, I came through it. My life is amazing. My dad was a good man. But he had fulfilled his plan here on Earth. Life changes can be harsh. You may want to kick and scream. But do it and FIGHT. Fight everyday. Do what makes you feel good. Change isn't always bad. Always try and find the positive. Remember self preservation is NOT selfish.

Krysyy · Nov 4, 2018

(Anonymous): Non-Fiction

As many people, especially those that think a lot, might, I occasionally considered the possibility of my father or mother dying, and tried to imagine how I would live on. I usually concluded that living without my mother seemed impossible, whereas living without my father could maybe be manageable; for me, at least, I didn't know about my mother. I frankly wasn't expecting either death to occur, though. I never have.

But it did. As a completely unexpected shock to all of us, my father died in January of 2015.

Nobody had expected it, as my father was increasingly healthy (he had had a bit of a burn-out), and didn't have any issues. There had been cardiac issues in the family, and because of that, he got his own heart tested from time to time. And he had, in fact, gone to the doctor in December.

2014 had been a bit of a tough year, because of the burn-out mentioned between parentheses. But 2015 was going to be better. My father was feeling good again, and was going to resume teaching Mathematics at a sister school of my own. I would have loved to hear his stories about what happened at school, and school would have loved to have him, as we've had quite a lack of Mathematics teachers for the past few years. But just before he was going to resume teaching, he suddenly died. I was 15 at the time, with a sister 3 and a brother 6 years younger than me. My father was 40 himself.

The first few weeks were extremely hectic. There was a lot of sadness around at home, and a lot of people too. Family, friends, the funeral undertaker... I hated it. I helped my mother with some things regarding the preparation of the funeral a few times, but I mostly stayed upstairs, behind my pc. I went to school as much as I could, to avoid being home. I talked a lot with my friend (redacted) from EMC, and prayed if I had the energy for it. These hectic times only lasted a month at most, however.

But, although things settled down a bit and I was worrying about school again, rather than the situation at home, the situation never reverted to normal. Of course not. My father was missing. He wouldn't come home after work. He wouldn't relax with us on Sunday. He wouldn't rear us. And that last one is quite a big one.

My mother had always been the parent mostly educating us: after my birth, she didn't work a whole lot anymore, and always from home, whereas my father was away for most of the day. This is why, in my unlikely considerations, I supposed that I would be able to live without my father but not without my mother. But now that I was actually living without my father, I realised how big of a role he had played in the household. He was the head of the family. And while he wasn't there always, he was able to correct the kids much more effectively than my mother seemed to be. Don't get me wrong: we would disobey and disrespect our father as well, from time to time. But my father had a good amount of dominance. My mother had a great amount of leniency. And these aspects worked together well, in a warm family. However, without my father, the dominance was gone. My mother needed to learn to be consistent and persistent, and not give in to our wishes so much.

But in three and a half years, it's still quite the struggle. I don't live at my parental home anymore, and am doing fine. But my brother was only 9 years old when my father died. He still had a lot to learn, much of which he hasn't been able to learn. He is, as I perceive it, much less disciplined and motivated than he could have been, if he had been reared by both my father and my mother. He isn't able to get the upbringing he needs to perform well. Relatives sometimes fault my mother for not rearing her kids with some more discipline and some less leniency. But that didn't use to be her part of the task. Moreover, my mother seems even less consistent than before my father died. If she was too lenient, my father could point that out to her and she would gladly try to be more persistent. But with my father missing, that persistent part of her is missing, and relatives pointing it out sometimes hurts more than it aids.

But that's not all that changed at home. A more practical consequence is that suddenly I was in charge of all computer stuff. I had always had a computer to use and look after, but my father was behind the other things, because he knew what he was doing and enjoyed it. When we had problems with the television, I now had to blindly figure out how he set it up, and if there were internet issues I didn't really know what to do at all. I now also became the go-to guy for computer questions in general, for my mother and siblings. This I don't mind, as it's fun to help out my family. However, if there's something I can't figure out myself, I'd like to ask my father - but that's impossible. Fortunately I do have two other men in the family who know a lot about electronics, but it doesn't feel good to have to contact them, being used to simply asking my father during dinner.

And it's not only problems I miss talking about. Both my father and I were really into computers and video games, and both my father and I had a passion for music. Now, my brother also shares these interests, and I enjoy talking to him about cool things I did or came across. However, sharing experiences with my father was quite different. He knew a lot more about computers than I do, while my brother learnt most of what he knows from me. Something I especially miss being able to share, is something I never have shared, as when my father died, I hadn't got into it yet. During my upbringing, my father let me use his Atari ST from time to time. I fell in love with the machine, and especially with the music it could produce. In 2016, I actually learnt how to compose music for Atari ST myself. I really would have loved to share my progress with him, and let him hear my tunes. I'm sure he would have some useful feedback and ideas!

Of course, I also miss him at general important moments. It's strange to get a certificate without my father, and moving out could have been quite different as well. My father also never got to see his sister's daughters; my cousins.

There are some other moments too that are especially confronting: particularly, going to the beach with family. I really miss him there, and so does my mother. Something really quite special I did last academic year, was learning a song on piano, written and composed by my father. It's praise and worship, and in the refrain the phrase "as long as I live" occurs, which makes it even more emotional. But I took it one step at a time, and eventually was ready to perform his song at school. I rarely play it now, as I don't need to practise it anymore, but from time to time, I do.

Shortly after my father's death, I was often afraid my heart would stop, at night. My father's father died less than a year after, and then I was afraid I would die soon too. These fears have mostly gone. To be honest, I haven't even written anything like a testament or letter intended to be read after my death yet.

I wonder how things could have been if my father were still with us. I'm sure many things would be a lot nicer, and a lot easier. But even from bad, good things can happen. Our family (meaning my mother, siblings and I) grew a lot closer, I think. I learnt a lot about electronics by observation and trial and error, as I had to, not being able to ask my father to fix stuff. My mother got fairly skilful with her hands, which I really wouldn't have ever expected. She used to think she couldn't do jobs around the house, but now that my father was gone, she wanted to try anyway, as she didn't want to keep asking neighbours or relatives. She actually got a lot of stuff done, and it looks a lot nicer around our house now, including customly built benches and even a roof.

I don't quite know how my brother will continue to grow up, but I am doing good, and my sister's well-being has been greatly improving as well. My brother's very well might too - at least he isn't depressed, in which direction it was heading for some time. We all love each other.

So, yes. I can live on, I will live on, and I am living on.

Joy_the_Miner · Nov 4, 2018

These truly are impressive. English has, and still is, been my weakest subject of study in my entire life.

Though, when I see those who are amazing at it, it reassures me that literature will never die, no matter what people say!

607 · Nov 4, 2018

Cool! I will read these later. I'm not sure if I'll read them out loud, but it's an interesting suggestion.

Smooshed_Potato · Nov 4, 2018

Awesome!

ZanDarkin · Nov 4, 2018

congratzs to the winners

ShyguytheGamer1 · Nov 4, 2018

Proud of you AltPunisher

Otus_NigRum · Nov 4, 2018

Congratulations Alt and .... the other person! I wish I was good at writing, but alas I am not, but here is my pity poem:

Hit or miss, I guess they never miss huh?
You got a boyfriend I bet he doesn't kiss ya
(MWAH)
He gon find another girl and he won't miss ya

Again, congrats guys, everyone who took a stand to even submit a poem truly harnesses great talent!

KikuDusk · Nov 4, 2018

Congrats to both of you!

Mizzo12 · Nov 4, 2018

Some Lovely, Heartfelt pieces here! Welldone to everyone, you should all be proud of the work you entered. Congrats to the two winners!

Stnywitness · Nov 4, 2018

Who-hooo! Congrats winners! Tons of great authors out there, well done!

khixan · Nov 4, 2018

Awesome y'all

Sadie_Dragon · Nov 4, 2018

Well I didn't win- I wonder if y'all can figure out which it was xD
hey, did anyone cry reading it, cause I'll be quite confused.

SoulPunisher · Nov 4, 2018

There's a good many nice pieces here. I'm entirely unsure of the criterium used that caused mine to be one of the two winners, but a lot of these give me the sense that I had a good run for my money. I'm nevertheless happy and grateful to be listed up there, especially for a contest whose choice of thematic really excited me. If anyone is curious as to what some of the metaphors mean or anything, I'd be happy to do a breakdown on my poem on my things I wrote thread.

But yeah I'm really happy to see myself there. I'd like to thank a girl, myself, my family, my friends, a song, and climate change for giving me something to write about. And also the staff behind the contest who corrected my cluelessness of what a free verse is. And my own pretentiousness.

HopeWarrior said: ↑

Well I didn't win- I wonder if y'all can figure out which it was xD
hey, did anyone cry reading it, cause I'll be quite confused.

Karen?

MagicalGirlRiRi · Nov 4, 2018

Congrats!!

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