Books and Writing discussion

Hey this is where josie will post all of her amazing work. She's not actually working on a book, but she's one of the only people who will share her talent for writing and poetry, so voila Josie, you get your own folder. Lets give her a big round of applause everyone!

Ummm....okay.....(mumbles nervously while staring at feet).....

But thanks Carls :)

Debut of a new one, in celebration of my new folder I guess. It's untitled, thus far.

Weighed down am I, with all my troubles.
I'm trapped here in my little bubble.
But you, you take away my burdens so that I may fly.
Away over the treetops, and under the beautifully shining starry sky.
Yet such as the boomerang, I'll return to you,
for 'tis only you, the sole one, who has relinquished me from my all-consuming blue.
I'll soar over the treetops and under the beautifully shining starry night,
for you've taken away my burdens so that I may fly.

It's the year 2078 and our story follows sixteen year old Sam Carlin. 20 years earlier, Japan and China united forces and became a single power, the [insert name, because I haven't thought of one. We'll call them Powers for now, so I can continue to write this]. The Powers surprise attacked the Eastern part of the USA, claiming Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine, West Virginia, Ohio, Indiana, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Mississippi. More and more states are claimed as the war rages on. Sam lives in Oklahoma with her mom, dad, and older brother. The rest of her family is ready to fight for the Conglomeration of Territories (what America and it's government became after the aforementioned states were taken), but she isn't so sure. When Sam is out late one night, she meets a secret organization that is for the Powers. She knows it is dangerous to attend, and her parents would disown her if they knew, but when she stumbles across one of their meetings in a tavern one night when trying to find her drunkard uncle she just can't help but attend and listen. When she comes back...her perspective changes. She is for the Powers. She begins attending all meetings of this organization, and get's in with the ringleader, dashing 18 year old Mathew. As she learns more and more, she becomes a spy for the Powers and it's organization. At the same time as this, Sam's parents (who have been fighting, along with her brother, for 15 years) are nominated for an award and are taken to the Conglomeration's HQ, with Sam in tow, to receive awards and meet our Overseer. When she meets him, one thing leads to another and she becomes his informant, while in all reality feeding him false information to aid the Powers in winning the war. She now dances a fine line. She can't be caught by the government, or she will be executed by firing squad without further thought. With Mathew (who is gruff at first, but then warms up to her ;)) at her side, they are taking on the Conglomeration.

And my heart splits, for the choice is impossible, and flies away into the night to ponder which is better, or maybe just the lesser of evils.

Hey, I'll have a new poem soon :D. I was told that I had to write a patriotic poem for our school's veteran's day assembly, so it will soon be done :).

Here's the debut of my very first patriotic poem:

Veteran's Bravery

Love for his country,
is what keeps him going,
risking his safety,
even as the battles continue growing,

their families worry constantly,
about them and them only,
while enemies wage war boldly,
waving weapons wantonly,

even as shrapnel flies,
and gunshots ring through the air,
they know that freedom is the prize,
so they will never be deterred by any mere scare,

by them, sacrifices were made,
and bravery was shown in their fighting days,
they are home, as their families prayed,
ennobled now forever, and in all ways,

and our country's colors,
the beautiful red, white, and blue,
are held by our sisters and brothers,
the American veterans, our greatly beloved crew.

You are totally going to win first place

I sure hope so!

That's so good!

Thx! XD

Monster's Depression:

I'm lonely now,
with a shredded heart,
knowing that you never really cared from the start.

You said that you'd loved me,
As you toyingly joked,
about how I should be happier.

I told you my secret,
and shared with you my intentions,
while you were really just losing all intentions.

I thought I could trust you,
but after you found out what was wrong with me, that I was damaged, all you did was run away from me,
when it was you for which I had a need.

So I now sit here depressed,
wishing I was dead,
demons swirling through my head.

Your betrayal when I needed your trust,
Your lack of compassion when I needed understanding,
Your simple manipulation, because you were no longer caring (at least not to me).

I'm done with it now,
for you have left me in my time of need,
and as I stare the monster in the mouth, I realize my future is bleak.

Something I wrote during my epic boredness in history this morning:

Purpose:

Purple and yellow,
orange and red,
the sun sure is pretty before it's dead.
_______________________________________
The sun dies and the herons cry,
sitting on the shore at twilight,

the light is resting for the day,
as the white birds say, "Away, away!"

But soon enough, even this is gone,
my beautiful world so bright,
only I and the sand remember the song,
of the herons wailing their plight,

Darkness surrounds as the cacophony crescendos,
I hear them vying for light,
so they may see the tide so low,
drink in the starry night,

I sit there long, till I feel as though I can no more,
and then I simply fall prey to sleep on my soft and sandy shore,

But then I wake, I'm suddenly blinded,
for the sun's rays now tickle me,
Birds cry again, their souls now settled and kindred,
they sound of their answered plea,

In this ordeal I had no hand,
and with this I am content,
nature's carried out it's plan,
now I know in this world where I'm meant,

Not by the shore with the birds freely circling,
nor fixed in a place so that's so dull,
............................................................................................

Ever heard of the story of the famous traveling freak show? Ah yes, Phantasmagoria, a fantastic assortment of three headed men, bearded ladies, and acrobatic families, traveling through the midwest. This circus though, it had a dark twist. Just remember, nothing is as it seems, and the darkness can hide even within the light.
South Dakota Heralder 10/11/1905
Coming through our great state of South Dakota and stopping in Mobridge, Dr. Card's circus "Phantasmagoria" will stay just one night to allow you to explore the exotic exhibits of the mystifying. Tonight, October 11, 1905, from sundown to midnight a large tent decorated in the Phantasmagoria's infamous purple and yellow coloring will be erected just outside of Mobridge, and The Heralder expects to see you at this rare event!

"Hurry, papa!" whined Thomas, his nine year old self not understanding how his forty three year old father, Henry, could possibly walk along so slowly, almost leisurely, with that long stride of his. "Oh, calm down Thomas, a boy of your age should not beg so. We will get there in short time," said his father. "I'm sorry," exclaimed Thomas, "I'm just so excited! Haven't you ever been excited?" His father smiled a small smile and, in doing so, gave way to the boy's exuberance and allowed it to fill him, for he, too, had anxiously awaited this day.
They had arrived not a quarter of an hour ago in their plain wooden horse drawn carriage, which had taken them from their home just outside of the state and almost three hours away to here, Mobridge, the place where the traveling show was to meet. The ride was rough, but it was completely worth it to be able to experience this show, something mysterious and new to occupy their minds. They brought exactly three dollars, since tickets were a dollar fifty each. A very steep price, especially since Henry worked as a lowly lumberjack in sparsely populated area, but it was worth every cent for them to be able to take a break from their lives and live like the rich, if only for a short while.
Pulling their coats tighter in the chill October air, made even cooler by the setting sun, they hustled toward the great yellow and purple tent in the distance which stood out against the darkening sky. Small rips and holes in the sides and an opening at the top gave it the appearance of a jack-o-lantern with all its lights against the dark. This pumpkin notion reminded Thomas of the Halloween decorations skillfully placed all around his home, the place where he had just this morning carefully slicked back his hair and put on his best leather shoes for the occasion. He then thought about how, though his hair way simple, his father's, blonde and unruly, sticking out in more places than not, refused to be tamed by any hand. Consequentially, it was underneath a hat for the evening. Then, having been lost in thought, Thomas suddenly came upon the tent.
The ticket booth was crowded with men, women, and children alike all waiting patiently to buy their way into the extravagant show. What seemed like hours but in reality was just minutes later, it was Henry and Thomas' turn to purchase. But when Thomas looked up, oh what a sight! The man at the booth was larger, larger than any he had ever seen, with broad shoulders, tight muscles, and a gruff air about him. "How many?" drawled the man. "Hello, my name is Henry, I'd like two please!" Slowly, the man took the sixteen dollars. And to both of the boy's surprise, when they looked down, they found that this burly man had fifteen fingers! Seven on one hand and eight on the other. Henry and Thomas gaped at each other in awe, barely able to contain their excitement now.
Then started Henry's questioning of the man.
"How many exhibits are there?"
"Many."
"What are you?"
"I'm just a guy."
"Do you have multiple toes?"
And with that, the gruff freak of nature looked up and silenced him with a scathing glance with his dark, beady eyes, gleaming dangerously like black ice. He handed them the small blue tickets with ADMIT ONE printed on them, then turned away to the next customer. In a shocked kind of way, they moseyed their way inside. "What was that about?" asked Thomas. "Well," responded his father, "some people aren't quite as polite as others, but you cannot let this minor offense start to sour the night. Lets find our seats!"

A white canvas. Plain white. An empty expanse, an endless abyss, which Henry is now the commander of. For hours he stares at this canvas, just wishing he could think of something worthy to fill this space, something beautiful and rich, something to take the ordinary observer to an extraordinary place. All of a sudden, Henry is hit by an idea which sends his mind reeling. The entire picture comes into focus, the colors and shading and things hidden in the shadows. He practically runs across his small Upper Manhattan apartment, all he could afford as an art student on his own, to grab his box of paints and brushes, the only materials he would need to occupy the coming hours. In his haste to return to the canvas, Henry manages to spill an old mug of stale coffee across his already stained carpet after stubbing his toe on a red armchair with a tear along the seat. Deciding to worry about it later, he launches himself away and into his chair. He takes out a large ceramic pallete and squeezes all the colors he will so far need onto it. Red, blue, yellow, black, and white, all spread, reaching each other's borders on the ceramic surface. Feverishly and with great deliberation, he chooses a brush and begins.
Long swaths of grey across the canvas completely cover the upper portion, a good base for the soon to be sky. Then, below that, blue, the water along the banks of a forest soon to be created, along with all the mysteries that come with it. Slow, dark blue movements across the sky darken the shade, and carefully placed white creates the stars and their shining brilliance. Then orange below that, mixed with the blue and gold and grey, creates almost a white, a day beginning and ending. Then the colors of sun darken as they descend to where you can see barely the top of the glowing orb, floating low on the dark waves, tossed by the easy wind. The water expands until you can no longer see it in the distance, but it starts at the rocky shore, made of gravel and sand, course from lack of human exposure. Above the rocks lies soft, vibrant green grass, darker though in the coming evening. The grasses are tall, tall enough to conceal all manners of small animals and insects which live in the bordering forest. The huge evergreen trees tower above all else near the icy water, kings of their stretch of land, their pines stretching out to the horizons and their peaks reaching for the heavens and worshipping the dying rays of the great sun. They sway in the light wind, the alive green needles rustling against each otehr as they dance to the rhythm of all the raw nature around them.
And then...nothing.
Henry sits back, eyes closed, just breathing. Simply breathing. He has finished. Minutes later, slowly, very slowly, he opens his eyes to see what he has created. With a sense of awe, he reveled in his work, noticing small things he hadn't even remembered drawing, such as the small yellow pair of eyes peering out from a stand of bushes near a copse of trees, or the remains of what was the wreckage of a rowboat, demolished on the unforgiving rocks. A large white seabired wheeled around in the sky, surverying its kingdom, starlight refracting off its snowy wings, delicate and light, yet strong. Henry had been so immersed in the making of this painting that he unconciously added these things that fit so right, somehow knowing without thinking that they were meant to be.
Pleased with his work but really too tired to take much pride, considering it was 2:30 in the morning and he'd been at it for six hours, he cleaned the coffee earlier spilled, and the bitter smell inspired him to brew another pot. As soon as it was ready, he poured it into a red mug, a souvenier from his art school, and stepped outside onto his fire escape and into the chilly November air. Feeling the steam from the hot, aromatic drink reach his face, he looked out across the city and listened to the cars honk, the people shout, and a light rain begin to fall, illuminated by the pink neon lights of the bar just one block over. Finally becoming fully at rest, Henry drained the last of the coffee, slipped into a pair of blue and grey pajama pants, and loped off to his couch where he fell asleep, exhausted.

The Manhattan Story
Sunday, November 19th, 2013
OBITUARIES
Henry Dallas White.
1991-2013
A now famous artist, Henry was discovered early the morning of November 27th in his Manhattan apartment, motionless. When police arrived on the scene, it was determined he died of a heart attack, at just 22 years old. Police noticed a canvas leaning against the wall with a most beautiful painting, the paint not yet even dry. It is now on display at the college of art at which he attended. Henry will be dearly missed by friends and family, and mourned by the nation for such a talented man's passing.

It courses through me,
the colors in my veins,
the love and joy, the sorrow and pain,
Pink and red, black and blue,
All of them I've felt for you,

Every person leaves a mark,
a color all their own,
an impression, a print, a color,
the one you left was blue.

First you gave me pink,
so lovely and so new,
deep and rich and genuine,
warming me through and through,

You kept my heart open to love and accept,
to find joy in the world,
and in my dreams as I slept,
so I've gained now vibrant red.

But sorrow then reigned with a distant memory of forever,
a blackness, a coldness,
distance.
Blackness encroached, red and pink severed.

Alone now,
not knowing what to do....

Every person leaves a mark,
a color all their own,
an impression, a print, a color,
the one you left was blue.

The way you smile stays in the back of my mind for days,
and the way you walk just takes my breath away.
Now when you say my name its like butterflies,
reaching out, just hoping to skim the sky.
(hey)
It had to have been fate,
you didn't come a moment too late darling.
No it couldn't have been chance,
us two best friends, walking hand in hand.
(one, two, three, four)
Yeah I know friendship ain't a planned out thing,
but I found you, now you're stuck with me.
And I know we're on this crazy ride,
but we'll make it out alright, just fine.

Cause we've got us.

Thomas sighed as he walked down the lonely alley, a short cut to his apartment. The garbage bins on either side of him stood like rusty steel sentries for the decrepit doors and made slight noises as the rain that had started just as he'd left the university pattered down on them. It was late, almost midnight, and Thomas wondered what exactly had made him major in environmental studies when it gave him all this hard work. Just then, he reached the main road, devoid of cars at the hour, and continued down the sidewalk toward his residence where his worrisome roomate awaited, just two blocks away. Suddenly, Thomas felt a change in the atmosphere, a shift in the air pressure. Something was amiss, he was sure of it. Just then a hideous shriek sliced the air, high and clear and primal, the sound of something trying to survive. The hairs on the back of his neck and his arms stood up as he noticed that from the alley way only a few yards in front of him, cracks in the sidewalk reached out, fingers beckoning toward the harsh green light being emitted from the alley. Thomas' mind screamed for him to move away, to flee, but his intellectual side wanted for him to stay, to stay and to find out what this phenomenon was and to help the piercing scream that still echoed in his ears. Then, the decision was made for him. As the full moon came out from behind the black clouds in the soundless sky, a force gripped his mind and compelled his wildly panicked mind to move his feet step by step, one at a time, toward the alley. In moments he was there, the entrance. He could see nothing for the green light but could hear whispers in his ear, promises of things to come, things to be done, things to expect...he then let out a scream so loud the whispers went away for a moment and Thomas could hear footsteps coming up behind him. Frantically, he thrashed about and tried warning the person coming behind him, but just then, he was sucked into the light and then all was silent except for the footsteps behind him, advancing toward the cracks in the sidewalk and the green alley.