write for five minutes.

Strips of shredded paper littered the bedroom floor. Josh kept pacing across the room. It was 6:00 am and the night light by the bedside was the only light in the room. Nothing else but a full sised bed, a small desk by the window in the corner, and a dresser with a broken mirror. The peach bedsheets were ruffled. He hadn't slept the night before. The pillows were scattered. One on the ground and one by the bedhead. Strips of shredded paper littered the bedroom floor. His marriage gone. She left him with nothing but the lights on.
 
A few things hit you the moment you enter their world: The vastness, a space that feels so wasted, yet so relieving; so open into all directions, and yet so featureless as to sugggest any orientation. The colors, unlike the blotches of ink scattered among hundreds of ads passing by second after second, are evenly separated between the sky, the desert, and whatever the landscape has to offer. And the heat. You can actually hear yourself breathing, in slow, eternal rhythms, so much, you hardly noticed the wind. Things are different here than back at the place you called home, with the gridded streets and gridded time, and the noisy stream of impatience.
 
Let's not say the word.
Let's not say the word that falls readily from hunger-stricken love affairs that claim inspiration in a winter drought.
Let's not say the word that acts as neurons within our brain; secondary consciousness in which we communicate through language invented in mutated artifacts of body parts touching indefinitely in these deep crevices.
Let's not say the word we fought to bury in our mausoleum of doubts.
Let's not say the word I missed between my rigid tendencies to forget that which is innately, unconditionally, unforgettable.
Let's not say the word.
Let's not say the word.
 
When he opened his eyes, the wobblies were still there. They didn't say anything but even so their presence in the room made him feel profoundly uncomfortable. If he was honest with himself, he would have to concede that he didn't even know what room he was in. Was it his room? Was it a police cell? Was it some lost room that had once belonged to some long dead civilisation, a civilisation that anthropologists had not had the chance to investigate and archaeologists had so far not discovered? Who knows, but wherever he was he was there, staring at the wobblies with an intense, frightened stare. The chief wobbly, glowing blue and looking at him with a curiosity that he had never seen in the eyes of any being before, took one step forward and made a sound.

He could not come up with a satisfactory description of the sound that the chief wobbly made, suffice to say that, as with it's appearance, it was a sound quite unlike anything he had ever heard before.
 
There were not many people at the restaurant that night. Just one or two customers left till closing. The waiters were starting to bus tables pretty quickly. We sat at a table near the center of this large restaurant, 4 stars they said. Didn't seem like it. More like 5. The service was excellent. We glanced at each other for a second then turned away and looked around the room again. I sipped some more wine, one of the most expensive we've ever had. He just sat there for a second, staring at me. He shook his head, and smiled silently. I knew what he was thinking. This wasn't over. I looked at my watch. Yeah, a woman who wore a watch. Don't see that much these days. It was a gift from him on our 3rd anniversary. I loved it with everything in me. And now, tonight, I was going to have to take it off. Tonight, was the end of a long trip, we thought we'd never end. Just as the last song of the night was being played, "Tonight I celebrate my love for you". The words kept ringing in my ears. How odd to hear that tune. Then I heard a tick and it was 9pm. We were no longer a couple. And both of us simply stared at each other thoughtfully and then cheered with our glasses. "To the end!" we said. For after 15 years of "endless love", we were now divorced.
 
It all fell apart, into pieces. Whatever coherence it had in his mind, whatever beauty it formed by being a flawless whole, all of that was gone. All he had was fragments. One could still distinguish the different parts of it, like broken pieces of a favorite vase, and one could still imagine the beauty of what it once represented. But it was looking at a beauty that was past, like looking at ruins of the Ancient Greeks. A certain disappointment arises in your mind, about things gone, yet also a certain bliss that the fragments withstood the tides of time.
 
Roosifer Windlow was having an average day, stuffing himself with pate and tearing out page after page from his daily planner as he pulled nervously on his dirty black beard, he knew that Seaside Mac's was throwing the grease into the once pristine water of the Great Barrier Reef, but he was powerless to do anything to stop it. Guido Lupone, the owner, had once done him a huge favor, but hell, it was time to take the fat bastard out.
 
The sky was perfectly royal that night, steeped in elegant and immaculate blue, stretching like an empire from the hill where he stood down to the farthest reach of the horizon. Even the stars seemed to be performing a majestic ritual, with Orion guarding the Eastern heavens and Bear positioned silently on the opposite side. And down on the surface, in the distant, the city was nurturing its own breed of flickering light. It was a dense ball of electricity, made of street lamps and headlights, office lighting and neon signs. They were modern fireflies waiting to join their heavenly cousins.
 
I am but life itself, I am but tragedy. I would move mountains, but I can still only hug kittens. I want more than what I am. I could never see satisfaction in the dull and lonely. I am ready to embracem y loneliness if I can make magic with it. I would leave it in an instant, if I knew I couldn't live it or the expectations that are built in it. I don't know what else to say, than this. It's time to leave the shower. It's time to make changes happen. It's time to be the intuitive god, it's time to get over myself. It's time for tea. I brushed my hair, waiting for the kettle to boil, realising there was no water in the kettle, I decided to fill it with new water. I need to do something. I'm completely taken over by the ache in my heart, the rush of blood to my right side of the brain, the dissapointment with myself if I can't make wonders happen with it. I want to talk to a friend. I want to watch the clock tick. I want to focus on the rituals which makes humanity more bareable. I want to write poethry

Here it is
here in it's might
unable
to fight
just lying there
naked on the table
here it is
what are you gonna make
of this?
 
She paused for a moment. There were five small containers on the floor. Which one first? Gingerly she reached for the pale green one. Maybe this would help. With trembling fingers she prised its metal lid open, looked inside. Nothing! Hm. Okay, what about the yellow one? This was made of wood. It was the biggest of them all and had a kind of push-fit lid. Grabbing it around the edges she pulled upward, looked inside. Cinnamon sticks
 
He stepped into the open and faced the glaring sun with an expression of hesitant relief. The long hours of the flight, the musty air of the plane, the bland, greenish light and the constant murmuring of the engines, all of it had numbed his senses. Your very body is drowned in an artificial swamp of technology. His mind has already arrived, awaken by the richness of the sorroundings, but his body was still stuck inside, struggling between the seats, his feet still rubbing against the corporate carpet with its corporate insignias. It took him a while to merge himself into one and finally become part of his destination. Life has returned to him.
 
Ame said:
There were not many people at the restaurant that night. Just one or two customers left till closing. The waiters were starting to bus tables pretty quickly. We sat at a table near the center of this large restaurant, 4 stars they said. Didn't seem like it. More like 5. The service was excellent. We glanced at each other for a second then turned away and looked around the room again. I sipped some more wine, one of the most expensive we've ever had. He just sat there for a second, staring at me. He shook his head, and smiled silently. I knew what he was thinking. This wasn't over. I looked at my watch. Yeah, a woman who wore a watch. Don't see that much these days. It was a gift from him on our 3rd anniversary. I loved it with everything in me. And now, tonight, I was going to have to take it off. Tonight, was the end of a long trip, we thought we'd never end. Just as the last song of the night was being played, "Tonight I celebrate my love for you". The words kept ringing in my ears. How odd to hear that tune. Then I heard a tick and it was 9pm. We were no longer a couple. And both of us simply stared at each other thoughtfully and then cheered with our glasses. "To the end!" we said. For after 15 years of "endless love", we were now divorced.
Click to expand...

This was very well-written and bittersweet, almost.
 
I posted this elsewhere, but this is probably the most appropriate spot for it. : D

hush said:
I had a sudden desire to write poetry, so I'm gonna do something for that 5-min writing challenge in the Imagination Exercises section.

Edit: But I didn't have time to go back and capitalize the first letter of each line. That might bother me. Actually, it will. : ( Oh well. I know it isn't really a "poem," but this is how I often like to write poem-ish things, quickly and as they come to me.

Ready, set...

---

A tide of greed and jealousy washes over the parched land
but this is not the hydration they require -
this does not breathe life unto a suffocated soul
the pitiful distraction of enrapture, captured
within the confines of a lion's embrace
stagnant, still, while the scampering many drag in the kill
and turn on one another for the right to
vague scraps of flesh, tomatoes withered on the vine
and the eyes, hypnotized, unblinking, drool at the flickering image
the power fed by sparking wires, snaking through skulls
to depths deeper than infinity's indeterminable eternity -
until there is a sudden snap-clap. Boom
fizzle, sizzle, static
silence
the eyes, unblinking, go dim
faintly, in the distance, cogs begin to move,
with slippery intimations of action,
shaking, mouths agape in an endless cold
metal creaks, in the stillness of spirit, the cacophony of profit
Click to expand...
 
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