Writer's spotlight awards: Entry

Flower crowns

Entry 1462:

The earthy smell reminds me more each day. The tall grasses and flowers whisper uncertainties of the distant future. The day was decently ordinary: warm, windy and quiet. So damn silent that you feel like everything is so fragile that it would shatter and break and fall apart. I wanted to scream and fight and drown beneath the grey-blue and slight green waters.

I wanted to run and let the world fall apart, yet I know that I'll go along with it. I want to love and feel and breathe for a thousand more years, but I feel as though my time may be shorter than I thought.

My heart shatters and cracks and my world crumbles slowly-painfully- each piece shrieks from years of torment and suffering in silence. My body shivers, not from the cold, but from the realization that I would not survive the fight.

I am but a fragile piece of glass, getting ready to fall apart, break and leave behind my shattered fragments for those who cared. Those who cared and loved and saved.

I am not one of these people.

I am a boneyard of fears, what if's and left behind opportunities. I am not the angel that saves but the person who prays. The person who cries silently at night awaiting her final stage in life.

So let us live and sing and love. For someday, it all will mean nothing for no one.

Let us care and create while our hands and bodies still work. While our hearts beat and our throats sting from our pained screams and cries. So let us pick the flowers, the grass, the weeds. So that one day we may say that we lived and laughed and loved.

So then I picked up the flowers and grass stalks to create something

beautiful

from these stubborn, broken hands.

One day will come, but for now. Let's weave ourselves a few flower crowns.

Entry 1463:

The silent sky breathes a new, fresh wind into my beaten and withering lungs. The simple chirp and song singing of the birds, big and small. Life begins to feel frozen - cold even.

The soothing remedy waters hide behind a fence so tall. The cold seeps into these husks of bones and muscle. I feel the melodies of long ago forests, held back by human inventions.

These weeds and grass and flowers are unique to this place, yet it's the crown and dress of the lady in the driest of places. She is honourable in many ways to us land-dwellers.

She tells us nightly and daily: "Stay away from the land of water and ice." Her eyes holding back a burden that few have survived.

No flowers for crowns.

No weeds and grass, only snow and ice and deep dark.

Yet I wonder what separates them both and why is the truth holding my soul as a hostage in this body of both worlds?