ART

by Inkwriter and SarcasticCarousel

4738921784873294037

48930218-4

584920585

3859034842990382

481329048218

48493084

Poetry seems to be something creative

But perhaps a string of statistical numbers can be poetry, too

493028159843-5

849302895134

4389210348-3-21

Untitled

by Inkwriter

sometimes words are too much.

all you need is a sigh, a blinking of metal eyes in the dark.

morse code, maybe. or a lost language

sometimes words are too much.

often, music is enough. blowing in with the wind, the weather.

no one knows where it comes from. but it’s perfect. like the hair of the one you love.

sometimes words are too much.

the squealing of pigs instead. a hug from a dragon. rose petals, white ones. he blows them from his hand, with a gentle breath into the faces of the attackers.

hold your breath, now.

sometimes words are too much.

the rhythmic ticking of a clock, the rustle of paper.

your partner in crime proceeds to throw anything green into the fire.

the cameraman waits for the on air sign to blink on.

sometimes words are too much.

too much to handle. the blatant, anonymous text against a white background.

you click the small rectangular button resembling a trash can

but you cant erase the words from your mind.

sometimes words are too much.

too powerful.

too strong for us to use.

it would be impossible to expect that we would all respect their power

and that is what upsets me the most.

words are what i used to create this.

but it was too much.

it could have been less.

simpler.

but would have that been not enough?

must i disarm you?

trick you into a simple fanfiction chain?

when will you understand?

that sometimes words are.

empty

my fortune cookie tells me that the value of a cup lies in its emptiness.

the bluebirds sang and wrappers crunched.

Homer’s brain told him it was gone fishin’ and he hadn’t any right to think;

my brain is childish and runs around in circles. we are following

a tinfoil path of snags and rumples.

life is that way, you tell me, of course; because this nest

of dictionaries and reassurances is not-to-be-disturbed fragile.

give it a stir and it disperses.

my fortune cookie says that there is a moral to this story if only i try hard enough.

but the cookie was crushed beneath someone's shoe.

~juniper

Estella (Part VI)

Okay. The first thing I have to say before you read this is that I didn't write it because I have a love for the novel Great Expectations. Far from it. Honestly, I found the book to be boring as crap; I just really loved Estella’s character. Then I had this project assigned to me in English class. We read The House On Mango Street, and we were talking about a protagonist’s journey to self-discovery, and we had to choose a protagonist from a novel we’d read earlier in the year and write a bunch of vignettes about them. So, I picked Estella. And I wrote these vignettes from her point of view, and I used literary devices and crap (using literary devices was part of the project) and I just really like them, okay?! So, if you’re like me and you were forced to read Great Expectations, I hope you read and enjoy the only Great Expectations fanfiction in existence. Oh, also: SPOILER ALERT. I follow Estella through the entire plot of the book, so if you don’t know how it ends and you don’t want to know, DON’T READ IT. Okay. Cool. Enjoy. This is the final section, part six...

Part VI. How To Change (See Your Lies)

So much time has passed, and so much has happened to me. Change is hard; change is never absolute. I decided to change, but I consistently relapsed into was before. I made mistakes.

Bentley Drummle was the biggest of those mistakes. After my confrontation with my mother, I promised myself that I would be different. Then I went back to Drummle, back to my misconceived perception of love. I told myself pretty lies and I pretended that I was happy.

Everybody gets angry sometimes. He never means it when he says awful things. I couldn’t think of an excuse for the other things he did, so I ignored them.

I also lied to myself when he died. You aren’t relieved, I comforted myself. You’re grieving.

Lie.

After him, I was alone for a long time. I was positive at first that that was a second mistake. I was sure that I could never be alone, that I needed to find a husband, that I wouldn’t blossom fully unless I could fall in love.

Lie.

Maybe my blossoming would come when I found love, but my prolonged isolation was what made me capable of falling in love. In all that time by myself, I was forced to keep myself company. In doing that, I became better acquainted with myself. I was able to understand exactly how I needed to change. And I made those changes. 

Today, I live in a small, elegant house, simplistic and poised - no longer condescending or spiteful. There is a small closet in the back of my house that contains an ugly old jewelry box, overflowing with gaudy jewels. Sometimes, I look at those jewels and remember when I used to wear them. A voice, one bred of the mother that wanted me more than I wanted her, sometimes says to me, You were better then. More beautiful. More strong.

But I recognize the all-too-familiar lie before it can deceive me, and I never put them back on. I know better now.

Today, I am happy that I made mistakes, because ‘mistake’ is just another way to say ‘a lesson learned’.

Today, a single flower in blooms in a vase on my windowsill. I put it there, with help from a boy I have known for forever.

He forgave me. And I forgave myself. And everything was alright.

- CinnamonGinger

The Legend Of Freshman Pond' and Other Fables From The Kingdom Of ConVal

-inkwriter

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away-- oh, to heck with all that. So there is this school called ConVal. It’s in a small town that no one has ever heard of so it doesn't matter. The reason I'm writing this story is because we all needed an explanation for why freshman are often thrown into a pond behind the school. That’s why I was summoned from the depths of hell with dark magic: to tell the story of Freshman Pond. I am actually an exchange student. So far I am enjoying your little uplandish providence of this dimension.

*clears throat*

It was a dark time in the kingdom of ConVal. The pond of drainage, which offered peace and acted as a wellspring of magical powers, was plagued by a large, magical fish. This fish’s name was Toby, or -- no it wasn't! It was… ummm… well, I actually don’t know. Just because I’m a demon from hell doesn't mean I know everything!!! Oh, sure, have great expectations for the demon just because hell has really good public schools. Okay. Anyways, so this fish just shows up one day and is all like, “FEED ME SERFS!!!”

The Pope of ConVal is like, “No way, man. We’re using those serfs. We kind of need them.” And then the fish is like,

“IF YOU DON’T FEED ME A SERF EVERY YEAR FROM NOW ON UNTIL THE END OF TIME THEN I WILL DESTROY YOUR KINGDOM!!!” And then the Pope wa-- Hey! Don’t just walk away while I’m talking!! What, you don’t believe me!? You think I’m crazy?! I was there, for Satan’s sake!!! I saw the whole -- NO! NOW YOU LISTEN TO ME!! DON’T MAKE ME SUMMON THE BATSNAKES!!! YOU SIT DOWN RIGHT NOW AND LISTEN TO MY STORY, DANG IT!!!

So. Like I was saying before I was so RUDELY interrupted, the Pope was all like, “HA, HA, HA!!!! You’re just a giant fish!! You don’t even have legs!!! How are you going to get to the kingdom?”

And then the fish was all like, “B**ch, I got legs!” and he jumped out of the water and began to run towards the school. Now, the Pope was pretty shocked, seeing as Darwinism had not yet been invented at this time. So he started running after the fis-- what was that? Oh, ha ha. Very clever. Yes, the fish’s name was Darwin. That was cute. Good job.

SO ANYWAYS, the Pope is running after the fish and shouting, “WAIT! STOP! WE’LL FEED YOU ALL THE SERFS YOU WANT!!! JUST DON’T DESTROY THE KINGDOM!!!”

And the fish said, “Very well, lowly carbon-based being. I shall not destroy your kingdom.” And he skipped back down towards the lake of drainage and plopped down into the murky depths, awaiting his yearly meal.

So that is why, year after year, the council of ConVal (often referred to as the football team) yearly tosses a serf (often referred to as a freshman) into the magical pond of drainage.

FIN.

*(That was not a pun)*