EXERCISESPosted by Kirsty Hoath 17 Jun, 2009 09:32PM
Describe a food or drink
The clear liquid sat in the small glass that was held delicately between my fore finger and thumb. The glass and liquid were cool to the touch yet warmed my body when ingested. I wafted the glass under my nose and smelt nothing. I downed the contents quickly. The strange drink felt like it was burning the back of my throat. Burning, yet pleasant. Two more glasses of the same mixture sat slightly to my right. I downed them both and stood. The room started to spin slightly as my eyes struggled to focus and I felt light-headed. I regained my seat and refused to take another sip of the unknown substance; the after effects were unpleasant.
EXERCISESPosted by Kirsty Hoath 17 Jun, 2009 09:30PM
Write a story including 3 pre-chosen characters, whilst knowing only their name, gender and age.
Fred - female - 6
Steve - man - 98
Alice - female - 25
A camera’s light flashed. A child’s laughter echoed through the near empty park. An elderly gentleman sat, keeping watch over his great-great-granddaughter. A camera flashed again, hidden from view behind the thick rows of bushes. A near-middle-aged female stepped out from behind where she was hidden, clutching a camera. The child, a six year old girl, ran up to the newcomer.
"Fred, come back sweetheart!" The gentleman called to the little girl.
Fred threw her arms around the mid-twenty year old woman’s leg. The woman flushed slightly as her blood started to race around her body.
The man walked up the woman and removed the young girl from wrapped around her calf.
"I apologise for that. My name’s Steve by the way. And this is Fred." The elderly man indicated to the girl he had just untangled from the young woman and held out his hand in introduction.
The woman took his hand gratefully and smiled. "I’m Alice."
"What you taking pictures of?" The question was asked purely in curiosity.
"Scenery." The reply was slightly abrupt and her breathing was slightly laboured.
"I’m sorry, but we must dash. Come along Fred." Fred and Steve left the park, leaving Alice clutching her camera. She walked over to the park bench and flicked through the carefully taken shots. She stopped upon the picture of Fred. She stopped upon the picture of her little angel. She sighed, knowing that she would never really be hers.
EXERCISESPosted by Kirsty Hoath 17 Jun, 2009 09:23PM
Choose at random, an exercise from the 'Block Block'
Describe the first person who broke your heart.If you had the chance to take revenge on them, would you?
I haven't included the last part within this part of my story as I like how I ended it, and so did not wish to change the ending by including the question.
So many years ago, love struck me down in my stride. He was tall, dark and handsome, well, in my eyes at least. Dark, twinkling eyes, almost as black as night, yet they looked kind, supportive, caring. His eyes described his personality well. There was always apart of him though that was mysterious, secretive, hidden.
Tall I described him as, 1 foot 3 inches taller than me to be precise.
Handsome says it all really.
February 14th - Valentines day. The most romantic day of the year. We had agreed to meet, time date, place. It was going to be perfect. I turned the corner and froze in my tracks. He was bent over slightly, locking lips with another guy.
I was in shock. I matched over to him and wrenched him away from his affair, slapping him hard. So many emotions flittered across his face at that exact moment.
Initially surprise, followed by anger, realisation and then a combination of saying sorry with his eyes and a burning longing. Longing for me or longing for him, I didn’t know and to be honest, I didn’t care.
I turned sharply and walked away. His voice sounding mile in the distance, as he called me, wanting to explain. Tears streamed down my checks as I gathered speed, starting at a walk, finishing at a full out sprint.
I had no destination, I just ran to free my mind.
EXERCISESPosted by Kirsty Hoath 04 Jun, 2009 07:32PM
The part that is in Italics is Italian and the text in bold is the lines of the last verse of a peom. Unfortunatly, I cannnot remember the name of the poem, nor the poet. But once I find out, I'll post the name and author.
The ringing sound of explosions filled the night sky. Christmas eve was supposed to be a night of celebration and carolling. That night however, there was so little cause for carolings or celebration. Overhead noises of such ecstatic sound were heard as bomber planes flew to their destinations. Victims lay next to the words of death: Your Country Needs You! These words were written on terrestrial things. To some, this paper was sent from the devil himself, inviting loved ones to risk their lives for a helpless cause.
Now husbands and sons were afar or nigh around. Wives and daughters mourned every day at the dreaded news that their loved ones were not returning, ever, from war.
A lone line of beautiful words travelled through the air: Che io potevo pensare li, brividava attraverso. The translation though didn’t quite have the same effect: That I could think there trembled though.
Many prayers were sent at this time. Night time was normally the best time of the day this year. Prayers of thanksgiving were sent to the Lord about His happy good-night air. Bombs were not realised at night; even the English need to sleep. Some prayed for Hope though some blessed Hope, where of he knew or he thought he did. He believed with all his heart that I would win this war. The Second Great War. And out of victory, comes the perfect race. And I was unaware that those Americans would join there side. They changed every thing and destroyed my perfect plan.
EXERCISESPosted by Kirsty Hoath 15 May, 2009 05:28PM
· Choose an opening sentence from a book (unknown when choosing).
· Choose an ending sentence from a book (unknown when choosing).
· Write a short story in thirty minutes using these two sentences as the beginning and ending
(opening) - Call me Ishmael
(ending) - Sorry I forgot the mayonaise
Call me Ishmael. All of my friends do. It’s been a long time since I was called anything else. Ishmael is actually my middle name. A few years ago, an old family friend, a trusted and loved family friend, dropped by for tea, so she said, but she had one thing on her mind: Murder.
Her small, yet expensive handbag contained a regular, if not blood-stained, kitchen knife.
Needless to say, our newly decorated living room, was yet again, newly decorated. Only this time, with an interestingly unique pattern of blood splatter. On the walls, on the ceiling, on the floor.
There was no where that you could look where that ghastly red was not within your vision.
I fear that woman still. And even to this day, I will not speak her name, which is why I loathe people using my first name, mine and hers, they are the same.
I hoped, I prayed, I wished that I would never see her again. But as usual, my prayers were not answered.
I was a normal day at school, it was a normal beginning of the day, a normal middle, but it was not to be a normal end.
That thing that haunted my nightmares was to come into my reality once again.
I was quietly chatting and giggling to my friends when I heard the door open. I ignored it. Just another late student. The newcomer was quietly speaking to my teacher.
"Suzanne Wright?" Even the teachers don’t, well didn’t, know my true first name.
My face visibly paled as my name was called out. I glanced up and caught sight of that peroxide blonde hair. It was her, that woman, that recurring nightmare. I wanted to throw up. She even had that same handbag. She noticed me and walked over.
"Hello Suzanne," she put so much emphasise on that name. "Oh wait, I understand that it’s Ishmael now." She smirked, I only just managed to stop myself passing out with fear.
I stood, shaking, willing to try and face her.
I heard one sentence of the comment made from a madwoman before taking my last breathe as the same knife that killed my parents slashed across my own throat.
"Sorry that I forgot the mayonnaise."
Kirsty HoathPosted by Kirsty Hoath 14 May, 2009 02:11PM
Monday 8th October 2074
The smell of rotting flesh fills the air. Nausea fills up who ever smells it. Even though it is mid-day, the streets are dark. It may be the middle of summer but the streets are still dank and cold. A figure pulls a cloak around itself tighter. There was no evidence to show whether the figure is male or female or how old they are. They turned sharply, they must have heard something.
"I’m glad to see that you finally arrived, I thought that you would never get here," a very feminine voice says. A woman steps out of the shadows. She has strawberry blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Soft and delicate skin. The other person raised their hand to cup the woman’s face. This persons hood falls, revealing a 5"6 man. His hair is black and thick. His eyes, a dark gray.
"Of course I came, my sweet," The man says letting out a deep, very masculine voice. He leans in, both his and her lips touch. He wraps his arms around her waist and she wraps herself around his shoulders, pulling him in close. Their kiss is passionate, sending shivers down both of their spines.
"I love you so much," He manages to say between deep embraces.
"I love you too," she replies, lacking confidence.
He pulls away but still holds her by the waist.
"What’s wrong?" He asks.
She stares at him, her eyes twinkling but full of mischief. She smiles.
"There is something I have to tell you. No, let me speak," She says as he tries to interrupt. "I love you, yes but there is something I love more. Power. And the best way for me to obtain power is for me to obtain what is in your inside pocket."
He steps back, losing all contact with her and letting his arms drop to his sides.
"How do you know of that," He asks, his voice full of seriousness and his face exposing hints of worry.
"There isn’t much my family doesn’t know," She spits, and takes a step towards him.
A light glitters in his eye. He glances down and sees that she holds a small, yet sharp knife.
His face turns white and fear shot through his eyes. With lightening speed, her knife is in and out of his upper chest. He collapses. He tries to gasp for breath, but fails. He coughs up blood and splutters as it fails to leave his mouth. With a final spasm, all life escapes him.
The female bends down and her hand goes into his inner jacket pocket. She withdraws it and within her grasp is an unusual looking device. It is slightly larger than a golf ball and silver, metallic in colour with hints of a rusty brown.
She cups his cheek, "I do love you," she murmurs.
She stands and walks off down the deserted streets.
Tall, seven storey buildings are built parallel to the street that she walks down. People would probably see what is that she did, yet they would never say anything. Fear grips every member of this neighbourhood. The fear that their families could be killed because of a single look that is misinterpreted. That’s how dangerous this neighbourhood can be.
Kirsty HoathPosted by Kirsty Hoath 14 May, 2009 02:09PM
Life as we know it will never be the same!
That’s what Trevor was always told when he was at school. That’s what he was told would happen if things didn’t change.
He never believed his senile old teacher. The one who said he was from the future. The one who said that he wasn’t Human.
Well, that was until the girl he trusted, the girl he loved killed his best friend. So, he went out to find the truth.
Tuesday 8th October 2075
Trevor was sitting in a hover craft on his way to collage. The sky was bright, and the sun was shining. There were no clouds in sight. The birds were chattering in the trees and in the sky. The day was beautiful, yet Trevor was miserable. There was a digging at the back of his mind telling him something wasn’t right. Telling him that something bad was going to happen.
Trevor sighed as the hover craft slowed and stopped. A boy stepped on and scanned the vehicle. He noticed Trevor and smiled; he walked over and sat down beside him. Trevor moved up and stared out of the window.
Those words again, flowing through his mind; Life as we know it will never be the same.
Once a day, every day, for the past 7 days those words had gone through Trevor’s head. It was starting to frighten him.
"So, what do you think? Trevor. Trevor are you listening to me?"
"What?" Trevor turned to the boy beside him. "Sorry, what were you saying Dean? I’ve had something on my mind."
Dean smiled, "Something or someone? I’ve seen the way you look at Clair."
"Dean, I... I..." Trevor inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. "Dean. I do not love Clair and I don’t want to go out with her."
Dean let out a sharp breathe of laughter. "You don’t want to go out with her? Oh come on, everyone wants to go out with her. I even heard that Lucy wants her!"
"Lucy, no way, I mean Lucy?!"
"It’s true; I ‘overheard’ her and Clair talking. They’ve got a thing going."
Trevor could not help but laugh at that, but then he turned deadly serious. "You have to stop using that devise. It could get us both killed, hell, everyone at our school could get killed!" He hissed, staring at Dean with a killer look.
But before Dean had a chance to reply, the Hovercraft stopped outside an ancient building; A place that looked like it was about to collapse at any moment.
Trevor left the hover craft, so quickly that Dean barely had a chance to move, let alone stop him. Trevor quickly strode towards the heavy iron door, clenched the latch between his fingers and pulled. The door open as easily as if it opened by itself. He entered and walked down the long corridor towards the teaching wards. As he walked, he past people he knew: teachers, friends. But he acknowledged none of them; one thing was on his mind: get to the other items.
Kirsty HoathPosted by Kirsty Hoath 11 May, 2009 09:46PM
Rayn Shack. That’s my name. Well, it was before the accident. I was one of the most famous ships Admirals. I loved my job, my crew. But most importantly, I loved the sea.
It happened about two years ago. We were at war with the Russians. I was in charge of the fleet. We had decided to sneak into Russian territory and attack in the dead of the night. But they had the same idea. And unfortunately, they beat us to it. We were unprepared. They attacked. Within the first five minutes of fire two of our ships had sunk. And handfuls more were going up in flames. My ship didn’t stop. We went straight through the Russian fleet. I had one mission and one mission only. And if I succeeded Britain would win the war, and if I failed Britain would become the first slave camp for more than fifty years. And that job was supposed to be simple. Kill the Russian king… or get killed myself. I knew where the king was. I had a close friend who was a spy in Russian territory and also, a supposed-to-be close friend and trusted counsellor to their king. And every month she would relay secret messages to me in code, filling me in on the fleets positions and moves. But about their fleet attacking us, no, I hadn’t been warned. And the only thing that I could think that had happened was that she had been found out and died a terribly gruesome death.
At long last, we were through the fleet and all that stopped us from killing their king and winning this horrid, horrid war was sea, glassy blue sea. The only trouble was, was that it was going to take us three days to get to the Russian base but we only had enough water and food rations for one day. It looked like my crew and I would go hungry and thirsty again. But we had survived last time, and we could survive this time. But that’s when I heard a cry that I hadn’t wanted to hear! "Ship to bow, ship to bow." My heart sunk. I thought we had gotten off easily, but still, I hoped. "Load the cannons." I cried. I knew that none of our ships had got through except our own, so I knew it was the king’s, come to give us a royal death.
Metal on metal. I turned to see my newest member of the crew, Ensign Tanner, he was so young, so inexperienced, that he didn’t know never pound the cannon ball till it was set. Smoke, coming out of the end of the cannon. I saw it. But no other crewman did. "Ensign get away from that cannon!" I yelled and ran forwards to save him. He looked up, but not at me, at the end of the cannon. Then he gazed at me, his face as white as snow. "Admiral," he squeaked, his voice full of fear.
I heard an almighty explosion! A searing heat! A searing pain! The cannon had exploded. I could tell that Ensign Tanner was dead and that I was only just alive. And that was the last thing that I can remember, before blacking out. But I did know one thing for curtain; I had failed my mission…
What seemed like seconds later, but which was more than likely hours or days, I started to hear voices. I recognised some of them. As I became more conscious, I realised that they were the voices of my crew. One thought crossed my mind: it was all a nightmare, none of it ever happened. Then my heart sank. I could smell smoke, not from a cooker or a hearth, but the smell of burning flesh. It was all real and my ship was burning, along with my crew.
My second-in-command, Commander Senack, was shouting orders.
"Every one to the life boats. All hands abandon ship!"
I moaned slightly as I tried to move. The Commander turned and looked down. He kneeled beside me.
"Rayn," he signed a breath of relief. "I’m glad to see that you are alive." And then remembering our present circumstances, "Come on, we have to get of this ship."
That’s the last thing I remember clearly except for heading towards land in a lifeboat. I must have blacked out, as the last thing I remember partially, is a bright light in my face. We must have been on Russian soil. We must have been captured as the first few slaves.
C.W. Hewett's TLRPosted by Kirsty Hoath 30 Apr, 2009 07:59PM
I know that there have been other idea's for the person that the librarian should fal in love with. But hey, here's just my idea. Your idea may be better, your idea may be worse, but this is just mine.
As the librarian glanced around the room, looking for unsuspecting noise-makers, people or things, his eyes past over a sleeve that dissapeared into the secretive alcove.
He walked over to investigate and punish someone for disrupting the peaceful and ordered library. He walked into the alcove and his eyes on the figure that sat peacefully reading the thick hardback that was laying open on their lap. Their mousy-brown hair stretched down below their muscular shoulders. They looked up and beautiful hazel peared into the glaring eyes peared into the gleary eyes of the librarian. His eyes relaxed as a light smile spread across the soft, elegant face of the young male.
The young man looked about twenty, too old to be a student, however, just too young to be a teacher.
Who is this mysterious, good-looking person. Good looking! I must be going mad. Horrific thoughts surged through the older man's consciousness.
"Is there a problem, sir?" The younger of the two asked, slightly seductivly.
"N...N...N" The book keeper stuttered, trying to form a coherant sentance, but instead desided on defeat, turned sharply and walked back to his desk, his cheeks slightly rouged.
Kirsty HoathPosted by Kirsty Hoath 26 Apr, 2009 09:17PM
Please comment on anything and everything. Grammer is not my strong point so if you notice any errors, please let me know so that I can alter them. Let me know what you think of the characters and the plot. Any critisism is welcomed.
To my darling sister,
Please do not just read the first line and put this letter back into the envelope and send it back to me. It is no mistake that you receive this message from me, Marie.
I presume that you are wondering who I am. Well, from the opening sentence, you can tell that I am your sister. My name is Louise, I’m two years younger than you, I’m 16 that is.
I’m guessing that your family has not in fact told you about me.
Two years ago, I found ‘my’ birth certificate in the loft while cleaning it out, I put me in inverted commas, as, the date of birth was in fact: 25th November 1990 and the name on it said ‘Marie Durden', neither of which are my names. I thought it best to not question my mother and father about it at present. So, instead, I researched this person. The internet, the library, nothing. Came up a blank. Therefore, I went a bit further afield and decided to try using a genealogist. I made a few phone calls, sent a few letters and emails. With a few days, I received a reply, met up with a very agitated young woman, new to the job I think. To cut a long story short, we went through a few books, and after 4 long, tiring and stressful hours, we found you.
When I discovered I had a sister, I was so shocked, I nearly passed out. I got your address, your house number, your mobile number and your email address. I thought it would be best to send you a letter as that way, if you wanted to, you can just ignore it, but i didn’t want to send an email as I don’t actually know whether you check your emails or not.
Anyways, when I got home that evening, I sat down as usual to dinner with my parents. I toyed with my food, pushing it from one side of the plate to another. My mother was worried; she gave me that are-you-going-to-tell-me-or-do-I-have-ask look. I sighed, laid down the delicate cutlery that I held and told them the truth, starting with the birth certificate. Both listened, neither commented until I had finished. My father moved his food round his mouth, deciding the best place to start. He told me that I was placed into care when I was only 2 months old because my mother felt that she couldn't look after two children. I was silent throughout his explanation. Then he answered the one question I had been asking myself since that afternoon.
“Do you want to meet her?”
Did I, did I really want to meet you? Seeing as I’ve sent this letter, the answer is obvious, yes, yes I did. My parents were sad that they thought they would lose me but promised to help me all the way anyway.
I do hope that you will reply,
Marie reread through the letter for the third time that morning. It had arrived in the post only a few moments ago. She had been surprised as she didn’t recognise the handwriting but had proceeded to tear open the envelope anyway.
“Something interesting?” Marie’s mother laughed, startling her 18 year old daughter. Marie turned sharply, hiding the letter behind her back. Her mother gave her a look with confusion and worry entwined into one.
“Um, nah, nothing really. It’s not important, see later mum, I’ll be late for college if I don’t leave now.”
As Marie darted out of the door, grabbing her satchel, and forcing the letter deep into the bottom corner, her mother sighed. A part of her wanted to know what was on that letter, but her whole essence knew to respect her daughter’s privacy.
“What’s wrong with her Carls?” Her husband’s voice startled her back to reality.
“I’ve been thinking, we should tell her?”
“We’ve been over this Carly!”
“She’s her sister damn it, she has a right to know.”
“To know that her whole life has been a complete and utter lie!” the decibels of their voices were slowly creeping up.
“Yes! You’ve been controlling my life for the past 8 years, and I’m sick of it. Marie finds out about Louise tonight, as soon as she gets home.” Carly felt a sharp pain in her stomach as her apparent caring husband’s fist collided with her mid-section.
“I tell you what to do in this relationship whore, not the other way round. Understood?” He hissed.
Carly could do nothing more than nod as pain and terror surged though her. Her husband walked away out the still open front, slamming it behind him. Carly knew better than to say anything to Marie now. He would probably kill both Carly and Marie, or at the very least, take out his explosive anger out on one of them.
Kirsty HoathPosted by Kirsty Hoath 23 Apr, 2009 07:48PM
Love. An incredible feeling and yet a burning pain. Love between family. Love between friends.
Love is blind. Female loves male. Male loves female. Female loves female. Male loves male. Yes, love really is blind. Of course, at the time, I didn’t realise how blind.
She was new to our school. Beautiful she was. She was in my year, my form, all of my classes. She looked extra beautiful in those dark glasses that she always wore. Everyone thought it unfair that she was the only one allowed to wear sunglasses during class. I never complained, they just added to her stunning beauty.
Strawberry blonde hair with dyed red highlights. Soft, lightly tanned skin. When she spoke, she spoke with a strong Spanish accent. I had heard, from rumours only, that her mother was Spanish where as her father was English.
During class, she always sat at the back with a helper. I don’t think that she can read.
About two months after the start of term, while she was walking down the corridor, slow and feeling her way, I was walking briskly, I glanced behind me, and looked forward again. I collided with her; a slight scream escaped her lips. Her glasses flew from her eyes and bounced on the floor.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I cried.
I bent over, picked up her glasses and held out my hand to give them back to her.
I gave an audible gasp. Her eyes, not a bright blue as I had imagined, but white, both of her eyes were entirely white.
“Your... Your eyes,” I stuttered.
The truth dawned on me.
“You’re blind,” I quietly mumbled so that no one else but her could hear.
She bowed her head and closed her eyes. I hooked my finger under her chin, gently pushing her head back up and returned the glasses to their proper place, hooked over her ears. She shuddered slightly at my touch.
I held out my hand my hand and clenched hers. We shook hands.
“I’m Charlie,” I introduced myself.
“April,” she replied, in a timid voice. “Please don’t say anything, I don’t want people knowing.” She added quickly, mumbling her words.
“People knowing what,” I asked, a little dense.
“About this,” she stated, tapping her lenses.
“Your secret’s save with me,” I reassured her, smiling slightly, aware that she could not see me.
“We are late,” April matter-of-factly stated.
“How do you know?” I questioned.
“When one of the human senses is lost, the other four senses are stronger, counteracting that lose. I hear no footsteps and no one breathing, therefore, I conclude that we are late as this corridor is empty.” April smiled, slightly smugly.
I pulled my eyes from her face at last and glanced around. April was right; we were indeed the only two in this corridor. We were indeed late.
Ms Carron is going to kill us, I thought.
EXERCISESPosted by Kirsty Hoath 23 Apr, 2009 07:26PM
· Choose two random facts from the book ‘BLABLABLA - Something to talk about when you don’t have anything to talk about: 600 completely pointless facts’.
· Write a short story in twenty minutes incorporating both facts.
"The crook in Libity Daylights (James Bond) Max Zorik, should of been played by David Bowie"
"There are geese that herd sheep"
The scene danced in front of my eyes. Screeches were heard deafeningly loud. I probably should of lowered the volume, but my mind was to fixed on the images and sounds it was prossesing to order my arm to move and my hand to grasp the remote and my fingers to press the tiny buttons, so instead, i just sat, transfixed on the abnormally large television set in front of me.
My heart began to race as David Bowie stepped into the action that was happening in front of the multiple cameras. Within a flash, a gun was drawn.
"We meet again Mr Zorin," the sharp-tongued voice of the hero-of-the-show said. Hero-of the show! Ha yeah, right.
"And the last time I think you'll agree Mr bond."
A shot fired. Blood flowed freely from the gapping wound in the man's right hand torso. He coughed, sounding harsh as blood exited his mouth.
He should of died almost instantly. Bond wasn't normal. His heart was situated, not to the left but to the right of his chest. Maybe the bullet had impacked itsel into Bonds 21st rib. Or maybe...
The tv turned itself off, along with every other electrical appliance in the house.
Damn, powercut, I thought angrily.
I glanced out of the large french doors into the many acres of farmyard that I was proud to call my home.
A smile grew on my face. The geese were back, terrifying my sheep as they were rounded up and marched in to the enclosure. A laugh escaped my lips as the enclosure gate crept closed