Instead of writing in this month's batch, I started to pack for my jouney. It did not take long. I took some clothes, some money, a sketchbook, a pencil, a pen, my health, my memories, my phone, a coat and my saxophone.I felt that there would be no need for a map.Saying goodbye did not take long. I said goodbye to him and her and you. I whispered goodbye to my sky, wrote goodbye to my God. I sent His goodbye by first class post.Letting my legs carry me forwards, I embarked upon this brave new world.
I had no idea what this would do.Upon recieving my health, the rock started to shake voilently. It defied the laws of gravity, floated, shrinking and expanding at the same time.Veins of ruby appeared on the surface.A brain of silicon was formed.Eyes of emeralds opened.Legs and arms grew, strengthed by granite.After what seemed like eternity compressed into a small bottle, a pure diamond smile broke out of the creavases of the rock's face.And that is how the very first troll came into existance. Through me.I gave him a name. Gergorius. Names are important.
The old man continued.'In fact, it would be better if you just turned around and went back to your past. You don't have the right qualities to allow you to continue onwards. Trust me.'Listening to him had made my head go in a spin. When firmly back in place, I concidered his words. In the end, I asked 'And who are you to make these assumptions?'To which he replied 'Me? Well, I am an expert.' I immediatly felt relieved.'How many of these roads have you travelled?''Well...none. But trust me, I know more than you.'
To quote'You are expected to write on that day and for that day. For the sake of the exercise, you should not "write ahead" nor should you "catch up" at the end of the month. 100 Words is about capturing life on a daily basis, then examining those days across a period of time.'...uh-oh
I need to practice writing poetry.Actually, I don't need to practise writing poetry, It's just that I would like to up my skills from abysmal to average. If possible.Reading everybody else's efforts in class made me feel rather inadequate. Comparing my poem's to theirs was like comparing Homer's 'Odessy' with Dr, Seuss' 'Green eggs and ham'.Not that there is anything wrong with 'Green eggs and ham'.I suppose I can't write poetry because I have never really had strong emotions. No love, hate, anger, euphoria etc.To conclude: I can't do poetry and I'm a boring person.
Adam looked out the window and sighed.He was not having a good day. He had discovered that he was in love. This was not a state he wanted to be in. Exams were coming up, and he wanted his mind to be totally focused on the important things, like binomial expansion and quarks. Not girls. Well, one girl in particular.He was concidering writing a poem about her, but science coursework was due in, and that had to take priority.Anyway, he was sure that whatever he wrote would be more insulting than complimentary. He wasn't good with words.
'I've been reading your 100 words.''Right.''And there is one particular phrase that rather worries me.''Right.''The fact that you say that you are not planning to die...''Right.''The fact is, you are going to die. It's inevitable. It's a fact of life. Death, including yours, will happen.''Right.''It's just that, you seem a bit...dissolusioned to the whole concept.''Right.''So I thought that I would set things straight.''Right.''You know, clear things up.''Right.''...Right.''Are you going to try and destroy any other harmless and simple believes that I hold?''No.''Good.'