amy-writes

[amy-writes]

my math homework

i got in a fight with my mother today. i went to my room to cry and do my math homework. my father came in and tried to make amends on behalf of my mother. i told him that she hurt me but what i didn’t say was that it was possibly beyond repair. he left and i heard him talk to my mother asking her to make amends. i heard her say nothing. she did not come. my father entered again to speak on my mother’s behalf but i could not hear her through his voice. he left and she came and told me to wash the tears from my face because otherwise i may make a mistake on my math homework.

[amy-writes]

you look up and see a man in the heavens. he says to you, “i am God.” you ask him, “Why?” and he does not have an answer. do you cower, or do you ascend to the throne you made for yourself, a throne carved of false gods and broken dreams?

[amy-writes]

10:00

It’s 9:51 pm and I Have forgotten how to speak.

The emotions crowd Jostling for dominance And I just sit In the wake of the storm.

There’s nowhere For me to run So I stay here And wait for the world.

It’s 9:53 pm and I Have forgotten how to breathe.

As it all washes over Hits me like a wave Hits me like a brick And I am numb.

I feel things I haven’t felt before I am overwhelmed But I am numb.

It’s 9:54 pm and I Have forgotten how to think.

There’s a clock Sitting next to me And I have to focus On that alone.

If I break my gaze I will collapse And all it will be is Over.

It’s 9:57 pm and I Have forgotten how to live.

[amy-writes]

misunderstood

There’s a subtle beauty,  A wonderful thing, I think About misunderstanding.

It paves the way For thought and perception And lets us think For ourselves.

Poetry isn’t about flow. It isn’t about poetic devices And it isn’t about anything at all.

When we think too deeply, When we read with our minds And not with our hearts, We forget to feel.

That is how poetry sings. Not with a scream, But with a whisper.

[amy-writes]

anywhere

There isn’t anyone I know who can ask Anything of importance anymore.

It starts with a question Ignites a string of thoughts And ends with a phrase That may or may not be an answer.

But I think there’s somewhere Another place, another time Where if there’s no answer To every question posed It isn’t the end of the world.

Where things are the way that they are And we don’t have to think Where every enigma and anomaly Is taken for granted.

I think I’d like it there Where it’s less about thinking And more about living.

[amy-writes]

intrusive thoughts

I watched the darkness, searching for the moon and stars But saw only shadows of aching trees and weeping wolves, Do you bleed with gritted teeth and glassy eyes Do you dance among death and forsaken souls God has many eyes with many bones, many teeth A chewed bone, discarded before thousands of starving children And when i stared into their faces I saw nothing, nothing The thunder that burned my arms and broke my skull ‘Till thoughts poured out my ears Like the voice of a king with no domain The lights in your eyes go out one by one Soon I am left with nothing but an empty sky And a memory of stars

[amy-writes]

discarded

I’ve been dreaming of you I thought that I was getting better I want to be free of every vice I just don’t want you to leave I want to be worth something to someone I wish I was worth it but I know I’m not I’m staring down the endlessness of everything I know you won’t stick around I wish I remembered all the lyrics I came up with When I was high on the happiness you gave me My feelings and secrets die with me I want to be a tragedy I want to be like performance art Have everyone wonder but never figure me out I want to go wild and howling through the streets I want to go crazy and lose everything that hurts

[amy-writes]

God is dead and I killed him

there is always something to fill a void. be it stardust or hubris, there will always be something in his place. god is never truly dead; he lives as long as his creation carries his broken legacy. he exists out of time, and yet time will kill him before anything else does.

[amy-writes]

if you lean closer, you can hear secrets. more than what you know, more than what you think is real. perhaps you may learn a thing or two as you hurtle into the abyss, never truly seeing things the way you did before. you think to yourself, why me? but really, the question in the back of your head, a place full of impulse and fearlessness, is why not?

[amy-writes]

you wish you were worth it. you know you’re not: no, you think you’re not. and you’re staring down the endlessness of everything and pretending you understand. you don’t know why you’re doing anything. you don’t know why you’re here. you feel like a wounded animal that’s lashing out because it doesn’t remember who it once was. you just need to remember who you used to be and how much you’ve grown. you’re not the sum of your past mistakes, you’re the sum of you

[amy-writes]

good night, children of the void. the mother of chaos will miss you when you drown in the darkness of her arms. you sleep, unaware of what is yet to come. you, a soul without a purpose, a silence so profound it has ceased to have meaning. good night, sentries of entropy. good night, descendants of the guilty. good night.

[amy-writes]

What's up, Onion?

the clouds are suspiciously silent today. you ask me, “What’s up, Onion?” and i look around carefully before replying.

“ah, nothing is up except what is, and what always should be.”

you nod, satisfied with my answer. handing me a nondescript envelope, you smile grimly, your face stretching in ways that are less than normal.

i blink. you do not.

we look at each other politely, both shouldering a burden that does not exist. i accept the packet and stand up, leaving you on the park bench. you look up at me. i tip my hat and set it gently on the ground before you, as is procedure.

i fold the envelope into my coat and exit quickly, like a dog with too many teeth.

[amy-writes]

you look up and see a man in the heavens. he says to you, “i am God.” you ask him, “Why?” and he does not have an answer. do you cower, or do you ascend to the throne you made for yourself, a throne carved of false gods and broken dreams?

[amy-writes]

what’s up gamers it’s ya boi amy with some news. so as i said about a week ago, my website’s up and running and as of today, both the prologue and chapter 1 are up! go check it out and leave a comment and subscribe and shit thanks

(and if you’re curious, the url to my site as well as the link above is <https://fivedumbducks.wixsite.com/zombies>.)

tag list for now: @demigodshadowhuntertrash @bread-also-salood @rynliadon @kcthestarkid​ @mourning–star​ @amycatastrophe​ and as always dm me if you want in

have a nice day!

[amy-writes]

AH FUCK I DID IT MY WEBSITE’S UP so now you can read the prologue. nice. if you’ve already read the original version it’s basically the same thing, i didn’t change this chapter much. BUT it has its own website now which i think is PRETTY FUCK DANGIN COOL so yknow.

still figuring out the tag list so nobody’s being tagged yet. sorry. but yeah tell me if you want to be on the list and aren’t already thanks

[amy-writes]

Strange Planet: Chapter 1

I found my very first novelette from sixth grade, and I thought I’d share it! Please excuse the bad grammar and storytelling. I was just developing.

Word Count: 125                                                 Chapter One: No Life, No Life

“There was a time when there was no life. There was life on a planet nearby, but no life on our planet. We know about this because we have seen this procedure gone through ever since the time travel breakthrough was made.

"Now we know that, hundreds of years ago, the Earthlings looked slightly like us, but not all of them had an extensive, complex language system. Only the creatures called “humans” had a language and culture remotely accurate or familiar to our own.

"Earth was a peculiar place with many possibilities. They were slightly advanced in technology, and they probably would have been able to compete with us as we were 3 centuries ago, but they were sadly and brutally annihilated. We still can’t reach out to them because of time travel paradox errors.

"But at least they think they know what happened to them," said Nugget brightly, "even if it is a little lie, a Secret that might not be entirely true, it had no partake whatsoever in the Serpentine War, which got their planet demolished like an old building introduced to a wrecking ball."

Solomon Nugget smiled professionally and took in a deep breath, projecting his large, businesslike frame even further. You wouldn’t be too wrong if you compared his breaths to a black hole, a vacuum, sucking all near light from existence.

He felt that he had convinced the press that he had done the right thing. He silently applauded himself and bowed away the podium to another person who would try to strike him down and say that the telling of the lie was in fact the Earthlings’ demise and that he, the one who had subtly planted the lie twenty years ago, would have to subtly take it back; but he had set up a good, solid argument in which he thought he was surely to win.

{Now, I must adhere firmly to the fact that this, although a true story, is to be prejudiced in the current character’s view. Solomon Nugget was indeed certain that he would win this universal debate; but this was, strictly, in his opinion.

There is no certainty that this pretentious man will create a point enough to impress the press (pun not intended) without hearing this mysterious, anonymous person speak his mind.

Nugget, being quite a fool (which was a commonly known fact, not a bias of mistrust), yet a confident fool at that, will not wait for this man to speak and prove Nugget wrong; in fact, he had already celebrated a victory he considered well deserved!}

His rival, the mysterious entity that will not be named, glided to the podium; they wore a forest green hooded cloak, with a gilded hem strung with gold threads; their face was obscured by the overhang of the cloak’s peaked hood.

They were of slim build, regally tall, and had long, thin musician’s fingers; and these features, along with the cloak, contributed to a mysterious, dreamy pretense.

Nugget smirked and thought to himself that he had this presentation in the bag; the press was not going to believe a dreamer like this one! He began to think of the cloaked figure as the Dreamer because of their attire and general presentation.

“My fellow Venusians,” mused the Dreamer, who had a soft voice, high and melodious, and the pitch was distinctly feminine. Nugget decided it must be a girl.

“We have a wonderful planet before us; Mother Venus. We have everything we need, and maybe some things we don’t need.” And with this, the Dreamer faced pointedly in Nugget's direction, as if to say, "you are the one we don't need"; and Nugget later swore that the shaded eyes were powerfully glaring at him under thick eyelashes, and he had felt a drastic drop in confidence.

The Dreamer was really a threat. An actually threatening one, unlike other, smaller time business owners that Nugget had encountered in the past.

“For a beautiful and just leader, Queen Lucia of Magdalene. She has introduced order and prosperity to the planet, after Queen Wren’s brutal dictatorship. For the rest of the people, they have also done their part to help keep the peace and justice, as the people are commonly relied upon to do. The feeling, I assume, is mutual. As for me, you may all call me the Dreamer.”

The Dreamer smirked slyly at Nugget's severely taken aback expression. He could not keep his mouth from popping open and his eyes bulging like the cartoon of a frog being squeezed in a little kid’s fist. He was certain, now, that the Dreamer was female. Only a woman could be so perceptive as to be a mind reader!

She continued on with her argument. “The Earthlings were prospering. They had plenty of food, and they were efficiently ending their pollution and global warming issues. They had cured cancer, Ebola, and others completely. These diseases were now as harmless as the common cold, which they cured as well.

They were also warming up to solving world hunger, severe poverty, and completely equal rights. Earth was a peculiar place with many possibilities. They were slightly advanced in technology, and they probably would have been able to compete with us as we were 3 centuries ago, but they were sadly and brutally annihilated. Every soul on Earth, vicious or virtuous, would perish.”

{His own words… that were about to be turned against him. He had not realized that words can be perceived many ways. The true value of words is the way you say them. Thinking of every possible way to interpret words before using them is an important trait Nugget did not own.}

“Was this the answer? What did they ever do? Well, they did a lot of things to themselves,” the Dreamer said with a snort, “but what did they do to us? We have plenty of excuses, but are any of these excuses remotely true? The answer is no.

“No, they did not do anything to us. They didn’t even know we existed! No, none of the private business owners’ excuses are near true or logical. On the Media, I see responses such as, ‘ oh, the costs are too high to go there again, ’ or ‘ I can’t get enough funding,' or 'time windows aren’t working well this time of year ’. I ask all of you; if you can’t right the wrongs you have done and go back to Earth, why go there in the first place?”

True, Nugget thought. But I went there with a different idea, an idea that should have made the Earthlings more aware of extraterrestrial existence such as us. But instead, it backfired and I had to think fast and plant the Secret.

But Nugget indeed was lying to himself.

One newswoman stood up. “The Circle had made their decision,” she announced.

The rest of the press stood up simultaneously. At once, the harmonious flow of wise words came through them from the Circle, the advisors of Queen Lucia of Magdalene, saying; "This matter concerns all of us, but only one shall go to fix it. Solomon Nugget, you indeed have made a grave mistake.”

Nugget turned white as a sheet.

“However. Since this young woman seems to love her Earthlings so much, she will make the journey to present-day Earth to examine why it has been so difficult to find appropriate time travel windows to Earth. Learra the Earth-born peregrine falcon will accompany you. Your journey will start in a fortnight."

[amy-writes]

The Girl in the Bubble

Word Count: 300

She was five years old. She held her balloon tightly, and wouldn't let go for anything in the world. She'd never had one before, and she looked at it like it was the moon. It was plain and green, but she loved it more than she loved herself. Walking along the quiet road, she stumbled. As her small hands hit the gravel, her palm opened. The balloon floated away into the grey clouds, and she stared up after it.

"I'll get you another one," her mother said.

"That's alright," the little girl replied. "I'll find it again one day."

She was thirteen now, so deep into her childhood that she couldn't find either exit. Someone asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up, and she knew without a doubt. Pointing at the sky, she told them, "I'm going up there.

"I have some unfinished business."

She was twenty-eight, living alone. She was at her desk, busy filling out a paper that would determine her future. Over the course of her life, she'd fluctuated. She'd graduated, juggled jobs, had boyfriends, had girlfriends. But she'd never given up on her dream. She worked towards it every day, despite any kind of tribulation. She completed the form and sealed it.

Six months later, she was informed that her application was accepted.

At thirty-six, she finally realized what had really brought her here. It wasn't the balloon: it was her determination, her courage, her grit. Of course, the balloon had definitely helped. It was that fateful day when she had realized how far she could really go—the sky was not the limit.

She looked out the window and saw how far she had come. Gazing at the Earth, she swore she could see a small green balloon floating in the distance.