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START OF TERM 3

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Viewfinder Pt.1

Nine Kilograms 

“What is your price?”

“Nine kilograms of your body.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Preferably your internal organs,” the Merchant continues with a soft smile. “But I know how difficult it would be for you to part with them so I suppose an arm and a leg would do.”

The girl stares at the man across from her before her eyes flit to the bottle sitting on the table between them. “You want me to give you my arm?”

The Merchant shrugs. “It does not have to be an arm. Any part of your body would work, as long as it weighs nine kilograms.”

“And if it does not?”

“Then I guess you will just have to cut off more parts.”

The girl blinks at the man’s casual tone. She picks up the small green bottle and examines it, her scarred fingers running over the cool glass.

The cool glass drags slowly across her arm, beads of red erupting in its wake.

The girl cries and tries to wrench her arm away but her father’s firm grip keeps her in place. He looks at her with disappointment and clicks his tongue.

“You know better than that, Isabella. Don’t you want to help save money for our family?” Her father sets the glass shard aside and positions the girl’s arm over a small bowl. He squeezes and blood oozes from the cut, running along the girl’s arm and into the bowl.

The girl shudders in pain but her father ignores her, his focus on the dripping red.

After a while, he sighs and tosses the girl’s arm away. He swirls the small puddle of blood in the bowl and dips a paintbrush inside.

“That’s a pitiful amount, but I guess I’ll have to work with it.” The father raises the brush to his canvas and paints the petal of a blood red rose.

The Merchant watches the girl. “One drop,” he says. “Just one drop of the poison and it will eat away the victim from the inside. Slowly and excruciatingly, of course.”

The girl rolls the bottle around in her hand contemplatively. “How long will it take for the victim to die?”

The Merchant’s eyes. “Heat will make the poison work faster so I guess it will depend on how merciful you are.”

The girl stays silent and the Merchant watches her skillfully  spin the bottle through her unnaturally bent fingers.

“When were they broken?”

“Four years ago,” the girl says without looking up. She stops fiddling. “He wanted me to learn to write in a week. I couldn’t do it, so he broke my fingers.”

The girl sets the bottle on the table firmly. “We have a deal,” she says tightly. “Nine kilograms for the poison.”

The Merchant smiles. “Excellent.” He snaps his fingers and a servant hurries in with an antique silver scale and a saw. She sets them on the table and leaves. The Merchant slides the saw in front of the girl. 

“Nine kilograms. No more, no less.”

The girl with one arm and one leg stands at the foot of the man’s bed. She grins.

“Hello, father.”

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Viewfinder Pt.2

Spotted With Envy

        Marissa was extraordinarily naked. I looked at her and shrugged. She shrugged back.

        “So you decided to go all natural, huh?”

        She smiled at me and looked down at herself. “I like this one. The other is too fake and altered.” Marissa spun around, her eyes jumping to her reflection in the mirror. “So what do you think?”

        “I think it looks great,” a voice said from behind me. I turned and saw Marc walk in.

        Marissa beamed. “Really?”

        “Really. You should buy this one. Come out and show everyone else.”

        They left the change room together and I watched. As soon as they were out of sight, I turned to look into the mirror.

        My green skin looked more dull than usual, and my spots had spread from my mouth to the corner of my fifth eye socket. I wrapped my pincers around my body and stepped into the other skin. The one that Marissa said was too fake and altered. I wanted the natural one. It made Marissa look like a real woman and I knew I would have looked better in it.

        I stared at my reflection. I hated this skin. I hated my life. I hated Marissa. Stupid, stupid, Marissa.    

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Viewfinder Pt.3

Haze

        The woman sits on the railing of the balcony, her legs dangling over the side. Her body is utterly still save for a sharp-nailed index finger that taps erratically.

        I shift the curtains aside a bit to get a better look.

She is perched on my neighbor’s balcony and from what I can see, she appears to be watching the people walking around twelve stories below.

        Except her head is unnervingly still, and seems almost too heavy for the neck to hold up.

        My neighbor’s balcony is so close to my window that I could probably touch it if I reached an arm out. I imagine jumping from my window to the balcony and grabbing the woman if she suddenly decides to fall forward.

        But I do not think I would reach her in time.

        And she does not look like she is planning to kill herself.

        I am staring at the woman’s back, contemplating what to do, when her body rotates and she looks at me. I recoil.

        Her eyes look like balls of murky swamp water wrapped in feeble, transparent skin. Below the misshapen orbs that protrude from her face, her lipless mouth peels into a soft smile.

        She leaps from the railing and plasters herself across my window, hands and feet somehow gripping onto the smooth wall of the building.

        This close, I can see the innumerable tiny slivers of grey squirming around in her eyes.

        Still wearing that smile, she lifts an index finger --- the same one she used to tap the railing, I realize --- and brings it to her right eye. I watch in horrified fascination as she uses the nail to slice it open.

        Muddy green liquid pours out and the grey slivers explode from the rapidly deflating eyeball. As the final slivers emerge, the woman’s face droops and she falls.

        I watch her splatter on the ground. Several people shriek at the sight of the woman and their shrieks turn to blood curdling screams when the slivers dive down and begin attacking. I see the slivers shove themselves into ears, noses, and mouths and one by one the people collapse.

        Then they stand again and look around. I see the sunlight illuminate the green orbs in a man’s eye socket as he turns and attacks a petrified elderly nearby.

        A movement flashes in the corner of my eye and I see a grey sliver squeeze through a crack in my window. It looks like a winged centipede.

        It launches itself at me and I duck. Then I turn and run. Shoving chairs and doors out of the way, I race through the house. My heart races. I can hear buzzing as the creature gets closer and closer. The buzzing sounds like it is right beside my head. I make a sharp turn and shoot down the hall, into the apartment staircase. I cannot hear the buzzing anymore as my breaths come out in heavy pants. A sudden dizziness washes over me and a trip on a step. I barely feel it as my head slams into the landing and I black out.

        When my eyes open again, everything around me looks hazy and dull. I shoot to my feet, ready to run but I do not see the creature anymore.

        I am contemplating what to do when a door on the floor below bursts open and a boy runs out. He is breathing quickly and runs in my direction.

        When he sees me, he freezes. Our eyes meet and he backs away.

        I feel the sudden urge to slice open my eyeball.  

[yutingyue-blog]

225 IN HOUSE PUBLICATION & FREE ASSIGNMENT

White as Snow (Snow White Retelling) 

            Blood red lips pull apart as she smiles. Hazel eyes meet green as Snow White awakens from her death like slumber.

            The prince picks of her up out of the glass coffin and carries her to his horse. He gently sets her down onto the saddle and his gaze roams over her face.

            “Princess Snow, I had heard rumors about your beauty and I must say they are not the least bit exaggerated.” He places a kiss on the back of her hand. “I am Prince Alexander. If you are willing, I would like to take you back to my castle and make you my queen.”

            The prince holds out his hand and waits.

            Snow hesitates for a second and then places her hand in his. Alexander smiles triumphantly and mounts his horse.

            Cradling Snow to his chest with one hand and gripping the reins with the other, the prince motions to his waiting guards and prepares to leave but halts when Snow White says: “Can my friends come too?”

            Alexander’s smile disappears and disgust flashes through his emerald eyes as he turns to look at the seven dwarfs. The prince’s frown morphs into a charming smile when he turns back to Snow. “Of course, Sweetheart; however, there are no horses for them to ride.”

            Snow’s expression turns upset and then conflicted. Not wanting her to change her mind about going with him, Alexander adds in: “How about we ride at a slower pace so that they can walk with us? My castle is not too far away so we should be able to make it in two or three days.”

            Snow nods happily and her smile is so lovely that the prince feels his irritation melt away.

            When the sun begins to dip below the horizon, they veer off the main road and set up camp in the forest.

            Alexander sends three guards off to find fire wood and food. Sitting under a tree, the prince drapes his cloak around Snow’s shoulders and pulls her in so that her side is against his chest.

            Snow’s body tenses up, and then slowly relaxes as she leans into his warmth.

            Alexander’s gaze floats over to the dwarfs.

            They are huddled together, trying to stay warm against the chilly night breeze. One of them sees Alexander and casts him a suspicious look.

            In reply, the prince’s mouth twists into a contemptuous sneer. This is my princess’s only flaw, he thinks. She is too kind and makes friends with these filthy creatures.

            The guards return with two plump rabbits and start building a fire. Upon seeing the dead animals, the dwarfs gasp and Snow whimpers.

            “You are eating our friends?” She whispers, a horrified expression on her face.

            Alexander turns her towards him and strokes her hair soothingly. “No, no, Darling, I’m sure they were already died when my guards found them.” Fury burns in the prince’s eyes as he turns to look at the guards, his expression promising punishment and death. “Am I right?” He says through clenched teeth.

            The terrified guards bob their heads up and down in agreement.

            “Yes, yes, of course. They were dead when we found them.”

            “See, Honey? It’s alright.” Snow raises her head and looks into his eyes. He can tell that she doesn’t believe him.

            “If they were already dead, we should bury them.”

            “Of course, Sugarplum, my guards were just about to do that. Were you not?” Alexander directs the last part at his guards.

            “Yes, yes, we were just about to do that. We will go bury them now.” They look to the prince for permission and scramble away when he jerks his head in dismissal.

            Turning back to his princess, Alexander’s face softens. “What would you like to eat, my dear?”

            “I am not hungry. I think I will just sleep.”

            His arms encircling her, the prince gently rocks her back and forth. “Sweet dreams, Princess.”

            Alexander wakes to the sound of feet shuffling through the grass. He keeps his eyes closed and listens, trying to locate the source of the sound. Once he establishes that the footsteps seem to be moving away from him, he rips his sword from its scabbard and leaps to his feet.

            A few meters away from him, a figure walks along the edge of the camp.

            “Who are you? Show yourself,” the prince commands.

            The figure ignores him and continues walking.

            Alexander spares a quick glance at the sleeping bodies on the ground, wondering why no one is keeping watch.

            The snap of a twig brings the prince’s attention back to the figure.

            “Your Highness,” a voice says from behind and Alexander swings his sword.

            It slices into the tree behind him as the guard ducks just in time.

            “What in the world are you doing? Why did you not alert everyone to the danger if you were awake?”

            “Because it is her, Your Highness.”

            Alexander turns just as the figure steps into a sliver of moonlight.

            “Snow!”  

            Snow White blinks at the prince. “Yes?”

            “Why are you walking around in the middle of the night?”

            Snow breaks into a dazzling smile. “Oh, because I got bored of sleeping!”

            By now the rest of the guards and a few of the dwarfs are awake. Alexander motions for them to go back to sleep and leads Snow back to where she was sleeping.

            “Come now, get some rest. We still have a lot of travelling to do tomorrow.”

            The second day is much like the first. At sunset, the group stops to make camp in the ever present forests that reside beside the road.

            When the guards pull out the left over cheese and bread from their saddlebags, Snow asks why there is no meat.

            “I thought you did not want to eat your friends?” Alexander questions.

            Snow laughs as if he had told a joke. “Whatever do you mean by that? The bunnies like it when I eat them!”

            Astonished but pleased at the thought of eating meat, Alexander sends the guards out to hunt.

            While the dwarfs still refuse to eat the rabbits, Snow takes large bites and chews happily.

            On the third day of travel, Snow is silent. She does not so much as acknowledge the others when they speak to her and instead sits rigidly on Alexander’s horse.

            At noon, the group arrives at the prince’s castle. Before he can even dismount, Alexander is approached by a white haired servant.

            “Your Highness,” he bows deeply. “The king wants you at his castle immediately. His Majesty has received an urgent message from your brother, Prince Henrik.”

            Alexander’s face darkens with irritation and the servant’s hands tremble in expectation of a lashing for being the bearer of displeasing news. The prince, however, simply dismounts to help Snow White down before climbing back onto his horse.

            “This is Princess Snow and she is your future queen,” Alexander announces. “I want four royal guards with her at all times. You are to obey her as you would obey me and should any harm come to her, you will all be begging for death.”

            And with that, Prince Alexander leaves.

            As soon as Alexander is gone, Snow begins to giggle hysterically. “Yay! The snowman is gone and I do not have to be quiet like a little feather anymore!”

            The old servant looks at her questioningly. “Snowman, Your Highness? Do you mean Prince Alexander?”

            Snow laughs louder. “The snowman’s name is Prince Alligator? That’s a funny name!” Then she grabs the servant. “Hey, what is your name?”

            The man bows deeply. “You may call me Albert, Your Highness. I am the —”

            The princess’s loud gasp interrupts him. “That is a huge castle! I want to go exploring!” She dashes off, leaving Albert flabbergasted.

            As Snow glides through the Palace doors and into a grand hallway, she hears several voices calling her and turns.

            The dwarfs hurry to catch up to her and a nervous servant follows behind. “Hello, friends.”

            “Snow, are you feeling alright? You have been acting very strange lately and—”

            Snow waves away the dwarves’ concern. “Do not worry about me. I am perfectly fine. Now shoo! You guys go do your big people stuff!”

            Reluctantly, the dwarves follow the servant to their rooms and Snow continues on.

            Numbed by excitement, it takes Snow a while to realize that she is being followed by four guards. She stops to wait for them to catch up, but they stop as well. Snow takes a few steps forwards and then halts.

            The guards do the same.

            Intrigued, the princess approaches the guards. “Who are you guys, and why do you keep copying me?”

            “With no disrespect, Your Highness, we are not copying you. We are simply following His Highness’ orders to keep you safe. Walking a certain distance behind is to allow Your Highness as much privacy as possible without being too far to protect.”

            Snow gives them a confused look. “I do not understand what you just said. Are you speaking in riddles perhaps?” She taps her chin thoughtfully then clasps her hands together in delight. “Oh silly me, you must be snow angels, right?”

            “Actually---”

            “Hush now, let us go explore the castle some more!”

            As the sun is dipping below the horizon, Snow approaches yet another large staircase. On this one, however, she notices a small figure slumped against the bottom two steps.

            The figure lets out a loud snore and Snow laughs in recognition.

            “Sleepy!”

            The dwarf barely stirs.

            Snow bends down and shakes him but Sleepy remains asleep. With a mischievous gleam in her eyes, the princess kneels close to her friend’s ear and screams.

            Sleepy shrieks and curls into a fetal position. At the sound of Snow’s laughter, he looks up and scowls in annoyance.

            Snow flashes him an angelic smile. “Come explore the castle with me, Sleepyhead!” Without waiting for a response, she grips the dwarf by his shoulders and steers him down an adjacent corridor.

            They round a corner and Snow suddenly stops.

            “Oh, what is that sound? It is like the sparrows outside our cottage!”

            The guards blink in surprise.

            “I believe that is the washing machines in the laundry room, Your Highness,” one guard says. He gestures to a room at the end of the corridor.

            Snow tilts her head questioningly. “A wishing machine, you say? Well what are we waiting for, let us go look at it!” She flits to the door and into the room, tugging Sleepy along.

            The guards follow.

            The laundry room is bustling with laundresses and maids who immediately drop into low curtsies at the sight of Snow. The princess does not notice them, too awed by the large machines that line the walls. She walks to one.

            “This is a wishing machine?” She asks.

            “No, Your Highness,” a nearby laundress says. “It is a washing machine. It cleans dirty clothing.”

            “Cleans?” Snow looks at the laundress contemplatively, then turns to Sleepy. “You should go in, Sleepy! You must be so dirty from sleeping on the steps.” She nudges the dwarf toward the machine but he shakes his head furious.

            “No, no, that is not---”

            “You silly goose, you must want me to go in first because you are such a gentleman, right? Thank you, but I insist that you go first.”

            “Your Highness,” the laundress says quickly, “I do not believe that that is a good idea.”

            Snow turns to look the laundress and cocks her head. She smiles brightly. “Oh, how rude of me. Would you like to go first? Let me help you climb in!” The princess reaches out a hand.

            The laundress immediately falls to her knees.

            “P-Please forgive me, Your Highness, I did not m-mean to contradict your orders. I promise it will never happen again!” The laundress grovels, her body trembling.  “I-I have two children…Please…” she whimpers.

            Snow looks down at the woman thoughtfully. “Well, you are quite clean so I guess you can go in next time.” She turns to the guards. “My friends, can you help Sleepy into the machine?”

            The dwarf darts toward the door.

            The stunned guards hesitate, but quickly capture him and drag him to the washing machine.

            “STOP! PLEASE, STOP! SNOW---”

            “Why, Sleepy, you are much too dramatic,” Snow titters, “you will feel so much better once you are clean!”  

            The dwarf kicks and thrashes but the guards easily subdue him. They shove his squirming form into the machine and close the lid.

            “Tell the machine to start cleaning, please,” the princess says to the laundress who is still on the ground. “I wish to continue exploring. When Sleepy is clean, please send him to find me so that I can have my turn.”

            “Y-Yes, Your H-Highness.”

            Snow taps the machine. “Have fun in there, Sleepy! I shall see you at dinner.” She nods at the laundress.

            The woman shakily climbs to her feet and squeezes her eyes shut as she reaches for a button on the machine. She presses it and the machine roars to life, the sound of water muffling Sleepy’s screams.

            “Look at how much fun he is having! I cannot wait for my turn,” Snow White says as she turns and leaves, the four guards following behind her.

                                                  End of Part One

*Note: I could not find the origin of the photo above. If it is yours, please let me know so I can credit it!

[yutingyue-blog]

Symbol Story Pitch

Title: Just Through Paper

Characters: Michael, a narcissistic journalist from America

Problem/Conflict:

Michael’s narcissism alienates him from his colleagues and bloats his self-importance so much that he becomes out of touch with reality. Michael’s narcissism also leads him to distort the opinions of his audience by altering the news he reports. While journalism should be a selfless profession, he makes it into a selfish act. By informing the masses and by determining what realities they believe, Michael assumes a position of omnipotence. Thus, his narcissism not only distorts his own perspective of himself, but also distorts the perspectives of the public.

Plot:

Michael arrives in Trana (a fictional country) with the assignment of writing on the ongoing war against Tarewan for an American paper. Although his pretentiousness places him at odds with his colleagues, Michael’s embellished reports quickly grow in popularity and influence in America. Blinded by his success and belief that he is God’s messenger, Michael fails to recognize the detrimental effects of his writing. Through a third person omniscient point of view, the audience is able to observe the differences between the reality that is entailing in this war-torn country and the glorified reality that Michael creates through his articles. With the public falsely believing that the conflicts in Trana are resolving, support for the war drastically weans until the country is weakened beyond repair. Michael is captured by enemy scouts and taken to Tarewen where he is mockingly rewarded wealth and luxury for his help in Tarewen’s annexation of Trana. In the end, Michael looks on from the window of his lavish suite as Tarewen crushes Trana’s last remaining resistance and hangs himself.

Symbol:

Paper (the newspaper that is both the result of Michael’s narcissism and the vessel for the audience’s skewed perspectives), reflective surfaces (e.g. shiny spoon and desks, windows, metal name cards to reflect his self-absorption)

Theme:

Narcissism negatively distorts people’s perspectives.

[yutingyue-blog]

Favorite Journal Entries pt.1

The White Room

        “This is getting genuinely strange,” Hawk whispered to Sally as the man on the other side of the glass began squirming along the floor like a worm.

          Sally remained silent as she watched the man flip onto his belly and launch himself off of a wall. “Put in the orange.”

          Hawk tapped a few keys in his computer and a compartment opened up in the white room that the man was in. An orange rolled out.

          The man froze and stared at the orange. Then he let out a piercing shriek and curled into a ball. He began rolling like the orange. When the orange stopped, he stopped.

           All was silent as Sally  and Hawk observed. The man did not move. 30 seconds went by. A minute.

          Hawk finally lost his patience. “What is he doing?”

          “Put in the tomato,” Sally said, ignoring him. Hawk complied. A tomato rolled out of another compartment in the white room.

          A few seconds passed before the man looked up. He blinked at the tomato then grabbed it and rammed it into his mouth. Holding it between his teeth, the man then reached for the orange and placed it on his back. He flopped onto his belly and began swinging his arms and legs as if he were a swimming frog.

          Hawk released a snort of disbelief. 

          Sally remained expressionless.

          The man continued swimming.

          Just then, the orange tumbled down from the man’s back. The man froze. He turned to stare at the orange. Suddenly he let out a roar of anger and tore he tomato out of his mouth. He began ripping it to pieces as he howled and screamed. Tomato juice and seeds sprayed everywhere, and orange pieces soon followed when the former was no more than smears of red and liquid.

          Hawk’s jaws slackened with shock and he instinctively backed away a step. Sally, however, was smiling. She turned to Hawk.

          “Tell Jonathan that the experiment is a success,” she said and left the observing room. 

[yutingyue-blog]

Favorite Journal Entries pt.2

Unnormal (unfiltered writing)

           There out there, a bird. It glows and speaks to me. It tells me of toilets and scrubs. The forest that grows inside --- that is where the bird is from. There is water, but there is not. Tides come in and lap the walls of the bowl. Inside, there is a pile of corn ad rice. Each corn has potential, it grows into tall stalks that reach for the sky. 

           The clouds laugh at me as they fly by, sometimes coming down to poke me, to agitate me. The sun scolds them for being unruly, and they calm for a it before they start again. 

           At dawn, there is a new sun and the sun brings with it new clouds. The Dawn Sun is an artist, it uses trees to paint the clouds into shades of red and pink and purple. The red clouds are bold, they have the power to drown the world in flames. The pink clouds are softer and sharper, they attack the minds. The purple clouds are there, more powerful than the others but also not. These are the stylists, they dress the Dawn Sun and prepare it so that it glows with beauty.

           The dusk Sun is kinder, like a toilet. It lets its servants be whatever color they wish to be. Dusk clouds are usually grey or dark or blue. These colors are easier to sustain than colors like red and purple. The Dusk clouds are smooth and silky. Their job is to find food for the Dusk Sun and act as nursemaids for the trees. While the Dawn Sun is proud and values beauty, the Dusk Sun likes loyalty and smoothness. It is like a swan.

           The Day Sun is the most ambitious of all suns. It takes up the longest time and the Dusk Sun often has to fight it to push it back to sleep. The Day Sun keeps few servants and demands that its servants are white so that they do not steal attention. The Day Sun chooses the colors of everything. Green and blue and white and brown, it paints the earth. Or, to be more precise, its clouds paint the earth. The Day Sun stays in its cave and orders.

           The Night Sun is the Day Sun’s courtesan. The Day Sun named it the Moon to make it seem inferior. The Night Sun despises the Day Sun, but she does not have a choice when the Day Sun constantly sets traps for her. The Night Sun rules the night, but sometimes appears during the Day Sun’s rule. This is when she has been successfully trapped. The Night Sun is gentle. She sighs and sways and throws her paint to land where it wills. Her preferred color is silvery. Her paint glows.

*Unfiltered writing means that I wrote everything that came to mind and did not alter or dismiss any ideas. I also did not erase or change anything so as soon as something was written down, it was part of the piece. Grammar and sentence structure were disregarded.

*unnormal: the title is meant to be wrong to convey veering away from “normal”

[yutingyue-blog]

Favorite Journal Entries pt.3

Butterflies

        The girl grips her pencil and writes frantically. The man watches her from afar, then turns to the boy beside him.

        “What is she doing?”

        “Writing,” the boy replies, not taking his eyes off the girl.

        “Why is she holding her pencil like that?” 

        The boy gives an exasperated sigh. “Because she doesn’t want to crush the butterflies.”

        Giving the boy a strange look, the man turns back to the girl. She has her left index finger at the eraser of her pencil to direct its movements and the tip pinched between the index and thumb of her right hand. True enough, she is not touching the butterfly design on the body of the writing implement. 

        “Why not just write with another pencil?” the man asks again. 

        “Because she wants to free the butterflies. Only by using the pencil can one set them free.”

           The man laughs in disbelief, thinking that the boy is joking but the teenager merely turns to him with utter seriousness across his face.

        “Do not laugh at my sister,” he says.

           The man ducks his head, slightly embarrassed to be scolded. “My apologies.”

           The sound of writing suddenly stops and the girl approaches them, a big smiles on her face. She holds up a glass box full of pink and blue butterflies. “Look, Ben,” she says to the boy. “The butterflies are finally free!”

           The boy pats her shoulder and smiles back at her.

           In disbelief, the man peer at the pencil on the desk. It is no longer decorated with pink and blue butterflies. 

[yutingyue-blog]

New Shoots Submissions 1

Lips

Many people think that wearing lipstick can make their lips prettier. Those people are idiots. I know that if you were born with ugly lips, all the lipstick in the world couldn’t fix them. That’s why instead of collecting different shades of lipstick, my bathroom cabinet is full of lips. Although I have to replace them every few days because they rot, free lips are everywhere so I just have to invest in a nice, sharp, pocket-knife and I’m all set for the next several years.

I look at my reflection in the mirror and then search through my cabinet for the perfect pair of lips to wear for my date tonight. Thinking about all the kissing I’m planning on doing, I select a pair that are pink and plump. Grabbing my needle and pink thread, I begin stitching the lips onto my mouth. I know what you’re thinking, it must look weird to sew another pair of lips on top of my own, but don’t you worry, I had cut off my own lips a few years back. Applying a bit of lipstick to hide the stitches, I smile at my reflection and head out the door.

Chris is already waiting at our special spot when I arrive. He smiles brightly when he sees me and wraps an arm around me as we go on a romantic walk along the beach. Every once in a while, he would grab me and we would make out.

About two hours into our date, I tell Chris that I need to use the washroom. When I peer into the mirror, I am mortified to see that Chris had gnawed off my entire bottom lip and most of my top one too. How could I have forgotten to bring an extra pair of lips? I knew lips were Chris’ favorite things to eat. Now I have to make an excuse to head home. What an embarrassment!

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New Shoots Submissions 2

Steven

 There is a guy, let’s call him Steven. Let’s say that one day, Steven’s good friend Harriette walked up to him and chopped off his arm. When describing which is where, would you say: that’s Steven’s head, neck, shoulders… and that’s Steven’s arm? Unlikely. You would probably say: that’s Steven, and that’s Steven’s arm.

Now let’s say that Steven’s other good friend Georgia walked up to him and severed him at the waist with a machete. In this situation, which is Steven? The top half which contains the head? Or the bottom half which includes the legs?

 Now we’ll make things more interesting. Steven’s best pal David felt bad for Steven so he patted his head. Naturally, Steven would ask: why did you pat my head? And naturally, David would chop off said head. And now I ask you: which is Steven? The head? Or the rest of the body? However, referring back to earlier, David had patted Steven’s head, NOT Steven. So is the head Steven? Or is it merely something that belongs to Steven? In any case, there is now a new situation.

 Due to his decapitation, Steven is most likely dead. Let’s say that Steven’s buddy Fred pitied Steven and sewed his body back together. Since Steven is now dead, is he still Steven? Or has he become an it? If the body is still Steven, then let me ask you this: at what point does Steven change from a ‘he’ to an ‘it’? When all the skin and muscles have been eaten away? Once the skin and muscles are gone, would it be a pile of bones? Or would it be Steven?

 Either way, I think we can all agree on one thing: poor Fred, having to sew all those pieces of Steven back together.

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Sonnets

Sparrow (Shakespearean Sonnet)

With claws of molten gold and feathers dipped

In fire, the phoenix soars majestic

And unbounded.The sparrow, by envy gripped,

Ashamedly hides its coat so rustic.  

With gold paint and glitter she splatters her

Body, parading chin high in borrowed

Glory. But masks don’t last or fit in nature

And cannot fix the sparrow who’s sorrowed

I think I would stay the sparrow, whose earth

Marbled regalia rewards those who

Look closer. Brown and gold are merely birth-

Chosen colors and speak not of traits true.  

Phoenixes may be living flame and glow,

But a sparrow can be equally so.

Star (Italian Sonnet)

Violet-green swallows paint the winter sky

Black; and peacocks launch patterns to the roving

Clouds. Golden eagles soar in their clothing  

Bronze, and hefty pigeons lift wings to fly.

Penguin’s former pride turns shame in his eye;

His flightless wings now merely spur loathing.

While others’ successes can spur growing

Rancor, they can gift the courage to vie

Against perceived impossibilities.

Sparrows inspire young hatchlings to leap from

Their ivory-tower havens; and teach

Men to dream of flying. Futilities

They yield to perseverance and become

Another star above that men can reach.

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TERM 3 END

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Viewfinder Pt.1

The Clairvoyant 

“Come in,” the woman says, pushing aside the heavy fabric of the tent flap. Her beaded robe swishes around her legs as she walks to her table and takes a seat before a large crystal ball. “Let me read your future.”

The man steps inside the tent hesitantly. He takes a seat across from the woman dressed as a clairvoyant.

Instead of looking into the crystal ball as the man had expected, however, the woman pulls a small lamp out of the folds of her robe and sets it on the table.

The man looks at the woman questioningly and she gestures for him to pick it up. A small smile appears on her face as he reaches for it.

~~~

Minutes pass before the man leaves the tent, his face devoid of expression. He walks away stiffly and disappears among the crowds of people exploring the fair.

Inside the tent, the woman smiles and strokes the lamp which now glows faintly.  Inside the lamp, the man’s soul pounds against the glass and begs to be set free. The woman merely slips the soul catcher back into her robe and waits patiently for the next victim.  

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Viewfinder Pt.2

Climb

Nameless jams her left hand into the flaw of the tower’s base. Her arm trembles from the strain of holding up her weight as she slides her other hand over the smooth surface of the tower, searching for a chip or crack to hold onto. There is one high above, but it is just out of reach.

Nameless plants a foot against the slippery curved surface beneath her, preparing to launch herself up. She coils her body then pushes off hard. Her foot slips and her body slams against the tower’s base. Her teeth rattle from the impact.

Sucking in a deep breath and gritting her teeth, Nameless tries again. She fails once more. Her mother’s words echo in her head. Don’t give up, you’re our last hope.

Nameless looks around for another grip, but the only other one is to her left and her outstretched fingers can barely graze it. Too far. Her left hand begins to cramp from gripping onto the edge of the crack. Nameless tries to ignore the pain, directing her full attention to finding a grip for her right hand. The faces of her friends and family flash before her. They are all depending on her. She needs to get to the top of the tower.

Determined, Nameless plants her right foot on the tower again, ready to make one last attempt. She shoves down hard, pushing herself up. Her hand reaches out. It catches the edge of the crack. Her foot slides out from beneath her. Her cramping left hand gives out.

Nameless loses her grip on the crack in the tower and tumbles down into the pool of red that smells of iron.  

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Viewfinder Pt.3

Lamp

The hand that holds me is pale and young. It wears a ring of cheap plastic that has been dyed blue.

As we move through the dark, I sway gently, shining my light this way and that. The dark is too thick. My light does little to show the way.

A sudden sound behind me is the only warning before I am violently thrown forward. I tumble onto the ground. The fall did not shatter me, but my light is weakening and the dark is closing in.

As I roll along the floor, I hear a commotion above. I want to see what is happening but I am not in control of my body. I come to a stop and the horrible sounds above halt shortly after. A thud sounds by my head and something falls, nudging me into rolling once more.

As I finally come to a stop, I find myself staring at a different angle. I can see now that I was pushed by the hand that held me mere minutes ago. The hand that is still pale. The hand that is still young. The hand that is still wearing the plastic ring.  

And the hand that is now no longer attached to an arm.

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Shift Pt 1 (Fav. Journal Entry 1)

           Nobody looks up. The top of the mushroom is high above, its soft under layer cast in shadow as the sun rises directly above. Nobody digs her fingers into the soft flesh of the mushroom and begins climbing up its stem.

           The sun bears down on her, drawing sweat to the surface of her skin. Nobody does not dare attempt to wipe it away in fear that she will lose her grip and tumble into the chasm that has appeared under her. Although she can only see black, she can sense that something is down there, waiting for her to falter and fall.

           Halfway to the top, Nobody digs her bare feet into the dusty yellow stem and looks around her.

           The desert spreads out as far as the eye can see, filled with thousands upon thousands of towering, sand-colored mushrooms just like the one she is currently climbing.

           A bead of sweat forms on Nobody’s scalp and drops into her eyes. Nobody curses and tries to blink it out. Then, she takes a deep breath and reaches up to sink her nails into the next chunk of flesh.

           Everything darkens to black and in less than a second, things take shape again.

           Nobody finds herself running through a school gym. Giant trees are around her, sprouting from the floor despite there being no soil in sight. Hanging from the branches are long strips of flesh-colored fabric that dance along to a phantom wind. Nobody does not know what she’s doing or where she is. She only knows there is something that she must reach.

           Nobody faces forward and runs through the forest in the gym.

(continued)