BYE PEOPLE

Bye, I will not be posting on this blog anymore, unfortunatly. I hope you liked my posts, and were inspired to write some of your own.
love,
FlowrPowr26

Tic tac teeth: part 8

I groan and lean my head against the wall. My hand somehow puts the phone back in its cradle, though I don’t remember doing so. “What did she mean no 310? I’m in apartment 310 right now!” I say to myself angrily. I stand up straight, and go to the door, then stop. “Maybe the man gave me the wrong number. Maybe this really is room 309.” I grasp the handle and pull the door open. Sure enough, the sign on the door says “309”. “Stupid hotel staff…” I mutter to myself as I look down the hallway. There is no one in sight. The door next to mine says “311”. I pull out my keycard to open the door once again, but it slips through my fingers and onto the carpet. As I bend over to retrieve it, I happen to take a closer look at it. The number “309” printed on it is very blurry. I pick it up and look closer. It almost looks like there could be something under it. I scrape at the paint with my thumb nail, and flecks of black start to rub off. As I uncover what is underneath the paint, I gasp. In old fashioned script that doesn’t fit in with the otherwise modern print on the card, it says “310”. “So I was right.” I mutter. Just then, it all clicks. This was Layla and her families’ apartment. A wind suddenly picks up around me, and chills me to the bone.

Tic tac teeth: part 7

Just then the elevator doors slide open. I help Barney drag Simon into the hallway, and then stop. “Do you think you can get him to his room?” I ask him. He winces, but nods. I nod to thank him as I walk down the hallway. “304, 306, 308.” I stop in front of my apartment door, and slide the card into the slot under the door handle. It blinks and beeps at me. I frown, and try again, pulling it out in a swifter movement this time. It clicks, and flashes green. I pull on the handle, and push the door open. The door creaks slightly on its hinges. I walk across the threshold. I am entering the living room. There is a lumpy, beige couch in the far right corner with multi-colored pillows strewn across it. A white afghan is unfolded and is pulled out across the surface of the couch. It looks like it has been used for a bed, and I frown in slight irritation. A worn rug is stretched out on the wooden floor. I clomp to the kitchen. It is a worse sight. Something, it looks like peanuts, are strewn across the linoleum floor. I tiptoe in between the scattered nuts to the fridge. A revolting smell seeps from the chamber. I open the door, and gag. There is a ton of food in here, but they are all opened and rotting. I close it, and sigh. I obviously have to talk to these lazy hotel staff. I grab the broom that is leaning against a wall, and sweep all the peanuts into a corner. I will leave the food, for now. I go back to the living room and to the phone on the low coffee table. I dial the hotel staff, and a woman picks up. “Hello, this is Jane, how may I help you?” she says quickly.
“Hello, my name is Charlotte Gumby, and I just got my new apartment, 310.” I say. There is a pause, and the sound of rustling papers. Then Jane’s voice comes back.
“I’m sorry; there is no such room. There is 309, and 311, but no 310.” And she promptly hangs up.

Carnival Ride; Long version

It’s Monday afternoon, and the sun is shining, thought the wind is chilly; I think it’s the perfect for a little fun and games. My car crawls along the highway; cars are everywhere, going as far as the eye can see. Finally they go down different lanes, ones I’m not heading for. Now I speed through desolate roads, without anyone seeing, and I enjoy my little joyride. Finally I reach the field, Gregory Square, though it’s nothing much; just some houses, and a little fountain in the center. They have decided to bring their carnival here, and it’s small. I almost read right over the little ad in the newspaper this morning. I enter, and the fee is only one dollar, cheap, considering the price of gas these days. As I walk, looking for a ride to spend all my money on, I sightsee. The rides loom like grim statues against the grey sky. I smell the buttery scent of popcorn, of paint drying on easels, and sugary cotton candy. I am wearing open toed sandals, and dust mixes with sweat under my toes, leaving little brown puddles of mud. I watch some of the rides; the Twister throws its passengers around till it’s all a blur, with sudden flashes of color. As I walk, I see a woman in a purple tent. Her face is in shadow, and she gestures to me. I enter her tent, and sit at the little card table she has set out. There is a big glass globe on the star speckled table cloth. She holds out her hand, and says in broken English, “two dollars,” I pay her, and she smiles, gesturing to the globe. “Your future?” My future? I already know my future; I’ll become a millionaire, with a big white house in California and ten children. I’ll have a beautiful wife who calls me “darling”, and “sweetie”. My job will be managing a company I create, with ten thousand people working for me. No, I don’t want to see my future shown in some snow globe. I frown, and gesture for the dollars. She snaps them up, and deposits them in her pocket. What a rip off! I swipe at the globe, but my fingers miss their mark. She screams, and falls of her chair. Her ankle catches one of the legs of the table, and it goes down. There is a great crash, and a sound like fingernails on a chalkboard. Glass skitters across the ground, and the table leans on its side, with the table cloth lying in a crumpled heap by the woman. She groans and pulls herself up. I make no move to help her. She stands straight, and tears leak out of her eyes. I don’t want to watch this, so I walk away from the tent, my feet sifting through glass.

Carnival Ride; short version

Monday, afternoon. The sun is high. The wind is cool. The perfect day for a carnival. Crawl along the highway. Speed through desolate roads. I reach a field. Tents, clustered in the center. Enter, pay one dollar for a ticket. Then I’m in. Rides loom. Grim statues against a grey sky. I smell the buttery scent of popcorn, paint drying on easels. The Ferris wheel goes round and round. The Twister spins its passengers till everything is a blur. Stop walking. A woman is gesturing. I approach. She sits at a card table. A glass globe, placed in the center. She smiles, points. “Two dollars,” she says in broken English. I pay. She smiles. Points to the globe. “Your future?” Quick thinking. I glare, swipe. Miss the globe by in inches. She screams. Falls off the chair. The table goes down. A crash. Glass skitters. She stands. Cries. I walk away, into dust.

Ocean Symphony

Rocks slide up the shore,
A gravely chorus
While waves collapse against the sand
A wet mallet beating against a yellow drum
Creatures collide in the dancing water
On the shore
Off the shore
The rhythm of the Ocean Symphony
The salt hangs in the air,
A refreshing taste
Sand shifts under your feet,
Seagulls squawk
And circle overhead
It completes the scene,
These small elements,
Completes
The Ocean Symphony