Saturday, June 29, 2013

Forgive me?

Sally McLane stepped into a little coffee shop and took a seat by the front window.
Because she was staring out the window she didn't see the waitress come up behind her.
The waitress clears her throat loudly, 'Ahem!'
Startled, Sally stammers, 'Oh, um... Do ye serve-?
her eyes met the waitress' and she gasped, 'Maggie?'
'Aiy, that's me, wot's et to ya?'
'It's me, Sally, your sister.'
Maggie sniffs, and says coolly, 'Oh? Wot do ye want from me?'
'Oiy don't want anathing from YOU, oiy've come 'ere for coffee.'
Maggie opened her notepad and looked at Sally, 'Well? Wot have ya?'
'An ice coffee, thanx.'
Maggie leaves and Sally sighs and mutters, incoherently.
Maggie returns with an ice coffee and a bill. She hands them to Sally.
Says somewhat curtly, 'Here ya are.'  and turns to leave.
Sally says 'Maggie?' and she turns back around, and asks angrily,
'Wot  do ya want noaw?'
Pleadingly Sally asks, 'Why, aftair seven years, do ye hafta be so curt with ma? Ya couldn't hafe forgotten in all those years? Nor forgiven?'
Maggie's eye twitches and she hisses, 'No. I couldn't forgit yor selfish acts and you gettin' off easy while oiy had to stay and be the responsible one. Do ya really expect ma ta forgiv ya?'
Sally, lip trembling, says, 'Yes.'
With a sardonic smile Maggie says, 'Never.' and walks away.

Wednesday, June 26, 2013


   An air of sorrow wafts about him, he slips thru cities unnoticed, he sees, but is not seen. He sticks to the shadows and crowded places, he blends. How he hides himself is a mystery, he cut a striking figure, with the palest of skin, yellowish green eyes, and hair that is more black than a moonless sky. If you feel your being watched in a crowd, he is there. If you're all alone walking down a deserted street in the dead of night and feel a piercing gaze penetrate your comfort, he is there, and he is always watching.
   Beware if you feel you're watched, the shadow of a man is there, and for one purpose alone does he stalk.
He is there to retrieve. If you've stolen something, if you've taken so much as a thread that was not your own, he will hunt you down and take double from you what you've taken from another. So you too will know the pain of loss, and be wise enough to earn what you receive and leave others hard earned possessions alone.
   Why does he fight for us all? He has also felt the sharp, cutting pain of loss... His mind is his own and he thinks that no one should get by with theft.
And who is this ghostly shadow? His name is Echo.

Hey Writers!

While I was creating characters for a new story with my friends, C & D, D brought something to my attention that I won't soon forget. Usually when creating a character you'd create their appearance (hair, eyes, clothes, etc.), and their personality, maybe you'd even put them in a setting, I usually do.
But, D said, do people ever create a personal smell for a character?
Do we have our own unique smell? Yup.
C said she loves 'that Cedar smell' lol.
C smells like cantaloupes, sweet! (I wouldn't be surprised if the cantaloupe air freshener in her room has something to do with it. (: )
D smells like deodorant... most of the time...
I had a great aunt once who smelled like bananas... So I called her Nanas...

In some stories the author will put a remark like 'The old woman's house smelled like the chocolate cookies she was forever baking', or 'The air in the waiting room was toxic from so many people wearing too much cologne.' 
But seldom do characters have their own smell.
The next time I create a character, their gonna have their own smell.


Sunday, June 23, 2013

Ian Grieves


I almost could not bring myself to write to thee. I wish had the power to change our fate, but I do not.
I am increasingly sorrowful for my decline of comfort. First I wrote thee soothing sonnets, then weaker plays, and finally, pathetic letters. I did love thee, and even today it is thy heart that I love.
My throbbing affection for thee runs thru my heart like the sharpest of daggers, it cuts me to the very quick knowing that power and money have purchased thee- O!- how it burns me! My love for thee will be the downfall of my being... I must make myself know thou art a taken lady.... Ah! but tis  an hard way to go, a rough path to follow! I hate my own life for letting thou steal my joy, my whole self.
Why do I, even now, write to thee? Thou hast cursed me to die alone, wanting; yet thou have blessed me with hope, I shall yearn for your love to my grave.
I always wondered about my name, now it haunts me with it's irony.

Ian Grieves

 A woman stands beside a large fire place, crying. The faded yellow paper upon which the above note was written is now clutched in her hand, she leans towards the flames and reads it for the umpteenth time. She hears a noise from the great hall and casts the note into the fire, and whispers, 'I will never, never forget thee, Ian.'
'Jewel?' A deep voice called.
A large man strode into the room, 'There thou art! Have thee been crying, dearest?' He asked concerned, 'Has something occurred?'
'No, no, it's nothing, a friend of mine passed away...' Jewel said.
'I am sorry to hear that, but the guest are arriving and I need thy help to welcome them to our home.' the man said.
'Alright, Herman, I will be just a moment more, tell them I am getting ready.' she sniffed.
'As thou wish.' And Herman exited the room.
'Pull yourself together, Jewel!' She chided herself.
'You know you have a position and stability here... Herman is a good man.... but I don't love him...' She thought bitterly.

And this poor young woman would be unhappy for the rest of her long life.



 Which is better?

1: Beneath the surface,
Where worlds come together,
Creatures live in bliss.


2: Beneath the surface,
Where worlds come together,
There they find their hearts.

-Cedar Sunshine :)

Monday, June 17, 2013


Spring may be 'just a season' to you, but to me it is a time of renewal. Flowers grow and bloom, green leaves appear on the branches of trees, many white and pink blossoms open, giving their springtime freshness to the stale wintry air. The air is still cool, but pleasantly so, not tart, like the stinging cold of winter. People begin to plant gardens, flower beds, and shrubs. People go fishing, they walk their dogs, they enjoy outings to the park, trips and picnics together.
Now, whether or not you agree with me, my plea to thee will always be:
That spring is not 'just a thing', it's people and God's earth, it's joy and happiness, Spring isn't 'just a season', and unless my mark I miss, it goes hand in hand with bliss.

This is something I wrote a time ago and entered in a contest, it didn't win, but I still like it!


Wednesday, June 12, 2013

The Deciet of a Rose

Roses can be liars. They say that they'll never wilt, they say their fragrance will abound forever. Truly they can bloom today and wilt tomorrow. They pour out their lovely odor but to rot sooner rather than later.
The thorns that dilapitate their image, their supreme beauty, they lie not, but show that they are ugly, yet willful and stay long after the roses have fallen. The remembrance of the rose is marred by the existence of the pricking thorns. A mere shadow of the former glory, the now brown petals lay lifeless on the earths floor, they boast no more. Their fragrance has deserted them, they rot alone, while the thorns mock from the twisted bush that once held so much, now so bare. Beauty fades but the shadow remains.

-Cedar Stormcloud 

Monday, June 3, 2013

The Peaches

Laughter fills my ears.
Happiness is always with the Peaches.
Sobs heave my chest,
Sorrow follows me like a rain cloud.
The Peaches break through my gloom,
Warming my heart,
Bringing bliss to my mind.

A happy family!


Saturday, June 1, 2013

A Starry Sky

All through the night they labored.
Never did they move, nor did they complain.
Their beady red eyes saw only their duty, to shine.
Their glow-in-the-dark green bodies looked like torches,
In the black night sky.
It began to rain, but far up in the darkness,
Beyond the gloomy clouds they still shone brightly.
Dawn put the stars to sleep,
The sun took over,
Pouring his warmth and light all over the green world.
Soon after twilight,
They opened their little red eyes,
And began to shine.
First one,
Then another,
Til they were all twinkling and sparkling,
In the great blue-black sky.

-Cedar Sunshine