Hiatus

The challenge is on hiatus for this week, and the two weeks forthcoming due to exams! :)

Any writing entries can still be submitted to your pages.

AAFM - Affinity by Selina

Affinity 

The bustling sounds of laughter and the vibrant colours of myriads products greeted Rose as she paced into the Asian Food Market at China Town. The breeze of cool air from the air condition gently swept past her lustrous hair and surrounded her with the usual sweet aroma.

The cashier, Mary, with strands of white hair glimmering under the florescent light, welcomed her with a big flash of smile like sunshine shining over a flower. “It’s good to see you again!” Mary shouted over the crowd and warmed the cockles of Rose’s heart.  

Rose and Mary had first met each other at a funeral, where Mary was crying mournfully over the death of her beloved husband in an unfortunate car crash. The delicate silhouettes of the weeping willows sway in the icy wind. Mary’s life had shattered into million pieces. This familiar scene awakened the painful past that was deeply buried in Rose’s heart and caused her a pang of sadness as the harsh reality of her loss that simmered below the surface gripped her firmly again. A knot caught her in her throat. Her eyes welled with emotions.

She understood her. They share the same experience.

Since then, they have been supporting each other for ten years through the crossways in life and formed an unbreakable bond, where their thoughts could be easily understood with a single glance, smile, expression.

Rose waved back at Mary with a smile lingering on her face as she reminiscence their memories together, and walked towards the noodles aisle.

There, stood a short chubby woman on the wooden bench, with thick horn-rimmed glasses hanging around her neck, carefully removing the instant noodles from the cardboard box and stacking it on the shelf. It was Emily.

The grey highlights were advancing, making their way deeper into Emily’s thin black hair, yet it wasn’t able to cover the smile that lit up on her face like a wintry sunshine when she saw Rose.   

Emily was an old-aged woman who lived by herself in the outskirts of the city. Rose would often visit her and listen to the stories about her past, her glamour and her advices. She was like Rose’s mother.

Rose greeted her and quickly stacked a few cups of instant noodles for her starving children waiting for her at home.

As she head out of the Asian Food Market, she could hear people’s story echoing behind her, being told at the bustling markets where affinity would continue to grow.  

Author's notes: 

416 words. I have attempted to write a belonging related creative, but somehow it turns out to be too cliched and childish and boring and....

I wish i would just write more sophisticated like you guys...

Anyways, hope you guys will enjoy it! =]

AAFM - The Fatal Noodle by Jennifer

The Fatal Noodle

It bears me great pain to retell this story, a story weaved within the turning point of my life. The ensuing trauma dates back several years, back to a time when my naivety triumphed the complexity of my circumstances ...

To many, the supermarket aisle boasts of its magnificence in its splendid array of food items. Multicoloured packaging lines the shelves with a plethora of products to overwhelm the reluctant consumer.

It was one of those stormy winter nights, the horror echoing in the emptiness of my kitchen cabinet. Braving the gale-like winds, I had ventured the perilous one hundred metres down my suburban street in the heart of the dark, arriving at the asian food market as the clock strikes midnight.

The dark eyed cashier eyes me up and down, as if doubting my sanity at such an unearthly hour, then returns to his preoccupation with the change upon his counter. I scan my eyes hastily across the aisle signs ...

Vegetables ... glutinous rice and flour ... haw flakes and kids snacks ...

AHA! The captivating words Instant Noodles draw me toward aisle 4, my senseless feet drifting towards the imagined scent of chicken and seafood and beef flavourings and preservatives which bestills such immense olfactory pleasure within me that the emotion transcends beyond the written word. The correctly placed capital letters of the two heavenly words spell out IN ... a fatal twist in an attempt to draw me closer into their clandestine corner of the shop.

Upon stepping into the aisle the vivid combinations of colours sing a familiar post-dinner-snack song ... and paralyse me for a moment too long. I immediately head towards the conspicuous hole on the shelf where a cheap bargain has cleared its contents. The location is strikingly familiar ...

The lousily scribbled "Chicken flavoured Kimyu Cup Noodle 10% discount" bestills horror within every hair follicle in my body - the vacuum in the shelf stares at me menacingly, a fatal symbol of hunger throughout the night. This was my flavour. My brand. My cup noodles.

But out of the corner of my eye I spot a soft green ... an all too familiar smell but tinged with  ... with ...

A dark figure emerges beside the green cup discarded carelessly on top of another brand section. Terrified, I watch aghast as the dark figure turns his head, raises his arm ...

A split second is all that is required as I sprint to the other side of the aisle, whisking the green cup into my trained palms in a primitive possessive instinct and landing battle stanced at my original position. I had won the fight, cup in hand with the empty shelf teasing the intruder as he turns away, surrendering to me.

Slamming down my silvery coins which glimmered with victory onto the counter at the front of the supermarket, I boasted of my triumph over the cashier's monotonous "One dollar fifty."

Even the wind whips around me in a celebratory manner as I jog home, my well deserved prize of the night in hand. It was a trophy, a hard-earned token which would accompany me through what would otherwise be a cold, lonely night.

I throw the kettle onto the boil, stripping the plastic packaging off the cup noodle package as I wet my lips, anticipating the enticing gustatory pleasure inside the little cup.

Suddenly the floor opens underneath me, the whirring of the kettle a lethal attack on my burning ears.

In small letters, above the all too familiar CHICKEN FLAVOUR, sat the devastating word CHILLI!!!

Author's Note: 600 words. Sleepy. This was deleted: In a primitive possessive instinct I snatch the green cup noodle from the man's hand, determined not to have used the last five minutes of intense dilemma to no avail.

edit: although not really obvious, I got influenced by Edgar Allen Poe's short stories when I wrote this. I really love his dramatic endings, and I remembered afterwards that it was from his short story The Black Cat where I got inspired with how to start my creative. I actually really enjoyed writing this creative, and actually stayed up in an attempt to finish it off (hence why I was dead today at school). I felt like I could actually just keep typing and I had the 'flow' ...

Originally the persona was going to go to extreme extents in picking the correct cup noodle - they would check the expiry date, immaculate packaging, shaking each cup to see which one had the most 'intact' noodles ... etc but that never happened. It just came out this way haha!

And also, you can probably tell esp. comparing my creatives with Alicia's and Selina's that I'm not really good with description. I tend to prefer movement, and this is what I get deducted marks for at school as well!! I'm too shallow :P

AAFM - M.I.Noodles: Un Homme Fatale by Alicia

M.I.Noodles: Un Homme Fatale

I am a woman, on a mission.

The registers blinked chirpily. Blocky green digits scrolled across the small screen. Slim white lights lined the bleached plastic ceiling. A sharp crisp beam of albicant fell across the store from the sparkling open refrigerator, shelves and shelves of bottles echoing a muffled shade of their contents. Amy readjusted the worn strap of her handbag, running a thumb along the rough tongue, smoothing it along her shoulder. She stepped past the crates of dull green watermelon, swollen from the heat and their own boastful demeanours as they lay in the brown boxes, begging to be bought. Small cardboard placards appeared from shelves. As Amy stepped further into the packed grocery store, sidling past the two old men bickering in the doorway, more signs jumped up at her like signalling, alert meerkats. Strange black squiggles adorned each one, wrapped around a set of bandied seductive digits often ending in 99.

‘Young lady, have a look at this corn. It’s unbelievably sweet and fresh, we get it from the best possible produce.’ She smiled and walked past the shopkeeper who seized the older woman behind her to persuade.

Another man came hurtling from the spice aisle, patting his worked hands on the black apron tied haphazardly around his hips. Amy opened her mouth to apologise for being in the way, a barely audible little breath squeezed out of her lungs as she spoke. The man yabbered quickly at her in some language, little crinkles appearing between his eyebrows and a clearly spoken frown, before dashing to the back of the store.

‘Okay. Noodles.’ I’m here for the noodles, and then I can leave.

That was her Mission Objective; retrieve noodles, run to Phoebe’s and give her the noodles. It was not a difficult task, even faced with the insurmountable task of wandering into an entirely foreign culture.

‘Sorry.’ Amy squirmed as an older woman pushed around her.

***

Ten minutes later, as she zigzagged her way through every aisle, Amy discovered the six foot shelf of instant noodles. There were a lot, a lot a lot. So many different types of noodles!

For a moment, Amy simply stood, awed at the massive collection of noodles. Noodles everywhere! As her jaw hung open to the floor, a gaggle of three girls around her age of sixteen slid gracefully with well-practiced manoeuvres, past the crowds of people rushing in and out of the front entrance like a midnight tide embracing the bright daylight.

Outside, the busy bustle of cars as they dissolved into the night was a reassuring reminder that Amy had not simply dissolved into this parallel universe of ceiling-high noodles and bright fluorescent lights.

The girls left as quickly as they had emerged, passing through the checkpoint and out into the flowing night. Amy jittered, pacing back and forth amongst the stock, wondering which ones she would buy, fluttering anxiously before remembering that Phoebe had written a shopping list as she lay feverish at home.

‘Beef.’ Great, apart from being very unspecific, I can’t read Chinese.

And then she realised that the price tags were written in English as well. Amy bent down to examine the lower shelves, hoping to find a worthy price for all the options. Another twenty minutes flew by as she read every single label, noting at least fifteen different brands offering a variation of a beef flavoured instant noodles.

She sighed, reaching across to seize the first within reach, her fingers brushing over the soft silky touch of the plastic wrapping. When she had successfully stacked five circular cartons into her arms, Amy turned to leave, promptly walking into another customer and dropping all the noodles on the floor.

‘Sorry!’

Amy bent down to pick them all up as they teasingly rolled at a torturously slow but rapid pace along the muddied plastic tiles.

‘No, I'm sorry, here let me help.’ The deep resonating sound of a young man pulled her from her frantic crawl across the floor. The mystery man pulled her to her feet, ‘Here you go.’ Two of the larger noodles bowls had slid into his arms, or had he conjured them with magic? Amy just wasn’t sure what side of the magical portal she was on anymore.

‘Thanks.’

He smiled, a glimmer of amusement appearing in his – surprisingly – blue eyes, and moved past her, the coarse fabric of his sandy trench coat briefly conversing with the fibres of her deep blue summer dress.

Amelia left the store, a bulging plastic bag in one hand and the neatly (obviously pre-prepared) inked phone number of a certain mystery magician on a shard of Paris postcard in the other.

The darkness of the night swallowed her as she strolled away from the entrance of the little Asian grocery, the thick luminescence stretching outwards until its fingers could no longer find her.

The sky was black with anticipation. Stars winked with the sound of wet dripping paint. Amy’s grip tightened on the slippery plastic bag as the warmth of summer enveloped her in a tight loving embrace, full of hope and wonder. 

Author's Note: Originally 838 words upon story's finish. Now, I'm going to rough-edit and see what happens. [post-edit: 852 words] This story started off very serious, I had intentions to make it sad where Amelia was a despondent child from a poor home, but then midway I just decided to turn it into a bit of a half serious crack (humour) piece. And I also had an idea to end with a love story to be a bit cliche in a funny way? But I ran out of time and couldn't see how I could develop their relationship in that short instance of time; it didn't have the right sort of setting or feel to it. I'm sorry I just feel like explaining myself today. The title is a bit of a weird pun I guess, that actually doesn't even fit with my story haha. The M.I.Noodles is obviously Mission Impossible Noodles. ;) Une femme fatale as my readers might know is French for those women who are deadly attractive, and because I randomly added in Mr Mysteriously Magical, I just decided to make him Un Homme Fatale. Selina, please correct me because I'm not sure if it's fatale or fatal. I actually Googled it. :( Yes, the first line is from that song that I don't actually like. (I am a woman, on a mission, woah~ Nothing can stop me, I'm stronger than ever... etc. by Gabriella Cilmi, yes Google.) 

Anyway! Really long Author's Note, the three girls was a reference to the day Selina, Vanessa and I went to buy instant noodles hahaha. I was going to try set a sense of ambience in the opening paragraph, but then I got a little not-bothered. Haha you can practically see the exact moment when I just stop caring about how well I write it. (the ***) Also, the ending is rushed. TIME is not to be wasted, my friends. 

Tl;dr - So, this is my piece for the week! :D Hope you liked it, or at least laughed a bit? Smiled? Inwardly...? 

Week 2 Stats!

Hey guys, I just thought it'd be amusing to share some of the site's statistics with non-authors haha :P

*please click to enlarge*

We can see who's winning in the apple vs. microsoft competition at the moment ... and we've gotten views from the US, Germany and South Korea! Yes, totally ignore the fact that Australia is bright green on that map.

Alicia, stop denying your stories are amazing :P

Model - Reality by Selina

Reality  

I sat on the fragmented red Ferrari that Grandmother Jane gave to her dearest grandson, forcing a joyful smile like how I always did for the past 20 years, and hid the silver tears that glistened at the corner of my eyes through my thick sunglasses. Like Grandmother Jane, I lost the colours of my life. Isolation. Rejection. And helplessness attacked both of us from night to day.  I looked wearily out at the monochrome world, drawing my attention towards a middle-aged man dressed in mourning, standing under the dusty mantelpiece. He was gently weeping over the delicate, dustless box that contained yellow creased photos, which Grandmother Jane used to hold beneath the full white moon that drifts before a shimmering sky, leaving numerous diffused spots on the photos of her and her “family” smiling at the camera.

Sealed letters without addresses were neatly stacked inside the box. They were letters written towards her unseen family members that dumped her in this dilapidated house.

There was also a little bottle that coldly read out “MORPHINE. WARNING: do not exceed one tablet per day”. Yet, the bottle was empty.

The cool night gust rushing through the cracks of the house gave the man shivers down his spine despite his thick leather jacket. He unwillingly noticed how thin the solitary blanket was on the narrow, crooked bed. A white letter issued to her family members was placed there, written the day before Grandmother Jane died.

As he read the wobbly writing on the letter, his body seemed to sway with the realisation of pain and hopelessness they had given Grandmother Jane. Then, as if too tired to stand for another moment, he flopped in a creaking chair and stared at the red Ferrari that blinded him with glamour, but now paid with sacrifices, casted over long shadows of regret and guilt sitting outside the cracking window covered with cobwebs…

Author's notes: 317 words!

Sorry for posting it really late! Somehow it sounds really fragmented when i read it over again :/

Please point out my horrible grammar mistakes and any aspects i could improve. 

Hope you guys will enjoy it =]

Thank you! 

An Asian Food Market - the stimulus!

Thanks to Alison! :)

Model - The Unattainable by Jennifer

The Unattainable

The Outsider

She sits, upright, on her seat with the golden waves of her hair cascading down her back, semi-exposed through the lace of her white evening dress. Even the very air around her dares not to disturb the elegant silence which lies, outstretched, around her.

It is the pensive look in her eyes which draws every man toward her, the melodious chime which rings with her every spoken word. Her attractive, hoarse voice tugs at the strings of every man's heart, pulling them closer ... and closer ... but aside from our fantasies, we can never reach her.

The glint of the morning sun off the cafe window blinds me momentarily, almost like a warning against my meandering mind. But I know that even on this ceaseless bussle of a street there are five ... ten ... maybe even twenty men like me, reaching out into the seducing world of the rich.

Her delicate hands lift the silver spoon which stirs the sweet coffee on her table.

I turn around, lifting a rolled newspaper in my stained hands and throwing it at the cafe window. And ride away.

The Insider

It is the same newspaper boy across the street, the one who faithfully pauses in front of the cafe window every week day. The glass window acts like an impenetrable barrier, blocking me from the everyday lives of others ...

I am almost like a mannequin, pinned up for display in an expensive array of clothes that are meant to be seen ... not worn.

His eyes are no different to all of those who pass me by, an unforgettable but ephemeral longing and desire. Undeniably I am merely a part of their lives in those several minutes they catch sight of me ... but as they turn their backs ... out of sight and out of mind ...

The dirt crusted lines of the boy's hand speak of a journey from north-west, where the water is murky and the hot sand blinding under the scorching sun. He stares at my pale, smooth, loathful hands ... and I can tell from the unmasked expression on his face, his young mouth slightly ajar, that he sees me like the object of this store. And like how it has always been, I sit and am acknowledged as the best ... but once they are given a choice, no one buys the golden girl ...

It is no different with anybody else - for some moments of their lives I sit, the unshared, absolute centre of their attention as the symbol of wealth and elegance. I am flawless - so they say - but the smooth surface of my history pains me, against the profound stories which they all share.

The boy prepares to leave, and the dull thud of his newspaper against the rigid glass window marks another person who has turned away ... left me, alone. Once again I will be the nameless shadow of their dreams ... the unidentifiable essence of their materialistic hopes ...

Author's Notes: I'm sleepy. and I think this is really poorly written, honestly. I'll elaborate some time when I'm awake ...

edit: 508 words. Okay, so I guess I didn't relate to the stimulus very well again. This is a problem. Which I will work on to hopefully bring up my school marks. And now it's dinner. I wonder if I will ever get this note finished ...

edit #2: I intended to relate to the stimulus by making the male persona perceive the female as the symbol of wealth and elegance (like what a Lamborghini stands for haha). I tried to use references to 'mannequins' and 'objects' to make a subtle hint to car displays ... and everyone at those car exhibitions always crowd around the Lamborghini and make it the subject of their desire. But then when it actually comes to a purchase, almost no one ever picks the Lamborghini. And they don't brood over it either. So it's like abandoned in all its magnificence. I was originally trying to tie that in with the lack of a licence plate on the stimulus (lack of identity) and you can see my not-really-worked-out attempt near the end using words like 'nameless' and 'unidentifiable'.

But obviously the above paragraph can not be written to an examiner which will sadly mean I am dooooomed.

Model - An Empty Seat by Alicia

An Empty Seat

Beep. 

'Good morning sir, I have your mother on line 3.' 

'Thank you, Anna. Please put her through.' 

Beep. 

'Hi mum.'

There was a short pause where the flick of a phone cord fluttered through the speaker. 

'Hello Sammy. How's work? I was just wondering if you'd like to come over for dinner tonight, you've heard about Danielle and Christopher, haven't you?'

'I can't I'm sorry.' Through the thick interior glass wall of his office, Sam watched his secretary rearranging the pens on her desk, pausing to type something with swift fingers, phone cradled between ear and shoulder. He twirled a set of car keys around his thumb. 

'Please? You two... haven't spoken in such a long time.' Sam had spoken to Danielle last week, listening with a smile as his exuberant younger sister retold the tale of Chris' proposal with avid detail and teary relish. No, it was his father he hadn't spoken to in five years.

'I still don't want to. Tell Danielle I'm sorry. Bye mum.' 

He could hear the hesitance on the other end of the line, 'Alright. Bye Sammy, I love you.' 

Sam rolled back in his chair, resting his head on the pristine white leather. His thoughts fell on the objects which scattered themselves vaguely on the large expanse of marble and polished glass that was his new "CEO" table. Two sides of his office were indiscriminately painted white walls. The other was a floor to ceiling window with a panoramic view of the city. This was everything, his new world. But sometimes, when Sam stayed late to keep his assistant company in her vigil, all he could see on that horizon was the pastry hot orange smog that hung heavily over the world like a winter cloak that refused to come off in summer. It was suffocating.

Somewhere in the west, his family would be gathering for a happy event, just as they had for many years without him. Now, as he dwelled, ominous clouds rimmed the sky with an ultramarine menace. They hovered over his urban world, just as these thoughts muddied in his mind. 

A text slammed his mobile into vibration. A temporary respite as the pond slime marginally dissipated.

Sam, I won't even try talk you into coming, because I know you don't believe I'm allowed to lecture you. But I will keep a seat here for you. Dad says hi. - Dani.

It was more likely he had said good riddance. 

***

Eleven winters ago.

'Sam can you place the glasses on the table.' The sprawling teenage boy clunked his thick novel down on the ebony piano with a heavy resignation. The glasses were placed, one, two, three...to eight. Small sparkling rainbows gleamed off the facets of the taller glasses, swimming round the bulbous shorter ones and swallowed by the darkness of his ceramic mug.

Once the job was done, he sat back down in the doorway of his bedroom, opened the book and drowned himself in the sorrows of Westeros.

'Sam's about to finish high school, isn't he?' Aunt Rosamund exclaimed loudly. Her voice was shrill friction against the crystalline hum of the cutlery. Jarring. Unpleasant. 'Has he any idea what he wants to do? Our little Mary is doing so well in school, but really Year 9 is when it starts to count towards your future, isn't it?' 

Sam growled and sent his model car on a revenge mission. It tumbled off towards the table. 

In the centre of the dining room folding dough, were his grandmother, his uncle, cousin and aunt. As Sam glanced around the small salle bathed in the sickly yellow light of the solitary light bulb dangling from the recesses of his house, he noticed only the outcasts, his family. Lingering in the corner stood his father, silently forcing down a serving of sticky rice, occasionally beaming down at Sam with amusement in his eyes, which quickly dimmed as he gazed into the rest of the family.

Danielle had hid in the cupboard. Sam promised not to tell anyone until dinner time.

A small red Ferrari rolled across the floorboards. 

'Whose little car is this?' His aunt exclaimed with irritation.

Sam retrieved it from under the table, shooting his aunt a nasty look. 

'Oh.' Is that all you can say, Auntie? The Ferrari glimmered in his hand, whispering of blood and glory. A future. 

***

Sam reached past the neat piles of work contracts that Anna sent in sometime after midday. He picked up the little red Ferrari. A thin layer of coagulated dust rubbed off onto his thumb. The small black tyres had worn into a heavy grey. But the little yellow logo silhouetted by a midnight horse stood bold and strong.

He rubbed his palm against the bottom of the model sports car, feeling the rough plastic plate and the comforting whirr of the wheels as they churned the imaginary engine. Anna had always thought it was his son's, or his nephew's. In truth, it probably should be. 

The car keys beckoned him silently. Sam placed the Ferrari beside the silver framed photos of his sister. 

'Anna,' he began as he pushed open the heavy glass door, 'Could you please have Matthew prepare my car. I have to make an important trip.' 

'Of course, sir.' She smiled, 'Tell Danielle I said congratulations.' 

Downstairs, a little chirp awakened the sleep silhouette of Sam's very new Ferrari.

Author's Note: 905 words. I went ten minutes over. :( I had great plans for this story, but I think I needed at least an extra 20 minutes to have accomplished all I wanted from it, and in the end I decided that I just didn't like it enough. There are a million faults in there!!! D: All of it is just so wrong, but I just don't have the heart to edit it like I did with A Timberwolf's Dove. The name of this one needs work too.
Edit: I've added about a hundred words out of basic editing. :)

Model - the stimulus!

thanks to Maggie! :)

Chastity - My Kind by Jennifer

My Kind

The crack of the whip rings continuously in my ears, a ticking clock reminding me of the magnitude of my mission. I close my eyes and try to hypnotise myself.

I am strong. I feel no pain. I am invincible.

The hot lashes on my back have rendered it numb since hours ago, but still a stinging sensation shocks my entire body with every whip.

The uncomfortable intimacy in the room presents little room for escape. Stocky men with robust builds line the small wooden door, hands permanently welded to the barrel of their machine guns. The smell of charcoal dominates the room as the fire beside me spits at the tied logs serving as a wall around me. Even the dark sky above me hides its stars, blanketing me with a pessimistic omen of hopelessness.

"She's hasn't said a single word since yesterday."

Through my peripheral vision I glare at the unfamiliar face of an officer clad in khaki uniform. He leisurely ambles into the room, emitting an aura of deliberate carelessness. He halts in front of me, slowly squatting such that his cold eyes almost empty everything within me, almost makes me spit every knowledge I have out of my bruised and bloody mouth.

But I will not betray my kind.

The corner of his lips twist menacingly as he sees past the walls I erect within me.

I will not let them taint me with their foul beliefs.

"You're just one of them. You're nothing. Do you really think you can make a difference by keeping your mouth closed? There are probably ten, one hundred ... thousands of ones like you locked up in every crevice in the world ... do you really think we will choke nothing out of all of you?"

His cackling laugh sends a chill through my bones as I realise the enormity of the scale of events.

We are one but we are many. We are an indestructible edifice.

"But the demise of no matter how big a fortress will be in its smallest crack."

I fail to hide my shock as he responds to my thoughts. His grin, as cold as the iron rod beside the fire is hot, expands a little more across his scarred face.

How ... how ...

"I have dealt with more than enough of your kind. Don't overestimate yourself. We know exactly how your thoughts align themselves ... we can see through you."

Suddenly my moral wall falters and weakens as the dark skinned men erupt into a unanimous chuckle. A horror is instilled within me as the transparency of my thoughts become a reality.

But as the men continue to laugh at the futility of my struggles, I remember my ultimate purpose once again. My kind ...

We may be transparent, but there is much more to us than you can see.

A seething confidence throws a dark glare at all the officers in the room. I rebuild my inner walls, which become stronger than they ever were. Amidst the sting of the fiery sparks erupting from the blaze onto my bare skin, I afford one last look at the burning fire. Today, from this violent fire of corruption, the courage of an untainted ideology is born.



Author's Notes: 542 words :O But I kind of cheated because I wrote for a few more minutes after my timer went off for 30 minutes because I was literally in the middle of nowhere going nowhere. You can probably tell my ending is a bit rushed/misplaced, especially since I wrote my last paragraph first and I struggled to make my story 'meet up with it' at the end.

Another implication of my poor time management skills: my original ending was a bit different, I had the persona escaping and instead of "I afford one last look at the burning fire" I had "I afford one last look at the cottage in flames". And the mysterious khaki clad officer was actually meant to turn out to be a good guy!! But I was nowhere near the escape when there was 5 minutes left so I scrapped it. As a result my interpretation of 'chastity' as a purity of purpose and untainted beliefs in the story is even more diminished :(

And I saw Alicia's title before writing this ... >.> I kind of died a little already haha!

Chastity - A Timberwolf's Dove by Alicia

A Timberwolf's Dove

Sometimes in the winter snows a pale snow rabbit dashes across the terrace. Its timberwolf fur, dusted with frozen icing, brushes the snowman's bodice before he disappears into the bushes. Emilia will sit in the window of her home with a hot mug of chocolate, feet tucked in woollen socks, and wait for him to come back. 

On winter nights, the moon frolics on her neighbour's roof, but the stars flicker reproachfully, distant and unyielding. Emilia clutches the thick novel, balancing a glass of mellifluous milk. Her mother is upstairs, rearranging the photo frames and touching the languid curtains. Reminiscent. 

When the spring returns, Emilia finds it difficult not to notice the silver band, singing. It is a long forgiven promise, not forgotten. The grass is simple smaragdine. But the sky is albicant with a flourish of pheasant and pigeon...where are the doves? One of the last sits in the window of her house with a Wordsworth. Emilia has a promise to a lionhearted timberwolf rabbit.

Sometimes in the spring which follows winter, Emilia will see the pale snow rabbit, alone. He is waiting.

Winter is coming, his ears say, before he dashes across the terrace.

I promise, her silver band heralds to the approaching summer. They warn of the endless colour that will flower. They warn Emilia. To stay inside. Summer is for those who go unescorted, for those who do not make promises that cannot be broken. Many times in the summer heat, Emilia will sit on the lawn, and watch the pedestrians parading by; hand in hand, ear to shoulder and heart to heart. She will sit aside and wait for the rabbit, because surviving winter is what matters, until her everlasting summer arrives.

Always, the autumn will tease. The trees shed their layers to shame the name of winter. All the animals hurry away, but not Emilia. She is waiting.

One snowfall winter a pale snow rabbit stops on her terrace. He is a much faded charcoal grey. His ears twitch to say, I have come. 

Emilia is a white dove, the silver band sings.

'Let me lead you into summer, my white dove.'

'I am your white dove.'

~OvO~   END   ~OvO~

Author's Notes: 364 words! :) And I just realised that "lionhearted timberwolf rabbit" sounds like a mash of three animals haha. A few definitions:

• Timberwolf, smaragdine and albicant are all colours; a pale grey, emerald green and white, respectively
• Mellifluous (which I just learnt whilst writing this) means smooth, sweet ...mellifluous milk...?