Creative Writing Task #3
Keywords:
* Title "A Lost Memory"
~or~
* "What do you think it happened before the painting...?"
~or~
* End with "And as I turned back I realised he had gone."
* End with "And as I turned back I realised he had gone."
~or~
* End with "As I left the room it dropped to the floor."
* End with "As I left the room it dropped to the floor."
Mafalda
A Lost Memory
Once upon a time, there was a precious little girl called Rose, the most beautiful little girl all over the Kingdom. Rose, for she was as beautiful and frail as one. Precious little Rose always played by herself and never left her Castle. Until one day, when our beloved little Princess had only turned 6 years old - she slowly started to wither, she became ill. He would come to visit her every night. Whisper in her ear. She fascinated him with such pureness and so he started to pluck her dreams, her petals, one by one. And as weeks passed by, our little rose would only appear to grow worse, paler, weaker. She didn’t know, she could never tell. He would only take away one dream at a time, leaving her sleep as colourless as her complexion… Until there were no petals left - he had plucked the purest flower in the Gardens of Eden. They had her painted that day. Always had waited she would feel better, blush a bit. Not anymore. And in her room would forever lie the painting, closed as she had always been, to lay her memory to rest. After that day, the name Rose was never to be spoken again in all Kingdom come. And the white rose with lips red as cherries would become but a lost memory.
Joana C.
A Rainy Day
Once my brother had said to me: “ (…) I save some money under my mattress, you know, for a rainy day (…)”. It was the “rainy day” part that really rang my bells I couldn’t understand why, “what is a rainy day after all?” I kept it in my mind for a while but I forgot it quickly. What I didn’t know was that I would find it out sooner that I could expect.
Our love was really strong, there was no doubt about it. It could have been my childhood fairy-tale dream and it seemed to be perfect, as it always seems and we were young, we were living a true cinematographic romance, an ardent love that had given us wings to fly and we flew with our hands together, we grew together.
As time went by we were still nourishing the need of being sure that that deep unconditional love was not diminishing, we questioned each other and ourselves about it every single day and it was; our strong passionate feeling was always there, we were blindly sure.
However something had been concerning me since the very beginning of this journey together, I had this idea, this sense of foreboding that something violent or tragic could cut our precious wings at any moment. “No way, he always said. There is nothing in this world that could end our crushing love, we will stay together, no matter what, he promised”. I was not so sure and that was something that had always terrified me, nothing should question the preciousness of our sacred love.
We were in the summer of 1943, and our life couldn’t be better. It was perfect, we were living in our beautiful peaceful cottage, with our loyal dog, our beautiful garden full of beautiful colourful flowers and with the most magnificent inspiring view across the ocean, life was simple, we were grateful.
He was finishing his third novel and how inspired he was! Beaming with joy while his literary creativity was flowing. I had my garden and my kitchen garden and I couldn’t be happier sowing and observing the nature giving me back all that love, it was like a religious ritual that had always fed me and kept me strong helping me understand life in a very particular way.
We had our own secret, perfect world but could anything shake it? Were we safe? My premonitions were keeping me more and more anxious, like I knew for sure that something bad would happen any moment.
The permanent anguish had already taken me many nights of sleep wondering if it would happen the next day, when one Tuesday afternoon I was in the kitchen cooking the dinner waiting for him to come from town like I did every Tuesday but for the first time in years I hadn’t heard Rufus, our dog, barking like he always did when his truck was approaching the house at 8 o’clock in the evening. He didn’t come into the kitchen with a big smile, I didn’t receive my tight heartening hug and I didn’t eat my tasty dinner with my beloved, instead I waited with my knees shaking and a lump in my throat and by the end of the night I knew that only rainy days would come next. I remembered my brother telling me about rainy days, but under my mattress there would be nothing.
I was wrong about my feeling, nothing violent or tragic had happened. He was wrong too. We didn’t stay together and there was no place for our love any more, than just an empty kitchen, an empty house and an empty soul. The world had just stopped, my life was frozen because nothing happened, and I couldn’t love somebody that had never arrived home. I couldn’t go on with my life, he was my life, he was just not there. I couldn’t cry because I didn’t know if he was dead, I couldn’t find him because he was nowhere, I couldn’t hate him because he didn’t cheat on me. I could just wait for him to come the food was getting cold.
Twenty years have now passed and I am still waiting, as I am not so sure that he ever existed. Like he said, nothing could end our love, and it was not our love that had ended but it can’t continue too, he vanished so, can love be adjourned? Is this real?
If there once was a deep love inside me now there is just a deep hole because “there is no sign of love behind the tears cried for no one, a love that should have lasted years” and ”he’s just a real nowhere man, sitting in his nowhere land making all his nowhere plans for nobody”.
Our love was really strong, there was no doubt about it. It could have been my childhood fairy-tale dream and it seemed to be perfect, as it always seems and we were young, we were living a true cinematographic romance, an ardent love that had given us wings to fly and we flew with our hands together, we grew together.
As time went by we were still nourishing the need of being sure that that deep unconditional love was not diminishing, we questioned each other and ourselves about it every single day and it was; our strong passionate feeling was always there, we were blindly sure.
However something had been concerning me since the very beginning of this journey together, I had this idea, this sense of foreboding that something violent or tragic could cut our precious wings at any moment. “No way, he always said. There is nothing in this world that could end our crushing love, we will stay together, no matter what, he promised”. I was not so sure and that was something that had always terrified me, nothing should question the preciousness of our sacred love.
We were in the summer of 1943, and our life couldn’t be better. It was perfect, we were living in our beautiful peaceful cottage, with our loyal dog, our beautiful garden full of beautiful colourful flowers and with the most magnificent inspiring view across the ocean, life was simple, we were grateful.
He was finishing his third novel and how inspired he was! Beaming with joy while his literary creativity was flowing. I had my garden and my kitchen garden and I couldn’t be happier sowing and observing the nature giving me back all that love, it was like a religious ritual that had always fed me and kept me strong helping me understand life in a very particular way.
We had our own secret, perfect world but could anything shake it? Were we safe? My premonitions were keeping me more and more anxious, like I knew for sure that something bad would happen any moment.
The permanent anguish had already taken me many nights of sleep wondering if it would happen the next day, when one Tuesday afternoon I was in the kitchen cooking the dinner waiting for him to come from town like I did every Tuesday but for the first time in years I hadn’t heard Rufus, our dog, barking like he always did when his truck was approaching the house at 8 o’clock in the evening. He didn’t come into the kitchen with a big smile, I didn’t receive my tight heartening hug and I didn’t eat my tasty dinner with my beloved, instead I waited with my knees shaking and a lump in my throat and by the end of the night I knew that only rainy days would come next. I remembered my brother telling me about rainy days, but under my mattress there would be nothing.
I was wrong about my feeling, nothing violent or tragic had happened. He was wrong too. We didn’t stay together and there was no place for our love any more, than just an empty kitchen, an empty house and an empty soul. The world had just stopped, my life was frozen because nothing happened, and I couldn’t love somebody that had never arrived home. I couldn’t go on with my life, he was my life, he was just not there. I couldn’t cry because I didn’t know if he was dead, I couldn’t find him because he was nowhere, I couldn’t hate him because he didn’t cheat on me. I could just wait for him to come the food was getting cold.
Twenty years have now passed and I am still waiting, as I am not so sure that he ever existed. Like he said, nothing could end our love, and it was not our love that had ended but it can’t continue too, he vanished so, can love be adjourned? Is this real?
If there once was a deep love inside me now there is just a deep hole because “there is no sign of love behind the tears cried for no one, a love that should have lasted years” and ”he’s just a real nowhere man, sitting in his nowhere land making all his nowhere plans for nobody”.
Miguel
“What do you think it happened before the painting…?”
He could not believe how beautiful she was. From all the women he had ever seen, she was different. Somehow, she had a stunning glow that could enlighten the darkest room of all. However, he didn’t understand why she was so careful about covering her hair. It’s almost as she was ashamed of it and didn’t want to show it to anyone.
One day, while painting her, she noticed something was different… The way he was looking at her. “Is something wrong”, she asked. He approached her. As he was about to touch her head, she stepped backwards and looked down. “I have to see it. It’s beyond me. It’s not that I want to, I just need to.” were the words he used to describe his obsession about her hair. “I’m sorry,” she cried “but I can’t sit here for hours while you paint me if I’m not feeling comfortable, don’t you agree”. “Perhaps. But to achieve perfection, I must see the whole you. I can’t satisfy with just a part of it.” he said. “If one’s beauty depends on how it looks on the outside, there can’t be any on it’s inside.”
She walked away.
On that night, while she was sleeping, he found his opportunity to take a look at her. Little did he knew that she always sleeps with a blanket covering her entire face. He slowly sneaked in her room, and carefully tried to move the blanket away. However, she woke up. “I have to see it. No matter what you show me will make me treat you any different.” She moved away the blanket, while crying.
She had no hair. That explained why she looks so concerned when he’s painting her.
“I’m sorry.” He smiled, “However, that doesn’t make you any less beautiful from what I’ve always pictured you”.
He walked away.
She cried again. Out of happiness, that is.
Sandra
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